Harry Potter The Long Lost Malfoy

Hermione marching towards him with a determined expression made Harry want to grimace. And he hated that. They had been friends just a few months ago, the kind he'd thought would never have a crack in their friendship. And now this.

"Um. I sort of have a message from Professor Adley, Harry."

It hurt and was soothing at the same time to realize that she'd come on a mission from a professor. Harry had to think a moment to realize who she meant, though. "Oh, right. The new Defense one?"

"You haven't even paid attention?"

"Why not? I'm not in his classes."

Hermione huffed and sat down on the sofa across from him. They were in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, and Harry could see more than one nosy person peering at them. He waved his wand and put up a Privacy Charm.

Hermione lifted her nose in the air. "You don't want anyone to hear what we're talking about?"

"Not really, because I don't want them gossiping about it."

Hermione looked at him a little cross-eyed. Harry wished Ron was here, but he was serving a detention for supposedly being cheeky to Professor McGonagall. Harry didn't think answering "Because I value my sleep, professor," when she'd asked why Ron hadn't finished his essay was cheek, just truthful, but apparently Professor McGonagall disagreed.

"And maybe you don't want them to hear what you think of Professor Adley?"

"Why would I care?"

Hermione seemed to relax a little. Harry thought his genuine bafflement was getting through. "Professor Adley thinks you're prejudiced against him."

"How could I be when I don't know anything about him?"

"He's a half-blood."

Harry almost said "So am I!" before he remembered. Sometimes it was hard as hell to remember that his real mum wasn't Muggleborn. He sighed and nodded a little. "And he thinks I'm a blood purist because I'm spending time with my family?"

"Yes. The way I do."

"What do I need to do to—"

"Leave them behind, Harry." Hermione bent forwards, her face intent. "I know that they're your family, and they've tried, but—they're all blood purists. They probably can't even help it, growing up the way they did. They're stewing in a toxic soup. You need to leave before they start passing it on to you."

"Either they already did or they didn't, Hermione."

Harry had never heard his own voice so cold. Hermione drew back a little, her eyes wide, but said, "I think you can still be saved, Harry. Professor Dumbledore talked to me over the summer. He talked about how good people don't stop being good because they spend some time around people who are prejudiced. And I agree with him. You can still be saved."

"Maybe I don't want you to save me."

Harry was shaking. He thought of the charm that Healer Letham had taught him, but honestly, this wasn't the time. His hands were shaking, too, and if he pointed his wand at her, he thought he would probably hex Hermione right there. And that would be the end of their friendship. He forced himself to stand and take down the Privacy Charm.

That meant, unfortunately, that Hermione's voice rang out over the common room.

"Why can't you see that you are standing up for blood purist ideals if you live with blood purists?"

Harry glared at her, until he noticed the eyes watching them again. There were still too many people who thought of him as Harry Potter, who would gleefully point and laugh if his friendship with Hermione fell apart right in front of them.

Walking away without speaking was the hardest thing he'd ever done. He collapsed into bed and drew the curtains shut around him.

At least now he knew one reason Hermione believed this about him when Harry had never said a single blood purist thing in his life. Dumbledore was filling her head with nonsense, because Dumbledore believed there was no way the Malfoys could ever change.

Harry shut his eyes.

Fuck him.

Narcissa sat back from the parchment and stared at the Arithmantic calculations. She had tried to view them dispassionately, but her hands were shaking.

"Darling."

Lucius was standing behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Narcissa turned so that her lips touched his knuckles.

"What is it?"

"All my equations indicate that a Horcrux rests somewhere we would have to approach my dearest Cousin Sirius about to enter," Narcissa whispered. She knew the name. It tolled in her thoughts like a bell. The Arithmancy she had used to try and forecast the position of the Horcruxes was absolutely clear.

Grimmauld Place.

Narcissa hadn't been there since Aunt Walburga had died, and she had never felt the presence of a Horcrux. But then, she hadn't thought about or searched for such things then.

Lucius's hands slowly massaged her shoulders. Then he said, "You don't think we can bribe your cousin with money."

"No. I'm afraid he'll demand access to Henry."

....

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