When Neville arrived to pick up the children, Hermione offered him tea first. Hermione was careful about not betraying clients' confidence, but Neville was sure, that the client she was talking about, who had almost sabotaged, three months of work was Terry Boots. He wondered if Hermione could guess who he talked about. He only ever talked about pupils, never letting their names slip. He had decided to keep this habit from his auror years. Yet, when he talked about a Hufflepuff who had managed to be bitten by mandrake roots in her neck and had been unable to perform any magic for days, Lizzie began to giggle. She had been there and knew who it was.
Hermione checked her phone before they finally left, but there was no message from Draco yet. The children bustled around him and begged him to take them to a bookshop.
Colin wanted a muggle bookshop, because of a muggle author called Droll Queen, if Neville understood correctly. Having left the wards of the house, they portkeyed into the middle of a London park and went to the next bookshop.
Colin was his usual holiday self, which meant that he was talking about all the interesting stuff he had read almost constantly. That was how Neville had known his wife's godson for years, until he had encountered quiet Colin in school. Lizzie and Meg took each other by the hand and tagged along, happy in each other's company. They were the closest to each other in age after all, just a little more than a year apart.
"I got the 'Lord of the Rings' from mum and dad, and it is fantastic. It really gives you a whole new outlook on elves."
"How?"
"The elves are magical beings, but they are majestic and wise, and they do really cool stuff against the Dark magic, or what could count as Dark magic in Middle Earth."
Middle Earth? Neville felt a bit lost and made a non-verbal generally approving sound.
"I looked it up, and there are so many muggle books where elves are so different from our house elves. Do you have any idea why muggles would have these ideas?"
Neville shook his head. "Muggles do have some strange ideas about magic."
Colin nodded. "Yes, but some of their ideas are very close to the truth. I mean, Muggles know about wands and spells and so on. Why would their ideas about elves be so weirdly off?"
"Shouldn't you ask your mum? Hermione is the expert on house elves."
"Mum is an expert on house elves rights, which is not the same as an expert on house elves mythology," Meg chimed in.
Neville smiled. Leave it to Meg, his goddaughter, to be meticulous about wording.
They spent about two hours in the bookshop. Neville took the opportunity to study some books on Muggle herblore and found a book he liked. He bought the book with one of the Muggle plastic cards that were connected to his Muggle account that Hermione had helped him set up.
Lizzie and Meg had wandered off to a shelf with riddle books, while Colin was in the part of the bookshop where it read "Fantasy and Science Fiction". He was looking at sketch books. When he saw Neville, he reluctantly returned one of the books back to the shelf.
Neville pulled the book out again. "So, these are Droll Queen's elves?", he asked looking at the pictures in the sketch book that were in between the blank pages, probably to give an idea about what to draw.
Colin nodded. "Tolkien, Uncle Neville. The name is Tolkien. I want to draw something for Prudy and I wanted some ideas. I am sure she'll like that."
Neville smiled and shook his head, just a tiny bit. Sometimes the way Draco and Hermione's children were a mix of their parents was too funny. Colin liked to draw, and he liked to correct people.
"I'll buy you that sketch book," he said.
Colin flushed. "I didn't want to…."
Neville patted him on the shoulder. "I can buy something for my wife's godson any time I want."
When they left the bookshop to get lunch, Neville had paid for his own book, two riddle books for the girls and Colin's sketch book. And it was much cheaper than his excursions to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with Harry's children.
They sat down in a Muggle restaurant and Neville conjured his patronus under the table. He sent it to Hermione to ask if it was time to go to Ollivander's yet, but Hermione had not heard from Draco. Neville wondered if he should perhaps buy one of these Muggle portable tellyphones, just so he could contact Draco. Sending a patronus after Draco was close to useless, because nine out of ten times the patronus wouldn't find him, and he couldn't send one back anyway.
They walked around for a bit, although the sky was grey and the air humid. When it became dark, they went to a café on Diagon Alley and played card games. Still no word from Draco and Hermione's patronus sounded a bit worried, when Neville asked her again. A portly man in his sixties frowned at them. Neville thought he recognized Rowan Greengrass, the man who had been humiliated very publicly, when his own daughter had sued him with Hermione's help.
Pansy joined them after work and was quickly persuaded to join in the games. She was laughing, teasing the girls, ruffling Colin's hair, but Neville knew something was off. While the children were preoccupied, Pansy showed him this afternoon's special edition of the Prophet under the table and Neville supressed a groan.
She bent to his ear. "There is more, I'll tell you later."
Finally, just when the children had started to exchange worried looks more and more often, Hermione's patronus arrived, and Pansy and Colin went off to Ollivander's. Maybe it would be just an uneventful day with the Granger children after all.
Lizzie and Meg were eating soup, and solved riddles in an alarming speed that made Neville fear that they would have finished the riddle books before the day was over, when the door opened and the Zabini family entered. Luna hugged them all and Lizzie and Meg greeted the children with enthusiasm. Rachel was Colin's year, but Pandora, called Penny, was Meg's age. Lizzie and Meg looked with wide eyes at the Weasleys Wizard Wheezes bags, that Rachel and Penny had brought.
Luna and Blaise sat down and joined them, ordering food and drink. Luna told Neville about her newest project which was a revised edition of Newt Scamander's "Fantastic Beasts".
"When Penny enters Hogwarts this summer, we'll make a thorough survey in South America. We went to India over the Christmas holidays," Luna told them.
She frowned. "The occamy population has dwindled since Scamander's time and Scamander was already worried about them. I suspect fully grown specimens have been smuggled away."
Neville saw Blaise smiling affectionally and a bit indulgently at his wife.
Luna slowly stirred her coffee. "I have to talk to Hermione about that. I don't think that the certificate for responsible use of magical creatures helps in the case of the occamies. And I have to talk to Harry if he can look into the smuggling."
"You'd best not do that at the same time, though," Blaise remarked.
Luna focused on her husband's face and patted his hand "I do remember that, dear."
She shook her head. "It's such a nuisance, though."
"Well, I couldn't agree more," Neville remarked. Sometimes he still wondered how he had ended being torn between Harry and Ron on one side and Hermione on the other.
"Did you see the special edition of the prophet?", Blaise asked.
Neville nodded tersely.
"I think Ron should just marry a Slytherin. I mean, that worked out for us", Luna said.
"You're welcome to suggest this to Ron, the next time we see him," Blaise said.
"Don't forget to mention that you know of a Gryffindor- Slytherin marriage that has miraculously worked for some time by now," Neville hardly knew what had come over him. He wasn't that sarcastic usually.
Luna blinked at him. "I don't think Ron would like that example, although it is a good example generally speaking -," she said with a serious face.
It was as if their talk had conjured him. The door of the café opened, and Ron and George Weasley entered, tailed by James, Richard and Lily, bags of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes in their hands.
It was the first time, Neville wished that the Potter children would not great him quite that enthusiastically. The Granger girls looked up from their books, but Rachel and Penny waved happily to George and Ron.
"Hi Luna, hi Blaise, girls!", Ron said, his gaze stopping at Meg and Lizzie, a puzzled look on his face. Lizzie's smile froze in her face and Meg suddenly clutched Neville's hand. Neville wished Ginny or Pansy were here. He had become quite adept at keeping the children apart at school, but here he was not a teacher.
Ron smiled his easy smile, the smile of the international Quidditch star. "Are you friends of Rachel and Penny?"
"Yes," Lizzie squeaked in a high voice, that did not sound like her at all.
Neville tried to gesture to George, but George seemed oblivious. It probably didn't help that Lizzie and Meg did not resemble their parents as strikingly as Rina and Colin. Lizzie with her greyish blond hair that only had a few waves and Meg with her straight dark hair that was cut Pixie style. Ron would not make the connection and Neville doubted he had ever seen them.
James and Richard were fidgeting with their feet, while little Lily had joined Penny without ado. Blaise, that blasted Slytherin, leaned back in his chair as if he was looking forward to an entertaining exchange. To give him his due, Blaise did not know yet, that Draco and Pansy probably were on their way here.
"These are Lizzie and Meg," Luna explained.
"Hi," Ron said.
"Good evening, Mr Weasley," Lizzie said, her voice not quite as squeaky as before.
"Oh, you know me!"
"You're the famous keeper," Meg stated in a flat voice.
Ron was flattered, but not surprised. Neville had been present multiple times when Ron was recognized, and the keeper had become quite good at pretending surprise. Almost twenty years of Quidditch fame on the top of the sport had made him sure about his fame in a disarming way. If Ron had looked at his son and his nephew, he might have realised, though, that something was off.
"What gave me away?" he asked, the easy smile still in place.
"Richard talks about you." Lizzie pointed at Ron's son. "He's a keeper as well."
Luna chose this moment to intervene. "I am surprised that you are in such a good humour, Ron," she said. "I see barely any wrackspurts around you, despite what we read in the prophet."
Ron gave a short laugh. "Let me just say, that I've known from the start, that I made a mistake. Remind me to never travel to Las Vegas again."
Neville stood. "Lizzie, Meg," he smiled at them. "We'll best be off. Take your coats, I'll pay, and we'll leave."
His eyes met Blaise's. He raised an eyebrow.
"I've got it, Neville. Off with you."
Neville exhaled slowly.
Lizzie and Meg did as they were told and collected their things.
"We just swap chairs, then," George said and let himself fall into the chair Neville had vacated.
"Do you want an autograph?" Ron asked.
The girls looked at him with wide eyes. Blaise choked on his tea and coughed violently.
Lizzie shook her head.
"No, thank you, Mr Weasley," she said with a strained voice. "Our parents taught us not to take presents from strangers."
"But you know me."
"We know about you," Meg clarified.
"Aren't you a smart one?" Ron remarked. The easy smile was replaced by a frown.
He turned to Neville. "See you around, Neville. I'll be staying with Harry for a while."
Neville was about to usher the children out, when the door opened again.
"…. He threw that blasted special edition of the Prophet in my face, and it went downhill from there."
Draco was talking over his shoulder to Pansy, as of yet oblivious to the guests in the café.
Neville was tempted to groan in anticipation of a disaster. Could Draco not have dawdled at Ollivander's for five more minutes?
Chapter 17: What do we deserve?
Summary:
Ron meets Draco and this leads to heated words...
Notes:
So, this is a chapter from Ron's perspective. I do hope, that I got him right.
I've already said, that I do not want to bash him and Ron has his reasons, some of them will become clearer, and to be honest, Draco is not the most mature here either...
I've read many fics where Ron and Draco get along and I love them, but I must admit that to me it never really rings true.
Chapter Text
He would recognize that voice everywhere. Even if he only saw him very occasionally, the intervals were never long enough for Ron's taste. That voice, that made you practically hear the sneer – that despicable posh accent. Why was Malfoy here? Hadn't his week been bad enough?
His hair was not as white as it had been when they both had been boys at Hogwarts, but still blond. But you never saw grey hair with blondes, and he had no intention of getting close enough to check if Malfoy had grey in his hair.
"Look, who's come. A ferret," Ron could not help himself.
"The Weasel King," Malfoy said. It sounded as if he meant something like 'Dirty peasant.' "You made the headlines of the Prophet again, I was given to understand."
Ron scowled.
The ferret smirked. "You should think about giving your next spouse probation time longer than five years on average."
Ron shrugged. "I guess that's better than making them stay with Amortentia."
"Ron," he heard Neville plead, but he chose to ignore him.
Malfoy's eyes were cold. "It is all part of my devious plan to undermine wizarding society. Granger's brain is so addled by years of Amortentia, that she barely manages anything at all. Imagine what she could do, if she had all her brains."
Ron bared his teeth. "Imagine, she could be minister of magic by now, if she hadn't sided with a death eater."
Malfoy's mouth clapped shut. Ron could see that his jaw muscles worked.
"At least, this scum is dying out. I heard your father bit the dust last Autumn. Did you give him a funeral cortege? Must have been a short one."
It seemed like he couldn't stop himself. Ron had been taut since Christmas. A tiny part of him knew, that he should really rein himself in, but seeing Malfoy fuming spurred him on.
"Or did you not attend, and it was just your mother?"
Malfoy rounded on him and his left hand shot out to grab him and he buried his fist in Ron's shirt. His face was flushed with anger, his teeth were visible, and his jaw jutted out. "You leave my mother out of this."
Ron saw with satisfaction that the sleeves of Malfoy's coat were threadbare. He smiled. "Make me."
The other man was taller, but Ron had confidence in his own fitness. Malfoy wouldn't work out much in his business.
Malfoy took a deep breath and loosened his grip on Ron's shirt. He sucked in his lips and kneaded them with his teeth.
Ron pushed up the sleeve of his opponent's coat, until he saw what he knew was there, the Dark Mark.
The collective gasp in the café gave him a short-lived bout of satisfaction. Seeing it also made his anger boil up again. His anger at the Death Eaters, his anger that Malfoy was walking and alive, when Fred was dead, that Hermione had chosen him.
"Why is it still there, Malfoy, hmm?", he hissed. "It has faded over the decades for everyone. I've seen some that are barely visible. While yours is as black and dark as the day you voluntarily decided to take it."
"Clearly, today is not the day you are in possession of the single braincell of the Weasel family." Malfoy let go of Ron's shirt and shoved his sleeve over his arm again. "Nothing in, nothing out, Weasel. That is the way of a scutum. The magic of the Mark cannot fade out."
"I see you did not forget to say your morning prayer today, Malfoy. 'Do not let me be lost for a flimsy explanation today'," Ron imitated Malfoy's accent. "Another explanation could be that you do not regret anything."
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and gave him a false smile. "Regarding you, the only thing I regret is inventing that blasted 'Weasley is our king' song."
"So, you admit that the repentant death eater show is just an act? I knew that anyway." Ron wished so hard he could wipe that smile from Malfoy's face.
"Pardon me, for not grovelling before the man who stole two and a half years of my life."
How did he dare bring that up! Ron shivered with anger. He was still claiming that he had been framed with that cauldron. "You should be thankful you have a life. Not that you deserve it. You should be dead or in Azkaban."
Malfoy did not answer, but his face was dark with the blood that had rushed to his cheeks.
Parkinson laid a hand on his arm. "Draco, let's just leave."
Ron flashed his teeth at her. "Leaving seems a good idea."
Malfoy brushed imaginary dust flecks from his coat. "Children fetch your stuff. We're leaving."
He looked up again and his grey eyes met Ron's.
"People getting what they deserve is such a strange concept, Weasel. What does this even mean? Everybody probably would agree that we both deserve everything we got. You got fame as a hero and as a keeper, more money than you can possibly spend … popularity. I lost my magic and my family's fortune."
There was a cruel glint in his eyes, and he smiled. "Let me share a secret with you, Weasel. Something I learned decades ago. Neither fame, nor popularity nor money will ever make you a happy man. Am I right? Are you a happy man?"
That cut so close, that Ron reacted without thinking. His fist connected with Malfoy's face, and the insufferable ferret went down.
Parkinson had drawn her wand. "Stop it, right now," she shouted.
Malfoy grunted. Rina, the daughter with her white-blond curls, who had always looked so much like her father, and what must have been the eldest son were at his side. He waved their hands away and picked himself up. Ron saw with satisfaction that he was bleeding from a cut lip.
"Bloody hell," he said, when he looked down at his hands that were red, where he had wiped his face.
The café had become very silent. Ron could see that their fight had drawn everybody's attention.
Parkinson stood alert, her wand pointed at Ron, her eyes flashing.
"Are you going to pull the auror card on me, Pansy?" Ron asked. "Over one punch?"
"I am pulling the auror card," she hissed. "You should be ashamed, both of you to make such a scene in front of the children."
Ron had forgotten about them. He saw that the little girls were upset and averted his eyes. His son and his nephew stared wide-eyed. His gaze met a young woman who edged closer. She drew one of these muggle devices out of her bag, and before he could protest, he was blinded by a flash of light. The woman smiled.
What a nuisance. He would make the headlines again tomorrow.
Ron tried to get to the woman and almost ran into the silver otter that appeared out of nowhere; a sight that hurt more than Ron expected. The patronus carried a red letter, that looked like a howler and it headed not for any of them, but for the portly man in the back of the café.
The otter shredded the howler to pieces just above the head of the man, so that it looked like he was under his own personal cloud that snowed red flakes. Hermione's voice was very clear. "Mr Greengrass, this is my last warning. My personal life isn't any of your business and if you send even one more howler, I will sue you from here to the Antarctic for harassment. I suggest you get a life."
Malfoy, who was holding an ice package to his face that someone must have conjured up for him, laughed loudly.
"My wife is just that bitch." It did not sound like he wanted to insult her.
Chapter 18: Room of Requirement (November 1997)
Summary:
Draco works on the scutum spell and the corresponding potion. Generally, seventh year sucks, even at the times he doesn't butt heads with Gryffindors.
Notes:
This is still only slightly canon bent.
I wanted to write a bit about how seventh year was for the people who were at Hogwarts and I wanted to explore a bit how the relationship of Draco and Neville develops.
Thank you to all the people who read this and give kudos! I am especially happy if you comment, so please don't be shy about it. I appreciate it very much!
Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy's memories (as retrieved on August 8, 2020)
The Room of Requirement had everything a good potions lab needed. In sixth year, Draco had dreaded the room as well as his task, but now in seventh year, the room had become a sanctuary, a place where he could breathe. His grades had plummeted even further than in sixth year, but without Granger, Draco did not really care. Slytherin had so many points that there was no question that they would make the house cup this year, but Draco had lost all interest in bragging. It didn't feel right anyway- Everyone knew that Slytherin got points for the most ridiculous of reasons. Even Crabbe and Goyle had earned house points, just for coming to class.
Outside the room of requirement Draco tried to keep his head down. He skipped Defence against the Dark Arts as often as he dared. He walked a fine line there. You never knew with the Carrows. Sometimes, Amycus would just not realise that Draco was absent. Especially when Neville Longbottom had one of his bouts of Gryffindor bravery or rather madness. When the Carrows picked on Longbottom, it was easy to leave after a small disillusionment charm. But sometimes the Carrows would single him out and order him to practice his crucios. They rarely failed to comment on his lack of skill with the curse. Draco wished his schoolmates had more Slytherin characteristics. If he were at the receiving end of his own wand, he would act as if the curse lasted longer than it did. He had to admit to himself that it was probably not fair to expect children to act, though. Children that were not safe at their school. He did not dare to give them a hint though. He trusted nobody.
Sometimes, the Carrows would just laugh at him, but sometimes he would be punished for his lack of enthusiasm. He hated their random cruelty with a passion. Sometimes, they would order others to punish him. Once they had picked Pansy for that task. She had clearly meant to object, but Draco had mouthed 'just get it over with' to her. He had dragged his show of pain out as long as he dared, and the Carrows were satisfied and awarded Pansy with house points. When she was in tears later, Draco had risked telling her he had overdone it. From that moment onward, they tried to cover each other's backs at least in that regard.
One day in November, every possible twist of fate had been against Draco. When he had tried to vanish in a rarely used corridor, Amycus Carrow had spotted him and practically dragged him to 'lessons'. Draco had performed his subpar crucio on a little Ravenclaw girl that looked as if she was only half his size. And then Carrow had ordered Longbottom to punish Draco. Of course, the Gryffindor had refused, just like he had refused every time.
Draco had shouted at him. "You stupid Gryffindor oaf, just do it. You hate me anyway."
Longbottom shook his head. "I will not cross that line. That curse should not be used on anyone." And then Carrow had punished them both. For the first time in his life, Draco had felt a sliver of understanding for Gryffindor bravery. Longbottom's every act of defiance showed that the Carrows did not control him. That it was not a foregone conclusion that the pupils had to do as they were ordered. Longbottom put them all to shame and Draco admired him and resented him at the same time. When they lay next to each other on the floor, both panting with pain, he had wanted to ask him if it was worth it. That now two boys were hurt instead of one. He wanted to ask him if he had no idea about simple math. But the words would not leave his mouth and he bit his lip hard.
When he had withdrawn to the Room of Requirement later, he had worked doggedly until late in the night. While the cauldron simmered, he had practiced the scutum spell. He had summoned Prudy to practice and he could hold it for five minutes straight. Even house elf magic could not pass the scutum. He tried several flicks to tie the scutum off but it just would not work. When the cauldron had simmered for two hours, the potion had acquired a silvery colour that to Draco looked promisingly like the silver white spark of the scutum but, when he applied the potion to Prudy, nothing happened. Prudy could do magic and when Draco hexed it with a tickling spell, the elf obviously felt it. He almost cried in triumph though, when he tried to magically clean the cauldron and the spell would not work. If the potion worked on an object, it might be adjusted to work on humans, or any being.
This in turn gave him the idea to have a go at casting the scutum on objects. He used a bag and ordered Prudy to magically remove the chess piece he had put in there. He was tired and excited at the same time and he only discovered the correct angle to tie off the scutum by accident. The wrist flick did not work on Prudy though. It looked like the scutum on objects was the only one that could be tied. That might be the angle that would allow him to perfect the potion.
He was almost too excited. He put his findings in the notebook he kept, drawing a quick sketch of the correct wrist flick. He had to remind himself to be meticulous in his notes, just in case shrouding his memories let him forget something important. All his labour would be for naught, if important details were lost.
It was well past midnight when he searched for Severus to tell him of his progress. He took two stairs at once, when he ran to the office, knocked shortly and entered, quite confident that the headmaster would be awake. He almost ran into the blond Ravenclaw that had been in Dumblodore's army. The Weaselette was also there, and Longbottom.
Wands were out in a wink, as if it was a habit they could not break, and they traded hexes. Weaselette and Lovegood shot an expelliarmus against him, but Draco held on to his wand in determination. Just the thought that someone would get hold of his wand had cold sweat run down his back. It was either his constant training, sheer luck or just the element of surprise, when he did not lose his wand to the double hex, that allowed him to stand his own. Doing most of his spells unspoken gave him a slight edge. The noise and shouting of the others had alerted the headmaster. When Severus Snape entered, the wands of the three quickly fell into his hands.
It turned out that the three members of Dumbledore's army had tried to steal the sword of Gryffindor. Weaselette told the headmaster very loudly that it belonged to Harry Potter; that Dumbledore had bequeathed it to Harry in his will. Draco shook his head at the impertinence. Even if Potter was the Chosen one, it really exceeded simple favouritism to think that something like the sword of Gryffindor could be bequeathed.
Severus Snape gave the three students a stern lecture and sent them of for detention.
"You want us to help Professor Hagrid," Longbottom asked. "For a week. Starting now, in the middle of the night?"
"I think you heard me the first time, Longbottom," the headmaster answered. "And don't think about skipping this detention. I will inform the teachers that you are excused from class for a week."
They left, while Weaselette cursed under her breath. Draco was sure he heard 'ferret', 'still thinks he is inquisitorial squad', 'git' and 'bloody Malfoy'. She had no reason to curse. A week with Hagrid was no detention at all; not for them anyway. It was a week without the Carrows. It was in the forbidden forest and with that half-wit monster-lover, but Draco would have swapped with them any time.
Severus Snape looked around the office. The former headmasters had been awoken by the ruckus. Draco felt uncomfortable when the eyes of Dumbledore's portrait met his.
"Don't you have other things to do than get into duels with bloody Gryffindors?" Snape asked.
"I chanced upon them," Draco said. "I did not come here to fight. I wanted to show you something."
He fidgeted. He was not sure about the portraits.
"Show me then," the headmaster said.
Draco showed him the wrist flick that could tie off the scutum.
"It does not work with living beings," he told him. "I tried."
"Nevertheless, very interesting," Severus Snape said. "And promising."
"The other project is in about the same phase," Draco said. "It works on objects."
"Well, well, that is good."
Draco wanted to leave the scrutinizing gaze of the former headmaster Dumbledore. "I'll keep you tuned. I just wanted to share this progress."
He made to leave. At the door, he turned. "Did Dumbledore really bequeath the sword of Gryffindor to Potter?"
The headmaster nodded.
Draco shook his head. "Any idea about the reason?"
"Several."
"So, it's not as nutty as it seems?"
Severus Snape laughed. "No, but I think it is good that the sword is still under my control."
"The day was not entirely useless, then?"
"No, Draco," the headmaster said, but his smile held a trace of sadness. "You've done well."
(Severus Snape's memories, retrieved September 2002)
"Any idea, where they are?", Snape asked after Malfoy had left.
Phineas Nigellus' portrait shook his head.
"Severus," Dumbledore's portrait asked. "What is this project young Malfoy talks about?"
"My plan B, in case your very elaborate scheme evaporates."
"Your plan B?"
"Yes, Albus, you don't put all your eggs in one basket and neither do I."
"Young Malfoy is an odd choice."
"He is a half a Black," Phineas Nigellus chimed in.
"Albus, I am not deviating from my task, but allow me to have a flicker of hope that I might save one more young man along the way. A young man I actually like, I might add."
Dumbledore in his portrait laughed. "What an interesting development. Young Malfoy is on Harry's side."
Snape snorted. "I wouldn't put it that way. He decided to side with me, because he knows that there won't be safety for him, or the people he loves under the Dark Lord."
"Hmm. I might even have an idea how that change of heart came about."
Snape scowled at the former headmaster. "Sometimes you are insufferable. How would you even know that!"
"A young lady who has no chance under this new regime asked me some questions before I died. Some questions that let me guess that she had gained considerable insight into Draco's mind."
The man in the portrait looked at Snape with sympathy. "It almost made me think, that history…."
"Don't say that," Snape snapped. "Don't you say that. I hope that history won't repeat itself. That would only lead to misery and loneliness for Draco."
Chapter 19: Dinner
Summary:
The Grangers try to settle in the evening.
Notes:
This is a bit of an in-between chapter. Not much plot movement, but hopefully a taste of how the family works.
Chapter Text
Getting Robert into bed without Draco was a real struggle, but after all the other children had helped and each had told a story or sung a song for Robert, he was finally willing to close his eyes. Hermione closed the bedroom door behind her and sighed.
Now that Robert was tucked in, Hermione had time to look after the older children. Rina and Colin had prepared a small dinner, and Hermione invited Neville to participate. A day of dealing with howlers and Terry Boot's mess as well as looking after Robert had exhausted Hermione and she realised that she was about to get snappish. She was thankful that her older children were such a great help.
Draco had texted that it would take a 'while'. At least Pansy was with him. Neville gave her a short version of what had happened. She could have slapped herself.
"I should have alerted Ginny," she said. "If I had just told her that Draco was in wizarding London, she probably would have prevented that."
"You couldn't possibly know that Ron had returned from the States."
She let herself sink down. "It's been almost twenty years, why can't he just let it lie. Why is he still so obsessed?"
She rubbed her eyes angrily. "Ron doesn't really believe in this Amortentia rubbish, does he?"
The unhappy eyes of the children pressed at her heart.
"We all make our own versions of the truth," Neville said. "He should know better than to believe that by now. For what it's worth I do think he believed it at the time, Draco was under suspicion." His cheeks became slightly redder. Hermione suspected that Neville had not been convinced of Draco's innocence either, but he had never said so in her hearing.
Hermione nodded. "Back then I believed it was him who planted that cauldron in Draco's flat. But today I think it was somebody else. It still makes Draco mad, and I can hardly blame him." She grimaced. The time, they had been under close supervision must have been the worst time of her life.
She sighed. "At least Pansy separated them."
"Did dad really make the song 'Weasley is our king'", Colin blurted out. "That doesn't make any sense."
"That came up as well?", Hermione groaned.
"I suppose if you twist the verses, it could be very…, " Rina hesitated. "…. Different."
"Weasley is our king, he always lets the quaffle in," Hermione sang.
"It was mean," she conceded.
"The Slytherins sang that, all of them," Neville remembered. He barked a laugh. "It is a very catchy tune, after all. Your dad's sins have a way to come back and haunt him in the strangest fashions."
Hermione tried to hold her own laugh in. She did not want to be petty. But the song had pressed all Ron's buttons. It was a wonder that he had somehow managed to find his talent for keeping in that Quidditch game. It was probably sheer spite that had him got going in that game.
"That was rather dirty play," Colin said, unhappily.
"To be quite honest, all the houses were and are not picky in their methods when it comes to Quidditch," Neville said. "I remember, that the Slytherin captain was stuck into a broom closet once."
Colin shook his head. "Just like Muggle football, I'll never get why people are so crazy about a sport."
"You have to show me how you returned that Howler to Greengrass," Neville asked in a not so subtle try to change the topic of the conversation. "That was awesome."
"Howlers have a magical signature, because they imitate the voice of the sender. I have a sample of voice signatures from the people most likely to bother me. Rowan Greengrass is certainly one of them."
She smiled in remembrance. The Greengrass vs. Greengrass trial had been such a triumph and it had set a precedent for other cases. Pureblood fathers were more careful with dictating their daughters lives nowadays. This was something she had accomplished, and she was proud of it.
They talked charms, spells and hexes over dinner and by the end of dinner Hermione was calm enough to tell the children, that today's events were an exception, that their father was fine, and that there was sadly enough no way to appease some people. Colin and the smaller girls went to their bedrooms, the books Neville had bought them, tugged under their arms, apparently put at ease. Neville had left them then.
Rina had bottled up a lot of anger though, and as soon as Neville had gone, flung herself in her mother's arms. Rina was usually not a very touchy person, and her outburst worried Hermione. What she told Hermione of Gringotts did sound like a very unpleasant experience. Hermione was not really surprised. She had known that it would be difficult after the first howler had arrived.
"I am sorry, Rina," she told her daughter. "Still, it might be for the best, if you see that life is not fair."
"Well, that is what dad said," Rina scowled. "Did you agree on that beforehand? Because life shouldn't be that unfair."
"Oh, Rina," Hermione said.
"And I didn't even see all. Dad had to go through all this, and then this annoying weasel had the nerve to tell dad, that he is still a death eater."
There were tears in her daughter's eyes. "I so wanted to hex him, but aunt Pansy gave me that look… so I didn't."
"That was very mature," Hermione praised her.
"And all because the Pott-Weasel disaster twins broke Colin's wand, when they fought," Rina exclaimed, and then bit her lip and flushed, and then hung her head. "Colin did not want you and dad to know that. I shouldn't have told you. And apparently they didn't mean to break his wand."
"I had a suspicion, anyway," Hermione said. "The way Colin worded it, was so off."
Rina took the tissue, Hermione handed her, and blew her nose.
"I wish we were all in Hufflepuff," she said. "Lizzie does splendidly there."
"I thought you did well in Slytherin," Hermione exclaimed, alarmed. Unlike Colin, Rina had adapted to her house.
"I do, but Slytherins always tell me how much you overdo it with the rights of house elves, goblins and squibs."
Hermione huffed. "I am certainly not sorry, that all house elves have contracts now."
"Mum, I didn't say I agree with them."
They were interrupted by the sound of turning keys. Despite Draco's reassuring texts, Hermione was relieved to see him. He looked a bit battered, but the Muggle doctor had obviously patched him up.
"You should see the other guy," Draco said with a lopsided smile, lopsided because of the patch on his lips.
Hermione shook her head, a small laugh escaping her. "I have it from Neville, that the other guy has just a bruised ego, because Pansy intervened."
"I know I should have curbed my bloody tongue."
Hermione went to him and laid her hand on his cheek.
"Nothing broken. I'll be o.k. in a week. I was lucky there was no need for stitching. The doctor glued my lip," he assured her.
"You should have left the café, the moment you saw Ron."
"Do you have to rub it in? My only excuse is that I had a rotten day."
She smiled. "I won't insist." She kissed his cheek on the side that wasn't patched. She moved to hug him as well, and realised he winced. Her eyes met his and she understood there was more. He shook his head just a tiny bit. It would have to wait for later.
"There was a reporter as well," Rina said. "It will be all over the bloody prophet."
Draco shrugged. "They'll find something else in a few days. They always do. I've learnt to live with my evil reputation."