Harry Potter The Long Lost Malfoy

Black shrugged. "They have to be good at acting to fool the people who would otherwise never buy that Lucius was under the Imperius Curse. I think they're good enough at acting to fool themselves, sometimes. But it's not real. Don't let them make you think that it's real, Harry," he said, and his voice cracked, and he leaned near enough that Harry skittered another few steps backwards. "Don't. They'll just fool you and make you into another Regulus if you let them. I won't do that."

And his eyes were shining like flame. Harry backed away further, and Black stretched out his hand and kept it extended.

"Lily and James, your real parents, the ones who loved you, chose me as your godfather," he said, his voice unsteady. "I love you, Harry. Come with me, and you can go back to being Harry Potter."

"But how?" Harry exclaimed, glad that he had the chance to ask Black himself. Even with him being certain that he'd known what Black's plan was when he tried to snatch Harry in Diagon Alley, that didn't mean it made sense. "Everyone who reads the papers will know that I'm Henry Malfoy now. It's not like I could show back up as myself and have people just accept it."

"As yourself!" Black crowed. "You know it's true, Harry! You know that you're the Potters' son!"

"It's a way to refer to it," Harry said, while silently cursing himself for putting it in a way that would appeal to Black. "But you haven't answered me. How could I just become Harry Potter again?"

Black gaped at him in silence. Harry folded his arms and stared back. He didn't think of that. Typical.

"Well," Black said, his eyes widening as a new idea visibly occurred to him, "I can use a necromancy ritual."

"What?" Harry asked weakly. He knew a little bit about necromancy, just because it was the kind of vocabulary word that came up and that you asked questions about when your brother was Draco Malfoy, but he had no idea what it had to do with Black kidnapping him and making him into another person again.

"There's a ritual that can give people a new body," Black said excitedly, pointing at him. "It uses the bone of the father and the blood of the enemy and the flesh of the servant. I know where James's grave is! We can use his bone, because you are really his son, of course. And I can use my own flesh, because I love you, Harry, I'll serve you."

He's mad. Totally mad. Harry swallowed. "What about the—the blood of the enemy?"

"The house is full of Malfoys, isn't it?" Black shrugged. For a second, his gaze swung in the direction of Draco's bed.

Harry felt as though someone had slammed into him, and he took a few moments to breathe through his disappointment. No matter what Black said, he wasn't an alternative to the Malfoys. He had the same kind of madness as Mrs. Malfoy. He would use the Dark Arts. He just thought that the people he used them on were justified, while Mrs. Malfoy thought the people she used them on were justified.

A wave of longing for Lily and James Potter struck Harry. Would they have loved him without expecting him to make these choices?

But then he remembered that they had known Sirius had stolen him and had adopted him anyway, and used magic to change him so that he looked more like them. And lied to a bunch of other people, like Dumbledore and Snape and so on, to pretend he was theirs. They hadn't thought that maybe the Malfoys were grieving because their younger son had disappeared.

Harry closed his eyes. It felt so lonely at the moment, like there was no one he could depend on.

But Ron and Hermione's faces floated into his mind as he stood there. And Healer Letham's, even. Harry didn't know if he could trust her not to make him face uncomfortable truths—probably not—but she would keep his secrets and listen to him if he said that he didn't want to talk about something right now.

....

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