In Willing Sacrifice

by GeMerope

When Harry Potter has the opportunity to erase Voldemort before the Dark Lord can resurrect, he finds out that walking a fine line between his own morality and the good of this world is more complicated than Harry could have ever imagined. Slow Burn, eventual HPLV.

91. C90 - Words of Ash

AN: Since this chapter will focus heavily on the Greengrass family, I've made a family tree to make sense of everyone's relationships since I thought it might get confusing otherwise. Since FFN does not allow for pictures, you can find it either on my tumblr page or on the version of this story on Archive of our Own. Some of these characters are canon (Astoria, Daphne, their Aunt Aquila, their uncle Gareth and their first cousin Cereus, plus the fact that another Uncle is in Azkaban) while some are made up entirely (or at least their names are made up), such as for their parents, grandparents etc. There was also no information available on the exact age of anyone apart from the two sisters.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 90 – Words of Ash

''You have to stop gawking so if you wish to be taken seriously.''

''Can I help it! It's not everyday you're dressed in white. It… it's… it suits you. Strangely enough.''

''Do try to cease staring when we're within view of the Greengrasses. I'd hate having to apply more grand-scale memory wipes because we crossed another social line. Weasley?''

Ron, who'd been pretending to be very interested in a couple of newly sprouting Alihotsy leaves instead of paying attention to the way his best friend had started falling over his own feet the moment You-Know-Who had changed into a ceremonial robe, hastily looked up.

''Yes?'' he asked, trying very hard to push out enough air so it wouldn't end in a pitiful squeak. Somehow his throat always seemed to close up when standing face-to-face with the Dark Lord. Neither the fact that the man had acted as Ron's emergency healer nor his relationship with Harry had taken away even a sliver of the 'scary factor' as he liked to call it.

''You're to stay close to Evan this entire evening. Don't wander off, don't sit at different tables.''

''Ah.. sure. Even when you…?''

''Especially when I am not busy and join you. I'd like to avoid showing anything more than formal interest. Surely you should understand.''

''Crystal clear,'' he replied while holding back a grimace, as this kind of talk highly reminded of all the family gossip and drama he'd had to sit through over the years. How Aunt Muriel or his grandparents claimed this or that girl wasn't good enough to marry Bill (despite him never showing an interest in anyone being discussed) or mum's tirades about proper behaviour and not letting potential girlfriends (or boyfriends in Ginny's case) stay over. Ron thought it was all a bit ridiculous and hypocritical to boot, considering his grandmother had been burned off the Black family tree for eloping with a Weasley. Not to mention that as soon as anyone went to Hogwarts and was out of sight, they could do whatever as long as during the holidays they either pretended to be single or were careful about as much as holding hands.

The Alihotsy tree became extremely fascinating again for the few seconds in which You-Know-Who drew Harry close to share a last moment before the planned departure.

At last, they were all ready – to Ron's relief, the snake stayed home – and he tentatively took You-Know-Who's arm in order to apparate. Side-along apparition was something he'd done a few times with his mum, and apart from the first experience, hadn't given it much thought. Now, grabbing a hold of someone who wasn't exactly known for being approachable felt stupidly invading, and Ron almost drew back in shock when an unnatural cold seeped into his hand, as if slabs of ice were hidden under the brilliantly white sleeves. Making a mental note to ask Harry about it when You-Know-Who was out of earshot, he did not struggle when the nauseating feeling of apparition took over.

''Urgh, I feel like I'm going to be sick,'' Harry quietly complained when they'd landed in front of a large silver gate. ''I should have just apparated by myself.''

Ron was about to laugh at the jest when You-Know-Who only commented: ''Without knowledge of the destination? Good luck with that. Straighten your robes. Your role today is to impress, not look like a dishevelled House-Elf.''

With a glare that only ever Harry dared throw the other, he did as told. While still silently wondering if his friend had truly already learned how to successfully apparate, Ron also took care to straighten his collar and re-tie the heavy cloak he'd been given so it didn't hang askew anymore. His own goal here may just be in support of Harry, but it couldn't hurt to not look like the odd one out. Observation became difficult when one was a subject of interest. Better to remain quietly in the background. Honestly, he'd have preferred to be invisible, but according to Harry, the invisibility cloak was a necessary item in the upcoming ritual. His friend hadn't told him an awful lot about what was going to be happening, only muttering something about talking to souls and moons. Ron couldn't make head nor tails of it.

By some clue he must have missed, the gates swung open, allowing them to walk down a meandering path into the large, rainy garden of Greengrass manor. It didn't quite look like Ron had envisioned, not at all pristine or filled with expensive animals. It was very organic, maybe even as disorganised as the Burrow's own yard. The house too had many round edges and strange mismatched towers than gave off the image of it having been grown rather than built. Just as he was about to point this out, Harry asked: ''Are these all native plants then? At the start of the school year, Astoria told me her mother is a herbalist and the garden is part of a protected magical forest.''

''Most of them, although Brechfa forest only truly starts in the backyard. I believe the front one holds non-native plants also, which Mrs Greengrass received either as gifts or with the request to nurse them back to health. I did not realise you have already been familiar with the Greengrass family for so long.''

Neither had Ron known, so he listened with interest when Harry made an awkward sound and said: ''Draco wanted to show off his connections and kind of begged me to attend the start-of-year Slytherin feast. Astoria looked like one of the more approachable people in the room, so we briefly talked. Thinking back on it, she probably only spoke to me because of Draco.''

''How so?'' Ron asked curiously, then quickly made some connections and gasped: ''Don't tell me they're engaged!''

His friend raised his eyebrows in surprise and turned around when they stopped at the front door. ''Not sure if I was supposed to say, but you pretty much guessed it so... yes, they are. How did you come to that conclusion so fast?''

Shrugging, he answered: ''Everyone knows which families still stick to the traditions of parents marrying their kids off – the majority of which are Slytherins. Since they usually make matches close in age, there aren't many people to choose from. Then it's a matter of ruling out: the Malfoys are super strict on blood purity so anyone with even a Muggle grandparent is off limits, and to not make too many waves it would have to be someone who stood by Malfoy during the rift between him and Parkinson when he was under fire for associating with you. So, I guessed it had to be someone who'd also joined Dumbledo-'' he caught a sudden burning glare from You-Know-Who and nearly choked on his own tongue.

''Who was part of our Defence Association,'' Harry smirked knowingly. ''Right. So basically, less than a handful of realistic options. Nice deduction, I had no clue who he was talking about when Draco mentioned being engaged.''

Ron was spared from answering as the door opened. Awaiting them in the entrance hall (which was larger than the Burrow's living room, he noted) was what appeared to be the entire Greengrass family, just over a dozen people. To the side, both of his peers stood quietly with the other children. They were all dressed in formal mourning attire like the rest, pitch black floor-length robes with trims at the hem in their family colours of various green hues. Ron looked down at his own feet, not even having noticed before that the Weasley colours of bright green, blue and orange had been added to the robes he'd been given earlier today. He'd dressed in a hurry, mind occupied more by anticipation of what he might witness today than looking at mundane details like this.

''My Lord, we have eagerly been awaiting your arrival,'' a stout man with an impressive moustache spoke up, giving a curt bow. He fiercely glared back when noticing a few strange looks were being thrown his way. He was here now, they could deal with it.

''I was unaware you'd bring more than one guest, My Lord,'' one of the women spoke, sounding a bit strained. ''And a Weasley to boot, it is quite a-''

Ron never found out what it was she'd wished to say about his family, for a single irritated look from the world's deadliest wizard was enough to swiftly shut her up. It didn't quell the thought that nothing positive would have come out of her mouth, so while Harry was busy hissing something to Voldemort under his breath as they were being led down a hallway, Ron tried to imagine turning into a lion to show what exactly Weasleys were capable of. Shame that he hadn't managed transforming without using a wand yet, as the Trace prevented them from casting magic outside of guarded places. He'd still taken it with him of course, but the last thing they needed was the Ministry appearing on their doorstep. He wondered how Harry was going to circumvent that. Some Pureblood homes had extra wards and the like, but usually not ones that prevented magic cast by minors from being picked up. At least from minors who weren't family. He wasn't betting on either himself or Harry being untraceable here in either case.

With nothing else to focus on and thoughts of revenge for unspoken words soon running thin, Ron begrudgingly admired the house. Most of it appeared to be crafted from solid marble, and thick tapestries with intricate sceneries of battles adorned the corridors. He didn't get to see much more however, as they were soon led outside to the backyard where a large open gazebo stood. Of course, made of more marble. Creativity didn't seem the strongest suit of the rich, Ron inwardly snorted.

As they approached, the structure grew in size, five tables and several benches spiralling upwards out of the floor to one side until it could easily accommodate all of them. Being used to such charms, he wasn't overly awed, whereas Harry stilled in the midst of conversation to gaze at the display in astonishment. Ron had never been very aware of his privilege, but in moments like these he was deeply thankful for having grown up on the magical side of the world. How dull Muggle lives must be, if something like this was enough to instil amazement.

Harry and he were led to the right-most table. Even though they were guests, which usually would call for the hospitality of being put smack into the middle of their hosts, for this occasion it made sense as they weren't part of the mourning family. The deceased matriarch was the most important person today. Merlin, it was strange to realise how many of these Pureblood customs were so similar to his own family's norms, especially when noticing that his friend seemed at a complete loss of what was going on, judging from Harry's uncomfortable expression and awkward shuffling around as Daphne directed them to the small table at the very end of the half-arch.

Upon sitting down, Ron considered pointing out that this would certainly mean they'd also shoved their Lord off to the side since he apparently intended to sit with Harry, then decided it would be funnier if they figured that out themselves. His friend either did not appear to notice this hilarious fact, or if he did, didn't find it an as funny breach of etiquette as Ron did. He considered asking, but both Daphne and Astoria were sitting at the table right next to them within ear-shot – alongside five other children of varying ages, most of whom appeared to be too young to attend Hogwarts. Interestingly enough, only two of them had a trim of green too. The others must belong to a branch that had married into another family then. The only boy of the family actually seemed to be about the same age as Ron, Harry and Daphne, but he'd never seen him around. Did he attend a different school?

Not wanting to just wait in silence for the duration of preparation (You-Know-Who was drawing lines around the urn that had been placed on a pedestal up front, scattering flowers and lighting both candles and incense), he searched for a light topic of conversation, eyes finally landing on Harry's robes. ''Didn't know the Potters had the Gryffindor colours in their crest,'' he pointed out.

''What?'' Harry asked, sounding a bit distracted. That may have been due to how he was blatantly ignoring You-Know-Who's advice regarding excessive staring. ''What do you mean?''

Ron decidedly chose not to comment on his friend's absentminded look in favour of explaining: ''The red, gold and white trim on your robes. The Potter colours.''

''Oh, I thought it was just… random decoration,'' Harry admitted, now sounding more intrigued and at last tearing his eyes away from the scene up front. ''They represent one's family? But the Greengrasses don't all have the same colours, do they?'' he asked when looking around. It was true that it was quite a bright mismatch since nearly everyone present had six lines. ''They all have those green stripes, but then different colours too.''

''Those who're married will have the colours of both their original family and the ones of their spouse,'' Ron explained. ''The bottom three are their own colours, the ones added on top are their partner's. That is also how you recognise which of the ones here originally belong to the Greengrass family. Those with the three green lines right at the hem instead of the other way around.'' He'd attended only a few gathering where such a dress code had been relevant, most of them bearing a negative connotation.

''I'm surprised a Weasley would have such knowledge,'' Daphne replied, clearly having listened in (not an incredible difficult feat as she sat barely one and a half yard away). She crossed her leg, making her robes subtly shift in such a way that her own three stripes were visible to Harry. ''I thought all of you followed Muggle tradition nowadays. You know, wearing those all-black ridiculous dresses and veils as you bury your corpses unprotected in bare earth or throw them in the ocean.''

Before Ron could get offended, Harry snorted loudly. ''You think Muggles do what?'' he asked, clearly trying to hold back more laughter and not quite succeeding. ''Muggles don't just dump the corpses of their relatives, Daphne. Where'd you get that idea from? Sure, they can't add preservation spells, but Muggles are also either buried in coffins or cremated just like mages. And those dresses and veils you're talking about are outdated by like 50 years. Nowadays they show up to funerals in suits and other regular clothing that is mainly black.''

Daphne's pale cheeks grew pink and she huffed, turning away. When she wasn't looking, Astoria gave an apologetic smile, then whispered something to her older sister that appeared to calm Daphne down again, yet not enough to resume conversation with them. Instead, the girl turned to her younger cousins, who'd started to annoy each other in their boredom. ''Ouch,'' Ron snickered under his breath at Harry's stunned look. ''Don't laugh loudly at a funeral, mate.''

Now it was Harry's turn to look extremely embarrassed, until Ron stomped his arm and said: ''Don't worry, can't be worse than Fred and George's attempt to be funny by hiding cookies in the shape of a Grimm in the napkin of every guest at the funeral reception of Uncle Bilius.''

''Your Uncle who had a heart attack after seeing one? Wow, that is poor taste… I'm not surprised in the least.''

He sighed deeply when remembering the fallout that had followed. ''Mum was furious for months. Didn't help that Uncle Bilius had been her last remaining sibling…''

''I thought he was one of your dad's brothers.''

''Nah, I do still have two uncles on that side as well, but we don't have a lot of contact with them. Both a bit reclusive, started a family business together that dad was not invited to join. They err… don't really like his hobby of gathering Muggle stuff. Thought it would be bad rep for their company. Not that it helped, whatever they sell doesn't appear to work out well either since they came begging my dad for money after we won the lottery a few years back. But you know dad, can't say no to family, so he did actually give them some gold before planning the trip to Egypt. At least my cousins are alright. Last time I saw Philip and Sophie, they begged dad to let them into the garage to see his collection.''

''I just realised I know very little about either your or Hermione's family. Kind of strange considering how long we've been friends for.''

Ron shrugged, hardly caring. ''Suppose that's true, but family isn't something that comes up in casual conversation at school when we're too busy complaining about teachers and schedules. Neither of us put much value on anything but our very direct relatives I guess. Although I don't think Hermione has anyone apart from her parents and maybe grandparents. Certainly no siblings, and she's not once mentioned cousins or the like either. Maybe her parents were only children too.''

''Could be… So, does all of this differ from your experiences or is it similar?'' Harry asked, gesturing vaguely towards the events around them.

''Bit stiffer I suppose, and I'm not used to attending any event without some food being offered… but nothing else looks out of the ordinary. Same clothing, same type of people invited – family only basically-, same decorations…'' Figuring this might not be a Muggle tradition, he pointed at the paper cut-outs in the shape of a Leucrotta that hung in garlands around the ceiling of the gazebo. ''The guardian animal of the family, watching over the proceedings for good luck. Ours is a common Welsh.''

''The dragon?'' his friend asked. ''That's a pretty cool symbol. Do you know what the Potter guardian animal is? I haven't seen the crest.''

Ron shook his head. ''Sorry, no clue. I think the ceremony itself will greatly differ from what I'm used to though, considering they invited him. At Uncle Bilius' service, a couple of family members said some words in his honour and that was it. No priest or magical spectacles. And with you about to-'' he broke off as Harry sent a warning look, swallowing what he'd been about to blurt out just in time. He'd been specifically told not to mention Necromancy being performed, even if Ron couldn't imagine how anyone could fool themselves into thinking 'soul-charming' was anything less. It was strange that such a dark family as the Greengrasses had a problem with the concept of raising the dead. Ron had always been taught that those kinds of families secretly performed all of the Dark Arts at home. Hearing this wasn't the case and that some branches of magic were still not looked favourably upon broke down a few more of his preconceived notions.

''Is he always so cold?'' Ron muttered, both to switch the topic and to not forget about the question he'd wanted to ask anyways. ''When side-along apparating, I could hardly believe he's actually made of flesh and bone like the rest of us.''

Harry actually smiled, a mirth in his eyes that told he'd already put the previous blunder behind him. It was one of those little things he admired about his friend, as Ron just knew he'd be kicking himself for days on end after messing up like that. ''The body he uses now isn't his original one, so while it's made of flesh and bone, it's also crafted from a potion, snake venom, wood and some other materials. Some of the resurrection's side effects included becoming cold-blooded, so he is indeed always that cold. Only heats up a little bit if the air around him is incredibly warm, which is one of the reasons why he likes stoking fires in the middle of summer. It doesn't transfer to his surface skin completely, so he'll still feel cool to the touch, but not as icy as usual. Sometimes Voldemort cloaks himself in warming charms to remain active even in winter, but again, that doesn't really affect the outside temperature of his body much, just the core.''

''That sounds crazy,'' Ron admitted, mind boggled by the concept of that a person's body could be crafted. ''Did it have any other effects?''

''A few,'' Harry shrugged. ''For one…'' he glanced around to see if anyone was listening in, but both Daphne and Astoria were watching You-Know-Who and their older relatives intently, so he leaned over the table with a grin and whispered: ''He doesn't have a belly-button.''

Ron was glad he hadn't just taken a sip of the water that had been provided, for he was sure that revelation would have made him spray it all across the table. As it was, he merely choked on his own tongue, which wasn't nearly as noticeable. ''Harry! You can't- you can't just spring something like that on me!'' Of course them being in a relationship would mean Harry had probably seen You-Know—Who naked, but Ron had not really wished to find out like this. ''How can I look him in the eye now when all I'll be able to think of is how his belly looks? Merlin!''

Harry clearly needed to pull himself together not to burst out in another unfitting fit of laughter. His smirk only faltered when all around them, the family took their respective seats, leaving only You-Know-Who to stand on the raised dais behind the urn. No eye contact between them was made, as the man had turned all attention to the current elders, but Harry nonetheless winced slightly and sobered up. Ron was about to ask, when remembering the mental connection he didn't quite understand the extent of yet. There were multiple reasons for not having pried for more information on it, and each time Harry had attempted to bring it up of his own volition, Sirius – who was most always present as well - attempted to switch topics as he didn't like talking about anything related to You-Know-Who.

After taking another second to ensure his friend was alright, Ron turned his attention to the one who was currently demanding for all eyes to be on him. You-Know-Who looked no less alien when dressed in a garment meant from priests, but it did give Ron the sense of security that they would witness no murders today. Interestingly, the man hadn't added any trim to his own robes. Ron had somehow expected Slytherin colours.

Slowly, You-Know-Who drew a wand equally white as his clothes and lit the circle of candles and incense that had been placed around the urn, the scent of smoke and wood dispersing through the air.

Placing one skeletal hands over the mouth of the urn, he spoke: ''This evening, we gather in honour of Opal Malvale Greengrass. In the days past, there has been time for mourning, for settling feuds, and for the late matriarch of your family to find acceptance. No imprint was left behind, speaking of the strong will and character of one who knew to face death proudly. Dowager Greengrass has been a pillar for your family, maintaining a careful balance across generations that has allowed you to thrive. Yet while balance is worth striving for, a firmer hand may be necessary in a world that is already in turmoil, to support the best course. Careful though her guidance through life has been, there have been losses unaccounted for.''

Ron heard a clear warning behind the tone, but didn't know enough about this family's dynamics to really understand what the message was supposed to mean. Something rippled through the air, and he could see a few reacting with crestfallen expressions and shuffling in seats.

''It is fortunate then,'' You-Know-Who continued before a stronger reaction could be provoked, ''that in her great wisdom, Dowager Greengrass identified and interpreted the portents to allow this family to continue blossoming. In accordance to her latest wishes, the main branch,'' - he nodded towards moustache man and a slightly insane-looking woman at his side whose fingers were caked in dirt- ''has contacted me to allow a reassimilation of your family into the old ways.''

More than one alarmed look was now openly traded, and a woman who sat alone at the other end of the half-arch of tables rose to her feet. Suddenly, Ron wasn't too certain anymore that he could relax just yet.

''This is a memorial service!'' she spoke, face blotched with agitation. ''Not a platform for your propaganda! Wellesley, Althea, I didn't travel across countries for you to exchange our family's neutrality for servitude to a Dark Lord over the urn of our grandmother, much less claim these to be her wishes. Nothing in her will indicated-''

Moustache guy (Wellesley, apparently) sprang to his feet too now and whirled around to face the one who'd dared to interrupt. ''Perhaps if you would have been present for more than two yearly visits, you might have actually known grandmother's true will!'' he barked.

''Your own brother sits behind bars for aiding His grand cause last time! You can't seriously suggest we all follow that example and wander happily into Azkaban! My parents left the country because of His war and I intend to honour their memory by staying out of it, for the sake of my children!''

''Silence!'' You-Know-Who hissed, making the ground quake without even having to lift a finger. Thin nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, obviously displeased. ''Sideritis Helstrom,'' he spoke, narrowing his eyes at the woman, who stiffened slightly. ''You were invited today as Dowager Greengrass had hoped to unite everyone with a drop of her blood in their veins. Yet as a member of the youngest branch who gave up their birth name after marriage, you have no right to speak here. Not to mention that you clearly do not know what you speak of. Stanwode Greengrass was convicted on charges of being my follower, yes. However, as much as it would have delighted me to have counted on your family's support, no Greengrass fought alongside me in the late war. Your cousin was falsely accused, once more showing the absolute incompetence of the current authorities. Now, as you so astutely pointed out, this is indeed a memorial service, and above all the wishes of the deceased should be honoured. I am not performing this service as an underhanded way to garner your loyalty. I am paying respects to those whose loyalty I already gained. That includes attempting to convey their last words and aspirations.''

''If any of you think I'll simply believe the word of a-''

''Let your late grandmother herself convince you then instead,'' You-Know-Who coldly spoke, turning back towards Wellesley. ''After this unwelcome disruption, we can hardly continue as before.''

Wellesly wrung his hands, throwing on more foul look at Helstrom. ''I deeply apologise, my Lord… and agree that for some of us, only seeing is believing. Althea dearest... could you…?'' The loony woman at his side flicked a long dark braid over her shoulder as she stood, then drew her wand and pointed it towards the roof. Vines started crawling across it, almost hiding the marble surface. From somewhere above, a low growling sound was to be heard, and Ron nervously looked upwards. Before he could locate the exact source, a hundred flowers sprouted, deep velvet black with an indigo heart. His mum had looked everywhere for these for Uncle Bilius' funeral, he remembered briefly. Young though he'd been, Ron could still hear her ranting about this thrice-darned Nightshimmer which they'd been too poor to afford in the end. As the flower's deep scent made him heady and a light rain of silver dust trickled down on the gathered crowd, he could imagine why.

''Evan. It is time.''

Despite not having been the one addressed, Ron jumped, the flower's effect having befuddled him so much that he'd not noticed You-Know-Who slinking over to their table. ''Good luck,'' he barely managed to whisper to Harry, who hastily adjusted his fringe so it thoroughly hid the famous scar (as if that helped conceal his identity) and withdrew the invisibility cloak from the satchel he'd brought along.

As Harry started whatever preparations were left and was softly speaking Parsel with You-Know-Who, Ron looked once more at the woman who'd made such a ruckus before, now sitting quietly at her lonely table. Where was her spouse, Ron wondered. You-Know-Who had called her 'Helstrom', a name that only sounded familiar related to Quidditch somehow. Had she married a foreign Quidditch player? If so, had he been excluded from the event?

Apart from her and the ones who were clearly the new family heads, there were only two people who'd hardly spoken before, including the woman who'd been so displeased with Ron's presence at the start. From her robes he saw she'd married into the family.

''What's going to happen?'' he heard, Astoria having leaned back to talk to Ron more easily. ''I didn't know Potter was going to perform magic. Why is he up there?''

''He'll act as a… a medium,'' Ron explained. ''Soul-charming, he called it.''

''Potter will?'' Daphne frowned, having caught onto their conversation. Now the one who'd made a faux-pas before was gone, Ron was apparently worth speaking to again. ''I thought that was what the Dark Lord himself was here for. I heard he did something similar for the Malfoys last year…'' Behind Daphne, Ron saw that the older boy with long dark hair and rather harsh features was listening intently.

''Yeah well, Harry is better at it,'' Ron blurted out in defence of his friend, not liking how they were being scrutinised. Not that was absolutely sure of whether that was the truth, but why else would You-Know-Who have pushed Harry to do this? His friend hated being put in the spotlight. It was different when Harry was teaching at Hogwarts, helped by more than one friend and with everyone participating. This, performing a great feat of magic in front of a bunch of strangers, did not sound like something he'd enjoy.

The sisters exchanged a meaningful look, clearly sufficiently impressed by Harry's powers. Still Astoria pushed: ''He knows he can't use magic here, right? When using his wand-''

''I'm quite sure someone like the actual Dark Lord would have thought about that,'' the boy spoke up, his voice carrying a thick accent Ron could not place.

The sharp clearing of a throat from one of the older women, accompanied by a stern look that would have put McGonagall to shame, made the other Greengrass children hurriedly sit all poised again, effectively killing their talk as quickly as it had started. Ron blew a stray hair out of his eyes and rested his chin on a fist as he turned his attention to the front again. Harry thankfully didn't look nervous, the cloak folded casually over one arm as he stood at You-Know-Who's side, waiting. The older man took the word again, eyes resting suspiciously long on Helstrom as he spoke: ''The dead may no longer walk in our midst, but this does not mean they are unreachable. Light mages seek advice from imitations such as portraits or ghosts. Heavy magic can bring us more than that. A brief connection to the world beyond, allowing their will to reach us. I have brought to you someone whose experiences with defying death itself let him grasp beyond the shroud even on days it has not naturally thinned.''

For the first time, Ron saw Harry's expression falter, shooting You-Know-Who a puzzled look.

''Some of you already knew of my agreement with Mr Potter, of course. Yet shockingly few appear to have accepted him as one of our own. After tonight, I'm sure no doubt will remain of Mr Potter earning his place by my side.'' Turning to Harry, he leaned down a tad and spoke – still audible enough for all to hear- ''Ah, as the wards would pick up your traced wand, with you being an unrelated minor… use this.''

Under normal circumstances, Ron might have been worried about Harry having to suddenly perform powerful magic with an unfamiliar wand. He might even have spared a thought for how astonishingly easy it was to trick the Trace by simply using a different wand than one's own. But these were no normal circumstances, and Ron fell into a deafening, tense silence with the rest of the audience, eyes fixated on You-Know-Who's hands, which had flipped the bone-white wand he'd carried before around to offer its handle to Harry.

He wanted to stand up, to shout, undecided between anger over his best friend being tricked into using the very wand that had killed Harry's parents, or being shook over You-Know-Who trusting Harry enough to give away such an integral part of himself. After finally received a brand-new wand that chose him rather than attempting to cast magic with a hand-me-down, Ron knew he'd never wish to give his own away even for a second. The teen finally settled on shock, mostly because he at the same time realised that the Dark Lord did not at all ask for Harry to first check whether they were compatible. Either he'd used this wand before, or the bond they shared was strong enough that You-Know-Who had no doubts about Harry being able to cast magic with it just as well as with his own.

As if in slow-motion, Harry reached out and confidently took it. The wand reacted instantaneously, shooting off a burst of stars as if recognising an old friend. Ron did not miss the small, excited smile that spread across his friend's face before turning to face the crowd.

''Before I begin, I wish to offer my condolences. Losing people close to you isn't easy, and the wounds left behind may never fully heal. I hope that this ritual will help a little bit to find closure and to build a future even now the support this member of your family gave is no longer available. Thankfully magic is a wonderful thing, allowing us to reach even those who appear gone. I ask you to be patient,'' he said while unfolding the cloak. ''And silent. Not much will appear to be happening for a while, but I need to concentrate. So err… if you must talk, please whisper instead.''

Halfway through the short speech, You-Know-Who had stepped back, leaving Harry alone on the raised dais. Unfortunately, this meant the intimidating man returned to Ron's table. Without Harry as a buffer, his presence felt twice as ominous. Was this caused by literal magic? Or was Ron starting to develop a sixth sense? Both sounded like equally ludicrous theories. From the stares they received, his previous prediction had been correct, though it didn't feel very funny now Ron was the one having to live with the consequences of being in direct line of sight of that scrutinising scarlet stare. Feeling drops of sweat drip down his neck, he did the best he could: pointedly ignoring everyone else around in favour of concentrating on Harry, who had slashed his own palm and let blood drip into the urn, then disappeared under the invisibility cloak.

As uncomfortable as sharing a table with You-Know-Who was, at least everyone had been told not to speak if unnecessary, which meant having the perfect excuse to avoid grasping for topics of conversations. Honestly, what would he, Ron Weasley, even be able to talk to a Dark Lord about? It didn't look like You-Know-Who was a Chudley Cannons fan, going by the noticeable lack of bright orange in his house. Just Harry's luck, Ron thought. Youngest Seeker of the century and then he snared a boyfriend who wasn't into Quidditch. It really did only extend to life-and-death situations apparently… Not so useful anymore in times where no-one was actively out for his life.

Harry hadn't exaggerated when saying patience was needed. Minutes ticked by without the slightest hint of magic, to a point where Ron would have suspected something had gone wrong if You-Know-Who hadn't remained as calm as he was. Just as Ron thought about breaking the tense silence by gathering enough courage to ask for clarification, the ground beneath them lightly trembled once, then twice. With an ear-shattering sound, cracks abruptly appeared across the floor around the urn, entire chunks of stone vanishing as the lines that had been drawn before were cut into the marble itself. Dust violently whirled up and the growling Ron had heard earlier turned into a roar. Daring to look away from the urn for a moment, Ron tilted his head backwards, dearly wishing he hadn't done so when seeing a set of snarling teeth behind the vines of Nightshimmer. ''What is that?'' he squeaked, suddenly terrified, pointing upwards. You-Know-Who didn't react, fixated on Harry, who had pulled off his cloak.

Astoria leaned back again, apparently taking pity on him, even though her eyes never once left the origin of the destruction. ''It's just the dread gazebo, don't mind it. Probably doesn't like being damaged so. Now shush, Potter said we shouldn't speak.''

Her words did nothing to calm Ron down, but as no-one else appeared to be horrified by the ginormous mouth of stone hovering above them, he at least attempted to focus on what he came here to see instead. Harry stood motionless for a while, eyes a strange glowing purple and wand raised. Was it just imagination, or did everything look and feel darker than before? Colder than before? Ron felt strangely vulnerable, rooted in this spot amidst people proud to call themselves dark mages. One of whom was a Dark Lord. Another a Necromancer… Ron did not regret any of his actions or choices made over the past weeks, but he did wonder how this was his life now.

Energy suddenly zapped around Harry, who opened his mouth to speak. Leaning forward, sitting at the edge of his seat, Ron knew he was about to witness something rare. Would the dead woman speak through his friend now? But no… a small shining silver sphere slipped out of Harry's mouth and dove into the urn instead. With a jerking motion, You-Know-Who abruptly stood, looking like a predator waiting to spring into action. What was going on?

The urn shook, ash spewing from its mouth, spreading and growing – forming shape. Amidst this strange cloud, the silver drop settled. Ron gaped at the scene, almost forgetting to breathe when arms and legs were modelled. You-Know-Who hissed something in snake-speech, not sounding pleased.

''I am…''

Words like the rustling of wind, soft and far-away, as if being used to a different backdrop than the harshness of reality. The being that had risen from the urn was inspecting what appeared to be hands now, showing something akin fascination. Behind it – her? – Harry clearly had a hard time keeping the white wand steady, which trembled in his grip, pointed straight at the centre of the ash-ghost's back.

''My family… you define me. My worth. My will.''

''Grandmother,'' a sandy-haired man spoke up, the only adult who hadn't said a word so far. His voice sounded croaky, as if unused. ''What is your will? Guide us one more time. Must we stray from the path of neutrality? Is it worth the pain?''

The spectre moved slowly, ash swirling as it floated closer to the fingers that formed and unformed brushed his cheek.''There is… always pain, Gareth. Something worth that pain is rare. Treasure it. That might… magic is might. I am magic now. Follow her. Follow her might.''

''I don't understand. Who is she?'' Helstrom asked in a shrill tone.

''Her voice, her hands, her eyes are here… Fly from death forevermore. Forgive me, Lord of Sacrifice. Forgive my children and lead them to her embrace…''

''There is nothing to forgive,'' You-Know-Who spoke, circling around the table to approach the mysterious being. ''You saw the truth during life. You gave your eldest grandson your blessing to follow me.'' The words sounded pressing, as if the man wished to force the spectre to admit this as fact to dispel the previous claims as lies.

It did not, floating further without answering, briefly caressing Wellesley's face as well in passing until ultimately halting in front of the children's table. Even the youngest ones were completely frozen. ''Daphne. Our souls are alike. My role… your father's role… is yours by right. Remain strong in the face of those who wish to seize it. However long it takes, do not bow. Do not falter.''

''Yes, great-grandmother,'' Daphne spoke proudly, sounding thrilled. Ron thought it pretty remarkable. If the spirit of one of his own family members showed up looking like a dust-tornado and attempted to chat, he'd rather be anywhere else. Daphne only looked smug, throwing a devastating look at a pale Helstrom sitting at the other side of the gazebo. What bad blood was going on between those two?

''Be united. Only as one can I survive through you.'' The spectre requested, addressing everyone present again while whirling around. The grey specks that formed its shape were moving faster now, a few drizzling to the ground as if whatever magic held the rest together had no hold on them anymore. Clearly struggling, the being floated back towards the urn, aided by Harry, who made a welcoming motion with the wand, speeding up the bright dot that dragged the rest along. With a last sigh, the ash rained down, half of it landing back in the urn, the rest scattered across the tiles and seeping into the cracks. For a last second, the silver orb hovered, and then it too was gone.

Coughing, Harry dropped to his knees. Uncaring about anything else, Ron jumped up to aid his best friend, running so he reached Harry almost in the same moment You-Know-Who did, who was already hauling Harry to his feet. The man reclaimed his wand quickly and released a strange, long hissing sound that thundered far too loud. Ron looked around in confusion, seeing that everyone else appeared frozen.

''What happened?'' he asked, but was entirely ignored as You-Know-Who started checking Harry, who pushed the wand away.

''I'm fine,'' he grumbled. ''Just tired, that took more energy than expected.''

''What did you do?'' the other questioned. ''That looked nothing like the ritual I told you to study! The descriptions were detailed enough and I answered all your questions. What went so wrong?''

''It was… instinctual!'' Harry groaned, holding his head as he attempted to stand upright by himself.

''Nothing about the Arts is about feelings. When following the guide to the letter-''

''This isn't the time and place to discuss this, is it?'' With wide eyes, his friend looked up, only then seeming to notice the state the Greengrass family was in. ''What did you do?''

''Distorted their cognition of time,'' You-Know-Who grouchily bit back. ''They won't notice a thing that happens in the next thirteen minutes. Don't try to change the topic, Evan. A memorial service is not the time to experiment! Did you do this on purpose?''

Venomously, Harry retorted: ''I was called by Ruin! That first time!''

Having no clue what they were talking about and feeling this was not a good moment to interrupt, Ron stood back, eased somewhat by the knowledge that everything said here would not be registered by their onlookers. At least they were speaking English this time, so while listening, he tried to make sense of their conversation and neatly listed all the questions that bubbled around in his mind to bombard Harry with later. You-Know-Who made the most comical expression, almost as if he'd been hit in the face with something silly like one of dad's rubber ducks. ''You were what?''

''Called by Ruin,'' Harry repeated, jaw tightening in that typically stubborn way. ''The only reason I turned away from it and went to Glory was because the thought wouldn't go out of my head that you'd be disappointed. And I was right in that, wasn't I? Right after, you asked me if I succeeded in what you wanted, only proceeding after getting my confirmation. Would you have seen Sirius' resurrection through if I would have failed?''

''Is that what you thought?''

Now, Ron wasn't very apt in reading emotions, but he could tell Harry's comment had pissed You-Know-Who off even more than he already had been. That did not seem incredibly smart, so he prepared to throw himself in between the two.

''The reason I asked was because you wouldn't have been able to continue otherwise without severely endangering yourself! I would have had to take over the ritual from that point onward to even have hope in succeeding!'' You-Know-Who made a frustrated noise. ''Regardless, that shouldn't matter. Whatever you think you did, my dear, and regardless of my hopes and wishes, no-one can control which moon they're chosen by in the end. It's the same principle of wands choosing the wizard. As Glory accepted you, it must have drawn you in stronger than the others, stronger than Ruin, and you mastered the powers of all four moons due to it. In fact, by summoning not only Greengrass' soul, but also creating a body for it, you had to have called upon Glory instead of only Despair. Nothing about this has to do with Ruin.''

Sounding a tad awkward, Harry coughed. ''Not… exactly. The ritual described a spell that called upon Despair, so I did. But then… the moment I withdrew from the Black Cosmos and I was faced with the urn, I just… I couldn't…'' Harry took a deep breath. ''Taken apart or not, that ash used to be her body, and it felt so wrong to let her speak through me instead of simply giving it back. I don't know how, but I could feel a connection still to the Cosmos. That heat, that red glow behind my eyes.'' His fingers trembled as he brought them to his face. ''I called out again, and Ruin answered.'' Harry shivered, wrapping thin arms around himself. Despite knowing better than to interrupt, Ron could not stand to see his friend in such a miserable state and took off his own cloak, using the moment the Dark Lord appeared stunned to drape it across Harry's shoulders.

''Thanks,'' came a grateful muttering.

''Don't mention it. You don't look well.''

''My own fault for casting magic without knowing what I was doing, I s'pose,'' the other shrugged, then cocked his head and focused on You-Know-Who again, expectantly waiting.

''You… asked Ruin. After having returned to this plane.'' The words were strangely strangled, and he looked upon Harry as if never having seen him before.

''I'm sorry for being impulsive?''

The apologetic smile was completely ignored, red eyes looking like they were trying to burn holes into Harry's head. Gravely, he spoke: ''Evan, you messed with magic you had no true grasp on. Without prior research, without even a hint of a theory, you followed a whim while perhaps part of you was still stuck in the land of the dead. Did I teach you nothing? You could have died!'' The agitation was eminent, and Harry winced.

Being witness to the amount of concern shown by You-Know-Who about Harry's future survival put Ron at ease more than anything he'd heard before. Still, the man was being rather unfair, especially since his friend looked drained and needed support more than being bombarded with critique. ''Hey,'' Ron thus exclaimed. ''What's done is done. Chewing Harry out over it is completely unnecessary. Whatever may have gone different than you planned, it worked, didn't it? Harry didn't die, and the Greengrass family got to speak to their relative.''

Now, that same glare was directed at Ron himself, and he felt as if he shrank several feet. Instead of answering him directly though, You-Know-Who turned all attention back to Harry and coldly spoke: ''You did realise that allowing the summoned soul usage of your own body and mind served the purpose of granting it coherent thought, yes? What you created left Mrs Greengrass' essence without the ability to distinguish the importance of priorities or reason. By only passing through you, she barely gained awareness, instead merely defining herself and imparting her will in the vaguest sense possible. Impressive your display may have been, the actual purpose was undermined.''

''Next time you do it then,'' Harry huffed, frowning and looking up when You-Know-Who didn't react. ''Well?''

A long and soft hissing followed, which Ron could not hope to gather anything from. By the way that Harry's frown turned into an expression of sheer disbelief and agitated hisses followed from his side too, whatever had been said had been unexpected.

''Enough of that,'' You-Know-Who finally cut Harry off, who narrowed his eyes. ''There's the here and now to worry about. Considering how spectacularly you announced 'soul-charming' is a direct equivalent to Necromancy by literally reviving the ashes to craft a temporary body to house the soul and showing said soul itself to everyone watching, this can no longer simply be brushed off as a mysterious, secret branch of magic that allows a small window into the beyond to talk to loved ones.''

''So what's the plan?'' Ron asked, itching to get all of this behind them ''I don't trust that Helstrom woman to not run off to the Ministry, reporting that two wanted men have performed Necromancy in her family's backyard. She sounded like a menace. The others at least somehow seemed fine with the idea of following you,'' he nodded towards You-Know-Who, ''Especially the ones who currently run the main branch, but she didn't seem so eager, and I doubt those cryptic words of grandma's ghost were convincing enough. It didn't confirm your claims at all''

Although Ron had already counted on being ignored by the Dark Lord again, he was finally acknowledged. ''Correct, that does add complications. I'll need to have a word with Wellesley and Althea one way or the other. I was assured we'd have the entire families' protection, and yet Sideritis indeed did not strike me as very pleased by my appearance. Interesting, considering I blessed her eldest son upon birth. What concerns me also is how pushy the late Dowager was about Daphne Greengrass taking up the role as Head of the family after her father renounces that title. I hadn't expected this funeral service to cause such a headache.''

''True, most of what I was excited about seeing was cut short due to Helstrom's drama too,'' Harry huffed, having rather quickly recovered from getting the brunt of You-Know-Who's anger. His mood always did bounce about when near his boyfriend. ''Since you were so rudely interrupted when trying to perform the initial service. Is it true that one of them was falsely imprisoned for being believed to be a Death Eater, though? Somehow this seems to happen far too often.''

''Some Aurors did not believe in trials. Another victim of Mad-eye Moody's paranoia, I believe. Stanwode was certainly a dark mage, but apparently selling 'protective' amulets with mild jinxes on them during the war was enough to convince Moody that the man was working directly for me, earning him lifetime in prison instead of the usual fine and commerce ban. However, our time is almost up, so let us focus on strategy instead of dwelling in the past. Trying to claim no Necromancy was involved would not be credible enough, but although this is unfortunate, them discovering you're a Necromancer is not my main concern. Frowned upon or not, there's little difference by now whether anyone calls the Ministry for that or simply for our very presence. Firstly, we'll need to focus on tempering any anger over us supposedly tricking them, either by denying all of this happened on purpose, or pretending we thought they knew all along what exactly we were about to do. This way, we avoid having offended their family. Secondly, we cannot leave before both loyalty and silence have been guaranteed, by mediating talks.''

''Er... not to be too much of a downer,'' Ron said, scratching his head. ''But how can you be sure half of them won't apparate away the second they come back to their senses?''

''I overrode and reinforced the wards as soon as I noticed the ritual did not go as planned,'' You-Know-Who casually answered, as if taking control of another family's wards was a breeze. Maybe to him it was. ''None of them can leave. Well-observed, however,'' he added in afterthought, and Ron just knew his face instantly turned beet-red. ''As you seem so eager to be pro-active and Evan has described you to me as a good strategist, what would you suggest? Feigning accidental magic taking the overhand that pushed our ritual into the direction of Necromancy instead of what we intended, or diverting the blame to them for being ignorant?''

Hardly believing his ears, Ron's mind blanked out for a second. He was supposed to choose which lie to spin?

But this was a test, he was quick to realise, cautiously weighing the words that had sounded so biting. The two options had been presented as being able to bring about equal results, yet each would have very different consequences they'd have to live with.

This question had not been asked by an unnameable creature out for blood, nor had it been asked by Harry's partner who was filled with concern over their discovery. It was Lord Voldemort, shrewd and far more experienced in strategy than a sixteen-year-old blood-traitor, who wished for Ron to choose the answer – the only correct answer.

XxX

Secrets were some of Astoria's favourite things. She treasured them, being mindful never to reveal what she knew until it was unquestionably beneficial. Today had brought a wealthy treasure trove, delivered right into her outstretched hands.

It had started with Ronald Weasley showing up alongside Potter and the Dark Lord. Granted, the Gryffindor had deliberately cast dark magic before during at least one of the Defence Association sessions, but had never even hinted at being in the know of Potter's allegiance. When he'd disappeared from Hogwarts alongside the other three, she'd imagined Weasley to have been dragged into a mess he couldn't get out of, possibly involving mind control or imprisonment. Not that the Imperius curse could be ruled out just yet, but if he were under the influence of such a spell there'd be no reason to physically be near the Dark Lord. The Imperius curse could very well be maintained across great distances. That left the most plausible theory of Weasley honestly defecting to the side of the Dark Lord, which surely none of his family members would be pleased about. It wasn't a terribly useful secret to have at the moment, but she could see it coming in handy at Hogwarts in the far future.

The second secret came as the greatest shock, in the form of Potter's revealed powers. Perhaps some of her relatives would be uncertain or in denial, but she, Daphne and Erik all knew exactly what had happened. So many boring holidays during which she and her sister had complained about Hogwarts' dull curriculum had been spiced up by Erik's stories of Durmstrang and its hidden societies. He'd been just as glad to get away from his much younger half-siblings as Daphne and Astoria had been glad to be entertained. Astoria had been mostly interested in advanced duelling, but the topic of death both frightened and fascinated her sister, who would not stop asking about it. Each time, their cousin told wilder stories, many of which they'd been able to confirm once coming into contact with older students from Durmstrang last school year. There was no mistaking the signs, from the way the apparition that had been called forth had acted to the manifestation of a soul, guided back to the land of the living. The hint of their great-grandmothers painfully familiar voice underneath the grinding of dust… A secret of the utmost importance, to keep close to one's chest by anyone who had caught even a whiff of it. One so deadly that merely keeping it was a crime. Yet also a secret wrapped in questions: why was it so uncaringly revealed to her entire family? Surely, they had not yet gained this level of trust? Potter may not know the weight of it, but the Dark Lord certainly would.

The second led to the third: what was left unsaid by their great-grandmother between urgently spoken lines bringing to light what Astoria had suspected for years – without enough proof to be certain. Someone from within their family would attempt to usurp Daphne… and the obvious choice was Sideritis, her first cousin-once-removed, who wished not only for her son to be head of the side branch of their family, but to claim the main one too. Did Erik know? Had Sideritis involved Astoria's Aunt and Uncle in this? She could not have hoped to challenge Daphne without any support, not without knowingly tearing the entire family apart. Even she wouldn't be so reckless, right? It was an odd secret, truly mattering only to the Greengrasses but needing to be kept from anyone who could turn it into opportunities or poisonous alliances. What would have happened, had this one not been aired today by Potter's doing? One of her parents' weaknesses was being hesitant to suspect family members attempting to harm them. Would their eyes finally have opened enough to deal with this? If so, she and her sister – especially her sister – owed a debt to Potter now. A double-edged sword of a secret, for certain. Capable of cutting right through their sacred family tree if not handled with care.

Astoria's mind seemed to work several miles a minute. Analysing all the details, putting together pieces of the puzzle faster than usual. Great-grandmother had only just been lain to rest once more (if only half of the ashes making it back into the urn while the rest scattered across earth and wind could count as such) and the Dark Lord, Weasley and Potter had started a discussion that clearly wasn't meant for her ears, as she couldn't make out any particular words. They moved oddly slow for a bit, although it may have been an illusion caused by the mixture of the heavy incense, magical floral scent, and all of the previous impressions, for when Astoria next blinked, the Dark Lord descended from the dais with perfectly normal speed.

From the other side of the gazebo, a pained sound came, and everyone looked at Sideritis' flushed form. She was standing, it looked as if she'd been trying to apparate but failed. With a beet-red face, she sat down again and took a sip of water. Astoria wondered if the Dark Lord would punish this insolence, but he ignored Sideritis completely, walking up to her parents' table in the middle instead.

''I would like to offer my formal regret to your family member's remains being left in such a state, Wellesley,'' he spoke, although none of his body language conveyed feeling sorry in any way. ''Talented he may be, my protégé still has to refine the output of his sheer power, especially when it comes to such fickle necromantic rituals.'' Alongside her parents, Astoria momentarily froze as the word was spoken out loud. It felt almost obscene.

''Necromancy?'' father breathed, twirling the edges of his heavy moustache nervously.

The Dark Lord stilled, observing him for a moment. ''Naturally.'' There was a hint of mockery to his tone. ''I offered to let your family speak to the soul of a departed human being. Or do you wish to accuse me of deception by using illusionary spells to achieve such an effect?''

''No, no, of course not, my Lord,'' mother spoke before father could react. ''We are grateful for your gift and dedication. My husband merely implied… well, we haven't much experience with such high magics,'' she diplomatically attempted to correct the situation. It did not quite work as intended.

''Truly?'' the man icily asked. ''Weasley!''

For a moment, Astoria had assumed he'd addressed her father Wellesley, but the orange-haired Gryffindor, who'd been busy whispering to Potter, looked up. ''Err, yes?''

''Your knowledge of the vast fields of magic is rudimentary at best, with no more than an incomplete education at Hogwarts. How would you describe the ritual you witnessed today?''

''Oh.. ah… well, Harry called a soul, right? So then he raised the dead, didn't he?''

''He raised the dead…'' the Dark Lord muttered, turning back and letting his eyes travel over the crowd with a bemused gaze. ''Such is even the observance from a teenager from decidedly light origins, which surely means a respected family such as yourself would have reached this same conclusion easily. And what branch of magic deals with raising the dead?'' When no-one gave the only obvious reply, he sneered: ''I knew this family has balanced on neutrality for years, but I was given the impression that this applied to political backing only. Seeing such disturbing obliviousness when it comes to understanding fundamental dark spells… I had not expected this. Perhaps my willingness to welcome you amongst those with a longer history of acceptance was too hasty.''

''My Lord, my brother's words were thoughtless,'' Uncle Gareth spoke in his usual slow, grave tone. ''Caused by a lack of exposure to the outside world for years as he was lost in study. I assure you, we,'' – he sent a pointed glare over to Sideritis - ''have not neglected our roots. During the last war, none of us were in the position to go against our elder's decisions not to actively involve ourselves, but I recall that even when I was a boy, you were welcomed in this house and graciously tolerated my parents' stance. I haven't forgotten this, nor has my brother. We did not mean to cause offence through ignorance.''

Astoria could see Sideritis was stewing in anger over all this deference to the Dark Lord. As intimidating as the man was however, she was well aware of whom her focus should lie on. Her parents made dealings with their Lord, she and Daphne made dealings with Potter. That was just the way it was now, as established after the last gathering at Malfoy Manor during the Ostara break. A shame Draco couldn't have been present today, using her fiancé's closeness to Potter would have eased the way. She glanced at Daphne, but her sister's mind appeared to be elsewhere, going by her tense posture. Understandable, after the previous revelation of her position possibly being endangered. Taking a major leap of faith, Astoria waited until the adults were thoroughly busy offering apologies, then bee-lined for the two Gryffindors while praying silently that her parents were occupied enough not to scold her for this forwardness later.

She was more wary than usual after Potter had revealed himself to command the powers of the dead, terrified of what else he could all have learned while no-one was looking. Everyone else must feel the same way, even if the adults were careful to cover their fear as it wouldn't be becoming to show fright towards one much younger than themselves. They would instead employ the strategy of ignoring Potter completely in favour of the Dark Lord, who'd declared himself this Necromancer's teacher – which also suggested they were in the presence of two necromancers, although if Weasley's words were any indication, Potter was more apt in it than the Dark Lord.

Forcing her lips to fold into a smile, Astoria looked at Potter's haggard face. His eyes had returned to their normal shade of brilliant green, at least. ''Harry,'' she called out. Using his first name would be taken as shocking familiarity, but she knew from the gatherings at Hogwarts that he preferred it. And if the circumstances of this meeting were any indication, his comfort would be more important than her parents' rules. ''Ron,'' she addressed the other as well, unable to completely conceal the curiosity in her voice. Damn it. But how could he just stand there as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened? Just how much had Weasley hidden? ''That was impressive,'' she quickly added to cover it up. ''I assume you need some rest, so allow me to guide you to a more comfortable location.''

''Much appreciated,'' Weasley answered, but Potter shook his head quickly.

''I'll need to stay here,'' he urged, eyes flicking over to the Dark Lord. ''There's much that needs to be said still and-''

''And,'' Astoria repeated, smile easing into a genuine one. After showing so much raw magic, Potter still adorably fumbled in social situations. She'd waited for him to step up to the game faster, but perhaps it had been too hasty to expect such a thing. As his future sister-in-law, who'd be better suited to gently guide him away from further catastrophes? ''although I'm sure that you are used to having the Dark Lord's ear, it would stir far less trouble if you stayed out of this conversation.''

Unexpectedly, he gathered a stubborn kind of strength before her eyes, a stern gaze resting on her. ''I appreciate that, I do, but you're right: I am used to being listened to now, and disappearing into the background would defeat the purpose of what I've been trying to achieve. After leaving Hogwarts… Let's just say that efforts have been made by multiple parties to get me up to speed and involved.''

''You gained respect today,'' she acknowledged. ''But regardless of the role your carry out usually, you're barely more to them than the Dark Lord's apprentice.'' More than a slight understatement, since he clearly had a higher status than mere apprenticeship, going by the dances they'd shared at the Ostara ball, but it would be tactless to mention it. Just like it would be tactless to push Potter's nose on the fact that everyone who'd witnessed the ritual he'd performed today was likely still trying to figure out to which degree they'd need to fear him. Focusing on him being a protégé of a more powerful man whose role had already been established was safer, so Astoria presumed this would be the course of action the rest of her family would take.

''Listen to me, please,'' she sighed, wishing it wouldn't get her in trouble if she were to violently shake Potter's shoulders instead of trying to talk him out of interfering. ''I can't describe you other than a wild card, whom no-one knows what to do with. You're a minor, yet clearly powerful enough to leave Hogwarts and teach those older than you. You're a half-blood, and yet have an important role at the Dark Lord's side.'' Astoria tried to conveniently ban the words out of her head that Potter had uttered to her months ago about the Dark Lord himself being of impure blood as well. Having suicidal thoughts wasn't productive. Pushing on, she attempted to convey her frustration with his obtuseness with as much of a civil mask as possible. ''You're the head of one major family as its last remaining member while at the same time being the youngest addition to another after your adoption. The Dark Lord's current followers may listen to you while he's around, but in the end, they'll only listen to your beliefs when those align directly with his, so what's the use?''

''She's got a point, mate,'' Weasley thankfully agreed. ''And didn't you complain to me about how You-Know... err, the Dark Lord, wants to basically give you free reign over our generation?''

Astoria didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Weasley's bold claim punched her in the gut. Digging sharp nails into her palm, she managed not to faint on the spot. Being a spokesperson as she'd imagined was one thing, but Potter was being set up to lead them? Permanently? Their entire generation? Oh, he absolutely could, there was no doubt about it when seeing how splendidly he'd taught just shy of fifty people in the end, but the implications. The Dark Lord had shown an interest in courting Potter – everyone present at the Malfoy's grand ball was aware of this – but going from personal tutoring to allowing Potter to use his wand to making him, what, a general? Another right hand? This was abnormal behaviour so early in courtship procedures. Even after marriage, those with power didn't always allow their spouses to share it.

''Don't mention this,'' she hissed frantically. ''To anyone, I mean it!'' Honestly, the single reason she wouldn't exploit this information was because after marrying Draco, they'd belong to the same family. That was only a few years away if she had any say in it. Pissing off Potter when he'd inevitably notice the weight these words could have when spread around was somewhere at the extreme bottom of her bucket list. (It was still on there, because honestly, the drama would be glorious, but she'd chalk it up as an unrealistic goal if she wished to die of old age with all limbs intact.)

The two blinked at her owlishly. ''Not even Daphne?'' Potter asked hesitantly.

''Especially not Daphne! Do you want to already put her in a dilemma of whom to swear loyalty to once she takes up her position as family matriarch in the future?''

''Will she though?'' Weasley mused with a frown, suddenly not looking so much like the dim-witted Gryffindor he presented himself as the majority of the time. ''It sounded as if-''

''Let's find a nice and private spot to talk about all of this, yes?'' she asked, sugar-sweet. Looking back, Astoria saw that most of the adults seemed to have calmed down and were ready to head inside. She briefly wondered why they appeared so unbothered by the fact that half of great-grandmother's ashes were still smeared across the stone. Not that she was in a position to complain about this callousness. Trying to stay a few steps behind the rest as was proper did not wholly succeed however, as the Dark Lord himself fell behind. When she grabbed onto Potter's arm to steer him in an arch towards the manor, unblinking ruby eyes landed on her for the first time, following her movements with scrutiny. What had she done to attract his attention? Was she imagining things, was he really checking on Potter? Astoria exhaled in relief when his gaze was at last averted and the powerful wizard drew his wand to wordlessly repair all the cracks the ritual had left. Trying not to be too obvious, she slowed down a little bit and spied over her shoulder to see he had knelt at great-grandmother's urn, returning all the ash and sealing the lid. Good, at least someone cared. The respect she'd been forced to show towards him did not feel so forced anymore.

Unfortunately, even after managing to shake off the Dark Lord and heading safely inside, not all went to plan, for while none of the remaining adults looked twice at them as they were either busy discussing how best to appease the Dark Lord or trying not to look like the last broom left in the shed, Astoria had less luck with her sister and cousins. Daphne and Erik had both instantly gravitated towards her, Cereus trotting at their heels like a puppy as usual. Well alright then, not so private anymore. She drew a line however, when her three youngest cousins all followed as well, who did not even bear the name Greengrass.

''Go to your mother,'' she sternly spoke, grimacing in distaste when Revna instantly started tearing up as if she were going to ugly bawl.

''Hey, no need to cry,'' Weasley instantly said, going down on one knee and ruffling -ruffling! – Revna's hair. The tears did stop, but Astoria suspected it was out of shock. ''We're probably all going to be boring while drinking tea. You guys don't want to spend even more time sitting still, right? Better make a ruckus in that wild jungle outside!''

''They can't go into the forest,'' Daphne sighed in irritation when the children actually seemed excited at the prospect. ''Don't tempt them. There's dangerous creatures in there.''

''My own house is filled with two dangerous creatures called Fred and George,'' Weasley shrugged. ''My younger sister became a pro at handling threatening situations due to plain exposure to their experiments.''

''You're not too bad with threatening situations yourself,'' Potter mentioned with a grin. ''Is that why? Even when we walked into that nest of giant-''

''No reminders!'' Weasley exclaimed, pressing his hands against his ears. ''Don't ever mention that again!''

''Giant what?'' Erik asked, ever curious, then took a step back when Daphne raised her eyebrow at him. She might as well have fired a stinging hex. ''Ah- my apologies.''

''We'll still get to those,'' she sniffed and crossed her arms. ''Dera, Revna, Linn. Out.''

Unsure whether commanding them to get 'out' was the safest option considering the only person having remained outside for now was a Lord known for murder, but not really caring enough about her most distant cousins to oppose Daphne, Astoria remained silent. Instead, she hurried to call the House-Elf and had it prepare one of the more distant sitting rooms. Potter was theirs, and she did not wish for the adults to interfere anymore in their political games than was the case the other way around.

Of course, this was difficult to convey to people who were unused to playing them. On the way, Potter tried to instantly make small talk with none other than Erik, while Weasley had given into Cereus' demands to be carried.

''Since I haven't seen you around Hogwarts, I guess you go to a different school? Beauxbatons?'' Potter inquired.

Erik chuckled at the suggestion. ''Circe no. I can't even speak French. I'm in my fifth year at Durmstrang.''

''Oh, you're the same age as us then?'' Weasley threw in. ''Thought you were older.''

''I turned sixteen a few weeks ago.''

Potter did not seem interested in something as mundane as age comparisons, instantly launching into questions about Durmstrang: ''So, what kinds of subjects are you currently studying then?''

''This might surprise you, but my chosen elective is actually a course that I heard Hogwarts also offers: Astronomy. The patterns of the night sky and how they interweave with magic are beautiful. I did consider death magic as both of my closest friends picked that, but I spoke to older students and a lot of it seems to be incredibly dry. Besides, not really any jobs it's useful for unless one wants to either teach the course or write books about it. When seeing you put it into practise today, maybe I shouldn't have been so quick to cast it aside.''

''Maybe, but unlike Astronomy, one also has to have an affinity to properly use it. It's difficult to say whether you do without actually trying, and since according to Viktor only the theory is taught at Durmstrang without practical application, studying it with the intention of actually casting necromantic magic after graduating could turn out to be wasted years if you're unlucky.''

''Viktor? Oh, Krum? Right, I forgot you must have known him from the Triwizard Tournament. A shame I couldn't go, I'm sure the Goblet of Fire would have found me a more suitable candidate. That age restriction for safety was ridiculous, since you not only cheated the age line, but won.''

''Harry didn't cheat!'' Weasley harshly retorted, the tips of his ears tinging red before Potter even had chance to deny it himself. ''He was tricked into attending!''

''By whom?'' Erik pounced instantly. Merlin, her cousin was a worse gossiper than Parkinson. She was sure his good looks and status as one of Durmstrang's most excellent athletes since Krum left gave him all the access to gossip that he wanted at school, but in her own house, it was just annoying.

After giving a small signal to her sister to stop this nonsense, Daphne sharply cleared her throat to get Erik to shut up. ''Can you all at least wait until after proper introductions before talking about Magic and the world?

At last, they comfortably settled in the sitting room, which had been adorned by the House-elf in tasteful mourning decorations. Although Astoria had fasted without complaint for the past three days, she was incredibly grateful to now finally see piles of sandwiches on trays. Daphne appeared to have the same idea, postponing introductions for the time being to load up a plate of food for everyone and starting to eat a bit faster than was strictly appropriate. Astoria approved of the decision, sighing contentedly after swallowing a dozen of the tiny finger sandwiches. Their guests weren't complaining either, so all was good.

''Well then,'' Daphne at last took the word again. ''Meet the current generation of the Greengrass family. You already know my sister Astoria of course. The little one is Cereus, our only first cousin. And the nosy one is Erik, one of our second cousins.''

''Nice to meet you,'' Potter replied with a nod. Weasley nodded along too, although he was currently distracted by making sure Cereus didn't put a pointy mental candlestick in her mouth. It was clear as day that he was used to babysitting. Having a sister one year younger would probably make him the default brother to look after her, she supposed. Especially since the Weasleys had so many children that she couldn't imagine the parents actually decently looking after all of their brood.

''Same here. Heard quite a bit about you over the years. Defeater of a Dark Lord, Heir of Slytherin, Triwizard Champion…''

Potter chuckled. ''Don't believe everything you hear. I'm not the Heir of Slytherin for one. That was some made-up bogus. They figured every Parselmouth must stem from the Slytherin line, which isn't true. Well, kind of. It's complicated. Anyways, this here is Ron, my best friend,'' he spoke, nudging Weasley.

Erik glanced over at the red-haired teen briefly, gave the curtest nod, then turned right back to grilling Potter. ''Right… but none of these rumours did you justice in the end. You are truly a Necromancer? A real one?'' Erik asked.

''As much as I hate having to constantly interrupt your interesting conversations,'' Daphne snapped, ''Are you not forgetting something important, dear cousin?''

Erik pursed his lips and leaned back. ''I'd figured you'd not wish to discuss this in front of outsiders, your majesty.''

''Potter is not an outsider,'' Daphne boldly stated, raising her chin. ''He represents the Dark Lord and is perfectly suited to settle this.''

''Settle? Settle what?'' Potter asked in bewilderment. Astoria had to admit to being impressed by her sister's observations. She'd thought Daphne had been rather absent after receiving great-grandmother's message, but although her sister hadn't even heard Weasley's exclamation, she'd seemed to have put two and two together. Maybe already a long time ago.

Their cousin grunted, looking none too pleased. ''And he?'' Erik said with an unfriendly tone, jerking his chin up to Weasley. ''Another representative?''

''I think I just said he's my best friend,'' Potter emphasized, tone a few degrees cooler now than during his previous enthusiastic attempts at making conversation. ''Anything you say to me can be said to Ron.'' Once again, Astoria was left wondering, even more so since the third member of their usually inseparable trio was not present. What had happened to Granger? Of course, she was a Muggle-born, but even after joining the Dark Lord, Potter had remained a positive stance towards that kind of people.

Her musings about that would have to wait for another day, a day in which her family's future wasn't being discussed.

''Fine,'' Erik relented. ''Although I must point out you're very quick with assumptions.''

Daphne scoffed. ''Oh yes, I'm sure it's Uncle Standwode I'll have to be worried about. Or dear little Cereus, who won't even be dreaming of engagements for the next five years or so. Come on, I'm not stupid. You are the only threat, and your mother wasn't exactly quiet about her distaste over progressive beliefs.''

''Daphne,'' Potter butted in. ''If you want me to be of any help in this debate, I'll need a briefing of what's gong on. You're the heir of this family, are you not? How can that be threatened by anyone?''

With an irritated motion of her hand, Daphne directed the question to Astoria to answer, who instantly sat up, glad to not be left out of the conversation. ''Each family may choose their own line of succession,'' she explained. ''While the vast majority of Pure-bloods give the title of Heir to the oldest male in a family's generation, with exceptions only made if there is no male heir, a few families such as ours instead chose to have the title be inherited by the oldest child. The catch however, is that one can of course not become the head of a family without carrying the family name. This has posed a problem multiple times in the past. Because patriarchal inheritance is so commonplace, few wizards are willing to take their wife's surname instead of the other way around. It has happened before though, and our family's branch is only the main one because my grandmother Sylanna Greengrass, oldest child of her generation, found a husband who took her name and thus allowed the name Greengrass to pass down further. Sideritis is still cross about it, having claimed for years that if we'd have stuck to the common inheritance system, it would have been her grandfather who'd inherited the title, thus making herself and her children heirs to the main branch. My parents have openly called that hypocritical, since we've employed this system for several hundred years already and if it weren't for that, all of us might have been born into different families if some of our female ancestors hadn't retained their original surname. She only wanted the change in the generation that would have benefited her. Although she'd also spoken out against other non-traditional practises, I have to admit. Great-grandmother taking up the title after both her husband and first-born child had passed away instead of it directly going to my father caused many debates, as she wasn't a Greengrass by blood. But to be fair, father had been the one to ask for it, not ready yet to become head of the family when grandmother died,''

''So in other words,'' Erik summarised, and Astoria realised she'd gone off on a tangent. ''Daphne will have to find someone to marry who'll accept taking the name Greengrass. Which so far hasn't happened. And it's true,'' he sighed, raising his hands. ''My mother has been banking on me marying as soon as I graduate, so I can challenge your claim to the title and wealth that comes with it, instead of merely continuing the side branch.'' ''So you admit to being in on this,'' Daphne sneered.

''It's not as if I were going to let it happen!'' Erik stated, stunning her and Daphne into silence. ''First of all, my life, my friends and the job I want are all in Norway. What would I do with having a political claim and land in Britain? Also, as crude as it sounds, I know very well the only reason my mother kept me was for this purpose,'' he quietly admitted, a hateful shimmer in his eyes. ''She's refused to tell me who my father is and had no problems moving on and marrying someone else while expecting me to just adapt 'for the time being', before expecting me to uproot everything as soon as I turn seventeen. As if it would be that easy, too. She doesn't seem to understand that even if I were fully on board with this plan, it'd take painstaking years to challenge your claim. Years in which I'd like to build up a life instead of fighting battles for her sake.''

''It's… good to know that,'' Daphne admitted, not as frigid as before after this confession.

''What exactly would be necessary?'' Potter asked curiously. ''I'm not well-versed in legal issues, but inheritances would be a mess if every time a younger sibling married before an older one, they could challenge the title. That alone doesn't seem enough.''

''There's an age limit,'' Astoria was quick to reply. ''Of course, it can't be expected that one marries instantly after becoming a legal adult, but unless you're literally the last of a line, the claim of Heir is upheld by showing to actively want to continue that family. When someone marries and gives up their name, their claim is gone. Other than that, one has to constantly show to make an effort by having meetings with other families for engagement talks, hosting dates and the like. Each year that passes without being engaged will add pressure, and already married younger relatives can put in complaints. A full year without proof of making attempts to find a suitable match can result in the title being forfeited. Moreover, still being unmarried seven years after becoming an adult is generally considered a sign of not pursuing the continuation of one's family actively enough as well. Although the actually passing on of the title will usually of course happen only decades later, it's important to have a designated Heir who's shown commitment and whose ability to continue the line isn't in question. So, although Daphne is the official Heir right now, she will only become the designated Heir when upholding all conditions or if no-one would step up to challenge it until the time has come for the title to be passed on. We already know now that the latter won't happen.''

''Merlin, this all sounds so old-fashioned,'' Weasley commented, eyebrows raised. ''Isn't it easier to just live and let live? In my family, we abandoned the concept of main and side branches long ago and we're doing fine. No-one is 'family head' or has any other fancy titles.''

''Not to be tactless,'' Daphne dryly said, ''But this is exactly the reason why the Weasley seat in the Wizengamot sits empty. No-one wants to suddenly claim it and appear better than the rest, putting your entire family's political power at zero. Also, I can't imagine being head of the Weasley family would come with sudden access to a vault filled with gold and an estate.''

Weasley flushed and muttered something, which they only ignored due to Potter's warning look.

''All of these rules have only been established to cover all disputes, of course,'' Erik pointed out. ''Usually, all goes without a hitch due to arranged marriages being made early in life. Most people marry before even reaching their twenties, or at the very least have a tight engagement contract that could only be broken in the most extreme situations. My mother only got this crazy idea of actually challenging you because your parents were too trusting and honestly answered her question about your planned futures. When she found out Astoria is set to marry into a different family and Daphne isn't even engaged… well.''

Astoria looked at her cousin with scrutiny. ''Regardless of your wishes, if Daphne remains unmarried, Sideritis can fight this battle in your name, whether you're an adult or not. And don't tell me you'll simply refuse to get married to your current fiancée. You'd be thrown out of the family entirely if so. I know you don't want that.''

''My fiancée and I had a falling out. She's with my mother on this, blinded by talk of gold,'' Erik muttered bitterly. ''I know breaking it off on my own would usually leave me stranded but… I had a different idea. One that may be a bit daring.'' Astoria traded a look with her sister, both never having seen their cousin so nervous before. ''I'd really rather wanted to discuss this in private, but perhaps it could be more official like this, with Potter here. Daphne, how about a political marriage between us?''

Daphne stared, wide-eyed at this suggestion. The moment could not be called tense however, as Weasley made a weird noise she couldn't place and Potter pulled a horrified face while exclaiming: ''Wait, aren't you cousins?''

''Why would that be an issue?'' Erik snapped, irritated to have the moment ruined. ''Second cousins, besides,'' he added. ''Daphne, this would be the ideal solution to put this feud to rest. You'd become head of the family, while I become part of the main branch. This could also truly remain as political as possible if you want, I actually prefer to mainly keep living in Norway and pursue a career there anyways. After we have an heir, both of us can have the rest of the family off our backs. If you'd bring this proposal to your father, I'm sure he'll see the benefits.''

Nervous, Astoria glanced at her sister. It wasn't an unusual arrangement, but one that would come with angering the family Erik was currently tied up in an engagement with. He didn't seem to think about the sum that needed to be paid to break that off. Whether his mother would be really happy with this was also a major question mark. Erik might gain access to the full wealth of their family, but Daphne would be the one to claim the Wizengamot seat once father chose to retire. On the other hand, it would leave no doubt about the family's succession. And what was the alternative? At least this would lead to a relatively peaceful outcome without bad blood, just as great-grandmother apparently wanted. To be united as one again.

''I… I shall consider it,'' Daphne diplomatically answered. ''As one viable prospect.''

''One viable…?'' Erik asked, cheeks flushing. ''There are no others! If you don't consider this now, you'll be setting us both up for years of tedious dancing around my mother's ploy. Potter, what do you say? As representative?''

Potter looked a bit ill. Whether due to nerves of having such a weighty decision thrown on him or due to their customs, Astoria didn't know. This was bad… his strengths did not lie in politics last time she checked.

''I think it's time to play with as open cards as possible,'' he finally said, surprising her. ''I know that's not the 'Slytherin way' but for one, Erik thankfully doesn't appear to have this mentality and secondly, without all possible context it's unreasonable to ask me to judge what's right to do. ''Daphne, what are your other prospects?''

Uncharacteristically, her sister appeared suddenly flustered, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers that had fallen from her tasteful hairdo. When she spoke again, it sounded meeker than Astoria had ever heard in her life.

''I met someone. It's not official and I haven't… I've been afraid to bring it up with my parents but-'' She took a deep breath to calm down and sounded less shaky when saying: ''I know she's willing to take the name Greengrass and renounce her own.''

''Well that's fantastic,'' Potter reassured her. ''That would solve your issues, right? Why have you been afraid to talk to your parents about it?''

Clearly relieved to receive a modicum of encouragement, she continued: ''She's a few years older than me, which is looked unfavourably upon for the spouse of a family head, and she belongs to one of many side branches of a Finnish family that isn't really… well-off. Or entirely pure. I mean, she is Pure-blooded, but one of her brothers married a Muggle and wasn't cast out of the family. That's why I've been afraid that our values could clash in the future. We haven't spoken about that aspect much…''

''Differing ideals don't always need to stand in the way of love,'' Potter sagely spoke. ''But you'll need to communicate these fears. Talk about it and be open for other points of view.'' He coughed awkwardly and looked over to a silent Erik. ''I'm sorry, but if Daphne prefers someone else, who also fulfils all the technical prerequisites to thwart your mother's plans, I think she should take that chance. But Daphne, act quickly please. Tell your parents so this doesn't get dragged out. And if they do outright reject it, you'll have to decide for yourself what's important for you in life. I'm not in a position to tell you which choice to make between titles and love, but if you do decide that leading this family holds more importance, don't be too proud to consider Erik's offer soon as well. If it still stands?'' he asked, raising an eyebrow at Erik.

''It does,'' their cousin muttered, although he didn't look very happy about it. ''Unless… unless you're only interested in girls,'' he hurried to add. ''Sorry, but even a mainly political marriage won't work if you cannot bring yourself to…'' he trailed off, flushed by this awkward topic.

''I've had a boyfriend too,'' Daphne amusedly said. ''Before meeting Maiuc. Didn't work out, but not for that reason.'' In a much better mood, she gazed at Potter with admiration. ''I'll take your words to heart. If possible… could you accompany me to my parents right now? Before I lose courage?''

XxX

They made for a strange parade, Harry in front as a shield, a nervous Daphne at his heel and the rest trailing after them. Astoria had wanted to join to show her approval, Ron disliked the idea of remaining behind with strangers and Erik wasn't fond of being left with only his much younger cousin to baby-sit. On Daphne's whispered instructions, Harry weaved through the maze of corridors and stairs to find a large dining room in which all the adults had gathered, Voldemort sitting at the table's head. His bright robes still looked just as flattering as they had earlier today, and the way he calmly spoke while everyone else listened made him seem even more regal than before. Harry didn't know what exactly had been said, but Helstrom was still present, sandwiched between Gareth Greengrass and his wife, whose name Harry's didn't remember, if it had been mentioned at all.

Whatever they'd been talking about couldn't have been so important however, as Voldemort very soon focused on Harry. ''I'd already wondered where you'd gone. Were you productive?'' he asked, and Harry felt his partner was hinting at the gathering of his own 'army'. In a way, Harry supposed, he might have.

''Sure,'' he replied. ''But we haven't come here because we ran out of topics to talk about. Mr and Mrs Greengrass, I've come here to ask you to hear your daughter's suggestion for a marriage match. One I wholeheartedly support, I must add.'' He briefly glanced at his partner, who only emitted a feeling of intrigue while the others were stunned into silence. Good, Harry had been pretty worried about the man taking offense if he meddled this much in political affairs. ''Perhaps it would be best for the three of you to discuss this in another room-'' Harry suggested, faltering a bit as he hadn't wanted to put Daphne on the spot while her entire family listened, but his classmate had already squared her shoulders and taken a step forward.

''I don't mind,'' she smiled. ''Father, mother, I proclaim hereby my desire to marry Maiuc Peura, a Pure-blood witch who graduated from Durmstrang last year with flying colours and who is currently apprenticed to the famous alchemist Nordenskjöld. Due to my hurry to pronounce this wish to you today, Maiuc does not have the chance to ask for your blessing in person, but I assure you the blame for this lies solely on me. She has expressed the wish to ask for my hand before and assured me to renounce her own family name for my sake. We had wished to wait until her apprenticeship is finished to present to you stable financial means, but great-grandmother's proclamation today has shown me that waiting is not an option.''

During her speech, Daphne had been trembling all over, and Harry couldn't help but reach out, grasping her hand. From the jolt he felt, the gesture startled her more than it calmed. Wanting to offer more than only his formal approval, he added: ''From what I heard, Ms Peura meets the expectations for being an acceptable spouse and makes your daughter happy. A few details may not show her to be the perfect match for Daphne in your eyes, I'm sure, but waiting for perfection could be like chasing a dream that you'll be harshly woken up from. Accepting this match can instantly end the threatening rift between the two branches of the Greengrass family. Erik, why don't you say what's been on your heart?''

As unwilling as Erik had seemed before, none of it showed on his face when he looked his mother straight in the eye and declared: ''My own wishes include having a good relationship with all of my family members. I've no interest in toppling any thrones, but I know I'll be forced to as long as Daphne's future remains uncertain. I too support this union.''

Much tumult followed, although under Voldemort's ever-watchful gaze, the Greengrasses held back from shouting at each other like they clearly wanted to. Instead, all questions and accusations died down rather fast, and Wellesley looked back and forth between Harry, Daphne and Voldemort. ''My Lord… What authority exactly…''

''Mr Potter speaks for your children as I were to speak for you.'' It was said with a nonchalance that did not betray at all the ever-rising fascination Harry was bombarded with. ''As for advice, his judgement in favour of your daughter's choice appears to be beneficial when taking into consideration your family's current troubles.''

After Voldemort's verdict, there seemed to be nothing more that needed to be said. Only minutes later, an exuberant Daphne hugged Harry tightly before their departure and fell over herself in thank-yous and I-can't-believe-its when waving them off. When walking back down the garden path towards the front gate, Harry couldn't stand to remain silent anymore. ''Why are you so smug?'' he asked his partner. ''I thought you'd be angry.''

''For what, finally finding out how to influence your pawns? For showing that you can step up and make rulings that will change the course of generations?'' Completely ignoring Ron's presence or any protest about the usage of the word pawn, his partner grabbed the collar of Harry's robes and shoved him against a large tree as soon as they'd passed the gates, kissing him harshly until they were both left panting. Still breathing heavily with arousal, Voldemort traced the shell of Harrys ear with his lips. ~We'll rule both this world and the one beyond together, darling. Angry? I'm ecstatic~

---

AN: The colours of the Potter family are derived from the real-life coat of arms of the Potter families all over the world. I imagine the magical side was intertwined enough with Muggles that they would have kept the colours, even if the crest itself might differ (like replacing the Capricorn with a magical beast or the generic flowers with a magical variant). The Muggle Weasley family has a crest as well, but since they're part of the sacred 28, I imagine that over the centuries the magical branch differed so much from the Muggle branches that they'd have come up with a new crest, only keeping the green dragon from the original one.)

As for why Astoria and Daphne are there in the first place instead of Hogwarts btw, I figured 'funeral of the latest family head' would certainly be a reason for the Headmaster to allow them to leave school. Ron wouldn't find this strange either, which is why he doesn't spare a thought about it.

Sorry for uploading this chapter a few hours later than usual. I've been feeling under the weather so I literally still spent this morning finishing the chapter as I spent several days sleeping after coming home from work instead of writing this week. I hope I'll feel better soon, but cannot promise I'll be able to write the next chapter in my usual 3 weeks. Sorry in advance for the inconvenience!