Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own Harry Potter. Author's note at the end to talk about edits to this chapter.
OoOoO
Rule number twelve: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never.
Draco supposed that holidaying at Hogwarts could have been worse. The decorations were pretty, almost charming, and the professors that stayed behind, all the Heads of Houses except Flitwick, he'd asked Claire Jameson to cover for him, seemed to be firmly in the holiday spirit. They gently enforced the curfew, rather than snapping about it, and when the students got a little too spirited, they only took off a point or two, just to remind the students that Hogwarts rules remained, even on the holidays. They were even nice to Draco, or rather, their smiles didn't fade as much when they looked in his direction. They didn't really interact with him, and Draco helped keep the peace by maintaining his distance. It was easy enough to hangout in the Slytherin Common Room, as he had it all to himself, and he only ventured to the upper floors when it was required of him, such as meals, which they all took together in the Great Hall.
There was only a handful of students remaining over the holiday, a pair of Ravenclaw sisters, a quartet of Hufflepuffs, and a trio of Gryffindors. The Hufflepuffs were the safest to sit with, their families were middle-class enough not to have a pull in politics. The Ravenclaw sisters were clearly intimidated by him, and the Gryffindors showed their typical distaste in turned-up noses and obvious silences. That was fine with Draco. He only had to tolerate them over meals. There were other activities he could have engaged in. The professors were hosting various holiday-themed undertakings. Sprout was overseeing a tobogganing excision. Snape was supervising a Christmas baking competition in the kitchens. Jameson was holding a night of Christmas carols in the drama room, and McGonagall was taking the students on Hogsmeade outing. Draco declined each one. He had more pressing matters to attend to. Now that the castle had been nearly emptied, it was the perfect time to do some sleuthing. There was a horcrux on the premises; Draco wanted to find it.
He started with research. It was easy enough to sneak into the library and scour the shelves for anything to do with hocruxes, the creation of similar dark objects, and the school years of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Because there were no other Slytherins about, and because Snape was leaving him alone, he set up several research stations across the common room. Horcruxes by the window seats, dark objects by the fireplace, and Tom's history by the bookshelves. When one topic bored him, he simply shifted to the next. He also retrieved several blueprints of Hogwarts' architecture, which he pinned to the window glass. If the horcrux was in the school, a methodical search might prove useful. All in all, it was a compelling research project, and the only thing that pulled him from his study were the required meals and detention with Hagrid.
He and the half-giant had settled into an easy sort of truce. Hagrid continued to be gentle in his interactions with Draco, making small talk or commenting on the process of caring for the grounds, and Draco responded with all the civility that Pureblood society expected of him. It was… not awful, and Draco found that the two-hour break each day, forced to venture outside and get some exercise, actually helped him. It gave his body a break from being curled up over books and maps. It gave his mind a break from swirling thoughts and racing deductions, and let his thoughts settle into something more constructive. And talking with Hagrid was sometimes the only conversation he had all day.
Perhaps that was why Draco bundled up on the Christmas Eve and headed down to Hagrid's hut. He didn't think he'd actually have detention, but he'd hit a wall with his research, and he could use a distraction. He found Hagrid just setting out for the woods, bundled up with a pack across his back.
Hagrid turned to him in some surprise. "'s Christmas Eve. Yeh don' have ter be here."
Draco shrugged and nodded at his pack. "What are you doing today?"
"Settin' ter check the woods an' make sure no big predators are roamin' about."
"I thought the wards kept the more dangerous animals out."
"They're pretty good, 'cept when Death Eaters bring 'em in." Hagrid paused, like he just remembered who he was talking to, and then hurriedly continued on. "But wards are tricky in the forest. Too many livin' things creates an energy that interferes with 'em. Makes 'em deteriorate faster."
Hagrid's explanation was such an oversimplification of the warding process that Draco's head panged. Hagrid continued before he could formulate a correction.
"If yer lookin' fer company, I could always do with 'nother set o' eyes." The half-giant gave him a smile, hefted his pack, and then set off without waiting for his response.
The way he said it made it sound like Draco was lonesome. Draco scoffed. Him? Lonely? But Hagrid's excursion could be a good chance to examine the wards around Hogwarts.
He hurried to catch up with the groundskeeper. "To say that 'life energy' interferes with wards is a gross understatement of the magical equations involved in warding. It isn't even close to accurate."
"Eh?"
Draco launched into a lecture about setting wards and the challenges with difficult terrain. Most wards couldn't be formed through a living object, exempli gratia, a tree, and therefore they needed a clear space to be set up. A forest as thick as the one around Hogwarts certainly made that a challenge. Warding also worked better on a smooth plane, that is a straight wall or a curve. The jagged, multiple planes of a ward in a forest meant it was easier for weak spots to emerge.
Hagrid was, to Draco's surprise, a good listener. It was obvious he didn't understand everything Draco talked about, specifically the issues with trigonometry, but he paid attention, even as his eyes swept through the forest looking for signs that Draco didn't know to look for.
"Yeh sure know a lot 'bout wards," he remarked finally.
"It's the only thing Stevick will teach us in Defense," Draco said, giving a weak excuse that he knew Hagrid wouldn't question.
Hagrid hummed thoughtfully. "I was never one fer book-learnin' myself. Always needed ter get my hands on somethin' to figure it out."
"It seems to serve you well in this environment."
"Well, that it does."
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothin' as impressive as trigometrics, or whatever it is yeh said, but 'ere, I'll show you."
Hagrid began pointing out signs of life in the woods – tracks of ground animals, like hares and squirrels, and the larger animals, foxes, deer, and the thestrals that were currently out roaming. They even came across tracks of the centaurs. Hagrid showed how they were grouped and spaced and deduced it to be a hunting party. Even when he knew what to look for, Draco had no success in spotting the tracks on his own. His mind was wired to find patterns in data he read in books, and to extrapolate from one theory to the next, but those skills didn't carry over into the physical world. He was a little peeved at that fact.
Hagrid stopped abruptly and knelt down by a tree, his eyes intent on something on the exposed roots. Draco's curiosity piqued. He leaned in as well.
"Look 'ere." Hagrid gestured to a black substance near the base of the tree. He reached out and his fingers came away covered in a thick liquid.
"Thestral blood," said Draco, surprise causing him to speak out loud.
Hagrid turned to him. "'ow'd yeh know that?"
"It appears to be black but when the light hits it, you can see that it's a dark red. Plus it has the consistency of tree sap."
"Tha's right,' said Hagrid. "Five points ter Slytherin."
The large man got to his feet with little effort. "Wolves attacked our herd."
Draco nodded. Hogwarts had the only tame thestrals that came straight from the wild, while the Malfoys and many other Pureblood families owned domesticated animals, ones that had been bred for pedigree and shown in races and auctions, much like Muggle horses. The domesticated animals were easier to keep in stables. The tame ones needed to wander free, although it was more dangerous for them.
"One of 'em clipped Midnight." Hagrid gazed off into the forest, his eyes picking out details Draco couldn't hope to recognize. "I stitched 'er up, but she musta torn 'em. Keep an eye out for more blood, or a depression in the snow, if you can't 'em."
Draco could see thestrals, but it wasn't a fact he shared with anyone at Hogwarts. Hagrid moved off again and Draco followed. The groundskeeper took them through the woods, following a broken twig here or a smushed bush there. He was clearly an expert tracker. Draco was impressed.
"There she is," Hagrid called, suddenly loping off towards the right. Draco followed at a slower pace, finally spotting the horse-like creature on the ground by a pile of fallen branches. Hagrid knelt by the thestral, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he looked for the injury. He must have found it because the thestral shrieked, trying to rise off of its side and get away. Draco sprinted forward and dropped to his knees in front of the animal. He caught its face between his hands, knowing where to hold to avoid the snapping teeth.
"Whoa," he said, pushing the thestral's head down. "Hold, Midnight. Hold."
The thestral relaxed, but Draco knew it had more to do with Hagrid's presence than his own.
"Tore 'er stitches alright," Hagrid said, and then cursed. "Bleedin' pretty bad." He grabbed his pack and rummaged through it. "Where's the bloody – ah, got it." He pulled out a bottle of blue liquid that Draco recognized as an disinfectant. Hagrid unstoppered the bottle and doused a cloth with it. As soon as he pressed it to the wound, the animal bucked up. It was clearly not one of the tamer animals. It snapped at Draco's fingers and kicked out with its legs. One hoof hit Hagrid in the shoulder, hard enough to rock the half-giant back.
"Hold 'er!" Hagrid yelled, as the thestral let out an ear-piercing whinny and jerked again, tearing its head from Draco's grasp and nearly getting to its feet with the aid of its wings.
Hagrid draped himself over the thestral's body and Draco grabbed the head once more, forcing it into the floor.
"I need ter start stitchin', so hold tight," Hagrid ground out.
Draco had not been riding thestrals since he was a boy for nothing. He pinned the thestral's head to the ground with his knees and pulled out his wand. It was a simple matter to cast a slicing hex on his right palm. He pressed the bleeding cut to the thestral's mouth, just as she was beginning to struggle again. He let her lick the wound a few times, and then pulled away as the thestral's eyes went dark and glassy. Thestrals were attracted to blood, and fresh blood, straight from a vein, had a sedative-like quality to them. That was why they were once considered to be the mounts of vampires.
He looked over to watch Hagrid expertly stitch the wound. He clearly had a way with animals. Draco wasn't jealous, not exactly. He didn't like having to care for things, even his plants in Herbology suffered from his neglect, although it was easy to pull his grades up with the written portions of tests. But to see someone whose care was natural, instinctual, made him feel somehow… lacking. He wasn't used to feeling that way. It was hard to think of someone having an innate skill that he didn't; it was hard to think that someone could be better than him without even trying.
Midnight stirred a few more times, so Draco let the thestral lick his wound anytime she started getting restless. Hagrid finished the stitches, wiped the wound down with another swipe of the disinfectant, and then sat back. He looked over at Draco, and caught sight of his bleeding hand.
"Didn' know yeh knew 'ow ter take care of thestrals." Hagrid began packing his supplies away. "Din' know yeh could see 'em neither."
"We have some at the Manor," Draco said, deliberately avoiding the question in Hagrid's voice. "I like to go riding in the summer." He carefully let go of Midnight's head. The thestral didn't move. She seemed content to lie in the snow while she recuperated. He moved back and grabbed up a handful of snow to clean the cut on his palm. It stung a little, but would heal quickly.
"'Ere, sit down," Hagrid said, taking a seat on a fallen tree and patting the trunk beside him. "Lemme fix yer hand."
"I'm fine," Draco said shortly. There was no way he was going to let Hagrid care for his hand.
As soon as the refusal crossed his mind, he recognized the illogical nature of it. He'd just seen Hagrid care for Midnight, just seen him expertly stitch a wound, so why had he refused?
"I'm not gonna bite," said Hagrid. "Come 'ere."
Draco remembered what he had told Bill, about giving Hagrid a chance. He remembered the way Hagrid had treated him when detention had started, kindly and patiently, and when Draco had tried to push him away with cutting words and cruel inferences, Hagrid had remained calm. He'd even apologized to him. So if he knew that Hagrid was capable of medical care, and if he knew that Hagrid wasn't going to be cruel, was his refusal only born of prejudice? He was surprised to find that yes, there was prejudice there. Hagrid was a half-giant, and he assumed the caretaker would be clumsy and incapable, even when he'd just seen evidence to the contrary. The realization disturbed him. Why would he hold onto beliefs that weren't based in logic?
Draco took a seat beside Hagrid and let him examine his hand. He couldn't help but tense a little, and that wasn't from prejudice. That was because Hagrid was loyal to Dumbledore and it felt threatening to receive care from an enemy.
Hagrid dabbed a little disinfectant on the wound. He was gentle, but the potion stung. Draco hissed.
"Sorry," Hagrid said. "Know it stings. So how long 'ave yeh been able to see 'em?"
Draco flashed back to a handsome face with pale skin crowned by white-blond hair. He and his half-brother were nearly indistinguishable in their baby portraits. The only difference was Lukas had bright blue eyes. He remembered a flash of green, the sound of screaming, and those eyes staring up at the ceiling, lifeless. He remembered a funeral, small, private, final.
"When me dad died," Hagrid said abruptly. Draco looked up to see the large man stare off for a moment. There was pain in his brown eyes. "Tha's when I could see 'em."
There was something about Hagrid's pain, and the way he shared it, openly and fearlessly, that made Draco speak without fully deciding to do so.
"I was seven. I had a brother, half-brother, illegitimate of course. He was older than me by twelve years, the result of a teenage fling of Lucius. He visited one day. He told the family he was getting married to a Muggle woman." He stopped short as his brain finally realized what he was doing and he let out a string of French expletives. "I don't know why I'm telling you this. Look, I'm fine, let me go." He tried to pull his hand away.
"Jus' wait 'nother few moments, and I'll have yeh all set," said Hagrid. "An' you don' have to talk about it."
He caught Draco's eyes and Draco looked away quickly. There was too much compassion in his gaze. It made his throat close up. There was silence for a few moments.
"Are you going to take Midnight back?" Draco asked, just for something to say.
"Nah," said Hagrid. "She'll heal better on 'er own. She jus' needed some lookin' after," He tied the last knot on the bandage wrapped around Draco's palm. "Let's get movin'. We got a long way ter go."
Draco was happy to get back on the move, ready to leave the painful questions behind him. He was happy that Hagrid didn't try to pry, at least not until they broke out of the tree line.
"Was 'e a good brother?" Hagrid asked. There was kindness in his voice, the sort of kindness that Bill had, and, although Draco wouldn't admit it, he missed the red-haired professor.
"Yeah," said Draco. "He laughed a lot, liked to play games." He pictured those games now and suddenly felt compelled to finish the story he'd never told anyone. "He came in one day and said that he was going to marry a Muggle girl. He was so happy. He was smiling. He was still smiling when the Kedavra hit, he never even saw it coming. But it was so bright, so green, and then…," Screaming. That's what Draco remembered next. His own screaming.
He pulled in a breath and it sounded ragged, choked. Hagrid stopped and turned to him, expression stricken, and all the grief that Draco felt welling up came crashing back down in self-recrimination. What the hell was he doing, giving away all his secrets? And to whom? And worst of all, what would his father think?
Self-recrimination turned to rage.
Draco all but snarled at Hagrid. "This goes no further than this forest. Even if you did feel like telling, no one would believe you over me, you understand?"
"I won' tell," said Hagrid evenly.
"Good," Draco spat. "Now I'm heading inside before I catch my death of cold and my father has you fired for endangering a student."
He whirled around and ran for the castle, trying to flee the memories and his own lapse in judgment. But he didn't want to go inside. He didn't want to see anyone. And certainly no one could see him like this, gasping for each breath of air, his heart beating so fast it felt like it would burst out of his chest. He detoured for the lake and the dead tree that stood on a lonely section of shore. He collapsed behind it, curling up and clutching at his collar, trying to pull it away from his neck like it would help him breathe easier. His eyes felt hot; something like a sob rasped out of his throat, but it wasn't a sob because Draco didn't cry. Draco couldn't cry. Not since Narcissa had charmed him as a baby with an anti-crying spell. She hadn't told anyone about it, so no one had known to take it off. No one had known there was a problem until Lukas was murdered, right in front of him, and instead of crying, all Draco could do was scream.
He felt like screaming now. He felt like screaming because he was losing his grip on his image, because one gentle question had him spilling secrets no one should know. He felt like screaming because there was no one to talk to, no one safe to confide in, no one who cared without expectation. He felt like screaming because his brother had died so senselessly, so needlessly, and no one had loved him like Lukas had. And that was why Draco had never spoken of him. Not because it was taboo, but because it hurt so much. He had tried to force every memory of his brother away, and he'd done it, for nearly ten years he'd done it, so successfully that even though he had perfect recall, it was hard to remember his brother's face, hard to remember the sound of his voice.
Draco dragged in a gulp of air, then another, and another. He forced his body to relax. He forced his mind to refocus. He couldn't afford another slip-up like this one. He couldn't keep being thrown when someone showed him any hint of compassion. He needed his reputation back.
Rule number eleven: Never get blindsided by kindness. Never.
OoOoO
Christmas came with too much pageantry and too little time to himself. Although, because memories of Lukas were too close to the surface, perhaps Dumbledore's insistence that the staff and students spend the day together wasn't terrible. It allowed him some distraction. It forced him to play the role of the spoiled Slytherin prince.
The students and professors had a large Christmas breakfast together, and then opened their gifts underneath the large Christmas tree. Draco received a large basket of sweets – ostensibly from Narcissa, but he knew it was a standing order that Lucius had put in on her behalf – and a selection of books that he'd sent to himself. Appearances needed to be maintained, after all.
Dumbledore finally allowed the students to disperse in the afternoon. Draco spent those hours in his preferred method of celebration, cozied up beside the fire with a good book in hand. One of the new titles was Past Pleasure and Pain: The Psychological Potions. It was a detailed review about the most recent advances in the field of potions, and Draco had been looking forward to its release for several months. It was the third in a series by Hadrian Anwir, which Draco knew to be the secret penname of one Severus Snape. Draco had stumbled upon that tidbit when he'd glimpsed the original manuscript on Snape's desk. He had to put the book down to make an appearance at dinner, but escaped as soon as possible to delve back in. Snape really was a talented writer.
He finished the book late in the evening. He snuck to the kitchens for a mug of hot chocolate while he re-read some of the more interesting passages. It was funny, he reflected, how easily Snape could undermine the Dark Lord. In the book, "Anwir" made breakthroughs on the very torture potions Snape created for the Dark Lord. While Voldemort tried time and time again to stop the man who was ruining his work, he never once suspected the man who was creating the torture potions in the first place. And the breakthrough on the Delirium Draught was pure genius, and would no doubt have a ripple effect across the field.
He was returning to the dorm when the sound of footsteps echoed up from the lower corridors. It was past curfew, and no one should be wandering the halls, so Draco immediately ducked out of sight and threw up a camouflage charm. Then, slowly and cautiously, he followed the footsteps further into the dungeon passageways. It didn't escape his notice that the footsteps were traveling in the same pattern that he had traveled in his rudimentary search for the horcrux, or that the footsteps paused at the same locked doors he had stopped at. Hogwarts was notorious for its barred doorways. A castle as old as Hogwarts, and with as much magic as Hogwarts, attracted, and sometimes created, many dark creatures. It was difficult to fully expel such entities. It was easier, and more cost efficient, to trap them in a room or closet and ignore the problem. If left long enough, say a century or two, the creatures would waste away on their own. It was these dark creatures, locked away by protective wards, that had prevented Draco from searching the rooms. It meant he could only guess at the contents.
He layered a silencing spell over the camouflage charm and crept closer. The shadowy figure did not come into clearer focus as he approached. He immediately recognized the effect as a masking potion, which helped the user blend into deep shadows. Such potions were useless in bright lighting, because the shadows clinging to the user were obvious, but they did make the person unidentifiable. Whoever was searching the castle was protecting his or her identity over hiding their presence.
Draco frowned. The masking potion suggested a level of espionage more serious than he had first considered. And masking potions were difficult to make. Snape must have brewed it, but for whom? Did he even know?
The figure paused at a doorway that Draco knew was once the Potions Classroom. But fifty years or so ago, a dark wraith had taken up residency. The classroom had been sealed off and the new Potions room was built.
He watched the figure pull out its wand. He watched the start of a curse-breaking charm and immediately knew it wasn't going to work. Even worse, it was going set of the alarm.
Draco turned and ran. He was halfway to the Slytherin dorms when the bells started ringing. He managed to dive into the Slytherin common rooms and slam the door before any professors caught him. He couldn't hear the alarm from the dormitory. It wasn't meant to alarm the students, just the professors. He pulled in a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. Who would be sneaking around at night? Not Snape, certainly. He wouldn't be that dumb to set off the alarm. It would have to be someone newer to the castle, not as familiar with the warding system. And it wouldn't be a student. Of the students left in the castle, he was the one with the closest ties to the Death Eaters. It would have to be a professor, but it wasn't Dumbledore, McGonagall or Sprout. And Flitwick was gone, so it had to be –
Claire Jameson.
She was the only person left. It had to be her. That meant she was working for the Dark Lord, and she was looking for the horcrux.
That gave Draco good information though. She was specifically trying to get into the old Potions Classroom. Draco grabbed the Hogwarts yearbooks and flipped through them. A quick survey of the photographs showed that the old Potions room had been used during Tom Riddle's schooldays. And even more than that, Tom Riddle was pictured as Head of the Brewer's Club in 1944 and 1945. He was photographed twice in that the room, with the other club members gathered around him, grinning widely. Tom didn't grin. He stared out of the photograph with an accusatory gaze, like he knew what Draco was doing.
But Draco didn't know what he was doing. Yes, he was solving the mystery of the horcrux, but that was just because he liked solving puzzles. What he did afterwards… well, he hadn't decided that.
But the pieces were falling into place. Claire Jameson was most likely a Death Eater and was trying to retrieve the Dark Lord's horcrux. She was trying to break into places that Riddle would have frequented as a student. That meant the horcrux was personal.
Draco flipped through the rest of Riddle's yearbooks. There must be a clue in here somewhere. An aware he had won, or –
An award. The trophy Riddle had received for Services to the School. Draco knew of the award from Hogwarts legend, but as he poured through the yearbooks, he couldn't find any mention of it. He knew it had to do with the Chamber of Secrets. He knew that a basilisk had been involved – both in Riddle's time and in Draco's second year – but the details were vague in both incidences. It was most infuriating, but even without additional details, Draco was sure that the horcrux was hidden in his old trophy. And if the trophy wasn't in the school's trophy room, it made sense that Claire was looking for it elsewhere.
Draco felt a surge of satisfaction. He'd solved the mystery.
He didn't really care to figure out what his next step should be, that was secondary to his success. He went to bed feeling rather smug.
oOoOo
Percy arrived on Christmas Eve with his arms full of books and binders and a bag full of presents slung over his shoulder. From the look of the wrapping, expensive paper and expertly tied bows, he'd gotten them wrapped at the stores, an extra expense that no one in the Weasley family had ever bothered with before. Bill was relieved when Molly greeted him just as warmly as the rest of her children, and even Arthur pulled him into an embrace. Percy ducked out of the hugs as soon as he could, which was in character for him. He bore his siblings' hugs with greater patience, although he used it as an opportunity to ask Ron and Ginny about their grades and interrogate Fred and George about their business. It was a strange combination of their parents, the fussing came from Molly but the serious questions came from Arthur. Oddly enough, Ginny and Ron seemed happy to answer his questions about school, and even Fred and George seemed to bear the check-up with good-natured humor.
"What's all this?" Molly demanded, gesturing to the stack of books in Percy's hands. "You didn't bring work home with you, did you?"
"It's just a few projects to sort through."
"Percy!"
"It's hardly real work, Mum. More like light-reading."
"They aren't expecting you to work over the holidays, are they?" Arthur demanded.
"No, I volunteered."
Fred and George snorted. "There's a surprise."
Charlie stepped in and began ushering Percy towards the dining room. "We got you something, Perce."
"What?"
Percy was herded to the table and Bill saw him balk at the large gift sitting there. Charlie quickly grabbed the books and bag from his hands so he could open it.
"What's it for?" Percy asked, eyeing everyone in suspicion.
Bill spoke up. "We didn't know about your promotion."
Percy paused, just for a second. His eyes flicked from Bill's face, over to their parents, and then back again. He gave a smile. "Well, you've all been busy."
His tone was light, and the excuse came easily, but Bill could see something shutter in his gaze. He had realized that his parents hadn't shared the news. He understood what that meant. They disapproved.
Percy pulled in a quick breath before stepping over to the gift. He pulled the wrapping paper off, revealing a magical desk lamp, one that could offer a range of lighting options, from daylight to dusk to firelight. It even had a midnight setting where it would project the constellations on the ceiling. Percy exclaimed over the gift with genuine gratitude. It was just the sort of thing he preferred, functional but still beautiful.
Percy was given his own room in the house, as he was just staying for the night, but Bill wasn't entirely surprised to find him late that evening at the table. He had a cup of tea in front of him and a stack of his books. Percy's face was pinched as his eyes scanned the pages.
"I thought it was just light-reading," Bill said.
"Mhmm." Percy didn't look up from the book.
Bill pulled the top book off of the stack and raised his eyebrows. "You're studying for the barrister's exam?"
"I'm taking it next month."
"I didn't think you needed a barrister's license for your job."
"Not for mine, but if I want to get promoted, I will."
"But you just got promoted."
Percy finally looked up, and Bill was surprised to see how old his younger brother looked. Not that he looked bad or decrepit or older than his age, but he still thought of Percy as a teenager, with his gangly limbs and too-long nose and oversized glasses. But Percy was twenty-one now. He'd grown into his body and his face had filled out, bringing balance to his features. His bulky glasses had been replaced with a pair of sophisticated silver frames and rectangular lenses. His hair, which had always been the darkest of the family, more auburn than ginger, looked darker in the dim light, almost brown. It was brushed neatly to one side. It suited him, even though it made him look strangely anonymous, like he could be any ordinary office worker.
Percy sat back in the chair. "Haynesworth is going to retire when he turns sixty."
Haynesworth was the Assistant Minister. Bill didn't know when his birthday was, but it sounded soon.
"Typically, the position would go to the Secretary, but that's Sheiling and she doesn't want it. She's made it abundantly clear that she'll turn it down if it's offered to her. She and Fudge don't really… well, it would be mess if they worked together."
Percy reached under his glasses to rub his eyes. "If I pass the bar exam, no one will be able to object if the job is offered to me. There'll be a fuss about my age of course, but no one will be able to veto it."
Bill felt a stirring of alarm. Percy, become the Assistant Minister?
Percy seemed to read the concern on his face because he stiffened. "I can do it."
"I'm not doubting your ability. I'm wondering if you should accept."
Percy frowned, still offended. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Because the Ministry hasn't exactly been on our side with everything going on. There's a reason Dumbledore started the Order. No one at the Ministry was listening to him; no one was caring about the attacks on Muggles and Muggle-borns."
"All the more reason to take the position, wouldn't you say? To ensure that the appropriate steps are being taken to address the conflict?"
"I don't think an Assistant's position would let you fix anything. You're supposed to be non-partisan. That means toeing the line between the Death Eaters and those fighting for equality. Would you really want to do that?"
"Non-partisan means looking at everything from a logical viewpoint under the guiding lens of the law. Do you think that standing against Death Eaters is logical and lawful?"
Bill felt a little put on the spot. "Well… yes."
"So what's your concern?"
"Things get complicated in the government. People go into politics with good intentions, but then they begin to compromise on their morals. They capitulate in one area to get their way in another, and then it's a slippery slope of failed promises and conceded ethics."
"If you're going to use the 'power corrupts' argument against me, I'll have you know that Dumbledore, operating outside of the purview of the government and without any sort of oversight, is in more danger of being corrupted than people operating in the Ministry."
"You can't really think that," Bill said. "You know all the ills of campaign finance fraud and insider trading and lenient sentencing. You know that once someone is elected in Wizengamot it's hard to get them out."
"Yes, it's a problem. But at least people are aware it's a problem and are trying to close the loopholes in the system. Dumbledore's starting his own army. Shouldn't that be regulated?"
"Percy, I signed up for his army because the Ministry hasn't started their own. People are dying out there. Our government isn't doing enough."
"You think I'm complicit with Death Eaters because I'm working for the government."
"No! Merlin, no. Why would you even think that?"
Percy shrugged. "That's what dad thinks. Mum too."
Bill sighed. "Our parents fought in the first war. Not having the Ministry on their side now makes them feel betrayed. I do think that the Ministry is perpetuating harm by not taking a firmer stance against Death Eaters, but when they come around, they're going to need good people in office. Good people like you. I guess I'm just scared for you. It's not going to be easy."
His words seemed to settle Percy. He nodded. "I can do it."
"Just… take care of yourself. You work too hard."
"You sound like Mum."
"Don't think you haven't picked up any of our parents' endearing qualities. I saw you grilling Ron and Ginny about their grades."
"You used to grill me about grades."
"I never had to grill you about grades. That was Charlie. I had to grill you about making friends."
Percy huffed a laugh. "Well, that's true."
Bill got up. "Don't stay up too late. Santa won't come if you're not in bed."
Percy rolled his eyes. "Hilarious."
OoOoO
Christmas was loud, messy, full of laughter, and just what everyone needed. They were woken up at four thirty in the morning by Fred and George who would never be too old to jump furiously on their siblings' beds until said siblings were up, or at least somewhat functional and standing. To prevent them from returning to the safety of their blankets, the twins sprinkled the mattresses with their new product 'Bed-Wetter's Bane' which made the sheets turn yellow and wet whenever someone lay on them.
Bill sighed and went downstairs to join Charlie for a cup of coffee, leaving his younger brothers and sister to the antics of Fred and George.
"How long do you s'pose it'll take for them to rouse Mum and Dad?" asked Bill, sitting down at the table and watching in disgust as his oldest-younger brother shrugged, looking far too awake for four in the morning.
"I'll give them half an hour," said Charlie, not bother to hide his grin. "You've gone soft at the school. What happened to, 'We had to stay up all night to crack the code because we needed moonlight and then the first rays of dawn to trigger the rune. After that we had to manually dig through a solid brick wall all the while dodging curses from the enchanted sphinxes and warding off giant vampire bats'?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Bill, "you've had your share of completely unbelievable stories as well. 'I took a running jump, and leapt onto the dragon's back, holding on for dear life as he swooped and swerved trying to shake me off, or burn me alive, but then I pulled out my wand and, holding onto the wings with one arm, managed to subdue the beast', if I remember correctly."
Charlie shrugged. "That's perfectly true account of a dragon-keeper's daily chores."
They exchanged looks and burst into laughter.
Percy staggered into the room, hair mused, glasses askew, papers and books clutched to his chest like he was a mother grasping her newborn. "I'm going to kill them."
"Alright there?" Charlie asked.
"They tried transfiguring my paperwork into poetry. Lewd poetry." Percy collapsed into a chair and pillowed his head on his rescued books. "Wake me when everyone's up."
Their father was finally roused at five-thirty, but then he had to Floo over to the Burrow and bring all of the presents back to Order headquarters. Their mother didn't get up until six. Tradition dictated that presents were opened after breakfast, so while she cooked, the stockings were opened. Harry, as an honorary member of the family, had his own stocking, which still made him flush in happiness. The stockings were stuffed with the typical trinkets of a wizarding Christmas, ornaments, fuzzy socks, novelty quills, and the like. As usual, everyone received the same items, just in different colors.
Christmas breakfast was truly amazing. Bill didn't know how Molly managed to get it all done, and in under an hour, but soon the table was set with a full English breakfast with a few additions for the holidays, Bill's favorite being the cranberry sweetrolls. In the middle of the meal, Fred and George slipped something into Percy's coffee, and being sleep-deprived, he didn't see it. One sip later, and steam burst from his ears accompanied by the whistling sound of a tea kettle. He opened his mouth to tell them off, but only gibberish came out. Ginny laughed so hard she nearly choked; Ron did choke and had to have his back pounded by Harry. Molly threatened to take the twins presents back to the stores unopened, but no one took the threat seriously.
Once they'd all eaten themselves full to bursting, they retired to the family room to open gifts. Bill remembered a childhood when there was only one or two gifts for each person, and a few years when Molly and Arthur didn't exchange gifts themselves. But as Arthur got promoted, and as finances got a little easier, the holiday got a little bigger as well. The gifts grew in number and took on more frivolous content, instead of purely functional gifts, like a pair of new boots. And, now that most of the kids were grown and working, there was a veritable treasure trove of presents under the tree. It took quite a while to get through the stack, because family ritual dictated that presents had to be opened one at a time, so everyone could 'ooh' and 'aah' over the gift.
It wasn't a bad way to spend the morning though. They drank butterbeer, pulled on their Weasley jumpers (the only gifts that were opened at the same time), and generally enjoyed one another's company. All of the gifts Fred and George gave were prank themed, and Charlie had tried to give everyone some form of dragon, from dragon's egg paperweights to dragon-skin gloves. The gifts Percy had brought were painstakingly curated to the giftee, but clearly expensive, which evoked a range of reactions from the family.
Arthur stared silently at the watch he'd been given, before meeting Percy's gaze and giving a nod.
"Percy, you shouldn't have," their mother chided, staring at a pair of gold earrings. They were tiny hoops, just the size she liked, but pure gold, not the gold-plated ones she usually wore.
"I love it, I love it, I love it," Ginny exclaimed, clutching the designer purse to her chest.
"Tickets to a Puddlemere game," said Fred.
"Must be a bribe," said George.
They turned to stare at Percy, before nodding.
"Accepted."
"A bribe for what?" Percy asked, looking completely befuddled.
The presents under the tree gradually dwindled down to a last remaining gift, a rectangular box neatly wrapped in green and gold paper with a perfectly tied bow on top. Ginny grabbed it, read the tag, and handed over to Bill. There was no sender on the gift.
"Is it from Fleeuuurrrr?" Fred and George trilled together.
"Doesn't say," said Bill, turning the package over to see if it'd been written anywhere else.
"Well, open it," said Charlie. "Maybe it's on the inside."
"Maybe it's from a secret admirer," teased Ron, who was no longer mad at him since Bill had consented to play a game of chess with him and been thoroughly trounced.
"Or perhaps Bill is taking advantage of the fact that his girlfriend lives so far away," said Ginny, grinning at him slyly.
"Only you would think of that, Ms. I've-had-four-different-dates-this-year-already," said Bill, teasing her back.
"Three," said Ginny, tossing her hair back haughtily. "I told you Liam doesn't count."
"Three?" asked Ron, starting to get a little angry. "You've had three boyfriends this year?"
"Dates, Ron," Ginny clarified, not that it seemed to make Ron feel any better.
Bill saw the glance Ginny stole in Harry's direction. It wasn't as long as her glances used to be, nor was there the same amount of longing in her eyes. It seemed like she was getting over her crush on the boy-hero. Bill felt a bit disappointed at that. He liked Harry, and he trusted that boy would treat her well. But Ginny seemed inclined to be choosy, and he couldn't blame her for that either.
"Well, are you going to open it?" Charlie asked.
Bill turned back to the gift in his hand and ripped open the paper. The family leaned in as he pulled out a set of old books bound together with a gold rope. They were slim, small books, but the covers were antique wood, and when he opened them, he could see hand-painted illustrations inside. They were old books, written in gorgeous runic scripts, five distinct dialects no less.
"What are they?" asked Ron.
"Ancient wizarding tales," said Bill, flipping slowly through the pages. "These two are different forms of the Gaelic dialect, this one is Egyptian, and this one is an African script. I haven't seen this last one before." The books were, by far, the most beautiful present he'd ever received, and he couldn't wait to start translating them. As he turned them over in his hands, a small square of parchment fell out. Bill picked it up, reading the message, and breaking into a large grin. The paper simply read 'Thanks' in a perfect calligraphy that could only be from one person.
"Who's it from?" asked Molly.
Bill hesitated, before replying. "Oh, just a colleague of mine."
OoOoO
Author's note: So, I moved Draco's big reveal about Lukas to this chapter, which really makes more sense in terms of character development. Draco needed more time to feel comfortable around Hagrid. I also tried to delve more into his emotions and how those emotions impact him physically, which I think helps show his distress a little bit more. (Fingers crossed, at least). I also pulled the bit about Buckbeak out. I had put it in there the first time as a way for Draco to 'fix' all his past mistakes. Which is a new-writer way of tackling a redemption arc. 'Look, he's redeemed, he's fixed everything!' But it's perfectly okay for a character to do something wrong and not be able to fix it. It feels more real that way. Also, I never used Buckbeak as a character again, so… yeah. It wasn't necessary. What was necessary was for Draco to do some sleuthing. In the next chapter, he has a good idea what the horcrux is and I needed to show my work (or rather, his work) this time around. Editing is a lot about planting clues.
I couldn't resist adding in more Percy. He became a really important character in the third and fourth stories, so I wanted to delve into his character a little more. By the third book, we know that Percy and his family aren't talking, and I wanted to highlight what that progression looks like. Here we have the relationship as it's just starting to crack, so we see some nice moments with him and his family, and a hint at the disaster to come. I think his separation with his family will hit more if we know what it used to look like. Also, it's a good way to go more in depth with the conflict in the family. I do write Percy as the more sympathetic character in the conflict, but I don't want to show the family as just being 'bad' or 'not understanding what he's doing'. His parents are brave in their own right and if they're opinionated on what should be happening, that's because they've already fought one war and they've lost people. The Ministry really should be listening to them. The best, angsty conflicts are when no character is 100% wrong or 100% right, but you, as a reader, just want them to make up already, and say that they love each other. So, if I'm doing this right, you should feel some angst. Let me know if it's working, lol.
Well, Merry Christmas to you all. I hope that this holiday finds you happy and healthy!
