Chapter 19

Wind ruffling his hair, Harry pumped harder at the bike pedals, leaning into the turn at Magnolia Crescent. A trio of boys lounged at the corner, heads lowered in bull-like aggression, grunting menacingly at the pedestrians foolish enough not to cross the street to avoid them.

"Oi! Big D! It's the freak!"

Harry glanced quickly to the side. Dudley and his fellow thugs were staring at Harry as he whipped by, wingèd Mercury on his glorious red bicycle. Trusting to his speed, Harry gave them a cocky little wave and surged past.

Offended, Piers lurched at the red blur, but Dudley caught him painfully by the bicep.

"Leave it, Piers."

"But it's the freak, mate!"

"Leave it!"

Oblivious to the scene on the corner, Harry was home and safe, jumping off the little black seat and running his faithful steed into the security of his private door off the back garden of Number Four Privet Drive. The bicycle just fit between the wainscoting and the graceful helical curve of the metal staircase. Pale yellow light diffused down from a new Finn's Window drawn into existence only that week. Harry dashed up the stairs, shrugged off his battered old backpack, and sprawled contentedly on his very own bed.

It was good to have a few quid of his own to spend as he liked. It was good to ride far and fast through Little Whinging, caring nothing for the censorious looks of gossipy housewives or the threats of Dudley's friends. He had bought himself a lemon ice pop and a new Spiderman comic. Groping into the discarded backpack, he pulled out the new treasure and thumbed through it.

"...WITH GREAT POWER COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY..."

"Blimey!" Harry muttered. "Spiderman is really deep!"

Much impressed, Harry wriggled into a more comfortable position and settled down for a good read. He had until noon, when Muffy would serve lunch. Then he'd need to shower and change. Professor Snape was coming to take him to Malfoy Manor to spend the afternoon and evening. Dinner would be a posh affair, Harry had been told that he would be expected to wear the fancy green robes that Muffy had brought early this morning. The robes had real gold buttons, borrowed for the occasion from some of his father James' old clothes.

He was a little nervous about the visit. Madam Malfoy was nice, and Draco was all right, but Harry could tell that the Professor was a little worried about Harry meeting Mr Malfoy.

Mr Malfoy, it seemed, was a very rich man, and a very influential wizard. He was very traditional, too, and thought family was really important. He was one of those wizards who was prejudiced about muggleborn wizards and witches, The Professor said that Mr Malfoy had gotten mixed up with that rotten Voldemort, but that he not been punished for it, since he had claimed that he had been under a spell. The Professor had told Harry that there really was such a spell, called the Imperius curse, which could make people do whatever they were told to do. It was one of the Unforgivable Curses, because it was evil to make another person into a puppet like that. Harry could only agree.

But why should he worry? If Voldemort had done something so awful to Mr Malfoy, then Mr Malfoy couldn't possibly like Voldemort anymore, could he?

No way. Harry shrugged, and gazed entranced at the pictures of Spiderman swinging through the skies. Draco was going to show him how to fly on a broom today!

"Hello, Arabella."

"Severus Snape!"

The woman gaped at her visitor, while cats by the baker's dozen wound sinuously around the humans' ankles. Snape glared out of the corner of his eye at one particularly impudent tom, who thought black broadcloth just the place to deposit white fur.

Snatching his robes away with an annoyed hiss, Snape fixed his stare on the uneasy squib in the doorway. The house reeked of boiled cabbage and catboxes uncounted, but Snape did not allow his nostrils so much as a quiver. He would display no weakness when questioning this woman.

"May I come in?"

With obvious reluctance, he was ushered into the fussy sitting room. It was a shabbier, mustier version of the Dursleys', with the addition of too many cats for cleanliness. He regarded the offered armchair with distaste before vanishing the cat hair on it. He sat, and studied the nervous woman fidgeting on the edge of the sofa. A neat-eared tabby crouched by his left leg, eyeing Snape for lap potential. Snape glared at the creature repressively, until it rolled to its side and washed a white paw, pretending indifference.

He began, not troubling to mince words. "Dumbledore placed you here, I presume, to keep an eye on Harry."

She nodded, and gulped.

"Well, you've done a piss-poor job of it!"

She trembled, mouth working. Snape sneered at her.

"You must have seen what they were doing to him. You must have heard the vicious rubbish Petunia spread about him. He was here in your house, after all! You knew he was underfed and downtrodden. Why the bloody hell didn't you tell someone?" He shouted out the last words, spit spraying. The tabby lying at his feet decided that the kitchen was a more appropriate place for her ablutions.

Mrs Figg seemed about to burst. Her hands waggled futilely, Suddenly she squeaked out, "I did! I did tell Albus! As soon as Harry was able to toddle out of doors they had him pulling weeds in the garden, and they'd speak to him-oh, ever so hatefully! I've told Albus they are mean, miserable people. He doesn't want to hear it. You know how he is-he explains things so I'm not sure that I've seen what I've seen. I feel reassured, and then it all happens again. I tried, but-" her voice dropped, and she looked at her hands, wringing them together until the knuckles showed white. She peered beseechingly up at Snape. "You know how he is. I'm afraid to tell him things he doesn't like. He might put someone else here- and I do some good. Harry comes here when the Dursleys don't want him, and so he's safe for awhile..."

Snape frowned, beginning to understand. "You do not own this house, I take it?"

"Of course not! How could I possibly afford something like this? Dumbledore made the arrangements and installed me here to keep a watch on Harry, and I've been here ever since." Rather pitifully, she added, "It's the nicest home I've ever had."

Snape was silent, considering her words. No doubt, as a squib she had been given few opportunities in life for education or employment. Dumbledore taking her under his wing must have been the luckiest thing that ever befell her. The house-he snorted to himself-was probably paid for with Potter funds. Ironic, really. And a seriously poor judgement call on the Headmaster's part, giving the otherwise well-meaning Arabella a strong financial incentive not to push too hard to have Harry removed from the Dursleys' care.

"It's all moot now," he said at last. "Minerva and I have taken steps to remedy Harry's situation. You need not worry about him. Continue to keep an eye on the house, though I suggest you focus more on strangers in the neighborhood or visitors to the Dursleys than on Harry himself. I have been named Harry's wizarding proxy by Petunia, so I will be dealing with all his school concerns."

"Well-that's good, isn't it?" Arabella ventured timidly.

"I certainly hope so."

"It's-big," Harry declared. He had seen pictures of country houses, but of course had never visited one. Aunt Petunia had refused to sign his permission slip, and so he had missed the class trip to Syon House and Kew Gardens. He still planned to try to bike there someday.

Malfoy Manor was a very grand house indeed. The portkey had taken them just inside some tall iron gates. Up a tree-shaded avenue awaited the Manor proper: an H-shaped Tudor mansion. It looked more like a palace than a house to Harry's inexperienced eyes.

"I think Lucius wanted you to be properly in awe. Ordinarily we'd portkey to the reception hall."

"I'm glad we did it this way," Harry said frankly. "It's really neat. Now I'll know what Draco's house looks like. No wonder he gives himself airs. I'm surprised though," he remarked, as the gravel crunched under their boots. "I would have thought it would look more mysterious and gothic, or wizardly-or something."

"It probably does, underneath all the sixteenth century trappings," Snape told him. " I know that at the core of the building, there's a smallish Norman castle, built over a Saxon motte-and-bailey, built in turn over a Roman villa and a Bronze Age stronghold. The Malfoys might update their looks, but never their attitudes."

Harry laughed. Snape thought the boy looked just as he should in his green robes. His hair seemed longer and straighter, somehow-not more than an inch certainly, but that was enough to tame it a trifle. It was smoothed with the help of a bit of expensive hair-dressing potion. Snape felt faintly uneasy at the sight of the scar. He had carefully avoided touching it. Generally the boy's hair obscured it. Minerva, he knew, had not touched it, or even looked at it carefully, being too polite to stare. Nonetheless, Snape thought the style suited the boy, if only because it was so very unlike his father.

Harry was cheerful, but a bit intimidated by the size and grandeur of Malfoy Manor. Not that he intended to let Draco walk all over him. He would like to be friends with Draco, but he would not be anybody's lackey. He had asked Professor Snape to put a charm his big box of castle blocks so it could be shrunk to pocket size and then enlarged with three taps. Harry wanted to show Draco something of his own. Professor Snape had told him that Draco owned nothing of the sort. Perhaps he would find them interesting.

It was an altogether splendid house. Harry studied it eagerly, taking in the beautiful mullioned windows and the tall hedges framing the building. He wondered which window was Draco's.

A sudden shrill cry nearly startled him out of his dragonhide boots. He jumped and whirled about, tripping on the pebbles. Snape caught him by the shoulder and said, "Not to worry. That's just the peacocks."

"Blimey!" Harry stared. A flock of snowy white birds strutted gravely across their path. The male's splendid tail was spread in a wide white fan. The smaller peahens trailed after him worshipfully. Harry had never seen anything like them, and found the sight one of unearthly beauty. Then the male shrieked hideously again, and Harry winced. "I thought peacocks were more-colourful."

"White peacocks. They're fairly rare. At least this particular breed is. The Malfoys have been raising them for hundreds of years. Something of a family tradition. And they're quite tasty, too."

"They eat them?" Harry asked, rather scandalized. "That's-that's-"

"No different than your own preference for chicken. Though they raise those, too. It's quite a large estate, with a big working farm further to the east. Sheep, dairy cattle-and winged horses."

"Winged horses! Can we go see them?"

"That's up to the Malfoys. It's rather far. Perhaps another time. Or perhaps Lucius is planning it. We'll see."

"Anyway," Harry pursued his original idea, dragging his mind away from the alluring picture of winged horses. "It's normal to eat chicken. Everybody eats chicken. Is it a wizarding thing to eat peacocks?"

"It's a Malfoy thing. But lots of people used to eat them hundreds of years ago, when they could get them. Sometimes the birds are roasted and then their plumage is replaced. Quite a sight. It's served every Christmas here."

"Weird. What do they taste like?"

"Rather like chicken. I presume you understand that one doesn't try to eat the feathers."

"I'm not stupid, you know. I'll bet they don't eat them at all. You're just taking the piss-I mean-the mickey."

Snape's face settled comfortably into a textbook illustration of the word "smirk."

Before them, a pair of magnificent doors swung open slowly, revealing hints of the splendour within. Just inside the doors stood the Malfoy family. Harry swallowed deeply, and then smiled. This was a real adventure: he would see his first wizarding home. It was pretty neat that it would be such an amazing one.

The tall wizard in the middle was obviously Mr Malfoy. No one could mistake him for anything but Draco's father. Harry thought he looked quite a proper wizard, with his long golden hair and silver eyes. His robes were black and grey and obviously of the finest. His pale, handsome face was a polite mask, but Harry sensed that this was a man who could be dangerous. He looked with relief at Madam Malfoy, who was dressed in soft, gauzy robes in misty shades of blue and lilac. She gave Harry a warm and lovely smile thatmade him smile back happily.

Draco almost ran to Harry, but his father's hand on his shoulder held him firmly in place, maintaining the dignified tableau. The visitors were meant to present themselves to the Malfoys; not the Malfoys to their guests. Nonetheless, they were welcoming, in their own fashion.

"Severus! Harry!" said Narcissa. "We're so glad you could join us today. Lucius dearest, this is my cousin, Harry Potter."

"Harry-Potter," drawled Lucius Malfoy, taking Harry's hand for a brief shake. Harry was fascinated by Mr Malfoy's exquisitely manicured nails. They shone like glass, with perfect white half-moons at the base. Harry had had no idea men could be so-well-groomed. Tearing his eyes away, he looked up into the intent silver gaze. Mr Malfoy had not let go of his hand. With his other he was brushing Harry's black hair to one side, the better to see.

"Your scar is legendary," he was saying, "as is-" he paused, his practiced smile gone.

Snape was on guard, and felt a faint alarm at his old associate's strange expression. Had he touched the scar? Had his own Dark Mark recognised the echo of the Dark Lord? Lucius' eyes had widened slightly. After what was really only a few seconds, he smiled again, and released Harry. He continued, "-as is your victory over the Dark Lord. You are most welcome here. Severus, a pleasure as always."

Harry wondered if Mr Malfoy had meant to say something else. Before he could reply, Draco was talking excitedly. "Father found a broom for you, so we can fly together! And later, were going to go see the Aethonians!"

Forgetting his odd reception, Harry grew excited himself. "The winged horses?"

"Yes! I'm learning to ride them, too! It's very tricky. Father's teaching me."

"I'd love to see them," Harry said. "I'm sure they're gorgeous."

Smoothly, Lucius answered, "They are, actually."

Thawing slightly, their host stepped back, gesturing his guests into the drawing room. Harry admired the sight of his very own dragonhide boots treading the glossy black-and-white floor. Warned by Snape to avoid staring, Harry tried not to turn his head, only letting his eyes flick here and there to take in everything about him.

He had never seen a purple room before. A closer look revealed that the walls were neither papered nor painted, but covered with rich heavy silk. The silk caught the light of a huge crystal chandelier, reflecting it with soft purple gleams. Harry was effortlessly shown to a gilded armchair covered with ivory brocade. The huge fireplace was pure white marble, the mantelpiece supported by a pair of carved mermaids. The boy found himself blushing at the sight of their round white breasts. There were family portraits on the walls, all looking at him and whispering softly, a light susurration of unintelligible words.

The armchair was too big for him. Harry felt awkward and off-balance with his feet hanging inches from the floor. He had to perch on the edge, because the back was too far away. Draco looked more at ease, lounging beside his mother on a long sofa. The two adult wizards were comfortably enthroned in chairs like Harry's.

"How nice you look, Harry," Narcissa said kindly. "Green is such a good color for you. One would never guess that you learned only recently that you were a wizard."

"Thank you, Madam Malfoy," Harry answered, feeling a bit shy. He fumbled with a gold button. He quite liked these buttons. His Dad had worn them in his day, and they were embossed with the design of a leaping stag. Trying to think of something to say, he blurted out, "I like wearing robes. They feel-right."

"And so they should." Draco declared.

"I'm told you're quite the young scholar," Lucius remarked idly, studying the boy carefully.

"Not much of one really, but I do like reading a lot. I can't wait to start at Hogwarts."

"You are fond of History, I understand?" Lucius looked at him with unnerving intensity. "And-interested in Runes?"

Brightening, Harry nodded. "I think Runes are great! You can do so much with them! You don't even need a wand for a lot of it. It's too bad we have to wait until third year, but I expect I'll have plenty to keep me busy before then."

"Oh, it's never dull at Hogwarts!" laughed Narcissa. She gave Draco a light, one-armed hug. "We'll miss having Draco at home with us, but it's very important to meet other wizards and witches one's own age."

He had been warned not to reveal anything about where he lived, but Harry couldn't help saying, "I wish there were a primary school for witches and wizards. We could get to know each other even earlier, and if we did accidental magic, the teachers wouldn't get so shirty about it!"

Snape winced a little at the muggle slang, but the Malfoys refrained from commenting on it.

"Muggles," muttered Lucius, with distaste. "What can you expect?"

"How horrid for you," Narcissa sympathised. "Draco was tutored at home, of course, but he had plenty of opportunities to make proper friends, what with his etiquette and dancing lessons."

Harry stared at Draco incredulously, just barely mouthing the words dancing lessons?" at him. Draco gave him a haughty look, refusing to be embarrassed.

Trying to cope with the idea of Draco taking dancing lessons, Harry told them, "I met a boy named Neville Longbottom who said he'd never spoken to a boy his own age before he met me in Diagon Alley. I'll bet he wishes he could have gone to school. Is home-schooling what everybody does?"

He was looking at Narcissa, and so missed the look that Snape and the elder Malfoy exchanged at the name "Longbottom."

"Well," Narcissa said carefully, "sometimes one isn't sure until the Hogwarts letter comes that children really are magical. It would be so cruel to mislead squibs into thinking they were going with their schoolfriends to Hogwarts. Of course," she smiled, "in Draco's case, there was no question at all. Such a comfort, really, when one's child manifests early."

Draco smirked at Harry, preening.

Not quite rolling his eyes, Harry asked, "What did he do? My teacher at muggle school didn't like it at all when I turned her hair blue."

Draco nearly guffawed, and the adults laughed in an amused, tolerant sort of way. Narcissa told Harry, "Draco blasted a house elf right through the window when he was told he had to go to bed. He was only four years old! It was such a happy occasion for us." Another squeeze for Draco, and the adult Malfoys looked at each other in fond remembrance.

Harry privately thought that it might not have been a happy occasion for the house elf. Before he could say anything of the sort, Madam Malfoy was speaking to Draco.

"Draco darling, why don't you show Harry your room? We'd like to chat a bit with Severus."

"Come on, Harry!" Draco was up and ready to dash away, and then saw his father's stern look. "Excuse us, Father-Mother."

"You are excused," Lucius replied formally.

Harry gave the adults a little respectful nod. "I'd like very much to see his room. Later, then."

He hurried out behind Draco, clutching his charmed box in his pocket, hoping he'd have a chance to show the contents to his young cousin.

As soon as the boys' footsteps faded, Narcissa leaned back against the back of the sofa and smiled at her husband. "You see, my dearest? Severus' charge is a delightful boy. So polite and good-natured."

Lucius gave his old friend a skeptical look. "Imagine my surprise when I heard the identity of your ward. I thought you had called blood-feud on the House of Potter."

"Harry is not his father. How could he be, when he has no memory of him at all? His mother and I were friends in childhood, and her sister felt that she needed help dealing with a magical child."

Lucius rose, and paced to the window. Rather testily, he said, "It's a travesty for any magical child to be forced to herd with muggles!"

Snape nearly burst out laughing at such barefaced hypocrisy. Lucius had always said it was a travesty for the children of purebloods to be forced to herd with the muggleborn. Tactfully he refrained from pointing that out. Instead he only remarked, "She's his aunt-his closest living relation by far. Where else would he have gone?"

Lucius shrugged, still staring out the window.

Yielding to the desire to needle the other wizard, Snape observed, "After the-event-it would have been most surprising for any of the Dark Lord's former adherents to petition for custody, after all. It would have been even more surprising had it been granted."

Narcissa disliked the direction the conversation was taking. "It might have been nice for Draco to have had a companion, though. Such a sweet child. It seems incredible that he could have defeated a great wizard in his cradle. Have you noticed any signs of unusual power, Severus?"

"He's keen enough, certainly. I'm going to try him out making some simple potions before school starts. I have reason to believe he'll do well at it. And he does have something of an affinity for Runes."

"I daresay!" Lucius snapped, still gazing into the distance.

Snape frowned. "And what does that mean?"

"Yes, dearest," Narcissa seconded, stirring from her cozy corner of the sofa. "What does that mean?"

"You haven't seen?" Lucius asked them, exasperated. "Oh-that's right. Both of you are utter ignoramuses about Runes."

"That's not a nice thing to say, Lucius," Narcissa reproved him.

Snape glared at him. "You are obviously dying to share your superior insight, so out with it!"

Lucius turned to them. "The scar. It doesn't seem-unusual to you? Quite remarkable, in fact?"

That Harry's scar was brimming with Dark Magic was something Snape wished to keep secret as long as possible. Tingling with uneasiness, he prevaricated. "The lightning bolt shape might indicate an elemental capability, I suppose-"

"It's not a lightning bolt, you-" Lucius bit off the insult and flourished his wand. Severus and Narcissa edged back warily, but Lucius was already drawing a rune of fire in the air. A sharp-angled S-like shape glittered before them.

"Sowilo. Otherwise called Sygel, The rune of the Sun, of fortune and glory, of inevitable triumph. The boy bears it on his brow like a victorious banner. Whatever the Dark Lord tried to do to him, the boy turned it to his own advantage. And so he may do to anything his enemies attempt against him."

Snape stiffened. "I really believe that it was his mother who-"

Lucius cut him off. "I've seen what I've seen. He is clearly a Child of Destiny. I shall have to think it over. At length."

Shaking his head, Snape expressed his doubts. "Harry is reading all about runes. He hasn't made that connection."

"Of course, not, Severus," Narcissa told him gently. "After all, he has seen his scar only in the mirror. He might not recognize the symbol if it were backwards."

Lucius snorted, amused in spite of himself. Thoughtfully, he murmured, "Then he doesnt know-yet."

A.N. I want to thank all of my reviewers for their brilliant insights. You've given me some real food for thought. Please check my newly-revised author page for a link to Harold Ancell's spreadsheet. I'm still thinking over aspects of the mail situation and the Flamel connection. The whole Riddle thing, too, brings out some interesting points. Obviously, many of you have already noticed that Tom Riddle, while a gifted student and powerful wizard, is somewhat lacking in-how shall I put it?-common sense and logic. Part of his idiocy I put down to the creation of the horcruxes, which seem to have unhinged him. Please take a look at BajaB's story Fair Trade to that effect. Very interesting indeed. One issue I am currently wrestling with is the whole Chamber of Secrets thing, and how a not-idiot Tom Riddle would make use of it. Really, setting the basilisk on his schoolmates and nearly getting the school shut down (thus sending him back to his lovely orphanage) was not the best-thought plan. (I'm also enjoying Niger Aquila's Rectifier, in which an AU Tom Riddle, who was straightened out in his schooldays, travels to our universe to join the fight against Voldemort.)