So, I was sorting through the storage stuff deep in our closet trying to find things to donate for Spring Cleaning and found a big bottle of Tequila my husband had squirreled away while I was pregnant. It feels like something prophetic, as that was where Lucius got the bottle of wine in the last chapter (originally written in June last year). It may have some significance. Then again it may not. Regardless - I now have a full bottle of tequila with a tiny sombrero on top! I have made margaritas. I am not sharing.
"A successful man is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks others have thrown at him." ~David Brinkley
It had been a very difficult few weeks for the Malfoy family.
With the help of Draco's knowledge of the Manor grounds practical areas they were able to sustain themselves well enough to be called successful in that they still had at least one meal per day. Yet, despite their small triumphs, the encroaching cold was wearing on them. A lot of time that could have been spent securing food had instead been devoted to painstakingly securing and warding those now unused parts of the Manor against wear and weather to keep their home as structurally sound as possible. Only a small set of rooms in the first floor were inhabited and insulated from the rest of the building. It would be far easier to maintain some amount of climate control during winter in these small rooms, while the rest of their beloved home endured the cold. They had taken a window panel from a different room to replace the one in the parlour and covered the resulting opening with wood. It would do for one season, but the window in the rooms they lived in could not be fixed the same way and keep the heat inside.
Draco had been up late many nights chopping sections of wood into manageable pieces for the fireplace. Thankfully the elves had already done the season's felling and aging. They would be stocked well enough to keep warm on the most biting of nights. He had a good pile lined up near the entrance on the porch where his parents could get to it easily. He hoped that they would be able to carry on without him once he returned to finish his last year of school.
Narcissa's attempts at preserving, canning, and drying meat while the season permitted were getting more skillful and effective by the day. It would have to be noted, though, that a good amount of what they gathered was wasted in her initial failures. There was not time to fret over the losses and she simply persevered despite the setbacks. Both Draco and Lucius were impressed with her. She had taken to the stress like a fish to water; leaving her family to wonder what it had been like to live as a Black. The household was not a caring one, they had known, but to see her every action and chore performed under the steely gaze and firm set lips of unyielding determination was a jarring change from the woman they had known for so long.
Draco had never seen her like this. It unnerved him.
Lucius had in his youth, and she evidently resembled more closely the girl he had fallen for now than she had since Draco's birth. He marveled at her inspiring drive and endeavored only to match her efforts to relieve what little burden he could.
Lucius had hunted before, but it had never been so important before. He had hunted for sport with groups of other well-to-do boys and men as a method of social interaction. It had been a game to him, not an essential skill he would have to remember as a necessity, and that showed clearly in his hunting attempts now. Providing sustenance for one's family was much more difficult when all you had was a hunch, a wooded area most frequently occupied by spoiled peacocks, and no access to the proper tools. The best hunting implement he had was his wand... and it was not the wand he was accustomed to.
That wand, one that had been in the family for over one thousand years of proud history, had been taken by the Dark Lord with no more than a carefree demand. It had then been broken when Potter had overwhelmed it with his own. It had shattered like glass in the Dark Lord's hand.
Lucius missed it so. The heirloom was a great loss to him.
Regardless he pressed on with the current wand that had been among his school things. He had salvaged it before the audit and kept it close to him; unicorn hair and pine, shorter than what he was used to since abandoning it after school for the treasured heirloom. It did not seem to begrudge him this and functioned well.
Killing things had never been a problem for Lucius; he did it well, in fact. Severing charms did wonders within a certain area, the Expulso curse could be used with enough force to take out fleeing prey, Immobulus was excellent with good aim in keeping an animal in place long enough to simply use a knife, and when all else failed a simple levitation would do the trick if his only option was to lift the target very high and drop it from a lethal elevation. No... actually killing his prey was not a problem. Lucius could do that easily.
He was bullocks at tracking though. Thus far his method of hunting was to hide somewhere and hope something would enter his casting range. Broad as it was, it left the pickings quite slim indeed while he gained experience through actually doing something rather than being taught. Narcissa couldn't help him there; she had been kept in the house doing household things as a girl. Lucius was on his own.
The physical labor was not doing them well at all in combination with the little food they had managed to gather. Draco was beginning to resemble the ghost of himself that had haunted the halls of Hogwarts in his sixth year. The dark circles under his eyes were back in full force, and his complexion was beginning to look ashen and thin- as if his skin was straining to keep him together. Lucius was not much different from his son in this regard, though he looked a bit more haggard due to his excursions in the wooded areas. Narcissa had thus far handled the situation better than they and only showed constant signs of weariness, but the atmosphere around her felt as if she had been drained of something important.
They had all lost weight. Given how unhealthy they had become during the time the Dark Lord had been living amongst them that was a substantial loss indeed.
Draco had been doing everything he could think of in his growing anxiety over leaving his parents home alone while he would be relatively safe and well fed at school. By an extreme stroke of luck he had been permitted to return; his supply list had come at the usual time. Pansy and Greg had been invited back as well, and both had contacted him to see if this was not some cruel joke. Despite the multitude of Slytherins invited back... they were all still unsure. Greg and Pansy had decided not to risk it. Draco had no other alternative if his eventual plan to engage in business ventures of his own was to be successful.
He would return.
Draco had never worried about his school supplies before. He had simply gotten them. There had never been any worry over where he would get them or how much it would cost. There had been a moment, looking at the list, when he had read the line " The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7" and wondered where the hell he was going to get four sickles. Four stupid little pieces of silver, and he didn't know where he was going to get them without inconveniencing his parents' small reserve.
Thank Merlin the Auditors had left all of his previous school things. If he had been forced to start the list from year one it would have made it impossible for him to function in classes. It was a miracle Potter had seen fit to return his wand after the trials as well. It had been laying on his dresser when he'd woken one morning a week after the exoneration, likely delivered by an elf while he slept, with a simple note in Potter's ungainly scrawl, "It felt right to return this. Use it wisely. H. J. Potter"
Draco had promptly used his returned treasure to incinerate the note, but admitted to himself he was grateful all the same. Potter had been under absolutely no obligation to return his wand, and that would not be forgotten. Draco was not likely to acknowledge it aloud, mind you, but it would not be forgotten nonetheless. As September 1st approached the buzzing feeling about him increased in severity until he was nearly working himself to exhaustion every day.
Luckily his parents were too distracted with doing the same thing to chide him.
He had helped harvest, helped with the preparations for his mother's canning and preserving as best he could, assisted in weaving the racks to dry his father's game, transfigured useful little things until his wrist was sore from the motion, and scrounged the Manor from the highest attic corner to the darkest passages of the cellar searching for anything that may be of use. Arthur Weasley had been one of their Auditors and, through great planning and effort it would seem, had obviously attempted to leave them with some things. Rivalry and all he knew Lucius well enough to be certain the proud man would not sell any land to sustain them if it could at all be avoided. He had been as generous as he could with seven other Ministry officials following him through the structure picking at every crack and crevice.
There was enough mismatched furniture and small luxuries to furnish one room comfortably. The parlour looked as if it could actually support Lucius and Narcissa over the winter. There was even a mattress and set of sheets and blankets to use. Weasley was cleverer than Draco had thought if he had been able to walk so many officials on a mission to utterly destroy the Manor and still leave these things around. With considerable effort Draco and his father had even been able to move the bathtub into the room, which was now closed off by a curtain. It did not heat the water, but it was at least near enough to the fire that it drastically minimized the effort required to fill it comfortably.
Despite this luck they had still not had anything as simple as bread or tea for a long time. Draco had tried desperately to find a job for the summer. He would have done anything if someone would simply hire him, but nobody would. His fears had been right after all; the Dark Mark on his arm was as good as being a Werewolf. He was considered dangerous, animalistic, unstable, and utterly untrustworthy.
It grated to his core that they had a damned point.
Things were not going well. The nights were not bitingly cold thus far, though they would be soon, and yet his father returned shivering violently every evening as if chilled to the bone. This was not healthy. Draco would have to find a way to rectify the situation fast or there would be no preventing a serious medical issue, which they clearly could not afford, before the winter was out.
There was only one thing he had left to earn a living on; his pedigree. His family had gone as low as it was possible to get without their name dying out and, much as Draco loathed the choice he had been left with, it was the only one there was that fit all of the criteria needed to save his family. When he thought about it distantly it didn't seem such a terrible thing. People in his situation had risen to lofty heights indeed grasping on the coattails of others. Had not the original owner of their lost heirloom wand done the same serving William the Conqueror during the Norman Conquest? Armand had provided a decidedly different service to the King, but Draco knew for a fact that William himself had sprung from the womb of a woman who had pulled herself from the simple life of a tanner's child to the courts of royals and lords on her guile and beauty alone: Herleva of Falaise.
After all... a Mistress or Consort had an astonishing amount of power if they played their cards right. And a Consort with a pedigree such as his when there were still some prominent traditionalist families that had been too smart to actively participate in the war? Draco could go very far indeed if he found the right target. Arranged marriages left much to be desired in the way of raw lust or passion. Draco knew he could do well in that role. His mind was organized and clear, he was a wonderful actor, and could please even the most stubborn of lovers as he had discovered during dark times in his House when the Slytherins comforted each other.
He could perform those duties while attending school as it was neither illegal or frowned upon socially in many parts of the Wizarding world so long as both parties were of age. His Guarantor would have to agree to a contract with which Draco could secure his family's care and income. Above all else it was merely a term contract lasting for a predetermined amount of time that would not prevent him from either marrying or leaving upon the contract's expiring, and the contract could not be reinstated or lengthened without Draco's express consent.
All he would really need was the permission of his family's head.
Breaching the subject with his father turned out to be quite simple. Despite their misgivings and concerns over his plan even Lucius and Narcissa had agreed it was the most likely plan to ensure their survival and perhaps, if Draco did well, improve their social standing. As time wore on and the date of his last year loomed, Draco was asked repeatedly by both of his parents if he was certain, if he was willing, and if he had thought of any other course. Draco appreciated their concern, but he would not be deterred.
His availability was announced in the traditionalist circles before he boarded the train.
The instant he was no longer suffering the effects of the previous night Harry got ready to plant the seeds of a future he could actually see enjoying. He thanked Kreacher and sent him back to the kitchens, showered, dressed, groomed, ignored the startlingly bright gold letters from both the Ministry and Gringotts (assuming they were reprimands for the theft), and headed to the Headmistress's office. He did not know the password and tried reasoning with the gargoyle for a while. He completely failed and was about to resort to simply writing her a letter to make an appointment when she walked down the hall holding a huge stack of books and scrolls that completely obscured her face.
"Excuse me Prof- Headmistress. Sorry. Here, let me-" Harry took the pile and held it low enough to look over the top.
"Thank you," she said, adjusting her glasses and pausing for a rest. "Everyone is so busy helping with repairs I didn't want to interrupt them. What are you doing here, Mr. Potter?"
"I want to talk to you about my, er… career options," he said. "I was hoping you could help me."
She gave the gargoyle her password and started up the stairs, Harry in tow. "Heading into the Auror Programme, Potter? I've already given Mr. Weasley his recommendation letter. I've got yours ready, though I was hoping you would sit your exams at least. Miss Granger is staying, if you didn't know."
When they got up to the office she had him set the pile on a table to sort through later.
"Thank you for writing my letter already," he said gratefully. He shouldn't have been surprised really. Everyone expected him to be an Auror. He was facing pressure on all sides to do so. But it irked him to no end that he was simply being expected to do it because it was his skill set and not because he might enjoy it.
She shook her head indulgently at him and motioned to the seat in front of her desk. "Are you leaving at last?" She had been very kind in allowing Harry to stay at the castle over the summer, as she felt it was not a good idea for him to be alone and things had apparently not worked out with him staying with the Weasleys. His method of mourning thus far had her very worried and she was clearly glad to see him sober for once.
"Er… no. I'd like to stay through the summer if you don't mind."
"You are welcome here as long as you need, Potter. It is the lest we can do. What is it then?"
Harry took a breath and got straight to the point. "Have you filled the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor yet?"
The wizened woman took a moment to regard him and sighed. "Much as that would benefit the school, Potter, you are too young to take on the position. Furthermore; you must finish your Seventh Year before I could even consider allowing you to apply. Expert you are, but I cannot bend the rules in your favor."
"I know that," Harry said politely. "I'll be staying for my last year."
"Excellent," she smiled in approval.
"I want to test out of the final year's DADA course. I know I can learn the last year's spells quickly enough. Then, with your permission, I would like to act as teaching assistant to whoever takes on the job until you think I'm capable and old enough to take over as Hogwarts permanent Professor on the subject."
She abruptly sat up and gave him an owlish look. "I suppose if anyone could outlast the jinx-"
"It's gone," Harry said. "Don't ask me how I can tell because I don't really know- I just can." When McGonagall didn't answer immediately and lapsed into thought he continued doggedly. "I'll attend the rudimentary Auror training over the summers to prepare-"
"Potter, we both know you don't need any more training on the subject. Testing out would only be a formality." MacGonagall sighed heavily and sat down in her chair. "I'd be barking mad to refuse you and even your assisting a Professor will likely improve the classes. But didn't you want to be an Auror? I'd thought you and Mr. Weasley were to accept the Ministry's offer."
"I did too," Harry confirmed. "Until I realized how much I would be dealing with death." This brought the room to silence- even the portraits stopped chattering around them. "I've had enough. I see now that I would hate that career and it might even be bad for my mental health to see so much pain so often. I can't be an Auror. I still want to be useful as I can, though, and if I can't handle being an Auror then I can damn well do my best to teach those who can. I've never had a better home than here either. Living here would do me a world of good and I swear I'll be a credit to the school as a Professor. In fact…" Harry looked to Dumbledore's portrait, who was regarding him with an approving smile. "It was Headmaster Dumbledore's idea."
"I don't recall this conversation," the portrait said gently.
Harry smiled. "I stumbled upon the Resurrection Stone and you gave me rather a long lecture."
McGonagall smiled. "Did he now?"
"I've put all my bottles away," Harry said. "I won't be drinking to dull my pain anymore. It wasn't working."
"Sometimes a man just needs to dull his thoughts a while to sort them out," Dumbledore said soothingly. "Perhaps it helped after all."
Snape's portrait snorted, conspicuously speaking only to his neighbor on the wall. "It isn't as if the boy can Occlude. He hasn't the skill."
"Or rather; the knack," Dumbledore agreed.
Harry shook his head. At least the old snit had spoken of Harry directly, even if he did only refer to him as 'the boy'.
McGonagall stood and approached Dumbledore's portrait. "What says you, Albus? Do you think this is a good idea? I wouldn't want to put other career options past him by binding him to a contract here. What if he reconsiders? Mr. Potter isn't yet past mourning."
Dumbledore and Harry shared a look and the portrait nodded. "I have seen that look before. Harry will teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, even if he must go to another school to do so."
"He will not," the woman snapped defensively. "I won't have a Gryffindor of mine teaching in another school!"
"Well then," Dumbledore said simply.
"Very well, Potter," the Headmistress conceded. "Two years of assisting the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor; one as a student-assistant and the second as a full apprentice to the school. After that, should you still want it, the position is yours for as long as you would like to hold it."
"Brilliant," Harry said in relief. "Thank you."
"Not that I want to cut this meeting short, but I do have work to do. This will be a complicated contract to write up and I need to have the elves prepare your quarters for you if you are going to be-"
"I won't be staying in the tower?" he asked in disappointment.
"Not as a teaching assistant. It would give your housemates an unfair advantage over other houses to have you on hand to help them study. It's the same reason House Heads have their own quarters; to avoid similar advantages in those specific subjects."
Harry nodded. "Yes, I understand that now."
"Is there anything else?"
Harry thought a moment and looked out the window while he did. Then a thought struck him. He had the money, hadn't he? And it would help everyone feel a bit better if he did this right. "Yes! I would like responsibility for handling the Clock Tower's restoration."
McGonagall lifted a brow at him. "Whatever for?"
"I have an idea to turn it into a memorial."
Harry got the feeling that request was granted simply to take work off of McGonagall's plate. Restoring Hogwarts was proving to me a more arduous task than she had been prepared for. So many people were away with their families fixing their own lives that not much assistance was available to repair the school itself, and the budget was tight. Harry had begun to feel stabs of guilt in the past few weeks due to living in the castle and being utterly unable to help due to his mental state… but he would definitely change that now.
Maybe his 'saving people thing' would be of use after the war too. If he could concentrate on helping other people then his own problems might start to seem less significant as he went along. He had always felt better after improving someone else's life.
Regardless, restoring the clock tower was not something Harry was about to botch; he would make one hell of an improvement. When he arrived back at the tower to start packing his things into his trunk he got quite a shock. Hermione was in the Common Room when he got there.
He paused in the door and blinked a few times to be sure he wasn't seeing things. "Did you find your parents?" he asked tentatively. She did not look happy.
"Yes," she said in an unreadable tone. "I've restored their memories."
Harry frowned. "That's good isn't it?"
Hermione wiped her eyes and clenched her hands. "They're furious with me."
"I'd expected that. Didn't you?" he asked flatly. "You erased their memories of their only child. Not to be unsympathetic or anything, but it serves you right that they're angry. I sure as hell would be."
She stood and faced him, eyes flashing with rage. "They were safer! I sent them away from the war! If I had died they wouldn't miss me!"
"Yes, all that is true." Harry agreed. "Now go tell Mrs. Weasley that she'll feel so much better if she'd just let you just erase her memories of Fred."
"That isn't fair!" Hermione snapped, horrified. "Mrs. Weasley can defend herself with magic! My parents can't! Are you saying I did something wrong?"
Harry took his hands off his ears, which he had put there when she'd started shouting. "No. You did exactly what you needed to. Your parents are smart; they'll eventually come round and you'll get along again. But you've got to admit they've got a right to be angry about it. They probably would have understood if you had, say, asked their permission first."
Hermione crossed her arms and sniffed once. "I was afraid they wouldn't let me."
Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. "Then you had no choice. You did right. They're right to be mad. Nobody is really at fault here; it's just a bad situation. You're going to have to let them be for a while. And," he said in mild amusement, ", if your grudge on Ron after he came back is anything to go by this may take a while. Does that temper run in the family?" She flashed him a tight-lipped glare and didn't answer. "See? They'll come round. In the meantime you'll have to placate yourself with the fact that this situation could not have been avoided and everyone is alive and well. If all else fails you can bribe them into speaking you again with wedding invitations."
She seemed to mull this over and sat back down. "I suppose."
"And even if that fails no good parent can resist making amends to see their grandchildren," Harry continued.
"I'm not getting pregnant just to get back on my parent's good side," she drawled.
Harry shrugged. "There are worse reasons. Besides; you're marrying a Weasley. How long do you think it will honestly take even if you two intentionally avoid it?'
"…that is actually a fair point," she admitted. "I just feel terrible."
He sighed and hugged her shoulders from behind the couch. "It'll work out."
"Thanks," she muttered. "But your reasoning that I just have to wait this out and nobody is wrong is irritating. You're awful at helping, you know."
Harry snorted. "You're not the only one who thinks so. Have you been to see Ron?"
"I didn't want to look like I've been crying when I get there. It won't be a long visit because the school year will start soon. I assume it's still miserable there? Ron doesn't need to carry my problems too."
"Yes he does," Harry said. "You'll be helping with his, so it's a fair deal."
They were silent for a while and stared at the flames in the fireplace. "What about you?" she asked eventually. "Are you staying your last year?
Harry set his chin on her head and sighed. "Yes. I think I've finally figured out my life," he said.
Near his four poster in the boy's dormitory, the letters from Gringotts began to release thick white smoke and shake violently. They would wait no longer to be acknowledged.
I cannot believe this argument is resurfacing again! This is the last time I will address it.
To the same person as last time (it would be unfair to note who exactly, as I don't want to cause issues) that insisted Severus Snape was taller than Harry Potter (explanation noted at the bottom of Chapter 17, Harry Potter and the Effects of Inattentional Blindness);
The Books and Movies are two entirely independent entities. I do not care how tall the actors are. I am writing from the books. Harry Potter is noted within the books as being the same height as his father by age 17, who was said to be 'tall'. Therefore Harry Potter is also 'tall'. Given his age he also had a bit left to go and most likely grew another two or three inches past that for his full adult height. Harry is not a carbon-copy of James therefore he can grow taller than James. Do you know how tall Lily's dad was? Neither do I.
There are no height references for Draco Malfoy in the books that I know of. Yes, it is entirely possible I simply missed them. If there are references I missed, anyone, please tell me- I would like to know. If there truly are no references this is likely because his height was not a distinguishing enough feature to note i.e. – average. The only fair thing to do here is assume Draco is of average height, making him shorter than Harry since Harry is clearly noted to be tall.
Pending evidence to the contrary- Harry Potter is taller than Draco Malfoy in every story I write. This is not because I like writing Draco shorter than Harry for the sake of some convoluted story stereotype; it is due to a logical thought process. Harry Potter is tall. Draco Malfoy will be assumed to be average height until evidence to the contrary is found. It is that simple. Height has no relevance in a relationship anyway and would not change the relationship dynamic within my story were I to change it.
And once again: Harry Potter is DEFINITIVELY taller than Severus Snape in the books by the age of 17. Whining at me will not change that. I don't write that character anyway, so it isn't even something you should be arguing with me.
I give sincere apologies to everyone else for this rant. I will not answer this person again.
bloodshound: Go to deviant art and search for "Figaru". That huge incubus dude was the basis for Harry's form.