Summary: 7th Yr Sequel to Ancient Magic. It is now known the power of immortality resides inside Harry and Ginny. Will their combined powers be enough to protect them from the Dark Lord?
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Post-OotP, Buried Gems
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2005.03.27
Updated: 2006.04.03
Blood of the Heart by kjpzak
Chapter 1: Old Ties, New Beginnings
Author's Notes: A/N - Forgive me and my brain. Yes, this first chapter was posted under a different name. No, it's not you. It's me. Sigh.
Old Ties, New Beginnings
Disclaimer — I do not own or profit in anyway from the Harry Potter world.
He was alive.
By all accounts, he should be dead.
Standing with his back to the door, Lucius Malfoy dabbed his forehead with his handkerchief, careful to avoid the still healing boils covering his face. His breathing rapid, he felt relief course through his veins. He hadn’t expected to leave the Dark Lord’s residence when he entered it this morning. Taking a deep breath and pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, he stepped off the stoop, wondering briefly if Narcissa would be annoyed that he came home for dinner.
Opening the rusty iron gate, the sense of relief began to morph into anger. A month ago, he had been the Dark Lord’s most valued supporter. Now, he was the Dark Lord’s messenger boy.
Lucius Malfoy wondered bitterly why Lord Voldemort had pulled back his wand when he had told him the name of the man who had interrupted the immortality spell. As Voldemort had turned away, Lucius stared at his master in shocked disbelief. He watched as the Dark Lord absentmindedly rubbed the palm of his right hand and turned to the window.
Entering the flow of foot traffic, Malfoy snarled, realizing he now owed that sorry excuse for a pureblood wizard his life.
++++
Nathan Borgin relaxed in his study in the flat he occupied above Flourish & Blotts. Dumbledore had told him he was more than welcome to stay at Hogwarts over the summer, but Nathan declined, claiming a need to be closer to his investments. Leaning back in his desk chair, he propped his feet on the desk, his mother’s voice ringing in his ears.
Nathan Andrew! You’ll fall over backwards and kill yourself! Don’t give your father the pleasure!”
Shutting her out, Nathan crossed his ankles and reached for a bound pile of parchment on his desk, the last of his father’s work. He studied the front cover, running his hand over it, testing his emotions to see if he could do this. His insides remained numb. Torn between regret and relief over the lack of response, Nathan folded the front page open and began to read.
Addendum to Immortality Spell, Pgs 34 — 37. Originally noted - the powers of immortality reside in the heart. Through the heart flows the blood of life, the very properties of being. If a broken heart can kill, then one would assume a whole heart would create invincibility. Therefore, true love is immortality in its purest form.
To achieve such immortality, a wizard need only to have the blood of his enemy and the blood of his enemy’s heart flowing within him to sustain his body for all time.
AMMENDMENT - The blood of the enemy’s heart must be given without malice or hatred, which will unlikely happen due to the nature of the relationship. Should the blood be given with such dark emotion, a combustion of sorts is likely to happen, causing severe damage, perhaps even death.
Borgin smirked. What Malfoy would have given to know that, eh? He continued.
The warm July sun beat down on the back of his neck, his cat, Accio, purring in his lap. Nathan’s eyelids grew heavy, his head beginning to nod from drowsiness. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he traced the line he had just read with his finger, attempting to read it again.
Suddenly, his eyes flew open. Nathan uncrossed his ankles, sat up, and planted his feet firmly on the ground. He reread the paragraph he had just reread for the third time.
Borgin’s mind began turning and he wondered.
+++++
Harry opened the doors to the wardrobe in Ron’s room. Pushing aside the mound of shirts that never stayed on their hangers, the dirty socks that never made it to the hamper, and a few rock-solid lumps Harry guessed had been some type of bread product in a past life, he uncovered the box Mrs. Weasley had given him during the last Christmas holidays.
When the time had come to return to Hogwarts after Christmas, Harry had debated about bringing the box with him. After all, Sirius’ personal effects had not taken up that much room. While examining the items had proven to be a necessary push in the direction of healing, Harry had not been ready to really sort through it all. So, in the end, Harry had carefully chosen a book of poetry that gave him a connection to the three people in his life he mourned the most: a gift from his dad to his mum, with a note attached from Sirius.
Harry had then given the volume to Ginny as a sign of his love and devotion. While he had no direct proof, Harry was sure Draco Malfoy had inserted a small, frayed pink silk ribbon in between the pages during an incident outside of their Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The pink ribbon, a Portkey to the Forbidden Forest, had almost cost Ginny her life. While he had not recovered the ribbon, Harry had saved the book.
After returning to the Burrow, Harry’s initial reaction was to destroy the book. It served as a reminder that anyone who chose to be a part of his life seemed to be put in mortal peril. Ginny, however, intervened, pulling the leather bound volume out of his hands just before he tossed it in the fireplace.
No! Harry, give that here. You can’t throw it in the fire!”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t let you!”
“But Ginny, every time I look at it, all I can see is you, laying on the ground, Malfoy with that vial —“
Ginny touched her fingers to Harry’s lips. Clutching the volume to her chest, she rested her hand on Harry’s cheek and directed his gaze to meet hers.
“And every time I look at it, I see a gift that represents all the love and laughter and wonder of two people who love each other. Your dad gave it to your mum and I know she treasured it as much as I do.” Standing on her tiptoes, Ginny gave Harry a gentle kiss. “Now, I’m going to go put it away.”
Sighing, Harry followed Ginny up to her room and watched as she placed the volume on top of the trunk across from her bed. Turning to face Harry, she placed her hand on her hip and waggled her finger at him.
“You touch this, you’ll regret it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered solemnly.
“Harry Potter, are you mocking me?” Ginny asked, cocking her head to the side.
“Absolutely not!” he replied, grinning, holding his hands up in front of him in defense. “I wouldn’t dream of ever mocking you! You have back-up!”
Ginny walked over and put her arms around his neck. “Smart man, you are,” she observed before reminding Harry of another reason why staying on the good side of this redheaded witch was in his best interests.
Harry now tucked the box under his arm, forcing the pile of dirty laundry and other assorted treasures back into the wardrobe before closing the door. Grabbing his wand, he headed out to find Ginny.
++++
Ginny spread the quilt over the patchy ground. Plopping down, she scooted over to make room for Harry. She watched as he carefully placed the box in between them. As Harry lifted the lid of the box, Ginny peered curiously over the top.
“What is all this?” she asked.
Harry cleared his throat. “Uh, well, it’s Sirius’ stuff,” he answered.
Ginny looked up at Harry and smiled softly. She was touched that he would share something this personal with her. Reaching around the box, she placed her hand on his knee and squeezed it in reassurance. Harry smiled back and reached in. Slowly, one by one, he drew out the precious keepsakes Mrs. Wealsey had put aside for him, and laid them carefully on the quilt. When he was done, Harry replaced the lid on the box and moved it out of the way.
Ginny picked up a red leather dog collar with an engraved tag hanging from it that read “Padfoot.”
“Do you suppose he wore this?” she asked tentatively, not sure if Harry was up for teasing. To her delight, Harry snorted.
“If he did, I don’t want to know why!” he grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
Ginny laughed and put it down. A small mirror rested next to the collar. Ginny picked it up.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a two-way mirror,” Harry answered, taking it from her and turning it over in his hands to inspect it. His voice cracked when he tried to continue. “Siri- Sirius gave me the other during fifth year. He and my dad used them in detention to talk to each other. I - I broke mine.”
Sensing that was as much as he wanted to share, Ginny nodded and picked up a raveled piece of black fabric. Turning it over, she smiled. It was a Gryffindor patch, most likely from one of Sirius’ school robes. The red and gold stitching had faded with time, but Ginny knew Sirius had worn the Gryffindor Lion with pride.
Glancing over, she saw Harry cradling in his hands an old black and white photograph with bent corners and a crease running through the middle. The picture was a headshot of two young wizards in dress robes, one with his arm around the other’s neck, in a friendly sort of choke hold, pressing the other’s head down in order to rub his knuckles through a mass of messy black hair. Ginny bit her bottom lip and blinked back the tears building behind her eyelids. Shifting to the side, she leaned against Harry, her leg touching his, her shoulder giving support she could not put into words.
“They were the best of friends,” Harry said quietly.
Ginny nodded. “Like you and Ron,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “Like me and Ron.”
Harry turned the photograph over, and Ginny recognized Lupin’s handwriting on the back.
Padfoot and Prongs — If only they were half as handsome as they thought they were.
Ginny watched as Harry traced the browned ink with his finger. Then, she felt Harry begin to tremble beside her. She bit her bottom lip, angry at how unfair the world was to have given her so much, and Harry so little. Looking up to comfort him, it took her a moment to realize he was…laughing.
“Harry?”
“I’m sorry, Ginny,” he said chuckling, wiping the wetness out of the corners of his eyes. “It just struck me as funny. I don’t know why. Damn, I miss him.”
Ginny blinked and then smiled gently. “I know you do, Harry.” Resting her head on his shoulder, Ginny watched as he laid the photograph carefully down on the quilt in front of them. They sat there, studying the photograph of the two Marauders until the shadows became long and the chill drove them inside.
++++
Lucius stood in the doorway of his study. The room spoke of a single purpose: power. The Malfoys craved it, lived for it and thrived off it. Now, this was a room without a purpose. There was no power in this room anymore. His jaw clenched, he crossed the threshold.
Lucius circled the large, wooden desk, studying the intricately carved columns, the goblin hewn knobs, the monogrammed desk set that had been passed down from Malfoy to Malfoy. Draco would inherit it, he thought. Resting his fingertips on the desktop, Lucius dragged them across the top and lifted them, a slight trail of dust falling behind, another sign of his loosening grip on authority. The sight of the house elf’s lack of thoroughness burned in his gut. Lucius folded his dusty fingertips into his palm, forming a fist and slammed it on the desk in rage.
The quill in the desk set bounced in its silver holder, the lid on the ink pot rattled, one of the columns clicked. Growling, Lucius leaned down and inserted a finger behind the small, rectangular door that had popped out of the column, prying the door open. Reaching his hand into the darkened space, Lucius pulled out a sheath of parchment. Throwing it on top of his desk, he sat down. He flipped it open and trailed his finger down the page, rereading the paragraphs that had brought him to this current state.
…true love is immortality in its purest form.
To achieve such immortality, a wizard need only to have the blood of his enemy and the blood of his enemy’s heart flowing within him to sustain his body for all time.
There was more. Nathan Borgin had said it was incomplete. Lucius needed it to be complete. Especially before he saw the Dark Lord again to tell him he had delivered his message.
++++
The bell above the door to Flourish & Blotts jingled merrily as the door swung open. Looking up from the order he was tallying, the clerk called out, “Good afternoon, Master Borgin. And how are you?” as Nathan Borgin breezed by, heading straight through a door in the back marked “Flourish & Blotts Witches & Wizards Only.”
“Oh! My!” the witch at the counter exclaimed indignantly as she sidestepped the fast moving professor. “Is he allowed back there?”
The clerk sighed. “When you own half the shop, you can go anywhere you want.”
“Oh, my!” she commented, her eyes on the swinging door, and her tone now interested. Will, the young clerk, rolled his eyes.
Stopping in the middle of the storeroom, Nathan searched the walls for the section he needed. Spotting a particularly cobwebby corner, he climbed over the stacks of scattered boxes and crouched down, wiping dust off the labels. Finding the box he wanted, he pulled it out from under three others, causing them to come crashing down in a cloud of dust and spiders.
“Everything alright in there, Master Borgin?” the clerk called out.
“Sorry about that, Will,” Borgin replied, watching the dust gently falling back into place.
Nathan carried the box over to a small table positioned against the wall. Lifting the lid off, he looked anxiously at the contents. The books inside were small, old and beautifully bound. Pulling one out, Nathan ran his hands over the spine, admiring the work that had gone into making such a treasure. Turning it on its back, he opened the front cover and scanned the table of contents.
Essay on the Effect of Blood Thinning in Trolls Pgs 2 — 8
Living with Boiling Blood — Tips on How to Cool Off Pgs 9 — 15
What Happens if Your Blood Turns to Ice? Pgs 16 — 24
Blood Bonding Pgs 24 - 29
Borgin flipped to page twenty four and scanned the essay. Smiling, he nodded and closed the book.
Quickly putting the lid back on the box, Borgin tucked it under his arm. Pushing the door to the storeroom open, he made his way to the front of the store. Waving the book and lifting the box up for the clerk to see, he called, “Will, put it on my tab, alright?” before pushing the front door open with his shoulder.
Will nodded but kept tallying the order of a wizard who was purchasing the current bestseller, Garden Gnomes — Muggle fact or Fiction? Leaning over, the wizard whispered, “It’s okay, son. You can do his order. I’m in no hurry.”
Will grinned. “Thank you, but it’s alright,” he said to the wizard. “Master Borgin already owns all the inventory covered with a centimeter of dust or more. From the looks of the trail he left behind him, that box counts.”
Nathan, his nose in the book, and the box under his arm, hurried around the corner. Climbing the rickety wooden stairs to his landing, he slipped the book inside the box and set it down, reaching for his wand.
Nathan never saw the flash of light that hit him from behind, causing the world to go black as he hit the stairs.
++++
Sounds were echoing in his mind. A dull ache between his shoulder blades told him that he was alive. He winced as a lightning sting of pain shot through his forehead and something cold dribbled down his cheek. Nathan batted at whatever was messing with his head, his hand coming into contact with a solid form.
“Oy! He’s awake, Master Malfoy. He’s awake!”
“Good. Now leave.”
Feeling the rush of cool air against the sting of his forehead, Borgin slowly opened his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, he sat up, the pain in his head making him dizzy. Pressing his palm to his skull, he looked up straight into Lucius Malfoy’s blazing eyes.
“Lucius! There are easier ways to get my attention, you know,” Borgin said wincing, gingerly shifting his weight, giving him a little room in between him and Malfoy.
“You did this to me!” Malfoy sneered, jabbing a finger at his face.
Schooling his features into a bland smile, Borgin surveyed the damage the immortality spell had caused. Maloy’s face looked like someone had walked over it with spiked shoes. Some of the pock marks were still healing, oozing a thick yellowish pus. Borgin noticed the blood had also left a trail, scarring his left ear and burning down his neck.
Shaking his head, Borgin replied mildly, “You did that to yourself, Lucius.”
“Why didn’t it work?” Malfoy snarled.
“Why didn’t you come to me and tell me what you were doing?” Borgin replied.
“You are not to be trusted,” Malfoy ground out.
“And you are?”
“Why didn’t it work?”
“The blood you took from the girl was not pure. It was tainted with emotion, specifically hate. Had it been free of hatred,” Borgin said, waving his free hand at Malfoy’s face, “that wouldn’t have occurred.”
Malfoy glared at Borgin. “When did you find this out?”
“The same night. I received an amendment to a manuscript my father wrote that day. You wouldn’t by any chance know where that manuscript is, would you?” Borgin asked casually.
Malfoy took a step back, looking distastefully at Borgin.
“He wants to see you.”
“Who?”
“The Dark Lord. He wants to meet with you. He thinks you might be helpful.”
Nathan shrugged.
“I can’t imagine why,” Malfoy sneered. “What does he need with the rubbish you teach?”
“The rubbish I teach is what did that to you,” Borgin said quietly pointing to Malfoy’s scarred facial tissue. “Think of what that kind of power could do in the right hands, Lucius. Just think about it.”
“The Dark Lord will be in touch,” Malfoy said, turning his back to Nathan.
“I’m sure he will be,” Nathan replied, showing himself out.
++++
Ginny stepped out the door of the Burrow and breathed deep, the fresh night air filling her lungs. She loved the summer night air, full of sweet blossoms, a hint of dust and the smell of something burning from the broom shed. Grinning, she carried the plate her mum had sent out with her to the shed and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” her dad called from inside.
Pushing the door open, Ginny entered the dimly lit interior. Her father was bent over a table littered with knobs and wires, several round pieces of mesh like metal and other assorted odds and ends she was sure fit together quite well at one point in time. She cleared a corner of the table, accidentally knocking something off the edge. Setting the plate down, she bent over to pick up what turned out to be a plug.
Arthur Weasley looked up at his daughter and smiled. Seeing the plate, he dropped the mass of wires he was working on and rubbed his hands together.
“Oh, good! I was beginning to get hungry.”
He lifted the red checkered napkin off the plate and made a noise of appreciation in the back of his throat. Picking up half the sandwich, he bit in with relish.
Looking around the table, Ginny’s eyes landed on the plug she had retrieved from the floor. “What’s this to?” she asked.
“Ah,” Arthur said, using the napkin to wipe a bit of mustard off the side of his mouth. “That plug goes to the end of that wire, as far as I can tell. Hermione tells me it’s a radio and music should come out of these,” Arthur held up two speakers. “She’s not sure it will work here, though. Might be too much magic around. Not to mention, we don’t have any eclectricity.”
Ginny nodded, walking around the table, trailing her finger through the dust. Arthur studied her as he finished his sandwich. When he and Molly had brought her home from Hogwarts, she had still been unconscious. Madame Pompfrey and Nathan Borgin had assured them that this was normal after experiencing such an ordeal. He had watched Molly fret and fuss over Ginny, tucking her in, feeding her broth, brushing her hair. At the end of the day, when she was worn down due to worry and work, Arthur had sent Molly to bed and sat with Ginny, reading to her, talking to her, holding her hand as if to beg her forgiveness for not being able to do more. He had been holding her hand when her eyes had finally opened. She had blinked at him — twice — and then turned on her side, drawing his hand under her chin, and curling up to sleep. He had stayed there like that until Molly came up to tell him it was time to clean up for breakfast.
Looking at his daughter now, he could tell that, physically, she had healed. The blush in her cheeks had returned, the twinkle in her eye was bright. Of course, that could also be due to the teenage boy who was staying in the twins‘ old room, too, he mused. Then it dawned on him that the same individual could be the reason for the furrowed brow and slight frown his daughter currently wore.
“Is everything alright, Ginny?” he asked, picking up the screwdriver Harry had given him two Christmases ago.
Ginny stopped and sighed. “Yes — no. I can’t figure out what to give Harry for his birthday.” Ginny screwed up her nose and rested her elbows on the worktable, her chin in her hands. “He gave me this wonderful, amazing, touching gift. I just want to — to give him something like that back,” she finished.
Arthur Weasley smiled sympathetically. He remembered fifteen going on sixteen. Every little gesture, gift, and look had to have so much meaning in it. Putting down the screwdriver, Arthur pulled Ginny close for a hug. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he smiled, wondering what he had done to deserve such a daughter.
“Ginny?’ he said.
“Hmm?” she answered into his chest.
“Harry is a very lucky young man.”
“Dad, you have to say that,” she said into his green jumper.
Arthur smiled. “Maybe - but it’s true. I’m sure you’ll figure out something Harry will love, simply because it came from you.” Giving his daughter a squeeze, he let her go. “You know, I often find I come up with my best ideas when I’m doing something totally unrelated.”
Ginny snorted. “You sound like Dumbledore.”
“Ah yes, well, he’s a very wise man. It’s an honor to be compared to him. Now hand me that hammer. I want to see what happens with I bang this thing over here.”
++++
Nathan rubbed his forehead, his fingers coming into contact with the freshly reapplied bandage. Hissing, he drew his hand back, cursing Lucius Malfoy under his breath. Carefully placing his left hand on the edge of the desk, he reached down and opened the bottom desk drawer with his right. Sifting through several other manuscripts, he drew out the amendment to his father’s final work and laid it on the desk.
Lifting the lid of the Flourish & Blotts box which had still been waiting for him by his door when he returned, Nathan pulled out another copy of The Power that Flows Through Us.
Borgin sat back and took a deep breath, tenting his fingers in front of him. Slowly nodding, he slipped the leather bound volume in his pocket. He then picked up the amendment and laid it in the box,carrying it to the fireplace. Placing it on the grate, Borgin pointed his wand at the fireplace and uttered “Incendo.”
Watching the flames, he decided he could really go for a butterbeer right about now.
++++
Stepping into The Three Broomsticks, Nathan scanned the room. His eyes rested on a booth in the back where Snape sat, his fingers drumming on the side of a glass. Weaving his way through the patrons, Nathan made his way to the table and slid in.
“Severus,” he nodded.
“Nathan,” Snape replied curtly.
“Is he coming?” Nathan asked.
“He’s a busy man. He will be here when he can be.”
“I see,” Nathan said, nonplussed.
“Something to drink, Professor?” Madame Rosmerta asked, sidling up to the table.
“Butterbeer, please,” Nathan smiled at the proprietress.
“Ah, one for the strong stuff, I see,” Madame Rosemerta smiled.
Nathan grinned. “Watch me. I may order a second.” Giving him a wink, Madame Rosemerta headed back to the bar to get his drink.
Turning to Snape, Borgin studied his housemate. Snape had been several years behind him in school, so he had not known him well, and Snape had not been all that outgoing the past term, careful to stay out of Borgin’s way. It didn’t escape Borgin that he and the Potions master had more in common than Snape probably liked to admit.
“I remember you from school, Borgin,” Snape said coolly.
“Really? Pleasant memories?” Nathan replied mildly.
“Not particularly. Of course, you ran with your own crowd.”
“Yes, I suppose I did.”
“Do you know your place?” Snape accused abruptly.
“Do you know yours?” Borgin shot back.
“Ah, gentlemen, I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Albus Dumbledore broke in as he slid into the booth across from the two Slytherin alumni. “Did you bring it, Nathan?”
Borgin slid the book out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Snape looked distastefully at the title.
“Really, Borgin. Are you expecting us to believe some sensational tabloid type rubbish written by a delusional witch?”
“She wasn’t delusional,” Borgin replied coldly.
Opening the book, Borgin turned it around to face the Headmaster and Snape. He watched as they read, Dumbledore’s expression unreadable, Snape’s brow furrowed. The two wizards finished and met Borgin’s gaze.
“Would she come?” Snape asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Borgin answered truthfully. “I don’t even know where she is.”
“I do,” Dumbledore said. “Write to her, Nathan. She’ll come.”
+++++
She looked at the letter on her kitchen table. No one ever sent her owl post. Or Muggle mail, for that matter. No one knew who she was or where she had been for almost forty years. Well, that wasn’t right. One did, but he hadn’t contacted her for almost seventeen. That was why, when the tawny brown post owl had pecked at the window above her sink this morning as she was washing her tea cup, she had almost fainted.
Slowly walking around the table, the witch cautiously prodded the letter, its address resting against the scarred surface of the wood, the wax seal staring at her low ceiling. She pulled her hands behind her back and rocked back on her heels, trying to decide what she felt rolling around in her stomach. Fear? Excitement? Trepidation?
Leaning over the edge of the table, careful not to touch anything, the witch held a magnifying glass above the seal so she could see it better. It was not that she was against wearing glasses, there just was not anyone nearby who sold them, carried them or could get them for her. She lived in the middle of nowhere, and she liked it that way.
The seal on the letter was blue, the rich, sunny blue of the sky on a spring day. The letter “B” stamped in the middle spoke of strength, power and wealth. At one point in time, that stamp had also spoken of death, destruction and fear. Looking at the “B” her heart tugged, the maternal twinge catching her off guard. Foolish, she admonished herself. She had ended that part of her life. With the flick of her fingers, the letter shot off the table and onto the hearth, the heat of the fire, causing the blue wax to hiss and spit as it melted.
Turning her back on it, the witch returned to the sink to finish washing up. But something pulled her back to the fire. Slowly reaching out, her fingers curled in anticipation, lingering over the melted seal. Had he forgiven her? Idiot, she chided herself. She was too old to get her hopes up.
She was also too old to turn her back on possibilities.
Picking up the warmed letter, she scraped the melted wax off the back, unfolded the pieces of parchment, and began to read.
++++
AN — And we begin again!
All my thanks wvchemteach for your endless supply of plot bunnies and feedback! Without you, this would be much shorter (!) and not nearly as good.
Also, my thanks to pavartipatil for her spit and polish — she makes me look good!
Lastly, but most importantly, my thanks to my husband and family for putting up with me and my hobby!
And may you find all your eggs before they find you. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.
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