Patron (Harry Potter AU) (Complete)

Chapter 31: Hope and Regrets

The last lesson of the Hogwarts Self-defense Club before the Eostra Break confirmed Hermione Granger’s worst expectations. A number of witches had copied that twit Greengrass and wore robes that would be considered daring even for a 6th year. There was so much skin showing, it looked more like some attempt at a fertility ritual than a defense lesson when they gathered for the introduction.

Although she had to correct herself - the fertility rituals of the Faithful she had read about usually were done while in the nude, and those hussies didn’t go that far. Some sixth years came close though, and the witch was certain though that they’d like to try such a ritual anyway, with her Harry.

She was almost glad that Parkinson didn’t try to catch Harry’s attention, but was still aiming for Ron. Almost, though - Ron already had the thankless job of shielding Harry from the advances of those witches, and the Slytherin witch hitting on him was only adding to his stress. She was up to something, but so far the curse hadn’t been triggered, so she didn’t mean to harm Harry. And she wasn’t wearing a few strategically placed scraps of fabric and illusions either.

Of course, with more competition, Greengrass was now trying twice as hard. The blonde was standing in the first row, and if she pushed her barely covered chest out any further, she’d probably break her spine. Despite years of experience in acting the dutiful, obedient retainer in public, Hermione would have had to struggle to keep from scowling openly at the twit, if not for a little detail the hussies didn’t know.

“But before that, we’ll start with another round of dodge and shield training,” Harry concluded his speech. “Our usual instructors are unfortunately currently unavailable to help us out.” Some of the slower students cheered at the announcement. The cheers died down though as Harry continued: “My wand and my friends though will be taking their place, and casting the stinging hexes during the practise.”

With that, Hermione, Luna, Aicha, Neville, Ginny, Susan and Padma stepped up to face the other students.

Usually, Hermione would have resented the wording that singled her out as Harry’s retainer instead of his friend. Today though the witch was barely annoyed. She smiled politely at the assembled students, and kept her expression pleasantly bland when the assorted purebloods trying to poach Harry realized just who would be hexing them. And where she’d be aiming her hexes.

Hermione glanced over at Padma, who wasn’t quite used to hiding her feelings. The Indian witch was smiling ferally at Parkinson, who was looking distinctly less smug than before. Not as bad as Edgecombe though. Greengrass was still smiling, but Davis looked like a deer caught in headlights for a moment.

Oh yes, Hermione thought, raising her wand, this would be a very enjoyable lesson. Cathartic even.

*****​

Draco Malfoy smiled as he once again walked towards the empty classroom where Edgecombe would be waiting for him, ready to report on what she had seen - and done - in Potter’s little club. He had a couple books in his bag, and parchment - just in case he had to claim that he was meeting her for some tutoring.

The Ravenclaw witch was there, trying to hide as expected, and looking even more uncomfortable than usual. Good.

“Good evening, Miss Edgecombe,” he said while closing the door.

“Good evening, Mister Malfoy,” the witch pressed out through clenched teeth. Draco smiled widely.

“Please sit down,” he said, after he had let her standing for a minute while he had slowly taken out his books, parchment, and the Self-Writing Quill. Mother had asked for a more literal report, and he’d provide. He would add his insights after the transcript.

The witch was slowly sitting down, as if she expected to feel pain. She didn’t seem to be in pain though. Curious.

“So, what happened in this session?” he asked. He was just a student asking for some help. It was, perhaps a bit underhanded to try to profit from a rival’s tutoring like that, but by no means criminal. Another layer of deception, as befitting a Slytherin.

“We practiced dodging,” the witch spat out. “Professor Lupin and Mister Black couldn’t attend, so Potter’s friends cast stinging hexes at us during the training.”

Draco chuckled. Her attitude made more sense now. She probably hadn’t been able to sit down before the Matron had treated her. That was quite amusing. And the absence of the usual tutors was something the Dark Lord would be interested in as well. “Did the mudblood hex you too?”

“Yes.” Her cheek twitched as she admitted to have been abused by Granger.

Draco felt torn between enjoying the pain and humiliation the girl had gone through, and was suffering right now, and feeling outrage at a mudblood overstepping her bounds. Potter shouldn’t have ordered a mudblood to hex purebloods, that simply was poor form. But what could one expect from a parchment pureblood? On the other hand, it was delightfully humiliating. To have a mudblood abuse a pureblood blood traitor… he pondered the possibilities while he let Edgecombe stew some more. Finally, he deigned to address her again: “How did the attending students perform?”

“Poorly. Granger and Patil were the worst, but all of Potters friends cast a mean hex, and were very precise with their spells. Only Potter and Weasley didn’t hex anyone and stuck to instructing instead.”

“Oh? Did you perform poorly as well?” Draco asked in a menacing tone. He already knew the answer from her reaction.

“I was doing better than most witches.” She was trembling now.

Draco shook his head. “That’s not good enough. You need to catch their attention.”

“Those witches who did got hexed worse!” She was almost crying now.

“Stinging hexes are nothing,” Draco sneered at the witch. Even for a half-blood, she was pathetic. He had suffered pain curses that would have broken lesser wizards! “Curses on the other hand will do worse.” He smiled menacingly.

“That’s what Potter said!” Edgecombe blurted out, then covered her mouth with one hand.

“Did he? Interesting.” Draco leaned back. “Did anything else happen other than a few blood traitors hexing sheep?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Potter still didn’t react to the attempts of other witches to seduce him.”

“Hm. I see.” He didn’t, not yet. But he would. For a moment, he missed Pansy. She had known how to interpret such gossip. Then he sneered at his own weakness. She had chosen muggle filth over him! Pansy… “What about Pan... Parkinson?”

Edgecombe hesitated.

“Out with it!” he yelled at her, slapping a hand down on the desk in front of him, and she flinched back.

“She… she was trying to get close to… Weasley!” the witch answered, cringing.

“Weasley? She … I break up with her, and she starts running after that blood traitor?” He was gaping. How low could that witch sink, to go after such scum? To think he had ever considered her a good future wife… he shuddered, revulsed. With an effort worthy of Merlin himself, he controlled his temper and glared at the shaking half-blood in front of him. “How did he react?”

“He was polite, but didn’t seem to, ah, return the interest.”

Hot rage was bubbling up inside him. He wouldn’t be able to control his temper much longer, not after this outrageous humiliation. “Get out before I curse you!”

Edgecombe fled, shaking like a leaf and with tears running down her cheeks. Draco started blowing up desks before she had closed the door behind her. He had to vent his rage, but mere desks, mere things were not enough. He needed something that could feel pain, could bleed, could scream…

He suddenly saw something red flash at him, and before he could react, the world went dark.

*****​

Harry Potter walked out of the floo, finally home after hours on the Hogwarts Express, one of them spent patrolling. If not for Dumbledore and Sirius pulling strings, he and his friends would have had to wait even longer with the hundreds of students and parents who had to go through the Ministry’s floo checkpoint. He sighed. The war, never far from his mind, seemed far closer in London than at Hogwarts.

“Already missing the school, Harry? Hermione is a bad influence on you!” his godfather teased him, grinning widely.

“I was just struck how the war changed how we travel to Hogwarts and back. King’s Cross Station felt more like an armed holding camp than a station,” he explained. Draco disappearing from Hogwarts probably hadn’t help either, though why anyone would believe the Dark Lord had kidnapped him was beyond Harry. The foul git almost certainly had ran away to join Voldemort’s forces. Or to try to - even the Dark Lord probably had standards. Although Draco would make good cannon fodder.

“There was talk about sending the students through the floos from Hogwarts instead of letting them taking the train. Easier to protect them that way. Tradition won out - this time.” Sirius shrugged, as if saying he didn’t expect that to last. Behind them, Hermione exited the floo, followed by Remus.

The witch sighed as well, but she sounded more relieved than contemplative. Harry saw her posture relax and her face change from a polite mask to an honest if slightly sad smile as she stopped playing his retainer and started to act as his girlfriend again.

Contrary to other vacations, her parents hadn’t met her at the station. The Grangers were still on their world cruise, and would remain so for the foreseeable future. They’d meet them over the summer, but the Eostra Break was too short to justify arranging such a trip. There were simply too many security precautions that would have to be taken to keep everyone safe and to avoid blowing their cover.

A fact Harry was not unhappy about, if he was honest. As selfish as it was, he wanted Hermione near him. He reached out and took her hand to cheer the witch up.

“Kreacher has prepared the cage for Master’s Godson’s Slave.”

And that was it for his attempt to cheer his girlfriend up. He could feel Hermione grow stiff as she forced herself to smile at the house elf. “Thank you, Kreacher, but I’ll be sleeping in my usual room.” The evil house elf nodded, grumbling what was certainly insults under his breath, and walked away, taking their floating school trunks with him.

Harry glanced over at Sirius and Remus, to make sure the older wizards weren’t grinning. He knew they had a bet on how long it would take Hermione to stop ‘understanding’ the ‘poor brainwashed house elf’, and start cursing him, but he really didn’t want to begin his vacation with an argument. And that would be inevitable, should Hermione notice their expressions. Fortunately, Valérie arrived in the entrance hall at that moment, wearing one of her usual short and flimsy ‘house robes’, and distracted everyone.

“’ello! I ‘ope you ‘ad a good trip.” The veela embraced them all, with Sirius getting hugged last, but for the longest time. In fact, even after half a minute they they didn’t look like they’d plan to separate anytime soon.

Harry was about to cough, to interrupt them, but the look of happiness on his godfather’s face stopped him. Instead he took Hermione’s hand again, and quietly led her out of the hall.

*****​

Remus Lupin entered the kitchen at Grimmauld Place. Sirius and Valérie were probably still lost to the world in the entrance hall. His friend was spending far less time as Padfoot these days. He was happy for him, but couldn’t help feel a bit jealous as well. More than a bit, to be honest.

“‘ello Remus,” Chantal greeted him. The veela was looking at the meal Kreacher was preparing, adding some touches of her own. Remus saw the raw slabs of meat ready to be grilled, and felt his mouth water. It was too close to the full moon. He knew he could not transform, would not transform during the day, but he sure felt like he would at times. Shivering, he turned away.

Before he could leave the kitchen, Chantal stepped up to him and offered him a raw ham sandwich. At his questioning look - he felt more like growling than talking - she shrugged in that French way, as Sirius called it. “People come to the kitchen if they’re ‘ungry, n’est-ce pas?”

He nodded. A few bites later, he felt as if the beast lurking inside him had been sated somewhat. Then he felt embarrassed - he probably had devoured the food like an animal in the veela’s eye.

If she had been offended she didn’t show it though. “Are they still at it?”

“Sirius and Valérie? Yes.” Remus nodded. Seeing her smile, he couldn’t help but comment. “Valérie seems to have grown very close to him. And he to her.”

It wasn’t quite a question, but she answered what he was hinting at anyway. “You wonder ‘ow the rest of us is going to react to that.”

He nodded.

Chantal leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing her legs. Remus couldn’t help staring - her robe barely reached her thighs. He should be used to such a display, it was quite common in Sirius’s home, but it still affected him. It had to be his beast, so close to the full moon still. She had noticed, and smirked. “You expect jealousy?”

“It would be a normal reaction.” Together with insults and hexes. That’s how such things tended to play out at Hogwarts, both during his time as a student and as a teacher.

She giggled. “It would be. I assume you’d not be fooled by some fantastic tale of ‘ow veela are looking for their chosen mates, and once found, other veela would not dare interfere with such a sacred bond?”

Remus chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t.” Once, he had. As a teenager. But there was no need to mention that. He knew more about magical creatures these days. And he liked to think he was less gullible.

“The truth is, Sirius is a charming, very charming wizard. And so skilled…” she trailed off, her tongue briefly wetting her lips, and Remus felt his beast stir again. “Many wizards boast like ‘e did, when we met in France. Not many boast with such ‘umor. And few are those who can make good their claims. We ‘ad a very good time in France. Nothing more, nothing less.” She giggled. “I suspect ‘e wasn’t entirely serious when ‘e invited us to his ‘ome, and we accepted in part because it seemed like a challenge.”

That would explain a number of things, Remus thought. His jealousy did increase some though, upon hearing that Sirius’s boasts were not just that.

“But as we spent more time ‘ere, it became rather obvious that while we all grew closer, both Sirius and our youngest cousin grew more attached to each other. They seem to ‘ave a sort of rapport.” Chantal smiled wistfully. “Something more serious, you could say,” she added with a giggle.

Remus groaned at the pun. But he owed it to his friend to ask: “But… are you sure it’s healthy? Sirius is… still dealing with the effects of his time in Azkaban.” As always when Remus thought of his friend’s ordeal, he felt the burning shame of not having trusted him, not having cared enough to find out what had happened, not having wanted to face him. He owed Sirius so much, he had to make his friend wouldn’t be hurt further.

“We are all aware of ‘is issues. Is it ‘ealthy, as you ask?” Once again she shrugged, the movement causing her robe to slip a bit. Remus forced himself to look at her eyes, and not at her bosom. “Valérie is the most caring of us. She claims she sees more than a very ‘urt wizard in need of ‘er help. I ‘ope she is being ‘onest - with us, and with ‘erself. So far, we are still, as you might say, sharing. That might change, some of us might meet other people, we might grow apart again, or keep sharing. No one but seers can predict the future, and their prophecies are seldom clear until they ‘ave come to pass already.”

Remus nodded again. “I guess I can’t ask for more.”

“It’s enough. We might die any time we ‘ead out in this war. We should take what ‘appiness we can find.”

Remus almost winced at that comment. She must have noticed his reaction, since she leaned forward and put her hand on his shoulder. “You too, might think about this.”

Remus felt his beast stir again, and fought it back. A tad stiffly, he answered: “I might.” Turning away, he headed to his room until he had calmed down.

*****​

“It’s getting late, Hermione”

Hermione Granger looked up from the tome on blood magic she was reading in the Black Family Library. “Hm?”

Harry smiled indulgently at her. “It’s past midnight already.”

She checked her watch. He was right. Time had flown, as it usually did when she was reading. Sighing she closed the tome and stood up, stretching. A glance revealed that Harry was staring, and she smiled, very pleased. In a house with four barely-clad veela, any normal girl would have some doubts about her own appearance, and seeing her boyfriend’s reaction was quite reassuring as well as gratifying. And she didn’t have to wear a see-through robe either.

Then she realized she had all but ignored Harry for hours while she did her research, and felt guilty. “Sorry,” she said, gathering her notes. Harry knew her well enough to know what she was apologizing for; she did it often enough.

“Don’t be sorry. It’s important work.” He waited, smiling, as she stored her notes in her enchanted book bag.

She took a last look around the library, to check she had not left anything, a habit from the Hogwarts library and other public libraries. This library certainly fit its name: Dark shelves, a thick, dark carpet, and the wooden panels visible on the few parts of the walls that were not covered with shelves had darkened with age so much, they almost looked black.

Suddenly, she was overcome with a matching mood. “Did you ever consider just leaving?”

“Hm?” Harry cocked his head.

“I mean, running away. Fake our deaths, leave Britain, leave this war,” Hermione made a sweeping gesture that encompassed not just the room, but the country behind the walls.

“And leave our families?” Harry shook his head.

“We could run away with them.” Hermione countered.

“And fake everyone’s death?” Harry sounded almost amused.

“Blow the place up. Leave some fake bodies.” There were some interesting and disturbing spells in this library that would do the job, the witch knew. Just in case there were not enough Death Eaters around to serve as decoys with polyjuice.

“And this?” Harry pointed at his forehead.

Hermione grimaced. “That I am still working on.”

“We wouldn’t be safe as long as he lives,” Harry stated with conviction.

“Yes, and fleeing while we’re fighting a war wouldn’t be right,” the witch agreed with him.

“But you’ve made some plans anyway.” He knew her really well.

“Just in case.” If the war went badly. Or if the war was over, and they still hadn’t found a way to be together without having to live a lie.

Harry nodded, and held out his hand. “Let’s head to bed. Before Kreacher blocks your door and you have to sleep in my room.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. The misguided elf might just do that, should he overhear them and decide to interpret it as an order. Kreacher could be quite creative when it came to such things. It wasn’t his fault, of course. Sirius’s mother was to blame for the elf’s attitude.

She wanted to hex the foul creature anyway.

*****​

“Wheee!”

Harry smiled indulgently at Luna. The blonde witch was bending this way and that, trying to see how she looked in the muggle jeans and pink t-shirt she was wearing between pulling at the fabric. Apparently, she had temporarily forgotten about mirrors. Or just acted like it - one could seldom tell with her.

“Is she always like that?” Dudley asked, sharing Harry’s amusement. The two of them, like Neville and Ron, were wearing jeans and various shirts. Ron had gotten an orange t-shirt, of course, but hadn’t tried to get the ‘Cannons’ logo on it. Yet.

Harry nodded. “Yes, D, she is. Thanks again for coming with us.” His cousin had heard of their plans to go out in muggle London, and had offered to show them a few nice spots. Harry had accepted the offer at once - Dudley was the same age as he and his friends, and would know more appropriate clubs than Sirius. Or, as Hermione had put it, ‘less inappropriate clubs for teenagers’.

“Hey, I have to thank you. Going out with so many beautiful girls? My friends will be so jealous.” Dudley chuckled, nodding towards the rest of the group. Aicha, Ginny, Neville, Susan, Ron and Padma were standing around Hermione, who was checking their appearance for ‘appropriate muggleness’, in Ron’s words.

“Do Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon know about this?” Harry asked, in a lower voice.

“They know I’m going out with friends in London,” his cousin answered.

“Technically true,” Harry nodded.

“I would never lie to my parents,” Dudley grinned broadly, and almost as convincingly as he had when he and Harry had been questioned about the disappearance of the cake Petunia had baked for Aunt Marge’s visit when they had been six. He had lost a bit of weight since Harry had seen him last time. Boxing seemed to agree with him. Harry’s cousin probably would never be slim, but he was now burly-looking rather than fat. Between Dudley and Ron, other teenagers looking for trouble would hopefully pick someone else as a target.

Of course they were not going out all by themselves. Harry glanced towards the latest addition to their group, and the most shockingly dressed - for muggles. Nymphadora, in the shape of a teenager with long, black and blonde hair, wearing fishnets and a black leather miniskirt with a leather and mesh top, noticed and grinned at him.

“So, what are you two plotting?” she asked, coming over to them. She claimed she had picked both her form and clothes with the utmost care, but Harry wasn’t sure her gothic punk look had taken that much time.

“Nothing, Miss Doppleganger.” Dudley answered, causing her to frown.

“I told you, I’m a metamorphmagus, not a ‘doppelganger’!” she huffed, putting her fists on her hips.

Harry’s cousin shrugged. “Sorry, you just look so much like one, I get confused.”

Nymphadora stared at him. “I can change my body to look like anyone I want, and you say I look like a doppelganger?”

Dudley nodded. “Exactly!”

Nymphadora blinked, then stomped off shaking her head. Harry shook his head. “If she doesn’t protect us as she should after this, I am blaming you.”

Dudley grinned at him. “She messed with me first.”

“That she did,” Harry agreed. Nymphadora would get back at his cousin, he knew that, but he didn’t feel like mentioning it.

Hermione had finished her inspection of their friends, and joined them for a brief respite from the hail of questions aimed at her. Judging by the look she shot Harry, she hadn’t been amused by him leaving her to deal with that alone. He wasn’t moved much - he knew she loved to lecture.

“Alright. Everyone is presentable, and should be sufficiently coached in teen culture so any mistakes will be blamed on being slightly drunk and from the countryside,” she summarized while running her wand over her black miniskirt and white top to smooth them out. Harry knew she was missing her enchanted robes. He shared the sentiment; going out without all the convenient charms on his clothes almost felt like being naked, but they hadn’t had time to get those charms and the protections they needed.

“You plan to get drunk?” Dudley asked, sounding slightly concerned.

“No,” Hermione assured him, then pointed at Luna, who was lifting her shirt up to check her underwear. “But it’s a better explanation for some of the stuff they’ll be doing than drugs.”

Dudley stared, then nodded. “I guess so.”

“Picture time!” Sirius yelled, holding up a wizard camera. “Gather together so I can take your picture! It’s traditional!”

Harry glanced at Hermione, who shrugged. “I’ve given up on trying to teach him the differences between an American prom and a night in town in London. As long as it makes him happy…”

Harry was rather certain Sirius knew the differences well enough, at least after Hermione’s lecture, and was simply teasing the witch. He didn’t say anything though. He was also rather certain Hermione had realized the same thing, but was ignoring it.

The group gathered as ordered and spent the next few minutes posing for Sirius, who was taking about a dozen pictures until he was satisfied that the ‘muggle tradition’ had been sufficiently upheld.

“Remember, kids - me and Moony will keep an eye on you from afar, so don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!” the animagus declared.

“Anything you, or anything Remus wouldn’t do?” Ron asked with a grin. He earned an elbow to the side from his girlfriend for that. “Ow! Just asking for a bit of clarification.”

“Me.” Sirius and Remus said at the same time, then exchanged glares.

“That’s what’s protecting us…” Hermione muttered under her breath, but Harry saw that she was smiling.

Harry whispered back “Well, Valérie, Chantal, Laure and Eugénie will be closer.” Supposedly Sirius didn’t want himself and Remus to look like ‘dirty old men stalking kids’, and so had asked the veela to follow them into the clubs aimed at teenagers and tweens. Harry wasn’t sure if that would work out well. At least the veela would draw attention away from their group, even if they were ‘dressing down’, as Chantal called it, for this.

They still looked like they were models clubbing in Paris, of course. Dudley had commented on that about half a dozen times so far.

“You know, Harry, you need to have one of them ‘drive’ you to our house this summer. Piers would die with jealousy.” Make that seven times.

On the other hand, the veela’s presence would help the other teenage wizards and witches to blend in. And that probably was why Sirius had organized their trip this way.

Harry snorted. His godfather was sharper and more thoughtful than he wanted to appear.

*****​

Fetching a couple of drinks in a muggle club was quite the novel thing, Ron Weasley realized. Instead of simply summoning the stuff - and showing off how well you mastered the spell so you didn’t spill anything, unless of course you wanted to spill something by accident, say on a Slytherin - Ron actually had to to stand up and walk over to the bar and get them. And that meant walking through a room packed full of muggle teenagers, half of them dancing in the middle, the rest hanging around low tables and getting drunk. At least that’s what it looked like to him. Fortunately, Chantal and Eugénie were not currently dancing, Valérie had gone out ‘for some fresh air’, meaning, she was probably keeping Sirius company, and Laure was on the loo, which meant the dance floor wasn’t quite as crowded as before. You’d think the muggles had never seen a veela before! And they hadn’t been wearing too revealing clothing either. Everyone was dressed rather conservatively, in his opinion. His mum would like to hear that.

He slipped between two guys standing at the bar and raised his arm until the bartender, a woman in her twenties with a nose ring and shredded clothes, looked at him. He smiled and raised his voice so she’d understand his order over the music and the buzzing sound of a roomful of talking teenagers: “One Coke, and one…” he briefly checked the list over the mirror for a drink he hadn’t tried yet, “... Sprite!” That sounded even a bit magical.

A minute later, two glasses were placed in front of him, and he paid the woman. Judging by the wide smile she flashed him he probably had overdone the tip again. He didn’t care - it was Sirius’s money, and the head of the Black Family certainly had more than enough. Merlin, Ron had more than enough to be generous to the staff. It wasn’t as if this was charity or something.

Grabbing the two glasses, he made his way back to their table, more carefully now. It wouldn’t do to spill half the drinks. Padma would be annoyed, she really liked Coca Cola. Ron had drunk Cokes before, but a few of the other drinks available here he had never tried until tonight. While he found the muggle drinks still a bit weird, they were tasty. Not as good as butterbeer, but probably on the same level as pumpkin juice. He had to admit though that the ice inside the drink was a novel idea.

He reached Padma and the others without spilling anything, and his girlfriend beamed at him when he handed her her glass. The wizard briefly looked around after sitting down next to her. Harry and Hermione were curled up on one of the seats. Not quite lost in their own world, but close. Understandable - they usually didn’t get to be so open with their affection in public. Ginny was talking to Neville - the poor boy hadn’t gotten any rest this evening, it seemed. Ron almost shook his head at that; in Neville’s place he’d have told his little sister to shut it long ago. Nymphadora was sitting next to them, watching the room. Susan was lounging next to Dudley, chatting animatedly with Harry’s cousin. Ron wasn’t sure what was up with that. Dudley was an alright bloke, for a muggle, but he wasn’t that interesting. And Luna was… broken broomsticks! Where was Luna?

Ron started to panic. One thing everyone of their group had quickly learned: Luna Lovegood was not to be left out of their sight in muggle London. The quirky blonde had a talent for starting trouble, and one almost-riot caused by her loud observations in the first pub they had visited had been enough for Ron to last for a year. Who’d have thought so many people would react so violently to being told that red was a better color than white for their shirts? Who’d wear a cockerel on their shirt anyway? Well, a few subtle spells and some generous rounds had defused the situation, which had been related to football or something according to Dudley. He hadn’t known football was so violent. And the less said about the ‘Unicorn Incident’ in the next pub the better. Or when Luna had discovered ripped jeans.

“Where’s Luna?” he asked, louder and maybe a bit higher pitched than needed.

Padma pointed at the dance floor. And there the blonde witch was, dancing enthusiastically with Aicha. He relaxed. Dancing was fine. Nothing to worry there. He couldn’t spot Aicha’s genie, so the little thing was either still in her handbag, or at least invisible instead of making muggles think they were seeing things. The situation was still under control then. Leaning back, he had to laugh.

“Hm? what’s so funny?” Padma asked, her glass already half-empty.

“Nothing. Just… if mum knew I was the most responsible one of the group on this trip…” he chuckled, and Padma joined him. For a bit, they simply sipped their drinks - well, he did, Padma was closer to guzzling down hers - and watched their two friends dance.

“There are so many muggles, I’d never had believed it if anyone had told me,” Padma remarked. Ron knew better than to mention that Hermione had told her, repeatedly. Hermione was generally not wrong, especially not about muggles, but Padma was a bit sensitive about it.

So he agreed instead. “Yes. So many packed pubs and clubs. And none of them are afraid. They don’t know there’s a war going on. It doesn’t concern them. They’re just enjoying the night. And their biggest worry is probably if the boy or girl they like likes them back.” He shook his head at the notion, then noticed Padma’s frown. Uh oh. What had he said now? He continued. “And you don’t have to worry about sneaky hexes from Slytherins either. Or potioned butterbeers. It’s just so safe here!”

“Hermione was quite insistent that we never leave our drinks unattended though,” Padma pointed out.

“Yes, she was, but again - they can’t quite banish the stuff into our drinks from across the room. It’s still safer than Hogsmeade, despite what the Headmaster says.” Ron finished his ‘Sprite’. Not bad, but he’d had better. “It’s almost perfect.”

“What’s missing then?” Padma asked.

“Magic,” Ron answered. His girlfriend nodded her agreement.

*****​

Hermione Granger was happy. Happier than she had been for quite some time. She was sharing a seat with Harry - not quite in his lap, but close enough - and out in public without having to play the obedient retainer and hide her feelings. Luna was on the loose again, but Aicha was with her, and Ron seemed to be watching the blonde as well, so the witch felt justified enough not to care, and simply enjoy the opportunity to relax and be herself instead.

She rested her head on Harry’s shoulder, felt him adjust his pose a bit to make her more comfortable - and him as well - and sighed contentedly when his arm tightened around her waist. “Mh.”

The only slightly troublesome part of this marvelous outing - not counting Luna’s misadventures, those she had expected, if not the scale of them - was how close Susan and Dudley had gotten. And even that was a blessing in disguise - she had feared the redhead would try to butt in on her time with Harry. Still, her curiosity was aroused.

She shifted around a bit, and whispered into Harry’s ear. “What do you think Susan and Dudley are talking about?”

Harry turned his head slowly towards his cousin. “Hm. He’s probably asking her all sorts of questions about magic. You know how he is.”

That Hermione knew. For a self-proclaimed ‘bruiser and boxer’, Dudley was quite curious. She didn’t think it was just him asking the questions though. And while her boyfriend considered Susan a friend, Hermione wouldn’t put it past the redhead to use Dudley to get closer to Harry. Or at least get inside information. “She’s probably asking about all the embarrassing stories he knows about you,” she whispered, adding a giggle.

“D wouldn’t…“ Harry trailed off. “He would. Damn!”

She felt him tense up, and put her hand on his chest. “Relax. You can prank him later, probably with Nymphadora.” If Nymphadora still felt the need to - Dudley had been expecting some payback from her for the whole evening, and had chased away at least one girl when he had mistakenly assumed she was the metamorphmagus in disguise, there to prank him. The muggleborn witch closed her eyes. Of course Nymphadora would not think they were even; she was a Black after all. They didn’t do even.

She looked around. The veela were still staying put, sort of, which meant the dancing floor was less crowded than when they had been dancing, even with Luna and Aicha attracting some attention. “Let’s dance, Harry!” she said while standing up, and pulling on his arm. With a chuckle, her boyfriend got up again, and they walked towards the dance floor. Hopefully, they’d play some slow music soon too.

Hermione was determined to enjoy this night as much as possible. So far it had been almost perfect. The only drawback was that she had to hide her magic.

She snorted at the thought - it seemed that no matter where she was in public, among muggles or wizards, she had to hide an important part of herself. Life just wasn’t fair.

*****​

“Sirius? Do you have a moment?”

Sirius Black looked up from the Daily Prophet spread on the kitchen table in his home. The picture of Fudge he had been hunting around the page with a permanent marker used the opportunity to flee to another page.

“Of course, Hermione.” He smiled at the muggleborn witch. She had taken to wearing shorter, lighter robes, he noticed. Not nearly as skimpy as the attire of the other women in the house, but there was progress. He made a mental note to buy her a few robes more appropriate for her sixth year over the summer, and hoped he’d not forget it.

“It’s private,” she added.

“Ohhh,” the animagus wiggled his eyebrows at her while his smile widened. ‘Private’... he wondered what she might want to ask of him. “We can go to my study then. It’s not as if I have much use for it.”

She rolled her eyes at him. Apparently, he wasn’t fooling her. But ‘Sirius Black, hard-working head of his family’, wasn’t as impressive as ‘Sirius Black, carefree rogue’. Not that he really needed to look and sound impressive, these days. Not with Valérie and the others still around, despite having gotten to know the real him. But appearances had to be maintained - at least the ones he liked. Summoning two bottles of butterbeer from the fridge, he led the witch to his study.

“Make yourself comfortable and tell your future godfather-in-law everything!” he said after closing the door. When she flinched at his light-hearted teasing, he realized just what he had just made fun of. “Sorry,” he muttered while he sat down on his own, enchanted seat and popped a bottle open.

Hermione gave the barest nod in acknowledgement of his apology, and cast a few privacy spells at the door. Either she was far shyer than he had thought, or this was not about her and Harry’s love life. She didn’t touch the bottle he had floating next to her either.

The witch sat down herself, and for a moment, both of them stared at each other, their expressions growing serious.

“I need a live, marked Death Eater,” she said in a very level, very cold voice.

What? He stared at her, not quite gaping.

His surprise must have shown though, since she rolled her eyes at him again and pressed her lips together before elaborating. “You know about Harry’s scar.”

“Yes,” he nodded. He would have liked to forget that, at least at times. But he couldn’t.

“You know what the Dark Marks are and do,” she continued.

The young witch reminded him so much of some of his old tutors, he repressed the urge to raise his hand instead of nodding. He had to ask Harry if his godson felt the same sometime.

“I’ve got a plan to deal with both, but I need to know more about the Dark Mark. Much more. And for that I need to study one. On a living Death Eater.” The witch met his eyes, challenging him, daring him to ask what she was planning.

Sirius didn’t have to. He knew what kind of books she had been reading in his library, Kreacher had seen to keeping him informed. It was not too difficult for him, with his background, to deduce what she was planning. At least now. He sighed. “I assume you’d need a trip to Haiti too, sometime later?”

The girl stiffened, her eyes widening briefly. Why did everyone act so surprised whenever he revealed some knowledge? Then she nodded. “Unless I find the information I need in Britain.”

“You won’t. It’s been banned for centuries. If my family doesn’t have it, I doubt anyone else has it.” He didn’t like to brag, but his family had been among the most knowledgeable when it came to the Dark Arts. Still was, actually. Just because he hated to use it didn’t mean he had forgotten.

“There are immigrants. Researchers. Some muggles might have inherited books, not knowing what they are,” she countered.

“Yes. But you’d have a hard time tracking them down in Britain.” It wasn’t impossible, but it would require luck and time. Two things they might not have.

“Convincing one of the ‘practitioners’ to teach me is not likely to be easier,” Hermione said without showing any emotion. Not even the frustration he himself was feeling when he thought about their situation.

“You’ve got something else in mind, as an alternative.” It was not a question.

“Yes. But it’s a questionable plan,” she admitted.

“More questionable than a trip to the Caribbean?” He raised his eyebrows.

Hermione nodded.

“More dangerous too?” He couldn’t think of anything. Maybe some of the things that had laid the foundation for his home’s wards. But then, he hadn’t been able to think of what Lily had done to protect Harry either. Not that he had really wanted to know what she had done in the first place.

“Maybe.” Hermione’s lips formed a thin line. That meant ‘yes’, of course.

Harry wouldn’t like that. At all. “But more promising than the alternatives?”

“As far as I can tell with my current knowledge, yes. That might change as I study the subject further,” Hermione admitted. The way she didn’t go into details despite their privacy more than anything else told Sirius that they were talking about highly illegal research either way.

“You’re doing outlawed and very dangerous research.” She might die. Or worse. The Dark Arts were feared and loathed for a reason by any sane wizard.

“It’s for Harry.” Hermione smiled sadly.

And that was the crux of the issue. If it wasn’t for Harry, he’d tell the girl to stop before she got herself jailed or killed. Or worse. But Harry was more important than either of them. Even if the boy would disagree. Vehemently. “He’ll hate it.” And he might hate her, and Sirius for helping her.

“He’ll live though,” Hermione stated with utter conviction. The older wizard realized that she would succeed, or die trying. Just like himself. He had failed Harry, had failed the boy’s parents once, he’d not fail again. No matter the cost.

He chuckled. “Hopefully he’ll never knew what we’re willing to do.”

Hermione nodded. Both of them knew though that this was unlikely. But maybe he’d not realize just what they had done, afterwards. They’d do it anyway. For Harry.

“So… capturing a Death Eater it is. Alive. And keeping him captive and alive. A tall order,” he summarized. Not impossible, of course.

“And hidden from the Dark Lord. Or at least kept at a place the Dark Lord can’t get to,” Hermione added.

“You realize that there’s only about one place that would work for that,” Sirius hissed.

Hermione nodded, smiling faintly. She had known, and was counting on him to arrange it, Sirius was certain.

“I’ll talk to him,” Sirius sighed. “You know, I wasn’t really joking, earlier. If you can do this, you can do anything.”

When he saw the way her face lit up with sudden hope, before she schooled her features again, he hoped he hadn’t been lying.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore smiled at young Sirius. Seeing the wizard in his office made the Headmaster feel nostalgic. The young man had been a very frequent visitor to his office, back when he had been a student. Him, and the others of his group, troublemakers extraordinaire. They had been responsible for much laughter, back in the last war. That war… it had been a desperate struggle, but he had been younger then. They all had been.

His former student didn’t visit him that often anymore. Understandable, after Albus had failed him so terribly. An innocent in Azkaban, for over a decade. Albus ranked his failure to ensure the law was followed properly in that case as one of his biggest, gravest sins. One he would never be able to make up for, but would take with him to his grave.

He forced the morbid thoughts away. Sirius had asked for a meeting, in private, so it had to be important. Folding his hands, he waited for the other wizard to begin speaking.

“Albus, I need to know if you’ve got a secure dungeon in the school that could be used to house a prisoner.” Sirius came right to the point. Or appeared to do so.

Grimmauld Place 12 had dungeons too, so Sirius didn’t need a cell, but the defenses of Hogwarts. Which meant that he feared the Dark Lord would come for the prisoner. And he didn’t want the Ministry to have him. The wizard could just be worried about leaks and spies, but Albus didn’t think so. Sirius had plans for the prisoner then, plans he needed secrecy and privacy as well as security for. “What do you plan to do with a Death Eater?” he asked. There were a few likely answers, of course.

Sirius frowned briefly, then smiled, and once again Albus saw not a middle-aged wizard, still somewhat showing the effects of Azkaban, but a young man sent to him by Minerva for pranking someone. The impression vanished as soon as Sirius answered though. “To study the Dark Mark.”

Fawkes trilled, not quite angrily, but not the happy sounds he made when he was pleased, or had just managed to steal some candy. Albus smiled at his companion, then met Sirius’s eyes. Sirius was many things. An animagus. A skilled wizard. A good fighter. A good leader too, and a caring godfather. But a researcher he was not. He had shown some talent when it came to pranking, to adapt spells or potions, but he had never shown any inclination for the kind of research this task he mentioned needed. And while he might be willing to do anything for his godson, Sirius didn’t seem to be that unaware of his own strengths and weaknesses. So, he was asking for someone else. Remus was more scholarly inclined, but he would have come to ask Albus himself, if he was involved. That left…

“I see Miss Granger is making progress in her quest to help her Patron,” The Headmaster remarked. Sirius’s hiss told him he was right. “Although we both know just how dangerous the knowledge she seeks is.”

“It’s for Harry,” Sirius answered, as if that explained and excused everything. It did the former, but not the latter.

“Of course. But would Harry like his retainer to sacrifice herself for him? Or his godfather?” Albus asked in a mild voice.

“He wouldn’t. Just as we wouldn’t like him to sacrifice himself for us,” Sirius answered. “But that’s not the issue. This needs to be done. You know it as much as I do. Without discovering the secrets of the Dark Mark, without finding a way to ... deal with all that entails, we’ll lose this war. Or the next. The Dark Lord’ll have made sure to keep some of his marked Death Eaters safely away from the fighting. They’re probably not even in Britain.”

Albus hated to admit it, but he knew the younger wizard was correct. He had come to that conclusion already - Tom was very unlikely to risk all his horcruxes. And if he was defeated, he’d return. A year, a decade later - he’d be back. Smarter. More experienced. And Albus might be dead by then. Of old age, even. He frowned. “Yes. It has to be done. But does it have to be her?”

“Lily was not much older when she found a ritual to defeat the Dark Lord. Who would you trust as much?” Sirius asked. “Who else does Harry trust as much?” He hesitated a second, then added. “And who else will we be able to deal with as easily, should she ... fall?”

Albus stiffened. “That is a surprising argument. Correct, but very cold-blooded.” As Rookwood had shown, not even the Unspeakables were immune to corruption - of either kind. And they and the likes of them had more experience and resources, which would make doing what was needed more difficult. And there was the fact that he’d get to teach again. He hadn’t been able to indulge in that passion of his for a while now.

Sirius spread his hands. “Do you doubt she’d prefer that to endangering Harry herself, after losing control or her mind?”

Albus shook his head. “I am not sure if I should be happy for Harry, or pity him.”

“Both, of course,” Sirius answered, without any hint of levity.

Albus sighed. “I’ll arrange a cell, far removed from any area students can access. And I will be present each time she visits, and involved in the research.” He wasn’t as foolish as to let a young witch delve into those matters without supervision. And there was no one else he trusted with the secrets of the Dark Mark. “Capturing a marked Death Eater will be a challenge though. Those known to carry the mark tend to seldom stray far from their Master’s side, and the others are hiding.”

“We’ve got a lead on someone. Just have to wait until he makes a mistake.” Sirius grinned ferally.

Albus felt the urge to caution the younger wizard of making the mistake of underestimating his enemy. Sirius wasn’t his student anymore, and deserved his trust, but a little reminder never hurt anyone. “Let’s hope Mister Yennington will make that mistake soon.”

He kept his expression bland when Sirius’s slight twitch told him the animagus had been surprised again by Albus’s knowledge. Surprised, and hopefully reminded not to underestimate his opponents.

When Sirius had left, Albus stopped smiling and leaned back, closing his eyes. He was preparing to study the Dark Arts with a young prodigy at his side. For the most noble of goals, they would be braving the foulest magic. Just like he had done before, with Gellert.

He could only hope that this time, no one would succumb to temptation. He didn’t want to add another unforgivable sin to his soul.

The old Headmaster glanced at Fawkes, who was busy preening himself, then at his watch, and wondered when the bodies of the Malfoys would be found.


Chapter 32: Family Matters

 

Chapter 32: Family Matters

Kenneth Fenbrick arrived at the small clearing with his wand out and his back to his partner, Bertha Limmington. The hit-wizards guarding the location didn’t bat an eye at them, but didn’t let them out of their sight either - these days, everyone expected an ambush. There were too many hit-wizards around to make imperiusing them all feasible, or so Kenneth hoped, and he lowered his wand after a few detection spells.

Bertha, who would usually have been at the bodies already, had waited as well, and the two started walking towards the center of the crime scene.

Kenneth took one look at the two bodies on the ground, and closed his eyes, sighing. “Why is it that even with all the special duties we’ve been on, we still get sent to all of the politically sensitive cases?”

To his surprise, his partner didn’t roll her eyes at him, or blame him. “I assume that’s ‘because’, not ‘despite’,” Bertha answered while kneeling down next to the closest body and running her wand over it. “We’ll have to wait for the results from the polyjuice testing, but so far this looks like the body of Narcissa Malfoy,” she declared while taking a blood sample with a flick of her wrist.

Kenneth nodded at the second body, a few yards away. “That would make this Draco Malfoy.” He peered at it. “The face matches the pictures we have.” Though on the pictures, the boy was smiling, with a slight sneer. This face was frozen in an expression of surprise and horror. He summoned some blood from the corpse as well, and made it float into a vial.

Bertha pocketed both vials in a self-sealing pouch.

“Let’s hope the Unspeakables find the time to run the tests,” Kenneth commented.

Bertha nodded, her attention fixed on the first body still. Kenneth smiled - that was his partner as he knew her. Focused, unrelenting, brilliant.

“Cause of death seems to be a Cutting Curse,” she spoke while a dictaquill recorded her words on a floating piece of parchment.

“Seems?” The heads were lying a few feet apart from the bodies.

“I don’t detect any other injury, but we can’t rule out poison or other options until the blood tests come back,” Bertha specified.

“Beheading someone so neatly requires great skill, luck, or some immobilized target,“ Kenneth commented. He knew that from practise. “Since we found the bodies, they were meant to be found, but I think if they wanted to make a statement, the bodies would have been arranged more … impressively. This looks like someone simply dropped them after beheading them.”

“Maybe they did. Or that is what we are meant to think.” Bertha was checking the robes of the corpses. “All protective enchantments are broken. Not just suppressed or overloaded.”

His partner nodded. “Sounds like the Dark Lord’s handwork.” It took a lot to destroy such enchantments, and few did it when suppressing or exhausting them was so much easier.

“Yes. Not in person though. He uses the Killing Curse. Probably a new recruit. Maybe it was test. See if he has the guts to kill a mother and her son.” Kenneth frowned. “And he wasn’t fully on board, hence he simply let the bodies drop.”

“Or they were dropped without a thought, as if they were trash.” Bertha looked at the site again, marking the positions of the bodies and heads with a few flicks of her wand.

“As if?” Kenneth raised his eyebrows. He knew what kind of people the Malfoys had been.

“There’s a rumor that the Dark Lord was pressuring Malfoy and his mother. Maybe they tried to flee.” Bertha’s tone was even, but Kenneth knew her so well, he picked up her doubt anyway.

He snorted. “I believe that when the Dark Lord confirms it in person, with veritaserum. I think they failed him, somehow, and this was their punishment.”

“No sign of the cruciatus. Although to find older traces, we’d have to wait for the tests from headquarters to be run.”

“More parchmentwork. Joy,” Kenneth sighed.

“Would you prefer another patrol instead?” Bertha’s lips twitched. For her, that was almost teasing.

“Of course not,” Kenneth shook his head. Patrolling was either too boring, or too dangerous. It was a task for hit-wizards, not highly-trained aurors these days.

“Let’s check the other body.” Bertha stood up and walked over to the headless corpse of Draco Malfoy.

She waved her wand over it. “He was reported missing before the Eostra break. I don’t see any signs of torture, or wounds. Not even malnourishment. If he was kidnapped, then the kidnapper took pains to treat him very well.”

“That doesn’t sound like the Dark Lord.” Kenneth frowned. Other victims they had found had looked far worse. This was almost... merciful. As far as murder went.

“The Malfoys were an old family. As are the Blacks. The other victims we found were of lesser status.” Bertha cocked her head sideways, studying the head. It showed the same surprised and shocked expression as Narcissa’s.

“A gesture of respect, for old blood?” Kenneth doubted it. Members of other old families had been treated far harsher in the last war.

“Or for family. You know the rumors about the Dark Lord and Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa’s sister.”

“Ah… yes. But wouldn’t she have been more cruel?” he rubbed his chin. “From what the hit-wizards say, she’s as crazy in combat as before her capture.” Not that he associated much with the hit-wizards. But he had a sort of understanding with the veterans of them - as few as there were. Most had been released after the last war, which had resulted in a lot of resentment, and a surge in the population of British mercenaries. Kenneth didn’t want to know how many of the people the Ministry was fighting had been former hit-wizards.

“Who knows what she’s like, after a decade in Azkaban?” Bertha looked around on the clearing. “We don’t know how she would treat her close family.”

“We don’t know anything. Could have been the Dark Lord, for defying, or failing him. Or some of the victims of dear imperiused Lucius, taking revenge on his family.” Kenneth hated it when a case lacked a clear suspect.

“They’d have done more I think, if they were willing to kill a dead wizard’s family in revenge.” Bertha was casting detection spells on the clearing now.

“True.” Kenneth followed her example. “How much longer until the curse-breakers manage to break the wards on Malfoy Manor?”

“They’ll need a few hours at least, and that only if it’s a priority.” Bertha was methodically covering the clearing.

“Is it one?” Kenneth’s partner would know, she had her finger on the pulse of the bureaucracy.

“Both the Minister and the Chief Warlock think so,” Bertha said, almost absentmindedly. Kenneth had known that someone was putting pressure on the DMLE by the urgency they had been called in on this case, but both Fudge and Dumbledore?

Kenneth scoffed. He could do with less pressure. “I am so glad to know that our best curse-breakers have nothing more important to do than break into a dead family’s house.”

“You’re the best, you deal with the worst.” His partner knew what he was thinking, of course.

“Yeah. I guess I need to mess this case up so we will get easier ones in the future.” He chuckled at Bertha’s expression. For a second, she had believed he was serious. Before he could tease her though, she noticed something.

“Look at this!” She pointed at a spot near the edge of the clearing. “Spell residue. Disillusion. Vanishing Charm. And a plant restoration spell.” She sounded curious, intrigued even.

Kenneth cast his own spell. “Two yards by two yards. It damaged the grass, but the soil’s not noticeably depressed. Wizard tent.” He grinned, both at the clue, and at the fact that the spell that had saved his third year Herbology project had been used here. “I think we found Draco’s hideout.”

“But why would he run away in the first place? He was the Head of the family.” Bertha bent down to check the grass, and Kenneth snuck a glance at her rear.

“Maybe he didn’t want to go home. Maybe he was afraid to meet his mother. Or her friends.” Kenneth had heard rumors about the Malfoys. And the Blacks.

Bertha glanced at him. “You think she was involved with the Dark Lord?”

“With her sister the Dark Lord’s right wand, and rumored to be his lover?” Kenneth shrugged. “Everything’s possible, but I hope the curse-breakers got a lot of hit-wizards with them. Just in case the manor got visitors who stayed.”

“I think we’re done here.” Bertha straightened up.

“So, what’s next?”

“Witnesses.”

*****​

“Pansy dear?”

“Yes, mum?” Pansy Parkinson looked up from the latest issue of ‘Teen Witch Weekly’ she was reading, causing the picture of the author of the ‘How to snatch your wizard’ column to pout adorably with perfectly shaped and painted lips.

“There are two aurors who want to speak with you.” Penelope Parkinson stared at her, and Pansy’s first impulse was to claim that she didn’t do it, without even asking what she might have done.

Not that she could think of anything she had done that might cause aurors to visit. And none of her rivals at Hogwarts would frame her, that would go far too far. That meant… she paled slightly. “It must be about Draco!”

Her mother nodded, smiling. “That would be my guess as well.” Pansy felt as if she had just been patted on the head. She checked her robes - not suitable for meeting every visitor, but good enough for aurors - and followed her mother down to the eastern salon. The one for visitors that were not quite on par with her own family’s status.

In the room were a wizard and a witch waiting, both clad in the red robes of the Auror Corps. The wizard was handsome, with a certain roguish charm, smiling at her. “Miss Parkinson? I am Auror Fenbrick, this is my partner, Auror Limmington. We’ve got a few questions for you concerning Draco Malfoy.” The witch nodded, smiling politely, and set a parchment with a self-writing quill up.

“Draco? Did something happen to him?” Pansy asked. Her mum put her hand on her thigh, as if to support her. Pansy felt the fingers dig into her leg though, and knew it meant to shut up, and let them ask questions without volunteering any information.

“He was found this morning. Dead,” the auror said, nodding slightly.

For a moment, Pansy didn’t know how to react. She was shocked, then relieved, then shocked at her relief. She tried to say something, but didn’t find the words. Her mother’s hand was comforting now.

“Murdered, to be exact, as was his mother.” The witch’s voice seemed to be devoid of any emotion, as if she was talking about the weather.

Both Pansy and her mother gasped slightly at that revelation. That meant the Malfoys were gone. Another Old Family, destroyed.

“You were his girlfriend, until a few months ago, is that correct?” the male auror sounded sympathetic.

Pansy nodded, then caught the pointed stare of the woman at her quill, and said: “Yes.”

“Do you know of anyone who’d want to harm him?”

Pansy sighed, using the time to weigh her words carefully. “I think a lot of students wanted to harm him at least once.” She smiled ruefully. “House Slytherin wasn’t the most peaceful place under Professor Snape.” The auror frowned slightly at that. He was too old to have been a student of the man himself, but he probably heard the rumors. “But to kill him? No, I don’t know anyone at school who would do that.” At least she hoped so. If one of her acquaintances was a murderer… Merlin! “Do you think I’m in danger too?”

“At this point I doubt that,” the auror stated while smiling reassuringly at her.

The witch cut in: “But it cannot be ruled out. You were his girlfriend for years.”

“But we had a rather nasty falling out,” Pansy stated, almost pleadingly. Her mother patted her hand.

“Did he ever tell you about threats made to his family?”

Pansy shook her head. “No, when he was talking about his family, he didn’t mention anything like that.” She was still trying to come to grips with the fact that her ex-boyfriend was dead. Killed. Murdered. Who would…

Her expression must have betrayed her thoughts, since the auror asked quickly: “Did you just think of something?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yes. Draco had … changed in the last year. Grown more secretive. He seemed more violent too.”

“More violent?” Both aurors were staring intently at her now.

“He… he talked about fighting a lot. I think he was hiding something important. Sometimes it felt as if he wanted to tell me something, but then he wouldn’t say anything.” It was starting to get easier to speak. “We started to drift apart. He was always going on about Potter and his retainer. You know, ‘Mudblood this, blood traitor that’.” Her mum hissed at hearing that - those words were not uttered in public, usually, in this house.

The aurors didn’t react to the slurs though. “Harry Potter?”

“Yes. Draco thought he was Potter’s rival since our first year. They clashed a lot. Draco didn’t often win.” Pansy almost smiled, remembering how she set her ‘boyfriend’ up for many such scenes.

“Did they fight?”

“Not with wands. Not often, at least. But they were no longer paired up in Defense. Not after a few sparring duels that got out of hand.”

“So, you could say they had been enemies?” The auror’s voice was bland, calm, but his eyes were almost burning.

“Draco thought they were. He hated Potter and Weasley - Ronald Weasley.” She hesitated, just an instant, but again they noticed. Those were experienced aurors, not fellow students. They wouldn’t underestimate her, she told herself. Lying would be a very bad idea.

Pansy took a deep breath. “You know, I had started to feel a bit afraid of him, before we broke up. He was just so… intense.”

“Why did you break up with him?”

“Potter had started a muggle ‘Movie Night’ at Hogwarts. Those are like pictures, but with sound and music, and go on for hours. Draco didn’t like that I went to watch. He said I shouldn’t go. I didn’t like that. Everyone else from our year was going. Even Greengrass and Davis. I wasn’t about to let him order me around, so I broke up with him.”

“Did he threaten you?”

Pansy shook her head. “No. Not really. But he was often staring at me. Not as often as he stared at Potter, though. But when I joined the Self-Defense Club run by Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, he was really mad.”

“Did he ever hurt anyone?”

“As far as I know, apart from some mishaps in Defense, no.” Pansy shook her head again.

“Did he have any close friends, other than Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle?”

“Not any close ones, no.” And she wasn’t even sure if Draco had considered them his friends - or subordinates. Potter treated his retainer better than Draco had treated them, on occasion.

“Do you have anything to add?”

Pansy thought for a moment. “No. I think that’s all.”

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson.”

Once the aurors were gone, Pansy started to shake. That had been a lesson in humility. She wouldn’t fancy herself a superb manipulator, not for a while.

“Narcissa and Draco killed. A family going back centuries, gone.” Her mother shook her head, summoning a flask and two glasses, offering one to her.

Pansy took it. The fire whiskey burned in her throat, but it did help. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

“No. You distanced yourself from him.” Her mother sounded reassuring, approving even. But Pansy didn’t really believe her. If they could get the Malfoys, they could get anyone.

*****​

Albus Dumbledore watched as the wards on the Malfoy Manor finally fell. He felt a brief bout of guilt when he saw several of the curse-breakers collapse, their exhaustion plainly visible. The old wizard could have sped the process up considerably and taken a lot of the strain off them. But if he would have been tied up in that, and the Dark Lord arrived…

“Is it done?” Cornelius, standing next to him, asked. The Minister for Magic hadn’t left his side ever since he had arrived. Albus hadn’t pointed out that being close to him wasn’t as safe as the other wizard believed since the Dark Lord would either come at him or try to keep him busy. And attacking Cornelius would keep the Headmaster busy protecting him.

“Yes, Cornelius. The wards are down. Though there might be other traps and defenses.” Albus remembered the Lestrange Manor, after the last war. Two aurors and one curse-breaker died when one among them set off a trap that filled the entrance hall with poisoned spikes. “I’ll give them a hand.” With a nod to the Minister, he strode towards the Manor. Traps he could deal with more easily than wards.

“I think I should take a look at this before we proceed,” he said as the aurors and the remaining curse-breakers parted in front of him. Many of them would be relieved not to have to brave the traps themselves. Cornelius followed him, but then stayed in the middle of the aurors.

There were quite a few defenses. Enchanted statues, some buried under the lawn, and hedges concealing Amazonian strangleweed. Albus would have discovered them even if he hadn’t known about them from ransacking Narcissa’s mind. Everything was quite easy to spot, if you knew how to look for the wards that kept children away. He smiled. Narcissa had done a great many evil things, but she would never have endangered her son. She had died for Draco too, he thought as he proceeded to render the defenses inert, rushing to her son’s side when he was compelled to call her.

Sadly, Narcissa hadn’t known about Lucius’s traps in his sanctum, so Albus was unaware of what awaited him there. He would have to be ready to put the right spin on any discovery. A widow, pressured by the Dark Lord, following his orders until the demands grew to be impossible to endure… that might frighten some of the other Old Families into fighting the Dark Lord, instead of following him. And blaming the Dark Lord for the deaths of the Malfoys would ensure that their gold would not go to Bellatrix, or anyone else connected to Voldemort. With Andromeda emancipated, Sirius would be the closest heir then.

He reached the main entrance, and turned around, giving the waiting wizards and witches a signal with his wand that it was safe to approach now, before opening the massive, rune-covered doors and entering the manor itself.

“Mistress?” a high-pitched voice rang through the room. One of the family’s house-elves had appeared. “Mistress is not at home. No visitors.”

Albus smiled gently at the little creature. “Hello. I am Albus Dumbledore, the Chief Warlock. I am sad to say that your Mistress and your Master are dead.”

“Oh…” The elf stared at him. “I have to inform the others then,” it said, and disappeared through one of the hidden doors the elves in old mansions - and in Hogwarts - used to get around without being seen. In the last war, many elves had broken out in tears at the loss of their Masters. The rather reserved reaction to the news here said a lot about the late family’s relations to their servants. Well, the Office for House-Elf Relocation would be taking care of them now. Hopefully, they’d get a better home.

The first aurors arrived then, and fanned out, covering the various doors. Behind them, Cornelius entered.

“I keep expecting Lucius to greet me, and invite me to his study for a drink…” The Minister looked slightly ill at ease, but whether that was due to him visiting the house of a dead friend, or the danger that still lurked in the house Albus couldn’t tell.

“The dead live on in our memory.” Albus nodded at the man. “The study should be safe, but his sanctum might still be trapped, and might require my skills to defuse. Did you ever visit that room?”

“Ah… unfortunately, no.” Cornelius shook his head. Albus hadn’t expected anything else - even trusted friends, and Lucius wouldn’t have considered the Minister one, very, very rarely saw the sanctum of a Head of an Old Family. Too many secrets were stored there.

“Bigsy can lead you there.”

House elves on the other hand tended to know a manor better than their masters. Albus smiled at the little creature. “That would be very helpful, Bigsy.”

The elf nodded and led the Headmaster, the Minister and two aurors through the halls of the manor. The paintings on the walls had heard the news as well, and were gathering, crowding even, in the frames lining the path to the heart of the manor.

“Someone has cursed the family! First Lucius, now Draco!”

“Woe! Woe! The line has ended!”

“Intruders! Turn back, or a curse shall strike you!”

“Revenge! Revenge!”

Albus ignored the shouts and laments of the Malfoy ancestors. They were just paintings, and old ones at that. Narcissa had, involuntarily, revealed that they wouldn’t be able to offer any insight or threat - they had been kept out of the loop by both her and Lucius. A wise precaution, given the rumors about some research into paintings by the Unspeakables he had heard.

They reached the door to Lucius’s sanctum. Even without a spell to help, Albus could feel the magic guarding it, straining at its bonds, ready to lash out at any intruder. “Ah! Cornelius, Auror Fenbrick, Auror Limmington, I think it would be best if you stayed a bit back. You too, please, Bigsy. This looks to be a slightly tricky affair.” Albus said while running his first detection spells.

His companions retreated quite quickly. Cornelius might have considered Lucius a dear friend, but he also knew that the traps guarding this family’s secrets would be deadly.

They were, but despite the Malfoys’ reputation, the family wasn’t exactly in the Black’s league when it came to the Dark Arts. It took some time - the layered shriveling and paralyzing curses were particularly inventive - but Albus disabled the defenses without too much of an effort. He had faced and done worse, much worse.

When the last trap was finited - a blasting curse in the floor - Albus twitched his wand at the door with a flourish, slowly opening it and revealing the sanctum of the Malfoy Manor. Shelves lined the walls and an old, ornate desk and a marble altar took up much of the floor. The desk was polished, spotless, but the altar was covered with dried blood and dust. Albus hoped that the blood dated back to the time the manor was built and the wards erected, but he doubted it.

Both were trapped as well, but those traps he could deal with rather easily. Old magic, long since replaced by new spells and designs. He briefly wondered if Lucius had stuck with them out of tradition, the misguided belief that anything old was more powerful, or simply had been too lazy to keep them more up to date. It didn’t matter now.

A few minutes later, both were safe, and after a nod, the two aurors went to work. They made a good team, in Albus’s opinion. The studious Ravenclaw and her analytical nature working well with the more impulsive and intuitive Gryffindor. Despite the serious occasion, he smiled - he always loved discovering that former students of his had done well in their lives.

His good mood didn’t last though.

“Blood’s old. Relatively. More than a year at least. Human though,” Auror Fenbrick announced.

“A lot of residue from repeated spells, but not enough to single anyone out. Multiple castings over a long time would be the likeliest explanation, in my opinion,” Auror Limmington added.

“Not abnormal for an Old Family,” Cornelius stated. “A number of the books here are restricted or banned.” He didn’t have to add that grandfather clauses would have covered most of them. The Old Families controlled the Wizengamot, and knew how to protect their interests - and heritage. Even Sirius was no exception there.

“There are no clues then about the murderer,” Albus summed the preliminary results up. “But this was the sanctum, restricted to the head of the Malfoy Family - who was at Hogwarts the last few months. Narcissa was the regent, but wouldn’t have been able to enter. Her study might reveal more.” Would reveal more.

“Excellent deduction, Dumbledore.” A gravely voice with a taunting, challenging undertone suddenly sounded from the left corner. The aurors had their wands out in seconds and Cornelius was at the door an instant later. Albus and the house elf didn’t react other than turning towards the speaker. Both had recognized the voice.

“Greetings, Abraxas,” Albus nodded at the portrait in the small painting on the wall there. “My condolences for your loss.” This was a portrait who’d know more - Lucius’s father had been a skilled wizard, and had died but 20 years ago. His portrait had retained more of his mind as well, according to Narcissa.

The old, grizzled wizard portrait snorted. “Save the forms, Dumbledore. I knew this would happen.”

“Do you know who ended your line?” Albus asked, his gentle tone hiding his tension. Narcissa didn’t think the portrait knew much, but she could have been wrong. And with his family gone, the portrait wouldn’t have much loyalty left.

“Snape.”

Albus heard gasps of surprise from behind him. He raised his eyebrows. “Severus died with Lucius.” And he knew his friend had not cheated death. He had embraced it.

“Yes, and he killed Lucius and thus ended my line.”

“What about Draco?” the Headmaster asked, honestly curious.

“It’s a miracle that idiot survived my son. He hadn’t even half the wits of of his parents, who were no geniuses either.” The portrait sneered, a very familiar sight. “He hadn’t even the foresight to sire a bastard with a muggleborn, in between bringing muggle girls into the house.”

Albus acted surprised at this, but he knew what the portrait meant. Draco’s mind hadn’t withstood his probes for long, and what he had seen there… the boy hadn’t been the smartest or most talented wizard, but he had matched some of the worst wizards Albus had known in depravity and sadism. And, seeing as he had managed to remain undiscovered for so long under Albus’s own eyes, the Headmaster couldn’t deny that the boy’s sorting had been on the mark.

Cornelius, of course, didn’t know. “What? Draco had ... affairs with muggles?” He turned to Albus. “Do you think that was why he ran away?”

The portrait laughed before Albus could answer. “The cretin probably tried and failed to kidnap another girl, and fled.”

“Kidnap?” Mister Fenbrick’s tone was tense and cold. And Miss Limmington’s expression would have fit a statue. Of one of the Furies.

“Yes. In my father’s time, you charmed a muggle girl, if you felt the urge, then obliviated her afterwards. If she was good, she got a fitting gift, and the memory of a passionate night with a stranger. If not… she’d remember drinking too much. We were civilized.” The portrait sneered at Albus. “Even if some disagreed.”

Cornelius and the two aurors were staring. Albus sometimes forgot how much had changed, since Grindelwald. He addressed the portrait. “Times changed. For the better.” At least in part thanks to his own efforts.

“So you say. I’d never have tolerated what Lucius and his son lowered themselves to.”

Albus had seen too much, especially in the wars he had taken part in, to believe that. “And what did they ‘lower themselves to’?”

“As if you’d not know!” For a moment, Albus feared he had been discovered. Then the portrait continued. “You’re the smartest wizard of the century. You know already what they did.”

“Kidnapping. And no obliviation afterwards.” Albus’s disgust was real. “The girls were killed, were they not?”

“Yes. Slowly.”

More gasps sounded from behind him. And one whimpering noise that could only come from an elf.

“You are quite open with your family’s secrets,” Albus took a step towards the portrait. It shrugged.

“My family’s gone. Draco was the last of my blood. Lucius saw to that.” The portrait managed to convey some regret as well as old anger. Quite a feat for an imprint.

“Leo Winter,” Albus stated, remembering the blond, talented muggleborn who had been at Hogwarts in the 70s.

“Yes. Lucius found out, and killed him. Otherwise we’d be discovering now that a pureblood child was given to a muggleborn mother to raise, in case worst came to worst in the war.”

“My condolences.” Albus was sincere. He knew very well how much losing family hurt.

“Save it. I died before that happened. I am but a portrait.”

“A portrait whose statements are not applicable in court. Did your progeny leave any proof?” Albus doubted it. Narcissa had been thorough.

“Not to my knowledge. Lucius wasn’t that stupid, and Narcissa was concerned for her son.” The portrait fell silent after that.

“So, there’s no way to prove all of … this?” Cornelius must have regained his wits and sounded both relieved and outraged.

Albus spread his hands. “The investigation will certainly go on,” he nodded at the two aurors, “but in light of these revelations, absolute discretion is advised.” Seeing the two cringe slightly as if they were still students facing the Headmaster almost made him chuckle. “As long as the murderer of Narcissa and Draco remains at large.”

As they left the Sanctum, Albus stated: “At least we can now be reasonably certain that there are no other relatives to consider but Sirius Black.”

Cornelius nodded. “The French branch of the family is not close enough to contest that.”

The old wizard nodded. Now they just had to find the proof that Narcissa had been ‘forced’ to finance the Dark Lord, and the case would be neatly solved.

And he had every trust that the two aurors trailing behind him and the Minister would manage that, even after the shocking revelations in the sanctum.

*****​

“Hello Albus,” Sirius Black greeted the Headmaster as he stepped out of the floo in No 12, Grimmauld Place.

“Hello Sirius,” Dumbledore nodded. “I assume you have heard about the Malfoys.”

“Yes, I have,” Sirius gestured towards the door. “Let’s move to the Salon. The rest of the family is there.”

“My condolences.”

Sirius scoffed. As if he’d mourn any of them. “Is it true they were killed by the Dark Lord for failing him?”

“It is still under investigation. It has been discovered that the Malfoys have been financing him though.”

“No need to offer any condolences then,” Sirius spat. Padfoot would have growled. Dumbledore frowned, but did not make a comment.

They entered the Salon. Everyone was there. Andromeda was sitting with Ted and Nymphadora on one couch. Harry was sitting in an armchair, with Hermione perched on the armrest. Not quite proper, but Dumbledore wouldn’t mind, Sirius knew that. The Headmaster prefered less formal meetings. Remus was standing behind them, probably had just stopped pacing. And Valérie, Chantal, Laure and Eugénie were sitting on another couch. Everyone was wearing black or at least dark robes.

It was the most somber, depressing sight Sirius had seen in months. And all for an evil bitch and her worthless son. Even in death, they could ruin a wizard’s day! He noticed people were staring at him, and realized he had been growling. He controlled himself. Sirius was needed, not Padfoot. He conjured a chair for himself and sat down, even though he wanted to pace around.

Dumbledore greeted everyone, then sat down in an armchair and took a deep breath. “You’ve heard about the murders of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy. I offer you my condolences.”

Everyone nodded. Andromeda shivered briefly. Well, Narcissa had been her sister. Still… Nymphadora looked a bit torn. Harry and Hermione looked somber, but Sirius thought at least the witch was just acting. Harry… he cared for family. And he was probably aware of Andromeda’s sorrow. The rest offered support, but hadn’t really known Narcissa.

It was Andromeda who answered. “Thank you, Headmaster.”

“I have some disturbing news though.” The old wizard looked at Sirius.

The head of the Black Family didn’t flinch and met the Headmaster’s gaze. “We’re all family here.”

After a second, Dumbledore acknowledged that with a nod and a faint smile. “I see. While the murderer still has not been discovered, it has been found that Narcissa Malfoy has been financing the Dark Lord. If she had been coerced to do that, and if so, to what degree, remains unknown still.”

Sirius scoffed. “Good riddance.”

“Sirius!” Andromeda was glaring at him.

He stared back. “What? I am wearing mourning colors. I won’t malign her in public. But among family? I’ll be honest, I don’t miss her. She was a bitch, her son was worse, and now that we know her family’s gold paid for murders and worse… good riddance to her and hers, I say!”

The animagus looked around. Hermione nodded at him. No surprise there - the muggleborn witch knew the score, knew what would happen to her should the Death Eaters win. Harry looked uncomfortable. The boy probably didn’t want to offend the Black-Tonkses. He was quite diplomatic, too.

“She was still family.” Andromeda stated. “Blood.”

Sirius scoffed. “She was. She stopped being family long ago, when she threw in her lot with Malfoy.”

“You were her head of family!” The eldest of the three, now two, Black Sisters shot to her feet.

“I was. Not anymore, seeing as she is dead. If she had had a spine, she’d have chosen emancipation after her husband was killed!” He stood up as well and faced his cousin. “I do not owe her memory anything, anymore. She picked her side.”

After several seconds, Andromeda looked away. “I still remember my little sister. The youngest of us three. How she looked up at me and Bellatrix,” she said, in a low voice. Tears appeared in her eyes. “And now she’s dead, and won’t ever become my little sister again.”

Sirius grimaced. Now he felt bad. For Andromeda, of course, not for her bitch of a sister. Ted and Nymphadora were glaring at him, as if this was his fault. Harry probably was glaring too. He didn’t check. “I’m sorry.” He bowed his head briefly.

Andromeda nodded, accepting his half-assed apology. He glanced back. Harry was smiling, faintly. Hermione’s face didn’t show anything. The Headmaster was looking sad. That didn’t surprise Sirius - the animagus didn’t know what exactly had happened to Dumbledore’s family, but it was an open secret that the old wizard had lost all but his brother before Grindelwald’s war, and that his own brother hadn’t considered him family for decades. Seeing another family arguing must bring up painful memories.

Sirius almost snorted. It used to be that if there were no dark curses flying, it wasn’t considered a real argument among Blacks. He felt Valérie’s hand on his back, caressing it before her arm wrapped around his waist, and let himself be led to the couch occupied by the veela part of his family.

For a while no one said anything, then the Headmaster broke the silence. “While it might sound callous to talk about such matters, barring surprises in Narcissa’s will, you will be inheriting the Malfoy fortune.”

That surprised Sirius. “Me? What about…” he trailed off. Andromeda wasn’t legally family, having been emancipated. And Bellatrix was a traitor. He should have known this. “So, there are no relatives on the Malfoy side then.”

“None that are close enough to matter. The portrait of Lucius’s father confirmed that.” Dumbledore sighed. “The Dark Lord will not take well to losing one of his main sources of income.”

Sirius waved the concern away. “As Harry’s godfather, and head of my family, I already was pretty high up on his ‘to-kill’ list.” He saw his godson flinch and Hermione put her hand on Harry’s shoulder, and suddenly felt guilty - Harry was even higher on the list of Voldemort’s enemies, and he had just reminded everyone of that.

No one called him on it though, even if Remus shook his head slightly when their eyes met.

“How… how did she die?” Andromeda asked hesitantly.

“From what I can tell, she was killed with a Cutting Curse. It must have been very quick,” the Headmaster explained.

Sirius thought that sounded like the usual lie told to relatives. He wasn’t about to ask the Headmaster for more details, not here at least. “What about Draco?” Not that he thought anyone cared much about that foul little bigot. Even the bonds of blood wouldn’t reach that far.

“He was killed in the same manner.”

“Are there any suspects?” Ted asked while holding his wife.

“Given the Malfoys’ situation, many have had the motive to do this. One theory is that they failed the Dark Lord, somehow. Or tried to escape his clutches, and he took offense.” The Headmaster didn’t react to Hermione’s scoffing-turned-coughing. Sirius flashed her a grin, despite the frown from Harry that earned him. “Another theory is that someone Lucius had hurt took revenge.”

“So… we have no idea who did the deed,” Sirius summed it up.

“That would be essentially correct, yes,” Dumbledore admitted.

“I do hope that the Ministry will focus their efforts on a known threat, instead of some hypothetical culprit. In the current situation, diverting resources which should be used to fight the Dark Lord would not be a smart decision.” Sirius stated, semi-formally.

Dumbledore met his eyes, briefly smiled, and nodded. “I am certain Cornelius shares your opinion. He might wish to meet you in person, to offer his condolences.”

And to exchange favors - monetary or political ones. Sirius didn’t like it, but that was how the game was played. And if he received the Malfoy fortune, he could afford to be generous. Very generous. “The Malfoy gold caused too much death already. Maybe it should be used to help people for a change.”

Dumbledore beamed at him, as if he had just said something profound and not banal.

*****​

“So. Malfoy’s dead,” Harry Potter said as soon as the door to his room had closed behind himself and Hermione.

“Apparently.” Hermione sat down on his bed, kicking off her shoes. A swish of her wand had them on the floor, properly aligned. He briefly waited for her to add anything, but she didn’t.

Sighing, he joined her on the bed. “I don’t know what I am supposed to feel about that.” On the one hand, he was glad the git was gone. On the other hand, Malfoy was dead. Murdered.

“Relief?”

He glanced at his girlfriend. She looked like she was serious. “You think he was that bad?” ‘To deserve death’ remained unsaid, but was understood.

Hermione bit her lower lip, apparently mulling this over. “I am certain he’d have become that bad, or worse. He hasn’t changed at all since first year. Not for the better, at least.”

“What about Parkinson then?” Harry asked gently.

“I doubt she has changed. She’s plotting something.” Hermione frowned, as she often did when talking about some pureblood witches.

“Against Ron?” Harry wondered.

“Or through him against you.” Hermione nodded.

“So… is she that bad too?” Harry asked in a carefully neutral voice.

He saw his girlfriend flinch slightly. After a short pause, she answered. “She didn’t really do anything. A few hexes, in first year.”

“She egged Malfoy on though.” Harry wasn’t about to let up.

“That’s true. But she also tried to hold him back sometimes. I know she doesn’t like me, or any muggleborn. But she’s never tried anything. And she hasn’t used such spells as Malfoy did, in the dueling competition.” Hermione wasn’t quite babbling, but close to.

“Maybe she’s just better at acting.” She had to be, to stand years as Malfoy’s girlfriend, in Harry’s opinion.

“Maybe. But we can’t suspect the worst of everyone, at least we can’t use that as a reason to act on it.”

“I agree.” Harry smiled, satisfied. Sometimes Hermione needed to be held back a bit herself. Or at least reminded of her own principles.

“You…” Hermione huffed, apparently she had just understood what he had done. He kissed her before she could say anything else. There had been enough arguments in the family for today.

*****​

Hermione Granger sighed. She was sitting in Harry’s lap, her head leaning against his shoulder.

“Hm?”

“I was thinking about Sirius’s reaction today.” Among other things.

“Oh?” She felt Harry tense up.

“He all but said openly he’ll bribe the Minister. And no one, not even Dumbledore, said anything. The Headmaster seemed to approve of it, even!” That kind of corruption was poison for any system. Approval from the highest positions for those sort of practises…

Harry held her a bit closer. “He approved of the move against Voldemort. I doubt he approves of the corruption. But you can’t start a fight with the Minister in the middle of a war.”

“I know that.” Understood it too. In war, often the only choice was to pick the least evil course of action. It still vexed her. Even if it was hypocritical, given her own plans. But then… knowing the system banning her plans was corrupt made it a bit easier to go through with them. Hermione slowly let out her breath. It was best to drop that topic. “At least Sirius and Andromeda made up.”

“Yes. Narcissa was her sister. It’s understandable she’d miss her, no matter what she did. I guess she’d miss Bellatrix too.”

“Unless Narcissa’s gold or Bellatrix’ wand cause harm to her family.” Hermione could understand Andromeda’s sentiments. Barely. Approve of them? Never.

“They are her family too.”

“Not legally.” Hermione was quite aware of those kind of legalities. Ever since she had found out what having a Patron meant. Her parents still didn’t know the extent of Harry’s power over her - and their own lack of power over their daughter.

“They’re blood though.” She didn’t need to see his face to know he was pouting.

“Blood may be thicker than water, but without anything else, it’s just a liquid.” She should have worded that a bit better. “Love makes a family, not blood.” That too.

“The purebloods would disagree.”

“Sod ’em! Ask Sirius, he’ll agree with me. Remus is family. Bellatrix is not. Malfoy was not family.” Hermione twisted around in his lap to face Harry. Under other circumstances, this would have been a rather… naughty… position. Not now though.

“You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family,” Harry quoted in response.

“Of course you can! Legally, or emotionally, some actions break the bonds of family, the same way as some actions form the bonds of family.” Hermione met his eyes, chin pushed forward. “It’s not easy, and it shouldn’t be easy, to break it, but a family bond is not something set in stone.”

Harry looked away. Something - pain, worry, or fear? - flickered over his face.

Hermione realized why he was reacting like this. She wasn’t the best when it came to understanding how others felt, but she knew Harry very well. Better, on some days, than she knew herself. She cupped his cheek in her hands and gently turned his head back towards herself. “Sirius won’t drop you. You won’t lose your family, Harry.” She wasn’t about to add ‘until death’, even if that was true as well. Probably true, given the existence of death and souls.

“I… I know. I just…”

“Trust me, Harry. When it comes down to it, love is stronger than blood.” It had to be.

Slowly, Harry nodded. She didn’t pull her hands back from his face though. Instead, she kissed him again.

She’d not let Malfoy make Harry suffer. Not even through his death.

*****​

The Dark Lord Voldemort didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, when his shield deflected the remains of a desk that had been reduced to a flying cloud of wood splinters. He didn’t close his eyes when a wall was shattered, showering him with shards of stone. He did wince though when he saw the cuts they left on Bella’s face.

Bella. She was taking her sister’s death hard, though the Dark Lord couldn’t tell if she was more incensed at losing her sister, or at someone daring to kill her last kin. For all her acid comments about the Malfoys, his lover could be sentimental.

He felt the loss too - at least his vaults did. And through them, his wands would feel it as well. The Malfoy gold had been financing his mercenaries for months now. With that source gone, he’d either have to cut back his attacks, or send his valuable followers in place of the curse fodder.

Bella was done with the furniture and starting on the walls. It was time to intervene. “Bellatrix.”

Voldemort was pleased to see she froze at once, and fell to her knees. “Master.” His lover hadn’t been too far gone in her rage to forget her place then.

“I feel your loss, Bella. But I need you now, more than ever, at my side, not lost in your anger.” He held out his hand, and the dark witch gripped it, pressing it to her cheek before standing up. He ran his wand over her face and body, closing the cuts, both visible and hidden behind the restored fabric of her robes. In a whisper, he added “I promise you, your blood will be avenged. A hundredfold.”

Trembling, with suppressed rage or emotion, she nodded. When she raised her eyes at him, he could see her utter faith and devotion. It did help him to control his own temper. The Dark Lord could have quickly repaired the walls and furniture, but he held back. Bella might explode once more, after his next words. “My spy tells me that Black will inherit the your sister’s belongings.”

She gasped, and started to move away, her face contorting in a mask of rage. This time, he didn’t let her go. His hand held her wand arm, fingers digging into her biceps. She hissed in pain, but stopped struggling. She didn’t stop pleading silently, though.

“You cannot storm off, Bella. Black is too well-protected, and Dumbledore will be waiting. I cannot lose you.”

She lowered her head, her cheeks flushed. Embarrassed and ashamed at her own behaviour, and pleased by his words. He took hold of her chin, and forced her face up, towards his.

Soon their robes dropped on the floor littered with debris.

*****​

Lying next to Bella, who had fallen asleep, physically and emotionally exhausted, on a cushioning charm, Voldemort pondered his situation. He needed gold to hire wands. He needed gold to keep his hired wands from leaving. The Malfoys hadn’t been his only source of income, but they had been one of his bigger supporters. He couldn’t sustain the current level of his operations without them, that much was obvious.

The question was, should he focus on acquiring more gold to continue his campaign? He stared at the ceiling. He had driven the mudbloods into the mansions of their patrons. He had bled the aurors and hit-wizards. Britain feared him, more than ever. He wouldn’t need as many expendable wands to remain feared. An attack here and there would suffice. And the Ministry wouldn’t be able to reduce their own efforts since they would not know if or when he’d strike again. And there was the fact that as everyone was moving into the mansions of the Old Families, attacking them would become harder and harder - and more costly.

Bleeding the Ministry’s forces was difficult enough already. He had managed, but he had been bleeding his own forces almost as much as he had been theirs. Granted, most of his wands had been curse fodder, expendable - if less so, now - but so had been the Ministry’s. But if the battles moved to strongly warded mansions, his losses would mount far more quickly.

Maybe it was already time to change tactics. Preparing the ritual he had planned would take time. Time he could use to recruit selected wands, instead of rabble. To weed out the weak from his own forces. Yes, there was no need to keep the pressure on. Let his enemies, let the sheep think they were safe behind their old wards. When their beliefs were then suddenly shattered, the shock would be so much bigger.

He rubbed his chin, scratching the soft stubble that had appeared before casting a silent shaving charm. But he couldn’t appear to be weak, or tip his enemies off either. He’d order Keith to step up his attacks, and recruit who he could. The more of the rabble died, the less gold he’d have to pay for wands too weak to matter much. And those who survived would be stronger for it. More experienced. More valuable. And the dead wouldn't tell any tales.

He leaned back. Yes, his course of action was clear now. His enemies would not suspect his changed plans. Not until it was too late. Ironically, the deaths of the Malfoys might turn out to have been a boon for him in the end.

And yet, there still was the matter of the Prophecy. Without knowing what it said, he remained in the dark with regards to what kind of threat Potter was to him. He had to find another subject of a prophecy. Any prophecy, as long as it was stored in the Department of Mysteries.


Chapter 33: Trapped