The Truth of My Blood
Harry had been turning over the decision in his mind for days now. He knew he couldn’t trust many people in this new timeline, but Draco had already been dragged into it. They were in this together, whether they liked it or not. And after everything that had happened, Harry needed someone to talk to—someone who wasn’t part of the tangled mess of betrayal he had just untangled himself from.
He found Draco alone in the library late one evening, poring over a Potions textbook. The blonde looked up when Harry approached, raising an eyebrow but not saying anything. There was a strange, tense truce between them now—born of necessity, not friendship. But it was better than open hostility.
“We need to talk,” Harry said quietly, sitting down across from him.
Draco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “About what?”
Harry hesitated. This wasn’t going to be easy, but it was necessary. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening before leaning in closer. “About my parentage.”
Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What about it?”
Harry took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “The truth is... everything I thought I knew about my family—it was all a lie. Lily Potter wasn’t my mother.”
Draco blinked, taken aback. “What?”
“James Potter is my father,” Harry continued, “but not in the way everyone thinks. He was my carrier.”
Draco’s eyes widened, and he sat up straighter. “You mean...?”
“Regulus Black,” Harry said, his voice tight. “He was my real father.”
Draco stared at him, shock clear in his expression. “Regulus? My uncle? But—how is that possible? He died before you were even born.”
Harry shook his head. “There’s a lot more to the story. Regulus didn’t die when everyone thought he did. He and James were in love, and they had me. But Dumbledore... Dumbledore covered it up. He used Lily as a front to hide the truth, to keep control over me.”
Draco was silent for a long moment, processing what Harry had just told him. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “And you’ve only just found out about this?”
Harry nodded, his throat tight. “I found letters. Letters that Regulus and James wrote to each other. Dumbledore hid them in Grimmauld Place.”
Draco’s face twisted with a mixture of disbelief and something darker—something Harry recognized as the same betrayal he had been grappling with. “So Dumbledore lied to you about your entire life? And everyone went along with it?”
“Yes,” Harry said bitterly. “Everyone. My friends, the Weasleys, even Hermione. They all knew parts of it, and they never said anything. They let Dumbledore control me, manipulate me, all because they thought they were doing the right thing.”
Draco was quiet again, his gaze distant as he processed everything Harry had said. When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with bitterness. “You’re not the only one who’s been betrayed.”
Harry looked at him, surprised by the raw emotion in Draco’s voice. “What do you mean?”
Draco let out a harsh laugh, his eyes darkening. “Do you think my life has been any different? I’ve been manipulated and used just like you. My father—he always told me I had to live up to the Malfoy name, had to be loyal to the Dark Lord, had to follow in his footsteps. But he never cared about me, not really. All I’ve ever been to him is a tool.”
Harry frowned, not having expected this level of vulnerability from Draco. He leaned in closer. “What do you mean?”
Draco’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, as if he were ashamed of what he was about to say. “The Dark Lord... he used my family, just like Dumbledore used you. My father sold our loyalty to him like it was nothing, without caring about what it would do to me. I was never given a choice, Harry. I’ve been trapped in this role my whole life, forced to play the perfect Malfoy son, the perfect little Death Eater-in-training.”
Harry’s chest tightened as he listened. He had always seen Draco as the privileged, spoiled heir of the Malfoy family, but now he was starting to understand that Draco had his own burdens to bear.
“It’s not just your father, is it?” Harry asked quietly. “Your mother, too?”
Draco’s expression hardened. “My mother loves me, I think. But she’s always put the family’s reputation first. Always. She never fought back when my father made decisions for me—she just went along with it. And now... now I’m supposed to become a Death Eater, to prove my loyalty to the Dark Lord. I’m supposed to do things that I... that I’m not sure I can live with.”
Harry nodded slowly, understanding more than he ever had before. “So, we’ve both been lied to. Manipulated.”
Draco met his gaze, something like understanding passing between them. “Yeah. We have.”
For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just sat there in the quiet of the library, the weight of their shared experiences hanging in the air between them.
Finally, Harry broke the silence. “We don’t have to keep playing their games, you know. Dumbledore, your father, the Dark Lord—they’ve all had their plans for us, but we don’t have to follow them.”
Draco looked at him, a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. “And what do you suggest we do instead? Go rogue? Defy everyone?”
“Why not?” Harry said, a small, determined smile forming on his lips. “We’ve already got a head start with the time travel. We know what’s coming. We can change things—do things our way.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if weighing the possibilities. “It’s not that simple. There are still so many variables, so many people involved.”
Harry shrugged. “We take it one step at a time. But we don’t have to be pawns in their games anymore. We can make our own choices.”
Draco was quiet for a long time, clearly thinking over Harry’s words. Finally, he nodded slowly, though there was still a hint of reluctance in his expression. “I suppose... I don’t have much of a choice, do I? You’ve dragged me into this time travel mess, after all.”
Harry chuckled, though it was a hollow sound. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
There was a pause, and then Draco spoke again, more quietly this time. “It’s strange, isn’t it? After everything... after all the years we spent hating each other... we’re here, talking about defying everyone we’ve ever known.”
Harry glanced over at Draco, and for the first time, he didn’t see the arrogant, spoiled boy who had made his life hell at Hogwarts. He saw someone who had been just as trapped as he had, someone who had been hurt, lied to, and manipulated.
“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “It is strange.”
They sat in silence for a while longer, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry could feel the beginnings of something shifting between them—something that wasn’t quite friendship, but wasn’t hostility either. It was a fragile understanding, born out of shared pain and betrayal.
Finally, Draco broke the silence. “So, what’s your plan, Potter?”
Harry leaned forward, his eyes filled with determination. “First, we survive the Triwizard Tournament. Then, we figure out how to take down Dumbledore and the rest of them.”
Draco smirked, though there was a shadow of uncertainty in his eyes. “You make it sound so simple.”
Harry shrugged. “It won’t be. But it’s a start.”