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An Image of Lethe	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21751 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 3
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Chapter Eight—Aster’s Help
            Harry sighed shakily as he stepped through the front door of Grimmauld Place. The “tests” today had been harder than normal. He’d had to stand for hours with his wand held out straight in front of him, and Splinter hadn’t even allowed him to lower his arm when it began to tremble. Harry’s shoulders ached as though he’d been carrying boulders.
            He moved into the kitchen, hoping resentfully that he wouldn’t have to endure much more of this before he and the others could go public with some of the information Astoria and Parkinson had discovered. Harry knew it was important for him to hold onto his temper and not lash out as long as they were being discreet, but it physically hurt, sometimes, trying to hold the magic dancing in his blood back.
            He paused when he looked at the sink. There was a pile of tumbled cups in it. Kreacher wouldn’t have left them like that, and none of the Slytherins showed signs of knowing what a sink was for.
            Harry turned slowly around, his wand out. The kitchen pulsed for a second with a sense of danger. Harry shook his head, wondering if he was being paranoid or not, and summoned Kreacher.
            Kreacher appeared bowing from the waist. “Nasty Aurors is invading Master Harry’s privacy,” he said haughtily, straightening up. “Kreacher is sending them home with things to think about.”
            “What happened to the Slytherins?” Harry asked at once. “Malfoy and the others? And what did you do to the Aurors?” He knew Kreacher couldn’t have done anything too awful, or he would have suffered and mentioned it, but still. Harry had never heard about punishments for a Dark wizard’s loyal house-elf, but the Ministry might be in the mood to come up with some.
            “Kreacher is hiding Master’s friends,” said Kreacher. “And Master Malfoy is discovering secret passage that is only opening to one of Black blood.”
            Harry nodded, glad that the Aurors hadn’t apparently discovered—whatever it was they were looking for. Not that invading my house when I’m not here isn’t bad enough. “And what did you do to the Aurors?”
            “Kreacher is saying—” Kreacher’s eyes bugged out and his hands clenched for a second in a truly terrifying way that wouldn’t have made Harry surprised to see claws appear on his fingers. “Nasssssty intruders to be disssssrupting Masssster’s privacy! Naughty intruders! Nassssty things!”
            Harry blinked. “And they didn’t think you were—I mean, they didn’t try to hurt you?”
            “No,” said Kreacher, and his face was once again normal. Well, normal for Kreacher anyway, Harry admitted. It wasn’t like Kreacher had ever looked cheerful and helpful, the way Dobby had. “Aurors is understanding that nassssty intruders cannot be harming Kreacher in the house he is bound to.” He nodded, satisfied.
            “Huh,” said Harry, although he supposed it made sense. The Aurors weren’t members of the Black family and couldn’t order Kreacher to punish himself, the way that Lucius Malfoy had been able to order Dobby. “Then you could show me where Malfoy is hiding? We have to discuss what to do about the Aurors.”
            “I already have an idea, Potter.”
            Harry jerked and turned around. He hated being surprised, and his wand was aimed before he sighed and lowered it. “Don’t do that, Malfoy.” Then he caught sight of Malfoy’s face, and blinked. “What happened to you?”
            Because there was a spiderweb strung across Malfoy’s forehead, but he showed no sign of noticing it. He was still peering at Harry with a radiant expression that made Harry smile without meaning to. If Malfoy had looked like that when he was eleven, Harry would have wanted to be friends with him.
            “I found a portrait of one of my ancestors down in the secret tunnel that the house showed me,” Malfoy said without preamble. Well, Harry reckoned he had asked him the question that way. He inclined his head. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”
*
            “Well, Draco, you didn’t tell me that this Harry Potter had some blood claim to the house after all.”
            Draco blinked and stared at Aster. He had opened his mouth to explain the potions lab and Aster’s presence to Potter, teasingly withholding comments until they were down the stairs and actually in front of the portrait. He hadn’t expected the narrowed eyes and the way that Aster almost leaned out of the frame so he could see Potter.
            Potter, for his part, didn’t seem surprised. Perhaps he was prepared by the mention of a portrait. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “I’m related to the Black family, I reckon, but it has to be distant.”
            “It has to be within the last two generations,” said Aster, and his voice was sharp. “I know the color of that hair, and it’s not a Potter trait.”
            Potter blinked and raised a hand to touch his messy mop. Draco was in silent agreement. He had never seen a Black with hair like that. “But I look just like my dad. Everyone tells me that.”
            Draco cocked his head at the trace of anger in the back of Potter’s voice, but once again Aster interrupted before he could ask the question. “Then the ones who tell you that are fools. The messiness probably does come from your rather uncontrolled line.” Aster’s voice was dry. “But the color…don’t tell me that you can look at me, or at this godfather that Draco says you had, and not see the resemblance.”
            Potter paused for a long moment, maybe racking his brains. Then he said, “Well. I reckon that Dorea Black was my grandmother.”
            Aster sighed. “Then leaving the house to you wasn’t out of the question after all. I had been going to question my great-great-grandson’s wisdom in leaving the vaults and properties to a mere godson.”
            Potter’s eyes had a sudden, ferocious gleam, but he only shrugged and said, “The relation is distant. I never knew anything about it because I grew up in the Muggle world after my parents were murdered.”
            Aster stared at him. Potter seemed to have taken some pride in shocking him. He stood there with his hand on his hip, his arm cocked, and his wand near his fingertips, though Draco didn’t imagine what he thought he could do to a portrait. He did cast one glance at Draco. “Your ancestor is a bit of a tight-arse, Malfoy,” he murmured.
            “Your ancestor, too,” said Draco sweetly, and saw Potter blink hard, his eyelashes fluttering.
            “Fine,” said Potter a second later. “That’s going to take some getting used to.” He shook his head and turned back to Aster. “What exactly is it that you think you can help us with?”
            “Knowledge that the Ministry has banned, and which would be useful to a pair of rising Dark wizards.” Aster seemed to be over his shock, and was sitting back against the bookshelf that formed the largest part of the painting, his hands clasped in front of him. “Or even to the revolutionary movement that Draco tells me you hope to start.”
            Potter nodded, eyes calm and alert. “Like what sort of knowledge?”
            Draco raised an eyebrow. Interesting. He hadn’t asked Aster that question, because Aster had moved onto promising that they could use the lab as a sanctuary and that the potions he had left behind, like the Felix Felicis, had no traps on them. Draco had been more interested in that than the specific knowledge he promised.
            But he did wonder, now, exactly what rituals or spells Aster could reveal to them. He turned to face the portrait, and saw a savage smile on his face.
            “I need to know what your power is like, first,” said Aster. “There are some spells that you can’t perform without a great deal of strength.”
            Potter and Draco exchanged a look. Then Potter shrugged and said, “I could do a Patronus at thirteen.”
            Aster was studying him again, eyes as intent as if he suspected Potter would turn into an enemy. “But you’re a Dark wizard instead of a Light one?”
            “That’s my affinity,” said Potter. “Are you going to hand us anything useful or not?”
            Draco choked a little. “He’s being helpful,” he muttered to Potter, and didn’t try to keep the reproachful tone out of his voice.
            “Not so far.” Potter folded his arms, a gesture that made him look extraordinarily stubborn, as though waves could dash at him and not move him from his place. Draco had to wonder where that stubbornness had been when the Ministry was the one trying to move him.
            “It’s a fair question,” said Aster, although Draco thought he saw a flash of clenched teeth. “There is one particular spell that might be helpful. It reveals the thoughts a particular person has concerning you. It makes them audible as a small voice murmuring directly beside their ear. They can’t hear it, because they think it’s only the voice of their thoughts. The spell’s only limitation is that you can’t cast it in front of anyone who isn’t a co-conspirator of yours, because someone else not targeted by the spell can hear it.”
            Potter nodded, and dropped his arms. “What’s the incantation?”
            Aster started to speak, and then paused and regarded Potter. “Perhaps someone with your power can manage to perform it on the first try, after all,” he murmured. Regardless of whether that was true, Draco thought, Aster would try, because he wanted to see what Potter’s magic was like. “The wand movement is like this.” He raised a hand, his two middle fingers clamped together and pointed out, and swept them in a little flick as if he was tracing a backwards capital J in the air. “The incantation is Audio mentem.”
            Potter repeated the Latin words to himself for a moment, as though checking them for traps, and then nodded shortly and raised his wand. For a second, his head tilted back and his eyes closed. Draco had no idea what he thought he was doing.
            He exchanged a look with Aster, and saw Aster’s lip curled. Maybe their ancestor didn’t like Potter’s dramatics any more than Draco did.
            But Potter murmured the spell and performed the incantation as flawlessly as he could, Draco thought. Yet nothing seemed to happen. Draco stared at Potter. What was he doing? Did he think that using a Dark spell would make a difference to the way he felt about himself now, or that the Ministry could tell he had cast it without a test?
            “No. But I am interested in the amount of antagonism I can hear in your thoughts,” said Potter dryly.
            Of course he targeted me with the bloody spell. Draco breathed in to overcome his anger. “You realize that I’ll do the same thing to you.”
            “Yes,” said Potter. He leaned back gently against the wall and murmured, “Finite,” canceling the spell, Draco hoped. It was extraordinarily disconcerting, not being able to tell whether he was keeping his thoughts to himself or not. Draco reckoned that was probably part of the reason the Ministry had designated this spell as Dark.
            “Right now,” Draco added, and glanced up at Aster once more. Aster, who was observing them with an intent, entertained expression, obligingly demonstrated the wand movement again.
            “All right.” Potter still didn’t flinch, and Draco concealed an irritated sigh as he lined up so that his wand was aimed at Potter in the right way and he wouldn’t hit the portrait with the spell. Where was this defiance when it came to the Ministry? Why did it take so long for Potter to realize who his actual enemies were?
            “Audio mentem,” Draco murmured, and this time, he felt the little tingle of power pass through his own wand, something he hadn’t been able to feel, of course, when it came to Potter. Potter narrowed his eyes for a second as though squinting into strong sun, and Draco experienced a momentary spasm of doubt. He hoped that he’d been able to cast it right the first time. It would be embarrassing if he didn’t.
            “He’s annoying.”
            Draco started. The voice sounded exactly like Potter’s, and it was all too clear, from the way Potter blinked at Draco, that he didn’t hear it.
            “He thinks I’m not doing enough. What exactly am I supposed to be doing? I’m not going to cast Dark spells that maim and torture people, but this sort of spell is okay. He’s probably not going to accept it until I torture someone, though.”
            Draco canceled the spell with a furious flick of his wand, and stalked up to Potter. Potter watched him come with an infuriating calm.
            “You could at least look as though you respect me,” Draco snapped.
            “No offense, but I’ve been intimidated by the best, and you’re not Voldemort or Snape,” Potter said, and then he closed his eyes and sighed. “Why is it so easy for us to fall back into this rivalry?”
            Draco was about to tell him why—because Potter had never valued him enough, from day one—but Aster cleared his throat. Draco turned to face his ancestor. After a moment, so did Potter.
            “I can tell you why,” said Aster. “And this is without knowing much about your history. You’re too much alike. You’re both proud. You both think that the other person should respect your skills and your power without demonstration. You, Mr. Potter, think that Mr. Malfoy should share your moral standards, because they’re self-evident.” He nodded at Draco before the smug expression Draco could feel forming on his face could take full shape. “And you, Mr. Malfoy, think that Mr. Potter should turn on the people who betrayed him because they betrayed him.”
            “Why not? It makes sense!”
            There was an odd echo to his words, and for a moment, Draco thought that Potter had used that spell again, or he hadn’t canceled the one that let him hear Potter’s thoughts. Then he realized he and Potter had spoken at the same time.
            They glared at each other.
            The way Aster cleared his throat had a distinct sound of laughter in it. “Why don’t you talk about this more? All of the spells and rituals I can teach you are useless if you work against each other instead of together.”
            And he walked out of his portrait, which answered Draco’s question about whether he could move. Draco frowned and turned to Potter. “You drove him away.”
            “I think that he left for exactly the reason he said he did, to give us time to talk about it,” said Potter, and walked past Draco towards the entrance of the lab. “Why don’t we go upstairs and get Parkinson and Astoria out of hiding? They might not know they can come out yet. And I’m hungry. We can have tea and a discussion.”
            Draco followed, attempting to get his fuming under control. How dare Potter sound like the reasonable one?
            You don’t have to do the opposite of what your father does to make your point, his mother’s voice said abruptly in the back of his head, startling Draco so badly he almost wondered if someone had cast that spell on him again. But no, this was the way she had spoken to him after some long-ago quarrel with his father in which Draco had tried to make the point that he was enough of an adult to be trusted with magic that Lucius didn’t want to teach him. And then he’d gone off and cast it anyway when his father refused, and his mother had visited him in his room to make her little speech.
            There are other roles for you than his enemy.
            Draco swallowed back longing for his parents and nodded. Good advice then, good advice now. He would have to take it.
            He followed Potter’s unyielding back down the corridor and up the twisting steps back into the house proper.
*
            “You should dust your secret passages more often, Potter.”
            Harry gave Parkinson a mechanical smile, keeping his eyes mostly on the teacups and scones that Kreacher had made for him, and away from Malfoy. The portrait’s cynical words still echoed in Harry’s ears, and so did the knowledge that Aurors had come and investigated his house while he was out.
            He couldn’t trust the Ministry, that much was official now, and he didn’t even know if he could trust his allies. Was it his letter to Kingsley that had alerted the Ministry something wasn’t right? Even though Harry had tried to be so careful?
            And was his old rivalry with Malfoy going to damn any effort they made against the Ministry before it could get started?
            At least Malfoy didn’t seem inclined to complain right now. He was sitting in the chair on the other side of Astoria, talking to her in a soft, individual murmur that was easing the pinched look from her face. Harry gave her a compassionate look she didn’t have to return. He supposed it couldn’t be easy for a sixteen-year-old to be hunted from her home like a fugitive, and then nearly suffer the same fate in what she had been assured was a safe sanctuary.
            Malfoy had already told Parkinson and Astoria about Aster, but neither seemed inclined to bring it up until after their tea, when Parkinson put her cup in Kreacher’s hand without even looking at the little elf and asked Harry, “What are we going to do about Aurors intruding when you’re not here?”
            “There’s a spell I know,” Harry began reluctantly. He had read it in what now seemed that heady, sunny month after the war before the Lightfinder had been made public, when he had gone to funerals and helped take care of George and spent time with his friends and read whatever he wanted. He had come across the spell in a book that had some banned magic in it, and laughed. He couldn’t imagine wanting to use it.
            “Well?” Parkinson prompted impatiently.
            Harry grimaced and said, “It’s a ward that interferes with memory because it makes you laugh so hard at something innocuous that happens after you cross it, you forget all about what you’d gone into the place to do.”
            Parkinson’s eyebrows rose and stayed there, appearing plastered against her fringe. Then she twitched her head a little and murmured, “Well, if that’s the way it has to be.”
            “And this spell isn’t classified as Dark?” Malfoy interrupted.
            Harry told himself, again, that he and Malfoy had to get along for everybody’s sake, and that Malfoy had probably only spoken that way because he was impatient to get the details and see the spells cast. Not because he wanted to insult Harry or thought Harry couldn’t do it. “No. Because it makes people laugh instead of having another effect, they decided that it wasn’t dangerous enough.”
            “But it interferes with memory,” said Astoria, speaking up and then ducking her face back behind her hair when Harry turned to her. Harry wished she wouldn’t. It made her look fearful instead of strong, and he doubted that was really true.
            “It does,” Harry agreed. “In fact, it interferes enough that the person who touches the ward will imagine that they did do whatever they came to do. But Memory Charms are legal, and they couldn’t make this illegal without touching those, too.”
            “What fascinating books you did read, Potter,” Malfoy murmured. “The only question is why this didn’t make you rebel against the Ministry earlier.”
            So that thought I heard wasn’t a passing one, Harry thought, blinking at Malfoy for a second. Having Harry as an ally now wasn’t enough. Malfoy wondered why he hadn’t rebelled earlier, and he probably took any questioning that Harry did of him now personally, because it felt as though Harry was still more suspicious of Malfoy than he was of the Ministry.
            Harry could at least answer the question, although he didn’t know if it would lay Malfoy’s suspicions to rest. “I don’t think the Ministry is good, exactly, but they told me what the Lightfinder supposedly detected, and I thought they knew better than me. That they were closer to the Light.”
Malfoy’s face closed a little. “And you can’t stop thinking that we were closer to the Dark.”
Harry was proud of himself, because he didn’t glance at Malfoy’s left arm. “Yeah. I’m still getting used to thinking of this as my affinity.” He swallowed back other things that he wanted to say, and would have if they were alone, but not in front of Malfoy’s friends. “But I’m going to employ that spell Aster taught us against Splinter tomorrow, if I’m alone with him, which I probably will be. And that ought to cure me pretty fast of any lingering fondness in that direction.”
Malfoy spent a moment staring, then nodded slowly. “In the meantime, what is our longer-term plan? What happened when you discussed the Soul Revelation Spell with them this morning?”
“I got wands pointed at me, and Splinter telling me it was an aggressive action.” Harry winced a little at the bitterness of the memory, which had faded somewhat while he was talking to Aster and fighting with Malfoy. “They really didn’t want me to perform it. Even on myself. They said it would be aggressive.”
“Then you have to,” said Parkinson simply. “Don’t you want to know what they want to hide from you?”
Harry half-shrugged. “My only problem with that idea is that if they figure out I did it, they might take it for direct defiance and imprison me or something. Fat lot of good I’d be able to do then.”
“I can see that.” Malfoy leaned forwards with his hands pressing on the table. “But I think we need to know whatever it was they didn’t want you to find out. Do it after you’ve put up the wards that will make them forget about what they came for.”
Harry nodded. Malfoy’s news had taken the impact away from Kreacher’s story of the Aurors intruding, but the more he thought about it, the angrier he felt. At least, with most Dark wizards they didn’t trust, the Ministry would simply enter the house when the wizard was home, arrest them, and dig through their artifacts or books or whatever other objects had provoked their suspicions. They didn’t have to sneak in like they were spying on him.
Even though that’s probably exactly what they’re doing.
As he stood to cast the wards, he paused and put his hand on Malfoy’s shoulder. Malfoy turned around and stared at him in absolute shock. Astoria ducked her head, but continued watching them, and Parkinson found something intensely interesting to look at on the opposite wall.
“I’m sorry,” Harry told him. “I don’t mean to be like this. We’re in this together, and it’s hard to change my thinking all at once, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have to do it.”
Malfoy licked his lips, visibly swallowed whatever he’d been about to say, and then mumbled, “I think—I think I was too quick to blame you for not turning your back on the Ministry right away, too, Potter. If you had, it wouldn’t have boded anything good for us.”
Harry smiled, said, “Thanks,” and went outside to begin casting the wards.
*
moodysavage: Not as gullible as he was, although not suspicious enough (at the right people) to soothe Draco.
delia cerrano: If he tells Splinter and the others off, they might imprison him, as he states here. Open defiance won’t gain him much at this point.
Christopher: That’s an interesting theory.
SP777: Aster can be a valuable ally, if only because he makes Harry and Draco think.
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An Image of Lethe