Fealty

Disclaimer: Ye ken fine, the hale jing-bang belangs tae Jo.

Translation: Scots / Doric – You know the whole lot belongs to Ms Rowling.

xx

Another double period, another discussion. The teacher could almost envisage the inverted-commas, double-fingered wiggle the Divination professor would have used.

"Sir, sir!" A hand waved in the air.

"What is it now, Malfoy?"

"Weasley hexed me, sir!"

"You deserved it, sissy tattle-tale." The whispered tone was scornful.

"Shut it, Snotter."

The dark-haired wizard in charge of the class scowled at the alleged, offending redhead. "Weasley? An explanation, please."

"Please, sir. Malfoy called my family blood traitors. We may not have the same financial riches as the Malfoys, but we've always been loyal. We've never been traitors." A blazing, blue-eyed glare was focused on the slim blond.

"We are not here to discuss family... attributes. This is a schoolroom; please show some decorum."

The professor tried not to sigh as he pondered for the umpteenth time why the headmaster continued to insist Gryffindors and Slytherins were to work together when it was evident they couldn't. He knew the answer would be, 'They have collaborated in the past, and they must learn to be tolerant for our future.' Obviously, it had been a long time since the headmaster had graced the inside of a classroom and dealt with the constant sniping and hexing.

"Today, we will focus on how petty intolerances, such as these, encouraged the larger schisms in our society prior to the war you have been studying."

A groan rippled around the room.

"Please turn to Chapter Two in your text books, and we'll get started."

xx

Harry's hands drooped between his knees, his shoulders hunched forward as the weight of his despondency pressed down on him. The Horcrux hung heavily around his neck, dragging his head and his mood down. His reactions were slow and apathetic when Ron clapped him on the back.

"Hey, mate! How's it going?"

"'S a'righ'," Harry muttered half-heartedly.

"C'mon, cheer up. It could be worse."

"How?"

"Blimey, Harry! Stop being such a misery guts. You could be camping on your own without me and ʼMione."

"Hate camping."

"At least you've got the two of us sharing the work."

"Hmph! You're not much good with your arm still in a sling."

"Oh, for goodness sake! Give me that bloody locket and get out of the tent for some fresh air before you end up completely down in the dumps."

"Ta, mate," Harry managed to murmur as he shambled out of the tent. It wasn't long before he poked his head back round the canvas flap. "Ron, it's pissing down out here. Is that why you came back in early?"

Ron grinned, shrugging his shoulders in apology. "I didn't want to catch cold. I'm still fragile after my splinching, remember. Can you pick some more of those yummy blaeberries while you're out?"

"Twat," grumbled Harry, grabbing his cloak and heading back out into the inclement weather to find Hermione.

Pushing his way through the dripping forest undergrowth, Harry felt his spirits lifting the further he moved away from their temporary shelter. Getting out of its malodorous, canvas confines made him feel more cheerful. He knew Hermione had done her utmost to make it habitable, but no amount of magic could rid it of the mustiness, or the plague of earwigs which dropped off the tent roof onto him while he slept. Harry shivered under his warm cape; he detested creepy-crawlies. Perhaps not as much as Ron hated spiders, but they still made his skin crawl.

He found Hermione perched on a large rock overlooking a rushing, peat-browned stream not far from their tent. Her eyes were closed and face turned up to the persistent falling rain, which ran in rivulets down her cheeks, soaking her hair and dripping from her chin.

Approaching quietly, he cleared leaves and pine needles from the rock next to her and parked his bottom on the damp, unforgiving surface. "Hey, ʼMione, love, how's it going?"

Her face scrunched up as she turned to look at him, and she sighed deeply before replying. "It's miserable, isn't it?"

Harry nodded silently, and drops of rain fell from his damp fringe. "Ron let me out of the tent early. He wants me to take some blaeberries back for him as payment. D'you think there'll be any left?"

"It's getting a bit late in the year for them, but we can have a look."

"I'm a bit worried about Ron; he's not coping too well with all this traipsing around."

Hermione bumped her shoulder against his. "How about you?" she asked.

"I hate camping in the rain. I thought this was supposed to be summer."

"It's Scotland, Harry. This is their summer."

"Really?"

"Well, in truth, it's late summer, early autumn. Haven't you ever been to Scotland in summer?"

"Never. The Dursleys always kept me at home during the holidays. Then, when we were at Hogwarts at this time of year, we were straight into Quidditch training. I don't mind flying a broom through a light drizzle, but sitting around like this is doing my head in."

"Even I'd take up flying to get out of this constant dampness and apathy."

"What are we doing, Hermione? I feel like we're gaining nothing and getting nowhere. We've had no help. I don't think anyone knows where we are. I don't even know where we are."

"Scotland."

"Being facetious isn't helpful," Harry groused.

"Actually, I have a good idea where we are."

"Hermione, you're great. I knew you wouldn't get us lost. So, where are we?"

"Do you see that mountain?" she said, pointing out through the trees at the edge of the wood, across purple, heather moorland to a spectacular semicircle of dark cliffs, half hidden in swirling mist. "I recognise it. My dad took me climbing up there last summer."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, it's definitely Lochnagar, which means this stream flows down to the River Dee and on to Aberdeen. I reckon we must be quite close to the castle."

"That's brilliant. Why didn't you tell us? We could be back at Hogwarts in a jiffy and get some help." Harry leaped to his feet in his enthusiasm.

"Sorry, wrong castle. You're more likely to run into Queen Liz and her corgis down there."

"Eh?"

"We're near Balmoral Castle, Harry," Hermione explained. "Don't you remember Byron's poem Dark Lochnagar?"

"I don't do poems."

"Prince Charles's book, The Old Man Of Lochnagar?" Seeing his puzzled expression, she continued, "Maybe not. It wasn't exactly a literary classic."

"You know me and reading, 'Mione."

Hermione's replying sigh was deeper than the last. "Come on, Harry, let's go foraging for blaeberries on our way back to the tent. I don't like leaving Ron on his own, and without food, for too long."

Accepting her hand to pull him to his feet, Harry brushed damp fir needles and bits of grey lichen from his clothes. "So, you know where we are, smarty pants, but it doesn't help us much if the Order members can't find us. No-one's been in touch at all."

Hermione levelled her amber gaze on him. "And whose fault is that?"

"Aw! Come off it, 'Mione. I had to persuade Lupin not to come with us."

"You didn't have to call him a coward, Harry."

"Why are you sticking up for the werewolf?"

"He was clearly upset."

"Upset? His reaction was rather weird. A bit over the top, if you ask me," Harry mused. "It was as if he really, really didn't want to stay with his wife. I know he's worried about passing on his lycanthropy, but he just didn't seem to be concerned about Tonks at all. He even said it was a mistake marrying her."

"We all make mistakes," replied Hermione, "but I'm sure he's wrong. Tonks entered their marriage fully aware of the problems. She'll be a huge support to him."

"What did he say to you just before you asked him about her?"

Hermione's forehead creased a little as she tried to recall Lupin's exact words. "He said something like, I need to be with you. My mate'll die if I leave you unprotected. It was a bit melodramatic, and I'm not sure who he was talking about. That's why I asked him about Tonks. He shouldn't be thinking of running away from his marriage to protect us three."

"Not us, Hermione, you. He was talking to you."

"No!" She gasped, her hand covering her mouth.

Harry watched her reaction carefully. "Tell me, Hermione, what's going on between you and Remus Lupin?"

xx

"Pansy! Pans! Wait a moment, please." Draco nearly sped up to catch the girl who was hurrying down the corridor away from Slytherin's common room. Instinct told him not to run after her. Malfoys don't chase after girls, he thought, they run after us.

Behind him, he heard a rough, troll-like chuckle. "Losing your touch, Malfoy?" a low, raspy voice asked. "Maybe, she's heard you can't finish the job properly."

"What do you mean?" Draco stopped in his tracks, looking down at the flagged stone floor, his breathing deep and quiet.

"Maybe she's heard you're a bit of a pussy when it comes to important business... the Dark Lord's business."

Draco spun around, his robes flaring gracefully. His tone was low and threatening as he came face to face with his tormentors. "And what would you know about that, my friends? I don't recall seeing either of you at the top of the Astronomy Tower or at Malfoy Manor this summer."

Goyle had the grace to blush slightly under Draco's questioning gaze. "Well, I got an owl today from my Da', and he says..."

"We heard you weren't up to it," Crabbe interrupted. "Not able to do the Master's bidding with the old coot of a headmaster and squealing like a girlie when they tortured—"

Draco's wand was at Crabbe's throat in an instant. "Silence!" he hissed.

Ignoring the threatening wand, Crabbe grabbed the front of Malfoy's shirt in his meaty paw and shoved the lighter wizard up against the rough, stone wall, snagging the blond's fine silk robes. Leaning in close, the brawny boy's rank, raw-onion breath washed over Draco, whose nose wrinkled in disgust as he turned his head away.

"You weren't so quick to draw your wand on Dumbledore, were you, pal? We've stood up for you all these years, but we're not sure if we should any more." Glancing at Goyle for support, Crabbe continued. "Our families have been acquainted for a long time, but my Dad says we need to be sure we're in with the right crowd. I don't think you and your poncy family have got what it takes. Maybe Parkinson got the same owl message as we did, or maybe she's just figured out you're really a pansy. What d'you reckon, Greg?"

Chuckling maliciously, Goyle lifted his little finger in the air in answer and wiggled the fat pinkie.

"I couldn't have said it better myself, Greg, my man. Are you a gay-boy, Malfoy? What are you, Draco, a poker or a bender?" With that Crabbe gave the slender blond a final shove, before turning back towards the common room.

"I prefer someone with less grazes on their knuckles than you boys," Draco drawled with a hint of nonchalance.

Goyle stepped forward, and Draco flinched, certain the thug was going to kick him. His stomach clenched in fear, then with disgust as Goyle hawked loudly and spat a sticky glob of phlegm at him.

"Come on, Greg. Don't waste your grolly on him," called Vincent from the doorway. "He's still a Slytherin, after all. When push comes to shove, we'll still have to stand next to him against the other houses. Just don't let him stand behind you in the showers."

Crabbe guffawed loudly as Goyle grunted and stomped into the Slytherin common room, leaving Draco to slide down the corridor wall until he sat crumpled on the floor, shaky hands covering his face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck," he chanted to himself, his nerves and speech steadying as his anger increased. "Gay? They think I'm gay? Shit. How did they—"

"Fascinating, Malfoy." The disinterested voice cutting into his musings startled him, having not heard its owner's approach. Before Draco could respond, a firm grip around his upper arm hauled him to his feet. "I would love to stand in the corridor listening to your miserable maunderings, but your presence is required at the student representative's meeting shortly. Make yourself presentable and be on time."

Draco wiped the back of a hand across his flushed, spittle-streaked face.

Without waiting for a reply, Snape gave him a terse nod then strode away toward the stairs, his teaching robes billowing behind him. Malfoy pulled the front of his own robes down to settle them before following in the professor's wake with only a marginally shorter stride.

xx

It took less than five minutes to reach the gargoyle at the foot of the headmaster's stairs, and Severus swept up the steps with Draco close behind. As he approached the office door, Snape stopped abruptly, indicating with a sharp hand motion for the young man to be quiet. Leaning in close to the heavy wooden door, the two men listened.

A light, feminine laugh wafted through the cracked-open doorway, followed by a shushing sound. Draco lifted an enquiring eyebrow at Snape, who raised a finger to his lips and frowned in reply, before bending to bring his ear closer to the door.

"I do believe, my dear," a haughty, nasal voice intoned from inside the Head's office, "we have someone earwigging on the threshold. Would you be so kind as to let them in?"

Snape straightened up, wand at the ready, just as the door swung open.

"Do come in, Headmaster. Malfoy." The witch, who ushered them in, stepped back, inclining her head in greeting as they swept past her into the room.

Snape's gaze raked the large office. Finding no-one else present, he returned his scrutiny to the young woman who stood with hands clasped lightly behind her back, humming gently and drawing her foot back and forth in semi-circles over the wooden floor boards. With arms crossed over his chest and robes drawn tight, the tall, dark wizard glared down his nose at her.

"I presume you have an adequate explanation, Miss Lovegood."

"I'm here for the house reps meeting, sir."

"Indeed. However, that does not explain how you gained access to this office without my presence."

"Oh, that was easy!" Luna beamed.

"Easy? Please, enlighten me how you bypassed my personal wards."

"Well, I knew you weren't in when I arrived a bit early, and, rather than hang about in a draughty corridor with that grumpy old gargoyle, I thought I'd just pop up for a chat."

"A chat?" Snape's voice rose slightly with incredulity. "Let me get this clear, Miss Lovegood. You trespassed in my office for a conversation with someone who wasn't actually here?"

"Exactly, sir."

Draco sniggered and tried hard not to smirk as Severus rubbed the furrow between his brows with a thumb-pad, muttering under his breath, "Merlin, preserve me from this Ravenclaw."

"Young lady, it appears Headmaster Snape does not understand you."

Snape whipped round, seeking the owner of the upper-class, nasal voice he had heard whilst eavesdropping on the doorstep, but there were still only the three of them in the room. The sound of a man clearing his throat had him swirling back in the other direction, wand raised.

"Uncle Phin, stop teasing."

"I am not your uncle, young lady." The haughty rejoinder was accompanied by a sharp rapping on glass. "Up here, Headmaster."

"Headmaster Black!"

The portrait nodded in courteous acknowledgement. "Headmaster Snape."

"Uncle Phin?" Draco queried with some scepticism, looking to Luna for clarification. Appearing to be restraining a giggle, the pale witch gave him a small smile in reply, and, to his surprise, Malfoy felt the corner of his own mouth twitch. He bit down on the impulse, pressing his lips firmly together.

"I assure you, I am not her uncle. The little madam has always been too forward for her own good," Phineas Nigellus Black replied haughtily.

Luna's nose wrinkled as her smile widened. "Of course you're not, you old stuffy."

"Are you going to explain, or are you going to overwhelm us with whimsy, Miss Lovegood?"

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape. It's been a while since Phin and I had a chat, so instead of making me wait outside, he let me into the office."

The glare Severus directed at the man in the portrait had paint-stripping qualities. "You can do that?"

"I was headmaster here at one time," the painted wizard replied in an offhand manner with an elegant shrug of his shoulder, though he did take a small step back.

"You can let anyone into my office?" Severus growled.

"I'm not just anyone," said Luna. "Headmaster Black's family and mine go back a long way, ever since—ˮ

"I believe this is my story to tell, missy." The ex-head wagged a finger in her direction. "Give them an inch, and they take a mile, these youngsters," he muttered, but did not appear particularly vehement in his admonishment.

Straightening his cravat and robes, Phineas Black cleared his throat before speaking. "The Blacks are a venerable and proud, pure-blood family. When my youngest sister ran off with a... a..."

Black paused, with a slight shudder, and cleared his throat again. "When our sweet Isla married a... a Muggle..." His voice dropped to a faint whisper on the final word, regaining its normal volume as he resumed his story. "Our family was thrown into turmoil. My parents disowned Isla, forbidding us from having any contact with her, and we all obeyed their wishes.

"She and Bob moved almost as far away from the Black ancestral home as they could without leaving Britain. It's ironic that the type of home they lived in is known as a Hebridian Black House, though it was little better than a one-roomed, rough-stone-walled, thatched hovel on an island in the back of beyond. They lived there for many years, just the two of them. They never had any children, because Isla knew Bob would age and die before she did, and she wanted only him.

"Then, one summer, a bedraggled short-eared owl brought a note to me at Hogwarts. The poor bird had been to every member of my family and been turned away; it arrived on my windowsill close to expiring from exhaustion. The letter it carried was brief. Isla had been transferred from their island home by Muggle flight to the non-magical hospital in Inverness. She was expecting an unplanned baby and was seriously ill, having left childbearing until so late in her life. Bob wrote he suspected the problem was magical, and the Muggle doctors were unable to help her or the baby. Without magical intervention, they could both die.

"Within minutes of reading the missive, I was on my way to Raigmore Hospital. I was married to my darling Ursula with our own children already, so I understood the strength of love and family ties, and felt I could not abandon my little sister. I shall never regret the decision I made that day. My only regret is I did not make it earlier." Phineas paused to wipe an oily tear from the corner of his eye.

Snape and Malfoy shifted uneasily, seeing the aristocrat's obvious distress, whilst Luna continued to smile wistfully and nod encouragement, light glinting off her shiny crab-apple earrings with the movement. "Please, carry on when you're ready."

"Isla was desperately ill when I arrived, but with the help of the obstetrician, and his emperor's bit—ˮ

"Caesarian section," Luna interrupted.

Phineas Nigellus frowned down at her and continued. "With his Muggle wizardry and my magical input, Isla and Bob's baby daughter was born. They called her Mhairi Bhan. It translates literally as White Mary, but means Fair Mary in Gaelic, and the name suited her well. She was the palest-skinned, blondest-haired, clearest-eyed child I have ever seen."

"She was beautiful, wasn't she? And she was clever."

"Yes, very clever, my dear." The wizard smiled thinly. "Perhaps it was fortunate they lived on the edge of the world, for she grew up into a wayward, elfin child, precocious with her magic, which she hid from no-one. Her father loved her dearly, but, being a Muggle with a short life span, he died whilst she was a child. Isla was heartbroken and never left the island again.

"The islanders are a strange community, at once straight-laced and purse-mouthed in their religion, and at the same time fully accepting of the otherworld. Our mourning Isla they called their own bean-sidhe or wailing woman. Whereas Mhairi Bhan, with her love of the wild Atlantic Ocean, unfettered blond hair and untamed magic, they believed to be a selkie. She had them completely enchanted.

"I tried to get my family to re-connect with Isla and her daughter, but they were unyielding. However, having made contact myself, I could not break the bonds of love that tied me to my sister and her small family. I kept in contact after that, visiting regularly during school holidays, and watched Mhairi grow into a stunning young woman. She was home-schooled and led a wonderful, free life in the outer wilds of Scotland, but was innocent in the ways of the world and fell for the first wizard who crossed her path. A bumbling idiot of a man, he got her in the family way and insisted on marrying her and taking her away to some wretched place in England where they brought up their mewling brat."

"Uncle Phin!" Luna objected, causing the elegant man to smile slyly.

"Which explains why Miss Lovegood is not just anyone, and I am not her uncle."

"It does?" asked Draco with obvious confusion.

Peering down from his portrait, Phineas Black gave the young Malfoy an assessing look up and down. "Are you sure this is the right one, Luna?"

"Absolutely."

"He doesn't appear very astute to me."

"Excuse me," Draco interjected, "I am smart. I'm top of my year now that Granger's gone, and I'm a Malfoy. I just didn't follow the non sequitur at the end. How does that make you not Luna's uncle?"

"Because he's my great-uncle, silly. His sister, Isla, was my Scottish granny - my mammy's mammy. I told you about her already." Luna rolled her eyes.

"Oh! So, the bumbling idiot was—ˮ

"My dad, Xenophilus."

"And the mewling brat?"

"Was me. But, Uncle Phin's just teasing. He loves me really," Luna answered. "Don't you, you big softy?"

"Like a hole in the head, my dear," replied the old wizard with a resigned look, which made Draco smile in acknowledgement.

"That means we are distantly related, Lovegood." Draco's voice was not filled with enthusiasm.

"No, Isla was magically expunged from the lineage. When his parents disowned my granny, their magical bonds were cut permanently, so we're no longer part of your family."

"But, Phineas Black is your great-uncle, and also my great-great grandfather, which makes you a Black."

"Perhaps the Malfoy spawn is more intelligent than he appears," muttered the ex-head.

"Which, in turn, explains a few family resemblances, like the hair and the mental instability," Draco continued. The stinging hex Luna sent his way brought tears to his eyes.

"Or, perhaps not," sighed Phineas.

xxx

A/N:

Lochnagar is a mountain situated on the Balmoral Estate in Royal Deeside, Scotland, owned by HRH Queen Elizabeth the second of England and first of Scotland. It's a lovely, long walk to the top on a fine day, but treacherous around the tops of the cliffs in bad weather.

A black house is a traditional Hebridean Island dwelling, made of a double dry stone wall packed with earth for insulation and a roof of turf or reed thatch placed on top of wooden rafters. With no chimney the peat smoke from the hearth had to seep out through the roof, making the inside very black. Some good pictures of one are here /view_image_/195207

Translations:

Fealty – fidelity, faithfulness.

bean-sidhe – Gaelic – banshee, wailing/keening woman, fairy

selkie, selchie or silkie – Scots – from selch, a seal. A selkie can become human by shedding their seal skin, and return to being a seal by putting the skin back on.