Soul Splitting

Harry left the drawing room and climbed the stairs to the third floor, where he put his ear up to the first door on his left. Fairly certain that Malfoy wasn't crying, he cracked the door open and peered in. Malfoy was sitting on the floor in front of the bookshelf that took up the entire right wall of the master bedroom. His head was bowed over a small leather-bound volume in his lap.

"What're you reading?" Harry asked as he entered the room. Malfoy looked up and held the book out to Harry, who took it and flipped to the title page. "Malleus Malficarum... What's this?" Harry flipped through its pages and found that the whole thing was written in a language he did not understand. There were pictures plainly depicting people being burned at the stake or tortured with looks of great agony stretched across their gaunt faces.

"Potter, you are frightfully uneducated. You don't speak any Latin at all? Hmm, well, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? Here's a little lesson not covered in your History of Magic class. Once upon a time, there were some pious men who believed in the existence of witches. They believed, in fact, that these women were the Dark Prince's brides who fornicated with him often. Living only to do Satan's bidding, the witches did everything in their power to ruin the lives of good, God-fearing people. And, of course, these righteous men couldn't have that. They rooted out all these evil women and burned them alive, but not before they'd tortured them for the names of others who'd signed their names in Lucifer's book." Malfoy paused and took the book back from Harry. "This book, Malleus Malficarum, was published to help the inquisitors tell who might be guilty of the sin of witchcraft. They were taught to look for someone too old or too ugly to be dealt with, or someone too young and beautiful for her own good... Really, unless you were terribly dull and absolutely average in every way, you were a sinner. "

Harry was a bit taken aback. He had not come up here expecting a lecture on witch burnings from Malfoy. Finally he said daftly, "But we did study witch burnings in History of Magic. Our book said real witches just charmed themselves so they wouldn't be hurt."

"Potter, most of those burned and tortured were completely incapable of doing any such thing. Yes, there were cases of actual witches being caught and burned, but those were quite rare. It's rather funny, really... The Muggle priests put so much effort into rooting out magic, but all they managed to do was kill off several thousand of their own kind."

"That's not funny."

"No?"

"No. And if you think it is, you have a sick sense of humor."

Malfoy shrugged. "I suppose this is one of those 'agree to disagree' things, then." Harry stared unabashedly at Malfoy, who lovingly put the ancient book back on the shelf before turning to Harry and asking, "So, what's up? Is Granger gone? Can I come down now, since I've been such a good boy?"

"No, she's still here. Actually, Remus is telling her about you now and I said I'd come get you."

"Oh." Malfoy looked surprised. "You decided to tell her so soon?"

"Well, yeah. I tell her everything. I'm going to tell Ron, too, once he stops being mad at me."

"Hmm. Well, whatever you say, Potter," said Malfoy skeptically as he moved towards the door. "And don't worry, I'll be on my very, very best behavior with Granger."

It was funny, Harry thought as they walked down the stairs, he really couldn't tell Malfoy's sarcasm from his tendency to be dramatic.

Harry poked his head into the drawing room and saw Hermione looking pale and practically on the verge of tears. She didn't seem to be taking the news particularly well. Harry looked back at the other boy and gave him a prepare-yourself-for-the-worst look, then gestured for Malfoy to follow him in.

Hermione looked up as they entered and the pitiful look on her face intensified. "Malfoy, I'm so sorry about your mother." Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who looked every bit as surprised as he was. "It's just awful. Remus has explained everything to me and I'm really glad you've come for help."

Malfoy seemed slightly disturbed and unsure how to respond. Harry could practically see the wheels in Malfoy's head spinning as he tried, Harry supposed, to think of something to say that wasn't along the lines of, "What would you know, you filthy Mudblood?" or "You think I need sympathy from the likes of you?" Finally, after nearly thirty seconds, Malfoy simply said, "Thank you," though he didn't sound like he particularly meant it.

"Well, I'm going to go and make some lunch. Draco, would you care to help me?" Remus asked.

"No," said Malfoy plainly. Remus raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Malfoy got the hint. "Right, make lunch – leave Potter and Granger alone. Sure."

Harry waited until Malfoy and Remus had left the room and then, turning to Hermione, he said, "You seemed to take all that rather well."

"Yes, well, it's just like with Regulus, isn't it? Only worse, for all we know!"

"Hermione, I don't know if you should start feeling too sorry for Malfoy yet. He only just got here, and even though he's been behaving himself, he's the first to admit he's not here because he's changed his mind about purebloods being all perfect and everything. Not to mention that even if we're all agreed that R.A.B. is Regulus, we still don't know why he did what he did. He could have had perfectly awful reasons!"

"But Harry, Remus said you trust him – Malfoy, I mean."

"Well, that's a bit of an overstatement. I acknowledge that he needs our help and he has things to offer us and that it would be wrong to refuse him. But if I do trust him, it's only because I know he can't go back to the Death Eaters, since they'll kill him, not because he's proved himself to be a good person."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose you're right, Harry. But just remember Kreacher. He ended up being really dangerous and it could have been prevented if we'd all just been nice to him. He was really nasty, but we should have been better to him all the same."

Harry didn't quite see the connection Hermione was trying to make, but obviously it made sense to her, because she then dropped it and changed the subject. "Anyway, Harry, I have to get back to The Burrow. But you should really look around here. I know we cleaned a lot out, but now that we know what we do about Regulus, I think it might be smart to give this house another good once-over and see if we can find anything that might be important."

* * * * *

The next morning, Lupin left early, saying he had Order business to attend to and that he might not be back until late, leaving Draco and Potter on their own for dinner. Draco had immediately put forth the fact that he did not cook and grudgingly, Potter told him to shut up and not worry about it.

At about noon, Potter was sitting in an armchair in the parlor, looking through some book on defensive magic. A few feet away, Draco was lying face-down on the parlor floor, picking at a thread in the rug. He was humming a song that his mother had sung to him when he was very small.

"Malfoy, would you please shut up?"

Draco rolled over onto his back. "I'm bored, Potter."

"So, go do something."

"There's nothing to do." Draco wanted to add, "And I'm anxious and scared and I miss my mother and nothing I could do would get my mind off any of this", but decided it was best not to elaborate.

"So read."

"I don't feel like it right now."

Potter shut his book and glared at Draco. "I don't know what you expect me to do about that, Malfoy," he said, as if he was speaking to a stubborn five-year old.

Draco held back a retort and, thinking of the only activity that remotely interested him, said delicately, "You could come explore the house with me. Lupin said it was too dangerous to do alone."

Draco expected a fast "no" in reply and was surprised when Potter said, "All right, then." Potter set down his book and got up, waiting for Draco to do the same.

"Really?" Draco asked, utterly taken aback. "You'll poke around the house with me?"

"Something like that." Draco stood and Potter clapped him on the shoulder. "It's time for you to earn your keep, Malfoy."

Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter, who was halfway to the door, and asked, "What do you mean?"

Potter turned. "You'll see."

Doing his best not to whine outright, Draco followed Potter and asked, "We're not cleaning, are we?"

"You'll see," Potter repeated, and led the way upstairs to the top floor. He then reached towards the ceiling to pull down the ladder leading to the attic.

"Potter, there's not some sort of Boggart or something up that ladder we're to take care of, is there?" Draco couldn't help sounding a bit panicked as Potter began to climb.

Potter turned and gave Draco a patronizing look. "You don't know how to get rid of a Boggart, Malfoy? We learned that third year, or were you in the Hospital Wing getting over that awful Hippogriff attack that lesson?"

Draco blushed. "I know what to do with Boggarts, Potter. I just don't like them, but I'm not afraid of whatever's in that attic." Draco was now convinced Potter had something truly ghastly for Draco to help him with, and if it was a Boggart, he would be quite put out. His fears had increased significantly in the past week and he was sure none of them were things he would want to face in an attic with Harry Potter standing by.

"You're not afraid at all of what's in this attic? After Lupin told you it's not even safe to explore the house alone, you're not even a little afraid?"

Draco drew himself together and said steadily, "No."

Potter laughed. "Well, it doesn't matter, anyway – I don't think there're any monsters or anything up there. In fact, I think you'll actually really like what I want your help with."

Draco was a bit miffed; Potter had gotten him all worked up and afraid he was about to face a Boggart, or worse, and it had just been to watch him squirm. But all the same, he could not help being a bit intrigued. "All right, what are we doing?"

"I'm looking for something and I thought it might go faster with two people," Potter said.

"What is it?"

"Well, I'm not exactly sure."

Draco stared blankly at Potter. "You're not sure? Well, let's go, then. I'll tell you if I find anything."

"Don't be sarcastic, Malfoy. I'm looking for things that belonged to Regulus Black." Draco saw Potter furrow his brow, as if wrestling with himself over something. "And, a, er, a locket."

"So, old things of Regulus Black's and a locket?"

Potter nodded. "Yeah."

"And I don't suppose I'll be finding out why we're looking for any of these things?"

"Don't push your luck, Malfoy."

"I know, I know," said Draco, and followed Potter up the ladder.

Draco's first impression of the attic was that it was a bit like Snape's house: dusty, cobwebby, and packed with old books, furniture, trunks, and all sorts of unidentifiable items scattered about and shoved in every nook and cranny. The second thing Draco thought as he gazed upon the space in front of him was how much of a job it was going to be finding anything specific here. He now understood why Potter had told him he would be earning his keep.

* * *

In the five hours spent rummaging through the attic thus far, the only notable things Draco had managed to find were a cracked Foe-Glass, a large trunk filled with lacy lingerie (which, by its style and musty smell, he assumed had probably been stashed away since the 1930s), and in a corner covered by a wine-stained white linen tablecloth, the skeleton of what appeared to be a House Elf.

"Why couldn't someone have buried the nasty thing?" Draco said, holding the linen away from himself with two fingers and daintily tossing it back over the skeleton. "Or burned it?"

Potter looked up. "What?"

"There's an awful pile of bones over here. I think it used to be a House Elf."

Potter looked up from the box of papers he was sifting through and said, "Really?"

"Yes, really. It's disgusting. See for yourself." Potter did as Draco suggested and knelt down to have a better look. "Potter, I don't think those bones really require your examination. I guarantee they have nothing whatsoever to do with Regulus Black. I've seen pictures and he was much taller."

Potter looked up and scowled. "I know that, you prat. Unlike you, I just felt a bit bad for it. It looks like it died up here all alone and no one noticed."

"How do you figure?"

"Well, they've been taken down, but the Blacks always used to decapitate their dead House Elves and mount the heads, so since this one still has its skull, I'd guess nobody noticed it'd died." Draco shrugged and Potter stood up. "Anyway, don't mention it to Hermione. She'll want to have a funeral or something."

"Did I detect a hint of sarcasm in reference to Granger? My, my, Potter. I never would have imagined."

Potter frowned. "That's not what I – she just... she just has a thing about House Elves." Draco raised his eyebrows. "No. No! I mean she's always on about freeing them and making them hats and things. And for your information, under normal circumstances I'd want to have some sort of funeral too...maybe, but now there's not time, so just don't tell Hermione about it."

"Right, Potter. I promise not to tell Granger."

* * *

The attic was hot and stuffy and made Draco's skin sticky and feel like it was covered in a thick layer of dirt. But as long as Potter wasn't complaining, Draco didn't intend to either, and so it wasn't until Potter said they'd done enough for the day that Draco stopped shuffling through papers and sorting through mildewy boxes.

After a shower in the creaky old washroom on the third floor, Draco was clean enough to be quite curious as to what was so important that it warranted such a search. Potter had been right in thinking Draco might have enjoyed his task ("might" being the key word), and under normal circumstances indeed he might have; however, the heat and the stuffiness and the fact that Potter insisted on keeping him in the dark regarding just why they were up there in the first place had made the entire experience wholly unpleasant.

After his shower, Draco put on a towel and returned to the room Potter had assigned him. He looked down at the sorry clothes Potter had loaned him several days earlier lying crumpled on the bed. Even from three feet away, their smell was pungent. This is ridiculous, Draco thought. Why on earth should I be subjected to such filth?

After giving the t-shirt a final sniff, Draco decided he had had enough and that it was time to tap into the house's resources. After all, there was a lovely large armoire right there in the room; why shouldn't he have a poke through its contents? No one else was going to.

Draco opened one of the drawers and found it to be full of musty, but obviously high quality jumpers. He reached out a hand and touched one. It was a bit itchy, but certainly better than the ripe shirt Potter had loaned him. In another drawer, Draco found several pairs of trousers and, upon trying one on, was delighted to find the fit to be quite comfortable. The robes in the closet were also wearable. Draco was relieved not to be dressed like a Muggle any longer.

All that was left to find now was a pair of socks. Assuming these would be located in the uppermost drawer, Draco opened it and proved himself right, as he so often did. As he lifted a pair from the front of the drawer, a bit of the wood at the bottom was exposed. He was slightly puzzled by a tiny hole there about the size of a finger. And so, being a curious type of boy, he pulled the entire drawer out of the armoire and dumped all the socks onto his bed. Then, without pausing to wonder whether or not he should be sticking his digits into secret compartments in unfamiliar furniture, Draco inserted a finger into the opening and lifted the false bottom out.

In the small space between the board he had just removed and the drawer's real bottom, there lay a worn leather journal. On the one hand, Draco felt as though he'd had enough of papers and memories to hold him for some time, but there was something about the journal that he felt compelled by, something secret. Someone had hidden it there; it has been special to someone once. Setting the drawer down on the floor, he sat on his bed next to the homeless socks and opened the book.

He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the name on the inside of the cover. After a day spent inhaling dust and spores and other filthy, lung-clogging particles looking for something of Regulus Black's, he had just now found it in his sock drawer.

* * * * *

"Potter, you are going to love me! I mean really, you are going to want to marry me after this and buy me bed linens with very high thread counts and – "

Draco Malfoy paused in the doorway to the kitchen. Apparently he had not expected Remus home so soon. Of course, Remus had not expected himself home so soon, either. Usually, meetings with McGonagall took hours, because she wanted him there to help her with the kind of research that took the better part of a day. However, this time things had gone rather differently than expected.

"What I meant to say," Draco said awkwardly, "is that you will want to shake my hand warmly and perhaps buy me a pint."

Remus found this rather amusing and could hardly have been put out by anything right about now, even if he didn't; Harry, on the other hand, did not seem to think Draco's statement in the least bit diverting and said flatly, "What is it, Malfoy?"

"I, well, I think I've found something you've been looking for." Draco held out a battered old book and Harry stood and took it from him. After opening it and staring at the cover page for a few seconds, Harry turned to Draco and asked in an awed voice, "Malfoy, how on earth did you find this?"

Draco smiled smugly. "Oh, just some old-fashioned detective work." He caught the serious look on Harry's face and admitted, "Fine, it was in my sock drawer. Well, not my sock drawer – the sock drawer of the dresser in my room."

Remus knew the look on Harry's face; he had been seeing it quite a bit these past few days. It was as if he was trying to put something together and he had all the pieces, but just hadn't gotten them to fit yet.

"This was in a sock drawer? Just lying there?"

"Yes, Potter. Well, lying under a piece of plywood. It was supposed to be hidden, I think, but I saw the opening, so I got curious and, well, found it."

"And – wait a minute, you're just wearing clothes you've found here without permission?"

"Honestly, no one has worn them for more than ten years. Are you especially attached to them?" Remus couldn't help but notice that Draco's face was slightly flushed and he was beginning to wonder just what had been in Draco's sock drawer. "I thought you'd be pleased."

Harry's expression softened. "No, I am pleased. Very pleased[JG1] . This could be really useful, so thanks, Malfoy."

Remus looked on as the two boys stared at each other momentarily, until Harry sat back down across from him and said, "Remus, look at this. It's Regulus' diary. Can you believe it? It might say whether he, er, destroyed the, erm, you-know-what."

Remus took the diary from Harry and flipped through the pages. The dates spanned from about 1971 to 1978. "You know, Harry, this might be a bit early to contain anything about what we're interested in – and that's assuming Regulus would have risked putting anything on the subject in writing, anyway."

"But it's something," Harry said. "I mean, there might be clues as to people he knew, people who might be able to tell us things. We can at least read through it and see."

Remus nodded and handed the book back to Harry. "You're right. Now listen, I have some news as well."

Malfoy sat down across the table and Harry put the diary down and turned his attention to Remus. "Is it something about Voldemort?"

Remus saw Malfoy flinch. "Well, no," he said. "It's not, but it is about the effort being made against him. The way Hogwarts is structured will be changed this year. I've just had a meeting about it with Professor McGonagall. All subjects that won't directly help students in fighting and protecting themselves against Voldemort are being cut or altered. For example, no more Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, or Divination. Potions will be all about antidotes and concocting useful things like Veritaserum, Polyjuice, Felix Felicies, certain healing solutions, and the like. Defense Against the Dark Arts is being broken up into two classes because it's so important. One will deal with defensive spells, hexes, charms and so on, while the other will be taught in conjunction with Care of Magical Creatures and will focus on dealing with Dark creatures Voldemort already has, or may, employ – Dementors, Giants, Vampires, Inferni, Werewolves, Banshees, Trolls. And I've been offered the position of teaching the class."

"Really? That's wonderful! I mean, isn't it? You did like teaching, didn't you?" Harry asked.

"I did," said Remus. "Teaching was actually the best job I've ever had – not that that says much, I suppose – but, yes, I enjoyed teaching you very much, the both of you."

There was a moment's silence during which no one spoke and then Remus said jokingly, "I suppose this means you'll have to call me 'Professor' again."

Harry looked uncomfortable and said slowly, "Well, I'm, er, not sure if I'll be going back to Hogwarts this year."

"What do you mean?" Remus asked. "Harry, the training we'll be offering is going to be imperative in the fight against Voldemort – besides which, you'll find it hard to become an Auror without your NEWTs."

"But – " Harry looked over at Malfoy. "There are other things I have to do. Things Ron, Hermione, and I have to do."

Remus sighed. "Harry, I understand that you and your friends feel compelled to dive headfirst into the fight against Voldemort, but you need more training. Ron and Hermione both need more training, too." He paused and surveyed the impassioned boy sitting beside him. "I see how this may be hard for you to understand, Harry, but last time the war went on for years. It was a slow process, which ended quite unexpectedly only when Voldemort failed to kill you. This effort against him could take just as long, if not longer. I understand your enthusiasm and I'm impressed by it, but it would be better for the fight to take an extra year and for you to enter it prepared than for you to charge in now, without all the possible tools and knowledge you could be equipped with."

Harry looked angry and he said very slowly, obviously trying to control his temper, "I'm not willing to just spend a year holed up in Hogwarts while other people are out there dying. I'm the one who has to kill him and I'm going to do it as soon as I can."

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Malfoy interjected, "Don't be an idiot, Potter. I don't know about you being 'the one who has to kill him,' but if that's the case, if you really are 'The Chosen One,' then isn't it better to have a chance of actually doing it? I mean, I've seen you in class and compared to the Dark Lord, you've all the power of a Flobberworm."

"I've faced him, Malfoy. I know what he's capable of. I've faced him before and I've come out alive so far."

"Apparently, he has too."

"He – I – you're just – " Harry stuttered. "Voldemort killed my parents and I'm not going to let him live one second longer than I have to! Nor am I going to sit at Hogwarts like bait for Voldemort or his Death Eaters to show up again!"

"You know, Potter, this is probably the number one reason I don't like you. You are so self-absorbed. You think you're the reason we were at Hogwarts? Well, you weren't. It was Dumbledore, plain and simple." Malfoy glowered at Harry and continued in a tight voice, "You think you're the only one who's lost people because of the Dark Lord? Well, you're not. And you don't see the rest of us running about like blithering idiots shouting 'Expelliarmus!' and thinking we'll vanquish him." Malfoy leaned forward slightly and, looking directly into Harry's eyes, said, "If you are 'The Chosen One,' then we're all depending on you. It would be disgustingly selfish of you to get yourself killed prematurely because you didn't feel like going to school anymore. If you die, then the impression I get is that the rest of us will just be fucked – so please, Potter, do the wizarding world a favor, and finish school."

Remus raised his eyebrows and looked over at Harry, who was looking quite taken aback. "Well, on that note," Remus said, "I'm going to go have a bath and then turn in." He stood and walked to the door. Before leaving, he turned and said, "Harry, I certainly can't make you finish your schooling, and I wouldn't have put it quite as forcefully as Mr. Malfoy, but I will ask you to put some serious thought to the matter. After all, you have the entire summer to work on... everything."

Remus left Harry and Malfoy in the kitchen and climbed the stairs to Sirius's room. Even now, it was Sirius's room to him. The room smelled like him, still, even after two years. The house was full of memories for Remus. They weren't necessarily bad ones, but were painful to him now. Everything about Sirius was painful now, and yet Remus couldn't bring himself to stay in any other room. Remus had left Grimmauld Place after Sirius died to get away from those thoughts, but now, with nowhere else to go, there wasn't any escaping them. The funny thing was, as long as he was here, Remus couldn't help but inflict pain on himself – yes, he could take a different room, yes, he could throw away all of Sirius' clothes, which, like the room, still smelled of him, but in a way, he wanted to be sad. It would be a betrayal to Sirius and his life in this house to be here and not be depressed.

As Remus found some towels and made for the washroom to take a bath, his thoughts strayed to Harry and Malfoy. Remus was still not wholly convinced that helping Malfoy was the right thing to do. He checked himself – they were doing the right thing by helping him. The real question was whether or not they were doing the smart thing.

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