These Fragile Bonds, 3/? (GB's Story)
Oct. 17th, 2007 03:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
blamebramptonI'd just like to know how it became 4am again.
Right, so this is the post HBP, completely AU to DH fic that came out of the very first fic I ever wrote. It began as a present for Gillian Brampton akadumbys_baby, and then it grew. And now it's an alternative to seven in my head and will probably end up being about as long, so if you hate the WIP, stay clear! I have some next-gen one-shots underway if you're looking for a light diversion.
The same people die, not in the same ways for the most part, and there are Hallows. This is what happens when you begin writing with influenza! But at least it has a real title now!
Title: These Fragile Bonds 3/?
Author:blamebrampton
Characters: as in DH, lots of H/D, plus other canon-established couples
Rating: PG this chapter, adult themes. Up to a light R overall
Words: 6565
Notes: Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Thanks todumbys_babyfor beta-ing, inspiring and nagging. You were right, fandom is a delicious place and I am loving it.
Part one
Part two
XI
It was mid-afternoon before Harry returned with Ron and Hermione in tow. The two boys looked puzzled, but Hermione was furious. Her slam of the front door brought the other occupants of the house running.
“Two months. He held onto them for two months! He knows we’re fighting a war here, he knows you’re at the heart of it, Harry!”
Draco thought he was probably the only person who saw Harry’s face tighten at Hermione’s words.
“ ’S only six-and-a-half weeks, really,” Ron tried to placate her.
“What is going on?” Kingsley cut through the noise.
Harry stepped forward. “The Minister had some of Dumbledore’s things for us. He left them to us in his will.” He held out his hand and showed a small golden Snitch.
“Come on,” Remus smiled at Harry and led everyone up a floor and into a large sitting room. The chairs and sofas had been pushed back against the walls and in the middle a large table was covered in scrolls, charts and books. Secrecy spells flapped many pages tightly shut as Draco entered the room.
“Sorry,” Tonks apologised, “it’s automatic if they’re not set to recognise you.”
“I understand.”
Remus sat everyone down and pulled out a quill and fresh scroll. “From the beginning, leave nothing out,” he ordered gently.
Hermione did most of the talking. Scrimgeour had confessed that the Ministry had held onto the objects for as long as possible looking to see if they had any significance. After a long rant about the way they had been treated, and the strange sense of anxiety that had seemed to permeate the employees, Hermione got down to the details. “Ron’s Deluminator was Dumbledore’s own design,” she said. “And they did not want to hand that over. He left Harry the Snitch, and the sword of Godric Gryffindor, which, I might add, the Minister refused to hand over.”
“And you?” Remus prompted.
Hermione reached beneath her robe and pulled out an old book. “A book of stories.” Her voice was softer, and she stroked the cover once, forlornly.
“What do you think they all mean?” Kingsley asked
Ron and Draco gave the same answer: “He was mad.”
They glared at each other. Ron went on. “He was great and all, and he loved you Harry, but if he thought that this would make sense to us, he was mad.”
“You think they’re meant to make sense?” Kingsley prompted.
“Well, yeah,” Ron went on, choosing his words carefully in front of Malfoy. “He gives Harry this huge mission, right? After the last couple of years of ‘Harry, you’re the chosen one …’” Everyone ignored Malfoy’s quiet snort. “‘… you must defeat You-Know-Who.’ And if he wanted to leave us something useful, surely he’d have worked it out so that we knew how to, er, use it.”
Among the nodding at Ron’s words, it was a surprise to hear Draco speak up. “Good reasoning if he thought he was going to die, but what if he was envisioning you receiving these behests years in the future, after the war was over and done. He had no reason to expect to die this year; perhaps he just wanted you all to have keepsakes to remember him by when he did.”
Even Ron could hear how difficult Draco found those sentences. With almost equal difficulty, he held off the first three thoughts that came to him and went for the fourth. “But he kept telling Harry that none of us are safe, I think he had to have planned for things.”
Harry began to smile, very slightly, to himself.
“Can you see how they fit into any plan? A Deluminator, perhaps, but a Snitch and a book?” Malfoy’s tone was as even as Ron’s had been.
“It was Dumbledore’s own design,” Ron held up his inheritance and clicked it. All the light in the room suddenly disappeared into it. The big sash windows remained bright, but the light stopped at the glass. Ron clicked again and the light came back.
“So it’s an unusually powerful Deluminator,” Kingsley spoke. Remus was still scratching down notes. “That could be useful in a fight, as the sword could have been. What are the stories in the book?” he turned to Hermione.
She blushed slightly. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard,” she confessed, holding it out.
“It’s a beautiful book,” Kingsley told her. “But I’m not sure it’s anything more than that.”
“It’s our culture,” Tonks spoke up from the end of the table where she had been supplying Lupin with fresh parchment. “Hermione missed out on growing up in our world, it will let her know the stories we all know. Maybe that’s what Dumbledore wanted to give you, the same cultural touchstones most of us take for granted.”
Hermione’s eyes softened as she looked at Tonks. “That’s a fine gift,” was all she trusted herself to say.
Kingsley turned to Harry. “Snitch?” was all he said.
“First one I ever caught,” Harry put it on the table. “Scrimgeour thought that Dumbledore hid something inside it for me, you should have seen his face when I took it and nothing happened.”
Kingsley couldn’t help a fleeting grin.
“What he didn’t know,” Harry went on, “was how I caught this one.” He leaned down towards the small golden object.
“Potter,” he heard Draco drawl, “I always said your obsession with Quidditch was unhealthy.”
Harry didn’t look round but touched his lips gently to the gold. He sat back and waited for it to open. It didn’t.
Seven breaths exhaled in sighs.
“Look!” Ron spotted it first, tiny script on the surface.
Harry leaned forward and read: “I open at the close.”
“Wha…?” Ron couldn’t help himself.
“Oh, well that’s perfectly clear.” Neither could Draco. Only Tonks saw the look that passed between them as they realised they were agreeing.
Harry couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I, um. I thought there might be …”
“There might be,” Hermione reassured him. “We just need to work out what the close is.”
Lupin leaned back from his notes and stretched his shoulders, which clicked loudly.
“Break time,” Tonks announced. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Let’s all go, we had to sit for hours at the Ministry, I need to move a little,” Hermione stood up.
Ron followed suit, his eyes flickered towards Malfoy.
“You go, I want to have a look at the outdoors,” Draco announced. “I’ve been cooped up in a cottage for six weeks, and you have a balcony.”
“I’ll keep you company,” Harry offered.
Hermione looked at them oddly, with a touch of something that could almost have been gratitude for Draco’s discretion, then headed out. Ron, Kingsley and Remus followed, but Tonks lingered at the door.
She waited till they could all hear feet on the stairs. “Two gold stars for decorum,” she said quietly. “Can I bring you back anything?”
“Butterbeer,” said Harry.
“Espresso, two sugars,” Draco answered. “No, three!”
Tonks laughed, and followed the others downstairs. Left alone, the two boys gravitated to the large windows opening onto the balcony. Harry slid one up on its sashes and they climbed outside into the warm air. Summer smells came in a wave: bush roses, grass, the odd green scent of plane trees. Draco turned his pale face to the sun and stood still for a few minutes.
He turned around to find Harry watching him. Draco smiled ruefully. “I knew it – six years of bloody Gryffindor bastardry from you and the whole time it’s been suppressed homosexual panic.”
Harry pressed his lips together very tightly to hold in the laugh that threatened. “You’re a git, Malfoy,” he managed eventually, without malice. He leant on the wrought-iron railing and looked at the terraced row across the street.
Draco mimicked his stance, a little further along. The house opposite was nearly a mirror of theirs, though Draco couldn’t find their reflections in its windows. The sounds of children playing came and went with the light breeze. He wondered if he’d left the silence for long enough, when Harry started to talk again.
“I’ve spent all day waiting for the screaming heebies to descend,” he confessed, turning to look at Draco. “And I just don’t think they’re going to.”
Draco’s expression assumed the lofty air of oncoming witticism, but he made the mistake of looking at Harry. “Same,” he admitted.
“Although,” he was unable to stop himself for long, “I have been living in a darkened cottage starved of human interaction for two months and am probably suffering from some sought of mental break.”
Harry grinned. “I’ve long suspected.”
Draco elbowed him firmly in the ribs, and stepped away, out of range. “So,” he drawled. “Does that mean you’re okay with everything?”
“I’m not not okay,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I think everything is too much to think about at the moment, so I’m trying to break it down into manageable bits. Right now I’m completely okay about the fact that you and I have stopped trying to kill each other and are acting like reasonable human beings.”
Draco snorted guiltily. “Yeah. That is new … I mean, it was funny when we were 11, but things got a bit mad there. Goyle asked me once why you and I were bent on murdering each other, and he was serious.”
“I …” Harry gestured at Draco’s chest. “I am so sorry.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I was attempting to torture you at the time.”
Harry looked back out at the street. “It’s weird. I was so good at not looking at things from your point of view for so long, and now I have two strands of thought in my head for everything: there’s how I felt at the time, and how I think you must have felt.” He turned to see the other boy nodding in agreement. “And in the space of one day everything I thought I knew about you is all just rubbish. You were even trying to be nice to Ron.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“And I just can’t believe how much time we spent on stupid, stupid crap,” Harry ignored him.
“Last …” Draco faltered. Harry waited until he could go on. “Last school year it was actually a bit of a relief that you still hated me. It was the one normal thing I had left.” His voice was very quiet, his eyes fixed on the street below.
“When everything goes to hell, you can rely on Potter to do something mental,” Harry spoke lightly.
“Completely,” Draco agreed, the tension going out of his frame. “And I shall make witty songs, banners and badges to celebrate the moment. Possibly a small frieze.”
“Git.”
“Ponce.” With a grin and an exaggerated swagger, Draco turned back to the room and stepped in through the window. He let Harry pass and shut the window behind them. They could hear movement on the floor below, the others would be back soon.
“You’re getting on well with Tonks,” Harry commented.
“That is because my cousin is beautiful and a genius,” Draco announced solemnly.
Harry was aware that Tonks was an attractive woman, but this was the first time he had ever heard anyone apply the word genius to her.
“Do you know what she told me?” Draco continued.
“You’re going to tell me.” Even with his ghastly divination marks, Harry could still foretell that one.
“She told me that the war was unfair on us, because teenagers are not supposed to be choosing sides, we’re supposed to be doing ridiculous things including sleeping with inappropriate people. And also that war makes things even crazier and more erratic. Anything can happen because none of us are sure we’ll live to see the consequences.”
Draco was smiling so evilly that Harry couldn’t help his laughter. “You’re right,” he concluded. “Tonks is a genius. The world makes sense again.”
“And the best news?”
“Would be?”
“We’re still teenagers for ages yet.” The accompanying eyebrow lift was so explicitly filthy that Harry broke. When the others came back up with the coffee and butterbeer, he was still leaning against the window howling with laughter. Which was better than Draco, who had had to sit down before he hurt himself. “Private joke!” he gasped at the five stares directed at them, and seriously wondered if Harry was going to rupture something important holding back the new wave of laughter that comment elicited.
XII
“So,” Remus recapped. “Dumbledore’s bequests were one useful item, two sentimental, and one extremely useful but unobtainable one. Two theories in play: one that we are missing something vital, the other that they are tokens of affection.” He picked up his quill again and looked at the group around the table. “What else?”
“The Minister kept you waiting,” Kingsley turned to Hermione. “How long?”
“Nearly two hours,” she answered. “I was furious, but Ron and Harry just kept eating the snacks Scrimgeour’s secretary brought out.
“They were cakes!” Ron defended himself. “Nice little chocolate ones with cream!”
“Don’t forget the tea, Ron,” Harry added. “Fresh mint tea with honey. For a rude bastard, he serves good snacks.”
“And you said there was a strange atmosphere at the Ministry,” Kingsley prompted.
Hermione nodded. “They were all tense, as though they were waiting for something to happen. A few times we heard people muttering about memos, but there was nothing concrete. We were hoping you’d know.”
Kingsley shrugged his shoulders. “I’m tied up with the Prime Minister. As far as I know, my department is running as usual, but the Aurors have always operated a little to the side of the Ministry. The Minister comes to us when he needs action, not policy. Anything else?”
This time it was Harry who spoke. “Scrimgeour asked me to work with him again. He was angry when I refused, told me that I was working against the war effort.”
Tonks’s scoff was dismissive. “What war effort? Regulations about magical creatures, posters saying ‘Have you seen this Death Eater?’, a few extra Aurors around the Ministry? That’s not a war effort, that’s a minor kerfuffle.”
“That’s it?” Draco looked at her with frank astonishment. “All these weeks since Dumbledore died and that’s it? I thought Potter was exaggerating for effect. What is the Order doing?”
Ron turned on him furiously. “Order?” he asked.
Draco sighed. “We’re not stupid, you know. My father may have chosen the wrong side, but that doesn’t make him an idiot. The Death Eaters have known about the Order and who most of you are for years.” He explained slowly: “You keep thwarting them in duels, and none of you think to wear hoods. After the debacle in the Ministry, my father was able to add more names to the list.” Draco looked apologetically at Tonks. “He told me, he gave me the names so I could pass them on.”
“Did you?” Tonks kept her voice deliberately light.
“No.” Malfoy looked uncomfortable. “And neither did my mother.”
“Why not?” Harry’s voice was gentle.
“Because we thought it would be smarter to hold information in reserve in case the Dark Lord ever needed placating. Those names would fetch a good price in the favour stakes.” Draco held his chin up, and his voice was very even.
“Git,” said Ron.
“Smart,” said Lupin.
“Lucky,” said Kingsley. “Your mother will keep that quiet while your father is safe in Azkaban. And he will have only the Dementors to tell it to.”
“That’s right. So, what are you doing?”
Harry spoke: “I can’t tell you all of it, but we’re hunting. We’re hunting Voldemort and we’re hunting means to kill him. We have good intelligence on that, but it’s taking time to come together.”
“And in the meantime?” Draco pushed.
“What do you mean?”
“Who’s fighting on the other fronts? Who’s working with the Ministry to get a real defence sorted? Who’s putting out information about known Death Eaters and how to spot someone who’s been Imperiused? You said you’re tied up with the Prime Minister,” he looked at Kingsley, “so at least someone has the sense to be limiting our exposure to Muggles, but when this war really kicks off, who will keep us quiet? Who will keep us safe?”
They were all looking at him again, but with weighty realisation this time. Hermione was the first to speak: “We’re doing what we can. We need to stay secret as far as possible.”
“You need more people, or you’re all going to die.” Draco ignored the look of venom Ron trained on him. “I’ll help.”
“You? What good are you?” Ron’s voice matched his expression.
“I know your enemy better than you do. I have contacts through all the old families; not all of them are thrilled at the prospect of being well-dressed slaves to a megalomaniac with a death complex. I’m good at potions, which Granger is passable at, but you two are rubbish – that gives you an advantage with everything from healing to disguise. I also don’t care that Potter is the Chosen One and think that most of you are disreputable, so that should be ideal for pointing out the obvious flaws in any of your little plans.”
Ron was horrified to see that Harry was smiling at Malfoy’s monologue. So were Remus and Tonks.
“Potions will be handy,” Remus admitted. “None of us are great. And it’s always good to have a Devil’s Advocate.”
“Yeah, but not the actual Devil,” Ron complained.
“I still don’t trust you,” Hermione said loudly. Ron looked at her with devotion. “But you’re right.” Ron’s face winced at her betrayal. “We can give you space to work in the house, if everyone agrees. You should start with lists of places you believe Voldemort could be hiding.”
“It would be better to start with finding out who’s working with him while most of his favoured Death Eaters are in Azkaban.”
“I don’t think so, Malfoy.” She shook her head sharply. “I’m not letting you go off so you can come back with a mob and tell them Harry’s here.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron answered for her, “Obviously you can’t leave.”
“No.” Harry’s voice was firm. “Malfoy isn’t our prisoner. He should be free to come and go.”
Ron gave a disgusted groan, but Remus looked for a middle ground. “He’s free to go, but can only come back in if explicitly invited by one of us?”
Harry looked to Draco, who nodded briefly.
“And submit to a charm that will stop him revealing our location to anyone outside the Order.”
Harry did not look pleased, but Draco nodded again.
“That will do,” Harry accepted.
“Surely you’d rather go back to school.” Ron tried one last gambit.
“When this is done, certainly, so I can beat Granger at Charms and Potter at Quidditch.”
“What about …” Ron’s eyes rolled as he noticed the conversational pit he had walked straight into.
“Alas, I have no aspirations to Muggle loving …” Malfoy drawled.
Ron had to admit, it was the kindest choice.
A shrill ringing tone stopped everyone. Harry fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a black plastic item smaller than his hand. He flipped it open and poked it. Tinny noise was all the others could hear as Harry held the object to his ear.
“Are you sure? When? He’s what? I’ll come.” Harry’s sentences were staccato, disconnected.
“That was Mr Weasley, he says there’s a centaur riot on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Apparently the Minister went there and issued a ban on unlicensed centaurs living there.”
Lupin called Scrimgeour a fool, Tonks went with imbecile, but it was Kingsley whose voice drowned out the others. “That gauche, pompous … I must go.”
He had already reached the door by the time Draco cried out his name. “Sir, Dawlish and Runcorn, did Tonks tell you?”
Kingsley nodded.
“There may be others now, too …” his voice trailled off, frustrated that he couldn’t even betray effectively.
“I have to go, it’s Hogwarts.” Harry had drawn his wand from his pocket.
“We’ll come with you.” Ron and Hermione didn’t even need to discuss the matter, Lupin was already on his feet.
Draco looked to Harry for direction. “I want to go,” he said quietly.
Harry shook his head sadly. “We can’t afford for you to be seen with us, there may well be Death Eaters there. It won’t be safe.”
“Sensible tactics, I’ll wait here.” Draco’s voice was even, but he looked away, and saw Lupin casting worried glances at Tonks, who was leaving her chair. “I’ll need a guard,” Draco continued. “I’d prefer my cousin.”
Lupin looked directly at him, glad, and unsure as to whether he should be grateful. “I agree, Dora, do you mind?”
It was impossible to argue, they were already leaving. “It’s fine,” she acceded, shaking her head gently at Draco. “Come back safely.”
They didn’t hear her last words, they were already gone.
She sighed. “I am an Auror, you know. They give us special training and everything. I’ve taken down the odd Death Eater in my time. Just saying.”
He smiled his most ingratiating smile at her. “But Harry, Remus and Kingsley all had to go, so if you hadn’t stayed, I’d have been left with Weasley, who’d have killed me, or Granger, who’d have experimented on me. So it was a kindness on your part.
She laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call Harry Harry, you know. It’s funny thinking about you two having to work together. I’m so used to him being all ‘And then MAL-foy …’ Oh.” Tonks’s brain had finally heard the urgent warning from her tact.
Draco’s smile was more genuine now. “It’s all right, apparently I say Pot-ter. I’m usually whining about him being the centre of the tedious side of wizarding, what does he blather on about?”
“Oh the usual,” Tonks smiled. “Your being near the centre of the evil side of wizarding. ‘If he spent less time trying to out-Dark Art his father and more time looking at the effect he has on the world …’ You get the picture.”
“Crap.” Draco drew the word out. “ If I’d known I was going to be fulfilling a Potter wish, I’d have just bought some kneepads and settled down for a period as the Dark Lord’s footstool.
Tonks burst out laughing. “I’m so relieved you ended that sentence with footstool! Cup of tea?” She stood up and walked to the door.
“Yeah, that would be great. What do you mean relieved?” Draco followed her. “Oh …” His brain also followed her. “Oh! Nymphadora Tonks your mother would be appalled!”
“Eh, she’s a Muggle-lover, like you care what she thinks.”
“You are a bad influence.” They traipsed down the stairs.
“Death Eater.”
“Hufflepuff.”
“Earl Grey?”
“Delightful, thank you.”
Part four
Right, so this is the post HBP, completely AU to DH fic that came out of the very first fic I ever wrote. It began as a present for Gillian Brampton aka
dumbys_baby, and then it grew. And now it's an alternative to seven in my head and will probably end up being about as long, so if you hate the WIP, stay clear! I have some next-gen one-shots underway if you're looking for a light diversion.The same people die, not in the same ways for the most part, and there are Hallows. This is what happens when you begin writing with influenza! But at least it has a real title now!
Title: These Fragile Bonds 3/?
Author:
blamebramptonCharacters: as in DH, lots of H/D, plus other canon-established couples
Rating: PG this chapter, adult themes. Up to a light R overall
Words: 6565
Notes: Absolutely nothing to do with Jo Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic or any other media titans. But affectionately nicked from all of the above.
Thanks to
dumbys_babyfor beta-ing, inspiring and nagging. You were right, fandom is a delicious place and I am loving it.Part one
Part two
XI
It was mid-afternoon before Harry returned with Ron and Hermione in tow. The two boys looked puzzled, but Hermione was furious. Her slam of the front door brought the other occupants of the house running.
“Two months. He held onto them for two months! He knows we’re fighting a war here, he knows you’re at the heart of it, Harry!”
Draco thought he was probably the only person who saw Harry’s face tighten at Hermione’s words.
“ ’S only six-and-a-half weeks, really,” Ron tried to placate her.
“What is going on?” Kingsley cut through the noise.
Harry stepped forward. “The Minister had some of Dumbledore’s things for us. He left them to us in his will.” He held out his hand and showed a small golden Snitch.
“Come on,” Remus smiled at Harry and led everyone up a floor and into a large sitting room. The chairs and sofas had been pushed back against the walls and in the middle a large table was covered in scrolls, charts and books. Secrecy spells flapped many pages tightly shut as Draco entered the room.
“Sorry,” Tonks apologised, “it’s automatic if they’re not set to recognise you.”
“I understand.”
Remus sat everyone down and pulled out a quill and fresh scroll. “From the beginning, leave nothing out,” he ordered gently.
Hermione did most of the talking. Scrimgeour had confessed that the Ministry had held onto the objects for as long as possible looking to see if they had any significance. After a long rant about the way they had been treated, and the strange sense of anxiety that had seemed to permeate the employees, Hermione got down to the details. “Ron’s Deluminator was Dumbledore’s own design,” she said. “And they did not want to hand that over. He left Harry the Snitch, and the sword of Godric Gryffindor, which, I might add, the Minister refused to hand over.”
“And you?” Remus prompted.
Hermione reached beneath her robe and pulled out an old book. “A book of stories.” Her voice was softer, and she stroked the cover once, forlornly.
“What do you think they all mean?” Kingsley asked
Ron and Draco gave the same answer: “He was mad.”
They glared at each other. Ron went on. “He was great and all, and he loved you Harry, but if he thought that this would make sense to us, he was mad.”
“You think they’re meant to make sense?” Kingsley prompted.
“Well, yeah,” Ron went on, choosing his words carefully in front of Malfoy. “He gives Harry this huge mission, right? After the last couple of years of ‘Harry, you’re the chosen one …’” Everyone ignored Malfoy’s quiet snort. “‘… you must defeat You-Know-Who.’ And if he wanted to leave us something useful, surely he’d have worked it out so that we knew how to, er, use it.”
Among the nodding at Ron’s words, it was a surprise to hear Draco speak up. “Good reasoning if he thought he was going to die, but what if he was envisioning you receiving these behests years in the future, after the war was over and done. He had no reason to expect to die this year; perhaps he just wanted you all to have keepsakes to remember him by when he did.”
Even Ron could hear how difficult Draco found those sentences. With almost equal difficulty, he held off the first three thoughts that came to him and went for the fourth. “But he kept telling Harry that none of us are safe, I think he had to have planned for things.”
Harry began to smile, very slightly, to himself.
“Can you see how they fit into any plan? A Deluminator, perhaps, but a Snitch and a book?” Malfoy’s tone was as even as Ron’s had been.
“It was Dumbledore’s own design,” Ron held up his inheritance and clicked it. All the light in the room suddenly disappeared into it. The big sash windows remained bright, but the light stopped at the glass. Ron clicked again and the light came back.
“So it’s an unusually powerful Deluminator,” Kingsley spoke. Remus was still scratching down notes. “That could be useful in a fight, as the sword could have been. What are the stories in the book?” he turned to Hermione.
She blushed slightly. “The Tales of Beedle the Bard,” she confessed, holding it out.
“It’s a beautiful book,” Kingsley told her. “But I’m not sure it’s anything more than that.”
“It’s our culture,” Tonks spoke up from the end of the table where she had been supplying Lupin with fresh parchment. “Hermione missed out on growing up in our world, it will let her know the stories we all know. Maybe that’s what Dumbledore wanted to give you, the same cultural touchstones most of us take for granted.”
Hermione’s eyes softened as she looked at Tonks. “That’s a fine gift,” was all she trusted herself to say.
Kingsley turned to Harry. “Snitch?” was all he said.
“First one I ever caught,” Harry put it on the table. “Scrimgeour thought that Dumbledore hid something inside it for me, you should have seen his face when I took it and nothing happened.”
Kingsley couldn’t help a fleeting grin.
“What he didn’t know,” Harry went on, “was how I caught this one.” He leaned down towards the small golden object.
“Potter,” he heard Draco drawl, “I always said your obsession with Quidditch was unhealthy.”
Harry didn’t look round but touched his lips gently to the gold. He sat back and waited for it to open. It didn’t.
Seven breaths exhaled in sighs.
“Look!” Ron spotted it first, tiny script on the surface.
Harry leaned forward and read: “I open at the close.”
“Wha…?” Ron couldn’t help himself.
“Oh, well that’s perfectly clear.” Neither could Draco. Only Tonks saw the look that passed between them as they realised they were agreeing.
Harry couldn’t hide his disappointment. “I, um. I thought there might be …”
“There might be,” Hermione reassured him. “We just need to work out what the close is.”
Lupin leaned back from his notes and stretched his shoulders, which clicked loudly.
“Break time,” Tonks announced. “Tea? Coffee?”
“Let’s all go, we had to sit for hours at the Ministry, I need to move a little,” Hermione stood up.
Ron followed suit, his eyes flickered towards Malfoy.
“You go, I want to have a look at the outdoors,” Draco announced. “I’ve been cooped up in a cottage for six weeks, and you have a balcony.”
“I’ll keep you company,” Harry offered.
Hermione looked at them oddly, with a touch of something that could almost have been gratitude for Draco’s discretion, then headed out. Ron, Kingsley and Remus followed, but Tonks lingered at the door.
She waited till they could all hear feet on the stairs. “Two gold stars for decorum,” she said quietly. “Can I bring you back anything?”
“Butterbeer,” said Harry.
“Espresso, two sugars,” Draco answered. “No, three!”
Tonks laughed, and followed the others downstairs. Left alone, the two boys gravitated to the large windows opening onto the balcony. Harry slid one up on its sashes and they climbed outside into the warm air. Summer smells came in a wave: bush roses, grass, the odd green scent of plane trees. Draco turned his pale face to the sun and stood still for a few minutes.
He turned around to find Harry watching him. Draco smiled ruefully. “I knew it – six years of bloody Gryffindor bastardry from you and the whole time it’s been suppressed homosexual panic.”
Harry pressed his lips together very tightly to hold in the laugh that threatened. “You’re a git, Malfoy,” he managed eventually, without malice. He leant on the wrought-iron railing and looked at the terraced row across the street.
Draco mimicked his stance, a little further along. The house opposite was nearly a mirror of theirs, though Draco couldn’t find their reflections in its windows. The sounds of children playing came and went with the light breeze. He wondered if he’d left the silence for long enough, when Harry started to talk again.
“I’ve spent all day waiting for the screaming heebies to descend,” he confessed, turning to look at Draco. “And I just don’t think they’re going to.”
Draco’s expression assumed the lofty air of oncoming witticism, but he made the mistake of looking at Harry. “Same,” he admitted.
“Although,” he was unable to stop himself for long, “I have been living in a darkened cottage starved of human interaction for two months and am probably suffering from some sought of mental break.”
Harry grinned. “I’ve long suspected.”
Draco elbowed him firmly in the ribs, and stepped away, out of range. “So,” he drawled. “Does that mean you’re okay with everything?”
“I’m not not okay,” Harry said thoughtfully. “I think everything is too much to think about at the moment, so I’m trying to break it down into manageable bits. Right now I’m completely okay about the fact that you and I have stopped trying to kill each other and are acting like reasonable human beings.”
Draco snorted guiltily. “Yeah. That is new … I mean, it was funny when we were 11, but things got a bit mad there. Goyle asked me once why you and I were bent on murdering each other, and he was serious.”
“I …” Harry gestured at Draco’s chest. “I am so sorry.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I was attempting to torture you at the time.”
Harry looked back out at the street. “It’s weird. I was so good at not looking at things from your point of view for so long, and now I have two strands of thought in my head for everything: there’s how I felt at the time, and how I think you must have felt.” He turned to see the other boy nodding in agreement. “And in the space of one day everything I thought I knew about you is all just rubbish. You were even trying to be nice to Ron.”
“You keep telling yourself that.”
“And I just can’t believe how much time we spent on stupid, stupid crap,” Harry ignored him.
“Last …” Draco faltered. Harry waited until he could go on. “Last school year it was actually a bit of a relief that you still hated me. It was the one normal thing I had left.” His voice was very quiet, his eyes fixed on the street below.
“When everything goes to hell, you can rely on Potter to do something mental,” Harry spoke lightly.
“Completely,” Draco agreed, the tension going out of his frame. “And I shall make witty songs, banners and badges to celebrate the moment. Possibly a small frieze.”
“Git.”
“Ponce.” With a grin and an exaggerated swagger, Draco turned back to the room and stepped in through the window. He let Harry pass and shut the window behind them. They could hear movement on the floor below, the others would be back soon.
“You’re getting on well with Tonks,” Harry commented.
“That is because my cousin is beautiful and a genius,” Draco announced solemnly.
Harry was aware that Tonks was an attractive woman, but this was the first time he had ever heard anyone apply the word genius to her.
“Do you know what she told me?” Draco continued.
“You’re going to tell me.” Even with his ghastly divination marks, Harry could still foretell that one.
“She told me that the war was unfair on us, because teenagers are not supposed to be choosing sides, we’re supposed to be doing ridiculous things including sleeping with inappropriate people. And also that war makes things even crazier and more erratic. Anything can happen because none of us are sure we’ll live to see the consequences.”
Draco was smiling so evilly that Harry couldn’t help his laughter. “You’re right,” he concluded. “Tonks is a genius. The world makes sense again.”
“And the best news?”
“Would be?”
“We’re still teenagers for ages yet.” The accompanying eyebrow lift was so explicitly filthy that Harry broke. When the others came back up with the coffee and butterbeer, he was still leaning against the window howling with laughter. Which was better than Draco, who had had to sit down before he hurt himself. “Private joke!” he gasped at the five stares directed at them, and seriously wondered if Harry was going to rupture something important holding back the new wave of laughter that comment elicited.
XII
“So,” Remus recapped. “Dumbledore’s bequests were one useful item, two sentimental, and one extremely useful but unobtainable one. Two theories in play: one that we are missing something vital, the other that they are tokens of affection.” He picked up his quill again and looked at the group around the table. “What else?”
“The Minister kept you waiting,” Kingsley turned to Hermione. “How long?”
“Nearly two hours,” she answered. “I was furious, but Ron and Harry just kept eating the snacks Scrimgeour’s secretary brought out.
“They were cakes!” Ron defended himself. “Nice little chocolate ones with cream!”
“Don’t forget the tea, Ron,” Harry added. “Fresh mint tea with honey. For a rude bastard, he serves good snacks.”
“And you said there was a strange atmosphere at the Ministry,” Kingsley prompted.
Hermione nodded. “They were all tense, as though they were waiting for something to happen. A few times we heard people muttering about memos, but there was nothing concrete. We were hoping you’d know.”
Kingsley shrugged his shoulders. “I’m tied up with the Prime Minister. As far as I know, my department is running as usual, but the Aurors have always operated a little to the side of the Ministry. The Minister comes to us when he needs action, not policy. Anything else?”
This time it was Harry who spoke. “Scrimgeour asked me to work with him again. He was angry when I refused, told me that I was working against the war effort.”
Tonks’s scoff was dismissive. “What war effort? Regulations about magical creatures, posters saying ‘Have you seen this Death Eater?’, a few extra Aurors around the Ministry? That’s not a war effort, that’s a minor kerfuffle.”
“That’s it?” Draco looked at her with frank astonishment. “All these weeks since Dumbledore died and that’s it? I thought Potter was exaggerating for effect. What is the Order doing?”
Ron turned on him furiously. “Order?” he asked.
Draco sighed. “We’re not stupid, you know. My father may have chosen the wrong side, but that doesn’t make him an idiot. The Death Eaters have known about the Order and who most of you are for years.” He explained slowly: “You keep thwarting them in duels, and none of you think to wear hoods. After the debacle in the Ministry, my father was able to add more names to the list.” Draco looked apologetically at Tonks. “He told me, he gave me the names so I could pass them on.”
“Did you?” Tonks kept her voice deliberately light.
“No.” Malfoy looked uncomfortable. “And neither did my mother.”
“Why not?” Harry’s voice was gentle.
“Because we thought it would be smarter to hold information in reserve in case the Dark Lord ever needed placating. Those names would fetch a good price in the favour stakes.” Draco held his chin up, and his voice was very even.
“Git,” said Ron.
“Smart,” said Lupin.
“Lucky,” said Kingsley. “Your mother will keep that quiet while your father is safe in Azkaban. And he will have only the Dementors to tell it to.”
“That’s right. So, what are you doing?”
Harry spoke: “I can’t tell you all of it, but we’re hunting. We’re hunting Voldemort and we’re hunting means to kill him. We have good intelligence on that, but it’s taking time to come together.”
“And in the meantime?” Draco pushed.
“What do you mean?”
“Who’s fighting on the other fronts? Who’s working with the Ministry to get a real defence sorted? Who’s putting out information about known Death Eaters and how to spot someone who’s been Imperiused? You said you’re tied up with the Prime Minister,” he looked at Kingsley, “so at least someone has the sense to be limiting our exposure to Muggles, but when this war really kicks off, who will keep us quiet? Who will keep us safe?”
They were all looking at him again, but with weighty realisation this time. Hermione was the first to speak: “We’re doing what we can. We need to stay secret as far as possible.”
“You need more people, or you’re all going to die.” Draco ignored the look of venom Ron trained on him. “I’ll help.”
“You? What good are you?” Ron’s voice matched his expression.
“I know your enemy better than you do. I have contacts through all the old families; not all of them are thrilled at the prospect of being well-dressed slaves to a megalomaniac with a death complex. I’m good at potions, which Granger is passable at, but you two are rubbish – that gives you an advantage with everything from healing to disguise. I also don’t care that Potter is the Chosen One and think that most of you are disreputable, so that should be ideal for pointing out the obvious flaws in any of your little plans.”
Ron was horrified to see that Harry was smiling at Malfoy’s monologue. So were Remus and Tonks.
“Potions will be handy,” Remus admitted. “None of us are great. And it’s always good to have a Devil’s Advocate.”
“Yeah, but not the actual Devil,” Ron complained.
“I still don’t trust you,” Hermione said loudly. Ron looked at her with devotion. “But you’re right.” Ron’s face winced at her betrayal. “We can give you space to work in the house, if everyone agrees. You should start with lists of places you believe Voldemort could be hiding.”
“It would be better to start with finding out who’s working with him while most of his favoured Death Eaters are in Azkaban.”
“I don’t think so, Malfoy.” She shook her head sharply. “I’m not letting you go off so you can come back with a mob and tell them Harry’s here.”
“What do you mean?”
Ron answered for her, “Obviously you can’t leave.”
“No.” Harry’s voice was firm. “Malfoy isn’t our prisoner. He should be free to come and go.”
Ron gave a disgusted groan, but Remus looked for a middle ground. “He’s free to go, but can only come back in if explicitly invited by one of us?”
Harry looked to Draco, who nodded briefly.
“And submit to a charm that will stop him revealing our location to anyone outside the Order.”
Harry did not look pleased, but Draco nodded again.
“That will do,” Harry accepted.
“Surely you’d rather go back to school.” Ron tried one last gambit.
“When this is done, certainly, so I can beat Granger at Charms and Potter at Quidditch.”
“What about …” Ron’s eyes rolled as he noticed the conversational pit he had walked straight into.
“Alas, I have no aspirations to Muggle loving …” Malfoy drawled.
Ron had to admit, it was the kindest choice.
A shrill ringing tone stopped everyone. Harry fumbled in his pockets and pulled out a black plastic item smaller than his hand. He flipped it open and poked it. Tinny noise was all the others could hear as Harry held the object to his ear.
“Are you sure? When? He’s what? I’ll come.” Harry’s sentences were staccato, disconnected.
“That was Mr Weasley, he says there’s a centaur riot on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. Apparently the Minister went there and issued a ban on unlicensed centaurs living there.”
Lupin called Scrimgeour a fool, Tonks went with imbecile, but it was Kingsley whose voice drowned out the others. “That gauche, pompous … I must go.”
He had already reached the door by the time Draco cried out his name. “Sir, Dawlish and Runcorn, did Tonks tell you?”
Kingsley nodded.
“There may be others now, too …” his voice trailled off, frustrated that he couldn’t even betray effectively.
“I have to go, it’s Hogwarts.” Harry had drawn his wand from his pocket.
“We’ll come with you.” Ron and Hermione didn’t even need to discuss the matter, Lupin was already on his feet.
Draco looked to Harry for direction. “I want to go,” he said quietly.
Harry shook his head sadly. “We can’t afford for you to be seen with us, there may well be Death Eaters there. It won’t be safe.”
“Sensible tactics, I’ll wait here.” Draco’s voice was even, but he looked away, and saw Lupin casting worried glances at Tonks, who was leaving her chair. “I’ll need a guard,” Draco continued. “I’d prefer my cousin.”
Lupin looked directly at him, glad, and unsure as to whether he should be grateful. “I agree, Dora, do you mind?”
It was impossible to argue, they were already leaving. “It’s fine,” she acceded, shaking her head gently at Draco. “Come back safely.”
They didn’t hear her last words, they were already gone.
She sighed. “I am an Auror, you know. They give us special training and everything. I’ve taken down the odd Death Eater in my time. Just saying.”
He smiled his most ingratiating smile at her. “But Harry, Remus and Kingsley all had to go, so if you hadn’t stayed, I’d have been left with Weasley, who’d have killed me, or Granger, who’d have experimented on me. So it was a kindness on your part.
She laughed. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you call Harry Harry, you know. It’s funny thinking about you two having to work together. I’m so used to him being all ‘And then MAL-foy …’ Oh.” Tonks’s brain had finally heard the urgent warning from her tact.
Draco’s smile was more genuine now. “It’s all right, apparently I say Pot-ter. I’m usually whining about him being the centre of the tedious side of wizarding, what does he blather on about?”
“Oh the usual,” Tonks smiled. “Your being near the centre of the evil side of wizarding. ‘If he spent less time trying to out-Dark Art his father and more time looking at the effect he has on the world …’ You get the picture.”
“Crap.” Draco drew the word out. “ If I’d known I was going to be fulfilling a Potter wish, I’d have just bought some kneepads and settled down for a period as the Dark Lord’s footstool.
Tonks burst out laughing. “I’m so relieved you ended that sentence with footstool! Cup of tea?” She stood up and walked to the door.
“Yeah, that would be great. What do you mean relieved?” Draco followed her. “Oh …” His brain also followed her. “Oh! Nymphadora Tonks your mother would be appalled!”
“Eh, she’s a Muggle-lover, like you care what she thinks.”
“You are a bad influence.” They traipsed down the stairs.
“Death Eater.”
“Hufflepuff.”
“Earl Grey?”
“Delightful, thank you.”
Part four
