Chapter 39 - Family Matters
Our newly engaged couple had just finished their breakfasts when Harry's next set of visitors arrived at the hospital wing the next morning. Harry was overjoyed to see Sirius come through the door, joined by the pleasant surprise of Tonks. However, the third visitor, whom the first two were escorting, was a wizard whom neither Harry nor Daphne had encountered before. He introduced himself as Saul Croaker, an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries. A tall, sharply defined man, Saul stood with an air of quiet authority, his dark, brooding eyes reflecting a lifetime of secrets, and his silvery hair neatly swept back, lending him a distinguished yet mysterious presence.
It was clear at this point that, although Harry was pleased to see his Godfather and Tonks— and that they, in turn, were relieved to see him on the mend—this wasn't a social visit. The three of them summoned chairs and sat around Harry's bed.
"Lord Slytherin-Potter," started Croaker.
"Just Harry," Harry said with a strained tone. "I can't be bothered with the formalities right now."
"I understand," the mysterious wizard replied. "I need to talk to you about your recent duel."
"Figured," Harry replied distastefully. He really did not want to talk about it—recalling how powerless he'd been with Bellatrix, how she'd made him feel so weak. Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get away with keeping silent this time. If Sirius had come as well, Harry knew it must be important.
"Specifically, what do you know about the blackish-purple shield that both Rookwood and Lestrange used on you? What was it that forced you to barely use any directly confrontational spells, instead resorting to only indirect charms and transfiguration?"
Harry swallowed and looked at Sirius, who nodded solemnly, yet encouragingly. This was important information that needed to be shared.
"Septimus used it on me first," Harry replied. "But it didn't act quite the same. Both times we duelled, the shield he created was more of a deep black, with just a hint purple. He said it was void magic—something his father had created. I'm told his Dad worked for your department? I know he worked with Amelia and the DMLE from time to time, at least."
"He did—until he outed himself in the Wizengamot and, thankfully, got himself killed," said Croaker with a slight snarl.
"But why didn't he use the void magic then?" asked Sirius.
"Probably wouldn't want to risk catching a deflected spell from his allies and draining their magic," said Croaker. "So, it's confirmed then. We had suspicions the Rookwood brothers were still working on this, even after we had forbidden them to do so. The fact that Bellatrix knew the magic as well is troubling. With the spell not falling out of knowledge with Rookwood, it's almost certain Voldemort knows it as well, and he might have already taught it to some of his other Death Eaters. You said there was a difference between the black and purple shields?"
"Yes," Harry nodded. "The black shield just absorbed the spell, but the purple—it attaches to the caster's magic and drains it. When Septimus cast it, it was a bit purple, but I don't know, the magic felt poorly cast—like he couldn't really cast it properly. From research in my library, I knew if properly cast that it might do something like that, so I took precautions."
"So that's how you nearly got Bellatrix the first time. You used a runestone to channel magic rather than your core."
"Exactly."
"Good," said Croaker with a stiff nod. "I'll speak to Amelia. It won't be cheap, but there may be some room in the War Fund budget for some Runestones for our Aurors—or at least for those going into hot situations. Thank you. As I learn more about you, the more I understand the reason for the prophecy between yourself and Tom Riddle."
Harry's happy smile, as the conversation seemed to be coming to an end, slipped as Tonks and Sirius became still, like deer in headlights.
"What prophecy?" Harry said softly, a tingling sensation spreading through his stomach.
"The one in the Department of Mysteries," Croaker replied with a deep frown of confusion. "Aren't you aware? We sent a notification to you when you were emancipated. Didn't you receive it?"
"No." Harry frowned back at him.
Croaker's nostrils flared with anger. "This is an outrage. It will need to be investigated."
"It doesn't," said Sirius tiredly. "I know who did it—and why. It was Dumbledore."
Croaker's neck snapped around sharply towards the roguish Hitwizard, while Tonks looked at Harry nervously.
"Accusing the Chief Warlock of tampering with DOM communications is a serious allegation, Lord Black. Sentencing guidelines include life imprisonment. I presume you know this and have evidence, do you not? We shall need to press charges—or rather, Lord Slytherin-Potter will."
"I won't," Harry replied, exhaling and gritting his teeth. "Not right now. I need Dumbledore on my side, at least for now. We're building a case against him, but he's the only wizard powerful enough to cast a particular spell at our wedding. If I could do it myself I would—but it has to be someone else."
"I see,' said Croaker distastefully. "I will still have to report this, regardless. Dumbledore won't receive a notification. It's up to you when you want to press charges. Lord Black, do you have evidence or not?"
"I do," Sirius replied, not daring to look at his Godson. "I have a rota of the guard duties he's assigned some people to conduct within his organisation. They stand guard during the evenings outside your department."
"Yes, we are aware of your membership of the Order of the Phoenix and their recent actions—yours as well, Tonks," Croaker said distastefully. "Did Dumbledore tell you specifically what you were guarding?"
"Yes," said Tonks meekly, "We knew about the prophecy."
Harry glared at Sirius and Tonks. "You knew about this— and you didn't tell me? A fucking prophecy?"
Sirius swallowed tightly. He knew this conversation had to happen eventually. He'd prepared for it.
"I did. You knew there was something Dumbledore had made me swear not to tell you. How many times have I hinted about it =—and what it probably says? I've not heard it either, but it's obvious."
"It says I have to kill Voldemort," Harry said.
"Almost certainly," Sirius replied sadly. "I've told you that would likely be the case so many times, Harry. You know I have. I've told you what I know. Only Dumbledore knows the specific wording though. He witnessed the Prophecy being made. If there was a specific trick to defeating him, like learning a particular type of magic, I'm certain he would've told you at least that."
"I can't believe that bastard has been keeping this from you," snarled Daphne, clenching and unclenching her fists on her lap.
"Don't worry," Harry replied, placing a hand on hers, "He'll get his, don't worry. For now we just play those happy students who are very fond of their grandfatherly headmaster."
Daphne swallowed and looked at him with a smile. She was proud that on this occasion, Harry hadn't been as quick to anger as she'd expected. He was thinking like a Slytherin. "Agreed," she said.
Sirius looked visibly upset, panicking he might have irreparably damaged his relationship with his Godson. "I'm sorry Harry, I really wanted to tell you—"
"Save it, Sirius," Harry interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You're right—you've told me what you know plenty of times, especially in the Chamber. I'd already worked it out, to be honest. This changes nothing; it only confirms Dumbledore being the bastard we knew he was."
"We didn't keep it from you out of malicious intent, Harry," Tonks offered, "When we tried to get him to let us talk to you about it, he said you have so much going on and experienced so much, he just didn't want to cause you any more pain."
"That's not his choice to make," Harry said calmly, though he didn't feel calm at all. "It's one thing not to tell me, but stopping others from telling me as well? That's different."
"I get it, Harry, I do. And I'm sorry, " said Tonks, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Especially after you told me about your relatives."
Daphne's face tightened, which Harry didn't miss. Clearly, she hadn't forgotten what the Dursleys had done to him either.
"This conversation has turned private," said Croaker. "I just needed to confirm with you what you knew about the magic. If you need me, Lord Slytherin-Potter, I'm an owl away."
"We're coming too," said Tonks with a sad smile. "Gotta get back to work."
"Just a second," said Sirius, waving his hand at the others who were getting to their feet before speaking to Harry. "Are you getting out today?"
"This afternoon," Poppy said as she bustled over with a tray of potions. "Provided he remains stable after his last two sets."
"Good," Sirius nodded, getting to his feet and buttoning up his robes. "Okay. Remember, we're going shopping on Wednesday. Everyone is to meet at your parents' shop, Daphne, and we'll Floo to the other together."
"Joy," Daphne said with a sarcastic smirk. "My father hates Floo powder."
"He's not the only one," said Harry, "Do you know where we're going on our honeymoon?"
"Yep," Sirius replied brightly.
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Are you going to tell me?"
"Nope," Sirius said with a grin. "It's a surprise. Right, gimme a hug."
Madam Pomfrey watched Harry warily as he got out of bed but was pleased when he displayed no signs of dizziness. Harry had known he'd be fine, of course—he'd gotten up for a wee twice since he'd last seen her with no issues.
After a round of hugs for everyone, apart from Croaker, of course—their visitors left, leaving Harry and Daphne alone. She could tell he was still royally peeved, but she knew just what to do to cheer him up.
"Let's go through the food for the wedding," she offered. "Mum will want to get the ingredients in. We could have treacle tart."
"Okay," Harry replied, smiling at how well she knew him.
By the time they were finished with the food and finalising any other last bits, it was very nearly lunchtime. Both Harry and Daphne were famished from talking about food for so long, so they were glad when Dobby appeared with two fully laden trays for them.
An hour later, Madam Pomfrey was completing the last of his observations after he'd taken his potions.
"Good," she said with a smile, "You're discharged. You can go, and you'd best not be back in here as a patient for a good while."
"I'll try not to be," Harry replied, swinging his feet out of bed.
"However," Poppy said, raising a finger. "You are still on bed rest apart from classes and the library. And I mean bed rest. I saw that nightie you had on last night, Daphne."
Daphne drew a sharp intake of breath as she blushed to her hairline, but Poppy continued, unfazed.
"I know you two are newly engaged, but the male orgasm causes serious stress to the body, and he should not receive such stimulation for at least three days."
"You're joking!" Harry cried out. Initially, he too had been mortified when Poppy started talking about the male orgasm to say anything, but after Daphne's little show last night, Harry wanted nothing more than to rip his fiance's robes off.
"I'm not," Poppy said sternly. "Rapid changes of blood pressure and pulse, combined with recent Cruciatus exposure are not a good mix."
'Fuck' was both Daphne and Harry's simultaneous thought.
"And I still want those three essays by the deadline, Harry," Poppy added.
Harry scowled. "You're a bloody slave driver!"
"Absolutely," Poppy said with a smile, "Now off with you. You know how much paperwork you've given me to do."
There were three sharp raps on the door at half past ten that evening, and Narcissa reluctantly peeled herself away from her book. She frowned as she made her way to the door, wondering who it could be, having been of half a mind to start getting ready for bed. She'd already dimmed the lighting, with only three sparse torches lining the walls of her quarters still lit.
"Come in," she called from her plush seating area, setting her book on the coffee table in front of her.
Her door creaked open, and through the gap appeared the elderly face of Albus Dumbledore.
"Hello, Lady Malfoy, I'm sorry to interrupt your evening—you have a visitor."
Narcissa raised her eyebrows. She had no idea of who it could be. She doubted it would be Sirius, but it wasn't as though Lucius could just waltz in here.
"Okay, thank you, Headmaster. Please show them in," she replied.
As Dumbledore's head retreated, the door opened slightly, and a familiar face stepped through. For a moment, in the dim light, Narcissa thought she'd seen a ghost. But as her visitor stepped closer, she realised that it wasn't the ghost of Bellatrix at all.
It was her estranged sister—Andromeda.
"Cissy," Andromeda said curtly, her tone frosty, though it was more out of testing the waters than anything else.
"Andie," Narcissa replied, her lip trembling before she tightened it again, not wanting to show any weakness. Just the sight of her dear sister was a relief. While not currently a friendly face, for her current conundrum, there was no one else she would rather speak to. She'd thought about contacting her several times recently, but they hadn't left things on good terms—screaming, tearful terms, more like, apart from a scant meeting of eyes at a Ministry function last year.
"I…" Andie started, not knowing where to begin. Somehow, even though she'd run through how she wanted the conversation to go in her head, all planning had whooshed out of it. "I needed to see you. Talk to you. About Bella."
"What about her?" Narcissa replied tersely.
"About what happened," Andie said quietly.
"There's nothing to talk about. Why are you here now? You hated Bella. She was the main reason you turned your back on us."
"It wasn't just that," Andie said, stepping further into the room.
"I know, but that still doesn't explain why you're here," Narcissa said, getting up and pouring two glasses of elf-made wine before placing them on the table in front of her. She would need it for whatever this conversation would turn out to be.
Andie followed Narcissa's lead and took a seat.
"There's only three of us Blacks left now," she said, "You, me, and Sirius."
"There wouldn't be if you had married properly and gotten a Line Continuation contract," Narcissa said frostily.
"You know that's neither here nor there. And we can't change the past," said Andie, picking up the glass of wine in front of her. "We need to be aware of the future."
"Hmph. What of it?"
"Well…" started Andie, staring into her swirling glass of red liquid. "Is Bella getting a funeral?"
"Yes," replied Narcissa, giving her sister an appraising look. "On Samhain. The Dark Lord is hosting it."
"I see. I presume you'll be attending?"
A plunging feeling settled into Narcissa's gut. After everything, Bella being dead was just one less shackle chaining her to the Dark Lord—the half-blood who'd lied to them, proper ideals or not.
"You're thinking of not attending?" Andie asked after an extended silence.
Narcissa's mind was racing. For the first time in a long time, since she'd come to Hogwarts and away from the Manor and Lucius, she'd felt safe. And after what Draco had said—
"Why did you marry Ted?" she asked.
Andie wrinkled her nose.
"Why did you marry Lucius?"
Narcissa didn't need to think to answer the question, they both knew the answer.
"It was expected of me."
"I loved Ted," said Andie, taking a sip and swallowing before continuing. "Still do. Enough to get myself disowned from the House of Black. I know what that means, Narcissa. I didn't take it lightly. Why do you ask?"
Narcissa stared into her sister's gaze. Could she—should she— talk about this? Probably not. Andie was obviously biased, but who else could she talk to?
"Draco is in love, and it will get him thrown out of the House of Malfoy."
It at least satisfied Narcissa that Andie let out a steady sigh at the magnitude of that information.
"Who with?"
"Astoria Greengrass."
Andie couldn't help but lean back in her seat, her lips puffing slightly as she blew out a breath.
"Wow. That's worse for him than falling for a Muggle-born. It wouldn't have been a year ago, but—"
Narcissa swallowed.
"I know. Her sister's betrothed to Slytherin-Potter. Lucius would crucify Draco if he even suggested it."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"I don't know," Narcissa sighed, her resolve to hold any information back crashing around her as her worries came to light. "I don't know what will happen… and you know how… well… I suppose you don't know how single-minded Draco can be when he sets his mind to something. It's one of his best qualities, but not this time. He won't give this up, so… I want to protect him. I need to, but I want to understand, because I just don't understand his motive, not really. I… I've never loved, Andie, not… romantically. I'm afraid if I don't do something, Draco will be killed, but I don't know what I can do, especially when helping him will paint a target on my back as well."
Andie almost smiled. They hadn't spoken so honestly, so candidly in years. But now wasn't the time for smiles—this wasn't a happy situation. Her sister needed her.
"Well it depends," Andie said, sitting forward, "It's your choice. Either way, Draco will be in danger. If you support him, you might be able to protect him and you'll preserve your relationship with him. If you choose Lucius and the Dark Lord, you'll preserve your standing within the faction and you'll be relatively safe. Whether he wins or loses, though, the Dark Lord will come after Draco. It all comes down to what you value the most."
"Draco," said Narcissa without hesitation. "Always Draco."
"Then your choice is made, isn't it?" Andie replied, taking another sip. "You need to distance yourself from the Dark Lord. You're protected here, at least until summer."
"Am I?" Narcissa said, draining her glass and getting to her feet. "You heard what happened to Daphne Greengrass."
"I did," Andie conceded, "But there wouldn't be anywhere you could be safer, at least."
Gently putting her glass back on the table, she stood with her thumbnail in her mouth, staring into space behind Andie's head as she thought.
"I'd have to leave Lucius," she said.
Andie looked up at her sister sympathetically.
"You would."
"I'd just be a Black again, and Sirius… he hates me."
Getting to her feet as well, Andromeda Tonks walked slowly around to her sister and placed her hands on both of Narcissa's shoulders.
"He doesn't," she said. "He doesn't know you, or rather, knows who you were when we were children, as I do. But I know the same Narcissa is in there, or she wouldn't even be considering this. Put it this way: if you think Draco won't listen to you and tries to force this marriage through improper channels, he will be in danger. It will make him the Dark Lord's enemy, regardless of whether he wins or not. But that doesn't mean it will happen. Slytherin-Potter, by killing Rookwood and Lestrange only three months after his ascension, has shown the world he might have what it takes to win. The war is different this time, don't tell me you can't feel it. Either way, if worst comes to worst and Draco is attacked, you won't be able to protect him from the Dark Lord's camp. If the Dark Lord wins, even if Draco and Astoria run, they'll both eventually be killed. If my side wins, what kind of relationship with Draco would that leave you with if you hadn't supported him and instead stood with the Dark Lord? Furthermore, how might that relationship look if you were behind bars?"
Narcissa grimaced, the very plot she was part of fresh on her mind, the plot that was due to take place tomorrow—and the potions brewing for that same plot laying underneath her bed at that very moment.
"So you're saying I should divorce Lucius," she said. "He'd never allow that; he'd sooner kill me than cast me out of his house."
"Again, you need to talk to Sirius. He's Lord Black. He'd dissolve your marriage in a heartbeat if he thought it would get back at Lucius."
Narcissa sighed and sat back down.
"I don't know."
"Just think about it," Andie said with a sad smile, now sitting right next to her.
"Thanks, Andie," Cissy replied.
Andie rocked sideways, giving Narcissa a little nudge with her shoulder and a nostalgic smile. "What are sisters for? And… I do hope you join our side. It would be nice to have some real family."
"But why haven't you spoken to Sirius? Wouldn't he reinstate you? "
"I don't want it," Andie shrugged. "I'd rather stay an outcast nobody. Less attention. Ted and I can live our quiet life without ever having to be in the Society section of the Prophet.
"I can understand that, I guess… but… why did you come?"
"I needed my sister. And I had an inkling you needed me too."
"Thanks."
"Write me, okay?" But send it with Dumbledore and ask him to seal it the new way. He has the special envelopes.
Ah. Lucius had told Narcissa about the seals but no one on their side had yet been able to open any such letters without destroying the contents. It was comforting that she might be able to correspond with her sister safely.
"I will," she replied.
Andie got up from the chair and hesitated for a moment, not sure whether she would go for a hug or not. In the end, she decided against it, and simply drummed her fingers on the back of her chair.
"Bye, Cissy."
"Bye."
Harry and Daphne's moods were happy and bright as they stepped back through the Slytherin Portrait hole, towing full bellies, freshly completed assignments and with Tracey and Blaise walking behind. Harry especially was elated to be out of the Hospital Wing, and while he still felt a bit shaky, it was good to get back to some form of normality again. They stepped down the two small flights of stairs into the common room proper, only to find a gaggle of first years take one look at Harry and flee in fear. Granted, some of the other Slytherins were looking at him warily too, which was a source of great amusement for Blaise, judging by his singular raised eyebrow, but even more for Tracey, who joked that Harry should smash people's heads to pieces more often—maybe they'd get better seats for the feast.
One thing that Harry didn't count on was just how tired he'd feel after only half a day of not resting in the hospital wing. He was knackered. Still, that didn't stop him from trying to paw at Daphne as she put on her pyjamas for bed. She loved the way he looked at her, and she playfully batted him away a number of times, reiterating Madam Pomfrey's advice. It was when she was brushing her teeth, after batting him away for the fifth time, that she pulled her toothbrush from her mouth and said something.
"Babe, you need to stop," she said, turning to face him head-on. "You know what Madam Pomfrey said, and I'm not seeing you all laid up in the hospital again. You know what that's like."
Harry couldn't help it, but his shoulders sagged, even though he knew she was right, and he was stupid for trying to push his luck in the first place. It wasn't his fault she was as gorgeous as she was, how happy she made him, or how things always seemed to get in the way of them getting intimate lately.
"Yeah, alright. I know," he said, adding toothpaste to his own brush.
Not long later, they climbed into bed, and for a while, they chatted softly about the day they'd had and their plans for the next. Now that the danger was over, Harry was out of hospital, and the wedding was soon to come, their excitement for the big day had finally started to build again.
Yet Harry's comfort was momentarily disrupted, he had to stop stroking Daphne's long golden hair when she lifted her head from his chest and looked searchingly into his eyes.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I've…I've got an idea," she said, her eyes flicking away for a moment with second-thoughts. "And we don't have to do it, but I don't know if you'll like it."
Harry tilted his head. "Oh-kayy?"
"We've got less than two weeks left to the wedding, and I know Madam Pomfrey said we couldn't have sex for three days, but…" Daphne chewed her lip, her resolve in suggesting her proposal while looking at her fiancé's bare chest dissolving by the second.
"But…" Harry said, not liking where this was going.
"But…" Daphne echoed, steeling her resolve in his emerald eyes. "If we wait until our wedding night, it will make it all the more special. The next time we have sex could be as husband and wife."
Of course, the pent-up, late teens, testosterone-riddled part of Harry just wanted to say, 'Nah screw that, gorgeous. When 72 hours are up, I'd very much like to have you bouncing on my cock, please.' But there was something about the look in her eyes, the peace he felt just laying with her. She was special. And she was right. It would be painful, for sure, but he couldn't have sex for days yet anyway. He'd have his life to spend with Daphne and would spend so many passionate nights with her. In fact, not too long ago, there wouldn't have been a chance that he'd ever allow himself to even entertain the thought of a future so glorious, much less be working with the sheet determination he was to ensure that future happened.
"Alright," Harry said, smiling gently, "No sex til our wedding night."
"You mean it?" asked Daphne, her piercing blue eyes full of excited surprise.
"Yeah," Harry chuckled, "It'll be an amazing start to our life together."
"Yay!" Daphne cheered, kissing him soundly before turning over for him to wrap his arms around her.
"One thing though," Harry said softly, as he held her flush to his torso five minutes later, "None of your crazy teasing is allowed until then."
"Hmm," Daphne said, wiggling her pert bottom against his crotch, "No promises."
She smirked at his growl in her ear as she shut her eyes and drifted off to sleep.