The Boy Who Lived
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Eight:
The Order of the Phoenix meeting lasts an hour and a half. Harry spends most of that time in conversation with Fred and George, about what they each expect of their upcoming school year, their respective quidditch teams, about Fred and George's older brother Percy and his self-imposed estrangement from the rest of his family. They talk about the Order of the Phoenix, about how Liam is coping with Voldemort's resurrection, about their plans for the month of August.
In all, it's a pleasant enough way to pass the time. Nonetheless, Harry's still relieved when Mrs Weasley appears in the doorway of the bedroom they've commandeered. She brings word that the meeting is over, and would they like to come down for a bite to eat?
Harry, who is actually famished, demurs. He's unsure of what his parents have planned - if they intend to stay, or if they'd prefer to return home - and he'd rather not commit to anything without hearing from them, first. Mrs Weasley doesn't notice, in any case. She shepherds them all downstairs though, and Harry shuffles along with the others, his mind on the dinner he's not yet eaten. He doesn't care if they eat here or at home, he'd just like to eat something, preferably sooner rather than later, and not even the screeching portrait in the front foyer is going to deter him from informing he and Liam's parents of this fact.
Inside the basement kitchen, both James and Lily are seated at the weathered dining table, in the company of Sirius, Remus, and an assortment of their fellow Order of the Phoenix members. A number of others have already left, but his parents show no indication that they're ready to depart.
"Hello," Lily greets him. She gestures towards the empty seat beside her, and Harry sits, attention on the servings of food spread out across the dining table, "We're staying for dinner."
Apparently, his mother can read his mind.
"Are we good to start eating then, or…?"
"I hope so," Liam drops into the seat beside Harry, "I'm starving."
Liam and Harry's eyes turn to Sirius, who has already set to preparing himself a helping of steak and mashed potatoes. A few seats down, Bill is already eating, chatting with Nymphadora Tonks between mouthfuls of food. The other Weasleys are quick to tuck in, as well, and to Harry, it seems like invitation enough.
"Looks like it," James says.
"Thank Godric," Liam mumbles, reaches for a serving spoon, and goes to town.
After he takes stock of the dishes available, Harry follows suit.
"How was the meeting?"
"It was rather anticlimactic," James answers Harry's question.
"A complete waste of time, he means," Sirius interjects, and cuts violently into his steak. The serrated edge of his knife screeches against his dinner plate, and those in hearing range grimace at the sound, "Snape just likes to see us all drop everything to listen to him. Makes him feel important."
"You're not wrong," Lily reluctantly concurs, and it's a testament to how annoyed she is that she actually agrees with him.
Liam says something unintelligible through a mouthful of food, and earns himself a reproving glare from their mother for the trouble. Presumably, it's something about Snape, scathing or inappropriate or both, but Harry doesn't ask, and Liam doesn't tell.
"So it wasn't anything important?"
"It wasn't," James answers, "Old Mate's still laying low, still recruiting, still working on getting into the Department of Mysteries…"
There's an obnoxious clatter of cutlery a few seats down, and the gathered Potters, Sirius, and Remus turn to see the cause; Mrs Weasley, - her face pale, smiling insincerely. At the end of the table, Alastor Moody returns his wand and what is probably one of many knives hidden on his person to their respective sheaths, once more takes up his cutlery, and casts the woman in question a disgruntled scowl.
The Weasley matriarch doesn't notice.
"Molly? Is something wrong?"
"Is that really appropriate dinner conversation?"
Sirius rolls his eyes and pulls a face, Remus and Bill give identical, long-suffering sighs, and Harry's parents share another one of their wordless communications.
"I think it's an excellent dinner table discussion," Fred opines. He and George are seated across from Bill, between Remus and Mrs Weasley, and they'd been listening quite attentively to the conversation, thus far.
"Quite so," George concurs.
"I don't see why it wouldn't be," Lily answers. Fred and George's input goes ignored by everyone but Bill, who rolls his eyes and, if their winces are anything to go by, kicks his younger brothers under the table.
"It's not anything the children need to worry about."
"I think that's our decision to make, Molly. If you and Arthur would prefer your children stay unaware of the dangers around them, however, Lily and I will respect your wishes."
As everyone watching reels from the (not so) veiled insult, James sets about eating his spinach salad, unruffled by the attention he's under. Mrs Weasley, meanwhile, gapes, her face a bright shade of red, and it seems that the only thing that keeps her from unleashing her voluble temper on James is the restraining hand Mr Weasley places on his wife's arm.
In the awkward silence that follows, Sirius addresses Harry. "I hear you've got a big day tomorrow."
"You know about it?"
"You bet," Sirius confirms, "I'll be joining you lot for dinner, actually. Godfather's prerogative."
"That sounds like a recipe for disaster," Liam opines.
"Please," Sirius scoffs, and he is entirely unruffled, "I'm delightful."
"You're certainly something, Padfoot," Remus contributes mildly, "Though I'm not sure 'delightful' is the word I'd use, personally."
As the banter continues on around him, Harry picks listlessly at his dinner, thoughts once more on his family's plans for the following evening. He's not sure if they'll sign the contract that night - he's not even sure it's been finalised, actually - but whatever the case, the reference to tomorrow's plans swiftly kills his appetite, and it's only his parents' frequent, expectant gazes in his direction that ensures Harry continues eating.
"Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?"
Lily asks him the question only when everyone else is preoccupied. SHe's concerned and unhappy, has no qualms about expressing as much, and Harry is tempted to answer with his denial, to ask, plead, beg them to cancel the meeting, to forget any and all thoughts of betrothal contracts and arranged marriages and formal alliance negotiations.
He doesn't though, instead thinks about the threats to Daphne and Astoria Greengrass, about Liam and his willingness to help anyone and everyone in need, about how his brother sometimes needs saving from himself, and he offers his mother a tired, half-hearted smile.
"I'm sure."
Apparently, Harry reflects ruefully, Liam isn't the only martyr in the family.
-!- -#-
The next morning arrives sooner than Harry is truly prepared for, but resigned to his lack of sleep, he climbs out of bed, proceeds through his usual morning ablutions, and meanders his way towards the stables. It's still early, the morning alive with birdsong, and Liam isn't awake yet. As such, Harry forgoes their usual morning jog, leads the equines to an empty paddock behind the stables, and sets to mucking out their vacated stalls. The chore - repetitive and mindless - is enough to (temporarily) settle his concerns, and the time passes him by.
Liam eventually joins him, wordlessly sets about feeding the animals and emptying, cleaning, and refilling their water troughs, and makes no move to break the easy, companionable silence between them. He's not great with mornings - neither of them are, really - but the lack of sleep that summer has exacerbated the issue for both of them, and they aren't going to pretend otherwise.
"Are you going to come to breakfast?"
Harry shakes his head. "I'm not really hungry."
Liam frowns, concerned, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he splits off to freshen up, Harry does the same, and afterwards, he finds himself in his study, staring absently at the Ancient Runes research spread out in front of him. Studying isn't an option - Harry's focus is shot - but Harry can't bring himself to do anything else, either.
"You're looking troubled, Henry."
Harry glances up, unsurprised to find the acrylic rendering of Charles in the frame above Harry's fireplace. The portrait of his grandfather lounges comfortably in a painted armchair, studies Harry through the hazel eyes he passed on to his son, and Harry smiles feebly at the likeness, unable to muster up much else for his tutor.
"I guess I'm feeling troubled, Taid."
"A betrothal contract is an enormous commitment."
"I'm quite aware of that," Harry replies, tone droll.
"I understand the contract itself is not binding?"
"No. We each have an out, if we want it."
The exit clause is fairly straightforward. The contract can be voided by either of the betrothed parties - and only the betrothed parties - if or whenever they wish, so long as they are not under any external pressure to do so. As such, the only way the contract can't be voided is in the unlikely event of a pregnancy, in which case, marriage would be a guarantee.
"So at the end of the war, you can terminate the agreement without any repercussions?"
"That's right," Harry confirms. He smiles ruefully, "I know I shouldn't be so bothered - Merlin knows, Liam has far worse things on his plate - but it's…"
"It is a frightening prospect. Perhaps you will make use of the exit clause, or perhaps you will marry her. Either way, for the foreseeable future, this young woman will play a large role in your life. It is no trivial matter."
"I just want to go to sleep and wake up tomorrow. I don't want to deal with any of this."
"Ignoring your problems will not make them go away. I believe you and William learned this lesson some time ago."
Harry exhales through his nose. "I know that. I just…"
"There is nothing wrong with being afraid."
Harry knows that, too. It's one of those lessons he and Liam's parents had reiterated throughout their childhood, and it has remained with him throughout the years since, throughout his time in Ravenclaw House, throughout all of the trials he and Liam had found themselves enduring. Courage isn't the absence of fear. Rather, courage is the determination to persevere in the face of it.
Somehow, though, confronting a horde of dementors, or an ancient basilisk, or an incarnation of Voldemort seems far less daunting than the prospect of submitting himself to a future alongside Daphne Greengrass.
"What do you think will happen tonight?"
"I expect Lord Greengrass will take the opportunity to determine whether or not you are worthy of his daughter."
As the prospect of that evening's dinner immediately grows about ten times more frightening, Harry wishes he hadn't asked.