"What is going on? Why wouldn't they let me in the ritual room, Mother?"
Harry half-smiled when he heard Draco's complaining voice. He'd had to sit in the waiting area where they'd stayed last time when they were waiting for news about Father. Harry hoped someone had told Draco a little of what was going on, but the way his eyes widened when he walked into the room and saw the white flames said it wasn't enough.
"Henry? What in the world—"
He was cut off by Healer Percival, who walked into the room holding a small, ornate hand mirror. She smiled at them all and held it out. "You'll be pleased to know that Mr. Malfoy's arm has been regrown, and no Mark reappeared. And you didn't suffer from any debilitating pain, either, Mr. Malfoy?" She glanced at Harry.
Harry, who felt as if he'd spent the last hour in a state of numbness, shook his head and sat up. He looked into the mirror and saw a small, dim image of Father smiling at him. He didn't appear shocked at the white flames, so Harry smiled back at him and waved.
"Father?" Draco surged forwards to snatch the mirror from Healer Percival, his face glowing with excitement. "You're all right!"
The glass was tilted away from Harry now, but he could still see Father raising two unblemished arms high in the air with a laugh. "Yes. As good as new, Draco."
"I love you," Mother said softly, her fingers brushing across the mirror in a way that made Harry look away with his face burning. Draco wrinkled his nose, he saw from the corner of his eye, but didn't move away.
I hope someday I'll get used to things like that.
"I love you too, Narcissa." Father reached out as if he was going to extend his hand through the mirror, but pulled it back at the last second. Healer Percival took it from Draco's hands and turned to face Harry. Her face was solemn.
"Mr. Malfoy," she said, and Harry thought she might have been talking to him and Father and Draco all at the same time, "based on the reaction of the circle, Henry's reaction to the Mark being removed last time, and what he told me about his dreams, I am afraid I do have a theory as to why his scar pained him so much. You are not going to like it. I want you to consider, however, that Henry Malfoy is alive and in command of his own mind and magic. It could be much worse."
The creeping numbness came back, washing over Harry's chest and arms. He was glad he was already sitting down. Mother sat back down, as close to the edge of the circle, and the mirror, as she could get. Father had no expression on his face, and Draco crept up on Healer Percival's other side, vibrating with nervous energy.
"I believe that Mr. Malfoy has a piece of someone's soul behind his scar," Healer Percival said softly. "A very Dark Art called a Horcrux splits someone's soul, tethers the resulting shard to an object, and ensures that the person whose soul was split cannot truly die for as long as the Horcrux exists." She took another breath, which Harry could barely hear beyond the wild rushing in his ears. "And considering your past, Mr. Malfoy, I can only speculate on one candidate for the piece of that soul."
Harry could, too. He lowered his head until his face was pressed into his knees again, while his heart sped up until it sounded like a shriek in his ears. A long, never-ending scream, like the one he sometimes heard in his nightmares with the green light, and which he wouldn't say in front of his parents came from his adoptive mother standing before the Killing Curse and dying for him.
"You are talking about the Dark Lord." Harry knew someone was speaking, but his hearing was so dim he could barely comprehend it, let alone know who it was.
"Yes, I am. I am so sorry, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy."
"Henry! Henry!"
The words seemed to mingle with the ones that got shouted in his head from a memory or a nightmare.
"No! Not Harry! Please, not Harry!"
"Lower the flames on the circle! He's going into shock!"
"Mrs. Malfoy, that might not be wise. If the flames think he has some sort of influence inside his scar that must be neutralized—"
"He was here the first time without this happening, and the surgery is over now. Lower them, or I will."
Harry heard something that sounded like a wand being broken, and then warm arms wrapped around him and held him close to his mother. He turned to her and flung his arms around her. He wasn't crying, he thought, as she touched his face and made a soft sound of dismay to find no tears there. He was too overwhelmed to cry.
He had a piece of Voldemort's soul in his head. Was that why Dumbledore thought the prophecy would still be in play? Did Dumbledore know about it?
"What can be done about this—Horcrux?" Father demanded.
"I don't know for sure, Mr. Malfoy. I've never heard of a case where a human carried a shard of another human's soul within themselves and survived. It's amazing that your son is still alive."
Harry shuddered, and Mother cast some kind of spell that made him warmer and at the same time seemed to muffle the voices. Harry half-shifted, wanting to protest, because he did need to hear what was going on and stay informed of what they decided.
Maybe Mother knew that, because she said softly, "I promise we will tell you later what was discussed, Henry. For now, rest."
And that sounded good, given how utterly exhausted he was. Harry surrendered, and let himself drift.
And tried not to remember what he carried with him.
....
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