Harry Potter The Long Lost Malfoy

"But you could pick and choose the spells," Harry insisted. "I know that you didn't use the Unforgivables because you didn't want to go to Azkaban." He had looked up the Cruciatus the other day, and even though it sounded horrible, so was the curse that Mrs. Malfoy had actually used. "You could control yourself that much. So next time, you could set up a shield. Or grab me and Apparate away. Or another defensive spell that hurts him, but not as much as the one you used."

"My poor darling." Mrs. Malfoy reached out and wrapped her arms around him, as careful and delicate as if he was made of china. "It really scarred you, didn't it?"

"Yes." Harry burrowed into her arms, and he could only say this because he wasn't looking at her face. "If you won't do it just because hurting people like that is wrong, can you do it for me?"

Mrs. Malfoy crushed him to her, then, and kissed his forehead, over the scar. "Of course. I would do so much for you."

And Harry found that at least one part of his fantasy of a mum was true: she loved him, fiercely, insanely.

.....

Harry woke up. His bedroom window was open, just a little, white curtains ruffling in the breeze. Draco had opened it before he'd gone to bed, claiming he wanted to be cool. He still hadn't given up sleeping in Harry's room even though their parents had backed off a little.

Harry sighed and got up to close the window.

And froze when he saw the figure crouched on the sill.

Before he could shout, Black shook his head desperately. His face was pale and brilliant in the faint moonlight.

"Can you hear me out?" he whispered. "Please. I didn't betray your parents. I didn't betray them to You-Know-Who. I didn't kill the Muggles. That was Pettigrew."

Harry stared at him, and couldn't think of a single thing to say.

....

"Um, I can't invite you in," Harry said, looking back over his shoulder. To his relief, Draco was still asleep. "But I can get you something to eat?" Black in human form didn't look much less starved than his dog form had been.

Black sighed and nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Thank you, Harry."

Harry went over to the tray of food that Dobby had delivered earlier that day. He had apparently decided that Harry—and Draco—would eat more if he left it to sit than if he took it away again immediately. Harry still had a bowl of soup under a permanent Warming Charm and half a sandwich left. He scooped them up and carried them over to the windowsill, while Black watched him, not moving, then set it down and retreated.

"Oh. Sorry. I didn't bring you a spoon—"

Black scooped up the bowl and began to drink straight from it, tilting his head back as he slurped. Harry jumped, but, well, he was probably used to drinking that way as a dog, and Harry supposed he couldn't get too upset about it.

He stayed still and watched Black carefully until Black had drained the soup bowl and eaten the sandwich. Then he settled back with another sigh. "What do you want me to tell you about?"

Harry wavered between the two options for a second, and then chose the one he wanted to avoid less. "What do you mean by saying that you didn't betray the Potters to Voldemort?"

Black flinched at the name, which maybe was a point in his favor. Surely he'd be used to hearing it if he was a Death Eater? But he looked at Harry with wide, pleading eyes. "They were your parents. Why do you call them the Potters?"

Shit. So this led straight back to the subject Harry hadn't wanted to talk about after all. He took a deep breath. "Because they weren't my parents. I know they loved me and they died for me, but they—they went along with you kidnapping me. They didn't give birth to me."

"So?" Black uttered a shrill, barking laugh that made Harry glance uneasily over his shoulder again, but then he remembered that Draco had asked Dobby to put up some charms around the bed. He claimed Harry's snores were so loud that he couldn't sleep. He probably wouldn't wake up for this, either.

"I had a horrible family," Black continued in a slightly quieter voice. "My father just didn't care, except when it came to wanting me to live up to his 'proper example.' My mother was a harridan who tortured us while she tried to make us learn Dark Arts."

"Us?"

"I had a younger brother. Regulus." Black's face was closed-off. "In Slytherin, like all the rest of my wonderful family. He died being a Death Eater."

Harry swallowed. "But that doesn't explain why you took me away from the Malfoys."

Black pointed a finger at him. "Ha! You think of them as the Malfoys! Not really your family at all, are they?"

Harry folded his arms and frowned at him. "Yes, well, you see what it does to your definition of family, to be jerked back and forth between who you were born as and who you grew up as."

"Who you grew up as is superior," Black said with no hesitation. "What matters is the family we choose, Harry. The ones who gave us love. I ran away to live with your father's family when I was sixteen. They were worlds better than my birth family. Worlds. I am—I promise you, I took you away from here to give you a better life."

....

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