39

We need to talk."

I step into the parlour, where most of the older residents of the Townhouse reside after dinner. 

Far from the hideously dank and disparaging space the room was in the last timeline, the elves, under the supervision of Molly and a reluctant Mi, have transformed the room into something soft and welcoming. The furniture has been replaced with pieces from the Potter vaults, dark replaced by light. There's a fire roaring merrily in the hearth, and Mi even set up a tiny table and chairs in the corner for the elves to spend time with us without feeling the need to serve us.

Ron and Hermione are standing behind me, a stack of books in each of their arms. Arthur removes his glasses, slowly cleaning them on his shirt with a look of foreboding upon his face.

"About?" Remus asks, his voice heavy with hesitancy.

I look around the room, taking in everyone who's here.

Molly and Arthur are sharing one couch, listening to the wireless. Remus and Sirius are sharing another. Moody and Tonks are each on a red velvet chair, Moody is puffing on his pipe near Tonks, who is chatting quietly with her mentor.

Nate and Bill are sitting with their heads together, and if I had to guess, probably talking about a certain Dragon trainer who is waiting on a location reassignment from Romania to the London Society of Endangered Magical Creatures. 

The only permanent residents from the Townhouse who we're missing are the Twins. That's not a surprise. Molly isn't aware of their extracurricular activities of prepping for their joke shop, and she wouldn't approve if she did. 

By refocusing their efforts on their future defensive line a year sooner than before, the decoy detectors are already almost ready for use.

Neville is pruning a plant in front of the fire. He explained rather enthusiastically at dinner that its flowers only bloom under extreme heat. Ginny is glancing through a Teen Witch Weekly in the corner, while Draco is reading Machiavelli's The Prince.

Mad Eye is the only one who makes me hesitate. His loyalty has always been to Dumbledore, and we need to do this without the Headmasters knowledge. I doubt Dumbledore would agree with  what we have in mind. Even if his support would make it that much easier.

It's up to you, Hermione whispers through the bond. 

I hate that it's up to me.

I turn to Ron instead.

"Will you go get the twins for me? They might have something to contribute to the conversation."

"I've got it," Mi says, then pulls out her wand and whispers Expecto Patronum. I start in surprise when a Doe forms in front of us, instead of her little Otter. "Come into the parlour, please? We need to have a meeting."

The Doe saunters off through the doorway, and Hermione's nerves and excitement regarding her Patronuses new form glows brightly in the back of my mind. 

Uh…

I shake my head to clear it of the distraction and turn back to the matter at hand.

"Mad Eye," I say, and I swear the room holds its breath. "I'm sorry about this, but I'm gonna need you to leave, please."

His magical blue eye stares straight through me. It's disconcerting in the highest format.

"What are you planning, Potter? Going to get yourself killed?"

I push my glasses further up my nose, hesitating before I answer. There's nothing for it. I've got to be honest. I've never had much tact as it is and even with all my practice, I'm still a horrible liar.

"No. I hope not anyway. However, your loyalty lies to Dumbledore and the Order. The loyalty of every other person in this room lies with me."

Mad Eye doesn't move from his seat, puffing away on his pipe.

"And your allegiances align away from the Order, do they boy?"

I want to shove my hands in my pockets. I want to turn away. But I can't let them see me struggle. Not if I want them to follow my lead.

"Yes," I tell him honestly. "Not on the most important things. We need to defeat Voldemort. On that, we will always agree. But my methods vary greatly from Dumbledore's, and I won't be kept on a leash."

"Constant vigilance," he grumbles. Reluctantly, a smile pulls at my lips. 

"Constant vigilance," I repeat. 

Silence fills the formal room. Moody doesn't move from his spot, and I don't raise my wand to make him. Like an old-fashioned stare down, everybody holds their breath with anticipation, waiting for which of us is going to crack first.

"I won't take that stupid vow of loyalty," Moody advises me, pulling his pipe from his mouth.

"Thank fuck for that," I say without thinking first. "Too many people have said it already."

Chuckles break out from the others.

Almost every person in this house has taken that stupid vow.

Moody puts his pipe down on the table.

"Yet, I will swear on my magic that I won't repeat what's said in this room tonight."

My smile is sharp and fast.

"Good enough for me."

As one, Hermione and Ron move out from behind me, and settle themselves in the middle of the floor. Together they start arranging papers and books, pulling out the research we've done.

Chatter breaks out amongst my chosen family, while we wait for the twins to appear. It only takes a moment more for them to arrive. They smirk at me, then seeing all the furniture taken, lean up against the wall.

They look at me and give me a silent nod before every person in the room falls silent.

I roughly clear my throat.

"Voldemort is going to break into Azkaban."

Immediately questions of who and when and how fly from every direction. I hold up my hands and shake my head, and the murmuring drops to zero.

"I can't tell you how I know because you won't believe me if I do. I also don't have the time to spend, however long, in St. Mungo's to prove I'm not insane. My information has been good thus far; I hope you can take me at my word about this."

The others all turn to look at each other, unspoken comments shared with looks built on years of knowledge and friendship.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Draco says, closing his book on his lap.

"Okay," Remus agrees, his calm and steady voice both accepting and encouraging me to continue. "What do you expect us to do? Alert the ministry? Add more guards? You know they won't remove the dementors. Dumbledore has already tried."

Ron gives me an encouraging nod, and I take a fortifying breath before I continue.

"I don't intend to stop Voldemort from breaching the prison. As a matter of fact, I'm looking forward to when he does. But I want to get there before him, and rid him of his supporters."

"Kill them you mean?" Remus asks, and his voice is flat and empty. His look is one of disappointment, and I fight the need to squirm under his scrutiny.

Hermione passes me one of her notebooks, followed by one of the tomes we took from the Black vaults. Sirius's eyes go wide when he sees the title. He reaches over and places his hand on Remus's forearm, his touch calming and reassuring all at once.

"Let him speak," Sirius says.

Remus silently agrees.

Mi gives me a shove of encouragement.

"No. I won't kill them. Not that they don't deserve it." My voice hardens and my hand flexes at my sides. "I promise you, here and now, that before the end of this war, Bellatrix will die by my hand. But not in Azkaban. Not like that." 

Probably. Maybe. Actually, I can't make any promises regarding her.

"I'll fight you for her," Neville says. Sometimes I forget, as wrapped up as I am in what she did to Hermione, that we aren't the only ones who have suffered at her hands.

"We can do it together," I promise him.

Mi smacks me upside the head. Metaphysically at least.

Maybe explain the plan instead of fantasying about murder she hisses at me. 

Right.

"Hermione found a spell." 

I open up the book to the page marked by Hermione and pass it along to Moody, who happens to be sitting closest to me. I hand the written notes to my Godfather. His eyes go wide, glancing back and forth between me and the paper in his hands before he passes it along to Remus.

"It's a Black Family incantation," I tell them, "intended to rid an enemy of their power."

I gaze around to the older Order members, making eye contact with each and every one of them.

"It doesn't simply bind the person, but pulls their magical core physically from their body. It literally strips them of magical ability. They'd be worse than a squib. Worse than a flobberworm. Imagine the blow to Voldemort when he goes to collect his staunchest and most powerful supporters to find they had less magic than even the plainest Muggle."

"We're in," the twins say as one. The other Hogwarts students all laugh. The adults don't crack a smile.

I continue to explain.

"The Death Eaters have been in Azkaban for over a decade, cut off from their magic. I imagine that it would take a day or two to gather their strength back."

Sirius nods along.

"Accurate. I was weaker than a newborn pup when I finally made it from  the island. I couldn't apparate for days."

I shove my hands through my hair, starting to pace a little.

 "They'll be well embedded with Voldemort by the time anyone realizes something is wrong with their powers. It will be a huge psychological blow to him personally and his followers that they went through the considerable risk to free the old guard from Azkaban only to find out they're worthless to him. And that's exactly how he'll see them, as worthless. Even if Bellatrix is bloody scary even without her magic."

Sirius points to the book still making its way around the parlour.

"That spell has to be performed by the head of the family," Sirius says.

"I'm aware," I inform him. "I know it takes considerable personal power as well. I'm fairly positive I can pull it off."

Molly gets the book next, and she and Arthur lean their shoulders in so they can read it together.

"You want to rip pure-bloods of their magic?" Draco drawls with distaste in his voice.

"No," I shake my head. "I want to stop Voldemort with as little loss of life as possible. No. Actually, what I really want to do is grab some muggle dynamite and blow Malfoy Manor off the face of the earth. I want to remind every Voldemort sympathizer out there that for every muggle they kill, we'll kill one of them. But I can't do that. Stripping our enemies of their ability to hurt us, though, that I can do.

 "If I could get close enough to purge Riddle of his powers I'd do it tonight. But if it came down to Dolohov's magical ability or your mother's life, Draco, which would you choose?"

Draco gives me a challenging glare, but doesn't offer a counter argument.

"What about you, Arthur?" I ask, and Mr. Weasley's eyes slowly rise to meet mine. "If it came down to Molly's life, or Ginny's, or Bellatrix Lestrange's magical abilities, which would you choose?"

He stares at me for so long, I think he's going to protest. But then he nods his head.

"This is dark magic, kid," Moody growls.

Hermione immediately jumps into the argument.

"It's not. I've researched it a thousand times over." She lifts another book from the pile and passes it to Tonks. "It's possibly grey, I'll concede. However, it doesn't fall under the guidelines to render it black. No lives will be taken, no bodies will be maimed. It falls into the same category as a long-term love potion. Deplorable, sure, but technically not illegal."

Moody gives her a dubious look, his magical eye still on me. 

Mi tilts her chin in the air and hardens her eyes to slivers. It's an expression I recognize well. Ron too bites his lip and rolls his eyes as she gasps for breath to fuel her upcoming lecture.

"Maybe this will come as a wake-up call to the Magical community as a whole. Things like love potions and obedience potions should be illegal, and they're not. They're barely even regulated. Perhaps a selection of pure-bloods losing their powers, even ones locked in prison, will serve as a lesson to those who think it's okay to subjugate others simply because it's in their power to do so. Like the way most Wizards treat their elves!"

Remus fights a smile and Sirius gives his willingly, even if it disappears as quickly as it comes.

He gives his attention back to me. 

"It won't work," Sirius says flatly, and I shove my hands in my pockets and face my Godfather directly.

"Why?"

Sirius moves to the edge of the couch, his agitation making his motions tight and jerky.

"For a multitude of reasons. One, you have to have a connection to these people. A justification to name them an enemy. You've never even met them before. I doubt simply labelling them as your enemy will be enough to power the spell."

How about the fact that one of them killed my wife? Another hit her with a spell that kept her in hospital for a week, and at the time we died, she still didn't know if she'd be able to have children. I have an up-close and personal relationship with almost every Death Eater in those cells. Even if they don't know it. 

They don't have to see me as their enemy. Though they do. I'm the reason they were locked up in the first place, even if I had very little to do with it, seeing as I wasn't yet two. But for the spell to work, it only requires that I see them as a threat to my House, with a personal link to the object of the spell.

I have that in spades. 

"Humour me," I say lightly. "Let's assume that as Head of House Black, I can label them traitors to our family. What's your next objection?"

Sirius scoffs in irritation, running his hand roughly through his scraggly hair.

Huh. 

It's like looking in a mirror. I wonder if my dad did that too?

"You need to be within spitting distance of these people to do the spell. Which means that you would have to go to Azkaban to do it. There's no way in hell the Ministry would let a civilian just waltz into the prison and start performing unknown magic on the prisoners. Never going to happen. Not even for The Boy Who Lived."  

Tonks speaks up.

"If you think you can somehow sneak onto Azkaban, you do need a trip to St. Mungos. The dementors alone would stop that from happening. You wouldn't make it past the front door."

Hermione is grinning ear to ear. If Ron looked any more pleased with himself, he'd probably float away. I rock back and forth on my heels, trying not to look too smug.

It's brilliant. It really is. One of the best schemes we've come up with, if I say so myself.

"That's fine too," I assure her. "All we need is the rotation schedule for the guards. The human ones. We have a way around the Dementors."

Sirius scoffs in disbelief.

"How in Merlin do you expect to get onto and off the island without alerting the dementors to your presence?" Moody demands, his magical eye fixed on me.

"The same way Sirius got out," I say with a smile. "How many Animagi do we have in the Order?"

~**~

We reconvene in the kitchen.  

The notes that Mi and Ron have collected over the last two weeks are spread out over the table. There's the layout of the prison and the requirements of the spell. A list of the specific prisoners and their locations inside Azkaban. 

Every person whose magic I steal will require a personal vessel. Something to contain their magic within. I'm not destroying their power completely, not technically at least. I could give it back to them at any time. 

The Blacks weren't known for being forgiving, but they had a reputation for being sly. Steal the magic of the one who wronged you, then blackmail them with it until you get your way. Even after you gave their magic back, they'd always know it was within your power to take it from them again. 

I don't know which generation hid the book inside the vaults, but I can understand the inclination. That sort of power could go to your head. 

Quickly.

There's a list of appropriate accoutrements to contain your enemies magic tacked on at the end of the spell. They're all gaudy and obscene. Suitable for pure-blood feuding. Just because I want to strip you of your powers, doesn't mean we can't be high-class about it after all.

I plan on using mason jars. Bellatrix's magic isn't going to lounge around in a goblin made vase while I'm in control of it. I'm already dreaming of destroying it with Fiendfyre.

I take a tug on the ale Dobby placed in front of me. Sirius has a tumbler of Firewhiskey. Mrs. Weasley is in the corner knitting, shooting us disgusted looks every thirty seconds. Moody let Winky feed him, and is currently flipping through Hermione and Ron's meticulous notes.

Moody, much to my surprise, has been one of our most prominent planners.

When I asked him if this didn't go against his oaths to the Order, all he said was that he liked to be proactive.

Okay then.

Winky pops back into the kitchen, Dobby and Kreacher a half second behind her.

"Well?"

"They didn't notice a thing," Winky says primly. Dobby nods his head so fast his entire body shakes. 

"They's not see us come and go at all," he adds. 

Hermione scowls over her cup of tea, not at all pleased that we've pulled the elves into our scheme. Kreacher isn't all that happy either to be frank, but that's more to do with blood purity and bias than actual anger at the plan.

He's just bent because one of the intended targets is a Black.

"I don't like it!" Hermione insists.

"Your objections have been noted, 'Mione." Ron says with exasperation.

It's perfect. It's so simple it has to work. The elves will drop us in the prison. We already tested that they can apparate and disapparate with Sirius as a dog. I'll go last, since I'll be the only one not in animal form. We're trusting that the confusing thoughts of the Animagi surrounding me, and Prongs as our protection, will keep the dementors away while we make our way through the prison.  

It should take seventeen minutes to get in, walk to each cell, perform the spell, obliviate their memory, and make our way out again by Tonks and Hermione's calculations. I'll call for the elves when we're ready to leave. 

Sirius is still unconvinced. 

"Even if we wait until the full moon and bring Remus with us, I still don't think it's enough people. We'll have to pull in two of Dumbledore's closest advisors, and despite bringing Aberforth and Minerva, there would only be five of us excluding you. I don't like it. That's not enough to guarantee the Dementors don't feel your presence."

"We could always ask Dumbledore to go with you," Arthur says. "He has an animal form, though I don't personally know what it is. But he taught Minerva how to transform. If he joined the raiding party, we'd be sure to succeed."

Moody is objecting before Arthur even finishes.

"There's no way Albus would agree to this. I understand what the lass says about the spell being grey. But there are no shades of grey in Dumbledore's eyes. His sense of morality is very clear. There is no for the greater good."

I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. Hermione's mind flares against me, her own shock at hearing that phrase evident on her face. For The Greater Good has taken on an entirely new meaning to us, after we read about Dumbledore's past. 

I'm not sure I agree with that. The whole no Greater Good thing. Not with everything I know. It seems to me everything Dumbledore does is for the greater good, and no matter the damage he causes in the process. Or maybe Dumbledore slid so far into the light to make up for his influence on Grindelwald in the past that he makes decisions despite the greater good. Either way, while I concede Dumbledore would never agree to assist me in stripping magical beings of their powers, I really couldn't tell you what he would or wouldn't do anymore.

"There's no love lost between the Dumbledore brothers either," I say smartly. "If we ask Aberforth not to tell his brother what we were doing, he will. As for McGonagall, we can always wait to tell her until the last minute. Call her over for dinner, or a meeting, or anything that would ensure her presence, then inform her of our plan. If we explain to her this will be happening with or without her participation, she'll join. She won't let me go without her protection. This, I guarantee you. Dumbledore may find out afterwards, but it'll all be over by then."

I just won't tell her that I plan to keep the mason jars with their powers in the Chamber of Secrets. By the time the next Parselmouth finds their way into the chamber, every one of the witches and wizards for whom those jars belong will long be dead. 

They'll be nothing but glass and metal.

"It's still not enough," Sirius insists, slamming his fist on the table. "I won't bring my Head of House, and my son to boot, into a place that's designed to suck the life out of you. Literally. Not without a hell of a lot more protection than this."

"I'll have prongs to protect me," I insist.

Remus just grimaces.

"It's not enough," Sirius repeats.

"We might be able to help with this," the twins say in their synchronized voice.

The sudden absence of the click-clacking of Molly's knitting needles gives the kitchen an ominous feel as the twins rise from their chairs.

It's my turn for my stomach to sink with apprehension.

Without saying a word, they transform before our eyes. 

Their bodies shrink, their hair shoots out, until identical red foxes preen in the spot the twins just stood.

I burst into laughter as they lower their front legs and seem to bow before us.

"Bloody Hell," Ron breathes, as Ginny squeals in delight. "Wicked," Neville grins. The foxes scurry around the kitchen, rubbing up against Hermione's feet.

Why does this not surprise me? At all. Of course, the Marauders' heirs are illegal Animagi. My smile splits my face.

Molly's knitting hits the floor.

"GEORGE AND FRED WEASLEY!" she screeches, and half the men in the room flinch in sympathy and fear. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

The foxes scamper into the corner, before resuming their human forms. They raise their arms in front of their bodies, warding off a potential blow. Or maybe hoping to hold off their mothering impeding screaming session.

"Now don't get mad—" "It was only a bit of fun—" "To see if we could do it."

They give their mother their usual devil-may-care attitude, but deflate like a balloon losing its air when Mrs. Weasley starts to stalk towards them. 

"Well, I think it's bleeding brilliant, isn't it?" Ron says enthusiastically.

Ron immediately ducks his head away when Molly rounds on him with a knitting needle tight in her hand.

Arthur seems to be fluctuating between gob smacked excitement and horror at what his children have accomplished on their own. 

"Since when?" he asks the twins, his voice brittle and hoarse. "When did you complete the transformation?"

"Beginning of Sixth Year," they say together.

Arthur gives up the fight and lets parental pride win. His eyes are shining in happiness and his grin could break his face.

Molly's chest is swelling, her face tinting a familiar shade of red.

"Well, that gives us two more Animagi," I say determinedly, hoping to cut her off before she gains her steam. "Does that make you more comfortable Padfoot? I'm not helpless, you know. I distinctly remember saving your ass from the Dementors once upon a time."

Sirius is only half paying attention to me. Most of the people around the table are still watching Mrs. Weasley rip into the twins.

I catch Arthur's eyes across the table and tilt my head pointedly at his wife. She's crossed the kitchen and has the twins pinned in the corner, a hand on each of their ears. We're just lucky she's yelling in her own voice and isn't using a Sonorous. With a sigh so heavy I can feel it in my chest, Arthur rises and goes to help his sons.

Draco reaches across the table and without saying a word takes Sirius's Firewhiskey and throws it back with one gulp.

"I suppose it's my turn then," he grumbles, and every head in the room whips to stare at him. Even Mrs. Weasley stops her lectures to give her attention to Draco.

"You're an Animagus?" I ask dumbly. Because even Sirius and my dad didn't manage it until they were fifteen. Like, at the end of their Owl Year. Draco's birthday was only a few months ago.

"No. I'm not an Animagus. Not like Sirius and the twins, at least. It's more akin to skin walking. Or being a Metamorphmagus. It's a magic, or a curse," he says gumly, "that follows the Malfoy line."

He stands up from the table, and begins to unbutton his shirt. He pulls the bottom from his trousers, and yanks on the front of his belt. With the toes of one foot, and then the other, he shoves his shoes from his feet. Pulls his socks off and drops them on the floor.

He looks around the room before he speaks.

"When we're younger, our shape is undecided. I could shift into any animal I pleased. I slithered around my house as a snake. Flew through the yard as an eagle. My father is a python, as was his father before him, and his father before him.

"No one knows about our ability. Father never even told the Dark Lord."

I give him a pointed look when he slips his shirt from his shoulders. He takes the time to fold it and place it on the table.

"Unlike with Animagi, our clothes don't transfigure when we shift. You wear them, you lose them. I'm rather fond of this shirt, Potter. It's custom made."

"Definitely a curse," Remus says, familiar with the theory of losing your clothes in the transformation. 

Draco pushes his trousers off his legs, and Hermione turns her face so she's not staring at Malfoy in his pants. She's the only one. The rest of us can't tear our eyes from him.

Draco looks me in the face.

"I told my father the power skipped over me when I was thirteen. That somehow I'd lost it. Just another reason I've never done the Malfoy line proud. He threatened to disown me until my mother interfered."

"But it didn't skip you," I say. Anticipation bubbles in my stomach. What could Draco's other form be that he'd rather risk disinheritance than admit what it was?

"No. It didn't. It settled on a permanent animal. I haven't been able to shift into anything different since."

Hair starts to sprout from his head, turning a tawny yellow. His body folds in on itself, a sickening cracking noise as bones are broken and reformed. His pants are shredded from his person, dropping to tiny scraps on the floor. 

Hermione's shock lights up the back of my head like a beacon. Her gasp is joined with a dozen others, as Draco takes his new form. 

"You have got to be fucking kidding me!"

Ron pushes up from the table in a rush, coming around to the other side.

I drop to my knees in front of the beast in the middle of the kitchen and hesitantly reach out my hands. He shakes his head and his mane fluffs around his head. His paw scratches across the kitchen floor, his agitation clear.

His eyes are still grey, startling in the predator's face. Even covered in fur, his expression reads clear as day. 

Fuck off, Potter. 

Draco Lucious Malfoy, Slytherin son of a Slytherin son, takes the form of a lion.