Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created by Joanne Kathleen Rowling. Harry Potter and other trademarks are owned by Joanne Kathleen Rowling and by various publishers including but not limited to Carlsen Verlag GmbH, Bloomsbury Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's note: Cookie Dust beta read this story for me. Many, many thanks to you, Cookie Dust. :)
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July 27, 2007
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The pub was crowded with tourists from the continent. They were here for the weekend and started their experience of the British Wizarding Community with having lunch at Arthur Weasley's.
Harry walked up to the counter, placed his order and paid. The mug of lukewarm Butterbeer in his hand, he turned and scanned the room – not for an unoccupied table as there obviously was none, but for a vacant seat. He spotted two empty chairs at a table in the far corner and made his way over.
"Hi, there," he greeted the lone occupant, who was immersed in a copy of Borage's Monthly Potion Review.
The blonde man raised his head, not quite stopping to read.
"May I?" Harry asked, gesturing to one of the chairs.
Draco removed his round, rimless glasses and instantly his face lit up.
"Hello, Harry!" he said, putting the potions magazine away. "Of course, sit down. Nice to see you."
Harry sat down, placing the mug carefully in front of him.
"How's things?" he asked.
"Don't ask," Draco said with a barely repressed groan.
"Same here," Harry said. Pointing vaguely to the room abuzz with French and, occasionally, Dutch conversation, he added, "I'm just glad the bloody book hasn't yet been translated."
"You're at least the hero – knight in shining, white armour, defeater of vicious beasts and evil overlords... whatever. What kind of pathetic wanker am I by comparison? Not to talk of my Old Man. He really didn't take this last book well. He sees himself defamed as a vile tosser who is as gutless as he is conceited."
"I'm sorry," Harry said.
Lucius Malfoy was a nice bloke, if a bit eccentric. Then again, any old wizard was a bit eccentric in some way or other. It was just something that came with age. His own father was already showing the first signs, and James Potter was only forty-seven.
"Sometimes I have half a mind to sue Lupin," he said grimly.
Draco let out a short, sarcastic laugh.
"What for? Do you think you can make anything stick? Just forget it. They have wealth, they have influence, they have estates all over Europe. Whenever Remus Lupin gets bored with the rabble of reporters camping outside the front gates, Lupin senior will remove him to another place. Just before the book came out, the Lupins donated handsome heaps of gold to sundry causes. To the Fund for Preserving Endangered Magical Species, for instance, and even to the Wizengamot directly. I have that on good authority."
"You think they knew what would be in the book?"
"They knew a lot of people were not going to like it. So Lupin senior ensured the family's excellent standing with the Ministry beforehand."
"Yeah, sure," Harry muttered and took a sip of his Butterbeer.
Wasn't it intriguing how you could buy almost everything if you had enough gold? In some respect, the real-life Lupins resembled the Malfoys in the books. Of course, none of them were criminals in the strict sense of the word. They were just insanely rich and therefore thought they could get away with just about anything. Lupin senior wasn't particularly interested in politics, as far as Harry could tell, and nor was his son. Remus Lupin was a layabout who had nothing with which to while away his idle hours except committing mischief. Lupin senior had to bail him out of trouble on an almost regular basis.
A deep, pleasant voice stirred Harry out of his musings.
"Hi, cousin. What brings you here?"
Harry looked up to see Draco, who had risen to his feet, shake the hand of none other than Sirius Black.
"Sirius, nice to see you," Draco said warmly. "A somewhat deserted home brings me here. Eleanor is visiting her sister, and she has the boys with her."
Harry, feeling a bit awkward, stood up, too. It seemed only polite to do so in the presence of a Second Senior Secretary to the Minister for Magic. The elegant man did indeed turn to him, and Harry shook the offered hand, trying to feel comfortable with the situation.
"Young Mr Potter," Mr Black said with what seemed genuine cordiality. "I trust your business is going well?"
"Why, thank you. I can't complain, really."
"Good to hear it," Mr Black said, his eyes twinkling. He took off his silvery shawl and the finely tailored coat and placed them over the back of the one chair that was still empty. He sat down and the younger men followed suit.
"How is your mother?" Mr Black then inquired of Draco.
"Much better. It was only a mild case of Dragon flu," Draco said. "I half suspect she was just pretending so she could stay at home and comfort my father. I'm afraid all that crap really got to him this time."
"I can imagine. At least book-Lucius survived. Some other blokes weren't quite that lucky," Mr Black said, pulling a face. "I had the Unspeakables on the Horcrux issue all week long, but no luck. There hasn't been any such thing in known history. Horcruxes are the same sort of imaginary magic like most of the rest. The idea seemed very far-fetched right from the start – how would anyone be able to split an immaterial thing like their soul? Well, we had to try anyway. Actually catching Lupin at something would have been nice for a change. But, regrettably, he didn't leak classified information to the Muggles. Horcruxes don't exist and never did."
"What about those Hallows?" Draco asked.
Mr Black shrugged. "Wands and invisibility cloaks have been popular in Muggle tales for centuries. Barty Crouch's department is still on to the Resurrection Stone but I doubt they will find anything. It's another product of the lady's vivid imagination. The Aurors have questioned Lupin time and again, but he steadfastly maintains he only ever put names and accurate descriptions of physical appearances into her head, along with two basic ideas he thought to be funny – a Basilisk sleeping without food in the recesses of an old castle for a thousands years, and the so-called Triwizard Tournament. He says he thought she would write one book where the hero wins the Tournament in order to impress the girl he fancies, and then has to rescue her afterwards from the clutches of the awakened monster before he finally gains her hand in marriage."
"Wasn't the 'hero' a bit young for the marriage part?" Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, Arthur Weasley never had a daughter."
"That is odd indeed," Mr Black said. "We've catalogued all names mentioned in the books, and – excluding the children presented in the epilogue, of course – Ginny or Ginevra is the only person who doesn't exist in reality. However, old Arthur has enough gorgeous daughters-in-law to make up for the lack of a Ginevra," he added, winking jovially at Hermione, who had just appeared at the table to serve the ordered dishes.
"Thank you, Mr Black," she said, blushing slightly at the unexpected compliment. She gave both Draco and Harry a brief nod. "Hi there, you two. Enjoy your meals!"
She was gone as quickly as she had come. The place was busy even for a Friday afternoon.
"Let's dig in, then," Mr Black said, spreading a white napkin across his lap.
- - . - -
They ate in silence for a while. In Harry's opinion, Arthur Weasley's cooking was far too good to be called pub grub. To him, it was haute cuisine. No wonder the tourists came flocking here.
When they had nearly finished their lunch, Mr Black asked Draco, "Do the recent events have anything to do with Eleanor's stay at her sister's in Wales?"
"The original plan was to go tomorrow. However, when that pest Skeeter turned up on our doorstep, we decided Eleanor and the children should go ahead. She's been mentioned in the books only once and her family not at all. That's why the Branstones have never been of any real interest to the reporters."
"Have you been stalked?" Mr Black asked.
Draco shrugged.
"Last time was worse."
Harry couldn't help but smirk at the memory of Draco's exchange with Skeeter two years ago. The obnoxious witch had had the cheek to ask him, 'Would you commit murder, Mr Malfoy, in order to protect a family member?' and Draco had parried with, 'It is my firm believe, Miss Skeeter, that anyone who can think up such a question is mentally sick and should go and see a therapist.'
Honestly, how did anyone dare to ask that kind of question? And in public no less?
Harry sighed, and Mr Black turned to him.
"What about you, Mr Potter? Has Skeeter or anyone else been bothering you with offensive questions?"
"They have learned by now they won't hear any answers from me."
A bit of popularity wasn't bad – it helped with both business and girls. However, as soon as things got ridiculous, the effect was pretty much to the contrary. He was no bloody hero. He couldn't imagine himself fighting dragons or raving madmen, and nobody else could picture him that way, either.
"And your parents?"
"My father has set up anti-intruder-wards around the house, slightly modified ones. They don't go off screeching like a siren – they spout obscenities at trespassers. They're really very loud, and they follow their quarry around for a while."
"Sounds exactly like something James Potter would do," Mr Black commented, an amused smile playing around his lips. "So your parents still manage to take the matter lightly?"
"To some extent, yes," Harry said. "They laughed themselves silly with the idea of my mother having an affair with that man Snape."
"I bet they did. You see we were in the same year at school – your parents, Severus, and I. It was an open secret from early on that Sevvy was playing for the other team. Some time during sixth year, he and Peter fell in with each other. Two nerds head over heels in love – it was a spectacle to behold..."
The wistful smile suddenly vanished from the man's face.
"They deserved better than they got, both of them," he said soberly. "Severus Snape died in an attempt to save three small children from a herd of rampaging Graphorns. He was still in his last year of Auror training when that happened. Peter never came to terms with the loss. He put an end to his misery a couple of years later, using two bottles of Firewhisky and a generous helping of Oblivion potion."
Draco gasped. "Did he – survive?"
"Of course not. Alice and Frank Longbottom found his body in their backyard. It's beyond me what the poor fool was thinking to go there of all places to top himself. Alice was eight months into pregnancy, and she went into labour prematurely because of the shock. Well, the child didn't suffer any permanent damage, and Alice did eventually recover, but it was a close call. I was old Mad-Eye Moody's assistant at the time and had to sort the mess out. Actually, the fate of Severus and Peter and, of course, Alice would have made a heartrending tale of romantic love and tragedy, but Lupin wanted, according to his own words, 'something funny'. Some fun we got, I have to say."
"The truth is," Draco sighed, "we thought the books were funny too, once. There were all these wacky notions about magic. The idea of a house called Hufflepuff with a badger for an emblem had folks rolling on the floor. We bewitched mirrors so they would reflect people either in a victorious pose with a huge, golden cup raised above their heads or else surrounded by a large assembly of family members grinning like crazy. The Creeveys walked around wearing turbans with leering faces painted onto the back until the teachers got seriously annoyed. We used to enact scenes from the book – usually after the third round or so of Butterbeer. I recall Gregory dressed up as Mountain Troll, and Harry and Ronald fighting him. Or Harry and I argued like complete prats, and the others clapped and cheered and whooped. We thought all this was side-splittingly funny. Even I did, although I had to be the baddie all the time. It was probably just childish."
"Well, you were still in school," Mr Black said kindly. "In the beginning, most people were inclined to see Lupin's deed as an inane but mostly harmless prank. Some still do, namely the notorious duo Xenophilius Lovegood and Albus Dumbledore. They say, and I quote: 'In retrospect, Remus Lupin's charitable action towards the impoverished Muggle woman should be seen as a valuable service to the British Wizarding community as well. Her exceptionally popular books have contributed to distorting the concept of magic in Muggle perception beyond recognition.' End of quote."
"Oh, honestly..." Draco exclaimed.
Harry just snorted.
"Well, I suppose they can't help themselves," Mr Black said dryly.
"But don't they see the downside?" Harry asked. "Don't they see what troubles those books can cause for people? Take Draco's aunt, for instance, or Professor Umbridge. She was a pain in the back, I'll always admit that. But she's not a sadistic creep!"
"That's right," Draco joined in. "She was strict, to say the least, but never deliberately mean or unfair. Some may have seen the amount of homework she used to set us as torture, but hey! The one year she was teaching Arithmancy, we did learn a thing or two."
"Well, she can be a tough cookie, Dolores, if she chooses to," Mr Black said. "But she does have her qualities. Did you know she is campaigning again?"
"No, I didn't," Harry said. "Draco told me the very minute before you arrived that taking legal action against the Lupins would most likely be pretty useless."
"I'm afraid he's right there. Dolores aims at reining in the press. I had her petition on my desk this morning, and I signed it straight away. I remember all too well the incident after the release of the fifth book when Skeeter had the audacity to ask my cousin in public whether Bella could imagine murdering me. That witch has about all the tact of a demented Hippogriff! Well, I had her under a Hurling Hex and out of the room in a matter of seconds. She was so dizzy she had to part with her dinner." Mr Black leaned back in his chair and continued, "McGonagall wasn't exactly amused when she learned about my fit of temper. However, she has signalled sympathy with Dolores's plea this time. Somehow, things have gone too far to be treated as a mere joke. The press should refrain from pestering respectable people whose only fault is to have a namesake in a series of Muggle books with daft questions about events that are purely fictional."
"Certain people will wail about the freedom of the press being endangered," Draco remarked.
"For sure. Lovegood was already seeing McGonagall this morning. She's told him that nobody has any intention of restricting the freedom of speech," Mr Black said. "The likes of Skeeter may dribble their nonsense and even their impudence in essays for all I care. But, in my opinion, they have no right to harass people with impertinent questions like, 'Isn't there a grain of truth in it? Isn't it true that you have been at odds with your parents and brothers lately?' It's absurd, really. Lupin did what he did more than a decade ago. How could he possibly have known who would be at odds with whom right now?"
"Maybe he has kept the Muggle writer posted somehow," Harry said.
Mr Black glared. "Well, that's possible. But we can't prove it."
Draco shook his head. "She got too many things wrong to have been kept posted," he said.
"Be that as it may," Mr Black said, leaning forward. "Dolores needs supporters. Can she count you two in?"
"What kind of question is that?" Harry said. "Of course, I'm in!"
"Me too," Draco said. "Have you already contacted my parents and my aunts?"
"Bella and Andy – yes; your mum – no. I didn't want to disturb her as I thought she was ill."
"Well, I don't know for sure," Draco said a bit sheepishly. "I just thought it wouldn't be too hard for a nurse to fake the symptoms of a common illness. It's my Old Man who I'm really worried about."
"How so?" Mr Black wondered.
"Business has slowed down recently," Draco said in a low voice. "He's attributing the drop in popularity to the books... more or less."
Mr Black took a deep breath.
"He is a tad old for a dance teacher," he said softly. "No offence, but I doubt he's starring much in young witches' wet dreams these days."
Draco muttered something unintelligible.
Harry kept his eyes trained on the almost empty mug in front of him. The conversation between Draco and his cousin was getting decidedly private.
Lucius Malfoy was ageing; that couldn't be denied. He had been well in his forties when he had married Narcissa Black, a beautiful young nurse from St Mungo's. Draco was the youngest of their four children, and his oldest nephew was one year his senior. Harry calculated. Draco's father had to be ninety at the very least.
"No, I don't think I'd have the heart to tell him that to his face," Mr Black said in answer to a question Harry had not heard.
"See," Draco muttered.
"And the books probably haven't improved matters," Mr Black mused.
"Not in the least," Draco confirmed.
"Sometimes, I would love to kick Lupin's arse from here to Indonesia," Mr Black murmured. Louder, he continued, "We mustn't interfere with Muggle affairs more than absolutely necessary. Vanishing a book that has sold millions and millions of copies all over the world is simply out of the question. And there isn't just one book, there are seven by now, and there aren't just books but all sorts of Muggle media we would have to take care of. At a rough estimation, the memory of every other person would have to be modified. There is simply no way to achieve that unless we'd do it Death-Eater-style and extinguish about one half of the planet's population. I doubt such course of action would meet with much appreciation."
"In other words, we have no choice but to cope," Draco summarised his cousin's speech.
"I'm afraid, so," Mr Black said gravely. "But skilled folks that we are, we should be able to pull it off, shouldn't we? I'll assign Lisa Jordan to assist Dolores. Dotty Dolly with her dodged stubbornness is too likely to mess up."
"That's Lisa Turpin, right?" Harry asked. "The one who got seven Os in her N.E.W.T.s?"
Draco nodded.
"The very one; she got married last year," Mr Black said. "She's probably the brightest mind the Ministry has recruited since the early nineties. Excellent skills, perfect manners. She's not only a brilliant lawyer already at the age of twenty-seven but also the youngest witch ever to make the Wizengamot. She'll hit it big one day, mark my words. Fifty years hence, the new Minister for Magic will be a witch by the name of Lisa Jordan."
"Is McGonagall planning on retirement so soon?" Harry grinned.
Mr Black gave him a sharp look.
Feeling an uncomfortable warmth creeping up his cheeks, Harry started to apologise but trailed off as Draco shot him a warning glance.
Harry knew well enough Mr Black wouldn't mind becoming Minister for Magic himself, and preferably on a day that lay considerably less than fifty years in the future. This ambition was probably behind the retirement concept Mr Black had been trying to introduce for some time now. Throughout history, witches and wizard had always worked till very old age. Some simply enjoyed their work and saw now reason why they should quit. To some others, the term retiring was synonymous to admitting defeat. Another group simply could not afford to live solely on their savings. The general opportunity to obtain a modest, but sufficient monthly allowance from a Pension Fund might gradually change the public's attitude towards retirement. With some luck, career openings would open up earlier in life to motivated people like Mr Black.
"I figure," Harry said slowly and deliberately, "with all the attention Lisa and Professor Umbridge will draw to Remus Lupin and his antics, Lupin senior will probably be eager to be seen as a responsible citizen who cares for the community and is open to innovative concepts. He might be willing to help the new Pension Fund off the ground."
This earned him another appraising look from Mr Black.
"This happy-go-lucky image of yours is a tad misleading, isn't it?" the man asked.
"I recognise a good bargain if I spot one," Harry said nonchalantly.
"I don't doubt you do," Mr Black said, scrutinising him a bit more. "I thrust you made a decent profit on Kneazleweed last year?"
Harry held the man's gaze. It had indeed been a stroke of genius to purchase all the Kneazleweed that was still on the market by mid-July. A mere month later, when it became apparent how meagre the new harvest would be, the price had risen threefold. In the end, Harry had been in a position to ask ten times the normal price – except of Mr Slughorn; Draco's boss got always a discount from him – and people had paid without complaint. Everybody else who sold Kneazleweed last year had either provided plants of lesser quality or charged sums that had been even more outrageous.
"This year, the market will be swamped with Kneazleweed," Harry said. "Fortunately, I have regular customers who prefer quality merchandise to low-priced junk."
"Harry's right, Sirius," Draco said from across the table. "You can't concoct first-rate potions from second-rate ingredients."
Mr Black shifted his gaze to Draco, saying, "Hear, hear. That's the expert speaking."
While Draco elaborated his point, Harry seized the opportunity to examine Mr Black's appearance more closely. The man looked almost a bit too young for somebody aged forty-seven. His skin was smooth, and its colour indicated perfect health. There were wrinkles, especially around the eyes, but they looked as if they had been put there for appearance's sake. The long, wavy hair flowed freely down his back, and there wasn't a single grey hair in the dark mane. Customised Beautifying Potions, Harry concluded, and Draco was in all probability the source of them. Draco was a dab hand at potions, which was why Horace Slughorn had hired him straight out of school.
Mr Black got suddenly to his feet, announcing that he had to leave. When Draco and Harry started to rise, too, he impatiently motioned for them to stay seated. Snatching his coat and scarf from the back of the chair, he hastily explained, "Duty calls. There's a... meeting. Bye Draco. Tell your parents I said hi. Good day to you, Mr Potter."
When Harry watched the man rush to the door, he noticed the reason for the oddly hurried departure: the second of Sirius Black's three ex-wives. Fleur McLaggen – she had married the Head of Auror office after the divorce from Black – was French, worked as interpreter, and organised guided tours for foreign tourists.
"I should be going, too," Draco said. "I've got an order from St Mungo's to finish, and I'd like to make it to Llangynidr before midnight."
Draco was quite the family man. He'd married his Eleanor no sooner than she had finished school. They already had two sons, and a third child – a girl this time – was under way.
- - . - -
"I have an appointment, too," Harry said as they walked to the door. "Do you happen to need something from the Mediterranean? Gillyweed perhaps, or Dittany?"
"No, I don't think so. Three drams of powdered Fiddlehead spores would be nice, though. For personal use; Horace doesn't have to know."
"Consider it done," Harry said.
"Thanks."
"Not at all," Harry grinned. "I just demand you name the baby after me."
"What, Harriet?" Draco said. "Eleanor would never agree to that. She has set her mind on Alcyone, and, therefore, Alcyone it will be."
"Pity."
"Yeah, I was all for Alchemilla Molli."
Harry burst into laughter.
Draco grinned, "Well then, see you around."
"See you. Don't forget to join Professor Umbridge's campaign."
"Don't worry, I will. And... you know it has always cheered me up that the Muggle lady made Lupin a werewolf in her books. His final fate is something like poetical justice. Don't you think so?"
"Maybe one could see it that way. The book-me didn't seem to mind much that he was stuck with the baby. But just think about it – he never really had a life. It was only ever fighting for him, and running, and fighting again. And then, at the tender age of eighteen, a baby is flung at him. That's like teenage parenthood. No, it's worse, actually, because he never had the fun." Harry paused in his rant since Draco's grin grew wider with every word he said. "Anyway," he added after a moment of prolonged grinning on Draco's part, "Could you imagine the real Lupin picking me a as godfather for his children?"
"No, I'm afraid not," Draco said, still grinning. "But I know somebody who may do just that."
"Who?" asked Harry, not catching on.
"Would you?" Draco asked in turn. "Would you be Alcyone's godfather?"
Harry was stunned. He had to admit he hadn't seen this coming. He also had to admit that he felt curiously flattered.
"You would trust me with that?" he managed at last.
"It's about time you are introduced to the pleasures of domestic life," Draco replied, and the grin was back. Harry couldn't tell whether Draco was serious. The confusion must have shown on his face because Draco went on, "I mean it. Take your time; think about it. You've got till October to decide."
"Why, thanks... I... I'm honoured."
"Shall I conjure a mirror," Draco teased, "so you can admire the incredulous look on your face?"
"Prat," Harry muttered, aiming a playful blow at him. "You know I'm not that great with 'domestic life' and such stuff."
"That's why I want you to get a glimpse of what you're missing before it's too late."
"You're starting to sound like my mum..."
Harry liked his independent and sometimes slightly chaotic life. His business involved a lot of travelling. He was here today, but tomorrow he might be five hundred or one thousand miles away – in Aix-en-Provence, Tallinn or a quaint, out-of-the-way village, searching for some rare herb or special fungus. And he never failed to find a cute girl to go out with when he was in a town for longer than three nights.
Was he ready to settle down yet? Or would he prefer another ten years of flying, roving, and climbing mountains, of visiting remote hamlets and big cities all across Europe? Maybe being a godfather would prepare him for his role as father later in life...
"I'll think about it," he said. "Seriously."
"Good. I really must be off now."
They shook hands, and Harry watched Draco disappear into the crowd. Then he set off in the opposite direction. His meeting with the trader from Malaga was scheduled for two in the afternoon, and it wasn't on to keep young, beautiful witches waiting.