A/N: After doing some Harry Potter research, I've been reminded that Ted Tonks was killed in the books. I mentioned him in an earlier chapter and in this chapter as well so I guess in this story he is still alive.
Also, I'm going to start going deeper and deeper into pureblood stuff that I've made up. I'm going to be filling in a lot of pureblood family trees with my own, made-up characters. I'll use existing ones when I can.
Chapter 12
.o.o.o.o.o.
They stood together in the dark, basement dining hall of Grimmauld Place. Before them, upon the dining table that was long, and hastily spelled longer during the time it had served as the meeting table for the Order, was the entirety of what Harry and Draco had managed to shove into the bag from the Department of Mysteries. Most of it, at least to Harry, seemed to be just random things- drawings and notes that were entirely out of context and therefore impossible to make sense of. There were some odd tools, some jars of strange potion ingredients and a few other things, but it was clear that the most valuable items, the ones that would be explaining everything, were the three folders labeled in roman numerals that Malfoy had grabbed off of Rookwood's desk.
They'd put off opening them until after they'd organized everything else, perhaps afraid of what was inside. Harry stole a glance at Malfoy, who was leaning over the table, deep in thought. The other man had shown up early that morning- so early that Harry had not yet gotten out of bed. They hadn't had time to address what had happened between them on Christmas Eve. Malfoy, it seemed, had more pressing things on his mind, and Harry thought maybe it was better for their potential romantic relationship to exist in limbo rather than come to any sort of final end.
'Once,' Harry had demanded, and 'once' Malfoy had agreed. Still, Harry wanted to believe there could be more, so long as he didn't push too hard. He stared distractedly at the blonde man next to him. Everything about him was slender and graceful, though not particularly delicate. There was still something powerful, something masculine short-circuiting Harry's brain every time it tried to categorize Malfoy as a 'lover.' His former crushes had only ever been 'female, cute, helpless' and other such words that were mostly unsuitable to describe Malfoy. This contradiction was keeping Harry on edge and endlessly fascinated.
Their sex had been mind-blowing, to say the least. Harry felt as though he had channeled years of pent up rage into a single climax and now when he looked at Malfoy, the last vestiges of hate had finally dissipated. An old, frustrating desire had finally been fulfilled. Harry's eyes locked on to a purpleing bruise just visible above the collar of Malfoy's shirt. He'd put that there.
Take him. He is yours. You deserve him, that hint of dark magic whispered in his ear. Harry shook his head to clear it. Thankfully, Malfoy was not a party to his inner thoughts. The other man was still staring down at the folders. He reached a hand out to the one labeled 'I' and flipped it open.
As expected, it appeared to be filled cover to cover with writing. However, the writing was not in any language that Harry could recognize. It looked as though it had been written in some kind of ancient script. Malfoy stared down at it for a few seconds before shoving it violently off of the table. Parchment fluttered everywhere.
"That evil, sadistic, old wretch!" Malfoy shouted. His fists clenched upon the table and he hunched his shoulders and bowed his head in rage, "How many more hoops must I jump through!?" Making a noise of pure fury, Malfoy grabbed a hold of something upon the table that looked like a sneakoscope. He chucked it across the room, where it shattered the glass of a china cabinet. He took up another random object, but this time Harry stepped in to stop him.
"This isn't helping!"
"You don't get it, do you Potter?! I'm running out of time! It's been ten weeks and I have nothing to show for it! How many more do I have left?!" Malfoy snarled. Harry grabbed both of his wrists with the intent of stopping the other's destructive rampage, but the initial touch was as electrifying as usual. Whatever Malfoy had planned to shout next became only a sharp inhale. Beneath his grip, Harry could feel Malfoy's thundering pulse. The other man glared at him wildly while pulling furious, rasping breaths through his nose.
"I get it, Malfoy. I get it. Remember who you're talking to. Now calm down. We'll figure it out, alright?"
Begrudgingly, Malfoy obeyed, calming in slow increments after every breath. Eventually, he came to his senses enough to yank his hands away from Harry's grasp. He seemed to remember something and fumbled within his pockets for a moment before digging out a small card and placing it upon the table next to some of the scattered parchment. Upon it was an image of the Virgin Mary. Malfoy flipped it over to reveal a prayer. After studying it for a short time, he let out a relieved sigh.
"It's here. The key to the cipher," he announced. He then used a slender finger to direct Harry's attention to the letters spaced throughout that had been substituted with similar-looking runes. His hawthorn wand was sitting on the table and Malfoy grabbed it. He pointed it at the card and uttered an unfamiliar spell. The letters in the prayer suddenly rearranged themselves to clearly show which runes corresponded to which letters in the cipher.
"Sorry Potter," Malfoy muttered grudgingly as he smoothed back his tussled, blonde hair, "For losing my mind."
Harry wanted to tell Malfoy that it was ok to be afraid- that anyone in his position would feel the same- and that it didn't mean he was weak, so long as he never let the fear paralyze him. Harry really wished he could have heard more things like that when he felt like he was facing Voldemort all alone. Unfortunately, he didn't think this would be received well. It didn't feel like he and Malfoy were close enough for that kind of talk.
"We're going to fix this, Malfoy. I promise."
Embarrassed, Malfoy did not meet his eye and instead crouched to the floor to begin gathering up the parchment that had landed everywhere. Harry helped him until it was all back in the folder, though probably not in the proper order.
"I think it's clear what has to be done next. We have to go through and decode everything," Malfoy explained. He waved his wand again and duplicated the prayer card so that there was a key for Harry to use. He then placed his hand upon the folder that was labeled 'III' and slid it over to himself. "If you don't mind, Potter, I'll be taking this one. I think it might have the most pertinent information when it comes to relieving my… situation. I would be grateful if you could get started on the others."
"You're taking it back with you? I thought perhaps we could work on it here, together," Harry said, not even trying to hide his disappointment. Malfoy purposely avoided Harry's eyes.
"I think that would prove a bit distracting, don't you, Potter?"
"It could be good. We could help one another." Was he even talking about decoding the cipher anymore? Malfoy seemed to sense that the conversation was veering in another direction. Harry watched his walls slam back into place.
"I'll return when it's decoded, and we can share what we've each learned. You'll be remaining here until the new term starts, right?"
"...yeah."
"Perfect. Expect my owl," The folder slid easily into Malfoy's bag and Harry walked with him to the floo.
"I'd really like to see more of you, if possible," Harry said to his back, against his better judgment. Malfoy stiffened.
"I don't think that would be a good idea. Potter, it is nothing personal, but surely you've realized that the two of us simply live in two different worlds."
With that, Malfoy stepped into the floo and was gone.
.o.o.o.o.o.
Harry discovered within the first few days that decrypting another wizard's notes entirely by hand was a long and tedious thing. It took him an hour per page and his patience with the task was about the same as if he were writing a potions essay. The text itself made little sense to Harry, as it was now all out of order within folder number 1. He sent an owl to Hermione, thinking that there had to be a way to use magic to transcribe this quicker.
By that evening, Harry received her answer. The opening was mildly scolding that Harry had gone a week without assuring them he was safe after his stunt at the ministry. She then explained that there were several spells to help with translation and transcription, and that she would be happy to show him when he came to the burrow that Sunday for dinner with the Weasleys.
Harry, of course, hadn't planned on attending that, but now it was looking like he was going to have to endure it. The upside was that Harry now felt no shame in pushing Rookwood's notes away and setting down his quill. There was no sense in continuing if by Sunday evening, he'd have a spell to have it done instantly.
Grimmauld Place felt too large and silent without the scratching of his quill. After being shut away for so long, Harry found himself longing for company- for a distraction, or anything really. He spotted a half-wrapped toy in the corner of the room and realized that he'd never given Teddy his Christmas present. Guilt clawed at his insides. He'd promised to be there for that kid and he'd hardly visited him since the summer.
Harry left the desk and went to finish the wrapping job.
The house belonging to Ted and Andromeda Tonks was cozy and unassuming. It did not have the farmhouse atmosphere of the burrow, but it was warm and welcoming and it always put Harry at ease. Even though he'd floo'd ahead, the house was quiet. Harry climbed the stairs and found Andromeda folding clothing in Teddy's bedroom.
"Oh Harry! So kind of you to drop by."
"Sorry I didn't come sooner. Some things came up. I've some presents for Teddy."
"He'll be delighted, I'm sure. He's out with Ted right now. Let me just finish sorting these baby clothes and you can help me with dinner."
"Didn't Teddy grow out of these months ago?" Harry asked when his eyes found the tiny onesie decorated with a snitch that he'd bought just after the war. Andromeda's expression became complicated.
"I'll be offering some of the nicer things to my nephew. I found out recently that he's expecting."
"Oh, er," Harry didn't know why hearing this from her was so surprising. Maybe it was because he didn't expect that Malfoy would be sharing any hint of what was happening to him with anyone. That was wishful thinking though, wasn't it? How else would he explain his current symptoms and any future ones to his family. This way actually made the most sense. However, it immediately caused a strange feeling to rise up in Harry., "Wow, erm, that's great." Andromeda picked up on his awkwardness.
"Does it surprise you, Harry? A wizard pregnancy? I know it shocked Ted at first too. Apparently, it doesn't happen to muggles."
"No. Definitely not," Harry responded, "Is it… common for wizards to… you know…?" Harry was curious. It was treated so normally- like it was an everyday occurrence.
"There was a time during the French Revolution where it was so common that witch and wizard fashions had nearly reversed themselves, but now, with more muggle blood being mixed with magical blood, the ability of wizards to conceive has dwindled. It is seen as something a bit outdated and generally restricted to purebloods."
"Ah, I see." Harry wasn't really sure why he was suddenly so interested in this. Was it because of the subject matter of the notes he'd been pouring over?
"Whatever you might think of that nephew of mine, Harry, he seems to have his heart in the right place. He may have participated in some dreadful things during the war, but if you ever see him again, I hope you can grant him some grace. It isn't easy to reject one's family the way I once did."
"Malfoy's alright, really," Harry said, hoping his face didn't turn too red, "I've been seeing him at Hogwarts. He's helped me with my class a few times."
"Oh, Harry, it lightens my old, sentimental heart to hear that. I see far too much of myself in that poor boy. I'd like to give him the support that I never had."
"Maybe I could help too," Harry suggested, seeing an opportunity. He remembered Malfoy's final words to him about the two of them living in different worlds. Aside from that time at the opera house, Harry had mostly rebuffed Andromeda's attempts to socialize him in pureblood society, and he found himself suddenly regretting it.
"That would be wonderful, Harry," Andromeda said with a beaming smile.
"And Mrs. Tonks?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I was wondering, if you wouldn't mind, could I trouble you to teach me more about pureblood customs? It's just… I've really come to realize lately that my education in certain areas is lacking."
"Of course!"
.o.o.o.o.o.
Sunday came around soon enough. Harry's appearance at the burrow was met with much jubilation and he was assaulted by Molly as soon as he opened the door. She enveloped him in a hug that went for so long and was so tight that Harry actually had to tap her on the shoulder to let her know he needed air.
"Blimey, Mum. Let the man walk through the door first!" came George's voice.
"Oh Harry, it's good to see you! It's been ages. Come in! Come in! Let's get you fed. Look how skinny you've gotten."
"Hold off, Mum," Ron said, appearing at his mother's side with Hermione behind him. "I wanna take him out to the shed and show him Charlie's new Firebolt Turbo XM." Even though Harry suspected this was an excuse so that the three of them could speak alone, the prospect of ogling such a broom excited him.
Mrs. Weasley's demeanor changed immediately. She gave a disapproving glare in the direction of the shed and her mood took a sour turn. Harry found this a bit strange. As far as he knew, she'd always supported and encouraged her childrens' interests in quidditch and brooms.
"Alright then, but make it quick. Dinner will be cold," she said, a bit shorter than normal. Ron and Hermione scooted past her and Harry followed them out into the yard.
"Er, is she alright?" Harry wondered aloud, once they were out of earshot.
"Yeah. There was a huge fight about this broom when it was delivered on Christmas," Ron answered in a hushed voice, "Mum and dad actually took Charlie out to the shed and had a long talk with him. George and I tried to use an extendable ear to listen in, but mum knows how to disable them now. I'm guessing Charlie probably spent his life's savings on this broom and he was getting a nasty scolding for it. George doesn't think so. He reckons Charlie's found himself a rich girlfriend. I'm not so sure though. Never seen Charlie with a girl before."
"Is it so hard to believe he might have developed an interest?" Hermione said, "We all have to grow up at some point."
"Yeah, but this is Charlie we're talking about," Ron dismissed as if this somehow explained everything, "He's interested in dragons and quidditch and that's it. Anyway, he's home from Romania for a bit, so you'll see him today, Harry."
They shut themselves in the shed and Harry did indeed ogle the sleek-looking broom for a moment before he could ignore his friends' penetrating stares no longer. They were waiting for him to tell them about what happened in the ministry.
"It went well, I think," Harry reported. Ron and Hermioned seemed to be waiting for more and when Harry offered nothing else, Ron spoke up.
"Mate, from the sound of it, you nearly burned down the Department of Mysteries. On top of that, there's an intern that's dead and another that's in St. Mungo's with memory loss."
"Things got a bit out of hand at the end, I guess," Harry admitted, "That intern was torn apart by inferi. I had to use the fire to keep them off of us as well. The other intern… he saw our faces, or er, your faces, so we had to obliviate him." The look that Ron and Hermione exchanged made Harry realize that most people might not consider a covert break-in that resulted in a fire and a death to be a 'job well done.' Had Harry really become so desensitized to these things?
"Merlin," Ron breathed, "Inferi? In the Department of Mysteries? I knew they got up to some shady stuff, but creating inferi is downright illegal."
"Yeah and to be honest, that didn't seem like the worst of what was down there," Harry said darkly.
"There ought to be an investigation launched!" Hermione scowled, "How could the ministry allow such a thing?"
"I hate to say this, 'Mione, but an investigation really wouldn't be a good thing for us personally right now," Ron pointed out.
"Oh, yes, right," Hermione responded, the wind taken out of her sails. She then shook her head, as though not wanting to ponder becoming implicated in Harry and Malfoy's crime. "Harry, did you at least find what you were looking for?"
"I did," Harry confirmed, "But it's been written in some kind of secret code. That's why I need those spells you mentioned, Hermione. It's taking too long to translate it all by hand."
"Oh, I see!" Hermione answered, realizing that Harry's earlier owl asking about transcription spells had not been something random. "Yes, there's a ton of magic to help with that. I learned how to decipher foreign scripts while taking ancient runes at Hogwarts."
"Brilliant!" said Harry. He knew he could count on her. They remained in the shed for a time while Harry learned a few different charms that could help him with his work. After that was finished, the three of them lapsed into silence. Harry wanted to say more, but to do so would compromise his vow. Luckily, the other two seemed to recognize this.
"Harry, is the danger over now?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, mostly," Harry lied with a shrug, realizing this was the best answer. What use was it to continue to worry them? "There's just some loose ends to wrap up now, but it might take a bit." They both seemed relieved at this.
"Let us know if there's anything else we can do to help," Hermione urged. Harry promised to do so, but he hoped that he didn't need to involve them any more than he already had. Just because Harry couldn't stay away from anything to do with Voldemort didn't necessarily mean he needed to disrupt Ron and Hermione's happy and ordinary post-war lives.
"Stay for dinner, won't you? You'll break mum's heart if you leave now," Ron said. Harry supposed he had no reason to refuse. He didn't really understand why being with people, especially loud, boisterous and carefree people like the Weasleys suddenly seemed daunting and exhausting. That had never been the case before. Had he been spending too much time alone? Perhaps forcing himself to be in the company of others was something he really needed to help break his antisocial streak.
As it would turn out, Harry didn't need to worry about excess noise and stimulation. Dinner was a strangely subdued affair. It was also a rather small gathering, with only Molly, Arthur and George sitting at the table. There were places for Harry, Ron, and Hermione and one extra that Harry assumed to be Charlie's, though he had not come to the table. Harry learned quickly from Arthur's explanation that Bill and Percy were working and Ginny would probably choose to stay away. Molly seemed to not be her cheerful self, and spent the meal stewing over something. George and Arthur spoke of politics.
"Do you think Daniel McLaggen will run for minister, dad?"
"He would have a good deal of support if he did," Arthur answered his son, "Rich, good-looking, and as the owner of a company that provided the public with free protective charms and devices during the war, Kingsley would be hard-pressed to win against him."
"How's that?" George scoffed in disbelief, "Kingsley's a war hero. Who in their right mind would pick McLaggen over Kingsley?"
"Someone who's not looking to have a hero as Minister of Magic," Arthur explained, a bit darkly. "Kingsley is a man who can't be bought or swayed, and let us not forget that he took power by way of a coup. A fair and proper election is in order, and I'm afraid a decent number of witches and wizards do not share Kingsley's mindset on politics."
"What rubbish," George muttered, "Anyone still on the other side of things deserves Azkaban."
"If we were to go around putting witches and wizards in Azkaban for simply disagreeing with us, that would make us no better than them, son," Arthur said.
Harry knew that only a few months ago, he would have agreed whole-heartedly with George. Now, however, to hear something like that sounded strangely extreme. Did Malfoy deserve Azkaban? Did his mother? They weren't entirely bad people.
Conversation moved on to lighter subjects, such as the weather. When Harry was feeling full and satisfied and thoroughly lulled into a false sense of security, Ginny was suddenly at the door. She had an unfamiliar man in tow.
"Merlin, another one," George said under his breath as he leaned in towards Ron.
"Two sickles says this one won't last a month," Ron murmured back.
"I'll give it two weeks," George said, while Hermione glared furiously at both of them. Harry endured the awkward introduction and listened to Molly's forced fawning before deciding it was safe to leave the table and take his plate over to the sink in the kitchen. He thought he was over Ginny. He never thought about her anymore romantically or sexually, so why was it still painful to see her?
You're jealous, a dark voice in his head supplied, because she knows what she wants and she's getting it. Meanwhile you, savior of the wizarding world, can barely get Draco sodding Malfoy to give you the time of day.
"Alright Harry?" said a voice. Harry realized that he'd been standing in front of the sink for far too long, and he hadn't noticed that anyone else was in the kitchen. Charlie was leaning against the counter, nursing a drink.
"Er. Yeah."
"Do you smoke?"
"No," Harry responded. Charlie glanced meaningfully back toward the dining room, where the noise level had crept up once again.
"Would you like to?"
This was how Harry found himself on the back porch with Charlie, sitting in a wicker chair with a muggle cigarette pinched between his fingers. He'd tried them once, in the summer after his third year. He'd found a pack under Dudley's bed and stolen it. He hadn't really enjoyed the actual smoking, but he had enjoyed the fact that Dudley was unable to complain about the theft to Vernon and Petunia, seeing as they wouldn't have approved of their perfect son indulging in something so delinquent.
Harry found that the tobacco had a different flavor this time around, and the acrid burn against the back of his throat was cathartic.
The porch had already smelled of smoke when Harry had left the house. He wondered, briefly, if Charlie had just come in from smoking when Harry had walked into the kitchen. Harry didn't really know much about Charlie, but the older man appeared to be in a very strange mood.
Harry turned his attention to a magazine lying haphazardly upon the ground near his feet. It was flipped open and face down so that the cover still showed. It called itself Style Pure, and was a witches' magazine if Harry ever saw one. The front page was a picture of Cormac McLaggen. He was wearing quidditch attire, the uniform of Puddlemere United, and smiling in a cocksure way that irked Harry for no reason.
"Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelor!" the headline read. The headline wasn't what had Harry picking it up, however. Instead, it was a small teaser on the cover.
Draco Malfoy's Secret Pregnancy! Pg 25.
Curious, Harry turned to the right page to find a picture of Malfoy exiting a shop in Diagon Alley. The Malfoy in the photo took a moment to notice the camera, then he scowled and apparated away.
According to a close source, Draco Malfoy, 18, now head of the Malfoy family, is dealing with a crisis pregnancy! This could prove another devastating blow to the already weakened prestige of the Malfoy name. It is uncertain how many months the scandal has been hidden from the public, and the question that everyone surely wants to know is who is his mystery beau? Malfoy was spotted at the Macmillan's Halloween Masquerade with an unknown wizard. Could this man be the father of his child?Will there be a wedding announcement?
"Mum's guilty pleasure," Charlie explained, gesturing to the magazine in Harry's hand, "She says she doesn't care about pureblood gossip, but she reads it anyway." There was something very bitter in the other man's voice. Harry wasn't really sure what to say to this, so he set the magazine down and tried to change the subject.
"I, er, got a chance to see your new broom," Harry said into the silence, "I hear the turn radius on the Turbo XM is the tightest yet."
"A magnificent piece of craftsmanship!" Charlie exclaimed, his face lighting up, "The split-twig tail really gives it an edge over the latest Nimbus and Cleansweep," his expression fell again quickly, "I'm sorry if you found mum and dad to be a bit strange today, Harry. The broom was a gift from an old Hogwarts friend of mine that they've never approved of."
Harry was sure a look of bewilderment must have crossed his face. He couldn't imagine someone that the Weasleys disapproved of. Was this person some sort of potions addict or criminal? Charlie noticed his confusion and gave a small chuckle.
"Does the name Rosier ring any bells for you, Harry?" Charlie asked.
Everything suddenly fell into place. Harry recognized Rosier as a Death Eater name. Evan Rosier had been a Death Eater that died in the first war, hadn't he? The Rosiers were an old, pureblood family.
"I haven't spoken to Felix in years, for obvious reasons," Charlie went on. Harry noticed that his face was more ruddy than usual. Was he blushing? "But now that things have died down, well, it seems he hasn't forgotten me. If it was possible…" Charlie hesitated. He spoke in a very small, stilted and embarrassed voice, "I think I would marry him."
Again, Harry was struck dumb. None of this was anything he'd expected to be discussing with Charlie. He'd never imagined this of a Weasley. It was clear that Charlie hadn't told anyone apart from his parents this news. George had nearly guessed it, though Harry remembered the conversation that had just taken place at the table, and he could see why Charlie might be fearing further backlash if he told his siblings as well.
The silence stretched for a beat too long, and Harry realized with a cold feeling that Charlie was waiting to hear Harry's own judgment.
"What's stopping you?" Harry asked, feeling bold. Charlie blinked and looked up, appearing as if he had been expecting a different reaction.
"You're not angry or disgusted?" Charlie asked in weak disbelief.
"Why would I be? Who you love is your business, though I do hope that he's not some Voldemort-worshiping nutter like his father apparently was," Harry said. Why was his own heart beating faster? Why did discussing this topic make Harry feel as though it was relevant to himself as well?
"Felix was quite disillusioned, actually. I suppose the fact that both his father and grandfather died for Voldemort made him reluctant to sign his life away too. I've tried to explain this to mum, but she doesn't seem to want to hear it."
"Does it really matter what she thinks? If you love him, do what you want." These words were unintentionally powerful to Harry's own ears, as if he wasn't only saying them for Charlie's benefit. It was as if he needed to hear them himself.
"I wish it was that simple, Harry," Charlie said quietly, looking more and more relaxed as he realized that Harry wasn't going to shout at him or shame him, "Felix is the only child of the Rosier family. He'll inherit their fortune so his marriage is a big deal. To enter into a proper, pureblood engagement requires the blessings of both of our families."
"Are you not considered a good enough match by his family?" Harry wondered. Charlie laughed.
"Quite the opposite! My blood is as pure as any Rosier's, and the aftermath of the war has left us Weasleys in rather high standing. Felix's grandmother seems to like me well enough. It is only my family that is acting as an obstacle."
Again, Harry took a moment to wrap his brain around this, trying desperately to imagine Molly Weasley sticking her nose up at her son's choice of partner because of his family background. Even though Harry understood why Mrs. Weasley would refuse such a marriage, it was only now dawning upon him how entirely hypocritical it was.
Was this the result of Harry spending too much time in Malfoy's company? Or had these been his own beliefs from the beginning? It was so hard to know.
"You're parents… they'll come around won't they?"
"I'm not so sure about that, Harry," Charlie said sadly, "It is thought that Evan Rosier was one of the Death Eaters that murdered my uncles, though that was never actually proven."
Well that was a bit of a mess then, wasn't it? Harry thought. The older man flicked his cigarette onto the ground and sighed. "It is what it is, but I'm glad I have your support, Harry. It means a lot."
Harry supposed that 'support' might be too strong of a word, but then again, a part of him was curious to see how this relationship of Charlie's would turn out. He had no ideas on how to help or any advice to give, all he knew was that he'd suddenly become very interested in Charlie's situation- and the concept of loving thy enemy- quite literally.
Unfortunately, even though Harry had more questions on the tip of his tongue, their conversation had to be cut short because Ron poked his head out of the door.
"Dessert's ready."
.o.o.o.o.o.