By Smertios
Summary: AU. Narcissa Malfoy's first priority has always been the safety of her son. When she hears of the prophecy, she knows that no safety lies in supporting the Dark Lord. What will happen when Dumbledore asks a very particular favor of her in exchange for his protection?
Pairings: HP/GW, DM/HG
Author's Notes: I suppose that starting a second project while I haven't updated my other one in nearly 3 months is probably bad form, but I've been trying to finish the next chapter of Seeking a Center for a month now, and writer's block has prevented me from making any progress. I'm not gonna spoil the plot too much, but I will say that this story is not going to be your normal AU, and that those who don't like their stories to have points may not like this piece. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: The following applies to the whole of The World Turned Upside Down 1: Year of the Stone. I do not in any way shape or form own Harry Potter. I am making no money off of this piece, and my only recompense for my time and effort is positive reviews. As such, my speech is protected speech. Lawyers should look elsewhere for an easy target.
- - - - - - - - - -
Prologue: Kick It Over Smoother words; Nicer SuitsDon't be fooled: They're still wearing jackboots
The words get tired when you hear them every day
The Nazi's changed, but they never went away
Enough Is Enough (Kick It Over) - ChumbawambaThere are times when the world simply changes. To those living in the world, it can seem as though nothing has happened, until the historians have their say, but the changes occur all the same. Often, the fire of war forges a new era in the hail of bullets and bombs. These times of change are often tumultuous: bitter strife between the old and the new brings even the best men to blows. Sometimes, the change is repressed and left to fester, slowly rotting away the foundations of the old order, until one day, a gas main of tension is hit, and the world explodes anew.
This is what happened on October 31, 1981 when Tom Riddle: the self-styled Dark Lord Voldemort fell at the hands of a young witch and an infant. Even as the villain was fleeing as fast as his incorporeal legs would take him towards the dark forests of Albania, suppression was already occurring. Old money and older power took control of a new government. Former Death Eaters were let off of the hook; their transparent excuses accepted at face value.
Worse yet, the causes of the first war were ignored: and, again, Pureblood and Muggleborn were separated. Non-human Magical Creatures were returned to their lower status; giants were persecuted back into hiding, werewolves were hunted and prevented from receiving jobs, and goblins were scapegoated for the economic collapse in the late '80s. In short, the stage was set for the return of the Dark Lord.
And return he did. Spellfire and the Dark Mark once again lit the night sky of Britain, terrorizing it's inhabitants. The bloody war brought low the highest. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, famed for his progressive reforms within the school, fell: slain by one of his own professors.
Eventually, the snake was again vanquished by none other than the boy who brought around his end the first time: Harry Potter. However, all was not well. In the ruins of three years of war, the scavengers were rising. Clad in the gaudy robes and pleasant masks of affluence, once again, former Death Eaters were taking control of governance. Indeed, on the night of the Dark Lord's fall, three men had already claimed the right to his throne, just as had happened in the void left by Grindelwald's fall. The stage was set for another war.
Another war would undermine what good remained in the Wizarding World. Corrupt, bigoted, and undemocratic as the Ministry was, it still housed good men and women like Arthur Weasley who oversaw the administration of the country, and kept the government on the right path. In this desperate situation, a single consciousness flashed into being. The Guardian saw, and the Guardian was displeased.
Merlin's final spell had been a powerful one: even by the standards of the legendary Wizard. His dying breath (for even Merlin's death upon a stake, cast into the sea by his own countrymen had not left him bitter) had tied all of his magic to the heart of Britain: entrusting it with the duty of keeping safe, sane, and healthy his homeland. The Guardian was the product.
The Guardian was power incarnate, but it was very limited. Its magical reservoirs were limited and slow to regenerate. As a result, it had to be careful in its interferences. Quickly it searched for a solution. To its frustration, so set was the course of history, that nothing it did would prevent another war within 30 years.
Although this was frustrating, the Guardian had a protocol for such an event (although it had not yet been used). In the case that there was no apparent solution to a problem, the Guardian was to move backwards in time until it found a point where it could make the smallest change possible that would rectify the situation. With an extra-planar pop the Guardian hurtled back in time seeking it's point of insertion.
Just like tossing a single pebble could bring down a mountainside in a vicious avalanche, changing time was a delicate task. Unforeseen consequence abounded, and the smallest alteration could make the world practically unrecognizable. Often the changes even seemed silly. Anything from moving a single branch to ensuring that the garbage made it to the curb could cause a major international crisis. Indeed, a Roman Wizard of some power had taken a month's jaunt back in time to prevent himself from going into debt, and found (to his horror) that his actions had brought the Roman Empire down (unfortunately, the mobs that came after him had left him unable to reverse his mistake). In this particular case, The Guardian's solution was slightly more elegant: he moved a fake wand.
Although it would be 13 years until Fred and George Weasley invented their famed fake wands that changed into rubber chickens or mice when waved, Zonkos had been releasing fake wands for nearly a decade. The wands were distinctly inferior, in the Guardian's opinion, as they neither transformed, nor gave any sign of their status. However, they served the Guardian's purpose perfectly.
- - - - - - - - - -
(Malfoy Manor: March 19, 1983)
Narcissa Malfoy was an expert eavesdropper. As the wife of the most powerful Death Eater in all of the Dark Lord's army, she had long since learned how to surreptitiously listen in on her husband and his compatriots. It was the only way that Narcissa (who was well-aware of the fact that she was a trophy wife to Lucius) was able to prepare for her husband's oft-irrational behavior.
When she had first come to Malfoy Manor, five years ago, to be Lucius Malfoy's wife, she had been naïve. The daughter of two social climbers, and the Niece of the Lord and Lady of the Black family, Narcissa Black had truly believed that she was fortunate to have such a fortuitous marriage arranged. She had quickly been disabused of that notion.
Lucius was a cold and violent man. When he did not get what he wanted, he took it, and when taking it did not please him, he hurt whoever was nearest. Narcissa had learned to eavesdrop, so as to know when not to be at hand. Tonight, she was especially nervous. Tonight, Lucius was talking business.
For many people, talking business meant nothing more than discussing the ebb and flow of the marketplace, or engaging in career-specific shoptalk. Lucius, however, had only one business, and that business was the bidding of the Dark Lord. Voldemort's devastating fall had, momentarily, brought to a close that business, but as investigations were closed and bribes were payed out, business had begun again.
A younger Narcissa would have said that she was loyal to the Dark Lord's cause. After all, he was the hero of her generation, who would cast off the shackles placed upon Purebloods, and return them to their rightful dominance. Now, she knew better. The Dark Lord was a brutal and insane tyrant whose bigotry was only mildly less inflated than his ego. Years of watching torture, rape, and murder had left her with no pretensions: Muggleborn and Pureblood alike bled and suffered equally, and neither was superior to the other. Her only loyalty now, was to her son.
Draco was a good toddler. Even at the height of the terrible-twos he was quiet. Of course, his father had no tolerance for tantrums and shouting, and his punishments for any misbehavior was very convincing. That had only intensified Narcissa's loathing for her husband. However, she had also seen the Dark Lord in person, and she knew that no one, not even the famed Albus Dumbledore could defeat him. She and every other member of the Pureblood community knew that Voldemort was not dead. She had never been told specifics, but Lucius had told her that he was essentially immortal. No matter how much she thought her son would be better off on the other side, she knew he would not be safe.
At the moment, Lucius was meeting with an old family friend: Edward Crabbe. The hulking brute of a man had lumbered into the house ten minutes ago, and entered the study, a sure sign that tonight's business was very important.
"Silencio!" Her husband's voice hissed from the other side of the door. Bemusingly enough, the sound from the room was not cut off. "Now that we are properly warded, we can begin, Edward."
"Good."
Crabbe's monosyllabic reply was not uncommon for the man. His girth was his only redeeming factor. She was glad that it had been Lucius, and not Crabbe that had expressed interest in her. At least Lucius was more intelligent than an ape. With a slight hint of frustration, Lucius spoke again, "I have been informed by… certain sources, shall we say, that you and a few others wish to know why we are not, at this moment, engaged in a full-fledged search for our Lord."
"Yup. We wanna know why you, Avery, and Nott aint acting." Grunted Crabbe.
Lucius sighed, his gusty exhalation audible through the door. "Before our Lord's unfortunate death, some information came to light that is staying our hand in seeking to bring about our Lord's return. Do you know why our Lord went to the Potter's that night?"
"'Cuz the Potter's were Blood Traitors!"
"I suppose that that entered into the Dark Lord's thoughts, but there was more to it than that." Lucius paused for a moment, allowing what he had said to sink in (Given the similarity of Crabbe's cranium to cement, Narcissa thought that the pause was not nearly long enough). "A year or so before that fateful night, Severus Snape brought a disturbing report to the Inner Circle."
"Any report by Batwings Snape is disturbing."
"I suppose so. At any rate, Snape reported that he had been in the Hog's Head tavern in Hogsmeade on a recruitment mission for the Dark Lord when he saw Dumbledore enter the tavern, and go into a room up the stairs. Snape followed him and listened in at the keyhole."
Crabbe snorted. "Isn't that just like Snape. Always skulking and listening in."
Lucius must have nodded, because there was no response as he said, "Nevertheless we were lucky that Severus chose to listen at that door. The Headmaster was conducting an interview of the Divination Teacher. You may have heard of her, Sybil Trelawney."
Another snort. This one more frustrated than derisive. "What has this got to do with our Lord?"
"Patience, patience, my friend. I am getting there. At first it was a normal interview – If anything, Dumbledore didn't sound too impressed with Trelawney. Then, however, Snape reports that her voice changed, and she began to give a Prophecy. Unfortunately, Severus only heard part of it, as the Barman at the Hog saw him listening in, and threw him out. However, the part that he did hear was very disturbing. 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies.'"
Crabbe hissed, and Narcissa felt as though someone had grabbed her heart and stilled it. She had not heard that before. It changed everything. Not only was the Dark Lord mortal, the tool for his defeat was already in existence. No, her son's safety was not assured here. In fact, he was in great, great danger.
It was as if, suddenly, she was free from the cares that had weighed her down. The contradiction between what she knew was right, and what was best for her son was gone. Lucius and Crabbe continued talking, but she was too caught up in her own thoughts.
'Lucius could be lying. In fact, he probably is. Crabbe would be fooled if Lucius told him that the Dark Lord had declared himself a member of the Department of Muggle Relations. Still… If this is true, I have no excuse for not acting.'
It came down to a simple question. Did she gamble on this prophecy being real, and risk her son dying at the hands of the Dark Lord, or did she gamble on the prophecy being false, and risk her son fighting and dying for the wrong side. If she chose the first, she chose the easy to accept answer; the answer that required no action or effort. If she chose the second, she chose the morally right answer, but it was a massive gamble.
One of the points that Albus Dumbledore had left her graduating class with was that every choice was a choice between what was right and what was easy. She had never set much stock by the old man, but… 'Oh hell… May as well give him a chance.'
And, like that, the decision was made. Narcissa almost felt a pop, as though an illusory joint had been popped into place. She breathed a small sigh, and set to work making her plans.
In the next room over, Lucius Malfoy escorted Edward Crabbe to the Floo, and picked his wand up off of the mantelpiece. He frowned, and muttered, "That's funny… I could have sworn I put it down on the coffee table."
- - - - - - - - - -
(Spinner's End; June 3, 1983)
Severus Snape put down his book and picked up the small glass of wine that his House Elf had brought him. He swirled the dark liquid, mildly entranced by it's ripples and waves. It was good to be home.
His study, literally coated in bookshelves, was dimly lit, and the musty smell of books (his only friends, he supposed) filled his nostrils. He took a sip of his wine, and gave a sigh of satisfaction.
It had been a long year. His first year as Potions Professor at Hogwarts had been quite challenging. Snape did not really like children, and the prospect of teaching hundreds of the little monsters the precise art of brewing Potions was something he considered to be, at best, quixotic. Indeed, his younger students were much more skilled at the art of explosives making than they were at making potions (to his amazement, two First Year Ravenclaws had managed to brew TNT while trying to brew a boil-curing potion).
He slammed his free hand down on his desk. He was not going to allow his charges to ruin the only free time he now had. With a determined grimace, he picked up his copy of "The Many Mystyk Brews of Malaysia" and began reading again.
After five minutes of staring at the same page, he tossed the book back down on his desk and scowled. To his disgust, he was bored. Somehow along the way, teaching day-in and day-out and grading the poorly strung together examples of abstract poetry that Hogwarts Students called essays, he had gotten used to being busy.
It was offensive! It was obscene! Somehow, to his horror, he had found himself wanting to return to his slavery at Hogwarts. He grit his teeth and swore that some day, he would extract equal payment from Albus Dumbledore for this indignity (could cursing the man's beloved collection of wool socks do the trick?).
Just as he was about to storm off to his bedroom, a small knock on the shelf-door of his study sounded. "What is it Floopy?"
His poor, dilapidated House Elf shambled in and bowed creakily (Severus winced, almost hearing the creature's spine pop). "Visitors f-for you m-milord."
"Visitors? At this hour! Who?"
The House Elf gave a small smile. "Narcissa Malfoy and Son to see you."
"Send them in."
As Floopy stumbled away, Snape's mind worked overtime. Why would Narcissa Malfoy want to see him at all? The last time they had spoken had been at Draco's christening. For her to seek him out, especially in light of the Dark Lord's recent fall was… Aberrant, in his opinion.
However, before he could begin to hypothesize why the wife of Lucius Malfoy would possibly visit him, Floopy led Narcissa into the room. With her, a small, blond-haired boy, who was sucking on his thumb and looking around with wide eyes came in. "Narcissa. It is good to see you."
She gave him one of the small, ironic smiles that she had been famous for at Hogwarts. "Please, Severus, my friends call me Cissy."
Severus kept his face carefully schooled. As far as he had been aware, the only interest that Narcissa Malfoy had ever had in him was as a political connection to be cultivated. "Would you care for something to drink?"
She shook her head and pulled up a seat. Snape, who was proud of his patience with the silly formalities of day-to-day interaction, nodded. "In that case, what brings you here tonight?"
"What, bringing my son to see his Godfather is not enough, Severus?" A mischievous twinkle gleamed in her eye (Damn the woman! She knew he was curious now!). "I'm surprised that Lucius did not contact you ahead of time and tell you that we were on our way."
"While I am glad to see my Godson, I know that it is quite rare for a mother to bring her child to visit anyone, even his Godfather, in the middle of the night, Na- Cissy. I will dispense with formalities, if you prefer. What can I do for you?"
She smiled, this time for real, and avoided his question, "There's the Severus Snape I know!"
He ground his teeth together and raised an eyebrow. "As I said. You want something. What can I do for you?"
"I need to speak with Dumbledore."
He had expected many things. Potions Masters got plenty of strange requests. Whether she was looking for a love potion or a poison, he had been prepared to haggle for it. This however, he had not expected. "Dumbledore?"
"Yes, you know, Albus Dumbledore. He's the Headmaster at Hogwarts. Tall, old man with a nose stuck into everyone's business?"
"I know who he is!" Snape snapped, his brow furrowing. "What I was asking was why you would want to see Dumbledore."
If he was being honest with himself, he was impressed. Narcissa Malfoy had always seemed to him to be an empty-headed socialite without the ability to plot her way out of a cardboard box. "I wish to see him because… Because something has come to my attention that leads me to believe that I have backed the wrong side."
"A bit late for that, isn't it, Cissy? He's been dead for two years and only now you realize that you may have bet on the wrong horse?"
"Dead, Severus?" Another one of those ironic smiles. "Do you really believe that?"
He said nothing, allowing the point to pass. "Nevertheless, why now?"
"Because I have recently been made aware of certain… Intelligence I was not previously aware of. I believe that you had no small part in the gathering of said Intelligence."
Blood rushed from Severus' face. If she knew of the Prophecy… "And? The verse in question merely says that Potter has the power to defeat the Dark Lord. It does not say that he will."
"Harry Potter? Thank you for confirming my suspicions, Severus." He winced, and she paused to laugh at his reaction. "I shall be honest with you. I am not fond of the Dark Lord. The brutal reality of my husband's business quickly destroyed any romanticized views I had of Blood Purity. However, I was unwilling to risk my son's life by defecting. If it is true. If the Dark Lord really can be defeated, then my son is safer on the side I would prefer."
That was good enough for Snape. In fact, it was not too dissimilar to his own reasons for switching side, save for the fact that he had no son to protect. "You say that Lucius knows you are here?"
"Yes."
"Then nothing can move forward tonight. I will contact Albus, and we will be in touch with you. In the meantime, there are some preparations that you can make."
To his surprise, he had underestimated her again. "They are made, Severus. I have moved a significant part of my husband's wealth into a separate vault, and converted most of it into muggle money. I have prepared every part of my getaway, and made three different contingency plans. Do not worry."
He nodded, and escorted his Godson (who was still sucking on his thumb) and Narcissa from his home. After they had left, he called his elderly House Elf. "Floopy, I need you to go visit Hogwarts and tell the Headmaster that I shall need his assistance with some research of mine. Do give him this note, which explains what I am researching."
He took a small sheet of paper, and scrawled (in his precise and measured handwriting), "Albus, I regret to inform you that my stocks are overrun with excess material that is taking up experimentation space. Do you have a place that I could store some narcissus petals and some snapdragons?"
Surely that cryptic message would alert the Headmaster to just how urgent his message was. Now it was just a matter of waiting.
- - - - - - - - - -
(Hogwarts Castle; June 8, 1983)
Narcissa Malfoy felt like a student again. Sitting outside of the Headmaster's office, waiting for his door to open, she could feel the jitters coming over her, reminding her of lectures and punishments from the past. In her arms, Draco slumbered deeply, under the effects of a mild sleeping potion.
The soft murmur of voices from the Headmaster's office was a comfort to her. At least, even with Minerva McGonagall in the room, there had been no emphatic objections. After a few moments of conversation, the murmurs stopped, and the aforementioned Transfiguration Professor opened the door. "The Headmaster will see you now, Ms. Malfoy."
Narcissa's face no doubt showed the strain of her internal battle with laughter. 'Complete with the stern glare, no less. Oh dear, if I'm not careful, maybe they'll be putting me in detention next!'
She nodded her thanks to the Professor and stepped into the office. It was much the same as she remembered from her time as a student. Behind the large desk, in his overstuffed armchair, Albus Dumbledore's, his eyes twinkling, was regarding her with something akin to concern. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Narcissa."
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Headmaster."
He waved her thanks aside, graciously. "Not at all. Severus explained your situation to me thoroughly, and I could hardly refuse. That said, I am curious to hear from you why you wish to leave Lucius and Voldemort."
She winced, along with the others in the room. She had forgotten the Headmaster's habit of naming the Dark Lord by name. "I am sure that Severus made you aware of how I came across certain knowledge…"
"Indeed. You need say no more."
"As you know, Professor, Draco is my first concern. If it were just myself, I would have left Lucius two years ago, but it would not have been safe for my son. The information that I came across, however, led me to believe that my son was in greater danger where I was than he would be under your protection."
The Headmaster inclined his head. "And so that is why you wished to speak to me. To ask that I protect you, both from your husband and from his compatriots."
She nodded. "I know that you have protected Severus…"
For a moment, he was still; the only sign of his life the maddening twinkle in his eyes. "Would you like a lemon drop, Ms. Malfoy?"
She blinked. Dumbledore was famous for his strange muggle candies, but the non sequitur put her off balance. "No thank you, Professor."
He smiled benignly and popped of the treats into his mouth. "You are correct, Narcissa, that I protect Severus, both from repercussions for his past and from the Death Eaters. However, he had to pay a price for his protection. I hate to have to do this… but –"
"I will spy for you if you wish Professor. If necessary, I will confess completely to the crimes of my husband."
"That will not be necessary." His kindly face showed some sympathy towards her desperation. "While it would be a good thing for the world if Lucius Malfoy were to go to Azkaban, he is more than capable of buying whichever justice he prefers, and not even your confession would be enough to convict him."
"Then what would you have me do?"
His eyes twinkled just a little bit more. "Tell me, Narcissa: have you decided where you will live after this?"
She nodded. "I have some of Lucius' money. I was going to buy a flat and ask you to put it under your protection."
"Nothing that you are attached to, though?"
:"No, not really."
"Wonderful, then." He pulled a key from his pocket. "The favor I shall ask of you is that you live at 2, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey."
"Why?"
He dug out two more pieces of paper and a muggle pen, as well. "You see, Ms. Malfoy, there is a young man living at 4 Privet Drive who I need you to keep an eye on. His Aunt and Uncle are caring him for, but they are muggles, and I would like a Witch or Wizard to keep an eye on Mr. Potter."
She gasped. "Harry Potter?"
He nodded. "Yes. In the name of protecting him, I sent him to live with his relatives that night. A sort of Blood Magic is protecting him while he lives in his Aunt's home. If you stay on Privet Drive, you will be as well protected as he is, and I assure you he is the best protected Wizard in all of Britain."
"Why me, though? Surely someone you know better could-"
He waved off her protests. "Because your son shall be the same age as him, and while his Aunt and Uncle are protecting him, they are – ah, how did Minerva put it – 'The worst kind of Muggles', I want Harry to grow up with friends, and not just grudging family. I had an old squib that was going to move into the neighborhood, but Arabella is happy where she is."
After the dread of what terrible favor he might ask of her, this was a wonderful surprise. "We will do it."
The Headmaster positively beamed at her, and handed her the pen. "Wonderful. Please sign here, and 2 Privet Drive shall be yours."
After the formalities were sorted out, she bid the Headmaster farewell. "Thank you for your held, Professor."
"It was my pleasure, my dear."
She strode down the stairs, and out of Hogwarts, a smile on her face. Her first step would be to change her name, and then Draco and Narcissa Black would move into Number 2 Privet Drive. It was a new feeling, but she could tell that she was going enjoy freedom.
- - - - - - - - - -
Author's Notes: Not bad for 10 hours of highly interrupted writing, in my opinion. I was a bit rusty from disuse and writer's block. Tomorrow or the next day I am going to hopefully wrap up the next chapter of Seeking a Center and then I shall return to this. I am working to extend my chapters, since I believe 10,000 is a much better goal in terms of word count (this is short chapter because it is the Prologue). If I'm lucky, I'll get a chapter up every couple of weeks over the summer. My job isn't giving me many hours right now, and I'm taking that as an opportunity to write to my heart's content. At any rate, what did you think about it?
A bit more on the direction this is going: This is going to have a certain amount of Super Harry in it, but that should not interfere with the tension and plot of the piece. I'm merely working on leveling the playing field a bit, since Voldemort is most certainly a Super Voldemort. This will be a 7 book series; assuming that I can do more than 40,000 words without forgetting that I have anything to write for months on end. There will also be some commentary and allegory to modern issues. Most of it will be subtle (although my subtle could be someone else's obvious) and if it interferes with the storyline it will simply be removed, but it will be there. I believe that all good literature needs to have some level of commentary (it's there in Harry Potter without my help any way, although Rowling is better at subtlety than I am).