"There is nothing more I can do for him."
Andromeda hated the way her own voice sounded, low and subdued. Worse, Healer Letham simply glanced up and nodded at her before saying, "I would not expect you to have done more than you did." She turned and faced the motionless figure lying in the bed again, bundled as he was in blankets that looked as if they might pile to reach the ceiling.
Andromeda opened her mouth, then closed it. Letham was a Mind-Healer, she reminded herself, which meant she was more useful here than Andromeda, whose talents and training had focused on the physical body and magical illnesses like dragonpox.
But Andromeda hated feeling helpless more than she hated anything in the world. And this was her nephew. She should be able to do something.
"Do you think he'll speak again?" she asked at last.
"Yes, I do."
That was all Letham said. Andromeda scowled at the side of her head. If Letham sensed the intensity of Andromeda's gaze, she didn't show it, focusing on Henry instead.
"Why do you think that?" Andromeda asked. "Why shouldn't we try and get him to respond more than that now? Why do we just have to wait until he comes out of this—state of shock or whatever of his own free will?"
"That's what's best for Harry."
"Henry. And how do you know?"
Letham turned and looked at her. She wasn't that much older than Andromeda—at least, she wasn't from what Andromeda knew of her. But being looked at like that made Andromeda feel as if she were back in Hogwarts serving detention under Minerva McGonagall. She flushed, and knew it was at least partially shame.
"Because I'm his Mind-Healer," Letham said at last, and turned back to the bed.
Andromeda opened her mouth to say something, and ended up closing it again. She of all people should know how important it was to listen to a Healer, and she had hated the times when someone disobeyed her instructions.
She sighed, and went to get food and sleep for a few hours. If Letham, who seemed indefatigable, needed someone to spell her, Andromeda would be ready.
In the corridor, she passed Lucius, standing in the same creepy stance as he had so far, staring into the room. He hadn't moved or gone to bed as far as Andromeda knew, and she tried to frown at him as she passed. The last thing this family needed was two patients.
(Even if, personally, Andromeda would have been thrilled to have someone whose condition she could do something about).
Lucius turned his head, and something cold and bottomless looked at her out of his eyes. Andromeda shivered a little and hurried on. She knew whom her sister had married, but there were times that she thought she didn't know what.
....
Harry came gasping and clawing out of a nightmare. In the nightmare, he was attached to a snake, a small adder, and mourning the demise of his beautiful Nagini. He knew it was a nightmare, and he knew it was because of the Horcrux, and his face was damp with tears as he rolled over on his side and stared at Healer Letham.
She nodded to him, her face calm and composed. "Do you want any water?" she asked. "A potion?"
Harry couldn't express how grateful he was that she put all her questions in yes/no terms. He shook his head and settled back.
Healer Letham watched him and nodded again. Then she went back to looking slightly off to the side, so that she would see any danger that was coming for Harry but wasn't staring directly at him.
Harry couldn't express how grateful he was for that, either.
He closed his eyes and drifted away into an uneasy sleep.
.....
Draco stood outside Henry's bedroom, in a place where the door would hide him from sight even if it swung open, and he could see his brother. Father was a little way down the corridor, visible through the door. Draco didn't think he had taken his eyes from Henry since he'd come back with Draco's little brother clasped in his arms, except when he had to take his Stamina Draught from a house-elf.
Draco didn't understand.
Well, no, he did understand. He understood that Henry had been taken from them and that Father had gone and got him back. He understood that Henry had killed someone (even if that person was just a lying, cowardly traitor) and felt badly about it. He understood that there were dangers in the world that he hadn't even contemplated. When he'd thought of the Dark Lord in the past, it hadn't been as someone who would harm their family. Why would the Dark Lord want to? Father was one of his most faithful servants, and of course Draco would grow up and become one, too.
He'd never thought he would be kidnapped, if only because having his little brother kidnapped when they were a few weeks old had made Mother and Father extra vigilant about him.
Now he knew. Now Draco knew that it didn't matter how dedicated someone was to watching you. It could happen any time.
It didn't matter they were Malfoys or they had money. If death wanted to find you, it would. Death had come for Henry and would have succeeded if not for Uncle Ted giving them those charms for Christmas.
Draco closed his eyes and shuddered a little.
What he had told Mother was the truth. He would kill to defend himself, if he had to. And he wouldn't have the reaction Henry had had to it.
But Draco wondered if he would act in time. Henry had only survived because of the charm, but he'd also dueled and tried to stop Pettigrew even if he hadn't intended to kill him. Draco was afraid he would freeze up and not be able to think of any charms or jinxes or hexes or curses at all in his overwhelming shock.
And even if he had hated Henry and hadn't wanted to protect him, there was no reason to think that the Dark Lord or Death Eaters would hold back from harming Draco just because they were mostly there for Henry.
Draco turned away and ghosted silently down the corridor. He needed to find Uncle Ted and ask for extra lessons.
Albus sat back behind his desk and sighed, long and low. Fawkes stirred on his perch and flew over, settling on Albus's knee and trilling at him.
Albus smiled, but he knew it was a sad one. He stroked Fawkes's feathers, and Fawkes bowed his head and nestled close.
"I knew what was happening, which path we were on, when Henry Malfoy was Harry Potter," he whispered to Fawkes. His phoenix heard confessions and secrets that Albus would never share with anyone human. "What path are we on now? What kind of person will Harry become, in the embrace of his family, if they tell him over and over that killing doesn't matter, so much so that he believes it?"
Albus had never been foolish enough to think he could control everything. But he had thought—hoped, assumed—that he would be able to manage some things. That he would be able to give Harry Potter a safe childhood, and wondrous years at Hogwarts, stretching out the time as much as possible before he was forced to reveal the prophecy to him.
Nothing had worked out as he'd hoped. Lily and James Potter had not been the people Albus had thought they were. Or Sirius Black. And the Dursleys made him flinch at the thought of them.
....
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