The Boy Who Lived
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Four:
As soon as Neville leaves on Sunday evening, Harry is asked to meet with his parents in James' study. He glances at Liam when his father makes the request, but his twin is as surprised as Harry feels, and quickly just as concerned. Neither of them ask questions though, and instead, Liam guides Hermione towards the library - an apt distraction - while Harry follows his mother and father to the Head of House's study.
"Is everything all right?" Harry asks, settled in front of the oak desk that dominates the room. His parents are both solemn - not sad, per se, but not exactly thrilled, either - and their expressions make him nervous. "Has something happened?"
"I met with Lord Greengrass on Friday evening," James informs him.
Harry nods slowly. He was supposed to attend the meeting in an observational capacity, but he and Liam had instead attended a class with Sifu Qiang - to make up for the one they'd miss on Saturday - and his father hadn't mentioned it since. Harry had assumed, therefore, that it hadn't been anything to worry about, and he'd not dwelt on it further.
It seems he was wrong not to be concerned.
"Do they want to withdraw from the alliance?" Harry asks hesitantly.
In the past, the House of Greengrass had been notoriously neutral as far as the ideologies of blood and magic were concerned. They'd avoided formal involvement in Voldemort's war, and in Grindelwald's, and it wouldn't be much of a stretch to assume they want no part in Voldemort's second war, as well. To declare neutrality, however, would require that they withdraw from the Potter, Black, and Longbottom alliance. It would be a political blow if they did so, though, and it's why Harry is hesitant to ask.
"Quite the contrary, actually," James replies, "Lord Greengrass would like to solidify his ties to the Alliance in a more… Permanent fashion."
"It seems Riddle has no interest in respecting political neutrality this time around," Lily contributes, tone droll.
Harry frowns. "I don't understand. Isn't a permanent alliance a good thing?"
James sighs, weary. Harry tries not to be irritated by it - it's not as though his parents are being particularly clear with their explanation - but he's not overly successful. He grits his teeth though, and waits them out.
"He's concerned for his daughters," James explains, "He has already received a number of unfavourable betrothal contracts from Death Eaters or Death Eater sympathisers, and he is under a great deal of pressure to accept any one of them. They're disgusting though - I wouldn't wish betrothal terms like that on anyone - but to refuse is to risk retaliation, and he has no desire to leave his daughters vulnerable to entrapment. As such, he's asked us if the House of Potter was open to the possibility of a formal - less restrictive - betrothal."
"Right," Harry acknowledges mechanically. He's rather dumbfounded, too shocked to comprehend the magnitude of Lord Greengrass' enquiry - request? - and he's not sure what to say in response to hearing it. He needs time to think it over, to let the prospect settle over him, before he can decide how he feels about it. As is, his gut reaction is anger - that the House of Greengrass has been put in such a terrible position, that Lord Greengrass has asked this of them, that his parents haven't refused him outright - but experience contains his response to clenched fists, gritted teeth, and an angry exhale. His parents have no patience for misdirected tempers. "What do his daughters think?"
"They're not thrilled," James replies, and Harry can imagine that it's the understatement of the century. He's not overly close with Daphne or Astoria Greengrass - acquainted, if barely - but he knows them well enough to know that neither of them are the type to appreciate it as others make decisions for them. Particularly when those decisions concern themselves so significantly. "But they do recognise that something must be done in order to keep them safe."
"I don't like it."
"Neither do we," Lily replies, "Which is why we haven't yet agreed to Lord Greengrass' proposal. We only committed to discussing the matter with you."
"Not Liam?"
"It depends on your decision," James says honestly, "But as my heir, I believe you are Lord Greengrass' first choice. If you refuse the betrothal-"
"We wouldn't begrudge you if you did," Lily interjects, "And the choice is entirely up to you."
"-Then we will raise the matter with your brother."
And regardless of his own happiness, Liam would do it. Not because Daphne Greengrass is beautiful and intelligent or such things, or because Astoria Greengrass is sure to be as much of a catch as her sister in a few years, but because Liam's hero complex is unmistakeable. He'd do anything to ensure the world sees less victims of Voldemort, of the Death Eaters, of the traditionalist extremism that has caused so much unspoken and unacknowledged harm to countless witches - to the mothers and daughters and sisters and wives - of Britain's magical community.
Harry doesn't groan, but it's a very, very near thing. He's not sure if it's resignation, or defeat or displeasure, or a combination of all of the above, but either way, he already knows he's going to say yes. Not because he's particularly interested in marrying Daphne or Astoria, or because he's remotely amenable to the concept of being bound to a betrothal contract, but because if the alternative means that Liam will take his place, refusing isn't an option.
There isn't a lot he wouldn't do for his brother, but still…
"I want to think about it," Harry declares. He wants time to consider what he'd want out of a betrothal contract - escape clauses for both parties, at the very least - and he can't do that with his parents both watching him, awaiting an answer.
"Of course," James acquiesces, "But please, Harry, don't take too long. It's a rather tenuous situation."
"I won't," Harry replies on an exhale. He gets up to leave, approaches the door, and hesitates. "Thank you. For asking me."
"We wouldn't arrange something like this without your consent, Harry," Lily says, "But for what it's worth, you're welcome."
With a feeble smile, Harry leaves the study, makes a brief detour to his bedroom to change clothes, and then makes his way to the climbing room. It's a marvel of Enchanting, designed to sense the climber's skill and adjust the climbing holds accordingly, to slow the climber's descent when they drop from the walls, to catch them on cushioned ground. It requires no harnesses, no ropes, it maps out climbing routes with colour-changing holds as part of it's training features, and it was crafted by both of his parents when Harry and Liam were toddlers.
It's also one of Harry's preferred methods of working through his issues, second only to flying. It gets him out of his head long enough to separate himself from a situation, gives him a (more immediate) challenge to focus on, distracts him long enough to exhaust his anger through an outlet that is both productive and non-violent.
On this particular occasion, he climbs for hours, but despite his best efforts, he can't shake the thoughts of his discussion with his parents for the life of him. Instead, they run through his mind on a constant loop, the mental image of a cold, loveless future with a wife he barely knows pervasive and omnipresent, and his anger simmers beneath his skin. He continues climbing anyway, and no one stops him.
-!- -#-
Harry doesn't sleep that night. He sets up camp in the Wizarding Law section of the library instead, where he jots down notes of what clauses he would and wouldn't want in a betrothal contract, familiarises himself with contract and marriage law for Magical Britain, and reviews his understanding of the House of Potter's family charter. Specifically, the part of the charter concerning marriages and formal alliances.
It's dry, tedious reading, and Magical Britain's legal rights for female spouses are woefully, outrageously lacking, but Harry pursues his research with a restless, frenetic sort of energy he can't shake for the life of him.
In fact, it isn't until Liam drops gracelessly into the seat beside him that Harry is diverted, and even then, it's only because his brother's face is pale, his shirt soaked in sweat, his hands trembling where he fidgets with his fingers on the tabletop.
A bad night, Harry surmises, and he tries not to worry.
"You weren't in your room," Liam says. He makes an attempt at sounding accusatory, but he mostly sounds terrified. His eyes look huge in his face, pupils blown with fright, and Harry's guilt is poignant. He's never not been there when his brother needs him.
"Sorry," Harry replies, "I couldn't sleep."
"You stole my line," Liam jests feebly. He casts his gaze over Harry's research materials, and frowns. "What's all this, then?"
"It's what Mum and Dad wanted to talk to me about," Harry explains, "Lord Greengrass is in a bind, it seems."
"But this?" Liam gestures at the books spread across the table, "A contract? That's not fair."
"No," Harry agrees, "But I suppose that's life, isn't it?"
Liam grunts his acknowledgement. He's not mollified in the slightest. "You can't honestly say you want this?"
"Of course not," Harry huffs, "But the alternatives are worse."
"Like what?" Liam asks, dubious.
"Does it matter?"
"Well, yes," Liam replies. He seems energised with something other than his own nightmares to focus on, but Harry's not sure he has it in himself to discuss with his brother the reasons why he hasn't refused their parents' request outright. As is, the research has already left him drained, "Mum wouldn't just go along with something like this. There has to be a reason why she hasn't already told Lord and Lady Greengrass to take their contract and shove it."
Resigned, Harry begrudgingly explains Lord Greengrass' issue, and Liam listens intently. He's appropriately outraged by the situation, of course, and like Harry, he's angry with the traditionalists, with Lord Greengrass, with their parents.
"Why you, though?" Liam wonders.
"I think Lord Greengrass would be rightly chuffed if one of his daughters becomes Lady Potter one day," Harry says sardonically.
Liam scoffs, unimpressed but also unsurprised. "Typical. Pureblood politics at it's finest."
Harry nods his agreement, and doesn't mention that Liam would have been approached if Harry had refused. Liam would take it into his head to spare Harry the misery of a betrothal contract and subsequent arranged marriage, they'd argue about Liam's hero complex and Harry's overprotective tendencies, it would create more drama than either of them wants or needs, and they'd both be distracted from other - more important - things.
"Let's see this list, then," Liam sighs, "No doubt, you've missed something obvious in your over-analysing."
Harry pulls a face, but nonetheless, he offers Liam the list in question, and returns to the family charter while his brother reviews it. Liam mumbles to himself as he does so, adds brief notes in the margins with the fountain pen he nicks from Harry, flicks through the available resources in search of legal specifics and contract precedents.
They stay like that for hours, researching, contributing to the list, debating certain points, tactfully avoiding the possible - and embarrassing to talk about - reasons behind others. It's dawn by the time they're both satisfied with it, and Harry rewrites it, sans the revisions and notes in the margins.
"Here you are," James props his hands on the back of their chairs, studies the spread in front of them, and observes mildly, "I see you two have been busy. Did you get any sleep at all?"
"No."
Liam shrugs. "A little bit. Might skip the run this morning though."
Harry grunts his agreement, but doesn't look up from his writing.
"You've come to a decision, then?"
"I have conditions,"
"I'd be surprised if you didn't. Shall we discuss them after breakfast?"
"Don't you need to head to the workshop this morning?" Liam queries.
"This is more important," James answers, "Besides, I'm my own boss. I work when I want to."
"Must be nice," Liam mumbles.
"Indeed," James replies dryly.
Harry finishes writing out the last of his conditions in question, dries the ink with an absent-minded tap of his wand on parchment, and rolls it up with a weary sigh. He ties it shut with a length of twine, hands it over to his patiently watching father, and then proceeds with tidying up his work area. Liam half-heartedly assists, but before long, the books and scrolls have been returned to their shelves, the rubbish banished to the nearest bin, and his stationery returned to his warded alcove.
"Do you think you'll be able to grab some sleep before breakfast?" James asks them. The scroll has disappeared to locations unknown, but Harry doesn't bother wondering about it.
"No," he replies. Beside him, Liam simultaneously shakes his head. "I thought I might get some more climbing in."
"Not a chance," James counters, "You pushed yourself too hard yesterday."
Harry opens his mouth to argue, but his father's glare silences him. Apparently, protesting isn't an option this morning.
Harry pulls an unhappy face, but he doesn't want his father in a bad mood for their post-breakfast discussion, and so he doesn't complain.
"Perhaps some Tai Chi or Yoga?" James suggests.
Tai Chi and Yoga were introduced to James in the months after Voldemort's fall in 1981. It had been encouraged as a means of obtaining some clarity of mind during the throws of his grief; forms of moving meditation that suited him far better than the meditation techniques he'd been introduced to as a child.
Over a decade later, and practising both is a habit he maintains for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is because it helps with Occluamency. Because Sifu Qiang is a vocal proponent of both arts, however, Liam and Harry are often 'strongly encouraged' to partake, as well. They rarely do so with any degree of enthusiasm.
Liam pulls a face, Harry's tempted to do the same, but he can't deny the stretches would probably do him some good. His muscles are already protesting the treatment from the evening prior.
As Liam bows out with the excuse that he might attempt sleep after all, Harry sighs, and resigns himself to his fate. "Lead the way."
-!- -#-
Author's Note: Despite my intentions, I haven't done any writing since early December, but I feel bad about the delay. Hence, an update. Here's hoping reviews will feed the muse… Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.
