Chapter 14: Past in the Present

An anxious Dagmar apparated down to Den Sultne Jotunn at quarter to nine, Sunday morning. Her gaze swept the inn's restaurant in search for a familiar face. Dagmar's stomach flopped weirdly when she saw someone that looked similar to her dad looking back at her in mirrored recognition. She smiled as she approached, and Uncle Håkon stood up. Dagmar thought he would just want to shake her hand, but he pulled her into a tight hug instead. It caught Dagmar unexpectedly in the throat.

"Good to see you," Uncle Håkon said when he relinquished Dagmar enough to look at her again. "I can't believe how much you look like your mum. Herregud."

Dagmar chuckled. "Thankfully nobody's mistaken me for her yet, and written the British Ministry to say my mum escaped Azkaban."

Uncle Håkon's smile flickered. Maybe it was a tasteless joke.

"Sit, anyway," he told her. "I'm glad we were finally able to make our schedules match up enough to catch a coffee together. Summers are supposed to be relaxing, aren't they?"

"You'd think so." Dagmar took the chair across from where Uncle Håkon had been sitting. "I thought I wouldn't end up doing a whole lot before I start work tomorrow. We moved here at the end of June, but I don't know where July went."

"Welcome to adulthood." Håkon lightened up with a laugh. "You and your partner were probably getting used to living together, weren't you? That's quite an adjustment."

"I didn't find it hard at all." Dagmar shrugged. "Draco and I get along really well, and we share the load of having a home together."

"That's still a sort of adjustment. Doesn't mean you were in each other's way."

Dagmar smiled warmly, distracted briefly by a server coming over to offer her coffee.

"How's he adjusting to Norway?" Håkon asked. "Not homesick yet?"

"Not yet, I don't think," Dagmar replied. "I think it helps we go back often enough, so it doesn't feel very far away. We speak English at home and eat British food half the time. He's been dipping his toes in by getting to know his new coworkers. Two are Scandinavian, and he's comfortable speaking Norwegian. There's an American, so Draco has the option of speaking English with him, if he wants. The Russian woman is the most foreign to everything. I think it helps Draco feel more at home if he's helping someone else integrate. It gives him some sense of authority on the local culture. It's weird, I'm a little bit more of an outsider than him since everyone at the hospital went to Kapsferd together, except for me."

"Hogwarts treated you all right, though?"

Dagmar nodded. "I really enjoyed it there. Of course I had my fit back before I started that Mum and Dad weren't sending me to Kapsferd, but I got over it. The language barrier was a bit of a struggle. I had a really good friend that helped me overcome that."

"One good friend is all anyone really needs."

The way Håkon regarded Dagmar with crinkled eyes and lines around his mouth compelled Dagmar to pause the conversation with a sip of her coffee. Håkon's hair was a bit greyer than Dagmar's dad's, and darker blond otherwise, but he had the same cowlick.

"Sorry," Dagmar said when Håkon noticed the lull. "You just really remind me of him. I hadn't seen him since last summer, and I've been really struggling to make it all feel real."

"So have we," Håkon reassured her with a pat on the forearm. "When it's so sudden like that, and then with everything that came out about him afterward. . .it's really hard to feel like that was really him that died."

"Ja," Dagmar agreed. "I get that. One of my coworkers said he shared a dorm with Påske, and that he had a hard time with it too."

"He wrote me about it a couple times." Håkon toyed briefly with his bottom lip. "Is it bad form if I ask you about it? We've all had questions about how this could've happened. It just didn't make sense. Erik never showed any signs he would get involved with something like that, or sympathize with someone like Voldemort. We all thought he was just doing the manor work, maintaining accounts and whatnot. Everything seemed all right, from our end of things."

"I don't know how many answers I can give, because I don't know a whole lot myself," Dagmar prefaced with. "It's honestly really infuriating to me. I never understood why my parents got involved, and the answers I have gotten don't really explain anything at all. In ways, they actually make it worse."

A shadow formed under Håkon's brow. "Like how?"

"They didn't want to be involved," Dagmar told him. "I spoke with Professor Dumbledore about it, and that was the impression he got. Dumbledore collaborated with the Auror office to give them an out. Mum and Dad couldn't take it for whatever reason, or believed they couldn't."

"So. . ." Håkon's furrow deepened and his gaze darted. "Could you back up a little? How exactly did all of this start? I almost wondered if it had something to do with why your dad volunteered to move to Britain in the first place when your grandpa died. Not to put your mum down or anything, but we never really knew a whole lot about her. We have no idea what she might have gotten him into, ideology-wise."

"I don't know a whole lot about my mum either," Dagmar admitted. "I didn't know anything was off until she and Dad got involved with Voldemort. Ever since then, things have slowly gotten stranger. My mum did prefer to spend her time with purebloods. When we lived here in Bergen, I didn't think much about it because it wasn't something ever discussed. Our family friends were just our family friends, and I didn't realize until later that they were all pureblooded. They were also the exact opposite of purity supremacists. So I wonder if my mum just blended herself in."

Håkon hummed in thought. "She might have. She told us when we first met her that she was raised in Britain. With everything going on there—what's still going on—you kind of wonder what side people fall on, when you first meet them."

"My mum told you she was raised in Britain?"

"Was she not?"

Despite the coffee beginning to perk Dagmar up, she felt suddenly tired. "The longer this has all gone on, the more clear it is my mum has a complete allergy to the truth."

"She told us she attended Hogwarts when we mentioned none of us ever saw her at Kapsferd," Håkon said. "Her Norwegian was shaky, so it made sense. We assumed that was why you went to Hogwarts too, that and. . .well, possibly she didn't want you going to school with your cousins."

"Why not?"

"It's a long story." Håkon scratched his forehead. "Family fallout."

Dagmar ran her thumb over her coffee mug. "I've wondered lately why we never talked to anyone else in the family. I don't even know who my mum's family is. What I gathered is that everyone passed already. Never met my grandparents, never met an aunt that she mentioned I had. Because I was gone to school most of the year, I never realized until just recently how isolated we were. My mum's English was just as shaky as mine when we moved to the manor, and she certainly didn't go to Hogwarts."

Håkon looked like he wasn't sure if he should be surprised or not.

"Dumbledore said he met with my parents about me going to Hogwarts instead of Kapsferd," Dagmar said. "He would've definitely remembered my mum if she attended there."

"Ja." Håkon's gaze stuck to the tabletop. "It wasn't something we questioned. We didn't think she would have a reason to lie about that. Why would she?"

"I got a potential lead that she might have been a druid," Dagmar told him. "It seems promising. Secrecy apparently comes heavy with that."

Håkon thought on it. "Hm, ja, that might make sense. I just wish Erik hadn't gotten himself involved. Er—no offence. I know they're still your parents."

"None taken," Dagmar assured him. "We were happy before Voldemort came back. I thought so, anyway. I was happy. It took me right by surprise when Death Eaters started coming into our home."

"You said your mum was more comfortable with purebloods as company," Håkon said. "If she believed that part of Voldemort's message, was it really a surprise?"

"I still thought that our family friends being pureblooded was just a coincidence." Dagmar shrugged. "Not all of our family friends were like that. My mum had a friend named Luzia for sure that wasn't. Well—not to the extent that she was a Death Eater, anyway. It's an old tradition amongst British purebloods to arrange their childrens' marriages so that the bloodlines stay pure. Mum and Dad set me up with Luzia's son, Blaise. Luzia cared enough to uphold that, but Blaise didn't share those views on blood purity."

Håkon blinked. "They picked who you would marry?"

"Sort of. I always had the choice, and I liked Blaise. It ended up not happening since my parents changed their mind last summer, and asked me to consider going with Draco instead. For what it's worth, I would've chosen to be with Draco either way based on how we get on, but as far as my parents are concerned, I think they were making it look like they doubled down on staying close to the Death Eaters. They might have been pressured by Draco's father or maybe even Voldemort himself if he cared about stuff like that, but I don't know. It had no bearing on Draco and I's relationship beside the fact we had to navigate our exit very carefully. Draco's mum wrote him a letter when she had to run after Dad died that said something like my mum knew I had no sympathies with the Death Eaters. Mrs. Malfoy approved the change because she hoped Draco would get out with me. But—sorry, I know it's not relevant. There's just a lot to unpack."

"I see that," Håkon replied. "Malfoy, that name was already familiar when I saw they were involved. We knew the Malfoys growing up. Dad was on terms with Abraxas, since they were close to the same age. Played together a few years before going their separate ways for school, but corresponded a lot when I was young since our manors weren't too far apart. Didn't know Lucius that well, but I remember him. He was older than all of us. I always thought he was a bit full of himself."

Dagmar snorted, bowing her head with it. "Draco takes a bit after him for that, but I just think it's sweet. He has a lot of reasons to be proud of himself. It's more self-confidence now, than arrogance."

"I think your dad mentioned in a letter after you all moved to Britain that Lucius was helping him sort out how the family business was handled," Håkon said. "Dad didn't leave a whole lot for instructions. Wasn't much for writing."

"That could be how they all met," Dagmar replied. "Mum and Narcissa—Draco's mum—got on pretty all right. We went to a good number of functions at their manor house, and they came to ours a lot. I always thought that was why they ended up getting stuck in all that mess. Mr. Malfoy claimed he was under the Imperius Curse back when Voldemort first fell, but when Voldemort came back, Mr. Malfoy got right back in with him. Other family friends did too. Voldemort isn't someone you say no to, apparently. If he asks you to join, you either do or die.

"That might have been the case for Dad, but I don't know." Dagmar sighed and looked out the window. "There were some Death Eaters Professor Dumbledore helped out, and they'd met my parents. They said they had a feeling there might have been history with my mum and Voldemort. They might have known each other back before Voldemort disappeared in '81. I was definitely curious to know what you know about my mum before 1985, because nobody can find her before that."

Håkon chewed on his bottom lip as he considered Dagmar. "Ja, we knew her."

"Dumbledore is trying to learn what he can about her background, especially now because my mum was probably helping Voldemort with something to do with druidic magic. If we can figure out what it is, we can stop him. My mum won't say anything, though. I've been to Azkaban to try, and she's as tight-lipped as ever."

"Oh, kiddo, you're really putting me on the spot here." Håkon rubbed his mouth. "You're sure it's important?"

Dagmar nodded, but grew nervous at Håkon's caginess.

"Well, there's no easy way to say this, so I guess I might as well just get it out of the way. Erik wasn't your father."

Despite awareness of the possibility, Dagmar's heart still sunk. "You know that for sure?"

"It's why the family all fell out with your parents." Håkon studied Dagmar carefully. "You don't seem too surprised."

"I knew there was a chance after Dumbledore said my mum didn't go to Kapsferd. I hoped he was, though. He was definitely my dad."

To Dagmar's horror, her eyes burned and her vision blurred. There were a lot of things Dagmar saw as strange about her life, but her relationship with her dad wasn't something that changed with hindsight. Her dad never looked at her as if she was anything but his.

"I'm sorry," Håkon said. Dagmar couldn't look at him, focused instead on the wharf. "I wish I didn't have to tell you that. For what it's worth, we all recognize that Erik took you in as his own. He was a good man like that."

"He was."

Before Dagmar could feel anymore embarrassed at the sudden swell of emotion, she picked up the napkin from underneath her cutlery and dabbed her eyes. Dagmar had debated if she should wear makeup or not today, but had decided to risk it. She didn't think anything Uncle Håkon had to say would move her that way, since Dagmar wasn't really much of a crier.

"I really miss him," she said when the worst of it had passed. "I miss who he used to be before he became a Death Eater. It's been hard to grieve him at all, because it already felt like I'd lost him so long ago."

"Ja." Håkon cleared his throat, similarly uncomfortable. His blue eyes were a little brighter when Dagmar glanced at him. "We all hoped to get him back too."

"So. . .what happened in the first place, then?"

Håkon cradled his jaw, elbow hard on the table as he gathered his thoughts. "Well, I guess it starts back in. . .oh, must have been '83, maybe '84—nei, it was '83, because Påske was old enough to learn to read and write. Erik was living up in Tromsø, so we didn't see him a lot, but he came home at Christmas that year all excited. He told us he had a kid he'd just learned about, said he'd dated a woman briefly when he first moved there. They met back up, and turned out she'd had a baby by him: you.

"We thought, okay. . .that's all right, it happens." Håkon shrugged. "We met you for the first time at Easter. You were cute as a niffler, of course, and Erik completely adored you. Your mum, though. . .I still don't like to say anything bad about her, especially to you, but you don't seem under any illusions about how she's a little off. It didn't feel like she wanted to be there, almost like she was scared of us. We got through the holiday all right, but it really bugged Agneta. She had a feeling right away that maybe your mum was lying about you being Erik's. Your mum didn't talk about any sort of family when asked beyond saying she didn't have any living relatives, and it didn't seem like she came from a lot. Agneta wondered if it was about money since our family is quite wealthy.

"Your dad wouldn't hear the possibility when Agneta brought it up," Håkon said. "He was extremely offended by it. We didn't have much contact with him after that, except for a very uncomfortable Christmas before he wrote to let us know him and Hildegard had bought a house in Bergen. Never got invited there, and barely heard anything again until the next spring when your dad said they'd gotten married. That hurt to miss, but I guess it was just a quick thing at the Ministry with a couple of their friends as witnesses. I was trying to be patient with your dad. Maybe he figured if you'd all established a life, it would make it more clear that the family was legitimate. Agneta was really pissed off about it, though. Erik's the baby of us, and she didn't like the idea at all that he might be manipulated. She didn't like that your mum was keeping him from us, and she was really scared your mum might somehow use you to hurt your dad.

"Summer after that, your dad finally reached out to me. We sent owls back and forth a bit before I invited him to go on that fishing trip down Oslofjord." Håkon pointed with his thumb in no specific direction. "He was up for it. Your mum wasn't, I guess, so just you, me, him, Påske, and Viglaug went. Just me, Erik, and our kids. It was good. We all had a good time. It was nice to finally have some kind of relationship with my brother again, and you kids all seemed to have fun once you got over being shy.

"The problem was Agneta." A shadow passed over Håkon's face. "I don't blame your dad for never forgiving her, and now that your dad is gone, I'm struggling with it again. Before we left on our trip, she took some hair or something of yours, and got some kind of test done. It came back saying you weren't related to us.

"Agneta told your dad. I'd never seen him that angry. It wasn't like him." Håkon's face lengthened. "Your dad couldn't believe the gall of Agneta to do that. She thought she was doing it for his benefit, but your dad said he already knew. He knew the whole time that you weren't his, but he told us you were because he didn't think we'd accept you and your mum otherwise. Can't say I really blamed him for thinking that, given the circumstances.

"He thought I was in on it. Figured that was why I asked you guys to come fishing, so that Agneta could get close enough to you to get what she needed for the test. Never saw you again after that. Never heard from your dad unless it was related to family business. I thought things might change after Dad died, but no. I tried. Your dad wasn't receptive to it, so I just let things be. By that point, I was used to giving him space, so on we went and then eight years later I read about him in the paper, dead."

Dagmar had gone slightly numb as she tried to process everything Håkon told her. "I don't remember any of this."

"Your cousins never knew about it either, as you all shouldn't have." Håkon hastily dabbed at one of his eyes. "Agneta was at least respectful enough to keep you kids out of it, especially you. You clearly admired Erik, and it wasn't any of our will to let you be hurt by it. You were probably the only thing keeping Agneta from making a full-on case against your mum to your dad. It only made Agneta dislike your mum more because it made you look like a tool she was using."

"I don't think I was." Defensiveness started to rise in Dagmar's chest. "We were normal, how I remember it. My parents grossed me out all the time because of how obvious they were about loving each other. They loved me too. It wasn't until Voldemort that things changed. We weren't fake."

"I'm sure that's the truth," Håkon reassured her. "It's just sad that it took time to prove that. I wish Agneta had left it alone. In a way, I get it. If your dad didn't know you weren't his biological child and he was in a bad situation, it could've been something he'd want to know. Even then, Agneta should've weighed it against other potential outcomes. Your dad was happy. I don't know why she had to care so much that he was using his part of the family money to support you and your mum. It had literally no effect on her."

As Dagmar sat in front of Håkon, a gross feeling spread through her. Even if Håkon's account centred around her mum, it would take more than Dagmar possessed not to see how her mere existence had fractured the Ramstad family. She wasn't even related to them. Other than seeing Dagmar as their estranged brother's child and then meeting her less than a handful of times, she couldn't possibly mean anything at all to them.

"So. . ." Dagmar's voice shook. "I don't really get why you'd want to meet me now. Sounds like I was a lot more trouble than I was worth."

"You're my niece."

Dagmar was failing to see how. They'd never had any kind of a relationship to suggest that, and they didn't have blood to fall back on either as a building block. Dagmar had contributed nothing positive to this man's life. She entered it one day, and ended up being a driving wedge.

"Look, I know what you're thinking," Håkon said. "None of us would ever blame you for what happened. If things had gone a different way, we might have all been all right. Your dad cut us off because he did what he thought was best for his family."

"What are we, then?"

"You're my niece," Håkon repeated. "You're my brother's daughter. You're family. Always were, always will be. Blood doesn't mean anything. It didn't to your dad, and doesn't to me."

Dagmar nodded, but her mind had ground to a halt in its ability to process anything new. Håkon fidgeted before taking a sip of his coffee.

"It's a lot to process," Dagmar eventually said.

"I know," Håkon replied. "We all screwed up. I'd understand if you walk away from this conversation wanting nothing to do with us. I wouldn't like it, but I'd have no choice but to respect it. I'll just say that because you're tied to the Berkshire property, you'd still have to deal with us a little when it comes to that. Agneta wanted me to ask you today about the manor house, but I won't push it if this is already too much."

"What about the house?" Dagmar asked.

"None of us can get there," Håkon said. "We talked to the British Ministry thinking maybe it had been seized or something, but they have nothing on it."

"It's under a Fidelius Charm that Dumbledore cast."

"Okay," Håkon replied. "That's fine. We just wanted to know what's going on. No one wants to live there, so. . .er, we were going to have a family meeting about possibly selling."

Dagmar nodded mindlessly.

"We can worry about all that later." Håkon waved it off. "You look pretty done for now."

"Ja."

On top of emotionally depleted, Dagmar just felt awkward as Håkon stood up with her. He rubbed his hands when Dagmar dug out some coins to leave for her coffee. Dagmar didn't really care if it was rude she turned and left without another word. She headed for the inn's travel room, and closed her eyes to focus on home. When she opened them again, she was standing outside the garden door.

She headed inside. Draco sat out on the deck, looking back into the house. Dagmar slipped off her shoes and headed upstairs. Draco came up behind her as she changed.

"So I did hear you come in." He leaned against the closet door's frame. "How'd it go?"

"Bad."

"Oh."

An awful feeling pervaded Dagmar. She had adjusted to apathy from her parents, but being detrimental just by being alive was a novel one. She didn't blame herself completely in facilitating the breakdown of the Ramstad family, but this was a new level of betrayal from her mum. It was hard for Dagmar to not feel let down by every adult in her life.

Dagmar let herself be pulled into a hug. She didn't really feel good enough to be worthy of being touched, but she still needed it. Dagmar buried her face in Draco's neck, her chest raw like an open wound.

"Was he nasty or something?" Draco asked.

Dagmar shook her head.

"Come lay down with me."

Dagmar felt a bit better—less on display—when Draco held her again under the blanket. Eyes closed with her ear against Draco's chest, Dagmar let his heartbeat lull her to sleep. She didn't much care to be awake anymore, if she could help it.