Author: Lucinda
Rated t for teen just for general principles
Disclaimer: I own nothing that you read in the Harry Potter novels by JK Rowling. I do not own the concept of a Marriage Law either.
Notes: a story fragment that may or may not grow into anything larger, diverges from canon after HP&OotP.
.
..
.
When he thought about it, Harry Potter would admit that really only the first fifteen months of his life had been 'normal'. He'd spent those first five seasons as the beloved firstborn child of his parents, not quite spoiled but lovingly guarded. He'd then been imprisoned at the Dursleys, where he'd been the Freak, the unwanted vermin forced upon them by other freaks, hated, abused, and forced to do far more work than all three Dursleys combined. The Dursleys had tried to make him no more than dirt beneath their feet, and he'd vowed to prove them wrong, to make something amazing of himself, and to never associate with them again. When he'd been eleven, he'd been brought back into the wizarding world, where he'd been the Great Hero, expected to be perfect and flawless, brave, courageous and perfectly Gryffindor, with occasional bouts of being the horrible scapegoat, the vile parselmouth, the crazed liar claiming that Voldemort had returned. He'd spent most of the seven years at Hogwarts hoping to find a way to be 'just Harry', a wizard among other wizards, not a hero, not a scapegoat, just… just a wizard.
He'd finally stopped deluding himself that the wizarding world would let him be 'just Harry', though he was well on his way to being, if not amazing, then at least quite capable, and most of it for things that he'd done. He was a very good Quidditch player, now playing professionally and hoping to be picked for the nationals. He'd gotten decent grades on his OWLs and NEWTs, though not phenomenal. He had a very nice inheritance, and was considering finding someone that could make him happy, someone who'd be happy to be Mrs. Potter, and live in a modest sized family home, and not go to too many parties, and maybe have a large number of children who'd probably have dark messy hair.
But seven years of having something try to kill him every year at school, the fickleness of the press, five attempted marital entrapments, three alleged illegitimate children – all of them with witches that he'd never even had sex with – and at least twelve non-school related assassination attempts had left Harry Potter just a little paranoid. Maybe more than a little. He had stayed in contact with more than a handful of people that he'd gone to school with, people who kept him informed of things.
He really didn't like some of the things that Susan Bones had heard under discussion at the Wizengamot. Or how some of those Wizengamot members had been looking into census records and having closed discussions with Healers from St Mungo's.
All of which led to this very unwelcome conversation that he was going to be having. Not in his home, and not in the other one's home either… and certainly nowhere public. No, Gringott's had a few meeting rooms, and they were willing to allow him to borrow one for a while. It was perfect – private, comfortable enough to talk in without being luxurious, neutral ground, and enough spells in place to enforce both the privacy and the neutrality.
"Potter. I must admit that of all the people who might ask for a bit of my time, you aren't someone I expected to schedule in," the familiar drawl could only of have come from one person, at least, now only from one person. Lucius Malfoy had not survived the final confrontation with Voldemort, though there was still debate about who had fired the spell that had killed him. But Draco Malfoy was still very much alive.
"Draco Malfoy," Harry sighed. He hadn't liked Draco during their years at Hogwarts, and he still didn't like him. Draco didn't carry the Dark Mark, and nobody had been able to prove he'd done anything more than hold prejudiced views, but… which was why he was still alive, out of Azkaban, and held a hefty measure of political influence. "You're looking in good health."
"Mmmm, so we're trying civility, are we?" that drawl could have easily belonged to his father.
Harry poured two cups of tea, taking one for himself. "As you may or may not know, I hear things going on in our world. I assume that you also have ways to keep track of some things."
"Of course I do, I'm not a fool," Malfoy moved closer, settling into one of the chairs and taking the tea. "I also know that we rarely agree on issues under discussion at the Wizengamot."
Harry nodded, biting back the sarcastic commentary. Harry's efforts were for promoting equality, integrating people on the edges, and attempting to drag the wizarding world out of the nineteenth century. Malfoy generally supported the old families with their traditional pure blood agenda. 'Rarely agree' was an understatement. "I certainly have to agree on that point. There's something under discussion now, in one of the Wizengamot subcommittees. I don't like it and I think that…"
Harry paused. He didn't want to ask for Malfoy to help. He thought that the Malfoy influence could be of a benefit, but he didn't want to beg. Or ask. Or owe any favors. "I don't think that you'd like the ideas that they're proposing any more than I do."
"Not quite proposals yet that neither one of us would like?" one pale eyebrow raised, and there was a bit of a smirk as Malfoy sipped his tea. "Now you've made me curious."
Harry sipped at his own cup, and decided to give Malfoy a little background information. "It seems some of the members of the Wizengamot are concerned at the population numbers. Apparently, there are fewer wizards and witches alive right now than there were a century ago."
"The War caused the deaths of many old families," Malfoy began.
"No," Harry raised one hand. "You aren't getting it. The figures aren't separated out into pure bloods, mixed heritage, and muggle born. It's the sensors that detect a magical ability strong enough to train. The raw total of magicals in Britain – of all heritages and all ages – is only about three fourths as much as a century ago. If you compare the figures of the old families the number is even smaller. Closer to half, and that's even taking into effect all the Weasleys."
Malfoy's jaw dropped for a moment, and he whispered, "Only half as many pure-bloods? Only three quarters as many magicals at all? But… but…"
"I said old families, not pure bloods. I'm counted as a member of an old family. There's been more squibs and stillbirths. A lot of families only have one or two children, though some of that was from people getting killed," Harry spoke again.
"That is… awful. Wait," he frowned at Harry, "What does this have to do with a Wizengamot committee?"
"There are a lot of members of the Wizengamot who think something must be done, and that passing a law will help. The idea, as of right now, is to encourage the preservation of the old families, even if it means diluting the purity of blood. They were talking about mandating marriages, according to Ministry regulations."
The few words that Malfoy said in response to that were clear and appallingly rude.
"That's rather what I thought about the matter. I'm not going to tell you what you should look for in a wife, and I'm not asking you what I should look for. But I think that you'd rather not have the Ministry or the Wizengamot tell you who you're marrying," Harry paused, "Though I do suggest that when you marry, more than one child might be a good idea."
"It is rather difficult to be a powerful Family with only one member," Malfoy allowed.
"Part of the reason that when I get married, I plan to have a large family. I don't want to stay the last Potter," Harry sipped at his tea again, "Between my influence and yours, we can make certain a law like that doesn't get slipped past without notice."
"Yes, on that point I agree. I don't want the Ministry to tell me who I should marry. I'd probably end up saddled with some middle aged awful pure blood…" Malfoy paused, and his expression changed to one of frightened horror, "You don't suppose… please tell me that Umbridge is married… or dead…"
"They'd be more likely to marry you off to a mixed blood or a muggle born," Harry countered, fighting nausea at the idea of anyone forced to marry Umbridge.
For a few moments, Malfoy was silent before admitting, "I think I'd rather marry a muggle born than Umbridge. Especially if the woman I marry is supposed to be the mother of my children."
Harry nodded, once again in disturbing agreement with Malfoy. "It might help to find someone and marry soon, but I'd rather prevent them from passing any sort of laws telling me who I have to marry. There are some things that the Ministry and Wizengamot should stay out of."
"True, very true," Malfoy nodded.
Harry poured a bit more tea into his cup, and considered the fact that he and Draco Malfoy were in full agreement on something… two somethings. First, that the Ministry and Wizengamot shouldn't tell them who to marry. Second, that Dolores Umbridge should never reproduce. "More tea?"
Malfoy nodded, and then glanced at the family ring that he wore on his right hand. "I wanted to talk to you about something. You seem to have inherited one of the old Black Family properties. A house on Grimmauld, I believe."
Harry nodded. He had pulled a lot of the possibly useful things out of the wretched place, but he did still own it, and it was a family property. It was also something that held limited sentimental value to Harry. "Would I be wrong in thinking that you might want to buy it, or perhaps trade something for it?"
"If we can agree on terms that aren't unreasonable," Malfoy answered.
Harry settled into the negotiation, pleased that the important thing was out of the way. With Malfoy and his connections, galleons, and old secrets, the possible Marriage Law was sure to be shot down. If it meant selling Grimmauld Place… best not to let Malfoy know how little the property meant to Harry.
End Conversation with Malfoy.