CHAPTER THREE: Broken Loose on the Wind
Two days before Christmas day find the Malfoy-Potters getting ready for their yearly visit to The Burrow.
"You are sure that visiting this year will be alright, love?" Draco asks Harry as he flattens his palms over the nonexistent creases in his husband's black coat. He lifts up his eyes to Harry's—letting his worry and uncertainty show in front of the depths that remind him of dew-bathed grass in the Hogwarts Quidditch field.
Harry holds both of his hands and presses a kiss in each of them. "They're like my family, love. It hasn't been an easy year for the Weasleys what with the divorce between Ron and 'Mione; we should be there for them." Draco nods uncertainly, and Harry smiles at him. "You worried about Score and Rosie?"
Draco smirks. "I think my sons can handle their bitter ex-girlfriends perfectly, Potter."
Harry still sees that he's anxious, though. "Scorpius can handle this. He's Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw enough to handle this." He kisses his forehead again.
"You mean he's Draco Malfoy-Potter and Harry Potter enough?"
Harry snorts. "In a way, that too."
The door of their room opens and Percy enters, bare-footed and fumbling with a red, blue and green scarf around his neck. He stops when he sees his Papa leaning against his Daddy, a smile blossoming on his pink-tinged cheeks. He will never tire of seeing his Daddy and Papa holding each other.
"Papa, Papa, Papa," he says. "I need help with my scarf."
Draco stoops in front of him and fingers the scarf with a frown. "Percy, love, I've never seen this scarf before." He removes the clumsily-wound scarf from his son's neck and fingers it. "Who gave this to you?"
Percy giggles and rubs the wool against his cheek. "Al wanted me to wear his green Sylth'rin scarf, but Score said no—I should wear Gryffindor. Then, then, then, Jamie said his Ravenclaw is the best."
"And they resolved this by transfiguring a blue, red, and green scarf for you?" his Daddy asks, stooping beside his Papa. He ruffles Percy's hair and the latter giggles.
"Yup! Score made it from one of my bed hangings! It's because they're white and easier to change color he said."
"They really are getting good and creative with their magic," Draco tells Harry smugly. He wounds the scarf snugly around his youngest neck, and fixes his hair with his fingers.
"Papa, do you think I will be good at magic, too?" Wide, bright eyes look at them imploringly. Harry sees the slight worry over his young son's face. Percy has shown evidences of his magic when he was younger and he's better in controlling it from randomly bursting now. He can't help but worry about it sometimes, however.
"Of course you will be, candy cane," Draco says, hugging him tightly. "You'll be very, very great at something in the future, but you have to remember now and forever that Daddy and I are proud of you, okay?"
Harry kisses the top of his head. "Yeah, don't forget that, little Skittles." He smirks when Percy looks up at him swiftly at the mention of the Muggle sweet. He always gives Percy Muggle sweets whenever he takes him to overseas not-even-a-bit-dangerous missions. The little sweet and sour candies have been a favorite of the little one for this year.
Draco stands up and arranges his gray trench coat in front of their full body mirror while Percy mumbles "Skittles" under his breath gleefully. He hopes that his Daddy will bring more of those Muggle sweets again for him—as his Papa allows it, of course.
Just then, there is running outside his parent's rooms.
"SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY-POTTER! GIVE BACK MY—Oof!" There is a crash outside as somebody seems to have slipped on the floor.
"NO, AL! ONLY IF YOU ADMIT TO HAVING TRANSFIGURED MY—"
"I DID NOTHING TO YOUR BLOODY—"
There is a pause then, together: "JAMIE!"
Harry is slightly laughing as he listens to his sons' cat-and-mouse chase around the house. Because it's almost Christmas, he feels particularly lenient about scolding them, now. He catches the eyes of his husband, who is arranging a wide-eyed Percy's hair in his lap.
He rolls his eyes and says, "Just call them off, please? You do know that my father and all the Malfoys who ever lived are writhing and rolling in their graves with how their heirs turned out, right, love?"
There are more shouting and laughing downstairs, a few bangs and "Ow's!" and Harry thinks it is quite enough. He stands up and kisses Draco briefly on the mouth.
"Alright, alright, I'll sort them out. Just come down with Percy when you're—"
He is cut off, however, by a loud, cold voice.
"SWEET CIRCE! WHAT AN ABOMINATION! MERLIN AND MORGANA, MALFOYS DO NOT JUMP ON COUCHES TO HEX EACH OTHER. GET DOWN AND HAVE SOME SHAME—"
"Speak of the devil. Might as well come down and calm him, Harry," Draco mutters over the angry and indignant shouts downstairs. He kisses Percy's cheek to steady himself; his sons and husband has always been his anchor whenever he has to face his Father, portrait or not. For a moment, though, he revels on the fact that his sons can make the former Patriarch lose control like that; a feat that Draco never braved to accomplish.
"Hello, Father. I see that you've broken the boys' fighting," Draco says, Percy clutching his leg and Harry behind him. He raises his eyebrow at the sight of his sons sitting on the couches stiffly and uncomfortably. They visibly relax and sigh in relief at the sight of their fathers coming to 'rescue' them—not too obvious, though, for the Malfoy Patriarch might notice.
A large portrait of Lucius Malfoy is hung in the Malfoy-Potters' sitting room. Just like when he was alive, the portrait-Lucius Malfoy looks as cold and aloof as he looks down his son with steely gray eyes. His nose is wrinkled, as if something bad is stuck under it.
"Draco, I caught your sons hexing each other and jumping on the couches, sweet Circe," he says, as if he has just been describing Al, Score, and Jamie setting the house on fire. "Like monkeys! Really, I would have hoped that you'll raise your sons to be proper Malfoy, but of course with Potter's blood," he spits the name, "in them—"
"Good to see you, too, Lucius," pipes Harry happily, before his father-in-law says something nasty that his boys do not need to hear. He sits in the couch near the fireplace, directly under the portrait. "How are things going in the Manor?"
He isn't really curious; just something to divert Lucius' attention from criticizing his son and grandchildren further. Really, the portrait-Lucius Malfoy is more insufferable than his living counterpart. After the War, Lucius had been cold towards him, especially when he professed his love for Draco. At least, Harry knew that in his own way, Lucius loved Draco. Now, he just tries to keep the portrait's attention from his family. He winks at Al and Score who are looking at him apologetically.
"Gathering cobwebs, as you well know—"
"Father, the Manor is charmed to not get cobwebs." Draco rolls his eyes as he sits beside Jamie. Percy climbs on Harry's lap.
"Even so, you should not be raising your heirs there, Draco, not here at some hole of Godric Gryffindor's—"
"It's Godric's Hollow, Father, and Harry, the boys and I are well settled and comfortable here."
"At the very least, I and the other ancestors can guide you better in your sons' upbringing."
Draco sighs. They've been through this over and over again. "Father, Harry and I have been raising them just fine. They were just having some normal, somewhat-irritating, but harmless sibling squabble because of a prank."
"What? Malfoys can never be so petty as to squabble. They don't make pranks, also; remember that, all of you."
"Father, you should know that Albus and Scorpius both have perfect Os in their Ordinary Wizarding Levels," Draco says, completely disregarding what Lucius has been saying. It is effective though.
The former Malfoy Patriarch suddenly looks smug as he looks at the twins approvingly. "Just like a Malfoy, boys. Bring glory to our family name. Well, I must be visiting Severus at Hogwarts. I'll see you soon, Draco." With that, he leaves.
Harry smirks at Draco fondly. "You do know how to deal with your father, though. I'm so impressed."
Draco sighs. "I can't stop wishing that his portrait did not turn out so much like his pre-War self." He looks at the twins. "I thank you for giving me the ammunition for today's confrontation, boys."
Al and Score grins at him then their faces fall again. "We're sorry for causing for such a ruckus," they say.
"And I'm sorry for making the prank that is cause of the ruckus," Jamie says.
"Well, you do need a bit of fun sometimes," Draco says quietly, but everyone in the room hears him anyway. The boys grin at one another.
To Harry's surprise, President Ashford and Kingsley Shacklebolt, the British Minister of Magic since the War, are waiting for him when he and his family arrives at the Burrow. They are occupying the squashy, maroon couches in front of the brick fireplace, with Arthur and Molly Weasley and Andromeda Shacklebolt nee Black. They seem to drop any conversation as Harry steps out of the green flames with Percy in his arms.
"Grandma Dora!" cries Percy enthusiastically, who's always had the last Black sister wrapped around his little finger ever since Teddy deemed himself too old to be doted on.
"Good to see you, Andy." Harry allows Percy to move into Andromeda's arms and gives her a peck on the cheek. Molly has stood up also and gives him a fierce, but brief, hug. Harry is glad to be out of Molly's arms because a few seconds later, Draco steps out of the Floo and into his arms. Draco has never felt entirely comfortable in the Burrow, and Harry resolves to always be within his reach whenever they are here.
"Aunt," Draco says, giving Andromeda a peck on the cheek as well. He gives Molly a polite smile and nod, and then turns to Harry, "Al, Score, and Jamie are flying here. I couldn't say no."
Andromeda, who has been letting Percy talk her ear off about vampires, Quidditch, and his brothers' OWLS, looks at Draco fondly and says, "Of course, you can't say no, dear nephew. Congratulations are in order regarding the twins' OWLs, I believe."
Draco blushes but still manages to look dignified. Harry leads him to an unoccupied loveseat and says, "Thanks, Andy." He pulls Draco beside him, and nods at Arthur, Kingsley, and Christopher, who have stayed silent during the welcomes. "Good to see you again, Arthur, Kingsley, and Christopher."
Kingsley, who is wearing elegant burgundy robes, raised the glass of eggnog he's been drinking from. "Happy Yule to you, Harry and Draco."
"Thanks. To you, too."
"How are you, Harry my boy?" Arthur asks good-naturedly. The years after the war have been good to him. With a promotion on the Ministry, and all of his children working decent jobs, he's been able to fund—at last—renovations on the Burrow. The yard has been cleaned, the cottage expanded, and the beams and foundations reinforced. He is also dressed in less shabby robes. Arthur, in Harry's opinion, looks younger, even. The same goes with the Weasley matriarch.
"We're doing well, really. How about you?"
"Good, good. So sorry to be interrupting our supposedly happy reunion with business, though." He briefly throws a glance at Christopher Ashford, who has been swirling ice cubes on what seems his glass of scotch. The latter ignores it.
Draco clears his throat, and says, "We've figured as much, Arthur." He looks up when Percy squeals a 'Thank you!' at Molly when the latter offers him a plate of cookies and treacle tart. He swallows his annoyance at the thought that the American magic President will go as far as the Burrow to interrupt Harry's well-deserved holiday. This is still Harry's decision, not his, so he keeps himself quiet. For now.
Harry squeezes his hand on his lap and addresses Christopher. "What is it, then? Is this about what we've discussed two days ago?"
"That exchange program? Isn't that settled, Harry?" Draco frowns in confusion. Something's not right; he can feel it. Surely, the immersion is not that big a matter as to require his husband's constant presence, right?
Harry's hold on his hand tightens; his lips purse and his head shakes. "No, the other thing you proposed, President. Isn't that why Kingsley is here, too?"
What other thing? Draco turns on his seat and glares at Harry. He does not like the way Kingsley pinches the bridge of his nose, a rare reaction. He does not like how Arthur Weasley exhales heavily, and says, "So you've jumped already into telling Harry, then?" The lines in his face deepen when he frowns, looking suddenly much older.
Draco does not like how Harry is giving him the silent treatment, but just keeps on squeezing his hold in his hand. He and Ashford have been looking at each other for the past minute. The latter does not exhibit the happy demeanor he's had a few days ago while being introduced to his children. He looks cold, stubborn, and defiant in front of Harry Potter, the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord.
"Harry?" he asks softly, covering the hand squeezing his. It's starting to hurt, but he does not mind. Not when there are obviously much important things he'll rather talk with Harry about.
Still, the men—I'm a man, too, though not involved in politics, damn it, Draco thinks—ignores him.
Christopher sighs, as if the burden of the world rests upon his shoulders, and rubs his hand over his face. "Yes, yes, this is about the other thing, Mr. Potter. I find your response dissatisfactory and I'm here to talk to you about it again."
Draco watches closely as his husband closes his eyes for a moment, as if restraining himself, then turns intense, blazing green eyes on the President of one of the largest wizarding communities in the world. He grits out, "I thought I've made myself clear. I thought that we've settled this issue quite amicably, President Ashford?"
"Clearly, the impression was not mutual, Harry," the president replies. He downs his scotch in one swig, and cocks his head towards Draco. "Your husband did not find it appropriate to inform you, didn't he, Mr. Malfoy-Potter?"
Draco, suddenly feeling nervous and so left out, frowns at Ashford. "I'm confused, honestly. I'm sure that if it's something important, Harry would have—"
"Leave Draco and my family out of this, President Ashford," whispers Harry fiercely. Draco only barely managed to contain his flinch. Harry rarely shows how pissed off he is. What are they talking about?
"I can't really do that, now, can I?" Ashford laughs hollowly. He looks genuinely tired, now, but Draco cannot find in himself to feel sorry for the man, who's been taunting Harry. "They're after him and your sons, Harry. Surely, you are more invested in this matter than the rest of us."
"Harry, who's after us?" Draco asks softly, hating how vulnerable he sounds after finding out that there is a threat to his sons. After painfully realizing that, for some unknown reason, Harry has not thought it important enough to tell him about it.
Harry is slightly trembling with rage, but only Draco can notice. He does not answer him, but addresses the rest of the room. "And all of you are here to insist on me getting directly involved in this?"
"Harry, I've been telling them that going to you this way is the last thing they'd want to do to convince you if they'd known what you went through—" Arthur starts, but Kingsley cuts him off.
"You're the Chief of the International Task Force for the Confederation, Harry. You'll have to deal with this soon, if not later."
Harry laughs humorlessly, "Kingsley, this has nothing to do with the Confederation, and you know it. If it was, there will be no need to be secretive. We'll be discussing at the Headquarters, not here at the Burrow, the last place where we can be discussing international matters." He glares at each one of them. "You just want to use me. Again. At the expense of my family."
Ashford raises his hands defensively at the fierce stare. "Doesn't change that you're the Chief, Mr. Potter. You swore an oath—"
"—to serve the magical communities with the best of my abilities by leading their forces in maintaining peace and security, and standing up with them against any international threat. Not being your pocket-hero and instant-one-man sacrifice," Harry hisses.
Draco looks at him and then at the men in front of them repeatedly. Heart beating fast, eyes widening, he thinks he knows vaguely what they're asking of Harry. A very dangerous mission? Making him a marked man once more? Letting him fight by himself once more? Is that it?
Despite feeling weak, sick, and clueless, he steels himself to hide it all and asks, "Harry, what's happening? Answer me, please."
Harry looked at him for a minute, eyes full of emotion—as if… as if just looking at him makes him hurt. "It's nothing, Draco. I will not be participating—"
"Harry," Andromeda cuts him off sharply. They both look at her, standing behind Kingsley's seat, her pale hand on her husband's shoulder. "I think it's best if you tell Draco about this. He's your partner, and he'll help you." Draco notices that Percy and Molly have left the room.
He runs his other hand on Harry's strong forearm and whispers, "Harry, please, I'm confused."
"I can't do this," he mutters so lowly that Draco thinks he never intended to make that heard at all. He turns to Draco then, in front of everyone, crashes his lips against his briefly. Draco inhales sharply, surprised and overwhelmed at Harry's strong display of emotion.
They break away, Draco breathing heavily. "Harry, love—"
"Tell Draco everything, Kingsley, Ashford," Harry says icily. He wraps his arm around Draco and pulls him impossibly closer against his side. "Explain what's happening to him, then."
"The quick way?" Kingsley asks weakly. He, honestly, is also surprised to see Harry's sudden and fierce kiss on his husband.
Ashford mutters, "Do it the quick way, then. Makes the shock more intense but quicker to fade."
Kingsley sighs, and Draco feels Harry's grip on his waist tighten. "Draco… almost eight years ago, an underground organization of Muggles found out that wizards and witches exist. We still do not know how that was possible—who broke the Statute of Secrecy, and what lies have been told to convince these Muggles that we are here to take advantage of them.
"I know that they sound harmless—they are just Muggles, after all. We thought so, too. Compared to them, the different hitwizards and Obliviators from different countries we sent after them seem to be enough. What we did not foresee is that they did outnumber us. These Muggle organizations, as it turns out, are transnational. They have connections, chapters, divisions, and different leaders all around the world. Their networks make them strong. Their technologies, too—their knowledge of us seem to have been enough to allow them to develop clothing that deflects our spells, and to detect magic in people."
Ashford says, "You must think it pathetic—the wizarding communities being threatened by these Muggles. We're ashamed to admit it, really, we are. That's why only chosen people know about this. No need for the citizens' confidence to waver in us. Our first move was to build up the Confederation—to establish linkages between communities around the globe. Then, we spent spies to the Muggle world so we can monitor the actions of this organization.
"What our spies found out were disconcerting. It turns out that what we're dealing with was an organization of organizations. They deal with drugs, arms, and human trafficking. They are subtle; they work underground, and have holds on different Muggle governments. One of the findings was a research facility for developing defenses against our spells, and experiments for extracting magical cores of persons. We don't know yet for what, but they'd been kidnapping Squibs and parents of muggleborns in Asia and Latin America."
Draco feels sick; he hasn't noticed himself holding on to Harry. How can such Muggles hold so much power? "What does this have to do with our family?"
Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his seat, and looks apologetic at Draco. "Well, I know that you still remember when your twins were kidnapped seven years ago."
Cold runs down his spine. How can he forget? How dare Arthur Weasley even remind them of that? Draco closes his eyes, trying to contain his emotions by counting slowly. Albus and Scorpius have been abducted by rogue Death Eaters when they were nine years old. For ninety-seven days— really, how can he forget how much he counted the days?— his sons were held hostage until the British Ministry of Magic offers them Harry Potter's magical core.
Draco knows that Harry would have given them his magical core to save their sons, but he also had to think about what those bastards would have done with his magic. What resulted was a worldwide manhunt led by Harry Potter, while Draco waited in their home in Godric's Hollow, trying to deal with his nerves. He had to let Jamie stay with Andromeda, for he could not take care of himself, much less Jamie, while his husband and his sons could die any day.
Foolhardy, stubborn, and the Gryffindor as always, Harry almost lost his life in a battle against wand- and gun-yielding wizards, trying to save his sons.
Draco suffered post-traumatic stress disorder for five months following the event. Harry was in coma for two months, his sons' magic receded because of fear, and Jamie withdrew from him. He knew that if it weren't for Harry waking up and helping him through PTSD, he would have killed himself. Harry made him realize that it wasn't his fault—it wasn't the karma for his mistakes during his childhood—that caused all of it.
"Draco, love." It is only when Harry fully wrapped his arms around him that Draco realized he is trembling. Draco gratefully buried his face in Harry's chest.
"Yeah?"
"You don't have to listen more. I knew it would be too much." His hands are rubbing soothing circles along his back.
"No. I want to know, Harry." He straightens up, despite Harry's exasperated sighs. He's grateful, though, that he have not removed his arms from around him. "What about—" He clears his throat then continues, "what about what happened seven years ago?"
"The Muggle organization—they're called The Underground, our spies think— knew about the hostage-taking, since Harry's search had been widely publicized. We think it's due to it that they've been interested in magical cores in the first place." Arthur takes a deep breath and looks at Draco evenly. "They are on a rally towards disempowering Harry, and we think—we're not yet sure—they will try to break into our world to provoke him or something."
"You see, this is all about your husband," Ashford says, ignoring the glare that Arthur throws at him. "And your sons. Their magic is so strong that The Underground will want to covet it. This is also cemented by the fact that Mr. Potter managed to sire heirs of that power with another man. They want our world, of course, but they know that with Harry in the picture, it will not be possible.
"Our request, Mr. Malfoy-Potter, is for your husband to be the central power—or weapon, if you want me to be frank—in our movement to eliminate these Muggles and their resources. For the future of the wizarding world."
Crux cannot have felt more grateful when his cellular phone starts ringing. It is the excuse he needs to get away from Rose Weasley, the redhead with curly hair and baby blue eyes, who have been trying to flirt with him since his father left him to wait for Mr. Potter in the Burrow's drawing room. He has been sitting on one of the benches in the kitchen, hoping that everything is going well upstairs, when she joins him, introduces herself, and starts getting all touchy at him.
"Wow, you have a cellphone that works here?" Rose asks excitedly, reaching out a hand to hold the arm that holds his phone. "Can you show me how it works?" She smiles sweetly at him.
"Well, I don't know," Crux answers uncomfortably. "But I really have to answer this. Uh, excuse me."
He stands up without further ado and runs out of the house to have better reception. There are chickens strutting around the yard, but at least the grass is mowed and not to unattractive, he thinks. He looks at the screen to see his sister's contact ID being flashed. He swipes at the green button and places the phone near his ear. "Cal."
"Wow. I didn't expect to hear you so relieved and happy that I called, though." There's a pause, then she continues, "Anyway, how are things?"
"I dunno still, really. They're taking so long at the drawing room—"
"What, you were sent away?"
"Of course, I was. Dad thought it was for the best. Anyway, I know that the Malfoy-Potters are here since the youngest one, Percy, is here."
"So he was sent away, too."
Crux rolls his eyes. "He's just four, Cal. And I don't think he was sent away. I think Molly Weasley took him out when the conversation's getting intense."
His sister hums in response. There are sounds of papers and shuffling from her end and Crux just knows that she's working on her projects again. Not that he blames her. "Anyway, I called to tell you that we've hit progress with the Reinforcement Spell. We tried your idea of letting the magic seep into the fabric and Hunter did the Absorption Spell. Still have to test it, though. At least it did not crumble this time."
"That's… great." Crux's voice falters when he sees three persons landing on the lawn in brooms. Raven hair windswept, pink tinting pale cheeks slightly, and eyes bright with energy, Albus dismounts his broom and shrinks it. Crux watches as he consciously tries to rearrange his black locks.
"You don't sound so happy, Crux," Cal tells him grumpily.
Crux shakes himself from his stupor and tries to focus on his phone conversation. "Of course, I'm ecstatic. We've been researching about this for weeks."
"How's Albus?" There's no mistaking about the mischief in her voice.
He splutters, his eyes travelling towards the brunette a few yards away from him. Scorpius and Albus have noticed him and are making their way towards him. James leaves them and walks towards the door. "Wha—"
Cal tsks. "Talk to him, yeah?"
"Cal, what happened two days ago was nothing, alright? I'm over it." He's panicking. He thinks that they can hear Cal teasing him.
"I'm not convinced. Just talk to him. You like him, Crux."
"Calliope, STOP—"
"Don't be too cowardly to talk to Harry Potter's son. I'm expecting to hear about your progress once you come back here."
"Cal, listen—"
"And I hear that he really, really likes Potions and reading—maybe you can make him teach you? It'll be hitting two birds in one stone."
"Hey! Stop it—"
"Oh, would you look at that! It's time for my internship. Have to go. Bye, Crux! Send my love to, Dad!"
"Calliope Athena—!" The line is cut off. Heart beating fast, Crux runs his hand through his russet-colored hair, making it stick at odd angles above his head. He takes his time to swipe randomly on the screen of his phone, trying to delay the unavoidable.
"Hi, what are you doing here?"
He finally looks up and is arrested by green-silver eyes. Albus is looking at him quizzically, but is, thankfully, smiling. He curiously eyes the sleek, white gadget in his hands, but Scorpius, who is beside him, is the one who says something about it.
"I've heard of magic-modified phones before, but never seen one," he says, grinning at him. "That your girlfriend, mate?"
"Scorpius," chides Albus, elbowing his twin's side. He looks at Crux apologetically at his twin's nosing. Crux gulps.
He forces himself to say something. "I don't have a girlfriend anymore. That was Cal, my sister." He shrugs then turns to Al, "I'm here because, incidentally, my father has to be here, too."
"I see," Albus says, then starts walking towards the front door. "Well, we don't want to delay our hellos further, Score," he calls onto them. "I'm hungry, too."
Crux can't force himself to look away from Albus' back as he falls in step with Scorpius. He shoves down the thought that he just might be acting rude by letting a little admiration color his appreciation. He thinks he can hear Cal snickering at the back of his mind.
"You're going to Hogwarts, aren't you?" Scorpius asks him. The blonde is an inch taller, Crux notices, and he tries not to feel resentful about that. He's spent an entire summer after the Inter-School Quidditch Internationals last year trying to live with the fact that Scorpius Malfoy-Potter might just be a lot better than him in Quidditch.
Crux hums in agreement, eyes still on Albus, who is pushing the door open and is waiting for them. There is a flicker of impatience in his eyes at their slow advance.
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?" he frowns at the blonde and stops, hair flying in the afternoon wind.
"I'm curious why you're transferring to Hogwarts. And during second term of sixth year, too. I'd say you'd also think that as a little curious," Scorpius replies, stopping too. "Since you'll be in the same year as Al and I, we'd like to know what made you move out of Salem."
Crux knows, of course, that he cannot possibly tell him and Albus—oh God, Albus—why he has to leave Salem Academy. Calliope and Hunter will kill him before he can even say "Hogwarts." Still, he has to say something for he can't get the Quidditch captain suspicious. His research told him that the second eldest Malfoy-Potter child is not just made up of good looks and Quidditch talent.
"Calliope—that's my sister—and her friend, Hunter, thought that if I enroll in Hogwarts and have you warm up to me, it will make the immersion much easier for them in February," he replies. There, he thinks. It is somewhat true, after all. At the corner of his eye, he realizes that Albus has gone first but left the door open for them.
Scorpius raises an eyebrow at him. "That's lot of sacrifice just to make sure that the exchange program goes smoothly," he says. He shrugs, "Anyway, whatever the reason, I hope you get sorted into Gryffindor." He grins, nudges Crux with his shoulder, and starts walking once more.
"I hope so, too," he replies, falling into step once more with Scorpius. I don't think I'll be able to focus if I get sorted into Slytherin and has to room with Albus, he thinks a little uncomfortably.
"Yeah. I'll be able to help you with a lot of things, I believe," Score chuckles as he pushes open the door further. Smells of pie and fruitcake reach their noses. "Like telling you the fact that unless you learn to be subtler, Albus will notice you're mooning at him and probably hex you."
Crux feels floored. Despite the blush spreading on his cheeks, he glares at Scorpius. Just for the effect, he grabs his collar and pushes him against the closed door. He growls, "Not a word, Malfoy-Potter."
Scorpius—the jerk—just laughs at him and sidesteps out of his grip. "Of course not, Romeo." His eyes, which were so much like Albus', flashes dangerously. "Just remember that if you mess Al up, you'll be answering to me, mates or not."
He leaves for the kitchen, calling out for the youngest Malfoy-Potter's name. Crux recovers from the shock of being found out and resolves to just admire Albus Severus Malfoy-Potter more subtly.
The only sounds that can be heard in the drawing room are the crackling of the fire and the occasional swish of Draco's robes as he shifted in Harry's lap. They are alone now, being left by Andromeda, Kingsley, Arthur, and Ashford a while ago to let the information sink into Draco. Draco, who hasn't said anything after trying to defend his husband, buries his face in the crook of Harry's neck and lets him run his fingers through his hair.
"Our request, Mr. Malfoy-Potter, is for your husband to be the central power—or weapon, if you want me to be frank—in our movement to eliminate these Muggles and their resources. For the future of the wizarding world."
There is silence—all of them has heard this, but Draco sits up straighter, his eyes wide. "What?"
Ashford briefly rubs his fingers between his eyebrows, as if he's suffering from a severe headache. He sighs and looks squarely at Draco's eyes. Calmly, he reiterates, "Mr. Malfoy-Potter, we are inviting—no, imploring your husband to fight and work for us. The Underground targets him, and it only makes sense that he fight for us."
"That's not it, at all, isn't it, Ashford?" sneers Arthur Weasley. "Tell him—tell Draco, how you intend to send Harry into different missions that will draw the Muggles' attention to him. Tell him how you intend to manipulate them into really considering Harry as their number one threat—"
"A bait?" Draco's voice is rising. He tries to stands up, but strong arms go around his waist and pull him down against a strong chest. He struggles. "You want to use my husband as your bloody pawn?!" He looks at Kingsley and Andromeda, who has served as his and Harry's parents years after Narcissa and Lucius passed away. "And you're in on this?"
Ashford ignores his reactions and says, "Yes, a bait. A sacrifice, if you will. Do you want me to give you another term for what we need the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord, for? Alright—we want him to be a symbol of the Confederation. A symbol of strength and courage. The Muggles—we don't know their power—will be coming soon, Mr. Malfoy-Potter. Whether you like it or not, your family is a target. What you can do is to convince your husband to fight for you and your sons. You'll be roped into this eventually, no matter how much you whine—"
"Shut up," Harry fiercely cuts him off. His voice was so sharp with emotions that Draco thinks it cuts through any sound in the word. Ashford tenses, then glares. Draco can imagine the light from the fire making the green of Harry's eyes dance and flash dangerously. "Shut up. I don't care who you are, but the next time you talk to my husband like that, I won't be sitting still, Ashford."
"You have to say yes, Harry," he replies fiercely. "Your children will be kidnapped; your husband will be threatened; you're involved in this as much as we all are. You have enough power to protect the wizarding world again. You're the hero. There's no other way. Why can't you just say yes?" His last words are a hiss, and he runs his fingers through his slicked brown hair frustratingly.
"I won't be anyone's pawn anymore, Ashford," Harry says, his hold in Draco's waist tightening. "I have my own family to think about now. I don't want to let anyone dictate how I live my life."
Draco holds the arms encircling his waist and firmly squeezes. He knows what Harry is feeling; he is the husband and lover, after all. He glares at Ashford. "Harry and I can protect our sons, if needs must."
Andromeda leaves her post behind her husband and approaches her nephew, hand outstretched to touch. "Draco…"
He shakes his head, but holds her hand. "Because I'm his partner, I'll respect and support Harry's decision, Aunt. No matter what it is." He gives the occupants in the room a resolute stare. "I think you should leave us for now and let us talk. You have disrupted our plans enough."
Nothing has been said between the couple after the other occupants left. Draco knows that Harry is giving him time to digest everything that has happened, and he is grateful. Harry has always been able to read him, the more time he spent trying to befriend him during their Eight Year. Draco has been difficult—when is he not?—but he is grateful that the war taught Harry patience and giving other people second chances.
He does not know what can have happened otherwise.
"Harry?" he says softly, still nuzzling the side of his husband's neck. Harry is playing with his hair. The situation is so normal to Draco, they could have been in their room at Godric's Hollow. They're not, though, and they need to talk.
"Yeah?"
"Why didn't you tell me about what Ashford told you right away?" Don't you trust me? Draco's insecurities supplies in his mind. He fights them, though.
Fingers do not stop running through his hair. "I didn't tell you because it was a done deal. My decision was made, love. I don't want to be anyone's pawn anymore – I don't want you and our sons getting roped into this and getting worried."
Draco straightens up to glare at his husband. "Potter, I hardly think that a Muggle criminal organization after your magical core is nothing to worry about." He sighs and shakes his head. "You do realize that there is a great chance that we'll have to fight, right? And you're still Chief of International Task Force. They'll try and get you whatever way they can."
Harry cups the side of Draco's face with his palm and Draco leans into it. He smiles. "I'll be careful. You should, too. Love, after almost dying seven years ago, I realized that I don't want to go sacrificing my life for every cause that jumps my way. I still want to live long with you, to see James, Al, and Score be successful in their careers, to see Percy grow up, to make love to you every night, and do many more things with all of you."
Draco, cupping his palms around Harry's neck, smirks. "Nothing is more important."
"Yes, nothing is more important. You and the children always come first. Maybe things will grow into another war and we would have to fight, but everything that I will do, I want to do for our family. Being the weapon and poster boy of other people's plans will not help you one bit. I'm being less reckless about this, you know?"
Draco runs his thumb over his husband's bottom lip. "Really?"
"Really, really." He nips at the pale, soft thumb playfully.
Draco shakes his head at him and drawls, "Potter, your children are right. You're a very sappy man." He kisses him on the cheek, rests his head under his chin, and hums contentedly.
"Yours, though," Harry replies; he buries his face on platinum blonde hair and draws the body on his lap ever closer to himself. They'll deal with things as they come, but they'll be prepared. Later, they'll both have to go down for lunch with the Weasleys, and talk about Quidditch, work, and children. He'll have to face Ashford and Kingsley once more and prove to them that his decision is made. Then, tonight, he'll cook dinner with the boys, while Draco and Percy read a book to them.
But those are all for later. Right now, though, they have this moment. Harry will enjoy it.
Arthur leads them to a smaller sitting room in the Burrow after leaving the Malfoy-Potters. Christopher feels like his migraine is attacking once more, and is grateful when Andromeda offers him a cup of tea and the platter of biscuits. He refuses the biscuits, but eagerly inhales the calming scent of chamomile. He ignores the look of slight disapproval in her warm, whiskey-colored eyes.
Harry Potter is stubborn, he'll give him that. The man will not bend to their will any time in the future, and it's grating on Christopher's nerves. Most of his allies are ready to proceed to the next steps of the plan—except Potter. He's tried the gentle, non-coercive coaxing at the pizzeria two days ago; he's expected that Harry would change his mind and contact him soon. The disappointment and irritation is indescribable when no message from the Head Auror has arrived.
"Harry will never concede to most of your plans, Ashford. He'll bow to nobody."
He looks up and meets Arthur Weasley's steady gaze. Despite assuring them of his cooperation in parts of the plan when he sees it fit, the man loyally stands by Harry Potter like a father. "Even if it's the only way he can save his family? Even what we offer is what we'll help them the best?" he drawls, feeling infinitesimally better after a sip from his teacup.
Andromeda shakes her head as she returns to a seat beside her husband. "You can't be so bold as to say what you offer them is the best. Harry and Draco have their own means to protect their family. Arthur is right. Harry will not be a pawn." She lays a hand on Kingsley's knee and daintily sips her tea. "Even I, who knows that Harry is crucial in this ordeal, never want Harry to be treated as a mere tool again."
Christopher smirks at Lady Shacklebolt, always the epitome of grace. "Aren't we all tools in the bigger scheme of things, though? Don't we all have purposes to serve?"
"But to reduce the man into a mere symbol— a poster boy under the whims of those around him—"
"Andy, we've been through this—" Kingsley says, but she turns towards him with a glare.
"Do not interrupt me, dear husband. Christopher, if you cannot convince your partners regarding Harry's contributions in these efforts, you might as well form contingency plans that discount Harry. Coercion and manipulation can only go so far—not just on Harry, but other people as well. Mr. Potter, more than anyone else, knows the costs of reducing people as personal chess pieces."
The gears in Christopher's head are turning. So many people to talk to. He internally groans at the major adjustments he will have to explain to his daughter. He can, however, visualize her smirk and "I told you so." Still, he thinks that no one should blame him if he still cannot be rid of looking at situations like a chess game.
His migraine kicks up again, but he does not stand up. Instead, he tries to enjoy his tea, thinking about how he would have gone over his plans if his wife is still alive.
"…I'll help you with your negotiations with the Confederation, President Ashford," Kingsley is saying. The Magical President of America looks up. "Let's just leave Head Auror Potter alone."
"For now," Christopher replies. Harry Potter must be in on this. The whole world needs it. He does not know if he can give up some power for the strong-willed, dark-haired man, but he'll see his choices. He's not giving up anytime soon.
Downstairs, he knows that his son is making acquaintances with the Malfoy-Potter boys. He tunes out the conversations around him. He decides to stay in the Burrow longer and lets Crux have his fun. Goodness knows that his children need to be teenagers sometimes.
An hour later, the door of the drawing room opens and little Percy pads his little feet on the carpet to check on his Daddy and Papa. He holds a plate of treacle tart and a slice of raspberry pie to share to them. Molly has sent him upstairs after having nothing to do downstairs but sit on the bench and ask questions about chickens while she cooks. He might as well go to his fathers. However, when he checks on them on the sofa, he finds Papa lying across Daddy, their arms around each other. Both are asleep.
Percy stuffs his fist in his mouth, trying to stifle his giggles. Unfortunately, because his little body is trembling, the fork clinks against the plate and Daddy opens his eyes.
"Daddy," Percy whispers, places the plate on the table in front of the sofa them and climbs on it. Carefully, so as not to jostle and wake Papa. "Daddy, I brought you pie."
Daddy grins at him and winks. He mouths 'Thank you, later' and points at his sleeping Papa. Percy nods and tries to get comfortable on his seat. No one from the Weasley kids will play with him, Score seems to be playing chase or hide and seek with Rose, and Al's attention is being stolen by the boy from the pizza house. He might as well join his Daddy in looking after his Papa.
"Daddy," he whispers again, and his Daddy smiles to show that he's paying attention. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Can I sleep like Papa, too?"
Daddy beams at him and levitates the plate between them to a nearby table with a wave of his hand. Then, he stretches one arm to invite Percy into his embrace. The little blonde—carefully—attaches himself to his Daddy's side and wraps his arms around his Papa's.
He likes this, he thinks. It does not matter if the Weasley kids do not like him, or the niceness of the new Aunt—Aunt Ginny— feels forced. As long as he's with his parents, he cannot be upset forever.
Nope.
Percy's happy.
A/N: Here's Chapter 3! I really hope that once the number of chapters here catches up with that in the other site, I've gone back to two chapters a week updates. Thank you for all those who read and followed this story. (sending virtual hugs your way)
I also appreciate reviews. So if you have a chapter review for me, I'll eagerly see what you've got to say to help me improve this and my writing as a whole.