Namesake
A Harry Potter fan fiction
*Written by Gale*
Disclaimer - You all know the legal mumbo jumbo. Considering Rowling is one of the richest people in Britain right now, I doubt my one story is going to change things much, especially since I'm not getting anything but you, the reviewers, in return. That is payment enough, of course ;) Let's all continue to bear in mind that this story is still in draft form. I've not done anything to revise or check for inconsistencies. Just bear with me.
Chapter 3: Bad Business
Well, this summer, for Harry Potter, was surely and quickly shaping up to be the strangest yet. Before extracting the Twins' reasoning for coming to his house, Harry found himself, his trunk, and Hedwig's cage on the curb. His aunt and uncle, taking full advantage of the Weasley's early arrival, had decided he could end his vacation early and get out of their hair. Harry suspected that if there were any major concerns with his leaving the house ahead of schedule, then a letter would have appeared by owl to squash any notions the Dursley's had of an extra couple weeks to themselves. He couldn't complain. Anywhere was better than number 4 Privet Drive, especially if it involved Fred and George.
Of course, that was what Harry thought until his two companions realized they could not apparate with him back to Hogsmeade. Not to be bothered, Harry led them down the street, luggage in tow to Mrs. Figg's house, a silent member of the Order of the Phoenix and a squib. Since he had been very young, the Dursleys sent him there whenever they wished to go on Holiday. Upon hearing their predicament, she saw no trouble in allowing them the use of her fireplace. Fred apparated away, then reappeared again moments later with a jar of floo powder.
"Right then," he said jovially. "You'll be staying with the two of us for a while, Harry -- just until Mum comes to fetch you."
Harry stared at him a moment, perplexed by the statement. He remembered that Fred and George had been expelled the year before by Professor Umbridge, and at the time they had enough money stored away to open their own joke shop. The last he had heard, however, they were still living with the rest of their family. "You live by yourselves now?"
"Umhum," murmured George. "We live in the shop."
I'll bet Mrs. Weasley loves that, Harry thought mildly. "So why did you two come to get me so early?"
George feigned a hurt expression, "Honestly, Harry Potter, is missing your company not reason enough?"
He'd heard that tone before, and were he Molly Weasley, he imagined he would be shaking his head sternly, hands pressed to his hips, trying to decide whether this attempt at avoiding the subject was deplorable or just too phony to take seriously. As it was, he managed a smile. "Really. Why?"
Fred shrugged, "Business has been slow. We wanted some company and Lee is off visiting relations in Canada. Off we go now." He held the open jar our to George, who grasped a handful and stepped into the gaping fireplace.
George Weasley grinned at his brother, shot a wink in Mrs. Figg's direction, and dropped the powder at his feet, "Seventeen Dippet Street!" And he vanished in a flare of green fire.
"You next, Harry," Fred said.
After a moment of debating how his luggage would be brought along, Harry picked up Hedwig's cage, assured that Fred would bring the trunk along with him, and prostrated himself where George had been standing moments before. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mrs. Figg," he said politely.
Mrs. Figg warmly smiled. "Take care, Harry Potter."
"I surely will."
With simple method and incantation -- spoken properly this time -- Harry found himself standing in a stone chamber lit and resounding with shelves and boxes and tables littered with all sorts of delights. Class cases held packages of many joke candies Harry had sampled for himself in his years at Hogwarts, and yet there were still others he had never seen before. There were also trick brooms, self-writing quills, magical spectacles to help the wearer appear quite awake when he or she might in fact be taking an afternoon nap…
"You two have been busy," Harry mused.
BANG!
Fred slid Harry's trunk over his way and set the jar on one of the few open spaces left on the tabletops. "What do you think, Harry?" he asked.
"I'm wondering how it is that business is slow."
George shrugged, "Not for lack of hard work, that's for sure. Not many people have been doing business at all for the last few weeks. Specifically not after midday."
"Why after midday?"
"George," interjected Fred, "He probably hasn't heard. Do we have a copy of the morning paper lying around here somewhere?"
"Somewhere."
"Well then stop mucking about and show it to Harry, then."
"I think it's nearer to you, dear brother."
Fred sank down into a chair and raised an eyebrow as the cushion made a rustling sound. He stood, looked down where he had seated himself, and his face lit up. "Well I'll be. So it is!" He grabbed up a now rumpled copy of the Daily Prophet and tossed it at Harry, who had to quickly set Hedwig's cage down in order to catch it. "I knew there was a reason I allowed you to share the womb with me."
"Because it was no fun to just kick something that never kicked back."
"That might be it, too, but now that I think about it…"
No matter how amusing the conversation was, Harry lost all interest in their debate once he laid eyes on the Prophet's headline:
MINISTRY IN PANIC: 3RD MURDER IN TWO WEEKS
Officials from the Ministry of Magic were called to the quiet town of Hogsmeade to appease the hysteria therein, caused by the discovery of a body in the town square the night before. Witnesses, who emerged from their homes at the sound of screams, have claimed to have spotted the killer fleeing the scene of the crime on horseback, pictured below As with the two cases that were detailed in last Monday's print, the corpse had been severed of its head. However, this, like the first body, was so heavily damaged that the victim could not be identified. As also with the last two victims, the upper left arm possessed the Dark Mark.
As many already know, the only identified body among the three Deatheaters killed was that of the wife of former School Board Administrator, Lucius Malfoy, who is now incarcerated in Azkaban Prison. Narcissa Malfoy was not identified as a follower of He Who Shall Not Be Named until she was discovered dead not far from her home. After her husband's arrest for breaking into the Ministry and attempted murder, the Malfoy homestead was home to several angry protests against the Malfoy family. Those who marched on the house, just days before Narcissa Malfoy supposedly died, have been questioned and ruled out as suspects, says Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge. It has been reported that the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, has been taken into protective custody and is currently being treated at St. Mungo's Hospital…
Harry paused halfway through the passage to give the front picture a glance. It was not a photograph, but a very carefully rendered sketch of a robed shadow sitting astride a massive horse. Its being drawn indicated enough, that whoever had been seen was gone too quickly for a picture to be taken. "Does Professor Dumbledore know about this?" Harry asked dazedly. "Do you know?" Despite wanting to listen for an answer, all noise seemed to be drowned out of his head as his gaze wandered down to a smaller photo between the columns.
In a crowd of several men and women in ministry robes, the photo showed one spot of pandemonium in the center. Some form -- which blessedly had been blurred for some of the more weaker-stomached audiences -- lay still and lifeless, but Harry's attention swerved more importantly to the individual battling frantically with the larger men holding him back.
Draco Malfoy had undergone a growth spurt in the summer, whether by natural ends or because he was not re-transfigured quite well after his first experience as a mollusk at the end of the school year. He was nearly the size of the officials around him, but was almost uncommonly thin and wiry, now. His hair was disheveled and drenched in the falling rain, bangs slapping wetly against the sides of his face as he flew in the face of his subdoers, so to speak. All the baby fat had drained from his cheeks, and as he struggled there, mouth open in a silent scream of either anguish or anger, he looked more like some crooked, embittered old man than a boy soon to enter his sixth year at Hogwarts.
Harry Potter knew that face. He'd seen it many times in his own dreams. Felt it even.
Anytime he dreamt of seeing his own mother murdered in front of him, he too had struggled -- against his own consciousness, maybe -- to stop it from happening. To scream his spirit upon it and bore it from his mind.
And in that moment, Harry felt some small swell of pity rise up for his long time enemy, but part of him, an ugly side which he'd tried so hard to keep bottled up in times of turmoil of late, almost sneered at the thought that now Malfoy knew how it felt. If that wasn't enough, then…
"Oy, Harry. You all right?"
His head snapped up in surprise, only now realizing that the Twins had been standing over him for the last moment or so trying to get his attention. "I'm sorry, what?"
"George said it's bizarre, isn't it? Some nutter out snuffing Deatheaters like insects." Fred shuddered, "Gives lots of people around here the creeps. Me included. And there's still more that are bloody supporting whoever this maniac is. I mean, I'm the last person to want to go and sign up under He Who Must Not Be Named, but that's a lousy way to die for anyone."
Harry nodded slowly, "Yes, I suppose you're right." He set the paper aside and looked around. "Did you two see last night's victim?"
George had the nerve to look surprised. "Who, us? We'd only just woken up when we decided to come and fetch you. By then the Ministry'd cleared everything off. If we'd known it'd happened before then, we might have gotten up -- if only to go and make faces at Percy."
"Yeah. And Mum's been owling us day and night to come back to the Burrow since this whole mess started. Worried sick, she is."
"And you haven't gone?" asked Harry.
"Nah," the twins stated in unison.
"Can't just abandon the business no matter how tight things are," said George.
"Besides," Fred added, "Only people that are in danger are Deatheaters."
After seeking out a place to sit down, it occurred to Harry Potter that he should send a letter to Ron and Hermione. He wondered why neither had brought this up in their own writings, but part of him already knew the answer. With all his talk about Sirius, they probably thought this was the last thing he needed to hear. Of course, they were partly right.
That did not really matter, though. Whether he liked it or not, Harry had grown accustomed to knowing that if something bad came up in the summer, then it would stick with him all year-round.
This was only the beginning.
TO BE CONTINUED…
