November 1997.
The meal was fabulous, as usually was the case when Harry visited Andromeda and Teddy, his godson. It wasn't like at Weasleys, where Molly preferred to stick to simple but delicious dishes, nor like in Hogwarts, where elves made wonderful, but too English food.
It was good kind of different though, because Andromeda was a classy woman, a true Black and therefore her meals were classy too. To be truthful, Harry had no idea what he had eaten half of the time, but he savored them nonetheless because they were truly among the best dishes Harry ever had.
Harry, once he got over the resemblance between Andromeda and her vile sister, Bellatrix, got fairly well with the older woman and their meals were usually filled with laughter and joy, mostly centered around the youngest member of the household.
On the one hand, Teddy was the cutest baby Harry has ever seen; always happy, with the same innocent expression on his ever-shifting face because he got the same unique talent his mother had. He was the endless source of entertainment and Harry and Andromeda happily bonded over their love for him.
On the other hand, he was an ever-present reminder of those who were no longer among them. Of a fierce young auror who always did what was right instead of what was easy and of the bravest werewolf that ever lived who faced darkness for the very same people that avoided him and mocked him his whole life because of a single curse he had. Teddy was a reminder of a gentle and kind muggleborn who stole Andromeda's heart after whom he was named.
But, for Theodore Teddy Lupin, the two of them tried to ignore the pain his presence caused them and tried their best to give the kid all their attention and love they could. It hasn't always been easy though. When, in the first weeks of the peace, Harry escaped from the world and fought his own demons, and Andromeda was in a catatonic state due to loss of her whole family, the little boy was forgotten, but they both made it through it and were on their path to recovery.
Today, however, none of that mattered. Harry found the situation to be extremely entertaining, but it seemed like Andromeda didn't share his amusement so he continued to eat in silence, stealing glances toward their two guests.
Draco was openly gaping, not even trying to hide his fascination with the newly discovered aunt, and every half a minute or so his mouth made this strange motion, like fish do, in order to either ask or exclaim something, but no word was ever spoken.
Harry barely managed to hide his smirk as his cousin just did the same motion again, never noticing that his spoon missed the plate third time in a row.
Narcissa, on the other hand, looked torn. Whether she wanted to scold Draco for his rudeness, try to escape, or begin some kind of small talk, Harry didn't know, but he did know she did everything in her power to avoid her sister's eyes that hadn't stopped glaring at her for quite some time.
Once Harry got enough of it, he loudly cleared his throat, fully intent on making them family once again.
"You know, back at the end of the fourth year Dumbledore made this speech. I don't remember it much, but he said that we are strong as we are united and weak as we are divided," he spoke quietly, shifting his gaze over everyone present, excluding Teddy.
Andromeda's eyes softened then, and she gently squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Harry."
"You're quite right," Narissa added. "Why, I remember our grandfather saying the similar..."
"OUR GRANDFATHER!?" Andromeda finally lost it, and started shouting at her younger sister, whose eyes widened in shock. Draco and Harry exchanged a look, shrugged, and continued to watch what was the beginning of the shouting match.
It took them a whole hour to say everything they wanted, to vent it all out, and once they were done Harry watched them with a fond smile. They embraced each other, both with tears in their eyes, and apologizing to each other.
To this point, Harry had no idea what for they were apologizing, but he didn't care either for his goal for the evening was fulfilled. Two newly reconciled sisters now traded stories over the cup of the tea while Draco played with his little nephew, not a trace of disgust on his face because of the Teddy's origins.
Harry sipped his coffee, laced with a minimal dose of fire-whiskey, and had a hopeful thought. Maybe it wasn't all that bad. Maybe there is still a chance for everything to work out. Maybe...
(...)
Or maybe not, Harry bitterly thought, as he watched Kingsley ranting about the issues ministry had. Harry had no idea why he was here, but he didn't find the strength to refuse the invitation he got. It was who he was, he guessed, and so here he was.
"What about the money we collected on trials?" Diggory asked, bags under his eyes even bigger than last time Harry saw him.
"It is not enough. Departments are a disaster, with no new employees and dozens still missing," Kingsley sighed, glancing at Harry.
"No," he said even before they could ask.
"Didn't you say you want to become an Auror?" Kingsley tried nonetheless. "We could even promote you in a couple of years..."
"Based on what?" Harry bit back. "I had a streak of luck, good friends by my side, and prophecy hanging over my head. I wouldn't be any good as an Auror."
"Why do you think so?"
"I have problems with authority," Harry simply said, standing up. He was done with other people forcing him into situations he doesn't want to be part of. He was done with the ministry, and everything they represented.
"I'm going home to enjoy my well-earned rest and please don't interrupt me without good reason," he added, but Kingsley's face became ugly, his calm demeanor shifting in a second.
"You don't want to make enemies out of us," he quietly warned. "Help us do some good, and we'll do some good to you in return. It's simple as that."
"Good?" Harry asked in disbelief, not noticing his fingers found their way towards his wand. A few sparkles escaped its tip, and both Diggory and Kingsley looked a bit wary now. The cupboard in the back of the room shook slightly, and the lamp on the top of it fell down.
"You'll do me some good in return?" he asked again, his temper starting to act out. The temperature in the room dropped by a few degrees, the light itself retreated in the corners of the room, but Harry noticed none of it. His companions had their wands out by this point, but refused to raise them just yet.
A dark chuckle escaped him, and even Harry himself didn't recognize himself in that moment. All of that studying with the portraits of Blacks changed something in him, he realized, and all he could think about was the words they all repeated to him. Blacks have no fears, Blacks don't bow, Blacks don't compromise.
"You'll become my enemies?" he wasn't done yet. The rush of power gave him the strength to continue. Was this the addiction Dumbledore spoke about? Was this the making of Dark magic Blacks liked so much? If it is, it isn't half bad as he expected. It was clear to him in that moment that he was one in charge here, and that his words would be the last.
"So be it," he whispered. "I didn't bow to Lord Voldemort himself. What makes you think I'll bow to you?" He ignored their shudders when he said the name, waited for a few moments to see if they were about to respond, and once he was satisfied he turned around and left the office.
He never noticed his black cloak menacingly floating behind him as he made his way towards the apparition point. He never noticed heavy, oppressing aura around him that made everyone to stay away from his path. He never noticed awed looks by younger ministry employees that remembered him from Hogwarts and barely recognized confident, powerful man that walked through the ministry like he owed it.
It became his tradition, it seemed, to finish up in the Leaky Cauldron every time he had to go in the ministry. Gentle embrace of alcohol was always soothing, and it drove away all kinds of thoughts Harry preferred not to have.
It was pathetic, he knew, but he simply had no other ideas. Tom's pitying looks were even worse, and Harry had no strength to look the older man in the eyes when he brought him yet another drink.
(...)
He was tipsy when he apparated home, and Kreacher immediately brought him sobering potion.
"Master has guests. Master should collect himself and present the Noble house of Black accordingly," elf criticized him, running in circles around him.
"Guests?" Harry stupidly asked.
"Slytherins. Purebloods. Worthy guests," Kreacher answered, pushing yet another potion in Harry's hands. He vaguely remembered Draco's mentioning such an ordeal and sighed deeply, mentally preparing himself for dealing with people.
All the talk stopped when he entered the dining room, leaving them in the awkward silence. Harry took his time to study his guests. Parkinson looked everywhere but at him while Nott seemingly inspected his nails. Only Draco looked at him, somewhat defiantly, as if daring him to say something about his friends.
Harry, being honest to himself, had nothing against them for he never really knew them. Cursing himself for accepting Draco's offer, he sighed once again, and took his place at the table while casually waving his wand in complicated patterns.
"Might as well get a drink if we're going to sit in silence whole evening," he muttered as a bottle of fire-whiskey found its way from the cabinet and started pouring its liquid into four glasses. "Nott. Parkinson."
"Potter," they returned the greeting simultaneously as he already started sipping his drink.
"What have you been up to these days," he asked, making an eye-contact with Nott. He ignored the same weedy look he shared with his father whom Harry imprisoned not that long ago. Other boy studied him for a second, same blank look on his face he wore in Hogwarts, before replying.
"Same as Draco, I guess," he shortly said. Harry just raised his eyebrow, and he continued.
"No more Notts around, is there? It's upon me to clear the name and make something out of it." Harry nodded again knowing that for people like them their family name meant a lot, and he agreed with it to some extent.
"What about you?" he asked, and Harry took his time before he answered, took another sip, and decided to speak about the idea that bothered him for quite some time.
"Not much, to be honest, with all the money I've inherited," he started, ignoring Draco's scoff. "Been thinking about some kind of foundation lately, though."
It was clear that he surprised all of them, as his words left them in complete silence. Harry had no idea why they looked so disbelieving and confused, but waited for them to reset the conversation.
"What kind of foundation?" Parkinson finally asked, still avoiding his eyes.
"Umm, something to help people who lost everything in the war, loans for people in Diagon whose businesses were destroyed, and opportunity for those who are, ah, marked as undesirable by the ministry. Dunno, it's just an idea."
"Potter," Draco started slowly, sounding like he was about to disclose a secret to a kid. "There are no organizations in our world."
"What do you mean? There's ministry, Quidditch, umm, ICW and dunno..." he tried, and Draco laughed. Even Parkinson giggled a bit, but Nott remained serious.
"ICW and the ministries, sure, but that's it," Nott started. Seeing Harry's confused look he sighed and continued. "Quidditch is business, and everything around it is handled by the ministry."
"I don't get it."
"You know how muggles have all these different organizations to deal with different problems? Like judicial system is separated from legislative one, and both of them from executive power which is again separated to ministries offices and so on."
"Yeah?"
"Well, here you have only the ministry. Sure, it's divided into departments and there is Wizengamot, but in reality, there is just one dominion that controls everything, and I'm sure you can guess who that is."
"Go on," Harry said once he got the grasp of what Nott was trying to say. He never really thought about it, but now that he did, he realized just how much Fudge was able to do back in the time.
"Economy, education, even career options, health care... It's all in the hands of the minister. There are enough loopholes in our laws that minister, if he wishes, can have a total authority."
"I don't think that's true," Harry argued. "Dumbledore had power over Hogwarts and he had all those important titles."
"Potter... Harry?" Parkinson inquired. "Have you ever heard someone saying no to you after the fall of the Dark Lord?"
"What in the Merlin name that has to do with anything?"
"Everything, Potter," Nott took the word again. "Muggles base their power on money, position, armies and stuff like that, but here is a tad differently.
"Different?" Harry asked, glancing at Draco.
"We have no armies and money can take you only so far."
"I still don't get it."
"We don't base power on other things, Potter, because we have power," he emphasized his last word, and Harry finally understood. He suddenly felt the burden of the ancient wand that was hidden in his sleeve. It was, to some extent, eye-opening.
"What does it have with me wanting to open the foundation?"
"It's a threat to ministry. If your foundation takes better care of people's needs they will eventually find out that they don't need the ministry," Nott explained.
"And wizards don't just give money to each other. I mean, we're a small community and everyone knows where the gold is and ministry prefers it that way. There are no new businesses because there are no loans. Even Gringotts needs ministry approval to lend money," Draco added. "There are some exceptions when someone stumbles over new discovery or something."
"That's why purebloods flocked to the Dark Lord in the first place," Parkinson added her two knits, and it surprised Harry. Wasn't it all about their blood?
"What do you mean, Parkinson?" he asked.
"Call me Pansy," she said with a small smile, finally meeting his eyes. "They wanted to show their power, the recognition for their skills, the new world order where no magic is frowned upon or restricted. They wanted freedom of choice."
"Oh?" Harry breathed out, once again remembering Rookwood's words. Was this what he meant when he said stagnation? Harry felt like he had no idea what war was about in the first place.
"Strange, huh?" Nott asked him with an ugly grimace. "How we weren't able to choose our side nor we knew what was it all about."
"But blood," Harry started, but was quickly interrupted by Draco.
"Means a lot to us, sure, but it was also a good propaganda. Highly educated people like Dolohov, Barty Crouch, and Rookwood would never buy in that shit."
"Too bad that so many people did," Nott muttered. "We did too. And they say the Dark Lord was different back then. Charismatic, determined, genius, that's how grandfather saw him. But the pressure of Dark magic got to him, or something, and he became obsessed torturer, cruel megalomaniac, and child-killer."
Or something, Harry was sure. The more Horcruxes Tom made, the less human he became, both emotionally and physically. He remembered his looks from the diary; young Tom was handsome, but he later became... It was possible that his personality wasn't as ugly back then too, Harry mused. What if he ripped the last pieces of his humanity with his atrocious acts? At that moment Harry realized a horrible truth, the truth of a tortured soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle. He realized that a young, ambitious man might have been on the right path, but his fear of death and egoism caused it to crumble along the way.
"I've been wondering," Draco broke Harry out of his stupor, his eyes slightly red because of the alcohol. "About that speech you made back in Hogwarts."
Parkinson and Nott stopped their own dialogue when they heard the question Harry realized, and felt their calculating gazes watching him over. He just wiggled his fingers, willing it to come in his hand; the effect was immediate. Wand rushed to obey his master, happily sending few sparks away.
"About the wand?" Harry asked, his eyes still glued to the wand he used only at home.
"Yeah."
"Our wands were brothers. Twins even. We couldn't harm each other using them so he decided that he needed a new wand, a better one. Luckily, he wasn't that into wand lore," he said half-truth. He often did so these days, but the complete truth was out of options so he stuck to his lies. "Let's not talk about it, okay?"
"Sure, mate," Draco easily replied, shifting back in his chair and turning his attention back to his friends who were chatting as if nothing has happened. It seemed to Harry that Slytherins were considerate like that, strangely so.
Once they finished the second bottle, all of them visibly under its influence, Pansy stood up.
"Let's go dance somewhere," she slurred, her face hopefully. Harry exchanged the look with other boys, obviously not up to it, but it seemed that Pansy needed it.
"Among muggles?" Theodore asked, his lip slightly curling in distaste.
"Their inns always work," Pansy shrugged it away. "Their music is much more danceable."
"Do you have any place at mind?" Draco gave in with a slight sigh.
"Where we were the last time," she said, and, much to Harry's surprise, the other two nodded, already standing up. "I'll Side-Along you, okay?"
Harry managed just to nod, when she already started dragging him towards the exit. Only a couple of minutes later, after appearing in the dark street, crossing another, and confounding a security guy, they found themselves in a big, loud room. Harry couldn't see nor hear anything, due to huge amounts of smoke and ear-piercing music. Afraid that he might lost his companions, he held Pansy's hand as if his life depended on it.
Finally, she managed to drag him in the middle of what seemed to be a dancing podium which was packed with dozens of people moving in strange, but oddly fitting patterns. Harry stood stupidly there, looking around himself in disbelief, and trying to locate Theodore and Draco, but without any success. Drink somehow appeared in his hand, and Pansy leaned closer to him, their faces barely inch away. Her breath was cold, he noticed off-handedly, and recognized the mint.
"Dance with me, Potter," she breathed out, pulling him closer.
They danced.
(...)
Harry awoke with a groan; his head ached like never before. Then, a moment later the smell of the room attacked him. The sharp scent of fire-whiskey mixed with spilled beer and vomit. However, he could smell a nicer one too; just a hint of strawberry entered his nose and he smiled, not entirely sure why.
He slowly opened his eyes, finally noticing the extra weight on him, but was unable to inspect its source because light hit him too hard, worsening his already bad headache.
"Merlin," he muttered, trying to do something, but his slow, hangover mind couldn't comply with anything. He breathed heavily, preparing for another try to open his face when the memories started to come back; the blurry mix of loud music, sweat bodies, and atrocious amount of cheap and horrible beer.
After that, it wasn't that hard to guess who with he was cuddled, and it was confirmed as she squirmed a little, and came close to him. Strangely, he didn't feel anything negative about the whole ordeal; neither discuss nor repulsion. He reckoned they both needed it. He also knew that both of them knew that it wouldn't be enough and that the internal problems were just delayed rather than solved, but he would accept it any day.
"Kreacher," he whispered, his eyes finally adapting to the light. "Wake others, prepare us some breakfast and make it light, would you?"
"Yes, master," the old elf said. "Kreacher will see to it. Youngs sirs behaving unbecoming to their statures, oh if their ancestors see them, what would they say..."
Harry decided to sneak out of his bed without a word, and to hit the shower in hope that it would ease his headache, but knowing it was a fool's one. Once, he was presenting enough, he made his way towards the dining room; his guest already sitting around the table, their eyes bloody, and not in a hurry to meet his own.
They drank tea like that, in silence, for a few minutes. In some kind of unspoken agreement, no one of them tried to mention the last night. Narcissa was also there, her lips pursed in an obvious disapproval, but they were too hangover to care about an older woman. She will yell at Draco later, anyway.
So, foundation?" Nott finally started, his voice rough and quiet. A simple question attracted all of the attention in the room.
"What about it?" Harry asked, equally quiet."
"You don't hit me as a quitter," he chuckled, but it quickly turned into a coughing fit.
"Anapneo," Harry helped him, slightly smiling at the queasy face the taller boy sported once the spell cleared his throat. "Yeah, the ministry won't stop me, but still, it's just an idea."
Narcissa still pretended not to listen to them, as the three former Slytherins exchanged looks. Harry didn't recognize their expressions, as they seemed to have a silent conversation.
"I think it's a lovely idea," Pansy finally said, a small smile gracing her pretty lips. It was hard to imagine that this was the same cruel and petty girl he shared a class with just a few years ago.
"Worth a shot," Nott added, nodding.
"I can draft a financial plan. A tentative one, just to see how much you have at your disposal," Draco suggested. Harry looked at them once again, manipulative Slytherins, and pretended that he didn't see a thin smile on Narcissa's face. They are just looking for the chance, Harry finally decided, and he would be happy to give them one.
"Do it."
Note: It took me a lot of time to finish this chapter, to be honest, and even now, I'm not happy with it so sorry about that. It's just that I'm trying to express some of my own frustration through this story so if some political or magical stuff doesn't make sense to you, well, deal with it. Also, I spent a lot of time thinking about what places will Harry visit later and what will do there and so on and on and on. So long, I'm pretty sure about other magical schools and the places I mentioned in the 1st chapter. That's all from me. Bye.