Three: Snitched
Even if the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived getting into a
carriage with a former Death Eater outside the Ministry
itself was fit for the front-page of the Prophet, Harry
thought they drew an unwarranted amount of attention from
passers-by. And then he realized that if the Ministry knew,
naturally the papers did as well, which meant so did the
entire wizarding world.
Malfoy clucked and draped his cloak over Harry's shoulders,
his eyes watching Harry's dart around. "It was in
yesterday's Daily Prophet. Not the Skeeter woman -- I spoke
directly with a junior reporter, who leapt at the chance
for such a story."
"You what?" Harry jerked away, ignoring the door Bibbly
opened for him. "What in hell gives you the right to
interfere with my life?"
"I should think you would be grateful, Mr Potter," Malfoy
said, taking Harry's arm and physically lifting him into
the carriage. Malfoy climbed in behind him, and slid onto
the padded bench next to Harry as the carriage-elf shut the
door. A soft lurch, and the vehicle rumbled away down the
street. "You are public property in the eyes of the media,
and you should know by now that the press adores scandals
of this magnitude. They would have torn you to shreds had I
not contacted them and recited the version of events I
wished them to print."
"*Your* version. What about my version?"
"If you wanted your version printed, you should have
contacted them yourself. It's best to be preemptive when
dealing with the press; at least you can control when and
how the scandal breaks." Malfoy tried to tuck the cloak
around him, and Harry slapped his hands away.
"Stop that. And why are you wearing that thing anyway? It's
July, for Merlin's sake."
"Don't swear. I'm not sure how those muggles raised you,
but my parents valued manners, which includes both proper
language and appropriate dress in public -- hence the
cloak. It has a cooling charm."
"Then what good will it do to put it around me?"
Malfoy paused, staring at a spot beyond Harry's head. "It
will stop drafts."
Harry stared at the man, wondering if he'd gone mad. "We're
in a carriage. There aren't any drafts."
Malfoy scowled, tossed the cloak on the opposite bench, and
lit the fire in the door's hearth.
"Are you crazy? I'm *not* cold."
"You're pregnant."
"And so you want to suffocate me? It's *July*. You're going
to give me heat stroke."
Another pause in which Malfoy stared past him, then a flick
of his wand put the fire out.
Harry, meanwhile, had been thinking of the day's events and
drawing conclusions. "You're the one who reported the
Dursleys to the Ministry. You told them I was pregnant."
"I was not about to leave my grandchild in the care of
those... people." Malfoy still refused to look at him,
staring straight ahead.
"I told you, I'll be living with Sirius by the time it's
born."
Malfoy snorted, and Harry deduced he didn't think Sirius
much better than the Dursleys. "Nevertheless, for the next
five months my grandchild is inside you, Potter, and that
makes your welfare my business. Spiggleworth said they had
you tarring the roof. The roof!" Malfoy twisted furiously
in his seat to glare at Harry. "Do you have any idea how
dangerous that was? Why did you do it? Why didn't you,
slayer of Dark Wizards, stand up to a pair of pathetic
muggles? Does the life of Draco's child mean so little to
you?"
Harry flinched. *He's right. Gods above, Malfoy is
right.What if I caused a miscarriage? What if I fell off
the roof?* He'd fallen into a pattern of mindless obedience
over the summers, and only objected to extreme requests...
but was tarring the roof extreme? He didn't know. He wasn't
sure exactly what consisted of normal chores, as Dudley
didn't do any and his only other experience with families
consisted of time with the Weasleys, and he knew degnoming
gardens wasn't exactly normal. Harry thought of his baby,
and it struck him that he or she depended entirely on him
for existence. Terrified, he wrapped his arms tightly
around himself, and turned away to look out the window. The
scenery scrolled along, and every few minutes the carriage
would lurch, and the would vista change.
Malfoy snorted from his side of the bench, breaking the
long silence. "I thought so. You're not fit to be a parent,
Potter, no matter what the Ministry says. Not until you
grow up."
"I won't give up my child," Harry whispered as the busy
street changed to a tree-shaded country road, then a barren
highway pacing across a moor. "And you can't take it from
me."
"So Mr Spiggleworth and Mr Armand have advised me," Malfoy
said bitterly, "but that won't stop me from trying if you
fight me on this. Did you honestly expect me to let you
walk off with the heir to the Malfoy estate? To show up
once to see the baby, then send horribly expensive gifts
twice a year?"
Harry flushed, for that was just what he had assumed.
Malfoy made a disgusted sound, and they sat in silence for
the rest of the journey.
* * * * *
He had first visited Malfoy Manor near dusk, and the
raiding shadows had obscured the sculpted grounds,
distorted the opulent buildings. As the carriage turned
down a tree-lined lane, the bright, late-afternoon sunshine
lit the estate, catching on turrets and balconies, glinting
off a small river girdled with an arched stone bridge,
playing hide-and-seek with a little hamlet far beyond. It
looked like a smaller sibling of Hogsmeade, and he wondered
if he would be able to visit.
*Malfoy may not be as bad as we thought, but I don't trust
him not to lock me up for the summer.* "What's the town
called?"
"Folkrose. It was once called Foicroisement -- Faith's
Crossing -- but the name was Anglicized several centuries
ago."
"Oh."
The sound of polite disinterest did not dissuade Malfoy.
"My family has owned this land for over nine-hundred
years."
"Congratulations."
"The muggles in the village once tithed to the manor,
before the government made it illegal for wizards to own
muggle serfs."
"Uh-huh."
"They aren't muggles now, of course. Nine centuries of
Malfoy bastards have brought the blood up to acceptable
standards. Am I boring you, Mr Potter?"
"That's nice."
"You realize all this goes to your child."
Harry bit his lip as the carriage turned onto a long drive
lined with statuary, passing through wrought-iron gates
topped with a pair of rampant dragons, which appeared to
battle over a rose. "Why are you doing this?"
Malfoy did not answer, and they were nearly at the house
before he spoke again. "The Malfoys were never prolific; at
least not within the marriage bond, or failing that, with
those of adequate power and station." A sharp look let him
know he fell in this last category -- barely. "I have no
cousins, at least not of any worth. Coming from the
background you do, I'm sure this means little to you, but
for a family of our stature this is a disaster. The
centuries we have held here... this empire we have
built..."
Harry snorted. "I hope megalomania isn't hereditary." A
wounded silence, then, "Look, I'm sorry. I understand your
position, but you have to understand this is *my* child,
and he's all I have left."
Malfoy whispered, barely audible, "He's all I have left, as
well."
* * * * *
Bibbly attended to the door, looking considerably more
squashed than he had outside the Ministry. The impression
on his cheek resembled a cast of the lock on Harry's trunk,
and a surge of anger shook him; Malfoy could have easily
shrunk Harry's luggage. Another elf appeared to smuggle
Harry's things into the manor with the least amount of
disruption to the master and his guest, and Malfoy led
Harry inside.
"This is the foyer. The dining room is to your left, the
little hall is to your right, ballroom straight ahead. Left
staircase leads to the east wing, right to the west --
which you're not to go poking around in. In fact, do go
anywhere unescorted. This house has many... foibles.
"That," Malfoy continued, gesturing to the house-elf
cowering unnoticed by the left staircase, "is Zimble. He
will serve you exclusively. Report him to Nilly if he
causes you grief. Tea is at eight." With that, Malfoy swept
away, swirling his cooling-charmed cloak.
The house-elf scurried up to Harry the moment Malfoy's
cloak disappeared around the corner, and his timid fa
Even if the sight of the Boy-Who-Lived getting into a
carriage with a former Death Eater outside the Ministry
itself was fit for the front-page of the Prophet, Harry
thought they drew an unwarranted amount of attention from
passers-by. And then he realized that if the Ministry knew,
naturally the papers did as well, which meant so did the
entire wizarding world.
Malfoy clucked and draped his cloak over Harry's shoulders,
his eyes watching Harry's dart around. "It was in
yesterday's Daily Prophet. Not the Skeeter woman -- I spoke
directly with a junior reporter, who leapt at the chance
for such a story."
"You what?" Harry jerked away, ignoring the door Bibbly
opened for him. "What in hell gives you the right to
interfere with my life?"
"I should think you would be grateful, Mr Potter," Malfoy
said, taking Harry's arm and physically lifting him into
the carriage. Malfoy climbed in behind him, and slid onto
the padded bench next to Harry as the carriage-elf shut the
door. A soft lurch, and the vehicle rumbled away down the
street. "You are public property in the eyes of the media,
and you should know by now that the press adores scandals
of this magnitude. They would have torn you to shreds had I
not contacted them and recited the version of events I
wished them to print."
"*Your* version. What about my version?"
"If you wanted your version printed, you should have
contacted them yourself. It's best to be preemptive when
dealing with the press; at least you can control when and
how the scandal breaks." Malfoy tried to tuck the cloak
around him, and Harry slapped his hands away.
"Stop that. And why are you wearing that thing anyway? It's
July, for Merlin's sake."
"Don't swear. I'm not sure how those muggles raised you,
but my parents valued manners, which includes both proper
language and appropriate dress in public -- hence the
cloak. It has a cooling charm."
"Then what good will it do to put it around me?"
Malfoy paused, staring at a spot beyond Harry's head. "It
will stop drafts."
Harry stared at the man, wondering if he'd gone mad. "We're
in a carriage. There aren't any drafts."
Malfoy scowled, tossed the cloak on the opposite bench, and
lit the fire in the door's hearth.
"Are you crazy? I'm *not* cold."
"You're pregnant."
"And so you want to suffocate me? It's *July*. You're going
to give me heat stroke."
Another pause in which Malfoy stared past him, then a flick
of his wand put the fire out.
Harry, meanwhile, had been thinking of the day's events and
drawing conclusions. "You're the one who reported the
Dursleys to the Ministry. You told them I was pregnant."
"I was not about to leave my grandchild in the care of
those... people." Malfoy still refused to look at him,
staring straight ahead.
"I told you, I'll be living with Sirius by the time it's
born."
Malfoy snorted, and Harry deduced he didn't think Sirius
much better than the Dursleys. "Nevertheless, for the next
five months my grandchild is inside you, Potter, and that
makes your welfare my business. Spiggleworth said they had
you tarring the roof. The roof!" Malfoy twisted furiously
in his seat to glare at Harry. "Do you have any idea how
dangerous that was? Why did you do it? Why didn't you,
slayer of Dark Wizards, stand up to a pair of pathetic
muggles? Does the life of Draco's child mean so little to
you?"
Harry flinched. *He's right. Gods above, Malfoy is
right.What if I caused a miscarriage? What if I fell off
the roof?* He'd fallen into a pattern of mindless obedience
over the summers, and only objected to extreme requests...
but was tarring the roof extreme? He didn't know. He wasn't
sure exactly what consisted of normal chores, as Dudley
didn't do any and his only other experience with families
consisted of time with the Weasleys, and he knew degnoming
gardens wasn't exactly normal. Harry thought of his baby,
and it struck him that he or she depended entirely on him
for existence. Terrified, he wrapped his arms tightly
around himself, and turned away to look out the window. The
scenery scrolled along, and every few minutes the carriage
would lurch, and the would vista change.
Malfoy snorted from his side of the bench, breaking the
long silence. "I thought so. You're not fit to be a parent,
Potter, no matter what the Ministry says. Not until you
grow up."
"I won't give up my child," Harry whispered as the busy
street changed to a tree-shaded country road, then a barren
highway pacing across a moor. "And you can't take it from
me."
"So Mr Spiggleworth and Mr Armand have advised me," Malfoy
said bitterly, "but that won't stop me from trying if you
fight me on this. Did you honestly expect me to let you
walk off with the heir to the Malfoy estate? To show up
once to see the baby, then send horribly expensive gifts
twice a year?"
Harry flushed, for that was just what he had assumed.
Malfoy made a disgusted sound, and they sat in silence for
the rest of the journey.
* * * * *
He had first visited Malfoy Manor near dusk, and the
raiding shadows had obscured the sculpted grounds,
distorted the opulent buildings. As the carriage turned
down a tree-lined lane, the bright, late-afternoon sunshine
lit the estate, catching on turrets and balconies, glinting
off a small river girdled with an arched stone bridge,
playing hide-and-seek with a little hamlet far beyond. It
looked like a smaller sibling of Hogsmeade, and he wondered
if he would be able to visit.
*Malfoy may not be as bad as we thought, but I don't trust
him not to lock me up for the summer.* "What's the town
called?"
"Folkrose. It was once called Foicroisement -- Faith's
Crossing -- but the name was Anglicized several centuries
ago."
"Oh."
The sound of polite disinterest did not dissuade Malfoy.
"My family has owned this land for over nine-hundred
years."
"Congratulations."
"The muggles in the village once tithed to the manor,
before the government made it illegal for wizards to own
muggle serfs."
"Uh-huh."
"They aren't muggles now, of course. Nine centuries of
Malfoy bastards have brought the blood up to acceptable
standards. Am I boring you, Mr Potter?"
"That's nice."
"You realize all this goes to your child."
Harry bit his lip as the carriage turned onto a long drive
lined with statuary, passing through wrought-iron gates
topped with a pair of rampant dragons, which appeared to
battle over a rose. "Why are you doing this?"
Malfoy did not answer, and they were nearly at the house
before he spoke again. "The Malfoys were never prolific; at
least not within the marriage bond, or failing that, with
those of adequate power and station." A sharp look let him
know he fell in this last category -- barely. "I have no
cousins, at least not of any worth. Coming from the
background you do, I'm sure this means little to you, but
for a family of our stature this is a disaster. The
centuries we have held here... this empire we have
built..."
Harry snorted. "I hope megalomania isn't hereditary." A
wounded silence, then, "Look, I'm sorry. I understand your
position, but you have to understand this is *my* child,
and he's all I have left."
Malfoy whispered, barely audible, "He's all I have left, as
well."
* * * * *
Bibbly attended to the door, looking considerably more
squashed than he had outside the Ministry. The impression
on his cheek resembled a cast of the lock on Harry's trunk,
and a surge of anger shook him; Malfoy could have easily
shrunk Harry's luggage. Another elf appeared to smuggle
Harry's things into the manor with the least amount of
disruption to the master and his guest, and Malfoy led
Harry inside.
"This is the foyer. The dining room is to your left, the
little hall is to your right, ballroom straight ahead. Left
staircase leads to the east wing, right to the west --
which you're not to go poking around in. In fact, do go
anywhere unescorted. This house has many... foibles.
"That," Malfoy continued, gesturing to the house-elf
cowering unnoticed by the left staircase, "is Zimble. He
will serve you exclusively. Report him to Nilly if he
causes you grief. Tea is at eight." With that, Malfoy swept
away, swirling his cooling-charmed cloak.
The house-elf scurried up to Harry the moment Malfoy's
cloak disappeared around the corner, and his timid fa