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Ancient and Noble Houses	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 29877 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

Chapter List
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Chapter Four—Lightning to the Heart

            “And that’s all that happened?” Hermione’s eyes were big in the fire as she stared at him.

            “I swear, that’s all that happened.” Harry sat back, flinching a little as he touched the cuts and slashes on his throat. Kreacher had indeed brought him a healing potion for them, but they still looked pretty bad. Hermione’s first gaze when she saw him had been horrified. “You think I go around killing Kneazles for fun?”

            “No.” Hermione’s voice was soft. She nibbled her lip for a second, and then said, “I think that maybe other things happened. Did you notice anyone in the house? Any other snake shadows before you went outside?”

            “I thought I saw one,” Harry said reluctantly, remembering the shadow that might have curled up next to his foot when he was reading. “But I didn’t look directly at it, so I don’t know.”

            “Oh, Harry.” Hermione frowned at him. “You can’t make a problem go away by pretending it doesn’t exist.”

            “I know that,” Harry said, and controlled the urge to snap at her. The same undirected rage that had filled him when the Kneazle began to bite his throat and he realized he could die in this filthy old house’s back garden was inside him now, bubbling so thickly that he had to be careful it didn’t come out on top of people who didn’t deserve it, like his friends. “But what else was I supposed to do? I can’t make the shadows do what I want anyway.”

            “You can’t command them in Parseltongue?” Hermione was watching him closely.

            Harry really flinched this time. Then he sighed and said, “Maybe I can. But I don’t want to acknowledge them. That just feels like—like giving whatever is here and wants me to pay attention to it more control over me.”

            Hermione’s brows drew together as she thought. “You think it’s something in the house, then? Not something a Death Eater or Voldemort is doing?”

            Harry shook his head firmly. “I did try reading some books on the history of the Black family, though, to see if they would give me anything. But they didn’t.”

            “I can look some more,” Hermione offered. “What I’ve found so far says that it’s not unusual for family members in the pure-blood houses to repeat the same traditions and ideals and names and actions over and over again. But—”

            “I’m not a Black family member by blood,” Harry finished with a sigh. “Or, at least, I’m not as close as people like Sirius or Narcissa Malfoy or Draco Malfoy.” He hesitated. “Do you think this would all go away if I signed the property and the vaults over to the Malfoys?”

            Hermione sat up straighter. “But you said you liked living in Grimmauld Place,” she said. “You liked having a private place, and a place that would give you lots of occupation cleaning it up, and—”

            “Yeah, but…” Harry said, and trailed off. It was true that he didn’t have much foundation for the unease that crept and slid through him like one of the snake shadows. Just like he didn’t have much foundation for the rage that had overcome him, or the spell he had used to kill the Kneazle.

            “I wouldn’t give it to Malfoy,” Hermione said firmly. “You don’t know everything about what’s happening yet. Hell, maybe he’s even the one sending you these shadows and visions, so that you would get out of the house and he could have it.”

            “Maybe,” Harry muttered, and kept to himself that he didn’t think Malfoy was that accomplished a wizard. He had last seen the git during the flurry of Death Eater trials in May, and although Malfoy had been allowed to go free, a restriction had been placed on his wand that meant he couldn’t cast any spells more complex than ones taught in the fourth year at Hogwarts. “But keep looking, can you? Can you look up silvery Kneazles now? I’m going to ask Kreacher to bring me books. As soon as he comes back from whatever he’s doing now,” Harry added, turning around to stare up the steps. Kreacher had vanished again the instant after he brought Harry the healing potions.

            “I’ll look, of course,” Hermione promised. “And be careful, Harry. Call us again if you need us.”

            Harry gave her a wan smile and let the Floo connection go, then sat there with his arms coiled around himself, resolutely not turning his head towards the stairs. He had thought he’d seen another shadow there, although this one was shaped like a cat rather than a snake. He clutched his wand, though. Another Kneazle springing out on him wouldn’t find him such an easy victim.

            “Master wishes to see his trophy?”

            Harry started and spun around to face Kreacher. Kreacher promptly bowed low enough to hide his face. “Master was wishing information on the Black family,” he whispered. “The trophy room is being a good place.”

            Although Harry’s spine crawled with the certainty that Kreacher was probably going to show him the place where he had put all the house-elf heads that used to hang on the walls, he managed to nod and stand. “Show me, then.”

*

            “The trophy room, Master.”

            Harry still wasn’t sure why he had never seen the door that Kreacher had shown him before. It was under the stairs going up to the first floor, like his cupboard, but Harry had walked past that wall a hundred times and never seen it. And it was a squat little grey-and-black door, made of some wood that looked as though it was diseased, but that wouldn’t have kept Harry from noticing it, as brightly lit as he kept the place now.

            Yet somehow it was there, and Harry stepped past it, and found himself in a huge, round room that had to be magical somehow, since it could never have fit onto the ground floor of Grimmauld Place as Harry knew it, let alone under the stairs.

            On one wall were indeed the house-elf heads Kreacher had removed. Harry shuddered a little and faced the other one.

            There were large plaques of wood fastened there, wood that had the same fungus problem as the door did. In the exact center of each one was mounted a head, all perfectly preserved. Harry could feel the magic humming in the room and thought it was the same sort of charms he had felt in the library.

            There was a huge cat of some sort, and a crocodile, and a snake, and a lion, and a deer that looked alive enough to spring off the wall. And there was more than one human head. Muggles, Harry was certain. He had to turn away from them faster than he’d turned away from the house-elves, which he’d at least expected to see.

            And then there were two blank pieces of wood, and one, the last in the row, with the Kneazle’s head nailed firmly upon it. Harry scowled at the blank pieces, resolutely keeping his eyes away from the Kneazle, too. “What are those, Kreacher?”

            “Pieces of wood of heirs who not be using them,” Kreacher said, and sniffed at them. “Master Sirius Black would not be staying long enough to become heir and make his kill. And Master Regulus not be having his chance.” Kreacher’s head sank.

            “His kill,” Harry said, and paced in a circle around the room, trying to look only at the heads of animals, minus the silver Kneazle. Now that he looked at them in detail, he realized that all of them were different from ordinary animals in some way, although not always in color, the way the Kneazle had been. The lion had a bright red mane. The snake, a cobra, had a pattern of two interlocking triangles on its flared hood. The deer had a single antler directly in the middle of its forehead. “What do you mean? What are the kills? What do they have to do with the Black heirs?”



            Kreacher was silent. Harry turned around to face him, and found him wiping away tears. Harry grimaced. “Sorry,” he muttered.

            “It is being nothing.” Kreacher sniffled and used the back of his hand to wipe his nose, which Harry had to look away from. “It is simply that—that each Black heir be making a kill to show that he be accepting responsibility for life and death, and Kreacher was thinking that he would never see a Black heir again. Kreacher is so proud of Master!” And he ran forwards and embraced Harry’s legs.

            Harry reached down and pried him off, feeling as though this grimace would cut permanent lines in his face. “But where did the Kneazle come from? How did it get into the garden?” He thought of asking why he’d had to kill it, but that had a simple answer. Because it had been trying to kill him.

            Kreacher sniffled and looked up with large, damp eyes. “The house is creating the kills for each Black heir when they are being ready.”

            Harry took a step backwards, although Kreacher holding onto him made him stumble, and he had to brace himself against the wall. “You knew there would be something waiting in the garden for me,” he whispered. “That’s why you told me I should go outside.”

            Kreacher nodded. “But Kreacher was not sure if Master would be making the kill. Kreacher is so proud!” Again he hugged Harry’s legs.

            Harry pried his hands off and fled out the door, not caring about the things Kreacher was trying to tell him as it slammed shut. When he glanced back, though, half-hoping it had been a dream, the diseased-looking door was still there.

            I can’t trust Kreacher. I can’t trust the shadows. I might have to kill more things if I stay here.

            And that all led to one conclusion. I have to get out of here right away.

*

            delia cerrano: The important distinction is that Draco never lived in Grimmauld Place.

            moodysavage: Too late, he already does.
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Ancient and Noble Houses