[Harry Potter] Malfoid Stories

[digcat]

The genuinely baffling popularity Hermione enjoys can be boiled down to three things:

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Agreed

 

[AndrewJTalon]

The dormitory was dark when Harry finally reached it, the only light a thin spill from the window where the curtains had not been fully drawn. Most of the others were already asleep. Ron's snoring rose and fell in uneven bursts from the bed nearest the window, occasionally hitching when he rolled onto his side. Harry closed the door as quietly as he could and stopped. An owl sat on the trunk at the foot of his bed, feathers ruffled, one foot tapping with clear impatience against the wood. It held a flat, linen-wrapped package in its beak and regarded him with the offended dignity of a bird that had been kept waiting longer than it considered reasonable.

He paid it with a few Knuts from his pocket. The owl took them, transferred the package to his hands with a sharp, businesslike motion, and left through the open window in an irritable snap of wings. Cold air followed it in. The outside of the parcel was addressed in a familiar hand to Harry Potter, Gryffindor Tower. Beneath the name, in smaller letters, was the single word Snuffles.

Harry sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped under him. He unwrapped the linen carefully, mindful of the rustle. Inside was a flat object and a folded note. The note was marked, in capital letters, READ THIS FIRST.

He unfolded it under the thin light from the window. His hands were colder than he had realized.

Harry,

Only use this in a safe place nobody can see you, and cast Silencio around your surroundings to keep anyone from hearing. Activate it by tapping the glass twice with your wand tip and saying my name.

Snuffles

Harry exhaled. The sound was small in the quiet room. Sirius was not taking chances. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, the fabric cool and heavy as he settled it over his shoulders, and slipped back out of the dormitory. Ron muttered something unintelligible and turned over. No one else stirred.

The common room was empty, the fire burned down to embers. Harry crossed it, eased through the portrait hole—the Fat Lady grumbled once in her sleep and did not open her eyes—and made his way down the corridor to the unused classroom nearest Gryffindor Tower. The door stuck once; he shouldered it open, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. Dust moved in the air. The desks had been pushed against the walls years ago and never moved back.

"Colloportus," he whispered. The lock clicked, firm. "Silencio."

The room went very still. Even the faint creak of the castle seemed to retreat. He pulled the remaining linen away.

A plain mirror lay in his hands, unadorned, the glass clean and cool against his palms. He drew his wand, tapped the surface twice, and said, quietly, "Sirius."

The glass clouded, then cleared. Sirius's face appeared, slightly off-center, wearing the crooked smile Harry remembered from the old family photos in the album Hagrid had given him. The lines at the corners of his eyes were deeper and his hair grayer than in those pictures, but the light was back in his eyes.

"Harry!"

"Sirius. What is this?"

"Your father and I used to make two-way mirrors to talk between classes. Works at any distance."

"Wicked." Harry turned the mirror a fraction, watching the way Sirius's image held. His shoulders had loosened without his noticing.

Sirius's smile softened. "How are you? Any more dreams?"

The nightmares about Voldemort had been what he had told Sirius about just before the Quidditch World Cup. Harry felt a small, private relief that his guardian had believed him.

"Well, no. None so far. I'm back at school. Things are going all right, mostly. Moody's a great teacher. Really incredible—"

"Yes." Sirius's expression changed. The smile thinned. "And I'm coming back to help."

Harry's grip tightened on the mirror. The edges bit into his fingers. "But—Sirius, there's a kill-on-sight order for you—"

"I know how to keep hidden, and I'm in contact with Dumbledore. It'll be fine. If Dumbledore has recalled Moody, he's seeing something big on the horizon. Besides, you need all the support you can get. I've been slacking in my godfatherly duties."

"That… that wasn't your fault, Sirius."

"Thanks, Harry." Sirius looked away for a moment, jaw working, then back. The mirror caught the movement. "And one day, maybe I'll believe it. But I'm not letting anything happen to you. Promise."

Something in Harry's chest pulled tight. He shifted his weight on the desk. "Sirius…"

"Well." Sirius cleared his throat, the sound rough and bark-like. "Enough of that girly nonsense. How'd it go with Malfoy?"

Harry groaned and let his forehead rest against the cool edge of the mirror for a second. The glass fogged faintly under his breath. "Ugh. I must have done it wrong. She's… she's actually happy about the date. Even the twins pushed it further."

Sirius's mouth twitched. The smirk returned, wider, and he leaned in until his face filled more of the glass. "Oh?"

"Yes! Right in front of the girl I actually like!"

"Ooh. Rough, Harry. Very rough. I have been there before."

"Is there any way out of this?"

"Harry, listen." Sirius's voice turned more serious, though the amusement did not entirely leave it. One eyebrow rose. "If she finds out this entire thing was a prank, she'll—"

"Murder me?"

"Probably," Sirius agreed. He tilted his head. "How much time do we actually have? Before this date."

"The first Hogsmeade weekend. One week." Harry shifted on the desk. The wood was cold through his robes; he felt it against the backs of his thighs. "They doubled them this year. There's two before Halloween now, what with the Triwizard and all."

Sirius was quiet for a moment. His eyes moved, calculating. "All right. That's better than I expected. Not much, but better. We can work with that."

"Work with it how?!" Harry's voice rose. He sat straighter, free hand gripping the edge of the desk. "The twins told her I'd take her flying over the forest at sunset! They told her we'd go to the Yule Ball! I don't even know what I'm supposed to say to her between now and then!"

"You say as little as possible until we have a plan," Sirius said. His tone had gone flat and practical. "And you do not, under any circumstances, tell her it was a joke. Not yet. Maybe not ever, if we can manage it cleanly. First one, you go. You survive it. You come back and tell me exactly what she said, what she liked, what made her angry. Then we adjust before the second."

"Second?!" Harry squawked.

"Second," Sirius nodded.

Harry stared at the mirror. His reflection was a faint ghost around Sirius's face. "You're serious."

Sirius grinned, quick and sharp.

"I'm always Sirius when pure-blood girls are involved." The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Listen to me, Harry. If she finds out now, she won't just be angry. She'll be humiliated. In front of her house, in front of the school, in front of people who already watch her because of her name. Do you really want to do that to her?"

A pain hit Harry in the chest, sudden and low. He was always under scrutiny for his name. He supposed it was not so different for her. His free hand had curled into a fist against his knee without his noticing.

"No," he decided. The word came out quieter than he expected. "No… I mean she can be a pain and a brat and bully but… No."

Sirius sat back. The crooked smile returned, thinner than before, and he regarded Harry with something that looked almost like approval.

"Which brings me to the question I was going to ask before you started panicking."

Harry braced himself. His shoulders had gone tight again.

Sirius regarded him for a moment, head tilted. "Harry… is a date with Malfoy really that bad?"

"I…" Harry paused. His ears felt hot. "I mean… I-I thought it would be but…"

He had a sudden, unwelcome vision of her actually smiling at him, cheeks pink, one hand in his as they walked. The image was clear enough that he shook his head, hard, as if he could dislodge it, due to the convoluted torment inside his chest.

"YES! YES IT IS!"

Sirius looked skeptical. One eyebrow climbed.

"Uh-huh. A hot bird on your arm who really wants to date you?"

"I don't know why she does!" Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. The motion left his fringe standing up. "She's a bloody nightmare! She wasn't supposed to actually say YES!"

"Well, she has, so clearly she believed you were being sincere," Sirius said.

"Or she's trying to drive me mad!" Harry insisted. His voice cracked on the last word.

"Girls always do," Sirius chuckled. The sound was warm and unhelpful.

"But if she finds out—!"

"She won't." Sirius leaned a little closer to his side of the glass. The smile had gone crooked again. "Just listen to old Padfoot. He won't steer you wrong. I promise you'll get out of this alive… and mostly in one piece."

"Mostly?!" Harry's head came up. The mirror tilted with the movement.

"Well, she might bite."

Harry stared at him. His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. "Bite? Why?!"

Sirius just grinned.

---

The Slytherin fourth-year girls' dormitory was warmer than the corridors outside it, the lake-light through the high windows turning the green hangings a deeper shade. Lyra Malfoy's trunk stood open in the center of the room. She was on her knees beside it, robes pushed up to her elbows, digging through folded garments with the focused irritation of someone who had already rejected three perfectly acceptable options and was prepared to reject three more.

Millicent Bulstrode sat on the edge of her own bed, broad shoulders relaxed, watching with the mild perturbation of a girl who had expected the evening to be quieter. Pansy Parkinson perched on a chair nearby, chin in her hands, expression already sliding toward exasperation. Daphne Greengrass occupied the window seat with a book open across her lap, posture elegant, attention divided. Tracey Davis sat cross-legged on the floor at Daphne's feet, one eyebrow raised, the corner of her mouth curved in faint amusement.

"So," Tracey said. "Going on the date with Potter."

Lyra did not look up. A jumper sailed over her shoulder and landed on the rug. "Yes. To gather critical intelligence."

"Sure," Pansy said. "Like how his tonsils taste."

Lyra spun. The motion was sharp enough to send a strand of hair across her face. She glared at all four of them, color already high on her cheekbones. "I do not like him! Not one bit!"

Pansy turned her head toward Daphne with the silent plea of someone who had been carrying this argument alone for too long. Daphne kept her eyes on the page. Tracey elbowed her, once, then again. Daphne sighed, soft and precise, and lowered the book a fraction.

"We were all there, Lyra."

"No." Lyra's hands had curled into the fabric still in the trunk. "No, see—this is one of his schemes. You remember!"

"Scheming isn't exactly his forte," Tracey said. "Surviving and being awesome is, though."

Millicent nodded. The motion had the weight of a crag deciding whether to become an avalanche. "Yes. He can summon a Patronus to drive off a hundred Dementors."

"He slayed a basilisk," Tracey added. "A thousand-year-old one. With the Sword of Gryffindor."

"He even defeated You-Know-Who," Pansy said. "In single combat. Twice! Once when he was a baby even!"

Millicent's sigh was almost wistful. "He's killed a man already. I wish a boy would kill someone for me."

"Me too," Daphne said, without looking up.

Pansy and Tracey both turned to stare at them. Lyra, for her part, had gone very still. For a moment her eyes were distant, fixed on something none of the others could see: Potter with a sword in his hand, bare-chested, that infuriating smile directed at her while something large and dangerous lay at his feet. She blinked, hard, and the image scattered.

"He… he's not even my type."

Pansy made a sound of pure exasperation. "A muscle-bound hunk who can outfly you and slays monsters isn't good enough?"

"Heh." Tracey tilted her head. "I'll take a crack at him if you're not game. He does gardening. The Muggle way."

Millicent's brow furrowed. "How do you know?"

"Saw him in Herbology once. His outer robes got dirty with Bubotuber pus. He had to pull them off—" Tracey's expression turned briefly dreamy. "Mmm. Pure lean muscle. I could just li—"

She registered the frantic warning looks from Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent a fraction too late. When she turned, Lyra was already standing inches from her, wand in hand, face pale with rage, eyes burning for murder. Tracey squeaked.

"—eave him for you," she finished, sliding behind Daphne with impressive speed. "My best friend and superior in all wayspleasedon'thexme."

Lyra's growl was low. "You wouldn't know what to do with him. And besides—" The murderous edge eased, just slightly, into something smug. "He asked me."

A pause. The flush returned, climbing toward her ears.

"N-not that that matters! I will simply go along with it for good relations. We're hosting the Triwizard Tournament. What matters is that we look good for our foreign guests… Before they arrive. We need the practice!"

Millicent, Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey exchanged looks of varying degrees of exhaustion. Pansy sighed.

"Well then. In the interest of relations, we'll be providing backup."

"D-don't be silly." Lyra turned back to the trunk and began digging again, movements sharper than before. "I'll be just fine on my own. The less people see this… this embarrassment of riches, the better. I have my reputation to think about. Being seen with Potter. In public. On a date."

Tracey opened her mouth. "Didn't you just say you wanted to be seen for good relations—"

Daphne's hand settled on her forearm, light and final. She shook her head once. Tracey subsided, though not without a muttered, "But she—"

Pansy looked at Daphne. "I thought you had trained her by now."

"She is quite recalcitrant." Daphne returned her attention to the book. "The breed will tell."

"Hey!"

 

[celsiussy]

At this point I'm pretty sure that Sirius just wants Harry to be married closer to him on the family tree more than he already is.

Also, if he survives in this Malfoidverse, he can rub it in Narcissa's face.

Actually, no, if he survives, Narcissa might plot to have him married so the Black family name survives. She'll literally Chrispost until he gets hitched with a witch with a decent pedigree.

 

[Bungles976]

Can anyone give me an idea on the order of this or is it just read it in the order it was put out

 

[digcat]

Can anyone give me an idea on the order of this or is it just read it in the order it was put out

Click to shrink...

order it was put out