Chapter 3) The Misfit Club

Selected Listening: Invisible String- Taylor Swift

"Are you alright?" Albus asked once the Malfoys had descended the stairs from the office. She shut the office door and turned to find her father staring at her intently. She felt horrible.

"I'm fine, grandad," she said, trying to keep her voice light. Grandad was Albus's title by request. He didn't like being called dad or father. Too old for that, he said.

"This must come as a shock to you," he continued.

Anastasia shook her head.

"Not really. We knew we were connected. We just didn't know what it was."

"Then, were you surprised that Narcissa was your godmother?"

She shook her head again.

"No. Mum told me. In the place between this one and the next. Where I was sitting when I was petrified. I sat on this bench and waited. She came to visit me."

Albus stared at the girl with an even more anxious gaze.

"Then what has you so sad, my dear? If you knew everything already—"

"He wouldn't even look at me, Grandad."

Albus gave her a sad smile.

"Sometimes the people we care for disappoint us," he said simply. "But dear, I wouldn't worry about it too long. This summer has been difficult for both of you. I'm sure once news dies down, as it always does when something more interesting comes along, Draco will resume speaking to you."

Anastasia hadn't considered how the press might have affected the Malfoys. They certainly hadn't been placed in a good light after Narcissa's interview, but Anastasia didn't think it was all that bad either. Wasn't Draco able to finally have his medication and not lose his inheritance because of it? She wondered which portion had upset Lucius enough to cause the reaction they had observed when Albus mentioned it.

The next afternoon, Anastasia wrote the following message to Draco and sent it with Crenshaw.

Draco,

I'm writing to ask if you're alright. You seemed angry the other day. I know our condition is rather inconvenient, but I'm sure we'll be alright. After all, we've made it this long without it being too much of a problem. A few dementors shouldn't be that difficult to avoid.

Also, I'm sorry if I did something too awkward on the train last year. I didn't mean anything by it, I was just very thankful to be you know…awake.

Sincerely,

Anastasia

She did not receive an answer.

A few weeks later, mid-August, the daughter and father lounged in the den enjoying the leftovers from Albus's 112th lemon crème birthday cake when they heard a voice clear its throat in the fireplace. An emerald powder spewed out of the ashes, the fire ignited, and a pudgy face appeared in the flames. Again, it was Cornelius Fudge.

"Evening Albus. Um—Anastasia."

"Evening, Um—Cornelius," Albus answered cordially. Anastasia nodded in greeting.

"Yes, well, Albus, I'm calling on a bit of unfortunate news," he wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, "or rather, it could have been unfortunate. Seems young Mr. Potter has had a quarrel with his uncle's sister. The poor woman blew up like a blimp, I'm afraid, and began floating around the country," Cornelius hid a laugh in a cough behind a handkerchief.

Albus attempted to suppress a smirk.

"Why are you laughing?" Anastasia asked. "Is she alright?" Her concern made Cornelius and Albus laugh harder.

"No harm done, really. Our aurors have already caught her, deflated her, and wiped her memory, but due to the fight, Mr. Potter ran off by himself and was intercepted by a nightbus, which is currently on the way to the Leaky Cauldron. I believe he's under the impression he's starting life on the run," the minister explained.

"Ah," grandad nodded with a small smile, "well since he's already headed there, let's set him up with a room until term begins, shall we? Maybe we can convince him he doesn't have to become a vagrant quite yet."

Anastasia grabbed Albus's knobby hand.

"Please, let me go visit, grandad. He must be frightened. The Dursleys are horrible to him."

"Don't fret, child. He'll be perfectly fine," Cornelius said. "Besides we have a killer on the loose, and I'm afraid everyone's still interested in information on you, it wouldn't be safe for you together."

Albus looked at his daughter's adamant expression, and then turned back to the fireplace.

"I disagree, Cornelius. I think Anastasia's due for some time out of the castle after hiding from reporters all summer. Besides, if Sirius Black were to come after them in Diagon Alley, it's better to have two young heads than one. Cornelius, could you request an additional room starting tomorrow through September first? Put it under Brian Wolfric."

"Right…" Fudge said, frowning, "certainly Albus."

"Thank you, thank you!" Anastasia told him, kissed his cheek, and ran to her room to pack.

It did not take long. Anastasia's entire wardrobe, besides for her school clothes, was comprised of four outfits: a corduroy overall dress with striped, long-sleeved undershirt, a plaid skirt and blue sweater, a pair of jeans and a Weasley sweater, and a pair of jeans and a band sweatshirt Charity had brought back for her one year. She also owned a beret Nicholas gave her on their trip to see the Flamels, and another band t-shirt and cotton shorts for pajamas. Usually, Albus knitted her clothes for her, and the house elves magically cleaned and resized them when necessary. For the most part, she was contented with this, and now that she attended school for some time, she could clean them and resize them herself.

Anastasia placed her clothes into her backpack, along with her schoolbooks, stationary, her wand, CD player, and her novel.

The next day, Anastasia stepped out of the floo and into the Leaky Cauldron. It was close to noon, exactly on time to check into her room. She skipped to the counter and crossed her arms over the desk. The attendant looked up from his accounting books. His eyes widened. He was an older, balding man with tufts of white hair on both sides of his head, wrinkled ears, and a brown suit. Anastasia had seen him before, passing through to get to the alley for previous school shopping trips, but she had never seen him look so uncomfortable.

"You're—" he began.

"I have a room reserved under Brian Wolfric," she smiled pleasantly.

"Right…" the man checked over his log. He turned over his shoulder, grabbed a gold key with a leather keychain, and handed it to her.

"Room 13," he said, pointing up the stairs instead of bothering to show her. Anastasia glanced up the dark staircase and turned back to him.

"I have a friend staying here. You know where I might find him?" she winked.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Potter will be in 11."

The man looked increasingly unnerved by her presence.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

He diverted his eyes nervously.

"No…no Miss D—"

"Dumbledore," she emphasized.

"Right. Miss Dumbledore." He looked up and gave her a skeevish smile.

"Well, see you," she said and headed upstairs to Harry's room.

Anastasia approached the door, gave a rhythmic knock, and put on a fake gruff accent.

"Yes, Mr. Potter? I have the giant order of forty-three thousand dung bombs you requested. It comes to a total of three thousand galleons."

Footsteps stormed to the door.

"I didn't order anything like—" The door swung open. Harry saw her and smiled. "Anastasia!"

Harry enveloped her in a hug.

"Harry, how are you? I'm so sorry about what happened. Are you okay?" she asked over his shoulder.

"Oh, it's fine, really," he said, pulling away. "I'm so happy to see you. I was just catching up on the news…" he gestured to the pile of papers and magazines on his bed. "Crazy stuff they're saying. Is McGonagall really your mum?"

Anastasia blushed bright red.

"No—no definitely not. You still must be in July. Might as well be reading from now back if you want to know the truth."

Harry scratched his back awkwardly.

"Here," Anastasia said, and flipped through the pile to the very last paper. "That's my mum. Holly Sinclair. She's dead, but she helped with the resistance against Voldemort. He killed her."

"Sorry to hear that," Harry said.

Anastasia shrugged.

"Never knew her. Doesn't bother me much."

"You never wonder what your life would be like if she were alive?" Harry asked.

Anastasia paused at the question. She had never considered this. If her mother had been alive, she would have raised her. Anastasia might not have even known she was Albus Dumbledore's daughter. She would have been raised like a normal witch and would have gone through primary in a homeschool cooperative with other magical families.

"All I know is grandad. All I know is that if she had lived, I wouldn't have even grown up at Hogwarts. I wouldn't be remotely the same person. So, no." She put the papers back down, with the newest headline facing upward. "I don't feel too bad about a life I never wanted."

"Maybe if the Dursleys were as amazing as Dumbledore, I wouldn't feel so bad about my parents either," Harry said dejectedly.

Anastasia felt a pang of sympathy for him. She knew there were parts of her life that didn't go her way, but they were never bad for long. She had never been forced to live under a staircase, and she had never been forced to wear clothes two-sizes too big. At least, not that she could remember.

"You want to get some lunch or something?" she asked.

The two had sandwiches at the Leaky Cauldron, and then they wandered around the alley, looking through all the most interesting shops: the menagerie, the astronomical instruments, and the quidditch supply. Albus had given Anastasia a little money for shopping, but she hadn't decided what to buy with it yet besides her schoolbooks.

When they got tired of shopping, they stopped at Florean's. Anastasia was excited to see the ice cream man who had treated her kindly in the past, but worried about he might react to her like the Leaky Cauldron clerk had. She faltered at the door.

"You coming?" Harry asked gently.

"Um, sure." Anastasia smiled, putting on a brave face.

"Hello, hello, young witch and wizard! I'll be right with you!" As Florean finished stocking his wall with cones, Anastasia and Harry sat on the stools at the counter. Everything in Florean's shop was covered in striped and dotted pastels and all the counters were white marble, inlaid with striations of gold glitter.

Anastasia remembered there were a few times in the past, she had sat with Draco at that counter, when they were younger, and he didn't know who she was. She wondered if she would see him in the alley at all before the term started.

When Florean turned to them, his face lit up in a grand smile.

"Look who's here! I've got a royal flush. Mr. Harry Potter and Miss Anastasia Dumbledore, come to my ice cream shop!"

Anastasia blushed. Harry said hello politely.

"We're not royalty," Anastasia said quietly.

"Course not, not the princess who's been all over the papers this season. Not the knight who saved the school from ruin last year. Not at all. Now, what brings you here?" Florean asked, leaning over the counter.

Harry explained what happened with his aunt.

"Oh ho! That's rich." Florean clapped his hands together. "And what are you doing here? I remember you. You've been here quite a few times before."

Anastasia shrugged.

"I was bored at home and decided to keep Harry company."

Harry smiled appreciatively.

"Ah, well that's sweet," Florean said, taking up his scoop, but his expression fell as if it weren't sweet at all, "now what flavors will you be having today?"

Once Harry and Anastasia went outside to the parasol covered tables outside, Harry told Anastasia all about the incident with his uncle's sister in detail.

"And then she called my mother a b—well you know the word."

"She didn't!" Anastasia gaped.

"And that's not even the worst part," Harry continued. "Once I got out on the street and was trying to figure out what to do, there was this thing watching me."

"What thing?"

"Well, I thought I saw something, but it might have been nerves. I swear there was something in the bushes. Like an animal."

"How frightening," Anastasia said. Harry nodded.

"It turned out alright. The knight bus found me, and I ended up here." He gestured to the peaceful cobblestone road and the demure magics shopping in the lane.

"I've never been on a knight bus," Anastasia said.

"You haven't?" Harry asked. "Didn't you grow up here?"

"Well, I mean, I did, but…" she didn't know how to explain without explaining. "I didn't get out much, being in hiding and all." She picked at her ice cream with her spoon.

"Oh…" Harry said.

"I met some of my family too…" Anastasia said and explained about Holly's parents.

"Are they nice?" Harry asked.

"It as rather abrupt, honestly. My grandmother came in and shouted at grandad, and then my real grandfather came in all friendly like. But they didn't say much. Just said hello and left."

"That's kind of odd…don't you think?" Harry asked. Anastasia looked around again as if she were telling a secret and passed him a half-grin.

"Honestly, I couldn't tell you. I've got no clue about how normal family is supposed to work."

Harry laughed, "me neither."

They had quieted and were finishing their ice cream when a familiar voice sounded from down the lane.

"Oi, Potter! Dumblebrat!"

Anastasia jolted her gaze. Draco strutted towards them, confidently sporting a new Slytherin sweater.

"What did you call me?" Anastasia asked.

"Dumblebrat? That's what you are, isn't it? The loon's brat."

Draco's words struck her like a stray curse. He hadn't pulled an attitude the other day just because his mum was there. He had intended to be mean. Anastasia looked towards the shop. She supposed he hadn't even bothered to read the note she sent.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry defended.

"You can't blame me for an honest answer, Potter. Why are you two hanging around? Is the misfit club having an outing?" Draco asked as he leered over them.

"Why? Want to join?" Harry asked, bristling.

"Huh! Potter's got a sense of humor. As much as I would love to keep you company, I wouldn't be a very good member. Seems I have a whole family compared to the two of you. Both my parents are alive, and of the age parents should be," he mocked directly at her.

Anastasia whipped her head around and glared back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means what you think it means. Your father knocked up one of his ex-students to make you."

"It wasn't like that!" Anastasia rose from her seat, planning to leer over Malfoy in return, but found he had grown a full three inches over the summer, and they could no longer meet eye-to-eye. "And you should know! Your mum set the whole thing up."

Malfoy glowered.

"Oh right, it's worse. You're a lab experiment."

"Leave her alone, Malfoy!" Harry shot up, pulling out his wand. Draco turned sharply to him.

"I'm only telling the truth. If she can't stand it from me, she's certainly not going to stand it from everyone else at school. She should just plan on homeschooling this year—oh wait," he grinned mockingly.

Anastasia turned away to keep him from seeing the tears welling up in her eyes.

"You should leave," Harry told him sternly.

"What? Is Potter your bodyguard now?" Draco asked, crossing his arms. "That's rich. So now you can bask in all the attention the press gives you and to hell with anyone else?"

Anastasia spiraled around, aiming her wand at his throat.

"Get. Away. From us," she articulated. Draco snapped back as if he'd been bitten.

"Fine," Draco growled, "be friends with scarhead…but you can't hurt me! Remember?!" he shouted as he left.

Anastasia nearly proved him wrong.

"Hey, wait," Harry grabbed her arm before she could go after Draco, "What did he mean, you can't hurt him?"

Anastasia froze and remembered Narcissa's warning about telling others about the lifeline. As trustworthy as Harry was, it was best to leave him in the dark on this one.

"His mum is my godmother. If I hurt him, she would be angry with me."

"Oh…" Harry said, "...who cares what she thinks? She can't be that good of a person if she married Lucius Malfoy."

Anastasia gave Harry a little smile in response.

"Wouldn't you care, if someone your mum specifically chose to take care of you, showed up out of the blue and wanted to be in your life?" she asked, pushing her voice through a tear-studded breath.

Harry, conflicted, didn't answer.