Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, settings, objects, and spells in this story belong to J. K. Rowling. I am making no money off this story, and am doing it solely for fun.
Warnings: This story is Slash, featuring HP/DM. This is not a PWP slash story, so, if you're looking for an abundance of explosive sex scenes, you should look elsewhere. I intend to focus more on the romance rather than graphic sex, but have chosen the ratings for some scenes that I plan to develop. If Slash offends you, don't read this.
Author's Note: Cannon through Book 5
Harry Potter and Pureblooded Truths
Chapter 1
Acknowledgement and Acceptance
It was not unusual for the Great Hall to be mostly deserted the morning after the end of the year feast and the awarding of the House Cup, and today was no exception. Having spent the night celebrating in victory, few Gryffindors were present at breakfast, electing to either sleep in or to start packing for their impending departure.
A few of the professors were surprised to see Harry at breakfast, but not because they had been expected him to be sleeping in after a night of celebratory bliss. Rather, they were wondered if Harry went to bed at all during the night or if he had wandered the corridors all night, avoiding sleep, as he had been doing for the past several days.
Eyeing the child with a look of concern on her face, the Gryffindor head of house began, "Albus, couldn't we allow Harry to take some dreamless sleep potion back with him for the summer? The poor thing looks like he hasn't rested well for weeks."
Minerva was well aware of how little sleep Harry had been getting as of late due to her finding him wandering the corridors in a daze on more than one occasion. Not having the heart to chastise the child for his minor transgressions at the time, she would gently guide him back to his dorms while striking up conversations that did not require a verbal response from Harry. Seeing the boy off in the direction of his shared dorm room, she would then find some 'interesting' reading material in the Gryffindor common room and settle into one of the over stuffed chairs in front of the fire place, making future escapes for the evening impossible.
Sitting shoulder to shoulder at the staff table in the Great Hall, her long time mentor turned to face his old friend. "Minerva, as you are well aware, the potion will stem Harry's recent traumas from invading his sleep, but prolonged usage would do our young Harry more harm than good."
Momentarily bowing his head with his eyes closed in deep thought, he continued, "While dreams are on occasion disturbing, in many ways they do serve a purpose. Often times, dreams provide an avenue for a person to sort out their fears, providing them a means of coping while awake."
Albus Dumbledore was riddled with guilt. He knew that Harry was not only suffering from the loss of his godfather; he was also reeling from having learned the prophecy the role he was destined to play. For this very reason, the headmaster had held off telling Harry of his destiny for as long as he could, wanting Harry to have some semblance of a childhood that had all but been cruelly stolen from him some 15 years earlier. Telling Harry the prophecy had been one of the more difficult tasks the elder wizard had performed, in essence stripping an innocent from innocence.
Opening his eyes and straying them over to the boy in question, he began again, "While the potion would in the short term allow Harry to gain some much needed rest, it would do him no good as the dreamless sleep potion would postpone any grieving that he so desperately needs. The potion would enable Harry to keep his emotions bottled up, which would prevent him from a path toward healing. Any shortsighted good intentions in allowing Harry to have more of the potion would only hamper him by prolonging his recovery period."
Knowing that her mentor was right, the woman was still not ready to concede, to idly sit by and do nothing to help. She'd been doing that for the past few weeks and it was tearing her up inside. Her worry for the child was what had driven her to wander the corridors, finding Harry doing much the same. Prodding him back to the tower for him to gain some much needed sleep had given her some personal satisfaction, little as it was.
"How can we in good conscience send the child home to those relatives of his in his current state?" Pulling her line of vision away from the Gryffindor table, the headmistress looked at her mentor with pleading eyes. "The child is still in a state of shock. Is there nothing we can do for him?"
Reaching over and patting the hand of the matriarch clucking like a concerned mother hen, Albus replied, "Things will work out for our Harry. Help will be available to him this summer; to help him cope, recover, and return to us in better spirits than we send him home with."
Leaning over closely, with his mouth near her ear, the headmaster confided to the woman, "While the laws set forth by the Ministry of Magic prevent us from overtly using magic around muggles, there are other avenues that we may employ in keeping an eye on Harry and ensuring his safety."
The woman did not know what her old friend had in mind, but the shift in his demeanor over the past few weeks had not escaped her notice, most notably after Harry had destroyed his office. Nobody, save those two, knew what had happened in that office for Harry to have lost such control of his magic, but it was easily seen within the two sets of eyes, one green the other blue, that what ever had transpired, both wizards were deeply affected.
Having returned to an upright position, the old wizard continued, "I plan to have a chat with Mrs. Figg and have her send me frequent updates on the boy's condition. Having the reputation of a well meaning but off-kilter busybody in the neighborhood will come in handy and cause no eyebrows to rise in her keeping closer than normal tabs on Harry this summer."
Gazing at Harry, the headmaster continued, "This summer, Harry will learn that hope is never lost. That at times of deepest struggles, the faintest flicker of hope shines brightest to the one in desperate need and all one need do is accept help freely offered."
The train ride was not something that Harry ever looked forward to in June, but this year he was especially adverse toward the idea of climbing aboard. Physically healed but still emotionally raw after his encounter with Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic, Harry was returning to number 4 Privet Drive to spend another summer at the Dursley's. The wizarding adults in Harry's life were nearly as miserable as Harry was at the prospect of his having to depart under such circumstances. It had only been a few weeks since Harry had witnessed his godfather's death and he had barely had enough time to physically heal, let alone begin a grieving process.
The train ride had been uneventful, at least to Harry; he could not remember having arrived at Kings Cross or the drive to his relatives' house. Apparently Harry had gone through all the necessary motions, but he had no recollection of his activities from the time he had left the school through and including his arrival at the Dursley's. Harry knew that those that cared about him saw him arrive safely at the station as he seemed to recall looking at their faces; but could not remember what they had said to him. Thinking back, he could visualize their mouths moving but he could not associate any sounds with the movements of their mouths.
And this did not disturb Harry; he was completely unaffected by this knowledge, or lack thereof. It didn't seem to matter to Harry how it was that he got home at all, or that he was even there. In fact, he was indifferent to anything and everything that had been going around him prior to his leaving Hogwarts for the summer.
Slumped on the edge of his bed in an indifferent state of mind, Harry suddenly straightened his back, stiffening his posture. His surroundings finally filtering into his awareness, Harry tilted his head to one side. It had suddenly dawned on him that he'd been hearing a soft buzzing sound for several days. Decibels softer than the sound a mosquito makes buzzing past your head on a hot summer night, almost as imperceptible as a gnat, but there nevertheless.
Not quite ready to fully leave his stupor of the past few days, Harry didn't bother to locate the source of the sound while it began to fill his thoughts, he just sat there, transfixed, listening. Somehow, Harry knew that the buzz had been a constant companion of his for the past several days. It finally dawned on him that he had been unconsciouslytuning the soft humming out, much like one does the background noise of a clock's constant, soft rhythmic ticking.
Struggling to remain focused in his weakened emotional state, Harry had realized that the buzzing had been a constant, soothing thrumming sound, but for some reason its pitch had recently changed, becoming an annoyance, which is what most likely piqued Harry's attention. Lacking interesting stimuli in his small bedroom, Harry sat quietly, fully intent on listening to this buzzing. Despite his interest, his facial expression remained blank, providing no external evidence that Harry had temporarily come out of his self induced state of emptiness.
Harry had no idea nor cared how long he sat on his bed, listening to the hypnotic cadence of the buzzing. Rather than feeling empty, he felt content for the first time in what felt like ages. He felt no concern when he discovered that the buzzing emanated from within his head and not an identifiable, external source. In fact, he felt at peace, wanting nothing more than to curl up on his bed and relax, which he did.
As Harry lay on his bed, he pulled up the tattered blanket to cover himself as weariness suddenly overtook him. While Harry fell into a relaxed state between sleep and wakefulness, the buzzing morphed into whispered words. Too emotionally and physically drained to decipher the words, Harry fell into slumber.
Harry awoke several hours later feeling rested and at ease. He couldn't recall any dreams, but he woke feeling safe, protected from anything and everything harmful; he was content, nestled in a cocoon of serenity. With his senses slowly coming to the forefront, he felt the warmth of the sun breaking through the small part in the curtains, falling on his face and he smiled. A smile that radiated warmth and love, an expression that had been missing from the child's face for far too long.
Having slept on his side with his knees bent half-way up his torso, he had to struggle a bit to get out of the blanket that was tucked tightly under him. Wriggling around on the bed like a swaddled baby, Harry finally got lose of his cocoon and sat at the edge of his bed, raising his arms overhead in a big body stretch.
He was still scrubbing at the sleep sand in his eyes when he heard the buzzing again. But wait, it wasn't buzzing, there was an occasional word, he thought he heard his name being called. Cocking his head, Harry focused his attention to see if he could make sense of the sounds. There, there it is again, his thoughts sprang instantly. Closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out any distractions, he continued to listen. It's not buzzing at all, they're words. Harry's mind raced. They're words.
"Harry ... Harry, my love," came a soft whisper in Harry's ear.
Harry sat there, waiting for the voice to continue, but when it did not, he thought to prod it along. He asked it the first thing that came to his mind. Who are you?
"I am yours and you are mine," came the purred answer. "We are happy to finally be acknowledged and are on our way to being joined."
Even though the voice was barely a whisper, Harry sensed that it was excited, happy that Harry had addressed it. Harry did not share this excitement; in fact, he was confused and a bit dejected at the idea of hearing voices in his head, again.
Having nothing better to do, Harry decided to address the voice again. What's happening? Who are you and what do you want with me?
"We are waiting for our joining. Soon, we will be together. Mercury has already made its pass and soon Mars will be at it's apex," came the reply.
The words were confusing to Harry, even more so in his sluggish state of mind. Even at his best he'd never been good with word puzzles, but presented with a riddle, coupled with his inability to properly process the information, Harry began to feel anxious. His heart rate increased and he started taking in shallow breaths in quick succession.
As if his invisible companion could sense Harry's unease, a pair of invisible arms wrapped themselves around his torso before he could work himself into a state of hysteria. The embrace immediately provided Harry with a sense of protection, a place to feel safe and secure. Its calming properties were as potent and instantaneous as downing one of Madam Pomfrey's potions that lined the school's infirmary shelves, as he was wont to do on numerous occasions.
Harry's body relaxed in the embrace, losing much of it's rigidity, his pulse slowed and his stilted breathing eased. Nuzzled in the warm embrace, Harry felt himself being rocked back and forth, much like a mother would do a child to sooth away irrational fears. While rocked in slow methodical movements, Harry faintly heard a melody being hummed. He was not familiar with the melody, and it mattered not because it was having its intended effect; his very fiber was being soothed by the tune. It was not a feeling that could be verbalized to another; to Harry it just felt right. The melody was neither long nor complicated; Harry could make out three distinct stanzas that kept repeating. The third round, Harry closed his eyes, enjoying a state of complete relaxation.
Aware that his companion no longer felt threatened, the whispers began sending words of encouragement. "Fear not little one. We are not here to harm you, for we are a part of you yet to be. The time is near."
The cryptic message did not alarm Harry in his state of complete relaxation. Bathed in a feeling of calm, Harry would not have flinched if his purple faced uncle had barged in the door spouting demands. An almost hypnotic calm that is achieved through meditative techniques, a feat that Harry would not be able to consciously duplicate. While in this state of meditative peace, Harry heard his gentle companion whispering to him again.
"Harry, my love," the soft whispers continued, "it is time to start taking care of yourself, time to get up and greet the day. First, a shower, and then some food to replenish this body of yours," came the gentle nudging.
Without thinking of what he was doing, Harry rose from his bed and padded down the hallway towards the bathroom to take the first shower he'd had in days. The unusually fastidious Petunia Dursley would have turned her nose up upon seeing her nephew in such a state, but fortune smiled upon Harry that afternoon, as the house was empty of other occupants. His uncle had left for the office hours earlier, his cousin was out with his friends and his aunt was out , shopping for the night's dinner ingredients.
Were it not for the empty household, Harry likely would not have been able to bathe in the afternoon. Standing under the spray of warm water cascading over his body, Harry momentarily fell back into the self inflicted state of mental emptiness. He was nudged back into awareness when he felt his arms being guided to pick up the bar of soap that sat in the corner of the stall. Lacking any desire to disrupt this flow of movement, he reached over, picked the soap up, and vigorously rubbed his hands on it, creating a lather, all the while being guided by the pair of invisible arms. The arms were a good match to his; originating from above his shoulders, they met elbow to elbow and wrist to wrist, with Harry's smaller hands being cradled inside the larger ones. The larger hands gently guided Harry's now soapy ones about his torso, rubbing himself clean.
Now clean, Harry reached over and turned the water taps off, signaling the completion of his shower. All four arms then reached out to remove a towel from the towel bar and then began to gingerly pat himself dry. All excess water removed from his wafer-thin body, Harry wrapped the towel about his waist and padded back to his room, dirty clothes in tow.
Dressed, his hair reasonably dry but definitely not tamed, Harry started to reach for the brush on his dresser when he noticed a small, cracked, hand mirror. The sight of the mirror on his dresser brought a sharp pain to Harry's chest. Having yet to grasp his brush, Harry had stopped his arm in mid-reach, clenching his fist into a ball as his throat constricted, keeping at bay a stifled sob. Regaining a bit of composure, he unclenched his fist, reached out and picked up the small mirror and cradled it against his chest. Closing his eyes in an attempt to keep tears at bay, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his newfound tranquility crumbling away in the face of his emotions.
Neither knowing nor caring how long he had sat on the edge of his bed, Harry opened his eyes and stared at the little hand mirror, the one Sirius had given him. Since he had returned to Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry had stared at the mirror, hour after hour, secluded in his room. He'd hoped that he would see Sirius' face staring back at him, desperately wishing that he had found a way back from the veil that he had vanished behind and he wanted to be there for Sirius if that happened.
Not allowing Harry the time for him to fully fall into another slump, the gentle voice began to coax him out of his self imposed prison. Never wavering, its gentle nudges slowly and methodically chipped away at the apathetic facade that Harry tried to hide behind. Inhuman patience was at work as the encouraging whispers were never discouraged or dissuaded from their task, bringing Harry back to the land of the living.
After a few short hours, the gentle nudges finally had an effect, bringing Harry back to a state of awareness.
"Harry... " came the soothing whispers again, "it's time for you to put the mirror away."
Still staring blankly at the mirror in his hands, Harry was wrestling internally if he should follow the suggestion of the whispers but, if he did, that would mean that he was giving up hope on his godfather returning to him, wouldn't it? If he put the mirror away, he would have to acknowledge that Sirius was gone. And he just wasn't ready to relinquish the tiny shred of hope he held onto, to see Sirius again.
A lone tear trailed down Harry's cheek, while he continued to grasp the small mirror, fearing to shift his eyes from it.
As if knowing Harry's internal struggles, the soft whispering began again, "Harry, it's alright to put the mirror down. Sirius would want you to."
There was a slight pause, allowing Harry's muddled brain to process the soothing words already spoken, then the soft voice continued, "He would want you to remember him as a vibrant man. He loved you Harry, he would not want you to be consumed by grief and sadness."
After several hours of being coaxed by the gentle whispers, Harry finally relented; he put the mirror down and curled up on his bed. He was so tired, so very tired, yet rest hadn't been forth coming these past several weeks. Harry's very soul ached from grief and it was finally ready to tentatively shift the dark cloud aside that kept the sunlight at bay.
"Harry, love ..." the whisper cooed in his head, but this time Harry not only heard the whispers he felt his body wrapped in the same gentle warmth that had succeeded in melting his troubled soul.
Laying there on his bed, he knew it was not possible, but he again felt, the invisible arms of the whisperer wrapping themselves around Harry in a warm embrace.
Oh, this feels so good, so warm, so comfortable he thought. I wish I could stay here forever
It was as if the invisible arms enveloping Harry were laced with a magical healing spell. All the anxiety and guilt that had riddled Harry for the past several weeks evaporated, and then, Harry fell asleep, a restful sleep that had evaded Harry for so long. Harry's long road to recovery had finally begun.
'CRACK!' came the sound from the entrance. The sound announced that one of the owner's had returned. In an instant, a house elf appeared in the foyer to attend to his master's needs and to dutifully accept their outer wear.
Without a word, the witch unbuttoned the top buttons to her wrap and started to peel out of the summer weight garment. Without looking where she was discarding her cloak, she released it as soon as she pulled it off her shoulders. The cloak fell into the waiting arms of the house elf as flawlessly as if the witch and the elf had been engaged in an intricately balanced dance.
Narcissa closed her eyes for a second, made a soft audible sigh before she began, "Notify Betsy to prepare my bath. I need to remove the stench of the afternoon from me before I'm infected."
"Betsy will be notified right away ma' am. Will mistress be wanting anything else from Dublin?" came the question from the house elf.
She looked down at him thinking to herself before she answered, "Yes, see to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon."
The elf bowed to his mistress and with a quiet pop he was gone, taking her garment with him and notified Betsy that her mistress needed her attention.
Taking the split stairway in the foyer to the right, Narcissa headed towards her wing of the manor. Upon entering her domain, and catching whiff of the lavender scented bath salts that permeated her bed chamber from the already drawn bath, she felt some of the tension she'd had all day start to lift from her body.
She entered her closet before kicking off her shoes. The plush rug felt soft through her stocking feet and she started to relax a bit more. Being home and returning to her ordered world was always comforting to Narcissa.
After removing her light blue jacket and skirt, she covered herself with a robe before she walked over to her vanity to remove her jewelry. Sitting at her vanity, she paused to study herself in the mirror before she picked up the silver hair brush. The weariness she saw written on her face would be soothed away soon enough with the aid of her bath. She methodically brushed and pinned her hair up before entering and sliding into the warm relaxing waters prepared especially for her.
Having just endured an entire afternoon with a group of harpies, Narcissa was not about to let the memory of them or the afternoon spill over into her evening. Attending yet another yawn rendering afternoon with a group of politically ignorant wives always brought Narcissa to the edge of her calm. She had performed her duties flawlessly at the luncheon, keeping her mask of indifference firmly in place.
At a young age Narcissa was taught that it was inexcusable for a pure blooded witch to be ignorant regarding political activities. This included all aspects of the political arena, from knowledge about all the candidates' public positions to their private weaknesses that could put their political career in jeopardy. So, background information was a must, including all gossip followed through on and catalogued in the event a favor for a cherished cause was garnered.
Narcissa and Lucius shared a passion for political wrangling, yet he preferred to do his from behind the scenes. Donating sums of money to control those in power as well as bedding a candidate's wife was his modus operandi. Actions performed in the bedroom paid off as well as direct financial support, as a satisfied politician's wife could coerce her husband in ways that money could not.
Abraxas had taught Lucius that lust was an important tool that could be used to manipulate others. So he took his son to brothels at an early age to ensure that he was well groomed for performance. He also taught his son that if one could secure their desired results by enjoying themselves in the process, all the better, but to never forget that business transactions were not to be confused with his duties at home.
After ten minutes in the bath, stretched out on the water filled lounge that hovered just below the surface water of the over sized tub, Narcissa could feel tension dissolving away from her body. Relaxation was not confined to her limbs and torso. Even her facial muscles relaxed as she continued to lay in the hot water, soaking.
With the passage of time, she started to feel rejuvenated. The tension and disgust in dealing with women who collectively possessed the intelligence of a garden gnome had vanished from her and she was ready to get out. Rising out of the water, reaching for the towel hanging on the warming bar, Narcissa gently dried herself before donning her robe.
The last of the tension in her body evaporated when she stepped onto her balcony. The view from her bedroom balcony was one of her favorites in the manor. It overlooked a rose garden in the foreground with the expanse giving way to an array of wildflowers of various shades of yellows, pinks and purples.
The ambience of the garden always released Narcissa from emotional discomfort. She would often times occupy her time on the balcony while doing pleasantries. She would sit at the small round table composing letters of invitations or read from one of her books from her personal library. Narcissa felt that the time she spent on her balcony was a sacred time of healing. Time that should never be rushed as in her opinion it was the harried that made mistakes.
Sipping on a glass of chilled persimmon juice that she found on the small table, she sat down on one of the comfortable chintz chairs that was upholstered in a fabric that complimented the colors that dominated her garden that day.
This has been the best part of the day, thought Narcissa as she rotated her neck a bit, loosening herself up more. Taking another sip of her drink she acknowledged, Betsy always knows just what I need.
Living the life of a pure blood was not an easy one, so it was important that you were properly taken care of in your own home. Life for the aristocratic pure bloods was often times perilous, those of lesser blood lines were often times ruled by petty jealousies, making them potentially dangerous but not necessarily worthy adversaries, like an annoying stinging insect. And being put on daily alert could wear a person out, especially if they were not comforted and protected in their own home.
Since the time that Narcissa was three years old, Betsy had been the elf tending to her personal needs. When her parents presented her the opportunity to take Betsy with her to Malfoy Manor after her marriage, she didn't hesitate and immediately accepted.
Betsy had been with Narcissa for decades. As a child and through some difficult teenage years, Betsy has been by her side. She had even protected her from her one sister who had inherited traits of the Black madness. In all their years together, Betsy never betrayed Narcissa; this earned her trust and loyalty beyond what Narcissa offered even to many witches within her social circle.
Having such a bond herself, Narcissa spent months tirelessly searching for the perfect house elf that would serve her son. She was determined that Draco would have an elf he could always rely on, whatever the circumstances.
A knowledgeable witch or wizard knew that personal elves possessed traits that differed from those of a house elf. Personal elves had to possess characteristics of independence that would supersede servitude when warranted. They needed to be self aware enough that they didn't blindly follow orders from another wizard who might cause harm to their ward. And because of this, great care had to be exercised when a witch or wizard bonded with a personal elf, as their life could one day depend on the strength of their bond.
Companionship is an advantage in pairing a personal elf with a wizard or witch but more important is their dedication to the protection of their ward. Additional qualities such as their being trustworthy and loyal were traits Narcissa also insisted on. Narcissa wanted assurances that her son's personal elf would be comfortable enough as well as emotionally strong enough to assume the role of surrogate parent should she or Lucius be unavailable.
And she found one, by the name of Brownie. Since the time that Draco was six months old, Brownie has been his personal house elf. Draco and Brownie had become inseparable, much like how Narcissa was with Betsy as a child. Brownie tends to Draco's needs and knows how to soothe his moods just as Betsy does with Narcissa.
Feeling refreshed and relaxed from doing nothing more than sipping her drink, relaxing in her chair watching the rays of the sun highlight certain areas of her flower garden, Narcissa then heard a knock at her door. Having given orders to not be disturbed, she knew that no elf would venture to disobey orders unless there was good reason.
Expecting less than pleasant news, Narcissa straightened her posture and beckoned, "Enter."
The door slowly opened, revealing a small female elf. She promptly bowed, her nose nearly touching the floor, "Begging your pardon Misses, but Master Draco has been feeling poorly today. And I is thinking you should know."
Giving the elf her full attention, Narcissa did not rise from her chair but she did nod her head slightly in silent acknowledgment to the elf that subservient behavior was waved at this time, an honor only granted to personal elves on occasion. "What can you tell me about his condition?"
"The young master is in no pain that I is able to determine but he sleeps more than usual and has no desire to get out of bed," came the carefully worded answer from Brownie. She was determined that her young charge's mother be made aware of his condition without jeopardizing his need for privacy.
Understanding the personal elf's intricate dance, Narcissa allowed a small smile to form on her face, gave a slight nod of her head to the elf and responded, "I shall dress and come have a look at my son, Brownie. You have performed admirably and I acknowledge your loyalty to him."
The elf's eyes widened as much as Narcissa had ever witnessed. It was obvious that Brownie felt pleased with having been praised and was reassured that she had broken no ethical codes of honored privacy.
She bowed again then quietly 'popped' away, reappearing near the bed of her young charge to await the mistress of the house.
Having dressed, Narcissa walked down the corridor towards her son's room. It was unusual for his door to be closed during the day, but in honor of his privacy, something she personally prized, she knocked and waited for his beckoning call that bade her permission to enter. Hearing nothing, she knocked again. After what she determined was a reasonable amount of time, she opened the door to the room, uninvited.
Upon peering in the room, she was startled enough to not move for a few moments. She saw her son sprawled out on the bed with the linens strewn half on the floor in disarray. Pausing to make sure her emotions were under control, she walked to his bed and placed a hand on his forehead, checking for a fever. Feeling none, she tried to rouse him.
"Draco. It is unfitting for a man of your age to be laying about the bed all day. Unless you can provide evidence of an illness, I must insist that you get yourself out of the bed so that Brownie can bring clean linens."
Opening his eyes and having no desire to counter his mother's demands, Draco, got out of bed and headed towards the loo. "I'm sorry mother, in the future I will pay more attention to the time of day."
The voiced disinterest with immediate compliance was out of character for her son, putting her at a temporary loss as to how to react. Well, he's at least out of bed and making himself presentable before Lucius gets home, was the thought that trailed through her mind.
Leaving his room, she called out to her son, "Your father should be home within the hour, make sure that you are presentable and on time for dinner."
With that last statement, Draco groaned to himself as it meant that he wouldn't be able to crawl back in bed, which is what he wanted to do. Accepting his resolve, he then began to shower and dress for dinner.
The whispers from the unidentified source had had a calming and nurturing effect on Harry, and he had started healing. The soft whispers were soothing Harry often enough that he was wholly accepting of their caresses, both physically and mentally.
After three weeks at the Dursley's, Harry was beginning to cope with his loss. He was still completing his daily tasks in what could be described as mechanical emptiness but he was finally starting to rest better. Finally getting reasonable amounts of sleep, Harry's emotional stability was gaining in strides.
No longer feeling an overwhelming need to hide himself in his bedroom, Harry started to leave his room; he even started to take notice of his appearance. Looking in the bathroom mirror above the sink, Harry's face puckered up in disgust at what looked back at him. His face was pale and his cheeks were hollow, only to be overshadowed by his sunken eyes.
He was shocked at how dreadful he looked, and even more worried that he looked this bad after he was starting to feel better. Harry was getting better but he was still in need of the encouragement offered by the invisible aide.
Gradually, and without notice, the soothing whispers changed from cooing and nightly embraces to encouraging Harry in waking activities.
"Harry, love, you need to eat. It's been a full day since your last meal and your body is in need of nourishment."
Having gotten used to hearing this soft voice, Harry was not alarmed to hear it coaxing him during waking hours. In fact, Harry had grown dependent upon the whispers soothing away his daily discomforts. They were an elixir his weary soul desperately needed. The whispers provided loving ministrations much like those from a mother comforting her distraught child.
The whispers of soothing comfort slowly became suggestive commands Harry had no need or desire to ignore.
"Harry, it's time to go downstairs and get something to eat. The others are not up yet, so let's go," came the gentle urgings.
No longer putting up any resistance to the whispers, Harry left the confines of his room behind heading down the stairs for the kitchen. Once he crossed the threshold to the room, a plate of eggs, sausage and toast appeared on the table.
"You need some proper nutrition in your system, Harry. Please sit down and eat before the food gets cold," came the whispers Harry had grown used to hearing.
Thoughts drifting in and out of Harry's mind didn't stay long enough for him to concentrate on the fact that food magically appearing on a muggle table was not common place. Without conscience thought or hesitation, Harry sat down and ate the entire meal that had been prepared for him.
All the while the cooing continued in his ears, "That's right Harry, eat it all up. Together we will cope with your loss. We will allow it to take residence in a part of your mind but it is not to consume you any longer. Grief has a place in every soul but it should never be allowed to consume the soul."
"With time, the difficult phase of grief will yield itself to a more manageable hurt. And eventually, you will be able to dredge up memories of Sirius that are joyous and not feel guilty or overwhelmed by them as they honor his memory, not disgrace it."
With the aid of his invisible companion, Harry was completing his daily tasks and tending to his personal needs better. He was slowly getting better but was far from being emotionally stable. He would have a few good days and then slip back into his self induced state of deprivation and the day would slip by with little recognition or acknowledgement. Encouraging hugs would linger and come more frequently during these times, gently nudging Harry back towards the road of recovery.
It was during one of Harry's set backs that a tawny brown owl arrived and started pecking at his bedroom window. It must have been pecking for a while because when Harry let it in, it nipped his finger in indignation, having been ignored for too long.
The owl landed on Harry's bedpost sticking his leg out to be relieved of his parcel. Having sat there with his leg out for what the owl felt was far too long, he flapped his wings and hooted to re-announce his presence. Harry cocked his head and looked at the owl as if he hadn't noticed him sitting on his bedpost prior to that instant. Moving his hands toward the owl, Harry slowly removed an envelope that boasted the school's seal.
The owl clicked his beak at Hedwig in her cage, as if asking her if he would get a treat and a rest after his long flight. Looking a bit bedraggled and neglected herself, Hedwig pulled her head out from underneath her left wing, looked at the intruder, looked at her owner in a pregnant pause, and then tucked her head back under her wing to continue her nap.
Having been insulted and ignored by both occupants in the room, the owl flapped his wings and left a pellet as his way of exclaiming his disapproval for such shoddy treatment.
Barely holding the envelope in his hands, it slipped out of his grasp and fell on the floor, where it lay for hours, unacknowledged. Later that day Harry noticed the envelope on the floor, retrieved it and placed it on his dresser, unopened.
Narsissa cracked the door to her son's room open and looked in on him with concern written on her face, a look that she rarely allowed to surface and certainly never in public. She had never been a weak, whimpering, witch and she was not about to start. Not when the sleeping child needed her help.
Since Draco's arrival home, he had shown little of himself around the house. If Narcissa went looking for him, she invariably found him in his bedroom, asleep or staring at the ceiling as if his mind was not present. She was used to incessant, conniving and even bordering on whiny demands, but not the quiet child that preferred to lie about all day.
She had been growing concerned at her son's physical decline since Brownie brought it to her attention, concerned enough that she had fire called her friend a few days earlier, his godfather, Severus Snape.
Their conversation had provided her no source of comfort.
"You're absolutely certain that you noticed nothing out of the ordinary in Draco's behavior while he was still at Hogwarts?" came the calm steady question, displaying no inflections in the tone of delivery. The only thing that gave way regarding the level of concern for her son was a brief flicker that passed through her eyes; her mask of practiced indifference was close to cracking. A look that would have gone unnoticed by most except for the ever vigilant potion's master.
Aware what this call cost the woman in personal comfort and compromise, the man took a deep breath, allowing himself a bit of extra time to carefully phrase his response. She was a long time friend, the mother of his godson, a proud Dark Arts witch that rarely showed any weakness, and here she was asking questions about her son, out of fear and worry.
"I assure you Narcissa, there was no undue activity at the school before the children were excused for the summer." Putting the book down on his lap, giving the head in the fireplace his full attention, he continued, "If it would make you feel better, I could stop by tomorrow and run a few diagnostics on him to check for any Dark Arts curses that your family healer might have missed."
This last offer cracked the woman's mask of indifference as relief flooded her face for the briefest moment before her mask was restored.
"I would appreciate that greatly, Severus. How does tomorrow 1 o'clock sound? I'll have a luncheon prepared for us after your examination of Draco," she replied, effectively ending the conversation.
Calm had reclaimed the woman by the close of their conversation. Severus had assured her that nothing untoward had happened to her son while he was at Hogwarts. Having not vacated the chair she had had her floo call from, she picked up her cup and took a sip of tea, while she briefly replayed the conversation in her head, making sure that she had missed no nuances Severus might have let slip.
Convinced that he was genuine in his offer of assistance, she inwardly relaxed. An afternoon luncheon would work out perfectly as Lucius will be at the Ministry for the day.
Not to be one to keep things from her husband, she was a believer that one need not stir the pot until the brew was ready. And she wasn't sure that Draco was the victim of a curse, only that he was out of sorts. Their marriage was based on respect for one another, respect in the knowledge that they possessed personal inner strength to deal with daily disturbances that need not be a joint effort.
This respect and admiration of one another's strengths also brought about an understanding between the spouses that they never crossed each others respective roles without an invitation from the other. To cross this unspoken divide would insult the other for their lack of leadership qualities and problem solving skills, something neither of them dared cross for fear of very real repercussions for doing so. And she wasn't going to bring Draco's behavior to her husband's attention unless it was necessary.
"One o'clock it is," had been his short reply.
And with that the green head in Snape's fireplace had disappeared.
As a child of and the wife of a prominent pure blood line, she was passionate in furthering the lineage of this union. If she ever found out that her son had been cursed, she would move mountains to restore his health before plotting revenge. She never took an active role in gossip as petty jealously was beneath the proud woman, but revenge was not.
She considered herself a practical mother, one who could and would cold bloodedly exact her due. As a Dark Arts witch, protection of her child would rival and shame anything a Death Eater would do for the dark lord. She'd already had the family practitioner out to the house and while competent with usual childhood illnesses, Narcissa was not going to leave anything to chance.
