KEYnote for FF: The hot pan scene was from primarily Draco's view, the oil wasn't boiling. It hurt but not enough to scar, the weed-pulling without gloves hurt him more.
AN: This story has taken on a life of its own, very much a character-driven drama with a heavy dose of politics. It's not a review on canon and I apologize for none of it. Not even the dramatic irony that I typically don't use to this degree. In this case, I'm playing into a world that is deeply corrupt and deeply illogical due to prejudices.
Chapter 5 - The Wand Chooses the Wizard
Harry stared, looking between the three adults, "This is mine?"
Draco nodded, "All of it. And if there is anything you want changed or something more, you just have to ask."
Harry blinked back tears, he wouldn't cry like a baby.
Not over something so good.
Aunt Andromeda walked to the second door that Harry had thought was a closet, and turned out to be a second room.
"This is Draco's room," she said. "If you ever need help, he'll be right there. Down the hall is Ted and I, and across from you is the washroom and Nymphadora's room."
Harry didn't know what to do with himself as he stuttered, "Thank you, thank you so much."
Draco knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he answered, "You're most welcome, Harry."
Harry hugged him on impulse and was relieved, as he ever was, that Draco hugged him back instead of shoving him away.
"Thank you, Dad," Harry said more quietly, just for the hero who had saved him.
Draco hugged him tighter.
oOo
"You'd get lucky last night?" Kingsley asked.
John ignored him as he went to his desk.
Kingsley perked up, "That's a yes?"
Amelia looked up from her desk, "Is it serious?"
John frowned at them both, "I didn't get lucky. And I may add, that when I have, neither of you were this supportive."
"That's because you wouldn't get laid if it had any chance at all of succeeding," Amelia explained.
"I hate you both," John said before changing the topic. "How do muggleborns who don't go to Hogwarts get wands?"
"That's dangerous talk," Amelia warned.
"Are you seriously researching the guy you have a crush on?" Kingsley asked.
"No," John said, far too defensively.
"John!" Amelia chastised.
"Listen, he's the first British wizard I've met who's both a muggleborn and didn't attend Hogwarts."
"And how did that conversation start?" Amelia asked.
"He was setting up a bank account," John said.
"Which means he has a wand and is a part of the registry," Kingsley said, pulling the book from the shelf.
There were multiple registry books, but each one covered a fifty year period. There weren't so many wizards and witches with registered wands that the tome couldn't be synced with the one in the ministry's archives.
There was no one named Evans registered under a wand.
"If he got married to a man, it's legal in some countries, he could be under a different marital name," Amelia said.
"He was married to a female wife, he has a child," John explained, slamming the book shut.
Kingsley went back to the shelf, taking down the goblin registry.
The book charged a fee anytime they used it, but it was worth it seeing as the goblins were the world's best record keepers.
Flipping the book open, John laid his palm over the blank page, "Evans, Drake."
Several Evans swam in pools of ink falling back until the name Drake Tonks Evans appeared. Under other registered relations was listed, first cousin of Edward Tonks and his connection to the Black Family.
Wand: Hawthorn, unicorn hair, 10 inches.
Marital Status: Widower.
Wife: Artemisia Greenly Evans.
Depedants: One.
Son and Legal Heir: Harrison Tonks Evans.
"See," Kingsley said. "He's real."
"Date of registry," John said, palm still on the book.
The date came up as yesterday, for all entries.
John met Kingsley's dark gaze.
"Do you think you are maybe taking this a little too far?" Kingsley asked. "Muggleborns aren't in the system unless they want to be.'
"With my luck?" John challenged. "No, I don't. I need to see where he got that wand."
Kingsley, while a great Auror, was rooting too much for his friend's happiness to be suspicious of the muggleborn. As a Slytherin himself, Kingsley went out of his way to distance himself from any perceived prejudice, unlike Dawlish he was loyal to law and country to a fault.
But sometimes, one had to learn the limitations of government the difficult way.
oOo
"Ah, yes," Mr. Olivander said. "I know just the one. Ten inches, Hawthorn wand, the hair of a very shy unicorn, and quite springy." He reached into a shelf. "It should be—" he came out empty handed. "Ah, it appears to have wandered off."
"You mean it was stolen?" John asked, his stomach sinking as he realized he was right to be suspicious.
"No, no," Mr. Olivander waved him off. "Not at all. These things do happen."
"These things do happen?" Amelia repeated. "And do you stop these things from happening?"
Mr. Olivander chuckled, "Of course not. The wand chooses the wizard."
"But they aren't registered with the ministry." john
"Well, no, I suppose not."
"And no trace for under age wizards," John said darkly.
"I suppose not."
"How often does this happen?" Kingsley asked, sounding more curious than upset.
"Not often," the wandmaker said.
"When was the last time it happened?" John asked and at the man's uncomfortable expression, he pressed further. "Do you even know?"
Mr. Olivander straightened, "I remember every wand I've ever made."
"And do you have every wand accounted for?" John pressed.
"Well, no," he answered.
"So there is an unknown number of wands just floating around—" John began.
Mr. Olivander crossed his arms and interrupted, "Yes, there are. Wands are rarely properly retired."
"Yes, but wands of your making that fit the wizard or witch are harder to come by," John fumed. "How many of your wands have slipped into the hands of the Dark Lord's people that we have no way of accounting for?"
Mr. Olivander looked uncomfortable but unbowed, "What would you have me do, keep a registry? Put a pre-trace on all my creations?"
"It's a start," John snapped.
"No," Olivander said firmly.
"No?" John repeated.
"No," Olivander said. "Magic does not belong to those of lineage nor to those who can afford it. Those who were chosen to go to the prestigious school of Hogwarts do not have the monopoly on magic in this country despite what most are led to believe. If I did what you asked of me, if that list or those traces fell into the wrong hands, do you know what would happen, John Dawlish?"
"What?" He asked.
"Any muggleborn and many halfbloods would be hunted down for sport. So no, Auror Dawlish, there will be no registry."
There was still an argument to be made for having a registry, however, given the near fall of their country to a Blood Purest, it would have ended badly.
Drake Evans and his son would more than likely be dead.
Amelia put a hand on his arm, "It's time to go."
John nodded, "Apologies for disturbing you."
Mr. Olivander waved him off, "You're not the first to ask or request it, nor you will not be the last. Let this be a lesson to you, Auror Dawlish, to question your own power before you seek to take action."
John closed his eyes but inclined his head in acknowledgement before seeing himself out.
"Feel better?" Kingsley asked casually.
"No," John snapped. "And thanks for not warning me. I'm sure Dumbledore had you all up to date on this sort of thing."
"Actually, Dumbledore's been asking the same sort of questions," Kingsley said.
"What has the old man been asking of you?" Amelia chimed in as she caught up to them.
"He made a mistake," Kingsley hedged.
"What sort of mistake?" Amelia pressed, unamused.
Neither she nor John had joined Albus's private army.
Why?
Because both their parents had fought in the last war, and they had been raised to never forget that once, Albus Dumbledore stood beside Grindelwald.
John was extra prickly about it because their not so secret relations in law enforcement circles did nothing to further gay rights.
Sure, Dumbledore could be as flamboyant as he damn well chose to be, but he had no equal in power and where he stood for muggleborn rights, he had never once supported gay marriage.
It really was going to be the lesbians who got anywhere with it. 'Spinsters' had nothing to lose and everything to gain if their agendas got through the courts. Well, not nothing to lose, but arranged marriages were becoming less common by the day, no legal intervention was needed. If witches wanted to remain single, there was no court that would condemn them to a loveless union because no case would ever be acknowledged for fear of reprisal.
If the last war had proved anything, it was that witches were in every way a wizard's magical equal.
Kingsley shook his head, "I'll let you know when there's a lead."
"We could always find a lead before them, if you ever bothered to share any information with us," John groused.
"You mean leads like you had today?" Kingsley challenged. The taller man eyed him before coming to an abrupt halt. "You aren't going to go question him, are you?"
"So what if I am?" John asked, colour rising to his cheeks.
Sometimes having friends who knew you too well seemed more trouble than they were worth.
"You're hopeless, you know that, right?" Amelia asked. "You are going to die alone."
"He's a muggleborn trying to get settled in our world with a son," John defended, reaching into his satchel. "Surely he could use some help with finishing up the proper paperwork."
Amelia let out a sigh that must have escaped from the depths of her soul. "Let me get this straight," she began. "You went to all this trouble to do a background check on a crush, only so you could help him?"
"Well," John said. "I had to be sure he was legitimately who he said he was."
He still had his doubts but there were aristocratic muggles as surely as there were wizards. Which would explain his accent as there was nothing else to be especially nefarious about the man.
His grief for his and worry for his son had been all to real.
"You don't think he might be off put by your invasiveness?"
John shrugged, "If he is, then so be it. The current administration might still be cracking down on Death Eaters, that doesn't mean they are any less preferential to pure bloods."
None of them could argue against that point. On his own, Mr. Evans papers might have taken up to a decade to be processed.
Since the war had wound down, there department consisted of ten senior aurors and five trainees. Their losses had been compounded by deaths, arrests, and early retirements. They were pulling from other departments for man power. Currently, they were still trying to convince muggleborns it was safe to reapply for their old jobs. Most had gone into hiding in the muggle world and were in no rush to return to their struggling economy and shambled government.
Paperwork was slow going and while if a wizard was a UK citizen it should have theoretically been straight forward, there were an addition few steps and papers that went along with muggleborns who had not attended Hogwarts. His son would need to be tested to see if he was qualified to attend. It might be a wee-bit early for it, but it would help with Drake's own registration.
"Still, springing yourself on him isn't likely to go well," Amelia insisted.
"I was going to catch Ted at St. Mungo's and offer my help," John said.
Kingsley snorted, "And cross reference the man in the process. Amelia is entirely correct. You are going to die alone."
"Thanks for the support," John said dryly.
"If you took our advise your life would be easier," Kingsley said.
John smiled, "I'm a Hufflepuff, nothing worth doing is easy."
Amelia snorted, "You should have been a Gryfindor."
"If his dominate trait wasn't being steadfast to the point of incrudiltaty, I might agree with you," Kingsley said. "I hope your Mr. Evans finds it charming your abideaince to bureaucracy and not deeply creepy."
"I'm just being myself," John said. "Just like you keeping your secrets that are likely deeply illegal in nature is you being your usual cryptic self."
Kingsley huffed, but let it lie.
As fate would have it, had Kingsley confided in his friends or Dumbledore revealed to the world that Mister Potter was missing, Dawlish would have put two and two together.
Instead, the name Harry Potter had vanished from the Hogwart's Registry just as surely as Draco Malfoy's name had, as most recent magical records would overwrite past accounts.
It would be another thousand years until wizards realised how much goblin record keeping kept the power of knowledge firmly in their domain.
Humans, after all, had the awful habit of burning away their own histories.
oOo
AN: Thoughts, Pakistani loaches, or feedback, pretty please?