Synopsis: AU. In a world where Sybil Trelawney is never born, the prophecy remains, but goes unheard. How different will Harry Potter's life be growing up in a world where Voldemort won? How long until a brilliant young man is noticed by the ever more brilliant Dark Lord?
Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Grainger, Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, Theodore Nott and Luna Lovegood.
A/N: Hello, all my wonderfully patient readers! I know it's been such a long time since I updated. For a while I was wrapped up in exams, but after that, it was mainly because I broke my laptop D: However, since then I got into University! And got a new laptop, which I'm obviously using for such academic purposes ;)
Sorry it's been so long, and thank you for all the wonderful reviews I've had since then.
Anyways, enough from me. Here's the chapter!
EDIT: MAY 2017
Chapter Eleven
July 31st 1996, early morning.
Reading by moonlight was something Harry Potter had become accustomed to over the last year. So much so was the habit, that reading by the light of day felt strange to him. He'd always found it hard to take in written text when surrounded by the white noise of adolescent chatter; the soundtrack of life at Hogwarts – and nowadays, it was about more than just peace - it was about privacy. At Hogwarts, this was easily resolved with a trip to the marauders room. Here, in the shadows of Malfoy Manor, he had to be more creative.
It was a little after two in the morning, and the moon was an inconvenient sliver in the sky; a new moon. Brilliant if he was looking to pick elderberry roots for a healing potion, but terrible for the purposes of seeing words on a page. He'd had this problem a few times, and after giving up on holding a wand whilst turning pages, he had invented a spell. A tiny projection of the moon was now floating inches above his book. The spell was nothing spectacular, but he found it more peaceful than the glowing orbs one might usually use for such ventures.
As the night turned from balmy, midsummer heat to a slight chill, Harry paused. He leaned his back against the trunk of an oak tree so old, that he could feel the faint warmth of magic flowing through it, and ran his hands through the grass until he made contact with his wand. He non-verbally cast a warming charm and sighed with relief; a light smile played across his face. He could, of course, cast such charms wandlessly – but he was tired, and his attention was slipping – last time he'd tried to do wandless magic fatigued, he'd set fire to his clothes.
The tree sat atop a hill that overlooked a meadow. In the centre of the meadow, looking the height of idyllic authority, was the manor. It was late, and so most of the windows were darkened, giving the whole area a sleepy feel. Harry knew many thought Malfoy Manor had an intimidating exterior, but he'd always thought of it as homely; it was the first place he'd stayed because someone had wanted him, rather than because they were duty bound as his orphanage or school. This thought brought a pang to his chest. As he glanced down at 'A History of Western Philosophy', he wondered what his best friend would think to his reading material and the lengths he'd gone to, to obtain it. His heart ached, as one only can when you are trapped between two things that you want dearly.
It had begun last Christmas, when he'd finished reading every book in the Marauders room for the fifth time. It wasn't like he was short on literature; Hogwarts library was more stocked now than it had ever been, having been extended several times in the last decade. Every time a new land was conquered, their books were taken and copied, and those that were relatively safe ended up in the schools library (those that weren't were in the Headmistresses office, and therefore still quite accessible to him). Yet, the muggle books were more to him than just academic gain; they were a gateway to a whole new world. There was a world he knew nothing of, existing within miles of his own. They had their own culture, their own history. He even knew enough about his parents, to know that his Grandparents on his mothers side had actually been one of them. His ancestors were muggles! Part of the allure was in the taboo of it. It wasn't as if he could just ask his Professors to tell him about the muggle world; at best, he'd earn a flogging – at worst, an execution.
It wasn't that he didn't understand the risks of mixing with muggle kind, but he had to satisfy his curiosity. Reaching the end of the road with the marauders room had been like a kick in the stomach, very like the pang of guilt he'd just endured.
It was after a couple of days of feeling sorry for himself, that it first occurred to him that he could get more. The muggle world, after all, was not some distant planet (even if the Ministry would like it to be so). The security measures put in place were mostly unknown, but Harry Potter was not your average wizard.
It took a couple of weeks of research. Old books and new studies, carefully worded questions to his professors, and quite a bit of magical 'pizazz'. The protection included wards, trackers and rather complex spells. Eventually, he managed to figure his way around these issues. The wards could be carefully de-constructed in a small area without attracting attention; they were such a small percentage of the whole barrier that the caster wouldn't be able to detect it. His wand would also have to be left behind, but he was proficient enough at wandless magic to get by.
Being able to do it, and having the necessary daring were different matters, however. After he'd figured out how he would accomplish the task, and checked and rechecked his work, he still took a further week before he'd gone through with it...
A rustling from his inner pocket caused him to jerk out of his thoughts. He'd been sitting still with the book in his lap, staring out into the valley, and the movement made him jump. Sighing with frustration, he opened his cloak to see the head of a small snake, poking it's head out from it's cotton cradle.
"Ember. I told you to stay in my bed chamber," he hissed in exasperation.
As promised, the Dark Lord had indeed given him a snake. It had been a few weeks after his return to Hogwarts from the Riddle Wreck, and he'd entirely forgotten about the proposed serpent spy. That was until his relaxation in the common room was interrupted by the scream of Blaise, who'd discovered a rather scaly and unexpected guest under his pillow. The snake and he had been getting on like a house on fire ever since. Well, that was if he was the house in that simile, and Ember was her namesake.
"The young speaker should stop presuming to tell me what to do," said the snake, sounding groggy from her nap. It amazed him that he hadn't noticed her presence before, but Ember was very good at being sneaky.
"You'll get cold," he warned her, gently. Although the night was pleasant enough, the snake preferred a much warmer climate; hence her insistence on staying close to his skin at all times.
"The young speaker needs my protection in these foolish pursuits," the snake then pointedly slithered down his arm and across the pages of the book he was reading. "He plays a dangerous game, for so small a victory," she let the last sentence trail off. Ember was not a snake to let her opinion go unheard. Fortunately, it would seem that the Dark Lord's plan had backfired; Ember was loyal to him, and though often disapproving, she had never gone to Voldemort about his actions.
"The reward is knowledge, Em. Knowledge is power," he whispered. Like any serpent, Ember respected that kind of ambition. "The muggles have their own weapons; weapons we're entirely ignoring. They have their own sciences, their own religions, their own political systems. What is our distaste for them costing us?"
Ember slithered around his wrist, and then lifted her head to face him. She was quiet for a long moment before she spoke, her voice softer and less mocking than he might have expected. "Is it about the power, the knowledge? For that I can understand, my young speaker. Or is it about the boy? For that, that will lead you into more trouble than a muggle could ever be worth."
'Ah yes' thought Harry, 'the boy.'
To think, he'd almost gone a whole hour without thinking about him…
The following morning, Draco Malfoy was in the midst of what could only be called a fashion disaster. Dressed in grey trousers, a black shirt and a silver waist coat, he looked as refined and handsome as ever. The issue being that today, for reasons he didn't care to think on, he wanted to look particularly noticeable.
Standing in front of his enchanted mirror, he held four ties up to his torso and sighed. This had been going on for half an hour.
"Which one?" he demanded of the mirror, the glare on his face not doing much for the mirrors attitude.
"They're all rather boring," said the mirror, stifling a yawn. Incensed, Draco flipped the mirror to face away from him, causing the mirror to chuckle maliciously. No one should have to deal with shit from an inanimate object this early in the morning.
"She is not arriving for another two hours, you know," came a familiar, silky voice from the doorway.
Draco whipped around, and tried to suppress the rising heat in his cheeks. His Father, Lucius Malfoy, was stood at the entrance to his bed chambers. He was already dressed, although in an unusually casual manner. Draco imagined he planned to change before the days events started. His Father was also wearing an uncharacteristically amused expression, a real warmth in his eyes
"I don't know what you mean, Father." he tried to say this calmly, but his voice was just a touch too high pitched to be convincing. His Father snorted, and walked into the room. Without another word, he picked up the white tie and placed it around his sons shoulders.
"Do you remember when I taught you how to do this?" he asked softly, as he tied the tie. Draco, a little bewildered by the nostalgia, nodded.
"I was five. I'd taken one of yours and was trying to do it. I ended up nearly choking myself," Draco said, matter-of-factly.
"It was actually remarkably cute," Lucius said with a smile, as he finished the final loop and straightened the tie.
"You were angry!" Draco countered.
"Well of course I had to make you think so," Lucius laughed. "I'm your Father. What kind of man would I have raised, if I indulged your mischief every time you did something cute?" Lucius sat down on the bed, and alarm bells began going off in Draco's mind. It wasn't that his Father was never warm, but there was usually some kind of provocation. Today was Harry's birthday, not his. He sat next to his Father, curious. "You'll be an adult in less than a year," he sighed, shaking his head. A sad smile ghosted over his lips. "Where has the time gone, my little Dragon?"
Now Draco struggled not to openly gape. His Father hadn't called him that since he was a toddler. "Father..." he began, carefully. "What's this about?"
Lucius seemed to shake himself from his reverie, and gave his son an appraising look. After another long moment, he spoke: "You'll be beginning your sixth year in a month, Draco. As you know, at the end of your sixth year, they'll be choosing who to begin training to join the Death Eaters," he paused significantly, and Draco nodded, already aware of this. "As long as there are no dramatic changes in the next year – which I highly doubt – you'll be amongst those eligible."
Draco nodded. He was consistently third or fourth in his year rankings, making him worthy of being chosen, even without his family connections. Being a Death Eater was a prestigious honour; an honour he'd been preparing for from birth. "It would please me, my son, if you did not choose to follow that path," Lucius was deadpan as he said this, which was incredible, to say he'd just dropped the biggest bombshell of Draco's life.
"You… You want me to not join the Death Eaters?" he baulked. "Why?"
"The war is long over, Draco," Lucius looked at him with serious eyes, full of emotion that he would usually disguise. "The wrongs of the world have been righted, and the Dark Lord does not need every wand on his side. You are clever and capable, there are many things you can do with your life that doesn't involve the inherent danger of being at the right hand of our Lord."
Draco bristled, more outraged than he had ever been with his Father. "You think I am incapable!" he accused. "You think I am still a child, bound to get hurt or in the way?"
His Father's eyes did not become dangerous, as they usually would if Draco had spoken to him with such disrespect. "No, my son. I am quite aware of how capable you are. I'd even say that you are more talented than I was at your age."
This abruptly ended Draco's tirade; his Father had sounded sincere. Lucius was not one to be humble, and this was a great compliment. "Then why, Father? Being a Death Eater will retain the prestige of our family. You have always imparted upon me the importance of our line remaining at the top tier of society."
Lucius nodded, "You are correct, and I stand by that. It is essential that our family remains close to the Dark Lord, and it will."
Now Draco was just confused. "Father, you cannot live forever as our Lord can. What happens when I am the head of the family, and have no more power or influence over the Death Eaters than a barmaid?"
Lucius gave Draco a flat look, "I said that I didn't want you to be a Death Eater, not that I wanted you to become a labourer. You can be a Professor, or a politician, or a banker. The world is yours," he paused, his tone scolding Draco for his silliness. "What I am trying to say, my son, is that for the family to retain ties with the Dark Lord, you do not necessarily have to. Bellatrix and I have come to an understanding."
"Aunt Bella?" he asked, bemused.
"Yes. As I said, it will not be long before you reach your majority. It is time now for us to think of the continuation of our line."
Draco remained puzzled for a split second more, before it dawned on him what his Father was trying to say. All the colour drained from his face, making him more pale than seemed possible. A passer-by might even mistake him for a ghost. "Hermione?" he said the word softly, delicately. "You are going to have me engaged to Hermione?"
Lucius nodded. "I trust you approve of the match? I know you've been holding a flame for the girl for some time now - don't look so surprised, I was young once too - and now that she has joined a suitable lineage, she is more than a good match."
Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Hermione? It was all that he could hope for, but in entirely the wrong way. Over the last several months, his crush on the girl had only escalated into something that was dabbling in love. She was brilliant, of course. Even Harry, a verified genius, couldn't always keep up with her broad knowledge. She was kind too, but not someone to be crossed. She had fire in her, but she only allowed it to burn those that deserved it. Of course, she was also beautiful. She was the only girl Draco had ever thought twice about, despite the others he had taken to his bed over the last year. When he was done with those girls, he didn't give them much thought. He was polite and respectful, of course, and never one to kiss and tell, but Hermione was the one he thought of over and over again, late into the night.
"So what you're saying is, is that you want me to be betrothed to her. Then you want me to stand in the shadows whilst she rises in the ranks and gives our family merit. I'm to be a house husband, trapped in the shadows of a wife who had no choice in her marital status?" he seethed.
This time, Lucius did look irritated. "You knew that your marriage would be arranged, Draco. This is the way things have always been, and it is the way that this will be."
Lucius stood up, indicating that their 'heart to heart' had come to an end. Draco was not ready for this conversation to be over. "Father, please. You don't understand. I… If I am to marry her, then I need it to be her choice. I...I love her," the last words were strained and painful, for it was the first time he'd said them out loud.
Lucius sneered, "You are complaining that you love your wife-to-be?"
"I am complaining that my wife-to-be, strong willed as she is, will feel a prisoner in my home. A prisoner in my… bed, when the time comes for us to continue the line." he argued, his words were heated, but he felt so young.
"Hermione is a Black now, Draco, and she will do her duty," Lucius replied dismissively, as he began to walk away.
"Father, I do not want to be her 'duty'" he pleaded.
"This betrothal is happening Draco." Lucius left no room for argument.
As guilt and anger ate away at his stomach, an idea occurred to him. An idea that was his last and only hope. "Father. Give me until the end of sixth year to complete this proposal," he asked, his voice level and calmer than he felt. "Let me court her, so that our marriage might be a happy one. Please, this is all I ask of you. Let me have a chance of a match as happy as yours and Mothers."
Lucius stopped in his egress, and turned back to his son. He held his gaze for some time, and a little of it's previous warmth returned. "Fine. You have until the end of sixth year to earn Miss Black's affections, but mark me Draco, you will be betrothed then regardless."
This time, Lucius left no room for argument as he swept from the chambers. Moments later, Draco flopped back onto the bed, his head and heart aching in equal measure. To think, he'd thought a mirror with an attitude problem was the worst of his problems...
That morning, Harry woke up late. This was not an unusual turn in events, to the point that the ever punctual Lady Malfoy usually had Dobby wake him. Evidently, she'd decided his sixteenth birthday was worthy of a lay in, as he woke up without the house elf's usual weirdness.
He stretched and dragged himself out of bed, casting a tempus. It was just short of eleven thirty, meaning that Narcissa was indeed feeling charitable. After a quick shower, he dressed and left his room, going in search of his friends. Draco had invited quite a few people over to celebrate, and Harry was more flattered by the gesture than he cared to mention. His friends really were brilliant.
He found them in the afternoon lounge.
"Well I see that your time-keeping hasn't improved with age, Potter." said Blaise, as Harry strolled into the room. Harry shot him an easy grin, and took a seat in front of Draco.
"Happy Birthday, Harry," said Hermione, rising from her own chair to give him a hug. She squeezed him tightly, and he returned it. Hermione always got emotional at Birthdays, seeing them as important milestones in their lives.
There was a general agreement to the sentiment, with everyone wishing him a happy birthday. There was only a handful of his friends there; Blaise, Draco, Hermione, Theodore and Daphne.
"The others are coming this evening; we've got a few more personal matters to attend to before your birthday party," came Draco, as if he'd read his mind.
"Party?" Harry asked, surprised. He'd known that quite a few of his friends were coming, but didn't think the Malfoy's were actually throwing him a party.
Daphne grinned. "Of course, silly! We had a party for all of our birthdays, so how could we not have one for our favourite troublemaker?"
The difference being, Harry thought, was that their parties had been thrown in their own manors by their own families. Even Hermione's last birthday had been taken at Black manor, though it was technically before her adoption. Harry had no such family, and the fact that his friends thought nothing of celebrating his birth in a way that relatives might, was enough to bring heat to his cheeks and his eyes water. Morganna, he'd do anything for these people.
"Are you actually blushing?" said Draco, bemused. "You are! You're blushing!"
Blaise and Nott laughed, until they were thrown a very dark look by Daphne and Hermione. At the look from Hermione, Draco also blushed, which lead the girls themselves to laugh too. Harry grinned and shot a jinx at Draco, causing his chair to tip backwards. This, of course, began a small war between the six of them. By the time a house elf came to call them for lunch, Draco's hair was pink and a pillow had been enchanted to beat Blaise. Harry had escaped unscathed only because he was trapped in an impromptu prison made of strangely strong sofa cushions, and Nott had literally hidden. The girls were looking rather pleased with themselves.
A few household spells later – courtesy of Blaise who was, oddly, the only person to know any – they were on their way to the luncheon room. Upon opening the doors, quite an elaborate spread was revealed; in the centre, a red and gold cake with the words "Happy Birthday" stood. Harry grinned, resisting the urge to tear up again. Gods, he was such an emotional idiot sometimes.
The six of them sat down, and were shortly joined by Lucius and Narcissa, who also wished him a happy birthday. He wasted no time in tucking into the pasta dish – his favourite – but at a look from Narcissa, he coughed awkwardly, and switched his knife and fork into the correct hands. Draco and Daphne smothered a smile.
"So, Harry," began Lucius, who after five years, had finally begun to call him by his given name. "Sixteen. How does it feel?"
"Very like fifteen did, Sir, except now 'seventeen' is tantalisingly close," he answered, being careful to swallow his food before he did.
Lucius smiled, "Ah yes. Sixteen is an interesting age; too old to enjoy childish pursuits, but not yet old enough to pursue adult interests easily."
The group of teenagers exchanged knowing looks. With the help of polyjuice potion, glamours, and the remarkably light fingers of Harry, they had never had much trouble with gaining access to 'adult interests'.
"Yes, sir. Perhaps this time next year we could all go enjoy a drink together. I understand that you know a few places of good repute?" Harry asked, donning a sly smile.
Daphne and Nott exchanged looks. Only Harry Potter would dare ask Lucius Malfoy, a death eater at the very top tier of the Dark Lord's hierarchy, out for a drink. There was a pregnant pause, and then Lucius laughed. "Indeed, Harry. I might just take you up on that offer. I've heard you might just be one to watch, once you've finished your studies."
"Lord Malfoy, if I ever rise to a necessary importance so that you might have to watch me? I'll consider myself successful indeed."
Draco rolled his eyes. As informal and childish as Harry could be, he knew damn well how to play the game.
"My, Harry," commented Narcissa, smirking. "Are you quite sure that you shouldn't have been in Slytherin?"
"Quite sure, Lady Malfoy. After all, we have a better quidditch team," he responded. Draco scoffed loudly, and Hermione rolled her eyes.
"The only reason your house won last season was because you were their seeker," argued Daphne. "The rest of the team were abysmal. I don't know how you cope."
Harry shrugged, "They're alright, they're just not as focused as the Slytherins. I dread the poor seeker that has to take over this year."
There was a shocked silence, that Harry pretended not to notice as he ate his pasta. Harry had always enjoyed quidditch, and although he didn't think of it as too significant a part of his identity, he had been the Gryffindor seeker since second year. He hadn't yet mentioned his resignation to his friends.
"You aren't playing this year?" asked Blaise, carefully. He even looked concerned. Did they really think that a school sports team was that important to him? Well, perhaps it had been once, but these days he had other things to think about. In fact, he'd been rather wrapped up in his own life recently. He reminded himself that he'd have to catch up with all the goings on in his friends life, such as why Draco's eyes looked particularly icy when they passed over his Father today.
"No, I've decided not to partake this year, actually," responded Harry, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "I was offered Captain, and realised that might interfere too much with my studies. Then I had a long think on it, and decided that perhaps I ought to give it up entirely this year."
"A very responsible attitude," commented Lady Malfoy, who looked pointedly at her son, who was seeker for the Slytherin team. He too, had just been made Captain a week ago. They'd had a drink and celebrated, and Harry had carefully avoided the question of whether he'd received a similar letter.
The look from his Mother seemed to put Draco on the defense. "You're giving it up because of your studies? Harry, you've been unfailingly the top of our year from first year. It's not as if you need the study time."
Hermione cleared her throat, as though to say that she thought anyone should have more study time, but was ignored.
"It's not for my school studies," Harry began carefully. "I'm entering the International Duelling Competition this year. I submitted my application last week."
There was another pregnant pause, and a collected indrawn breath from his friends. Of course they had all gone on about entering the competition for years, but that was mostly just childish bolstering. They could see that he was completely serious now; Hermione was the first to speak.
"Harry, you're sixteen. We haven't even started sixth year yet!" she exclaimed, concern written all over her face.
"The competition isn't until April. I'll have completed most of sixth year by then." he replied, trying to ignore the stares.
"The qualifiers are in October. That's only a few months away," said Draco.
"I'm aware," he nodded, finishing his pasta as his appetite disappeared under the interrogation.
"Harry," began Nott, the most diplomatic of the group, given he was the least close to him. "No sixteen year old has ever even qualified for the IDC. No seventeen year old has. The youngest person ever to win was twenty, and that was..."
"The Dark Lord," finished Lucius. He alone did not appear surprised by the revelation, and merely appeared thoughtful. "Do you think you're capable enough? This competition is no child's play. You'll be facing adults, death eaters even."
"I know that I am ready. I can't say that I will definitely win," he paused. "But I'll have a damn good chance of doing just that."
The table lapsed into silence. He could see that some of his friends wanted to argue with him, but he also knew that they didn't really understand how much he had grown magically in the last year. He held back in his sparring matches with them, and kept a lot of his research to himself. A lot of it was dangerous work, and much like his ventures into the muggle world, he wanted to keep his friends out of that drama.
"Well, Harry," began Lucius. "If you're sure. I was going to wait until you turned seventeen for this conversation, but since you're determined to do this now, I think now would be the time." Harry looked over at Lucius with curiosity, as he and Lady Malfoy shared a glance. Narcissa nodded once, and Lucius continued.
"The House of Malfoy would like to formally offer you sponsorship in your endeavour," he finished. There was another pause, and this time, a buzz of conversation erupted from his friends. Draco looked just as surprised, which meant Lucius had not discussed this idea with him. He even looked a little irritated, but Harry couldn't think why. He thought for a long moment before he spoke again.
"Sponsorship? You want me to wear your house crest during duels?" he asked, not wanting to appear ignorant of such matters.
"That, and more. When you are inevitably interviewed by the press, you will announce your alliance with House Malfoy. You will wear our crest, an should you win, we will have a ten percent stake in the winnings."
"The prize is one hundred million galleons." Harry responded, numbly. He'd not even given much thought to the winnings, focused mostly on the pride. He also remembered the promise to Voldemort, to be impressive, and it was not one he intended to break. He still had six years to do so, but there was no harm in starting young. He wanted Voldemort to remember his name, when the time came.
"Indeed, and I think you'll agree that ninety million galleons is quite enough for a sixteen year old. In return, we'll front your buy in – ten thousand galleons – and any other expenses needed for you to be in top shape when the time comes. We'll also find you tutelage."
"Tutelage with whom, Sir?" he asked, wondering at the contacts Lucius must have.
"That's to be decided."
"I'll speak to Bellatrix," said Narcissa. "She has a few… interesting friends, that might be of use."
Harry nodded, still completely thrown by the offer. He'd been planning to take a loan to front the costs, but this seemed more prudent. "And what if I don't win?" he asked.
"Then we'll say no more on it." Lucius promised, using his most political tone.
Harry looked at the ceiling, and drew a deep breath. It was a big decision, but probably the best he was going to get. Plus, it'd bring some more positive publicity to his best friend's family, which he knew Draco would be grateful for.
"I'll take you up on your offer, Sir," he said. Lucius smiled, but he continued. "However, I have some stipulations. Although I would be grateful for tutelage and any advice your sources can give me, I do not require instruction. My methods are unusual, and I don't want to have to answer to anyone regarding them."
Lucius raised an eyebrow, and then raised a glass. "Well then, Mr Potter. We are in agreement," the others joined him in raising a glass. "Happy Birthday."
Happy Birthday, indeed.
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