Dear Readers, I sincerely apologize for the long absence. I truly wish I could claim some unforeseen circumstance that delayed me so, but it's really nothing more than the demands of life, be it work, girl, friends or family. Still, I apologize.
For those readers unaware, some months ago, my story was copied—literally copied and pasted—from Ao3 to FFNet without my permission. This person created an account on FFNet with the same handle as Ao3, and was posting on FFNet as me. I called out this impostor after which this person gave me control of the account. Now both site's author(Ao3 and FFNet) is one and the same. Sorry for the confusion. I never foresaw that happening. I've caught FFNet up to Ao3 so now I will update both sites. I've already posted chap 22 on FFNet before I post here on Ao3, just to prove I'm origin. All future updates will be posted on both sites at the same time.
Real quick, this chapter is 11K words for those who like to know and most of it is in Draco's perspective.
Lastly, I understand that my story has been rather dark and ominous of late... maybe more so. I felt my Harry needed that angst for authenticity. I understand sometimes it was much but that's how I felt I can best portray this character. I want everyone to know that I feel like we've gone through the worst of it so the tone may feel different... lighter. Please, let me know what you think.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-=REVISED 7/21/2023=-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
I had some time and thought I thought I'd do some simple revisions-mostly grammar stuff, but also including changing the narrative from present tense to simple past tense. Hopefully, it's a better read this way.
Enjoy!
The Work Wife
'That's it,' Harry thought.
From several steps away, Harry absentmindedly observed Perenelle, Nicolas, and Lily adamantly argue against Dumbledore and Umbridge about the development with simple detachment. The three were incensed by Umbridge's blatant manipulation, however, Harry couldn't hear them. Through his somber green eyes, these adults simply looked as if time had slowed down—moving at a snail's pace—and their mouths moved with no sound coming out.
Watching them was like staring at a smudge on boring wallpaper, and Harry was past fed up with being there—all to suffer the nuisance of it all. Fighting sleep in classes he needn't be in, House allegiances and their constant conflict, the Tri-Wizard tournament, Dumbledore, the ministry's ineptitude, Umbridge, Goblins… Harry was eager for his fight with Voldemort so he could either die or leave society forever—with the occasional visit to the Flamels. He didn't need the rest of it.
'That's it,' his mind repeated.
If Harry talked to or was placed in the middle of any more useless distractions or people for the rest of his life, it would be too soon. Thus, he left. Nova flapped to his shoulder, and without uttering a word, he walked out of the room. Only one person noticed.
"Uh," Hardwin sounded as he took hold of his mother's wrist. "Mum, he's gone."
Sure enough, Lily, followed by Nicolas and Perenelle, all reduced the volume of their disgusted outrage toward Dumbledore and Umbridge to notice Harry's absence.
"Oh dear," Umbridge's childish voice feigned concern in contrast to her partially restrained grin. "I do hope he isn't-"
"You shut your wretched mouth, you villainous cretin, and get out!" Perenelle furiously demanded, squaring her shoulders and moving toward Umbridge with youthful rage in her eyes. Nicolas and Lily each took an arm firmly to keep her from attacking the ministry official.
"Minister Fudge will be hearing from us," Nicolas asserted, looking between Umbridge and Dumbledore and commanding them to, "leave."
"Old friend, I would very much care to resolve this if we can but talk-"
"Now!" Nicolas yelled.
With a glum nod, Dumbledore followed Umbridge out of their flat, leaving the Flamels and Lily Potter with assurances that he would take care of everything. "You have my word, old friend," the headmaster claimed, but it fell on deaf ears.
—Draco Malfoy—
Late into the night, well past their usual meeting time, Draco Malfoy cursed the name Harry James Potter for what must've felt like the millionth time as he waited in the empty Slytherin common room. He'd nod off into slumber if he wasn't so angry about being made to wait, as if he was Scarhead's lackey.
'A lackey!' Draco mentally yelled. 'Merlin, how I hate him,' he mused as he walked toward Harry's room.
Draco stopped midway toward the fourth-year boys' dorm to let his son try to walk on his stubby fat baby legs. Draco smiled sadly at Scorpius until he blinked, and the illuminated figment of his memory began to fade, forcing the knot in his throat down with a hard swallow. Feeling slightly less homicidal, Draco consciously placed one hesitant foot in front of the other.
With no answer at Potter's door, Draco was about to walk in when he recalled how paranoid his murderous adversary had become. Assuming the magical freak had placed safeguards to prevent anyone from entering, Draco stilled his hand rather than take the painful—if not homicidal—chance of entering. Draco ultimately decided to scour the death forest on his own. Walking out of the Slytherin entrance, he spotted at the far end of the stone corridor, Nicolas and Perenelle rushing toward him faster than elderly people should move. Instantly, his wand was in his hand, unsure what to expect, but comforted by the security his wand brings.
"Draco, have you seen Ares?" Perenelle worriedly asked.
Anxiously curious, he cautiously answered, "No? Should I, professor?"
"We haven't-" Nicolas started then rethought what he wanted to say in the open in front of portraits. "Will you join us in our dorm, please, Mr. Malfoy."
It wasn't until they were in the security their warded quarters that Nicolas began to explain what happened at dinner as well as after when Dumbledore and Umbridge showed up. "He left, and we've been looking for him ever since. The Potters halted their search by Hardwin's curfew, but we know you leave for the forest around this time and hoped he'd be with you."
Shaking his head in sheer disbelief, Draco gasped as he affirmed, "It isn't even funny how much shite he seemed to attract."
Perenelle yelled at him, "LANGUAGE!"
Getting up from her seat, she clenched and unclenched her fist, matching their timing to her measured breathing. After a tense few seconds, she turned to Draco and apologized. "I'm sorry for my outburst. I am upset. Consider this a friendly warning, I will not receive jokes well for the next few hours or so."
Nodding, Draco commented, "I…" but then stopped himself before remarking about how he knew women have that time of the month. Instead, he finished, "…will try." After her nod and a deep breath he asked, "He didn't say one word about where he was going?"
"We were hoping you might know," Perenelle replied with a heavy measure of hope that made Draco uncomfortable.
"I…" Draco once again caught himself from making a comment about how little he ever wanted to know about where Potter might be, and instead finished, "…don't know." After a cautious breath, he took out the Maurader's Map. "But I have something that might help." Draco tapped the parchment with the tip of his wand, and clearly said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Instantly, the castle's large layout drew itself into a visible blueprint, complete with all the castles occupants. The three scanned the names—Draco made note of the two sixth years in a cupboard together. After a few minutes of carefully combing through the names, they conceded that Ares Flamel was not among them.
"What does that mean?" Perenelle hated to ask, hoping Harry hadn't left Hogwarts.
"I imagine it means he probably left Hogwarts," Draco easily reasoned. At Perenelle's hard glare, he quickly added, "O-Or he's uh, in the Chamber, or the Room of Requirement. The map doesn't show those locations."
"Then let's check the Room of Requirement," Perenelle insisted, already walking to the door, the boys following behind her. They made the trek in silence and upon arriving, Draco explained, "It won't make another room if it's already in use, so if I can make the door appear with my room, then that means…" Draco did the process thinking of his room. "Aaaaand he's not here," Draco said after a door appeared and he looked inside to the room he created.
"Then…" Nicolas created a privacy bubble before continuing. "Are we thinking the Chamber?"
"It's either that or he's gone," Draco said, having already forgotten Perenelle's touchy agitation. "And since none of us speak Parseltongue, I can't see how we'd be able to check."
"What's the likelihood we can find a snake that can understand the Queen's English or another parseltongue that can assist us in entering the Chamber?" Nicolas asked, though Draco wondered if that was a joke.
Perenelle gave her husband a hard look, practically spitting out, "Please don't joke, Nicolas. I can't now." Perenelle felt her eyes water and placed a shaky hand over her lips. She realized she was more upset than she was letting on. Nicolas embraced her in a comforting hug, making Draco eerily uncomfortable again. While he waited, he couldn't help but think how stupid they were being to care about someone who had resigned himself to death with the single-minded purpose of killing Voldemort.
'Idiots,' he thought. 'Caring like he's their own. He belongs to nobody. They're all dead... I helped kill them.' As it had been the case since he died at the hands of Voldemort, thick regret vibrated in his chest and kicked the air out of his lungs. Draco tilted forward as the air quickly expelled. Drawing a deep needed breath, Draco wondered aloud, "Can you try a Patronus, or Dobby?"
The Flamels spread apart enough to look at each other, then Draco, before they all returned to the Flamel's residence. The dual lobster Patronuses from Nicolas and Perenelle floated through the air like swimming through the ocean, slowly, and in Draco's opinion, the most annoying thing he had ever seen. In the old couple's highly agitated state, he said nothing as they called Dobby while they waited for the Patronuses to return.
"Merry morning masters," Dobby started with a gracious bow, clearly happier being in the service of the Flamels than he ever was with the Malfoys. "How may Dobby be of service?"
"Dobby, remember when we said you don't have to call us master," Nicolas asked when Perenelle cut in, "Dobby, we need you to deliver a message to Ares, asking him to come see us immediately or at the very least let us know where he is... and if he's alright... or if he's hungry. He didn't really eat during dinner. Actually, take him food while you're at it," Perenelle fretted as she hopped to the kitchen.
"Dobby," Nicolas took over. "We'd like to know if Ares is okay first and foremost, then if he's willing to see us."
Dobby took a basket, heavy enough with food to force Dobby to bend over. He resorted to magically lifting it as he asked with some worry, "Is master Ares okay? Has Dobby upset Master Ares?" Dobby squeaked as he moved to the wall, about to bang his head against it when Nicolas called out, "No! No, Dobby, of course not." Nicolas brought the house elf back as he said, "You've been doing the most astounding job with our library. We're very happy. It's just, well, other things are making Ares' life more difficult, and we're worried about him."
Dobby stayed still for a moment before his face cemented into a mask of pure determination. "Dobby will not let masters down!" and he snapped his fingers, disappearing with the heavy basket of food.
Perenelle looked very worried, turned to Draco, and realized, "You should send a Patronus as well."
"I can't," Draco slowly admitted. "…I never needed it," he added, and fortunately, the Flamels didn't push him. They waited several long minutes until Dobby finally returned—sans basket—prompting Perenelle to yell, "well?"
"Dobby has spoken with Master Ares," Dobby started. "Young Master has given Dobby permission to bring food, but only if Dobby promises not to bring anyone where Master is. Master Ares wants the Headmaster and Mistress to know young master will return eventually."
"Where is he?" Nicolas asked.
"Dobby asked, and Master Ares has become a sad comedian. Young master said the sea, but it was not the sea! It was large room with the largest snake Dobby has ever seen."
"Chamber it is," Draco pointed out.
"And no way to get to him," Nicolas added.
"And we need to get to him," Perenelle finished.
"Thank you, Dobby," Nicolas said, excusing him with orders to send him food six times a day.
"Shouldn't we allow him a moment to process and wait till he's ready," Nicolas asked the professional. Perenelle, however, didn't look so sure.
"He's running," Draco mentioned in Perenelle's silence.
"And dissociating," she added. "Going to a place he knows no one can reach him. I don't like it. In my professional opinion, I would very much prefer he become angry, or sad. I'd know he still cares that way. This is like giving up, and it makes me nervous."
"We have no choice but to wait for him," Nicolas told her, bringing her in his embrace again, prompting Draco to stand up with the urgent intent to leave. "I'm certain he simply needs the day, and before we know it, he'll be white as rain."
Ignoring the vision of his son on the Flamels couch—looking at him with a toothy smile and a book in his lap—Draco informed them, "I'll keep an eye on him when I see him." As the slow-moving lobsters swim through the wall in their pointless return, Draco added with a sneer. "If you need me for anything… please don't ever use those things to call me."
Fortunately for Draco, it wasn't the first time he had to associate himself with Granger and Lovegood without Potter present. When the freak was bedridden after the acromantula attack, he was forced to share close proximity with them, not only to look out for them, but because he had to. They were Potter's safe environment, and tending to them in the minimal way he had to helped Potter, and in turn, aided his vengeance. Daphne Greengrass he didn't mind being around, as she was very nearly the best-looking witch in Hogwarts. However, Granger and Lovegood always made him work twice as hard to refrain from leveling them with snide retort after snide retort.
Reading about medicine was an increasing passion Draco never thought he'd ever experience. He had taken so many lives in the previous timeline, it almost seemed an insult to him that he was now considering a life in saving them. Though, with constant thoughts of his son driving him, saving lives was the direction he had dedicated himself to.
"Where's Ares?" Granger asked as she looked about the pair of Slytherins.
"He's suffering from a monthly bleed betwixt his nethers and needs the day," Draco told her with a satisfied grin, wishing Harry were there to hear it. Granger ignored him with a huff and roll of her eyes, easily aggravating him as she turned to Daphne for answers.
Daphne shrugged as she stretched far too alluringly to Draco, relaying, "I only know what Draco said, which automatically makes it worthless."
Nodding, Granger turned to him, asking, "Could something have happened after dinner with the Potters? That must be awful information to have to tell them. It couldn't have been easy."
Watching the clear vision of his blond son take off down the wet cold path in a stubby uncoordinated sprint, Draco simply said, "there are harder things," and followed after the visage.
At one point near the end of their morning run, Daphne, attempting to finish first, slipped on a patch of wet grass, and her subsequent tumble was as confusing as it was funny. It was as if her body couldn't decide which momentum to follow through with; the backward motion created from the outstretched step or the general forward momentum of the run. She ended up rolling with flared legs and landing on her front. Draco didn't have enough oxygen to laugh as hard as he wanted and settled with a quiet shake of his shoulders, wishing Potter had been there to see one of his groupies eat dirt like she did.
'Serves her right for having terrible taste in men!' Draco mused as he washed up for breakfast. Meeting Tracey first thing in the morning was his favorite part of the day. She held in her fervor when she saw him, but he could tell she was as happy as he thought he himself may feel. Her eyes became much sharper, and her sensual perky lips curved upward a tad at its edge, and even her posture craned, swelling one of his favorite parts of the female anatomy.
At times, he couldn't help but feel unclean with his lewd thoughts of her. He was mentally, if not physically, much older than she was. Yet he found Tracey, Daphne, and several others to be much more mature for their age than he recalled—not that he paid that much attention to them when he was younger. In the end, though unsavory, he reasoned he had gone back in time, and he was attempting to cultivate a much more enlightened life. Smart as these witches were, if anything, his previous life had only assisted him in catching up to their maturity.
At breakfast, the Daily Prophet printed another comedy he added to his collection. In it, Rita painted the best picture of a supposed love affair between a 'stunningly pretty muggle-born,' Hermione Granger, and her two male suitors, Viktor Krum, an international quidditch superstar, and Ares Flamel, heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House Flamel, along with their fortune and a vast collection of cultural treasures. Adding a final sucker punch, heiress Daphne Greengrass was apparently trying to win Ares' heart for herself. Draco read with wicked gusto, and by the appalled look on Granger's admittedly pretty face, Draco knew that the quotes in the fabricated tale were taken out of context and likely obtained via Skeeter's animagus form.
Draco decided not to tell them about Skeeter and enjoyed all the odd and catty looks Daphne and Granger received for the rest of the day, wishing to Merlin, yet again, that Potter would read the article in front of him so Draco could enjoy the freak's dismay. Draco enjoyed the day, especially how playful Tracey had gotten with him when they found a few moments of privacy.
Walking into the forest later that night, Draco begrudgingly wondered where Potter was and if he was just going to ditch all his responsibilities, much to his complete agitation. He wondered periodically throughout his night's search, 'How could that prat just relax in the Chamber like I'm not working my frozen tail off here? That sobbing arse is probably having the time of his life beating his bean and toting on some good green,' Draco thought, getting angrier and angrier.
Angry enough when Granger asked for Ares's whereabout at their morning meeting, he snapped, "I don't know, okay! I don't- He's gone! He's gone, yet again! Like an idiot!"
Both Granger and Daphne eyed him in complete uncertainty, as Granger asked, "What do you mean he's gone? Where did he go?"
"…Didn't I just say-"
"Fine why did he go?" Daphne heatedly cut him off. "What happened Malfoy? And so help me if you don't tell me everything you know, I'm putting you on the hit list and moving you to the top!"
"What hit list?" he asked, eying her with a raised brow.
"Malfoy!" Granger called.
"Oh stuff it!" Draco yelled at the pair. "You think this is easy? I don't want… I…" Draco took a breath, ignoring confusing thoughts about Potter's well being. "He's running away… sort of. He's in the Chamber."
"Why?" Daphne sternly asked. Draco began walking away from the castle as he explained to them what happened the night before.
"Oh, Ares," Granger mewled, richly brown eyes looking worried. "It's just one thing after another! How does he put up with it?"
"With a wad of cloth between his legs," Draco muttered loud enough for them to hear, earning a stinging hex from Granger, much to his surprise.
"You are horrid!" she yelled at him, and he was more than petty enough to bring his own wand out, but pointing it at her brought up striking images of Granger from his own timeline, and her pleading brown eyes, arresting his movement.
"That's enough, both of you," Daphne declared. "You're acting like children and Ares doesn't need that right now."
"Fine," Granger huffed, staring daggers at Draco, unnervingly similar to the Granger of old. "But if he says one more insult-"
"You'll what?!" Draco challenges, unable to withstand so much her righteous integrity.
"I'll go Green Reaper on your pasty arse," Hermione quickly promised with hard eyes.
Draco felt the unnerving tremor of his magic, an odd feeling like someone grabbing his Adam's apple and shaking it. The oath was humming and Draco responded, backing down with a, "You've been hanging around Ares too long, you psycho."
"Is there another way to get in the Chamber?" Daphne interjected, stepping slightly ahead of an irate Granger.
"No," an irate Draco answered. "Unless you know a parselmouth, we're not getting in."
"So we wait until he comes out," Granger thought aloud. "He has to come out to eat."
"Dobby's bringing him food," Draco countered. "Forget it. He's so annoying!" Draco finished, uncomfortable with these sympathetic feelings violating his chest, to then be more than uncomfortable when Granger hit him with another stinging hex. They were light but still, it annoyed him further. "What the bloody hell?!"
"Why do you have to be so horrible?!" Hermione yelled. "He's your friend!"
"He is not!" Draco countered far more petulantly than he'd like, which annoyed him all the more. "He isn't, he isn't, he isn't!"
When Granger slowly turned to Daphne curiously, the concerned blond answered, "…Even I don't understand." Daphne then pointed her finger at Draco, arguing, "You, Draco Bloody Malfoy gets to spend more time with him than anyone. What is your damage? Is the only way you can like him by hating him? Is that how you self regulate your envy?"
With a click of his teeth, Draco continued walking, silently ignoring them. The girls eventually began talking amongst themselves for solutions as they followed. Draco ignored many of his own thoughts about ways of helping the quasi-bane of his existence on the way back to the castle. The pureblood Slytherin felt stuck hating someone he wasn't allowed to hate and loving someone that wasn't alive to be loved. He couldn't even say what it was about Potter that always infuriated him.
'He's just wrong,' his mind easily reasoned when his next step hesitated to hit his full stride, allowing instead the airy vision of his son to run in front of him. What solutions were there when his son was murdered? They all let it happen. They accepted it. Fear killed his son. No one had solutions when he needed to save his boy because they were petrified with fear at the thought of going against the Dark Lord. That moment so long ago, and yet like yesterday, was the only time he thought of Potter. No one stood against the Dark Lord, because they all feared him… all but Potter. And now that golden idiot runs away, taking Draco's vengeance with him.
Draco stopped, halting Daphne and Granger as well. He turned to them and said, "Abandonment." The texts of the various healing manuals imposed reason to his observations of Potter. The girls looked at him confused. "…He was raised with chronic loss."
"How do you know?" Daphne asked amazed. "He told you about his life?"
"I don't need to explain myself-"
"You don't even care about him," Granger added to Daphne's amazement. "Why would he tell you?"
"Listen!" Draco called loudly. "You both know enough. He lost people and he's survived in a lot of lethal fights. Considering how you two look at him like you're thirsty for his baby juice, it wouldn't surprise me if you read everything you could about trauma," Draco finished. Granger was the first of the two to deny they looked at Potter like that, but he cut them off. "He lost friends and family, more than likely brutally, which has left scars on his psyche."
"...Most who experience traumatic events have an arduous task of adjusting to normal life," Granger continued after shaking off being affronted. "It's studied extensively in the muggle world. I've had my father send me some of his old medical manuals on the subject."
"With time, a good support system and self-care, coping can become easier," Daphne added. "But there's also a possibility it can get worse, making it a struggle to go from day to day."
"Without the mental and emotional support generally needed in growing adolescence, it's reasonable for him to feel shame, like a howler from life yelling in his ear that you're a right git and you'll never be good enough," Draco replied as he regurgitated the healing manuals he had read thus far.
He caught Granger mutter, "insufferable arse," before he continued to inform them of his observations. "He's tired more often than not. He's been losing focus. He's quiet... more than usual… he's withdrawn. With the absolutely ridiculous amount of problems he magically attracts, it's unreasonable to think he can cope with all that nonsense as if it was nothing. Sadly, or whatever, Nicolas and Perenelle were too late to the gala and he'd already internalized these feelings of abandonment. Which means, rather than just kill everyone for all the shite he has to swim through, he runs."
"Leaving it all behind," Daphne surmised. "He's the single most unique wizard I've ever come across. I can't just leave him like this, so how do we help him?"
Draco made a gagging noise, as Hermione cautiously pondered aloud to her Slytherin friend and Draco, "How hard do you think it might be to learn parseltongue? So we can get to him," she finished, feeling a little silly asking what might be an obvious question, but would rather have the clarity.
Draco snorted, amused, citing, "It isn't some language any ol' twisty bender can just pick up, Granger. It's an actual magical ability gained by blood or some other unknown magical means I'm not even going to pretend to know about. You can't just mimic the sound to open the Chamber, or any idiot could do it."
"Fine," she growled through clenched teeth, glaring at him. "So then that leaves... support?"
"Which would be?" Draco asked.
"We should talk with the Flamels," Daphne suggested.
"If we don't see Ares today," Granger began to tag on to Daphne's suggestion. "Than we talk with Nicolas and Perenelle?" With a nod from the Slytherins, they cut their workout short, accidentally discovering how much more energy they're left with during breakfast.
Potter hadn't shown up for any of their classes, annoying Draco with every arrant, unintentional reminiscence of his mortal enemy turned de facto leader. By the end of class, Draco was certain this unease had everything to do with the loyalty oath and nothing more.
"Are you okay?" Tracey asked him from beside him. They had all decided on dinner at the Flamel quarters to talk in private. Seated at the elongated table were Granger, Lovegood, Daphne, Tracey, Astoria, Gabrielle, and Fleur. Nicolas and Perenelle occupied the ends of the table, with Perenelle seated with the youngest in the room, Astoria and Gabrielle. The Flamel matriarch had requested everyone close to Potter who could assist in supporting him, which included Fleur, who had been keeping her sister company at the time they got her. With Gabrielle's attendance, so too came Daphne's sister, Astoria.
Overlooking his hallucinogenic son nodding happily, eating toast in the middle of the table, Draco softly answered Tracey, "Fine enough, my lady." He spotted a bit of blush staining her cheeks. Draco sat next to Nicolas with Tracey beside him as he simply listened to the groupies convey their concern and filling in those who weren't up to date with Potter's ridiculous life.
"What should we do?" Granger asked Nicolas.
"Is Ares okay?" Astoria woefully asked her older sister.
"Soeur," Gabrielle asked Fleur in their native tongue, likely parroting Astoria. Draco felt fortunate to be seated as far away from Fleur as possible as it made it easier to control himself, especially in front of Tracey.
With a friendly smile, Perenelle easily explained to the young girls, "Ares heard some bad news and needs time to himself. We're here to figure out how we can help him feel better."
"'Ow do we achieve zhis?" Fleur asked Perenelle.
"If you have somewhere to be, I'm certain we can fill you in later," Daphne told the older French girl seated in front of her.
"I 'ave no obligations at zhe moment," Fleur coolly returned, piquing a spiritless Draco's attention.
'Come on, catfight,' he mentally jeered.
Draco held in his smirk when Daphne replied, "I was under the impression you had a dinner date with the heir of the Weasley brood. Or have I misheard?"
Draco's lips cracked a smirk as Fleur was visibly surprised to hear Daphne learned of their meeting. Those at the table observed, and Lovegood even set down her Quibbler.
"Eef you must know, Daphne," Fleur smiled impatiently. "I agreed to meet Beel for dinner, 'owever, az I count myself among Arez'z closest friends, eet's only natural I drop everyzhing to 'elp 'im."
"Fantastic," Daphne replied, barely smiling. "Though I'm certain Ares wouldn't want to be the cause of hindering any precious moments with heir Weasley. Make certain you make it up to Bill, was it? He's handsome, and you wouldn't want to let that get away."
"'E ees quite handsome, but do not fret my dear," Fleur teased with a wickedly knowing smile. "I alwayz get my man."
"Okay, you two," Granger jumped to say, effortlessly interrupting Draco's entertainment. "That's enough. We're here to figure out how to help Ares, not watch you two claw each other's eyes out with flattery."
"She's right," Perenelle agreed, looking sternly between both girls. "Let's be civil. This is about Ares and how we can help him."
"Have you spoken with the Minister?" Hermione quickly asked the Flamels. "Surely he wouldn't approve of this."
"Conveniently, he has been otherwise predisposed," Nicolas tiredly responded. "It seems he's been avoiding his office due to international relations meetings, which only means he knows but is far more afraid of being caught knowing beforehand."
"What?" Hermione gasped.
"Why?" Daphne interceded.
"And why aren't you angrier?" Tracey wondered. "This is your son. Your heir!" she finished, looking between the legendary couple.
"Now, now," Nicolas bid the table with open palms. "Try to understand, when you've lived as long as we have, vain, tactless, incompetent, pleasure-seeking despots who hunger for power they ought not to have is a far too common occurrence than it should be. The Borgia house were certainly no saints. King Richard II nearly bankrupted England all to feed his ego. James the Second was arrogance personified-"
"Elizabeth Bathory," Perenelle added with clear disgust.
"Ah yes, the Countess of Hungary, who was not only above the law, but a serial murderer as well, scoring hundreds of murders of the Hungarian people," Nicolas concluded before then thinking of, "Leopold the Second of Belgium-"
"Those are simply from Muggle history, mind you," Perenelle interjected. "Enough blood and greed to be had for sure, however, our own history is just as littered with cruel and selfish witches and wizards. Herpo the Foul from Ancient Greece, a practitioner of dark magic and first to successfully hatch a Basilisk. Morgana Le Fey, a genius level practitioner of the Dark Arts, Merlin's arch-rival and half-sister to a squib, legendary King Arthur. Ethelred the Ever-Ready-"
"Ah, the evil counselor," Nicolas remarked looking past any one person into the long past he's lived through. "He would be the worst person to seek advice from; however, the king of England would not listen to anyone but him, causing their loss of the Danes. Though he's most famous for taking offense absent any real reason, and casted dark magic on innocent bystanders. Merwyn the Malicious, Emeric the Evil, Gellert Grindelwald, and on, and on, and on. It's hard to be surprised by the cowardly destruction of the selfish when we've seen it far too many times."
"That isn't to say we're not sickened or aggrieved by it," Perenelle chimed in. "He's our little Trouble Star after all. However, it's not surprising to witness opposing political hardliners pulling a frailly-spun puff-piece like Fudge in opposing directions. The light on one side, the dark on the other, and the weak-willed Fudge in the middle."
"The light and dark doesn't tell us anything," Granger pointed out. "Who gains by doing this?"
Daphne responded, "traditionalists who support the pure-blood agenda have the most to gain by Ares' demise. It's vengeance, plain and simple."
Hermione looked at the silver-blonde Slytherin, and Draco was irked by the anger in her eyes, as if he was the spokesperson for an entire pure-blood traditionalist party simply because they were right. 'We'll do it right this time,' he mused before assuaging Granger's idiotic concern. "Lucius has recused himself given the debt our house owes house Flamel. Nott's head of house is leading the political pressure to seek their justice."
"Your minister must know what weel 'appen if zheir ministry decide to press charges," Fleur replied with determination in her voice, annoying Draco to hear how much she cares for Potter. "Fazher 'as even discovered zhe Flamel House 'as dual citizenship wizh France, making zhem citizens and subject to zhe protection of our laws."
They all turned to either Nicolas or Perenelle, who explained with a passive wave of her hand, "Oh my, that was centuries ago. Not to mention we have citizenship in fifty... two countries?" she tossed the question toward her husband.
"Forty-eight now," Nicolas oddly stated, as if not entirely sure himself. "Sikkim, Ashanti Empire, Soviet Union, and... Austria-Hungary, I want to say, no longer exist. Honestly, we're fairly lackadaisical where we travel. Citizens of the world, as I see it."
"So if you follow the traditional pure-blood agenda," Granger studiously began to comment, as if she were in class. "You actively lobby for justice against Ares, even though it was obviously heroism and self-defense by any means necessary."
"And I'm certain they have means to hurt Fudge if he doesn't cooperate," Draco added unconcerned. His father always loved Fudge for the puppet he was.
Granger pondered aloud, "On the other hand, the opposition along with the majority of public support would end his career if he followed through with this testimonial or subsequent charging of Ares. Despite the damage to his career, it's obvious the Minister should do the right thing."
Taking out her peculiar spectrespecs to blow hot air on them but not wipe them, Lovegood listlessly pondered aloud, "If he's an arrogant coward, as Mister and Professor Flamel suggest, then it's likely he'd take whatever solution presented that would save his career and avoid diplomatic catastrophe."
"Sadly that may be the case," Nicolas said.
Perenelle divulged to the students, "It's our belief that the fiendish amphibian proposed a compromise to the minister that could solve both his problems."
The girls smirked at the insult, grim as it all was, and Nicolas added, "If they take his magic away, Fudge could claim to have served justice to Nott and his lot behind closed doors without actually pursuing criminal charges against Ares, thereby making the purists happy. However, at the moment, the thing that is important is plausible deniability. He can't let on that he knows beforehand in case it's leaked, which is why he's avoiding me, or anyone that isn't in the know. I expect he'll keep this up until the actual Task."
"Won't he have to be at the hearing?" Tracey asked.
"No, that's what the DMLE is for," Nicolas answered her. "Though Fudge can tell them to drop it, it's Department Head Bones and Auror Black's case.
"Then we should leak the story," Granger championed with the sort of zeal that reminded Draco of the Granger from their previous timeline. "This isn't right!"
"That's what plausible deniability is for," Daphne explained. "Fudge will simply claim he was oblivious to it. He'd hang it on Umbridge, wash his hands of her, and distance himself from the negative attention. She herself might even claim it was only a simple clerical error. Ludicrous as it sounds, it's a tactic often used in business to buy time."
"Shouldn't we still do it," Tracey asked. "If we leak it and he denies it, then he'd obviously change the times."
"And things would stay the same," Perenelle answered. "The puppet Fudge stays, the cruel Umbridge stays, and anger compounds to find another way. The only thing we'd get is a stay of execution. We want more than that. We need more than that. Fortunately, we have time, and we should use it to think of other solutions."
"My fazher will 'ear of zhis," Fleur angrily stated, catching everyone's attention.
"Sadly, I feel Stéphane may be unable to do anything of worth that wouldn't be seen as hostile meddling in foreign government," Nicolas said. "Until Fudge has Ares brought on charges, this is a British matter. In the meantime, I'll attempt to meet him every day."
"You know I'd prefer if you didn't travel often," Perenelle stated. The eye that she gave him made Draco curious as to why.
"I'm perfectly safe, dearest," Nicolas stated, tapping his chest when Draco recalled they were still being hunted by Dark Goblins and or some, as of yet, unidentified opposition. Draco agreed it was a risk for the old Alchemist, but if he wanted to be an idiot for Potter's sake, that was his business.
"So what are we doing then, professor?" Tracey asked Perenelle. "For Ares."
"I've been ruminative on how best to assist him, and I've come to the conclusion that he could use your help far more than Nicolas or I," Perenelle told the group. "Due to Ares unique upbringing-" Draco snorted at that, halting Perenelle into coldly asking, "is there something on your mind you wish to share Draco?"
Draco would've never let such a challenge stand a lifetime ago. In his time, he would've taken whatever Perenelle held dear and destroyed it in front of her pleading eyes for her daring insolence. However, he couldn't see that anymore. Draco's eyes were focused on his son's eyes as the memory of Scorpius carefully stacked equally imaginary letter-blocks on top of each other. His ire deflated his highly reactive vanity. Easily ignoring the attention from the others, Draco shook his head, glumly answered Perenelle, "No."
"Good," she smiled at him, making him uncomfortable as she added, "I'll prescribe something for your throat later," earning a few chuckles. Tracey leaned back in her chair, sliding her hand under the table and taking his. His fingers were cold compared to her warmth, and he wondered why as Perenelle continued, "I won't go into detail as that isn't my place to speak on, nor is it what's important. Going through one or more traumatic events has affects on the mind in a way that causes significant problems in social or work situations—and in relationships. One of those symptoms is avoidance—trying to escape thinking or talking about what's causing the stress by physically removing oneself from places, activities, or people. There's a lot going on, certainly, but we cannot abandon him. I would like us all to do something."
"Something like what?" Tracey asked.
Astoria quickly asked, "Would it be okay—do you think he'd like a hug?"
Perenelle smiled warmly at the young Greengrass, pleasantly affirming, "Why I should think he'd like that very much."
"I must also 'ug 'im," Gabrielle announced passionately, eying Astoria defiantly. Draco almost enjoyed the spark of rivalry between the girls until Perenelle placed a hand on each one's shoulder, telling them, "Now, now, my young ladies in waiting. As Ares' mother, I can tell you nothing matters more to him than friendship. Do you think he would like hugs from girls who are nice to each other or from girls who only fight one another?"
Perenelle didn't have to look at Daphne and Fleur, but even Draco could feel the implication. The girls nodded in agreement, and the young Delacour even extended her hand to Astoria, surprising all in the room as she asserted, "We can both 'ave 'im. Fleur 'as told mozher he prefers multiple partners-"
"Gabrielle!" Fleur yelled over her little sister as everyone still heard, 'multiple partners.' No reaction in the room was tame, not even Lovegood's. Daphne, Hermione, and Tracey were all wide-eyed, high-browed, and astonished by the young Delacour's assertion. Fleur turned to the surprised Flamels, smiling awkwardly while frowning as she tried to clarify, "She jests. Eet ees a joke, nozhing more." Turning to her sister, she sternly warned her, "Gabrielle Delacour, zhat ees not a funny zhing to say! 'E ees a friend, not a gigolo. No, no, zhere ees no excuse for zhis display, now apologize."
Draco liked the idea of blowing up Potter's hive of honey's; however, he might have to stay for the resulting aftermath and answer constant questions about Potter's preferences he didn't want to deal with, so he moved this along immediately after Gabrielle apologized. "Besides a ménage à trois, I'm a little hazy on other forms of treatment," Draco relayed to Perenelle, getting an eye roll from Daphne, a huff of exasperation from Granger, and a stern eye from Perenelle.
"Simply put, at the moment, his thoughts are in a very negative place, and what we need to do is help him return to a positive disposition," Perenelle stated.
"I'm not sure the Green Reaper was ever positive," Draco couldn't help but utter, getting an annoyed warning glare from Perenelle, and a genuine warning whispered from Nicolas. "Tread carefully ma' boy. Not all that is fierce is a mother, but all mothers are surely fierce."
Draco kept his comments to himself Granger asked, "Are there any triggers we should avoid?"
"I can't answer that because I can't say what is or isn't a trigger," Perenelle stated.
"It's a surprise to us each time," Nicolas added. "I feel what matters is intent. We all want to help him and if we think along those lines, I believe he should see it."
"And if not, then we explain ourselves," Perenelle informed them.
"So what do we do?" Tracey asked again.
"If we can each come up with something, that would be fantastic," Nicolas said.
"Oh," Lovegood coos. "I have a splendid idea." After a second, Luna stood, sliding her chair back as loud as possible and began to leave the room. "Thank you for a lovely meal," she conveyed before exiting the home, leaving everyone in utter confusion.
"Okay," Hermione conceptualized aloud. "I guess that's one idea. Any others?"
Watching the image of his son taking his first few steps on the table, Draco actually had an idea he absolutely hated. "I do," Draco glumly answered. For the fun of it, he waited a second before getting up himself and making to leave.
"No, no young man," Perenelle called. "You sit an explain this idea of yours."
With a huff, he told the room, "I have to get a few things together but I feel this'll help the nin- him. Come on Trace. I'm going to need your help."
"Can you at least give us a clue?" Nicolas asked as the pair of Slytherins leave.
"He doesn't know how to dance," Draco said before exiting.
He didn't hear the rest of the conversation, but he truly didn't have to. They discussed each idea in the days to come as Potter remained absent. By the end of the week, the only day they had any expectation he'd show was Saturday, during the wand weighing ceremony. By that point, the only ones ready to shower the green-eyed ninny with unconditional support were himself and Tracey.
Draco didn't like it. He didn't like what he had to do. He didn't like how eagerly they all seemed to want to help Scar-head. Most of all, he didn't like being subservient to Potter's code of morality. It felt like wearing a shirt made of crawling worms, coating him in cold mucus as they slithered freely over his skin. Day by day since the train, Draco inched closer to a realization that this side of the battle didn't have it easy, and talent wouldn't be enough. He easily remembered having far more support in their previous timeline. Money, social, and political support were great tools to be sure, but it was how electrifying the Dark Lord always was when convincing others to join their cause. There was unity, a community, all striving for one goal, and even if they were misguided in their choice of leader, it was beautiful to belong so completely in that manner and far more rewarding than wading through this side's moral muck.
From this side of the spectrum, Draco suffered from self-imposed partnership to a prat who nearly had to do everything himself. They had money and favors thanks to the Flamels; however, these tools helped in a massive war that had multiple fronts. Potter's aim was surgical, avoiding every distraction that was not absolutely obstructing the fatal strike to the enemy's heart. With two more Horcruxes within reach, Draco could admit Potter had a reason to avoid being sidetracked. The faster they retrieved the Locket and Diary, the closer they were to Nagini and the grand end. In Potter's eyes, it was a search and destroy mission—not a search, fix society's idiosyncrasies, then destroy.
Still, it was infuriating. Potter was infuriating. These distractions and setbacks were infuriating. Worst of all... truly the worst of the worst... he didn't entirely hate the idea of helping Potter. It made him rage to feel any notion of sentiment, of sympathy, toward his most hated rival, and only these hallucinogenic images of his beautiful son had any effect in calming him. For he would do anything for his boy... a series of cherished memories though his firstborn may have only been.
Saturday morning came and nearly ended when the not quite bane of his existence finally appeared, looking unkempt with his midnight black phoenix on his shoulder. Tracey, Daphne, her sister Astoria, Granger, Lovegood, Fleur, her pervert little sister, and the Flamels were all waiting outside the trophy room. Having spent the past hour waiting for the wanker, Draco knew inside the fairly lengthy room adorned with all sorts of trophies, old and new, were Dumbledore, the Potters, Karkaroff, Krum, Madam Maxime, Umbridge, Bagman, Rita Skeeter, and Ollivander.
Nova on his shoulder, Potter looked sullen, even as Astoria and Gabrielle ran to him. Draco could see him tense, likely suspecting little girls running toward him. 'Glad to see his paranoia has only gotten worse,' he sarcastically thought. Each of the girls got an awkward hug from him, and the little pervert even wet his cheek with a kiss. With the vivid memory of his son walking beside the three, they made their way toward the waiting group for more nauseating hugs with Granger, Fleur, Lovegood, and even the Ice Queen, Daphne. Of his taste-impaired groupies, Granger took it upon herself to fix his long black hair, taking her sweet time as she fixed it into his signature top knot.
Draco involuntarily nodded when Potter spotted him. They acknowledged with their eyes how very little about their mission had changed, though Draco knew there was absolutely no power on this planet that could divert Potter's gaze from the mission. His rival nodded back before hesitantly turning to everyone.
Under everyone's soft or expectant gaze, he seemed reluctant to say anything, taking a few seconds to even start with, "…Uh, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry you had to worry needlessly-"
"No," Perenelle stated. "Nothing needless about it. If we didn't worry, it would mean we didn't care."
"And we're all here because we care," Nicolas added.
"Also because your strength is quite attractive," Lovegood softly stated without a stitch of embarrassment. She added, "Though power is considered an aphrodisiac, I'm certain everyone here simply enjoys your company." Before the bizarre blond could confound them even more, Dumbledore stepped out of the trophy room, instantly setting Potter on edge.
"Ah, very good," the elder arse passed. "Not a moment too soon. Mr. Flamel, Miss Delacour, the ceremony is about to begin. If you would..." Saying nothing, Potter moved in when Dumbledore added, "While I admire your show of support, I'll have to ask you all to stay-"
Potter immediately turned around, as if to leave, no word of protest, just simple action that made clear his indifference. "Either we all enter or none do," Nicolas stated, though eying Fleur, he added, "Fleur, as Beauxbaton's Champion, please don't feel pressured to stay."
"Mr. Flamel," Dumbledore called out as Potter was already several feet away. "Perhaps we can bypass this custom this one time. Truthfully, it isn't necessarily mandatory."
Potter turned about, ignoring the headmaster as they all entered the room. After quick introductions, none more extravagant than Rita Skeeter and her Quick-Quotes Quill, her request for a pre-ceremony interview were rebuffed with Potter's silence and Perenelle's rejection. Even Professor Potter refused to allow Skeeter to interview Hardwin.
Starting with Fleur, the wand maker began verifying her wand was in good working order. "Nine and a half inches, inflexible, rosewood, with, dear me, hair of a veela for its core," he announced to all.
"One of my granmuzzer's een fact," Fleur proudly stated.
Krum's wand was announced to be ten and a quarter inches in length, made of hornbeam and dragon heartstring. The counterfeit Potter's wand was eleven inches of holly wood with a Thestral tail hair core. Scar-head was last to present, and his paranoia wouldn't allow him to remove the wand from his wrist holster, alarming only those in the room who had never interacted with him. Alternatively, Potter extended his arm forward to allow the elder wand maker easier access, and yet again, the freak's life was unmitigated lunacy.
"...Oh my word," Ollivander gasped, shaking as old bulging eyes took in every millimeter of Potter's wand. The old fodder could barely contain his wrinkled hysteria as he struggled to explain, "Th-The legendary w-wand of P-Prospero, rightful Duke of Milan."
"Commonly known as The Instrument of Power," Perenelle interjected, happy to teach the surprised groupies. "Though a strong wand, to be sure, it would be misleading to simply say, 'Instrument of Power.' It's only a name. Most know Prospero's real source of strength came from his many tomes on White and Black magic, what we know today as Light and Dark magic, as well as his familiars."
Even Draco didn't know the details behind Potter's odd-looking wand, but it didn't surprise him that yet one more thing in that freak's life was just as weird as him. His life was like a bazaar of para-magical rubbish.
"How have you come upon such a remarkable treasure?" Ollivander breathed without taking his enlarged eyes off the death-white wand.
"Why, that is an excellent question," Umbridge stated with her high-pitched voice that even Draco's imaginary son hid from her. These hallucinations were the most challenging for Draco when they interacted with his actual surroundings. It had happened with a few of the Slytherins who would eventually become some of the nastier Death Eaters, and like with Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, and the Carrows, the image of his son hid from Umbridge, in this case behind Potter, watching her with dread. Though Draco recalled his time as an inquisitor with fondness, at the moment, the toad's viciousness was scaring his boy, instantly compelling him to see her as his enemy.
"I believe it is the ministry's duty to govern inheritance rights for descendants' property," she continued to say. "It's possible a respectable and law-abiding family has been robbed of a sentimental family heirloom."
"That's quite unlikely, madam undersecretary," Ollivander asserted without taking his eyes off the white wand. "Even as his wonderful play remains, his lineage does not."
"Though scribed in the 1600s, Prospero was before even our time," Nicolas noted. With a hack for a reporter in the room, Nicolas added little more than, "All I will say is it was a gift, though with the double purpose of its safekeeping."
"I couldn't imagine safer hands," Daphne strongly led, eying a slightly startled Potter, and drawing Hermione's, Fleur's, and Perenelle's attention. Turning away in disgust, Draco only then noticed Nova on a small bird stand being admired by Astoria and Gabrielle.
"Can you speak a little more on this wand, Mr. Ollivander," Skeeter beseeched, her quick quill scratching away. "Me, myself, and my rabid readers are practically carnivorous for more."
"Eleven inches, made of pine, core unknown as Prospero forged this prize on the island he found exile in. Many theories can explain its milky white exterior. However, if one considers how Prospero was able to bend the spirits to his service, control weather, and even raise the dead, it would not be a stretch to assume its core must lie with an inner component beholden to Death itself. Simply magnificent!"
"Well," Bagman called out. "That was... informative. Now that Mr. Ollivander has confirmed all the wands are indeed in working order, a commemorative photo-"
"And a few interviews with the champions," Rita interjected. "Adoration is a part of the glory for champions, and one cannot champion whom one does not know!"
Unsurprisingly, Potter turned to leave, prompting Dumbledore to call out, "Mr. Flamel, you must stay for the photo and interview- Mr. Flamel!" The elder actually raised his raspy voice.
Turning to the group, Potter addressed Bagman, "Mr. Bagman, will I lose my magic if I don't stay for a photo and interview?"
After a startled moment of pause, Bagman answered, "Uh, no, Mr. Flamel."
Turning to Skeeter, Potter sternly voiced his discontent. "My name was put into the Goblet without my consent, forcing me to participate in a tournament where I could very well be killed," Potter snarled. "There's your interview." Catching Lovegood, he corrected himself, stating, "as for a photo, you can tell your 'rabid' readers they'll find it in The Quibbler."
"Oh, isn't that just sweet of him," Luna whimsically sang. "I can't imagine we'll have enough supplies for such a demand. I should probably warn my father of the carnage ahead."
"Mr. Flamel, if I could have a moment of your time," Dumbledore stated, walking toward him. "Perhaps lunch, while you and I discuss a few things."
"I'm sure you meant to say we will like a moment of your time, headmaster," Umbridge added with a sickeningly sweet line of a smile.
Potter had a determined look in his anger-repressed eyes as he walked straight to Dumbledore. With the exception of Ollivander, the room tensed at the brazen act. "Are you going to take her binding off?" the fourth year asked of his headmaster. The direct question let Draco know that Potter still hadn't removed Nova's binding, though he wondered about the lack of frustration from Potter. Until they got that accursed thing off her leg, they'd have to continue walking... everywhere.
'...I miss flaming,' Draco couldn't help but muse.
"Perhaps we can discuss this-" Dumbledore started and was interrupted when Potter turned to leave, letting his actions say the only thing that needed saying; 'no, we can't.' With the history of worship and awe Potter, along with much of magical society, showered on the old windbag, it was thrilling to watch Dumbledore hide his frustration at being scorned so publicly. Umbridge was completely scandalized at a fourth year who so blatantly disrespected authority, while Skeeter whispered with fury to her quick-quill notepad. Potter left without delay, his only fanfare being the line of his lady-minions following behind him.
"While I have no doubt you are fine upstanding citizens," Umbridge started to convey to the Flamels. "Clearly, your heir is in desperate need of remedial instruction in etiquette. A lesson I'd be more than willing to impart-"
"No," Perenelle emphatically stated, moving threateningly close to Umbridge. "That will not now, or ever, be necessary, madam undersecretary. Truth be told, I don't want you anywhere near him. Should I ever find out that you've spoken to him without his guardians present, I will consider it an attack upon my heir and the Noble and Most Ancient House of Flamel. Do. Not. Test. Me," she gravely warned, seeming two feet taller in Draco's eyes.
'All mothers are fierce,' Draco thought. 'Not Pansy.'
"Well... well, well, well," Umbridge heaved with oddly pitched cackles. "It's become rather obvious whom he gets his disrespect toward authority from. No pity for the guilty." Though spoken, Umbridge took a few steps back.
"It isn't disrespect," Nicolas interjected as Perenelle moved toward Fleur. "Though I imagine you're so blinded by superiority, you can't see that it's the responsibility of every citizen to question authority, for only the fair and just survive such scrutiny; as it ought to be." Nicolas gave Dumbledore a knowing look, regarding him in much the same way.
Being the Beauxbatons champion, Fleur's duty to stay with her headmistress seemed to sadden her as she looked on dispirited. Perenelle pressed a comforting kiss on each of Fleur and her sister's cheeks before following the Flamel heir as well. Draco and Tracey brought up the rear of the posse as it navigated through the castle toward the exit.
Outside, Nova took to the skies while the group settled near the lake. Draco could tell that being surrounded by his inner circle, Potter grew nervous by the minute, though it wasn't quiet. Not a single one of his close companions waited on him to vomit a monologue of his overbearing and nauseating angst. Trace, Daphne, and Mr. Flamel were talking about a potion he was helping Daphne with, while Granger, Luna, and Perenelle were yakking about the annulment of some historical figure Draco cared absolutely nothing about.
Tracey had nudged him a few times earlier, and still standing by Daphne, was now tilting her head at Potter, forcing him to plant himself awkwardly next to the silent wanker, refusing to bring up the subject Tracey wanted them to talk about. Oddly enough, Astoria was between them, incessantly asking questions about Nova. When Fleur and Gabrielle arrived, Astoria joined her veela friend, leaving a conflicted Draco with a nervous Potter.
"Perenelle told them not to freak you out with questions," Draco finally claimed, fed up with the silence. "I told them you have the emotional tolerance of wet parchment and wouldn't survive their misplaced concern."
"I know you're suffering, Malfoy," Potter started, and Draco couldn't help but wonder for a panicked moment if the freak could see the illusion of his son running in the cold grass. Until Potter finished, "But there is a cure. All you have to do is walk—or jump—into the lake, and, this is the important part, don't come back up. I promise you'll stop being an arse."
It hurt Draco to admit that was a smooth comeback, even if it was rather simple, easing him back into a comforting hatred of Potter that allowed him to say what he needed to. "They're all going to do something for you," he continued. "To make you feel adequate again, I mean. It's meant to be a surprise, but I rather like the idea of ruining it."
"Really, Malfoy, the lake is right there," Potter nodded to the black lake. "I'll even help."
"You know I'm trying to tell you something important here, and you're being a right git about it," Draco heaved.
"Me?! Is it so impossible for you to say something without sounding like a total prat about it?" Potter told him, and Draco turned away from that familiar aggressive path to take a calming breath.
'Just say it,' Draco's mind suggested. "I- we thought... I know... I know you don't know how to dance." Draco felt the toxic pressure build in his chest, bringing beads of sweat to his forehead despite the cold, and completely making him uncomfortable in his own skin. "And with the Yule ball coming... it..." Draco's breathing quickened at the realization that he was saying niceties to Potter, of all people. "...you would... feel better if you knew how to..." The gall of Potter to lean in simply to hear his voice maddened him to bursting, adding, "... to not make a complete and total fucking arse out of your miserable worthless self!"
Potter looked at him strangely as Draco heaved and caught his breath in relief. "...I can tell you're trying," Potter started to say. "But if you want to ask me to the Yule Ball, you're going to have to do better than that-"
"What!" Draco yelled in the middle of his asinine belief, drawing everyone's attention. "No! No! No, no one's asking a piece of shite like- This is why no one likes you, you freak!"
But Potter didn't relent in a disgustingly sweet voice. "If you want me to be your date, you should be nicer to me-"
"I'm not asking-" Draco cut himself off to breathe before his anger made him do something that might break his oath and get him killed.
Tracey walked over to him and it helped when she put her delicate hand on his shoulder, affirming in her sweet song voice, "good attempt." She turned to Potter and asked with more patience than he was capable of, "Is it true you really don't know how to dance? Because if so, you absolutely have to let us teach you. We've been practicing all last week and Draco is the most phenomenal dancer. I know he's a little rough around the edges, but his heart's in the right place."
"Zhat soundz lovely, but why instruct him in dance?" Fleur asked, the only member of his estrogen slaves who wasn't involved in this operation to appease the ninny.
Tracey answered her, along with the crowd, "Draco's learned from his father that there will be a Ball between the first and second task. It's called the Yule Ball and the Champions will be the ones to lead the dance. He thought Ares would enjoy himself more if he was comfortable dancing, instead of being all nervous about it."
'I did not think that... at all!' Draco mentally yelled so loud that Potter quirked an eyebrow at him as if hearing his mental denial.
"I'll be helping as well," Daphne stepped forward, eyeing Potter like candy she was pretending not to want.
"As- as will I," Granger nervously rehearsed. "Though, I'm not very good at it."
"There's also Sirius' wedding," Nicolas remarked. "You'll have to dance there as well. You can never have too many occasions to dance in my humble opinion." The way the ever-elders gazed at one another prompted Draco to wonder why their love for each other was so endless. He wondered if his parents had a similar love, would they have helped protect him and his son?
"So," Draco asked, looking curiously at Potter.
After a moment of trepidation, Potter answered, "uh, yeah. That sounds... like... fun. Fun... am I pronouncing that word properly? I never use it," he asked with a smirk, the only indication he was being playful. It was a terrible joke, but his groupies smiled broadly, annoying Draco even more.
"Thank you for helping the Quibbler with your photo," Luna softly stated, breaking Draco's irritation. "Can we expect you at mealtimes and classes now? Not that we share any classes together, but I feel a splash better when I know you're around."
Draco's mind recalled the week prior. By the end of the second day of Potter's absence, the school, in general, grew very anxious to be left alone without explanation. Many would look over to the Ravenclaw table, or more specifically, to Granger, Daphne, or himself. Of the three, the few students brave enough would ask for him. Draco made sure to have fun with it because, 'Dealing with a personal matter,' wasn't salacious enough for him or Hogwarts. By the third day, the rumors morphed from personal matters to death by delayed acromantula poison, to early admittance into the Auror academy, to starting a cult society for Dark Magic. It was a ridiculous week.
"Truthfully, I don't want to," Potter told Luna and the rest. "I really enjoyed being left alone. Well, no, that's not right. I missed you all, very much. I suppose, what I enjoyed was how uncomplicated being alone was. All I did was clean and lounge, among other things," he oddly explains with something of a smile. "The chamber's spotless now. I played with Nova, Hedwig, and Nāga. I know that sounds ordinary, but I liked it... a lot."
"After all you've gone through, that sounds perfect," Perenelle warmly told him with a smile. "And should ever happen to be a pair of happy, green-eyed grandchildren kicking their chubby little legs about-"
"OH-kay," Potter interrupted, clearing his throat. "Hey, yeah, right, I guess that would be okay- the dancing! Not the children! The dancing, I mean."
"But who might the mother be, I wonder," Luna questioned loudly enough, analyzing between Daphne, Granger, and Fleur. Ignoring their reeling shock, the dirty-blond weirdo actually landed a surprised eye on Tracey, thinking aloud, "Oh, wouldn't that just be a most delicious twist."
"Uh, no. No, no, no. No delicious twisting here," Tracey protested, taking a step back, as Draco shook his head repeatedly, 'no.'
"Can we please get off this topic?" Potter mumbled at a smiling Perenelle and Nicolas. 'Yes, lets,' Draco sadly thought while he witnessed his young son use a toy broom to sweep the floor rather than flying on it as he had taught him.
"Ares," Perenelle began. "Your friends and I understand how much you're dealing with and it's not, at all, what we wanted for you when we thought to enroll you here."
"Isn't it?" Nicolas curiously asked, furrowing his brow. "It wasn't about the classes offered here. The goal behind this endeavor was for him to develop life-long friendships. Looking around, it seems a rousing success... despite the death, carnage, and destruction, of course."
"Of course," Perenelle gave him. "It's no surprise to us you'd need a spit of time for yourself. Some breathing room, if you will. In an effort to help you feel more at ease, your friends thought of interesting ways to show you how much they care and support."
"You didn't have to," Potter tried to affirm, only for Daphne wave away his assertion, saying, "Stop. It's not a bother, a hassle, or even an inconvenience. We want to. Simple as that."
"Uh, I hate to say this, considering how lovely the mood is," Granger began. "But my project isn't ready at the moment." Turning to Potter, she actually winced as she said, "Sorry."
"Mine either," Daphne added, looking slightly embarrassed.
"Nor mine," Luna admitted whimsically.
"Well, that just leaves Draco," Tracey stated cheerfully to all, then turned to him with her bright perky smile.
Looking at Potter, his imaginary son playing the former enemies, he honestly told him, "I don't want to—at least not today. We'll start your day of reckoning tomorrow."
Potter rolled his eyes and thankfully said nothing. Fleur moved forward and neutrally expressed, "Well, I 'ave a geeft." They all look at her, curious what it could be as she didn't know about this plan. "Eef we may speak alone?"
Potter seemed slightly taken aback, as nervous exasperation escaped Daphne's sharp icy-blue eyes, and tempered curiosity mars Granger's comely face. Feeling divorced enough to leave, Draco took Tracey's hand as Fleur and Potter walk further toward the lake, and asked her, "Would you care to dance?"
Tracey's easy smile evaporated many of his worries—not all his worries. Draco could never expect to forget what he'd done or how the consequences of his decisions eventually found his son. But for his days to feel something more than guilt-ridden hurt was the greatest gift he could never ask for. As his son walked beside them, he couldn't help but realize what Potter meant to his plans to kill Voldemort. For his son's memory, and for the part Draco played in allowing that evil to snuff his world of its light, he'll fulfill that promise to his departed boy and help Potter in any way he could.
Hello, I hope you all enjoyed the update. I want to let you all know that I had a good amount of time recently to write so the next update won't take me too long. Maybe a week or less.
Also, if the testimonial stuff doesn't make any sense, just think when Mark Zuckerberg had to answer questions before a Senate committee. He wasn't charged with anything but they needed his answers on public record to respond to the allegations against his company. Umbridge or Fudge do not have to be at Harry's testimonial as long as other members are. In the story's case, the Wizengamot are like audience members while other people ask Harry questions. I know some people didn't get that but that's only because I didn't update the explanation. so I sorta left you all hanging, which was not cool. More on this soon.
Since the beginning, I had always known that Draco sees images of his son often, but I couldn't EVER imagine him sharing something so personal with Harry or anyone really-which meant the audience wouldn't know either. I didn't want to just shoe-horn it in, so I thought with Harry's absence, this was a good opportunity to showcase that. I really enjoyed writing the duality of my Draco in a more in-depth manner and I hope you all understood him a little better.
Thanks again and have a great one,
-Grae