A/N: As always, I don't own the Potterverse. This story had a few different beginnings before finally settling on this one, and while I set up a lot of groundwork here for future stories, this feels more like a prologue to something much greater. I don't know if I'll come back to this universe anytime soon, so if someone wants to do something with this (or with any of my stories), just let me know. Thanks for reading!
mokita - (n.) something known by everyone but never discussed openly; "truth we all know but agree not to talk about" [kilivila]
"We honestly thought you knew, mate. She said she'd told you everything, and obviously we didn't want to say anything, because you'd hex our bollocks off. Hell, I'm still not totally sure this was the best idea, but someone had to fill you in." Dean paused to take a nervous gulp of tea. "I hate that you had to find out like this, but better now than later, right?"
"Dean, do yourself a favor: go anywhere that isn't Britain for the next week. I'll deal with all of this in that time, and I'd rather not do something by accident I might regret later. Do you understand?" Green eyes blazing at him, Dean nodded and got the hell out of the Leaky Cauldron while he could. He'd enjoy the next week, far, far away from the very pissed off Man-Who-Won. He'd be one of the lucky ones.
For many years, Harry Potter had lived blissfully unaware that his girlfriend (later fiancé, and nearly wife) had a penchant for finding herself waking up in the beds of other men. It was the loudest secret in Britain, but somehow stayed out of the gossip rags, the Prophet, or any other source of news besides word of mouth. And thus, it stayed away from Harry. There was much speculation as to why these affairs happened (many thought it was a kink for her, some thought it a kink of his, and a few who insisted that money was exchanging hands in the bargain somehow), but only she knew the truth. And thus far, she wasn't telling.
Dean's warning came exactly one week before the "Wedding of the Century," or so the Daily Prophet had dubbed it, was scheduled to take place. A single, quiet, one-sided conversation later, the wedding and engagement were off, a redhead openly wept in her bedroom, and a furious man carrying a parchment with a list of names on it stormed out of the Burrow. One name had already been crossed off; the rest would be getting a visit very soon.
But first, there were two stops that were legally required for what Harry had planned. First, to the Ministry, to pick up the forms specifically designed for this purpose. Then, to Gringotts, to get an appropriate number of identical golden daggers, also required to make this legal. For when one chose to declare a blood feud, there were procedures that had to be followed. You couldn't just declare one willy-nilly; that was how too many noble houses had ended during the 15th century.
First, one had to write a letter of grievances and intent to declare feud. Since the grievance was the same in each case, Harry drafted a form letter, and simply duplicated the parchment until he had the required number of copies. At the bottom of each letter, a "no contest" settlement was included, in case the man in question did not want the public stigma of having feud declared against them. It was the legal equivalent of a forfeit, and had saved many from certain death in the past. Most of the time, this settlement was a large monetary payment to the aggrieved party.
Once the letters were prepared, the next step was to ritually prepare the daggers. To properly declare a blood feud, naturally some bloodshed was required. The amount wasn't much, but for as many missives as he had, Harry required a bit of blood replenishing potion after he had finished. Once coated, the blades entered a functional stasis; it wouldn't do for the blood to drip off the blade, nor for it to dry before the message had been delivered. The stasis would break only when the blade had been delivered.
Finally, the delivery. There were two acceptable ways to deliver the feud notices. The more traditional, but sparingly used in modern times, way was to stab the notice into a member of the offending family with the dagger. It had mostly fallen out of favor due to its barbarism. The second, less brutal, method was to instead stab the notice into something wooden belonging to the offender; usually a table or door, depending on the circumstances. While he harbored some uncharitable thoughts about those he would soon be seeing, Harry would be using the latter method to serve his papers.
Some of the deliveries were quite easy. Harry slammed the notices onto doors, the occupants took one look at who had just stabbed their door, and immediately paid the no contest penalty. Fully half of the notices went that way, almost all of them being people Harry didn't know or barely remembered from Hogwarts. A few tried to deny any knowledge or participation, but were cowed into submission (and payment) by Harry's furious glare.
Ernie MacMillan seriously considered accepting the feud for a moment, but realized that the social pariah status he would likely gain from the feud wasn't worth the sum Harry was asking for. He did stipulate that his payment would be donated anonymously to charity, a condition Harry was willing to accept, as the money didn't really mean much to him anyway. Harry made a mental note to curtail his dealings with the MacMillan family regardless, as the situation wasn't worth the headache of future negotiations with Ernie.
The last visit was one that Harry expected might not end as peacefully as the rest, for a variety of reasons. Waltzing through the open gates of the manor house, he slammed his declaration into the door as he had with the rest. This time, however, it wasn't the subject of his declaration that answered the door; it was his wife. Astoria Malfoy took one look at the parchment attached to her front door, raised an eyebrow, and called a house elf to go fetch her husband. She then invited Harry in, and led him to a well-furnished seating area. They only had to wait a few moments before they were joined by a momentarily befuddled Draco. Once he took in the scene, his expression morphed into some combination of disgust and anger, matching the one on Harry's face.
"Well, Draco," said Astoria evenly, "do you have something you'd like to say about this?" She brandished the parchment and dagger in front of him. To the surprise of both his wife and Harry, Draco simply read through the details on the parchment, noted the amount requested as compensation, and wrote Harry a Gringotts draft in that amount, without saying a word. He made a shooing motion towards Harry, and led his wife deeper into the manor house.
Having nothing else to do now that his notice was delivered, and resolved, Harry showed himself out of the manor and Apparated home. He wasn't quite sure where he would go from here, but he was certain that wherever he went, he wouldn't be inviting Ginny Weasley along.