Our Fathers

Intellect

(Chapter Six)

"But Jesus said to him, 'Judas, are you betraying me with a kiss?'" (Luke 22:48)

Visions

Lucius was in much worse shape than the day before. It seemed someone else had taken their hand to him - his face was an array of bruises and his chest marked with lines of blood. Not made by magic, but by a crueler method. A Muggle method, which the Muggle-hating Death Eaters should've been too proud to use. Harry tried to look away, but caught up in the vision, it was impossible.

Voldemort stood there, of course, towering over Lucius Malfoy's restrained form. Another was there as well, one of the blonde men who had stood at Voldemort's side during Narcissa Malfoy's murder. He fell to the ground and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe. "My Lord, forgive me. The boy escaped - Pettigrew failed to bring him in without aid and the delay left enough time for the traitor and another to Apparate in. Pettigrew got away, into the brush. He may've fled already."

"I am most displeased with you, Avery, but do not fear. The fault in this lies with Wormtail, not you. Go on, but remember - fail me again, and you'll regret it."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord." Avery kissed the robe's hem once more and backed out of the room, keeping his head well beneath Voldemort's height. It reminded Harry of a movie he'd seen once - a story about a king in Asia, whose subjects could not carry their heads higher than the king. Voldemort certainly looked the part - old, feeble, and growing a white beard much too similar to Dumbledore's for Harry's liking.

Malfoy let out a low chuckle, lips breaking into a grin despite bruises. "So, my boy slips away again? He's outwitted you once more!"

"No one escapes forever," Voldemort snapped, drawing his wand. Lucius flinched back, but the door of the cell slammed open before a spell could be used against him.

Peter Pettigrew stumbled in, falling to his knees. "Forgive me, Lord! It wasn't my fault! Snape and Lupin - I'm not a match for three wizards! But I clawed Lupin, he'll surely die of the silver -"

Voldemort turned on the pitiful man, kicking him over with a black boot. Though hunched with age, the Dark Lord was still a match for the small and rather obese Pettigrew. "Silence! With that hand, my gift to you, you should be able to match any wizard! How can I be sure you did not hand young Malfoy over to your old friend?"

"I-I didn't! I have information for you! Draco Malfoy knew his father was here, somehow - he said something about Potter, it was Harry Potter who told him, I don't know how -" he stuttered and shook under the glare of Voldemort.

The Dark Lord gave a snort. "Severus Snape was not the only traitor. You sold out James Potter - how can I be sure you would not do the same to me? No, Wormtail, Harry Potter was not the one who gave young Malfoy the information... I do believe you were..."

Pettigrew let out a rat-like squeak, cowering against the stone wall of the cell. "No! No, I swear I didn't, please, Master, have mercy -"

Lucius let out a mad cackle, breaking in with a grin. "'For indeed the Son of Man is going as it has been determined; but woe to that man by whom He is betrayed!' Gospel of Luke. But who is the betrayer, and who the betrayed? Who is Jesus and who is Judas?"

Voldemort snarled, kicking Pettigrew savagely in the ribs, as he lay closer than Lucius. "Do not quote that savage Muggle text! For eleven years - the nuns, oh so charitable, and their bloody Book - They said my peculiarities damned me! I showed them damned! Stop quoting the words of the damned!"

Lucius grinned broadly - he'd found his opening. "'Lo, though I walk through the valley of Death, I fear no evil for you are at my side.' Book of Psalms. Many pureblooded wizards are Christian, Lord. They say Moses was a wizards, you know, and his staff, the one used to part the waters, was the very same used by Merlin. I'd think that even a half-blood orphan would know that much of wizard lore."

"I am no half-blood! I am the Heir of Slytherin!" Voldemort shouted, turning his wand on Lucius. "Do not quote the Muggle book, or so help me -"

"So help me what? 'From the brink of Sheol I call; my heart grows faint. Raise me up, set me on a rock, for you are my refuge, a tower of strength against the foe.' Psalm 61:3 -"

"STOP!" Voldemort shrieked, striking Lucius across the face. "No more - NO MORE will I take from you! Avada Kedavra!" The flash of sickly green filled the room and, a smile on his face, Lucius Malfoy went limp.

Voldemort turned on Pettigrew, who had begun crawling for the door. The Dark Lord stepped toward him, kicking him savagely. "As for you - traitor, I brand you; traitor to friend and master, and there is but one penalty for selling out the Heir of Slytherin."

And displaying some lingering hint of the courage that had made him a Gryffindor once, long ago, Peter Pettigrew pulled himself to his feet. "Forgive me, James," he whispered, barely audibly.

Voldemort let out another shriek and raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

And Harry Potter screamed in agony, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face and body shuddering in a violent seizure. Instead of fainting away, however, his eyes snapped open and he panicked. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, he couldn't stop shaking -

"Harry, just hold on," someone was saying. He managed to turn his head just enough to see Remus Lupin, who was levering himself up from a nearby cot. "Poppy's coming, just hold on..." Lupin said, grabbing a pillow and limping over - clearly in a great deal of pain, from the wince on his face - to stuff the extra padding behind Harry's head and take his hand. "Oh, God, your face... Poppy, hurry!"

Harry caught sight of Headmaster Dumbledore as the elderly man appeared at the edge of his vision, which was rapidly growing dark. The Headmaster took his other hand, brushing his hair from his forehead. "Remus, what's happened? I was outside with Severus -"

"He started screaming and thrashing about - God, he's in pain, he's not breathing - what are we going to do, I can't lose him -!" Lupin scooted onto the edge of the bed, scooping Harry bodily into his arms and rocking him comfortingly. "Hold on, Harry... please, hold on..."

Madame Pomfrey appeared as well, shouting spells that Harry hadn't heard before. And then, as soon as it started, Harry slumped against Lupin's chest, taking gasping breaths. Lupin let out a cry and hugged Harry tighter. The boy was shocked to feel a tear splash on his shoulder as his father's friend clung to him tightly.

When he'd regained enough breath to report his vision, he could do nothing but blurt it out. Draco Malfoy didn't appear to be in the vicinity, so it was probably alright. "Lucius Malfoy is dead. So's Wormtail. He killed them both."

Lupin let out a loud sob and even Dumbledore looked troubled by the news. He reached over and rubbed Harry's shoulder kindly, letting Lupin keep the boy in his grasp. "We very nearly lost you as well, Harry. I don't know why the seizures stop when they do, but I am very glad of it."

"Malfoy said something about a potion - a potion that would block all the visions. Please, sir, let me take it. I don't want anymore." Harry took advantage of the friend holding him close and buried his face in the werewolf's shabby robe, hiding the tears. "Please. No more."

"It's dangerous, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, squeezing his shoulder lightly, "but if it will help you tonight, you will have a dose of the Hyupnos Draught. Severus?" Dumbledore called. Harry didn't look up, but heard footsteps. "Severus, I'll need a dose of that potion immediately, for Harry."

"But Draco -" began the low voice of the Potions Master.

"-Will be fine," Dumbledore finished. "He'll need to be told tomorrow about his father's passing. If Mr. Potter is up to it, he might tell Mr. Malfoy of his father's last moments... but only if he is up to it. Your godson will be just fine, Severus, go on."

Lupin rubbed Harry's back soothingly. "You need to rest, Harry. Maybe... maybe now that Lucius is dead, you won't dream like that anymore. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

Harry murmured some assent and snuggled his face against Lupin's robe having, for the first time in fourteen years, someone to protect him like a parent while he slept. Before he drifted off, he heard Dumbledore speaking softly, as if far away. "You'd make a wonderful father to him, Remus..."

And Lupin answered. "I would love to. But I can't."

It was enough for Harry. I would love to. Loved, for once, Harry dozed off.

Remembering

Remus smoothed down Harry's mop of scraggly black hair, refusing to tuck the boy back into bed. It would've been near impossible to untangle his fingers from Remus' robe, but he didn't mind cradling James and Lily's child. It had been years since he'd been allowed to. Harry's breathing settled into an even pattern, and Remus frowned at Dumbledore over the boy's head. "You shouldn't have said that. He wasn't asleep. You know I can't ever take that part - it's Sirius' job. It can't be mine."

"Peter is dead, Remus," Dumbledore murmured, moving his hand up to pat the werewolf's back comfortingly.

Remus choked back his sob, clutching Harry tighter instead. "Well, I can't say I'm sorry for it. He should've spent twelve years in Azkaban, though I doubt he'd survive two. Why didn't I see it, Albus? I should've been able to figure it out! They thought I was the traitor, and I can't blame them, I'm a beast, but Peter was... he was Peter, he was always a hanger-on, he never fit in with me and Sirius and James, and I should've seen how he didn't fit, and I should've known that if one would turn, it was him -"

"Remus! Stop, you're driving yourself into hysterics," Dumbledore said, squeezing Lupin's shoulder. "Hindsight reveals everything the eye cannot see on first glance. I did not know of Peter's betrayal. Should I have? No. There was no evidence, nothing - despite what you say - to show that little Peter Pettigrew would be so brave and so cowardly all at the same time. We'd been faced with Darkness for so long that we could no longer see the Light. We looked for the Dark in each other, and ignored it in ourselves... and saw the Dark where it was not."

"Saw it in me," Remus added bitterly. When Albus started to reply, Remus shook his head quickly. "No, I don't hold it against anyone. It does seem obvious, doesn't it? I'm a werewolf; I was made this way by a Dark curse. I would hardly have been the last to fall to Voldemort's offers of power. I'm hardly the strongest. But Peter was the weakest. We protected him... was it too much? Were we treating him like he was a little boy? Weren't we offering him enough? God... Albus, why did he do it?" Remus winced and gulped back a fresh sob, unwilling to let his emotions run free another time.

Dumbledore shook his head. "We won't know. However, what has happened, has happened. There are consequences we must deal with - terrible consequences. If only his conscience had... but no. Too late. Too late for so many things." The Headmaster sighed deeply, looking every year his age. "We'll have to recall Sirius from the field. If the Aurors happen upon him now, there will be no evidence to save him."

Remus' jaw dropped - that was one consequence he'd forgotten completely. "Oh, God... if Peter can never testify..."

"... it's likely Sirius will never be cleared," Albus finished. "I had hoped that Peter would fall on the mercy of the courts after Voldemort's final defeat. However, under the circumstances, it may be best if Sirius Black simply ceases to exist. It's too dangerous for him to remain in Britain, even under an assumed name and guise."

"Which means Harry won't ever be allowed to live with him." Remus sighed softly, brushing back Harry's bangs to look down on the famous scar - the symbol of the root of all their problems. "Harry will want to see him before he goes off."

Albus nodded. "Now that is something I can do. However, that leaves Harry with only one guardian - you."

Remus allowed himself a hiss of irritation. "Albus, it's illegal! Until he's 17, he's not even allowed to stay the weekend! I'm a bloody werewolf!"

"You don't look bloodied in the least to me," Dumbledore smiled. "There is a loophole, and I intend to find it."

"I thought you wanted him to stay with his aunt and uncle still," Remus shot back, trying to untangle Harry's hand from his robes. It wasn't working.

The smile faded slightly. "I had not taken into account the events of this summer. You know that Mundugus Fletcher was killed by Voldemort before Sirius could track him down... what you do not know is that he was living mere streets away from Harry. The wards cannot protect him... and Voldemort has come much closer than most are aware. He needs a home."

"And I cannot provide one. I'm sorry, Albus, but I can't do it." Remus finally managed to disengage the clutching fingers of the sleeping boy. He laid him back against the pillows, tugging up the covers for warmth. "I want to... you know I want to, more than anything... but I absolutely refuse to put him in danger."

Remus limped over to his own bed, careful not to put too much weight on his burned ankle. Each burn from Peter's silver hand was agony - though nothing quite matched the gutwrenching pain of being forced to turn his back on James' son.

In turning his back, however, Remus missed the calculating gleam in Albus' eye.

Musings

Ross Blake and Gregory Goyle seemed perfectly happy to ignore Draco's very existence. They looked away when he passed, were sure to sit as far from him as humanly possible at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, and found great delight in not waking him for class, as he no longer had any control over their social positions within Slytherin House. The rest of them were beginning to treat him the same way - they pretended not to notice when they tripped him up in the hallway, pretended that nothing happened at all when his potion was ruined by a handful of mysterious herbs that Draco certainly hadn't put there, and most certainly didn't remember he was a Slytherin when they changed the password to the Slytherin Common Room a week after Lucius Malfoy's death.

And so, unable to access his room, Draco slumped against the wall beneath the portrait leading to the dorms, alone. He certainly could've gone to ask Professor Snape for the password and pretended to feel smug as his guardian brought his wrath upon the Slytherin prefects - but somehow, it no longer felt worth the trouble. Why bother to make the lot of them even angrier? At least Ross and Greg were leaving him alone, for the most part, only making trouble when Draco managed to distinguish himself somehow.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd been proud - too proud, his entire family too open to an easy decline into oblivion. The last Malfoy, and brought down to the level of a commoner, fodder for jokes and the one nobody looked at twice. What a fall from grace it had been... one day, looking forward to glory on the Dark Lord's side, the next... nobody.

Draco glanced around the hallway again before looking down at his hands. It was growing close to curfew. Filch would be by soon enough to hand out a detention for being in the halls before finally letting him in. His hands... crisscrossing veins visible beneath pale skin, veins through which ran the completion of Voldemort's spell. How much would the Dark Lord risk to sacrifice Draco for his own power? Enough to attack Hogwarts itself? Lucius wasn't alive to be bait anymore - Potter had said Draco's father died on his own terms, egging Voldemort on until he died quickly and painlessly by the Killing Curse. It was what Lucius had wanted.

How much would the Dark Lord risk? Through those veins flowed his life and death. How easy it would be, then, to stop Voldemort's plans once and for all. A leap from the North Tower or a cut from a dagger, releasing his blood on his own terms rather than allowing Voldemort to make the rules. A simple knife would do the trick, stolen from the kitchens with dinner -

A footstep sounded in the hall. Draco jerked in surprise, glancing up and expecting to see Argus Filch hanging over him, with Mrs. Norris close at hand. He could not have been more wrong.

"Draco?" Blaise called, hurrying down the corridor and kneeling by his side, "What are you doing out here? It's almost curfew!"

"They changed the password and neglected to tell me." Draco closed his eyes, unwilling to catch a glimpse of the amusement he was sure she would show across her face.

Blaise let out a snort of indignation. "Those sneaky bastards. C'mon, Draco, let's go inside, before Filch comes up."

"You're not going to leave me for the rabid cat?" Draco snapped. "I thought for sure you'd come around to Ross and Greg's way of thinking. Are you sure backing me up is worth your reputation?"

"Of course it is. Someone has to keep you from doing something stupid, after all. And before you ask, NO, Snape didn't put me up to it. You may not have looked sideways at me last year, but I forgive you. Now let's get inside and give Ross, Greg, and Pansy whatfor, alright?" Blaise lifted Draco's chin with a fingertip, forcing him to look her in the eye. She gave a genuine smile. "We don't all think you're worthless."

Draco returned the smile hesitantly. "Thanks," he murmured, pushing himself to his feet. "Well, then... what's the password, Blaise? Lead on."

Blaise grinned broadly. "Pansy picked it this week. It just goes to show how vapid she really is..." She turned to the painting. "Potter's a git."

The portrait swung open and Draco gave a nearly hysterical laugh. "Oh, Lord above... I should've thought of that one! That's just ridiculous. Does she really think that's a good secret password? Almost anyone could open Common Room by accident!"

"Well, the best passwords are sometimes the most obvious... but with the number of times someone says THAT every day, we might as well prop open the portrait and invite the Gryffindors to dine." Blaise gave a chuckle and slapped Draco lightly on the shoulder. "Come on in. We have a Charms test coming up... I was wondering, could you give me a hand on review? I didn't understand yesterday's lesson..."

Draco followed behind Blaise as she chatted lightly, ignoring the looks of loathing sent their way. Perhaps, just perhaps... his exile wouldn't be so bad after all.