"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.
And Mrs. Malfoy had promised that she was going to try and use other spells if she saw Black again. And Mr. Malfoy had said he was turning away from Voldemort. And Draco had listened to Harry—eventually—when he said that he didn't want Draco following him into the bathroom, and Draco had acted like a brother.
Maybe it was just—spread out, Harry thought in wonder, the good and evil that everyone did. Maybe Mr. Malfoy was a Death Eater and someone who loved his children. Maybe Mrs. Malfoy was a crazy mad person and someone who would do anything for him and Draco. Maybe Draco was a stuck-up, pompous git who held ridiculous beliefs about people like Hermione and someone who would fight for him.
But that just meant that there had to be good in Sirius Black, too. Harry opened his eyes and studied Black again. Black already seemed to have forgotten what they were talking about, the disturbing necromancy ritual and everything involved. He was looking down at his hands with a blank face.
"Tell me something," Harry said, and watched as Black jumped and stared at him. "What did you mean by saying that you didn't betray the Potters? I was there when Mr. Malfoy questioned you under Veritaserum. He asked you if you were in prison for betraying the Potters, and you said yes."
"Accused of it." Black's eyes shone with madness again. "I didn't receive a trial. And the bastard knew exactly what he was doing, asking the question that way. He was a Death Eater, Harry! He would have known I wasn't one. He wanted to make sure that I was never released, because he knew I would come and get you."
"The way you did once before," Harry couldn't help adding.
Black didn't seem to hear him. "But it was Peter who betrayed Lily and James. Peter Pettigrew. I swear! I was their Secret-Keeper at first, or I was supposed to be…" Black trailed off for a second. "I can't remember. It's hard to remember." He stared at Harry with eyes that, this time, glittered with tears. "Why is it so hard?"
Harry stood there, and didn't know what to say.
Black dipped back into his memories. "But I suggested the switch. I was James's best friend. Everyone would suspect I was the Secret-Keeper. No one would suspect Peter. He was a coward, kept out of things, didn't even fight with the Order of the Phoenix—"
"The Order of the Phoenix?"
"Dumbledore's Order. We were some of the only people resisting You-Know-Who." Black shivered. "Everyone else just wanted to roll over and play dead, pretend that he wouldn't hurt them that way, or they were helping him. Like Lucius Malfoy, evil bastard that he is."
Harry hurriedly asked another question, since Black looked ready to rant about the evil of Mr. Malfoy for the next hour or so. "So Pettigrew went and sold them out to Voldemort? Why?"
"Because he was a coward!" Dark fire flashed for a second around Black, which made Harry cautious of what he could do even without a wand, which he still probably had. He prudently scooted further away. "Scurried straight to Voldemort, sold the secret, and then Voldemort came and killed your mum and dad!" He glanced at Harry and seemed to remember who was actually alive and who was dead. "And marked you."
"What happened then?"
"I came and lent my motorbike to Hagrid." Black smiled a little when he saw Harry's confusion. "I had a motorbike, I'd enchanted it to fly. I gave him to you, or Dumbledore gave him to you. I don't remember, it was a long time ago." Black rubbed his head as if it hurt. "And then I went after Peter."
Harry's chest went cold again. Black said that he was his godfather and loved Harry and he'd stolen Harry to give him a better life, but he'd just run away after Pettigrew? Just like that?
Maybe because he's also the sort of man who could kidnap a baby from his parents and assume that was really the best thing he could do for him.
"What happened then?" Harry asked quietly.
"I confronted Peter on a Muggle street. He accused me of being the Secret-Keeper—the liar, the filthy traitor—and then he blew up the street with a spell that killed a dozen Muggles. Blew off his own finger, too. Or cut it off. I don't remember." Black rubbed his head again. "Then he turned into a rat and escaped down into the sewers."
Whatever Harry had expected, it wasn't that, and he stared at Black in bewildered silence. Black seemed to notice. He sat up and said, "Peter was an Animagus. Same as me. I mean, we were all Animagi, all of us. James was a stag, I'm a dog, of course, and Peter was a rat. And Moony was a werewolf."
"Moony?"
....
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