Lux Aeterna

Chapter Four: Help From an Unlikely Source
 
Ron emerged from deep unconsciousness and stared blindly into the surrounding darkness. He could see little, and no sound permeated the crushing stillness of the air, but the thick, musty stench of dust and decay threatened to overwhelm his senses. Shakily, he ran his hands over the cavern floor, searching for his wand, but it was nowhere to be found. He sat up, and abruptly hit his head on something hard.
 
"Sirius?" he called quietly, for fear of bringing more rubble down around them. He winced at the pain the sound brought to his sensitive head. "Can you hear me?"
 
Moments passed, and he was beginning to despair, until suddenly, a small, dim light appeared through a clink in the surrounding slabs. It moved steadily closer, causing his head to throb even more. A weak voice whispered, "Ron, is that you?"
 
Ron let out a sigh of relief. It was Sirius; his wand glowed brightly in the cavern beyond. "I'm here," Ron replied, "But I seem to be trapped. Can you do anything?"
 
"I don't know if I should risk it; it might all come down on top of you."
 
"There must be something you can do," Ron said, a note of panic creeping into his voice. "Try Wingardium Leviosa!"
 
"There are too many rocks; I can't levitate them all at once. Just try to stay calm. I'm going to get some help."
 
As the light from Sirius' wand receded, Ron struggled against the cold fear growing in his mind. The time passed slowly, and he soon discovered that sitting still in a cramped space with little air to breathe was even more unpleasant than he'd feared. Trapped and alone, he just prayed that there would be people alive left to help.
 
When light finally returned, several lights now, bobbing like fireflies in the darkness, Ron was more relieved than he cared to admit. It was a great comfort to hear voices again, even if they spoke in tones of gravity and concern. They seemed to be debating what to do. Muffled grating sounds indicated that someone was attempting to remove the rocks by hand. Sirius' face soon appeared in the small crack in front of him.
 
"Ron, we're going to try lifting the rocks manually. There should be enough of us to do it. Just try not to move."
 
Ron forced himself not to laugh at Sirius' request. There was barely enough space to move his arms. He kept this information to himself, however, not wanting to impede the rescue operation taking place outside.
 
Dust rained down on him periodically as the rubble was disturbed, but it wasn't long before he could make out the hands of his companions. Within moments he was free, crawling out of his cramped prison to stand in the dimly lit cavern. With freedom came realisation. The night sky was above him. Occasionally, as the sea breeze blew the dusty air aside in dull grey patches, tiny, twinkling stars were revealed far above. The only sound came from the crashing of waves on rocks. Azkaban lay in ruins. Ron rubbed his head and turned to one of the wizards. "What the hell happened?"
 
"We don't know," was the reply. The wizard looked no less stunned than Ron himself felt. "The place just fell down around us. You-Know-Who's body disintegrated, and all the Death Eaters… "
 
"What about Harry?" Sirius demanded sharply. The wizard came forward to clutch his wrist sympathetically, but Sirius recoiled in fury. "Tell me!"
 
Ron held his breath waiting for the response. Until that moment, he hadn't fully realised that his sister's body had been caught in the rubble too.
 
"I'm sorry, Sirius; we couldn't retrieve his body. It was too deeply buried, the girl's too. There was nothing we could do."
 
"The Emergency Services will get them out," a kindly witch said. "But this place isn't safe for us now. We have to leave."
 
There was a collective murmur of agreement, and Ron found himself being led away. He was distracted by a commotion behind him. It seemed Sirius was refusing to leave.
 
"I know it's hard, Sirius," one of the wizards was saying, "but we have to leave. Harry wouldn't want you to get hurt…" Ron looked back and saw that Sirius was backing slowly away, into the former position of the tunnel to the main cavern, where Harry had been lost. The expression on his face was one of fierce determination, and Ron knew that nobody could turn him from his task.
 
"I'm going back for Harry," Sirius said. Then he turned and left.
 
The wizard behind Ron's back sighed and muttered something about shock, but Ron hardly heard him. He was still thinking of Sirius' words, and of his set features as he had gone to rescue his godson's body. He then thought of Ginny, trapped under the filthy ruins of Azkaban. A moment later the hand was back on Ron's shoulder, leading him away, but he twisted sharply from the tight grasp. He moved to follow Sirius. "I'm going back for Ginny," he said, and ran before anyone could stop him.
 

* * * * *

  Five months earlier…
 
Christmas was approaching Hogwarts, but not even the brightly lit tree in the Great Hall, glistening with its cheerful red and gold baubles, could lift the prevailing atmosphere of gloom and impending disaster from the students who trudged to their classes, anxiously watching the shadows for the first sign of danger. It had been two months since the Daily Prophet had reported an attack by Lord Voldemort and his followers on Gringotts Bank, an incident that had cost thirty-three goblins and two dragons their lives, and people were still understandably nervous. The bigger Wizarding institutions like the Ministry of Magic, the Merlin School of Auror Training, and indeed Hogwarts itself, had been on high alert ever since. It was a tense time, and nobody seemed to be in the mood for celebrating. Constant vigilance had become the order of the day, and with good reason.
 
Quite apart from the lives that had been lost in the attack, the Wizarding public had also been forced to deal with the loss of a tremendous fortune in gold. Many people had lost their savings, particularly those in possession of inferior, less expensive vaults. And with Christmas approaching, the loss had been felt most acutely. It was said that the shops of Diagon Alley were practically devoid of customers, an almost unheard of phenomenon for the month of December.
 
The students of Hogwarts were also quite penniless, with fewer and fewer of them choosing to visit Hogsmeade for sweets and other luxuries. Gone were the days when chocolate frogs could be seen leaping down the dormitory staircases only to be squashed underfoot by some unseeing child.
 
The Weasleys had lost everything; only Fred and George's savings had rescued the family from near destitution. Hermione had lost all her own savings, but fortunately her parents, being Muggles, were unaffected by the theft and had swiftly sent her a tidy sum to see her through the year. Seamus Finnegan, Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, Angelina Johnson… all the Pureblood Wizarding children in Gryffindor House had lost everything.
 
Except Harry.
 
By some extraordinary miracle Harry's savings had been left untouched. His vault, by no means more secure than that of the Weasleys, was seemingly ignored by the thieves, while those all around it were plundered. It was a mystery, but Harry had no time to ponder the intricacies of Gringotts security. His research into the dark subject of necromancy had effectively ended two months earlier when Professor Dumbledore had placed an enchanted lock on the Restricted Section to stop him entering. And while that should have left Harry with plenty of time to concentrate on his good fortune, his classes and indeed on the upcoming O.W.L. examinations, his mind was in far too much turmoil to allow him the luxury of such frivolous thoughts.
 
He couldn't accept failure, not in this. His parents needed him, and he refused to let them down. Often he thought of what it would be like to finally bring them back, of how different his life would be then. No sooner would he dare to look into these fantasies, however, than he would abruptly push them back, too terrified to allow himself to imagine that they could ever come to pass. Just the thought of seeing his mother and father again daunted him; if he lingered on the image of their faces for too long, he would become lost in the sadness of not knowing if he would ever be able to smile upon them again. And now, blocked from all attempts to bring his dreams into reality, Harry had nothing left to dwell upon but the pain, and it was slowly crushing him.
 
He knew Dumbledore and Sirius were only trying to help him. They were convinced that he would fail, and that the inevitable realisation that Lily and James were gone forever would drive him into a grief from which he might never return. Convinced that necromancy was an unthinkable thing, they had sought to block all Harry's efforts to save his parents. They thought they were protecting him.
 
What they never stopped to consider was that he might succeed. During his months of research he had never found anything to tell him how to raise the dead, but still, he had never stopped believing that it was possible. Through it all, he had known that it was only a matter of time before he found the elusive book, the torn, ancient parchment, the tarnished, engraved chalice that bestowed the secret he so desperately sought. It was hidden somewhere, and he knew he was meant to find it. But alone, and without the resources of the Hogwarts Restricted Section, success seemed a long way away.
 
And so he had nothing left to do but reflect on what might have been. But perhaps, if he kept his eyes and ears open, he might find something, some vital clue to renew his hope. Or perhaps Dumbledore would change his mind, and see that by banning Harry from his research he was doing more harm than good. Perhaps.
 

* * * * *

 
Hermione waited anxiously on the grass outside Hagrid's hut, watching the castle grounds carefully for any sign of Harry. Care of Magical Creatures had started ten minutes ago, and already she could hear the telltale screams and laughs that characterized one of Hagrid's lessons. Whatever the class was learning about today, she reasoned, it must be something special. The children cheered and whooped delightedly, making the fear and the sadness in her heart well up and seem suddenly incongruous. With everyone being so gloomy these days, it was unusual to hear such high laughter, and it filled her with a deep sense of regret for all that had changed with Voldemort's return. She hardly dared to imagine what Harry must be feeling.
 
She had seen him suffer before, and knew how he looked when he was feeling depressed, or sad, or terrified. But in the last few months, she had seen an edge to his personality that was entirely new, deeply unsettling, and frightening for its apparent permanence. Harry seemed old and out of place, walking about the school in a daze, seeming shocked when spoken to. It was as if something in him had died; it seemed as though he no longed cared about anything, and just looking at him filled her with dread for the future. There was an oppressive air of premonition hanging over him, and she couldn't escape the eerie impression that something terrible was going to happen, that he wouldn't be alive much longer. It was inexplicable, and she had never been the type to believe in fate or divination, but nevertheless she was deeply concerned.
 
Sirius had felt it too. He had been coming up to the school far more often than seemed justifiable, ostensibly to speak to Professor Dumbledore, but really just to check on Harry. On his last visit, he had taken Hermione aside and asked her to keep an eye on his godson, to write if she had any cause for concern. She had agreed readily enough, but the request had worried her; it had proven that what she had been sensing was not just a figment of her overactive imagination. Harry was truly in trouble, but she could see no way to help him.
 
Finally he emerged from one of the side paths winding around the back of the Quidditch stands, a broomstick swinging from one hand. Hermione smiled to herself. If Harry was playing again, that was probably a good sign. Although she wasn't quite sure if she approved of his cutting classes, she knew that Hagrid wouldn't mind. The half-giant was as worried about Harry as Sirius himself was. He would definitely be pleased to hear that Harry was coming out of his depression enough to start thinking about Quidditch again.
 
Harry cocked his head curiously as he approached, and she felt a sudden urge to run up and throw her arms around him. He looked so different away from the dull lights of the library, where he would often sit for hour upon hour just staring into nothingness, the notes he had made months ago on necromancy open on the desk before him. His eyes were still shadowed, and his skin was whiter than ground dragon horn, but his gait was lively. He bounced on his heels as he walked, reminding her of the Harry Potter who had almost danced when told that he had a godfather who loved him, who wanted to take him away from the Dursleys. She had missed that boy so much that she longed to rush up and tell him so, but dignity, and a reluctance to let him know how worried she'd been about him (for that would only make him worry about worrying her), made her settle for, "Harry, we're late for class."
 
Harry shrugged his shoulders with a preoccupied air, and glanced over at the trees behind her. "Hagrid won't mind. Listen, I've just been flying over the Forbidden Forest, and you won't believe what I saw-"
 
"You were what?"
 
Harry only looked guilty for a second, before continuing. "There's something in there, an animal, I think. It's huge! It's just over there-" He pointed to the thick line of trees that began behind Hagrid's hut, where even now the class was being very noisy about something. "I'm going in for a closer look. The trees were too thick to fly in-"
 
He must have caught the look on Hermione's face, for he then asked, "Would you like to come? I suppose Sirius has you following me anyway."
 
"No, he doesn't," she replied faintly, but she could see that he was unconvinced. Nevertheless, he didn't look angry, only excited. His irises seemed brighter than she ever remembered seeing them. She looked in his face and saw hope arguing with lines of intense weariness. "Oh, all right," she conceded, "I'll come-" Harry grinned and took her arm, but Hermione didn't move. "After class," she finished, with a conclusive air that she knew he would be powerless to argue with.
 
They walked around to join the class, Harry chattering nonstop as they went, "I'm telling you, it was massive. And it had wings, I think, enormous black wings… " He stopped for a moment, thinking, and then turned to her with a serious expression on his pale face. "Hermione, I thought I saw something outside a few weeks ago. I was in the dormitory and there was this storm. I was talking to Neville, and I just saw something outside near the forest… It looked like an animal. It was with Hagrid, and-" As he spoke, Harry's eyes had been looking over at the class, until suddenly they seemed to latch onto something and he went abruptly silent. Hermione turned, and felt her jaw open in surprise.
 
It was a winged horse. At least as tall as an elephant, and as rich a brown as the aged staircases in Hogwarts, it raised its head wearily away from the children swarming around it to look directly at Harry. Harry seemed to have frozen in position; his eyes were locked with those of the powerful animal, and but for the closed, thin line of his lips, Hermione would have sworn they were speaking to each other. Amazed, she nudged his arm gently. "Harry, I think it likes you."
 
He didn't answer. Indeed, he hardly seemed aware of her presence. Confused, she looked around and was relieved to see Hagrid approaching them with a big smile on his face. "Isn't she somethin'? Knew yeh'd like her." He beamed down at Harry. "Well, Harry? Wha' do yeh think of her, eh?"
 
Harry seemed to break out of his trance and blinked dazedly. Hermione smiled at him, waiting for him to start raving about how beautiful the creature was, how big it was, how amazed he was at Hagrid for finding it. So, when all he said was, "I think she's sick," Hermione thought she would scream from the anticlimax.
 
Hagrid, however, seemed amazed. "How'd you know that, Harry? I ain't told a soul about her, er, condition."
 
"It's pregnant?" Hermione asked.
 
"Yeah, she is, poor thing." Hagrid looked over at the creature fondly. "I found her a good while ago out in the forest, badly hurt, but she's on the mend now, thanks ter me. But I ain't told a soul 'bout the little 'un. How'd you know, Harry?"
 
"I, ER, just did," Harry said, seeming distant, "I guess she just looks pregnant." He was still looking over at the animal.
 
"Well, yeh were right, an' no mistake. She's with child, t'aint no doubt about that. Best not ter say anythin' yet, though, ter Dumbledore I mean. These winged 'orses, they get quite violent, yeh see, when they're pregnant, an' he might not want her stayin' on."
 
"But if it's dangerous, it really should go," Hermione pointed out, reluctant to hurt Hagrid but knowing that it was necessary. "You remember what Buckbeak did to Malfoy, don't you?"
 
"Yeah, well, he was provoked, wasn't he? Poor ol' Beaky… You know he's living in a colony now? Sirius Black's paying for it. Nice of 'im, but I can't stop worrying about the poor beast. I'll have to go visit IM one o' these days…"
 
At that moment the winged horse chose to lift its wings, long mahogany structures covered in downy cream fur, high up in the air. The students gasped and moved back at once, but the animal made no further movement. Instead, it lowered itself down onto the ground like a sphinx, letting its wings pool out to either side, and gazed about. Hermione was captivated by the beauty of the intelligent face, and could see that Harry felt the same way. He was staring at the animal in a kind of fascinated obsession, his free hand twitching as if in deep longing to stroke the soft fur lining the wings. Hermione realised that she couldn't remember when she'd last seen him show such interest in the outside world. It made him look younger, somehow, and less careworn.
 
She felt a hand or her arm and turned around to see Ron standing next to her. Ron's eyes travelled from Harry, still lost in fascination with the winged horse, back to herself, and she felt a thrill run through her body, the same thrill she'd been experiencing for the last fifty-seven days, ever since Ron had found the courage to tell her that he loved her. She smiled reassuringly at him, well aware that he was still insecure about seeing her with Harry, and let him lead her away out of earshot of the class.
 
They stopped around the side of Hagrid's hut, and kissed. When they drew apart, Ron took her hand in his awkwardly and asked, "Where were you?"
 
She sighed. "I was looking for Harry. You know Sirius asked me to."
 
"Yeah." He looked away for a moment. "Is he all right?"
 
"He's fine." One of the many qualities that Hermione most admired in Ron was the selfless way he could care for others. Even now, when suspicion was warring with the strength of his trust, he was concerned about Harry, but Hermione knew there was more to this consideration than just a kindly nature. Ron and Harry had been the best of friends, and deep down, she knew they still were. The last few months had been difficult, but she felt certain that things were going to be better, especially now that Ron had confessed his feelings for her. As soon as he managed to convince himself of his special role in her life, he would be the kind of friend to Harry that he had always been: brave, generous, and thoughtful. She couldn't wait for that day.
 
Ron was looking at her still, admiring as always. Sometimes she felt astounded by the depth of his feelings for her. It wasn't that she didn’t love him as much as he loved her; she just wasn't accustomed to being the centre of someone else's life. It was a little unnerving, but occasionally he seemed to relax just a bit, to speak to her in the open, honest tones he had always spoken to her with, and in those moments she felt a kind of contentment and completion in her life that filled her with joy. She supposed their relationship would stay like that once the initial novelty of being together died away. He was still in awe, poor thing, amazed that he could win her heart when Harry Potter was around. Some day, he would get over that.
 
"Hermione?"
 
Hermione realised she'd been staring, and reluctantly tore herself away from his large, blue eyes. "Hmm?"
 
"I got a letter from Mum this morning. She wants to know if you'd like to come over for the Christmas."
 
Hermione chuckled lightly. "So she's finally forgiven me for breaking Harry's heart, then?"
 
Ron laughed, despite himself. "Don't get too relieved yet; I'm sure she'll give you the whole, "So you've finally decided my Ron is good enough for you," speech. You know, she's very protective of her youngest and most attractive son."
 
Hermione raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Oh? So there's a Weasley I haven't met yet, is there?"
 
"Very funny." He suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, shuffling his feet nervously. "Look, you know we don't have much money, so it might be a little tight this year, but I think Mum will make an effort to be nice, and Charlie's dying to see you again… I'll understand if you'd rather not-"
 
"Ron, I'd love to."
 
Ron's mouth opened a little, but he composed himself quickly. He grinned mischievously. "Well, I thought I'd better offer, since I know you won't be able to stand being away from me for an entire month, so if you want to come, I'll let you."
 
"You're too kind. I don't know what I'd do without you."
 
"No, neither do I, " he said mildly. At that moment, a great cheer rose up, distracting them both. Hermione looked over and saw Harry standing awkwardly to one side of the animal enclosure, well away from the exuberant class, as if trying to look invisible. She noticed that Ron was watching him too, a torn expression on his face. Without turning away, Ron voiced what they were both thinking. "What about Harry?" he asked softly.
 
Hermione sighed. "Sirius said he'd take him home."
 
"But what if Harry doesn't want to go home?" Ron said. To that, Hermione had no answer.
 

* * * * *

 
Class ended, and Hermione and Ron joined Harry over by the trees. It was almost time for the evening meal, and the first candles were already being illuminated in the larger rooms of the distant castle. The tiny pinpricks of golden light glowed warmly in the twilight, making the three friends shiver in the December chill. They stood casually, trying not to draw any attention to themselves, while Harry explained what he had seen.
 
"It seemed really strange because it was in the middle of the night and the rain was battering down. At first, I thought I was imagining things, and then I sort of forgot about it for a while… But I think it must have been Hagrid's horse I saw-"
 
"Well, then, case closed, I'd say," Ron said, looking confused. He turned to Hermione for support. "Don't you agree? I mean, what can we possibly hope to achieve by going in there? If we don't get our heads bitten off first, I mean."
 
"You're not listening," Harry said. " I saw another one today. Inside the forest! There are two of them. I'm guessing the one in the forest is the father of that baby, or foal, whatever."
 
"So, what?"
 
"So, he's probably looking for his family, that's what. We should help him-"
 
"Why?" Ron demanded, still confused. His teeth chattered in the cold.
 
Harry stared at him, a mixture of annoyance and confusion on his face. "Because… He needs our help. We can't just leave him out there. Whatever hurt his mate could hurt him too. And he's probably worried sick about his family…"
 
"Harry," Ron said, "they're horses! They don't think like that. Just leave it be; they're used to living in the wild. Besides, what could we possibly do to help? Explain who we are and just hope it follows?"
 
"He's right, Harry," Hermione said. "I feel sorry for it, but there's really nothing we can do. If we bring another one of those things back here, Dumbledore will definitely notice."
 
Harry shook his head and moved away. "I knew I couldn't count on you. Fine. Just go back to school and do whatever it is you do. But I'm not leaving a defenceless animal in danger." He started to walk off into the trees.
 
"Harry!" Ron called, "Don't be like that!" He turned to Hermione in desperation. "We'd better follow him." She nodded in agreement, and they set out into the dim light of the Forbidden Forest.
 

* * * * *

 
Draco stamped his feet on the frozen earth, partly from the cold, but mainly from frustration. He had little time for House-elves. They were far too cheerful for slaves, and this one was no exception. He had yet to get a coherent response from the annoying little creature, which insisted on bobbing on its feet relentlessly and telling him how appreciative it was that Master Draco had let Dotty keep his job. Dotty's job was Dotty's life, apparently, and serving the Malfoys was the greatest honour in a House-elf's life, whatever some former workers might say. And Master Draco had grown so much in four months! Why, he looked just like his honourable father, Merlin rest his soul… Draco was starting to wonder if this had been such a good idea, after all.
 
He had been forced to do something, however. His only regret was that he hadn't acted sooner. The Ministry had been stealing from the Manor for months, ever since his father's death, and Draco had already been making plans to protect what little remained of his fortune. But then the attack on Gringotts occurred, and the Ministry, finding itself almost penniless and in heavy debt, had decided that it was high time to put aside politeness and the law, and go after the Malfoy fortune in force. The elf had already spoken of raids, in which many good House-elves were cruelly hurt, and of the hidden vaults being discovered and later plundered. From what Draco could make out, there was now very little left. And it was so unnecessary! Getting Potter to protect his money had been an ideal solution, but he had waited to approach the boy, preferring instead to work on his plans, to perfect them, to ensure success. He had waited too long.
 
It was deeply disappointing. He had been so looking forward to breaking Potter's spirit, to seeing all the boy's strength and morality crumble away to nothing when he learned what he really was. And to know that he, Draco, would be saving his fortune in the process… It was too bad, but perhaps it wasn't over yet. Maybe there was still a fortune worth protecting, after all. If he could just get a straight answer from the confounded House-elf, he'd know what to do.
 
"Look, Dotty, just shut up for a minute, right?"
 
"… Why, Master Draco, you is looking so pale and grumpy. Is they feeding you at all? Dotty knows how hard it must be now, with all the money gone, but maybe Dotty can get his Totty to make some nice biscuits…"
 
"Dotty, shut up!"
 
 
Dotty seemed to regain some control at that, not wanting to get his precious master into trouble. Draco took advantage of the momentary peace to ask, "Dotty, I need to know how much money is left in the vaults. Can you tell me now, or do you need to go back and check?"
 
"No, no, Dotty is knowing, Master Draco. Good master… There is one of the vaults left that they didn't find. Lots of money in there, my Totty is saying, at least four thousand galleons, and lots of pictures, and expensive things…"
 
Draco heard no more. His mind was soaring over the possibilities. Four thousand galleons left at home, but in danger of being found at any time. Four thousand! That was worth protecting. Yes, he would do it. He would delay no more. And Potter would be glad to help.
 

* * * * *

 
It didn't take Harry long to find the winged horse. Somehow he had known exactly where to look, and his instincts had guided him to a small meandering stream not very deep inside the forest. There he found the animal standing alert over the running water, watching. He suspected it had been aware of his approach for it did not start when he rushed in through the foliage to greet it. Instead, it merely continued to observe him placidly, ignoring the two who rushed up in his wake.
 
Harry took no notice of Ron or Hermione. He found himself irresistibly drawn to the ebony creature before him that looked so powerful and yet at the same time so vulnerable. Harry understood that perfectly. The horse was alone, separated from his family, who, for all he knew, could be in great danger. He was lost without them, helpless, but unable to cast them from his mind. He was trapped, consigned to wandering the forest until fate intervened to save him. But Harry could help. He would do whatever it took.
 
He placed his hand upon the animal's head and stroked lightly. The fur felt warm and soft beneath his touch; it was very comforting. Then, without a word, he turned away in the direction in which he had come. Powerful limbs moved on the mossy ground behind him, and he carried on, taking no notice of the two stunned faces watching him as he went.
 

* * * * *

 
After the House-elf had left, Draco remained outside, letting the sharp air shape his thoughts into a working plan. He would approach Potter, but when? Tonight? And how would he hold his attention long enough to say everything he wanted to? Potter had a nasty habit of walking away in disgust whenever he was approached by a Slytherin, or more particularly, whenever he was approached by a Malfoy. Draco's father had always said that the best way to get people to listen to you was to make them fear you. For all his father's lunacy, Draco believed they were wise words. He therefore needed something with which to threaten the Harry Potter.
 
It wasn't long before the beginnings of a plan came into his mind. The best way to threaten Potter, he knew, was to threaten someone he cared about. Granger? Weasley? No, he didn't know of any way to exploit them, not now that his name held no sway with the Ministry. What about Black? No, while Harry's godfather was definitely an easy weakness to exploit, he didn't want to do anything to offend Sirius Black. Black had given him some good advice once, and well, Draco respected him. Who, then?
 
The answer appeared right in front of his eyes. A large half-giant bounding across the grass to the Forbidden Forest, where Harry Potter stood, with-
 
Yet another illegal animal!
 

* * * * *

 
Harry finally understood what his subconscious had been telling him over and over for the last few months. On some level he had known that the creatures needed his help, and now, thanks to him, they were together again. It felt wonderful, bringing them together, and although Ron and Hermione would probably think he was crazy if he admitted it, he knew that the animals were conscious of and grateful for his help.
 
As he watched the horses affectionately nuzzling each other in the straw-filled stable, he couldn't suppress the emotions that poured out of him. He felt both sad and elated that fate had intervened to give the horses what they wanted most in the world. On the one hand it made him wonder if there was still hope that he would experience the same fate. But on the other hand, it made him fear that if the chance of it's happening had ever existed, it must have been minutely small and therefore used up by the two creatures before him. It was an irrational fear, but he had long ceased being rational.
 
Ron and Hermione were in Hagrid's hut, probably devouring rock-cakes and vegetables. The giant had invited them all in for dinner, being in good humour at the sight of what he called, "The Thestral." Harry had been made to learn that this black variety of winged horse was extremely rare and difficult to see, for they could make themselves invisible and generally avoided humans like the Plague. Hagrid was astonished that it had revealed itself to the children, although Ron and Hermione claimed that they, in fact, hadn't seen it until it had started to walk past with Harry. Harry wondered at that, but said nothing. After drinking a large mug of tea at Hagrid's command, he had gone out to the stables for another look at the horses. And so there he remained, absorbing the touching, beautiful picture before him and wondering if he would ever be so lucky.
 
He was so lost in contemplation that he never heard the stable door swing open behind him, nor the soft footfalls of the boy who entered. When the voice came, it shocked him to the core, and he jumped up, backing into one of the posts holding up the meagre structure. The mare whinnied softly in surprise.
 
"Well, Potter, this is a sweet image. But where's the other one?"
 
Harry blinked in confusion, understanding neither the question, nor the reason Malfoy was creeping up on him now. Their last conversation had been several weeks ago, after the first Quidditch match of the season. Malfoy had threatened him then, saying he knew things about Harry that would horrify him. They hadn't spoken since.
 
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?"
 
Malfoy swaggered across the stable and picked up a whip. He held it in his hands almost lovingly, drawing his fingers down the thin cord; then he looked up at Harry, and smirked. "The other horse, Potter. There's no point in denying it. I saw it with you, and I'm going to tell Professor Dumbledore."
 
Only then did Harry realise that the Thestral was missing. So it was true, what Hagrid had said, they really could become invisible. Harry licked his lips in satisfaction. "There's no other horse, Malfoy, you sack of scum. Now go away and stop bothering me."
 
"Oh, I'm not finished yet. I don't care if you've hidden that black horse," he said, looking over at the mare. "I have all the evidence I need right here. Somehow I doubt that this animal is registered. Nice talking to you, Potter. I'll have the giant oaf out on his ear within the hour." He moved toward the door.
 
"Wait!" Harry snapped. He knew Malfoy was trying to provoke him for some reason, but he had to play along for Hagrid's sake. "Don't do this."
 
The blonde-haired boy stopped by the door, and turned around slowly. "Something you wanted to say, Potter?"
 
"What's Hagrid ever done to you?"
 
Draco smirked. "Nothing, I just enjoy making his life a misery. Of course, I could be persuaded not to…"
 
Harry felt like his skin was crawling. Nevertheless, he had to ask. "What? What would it take, Malfoy?"
 
"Oh, nothing extreme. I just want you to listen to me." He laughed at the look of complete bewilderment on Harry's face, and gave the whip a short unexpected crack that made Harry jump. "There's something I've been wanting to say to you for a long time, Potter, something that would be very much to your advantage if you only had the brains to listen. I would benefit me too, naturally, or I wouldn't be here."
 
"Fine, then. Say what you came to say, and then leave. But I swear, if you get Hagrid into trouble, I'll kill you."
 
Harry saw instantly that his words had frightened the other boy, for all Draco's attempts at looking cool and unruffled. And the reason they had scared him, Harry knew, was because they were entirely honest, a warning.
 
"You need to learn control, Potter. I've come out here to offer you something wonderful, and all you can do is make threats. Well, let me tell you this: if you ever want to see your parents again, you should listen to me. I'm your only hope."
 
Harry's lips went numb, and all he could do was stare. Was this it? Was this the elusive moment he had been waiting for? If so, then it wasn't what he had expected. Of all the miseries he had suffered, why did this, what should have been the greatest, happiest moment of his life, have to be tainted with darkness? It seemed a final insult, and his heart roiled in dismay. Hadn't he suffered enough? Why couldn't fate just give him a break? Of all the people to hold the power over his future happiness, Malfoy had to be the most unbearable. It wasn't fair. It couldn't be true.
 
"I see I have your attention. Very well." Malfoy straightened his jacket and sat down on an overturned barrel. "I know you've been trying to find out about necromancy. I also know that you've failed, not surprisingly. But being the son of a Death Eater has its advantages, I can tell you. I've seen many people brought back from the grave; it's one of the things we practitioners of Dark Magic like to do for entertainment. We bring back our deceased enemies and then kill them again. It's great fun, really. You shouldn't knock it till you've tried it."
 
Harry felt disgusted, and shifted uneasily, but he had to ask. "Did you ever bring back my parents?" For a moment, he thought he saw something like doubt flicker over the other boy's face, but it was quickly replaced by the habitual smirk.
 
"No, Potter, I was joking. I would have thought that was obvious."
 
Harry felt himself blush at being so gullible, but he was hardly thinking straight, what with all the strange new revelations he was hearing.
 
"We don't really bring people back to life just to kill them," Malfoy explained, as if he were speaking to a four year-old, "and although I said "we" just now, I was really just referring to my parents and their friends. They like to bring back their ancestors to ask for advice on matters of world domination. I was allowed to watch a few times, of course, so I know what it's all about. And even if I didn't know offhand, I could find out easily enough. I still have contacts with what you would regard as, "the wrong sort." And so, I've come to offer you the benefits of my extensive knowledge, in return for a small price."
 
Harry had known it was coming, that Malfoy wouldn't offer anything without a price, but while his heart yearned to cry out that he would do anything, his mind reminded him that this was probably all just a cruel joke. Even now, he couldn't dare to think that he might get his parents back. The inevitable truth, when it came, would only fill him with more pain.
 
Yet Malfoy's story seemed plausible, now that he thought about it. Necromancy was a practice of dark witches and wizards; that, at least, he had learned from the Hogwarts library. But he wouldn't have found any more information on such a subject in a library controlled by Albus Dumbledore, a man who had been most vocal on his aversion to that particular strand of divination. Dumbledore would not want it in the school. But Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was known for possessing many dark and valuable artefacts. Information on necromancy would surely be more acceptable to him.
 
Harry looked at Draco, and asked, "What do you want in return?" He felt like he was selling his soul.
 
Draco stood up and turned away. For a while he was silent, probably choosing his next words carefully. Then he spoke. "My father told me some things about you before he died. Some of them you are aware of, but others…" His voice trailed off, probably just for effect, Harry supposed, but he had to admit that he was riveted. "You are Gryffindor's heir," Draco stated. "I understand your mother used a spell on you, to enable you to protect the Penna Potissimus."
 
Harry nodded, not sure where the other boy was going with his speech. "Yes, she made me a Secret Keeper, so only I would be able to see it and protect it."
 
"There was more to it than that."
 
Harry looked up in surprise. "What do you mean?"
 
"She didn't just make you a Secret Keeper for the Penna Potissimus. There are far more important things to protect than just some old feather. No, she made you a Secret Keeper for the source of all the Light Magic in the universe. The Penna Potissimus is simply a physical representation of that. It was created by some of the first wizards of the Light as a source of worship, but it wasn't until Salazar Slytherin got hold of it that it gained any real power. He enabled it to channel magic directly from the very fountain of magical power in the world, which until then had been unprotected, and it made him the most powerful wizard in the world. But then Gryffindor stole the Penna, and killed Slytherin, and he made his heir a Secret Keeper to protect the Source. The feather would also be protected, since it was a vessel of the Light.
 
"Your mother did the same with you; she made you the protector of the Source. That's why you're so bloody invincible. But if you ever die, Potter, then Voldemort will be able to gain control of the Source, as Slytherin once did."
 
"I'm not saying I believe you, but why are you telling me this?"
 
"I know you have a great deal of money in your vault at Gringotts, and that it wasn't stolen in the break-in. The reason for that, Potter, is that your fortune has in fact been inherited through the Gryffindor line. As long as you're the protector of the Source, it will be protected from the Dark. It seems Godric Gryffindor was a miser as well as a thief, for he made sure of that stipulation in the spell.
 
"This is what I want from you, Potter: I want you to protect my money, nothing more. The Ministry has been stealing from me these last few months, and I don’t want them to take what little remains. If you agree, you won't have to do anything. Your decision simply to protect it is enough. What do you say? I'll teach you what you need to know to save your parents, and in return you'll protect my money."
 
Harry said nothing. Either Malfoy was very mad, or very desperate. Either way, it wouldn't cost him anything to agree to these terms, and if it gave him even the most remote chance of getting his parents back, then he would do it. "Fine, Malfoy, but I don't believe a word you're saying."
 
Malfoy smirked at him in satisfaction. "If you didn't, you would have left ages ago. Like I said, I'm your only hope."