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Chapter Text

Children must be indulged; only then they grow up to be true rascals.

~ E. Schwarz

 Prologue. The worse it is, the better it gets

“Good news, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I’m all ears, Mr. McPherson.”

“The boy is, indeed, mistreated. I’ve heard and seen enough for a solid court case… had the Social Services been doing their job, that is.”

“Have you been there?”

“Of course. A plumber, a gasman, a taxman — there are many perfectly respectable ways to examine a house. It is a standard procedure used to catch out unscrupulous guardians or discover cases of home abuse. The results are right here.” A black leather folder appeared on the table in front of Malfoy.

“Hmm… Let me see…” Lucius looked through the Social Services report. The longer he read, the more he frowned, and at one point he even cursed under his breath.

“Is this true?” he asked, jabbing a finger into the last page of the report.

“Of course.” McPherson nodded. “I can assure you that with this evidence the Ministry will approve the decision to take the boy away from his relatives as soon as a suitable guardian is found.”

“Tell me, Mr. McPherson,” Lucius said slowly, “what should I do to become that guardian?”

The Ministry official thought for a moment.

“Well, let us see. Nothing terribly complicated. You would have to submit an application and fill out several forms. Also, we shall need several requests from people who have no intention of adopting the boy, since, according to the law, there should be an applicants’ competition — it will be easy to set it up. But the final decision is… mine.”

“Leave it to me to make your decision…” Lucius snorted, “... easier. How much time do you need?”

“A week. Ten days at most.”

“Very well. I would like to keep this confidential until the papers are signed. No information leaks.”

“I understand.” McPherson nodded. After a short silence he added, “May I ask you a question, Mr. Malfoy?”

“You are welcome to try,” Lucius smirked.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Are you questioning my desire to take care of the child?” A wry smile appeared on the handsome face. “Or my concern for the future of our community?”

McPherson decided that it was wiser to say nothing.

“Anyway,” Lucius continued, “that is none of your business. Your only concern should be the documents and your…” he chuckled, “decision.”

“Very well, Mr Malfoy. Let us meet in a week. Good day.”

“Good day, Mr McPherson.”

Part 1: The Boy Who Lived in a Cupboard

Chapter 1: Are You Going to Be My Dad?

Lucius Aurelius Malfoy Apparated right to the front door of Number Four Privet Drive in the late evening of July 30, 1985. A dark blue-and-silver robe made him almost invisible in the deep twilight of a summer evening, but, in fact, he did not give a damn if Muggles saw him.

Despite the late hour, the windows of the cottage were open and brightly lit. Voices came from the inside: a deep male and a shrill female one. The couple was arguing about something, but the words were unintelligible because a high-pitched child’s wail drowned almost all other sounds:

“I don’t wanna! A-a-a-a! I wanna! I don’t wanna go to bed!”

Lucius made a face. What kind of parents were they, if they could not cope with a five-year-old? Muggles, there was no better word for it.

He stepped onto the porch and firmly pressed the doorbell.

“Who could it be, Vernon? We aren’t expecting anyone.” The woman sounded displeased.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Vernon answered. “I’ll get the door.”

There were some footsteps, the door opened a little, and a tall, rather young (probably Lucius’s age, but already plump and balding) man appeared before the wizard. He was dressed in a shabby crimson dressing gown and a pair of worn-out, once-fluffy slippers with bunny ears. Lucius could not suppress a grimace of disgust.

In his turn, Vernon tried to close the door in the visitor’s face, once he realized there was a wizard in front of him. Lucius did not let him, though.

“Vernon Dursley, I presume?” He stepped forward and jabbed his wand into Vernon’s neck in a nonchalant gesture.

“Yes,” came a choked reply. Dursley did not know exactly what harm to expect, but the expression on the face of the stranger did not bode well.

“I came on business,” Malfoy said coldly. “Will you be so kind to let me in? I am not accustomed to talking on the doorstep.”

“Yes — yes, of course.” The fat man hurried along, showing the unexpected visitor the way.

Holding his wand at the ready, Lucius followed him to the living room, where a skinny and unpleasant woman in a dressing gown (this one was pink) was trying to calm down a fat and loud boy, obviously the Dursleys’ own son. Seeing Lucius, the woman shrieked and the boy gaped.

“As you have probably already guessed,” Lucius said urbanely, “my business concerns your nephew. I am delighted to inform you that I intend to absolve you from the responsibility of caring for the boy. The Ministry of Magic has officially appointed me his guardian.”

Vernon turned purple; he was so enraged that he forgot his fear. “Listen, you! I will not let you spoil the kid and make a freak of him! Before he started having those stupid fits of his, he was a normal child! I will knock the nonsense out of him, you’ll see!”

“Fits?” Lucius thought. “Ah, maybe the boy has already had spontaneous bursts of magic… Très bien…”

“Let me assure you,” he answered coldly, “that I was not going to ask your permission for anything. I am here merely to inform you.”

The angry protests of the Muggles roused him no more than a sight of a raging monkey in a cage would trouble a zoo visitor, except that Lucius felt a natural desire to step away.

“How dare you...!” the woman screamed. “He’s our nephew, we are responsible for him.”

“Petunia, dear, calm down,” Vernon quickly cut her off. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Actually, I believe it is my duty to stop you from doing anything at all…” Lucius smiled maliciously and waved his wand. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Stunned, Petunia fell on the sofa, while Vernon landed on the floor. Now they could only watch the wizard, and their eyes were full of fear and anger.

“Don’t worry, it’s only for a quarter of an hour,” Lucius said mockingly, “though I would like nothing better than to leave you like this forever. I think fifteen minutes will be enough for me to take my charge away from here.”

With this, he turned around and left the room.

He knew from McPherson’s report that Harry Potter lived in a cupboard under the stairs. It was hard to say what infuriated him more: the fact that some Muggles dared to treat the Boy-Who-Lived like this, or that they were impudent enough to convince the boy that he was a … freak. The latter probably angered Lucius more than the former. Not that he felt any particular respect for the famous Harry Potter; it was another thing: they had insulted the Wizarding World as a whole. And he considered himself to be the personification of it.

It was easy to find the door to the cupboard. He opened it, vaguely surprised by the number of locks. Indeed, behind the door there was a tiny living space, barely five by six feet. The only furniture inside was a crude wooden bed. A small dark-haired boy sat on it, his knees pressed to his chest. He was wearing shabby pajamas, which were too big for him. The boy looked at the man with mild interest.

“Hello,” Lucius said. He was surprised that the child was not afraid of him. Not knowing where to start, he asked the first question that came to mind:

“Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Hello,” the boy answered. “I can’t sleep when Dudley’s bawling like that. Are you a wizard?”

Amazed, Lucius nodded.

“How did you know?”

“Well, you’re wearing a robe. And you’re holding a wand.” The boy frowned a little. “But I thought that wizards’ robes always had stars on them. And half-moons. And that all wizards had long white beards.”

Lucius immediately thought of Dumbledore and pictured himself with a long white beard in a star-and-half-moon robe. He shuddered.

“Not necessarily. By the way, my name is Lucius,” he said and put the wand into the pocket. “And you are Harry, aren’t you?”

“My name is Harry James Potter,” the boy answered confidently.

“So, Harry James Potter,” Lucius could not help but smile. “I am here to take you away from this place.”

Little Harry thought about this for a few minutes.

“Why?”

“Your parents were wizards, did you know that?”

Harry shook his head.

“Uncle and Aunt never tell me anything about my parents. They only yell at me.”

“Now then, other wizards found out that you are not happy here and decided to remove you from this house,” Lucius continued. “I proposed that you live with me. They have agreed, and here I am.”

Harry thought again.

“Are you going to be my Dad?” he asked finally.

“Something like it,” Lucius was somewhat taken aback by this description of his role. The idea that he was going to become Harry Potter’s father seemed fantastic and absurd.

“I agree then,” Harry said earnestly and stood up. The pajama bottoms were barely holding on him and were much longer than necessary.

“Quel petit gamin... He probably wears the castoff clothes of that fat slob,” Lucius thought with disgust. He bent down to take Harry into his arms. The boy was surprisingly thin and light. “He is much smaller than Draco, even though he is not that much younger. They didn’t starve him, did they?”

“I will use some magic now,” he warned Harry, “and we’ll be home. Hold on to me and don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared of anything,” Harry raised his chin proudly, but then added with embarrassment, “Apart from Dudley. He is always kicking me.”

“So little and already a Gryffindor,” Lucius smirked inwardly and left the cupboard with Harry. “And in Merlin’s name, he is trusting like a Hufflepuff. We’ll have to work on that.”

He was about to use the Portkey when Vernon and Petunia appeared in the doorway of the living room. Lucius had talked with the boy longer than he had intended, and the Stunning Spell had worn off.

“Stop!” Petunia yelled. “Don’t you dare! There will be a search for him! And what are we to tell the police?”

“That,” Lucius smiled maliciously while activating the Portkey, “is entirely your problem.”

* * *

The Portkey transported Lucius and Harry to Malfoy Manor’s front gate.

“There now, we are almost home,” Lucius announced, striding down the wide central alley to the front entrance of the Manor.

“Is all this your place?” Delighted, Harry craned his neck trying to see something, anything in the darkness of the park.

Lucius felt quite a bit flattered by this display of the naïve child’s enthusiasm.

“It is yours now too,” he smiled. “Draco will show you everything tomorrow.”

“Who is Draco?”

“Draco is my son, he is about your age,” Lucius answered and immediately felt Harry tense.

He continued, picking his words carefully:

“I think you will get along well. He has always dreamed of a brother. I would like the two of you to become friends.”

“Only if he won’t kick me,” Harry scowled.

“What about you? Will you?” Lucius smiled.

Harry shook his head.

“Well, everything will be alright then,” Lucius promised. “And you’ll never be bored.”

“I bet we won’t be either,” he thought, opening the door.

The spacious hall of the Manor was dimly lit — there were only three or four wall lamps on.

“I will call for someone,” Lucius warned the boy. “Don’t be surprised or afraid.”

“I’ve told you already, I’m not scared,” Harry protested.

Lucius nodded and snapped his fingers in a special way. A funny big-eared creature appeared right in front of him and devotedly looked at Malfoy with its huge round eyes.

“Dobby here Master!” it announced cheerfully.

“Harry, this is a house elf,” Lucius explained to the boy, who was staring at the creature, his eyes big and round not unlike Dobby’s. “He will serve you. It is a custom among the wizards. Do you hear me?” He was speaking to the elf now. “From now on you obey Harry.”

“Dobby understand!” the elf nodded enthusiastically, and his ears flapped, touching his shoulders.

Harry began to giggle at the sight of Dobby’s moving ears, but then could not help himself and yawned.

“Oh, you must be sleepy,” Lucius noted. “Dobby, ask Narcissa to come. Harry and I are going upstairs, to the nursery.”

The elf squeaked something in acknowledgment and disappeared. Harry yawned again, but this time he did not forget to cover his mouth with his hand. Drowsily he bent his head to Lucius’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

“No wonder he is sleepy,” Lucius thought. “It’s past midnight. He should have fallen asleep in the park.”

He went up the wide staircase to the first floor and turned left to the private quarters of the Malfoy family. His wife was waiting for him at the nursery door.

“He is asleep,” Lucius said quietly, handing Harry to Narcissa.

She whispered back, “I’ll put him to bed. Wait for me in the corner study, will you?”

Lucius nodded silently and left. With Harry in her arms, Narcissa walked quietly to the nursery, where since yesterday there were two beds instead of one. The one with blue bed curtains on the left was empty; Draco occupied the one with green curtains on the right. There was a small night lamp softly glowing with golden light on the dresser by the window.

Carefully, so as not to wake up Harry, Narcissa dressed him in fresh pajamas and put him to bed. She tucked the covers, sat down on the edge of the bed and pensively watched the boys for a long time.

At last, she seemed to shake off her stupor and tiptoed out of the room. Closing the door behind her, she snapped her fingers to call Dobby. He appeared immediately in front of her, staring at her questioningly.

“Tonight you will keep watch over Harry,” she ordered him in a whisper. “If he wakes up or becomes frightened, or anything else happens, you will immediately wake up Lucius or me. Is that clear?”

Dobby nodded, tossing his ears vigorously, and disappeared. Narcissa went to the corner study. Lucius was sitting in one of the chairs near the fireplace with a glass in his hand, quietly watching the flames. Despite the warmth outside, by night the air in the Manor was cool. Many rooms in the house were spelled with heating charms, but Lucius always preferred the warmth and light of an open fire.

Narcissa sat down in a chair next to his, and without a word, Lucius handed her another glass.

“To the future,” she said lifting her glass a little.

“To the prosperity of the Malfoys,” echoed Lucius.

______________________

Footnotes:

Très bien (fr.) — Very well.

Quel petit gamin...(fr.)  — What a little urchin.

Chapter Text

At 7.30 on the morning of July, 31, Severus Septimus Snape, the Potions Master, was woken up by a pushy school owl that was knocking on the window frame and hooting indignantly, demanding the mail to be taken from it. During the summer vacation Severus preferred to have breakfast in his rooms; he got up much earlier than most of his colleagues. It was enough that during the school year he was forced to eat with the other teachers in the Great Hall — an hour later than he would have liked to.

Yawning, he got up, put on his dressing gown and let the restless bird in. The owl was obviously overloaded and because of that doubly unhappy. As a greeting, it not so gently bit Severus’s finger.

Where does Dumbledore find beasts like that? Snape thought sleepily, taking several letters, the morning Daily Prophet and the latest edition of Alchemy Today from the owl.

He fed the bird some treats and let it fly away out of the window. Absentmindedly, he threw the mail on the coffee table and stood still on the spot for a couple of minutes, trying to wake up. Realizing it was useless, Severus fell into a chair and snapped his fingers.

“Tinky listen.” A dishevelled house-elf bowed respectfully.

“Coffee,” Snape demanded without opening his eyes. “Black, no sugar, a dash of cinnamon. And two toasts, as usual.”

Tinky disappeared. In a couple of minutes a huge cup of coffee and a plate of toast and blueberry jam appeared on the table. After the first sip the Potions Master decided that life was not completely intolerable. After the second, he was ready to open his eyes. After the third, he reached out for the paper with the intention to read the first page thoroughly. He choked on the fourth sip.

Never taking his eyes off the paper, Severus put the cup back on the table, almost pouring hot coffee over himself, darted to the fireplace and activated the Floo network.

“Headmaster’s office,” he snapped and poked his head into the fireplace. “Dumbledore, have you seen this?”

“Good morning, my boy,” the headmaster answered cheerfully from behind the table. Apparently, he had already got up and was enjoying his morning tea. “What is it that I should’ve seen?”

Severus stepped into the fireplace, clutching the unfortunate newspaper in his hand. When he got to the headmaster’s office, he shoved the paper into Dumbledore’s face.

“This.”

Half of the Prophet’s front page was given to an article by a young, but already rather notorious reporter, Rita Skeeter.

THE BOY WHO LIVED IN A CUPBOARD

We all remember the excitement in the Wizarding World on that historic October night when You-Know-Who finally disappeared. We all know that we owe our freedom from the most terrible wizard, freedom from fear and terror, to the Boy-Who-Lived, young Harry Potter.

It is a well-known fact that Harry became an orphan that awful night; the last victims of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were Harry’s parents, James and Lily Potter. Out of fear for the child’s safety - many followers of You-Know-Who managed to escape justice - the Ministry decided to keep the location of the young hero secret. The only fact that the Daily Prophet managed to learn then was that some distant relatives - of the maternal side, presumably - were taking care of the boy.

Until recently, everyone believed the Boy-Who-Lived to be in good hands. But now new, terrifying details are uncovered!

According to our sources in the Ministry, the abovementioned Harry’s relatives are Muggles, who passionately hate all things magic. One can imagine what hardships the poor child had to endure in the care of such people.

“Our employees found out that little Harry was never told who he and his parents were. “He knew nothing of the Wizarding World and what he meant for us,” the Ministry official M. told us indignantly. “You can imagine our outrage when we learned that poor child has been living in a cupboard under a staircase like some sort of a house elf!”

Luckily, the Ministry officials were able to act with determination this time. Social Services responded fairly quickly and announced a guardians’ competition for Harry. No wonder that dozens of people expressed a wish to take care of our little hero.

In the end, the Ministry chose one of the most respectable families of the Wizarding World. Custody over the child has been granted to Mr. Lucius A. Malfoy, a young, but promising public figure, a donator for several charity organisations and a governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is well known to all the readers of our society column that Mr. Malfoy is married and has a five-year-old son, who will obviously become little Harry’s brother. We all hope that the Malfoy family will help Harry forget the horrors of the life in the Muggle world.

His birthday — Harry is turning five today — he will celebrate with his new family. All employees and regular readers of Daily Prophet wish him all the best!

For an exclusive interview with Mr. Malfoy, the new guardian of the Boy-Who-Lived, turn to page 2.

While Dumbledore was reading the article, Severus was furiously pacing around the room. His gown was flapping ferociously, showing his thin and, frankly, quite hairy legs. Snape absolutely forgot what he was wearing and looked somewhat ridiculous. Luckily, Dumbledore was paying full attention to the article and none to the looks of his younger colleague. Luckily, because the greatest fear of Severus Snape was to look ridiculous.

At the moment, though, any idea of ridicule was farthest from the headmaster’s mind. After reading the article twice, he looked at the Potions Master a bit reproachfully. “And here I was under the impression that you were friends with Mr. Malfoy,” he said.

Snape stopped for a moment and lifted his hands theatrically. “Exactly!” he exclaimed, clearly annoyed. “Dumbledore, I knew nothing of this. Lucius never breathed a word about this stunt!” He started pacing again.

“My boy, calm down and sit, you make my head spin.” Dumbledore said. “And drink some tea.”

Without a word, Severus fell on the sofa, took a small cup from the table, poured himself some tea and stared into space. Dumbledore waited patiently for Snape to get a grip. In a couple of minutes, Severus felt that he was capable of talking calmly.

“Lucius didn’t breathe a word,” he repeated. “This means that either he doesn’t trust me or the matter was so important that he preferred to keep it secret from everyone including me, until it was done.”

“Why wouldn’t he trust you?” Dumbledore asked.

“I don’t know,” Severus shrugged. “I see no reason for that. I think the latter is more likely. Lucius was always careful and liked to play safe.” He fell silent, then asked, “Dumbledore, is it true?”

“What exactly?” the headmaster answered with a question.

“That story about Potter. About his relatives. Did Petunia really...”

“Probably yes.” Dumbledore didn’t let him finish.

“Probably? You mean you don’t know for sure?” Severus was surprised.

“I don’t know,” the old man signed heavily. “Of course, someone from the old crowd was constantly watching over the boy. However, I am afraid we were more interested in other things. External threats, the condition of the wards...”

“By the way, about the wards,” Severus continued. “How did Lucius manage to take the boy away unnoticed?”

“I don’t know,” Dumbledore sighed again and rubbed his temples. In the last half an hour, he said that phrase more often than he did in the last five years. “In theory, the wards were supposed to react to any wizards who would try to harm the boy.”

“To any wizards,” Severus repeated thoughtfully. “That’s why they couldn’t protect him from these...” he grimaced in disgust, “...Muggles.”

Dumbledore only shook his head in response.

“Wait,” Severus said suddenly. “If the wards let Lucius through, then he didn’t want to harm the child, did he?”

“Or Harry’s relatives loved him so little that the wards dissipated,” Dumbledore countered. “Blood magic is very fragile and complicated...”

“Is there anything we can do? Dispute the decision of the Ministry, maybe?”

“It’s too late, I’m afraid.” Dumbledore answered darkly. “Digging into the past is pointless and dangerous. Malfoy will probably have custody anyway, but you might draw unnecessary attention to yourself.”

Or you might, Severus thought. It’s strange that no one wondered yet who had delivered Potter to those Muggles...

“Severus, I don’t have any other choice but to ask you,” Dumbledore continued, “to take care of Harry.”

“What?” Severus asked dumbfounded.

“Lucius Malfoy considers you a friend,” the headmaster explained. “You’re his son’s godfather, aren’t you? You are often invited to the house, so you will be able to watch over Harry and even have an influence over him. And you will be able to interfere if something serious happens.”

Severus gritted his teeth. The thought of taking care of the Potter’s whelp six years earlier than expected was unbearable. He saw, however, that there was no other way: Dumbledore did not have anyone else with such connections with British Pureblood Wizarding families.

“Alright,” he said rising. “I’ll do my best.”

“I rely on you, my boy,” Dumbledore said approvingly. “You will do well.”

Severus was approaching the fireplace when the headmaster called out his name again.

“I think it’s high time to congratulate Lucius on the new addition to his family,” he winked.

For the first time that morning, Severus smirked.

“Of course,” he answered and stepped into the fireplace.

Chapter Text

The next morning Harry was woken up by an unfamiliar noise. He opened his eyes and saw dark blue curtains around him. Bright sunlight was streaming through a gap in them. At first, he couldn’t recall where he was. The last thing he vaguely remembered of the previous day was a funny creature with big ears called Dobby. Then Harry figured out that he was put to bed in the new house, so he decided to get up and look around.

Harry sat up in bed decisively and drew the curtains open. A blond boy approximately his age was sitting on the carpet right in front of Harry, building a tall tower of toy bricks.

The bricks looked almost like the ones Harry’s cousin had, but were slightly glowing and changing colour slowly.

“Hello, Harry,” the boy said noticing that Harry was up.

“Hello,” answered Harry politely, remembering what Lucius said yesterday. “You are Draco, right?”

The boy nodded and added another brick to the tower.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I’m making noise,” the boy answered curtly and crashed the tower with a loud rattle.

Harry looked at him quizzically, so the boy explained:

“Well, I was told not to wake you. But you were sleeping and sleeping... That’s why I’m making noise, so you’d wake up by yourself!” He smiled, his innocent grey eyes shining. “Come here! Mum and Dad aren’t up yet.”

Harry eagerly joined his new friend and they started ‘making noise’ together. Obviously, the two of them did it much better, because less than in fifteen minutes the door to the nursery opened and Narcissa entered carrying a tray. There was a small cake with five candles and two cups of cocoa on it.

“Good morning, young men,” she said putting the tray on the drawer. “Happy birthday, Harry!”

Harry was dumbstruck. He looked at Narcissa, then at the tray and back at the woman.

“Harry, this is my mother. Her name is Narcissa.” Draco explained, getting up from the floor. “Happy birthday!”

Narcissa had the boys sit at a small table and gave each a cup of cocoa. After Harry blew out the candles on his first ever birthday cake, both boys got a slice and began their breakfast.

Harry was happy like never before in his life. Even Dudley never had his cake brought to his room! Harry was almost bouncing with joy. He would have bounced for real if he had not been afraid to do something wrong and upset his new foster parents.

When the cake was finished, Narcissa helped the boys to clean up (unlike Harry, Draco did not try to look well-mannered and managed to get cream all over his face) and dress (for want of habit, Harry got tangled in his cloak and couldn’t find its sleeves right away). Then she led them out to the park and said, “Play here for a while now. When Dad is done with his business, we’ll go to the Diagon Alley. Someone deserves presents today, doesn’t he?” She winked at Harry and returned to the house.

Hesitantly, Harry looked at Draco who was clearly happy to hear his Mother’s promise, so Harry decided that he could ask a question. “What is this Dia... Alley?”

“There are shops there,” Draco explained. “Toys, books... And the ice-cream parlour! Let’s go, I’ll show you the park!” Without waiting for an answer, he took Harry’s hand and dragged him right through a small hole in the hedge. It looked like Draco always used this way, judging by the state of branches and some well-trodden tracks.

“We aren’t going to get a dressing down about it, are we?” Harry asked following Draco across lawns, groves and Alpine gardens. He immediately thought about Aunt Petunia and her precious, neatly manicured lawns.

“Get a what?” Draco looked puzzled.

“Won’t we get in trouble?”

“What for?” Draco was astonished.

“Well... Because we aren’t... on the path?” Harry was beginning to regret asking the question.

Draco laughed and shook his head.

“No, no trouble unless we ruin Mum’s flower beds. Let Uncle Sev walk down the paths.”

“Who is that?”

“My godfather. He’s nice, but a little sulky. And he doesn’t want to climb up trees.”

Harry tried to picture Uncle Vernon on a tree and snickered.

“Maybe he just can’t.”

“I don’t know, but Dad might,” Draco said thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s climb up.” He waved towards an old apple tree with low branches. “Too bad the apples are still green...”

* * *

Lucius was in his study, sorting out the mail. It consisted mostly of congratulations of the Daily Prophet readers (Quelle bêtise! Burn! All of it!), several carefully worded felicitations from friends and acquaintances (Il faudra y répondre...) and a couple of anonymous Howlers (Merde! Evanesco!).

He was just signing his last thank-you letter when another owl flew into the open window. The bird dropped a small parcel on the table and perched on the windowsill, bowing its head and obviously expecting a treat.

“You’ll do without it,” Lucius waved his hand carelessly and read the signature on the letter.

The bird hooted angrily, but didn’t fly away, apparently waiting for an answer.

“A! Mon vieil ami...” Lucius opened the letter and unfolded the parchment. “On verra ce qu’on a ici...”

Dear Lucius,

If the articles in the Prophet are even vaguely truthful, I believe I ought to congratulate you on the addition to the family. Who would have thought? Do you really love children that much?

I would be glad to see you soon.

Best regards to Cissy.

Sincerely yours, etc.,

S.

Lucius smirked a little. Severus Snape was just as acidly straightforward as he had been both five and ten years ago. It was a wonder how he managed to become a Slytherin with such manners. It was highly probable, though, that his frankness and straightforwardness were deceptive.

In this case, though, Lucius preferred not to delve into such details. He thought of Severus as a younger brother — a little ridiculous, a little stubborn and a little weird one (his obsession with potions was almost too much), but a brother nevertheless. In other words, Severus Snape was an essential part of something Lucius considered his own.

Lucius took a parchment from a table drawer and quickly wrote an answer in his stylish, deliberately loose handwriting.

Salut, mon bon camarade!

We shall be glad to see you of course. Join us at Florian’s at four if you can. If not, we shall be expecting you to dinner.

Yours, etc.,

L.

He sealed the envelope and gave it to the ruffled bird. The owl hooted angrily, looked disapprovingly at the inhospitable mail recipient and flew out of the window.

Lucius warded the table drawers and was ready to leave when Narcissa suddenly entered the room. From her expression, he gathered that something unexpected had happened.

“Horace has just contacted me,” Narcissa said hastily. “He gives his apologies and asks to reschedule his visit from the evening to eleven a.m. Some family trouble, he said...”

Horace Ardenne was Malfoys’ family Healer for many years. Lucius arranged his visit beforehand because he wanted the mediwizard to give Harry a check-up and make sure that the boy was all right. From McPherson’s reports, it was obvious that the Dursleys could hardly be trusted with their nephew’s health.

“The thing is, I already agreed,” Narcissa continued. “Now it’s quarter to eleven...”

“Alright,” Lucius nodded. “I will go and find them. If Horace comes early, show him to the study, would you?”

* * *

After performing a simple search spell Lucius found out that, as he suspected, the children were in the remotest part of the park.

“Ah, up the apple tree again...” Lucius smiled, walking fast down the gravelled pathways. Some twenty-five years ago, he often climbed up that tree himself when he wanted to be alone. Now the old apple tree gave shelter to his son... It looked like today Draco decided to share his favourite hiding place with his new friend, however.

Lucius turned onto a narrow path that he had beaten when he was a child. Soon he heard the voices. Well, one voice.

“And the Beaters protect the players from Bludgers...” Draco has obviously turned to his favourite subject and tried to explain Quidditch rules to Harry.

“Good morning,” Lucius said, entering a small clearing.

The boys climbed up onto the lower branches of the old apple tree just as Lucius expected. Harry was straddling a huge bough, his back touching the trunk; Draco was sitting on a branch next to him, dangling his feet and talking non-stop.

“Hello, Dad!” he exclaimed and jumped down.

“Good morning,” Harry said reservedly and climbed down from the tree too.

Lucius understood perfectly well what Harry was going through. Yesterday the shock and joy of a miracle happening to him made Harry forget about everything, but today the boy had become painfully shy.

“Before we go to Diagon Alley,” Lucius began, looking down at the children from his height, “we need to do something else. Healer Ardenne is here, he will examine both of you. Draco, you will go first, so run now to Mum. We shall be right after you.”

Draco nodded and sprinted to the house following the same path as when he brought Harry to the tree. After a moment’s pause, Lucius took Harry in his arms and started walking to the house leisurely.

“So, how was your morning?” he asked brightly.

“Great,” Harry answered and added in a whisper, “Dad.”

The feeling of slight madness he felt yesterday returned for a moment — and disappeared. Really, what should Harry call him? Surely not Uncle! And in future Lucius could use the complete trust of the boy, not his detached politeness.

“Why are you whispering?” Lucius asked with a studied surprise.

Harry bit his lip in embarrassment.

“You know, I like it when you call me that,” Lucius said. “And you may call Narcissa Mum… if you like. She’ll be glad.”

“Ok… Dad,” Harry said slowly as if tasting a new word.

* * *

Healer Ardenne was a plump old man in a funny dark purple robe with tiny golden stars and smiling moons. Harry noted that the moons winked and made faces if he looked closely at them. The ends of the healer’s moustache and grey beard were plaited into tiny braids.

“Well, young man,” the healer said cheerfully and looked at Harry over his glasses. “Let’s get to know each other...”

Harry stepped forward hesitantly. He had no real love for medical men: those few times when he was sick and Aunt Petunia unwillingly called a doctor, Harry was prodded with all sorts of cold sticks and had to take medicine or worse — get shots. Unlike Dudley, he never got to have something sweet as a reward. In fact, Aunt always scolded him as if he was sick just to spite her.

“Here,” the healer said and gestured to a chair that was moved to the centre of the room. “Just sit here and don’t move for a while, alright?”

Harry obediently scrambled up the chair and threw a sidelong glance at Lucius who settled on a leather sofa near the wall. He smiled encouragingly at the boy. Meanwhile Healer Ardenne prepared a long piece of strange yellowish paper, said a long phrase in one breath in an unfamiliar language and waved his wand. Harry felt surrounded by a warm cloud like the one over a pavement on a hot day. Goosebumps broke out on his skin from excitement and anticipation, but no other strange thing happened. Harry looked at the old man holding the scroll, he was studying it and occasionally grumbling, “Hmm... I see...”

A couple of times Ardenne shook his head. Finally, he lowered the scroll, and at the same time, Harry felt the cloud disappear. The healer came closer.

“Well, now I know everything about you, young man.” He snickered and took Harry’s chin with two fingers. “Don’t blink, please,” he asked.

Harry stared into space obediently.

“Right.” The healer peered into his green eyes and added, “Good.  Now look up... All right... You may go.” He released the boy’s chin and straightened.

Harry looked questioningly at Lucius who got up.

“Just a moment, Horace.” He led the boy out of the room. “Do you remember how I summoned the house elf?”

Harry nodded.

“Try it now.” Lucius showed how to move fingers. “Do this and call Dobby in your head. Got it?”

Harry nodded again and tried to repeat the motion.

“No, like this.” Lucius patiently showed the gesture again. At the fourth attempt, Harry succeeded, and Dobby appeared in front of them. Seeing the boy, the elf stared and shook his ears. Harry’s face lit up.

“Great.” Lucius nodded with approval. “Now go to the nursery, Dobby will show you the way. I’ll be there soon.”

“Sure, Dad.” Harry followed the elf eagerly. Lucius smirked — it looked like the boy liked this word more and more. Well, it was all for the better.

Quickly he joined Ardenne in the study. The mediwizard handed him the scroll, which was now full of Latin words and long comments.

“This is a record of all Harry’s sicknesses. Now he is more or less all right, if we dismiss the fact that he is smaller than a child of his age should be. It can be easily remedied, though; healthy diet and outdoor activities will do the job. But there is one problem that needs to be dealt with the sooner the better.”

Lucius frowned.

“What is it?”

“His weak eyesight,” Ardenne explained. “I presume this is the result of malnutrition and neglect of the previous guardians. While the child is still young, however, the eyesight can be corrected. If it is done soon, he won’t even need glasses. There is one quite rare potion...” He pulled a piece of parchment out of the pocket and scribbled the name and dosage. “If you find a decent Potions Master who’d make this for you, everything will be alright in a couple of months. But don’t delay this.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a Potions Master.” Lucius smiled. “Thank you, Horace. What do you prefer today: cash or check?”

“Cash, please.”

Lucius fished out a small bag of galleons and handed it to the old wizard. He weighted it in his hand with a content look and put it into his pocket.

“I’ll show you the way.”

“No need, my boy.” Ardenne smiled into his beard. He knew Lucius literally from birth and had the right to be unceremonious with him, but rarely used it. “I’ve been coming here for the last forty years, I don’t think I’ll get lost.”

Lucius shrugged.

“As you wish. See you next month as usual.”

Ardenne stopped in the doorway and turned.

“You did the right thing taking the boy in. The Muggle world is not his place,” he grumbled approvingly and left.

_____________________

Translations from French:

Quelle bêtise! — What nonsense!

Il faudra y répondre... — I’ll need to answer that...

Merde! — Shit!

A! Mon vieil ami... On verra ce qu’on a ici... — Ah! Old friend... Let’s see what we have here...

Salut, mon bon camarade! — Greetings, my dear friend!

Chapter Text

It was a hot day, and the Diagon Alley was crowded. Lucius was walking with Narcissa on his arm, smiling and watching the boys who were running ahead of them. Harry scarcely had time to turn his head, struggling to see windows of all kinds of shops on the way. Draco was trying very hard to look like an expert but of course did not know half the places. However, even the ones he knew were almost too much for Harry.

“The owls are sold here. When I go to school, I’ll surely get myself one. Or even an eagle owl. Who needs golden cauldrons? I don’t get it. Like gold can’t be used for something better. And this is the Apothecary. Uncle Sev buys all kinds of nasty stuff here.”

“Why?” From time to time, Harry, too, managed to get a word in.

“He’s a Potions Master. He needs potion ind… ingi…”

“Ingredients,” Lucius prompted with a smirk.

“Right.” Draco brightened. “Thanks, Dad. Anyway, I’ve been here with him once, and I almost puked!”

“Draco!” Narcissa was outraged. “What an improper comment!”

Lucius and Harry snickered. The smell from the Apothecary was indeed remarkable.

“Really, Mum! You’ve just never been there!” Draco explained. “It’s plain terrible, especially the green slugs.”

Narcissa paled a little, and Lucius decided that it was time to change the topic.

“That’s enough about the Apothecary. If we want to get to Fortesсue’s as planned, it’s time to get Harry a present. Let’s go.”

Soon they ended up in front of a huge glass shop window with a giant sign hanging above it:

BEFANA’S

The right side of the window was occupied by a two-story dollhouse with a garden. Hidden in the shadow of a spreading apple tree there was a tiny table, at which a doll family — a father, a mother and two children — was sitting. Harry noticed with some astonishment that the dolls moved — they were drinking tea and even talking to each other.

Meanwhile Draco was plastered to the left corner of the window. Harry came closer to have a better look. There were small figures on brooms speeding over a green field somewhat like a football one.

“Look! Look!” Draco was giddy with excitement. “It’s the Snitch!”

Indeed, all of a sudden, a little golden dot appeared over the players’ heads.

Over the whole display, there was a colourful advertisement with a small boy on a toy broom. If Harry could read, he would have known that the sign said:

Are you five years old yet?

Bring your parents here!

Aquila 100, your first broom!

Draco could read a little so he looked at his father pleadingly.

“Don’t even think about that.” Lucius shook his head. “Today is Harry’s birthday, not yours. However, why don’t we come in? Maybe you will get something out of it.”

Harry remembered that in similar circumstances Dudley always started screaming and rolling on the floor until Aunt and Uncle gave up and bought him what he wanted. Draco only pouted a little, though, but stopped very soon. When they entered the shop, his eyes were shining again.

Harry could not help himself and stood there gaping. Then he checked himself and closed his mouth — he did not want to appear ill-mannered. There was EVERYTHING in the shop — all toys a child can imagine, and magical too. Almost every item moved, buzzed, squeaked, glittered or did something else. Taking in all this splendour, Harry could not move for a while. Lucius’s voice snapped him out of the stupor.

“Good day, signora Befana,” he said politely.

The owner of the shop — a tall slim woman with hair black as a night and bright blue eyes — came over to them from the back of the spacious room. She and her shop were famous all over the Wizarding Britain and beyond. She was a cousin twice removed of the other Befana, from Italy. By the way, the British Befana was better either at magic or at business, for she was much more successful than her relative so greatly adored by Muggles.

“Good day to you too, Lucius,” she answered in a sweet voice, holding her hand for a kiss. “Happy to see you, Narcissa. What can I do for you today?”

“Today is Harry’s birthday, and we came to buy him a present.”

“Do you have something particular in mind?” Befana clarified.

Harry pricked his ears.

“No. I think we’ll do as usual,” Lucius answered vaguely and turned to Harry. “We’ll buy anything you want. Go on, choose.”

Again, Harry gaped for a moment, but then closed his mouth. Anything you want was too much, too unreal to be true. He was getting more afraid by the minute that this was a dream, that he’d wake up in his cupboard. If he ever wanted something, it was to never ever return to the Dursleys. But that wasn’t a right thing to ask in a toy shop, was it?

“You already can get a broom.” Draco sighed, looking reproachfully at his father.

“That’s right,” Lucius agreed. “Draco, don’t interrupt Harry’s thoughts. Go with Mum, find yourself something.”

Draco immediately took Narcissa’s hand and tugged her further into the shop.

Harry walked very slowly along the shelves, trying not to miss anything. Dozens of creatures — some of them he never thought even existed — were constantly moving there.

A huge, scary looking plush dog with three heads was spinning around, trying to catch a snake that he had instead of a tail. The heads were bumping, quarrelling and could not bite the snake.

A graceful white horse with golden wings was shifting from one leg to another nervously on the edge of the next shelf. A funny long-eared little horse with two humps lingered next to it. The awkward creature bowed its head and was looking at the three-headed dog with a distinctly impish expression.

Two dragons — one black, one golden — were lying on the shelf above. The black dragon’s long forked tail was hanging off the shelf and swinging lazily. The golden dragon seemed asleep, but when Harry looked straight at it, the creature opened its eyes, which turned out to be amber, and stretched lazily much like a big feline.

When Harry reached the stall with toy brooms, he started thinking really hard. After a whole morning of Draco’s stories about Quidditch he wanted to try flying very much. But Lucius made it clear that Draco wouldn’t get a broom that day, and Harry was afraid that his new friend would be upset, or worse, hurt.

At that moment, he saw a Wonder. The Wonder was scarlet with silver wheels and silver edging on the funnel. Smoke rings were flying out of the funnel and dissolving slowly. A dozen scarlet coaches with a wonderful scarlet locomotive were waiting impatiently for passengers at a small platform with a strange sign “9 3/4”. Harry could count a little and even tell time, but he did not know what the slash between the numbers meant. Anyway, the mysterious name of the station was soon forgotten because the doors of the gorgeous train closed and the long journey on the circle track started as if triggered by the appearance of a knowing audience. The winding road occupied half of a huge table. There were toy trees, hills and even tiny houses along the track, and a real castle stood in the middle.

The table was low so the whole fairy-tale country was right in front of Harry. He froze, forgetting to breathe and blink. He did not remember where he was or why he came there, but the idea that he could ask for this wonder never entered his mind.

“Do you like it?” Lucius asked quietly from somewhere close by.

Harry did not register when the man walked up to him and crouched by his side. The boy nodded silently not being able to express his admiration in words.

“When you grow up you’ll go to school on a train exactly like this one, but it’ll be real.” Lucius smiled. “And right now a toy copy is enough, I think.” He stood up and turned to the owner of the shop. “Signora Befana, we have found it!”

Harry held his breath. Maybe he misunderstood something. He was afraid to believe his luck and frightened to ask because he was even more terrified to hear a refusal.

“The boy has impeccable taste, Lucius,” Befana noted. “Everything will be delivered within one and a half hours as usual.”

Harry looked at her quizzically, then at Lucius and back again.

“You won’t go and eat ice cream with a train in your arms, will you?” The lady smiled. “And when you get back home your present will be waiting for you there.”

Harry had completely forgotten about the ice cream parlour, so he was surprised that Befana knew about it. He did not have time to ask any questions, though, because Draco ran up to them and showed his new toy. A tiny white unicorn was stomping proudly its silver hooves on Draco’s palm.

While the boys admired the small (but wayward) creature, Lucius took a scarlet-with-gold Gringotts checkbook out of his pocket, wrote down the sum and signed it.

“Let’s go, Florian is waiting for us,” he said after handing the check to Befana.

“And say thank you to the owner,” Narcissa prompted quietly.

“Thank you, signora Befana,” the boys said in one voice and ran out of the shop.

Narcissa followed them, but Lucius stayed for a moment.

“I’m warning you, Lucius,” Befana said quietly, “the boy will be sleeping with the train.”

Lucius quirked an eyebrow.

“I bet it’s not only his first present ever, but also the first thing of his own. If you want to prevent him from hugging it, I could add something cute and cuddly ... on the house.” She smirked. “It’s not every day that the clients buy enough to cover three months’ expenses of the shop.”

“No, not every day,” Lucius agreed. “Only twice a year. Now, perhaps, it will be thrice. All right, choose something at your discretion. Good evening to you.” He bowed and left.

____________________

Footnotes:

Aquila — an eagle (Lat.). The broom is named after a kid bike brand that was popular in Russia some thirty years ago.

…a scarlet-with-gold Gringotts checkbook  — judging by the goblins’ uniforms, it looks like scarlet and gold are the traditional colours of Gringotts (see Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, chapter 5) and not a tribute to Gryffindor.

Chapter Text

They returned from Fortescue’s around six o’clock. To Lucius’s quiet astonishment and great pleasure, Harry behaved almost perfectly in the ice cream parlour — unlike Draco whom it took much effort to convince not to bathe the brand new unicorn in orange juice (Draco wanted to know if the toy’s white fur would change colour).

Of course, the railroad had been already delivered by then, and the boys started to arrange it on the carpet in the nursery. Lucius was supervising the process, sitting in an armchair with a book and giving advice from time to time. It did not escape his notice that even though Harry was thrilled with the toy, he sometimes looked up at Lucius with worry, obviously checking if he did anything wrong.

“He’ll grow out of it eventually,” Lucius thought repressing his disquiet and smiled at the boy approvingly for the umpteenth time. “I hope Severus won’t scare the child half to death.”

He tried to picture Severus from the point of view of a five-year-old: a tall, glum, beak-nosed and pale-faced man with long, ever greasy hair — an underfed vampire, no less. Just one look at him was enough to guarantee a nightmare. Lucius gave up persuading his friend to take care of his appearance a long time ago. It was his private matter if he chose to look ugly.

“Master Lucius, sir, Mr. Snape has arrived,” one of the house elves reported respectfully. “He’s on his way to the house.”

“Talk of the devil.”

Lucius waved the elf away and looked at the children again. Now they were arguing about the colour of flags on the castle’s towers.

“Make them green and silver,” Lucius advised. “I will go welcome Severus.”

Draco nodded impatiently without raising his head — at that moment the train was more important to him than his godfather’s visit. Harry looked questioningly at Lucius: maybe there was something he was supposed to do, like leaving the room or greeting the guest.

“Uncle Severus and I’ll be here soon,” Lucius promised, smiled again just in case and left.

* * *

When Lucius leisurely entered the hall, Severus was already there, talking to Narcissa. This time he looked surprisingly suave and was unusually amiable — Narcissa gave her husband a half-warning, half-amazed glance. Snape saw that his vis-a-vis was looking over his shoulder and turned.

“Hello, Lucius.” He was trying to smile, and there was almost no trace of irony in his tone.  ”Allow me to congratulate you on the new addition to the family.”

“Something’s off,” Lucius thought immediately. Severus never stood on ceremony and under normal circumstances did not keep his sarcasm at bay — at least in Lucius’s company. “Sev must be wanting something from me. Let’s see...”

“Oh, drop it, Sev,” he said waving his hand. “Spare me the formalities. I have been stoking the fire with greeting cards since morning.”

Severus relaxed a bit, and the usual slight scowl took place of the forced smile.

“There is no one to blame but you,” came a sarcastic reply. “You shouldn’t have given that very touching interview.  A wonder father for the wonder boy, ha!”

“Severus, do you really think it was Luc who answered the questions?” Narcissa laughed.

“Well, it couldn’t be Skeeter!” Severus snorted. “I know the difference between speech of a Malfoy and inarticulate prattle of that presumptuous nobody.”

Lucius and Narcissa exchanged glances, and Lucius smiled.

“Narcissa wrote the interview. I was busy dealing with Fudge. You know, he was very much surprised by the turn of events, and I had to… help him to form an opinion.”

“And how much did it cost you?” Snape asked acidly.

“Not much really.” Lucius shrugged his shoulders. “Today’s visit to signora Befana was more expensive.”

Snape raised his eyebrow questioningly.

“It’s Harry’s birthday,” Lucius explained. “I prefer to be generous about presents to the children. By the way…”

“Lucius, I need to check on the dining room,” Narcissa interjected. “These elves need a good looking-after…”

She excused herself and left. The men continued their conversation, slowly walking toward the nursery.

“So, about Harry,” Lucius picked up. “Surprisingly, he is a very well-behaved child, by the way. Those awful Muggles…”

Snape snorted again.

“Are you implying that Skeeter wrote the truth? I can believe many things, but those sentimental horrors…”

“…are the absolute truth, every single one. Minus some wording, of course. I took him out of that cupboard myself.” Lucius grew a little more serious. “I have a favour to ask of you, Sev.”

“Yes?”

“Can you brew Visus Perfectus?”

* * *

Harry was beginning to get nervous. The longer Lucius was away, the more the boy worried about what Draco’s godfather would think of him. And what Lucius would say after that. Uncle and Aunt always tried to hide him from visitors and if they couldn’t they scolded him for every little slip afterwards. Harry winced, remembering Uncle Vernon shouting after he accidentally broke a cup when they had company. What if…

“Harry! Hey, Harry!” Draco lightly shook his shoulder, and Harry came to his senses.

“What?”

“Give me that house, the other one.”

“What about the magic word?” Lucius’s reproachful voice came. “And greet the guest.”

Harry looked up: a tall, dark-haired man with a large nose stood in the doorway next to Lucius. He was looking at Harry with an odd expression — curiosity, displeasure and something unfathomable were mixed in his sullen gaze.

“Uncle Sev!” Draco yelled happily. He sprang up, threw himself at the guest and tried to hug him. It was rather hard to do: the boy’s head barely reached the man’s thigh. The guest pulled a face, and Harry could not decide whether he was angry or laughing. Lucius looked at them and smiled widely.

Harry was a little scared, but staying silent was rude, so he made himself stand, bowed a little like his Aunt taught him, and said shyly, “Good day, sir.”

Apparently, he did something wrong because the guest raised his eyebrows and looked at Lucius questioningly. Malfoy smiled in return and started to speak in French. Harry did not understand a word, of course, but he recognized the language because Aunt Petunia tried to learn it as long as Harry could remember. Each Saturday morning she put a tape into the recorder, turned the volume to maximum and repeated some phrases in a shrill voice, but never actually learned much.

“Je t’ai dit que le garçon était trés bien élevé,” Lucius said quietly. “Trop bien, peut-être. Ces moldus dégoûtants l’avaient tout à fait intimidé, je pense.”

“Ah! Je te comprends maintenant. Tu sais, je me suis toujours méfié de moldus. Mais ces spécimens-là! Ils ont placé leur propre neveu dans un réduit! Cela simplement n’entre pas dans la tête.”

“Oui, j’espère qu’il cesse d’avoir peur de faire une faute chaque instant...”  Lucius looked at frightened Harry and added, “Everything’s fine. Severus is just surprised that you have such good manners. Unlike someone we know.” With feigned strictness, he looked at Draco who was still trying to climb up his godfather like a monkey up a palm. Draco smiled even wider.

“It’s alright… Harry,” said Severus, stammering a little. “Consider me your godfather.” The odd expression returned, and he looked at Lucius.

“You may call him Uncle Sev,” said Lucius smirking, and Severus pulled a long face.

“For Merlin’s sake, get off me, Draco!” Severus said irritated. “What am I, a tree?”

Harry remembered the conversation he had in the morning and smiled. Then he grew cold with horror when Draco said:

“Harry was wondering if you can climb up trees.”

“What?”

Poor Harry turned red as a tomato and was afraid to look up.

“Well, I told him today that you didn’t like climbing up trees and he said that maybe you just couldn’t.”

Lucius laughed. Harry dared to look at him: half-bent, his foster father was leaning on the doorway and his shoulders were shaking — he was practically guffawing. Red spots appeared on Severus’s cheeks. Dumbstruck Draco looked from one adult to another with amazement.

“Oh no,” Lucius managed finally, wiping his tears away. “He can... climb... up trees... very well...”

“Lucius,” Severus warned in a hissing whisper, but the other man did not listen.

“Especially... when a huge angry snake... is...”

“Lucius!” It was obvious that Severus was barely restraining himself from shouting.

“After him!” finished Lucius after catching his breath. “All that happened because Sev cared more about getting the eggs for some potion than about what the snake would think of that. And he managed to drop his wand.”

Draco laughed too. Harry looked uncertainly at... Uncle Sev? No, this name did not suit him at all. Severus was obviously embarrassed and uneasy, and Harry sympathized with him wholeheartedly: he knew how unpleasant it was to hear others laugh at you. He came closer and looked up to catch Severus’s eyes.

“I would have run away too or climbed up somewhere,” he said feeling a little uncomfortable. “What else was there to do?”

It looked like Severus did not expect this because he stared at Harry quizzically again. But then his lip quirked as if he was trying very hard not to smile.

“You’re absolutely right, Harry. In the circumstances,” he glanced angrily at still smirking Lucius and still snickering Draco, “it was the only sensible decision.”

There were approving overtones in his voice, and Harry smiled widely. He knew they understood each other.

* * *

Snape thought that after that incident the social part of the evening went quite satisfactorily. A quiet family dinner was accompanied by children’s chatter (mostly Draco’s, of course), the latest political gossip from Lucius, and Narcissa’s news on births, deaths and marriages in Pureblood families. Severus enjoyed the chef-d’oeuvres of French cuisine, nodded in the appropriate places, from time to time told his own stories, and cautiously observed Harry. The skinny quiet child looked at the same time alike and very different from Potter, Sr. Yes, the face and unruly black hair were unmistakably his father’s. However, the boy had her eyes — green and clear. The lack of glasses and his unnatural shyness only made it more evident that this was not James Potter.

“But it is about to change,” Severus thought, “If I know Lucius at all. By the age of eleven, the boy will probably turn into his father’s copy — spoilt to no end, insolent and smug, a scion of a rich Pureblood family. It’s a pity really… But what do I care?”

After the dessert, the boys said their good-byes to the guest, and Narcissa took them to bed. The men walked to the sitting room, and Lucius ordered some brandy.

“Well,” he said after sipping the drink, “what do you think?”

“He’s a child like any other. Too quiet, but I think that will pass quickly. Considering,” Severus snorted, “the example he will have in front of him.”

Lucius shrugged.

“Children are children. I have always been of the opinion that children should be allowed everything… while they behave. That’s not the point, though. What do you think… about all this?”

“I’m puzzled,” Severus said sincerely. He didn’t want to express any judgement without more information. “Why did you do it?”

“Let me try to explain,” Lucius answered quietly and sat back in his armchair. “ I have been thinking a lot lately… and came to the conclusion that the infamous political escapade of the Pureblood families had been extremely unsuccessful.”

Severus raised his eyebrows.

“Are you talking about… its miserable end?” he asked cautiously.

Lucius looked at him long and hard.

“No,” he answered finally. “I’m talking about the methods used. And… the leader chosen.”

Severus stiffened. Lucius’s inscrutable face did not give away whether he was sincere. Of course, everyone who secretly or openly supported the Dark Lord earlier nowadays publicly condemned him and claimed to have been forced or bewitched. Now, however, they were having a private conversation, and Lucius did not speak a word about the past in the last four years. Did he begin to suspect that Snape was a double agent? Or was Malfoy sincere after all?

“It was a mistake,” continued Lucius, “to put our trust in a man of such ancestry and upbringing, and with such a... temper. I won’t even mention,” Lucius grimaced in disgust, “his abnormal fixation on torture and melodrama.”

“What is it about… his ancestry?” Severus dutifully feigned surprise. He has heard Tom Riddle’s story from Dumbledore, but he did not think other Death Eaters knew it.

“He was a half-blood who grew up in a Muggle orphanage,” Lucius snorted. “He could be a far descendant of Salazar Slytherin all he liked, but his mentality was more Muggle than Wizarding, and all in all rather plebeian. We — ancient Pureblood families — need a political leader who will make the Wizarding World serve our interests.”

“Ah!” Severus smirked inside his head. “Aiming for the Minister’s chair now, aren’t we?”

Aloud he only said, “I absolutely agree with you. But what does Potter Jr. have to do with this?”

“The boy is a powerful wizard,” Lucius answered seriously. “He’ll be the greatest wizard of the century given proper upbringing and education. By the time he goes to school, he will trust me completely. I am sure he will make a brilliant political career… with the right kind of assistance. And, Severus… Dumbledore won’t live forever, you know.”

Severus considered this. So Lucius was plotting a big game — a long-term and elaborate one.  And he was clearly suggesting a possibility of collaboration. Merlin’s beard! He would have lied if he had said that the idea held no interest to him. Violence disgusted Severus, but politics... Maybe this was worth thinking about. Maybe. On the other hand, Dumbledore warned him that the Dark Lord would return sooner or later. Who could predict what Lucius would do then?

“Yes, Lucius, I know,” he answered slowly.

“I always remember my friends,” Lucius said nonchalantly, sipping the last of his drink. “As well as my enemies.”

Severus nodded and finished his brandy. Lucius filled the glasses again.

“To the future,” Severus proposed a toast raising his glass.

“To the future,” Lucius nodded.

The silence fell.

“By the way, about the future,” Lucius said suddenly. “Do you know that Darkwright is retiring?”

“No.” This time Severus was genuinely surprised. He did not know anything about the resignation of the Head of his House and made a mental note to reproach Dumbledore for this oversight.

“He planned to stay for another year, but lately he has been feeling worse.” Lucius shook his head. “The resignation letter will lie on Dumbledore’s table any day now.” He fell silent for a moment. “The families of the Slytherin House are worried about who will take his place.”

Severus shrugged.

“I can’t do anything about it. Even Merlin couldn’t have influenced Dumbledore’s decision,” he said absentmindedly.

Lucius laughed.

“Sev, you’re being such an idiot sometimes,” he snorted and instantly became serious. “The Pureblood families want to see you as the Head of House.”

“Are you joking?” Severus looked with amazement at his old friend.

“Not at all. The governors’ meeting will be next week, and the whole House of Slytherin will vote for you. Also I doubt that Dumbledore will object. I had the impression that,” Lucius smiled knowingly, “you are in his graces.”

Severus sighed. He had the impression that he was going to have a very busy next decade or two.

“I’ll do my best to justify the trust of Slytherin House,” he answered somewhat stiffly. Lucius laughed again.

“No one doubts that, Sev. Enough of drama, let’s have a drink.”

* * *

After seeing Severus off, Lucius went to the nursery before turning in for bed. The night lamp was on in the room, and only the boys’ deep breathing broke the silence. Draco was spread all over the bed, his mouth half-open, blond hair spilled out all over the pillow, a pink heel peeking out from under the crumpled blanket. Harry snuggled with his left hand under his cheek, clutching the red locomotive in his right. The white stuffed dragon, Befana’s present, was lying forgotten on the floor. Lucius smirked inwardly — Harry clearly knew what he wanted.

“Someday,” he thought with satisfaction, “the world will belong to us.”

He tucked in the boys’ blankets and left quietly.

____________________

Footnotes:

Visus Perfectus (Lat.) — Perfect eyesight

Je t’ai dit que le garçon était trés bien élevé...— the dialog between Lucius and Severus in French:

“I’ve told you that the boy was polite. Maybe too polite. I think those awful Muggles intimidated him.”

“Yes, I see now. You know, I never really trusted Muggles. But these… specimens! To put their own nephew in a cupboard! I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Yes, I hope he’ll stop being scared to do something wrong every minute…”

Moldu (Fr.) — Muggle

End of Part One

Chapter Text

Chapter 6: White Christmas

December 1985

The winter was surprisingly cold that year, especially for Southern England. Malfoy Manor looked just like an old mansion on an early 20th century sentimental postcard. The snow-covered park glittered under the sun, the alleys were neatly cleared, and the trees were adorned with multicolored lanterns. The lanterns were not glowing at the moment, since it was just past noon.

Severus was walking slowly down the driveway to the house, thinking how complicated his life had become during the last six months. He had barely got used to the idea of teaching the complex science of potion making to three hundred stupid children when quite unexpectedly he ended up being the Head of one of the four Hogwarts houses, Slytherin.

As Lucius had predicted, the previous Head, Darkwright, resigned in the middle of August due to health issues. Young Professor Vector, who came to replace him as an Arithmancy professor, was too inexperienced to take over as the Head of Slytherin. At least, such was the unanimous governors’ opinion. For some reason the fact that Severus himself was only a year older than she was and did not feel any more experienced has not bothered anyone.

During the term, Severus experienced all the “pleasures” of being a Head of House first hand. Home-sick first-year girls, crying into their pillow at night. Third-year boys, challenging each other to duels “to first blood”. The duels were to take place only at midnight and unfailingly in the Trophy Room, and for some reason, usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Fifth-years were consumed by vengeance — oh, how much effort it took to prevent bloody fights between his students and brats from the other Houses! He had never thought he would become grateful to a member of the loud and tiresome Weasley family. Contrary to all expectations, Bill turned out to be a good prefect and somehow managed to keep Gryffindor troublemakers in check, including his own brother Charlie who was too smart for his own good. Otherwise, Severus would have used Avada Kedavra on himself long ago. Finally, sixth- and seventh-years managed to use any secluded nooks for dating. It had never occurred to him before that there was no creature scarier than a hormone-driven teenager. Unplanned pregnancies of Slytherin senior girls (and others too) had become a recurring theme of his nightmares. Some three and a half months, and he felt completely drained.

* * *

In the middle of December, Severus Snape came to Dumbledore and declared in no uncertain terms that he would not stay at school for Christmas holidays, so someone else would have to chaperone the Yule Ball and Christmas Eve Festivities. When the old man agreed without a fight, Severus suspected right away that something was off, but it was too late.

“Severus,” the headmaster said slyly, his bright blue eyes twinkling behind the glasses, “I remember perfectly well that every year you receive an invitation to spend Christmas at Malfoy Manor.”

Somehow that did not stop you before, Severus thought, but aloud he said, “Yes, I am trying to be a good fairy Godmother.”

He winced remembering that due to Lucius’s recent escapade his responsibilities had doubled.

All August and September, he diligently brewed Visus Perfectus for Harry every two days. The potion took much time and effort to make, and it could not be stored. When Healer Ardenn finally announced that the boy’s eyesight was corrected and there was no need for the potion, Snape breathed a sigh of relief and slept the whole night through — for the first time since the start of term. However, before he could blink, the Halloween came, and with it a school ball, the next ordeal for his already frayed nerves.

After that memorable visit to Befana’s, Draco completely wore out his parents and godfather, shamelessly begging for a broom. For some unknown reason, Lucius did not buy one and strictly forbade Severus to do it. Not that he planned to — such expensive and useless toys were beyond his purse. Two wars with Grindelwald and Voldemort left very little of Princes’ fortune. Hogwarts teacher and Head of House salary was comfortable, but taxes and the maintenance of the family manor that Snape had inherited from his grandfather consumed most of it. True to his habits, he chose a book for the present this time. Magical Animals and Plants Around Us was a special children edition, with multiple pictures and in large print, so Severus considered it useful. Lucius hemmed half-mockingly, half-approvingly, but said nothing.

And now Christmas was coming, bringing its responsibilities with it. Severus suppressed a sigh.

“I think,” Dumbledore continued, “that you ought to accept the invitation. You have not seen our boy for some time, have you?”

As if he is your boy, Severus snorted inwardly and nodded, continuing his own train of thought. Maybe it would not be that bad. Lucius always served decent brandy, the house elves prepared excellent meals under Narcissa’s careful guidance, and two kids — even noisy ones — were much, much better than three hundred. Or than twenty (that was the usual number of students who spent Christmas holidays at school).

“The Ball will be on December, 21,” Dumbledore said. “It will be Saturday. I think you deserve a little vacation, Severus. You can consider yourself free from the 21st to the 26th of December. I’ll look after your snakelets.”

Severus flinched. He respected the headmaster deeply and owed much to the old man, but his manner to peek into others’ minds without so much as by-your-leave annoyed Severus to no end. He had been carefully hiding his unexplainable newfound possessiveness towards Slytherin students. And he had never told anyone about calling them ‘snakelets’ in his mind, especially the younger ones. At the same time, he hated with a vengeance when his charges were described as ‘snakes’ or, even worse, as ‘vipers’.

“I would appreciate it,” he said aloud.

“Then we have a deal,” the Headmaster answered contentedly.

* * *

Severus’s musings were quite suddenly interrupted by some rather heavy snowball that hit the young professor straight in the left eye.

“For goodness sake!” he cried indignantly, rubbing his forehead and trying to unstuck his eyelashes.

First there was a frightened “Ouch!” coming from the bushes on the left, then a stifled laugh, and finally panting that quickly grew more distant — someone was running away as fast as possible.

“What a joke!” Severus grumbled stepping on the porch and wondering whether the incident left any marks on his map. “I get hit in the eye, and they shout Ouch! The brats!”

“Severus, what’s happened to your face?” Lucius asked by way of greeting and smirked.

“And you do not have a clue, do you?” Severus answered sourly. “Your dear boys said hello to their godfather.”

Naturally, Lucius just laughed. When he calmed down, he snapped his fingers, calling for a house elf.

“Dobby, where are the boys?”

“Young Masters are in the park, Master Lucius.”

“Tell them to come to my study right this minute. Then tell Cissy that Sev is already here.”

Dobby nodded and disappeared. Severus followed his friend to the study. Lucius sat into the armchair near the fireplace. Severus settled on the sofa, looking forward to the forthcoming conversation. The men did not have to wait long: in about five minutes, the door opened, and two boys burst into the room. They were dressed in cloaks trimmed with fur, woolly caps and winter boots, which were leaving wet trails on the floor. The boys’ faces were reddened, and both were out of breath. Lucius rose to his feet.

“Dad!” the boys cried in a happy unison.

Severus had a strange feeling. He hated James Potter. He was aware that Harry never knew his father and that Lucius was the only one the boy could call Dad, so Severus had no reason to feel disappointed. He knew that children of that age got used to everything new easily. However, this still somehow felt wrong.

“Uncle Sev?” the voices sounded guilty now.

Well, a guilty conscience needs no accuser! Severus thought with satisfaction.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Lucius asked sternly, trying very hard not to smile. “Who hurled that snowball into Uncle Sev’s eye?”

The boys cast their eyes down and assumed expressions suitable for contrite scions of a noble family. They were silently examining the floor under their feet where the puddles were slowly forming. Draco sniffled. Harry’s ears were burning. By that time, Severus had no doubts that Harry threw the snowball, but Draco was the instigator — the sly expression on the kid’s face betrayed him.

“So what is this supposed to mean, gentlemen?” Lucius repeated and folded his arms indicating that he would not let them leave until he got the answer.

“It was an accident,” almost whispered Harry, giving in. Draco shoved him a little, obviously disapproving of such compliance.

“What was an accident?”

“The eye,” Harry answered breathlessly. “I did not mean… in the face.”

The boy looked so unhappy that Severus almost interfered, but decided against it — it would have been unwise to undermine a parent’s authority.

“Apologize then if you did not mean it.” Lucius was clearly mollified. Suddenly he added, “Next time try to hit what you are aiming at and not just a random spot.”

After this sweet bit of advice, Severus unwittingly thought that he should have interfered. If he knew anything at all about Malfoys’ discipline and children psychology, Lucius had just allowed the kids to throw snowballs at people as much as they pleased. Judging by Draco’s smile, Malfoy Jr. understood it perfectly well, and there was no doubt that he would explain it to Harry soon.

“I’m sorry, Severus,” Harry sniffled and looked at him ruefully.

“It is alright,” he answered generously and added, unable to resist, “Admit it, Draco, the idea was yours, wasn’t it?”

Draco tried very hard to look innocent, but did not succeed. Severus snorted, Harry sniffled again.

Lucius frowned and checked the collars of the boys’ cloaks.

“You are all wet like merpeople,” he gasped. “Shoo! Get changed into something dry! And do not leave the nursery till lunch!”

“All right, Dad!” the boys replied in one voice, glad to get off so easy, and scampered away.

Lucius closed the door behind them and sat into the armchair.

“We’re having dinner at the Parkinsons’ on the 25th,” he said. “I think there will be also Agatha Bullstrode with her daughter. You are coming with us, of course.”

Severus tried to wriggle out of it.

“Dressed like this?”

Of course, he stayed true to his habits when packing for the Malfoys’, and now he hoped that it might save him. Alas, no such luck.

“Since when do you care about appearances, Sev?” Lucius narrowed his eyes. “Looks like you are just making excuses. Do not you dare even think of it! For one thing, the boys have not seen you for a month. For another, if you suddenly want to look presentable, you can have my dress robes, but for Merlin’s sake, do not leave me there alone! Don’t you remember what an impossible bore Parkinson is? I will be forced to entertain three women at once, and they will wear me out.”

“Alright, alright,” Severus sighed, acknowledging his defeat.

* * *

The Christmas morning came frosty and bright.

By the tradition that was followed at Malfoy Manor meticulously, children were not allowed to see the tree on Christmas Eve. Therefore, the doors to the living room were closed all the previous day, pleas and reproachful looks notwithstanding. It was no wonder that on Christmas morning Draco and Harry woke earlier than everyone else and did not let the adults sleep in, bouncing eagerly near the closed doors in anticipation.

Lucius smiled and waved his wand.

“Alohomora!”

The doors swung open, and the children gasped in awe.

The Christmas tree was huge. It was decorated with thin golden chains, silver snowflakes and antique transparent glass balls. The branches were covered in magical never-melting snow. The curtains were pulled away, so the whole splendour sparkled and glittered in bright sunlight. There were candles and bouquets of holly on the windowsills, and mistletoe wreaths on the walls. And of course, piles of carefully wrapped presents were hidden underneath the spreading fir branches, each tagged with a name card.

Severus did not like Christmas much, hated boisterous celebrations and often complained to Lucius that Dumbledore had no taste (actually, it was the first time in three years when he saw a Christmas tree not dressed in the Gryffindor colours), but for a moment he sincerely regretted that he was not five.

“Christmas! Christmas!” the boys shouted and ran to the tree.

The adults entered the living room after them and sat on the sofa comfortably. Draco promptly dropped on his knees and crawled under the branches. Harry followed his example immediately.

“Careful there,” Lucius called. “Who is older? Draco? Then he is getting the packages, and Harry will be reading the cards.

Draco started to fetch the presents from under the tree, while Harry, frowning in concentration, was studiously making out the names on the packets — he had been having reading lessons for a while and made a good progress.

A new ebony cane for Lucius, a diamond necklace for Narcissa, some rare manuscripts for Severus, two small brooms for the boys (their joyous shrieks deafened Severus for a moment) and more books. Candies and other small, but pleasant surprises. At last, when the floor was covered in ribbons and wrapping, the presents were duly admired at and children were momentarily parted from the brooms, the party went to breakfast.

“Luc, when are the Parkinsons expecting us? At dinner?” Narcissa asked.

“Yes, why?” Lucius answered absentmindedly. “Harry, stop smearing the porridge all over your plate. It will not get any better, you know, quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Why don’t we ride the sleigh?” Narcissa proposed. “It is not far. And there is snow for once!”

Indeed, the Parkinsons’ mansion was just ten miles away from Malfoy Manor, and it was possible to get there by a forest road.

“What about Muggles?” Severus frowned.

“What about them?” Narcissa sounded surprised. “For one thing, the sleigh is not something unusual this time of the year, and for another, there is always Obliviate. Draco, would you stop grabbing bacon with your hands, for Merlin’s sake! You are not a Muggle savage! What do you say, Luc?”

“I like this idea,” Lucius said approvingly. “Who knows when we have another winter like this? Then again, the boys will be ecstatic…”

“If they will not sit over their stone-cold porridge till tomorrow!” Narcissa noted.

Under their mother’s strict gaze, Draco and Harry started eating up the remains of their meal.

* * *

Forty-year-old Dick Archer was one of the few servants at Malfoy Manor apart from house elves. He was a Pureblood wizard, of course — at least five generations on both sides. It was not worthy of notice in the snobbish Slytherin circle, but it was enough for Lucius to allow him not only to work at the Manor but also to talk to the children. He took care of the stables and the kennel, and Draco and Harry often came to him to feed the horses or mess about with the dogs.

When the elegantly and warmly dressed boys finally ran out into the park, a big green sleigh with horses was already waiting outside the gates. Harry once again thought that this was a fairy tale. He had seen something like this before only in pictures. Archer meticulously checked the richly decorated harness, the holly twig peaking from under the clasp of his dark green cloak.

“Now, this is proper Christmas, Master Harry,” he said approvingly. “Muggles have long forgotten how to celebrate it.”

“Merry Christmas, mi… Dick,” Harry answered politely. He still could not get used to call Archer by his first name, although the man had asked him to do so many times. It was even harder to get used to the idea that he and Draco were called Masters.

“Thank you, Master Harry,” Archer answered with dignity, continuing his work calmly.

Meanwhile Draco got bored of walking around doing nothing, and without much ado, he threw a snowball into Archer’s back.

“Are you misbehaving, Master Draco?” Archer asked in his rich bass voice, bent down with deliberation, made a snowball and knocked down the hood from Draco’s head with a clever hit.

“Ouch!”

“It serves him right,” Lucius noted, coming closer.

“Watch out, Dad!” Exited Draco threw a snowball at Lucius.

“Just you wait!”

In an instant Lucius grabbed the boy. Draco laughed and tried to break free, but soon found himself held by his father’s hands at arm distance over a big snowbank. He squeaked and stilled.

“Give up?”

“Nah.”

“Maybe I should let you go.”

“Luc, please, don’t. He will get all wet,” interfered Narcissa, who had just come to the sleigh. Severus smirked openly from behind her back — he felt avenged.

“All set, Mr. Malfoy,” Archer said imperturbably.

“Well then, consider yourself pardoned,” Lucius proclaimed magnanimously and put dishevelled Draco down on the ground. Narcissa immediately started fussing around her son.

Harry observed the whole interlude with an unconscious envy, and Archer, being quite observant, noticed that  immediately.

“Would you like to drive with me, Master Harry?” he asked softly, nodding towards the coachman’s seat.

The boy beamed, but then looked uncertainly at Lucius.

“Dad, may I?”

“Of course. Let me give you a leg up.”

Lucius picked the boy up and put him on the coachman’s seat, then helped Narcissa get to the far bench of the sleigh. Meanwhile, Severus sighed and took a seat on the front bench with Draco who had already figured out what fun he was missing and was begging Archer to let him try driving too.

“Boys,” Narcissa shook her head.

“As if girls were any better,” Lucius answered, sitting down beside her, but stopped short as he remembered his sisters-in-law. The topic was forbidden in the house as per mutual agreement.

Narcissa squeezed his hand silently.

“It is nothing, do not mind me,” she whispered and commanded, “Go on!”

Archer was already in his place, showing Harry how to use the reins.

“With Epona’s blessings!”

The sleigh flew down the road. Lucius was smiling, hugging his wife and nestling her closer, Draco was smiling from ear to ear and fidgeting, unable to sit still. Harry was clutching the reins, feeling happy like never before. Only Snape was sitting with a stony expression on his face looking ruffled like a crow on a rainy day.

Narcissa turned to her husband and looked at him slyly.

“Would you sing for us, Luc?”

“My dear, you are wrapping me around your little finger today,” Lucius replied. “Boys, will you sing along?”

Draco almost jumped out of his seat, Harry turned and nodded, and even Archer smiled into his beard approvingly.

Lucius waved his wand, and the bells on the harness started to beat time.

Dashing through the snow

In a one-horse open sleigh

Through the fields we go

Laughing all the way.

Bells on bob-tail ring

Making spirits bright

What fun it is to ride and sing

A sleighing song tonight.

Clear voices of Narcissa and the children joined Lucius’s baritone:

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Jingle all the way,

Oh what fun it is to ride

In a one-horse open sleigh.

Severus sat back and closed his eyes. It looked like against all odds this Christmas turned out to be wonderful. Not that he would ever admit it out loud.

____________________

Footnotes:

Epona is a Celtic goddess, patroness of horses.

Chapter Text

July, 1986

It was a hot summer day. Severus was again visiting Malfoy Manor (of course, it had something to do with Dumbledore) to the apparent pleasure of the whole family. Despite the heat, Harry and Draco were playing tag on brooms and just fooling around in the garden. The adults hid from the sun in a spacious gazebo covered in wild grape vines. Narcissa sat comfortably in a wicker armchair, thumbing through the latest editions of The Morgause’s Mirror and La Sorcière Moderne, while Lucius and Severus were playing chess.

“E2 to H5,” Severus said. An angry black queen obeyed reluctantly. When she walked, her cloak was flapping just like Severus’s robes.

“You’re a bad influence on my chess, Sev.” Lucius smirked. “They weren’t so bad-tempered before. Hmm… D2 to D4.”

“Dad, won’t Sever eat you?”

Lucius startled and raised his head: Harry was hovering on a broom by his ear and looking at the chessboard with interest.

“What do you mean?” Lucius asked. Harry liked chess and started to learn to play, but so far he knew only how different pieces moved on the board, nothing more.

“His king,” the boy explained. “Why doesn’t he eat your pawn?”

“The pieces are taken, not eaten,” Lucius corrected him. “As for why… Can you guess yourself?”

Harry bit his lip and looked at the board frowning. The white soldier pawn saluted him with his sword from D4, while the black queen pursed her lips like Severus often did.

“Because your knight will ea… will take his king, and you’ll win, right?”

“Right.”

“Why doesn’t he take your knight?”

“Think a little.”

Harry frowned again, looking at the pieces closely: the white queen on C1, the black king on E4, a white rook on F1, a white knight on F5, a black one on G8… Severus bit back a sigh. He could not understand Lucius’s patience for conversations like these. Finally, the boy’s face brightened.

“Because of your rook. If he goes to F5, you’ll checkmate him.”

“That’s right.”

“Uncle Sev, why don’t you eat his pawn?” Draco got bored of waiting for Harry and flew closer to the players.

This time Snape could not contain a groan. Lucius smirked.

“Boys, let them finish,” Narcissa interfered. “Your Dad will explain everything to you later.”

Harry sighed in disappointment, and Severus braced himself to silently endure another five-minute explanation of every step or, worse, to be a part of it when suddenly Draco flew around the table and clapped Harry on the shoulder.

“You’re it!” he shouted and flew outside.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” Harry was indignant and flew off after Draco, forgetting immediately about chess.

The adults laughed. Narcissa buried herself in the magazines again, and the men returned to the game.

* * *

“Next time you will not get away with it so easily, Lucius,” Severus promised grimly and looked at his king who threw his crown angrily under the white ex-pawn’s feet and walked off the board, holding his head high. The soldier pawn that managed to become a queen and to defeat the black party, picked the crown with the tip of his sword, threw it into the air, caught it and winked at Severus.

“You have to win first.” Lucius smirked smugly and packed the pieces.

Snape just smiled crookedly in return. Lucius was Slytherin champion in wizard chess during his years in Hogwarts. Severus was a decent player, but he had never won a game against Lucius.

“Why do you always have to play the white pieces?” he grumbled.

“Elementary, my dear Sev.” Lucius patted his shoulder a little patronizingly. “They have the first move.”

“Shall we drink tea in the gazebo?” Narcissa interjected. “It’s cool and comfortable here unlike the living room.”

“As you wish.” Lucius shrugged his shoulders. “Let’s go find our brats.”

They were walking leisurely along the path, and the air was filled with sweet scent of linden.

“So, Harry plays chess, does he not?” Severus asked. “It is curious... Potter Sr. was not even a decent player.”

“He is too young and only learning.” Lucius replied. “But in a couple of years... He pays attention and is quite tenacious when he really wants something.”

There were unusually warm overtones in Lucius’s voice, and Severus tensed involuntarily. He was sure that Lucius did not — could not — love his protégé, just as he was sure that the sun did not rise in the West. Narcissa was a different case, but Severus suspected that it had something to do with the general love of females for all things small and — Merlin forgive him — cute: children, kittens and Puffskeins. Meanwhile, Harry adored his foster parents and had stopped being shy. Almost.

“Checkmate! You’re checkmated!” Draco’s clear voice rang somewhere close, and Harry’s laughter followed. A minute later, both boys flew into view: Harry first, bubbling with mirth, his head thrown back. Behind him, Draco went flattened on the broom and concentrating hard. His shoulder-length blond hair was whipping and tangling in the wind.

Lucius watched the children flying closer. The expression on his face was strangely familiar to Severus. He almost remembered where he had seen this look before... but was not given a chance to think about it long enough.

Panting, Harry landed behind Lucius’s back, jumped off the broom and shouted, diving under his guardian’s elbow, “I’m safe!”

Lucius fondly ruffled his tussled black hair.

“Dad, that’s not fair!” Draco pouted, jumped off the broom too and ran towards his father.

“C’est la vie,” Lucius replied a little mockingly and hugged his son closer with the other hand. The boys grew quiet, nuzzling into their father’s robes. A moment later, the brats let go, and Lucius gestured them to stand in front of him, then gave them both a close look. There was a new hole in Harry’s breeches, on the right knee, and a fresh scratch on his cheek. Draco’s shirt, once white, was now covered in grass stains, its lacy cuff almost torn off.

“Just look at them, Sev. Gentlemen of the road, no less,” Lucius snorted, then turned back to the children. “Go to your room. Let Dobby help you make yourselves presentable and take care of scratches and bruises. Then walk — do you hear me? — walk back to the gazebo for tea. You have half an hour. Starting — now!”

The boys were gone in a streak. They hopped on the brooms and rushed to the house. In a minute Lucius and Severus heard Harry’s shout:

“The last one home is a girl!”

Up to the nearest turn they were flying neck to neck. Lucius looked at the children, and that strange expression flickered on his face again for a moment. Then Severus remembered where he had seen that look before — in the mirror. Yes, he regularly saw it at the mirror in the morning, while shaving and washing, as he contemplated some fascinating and very important experiment.

* * *

“Well, who is going to get dolls for his birthday?” Severus asked snidely when Draco and Harry walked into the gazebo in a dignified manner, looking like role models for every child of every noble family.

Draco blushed a little, the adults laughed, and the boy scowled, peeved. Harry put a hand on his brother’s shoulder protectively.

“Aren’t they a bride and a groom?” Narcissa giggled. Draco scowled even more.

“That is enough,” Lucius interfered to prevent an inevitable outburst. Draco was even-tempered and rarely had tantrums, but when he had them…

“Yes, let us all get seated,” Narcissa agreed.

Draco mumbled something unintelligible, but did not say anything aloud and enthusiastically started to eat chocolate ice-cream with orange syrup.

For some time everyone enjoyed the tea party. The children silently dug into their ice cream while the adults talked about the weather, the newspapers and other nonsense.

“Dad, why isn’t Uncle Sev married?” Draco asked suddenly with an innocent face and moved his empty ice-cream glass away.

Severus did not choke on his tea only due to his vast practice at conversations with Dumbledore. The most powerful wizard of the modern age liked to ask so called awkward questions with the frankness of a five-year-old. It looked like it amused him greatly to shock his younger colleagues.

“Draco!” Narcissa was indignant. “One can’t address questions like that to someone else in front of the person in question. You should have asked Severus himself even though it is not very polite either.”

“Yes, Sev.”  Lucius smiled archly. “Do explain to the child why you are not married yet.”

“You see, Draco,” Severus said slowly, thinking hard to come up with something, “Unlike your Dad, I was not lucky enough to meet such a lovely lady as your Mum.”

“When have you become a flatterer, Severus?” Narcissa laughed, but it was obvious that she liked the compliment. Draco looked from his parents to the godfather smugly, obviously pleased with his prank. Severus did not doubt that the boy was so blunt on purpose in revenge for his own gibe about the dolls.

Meanwhile Lucius observed Harry who was silent during the whole exchange, obviously thinking about something else. When their eyes met, Lucius clearly read the boy’s desire to ask a question and his fear that it was unwise.

“Harry?” he prompted softly. “Do you want to ask something?”

The boy hesitated, but nodded.

“Why… why do we have no grandparents? My aunt and uncle did not have parents either.”

The uneasy silence settled over the gazebo. Harry got scared of such reaction from the adults and slumped. Draco turned his gaze from his mother to father and back.

Yes, Lucius, Snape smirked inwardly. I would like to hear your answer to that question. Dumbledore would love to know your version of the events.

“You see, Harry,” Lucius started calmly. It took Severus much effort not to snort when he recognized his own words. “Before you and Draco were born, there was a terrible war in the Wizarding world. Many people died: my parents, Narcissa’s, Severus’s… and yours too,” he said. Harry hung his head. “By the way, what did your relatives tell you?”

“They said my parents died in a car accident,” Harry whispered. Since Lucius had taken him away from the Dursleys, they never talked about Harry’s parents. The Malfoys never told him anything about them, and he was afraid to ask. “Because my father was… drunk,” he added with a blush of shame.

Severus could not help but scowl in disgust. Such a blatant, shameless… Muggle lie!

“That’s not true,” Lucius said in the meanwhile. “One,” he cast a sidelong glance at Severus,  ”very evil wizard wanted to kill them and you. They tried to hide, but he found and murdered them.” The boy’s eyes opened wide in horror. “But for some reason he could not kill you, and died instead. Unfortunately, your grandparents died before that, and you were sent to,” he grimaced, “your aunt.”

Harry looked glassy-eyed at his cup. It was obvious that he tried very hard not to cry. Draco did not dare to move.

“Luc, Sev,” Narcissa said quietly and got up, “will you leave us for a while?”

The men stood up silently, and Lucius motioned Draco to leave too. The boy obeyed without a sound, and the three of them left the gazebo. Harry still sat rigidly, examining delicate silver lilies on his cup’s rim.

“Harry, child, come here.” Narcissa took the boy carefully in her arms and sat down with him on her lap. Harry nuzzled into her cloak, his shoulders started to shake, but he still held tears back. “It will be alright, baby, you will see, everything will be allright.” She held him close and kissed the top of his head.

Harry could not control his feelings anymore and started to cry for the first time in front of adults since his adoption. It seemed that all the accumulated tension, uncertainty and fears poured out of him, and he just could not stop. Narcissa sat for a long time stroking his back, while he sobbed into her shoulder.

* * *

“Dad, do the men ever cry?” Draco asked uncertainly as the three of them walked down the linden path.

“Contrary to popular belief, male anatomy is not much different from female one in that regard,” Severus grumbled quietly so only Lucius heard him.

“Sometimes,” Lucius answered pensively, then stopped and looked carefully at his son. “It all depends on the circumstances.”

“How come?” Draco was baffled.

“Crying is not good or bad in itself,” Lucius explained. “But when a man cries, he shows his weakness, and your weakness is always a weapon for your opponent. Which means what?”

“You should not cry in front of the people you do not trust,” the boy answered confidently after thinking a little.

“That’s right.”

Draco went silent.

“Whom do you trust, Dad?” he asked in a few minutes.

Severus realized suddenly that he was waiting for an answer almost holding his breath, even though he knew Lucius probably would not be sincere.

“Your Mum,” the man answered promptly. “Severus. You and Harry — when you grow up a little.”

Against all common sense, Severus spent the evening pondering whether he could believe Lucius. And what the consequences of that would be. There was one thing he was quite certain of though: Dumbledore would never hear about this conversation.

____________________

Footnotes:

The chess game mentioned in the chapter is the famous problem described in L. Carroll’s Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found There.

La Sorcière Moderne (Fr.) — The Modern Witch.

Chapter Text

October 1987

Samhain (or rather Muggle Halloween, which has quietly supplanted the ancient holiday) was celebrated on a grand scale at Malfoy Manor the last couple of years. When Severus informed Dumbledore that this year the Malfoys expected not only the Parkinsons and the Bullstrodes, but also the Zabinis and the Notts, the headmaster predictably insisted that Severus show up there. For that reason, Dumbledore excused him from chaperoning the school ball. Severus decided that in the end it was the lesser of two evils and agreed almost joyfully.

However, the ball at the Malfoys certainly meant the traditional masquerade. If the role of a chaperone at Hogwarts festivities ensured that the Potion Master did not participate in that sort of rubbish, the appearance at the social event required a costume. After scratching his head for a few days, Severus got tired of trying to be creative and acquired Dracula’s suit. He figured that the school gossip might as well bring him some benefit.

In the evening of October 31st, he stormed through the halls of Hogwarts dressed up in the abovementioned costume, scaring the life out of jumpy first-years and swearing hard because he was running late. He reached the anti-Apparation barriers and promptly Disapparated to the main gates of Malfoy Manor.

The sun had already set, but the darkness of the park was broken by dozens of lanterns shaped as pumpkins, skulls and other objects appropriate to the season. The windows of the manor were glowing with the bright yellow light. It was fairly warm for the end of October, and many guest were strolling in the park. Severus spotted several kids under a huge pumpkin-shaped lantern; they were obviously arguing about something. He came closer trying to stay in the shadows.

“There are six of us, that’s two teams. Millie, Zabini and I will be on one, Harry, Pansy and Nott on the other,” said the blonde elf with a bow on his back matter-of-factly, facing away from Severus. Snape recognized Draco right away.

“Why am I with him?” The unfamiliar dark-haired boy dressed as a torero was furious.

“It doesn’t matter, Theo,” a tall, chunky, dark-haired girl in a costume of an Irish bean sí said in a conciliatory tone. This was obviously the Bullstrode girl. She shook her head impatiently, and the bells in her loose hair jingled softly. “Let’s play, the dinner will start soon.”

“Who are the captains?” asked Harry who was silent until then. He was also dressed in green as an elf.

“Draco and you, of course,” the other girl said. Judging by the voice, that was Pansy. Her Japanese mountain witch outfit looked strange with her wheat blonde hair.

“Why him?” Theo shouted. “Why not me?”

“Because he’s my brother,” Draco answered icily, copying his father perfectly.

“Draco, I don’t care,” Harry said placatingly.

“Let’s not quarrel,” backed him up the fourth boy, dark-skinned and dark-eyed, who had not said anything until then. He was wearing a scarlet turban and the robe of a Maghreb wizard.

“Shut up, Zabini,” Theo Nott snarled. “I don’t want to obey some Mudblood, and I don’t care about the scar on his forehead!”

Blaise Zabini gasped, the girls squealed. Harry looked questioningly at his brother, Draco clenched his fists. Severus decided that it was time to interfere.

“What’s going on here?” he asked sharply, stepping out from the shadow into the circle of light.

“Severus! Uncle Sev!” Harry and Draco in perfect accord turned around, clearly happy to see him.

“Good evening,” Severus said. “What’s happening?”

“Good evening, sir.” Pansy curtsied. Coming from a girl in a kimono, the gesture looked weird. “We wanted to play Thieves and Aurors, but the boys,” she humphed contemptuously and shrugged her shoulders, “are quarrelling all the time. And Theo is plain rude.”

“Tell-tale,” Blaise muttered under his breath. Millie elbowed him.

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson.” Severus nodded. “I heard that, Mr. Nott,” he said turning to Theodore, and the boy startled. “I’d advise you against the use of such words in polite society.”

“Yes, sir,” Nott replied glumly.

“Boys,” Severus turned to Draco and Harry, “I’ll talk to you later, I hope. Have a nice evening.”

“Thank you, sir!” the children answered all together.

Going away, he heard the children deciding who would play which part. No one wanted to be Aurors, just like in Severus’s days.

* * *

“Finally, Severus,” the mistress of the house greeted him impatiently at the doors. Her loose hair flowed down her back in an artful imitation of tangled strands of banshee’s hair. The dark circles under her eyes and a midnight black robe made her look even paler than usual.

Not every woman has the courage to dress like that even for Samhain, Severus smirked approvingly inside his head, but aloud he said, “I’m glad to see you, Cissy. The saying is true: any dress befits a beautiful woman. I hope you will not start howling though.”

“I probably might,” Narcissa laughed. “If I hear Agatha saying once more time what a lovely dress robe she saw yesterday at Madam Malkin’s. Or if the Parkinsons begin hinting again what a wonderful couple Pansy and Draco would make some day.”“

“Not Pansy and Harry?” Severus raised an eyebrow in a not quite sincere astonishment.

“Of course not,” Narcissa lowered her voice. “First of all, that would have been a too open interference with Luc’s plan — as they understand it. Secondly, politics aside, they want to have a Pureblood as a son-in-law.”

Severus nodded. Political alliance is one thing, marriage is quite another. If the former showed appropriate flexibility and capacity to adjust to circumstances, the latter would have been an offence to centuries-old family traditions. When Lucius took Harry to his house, he stepped dangerously close to the thin line separating these two concepts in the mind of a Slytherin. Should he have adopted the kid, however…

“Sev?” Lucius’s cheerful voice interrupted his musings. “Is it really possible that Your Excellency has graced our humble abode with your presence?”

The host of Malfoy Manor was standing behind his wife’s back with his arms crossed over his chest. A white cape with blood-red lining was thrown carelessly over his Roman toga. Even knowing that this was only a skilful illusion, Severus could not help himself and snorted: Lucius’s hair was cut very short. It suited him, but looked strange nevertheless.

“You could have at least put your helmet on, Procurator,” smirked the Potions master by way of greeting, then turned serious. “I’ve heard something that you should know about.”

“Let’s go to the small drawing room,” Lucius suggested. “Cissy, could you entertain the public a little longer?”

“Certainly,” she said. “But do not be surprised if I warm up to my role and scare everyone away.”

“As long as Severus doesn’t start biting our guests, everything will be fine,” Lucius waved the idea off.

Narcissa left, and Lucius and Severus went to the small corner drawing room, but they did not have a chance to talk. They had not even settled yet when a short, square-built, dark-haired man dressed as a Spanish inquisitor entered the room. Severus recognized Tobias Nott with some difficulty; last time he saw the man at least six years ago, just before Voldemort’s disappearance.

“Severus,” Nott greeted Snape frostily, giving him a suspicious stare.

“Tobias,” Severus nodded, but the man paid him no more attention.

“Lucius,” Nott turned to the master of the house, “can we have a word? I’d like to talk to you… in private.”

“Would you mind?” Lucius looked questioningly at Severus. Snape shrugged slightly.

“Of course not.”

“Let’s go to my study, Tobias.” Lucius sighed and stood up. “No one will disturb us there.”

* * *

Draco was running down the corridor, constantly slipping on the oak-wood floor and cursing the stupid pointed leather shoes, which had no heels. He looked around, trying to think of a place to hide, and only then realized that he was near his father’s study. There were doors a little down the corridor that separated the public part of the house from private rooms, and that meant that his choice was very simple: go back or hide here. Going back almost certainly meant running into Harry and losing the game. He mused for a little while, but soon heard footsteps. At least two people were walking down the corridor. Closer and closer… Draco had no choice, he dashed to the study.

His sweaty hands were slipping on the slick round doorknob. Draco frantically yanked the door, and when it finally opened, he rushed behind a large leather sofa, thanking all deities already known to him that he had the sense to drop the bow, which came with his costume, in the entrance hall.

As soon as he managed to crawl behind the sofa, the doorknob twisted again, and his father entered the room, followed by one of the guests, apparently, Nott Sr.

“Would you like something to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, Lucius opened the top doors of the antique bookcase where the bar was situated. “Brandy? Gin? Firewhiskey? Or maybe something milder? I myself prefer brandy.”

Nott sat down on the sofa, and the old leather squeaked a little. Draco tried very hard not to move. He already figured out that he was in big trouble, and his only hope was not to give himself away until the adults left.

“Since when do you drink anything Muggle?” Nott made a face. Draco stilled and looked at the huge bookcase with mirror doors. He heard everything and saw most of the room.

“The wizards have not invented anything better yet,” Lucius shrugged. “I do not care for Firewhiskey.”

“I do. Old Ogden’s, please.”

“As you wish.” Lucius filled a tumbler, handed it to the guest, then poured brandy for himself. “Cheers. What did you want to tell me, Tobias?”

“Lucius,” Nott gulped a mouthful of his Firewhiskey. “What are you up to?”

“What are you talking about, Toby?” Lucius’s voice was dripping with lazy surprise. “Samhain is Samhain... old friends’ reunion... It is a pleasure, isn’t it?”

Nott was obviously losing patience.

“What do you need this Mudblood whelp for, Lucius?”

“Really, you surprise me.” Lucius stepped aside to the window and sipped his brandy. “By the way, technically he’s a Pureblood... in the first generation. Both of his parents were wizards, if you have not noticed.” He smirked. “As for what I need the Boy Who Lived for...” Lucius laughed quietly, and Draco noticed unpleasant triumphant overtones in his father’s voice. The boy did not fully understand what the adults were talking about, he only gathered that it concerned Harry somehow, and he did not like the sound of it.

“How did you manage it?” Nott hissed, sitting straighter. Draco heard the leather squeak again. “How? You didn’t lose anything… Neither freedom like the Lestranges, nor money like the Bullstrodes, nor reputation like Avery or I…”

“Nor life like Rosier or Wilkes,” Lucius finished patronizingly. “Do we need to remember anyone else?”

“Mark my words, Lucius,” Nott was hissing so maliciously that Draco almost shivered, “you’ll get burned. You’ll get painfully burned.”

“Are you threatening me, Tobias?” Lucius forced through gritted teeth. Draco never heard his father speak so coldly and cruelly. “You, a wretched petty clerk, squandering the last knuts of the family fortune that your father had not managed to fiddle away? That’s a laugh. You will not try to throw me over the bridge if you want to keep what is left of your freedom, money and reputation. Furthermore, you have a son.”

“As do you,” Nott retorted, breathing hard like after a long run. “I know that now I have no way to get to you, but I’ll wait…”

“Please, spare me this cheap drama,” Lucius answered disdainfully. “You were offered help, and you refused it.”

“To accept help from you? And to owe you till my death like those two idiots, Crabbe and Goyle?” Nott’s voice was shaking with fury. “I’m not your chore boy! It’s not my fault that...”

“Enough!” Lucius interrupted this effusion with an impatient gesture of his hand. “I listened to you and took notice of your absurd demands. Now let’s go; after all, I have duties toward my other guests.”

They left.

Draco waited for another five minutes just in case, then hastily crawled from under the sofa, shook off the dust and cautiously peeked into the corridor. It was empty. He slipped quietly out of the room, closed the door and hurried toward the drawing room. After the first turn, he literally ran into Harry and Pansy.

“Here you are!” Pansy exclaimed indignantly. “We searched all over the place for you!”

“I surrender,” Draco waved them off.

“That you do,” Harry snorted. “The gong has already rung, and everyone is getting seated, so Mum sent us after you.”

They hurried toward the dining room, merrily discussing the holiday menu and, distracted by talking, no one asked Draco where he was hiding.

* * *

Severus did not manage to speak to Lucius before dinner. At the table he was seated between Agatha Bullstrode and Alicia Parkinson, and the result was pure torture.

Agatha complained non-stop about the unladylike manners of her daughter, for “a bride without a dowry should be gentle and amiable”. Bride, indeed, Severus snorted silently. The little pimple is barely seven, she’s too young to think of marriage. And again, if the girl is as independent as this stupid cow says, the chances of her marrying to her parents’ wishes are slim. However, he sensibly kept his mouth shut preferring to listen, nod and shake his head in appropriate places. If years in Hogwarts taught him anything, it was the art of dealing with annoying mothers.

When the flood of Mrs. Bullstrode’s complaints finally subsided, his second neighbour hurried to share her opinion of today’s fashions and hinted time and again how admirably his godson and her eldest daughter got along. Severus scarcely refrained from asking which godson she was talking about.

How does Cissy tolerate them? Severus wondered quietly. With each passing year I understand clearer why Luc married her. The Black sisters were the only Slytherin girls of our age who had not only good looks, but also intellect.

“Yes, Alicia,” he answered politely, thinking about something else. “Pansy makes a wonderful impression.”

Finally, the dinner was over, and the torture ended too. The men moved to the smoking room, the women went to take children to bed. Severus and Lucius escaped to the small drawing room again.

“How did you manage to marry the only sane woman in that henhouse, I wonder?” Severus grumbled, crashing down into the armchair. “They almost drove me mad.”

“It’s an acquired skill. Can you imagine what it is like for their husbands?” Lucius smirked in response. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“First of all I wanted to ask you something. What did you tell the boys about… the blood purity?”

“Nothing yet.” Lucius frowned. “Why?”

“Nott Jr. said a few rude words about Harry’s ancestry during a quarrel today.”

Lucius cursed under his breath.

“Moreover, it looked like he was hostile from the very beginning,” Severus continued. “But I can be mistaken, of course.”

“Like begets like,” Lucius said grimly.

“Ah, right, you talked to Nott Sr.” Severus nodded. “So, what did our ex-compagnon d’armes want from you?”

Lucius screwed up his face.

“I would dearly love to know that. It seems like our ex-compagnon d’armes is now un peu derangée. Mostly, he threatened me — rather vaguely for now. But he needs watching, and if what you say is true, his son does too,” he said thoughtfully. “By the way, who will be studying with the boys, apart from that kid? Parkinson, Bullstrode, Zabini… Pas mal, pas mal. Who else do you know of their Pureblood future classmates?”

Severus tried to recall what names he saw in the school registry knowing that most children from the Pureblood families were enlisted to school almost from birth.

“Well, Crabbe’s and Goyle’s boys, that’s obvious. Probably, someone of the younger Weasleys.”

“How many are there now?” Lucius snorted disdainfully. “Five? Six?”

“Seven.” Severus smirked. “Six sons and a daughter. And all of them will probably be Gryffindors.”

“C’est une folie.” Lucius shook his head disapprovingly. “That’s Prewett’s Catholic prejudice, no less. According to my father, not so long ago the Weasleys did not breed like rabbits and were not poor as church mice. That is what interest in Muggles leads to. Honestly, Arthur is a disgrace to his ancestors.”

Severus hurried to change the topic. He did not like Muggles, and Arthur’s follies irritated him to no end, but he did not want to discuss them with Lucius.

“Who else is there?” Severus raised his eyes to the ceiling. “The Bones’ orphan, Susan, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Amelia’s niece? The niece of the Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement?” Steel sparkled in Lucius’s gaze as if a stray ray of light reflected from a silver spoon. “Isn’t she a Half-blood?”

“As far as I remember, her mother was a Muggle-born witch.” Severus frowned. He saw Mary Bones and her husband Edmund many times during the Order meetings but it was long ago. They were killed just a few months after the death of the elder Boneses and Edmund’s older brother Edgar’s family.

“Unfortunately,” Lucius nodded. “But the girl was raised by her aunt… That can be useful. Is there anyone of importance left?”

“The Longbottoms’ son,” Severus answered quietly.

Both men sat in silence for a long time.

* * *

In the evening of November 1st, when all guests left and Severus returned to Hogwarts, Draco and Harry were summoned to Lucius’s study. Harry immediately kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the sofa, to sit with his legs crossed. Draco sat carefully on the edge; the study and the sofa reminded him unpleasantly of the overheard conversation. Lucius, sitting in the armchair opposite the sofa, scrutinized the boys.

“Both of you,” he started, “are the heirs of the old and respected families.”

Harry blushed and put his legs down from the sofa. Draco straightened proudly, and Lucius barely managed to suppress a smile.

“You’re old enough,” he continued, “to start learning everything a future head of a family needs to know. In particular, your family history.”

Lucius got up, moved away one of the ancient wool tapestries (the one with Merlin’s tomb in the apple orchard) and tapped twice lightly on the wall behind it with his wand. A part of the wall slid aside opening a cabinet with leather-bound manuscripts and wooden boxes, made to hold scrolls, which even looked heavy. The top shelf was occupied by newer and prettier books — with soft velvet binding, silver and golden corners and clasps.

“These,” Lucius took two rather big books, a green and a scarlet one, from the top shelf, “are the family chronicles. Your personal copies.”

Harry nervously wiped sweaty palms on his trousers before taking the scarlet-and-gold book.

“Harry,” Lucius rebuked the boy, “you have a handkerchief.”

Harry blushed again, pulled a batiste handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket (its pristine whiteness clearly indicated that it had never been used) and wiped his hands again. Then he hastily stuffed the handkerchief back into the pocket and took the book.

The velvet binding rustled pleasantly under his touch, the gold clasps reflected light. There was no inscription on the cover, only a coat of arms: a golden deer in a green shield. The shield was held by two lions, and the motto on a green ribbon underneath read Honor et virtus.

Next to Harry Draco was examining his own book with bated breath. The cover had a coat of arms too — a black shied with a soaring golden dragon. The shield was supported by two snakes in aggressive stances and rested on a silver ribbon underneath that read Prudens dominabitur astris.

Lucius waited patiently while the boys finished admiring the pictures. Finally, they started to compare the books, and Harry noticed a peculiarity.

“Dad,” he frowned, “why is Draco’s book twice as large as mine? Is Malfoy family so much more ancient?”

“No, that is not the reason,” Lucius answered calmly. “It is just that these books contain the history of Wizarding families, and your mother, Lily Evans, was a Muggle-born.”

“A Mug… What?”

“Muggles are people who are not capable of doing magic. Your mother’s parents were Muggles, that’s why her family is not here.”

Harry considered this.

“Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are Muggles, right?”

Lucius nodded, highly pleased with the turn of the conversation.

“I do not want to have anything in common with them,” Harry said decisively. “But…” He stopped.

“But what?”

“But I want to know about Lily.” Harry cast his eyes down. “They never told me anything, even though Aunt Petunia was her sister.”

“Your aunt always envied your mother,” Lucius explained, “because your aunt had no magic in her. And because from the first time your mother arrived to Hogwarts she realized that she belonged here, in the Wizarding world. I heard people say that Lilly Evans was a very talented witch. By the way,” he smirked inwardly, “your parents went to school the same year as Severus. You can ask him about her.”

“Will do.” Harry brightened. “So Draco’s book tells about Mum’s family too?”

“Yeah.” Draco showed him both end leaves of his book with two genealogy trees. “Look, here are the Malfoys, and here are the Blacks.”

The boys started to follow the lines with their fingers, reading out names and dates.

In the meantime, Draco frowned without taking his eyes off the book.

“Is that why Nott called Harry?..” He did not finish. Harry laid his book aside and looked at Lucius.

“Yes.” Lucius nodded. “But mainly, Harry, because he was envious too. His father believes in the importance of blood purity because he has nothing else to be proud of. And you, your ancestry notwithstanding, are quite talented, fairly rich even now, and I’m sure you will accomplish a great deal when you grow up.”

Harry nodded gloomily, following the slightly raised lines of Potters’ coat of arms with his finger. Lucius sighed.

“Draco, would you please leave us for a moment?”

Draco got up silently, squeezed Harry’s shoulder in a very non-childish manner, and left the room without a word.

Lucius moved to the sofa.

“Tell me what you are thinking about.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and kept looking at the floor.

Lucius clenched his teeth. Damn that Nott and his offspring! Neither he, nor Harry were ready for this conversation. Backing out was not an option, though.

“Harry,” he said steadily. He took the boy by the shoulders and turned him to face himself. “I am very proud of you.”

Harry brightened, and all of a sudden, Lucius felt truly cheered by that little victory.

“The blood does not matter,” he lied convincingly. “What you are is the only thing that matters. Your skills and your abilities. Only the strong survive in this world, and you are a smart and strong boy.”

Harry put his head onto Lucius’s chest, and Malfoy tenderly tousled his already dishevelled hair.

“You will become an outstanding wizard, I am sure,” he muttered.

____________________

Footnotes:

Compagnon d’armes (fr.) — Comrade-in-arms.

Un peu derangée (fr.) — A little delusional.

Pas mal, pas mal (fr.) — Not bad, not bad.

C’est une folie (fr.) — It’s madness.

Honor et virtus (lat.) — Honour and virtue. Gold in heraldry means riches, justice and generosity, green stands for hope, joy, fertility and fidelity. Deer is a warrior who makes the enemies run. Lion is a symbol of power, generosity and courage.

Prudens dominabitur astris (lat.) — The skilled man will rule the stars. It is a version of Sapiens dominabitur astris (The wise man will rule the stars). Black colour symbolizes foresight and caution. The dragon stands for power, might and energy. The snake is a symbol of wisdom and cunning.

Chapter Text

November 1987

One evening a week after the ill-fated Samhain celebration, Lucius was sitting in the library with a book of Baudelaire, thoroughly enjoying the masterpiece of the French poetry. Despite their proverbial hatred for Muggles, the majority of Wizarding nobility in Britain liked Muggle literature, but mostly the works written at least a century ago. Once upon a time Severus, who was fifteen years old then, noticed a book of Hugo (or was it Gautier?) in Lucius’s hands and asked how it squared with the Dark Lord’s politics. Lucius shrugged and answered, “It can’t be helped that the Dark Lord has never had a classical education.”

The crimson-fruited mouth that I desired —

While, like a snake on coals, she twinged and twired,

Kneading her breasts against her creaking busk —

Let fall those words impregnated with musk...

The door burst open, and an agitated Severus burst into the room — his robe was flailing at least a foot above the ground.

“Lucius!” he roared. “Have you lost your marbles?”

Lucius raised his head, looked at his friend with interest, and put the book down.

“First of all,” he said, “do not shout. Second, I assure you that I am of sound mind and memory. Third, sit down, please, and explain what the matter is.”

Severus snorted and flung himself into the opposite armchair.

“Was it you who put Harry to asking me about his parents?” he hissed.

“Yes.” Lucius nodded. “I know that you could not stand the Marauders, but who else can the boy talk to? Do you suggest introducing Harry to Dumbledore instead? I myself saw them only a couple of times, mostly because I was the Head Boy in my last year.”

“Lucius,” Severus said quietly, but with feeling, and this feeling was obviously not a good one, “It wasn’t just that I could not stand them. I hated their guts! Well, maybe apart from Lupin, he merely annoyed me to no end. And now you want me to tell the boy what a wonderful man his father was?”

“This hatred towards the dead is irrational, Sev,” Lucius sighed. “The Potters and Pettigrew are long six feet under, Black is in Azkaban. As far as I understand, Lupin is nowhere to be found. You are fraying your nerves for nothing. No stupid school rivalry is worth it.”

“A stupid school rivalry?” Severus’s voice rose to a shriek. He jumped up and started to pace nervously. “Luc, I’ve never told anyone about this… Do you remember me writing to you in my fifth year, asking you to send me the ingredients for our version of Sleeping Draught?”

“Yes.” Lucius nodded. “You complained of nightmares, but never said what had caused them.”

“Luc,” Severus watched his friend closely, “Black almost killed me then for the sake of a good Gryffindor joke. Potter saved my skin — he had a fit of tender conscience at the last moment. And that was just one episode, though probably the most dangerous.”

“Why have you never told anyone?” Lucius frowned, but then immediately nodded with understanding. “Ah, but of course. Dumbledore made you promise to keep it secret, and you, with your preposterous honesty, kept your word. So, what did you promise never to speak about?”

Severus stared silently at the fire grate, hugging himself.

“There now,” Lucius remarked, “they are dead… or as good as dead, what is the point of covering them up? Unless… Lupin was involved too, wasn’t he?”

Severus kept silent, staring into the fire.

Lucius snapped his fingers summoning the house elf.

“Mulled wine for two,” he ordered. The house elf nodded and disappeared. “So…” Lucius continued pensively. “I think there was something about Lupin… some odd rumours. No, I can’t remember.” He shook his head. “That brat was too quiet. He always stayed out of trouble.”

Severus, who was standing still in the middle of the room, made a strangled sound, half sob, half snicker.

“That’s right,” he said dully. “Lupin did not like trouble, especially if it meant troubling himself.”

The elf reappeared, carrying a tray with two steaming cups of fragrant wine. Leaving it on the table, he vanished with a small pop.

Lucius rose, took Severus by the shoulders and forcefully seated him into the chair. Then he shoved a cup into his friend’s hands, took another one for himself, and sat on the sofa again.

“Tell me now,” he said quietly, but firmly. “I will find everything out anyway, as you perfectly well know. If you are worried because of Dumbledore, I can promise you I will not use this information without consulting you.”

The internal struggle was evident on Severus’s face for several minutes, but eventually he gave up.

“Very well,” he started in an undertone, then slumped and blew on his wine before sipping. “Keep in mind, though, that the only people who know about this are Dumbledore and Pomfrey. And Black too, but he is — as you have noted before — in Azkaban. So if you spill the beans, Dumbledore will be absolutely sure it was I who told you.”

“I can see that,” Lucius in his turn tasted the piquant wine smelling of cinnamon and allspice.

“Lupin is a werewolf,” Severus said with a sigh. Lucius nodded, showing that he was listening, and looked questioningly at his friend. The Potions master spoke hastily as if afraid that should he stop he would not be able to start talking again. “During the full moon they hid him in the Shrieking Shack. Naturally, his absence every month was noticed, so the rumours eventually started circulating. I got interested because by the fifth year we had a long-time feud, and I was actively looking for damaging information.”

“You mean you were curious,” Lucius smirked a little.

Severus made a wry face, but did not object.

“Once I saw Pomfrey leading Lupin to the Shrieking Shack. Black probably noticed me because before the next full moon he flung some information at me as if at random. He said that I only needed to poke a certain spot on the Weeping Willow to find out where Lupin was disappearing.”

“And you went for it?”

“You do not have to remind me that I was an idiot,” Severus winced. “And a presumptuous idiot at that, because I was sure that there was no Gryffindor joke I could not cope with. It turned out that a werewolf was beyond my capacity.”

Lucius shuddered involuntarily.

“Luckily, I came there early when Lupin’s transformation had just started. When I saw that thing, I simply froze. At the last moment Potter appeared like a noble hero (apparently Black could not keep it to himself and boasted about his wonderful idea) and pulled me out of there. I spent the whole next day at Pomfrey’s in shock. In the evening, I was summoned by Dumbledore who explained gently that Lupin was just as much a victim of Black’s idiocy as I was, therefore that incident should never be made public and nobody would be expelled. Black got off with a month of detentions with Filch. The only bright spot in all this was that despite everything Potter did not get any points for his ‘heroic deed’ because that would have had to be explained,” Severus snorted.

“A lovely story.”

“Oh yes,” Severus grumbled.

“I suppose I am no longer surprised that you sided with the Dark Lord,” Lucius remarked carelessly. “I am much more surprised, though, that you turned to Dumbledore.”

Severus who had just raised the cup to his lips, choked and coughed, almost spilling wine on his knees.

“Where did… you… get… the idea?” he finally managed to stutter.

“Do not be dense, Sev,” Lucius replied calmly. “We met in 1971. You went to Dumbledore in the autumn of 1980 — by that moment we knew each other for nine years! When you were still at school after I graduated, we did not see much of each other, but I still knew you inside out. Did you really think I would not notice anything?”

Severus put the cup on the tray and clutched his hair with a groan.

“Stop it,” Lucius winced a little. “There is no reason for such drama. I knew, so what?  Had you got in trouble, I would have tried to help you. If I had had a rough time, I dare hope I would be able to use this knowledge to save my skin from the Ministry. It did not come to that, thank Merlin. Anyway, all of this is ancient history. A charming family joke, nothing more. Now let’s return to the main topic. What did you tell Harry?”

Severus sighed for the umpteenth time that evening.

“To cut a long story short, I ran away.” Self-disgust rang clearly in his voice. “I said I could not talk right then, referred to some business and foolishly promised to bring him some pictures. Where would I get them?” he complained.

“What is Dumbledore for?” Lucius snorted. “You need only let it slip that Harry wants to know something about his parents, and the old man will shower you with pictures. If worse comes to worst, he will rob the school archives.”

“Very well.” Severus rubbed his temple absentmindedly, took his cup and sipped. “And what should I tell Harry?”

“Preferably the truth,” Lucius answered serenely. “I do not want to end up in the situation when something he hears from Dumbledore or your crowd,” he smirked slightly at that, “contradicts anything he hears from you or me. It is better not to go much into the details. At the very least, there are plenty of facts about the Potters that are common knowledge. You can share them with a little more private perspective than the Daily Prophet. Potter and Evans were both in Gryffindor. Potter was a descendent of an ancient Wizarding family, he was handsome, rich, popular, a brilliant Seeker, and adored by girls. Evans was a talented Muggle-born student, charming, pretty, in love with her prince…”

Severus snorted angrily.

“She could not stand Potter until our sixth or seventh year. It was he who had been chasing her starting from the fifth year. Lily thought him a self-centred arrogant jackass — and I must say she was quite right. How many times I explained to her…”

“Jealousy is a meaningless and very burdensome feeling,” Lucius remarked carelessly. “Now I see why you never liked Po…”

“Lucius!” Severus flared up. When he collected himself, he added icily, “I was never in love with Lily Evans. She was my first friend, that is all. Despite our quarrel, I did not wish on her such an idiot for a husband. And I will be very grateful if you leave the topic.”

“Speaking of idiots,” Lucius said thoughtfully, “has it never occurred to you that the whole story with Black’s betrayal and arrest looked quite odd? If he was a traitor, why had neither I nor you, as far as I understand, ever seen him at our… assemblies?”

“Therein lies the problem,” Severus sighed. “Since you have figured it out yourself…” He raised his head and looked Lucius in the eye. “Our crowd knew there was a traitor among us. We did not know the name. I… was not able to find out. The Lord was very careful in that case…”

“And  when all this happened, your crowd had every reason to believe the traitor was Black,” Lucius finished. “I see. Anyway, Harry doesn’t have to know that for the next ten years or so. Tell him basic things. Lessons, Quidditch, Gryffindor pranks… and Slytherin counterattacks.” He smirked. “Do you remember that snake you turned loose on Potter? Your third year, if I recall correctly?”

“Not, it was the second one,” Severus smiled dreamily. “What a fancy Serpensortia. McGonagall almost had a stroke, I got two weeks of detention, but it was worth it.”

“See? You have much to tell Harry. And Draco will be glad to hear it too.”

“If you are so clever,” Severus grumbled, “tell me what to say to Dumbledore. He will plague me with questions to dementia as soon as he hears about this.”

* * *

With his heart wildly beating, Harry got out from under the heavy tapestry that covered the second hidden entrance to the library. A long time ago, the spacious room was a walk-through with its second door opening into a narrow corridor, which led to the private rooms of the manor. However, either as Lucius (or, perhaps, his father or grandfather?) did not want guests, who often visited the library, to have an easy access to his private rooms, or for some other reason, the door was now blocked from the inside by a so called card-playing corner. It consisted of a sofa, two armchairs and a small table. From the outside the door was hidden by a tapestry depicting the last battle between Arthur and Mordred.

Actually, Harry did not mean to eavesdrop, it was just an accident. After parting with Severus, he wanted to find Narcissa and ask her to read aloud to Draco and himself. Running past the tapestry, though, he suddenly heard his godfather shouting, “Lucius! Have you lost your marbles?”

If one takes into account that Severus never shouted and was even less prone to using such a language, it was no wonder that Harry became intrigued. On top of that, he felt that this could have something to do with the postponed conversation about Harry’s parents. Without pausing to think, he dove under the tapestry and glued his ear to the keyhole. He figured out almost immediately that his dad was sitting on the sofa because he could hear most of the conversation…

When Hogwarts headmaster’s name came up, Harry crawled out from under the tapestry, deep in thought. He understood approximately half of the overheard conversation, but the other half did not bother him at the moment. However, he understood the main point: Severus could not stand Harry’s father and his friends. And it seemed like he was justified if the story with the Shack was not an exaggeration. Actually, Severus usually did not like to exaggerate, quite the opposite. Still, it seemed he liked Harry’s mother… Lily Evans.

Upset, Harry shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and decided to go to his room and think everything over.

Draco’s and his rooms now included a bedroom, a playroom and a schoolroom. Draco was not in the playroom or the bedroom. Harry peeked into the schoolroom, but it was also empty. He stood for a minute at his writing table, tugging at the quill absentmindedly. A year ago, French (which Harry liked and Draco not so much), basic Herbology (which interested Draco and bored Harry to tears) and horseback riding (which both boys loved) were added to reading, writing and arithmetic lessons. Now the family history lessons started, and Lucius threatened to add Latin and some Gaelic into the schedule next year, explaining that these languages provided the basis for most of the spells used by British wizards. Harry thought that at this rate they soon would not have any free time left.

He returned to the playroom and flopped on the carpet near the railway. He launched the scarlet train to run around and lay on his belly, resting his chin on both hands. That toy always brought back the best memories: Lucius’s glorious appearance on Privet Drive, meeting Draco, Harry’s first real birthday… Severus’s first visit.

Harry frowned a little. Why did he have to eavesdrop?

“Sulking?”

Harry lifted his head — Draco was standing over him, smiling.

“Yeah,” he replied, turned and looked at the train again.

Draco sat nearby with his legs crossed.

“Did Sev tell you something unpleasant?” Draco asked cautiously, knowing that Harry meant to ask their godfather about his parents.

“Not to me. But now I understand,” he sighed, “why they say that eavesdropping is bad.”

“And very useful,” countered Draco, then remembered the conversation he overheard in the study and stopped smiling. “Well? Spill it!”

“There is nothing to spill.” Harry sat up and shrugged. “I just heard Severus telling Dad that he hated my… James Potter and his friends.”

Draco whistled.

“Now I understand why he did not want to talk with me about it,” Harry sighed and stopped the train. He got up and looked at the clock. “Gosh, it’s almost ten already! Let’s go to bed before we get into trouble.”

“I do not feel like it.” Draco got up. “Listen, I have an idea. How about calling Dobby? Let’s ask him to bring us cocoa and some Bertie Bott’s Beans.”

“Good idea,” Harry cheered up. “But we need to put out the lights. Otherwise if Dad goes by and sees us, we’ll get beans all right, from here to Hogwarts.”

* * *

Severus returned to Hogwarts in the lowest of moods. He could not decide which worried and bothered him more: Lucius’s unexpected awareness, an upcoming talk with Harry or the need to decide again whom he trusted more, Lucius or Dumbledore. Actually, the right wording would be whom he distrusted less.

Frowning in concentration, he strode to the dungeons. The students saw the expression on his face and, as usual, hurried out of the way of the displeased Head of Slytherin.

“Greasy git,” a voice rang from around the corner.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” Severus said without turning his head, correctly guessing the House of the cheeky student, but it did not cheer him up.

After returning to his rooms, he planned to take a bath and soak there for an hour or so to sort everything out in his head, but he did not have a chance to relax. As soon as he entered, the fireplace came to life and Albus Dumbledore’s head appeared among the green flames.

“Ah, Severus, you are back,” he stated with obvious satisfaction. “Would you come to my office for a moment?”

“Yes,” the Potions master nodded obediently, knowing that objections were futile. “In a minute.”

* * *

“Well, how is our Harry doing?” the headmaster asked cheerfully as soon as Severus entered the room.

“Our Harry,” he answered acidly, “wants to know about his parents. From me.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Dumbledore’s blue eyes shone brighter than ever.

Why does everyone take me for a fool? Severus cried silently, struggling to keep his stoic expression.

“No doubt,” he retorted. “That’s why I wanted to ask you for the pictures of your favourite Gryffindor gang. As you can guess, I do not have any.”

His sarcasm went unnoticed.

“Yes, yes, my boy,” Dumbledore nodded. “I will certainly find them for you. Come to my office tomorrow… or better the day after tomorrow, in the evening.”

“All right,” Severus agreed wearily, still dreaming of a hot bath. “Is that all?”

“Yes, I think so,” the old man smiled widely at him.

“Good night then.” The Potions master dove into the fireplace before he was burdened with something even less pleasant.

Only after he had sunk into the balmy water scented with juniper and rosemary, he remembered suddenly that he hadn’t mentioned to the headmaster anything about Lucius’s sudden revelations.

* * *

On Monday Severus handed all the students who had managed to earn a detention to Filch and reluctantly went to Malfoy Manor — to have dinner and to fulfil his promise to Harry.

The conversation during the meal was sluggish. Lucius asked the boys about their lessons, while Narcissa listened vacantly to Severus’s scant remarks on school gossip and troubles.

Severus caught Harry staring at him once or twice — the boy was obviously studying him discreetly. The Potions master wondered what had caused it, Harry’s eagerness to hear the promised story or something else.

After the pudding, Lucius led everyone to the drawing room, which he and Narcissa left tactfully after half an hour (they sent Draco away on some trivial pretext before that). Harry and Severus were left alone.

“Here, I have brought you some photographs,” Severus said awkwardly. He did not have a single idea where to begin so he handed the album to the boy. Harry started to look at the pictures, asking questions like “Who is this girl?”, “Did not you play Quidditch yourself?” and such from time to time. Severus relaxed gradually and began to talk more, but suddenly he saw the next photo and almost choked. Fifteen-year-old James Potter was leaning casually against a tree, playing with the snitch. Severus did not look through the album closely beforehand, he only thumbed it through and did not notice this particular picture… or, perhaps, James was not in it then. Apparently, the agitation and horror were plain on his face, because Harry frowned, bit his lip and looked at him warily.

“You did not like him, did you?” Harry asked directly after a little hesitation.

Severus closed his eyes and slouched on the sofa where they were sitting. Great Merlin, he tried to pretend that everything was fine, but this was his sorest spot… Besides, he did not want to lie to his godson, Lucius’s and Dumbledore’s expectations notwithstanding.

“No,” he said without opening his eyes. It was easier this way, and he seized this small chance while feeling guilty at the same time. “To put it mildly, your father and I did not like each other. The day this picture was taken…” Severus halted, trying to pick his words carefully, “he played an especially nasty joke on me.”

“And what about my mother?” Harry asked.

Severus felt his cheeks burning. How did he get dragged into this? This time, however, he would not tell the whole truth, that was for sure.

“Your mother defended me,” he acknowledged honestly, keeping to himself what he said about it then and how it all ended. “Lily was a very good girl, kind and smart…”

“Why did she marry James then?” Harry asked angrily. “She should have married you.”

Severus choked and opened his eyes.

“In that case you would have never been born,” he sidestepped the issue. “Anyway…” he faltered, searching for a more believable lie, “In the end James grew up. We never became friends, but we worked together,” he added evasively and thought: He managed to grow up, but it did not add him any more brain cells.

Harry frowned again, thinking it over.

“Am I like him?” he asked finally.

“Yes, but only to some extent,” Severus answered truthfully. The boy did not wear glasses that could make him look like his father. Without them, Lily’s green eyes were more striking, and Harry’s hair was longer than Potter’s. Besides, even though the boy was being spoilt with attention in Lucius’s home, he did not find any pleasure in bullying anyone younger or weaker. His temperament much more resembled his mother’s.

Harry was obviously relieved.

“I’m glad you told me,” he answered sincerely. “I want to know the truth.”

“The truth is usually very unpleasant,” remarked Severus, falling easily into tutorial manner.

“And also very useful,” Harry retorted like an adult. “Anyway, I do not like when people lie.” He closed the album. “Would you tell me about my mother? Or yourself.”

“Are you so sure I shall tell you the truth?” Severus laughed with relief, quite happy that memories of James Potter would not be brought up again.

“Yeah.” Harry moved closer, clinging to Severus like a kitten, and made himself more comfortable. “Please…”

“All right. Once, when I was in my second year,” Severus started quietly, “Evan Rosier and I…”

* * *

“…and so I miraculously passed my Transfiguration exam,” Severus finished only to discover that Harry was sound asleep on his shoulder.

“I should summon you to put the children to bed,” Lucius said quietly in his ear and smiled. Severus almost jumped out of his skin. “Usually they do not go to the bedroom willingly.”

“That was your stupid idea,” Severus answered in an angry whisper. “Yours and Dumbledore’s.”

“So?” Lucius asked without paying attention to his friend’s annoyance. “What did you tell him?”

“The truth, mostly,” Severus answered. “With some cuts, of course, but the truth.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Harry is a very perceptive child,” Severus shrugged, “and I do not hide my distaste well if it ‘is not a question of life and death. Anyway, I do not see the point.”

“And what did he say?” Lucius demanded.

“Not much. That Lily should have married me,” Severus smiled crookedly and bitterly with a corner of his mouth.

“Bravo, Sev!” Lucius winked at him, then bent down and picked up the sleeping boy. “I ‘will put him to bed and return.”

“Do not bother.” Severus shook his head. “I have lessons tomorrow early in the morning. I’m going back to Hogwarts.”

“Good night then.”

“Good night.”

When Severus exited the fireplace in his sitting room, he wondered for the umpteenth time in the last two years what Harry would look like when he came to Hogwarts.

____________________

Footnotes:

The crimson-fruited mouth that I desired... — Charles Baudelaire, The Metamorphoses of the Vampire from The Flowers of Evil translated by Roy Campbell (1952).

Chapter Text

August 1988

Harry walked along the beach, angrily kicking away pebbles and small sticks. He was in a foul mood.

The whole family had come to the seaside where they rented an old Muggle mansion for the whole month of August. They even brought Dobby with them. Skilfully cast charms scared off overly intrusive Muggles, and the big garden hid the house from prying eyes.

They had been there for a week, and the weather was still awful — there was no chance to bask in the sun or swim. It was the first day without rain, but Harry managed to quarrel with everyone. First with Draco, trying to decide whose turn it was to wear the dark green leather cloak with dragon scale print. The ill-fated cloak was a misguided present from Severus to both boys, which made it an eternal apple of discord. Then with Narcissa, when she tried to calm them down. And in the end with his dad, when Lucius announced that the water was still too cold for swimming so they would not go to the shore, but would drive to the nearest town with a Wizarding neighbourhood. It all ended badly, of course. Lucius lost his temper and said they would go to town without Harry who would stay at the mansion where he could throw tantrums all he liked — alone.

At first, Harry stayed at the mansion as he was told, sulked and tried to read the assigned fairy tales by Perrault in French. Having finished the book, he started to play Exploding Snap with himself, but got bored soon.

He perched on the windowsill, hugged his knees and imagined his foster parents and Draco having fun in town without him. They were probably sitting in a cafe eating something delicious... The idea made him so unhappy that he could not take it anymore. He jumped down, went to his and Draco’s bedroom and dressed for a walk. Then he ran out of the house in the direction of the seashore.

For some time he had fun. He sat on the beach a little, threw pebbles into the water, then walked along the shoreline, proud that he was so grown up and independent. Then, however, Harry remembered everything that happened in the morning, and his mood was again spoiled. He was mad at his parents for not taking him with them and at himself for behaving so stupidly and childishly. He was also very much ashamed that he had run away from home like some fool from a sentimental book written a hundred years ago.

Harry was almost ready to turn back when he stumbled into someone big and soft because he was not looking where he was going.

“I am sorry, sir,” he said politely, lifting his head... and meeting Uncle Vernon’s eyes. “Oops!”

“I’ll show you Oops!” his uncle snapped and grabbed the boy’s collar. “Watch where you’re going, brat! Where did you...” He stopped short, obviously recognizing Harry. “You little scum!” The man grabbed Harry’s arm with his fat fingers. “We had so much trouble because of you... Well, now everything will be fine...” He started dragging Harry with him.

“Let me go!” Harry was indignant. “They expect me at home soon!”

“That’s right,” Vernon smirked. “Petunia will have words with you... The police harassed us for six months because of you, accusing us of God knows what! Neighbours started looking oddly at us so we had to move... We were robbed, and the bank collapsed...” he murmured vehemently, his spittle flying. “We’ll see now, I’ll prove that we were innocent. They’ll pay us damages... And you’ll be sent to an orphanage, they’ll beat your stupid ideas out of you...”

Harry was really scared now. His uncle was clearly off his rocker, and Harry noticed his shabby clothes. It looked like the Dursleys were not doing well. Besides, the man reeked awfully of wine or something like it...

Harry willed himself not to panic. Maybe when they got to the Dursleys’ house he would be able to call for help. In the meantime, it was not wise to make his uncle angry... Harry stopped kicking and shuffled after his kidnapper, sorry for the umpteenth time that he could not do real magic and that children’s natural magic could not be controlled.

They soon came to a lopsided, shabby house at the end of the village, unfortunately without meeting anyone.

“Petunia!” the man shouted opening the door. “Look who I’ve brought with me!”

He shoved Harry forward so forcefully the boy almost tripped.

“Oh!” his aunt flung out her arms. Then she examined the boy more closely and gasped, “Vernon, look at his clothes!”

Harry stared at her quizzically. Why was she gaping at him? He did not even wear a robe today, so why was she so surprised?

“Look, Vernon,” she pointed with a trembling finger at the top button of Harry’s shirt. “It’s a pearl!”

“A fake probably,” Vernon grumbled.

“Of course not.” Harry felt offended. “Malfoys do not wear fakes. Neither do Potters.”

“So your guardian is rich, isn’t he?” Uncle Vernon suddenly gave Harry an oily glance.

“Very,” Harry nodded. Maybe he would get lucky... if his uncle was foolish enough to try blackmailing Lucius Malfoy. “His buttons are made of diamonds,” he added in a fake fit of naiveté.

The Dursleys looked at each other. By the expression on his uncle’s face Harry realized that the bait was in.

“And where do you live?” his uncle asked.

“In the house on the hill,” answered Harry. “There, over the harbour...”

“Right,” Vernon announced. “You wait here while I’ll have a pleasure of talking to your guardian... What was his name, you said?”

“I did not say anything,” Harry snorted dismissively. “His name is Lucius Aurelius Malfoy.”

“Perfect.” Vernon smiled nastily. “Meanwhile...”

Before Harry could blink, he was locked in the cupboard. Again.

* * *

Lucius paced the room like a caged lion.

“I do not know what I will do when I find him...”

It was getting dark. Narcissa was sitting at the table in tears. She was holding her head with her hands and whimpering quietly. Confused Draco was stroking her shoulders tenderly. It went without saying that the house, the garden and the shoreline had been already searched. Guilty Dobby who missed the moment Harry left the mansion was relentlessly hitting his head on the fire grate.

“Dobby, stop that right now!” Lucius snapped. The elf stilled in fear. “Can you find him?”

The poor house elf sniffled.

“Dobby can try. Dobby will search every place...”

“It will take too much time.” Lucius sighed and looked at the magical clock on the mantelpiece. Three arrows were pointing at home, the fourth one — at trouble. “But apparently...”

Dobby suddenly stilled and listened.

“Master Lucius, sir... There is an intruder at the gates. A Muggle, sir.”

Lucius almost ordered to get rid of the guest, but changed his mind suddenly. It occurred to him that the Muggle could have information about Harry. If anything happened, Harry could try to contact his family...

Without a single thought about the impression his robe might give, he walked steadily to the garden gates. A shabby Muggle hovered under the big street light nearby. The man reeked of alcohol and cheap tobacco. Lucius screwed his face.

“What can I do for you?” he asked coldly.

“Mr. Malfoy?” the Muggle grinned. With disgust, Lucius recognized Vernon Dursley. For a second he was surprised by the man’s appearance and obviously disastrous state of his affairs, but then he remembered which spells according to Severus and Dumbledore kept Harry safe in the Dursleys’ house. He smiled spitefully inside his head. Blood magic can be a nasty thing. Lily Potter probably did not realize what she was doing, but the result is impressive. The home where her child was mistreated will have bad luck for much longer than seven years.

“Yes, that is I.” He opened the gate and let Vernon inside, drawing his wand discreetly. “What do you want?”

“The thing is we’ve found your boy...” Dursley said with slimy and at the same time surprisingly impudent overtones.

Lucius gritted his teeth and silently cursed the Ministry that had banned the use of Imperio. He could have located Harry in no time just by ordering this damned blackmailer to lead him to the boy.

“I am all ears,” he said icily.

* * *

The cupboard where Harry was locked was a real one, not a closet under the staircase like the one before, but a musty, dirty cupboard smelling of foul clothes and mould.

What was I thinking? he berated himself, wondering whether his family had already returned. They must be looking for me. Mum is crying, and dad is angry... And I am in a big trouble now!

Harry sighed, propped his chin on his hands and stared longingly at the door. A thin light shone from under it. Then Harry got angry. How dare they lock him here! Stupid, greedy, nasty... Muggles! He looked angrily at the door and wholeheartedly wished for it to open. The metallic snap of the door latch was almost deafening, like a thunder in the silence.

And now what? Harry thought, feeling perplexed.

He stood up gingerly, stepped close to the door and opened it a little; it looked like nobody was there. He opened the door wider, scanning the narrow corridor through the door opening. He still could see nobody outside.

He tiptoed out the door, trying not to make a sound, and headed toward the front door. With luck, he would get out of here...

A floorboard squeaked under his foot, and he dashed blindly for the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Petunia stood on the threshold with her arms crossed.

Harry straightened, copied her pose and stared at her angrily and coldly like his father could.

“Home,” he snapped.

“I don’t think so, dear,” she snorted. “To the cupboard.”

“I ‘will not. I am hungry.” Harry was indignant. When his uncle was not around, he felt much more confident. “Anyway,” he cast a sidelong glance at Petunia, “do you think my father will be pleased if he finds me in a cupboard?”

His aunt, apparently, did not think so, since she frowned, pursed her lips and asked, “Do you want something to eat?”

Harry suppressed a wish to roll his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go to the kitchen.” She shoved him forward. “I’ll find you some bread and cheese.”

Harry sighed and shuffled after her, figuring that a kitchen was better than a cupboard.

* * *

Lucius stared at the Muggle in front of him in amazement. This creature honestly believed that he was controlling the situation, did he not? He dared to take something Lucius considered his own and blackmail him? Lucius laughed hoarsely, thoroughly confusing this not the smartest of Muggles.

“Wait here,” Lucius ordered. “I will bring the requested sum immediately.”

He turned and walked to the house decisively. In the hall he summoned some newspapers and transfigured them into two thick bundles of hundred pounds notes — the only Muggle money he saw close enough to remember its design. Then he smirked darkly, put on his gloves and cast Confundus. After a little thought, he also added an invisible mark to trace the person who pocketed the money. Most likely this would not be necessary, but better safe than sorry.

“Dobby!” He snapped his fingers.

“Yes, sir?” The house elf looked guilty and scared.

“Tell Cissy that this Muggle knows where Harry is and that I’m going to bring the boy back. Tell her not to worry.”

“Yes, master, sir.” The relief on the house elf’s face was evident.

“And start the dinner,” Lucius ordered and without waiting for the next “Yes, master, sir” stepped back into the garden.

Vernon Dursley was waiting patiently for him near the gate. Lucius was carefully playacting the role of a man making the best of a bad bargain and handed the blackmailer one of the bundles.

“This is half of the sum. You will get the rest after I see the boy.”

Dursley took the money and smiled, showing his tobacco-stained teeth.

“Agreed. But show me the other half.”

Lucius shrugged and showed the money, holding it out of the Muggle’s reach, then put it back into his pocket.

“Let us go. I do not have much time.”

“Of course, of course.” Dursley clutched the money nervously, and his gaze turned confused. The spell was working. The fat man hastily pocketed the money and walked down the street. Lucius followed. He remembered too late that he was wearing a robe and used a Notice-Me-Not charm. Not that he minded if Muggles saw him, but any distraction would be inconvenient.

It was already dark. They walked down the street toward the esplanade, then took several crooked and dirty alleys with almost no streetlamps to reach the waterside neighbourhood. Dursley brought Lucius to the shabbiest house on the outskirts of the village.

Quel trou à rats! Lucius thought with revulsion.

“Welcome to our home,” the Muggle said and opened the door in front of the guest.

Lucius screwed his face and entered the narrow and dark corridor lit by a single — what was it called? — ah yes, bulb hanging on a wire near the ceiling without a lampshade.

“Where is Harry?” he asked coldly.

“Just a moment...” Dursley hurried off around the corner where a small door was visible, and a sudden guess made Lucius shake with rage. This... scum dared to lock the child in the cupboard? Again?

In the next second Dursley found himself pushed into the wall by a hand with an iron grip, and with a wand thrust into his Adam’s apple.

“Sale brute!” hissed Lucius. “Je vais te tuer...”

“Vernon!” a woman shrieked behind his back.

“Dad!”

Lucius threw the deadly pale Muggle away and turned around: Harry was standing near his aunt, dishevelled and dirty, but in one piece. Lucius was taken aback by relief that flooded him.

“Harry, are you alright?”

“Yeah.” The boy took advantage of the general confusion, ran up and hugged him.

Lucius smiled with a corner of his mouth.

“Perfect. Accio money!”

The money flew out of the pocket of stunned Vernon Dursley who was still sitting on the floor and rubbing his neck nervously. Lucius caught it, removed the second bundle from his own pocket and pointed his wand at both — Finite Incantatem! — to take the tracking mark and Confundus off. Then he deleted the both Dursleys’ memories of the last few minutes — Obliviate!

“Here is your money,” he threw the money on the floor carelessly, smirked and added, “But I warn you, it will not do you any good. Let’s go, Harry.” He took the boy’s hand and left the house without waiting for the Dursleys to come back to their senses.

The first several minutes they walked in silence. Then Harry asked quietly, “Why aren’t we Apparating?”

“I prefer to walk,” Lucius answered, “and calm down a little. Are you tired?”

“No.”

After a pause, Harry said quietly, but firmly, “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Lucius took a deep breath trying to stay calm.

“For what?” he asked sarcastically, allowing himself to demonstrate only a small portion of his annoyance and the fear he experienced.

Harry swallowed and answered, “For leaving... without permission. And ending up in a stupid situation, and you having to look for me, and...” he stammered, then continued, barely whispering, “And to pay money.”

Lucius stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face him.

“Silly child,” he sighed. “Money... and the rest... do not matter. You disobeyed me, however. And made your mother worry.”

And me, he thought angrily.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Harry bit his lip and looked down. “I will not do it again.”

Lucius sighed once more, patted his head and said in a gentler tone, “Let’s go, Mum is waiting for us. By the way... how did Mr. Dursley learn where to look for me?”

“I told him.” Harry clutched Lucius’s hand more firmly. “Aunt Petunia noticed my buttons, and I made it clear that you were... rich. I thought if Uncle Vernon tried to blackmail you, you could find me.”

“Well done,” Lucius said with approval. “And why was he looking for you in a cupboard?”

“He locked me up there,” Harry sighed. “I sat there, looking at the door, and got mad, and then it opened. I almost ran away, but Aunt Petunia met me near the door. I said that you’d be angry if you saw me in the cupboard. So she did not lock me up again.”

“It is good that you did not panic in the difficult situation. But it would be even better not to get into such trouble, of course.”

They almost reached the house when Lucius remarked, “You realize that I will have to punish you, don’t you?”

“Yes, Dad,” Harry answered obediently, but there was a trace of fear in his voice. Lucius silently cursed the Dursleys again. How could he make the child learn about discipline if punishment and abuse was the same thing to him?

“While we are here,” he began in a deliberately calm voice, “I will not deprive you of any privileges. We are on vacation, after all. When we return to the manor, though, I will take your broom away. For two weeks. You will also write a hundred lines about not going away without permission. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Dad,” Harry answered almost happily.

Patience, thought Lucius. By the by he will learn to see these things in the right way. And I wager he will not ever be accused of love for Muggles.

* * *

“Harry!”  As soon as they entered the house, Harry was hugged by a sniffling Narcissa. “You scared us so much! Where have you been?”

“Calm down, Cissy,” a familiar voice grumbled, and Harry with some surprise noticed that Severus was there.

“Sev?” Lucius was also astonished. “What are you doing here?”

“Consoling your wife,” Severus answered archly. “You have no idea how much energy it takes.”

“You think so?” Lucius hugged Narcissa and kissed her cheek. “It is not that hard. But I would prefer you not to console my wife in that way.”

Draco, who stood a little away from the group, sniggered quietly.

“Let’s go and eat,” he said. “I’m awfully hungry.”

Dobby was beside himself with happiness that Harry had been found. The elf almost danced around the table while bringing the dishes. When agitation died out a little, Severus asked:

“Can someone explain to me what had happened?”

Harry looked down and blushed.

“En deux mots, Harry was left at home as a punishment,” Lucius answered serenely, carefully cutting off a piece of pork a la Bordeaux. “He decided, however, to take a walk to the sea and was unfortunate enough to meet his uncle who, I must say, has quite ruined himself in the last three years. Frankly speaking, it is beyond me why this… gentleman would need the nephew he could not stand, but then Harry suggested that he could blackmail me, and the man came here. I transfigured some Muggle money for that leech, and he led me to his disgusting hut. I took Harry away from there.”

“You paid him?” Severus was amazed. “Why?”

“You doubt my generosity, Sev?” Lucius smirked. “Don’t. I decided to indulge myself and worsen Mr. Vernon Dursley’s already disastrous state of affairs.”

Everyone looked at him questioningly, and he smiled.

“There is only one thing I regret. It is unlikely that I shall see the man’s face when he will be tried for circulating counterfeit money.”

____________________

Footnotes:

Quel trou à rats (fr.) — What a hut!

Sale brute! Je vais te tuer... (fr.) — You scum! I’ll kill you…

En deux mots (fr.) — To tell a long story short.

Chapter Text

May 1989

Lucius came home late on Wednesday, May 3d, detained by a prolonged talk with Cornelius Fudge. A couple of years ago Fudge finally took charge of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and recently he became Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic.

When Lucius was trying to obtain guardianship over Harry Potter, he was very pleased to find out that Fudge was cowardly, ambitious and unbelievably hungry for money. Lucius never learned what exactly had made Fudge interfere into something that was not his business. Righteous anger of an honest man? Curiosity? A wish to advance? In any case, Lucius did not care about Fudge’s motivation. The important thing to Lucius at the time was that he managed to both evade red tape and much trouble and secure leverage on Fudge.

Since that time Lucius regularly supplied Fudge with money — essential sums, but not too burdensome to himself. He also made sure that information about his numerous donations to charities was not only mentioned in the newspapers, but circulated through the Ministry. A part of those sums was at all times donated in Fudge’s name creating an impressive reputation for the ambitious runt.

The thing was that the current Minister of Magic, venerable Millicent Bagnold, was very old. The Ministry workers never failed to show respect for the ancient witch, at the same time waiting quietly for her retirement. Almost everyone was sure that the election was inevitable the next year.

Like the rest of the wizarding community, Lucius knew that the most likely candidate for the post was Albus Dumbledore. However, he also knew (unlike most of witches and wizards) that Dumbledore would certainly decline the honour. Lucius was sure that the old man would rather be the headmaster of the best school of witchcraft in Britain than immerse himself into ado and mostly useless pursuits that fall to the Minister of Magic. So Lucius patiently kept preparing his own protégé. Due to his efforts, Fudge had already earned the reputation of a conservative, sensible politician who suited just fine both the ancient wizarding families and pro-Muggle liberals.

Their last talk concerned the annual Beltane Ball at the Ministry, scheduled for the next Saturday. Usually children were not invited to such events, but Fudge, who was responsible for the organization of the Ball that year, insisted that Lucius should show up not only with his wife, but with both boys too.

“This is extremely important, Lucius!” prattled Fudge, gesticulating excitedly. “The people want to see the Boy Who Lived! All the more so,” he frowned, “that there are those who don’t approve of that child living with your family. It’s nonsense, of course,” he added quickly. “Only yesterday I talked to our esteemed Hogwarts headmaster, and he assured me that he trusted you completely and that little Harry was perfectly fine.”

Première nouvelle! Lucius thought. Dumbledore trusts me now, doesn’t he? ‘How interesting. I will need to ask Severus what the old man is up to.

Only after promising to be at the Ball with his wife and children four times, Lucius finally managed to get rid of pushy Cornelius and went home.

Before joining his wife, he as usual walked to the children’s part of the manor to check on the boys. Last autumn they got two separate bedrooms, which reduced ‘sibling rivalry almost to zero to everyone’s satisfaction. Tiny magical lights on the ceiling lit the corridor softly, all the doors were closed, but even from a distance, Lucius noticed light from under the classroom door. He frowned: it was past eleven, and, therefore, the boys should have been in bed long ago.

Trying to step as quietly as possible, he approached the door and opened it.

* * *

Insula natura triquetra, cuius unum latus est contra Galliam. Huius lateris alter angulus, qui est ad Cantium, quo fere omnes ex Gallia naves appelluntur, ad orientem solem, inferior ad meridiem spectat.

Harry sighed sadly, chewed the tip of the quill, and wrote: The island is of a triangular shape, one side of that is across from Gaul. After a little thought he scratched out that and added which. Then he continued, often consulting the dictionary: This side has two corners, one is to Kent, where most ships from Gaul put in, looks to the East, the other corner to the South.

He put the quill down, read the translation again, ruffled his hair angrily, scratched out the whole paragraph, and started anew: It is a triangular island that has one side opposite Gaul. One of its corners, where Kent is situated and where most ships from Gaul put in, looks to the East, while the other, lower one, looks to the South.

A homework assignment given two weeks ago — a Latin translation , three paragraphs from Commentaries on the Gallic War — was not going well. No wonder, it was almost midnight. Harry had kept putting off his homework for different reasons: the end of April and the beginning of May were not just warm, but hot, and walks in the park and broom racing were much more pleasant than pouring over books. Thus, he and Draco avoided the unpleasant assignment till the last moment. Half an hour ago Draco gave up and went to bed claiming that he would rather get a “troll” than struggle any longer with that awful piece of work. Harry kept saying to himself that he would stay up till morning, but finish everything.

Hoc pertinet circiter mila passuum quingenta.

It is approximately five hundred thousand steps long, Harry wrote. He looked at the clock, then at the just started translation of the second paragraph and barely contained a groan. With each passing minute, his determination to finish the assignment was fading quite fast.

His eyes fell on the picture in a silver frame on the table: his parents, aged seventeen from the looks of it, stood with their arms around each other under a huge blooming apple tree. They noticed him looking: James winked slyly, and Lily waved her hand.

Nearly six months ago Harry gathered his courage and asked Lucius what James and Lily would have said about his friendship with Severus “and all this”, as the boy put it evasively.

“As far as I know, Lily Evans was Severus’s friend,” Lucius answered calmly. “As for your father... I think you know it all. However, I am sure they both wanted you to be happy above all else. We all want it — Mum, Severus, and myself. Then, ‘The enemy of my friend is my enemy’ is not the wisest attitude. It is possible to be on good terms with very different people who are not necessarily friends amongst themselves. And one last thing. I do ‘not know what Sev told you, but at the age of fifteen people often do stupid things. By the way, it also applies to him. Do not’ judge James Potter too harshly. We ‘shall see what you will do in five or six years,” Lucius chuckled and changed the topic. Harry never mentioned it again and in time stopped worrying. Bygones were bygones in the end.

Harry looked at the picture again and saw James and Lily kissing, so he quickly turned away and concentrated on the translation.

Alterum vergit ad Hispaniam atque occidentem solem; qua ex parte est Hibernia, dimidio minor, ut aestimatur, quam Britannia, sed pari spatio transmissus atque ex Gallia est in Britanniam.

Harry thoughtfully bit the feathered tip of the quill and wrote: The other side is turned to Spain, to the East...

The door squeaked. The boy jumped and turned around almost spilling the ink — Lucius had entered the room.

Oh, this is it, Harry thought, with his heart sinking. The conversation was not going to be pleasant.

“Can’t sleep?” Lucius asked a little mockingly, then walked over to his charge’s table and took in the scrolls with scribbles strewn on them.

Harry sighed. What was the point in lying when you were already caught red-handed?

“Sure I can,” he scowled. “Latin stands in the way.”

“Ah, Latin...” Lucius drawled, picking a scroll and examining Harry’s latest efforts. “Isn’t it the Latin assignment that was given to you two weeks ago?”

“Yes, it is.” Harry studied the table.

“I understand, of course, that Quidditch is much more important,” Lucius continued in the same tone, “but if you decided to disregard your education, didn’t it occur to you to copy the assignment?”

“As if there is anyone to copy from!” Harry burst out and immediately felt embarrassed, realizing that he had just given away his brother too.

“I see.” Lucius nodded. “So, Draco went to bed and left you to do the job, hoping to copy your translation in the morning. A clever child.”

Harry cast his eyes down. What a rotten luck! In the last three minutes he had confessed making a shoddy work and being eager to cheat, had given Draco away and behaved like a total dupe on top of that.

“By the way,” Lucius pointed his finger at the last sentence on the scroll, “there is a mistake. Occidentem means ‘to the West’, not ‘to the East’”.

Harry nodded dully, bit his lip, took the quill and corrected the sentence. To his utmost horror, he felt his eyes filling with tears and turned away hastily.

By the looks of it, Lucius guessed everything, because he ruffled the boy’s hair and said in a comforting manner, “You are half asleep, and I doubt you can do a good job now. Go to bed. I will wake you both up at six a.m. tomorrow, and you will have time to finish your work. All right?”

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

“Good,” Lucius remarked with satisfaction. “Let us go.”

After Harry got up, Lucius gently put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him out of the classroom, only pausing at the door for a second to put out the candle with his wand. At the door to Harry’s bedroom he stopped.

“Tenacity is a good trait, Harry, if you use it sensibly,” he remarked. “Good night.”

“Good night, Dad,” Harry sighed and went to his room.

* * *

Ten minutes later, when Harry was already in bed, the door to his room opened a little and a small figure slid it.

“Are you asleep?” Draco asked in a loud whisper.

“Not yet.” Harry sat up, reached for his nightstand and took out his magical flashlight. Having learned his lesson, he positioned it on the bed so the light did not reach the door. “I thought you were long asleep.”

“I heard the voices. Trouble?” Draco asked with compassion. He crept into the bed without invitation and put his feet under the covers.

“Not really. But it may come to trouble later. Dad promised to wake us up at six.”

Draco whistled.

“I so hoped to copy from you…”

“I thought so,” Harry grumbled.

Draco opened his mouth to answer, but right at that moment Dobby appeared in the room with a tray and two cups on it.

“Master Lucius ordered to bring you some hot chocolate,” the elf announced, handing them the cups. “And to tell the young masters that they should go to bed right after they drink it. And that the young masters should not be chatting so late.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

“How does he know?!”

* * *

Late in the evening on Thursday, Severus came to Malfoy Manor, feeling even more grumpy than usual.

“Dumbledore and you will drive me mad,” he said without any preamble after entering the drawing room.

“And good day to you too,” Lucius smirked. “May I ask how we would do that?”

“Dumbledore wants me to surreptitiously find out why you are taking the boys to the ball on Saturday,” Severus snorted.

“Surreptitiously, huh? You can truthfully tell him that my hand was forced. The public wants to make sure that I provide proper care for the Boy Who Lived.”

Severus nodded.

“I see. You understand, of course, that… Moody and Arthur will be there. And Dumbledore.”

“Your lot, you mean to say,” Lucius said with understanding. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind. By the way, how many Weasleys have you already finished teaching?”

“Only one, unfortunately.” Severus sighed. “Their eldest left Hogwarts last year and works at Gringotts now. Molly has been droning endlessly about it.”

“Is he in finance?” Lucius sounded interested.

“No. He is a curse breaker at the Egyptian branch, I think.”

“Ah, the youth and its love for adventure...” Lucius snorted. “The goblins have no use for second-raters, though. I’ll need to remember him. Are you going to show up, by the way?”

“No, thanks Merlin,” Severus answered. “On Saturday I’ll be chaperoning students in Hogsmeade.”

“A pity.”

“It depends,” Severus snorted. “I would prefer a classroom full of dunderheaded children and explosive ingredients to a bunch of Ministry drones and pushy reporters any day. All of them are pathetic, but at least the former aren’t always boring.”

“You have always had the most peculiar perspective on life, my friend. Oh, by the way, I’ve heard the strangest rumours. Cornelius Fudge told me yesterday that Dumbledore had assured him of his complete trust in me the day before. Do you know what that was about?”

“No.” Severus frowned. Dumbledore had almost stopped pestering him with questions about Harry recently. “I’ll try to find out.”

“Surreptitiously?” Lucius asked snidely.

“If you get lucky, yes.”

* * *

At half past five on Saturday Lucius was pacing impatiently in the drawing room waiting for his wife to “get the boys perfectly ready”. He was sure the boys did not appreciate it in the least, but they all knew better than to argue with Narcissa about things like that.

At last, the three of them walked down the stairs. Beautifully dressed Narcissa was glowing, Harry and Draco — both in their dress robes — were sulking. They were not looking forward to the evening in the company of adult strangers with no one to talk to, except their parents.

Lucius carefully looked the children over and nodded with satisfaction.

“You both look quite decent. Please, be quiet there and try not to draw attention to yourselves. You will have enough of it as it is. There certainly will be reporters. The less you manage to tell them, the better. Try to keep the conversation on safe topics: lessons, books, Quidditch. Don’t forget: you don’t have to answer any questions. Do you remember the magic words?”

“No comments,” the boys replied in unison.

“Good,” Narcissa smiled.

“One more thing.” Lucius frowned a little. “Harry, it is quite possible that some friends of your parents will be there. They would want to talk to you. I am sure you understand it yourself, but may I remind you: it is better not to disclose anything you could have heard from Severus. He rarely shares his private memories.”

Harry nodded gravely.

“Sure, Dad,” he said. “I wouldn’t tell anyway.”

“That’s a good boy. Let us go.” He gestured to the fireplace with his cane. “It is time.”

Lucius threw in a handful of Floo powder, said “The Ministry of Magic, Atrium!” and stepped into the fire first. Upon arrival, he met the boys and gallantly offered a hand to Narcissa. Harry tried to clean soot off his nose without much success.

“I cannot stand the Floo network,” Narcissa complained, waved her wand and cleaned herself, the children and her husband.

“Thank you, my darling.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

Harry and Draco looked around with curiosity, taking in the fountain with the golden statues and symbols on the ceiling. The Atrium was brightly lit. The people constantly stepped, ran or fell out of the fireplaces on the left — apparently, it depended on their sense of balance.

“Boys, do not fall behind, please.”

Lucius and Narcissa followed the crowd to the lifts.

“We need level three,” Lucius announced. “The Department Heads spent a week deciding who would be the victim of the Ball this time. Poor Cornelius was out of luck.”

“What makes the Ball so terrible?” Harry was surprised.

“The Ball itself.” Lucius shrugged. “It is a troublesome business to organize it. It is also quite expensive, so there are always budget troubles, and there are no benefits. “

Following the crowd, they ascended five floors up and stepped through a long corridor into a huge decorated hall. It looked like the room was magically enlarged, for the far end of it was not even visible. There were tables with plenty of food along the walls.

Harry felt uncomfortable: it felt as if everyone were watching him constantly. As soon as he turned around, someone would always start whispering, “The Boy Who Lived... Yes, yes! Do you see him? Over there, in the dark red robe.” In his opinion, there was nothing sillier than to adore someone for their miraculous survival, especially at the age of one.

“So bo-o-oring,” Draco grumbled into his ear. “And we have to stay here for three hours, no less.”

The boys had already spent fifteen minutes standing and silently watching Lucius and Narcissa, who were pretending to be interested in talking to strangers. Those people spoke of some nonsense — probably they were looking for some favours or business opportunities.

“Oh yes, this is awful,” Harry agreed in a whisper. “Merlin, aren’t they tired of staring at me? Don’t they have anything else to do?”

“Idiots...” Draco noticed his mother’s reproachful glance, straightened and took his hands out of his pockets. “I don’t know how Mum and Dad can stand it.”

“Mr. Malfoy!” came a voice from somewhere.

The boys turned around: a tall, curly blonde wearing spectacles was hurrying towards them.

“I am so glad to see you!”

“Good evening, Ms. Skeeter,” Lucius said coldly.

“Good evening, how do you do? And these must be your boys!” Without paying any attention to Draco, she turned to Harry. “Nice to meet you, my name is Rita. I hope we’ll be good friends, Harry.”

“Good evening, Ms. Skeeter,” Harry answered politely. He did not like the woman.

“You will surely answer a couple of questions, won’t you, dear?”

“Three questions, Ms. Skeeter,” Lucius announced sharply. “Three, and no more. And I will personally check the accuracy of your notes.”

The interested crowd started growing around them, and Harry tried not to show his discomfort. For some reason he was sure that this woman meant trouble.

“Whatever you say, Mr. Malfoy.” Rita sighed and turned to Harry again, staring at the boy over her spectacles with curiosity. A scroll and a big green quill appeared out of nowhere in her hands. “Now, Harry, how do you like living with Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?”

“I like it very well,” Harry answered with utter sincerity. If only other questions were as easy and trivial as this one! He did not want to elaborate.

“What about your real parents? Do you know much about them?”

Harry contemplated the idea of answering just “yes”, but decided that he should not taunt the reporter — who knew what the next question might be. The less dislike towards her he showed, the better.

“Oh yes. I have family archives and pictures. And I hear a lot about them.”

Rita was scribbling feverishly.

“This is great, Harry.” She smiled sweetly. “And what is your favourite hobby?”

Harry suppressed a wish to roll his eyes. Really, he wasn’t five!

“Broom flying. And playing chess.”

“With whom?” The reporter perked up immediately.

“That is the fourth question, Ms. Skeeter,” Harry answered. The crowd cheered and applauded.

“Bravo, Mr. Potter!” exclaimed a tall woman with short grey hair. “Good evening, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Good evening, Madam Bones.” Lucius bowed his head slightly in greeting. “Let me congratulate you on your new post.”

“Thank you, you are very kind,” she answered dryly. Harry got the impression that Madam Bones and his father did not like each other much.

“I am sure that we have nothing to worry about now that the safety of the Wizarding Britain is in your capable hands.” Lucius smiled gallantly, but his eyes were cold.

Meanwhile Draco, who was bored of standing and doing nothing, nudged Harry, “Let’s walk around,” he whispered. “This will take long.”

“Sure.”

The boys nodded to Narcissa and went wandering around the room and eavesdropping on different conversations (it did not prove to be much fun, though). In half an hour Harry gave up.

“I’ll stay there,” he waved his hand in the direction of a big window, almost hidden by half drawn curtains, “because if I hear one more word about the Boy Who Lived I’ll scream. Using the words Dad says about the Ministry when he thinks we can’t hear him.”

“And it will be a huge scandal,” Draco snorted. “Fine, hide all you want. I’ll go and see how Mum and Dad are doing.”

Draco left. Harry looked around discreetly, made sure no one was close by, and dived behind the curtain. He sat comfortably on the wide wooden windowsill, happy that no one could see him, and gazed at the street outside. Actually, he knew that the Ministry was situated underground and the windows were charmed, but it was more pleasant to believe that behind the thick, slightly dim glass there was a bright sunny day in London and not just a brick wall. The only thing giving the fake away was the absence of people — and on a Saturday afternoon!

Suddenly Harry heard footsteps — at least two people were coming closer — so he held his breath, not wanting to answer any more questions. The footsteps stopped near, on the other side of the curtain.

“So what do you think about all of this, Arthur?” someone asked grumpily in a low, muffled voice.

“I don’t know, Alastor.” The other man sighed. “Molly and I asked Albus to give the boy to us many times, but he insisted that Harry would be better off with Muggles. You know what came of it...”

“Malfoy, damn him!” the first man grumbled. Harry shivered. “As if anyone in sound mind would believe that Lucius could be held under Imperius. They all are dark wizards — the Malfoys and the Blacks. Voldermort’s lapdogs. They belong in Azkaban, all of them...”

Harry gritted his teeth silently, struggling to keep still.

“Who’d have thought that Lily and James’s child would grow up in such a family,” Arthur sighed again. “Poor boy...”

“Who knows what his dear ‘Mummy and Daddy’ will teach him now,” said the first one with obvious hatred.

Harry had enough. He jumped off the windowsill and opened the curtains with a brisk movement, eyeing the gossiping men angrily.

“Harry!” Arthur gasped. He was a tall, red-headed man with blue eyes, dressed in shabby scarlet robes. Alastor, who turned out to be a sulky, dishevelled, half-grey old man with mismatched eyes, only frowned even more.

“Let me pass,” Harry said icily, stepping forward. Alastor silently moved aside, but Arthur tried to stop the boy and took him by the arm.

“Harry, may I talk to you?” he asked almost pleadingly.

Harry straightened his shoulders, copying his father to the best of his abilities.

“I have no wish to talk to people who insult my family,” he snapped in the same tone Lucius used when he talked to disrespectful clerks in Diagon Alley. “If you would...” Harry freed his arm from the grip of mute Arthur and left, shaking with fury.

* * *

Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody looked at each other.

“Wow,” Arthur managed finally. “He is James’s copy minus the spectacles. And he’s got James’s temper, that’s for sure.”

Alastor snorted.

“More like Lily’s,” he objected. “And he has his mother’s eyes.”

Both fell silent.

“Well, at least we know now that he loves them...” Arthur stated with some confusion. “I mean the Malfoys.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good thing,” Moody answered darkly.

* * *

Harry was so angry that he did not see where he was going. It was no wonder that he had not made ten steps before colliding with someone.

“Excuse me, please,” he said, raising his head to see whom he had bumped into. It turned out to be a tall, slim old man with a long grey beard, the end of which was carelessly tucked under his wide golden belt.

“No worries.” The man smiled, and small wrinkles around his bright blue eyes behind funny half-moon spectacles became more evident. However, he had a piercing and tenacious look in his eyes. “What is your name, young man?”

Harry relaxed a little. He realized that the old man was only feigning ignorance, but somehow it pleased him.

“Harry Potter, sir.” He bowed a little. “Or just Harry. And you?”

“Albus Dumbledore.” The man smiled again.

“You are the headmaster of Hogwarts, aren’t you?” Harry’s eyes widened, and curiosity made him forget his self-control. “Uncle Severus works there…”

Dumbledore nodded and then asked cautiously after a pause, “May I ask what has… upset you so?”

Harry’s face darkened again.

“I’ve… accidentally heard… some very unpleasant things about my parents,” he answered and added after some hesitation, “I mean my foster parents.”

“And you think these things are not true,” Dumbledore remarked softly.

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged. “Does it matter? They are still my parents.”

The old man looked at him long and hard.

“I don’t know either,” he said finally. “Let us talk about something else, shall we?”

Harry smiled a little.

“‘All right. Which team are you going to root for at the next Cup?”

* * *

Lucius was absentmindedly answering questions of a tipsy bureaucrat from the Department of Magical Games and Sport, keeping an eye on his son and his charge who had been talking with Albus Dumbledore for the last twenty minutes.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Lucius said, twisting his cane in his hands and keenly regretting that he could not just leave the annoying babbler and interfere into that conversation.

At last, the Ministry employee left him alone, and Lucius stepped towards Harry, but was stopped by Arthur Weasley who appeared out of nowhere.

“Good evening, Lucius.”

“Good evening, Arthur,” Lucius snorted with contempt. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to talk to you about Harry.”

“Arthur, aren’t your seven children enough for you?” Lucius made a face. “Probably Molly should give you another one. I am worried, though, that you would not have the money to feed it.”

Arthur clenched his fists, and his freckles became more visible on his whitened skin.

“Whom do you want to grow up, Malfoy?” he hissed. “A new You Know Who?”

“No, I do not know who.” Lucius smirked. “But you can be sure that Harry’s upbringing is none of your business. Have a nice evening.” He bowed mockingly, stepped around Weasley and headed for Dumbledore and Harry.

* * *

“Good evening, Headmaster,” he said politely when he came up to Dumbledore, Harry and Draco who were engaged in a lively conversation. “I hope the boys did not wear you out.” He looked at the children. “They can talk about Quidditch endlessly.”

The boys smiled widely, but kept silent.

“Not at all, Lucius,” the headmaster smiled amiably. “One feels younger when talking to the young, and it is always pleasant. I rarely have a chance to chat about trifles in such a good company. I shall see them both at Hogwarts in a couple of years, I hope.”

“Of course,” Lucius nodded. “Durmstrang’s reputation… leaves much to be desired lately, and the education at Beauxbatons Academy is not fundamental enough. Besides, my wife and I prefer to uphold traditions. After all, every Malfoy and Black was educated at Hogwarts.”

“As did every Potter,” Dumbledore remarked quietly.

“Certainly,” Lucius agreed. “I think my wife is looking for us. Please, excuse us.”

“It was a pleasure to talk to you,” Dumbledore beamed again.

“The pleasure was all mine, Headmaster. I wish you a good evening. Harry, Draco, let us go.”

“Good evening to you too.”

The boys said their good-byes hastily and followed their father.

* * *

That night Harry kept tossing and turning in his bed without sleep. The words of the angry old man with odd eyes about “Voldemort’s lapdogs” had stuck in his head. Harry was angry with the men who had said nasty things about his family, with himself because he could not just forget it, and a little with Lucius because he suspected that there was a lot about his foster parents he did not know. It was almost dawn when he fell into slumber, but not before swearing to himself to find everything out.

____________________

Footnotes:

Gloria mundi (lat.) — Glory of the world

Première nouvelle! (fr.) — Here is news!

Alterum vergit ad Hispaniam... — G. Iuli Caesaris Commentariorum De Bello Gallico, Liber V, 13. (Gaius Julius Caesar, Commentaries on the Gallic War, book 5, 13).

Chapter Text

November 1989

Almost since the spring Ball Severus suspected that something was off. Dumbledore, who had not bothered the Head of Slytherin with questions about Harry for nearly a year, suddenly began constantly mentioning the boy in conversation, as if hoping that Severus would tell him something extraordinary.

Every time Severus pretended to bite the bait, readily reporting Harry’s successes in chess, Quidditch, languages and mathematics. If Dumbledore was disappointed by this inconsequential news, he did not show it.

Every time Severus came to Malfoy Manor (which happened more and more often) he discreetly checked if Harry was behaving differently. However, everything went as usual, which only strengthened his premonition of an upcoming disaster.

He seriously contemplated the idea of consulting Lucius, but his innate suspiciousness strengthened by his spying experience did not let him do it. Despite everything that happened during the last four years, he still was not entirely sure which side Lucius was on. Or rather — and more importantly — which side his friend would choose if the Dark Lord returned. It was one thing to support Lucius in bloodless and almost safe confrontations with Dumbledore and quite another — to possibly play into the hands of the Dark Lord.

Struggling with his doubts, Severus waited patiently for the events to unfold.

* * *

Lucius was working in his study — the latest changes in the tax laws demanded a thorough revaluation of all his investments, expenses, and bank statements. Cold autumn rain was tapping on the dark windows, but the study was flooded with warmth from the fireplace. A chandelier with twelve magical candles (they burnt longer than the usual ones and did not drip wax) gave soft and even light, leaving only corners of the room hidden in blue shadows. A house elf brought a cup of strong earl grey, and Lucius sipped his tea and already took up another document when he heard a knock on the door.

“Yes,” Lucius answered.

The door opened a little, and Harry peeked into the room.

“Dad, may I talk to you?”

Lucius caught a hint of hesitation in the boy’s voice and immediately dismissed the idea of postponing the conversation.

“Yes, of course. Come in.”

The boy entered the room silently and closed the door quietly. Stepping lightly on the thick carpet, he came closer, stopping in front of the desk, looked Lucius in the eye and halted, as if still deliberating whether to speak or not.

“Has something happened, Harry?”

The boy gulped and with an effort composed himself. He was obviously tense and stiff.

“Why did you join the Dark Lord, Dad?”

Cold sweat broke over Lucius. For that question he was not ready in the slightest. Well, he had known, of course, that this conversation would take place someday, but had hoped that he still had a year or two until the boy grew up enough. However, now he had to make a decision, and do it fast. Maybe he could even take advantage of the situation: his charge was still out of Hogwarts and, therefore, had not yet been exposed to any biased views on Pureblood families’ traditions or the participants of the last war.

“I made a mistake,” Lucius answered calmly after a short hesitation whether he should fake something like remorse. He decided against it: the boy was much more perceptive than you could think on the first sight. “Who told you about it?”

Harry shrugged, and his pose became a little less tense.

“I gathered, everyone knows that,” he remarked with an evident reproach in his voice. “Certainly everyone who has read the old Daily Prophet files does.”

Lucius sighed. And he had wondered what Harry’s appearance at the Ball would lead to! The first few weeks he had been waiting tensely for questions or something else, but by the middle of the summer he calmed down, having decided that the matter blew over. Unfortunately, it looked like this question bothered the boy since spring… and Harry waited six months to ask it. No, actually, he did not just wait. He made an effort to find out all the circumstances he could of the case that interested him. A wave of pride washed over Lucius. Harry acted like a Slytherin. Like... like a Malfoy.

“Not that this newspaper can be trusted much, but in this case they got it right,” he acknowledged, tilting his head. “Does Draco know?”

Some doubt flickered in Harry’s eyes.

“He spends as much time in the library as I do,” Harry answered evasively. “He must have seen me reading the papers. Most likely, he got curious.”

With some effort, Lucius bit back a smile, as it was rather inappropriate in the circumstances.

“I see.” He stood up. Harry shivered a little. “Let us sit down.”

He cast an Imperturbable charm on the room, settled comfortably in the corner of the sofa, crossed his legs and put his arm on its back with studied nonchalance. Harry sat opposite Lucius, looking at him steadily.

“Actually, I would rather not discuss it twice,” Lucius started. “I wanted to talk about it to Draco and you anyway, but since you have — as I understand — known everything for a while, you probably have questions. I will invite Draco later, and we shall talk all together. Then I will tell you everything you need to know, including reasons for my actions. And right now you may ask me your personal,” he emphasized the last word a little, “questions.”

Harry nodded, biting his lip — he always did that while working on an assignment or trying to articulate something difficult.

“Did you have anything to do with,” he faltered, “with my parents’ death?”

This was easy.

“No. I do not even know why the Dark Lord wanted it. He never shared his reasons with anyone.  And I have no idea how he found your parents. The only person who knew was the one who told the Dark Lord where they had been hiding.”

“My own godfather.” Harry made a face. “Sirius Black. I read about it in the Prophet.” He sighed, took off his soft comfortable shoes and climbed on the sofa with his feet. Then he hugged his knees. “He was Mum’s cousin or something?”

“Yes. His mother was sister to Narcissa’s father,” Lucius confirmed. He waited patiently for the next question, but the boy was silent — he propped his chin on his knees and stared into the fire. In the end Lucius continued, “What else do you know?”

“Well, I’ve read about the trials and about Imperius you were under.” Lucius flinched. Harry did not notice it and continued, “But even I can see that it can’t be true. About Imperius, I mean.” He fell silent, but then exclaimed hotly, hitting the sofa with his fist, “I just want to understand! You are my... guardian, I grew up in your house, and I want to understand. It’s important to me because I... trust you.”

“I made a mistake,” Lucius repeated, thanking all deities he knew that this overly perceptive child was not just trying to run away from him in panic. “And I regret it deeply.”

“Good.” Harry’s crooked smile was not childish. Lucius barely contained a laugh. Fate has an insane sense of humour, he thought. And even more insane timing. They sat in silence for a while watching the fire play over the logs.

“But I still don’t understand...” The boy looked him in the eye. “How could you? Why?”

“Let us call Draco, shall we?” Lucius proposed instead of answering. “We really need to talk about this together.”

“All right.” Harry let his legs down and searched for his shoes. “I’ll be...”

“Don’t bother.” Lucius gently touched his shoulder. “Dobby!”

The house elf appeared with the familiar soft pop.

“Dobby here, master.”

“Find Draco,” Lucius ordered. “Tell him to come to the study. Then bring us tea.”

“Yes, master Lucius,” the elf nodded vigorously and disappeared.

Meanwhile Harry climbed on the sofa with his feet again. In a minute he started biting the nail on his left thumb. Under ordinary circumstances, Lucius would have chided him for it, but now decided it was the wrong time and kept silent.

Several minutes passed while they sat in silence, and the creaking of the logs in the fireplace was the only sound.

“Dad?” The door opened, and Draco entered the study. “Has something happened?” he asked, noticing Harry’s frown.

“In a manner of speaking,” Lucius replied, rising. “Sit down, we need to talk.”

Draco nodded, glanced sideways at Harry and sat by his side. If Lucius had any doubts that his son was aware of the situation, now he was absolutely sure: everything Harry knew, Draco also knew.

“As far as I understand, you wanted to talk to me about… Voldemort,” Lucius started. Speaking the name aloud even now, eight years after Tom Riddle’s disappearance, took some effort. He despised the euphemisms the majority of wizards used and, with easy disregard of the common custom, usually called Voldemort the Dark Lord or just his lordship (which was a custom among his ex-comrades or as he called them mockingly compagnons d’armes). Now, however, he was about to abdicate from his past and had to choose his words carefully.

The boys looked at each other.

“How did it happen, Dad?” Draco asked. “Why did… you join him? And why did you…” He did not finish the sentence and cast a sidelong glance at Harry again.

Lucius raised his hand, stopping the flood of questions.

“Not all at once. First, I want to remind you of a conversation we had once. Do you remember Harry asking why you did not have grandparents?”

Both boys nodded. Lucius noted with some relief that Harry relaxed a great deal after Draco’s appearance.

“You read the chronicles, Draco. How did my parents, Abraxas and Honoria Malfoy, die?”

“Of dragon pox,” Draco answered, bemused. “In 1980… Right?”

“Yes, the chronicles say so but actually they both died in a fight with Aurors,” Lucius confessed sombrely.

Harry’s eyes widened: there was horror in them mixed with an oddly hungry curiosity. Draco was quietly waiting for the rest of the story.

“I should probably start at the beginning. I had barely graduated from Hogwarts when my father introduced me to the Da… to Voldemort. I still have no idea why Father supported him. Whether he thought this man could change the Wizarding world for the better or was just terrified of him — I do not know. But I must acknowledge,” he grimaced, “that I knew exactly what I was doing. I had no wish to participate in that… slaughter, but decided not to quarrel with my father and not to risk my inheritance.”

“Did you… do… all of it? Did you kill... Muggles?” Harry gulped. “But…”

“I thought then that I had no other choice.” Despite his cool appearance, Lucius was nervous like never before. He hated to remember that period of his life and preferred to pretend it never happened. Moreover, he was unused to being in a vulnerable position, fully believing that offense was the best defence. Now he felt very uncomfortable being forced to defend himself.

“And then what?” Draco interrupted. Even at this age his pragmatism made him interested in the result above all else.

“The time went, and it grew more and more obvious to me that our actions caused much more harm than good.” Lucius sighed. “Once or twice I thought about talking to Father, but he was the Da … Voldemort’s right hand man then and was very ill-disposed towards the ‘cowardly liberals’ as he called any Pureblood wizards with mild views. He was very proud that almost all Cissy’s relatives sided with Voldemort, often saying that he approved of my choice of the bride. I married your Mum in summer of 1979, and then I considered again if I should try to… leave it all. I almost made the decision when the Dark Lord discovered a traitor among us.”

Lucius stopped to catch his breath. The children looked at him transfixed. He noted with relief that there was sympathy on Harry’s face replacing the undisguised horror his charge felt only a few minutes ago.

“His name was Adrian Belt, he went to Hogwarts a year later than Severus. When Voldemort accused him of treason, that boy... — he had just turned eighteen! — did not even try to weasel out of it.  Instead he declared proudly that, as he put it, ‘our precious Dark Lord’ was a filthy half-blood whom his ambition and thirst for revenge drove mad.”

Draco snickered nervously. Harry sat still, looking straight at Lucius with bright eyes and nervously clutching his robe’s hem in obvious agitation.

“He...” Lucius did not know if there was a different name for what happened. “He died... slowly. I think you realize why I never even thought about leaving the Dark Order again.”

Harry nodded slowly. Draco shuddered.

“Several months passed,” Lucius continued, “and Draco was born. I did not dare to risk my family. And approximately six months later my father wished to participate personally in a raid under my command...”

Lucius stopped short: Dobby appeared it the study with a tray. Sensing the tension in the room, the usually babbling house elf put everything on the table silently and disappeared. Lucius served tea to the boys (two sugars for Harry, one for Draco), then took his own cup and drank, thinking what to say next. Sharing such things with children seemed terrible and unnatural, but he felt strangely liberated. In these nine years, he did not spoke to anybody about the circumstances of his parents’ death (except for reporting it to the Dark Lord, of course). He could not talk about it even with Severus, partly because he had a strong suspicion: his closest friend was the reason that the ill-fated raid ended in disaster.

“In the end of December the Dark Lord ordered us to destroy an orphanage in Muggle London. I... I almost went mad when I heard his instructions. Father decided that it was the best present for the Dark Order’s thirtieth anniversary, and Mother wished to accompany him.” Lucius realized with some surprise that he managed to break a quill that somehow ended up in his hands and tossed it away with irritation. “I do not know who warned the Ministry, but we were greeted by Aurors. For the first time in my life I was glad that the raid failed... But Father did not want to run, and Mother refused to leave him... Well, they both died there. I managed to recover their bodies... And since Voldemort did not want to make the names of his associates public I... was given help to hide the cause of their death and arrange the funeral.”

Lucius gulped the rest of his tea and fell silent. The fire barely flickered in the fireplace. He waved his wand, adding several logs and lighting them with a casual Incendio.

“And... what about Mum’s parents?” Draco got off the sofa and carefully put his cup and saucer on the tray.

“Her mother is still in Azkaban. Her father was executed before you were born.”

“What about my parents?” Harry sat straighter and folded his hands on his knees as if he was in class. “What happened... afterwards?”

“I do not know much more than what newspapers reported.” Lucius shook his head. “I know that the Dark Lord looked for them.  I know that Black betrayed them, and Voldemort killed them and disappeared, while you lived somehow. That is all.”

“But...” Harry rubbed his knees awkwardly. “Then I don’t understand... Why did you... I don’t mean to say...”

Lucius could not bear it anymore. He stepped to the sofa, dropped to one knee to face the sitting boy and took his hands.

“Why did I take you into my family?” he asked gently.

Harry nodded, blushing.

“Because it was the right thing to do.” He smiled bitterly: this was a very Gryffindor explanation. “Because I think that you deserve a better life. Because...” He suddenly realized he was not entirely lying, “... because this way I can do something worthwhile, even though I cannot right all the wrongs I have done.”

“I....” The boy sniffed. It became obvious that he was on the verge of tears. “I understand, Dad.”

Lucius sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled Harry closer. The boy whimpered quietly and hid his face in Lucius’s robes. Draco silently moved closer, and Lucius hugged him with his other arm. They sat in silence for a few minutes, restoring the shattered family balance.

“It is late,” Lucius said finally, drawing back. “Both of you need to go to bed.”

“Yeah,” Harry croaked, searching for his shoes for the umpteenth time that evening.

“Good night, Dad.” Draco stretched and yawned, covering his mouth.

“Good night. Go to bed...” After a short hesitation Lucius added, “I will come to your rooms in half an hour...”

“Yeah.” Harry smiled awkwardly and left the room on Draco’s heels.

* * *

After returning to his bedroom, Harry undressed hastily, took his pyjamas and went to the bathroom. He washed, dressed and brushed his teeth mechanically, repeating the recent conversation in his head.

As soon as he climbed under the covers, the door creaked, and Draco crept into the room.

“Your door is creaking again,” he grumbled and sat on the bed. “Tell Dobby to oil it, it’s impossible to come here unnoticed.”

“That’s why it’s creaking,” Harry smirked, cheering up. “So that nobody could creep up on me.”

“Right, and what about going out?” Draco snorted, but then turned serious: “How are you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered quietly. “Alright, I guess.” He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully. “You know, I think I managed to catch him unawares. When I asked him...”

“Wow!” Draco was impressed. Then he snickered, “It’s probably because Father underestimates you. You know, it looks like he really thinks you are still a Potter.”

“After four years that he’s been making a Malfoy of me?” Harry grumbled a bit annoyed. “Severus thinks so too, though.”

He ducked, picked up a dart lying on the floor near the bed, and threw it into the Quidditch poster on the far wall. The dart hit the Falmouth Falcons chaser right on the tip of his nose, and the man swore under his breath.

“I don’t,” Draco answered earnestly. Harry turned around and looked him in the eye. “I know that you are definitely a Malfoy, little brother.” He winked and ruffled Harry’s hair patronizingly.

“Hey, I’m younger only by a couple of months! Even less!” Harry protested and hit Draco with a pillow.

“I’ve been a Malfoy for nine years, and you — only for four.” Draco ducked the pillow, showed Harry his tongue, jumped off the bed, came to the window and climbed onto the wide windowsill. “You know, when I overheard that conversation between Dad and Nott, I didn’t understand much, but got really scared,” he said thoughtfully and in a very adult manner. “At first for Dad: it was clear that Nott threatened him. Then, after I searched the library, I got scared for you. But now I think everything will be fine.”

“Merlin, I’m so lucky you are my brother.” Harry sighed, got out of the bed, came to Draco, leaned his elbows on the windowsill, and gazed into the cold and wet autumn night.

“Yeah,” Draco nodded smugly. “What would you do without me?”

Harry snorted. They sat in silence for a while, then Draco yawned, stretched and jumped down to the floor.

“Alright, Dad promised to come, so I’ll get going. Have you finished your French translation?”

“Yes, yesterday, actually. Do you want it?”

“Nah, I’ll check it tomorrow morning. Wake me up, would you?”

“Of course. Go, sleepyhead.”

“Look who’s talking...”

The door clicked shut behind Draco. Harry put out the light and laid now in the dark, waiting for Lucius to stop by. He did not wait long: the door creaked again, and a triangle of light appeared on the carpet. Harry hastily closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

The bed sagged under the additional weight when Lucius sat on its edge. Harry felt a big hand touching the back of his head and then his Dad’s fingers tousled his hair.

“Oh, Harry...”

There was so much compassion, warmth and care in Lucius’s voice that Harry finally relaxed. He suddenly remembered what he had told the old headmaster six months ago. ‘Does it matter? They are still my parents.’ He had been right then. Let the past stay in the past.

Lucius gently tousled Harry’s hair again and left without a word.

* * *

Next Saturday, Severus was having breakfast in the Great Hall when the Malfoy’s large horned owl landed in front of him. The Potions Master fed the bird, tied off the message and, having noticed the curiosity in the headmaster’s expression, carelessly unrolled the scroll.

It turned out that the letter was not from Lucius.

Sev,

Two days ago Luc had a long talk with the boys in his study. What all this was about, I have no idea, but he has been beside himself ever since. Last time I saw him in such condition was after his parents’ death. Could you please come over?

Cissy

Under the headmaster’s scrutiny Severus calmly folded the parchment and put it in his pocket.

“Has something happened, Severus?” Dumbledore asked anxiously.

“No, everything is fine. Lucius asks if I want to dine with them, that is all. If you don’t mind...”

“Of course not, my boy.” Dumbledore smiled.

Severus suppressed a sigh. He could not stand being called a boy — he was almost thirty, after all, — but he understood that, being over one hundred years old, Dumbledore could hardly perceive him as anything else.

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

* * *

Around six o’clock he Apparated to Malfoy Manor’s gates and walked to the house hurriedly, trying to figure out what could have happened. He was absolutely sure it had something to do with what Harry had seen or heard at the Ministry. The thing was to discover what it was... and how to do damage control.

The house was quiet. He was just hanging his cloak in the hall when Narcissa hurriedly descended the stairs. She looked tired and frustrated.

“I have no idea what to do,” she complained. “Luc has locked himself in the study since morning, and the boys pretend nothing’s happened, but they are upset...”

“Have you tried talking to them?” Severus asked.

Narcissa snorted.

“What do you think? Of course I did. But the male solidarity and conspiracy of silence are against me, so they only say that everything is fine!” She waved her hands, and Severus thought that he had never seen her so agitated.

“All right...” He felt a bit at a loss under such pressure. “I will try...”

She immediately caught his elbow and dragged him up to the first floor before he could object. He gathered his wits in front of the door to Lucius’s study, gently freed his arm, and said with a smirk, “Cissy, dear, I have reasons to believe that this is a man-to-man talk. There are the male solidarity and conspiracy of silence to consider, you know.”

Narcissa smiled a little.

“All right. In that case, I will attend to dinner like a proper hostess.”

She left, and Severus entered the study determinedly. Lucius was sitting at the table covered by parchments and books. Resting his chin on his folded arms, he was staring darkly into the distance.

“Whose funeral is it?” Severus asked, settling comfortably on the sofa. The conversation was surely to be a long one.

“Yours,” Lucius answered without smiling or turning his head.

The Potions master shook his head: he had not seen his friend so depressed since before Voldemort’s demise.

“Let us pretend we have already exchanged all the necessary witty comments and get straight to the point. What kind of conversation did you have with the boys?”

Lucius sighed.

“All right.  I know you will not leave me alone anyway. Two days ago Harry came to me and asked why I had joined the Dark Lord.”

“And what did you say?” Severus asked cautiously.

“The truth.” Lucius shrugged his shoulders warily. “That I decided not to risk my inheritance and not to quarrel with my father. That I did not dare to leave... especially after Belt. That I regret it.”

Severus suddenly felt tremendous relief. He was sure Lucius was not lying, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to relax. Since the day he asked Dumbledore to save Lily, he tried not to think about meeting Lucius in battle. And he never dared hoping that his friend would come to his senses. Raising the topic was too dangerous... It occurred to him suddenly that if Lucius had not taken Harry and Dumbledore had not insisted on regular visits to the manor, there was no saying how their friendship would have ended... In nothing, probably.

“You have no idea how glad I am,” he said sincerely. “I have been wondering all this time why Dumbledore bothered me so much...”

“What do you mean?” said Lucius with a start.

“He has been fishing for any news about Harry since spring.”

“That... old...” Filled with indignation, Lucius lost his power of speech, and Severus laughed.

“I pretended I did not understand what he meant. I must confess I had my suspicions...” he said apologetically. “But I could not ask Harry directly!”

“You could have told me,” Lucius grumbled. “But it’s water under the bridge now. I am worried, though...” His face darkened again, and he fell silent.

“You are worried what the boys think of you,” Severus finished calmly. “And for naught, because now you need to think what worries them.”

Lucius stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Trust me, they are more worried that after a difficult conversation you hole up in your study for two days. Children need routine, a regular life has a soothing effect on them. Say, if I suddenly start praising Gryffindors in my class,” he smirked maliciously, “they will become stressed out, and that will only cause explosions. I understand the talk ended well, right? Was Harry... satisfied with your answers?”

His friend nodded slowly.

“Thank Merlin. Now you need to act normal again. If they have more questions, they will ask you.”

“When did you become so wise?” Lucius asked a little sourly.

“Four years of being a Head of House can do that to you,” Severus snorted. “Luc, you have no idea what a man feels being woken up in the dead of night by a blubbering seventh year girl who has taken into her head that she is pregnant and does not even know who the father could be!”

Lucius smiled involuntarily and looked at Severus with some new respect.

“Thank Merlin,” he said, a little stunned, “that I do not have a daughter.”

“That is what you say now,” Severus smirked. “We shall see what you will say in a couple of years. Now... I do not know about you, but Narcissa promised me dinner.”

____________________

Footnotes:

Granum fidei (lat.) — a grain of faith.

Chapter Text

April 1990

However he tried, Severus could not understand why Lucius had to drag him to France. He never cared for idle chatter and would choose a night in the laboratory over a fancy dinner any day, but, alas, for some reason Lucius insisted on bringing him along on a visit to the Malfoys’ French cousin, and now Severus had to make small talk with complete strangers.

He stifled a yawn half-heartedly and looked around. The head of the household Gérard Malefoi, a stout man with fair hair and brown eyes, was talking to Lucius about recent Galleon fluctuations and some Spanish investments. His wife Patricia, a green-eyed blonde who laughed often, and his daughter Constance, a calm girl of fifteen who was the spitting image of her mother, were quietly answering Narcissa’s questions. Malefoi’s heir, Nicolas, had just turned ten; he was enthusiastically discussing the Falmouth Falcons’ tactics with Harry and Draco. Silently rejoicing that, for once, the boys shared their delight with someone else, Severus glanced at the last member of the company, Gérard’s mother Cassandra. She was a tall, thin old woman without any trace of grey in her raven-black hair. Her bright blue eyes with many thin wrinkles around them looked at you as if she had been assessing your merits and found them lacking. She was silently smoking a long thin black pipe and watching the others talk, just like Severus.

At last, the boys, obviously tired of being on their best behaviour, asked permission to leave, and, dismissed, ran off to the garden. Severus frowned a little. The mansion — recently built, from the looks of it, — had something vaguely Muggle about it. The house was too bright, too modern, and too new to be the home of such an old and respected Wizarding family. And at the same time… there was too much magic here. Like any powerful enough wizard, Severus could sense magic in objects and some creatures… and this house was chock-full of it.

Sipping coffee that was served by elves after the dinner, Severus tried to remember everything he knew about the Malefois. First of all, Gérard was not actually Lucius’s cousin, but a very distant relative and the head of the French branch of the family. He was a year older than Lucius, and, as the latter explained, did not want anything to do with British politics, which is why he exchanged barely two dozen letters with his British relations over the last decade. His sudden wish to renew the acquaintance was a cause for at least bewilderment, if not suspicion, and Severus had been patiently waiting to know the true reason of the invitation.

He did not have to wait long.

“Tell me, monsieur Snaipe,” said Cassandra and puffed her pipe, “how exactly did Luce end up being Henri’s guardian?”

Severus decided to ignore the mutilation of his name.

“Why, madame,” he answered, “that story was splattered over all the newspapers.”

“Surely you could humour an old, infirm woman, monsieur Snaipe.” Cassandra tilted her head a little.

“You are extremely unfair to yourself, madame,” he objected gallantly. “However, I think Lucius would be a better source in this case…”

Cassandra puffed her pipe again and looked at him long and hard.

“You British,” she said at last, “put too much store into… male bonding, I think, is the phrase.” She did not give him a chance to reply and turned to Lucius. “Luce?”

“Yes, tante Cassie?” he responded immediately.

“Tell me, dear, how did you end up being Henri’s guardian?”

Silence fell over the sitting room, and all the eyes turned to Lucius. Severus was glad to stop being the centre of attention of the sharp old woman and waited for his friend to weasel out of this situation.

“You see, tante,” Lucius started, “five years ago I found out that the Muggles housing the Boy Who Lived mistreated him…”

“Excuse me,” Patricia interrupted him. “Darling, should not Constance go to her room?”

“What for?” Gérard smirked. “She is old enough — I think, the conversation could be educational for her.”

Severus noted that Constance herself did not even blink as if this discussion did not concern her. Instead, she kept looking calmly at Lucius, waiting for the rest of the story. Quite a self-possessed young lady, thought Severus with involuntary respect.

Meanwhile, Lucius continued his story of Harry’s upbringing, skilfully avoiding any political matters, but paying much attention to ordinary family stories and anecdotes.

“So,” Gérard started after all was said, “good old England changed its… ways?” He put a special emphasis on old.

“First of all, it changed its politics,” Lucius responded immediately. “As for the ways… we shall wait and see.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” Cassandra remarked. She sat back in the armchair indicating that the discussion was over and returned to her previous occupation.

After a short silence, the conversation started flowing again. Severus resumed watching the hosts, and soon he noticed that young Constance was visibly bored, listening to the conversation between her mother and Narcissa. He smiled with the corner of his mouth: with all her intelligence and remarkable magical skills, Narcissa could also hold her end in a so-called ladies’ conversation if the situation demanded it.

Constance noticed his smile, stood up quietly and approached her grandmother. If she had wanted to ask something, Cassandra beat her to it.

“It is good that you are here, cherie. I understand that monsieur Snaipe is a Potions master. Perhaps, he will be kind enough to talk to you about your hobby.” She looked at him sternly as if saying ‘Do not you dare to decline!’ and left them alone.

Well, he had no objections to a conversation with a polite calm girl who was also interested in his field of work.

“You like Potions, mademoiselle?” he clarified.

The girl blushed a little, either of pleasure because he addressed her so formally, or of embarrassment because her grandmother forced the guest into the conversation.

“Yes, monsieur Snaipe,” she nodded, “I love it. When odd ingredients turn into a new substance with qualities that none of the parts had… it is fascinating, is it not?”

Severus allowed himself a genuine smile. He loved his subject and liked teaching, but could not stand uninterested students — who happened to be the majority. If only a quarter of his students showed as much comprehension as this girl...

“I cannot agree more,” he answered and repeated the line that had already become his trademark, “This is true magic unlike the foolish wand waving.”

He thought he noticed a shadow cross the girl’s face, but if anything in his remark had upset Constance, she pulled herself together shortly.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It is true magic.”

Severus decided not to draw attention to the incident and changed topic to the latest potions research. Constance cheered up at that. In thirty minutes, when they were discussing the latest Damocles Belby’s study that turned out to be a huge success, he could confidently claim that very few Hogwarts students even in their sixth year had as thorough knowledge of the subject as this girl. Unable to resist a small surge of jealousy, he remarked:

“I did not know that Lorel was that good. Beauxbatons is very lucky to have him.”

To his astonishment, the girl paled and looked away.

“I do not attend Beauxbatons,” she said very quietly, staring at the floor. “I am a squib.”

Despite his utmost effort, Severus could not hide his astonishment. Nevertheless, he attempted to present it in the polite way.

“You have a tutor in Potions, then?” He asked, pretending that her lack of formal schooling was the only fact that had surprised him.

“My father sometimes tutors me when he has time,” Constance answered, heartening up. “But mostly I study by myself — on holidays when I am at home.”

Severus’s respect for the girl increased immensely. Now he also understood why the Malefoi mansion was so full of magic: to make a squib feel comfortable in a house with no electricity or central heating, where the doors open at a flick of a wand, most of the rooms had to be thoroughly charmed.

“In that case you are exceptionally talented, mademoiselle,” he said sincerely, and Constance blushed with pleasure. “Tell me, have you read the latest work of Eugene Canseliet?”

“The one published last year?” clarified the girl. “Yes, I did, out of curiosity. It is still too complicated for me, though... You know, there was a lot of discussion here in France whether Canseliet should have exposed himself so to the Muggles. It was even rumoured that monsieur le ministre de la magie himself made him ‘die’ eight years ago...”

* * *

Lucius was watching Severus with intense interest, smirking at the sight. His misanthropic and usually not very sociable friend was obviously enjoying a conversation with a pretty teenage girl.

“A lovely couple, are they not, Gérard?” asked Cassandra who had approached them surreptitiously.

“What do you mean, maman?” The head of the Malefoi family started.

“Only that you will have an English son-in-law,” she snorted. “However, you’ll have to wait a decade or so.” Without saying another word, she calmly walked away, settled in an armchair by a coffee table and started cleaning and refilling her pipe.

Lucius stared dumbfounded at his cousin.

“Is she joking?”

The other man shook his head.

“When maman says such things, they always come true,” Gérard answered without a smile. “Even I find it hard to believe her latest prediction, though...” He gave Lucius a hard look, as if deciding if he should share some delicate information. “The thing is that Constance is — what do you call it? — a squib.”

“I see,” Lucius answered after a long silence. “Is she... home-schooled?”

“No.” Gérard smiled strangely. “It is done differently here.”

“Is it?” Lucius quirked an eyebrow. “I would love to hear all about it.”

“Imagine a rather expensive private Muggle boarding school. One needs not only pay a good deal of money to send their child there, but also gain a recommendation from a member of the board. The abuse of that right usually leads to the loss of the position for the careless governor. Thus, the school takes in children of diplomats, politicians, military elite, some outstanding scientists… and squibs from the most ancient French Wizarding families. By graduation, students usually have formed strong ties… and young Muggles have learned enough about Wizarding world. On the non-disclosure conditions, of course.”

“Clever,” Lucius had to acknowledge. “It allows you to have much better connections to the Muggle world than all this fuss of our Ministry… I gather you are one of the governors, aren’t you?”

“My grandfather was one of the school founders.” Gérard nodded. “Squibs are common in our family, and it occurred to him that their talents should be put to good use... How about taking the idea on board?” He smirked.

“Now is definitely not the time.” Lucius shook his head. “I have two very magical hellions under my care, and they need constant looking...”

“Papa!” The doors burst open, and, disregarding all manners, Nicolas barged into the room with an excited cry. “Papa, there is a rattlesnake in the garden! And Henri is talking to it!”

The room fell quiet. Something broke with a jingle: Narcissa, who grew very pale, dropped a coffee cup.

“Merlin...” breathed Severus. He and Lucius exchanged glances.

“Excuse me,” Lucius said to Gérard dryly and hurried out into the garden to find Harry.

* * *

Everyone in the room stayed quiet for several long minutes, staring at the doors. Nicolas obviously did not understand what was happening: his sister and the adults were not just dumbfounded, they were a little scared. Severus frantically tried to think of something to say when Cassandra suddenly spoke up:

“The boy will be multilingual,” she noted with approval, puffing her pipe. “It could come handy in the future.”

* * *

Lucius walked hurriedly down the path paved with red sand, upset. How could everything go pear-shaped so fast?

Gérard was not the problem, of course. Lucius’s cousin was too liberal to judge anyone — a child even more so — by something that they had no control over. The narrow-minded and conservative British society, though... Lucius inhaled through gritted teeth as if in pain. No, Harry’s new ability had to stay secret at any cost.

He turned the corner of the hedge trimmed into tidy pyramids three yards high and found what he was looking for: Harry stood in the middle of a perfectly round sanded clearing, holding a young rattlesnake on the palm of his hand. The snake rose as if to attack, but had no such intention from the looks of it; it twisted its tail around the boy’s wrist coquettishly. Draco stood frozen nearby, staring at the creature.

“S-h-sh-sh-sh s-z-s-s-sh-sh-sh!” A series of very strange sounds left Harry’s lips. Lucius shuddered. Hearing this language from a child... was almost indecent. Not that these sounds (or snakes in general, if it came to that) were unpleasant; the true reason was that anyone who had heard the horrible rapture of the Dark Lord in Parseltongue could never forget it.

“Sh-sh-s-s-z-s-s-s!”

The snake nodded, and Harry slowly lowered himself to stand on one knee and carefully put the creature down on the lawn for it to disappear immediately — only the chequered tail flickered in the grass.

“Harry?”

The boy stood up in one swift motion and turned around. There was excitement, curiosity and such delight in his eyes that could only be caused in a ten-year-old by a new discovery or adventure.

“Dad, did you hear it? I understand what it says! Dad...?” The boy stopped glowing, his excitement turned into uncertainty, and Lucius realized that he had failed to hide his alarm.

“Dad, what’s the matter?”

Draco was silent and only looked from his adopted brother to his father and back with concern on his face.

“You see,” Lucius forced out, “the ability to talk to snakes is not very popular among wizards nowadays.”

Harry paled a little; his face acquired the composed, almost detached expression like during conversations with Fudge or curious strangers from the Ministry.

“Why?” Draco asked finally.

“The fact is that the last wizard with such an ability... it is called being a Parselmouth, by the way... So the last known Parselmouth was Voldemort,” Lucius said, picking his words carefully. “His predecessors... acted not much better. It is no wonder that people are afraid, even though the ability itself is perfectly harmless. That is why no one should know about it, except family. All right?”

Harry nodded and relaxed a little.

“What about...” He nodded toward the house.

Lucius allowed himself to smile.

“Do not worry. Gérard never liked to follow traditions. He will not be bothered by this. I think when everyone calms down the only problem will be to persuade Nicolas not to boast about your abilities at school.”

“So...” Harry looked at Lucius with an inquisitive and suddenly demanding expression, “they do not... bother you?”

“No.” Lucius shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Then why,” Draco asked sharply, “did you shiver when you heard Harry talk like a snake? I saw it.”

Harry bit his lip.

Lucius sighed, stepped closer and embraced his son and his charge. Draco half hissed, half snorted sarcastically. Harry’s frigid stance betrayed his tensed anticipation of the answer.

“It is true that I am not worried about your ability to understand snakes, Harry,” Lucius said in a soft tone. “Not at all. It is just...” He swallowed. “I do not like the sound of it. It reminds me...” He broke off.

Harry wriggled out of his embrace and looked him in the eye, tilting his head back.

“I understand, Dad,” he assured Lucius.

“Sorry, I didn’t think of that.” Draco’s voice was filled with sincere dismay.

“It is all right.” Lucius forced himself to smile again. “We will deal with it. Please, take it seriously, though. No one, not a living soul should know that Harry is a Parselmouth. It is better not to mention it altogether if there is a slightest chance that someone might overhear you.”

“Right.” Harry nodded.

“We get it.”

“Let us return to the house. Everyone is waiting.”

On the way back to the mansion’s entrance Lucius pretended not to hear Draco muttering to Harry, “Still, it was real cool...”

* * *

On the second to last day of their stay in France, Lucius had the most unusual conversation with Patricia Malefoi. She seized the moment when everyone split up after breakfast and dragged Lucius, who was very surprised by this development, to a spacious balcony stretching around the length of the house at the level of the second floor.

“How can I be of help to my beautiful hostess?” Lucius asked with a smile, feeling that something was wrong and wishing to set a light tone.

Instead of answering, Patricia unceremoniously nudged him toward the railing and thrust out her gloved hand, pointing to the couple walking in the park.

He barely contained a snort: his friend in his ever-black robe looked like a crow in the blooming spring garden among the colourful exuberance of daffodils and tulips. Severus bent a little to his companion’s ear, speaking animatedly, while Constance nodded with interest.

“Tell me, please, what I should think about that?” Patricia asked. “I can’t even imagine how your friend managed to charm her so much!”

Lucius laughed.

“They are probably discussing the best way to cut flobberworms,” he answered, indulging himself by teasing his hostess just a little bit. She did actually make a face. “Or the finer points of using fern flower essence in love potions. Or the ways to grind pearls when making some healing salve...”

“Thank you, I get the idea,” Patricia interrupted him with slight annoyance. “I trust your friend... not to allow himself any liberties. Nevertheless, I am worried...” She turned away and then continued, looking dully into the distance. “I assume you heard what my mother-in-law said about it. It is all very sweet and romantic, but only until certain circumstances come up...”

“Severus already knows that your daughter is a squib,” Lucius answered bluntly. “She told him herself on the first day.”

Patricia turned around sharply.

“Does not that bother him?”

“Should it?” he asked calmly.

“I know very well the attitude toward squibs in Britain,” the woman retorted pursing her lips.

“Maybe it is time to change it,” Lucius said and looked into the garden again. Sitting on the bench, Severus carefully cut a primrose with a scalpel he produced seemingly out of thin air and demonstrated either the structure of the corolla or the correct way to cut the unfortunate flower. “In any case, I do not think you should start worrying now.” He smiled.

Patricia followed his gaze and could not contain a smile either.

“Maybe you are right,” she said thoughtfully.

* * *

Upon returning to Britain, the Malfoys sent the boys to bed and held what Severus would have sarcastically called a war council were he not worried just as much as his friends. The explanation Lucius gave to the boys was enough for a ten-year-old, but it did not suffice for the adults.

“I have to admit that I have not experienced such a shock since Voldemort’s disappearance,” Lucius said glumly, settling in an armchair and nursing his drink. “Sev, do you have any idea just how something like that could have happened? There were no Parselmouths in the Potter family!”

“Maybe Lily...” Narcissa, who was sitting in a nearby armchair, started uncertainly.

“No, Cissy, it is absolutely impossible.” Severus shook his head. “Contrary to what many people would like to believe, Lily Evans really was a Muggleborn. I am sure of it.”

“What other explanations are there?” Lucius objected. “It is a hereditary ability, which cannot appear out of the blue...”

Severus thought about it.

“The only Parselmouth of the modern age I know of was the Dark Lord,” he said confidently. “Who — as we all well know — disappeared without a trace almost nine years ago. The question is, where to. And why.” He gripped the armrests so hard that his knuckles whitened. “Too bad,” he continued dully, staring at the floor, “that no one knows what happened in the Potters’ house that night. And how exactly Harry did survive.”

Narcissa suddenly gasped.

“Severus! Are you saying that Harry...?” She stared at him in horror.

“No,” he said decisively and raised his head as if waking up. “I do not think that the Dark Lord managed to possess Harry. First of all, as a rule, the recipient must give his consent to such...  an invasion. Secondly, this sort of cohabitation cannot last long and usually ends in the death of the physical body. Nine years is an impossibly long period for such a union. Thirdly...” He smiled a little. “We would have noticed if anything had been wrong. Harry is as much the Dark Lord’s opposite as it is humanly possible.”

Narcissa relaxed a bit. Lucius patted her hand soothingly and looked at the Potions master, “So what do you imply? That Voldemort somehow shared his ability with Harry? If so, what else did the boy get from him? And how?”

“I have no idea.” Severus sighed. “Dumbledore probably has some thoughts, but as you can understand, I cannot ask him. It would only lead to inconvenient suspicions and complications...” He frowned suddenly. “There is one peculiarity that might be important. I have never heard of any other case when the Killing Curse left a scar.”

“I will try to find out all I can about that,” Lucius promised, “but, anyways, you have managed to relieve my concerns. Still, I would like to anticipate such surprises in future.”

“Well, by their very nature,” Severus snorted mirthlessly, “surprises cannot be anticipated.”

* * *

On the first day of the summer term Dumbledore, as usual, asked Severus about his Easter holidays.

“How is Harry? Is there any news?”

“No, nothing notable.” Severus shrugged his shoulders and added after a little thought, “Harry is talented in languages. He speaks French very well. At least, he didn’t have any trouble communicating.”

“Is he now?” The old wizard got worried. “You do not think that Lucius would want to send him to Beauxbatons after all, do you?”

“Of course not!” Severus put down his toast and looked at the headmaster with sincere amazement. “Why would he?”

“I have been a bit concerned about it,” Dumbledore acknowledged, calming down. “However, since you are sure everything is all right, then so it is. I hope,” he smiled cheerfully, “you had a good time.”

Severus mused for a moment.

“Yes,” he said firmly. “Yes, I did.”

____________________

Footnotes:

Henri (fr.) — the French form of Henry, and Harry is historically a diminutive from that name.

Eugene Canseliet (1899–1982) was the last of the outstanding alchemists. He was a student of the legendary Master Fulcanelli, but became a legend in his own right. It is believed that he created the philosopher’s stone twice; that he did not die and just left the visible world. It was also rumoured that Fulcanelli and Canseliet were one and the same man.

 End of Part Two

Chapter Text

Chapter 14: Welcome to Hogwarts!

London suburbs flew behind the window faster and faster by the minute: the Hogwarts Express was speeding up. Harry leaned back in his seat and opened the latest issue of Quidditch Today.

“You should be reading the Potions book,” remarked Draco, who was sitting across from him. “Only yesterday Sev said that one of us had answered correctly only half the questions on the test.”

“Some people don’t get mental about potions,” Harry muttered without looking away from the magazine.

“Yeah, because they are already mad about Quidditch!” Pansy interjected. “Which is the stupidest thing ever!”

“What do you know about it!” both boys flared in unison.

Pansy snorted patronizingly, and Millicent who was sitting next to her giggled.

“Girls,” Harry grumbled and tried to resume his reading. He was out of luck, though: Draco leaned forward and snatched the magazine from his hands.

“Hey!”

“I’ll give it back later,” Draco announced, opening a handbook of elementary potions that had a piece of parchment stuck in the middle as a bookmark. “Potions first.”

“Funkiller,” Harry groused and sulked.

“Lazybones,” Draco retorted. “Girls, no prompting him. So, Harry, where a bezoar can be found?”

“Get lost! You are both crazy, you and Severus,” Harry grumbled on. “I don’t know!”

“I don’t know either,” Millie consoled him.

“I don’t even know what that is,” Pansy added.

“Bezoar is an all-purpose antidote. There are very few poisons it can’t cope with,” Draco said in a lecturing voice, obviously copying his godfather. “It is a stone that can be found in goat’s stomach...”

“Ewww... how disgusting!” Millicent exclaimed. The girls shuddered.

Draco rolled his eyes dramatically and asked the next question, “What’s the difference between monkshood and aconite?”

At that moment, the door to the compartment opened, and a dishevelled, clumsy, dark-haired and dark-eyed boy looked inside.

“Have you seen a toad here?” he asked nervously.

Draco looked at him incredulously.

“No,” he said coldly. “We haven’t.”

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled, blushing a little. “By the way, monkshood and aconite is the same thing.”

Interest flickered in Draco’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Correct. Five points to... What’s your name?”

“L-Longbottom... Neville Longbottom,” the boy forced out, looking even more embarrassed. “And yours?”

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco introduced himself haughtily. “And this is Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson and my brother Harry.”

“Hi!” Harry nodded, feeling sympathy for the new acquaintance. When Draco was in the mood to boss everyone around, it was easier to give way and bear it than to argue.

The girls smiled.

“Pleased to meet you,” Longbottom nodded in return, finally composing himself. “Sorry for barging in, I’ll go and search for Trevor...” He disappeared again.

“Hufflepuff,” Draco concluded in a voice of a Mediwizard pronouncing the lethal diagnosis. “A clumsy herbology-lover with a toad for a familiar... Definitely Hufflepuff’.”

Harry sighed heavily. Since the moment Draco had received his official Hogwarts invitation, he could talk about nothing but the Sorting and the differences between Houses.

“Hey, Mr. Sorting Hat,” Harry called, “either continue with your stupid quiz or give me my magazine back.”

Draco pouted and looked into the book again.

“So, what’s next? Ah, here. The components for the Draught of Living Death.”

“Hmm...” Harry tried to remember. “Asphodel... and something else.”

“Wormwood, I think,” Millie added cautiously.

“Both of you are right, but your answers are incomplete. Powdered root of asphodel and infusion of wormwood,” Draco announced. “Next...”

“I say, let’s do this later!” Harry lost his patience. “I will forget all this stuff in a minute anyway.”

“When Sev makes a fool of you during the first class, you’ll understand that I am right.” Draco was offended. “Then you will finally appreciate everything I do for you, but it will be too late.”

Millie and Pansy giggled again.

“I concede,” Harry said placatingly. “You are right, and I’m a fool neglected by good fairy godmothers. Let’s take a breather.”

“You lot are hopeless…” Draco sighed, but stopped pouting. “Here’s your magazine, the Boy Who Will Not Survive His First Potions Class.”

Harry returned to the article on the latest changes in the first league, but soon realized that possible consequences of Krzysztof Kaminski’s scandalous transfer from the Polish team to the Austrian one did not interest him at all. Using the magazine as a shield, Harry surreptitiously tried to extract his new wand from the holster sewn into his robes.

The wood was smooth and warm to the touch. ‘The wand hummed in Harry’s hand as if it were alive, and Harry felt how happy it was to be with him. Still, he had doubts about it, all because of that damned Ollivander! A barking mad, absolutely crazy old man. It was foolish to volunteer to go to his shop alone. With Harry’s father present, the old man would have never talked such nonsense. Brother wands... Harry shuddered. The idea of having something else in common with Voldemort, apart from his ability to talk to snakes, was not a happy one. He was so shocked then that he did not tell this latest piece of news to anyone: neither to his parents, nor even to Draco. Harry could not imagine himself saying such nonsense... He shivered and tucked the wand away.

The door opened again, and a bushy-haired girl already dressed in school robes stuck her head inside their compartment. Neville was hanging behind her, looking embarrassed.

“Have you seen a toad here?” the girl asked in a commanding tone.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“No, no new toads have appeared here in the last quarter of an hour,” he remarked sarcastically.

“Sorry, I’ve told her this already, but...” Neville mumbled. The girl was not listening, however; her attention was drawn to the book lying on the seat.

“Oh, you’re studying! Great! I have already learned everything in our books too, I hope it will be enough because I’m the only witch in the family, I’ll have to work hard to keep up. Hey, this handbook wasn’t on the list. Too bad my parents bought me so few books that are not on the syllabus, they say I study too much, but that’s impossible, right? By the way, I am Hermione Granger, and you are?” she fired in a single breath and turned to Harry.

Everyone stared at her as if she was a new exhibit item in some sort of odditorium. Even Draco’s eyes turned a little glassy.

“I’m Harry Potter,” finally said Harry, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “And this is Millicent Bulstrode, Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy.”

“The Harry Potter?” the girl asked with blatant curiosity. “I know everything about you. I’ve read Modern Magical History, and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century...”

“Oh Merlin...” Harry groaned, clutching his hair. “I knew this would be a nightmare.”

The last phrase stopped the excited babbling of the bushy-haired girl.

“Why?” she asked with genuine interest.

“Would you like to be gawked at as if you were a five-legged hippogriff?” Draco asked angrily, coming to his senses.

Granger blushed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it, honestly. It’s just that I’m new here, and everything is so interesting, and I’m trying to keep up with everyone who grew up in the Wizarding world and knows everything...”

“Yes, yes, we get it,” Draco cut her off hastily. “Go look for your toad or whatever you’ve got missing, because we’ll be arriving soon.”

The girl nodded and left, taking the clumsy boy Neville with her. The rest of the children looked at each other.

“Um...” Draco said finally. “This is... I don’t know what to say! Merlin save us from ending up in the same House with her.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry objected without real conviction. “It was not that bad.”

“Well, if we cast Silencio on her...” Draco proposed thoughtfully.

“As well as do something with her hair and teeth...” Pansy giggled.

“That’s just nasty of you!” exclaimed Millie, but without much censure. “The girl should be pitied, what with her Muggle parents... Ouch!” Harry nudged her, and she stopped midsentence, upset and looking guiltily at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that...”

“It’s all right,” Harry grumbled, “I know. Anyway, forget about Granger, we need to get changed too. Girls, you go first. Don’t take too long, though.”

He and Draco stepped out to the corridor and closed the door.

“What do you think, which House I will be sorted into?” Harry asked quietly in a little while.

“Slytherin, of course,” Draco answered confidently.

“What if... I don’t?”

Draco turned and fixed Harry with a look.

“Well...” He pretended to think. “Then I’ll have another reason to tease you. And we’ll spend a lot of time in the library or we’ll be constantly annoying Sev.”

“Why is that?” Harry asked without even trying to hide his relief.

“Because, as far as I know, it’s not quite a done thing to invite guests from other Houses to the Slytherin common room. So we’ll have to find another place...”

“Hey, are you really Harry Potter?” A new voice interrupted their conversation.

Both boys turned: a red-headed, freckled boy about their age dressed in used and somewhat mended robes approached them. He stared at Harry wide-eyed.

“Yes,” Harry answered darkly. He was sick to death of people coming up just to goggle at him. “What do you want?”

“I’m Ron Weasley. Do you really have a scar?”

“Yes, he has a scar,” Draco snapped, “but that’s none of your business. So get lost, we don’t need you here.”

“Draco...” Harry said somewhat reproachfully. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Draco? What a name,” the redheaded boy said mockingly. He was clearly offended and wanted revenge.

“What was your name again?” Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Weasley? Ah, yes, I should have guessed. Mended clothes and too many freckles. Your parents shouldn’t have had more children than they can feed.”

Weasley turned red in the face and clenched his fists. Harry thought uneasily that another word or two and he would have to stop a fight, but then to his relief Pansy looked out of the compartment.

“We’re almost ready, come in!” she called.

Harry quickly nudged his brother toward the compartment door, briskly saying to the aggressive redhead, “We’re in a hurry”, and followed Draco in.

* * *

At the station the first years were greeted by a giant with dark, bushy hair — Rubeus Hagrid, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds in Hogwarts, as Harry recalled. Lucius several times remarked acidly on the gamekeeper’s enormous love for all sorts of magical creatures (“the nastier the better”), and Narcissa said once that no quasi Latin would improve a child’s bloodline. Severus had never said anything especially snide of the man, which led Harry to the conclusion that Rubeus Hagrid was probably a decent person.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years over here!” Hagrid bellowed. “Glad to see yeh, Harry!”

“Hello, Hagrid!” he returned.

Together with the rest of the new students, Harry, Draco and their friends hurriedly followed the gamekeeper. While they descended a narrow and slippery path in almost complete darkness, Harry remembered his first meeting with Hagrid.

* * *

On July 31st, as soon as Harry received his invitation to Hogwarts, the Malfoy family visited Diagon Alley. Lucius and Harry went to Gringotts, leaving Narcissa and Draco at Madam Malkin’s. Lucius announced that it was time for Harry to receive the key to his own “school” vault.

While his foster father was filling all sorts of officially looking parchments at a table in the corner and bickering with two goblins, Harry wandered off looking around. At some point he got so engrossed in his surroundings that he almost bumped into a visitor — and managed to jump out of the way at the last moment.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” he said sincerely, looking up at his would-have-been victim.

“It’s ‘right, boy, it’s ‘right,” mumbled a very tall man with bushy hair and beard, peering down at the boy. “Yer Harry Potter, eh?”

“Pleased to meet you,” Harry nodded reservedly. He did not care much for people who recognized him. “And you are...”

“Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid.” The giant extended a hand.

“The Keeper of the Keys of Hogwarts?” Harry relaxed a little. “I’ve heard about you from Uncle Severus.”

Hagrid snorted, but the smirk on his face was not malicious.

“From Severus Snape... I see. Well, he’s not a bad sort, that I can say...” Hagrid stepped into the shortest line to a goblin, and Harry stood nearby. “What are yeh doin’ here?”

“I’m waiting.” Harry relaxed almost completely. The new acquaintance did not look or speak like an educated man, but clearly did not present a threat. “My Dad is over there,” Harry waved, “he’s filling papers to give me the key from my vault.”

“Your Dad?”

“My foster father,” Harry clarified stiffly, anticipating with slight irritation the usual tiresome flood of questions about his foster family and “real” parents.

Hagrid instantly cleared his concerns, though.

“Ah, sorry, lad, didn’ get yer meanin’ at first,” the big man said good-naturedly. “Yer Dad wants yeh ter have what’s yours, doesn’t he? Good, good... Don’t hold it against me if I said somethin’ wron’, I remember yeh this small...” He showed the size with his hands.

“Really?” Harry asked with curiosity. “You knew me as a baby?”

“I did,” Hagrid nodded. “Took you away when You Know Who...” He stopped in midsentence guiltily. “Anyway, from the ruins o’ yer parents’ house... James an’ Lily Potter’s.” The giant man sniffled, found a huge and not very clean chequered handkerchief in his pocket and started rubbing his eyes.

“I see.” Harry nodded a little awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He did not want to offend the gamekeeper who was really taking it to his heart, but neither did he want to talk about the Potters. “And what are you doing here?” He knew that the question was somewhat inappropriate, but decided that his faux pas would be considered a child’s bluntness. If it were noticed, that is.

“Can’t tell yeh that. Very secret. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid winked. “Professor Dumbledore told me ter fetch somethin’. Keep it quiet, though. I’ve never told yeh anythin’!” Being next in the line, he turned to the goblin.

Harry stepped away, and even though he tried very hard not to eavesdrop for a change, he clearly heard vault 713 mentioned.

* * *

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by a none-too-gentle poke in the back: Millicent missed her footing, slammed into him, and they both barely managed to stay upright.

“Sorry, Harry,” she huffed. “Why can’t the first years just use the coaches like the rest?”

“It’s a tradition.” Draco shrugged. “The first impression is the strongest, and all that rot.”

“ Ye’ all get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec!” Hagrid boomed from somewhere ahead. “Careful, don’t slip! Stop righ’ here!”

“Oh!” both girls gasped in amazement.

The path led them to a huge lake. An enormous castle stood on a cliff on the other side; its brightly lit windows were reflected in the dark waters, and numerous towers and turrets were clearly visible against the starry sky.

“Impressive,” Draco agreed.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Hagrid called. The children obediently climbed into the nearest one: Millie hurriedly sat at the head gripping the sides tightly. On the gamekeeper’s word, the boats started gliding toward the castle, and Millie clutched the boat sides even tighter.

“Are you seasick?” Harry was surprised. “You fly so well!”

“I’m not,” Millie muttered. Her blush was visible even in the darkness. “I can’t swim.”

“But you live almost at the seaside!” Pansy exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Millie nodded gloomily. “But Mother thinks swimming is not proper for girls.”

The boys snorted.

“We’ll figure something out,” Pansy consoled her friend. “I will ask my parents to invite you to France with us next summer. You’ll learn there.”

“Thanks,” Millie answered awkwardly, glancing sideway at the waves with obvious apprehension.

“It won’t take long,” Harry noted. The fleet approached the cliff, and all the boats dived into a deep crack covered with ivy.

“Heads down!” Hagrid yelled.

They floated through a dark tunnel and ended up in an underground harbour. From there Hagrid led them up the stairs to the lawn in front of the main entrance to the castle and pounded on the huge oak door. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes answered it.

“McGonagall,” Harry whispered into his brother’s ear. Draco nodded.

“The firs’ years, Professor McGonagall,” Hagrid said.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” she nodded. “I will take them from here.”

While Deputy Headmistress talked about Hogwarts Houses, the four friends stood a little away, quietly giggling and whispering. Finally, McGonagall looked at them sternly, but softened as soon as she saw Harry.

“Hogwarts was always famous for its students. I hope many of you will add to it,” Professor concluded her speech looking right at him. “I will be back shortly.”

As soon as she disappeared, everyone started chatting at once. In a few minutes, Blaise managed to elbow his way through the crowd.

“Hello!” He smiled to the girls. The boys shook hands. “How are you lot? I barely escaped Nott with his gorillas. Had to sit in one boat with a funny lubber, have you met him? He’s constantly losing his toad. Oh, and that terrible know-it-all. She’s absolutely horrible.”

“Yes, we’ve met,” Draco snorted. “What is this about gorillas? Nott has got himself a zoo now?”

“Crabbe and Goyle,” Blaise answered in a low voice, pointing discreetly in the right direction. Looking sulky, Theodore Nott and two heavily built, broad-shouldered boys stood nearby.

“Hmm…” Draco frowned. “Father saved their parents from jail, if I’m not mistaken. I could try to influence them…”

“Is it worth the trouble?” Harry objected. “We wouldn’t be able to trust them anyway. Let’s just keep an eye on them. I doubt they will dare to harm us, and what they talk about is not our concern.” He narrowed his eyes. “If they meddle with us, it will be their problem.”

Millie and Pansy looked at each other.

“It seems to me, boys, that you are hiding something from us…” Pansy prompted.

“Later, okay?” Harry said quickly. “Not here.”

Millie wanted to say something, but Professor McGonagall returned and led them to the famous Great Hall of Hogwarts. Sorting Hat sang its song (Draco thought it extremely silly), and the Sorting started.

“Abbott, Hannah!”

“Hufflepuff!”

Harry tried very hard to look calm, but as the Sorting progressed, he felt more and more nervous. Millie ended up in Slytherin — the Hat did not think long. When the bushy-haired Granger girl sat on the stool, the Hat hesitated much longer, but in the end, the know-it-all was sorted into Gryffindor.

“I thought she’d be a Ravenclaw,” Harry whispered.

“She talks too much for that,” Pansy giggled.

The clumsy boy with the toad sat under the Hat for at least five minutes and — to everybody’s immense surprise — ended up in Gryffindor too.

Draco’s turn came — and he was made Slytherin just as he wished. Harry was nervous and shifted from one foot to another anxiously.

“Don’t fret,” Pansy whispered when it was her turn and went confidently to try the Hat on. She was also sorted into Slytherin, of course. Harry wiped the palms on his robes surreptitiously and stole a glance at the High Table. Severus looked blankly at the crowd of unsorted first years, but he met Harry’s gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly, and the boy relaxed a little.

“Potter, Harry!”

Whispers blew over the Hall, someone asked:

“Potter, did she say?”

“The Harry Potter?”

Harry barely contained a grimace. He had already known he would be sick of the phrase the Harry Potter very soon. Now he almost felt the stares from the High Table on his back — including Severus’s. Trying to hide his anxiety, he put the Hat on and sat on the stool.

Hmm… A quiet voice sounded near his ear. Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting… So where shall I put you?

Slytherin, Harry thought desperately. Draco is there, and Millie, and Pansy! Dad will be glad, and Severus too…

Your parents were in Gryffindor, the Hat said softly. Many people expect you to go there too…

So what? Muggleborns’ parents never belonged to any House here at all! Harry objected with annoyance. And I don’t care what everyone expects! I want to be Slytherin!

Well, if you insist, the Hat smirked. Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that. There will be many problems too, though. Good luck, Harry Potter!

“Slytherin!”

The Hall stilled for a moment, then the Slytherin table broke into applause. Harry took off the Hat, jumped off the stool and looked for Draco: his brother saved him a place by his side and waved at Harry happily. Harry almost lost his head from noise and relief and did not notice that the other Houses’ reaction to the Hat’s decision was quite reserved. He almost ran to the Slytherin table where some strangers shook his hand and patted him on the shoulder.

“Welcome to Slytherin, Harry!” a tall, dark-haired boy of about fifteen announced pompously. “My name is Laurence Stapleton, and I am a prefect. We are all happy…”

Indeed, Harry noticed a prefect’s badge shining on the boy’s robes.

“Oh, come on, Larry,” a red-headed, blue-eyed girl, who was also wearing a similar badge, interrupted him, “leave him be. Let Dumbledore do speeches.”

“Whatever you say, Livy.” Larry shrugged. “Harry, this is Olivia O’Connell, she is also a prefect.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Harry said sincerely — he liked the girl.

At last, everyone who wanted to greet him said hello, and he flopped down by Draco’s side. Blaise had already seated himself next to them.

“Ugh! That’s one Hat! I barely persuaded it!” Harry complained.

“What did it want?” Draco asked. “You spent an awful lot of time there.”

“Who knows?” Harry snorted, gaining confidence by the minute. “First it wanted Gryffindor, then Slytherin…”

“Thankfully, it wasn’t Hufflepuff,” Draco giggled.

“That’s for sure. Ravenclaw might be even worse in some respects, though…” Harry agreed.

Then he remembered Severus and turned to the High Table. The Potions master was staring at him, and, having caught his godson’s glance, he winked. Harry tried to smile in return, but Severus had already turned away and was talking to a stranger in a purple turban.

“Harry Potter in Slytherin?” an unearthly voice suddenly rustled behind his back.

Harry turned around. A frightening ghost in bloodied old-fashioned clothes fluttered near the bench. Remembering history lessons and Lucius’s stories, Harry stood up hurriedly and bowed.

“How do you do, Baron de Combrai?” he said respectfully. “It is such an honour to meet you at last. May I present my foster brother, Draco Malfoy?”

Draco hastily followed his brother’s example and bowed too.

“Finally!” the ghost exclaimed approvingly. “Children who know their history and their manners. If not for that vulgar Binns man, Britain would have fared a lot better, mark my word! A Potter in Slytherin is something new, though.” He looked the boy up and down. “We shall see what comes out of that.”

“I hope to be worthy of my House, Your Lordship,” Harry answered politely, but firmly.

“We shall see,” the ghost repeated, nodded by way of good-bye, turned and floated away through the nearest wall.

“Wow!” Olivia said in awe. “Will you tell me about him later, boys? I’m afraid I am always asleep in Binns’ classes.”

“Didn’t your parents…” Blaise started, but Olivia interrupted him.

“My parents are Muggles,” she said easily, adding roasted potatoes to her plate. “So everything I know about magic I learned here.”

“I can see that,” grumbled Nott who was sitting nearby. “What else would you expect from a Mu…”

“Shut up,” Larry rebuffed him angrily, “if you don’t want to get a detention.”

Nott sulked, but did shut up.

Draco and Harry looked at each other: they did not expect to find either Muggleborn students in Slytherin or the tolerant attitude towards them. After watching the older students covertly, though, they concluded that Larry fancied Olivia and that was the reason. Finally, the feast was over, and the prefects led the first years to the Slytherin dormitories.

The Slytherin common room was large and dimly lit: its stone walls were decorated with carvings and heavy woollen tapestries, there were hanging lamps on thick chains, comfortable sofas and armchairs.

“Stay here!” Larry commanded.

“I know that you are very tired,” Olivia joined in, smiling, “but, please, wait for another fifteen minutes. The Head of our House, Professor Snape, will come here shortly to set you all wise.” At that, Larry snorted quietly, covering his mouth. “And then you will all go to bed.”

In a couple of minutes a part of the wall that hid the entrance moved away, and Severus entered. He looked sternly at the first years standing in the middle of the room.

“Today,” he began, “you have become the students of Slytherin. You have new responsibilities now. Any action of yours will affect the reputation of the House of Slytherin, and I will not tolerate a situation when your foolishness has a negative effect on your House…” He put his hands behind his back and started pacing in front of the first years. “In future you will often hear complaints from students of the other Houses that I never take points off Slytherins. It is quite true.” The first years fussed happily, but quieted soon under Snape’s menacing glare. “That does not mean that I do not punish them, though. And trust me, you do not want to be on the receiving end of it. Mr. Potter!”

Harry startled, stopped staring at the tapestry depicting the magical duel between Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor and looked guiltily at his Head of House.

“Do not think, Mr. Potter, that your unique position gives you any privileges,” Severus said mockingly. “Mr. Malfoy, this applies to you too.”

The boys looked down obediently. The Potions master, who did not buy their act for a moment, snorted and continued, “You will also undoubtedly encounter prejudice from the students of other Houses. I insist that you do not let yourselves be provoked. If you are not able to cope with some problem by yourselves, turn to the prefects. If Mr. Stapleton and Ms. O’Connell cannot help you, I am ready to hear you out any time of day or night. And, please, remember,” he surveyed the quiet room, “we are the House of Slytherin. We are the best.”

There was silence for a moment, then the senior students, who were sitting and standing around, applauded.

“Thank you,” he raised his hand, and the room grew quiet. “That is all for tonight. Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter, come to my office tomorrow after dinner.”

He turned and left without waiting for response.

As soon as the door behind their Head of House closed, Olivia turned to the boys and asked with great interest, “Pray tell, what did you do to attract his attention on your first day here? Spat on his robes?”

“It’s our lot in life,” Draco sighed dramatically, “to attract Severus’s attention.”

“Come on,” Harry objected, “he’s not that scary. If you don’t hit him in the eye with a snowball, that is,” he added gravely. “And anyways, he adores us.”

Bewildered silence fell over the room.

“You must be kidding,” Olivia said at last.

The boys smiled and looked at each other.

“Not at all,” Draco answered smugly. “Severus is our godfather.”

“Is that so?” Olivia asked after a pause. “Then you have my greatest sympathies.”

____________________

Footnotes:

Baron de Combrai... — the Bloody Baron’s name was taken from the list of unidentified associates of William the Conqueror. If there is a place to search for wizards, it is among the mysterious participants of battles, who have no traceable ancestry. Source: The Conqueror and His Companions by J.R. Planché, Somerset Herald. London: Tinsley Brothers, 1874.

Chapter Text

It was the afternoon of September 2nd, and Severus was getting ready for his last class before dinner, but the recipe he was mechanically writing on the blackboard did not occupy his mind.

At the end of July, when he first heard from Dumbledore where and how the philosopher’s stone would be hidden, Severus got furious — to put it mildly — and not a little bit dismayed. The most obvious reason for this was an easy realization that all the protections invented by the headmaster would become nothing more than a child’s play for any adult wizard not deprived of a bit of wits and skill. It gave the Potions master all the reasons to suspect that the so-called obstacles were intended not for the Dark Lord or his followers, but rather for curious eleven-year-old boys with a tendency to poke their noses in something that was not their business.

When he told Lucius about his findings, his friend got predictably outraged. He would surely have alarmed the Board of Governors if he could have kept his source secret. But, alas, it was impossible without giving away Severus, so the only thing to do was to wait for the events to unfold.

The successful break-in into Gringotts on the night of August 1st attracted much attention in the international Wizarding community and caused a nearly real panic at Malfoy Manor: a brief surge of extreme pain in Lucius’s and Severus’s left forearms that happened at the same time could not have been a coincidence.

* * *

“I hoped we had at least five years,” Lucius paced the study, grinding his teeth and clutching his left arm nervously with his right hand.

“The Mark is not visible yet,” Narcissa said with a faint hope, anxiously watching her husband. “There is still time.”

“Six months,” snapped Lucius, not stopping even for a moment. “A year at most. What are we going to do, Sev?”

“I have no idea,” Severus answered gloomily. “Do you think we have a choice?”

“I suppose not,” Lucius nodded with a wry smirk. “It is a good thing the boys are leaving for school soon. You will look after them there. Meanwhile, Cissy and I will take care of the Manor. It cannot be made truly unassailable, but I think we should be able to compete with Hogwarts by the next summer.”

“Is that even possible?” Severus looked incredulously at his friend.

“Well, Manor is not exactly a castle…” Lucius sighed, finally stopped pacing, sat on the edge on his desk and started tapping with the toe of his boot like an agitated schoolboy. “But it is not a school either, where people come and go. I can employ some measures that Dumbledore simply cannot afford to use.”

“Do not overdo it,” Severus grumbled. “We do not need troubles with Aurors.”

“Do not worry.” Despite the circumstances, Lucius snorted scornfully. “Everything will be strictly legal.”

* * *

There came no new troubles since then, but the old ones were more than enough. And, considering all the circumstances, Harry’s Sorting yesterday could not have had a better outcome. Merlin only knew how Severus would have managed to look after the children had they ended up in different Houses… He did not expect anything good from the new school year anyway.

Despite its obvious advantages (the boys were together and under his close supervision), the Sorting caused some difficulties. Many people (judging by the reaction of students of other Houses and most of the professors) considered its results almost an insult. How could it happen? The Potters’ son, the young hero who defeated Voldemort suddenly ended up in Slytherin? It was no surprise that Severus spent the whole day (apart from the classes, of course) in strained conversations with his colleagues. The morning began with a very reserved note from Dumbledore in which he invited Severus to share breakfast in Headmaster’s office instead of the Great Hall to discuss something.

* * *

“Severus, I would like to know your opinion about what happened yesterday at the Sorting,” Headmaster said without his usual preamble.

“What exactly is your concern?” asked Severus, not being able to stand the temptation to tease the old man.

Headmaster frowned a little, but almost immediately regained his tranquil expression. He gestured to the armchair opposite him, inviting his guest to sit, and served the tea.

“Harry’s Sorting,” he admitted, sitting down. “I did not expect him to end up in Slytherin.”

“Why does it bother you?” Severus asked bluntly, spreading butter over the toast. Many times over the years, he felt infuriated by the old man’s silent disdain towards Slytherin, but until now the situation never allowed him to express his outrage and indignation — today was the first occasion when the circumstances were favourable to him and he finally got his chance.

Cornered, Dumbledore pursed his lips and looked the Potions master in the eye. Severus did not look away, but strengthened his mental shields and let the thoughts of everyday trivialities surface — just in case. To his relief though, the headmaster did not try to use Legilimency.

“I may be unduly concerned,” he conceded reluctantly. “However, I do not like such surprises.”

Something in the tone of the headmaster’s voice deprived Severus of his long-expected moment of triumph — the old wizard seemed to have some dark premonitions that he had chosen not to share. That was very bad indeed: Lucius and Severus did not manage to find any information regarding Harry’s scar, and the boy’s unexpected abilities in Parseltongue were still unexplained. If Dumbledore was hiding something as serious as that from them...

Suddenly realizing that his silence lasted too long, the Potions master answered, “I think it will do good to Harry and to Hogwarts. Harry will learn to interact with people of different backgrounds, his Sorting to Slytherin will improve my House’s reputation, and the students from other Houses will finally realize that a Slytherin does not necessarily equal a dark wizard.”

“Or they will believe that Harry is already turning to the dark side,” Dumbledore sighed, pursing his lips. Deep lines appeared around his mouth.

“I hope you do not believe that,” Severus said sharply, straightening. What was the old man hiding?

“Of course not,” the headmaster answered without hesitation, but his eyes were cold. “And I sincerely hope that my expectations will come true. By the way...” He squinted slightly, adjusted his eyeglasses and remarked out the blue, “My boy, I have waited a long time to tell you something. I am very glad that you care for Harry so much. And I am sure Lily would have been proud to see how much you have changed.”

That was a low blow. Many times Severus tormented himself with the question what Lily would have said if she had learned who was caring for her boy and his part in all this. Would she have become enraged? Or, on the contrary, would she have found him fit to protect her child’s wellbeing? Considering all the circumstances, the latter was highly unlikely. However, Severus did not show his anger.

“I doubt that,” he said calmly, realizing that it was pointless to deny his sincere affection for the boy. “It does not matter anymore, though.”

Dumbledore looked at him over his spectacles, very much surprised.

“Does it not? I thought you...”

That was enough! Severus could not restrain himself any longer.

“You thought that I would spend my whole life mourning her like a lovesick fifteen-year-old schoolboy?” Severus snapped, jumping to his feet. He knew perfectly well that if not for Lucius who decided to take care of the Potters’ child, that would have been exactly the case. And it made him even angrier. “Who would have benefited from that? Harry? Once, other people have already paid for my mistakes. I have learned my lesson, Headmaster. Now, if you will excuse me — my students are waiting.”

Dumbledore’s quiet — very quiet — voice stopped him in the doorway.

“Severus.”

He turned around sharply: at that moment the old wizard looked exactly his age.

“Please, forgive me, my boy.”

“I’ll do my best,” Severus said after a short pause, stiffly nodded an awkward good-bye and left.

* * *

The conversation with Minerva McGonagall was just as extraordinary. She glared at the Potions master and almost hissed like an angry cat the whole morning. He could bet money that she would love to sharpen her claws on him. Finally, she managed to catch him in the Great Hall after lunch to “have a heart to heart talk”.

“Severus, I am deeply concerned about Mr. Potter’s Sorting,” she said, cutting to the chase. “James and Lily were the epitome of Gryffindor, and I am not sure their son belongs in Slytherin…”

“Minerva,” Severus interrupted her, this time not even attempting to hide his spiteful satisfaction. “Let me tell you one thing. Harry grew up among Slytherins. He knows half of his housemates from early childhood. I assure you, he will be more comfortable in my House than in any other.”

“But his parents…” McGonagall started weakly.

He wanted to point out that Lucius and Narcissa were Slytherins, but resisted the temptation with great effort.

“If James Potter,” he said coldly, “was such a perfect parent as everyone believes him to be, it would not matter to him where his child was studying. If not, then Harry certainly deserves a better father, do you not agree?”

“Are you considering yourself for the role?” Minerva flared up.

“Of course not,” Severus smirked. “I am but his Head of House and godfather of a sort.”

After shooting his Parthian arrow, he turned around and stalked to the dungeons — the class was to begin in five minutes.

* * *

“We need to find a place to talk to Millie and Pansy,” Harry said in a low tone. In haste for dinner in the Great Hall, he and Draco were sprinting to the staircase leading from the dungeons to the ground floor. “Nott can’t be trusted, so our bedroom is out of the question, and we can’t go to the girls’.”

“Right,” Draco nodded. “We could use some secret room. Severus should know about such things.”

“He won’t tell us though,” Harry smirked. Then he got an idea. “Hey, I know! We can ask the Baron.”

“You are a genius!” Draco smiled, keeping jumping two steps at a time.

Harry rushed behind him, and at the entrance to the Hall they bumped into the clumsy boy with a toad. The boy was hurrying to the Great Hall together with Granger (as bushy haired as before) and some other girls whose names Harry did not catch the previous day. Behind them (but not with them) were the Weasley redhead and two other boys in Gryffindor robes. Everyone ended up in the heap on the floor — only the girls managed to jump away.

“Watch where you go, you two!” Weasley flared up getting to his feet. “Think you may do here whatever you want?”

“Like we need your permission!” Draco snapped back, dusting himself carefully.

“Shut up!”

Harry sighed: it looked like they had already got an enemy outside of their House. As if Nott was not enough!

“I’m sorry, Neville!” Harry said, remembering the awkward boy’s name at the last moment and helping him to gather his parchments.

“It’s all right, Harry,” Neville smiled shyly. “I’m sorry too… um… Draco?”

“No matter, Longbottom,” muttered Draco, showing in every way that paying further attention to Weasley was simply beneath him.

“Hello, boys!” Granger stepped closer and began fussing over Neville’s tie (who was already embarrassed) without stopping her babbling. “Everything here is so interesting, isn’t it? I almost transfigured a match into a needle. No one else managed to do it, can you imagine that? And Professor McGonagall said…”

“Why are you talking to them?” Weasley cut her off. “They are Slytherins!”

“I noticed,” she answered acidly, snorting and resting her hands on her hips. “They are at least polite, unlike someone else I see.”

Despite his quiet dislike of the talkative Gryffindor, Draco snorted smugly. Ron reddened and clenched his fists. Harry and Neville exchanged uncertain looks. It was anyone’s guess what would have happened, had Professor McGonagall not suddenly turned up from around the corner.

“What is going on here?” she asked the dishevelled company, pursing her lips. Even the redhead bully shivered under her severe scrutiny, and the poor Neville blanched.

“I just wanted to talk to the boys, Professor,” Hermione said quickly before anyone could make a sound and gestured to Harry and Draco. “Neville and I met them on the train. For some reason Weasley here doesn’t like the idea. Is it forbidden to be friends with people from other Houses?”

McGonagall almost choked. Draco rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like Muggleborn Gryffindor, but, luckily, only Harry heard it.

“No, Miss Granger, of course, it is not forbidden,” the Transfiguration professor managed finally. “However, if you don’t make haste now, you will miss dinner. I think this conversation should continue at another place and time.”

McGonagall nodded a curt good-bye and went to the Great Hall. As soon as she passed the doors, Weasley broke the tense silence.

“You traitor!” he spat, scowling at Granger, and stomped off angrily after his Head of House. The two of his mates, whose names Harry could not remember, followed him without a word.

Instead of answering, Granger thrust her chin up and commanded, “Neville, let’s go. See you later, boys!”

Longbottom sighed and started after her.

* * *

“Why are you wasting your time on them?” Draco asked quietly in a few minutes when they got seated at the Slytherin table and helped themselves to mutton chops with peas and mashed potatoes.

“I think,” Harry answered calmly, “that having friends in other Houses is not a bad thing.”

“Some friends,” Draco snorted. “A scatter-brained doormat and a pushy know-it-all. And she’s a tell-tale, by the looks of it.”

“She saved our hides, though,” Harry countered. “Who knows whom McGonagall would have believed — us or that Weasley. Stapleton says McGonagall doesn’t like Slytherins much. And now she hasn’t even taken any points off.”

“All right,” Draco grumbled. “We’ll see, maybe this idea is not that bad. Eat up, or we’ll be late to see Severus tonight.”

* * *

Severus let the boys enter the study, immediately cast some locking and silencing charms, and only then gestured for them to sit down. The chairs in front of the giant desk covered with piles of parchments and a collection of assorted quills and vials were unbelievably uncomfortable — so that guilty students felt even more ill at ease under the stern glare of their Head of House.

“I have heard,” Severus started, settling in his armchair, “that you have already got acquainted with Gryffindor first years. Is there anything you would like to share with me?”

Draco shrugged carelessly.

“Harry thinks we should befriend the whole Hogwarts,” he explained a little snidely.

“I think,” Harry countered, “that we should not fight with the whole Hogwarts over some stupid prejudices.”

Severus smirked glumly, involuntary remembering himself, Lily Evans and one exceptionally loud dispute with Lucius that took place approximately a month after their first arrival to the school.

“The one thing that you really should not do,” he remarked, intertwining his fingers and leaning back, “is provoking the whole Hogwarts. You have a point, though. At least Minerva will calm down a little if she sees that you were not raised in hatred for Gryffindor.”

“McGonagall?” Harry startled. “Did she say anything?”

“Professor McGonagall,” Severus corrected him a bit snidely, “is concerned about your Sorting. As well as everyone here, starting with the headmaster.” He massaged his temples tiredly and sighed. “That is a part of the reason I asked you to come. I gather you realized that many people would have liked to see Harry in Gryffindor.”

“The Hat warned me about that,” Harry agreed evenly. “I refused.”

“And you were right,” Draco grumbled.

“Right or not, now it is too late to change anything,” Severus said solemnly. “Acquiring friends in different Houses is a meritable idea. However, there are several things you need to keep in mind. First, Professor Dumbledore and other teachers will be watching closely both of you at least during the first weeks. The less attention you draw to yourselves, the better. So, do what you like, but avoid public conflicts. Or,” he smirked, “at least try to reduce them to a minimum. And please, Draco, you need to remember: the Weasley boy is not worth the trouble.”

Draco scowled, but nodded.

“Second, I wanted to remind you of Headmaster’s warning concerning the out-of-bounds third-floor corridor. The threat of painful death was not a joke, boys, and not even an exaggeration. Do not poke your noses there.” He hesitated, but then added, clearly having made a decision, “And if by chance you see someone nearby, I would like to know about it. I cannot be everywhere at once, and this might turn out to be very important. Understood?”

“Understood,” Harry answered. “What is there anyway?”

“Something you definitely do not need to know about,” Severus snorted. “Any other questions?”

“Yes!” Draco nodded with an innocent expression on his face. “How to join the Quidditch team?”

“Pass your first year exams and start the second year,” the Potions master smirked. “That is enough, now — shoo, both of you! Otherwise I will find something to do for you.”

When the door closed behind the giggling boys, Severus sighed, resolutely moved the second years’ essays to him, took the everlasting quill and started checking. Strangely enough, he felt calmer after the conversation and even allowed himself to believe that one way or another it would all end well.

* * *

Harry and Draco got lucky: they met the Bloody Baron a dozen feet away from Severus’s office. Deep in thought, de Combrai was crossing the corridor, floating from one wall to another.

“Good evening, Your Lordship!”

“How do you do, Your Lordship?”

“You are such polite young gentlemen,” snorted the ghost, stopping. “Do tell what you want from me.”

The boys looked at each other.

“You see, Your Lordship,” Harry started in a low voice, “due to some… m-m-m… political difficulties we would like to find a place where we could talk to our friends without any interruptions. Could you, please, advise us about that?”

The Bloody Baron gave him a fixed look.

“I remember another ambitious young man who asked the same favour of me… some fifty years ago,” the ghost answered mysteriously. “It did not end well for him. I do not wish to get you into trouble.”

“We are not planning any trouble,” Harry assured him quite sincerely. “You have my word of honour. We just would like to find a place where we would not be disturbed.”

“Not everyone is happy to have a half-blood housemate in Slytherin, is that it?” the Baron asked shrewdly.

Harry blushed and straightened proudly.

“Lily Evans was a powerful witch,” he forced through clenched teeth. “I will not be ashamed of my ancestry. If you do not want to help us, Your Lordship, we will deal with it ourselves.”

De Combrai snorted.

“Oh, the insolence of youth… Fine, I shall help you. Follow me.”

* * *

The next morning during breakfast Severus watched the four fresh-made Slytherins with some alarm. Every time the children whispered that energetically, they were planning some mischief. Severus sincerely hoped that their plans did not have anything to do with the out-of-bounds third-floor corridor. Distractedly eating his porridge, he contemplated how to find out if Lucius had learned anything interesting about that Gringotts break-in. Suddenly Hagrid interrupted his thoughts.

“Harry’s a good lad,” the giant said good-naturedly. “An’ his friend, the tow-headed one, is all righ’ too. Yeh’ll look after them, won’t ye, Sev?”

“Absolutely,” Severus answered stiffly, as usual torn between affection and slight annoyance. Unlike many other members of the Order of the Phoenix, Hagrid always treated him with unwavering friendliness, but the Potions master rather suspected that the gamekeeper secretly thought of him as of some stubborn or dangerous creature that required special handling.

“I h-have wanted to meet the b-boy for a long time,” Quirrell managed. Now it took Severus much more effort to keep his expression neutral.

Severus could not stand Quirrell even before his infamous trip to Albania. In Snape’s opinion, he was the worst sort of a Ravenclaw — a boring dreamer. Despite his brilliant mind, Quirrell had a poor grasp of his former subject: he was a descendant of an ancient Wizarding family and saw Muggles only on pictures. Severus was sure that the Defence against the Dark Arts would share the fate of the Muggle Studies. After all, even a trip to the region where the vampires dwelled could hardly count as a battle experience. A couple of sparring duels with Lucius could have done him more good. However, as usual, no one asked Severus’s opinion on this matter, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

“Considering that the first years have their first DADA class after breakfast today,” he remarked mockingly, “your chances are rather high, Quirinus. If you find the courage to enter the classroom, that is.”

“Severus,” Dumbledore said with mild reproach, but Severus did not miss McGonagall’s sly smile or Hooch’s quiet snort — both ladies did not like Quirrell much, though only Merlin knew why.

“I apologize, Headmaster,” Severus answered calmly. “I did not mean to offend you, Quirinus.”

Quirrell nodded, accepting the apology, and the incident was forgotten. Severus pushed away his empty plate and was about to leave when he noticed the Slytherin first years again. Harry, who has just turned in his direction at that moment, smiled brightly at Severus, and then looked down the High Table distractedly… suddenly he flinched and then wrinkled and rubbed his forehead, as if he had suddenly got a headache.

Severus frowned and looked to his side: Quirinus Quirrell did not take his eyes off Harry.

Chapter Text

Harry was floating on cloud nine the whole morning, and even Nott’s usual taunts could not ruin his mood after what Baron de Combrai had showed them yesterday.

* * *

The ghost turned left a little before the corridor leading to the Slytherin common room and gestured to the boys to follow him. They passed another turn, and then de Combrai led the children to a short dead-end corridor with walls decorated by portraits of gloomy men dressed in black and green.

“The Head of Slytherin House Gallery,” the ghost explained curtly. “I will introduce you to everyone later when there is time. And now — pay attention.”

The ghost floated to the farthest painting on the left side and quietly said, ‘The glory of the Orkneys’. An elderly, stooping, dark-haired man in plain black robes and a leather apron stopped reading some obviously ancient parchments and grumbled, “As if that glory brought any good to the Orkneys… Why dost thou bother me, Combrai? In your condition you can easily do without my help.”

“Maybe I can, but my guests cannot. Geraint, let me introduce to you Harry Potter and his foster brother Draco Malfoy. Young men, this is Prince Geraint the Cunning, the second Head of Slytherin, whose fifteenth great grandfather was Queen Morgause’s and King Lot’s younger son.”

The boys bowed politely to the portrait. Geraint snorted.

“Who are you trying to impress, Combrai? A thousand years later these names mean very little.” He squinted, “Harry Potter? There is a lot of talk about you in the castle, boy.”

“And half of it must be lies,” Harry grumbled under his breath. “If not all of it. Those gossips must be exhausted, to wag their tongues so much....”

Geraint laughed.

“I like this youngster, Combrai. He will go far, mark my words. I gather you want me to let them in, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” the Bloody Baron nodded with dignity. “Them and the ones they will bring along.”

“Welcome,” Geraint smiled, and the portrait frame suddenly turned on its hinges revealing a dark, narrow corridor.

The ghost lit the torches with a wave of his hand and confidently moved forward. The boys followed him and ended up in a spacious, circular room with several doors. Harry looked around. He saw heavy woollen tapestries and unbelievable amount of different weaponry on the walls, along which stood several huge copper-bound trunks. In the middle of the room there was a large long table flanked by heavy wooden chairs with high backs and plain armrests. There was some sort of a cot covered with a woollen plaid near a charmed window by the far wall. The room looked so much like an illustration to a historical novel that in his state of amazement it took Harry several seconds to realize where the Slytherin Ghost had brought them.

“Are these your private rooms, Your Lordship?” he asked quietly.

“Indeed,” de Combrai nodded. “Welcome.”

“Are you sure we won’t disturb you?” Draco inquired, trying to keep up the appearances, but it was obvious that his mind was actually occupied by a longbow on the wall. Incidentally, the bow was in excellent condition, judging by its looks.

“I am sure that I will not be bored during the next seven years,” Baron snorted. “You may bring your friends here. On one condition. If any of you touches my weapons, you will not enter this room again.”

Draco who was about to pick a small dagger off the wall jerked his hand back and pouted.

“You see, I do not want to explain to Snape or Headmaster Dumbledore how one of you lost an eye, a hand or something equally valuable,” the ghost smirked. “So stay away from the walls. Do we have an agreement?”

“We do,” Harry nodded.

“Yes, we do,” Draco sighed.

After making certain that they remembered the password (Geraint, who was still pouring over his parchments, chuckled but said nothing) de Combrai led them back to the Slytherin common room. By the door, they ran into Olivia.

“Good evening, Monsieur Baron,” she greeted the ghost and asked the boys sternly, “Where have you been, I wonder? The curfew was thirty minutes ago.”

“We were with Professor Snape,” Draco answered truthfully with the most innocent expression on his face.

Olivia narrowed her eyes.

“So, our Head of House kept you after the curfew and did not give you a pass, did he? It does not sound like him.”

“On the way back we turned into a wrong corridor,” Harry added, just as truthfully. “Monsieur de Combrai was kind enough to walk us here.”

The girl relented.

“Ah, so you got lost… Thank you, Monsieur de Combrai, for looking after them. I understand, boys, that you are curious, but don’t wander in the dungeons alone during the first few weeks. If our Head of House has to send a search party for you, trust me, he will be very displeased.”

“Of course,” both boys nodded.

“Good,” Olivia returned. “Now, get in.”

They did not hesitate, bowed good-bye to the Bloody Baron and slipped quietly inside.

* * *

Now Harry was eager to share the news with Blaise and the girls, but it was impossible: he did not want to talk about it in the Great Hall, and then they had a whole day of classes ahead of them.

Harry was finishing his toast and looking around leisurely, observing Slytherins, students of other Houses, and professors... He met his godfather’s eyes and smiled. Severus nodded in reply, and the corners of his lips turned upwards a little. Harry looked at his neighbour, Professor Quirrell... and almost cried out: as soon as the DADA professor raised his head and looked at him, the scar on Harry’s forehead throbbed with acute pain. The boy winced, rubbed his scar and turned away — the pain immediately stopped. How strange. All of it was very strange.

* * *

The constantly stammering Quirrell started the class by announcing that he was happy to meet “our n-n-new c-c-celebrity”. That pathetic, nervous man smelling of garlic and wearing a stupid turban would have been ridiculous... if not for the strange looks he cast toward Draco and Harry when he thought no one was looking. Harry’s headache stopped though, which was a good thing. At last, he decided that it was just a coincidence and congratulated himself on not telling anyone about it. Half of the school was gawking at him already.

They had DADA with Hufflepuffs. Before Quirrell appeared and the class began, Draco showed off endlessly making the Hufflepuff girls uncomfortable. Pansy ended it though. She turned to Susan, Amelia Bones’ niece, and smiled slyly, “Don’t pay attention to this peacock. He’s all right when he takes his high hat off.”

Draco choked with indignation, but Harry, Blaise and Millie snickered while Susan smiled, “You’ve known each other for a while, haven’t you?”

The ice was broken.

* * *

The last class the Slytherin first-years had before lunch was Potions. This time they were paired with Gryffindors, which made Draco grit his teeth silently. The members of the Lion House irritated him to no end, regardless of their attitude towards Slytherin — whether they were hostile like Weasley or friendly like Granger. ‘I feel like I am about to start respecting the Hufflepuffs’, he thought, walking to the Potions classroom. ‘They are at least quiet!’

But alas, they had to spend the next hour with the Gryffindors. Sitting down next to Harry, Draco nodded curtly at Longbottom’s shy greeting and smiled sourly at Granger who was, as always, babbling.

“Do you have a toothache or what?” Harry whispered.

Draco looked at him sideways, noticed mirth in his eyes and realized he was being teased.

“No,” he forced out, “but I dearly wish to slap someone.”

“An allergic reaction?”

Harry snickered.

“Yeah,” Draco grumbled. “To idiots.”

“Ah,” Harry nodded knowingly. “A severe ca...”

“Mr. Potter!” Severus suddenly snapped over their heads. “Do share with the class what attracted you attention so much that you forgot where you were.”

“I am sorry, sir.” Harry did not even blink. “I asked Draco to test my knowledge of the basic ingredients. We got carried away.”

“Did you now?” Severus asked coldly, but Draco, who was watching his godfather closely, noticed that the corners of his lips twitched. “In that case you must surely know what a bezoar is.”

Harry did not have the time to utter a sound before Granger raised her hand. Snape did not pay any attention to her, though.

“Bezoar is an all-purpose antidote, sir,” Harry answered in the meanwhile. “It is a stone found in a goat’s stomach.”

“Very good,” Severus nodded. “And what is monkshood and how does it differ from aconite?”

Granger thrust her hand even higher, supporting her right elbow with her left hand.

“Monkshood is a plant of the buttercup family, its other name is aconite. The Latin name is Aconitum,” Harry answered without batting an eye.

“Correct,” Severus grumbled. Two up to us, Draco thought before he heard his godfather’s next question, “Who can list the components of the Draught of Living Death?”

Draco did his utmost not to giggle. In attempts to be noticed Granger was almost jumping.

“Mr. Potter?”

“The infusion of wormwood and powdered root of asphodel,” Harry said.

“Indeed,” Severus nodded with satisfaction. “Three points to Slytherin. And two more for Mr. Malfoy’s teaching abilities.”

Draco heard Granger’s exasperated sigh. Unfortunately for her, Severus heard it too.

“Do sit down, Miss Granger,” he snapped. “I think I did not ask you to stand up. Moreover, it is a custom at Hogwarts to wait for a question before making all sorts of sounds in class. Behave yourself, or the next time I will take points off.” The Potions Master turned to the rest of the class. “What are you waiting for? Write it down!”

Beet-red with shame, the girl sat down. Harry bit his lip. Draco glanced at him questioningly.

‘That was harsh’, Harry scribbled on the margins of his parchment. ‘She’s ill-mannered, I give you that, but she doesn’t know anything about wizards’.

‘That’s why she has to be educated’, Draco disagreed writing furiously with his quill. ‘It’ll do her good’.

“If you do not stop these exercices épistolaires of yours right this minute,” Severus hissed over their heads, “you will be sitting apart till the end of the school year. This is the last warning.”

Realising that their godfather was not joking, the boys worked without interruptions from that moment on.

* * *

At the end of the class, the Slytherin House earned five more points while Gryffindor lost ten for Longbottom’s hopelessly spoilt potion and several wrong answers. Hermione did not get a chance to say anything. When the first years stepped out to the corridor, the Gryffindor girl was bursting with indignation.

“It’s not fair!” she exclaimed. “It just can’t be! I didn’t do anything wrong! He... he’s... he’s unfair and just simply nasty!”

No one had a chance to utter a word as Severus’s cold voice resonated in the dead silence, “I am very interested to hear your opinion, Miss Granger. Ten points from Gryffindor and a detention in my office tonight. At eight o’clock sharp. Now off with you all, move!”

“But sir...” Harry tried to intervene.

“I said, go! That applies to you too, Mr. Potter!” the Potions Master snapped irritably. “If you do not wish to keep Miss Granger company this evening.”

Severus slammed the door. The first-years shuffled out of the dungeons, whispering loudly.

“That bastard!” Weasley mumbled.

“Keep quiet,” one of his mates shushed him, glancing at Harry and Draco sideways. “With them here... They can report us. Anyway, it’s all that Granger show-off’s fault. She should have kept quiet.”

Hermione thrust her chin forward and walked quicker, trying to ignore the insults.

“Wait!” Harry called after her. “Hermione, wait!”

“Leave me alone!” she shouted without turning and started running away. Everyone clearly heard her crying.

“Those girls...” Draco rolled his eyes. “Who made her wag her tongue? Let’s go. I’m hungry.”

“What’s wrong with being a girl?” Millie flared up. “Like you never say stupid things!”

“We never bawl afterwards,” Blaise countered and was smacked hard by Pansy. “Ouch!”

“All right, that’s enough,” Harry sighed. “Let’s go to lunch.”

* * *

After dinner, Severus went to his office in a bad mood, already regretting his outburst and the detention. The points were quite enough, but now he had to chaperone the girl, as if he had nothing else to do. And Harry seemed upset.

What task should he set for this young champion of justice? Suddenly he got an idea and snorted quietly. He went to the bookshelves, picked a large, well-handled book — once a present from Lucius — and put it on one of the desks. Then he settled in his armchair and started reading the latest bunch of essays.

There was a tentative knock on the door two minutes before eight. Severus noted this unusual for Gryffindors punctuality and called, “Come in.”

Granger entered the room confidently, but immediately missed a step at the sight of a display with preserved animal parts set up exactly for that reason — to scare students. Nothing is suited better to impress insolent first-years than pig eyes or nightingale paws. However, she turned to him at once and looked him straight in the eye. A typical Gryffindor...

“Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening, Miss Granger,” Severus nodded. “Sit at that desk. Tonight you’ll be reading for an hour the book I have chosen for you.”

“Yes, sir,” the girl answered quietly, looking rather startled.

Making sure she opened The Basics of Wizarding Etiquette and began reading, Severus returned to the essays, mercilessly crossing out mistakes and adding acid notes on the margins. He got so engrossed that he did not realize right away that one hour of detention was long over. Only when at half past nine Tinky the house elf brought his usual pot of strong black tea, he turned to the girl — and could not contain a smile.

Granger seemed completely consumed by her reading. Sitting sideways on the chair with her feet tucked under her and resting her chin in the palm of her hand, she was devouring page by page. Lily used to read like this... Severus gestured for Tinky to bring another cup for the Gryffindor.

“Wha...” Granger startled and almost fell off the chair.

“If you learn to sit straight, you will not risk ending up on the stone floor,” Severus remarked mockingly. “Trust me, it is hard and cold.”

“Thank you for the advice, sir.” This time the girl had the cheek to smile at him. “I will try.”

“Please do,” Severus replied. “Drink your tea and return to the dormitory. You may take the book with you if you wish. You can return it after you finish reading.”

“Thank you, sir!” Granger beamed. Severus thought with satisfaction that he was right when he forsook his principles and did not make the cheeky girl clean cauldrons or cut slugs. If Harry chose to befriend a Gryffindor, let her be at least intelligent and curious, if not very well-mannered. The latter flaw could be easily fixed, he knew it from experience... even though Lucius still never failed to complain about his manners. That was beside the point, though.

“Do not mention it, Miss Granger. You may go.”

* * *

After introducing their friends to Geraint, Harry and Draco led them to de Combrai’s chamber and finally were able to tell Pansy, Millie and Blaise why Nott tried so hard to quarrel with them.

“Hmm... That’s politics then,” Millie summed it up. “I thought he was just jealous. Since that incident on Samhain, you know?”

“How can we forget?” Harry grumbled, kicking the chair he was sitting on. “He can’t stand Muggleborns. He even tried to insult Olivia until Stapleton put an end to it.”

“Well...” Pansy said. “Mother also thinks that Muggleborns shouldn’t study with us...”

“And my Dad says that talent and power are the only things that matter,” Harry snapped.

Awkward silence followed that was broken by Blaise.

“Well, if Hogwarts only accepted students who had talent, we’d be rid of Crabbe and Goyle,” he snickered. “They are so stupid.”

“And we’d have been surrounded by Grangers,” Millie continued.

Draco and Pansy shuddered. Harry snorted crossly.

“What’s your problem with her? She’s already in enough trouble with Severus.”

“And she deserves it,” Draco noted, then shrugged, “All right, all right, don’t get worked up, I was not going to tease her anyway. I won’t stand in your way, but I still think this is a stupid idea.”

“What idea?” Pansy perked up suddenly.

“Harry got into his head that we need to make friends in all the Houses,” Draco snorted. “And he chose Granger and Longbottom — Merlin knows why.”

“That makes sense, though,” Pansy mused. “That Granger is smart, even if she’s Muggleborn. And the Longbottoms are one of the most ancient Wizarding families, and quite rich too. Who else is in Gryffindor? Ah, one of the Patil twins. We’ve already met the Hufflepuffs. Susan Bones is all right, I guess...”

“Her aunt is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Harry commented absentmindedly. Everyone turned to him in astonishment. “Dad mentioned it, and I just remembered.” He shrugged. “I think they don’t really like each other, but neither do I remember him saying anything bad about her.”

“That’s good,” Draco nodded. “I recall a Wayne Hopkins from Hufflepuff too. The Ravens are all alike to me, all equally boring.”

“Stephen Cornfoot,” Blaise said. “His first cousin once removed is acquainted with my mother. I can hardly remember him, but he seems all right.”

“Padma Patil is in Ravenclaw too,” Millie interjected. “And Lisa Turpin.”

“This is more than enough,” Draco grumbled. “It’s too much names to remember already.”

“I wrote them down!”  Millie waved a piece of parchment proudly. “I’ll make a copy for each of you later. Is that all for tonight? The curfew is soon.”

“Let’s go,” Harry agreed. “We have a chapter on Charms to read for tomorrow. Why do we get so much homework? We’ve only just arrived!”

* * *

Severus yawned and thought about going to bed when someone knocked sharply on his door. ‘Who can that be at such an hour?’ he thought tiredly and called, “Come in.”

To his immense aggravation, the midnight guest turned out to be McGonagall. The Head of Gryffindor burst into the room, drew a breath to say something and suddenly froze. Severus followed her gaze and saw a chair moved away from a desk and an empty teacup with a saucer. The evidence gave him away, considering that his own cup and the teapot were on his desk...

“Erm...” McGonagall cleared her throat. “I must confess I wanted to know what the poor girl had done for you to punish her so harshly. I am already used to the fact that you take points from Gryffindor at every available opportunity... but a detention after a first class? And to such a talented girl, too? Now I am at a loss, though.”

“Miss Granger,” Severus answered coldly, gathering his wits, “was bold enough to question my teaching methods, and she did not mince words. I decided that it should be dealt with by bringing her attention to flaws in her upbringing.”

“And?..” McGonagall prompted when she realized that he would not continue otherwise.

“And nothing,” the Potions Master snapped. “I gave her a book on Wizarding etiquette. The girl got engrossed in the book.”

“And this?” Tired of omissions, Minerva pointed to the unfortunate cup.

“Tinky brought me my teapot as usual,” Severus muttered, looking away. “It was only polite to offer Miss Granger tea since she was here. It was nothing out of the ordinary.”

McGonagall opened her mouth to comment, but decided against it. Then she started again.

“Severus, I must apologize to you.”

He turned to face her, completely bemused.

“For my words yesterday. I was not fair. You always take your responsibilities seriously... and I do not really think Harry will be unhappy in your house. I just... did not expect it. I am sorry.”

“It is all right,” Severus replied, collecting himself. The fact that Minerva acknowledged him as a decent Head of House for the first time in six years was not worth losing his composure. “Do not worry about that. I can assure you... I will do everything in my power for Harry’s well-being.”

McGonagall nodded.

“I keep thinking that I underestimated you, Severus. Slytherin is very lucky to have you as the Head of House. Good night.”

“Good night, Minerva.”

As soon as she left, Severus locked the door with a sigh, rubbed his aching temples and finally went to bed.

Chapter Text

The day was unseasonably warm and sunny. A light breeze played with the ivy on the walls and stirred the huge asters on the flowerbeds beside windows. For a few minutes, Lucius absentmindedly watched the flickering of the sunlight on the glassy ivy leaves, then he frowned, turned away from the window and looked at the letters delivered yesterday. The first one was elaborate and vague, but not very long.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

The powers that be have taken an interest in the recent events in question. As you very well know, impeccability tends to draw suspicion, so, I am afraid, you should expect visitors.

Sincerely yours,

A.K. McPherson

The second note (quite unexpected and very laconic) was in a way a follow-up to the first letter, even though it arrived from an entirely different sender.

Surprisingly, there is a lot of talk of you lately. Expect some guest.

Liam

Liam Lloyd was in the same year as Lucius at Hogwarts and later became one of the precious few Slytherin Aurors. Naturally, they ended up on the opposite sides during the war; after Voldemort’s disappearance they met a couple of times at the Ministry functions, but Liam had never even spoken to him directly.

Tout à fait curieux, Lucius mused.

The third and last message was on the parchment with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s letterhead; it contents proved that the concerns expressed in the first two letters were indeed not misplaced.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Even though the recent changes in security wards of your estate are absolutely legitimate and all permits are in place, the necessity for such actions raises questions. I hope you will not refuse to meet our representative, Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, for an unofficial conversation tomorrow at 4 p.m.

Sincerely yours,

Amelia Bones

Head of the Department of the Magical Law Enforcement

As if I can even think of refusing, Lucius smirked grimly and muttered a chronometric spell. It was five minutes before the appointed hour. He stood up, took the first two letters, threw them into the fireplace and turned them into ashes with a flick of his wand. He added a couple of spells preventing the recovery of burned papers and went to the ground floor to greet the Ministry messenger.

As soon as the door closed behind his back, the arrows of the ancient ebony clock on the mantelpiece that read “Harry” and “Draco” moved from “Classes” to “Trouble”.

* * *

After lunch the first years had their first flying class of the term, and Severus allowed himself to relax, reasoning that Harry and Draco should not have problems with that subject, of all things. For the last few days, he had been engrossed in observing the cunning boys making friends in all four Houses, to the astonishment of the whole school. And what friends! A talented Muggleborn witch, an heir of an ancient Wizarding family, a niece to the Head of the Department of the Magical Law Enforcement, a son of the lead researcher in the Department of Mysteries, a daughter of the major Indian supplier of Wizarding ingredients… Severus did not know if the boys were even aware how much their mismatched group impressed the adults. It did not matter at the moment. Several years later, however… Now the children were simply having fun.

Even if other students disapproved of such open disregard of unwritten Hogwarts traditions, few of them made their concerns public. Older and smarter Slytherins probably judged such friendship by its future merits, while the younger or stupider ones were simply reluctant to quarrel with the Boy Who Lived and Lucius Malfoy’s son. Even the Nott boy who for the first few days dished abuse to anyone who was not a pure-blood Slytherin in several generations now kept his thoughts mostly to himself. Maybe Mr. Stapleton and Miss O’Connell had something to do with that. Severus was not interested in the slightest in the opinions of Hufflepuffs or Ravenclaws, but there was also the Gryffindor house — the eternal refuge for pranksters, bullies, righteous hypocrites and other troublemakers. Minerva had yet not complained of her lot this year though, so everything was probably as normal there as it could be.

The detention had clearly done some good to the Granger girl. She returned the book in a week, quite effusive in her gratitude. After that she behaved almost perfectly in his Potions class, even though she squirmed every time she heard a question she knew an answer to. Severus had to admit it was the majority of them. Not without some regret, he forsook his own rule not to give any points to Gryffindor and made a habit of sometimes asking her when the question puzzled everyone — except for Draco maybe. Anyway, he took more points from the Gryffindors for laziness, sloppy work and general ignorance than he ever gave to Granger. The girl not only stopped being angry with him, but seemed to gain a reputation of a Gryffindor Who Got Points from the Dungeons Monster. Minerva tried to tease him about it once in the staff room; Severus asked calmly if she wanted him to return to his usual teaching routine. Minerva choked on her tea, coughing and waving her hands, and that was the end of it.

* * *

Walking to the training grounds, Harry thoroughly enjoyed the beautiful day outside. Climate in Scotland was colder than at home, and after Severus’s tales he had the impression that the weather here was awful more often than not. He was eager to ride the broom — they used to fly often at home, and he missed it a lot.

“...in this case the right wrist should be positioned on the broom handle at the angle of...”

“Granger, cut it out,” Draco lost his patience. “This is all nonsense, you just can’t learn flying like that! And stop scaring Longbottom, he’s already greenish in his face.”

“What do you know!” Hermione was indignant. “Who do you think writes these books? Idiots? The handbook on flying says...”

“Merlin...” Pansy muttered and kicked a pebble.

“Don’t quarrel,” Harry interfered hastily. “Hermione, trust me, the theory is better to be left for later. Neville, stop worrying. Everything will be fine.”

“Amen,” Hermione grumbled. Lavender Brown and a black boy from Gryffindor, Thomas Something-or-other, snickered. The rest — both Slytherins and Gryffindors — looked at each other in confusion.

“What was that?” Millie asked.

“Never mind,” Hermione waved her hand. “It’s still unfair though. All of you can fly already...”

“I can’t,” said Enid Moon, a quiet plump Slytherin girl. She was never seen apart from Daphne Greengrass, but that was almost all that Harry knew about her, except that she was from a pure-blood family while Daphne’s mother — as the rumour went — was a Muggleborn witch. “And frankly, I don’t want to,” Enid continued, “but it’s a compulsory class.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked with curiosity.

“I’m terribly afraid of heights,” Enid winced.

“I can’t fly either,” Neville piped in suddenly. Usually he preferred to lie low and listen. “My grandmother would have a stroke if she had ever seen me on a broom, or at least she says so. Something along the lines of me having too much trouble on the ground as it is.”

Harry remembered the way Neville’s cauldron exploded like fireworks yesterday, covering half of the room with green gooey acid, and was inclined to agree with that statement.

“I don’t fly well either,” Blaise added. Harry suspected that his parents did not have money for such a luxury as a toy broom.

“Did you hear that?” one of the Gryffindor boys snorted. “These Slytherins are cowards and losers, that’s what they are.”

“Shut up!” Lavender and Parvati cut him off together before anyone else had a chance to reply. Harry was just happy that a new quarrel was prevented.

As it goes, it was too soon to be glad. They reached the training grounds where the school brooms were lined up on the grass, and Madam Hooch, a stern lady in sport robes with greying cropped hair, announced severely, “Well, what are you waiting for? Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!”

Harry examined his and winced — it was awful. Of course, first years could not expect much, but still...

“Stick out your right hand over your broom and say, Up!”

Harry summoned his broom without any problems and looked around to see how the others were doing. The poor Neville’s broom did not move an inch, and Hermione’s one even rolled away. Looks like Hermione’s broom is not eager to meet her, Harry thought and snickered: many people had the same first reaction to his new friend.

“Granger’s broom-repelling effect,” Draco muttered quietly, flying over to Harry and hovering by.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Hooch snapped. “Who allowed you to get on the broom and in the air? You are in class, and this is not a place for showing off in front of your fellow students! Each new move is done here after my command only!”

“I am sorry, ma’m,” Draco blushed and landed.

The red-headed Gryffindor and his pals snickered, but Hooch immediately turned her anger on them, “Mr. Weasley, did you mistake me for one of your brothers? This is a school, not a circus! Mr. Finnigan, it applies to you too.”

Everyone went quiet.

“Now, I see that all of you are seated correctly on your brooms, even though some,” she cast a sceptical glance at Draco, “prefer an unorthodox continental seat. Never mind that, though. Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground...”

Harry allowed himself to be distracted; hovering at five feet above the ground, as he was supposed to, he was remembering home, the sun-filled garden, and him and Draco racing on their brooms above blindingly white sandy paths... He came to the present only when something hit the ground with a pained yelp not far off.

“Neville!” Hermione cried out in horror.

The poor boy was lying motionless on the lawn, while his broom was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift toward the Forbidden Forest and out of sight. Madam Hooch, who was white as a sheet, landed and hurried towards Neville. Soon it turned out that the Gryffindor had a broken wrist, but it was all, apart from few bruises. Holding the suffering boy by the elbow, the flight instructor led him to the castle, after threatening with expulsion and all other possible punishments to anyone who would dare to get in the air in her absence.

As soon as these two were out of sight, everyone started talking.

“Poor Neville,” Brown threw her hands up. “Now he’ll probably have to have his arm plastered.”

“What?” Harry frowned and looked sideways at Hermione who was usually fond of explaining things.

“Plaster is some sort of material, a bit like clay. At first it is soft, then it hardens. It is used to immobilize broken bones. And to make sure they mend properly.”

Everyone considered this information for a couple of minutes.

“Muggles are very strange creatures,” Draco concluded finally.

“They are people, not creatures!” Hermione flared up. “How dare you...”

“Never mind, Granger,” Draco waved her away. “Hey, what’s that?” He stooped and picked up something that no one noticed before in the grass. “Ah, a remembrall. It must be Longbottom’s — he can’t remember a thing,” he snorted, putting the magic crystal ball into his pocket.

“Hey, give it back!” Weasley shouted, leaping close Draco. “Give it back, you thief! It’s not yours, you filthy Slytherin!”

Draco calmly stepped away.

“Well, it’s surely not yours either. Can’t wait to get your hands on it? ‘Cause your parents don’t have money for toys like these, do they?”

Roaring like an injured hippogriff, Weasley launched himself at Draco, who easily jumped on the broom and soared up into the air.

“Catch me if you can!” he laughed.

Harry did not wait for the redhead Gryffindor brawler’s next move, he just straddled the broom and followed his brother.

“Draco, stop!” he shouted. “Do you honestly want to get in trouble? Get down!”

Draco only flew higher.

“Hey, Weasley!” he bellowed. “Do you still want to play with someone else’s toy for half an hour? Catch!”

And he started throwing and catching Neville’s remembrall — a little at first, then higher and higher — while gaining altitude himself. When Harry caught up with him, they were almost fifty feet above the ground, and Draco was throwing the ill-fated ball for almost a yard up.

“Why all the fuss about this trinket, huh? As if it were some treasure...”

And then, distracted by looking at his classmates who gaped at him below, Draco made a mistake: Neville’s remembrall flew into the air a little sideways and missed his open palm, falling straight down. The glittering ball surged to the ground, and Harry went after it without a moment’s thought. For a second the whole world narrowed into a single dot, there was only himself, the broom and the falling crystal ball. An almost vertical nosedive, howling wind and... Harry caught it two feet above the ground, evened out the clumsy school broom and rolled smoothly onto the grass without letting the stupid toy go.

“Harry!”

“MR. POTTER!”

Then two pairs of hands grabbed him and started shaking and tugging him in different directions.

“Harry...”

“Well, Mr. Potter...”

“...are you mental...”

“…what gave you the idea...”

“...bloody idiot...”

“...you were told...”

“...completely nuts!”

“...what were you thinking?”

Draco and Professor McGonagall stopped short and stared at each other and then at Harry. He felt himself blush deep red.

“I’m sorry, Professor McGonagall... Draco... I didn’t think... Well, I thought Neville would be very upset about his remembrall...” He opened his fist and showed the ball he caught to the Transfigurations Professor.

Obviously, McGonagall was an experienced teacher, because she threw a withering glare at Draco, instantly figuring out who was the instigator. The boy did not even try to weasel out.

“It was my fault, Professor,” he said proudly, thrusting his chin up. “I dropped that stupid thing.”

Upon hearing that, McGonagall fell speechless, looking at them in utter disbelief. In the silence that followed Hermione’s voice rang out, “All of them are equally guilty, Professor. Draco shouldn’t have got in the air since Madam Hooch said not to, but Weasley started spoiling for a fight for no reason. Draco just wanted to return remembrall to Neville...”

Weasley cried out indignantly, but went quiet under the furious stare of his Head of House.

“Is it true?” McGonagall glanced over the other students.

“Yes, Professor,” Lavender, Parvati, Enid and Daphne nodded at once.

“I see.” McGonagall pursed her lips. “Well, then everyone will be in equal trouble. Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Weasley, would you please follow me. I am very curious to find out what Professor Snape has to say about all this.”

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt turned out to be a black wizard a dozen years or so Lucius’s junior. By the looks of it, the messenger from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement followed traditions just to the point where he could not be blamed for ignoring them and breached them just enough not to be called too conservative. A bold golden ring in his ear and cleanly shaven head matched up strangely with his posh, but perfectly formal attire; Senior Auror insignia was accentuated by a family coat of arms — a silver shackle bolt on a black field with crossed magical staffs above it. It looked unassuming, but imposing. Shacklebolt’s family was almost as old as his own, Lucius noted with a measure of interest.

“Delighted to meet you,” he said coldly, escorting the visitor to the sitting room. “Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like anything to drink?”

“I am sure, Mr. Malfoy, that you have the best selection of refreshments, as well as the best selection of poisons,” Shacklebolt smirked, settling down in one of the armchairs. “I think we will save ourselves significant amount of time if we skip the inane pleasantries and get straight to business.”

“I agree,” Lucius nodded, allowing himself half-smile. Despite everything, he began to like his guest. “In that case you should go ahead with your questions. I am extremely curious about what the Auror Office requires from me.”

Shacklebolt turned serious.

“Well... I must admit I am quite familiar with your background, Mr. Malfoy,” he began. “It is very hard to scare you, and you do not do anything without a serious cause. Could you please tell me, what pushed you to take such… thorough measures to protect your home?”

“I could remind you,” Lucius said slowly, “about the recent accident at Gringotts, of course, and say that I am concerned about the safety of my own vaults. I think that will not be enough though. Am I correct?”

“Yes and no,” the Auror replied. “It is enough for the record and for limited use of blood magic to be authorized. You have already obtained that. However, it is not enough for me and for those who are concerned for the safety of Wizarding Britain. Mr. Malfoy,” he looked straight in Lucius’s eyes, “do we have reasons to think that the ten-year break is over?”

It took Lucius an enormous effort not to move, not to touch his left arm where dull pain dwelled since August.

“How should I know if you have any reasons for that?”

“Because you know your reasons,” Shacklebolt retorted. “Why don’t you tell me what exactly is… your concern?”

“My main concern is the safety of my sons,” Lucius snapped.

Shacklebolt tensed like a big wildcat preparing to attack.

“And the measures you took...”

“...are aimed to ensure their safety, the effort and cost needed notwithstanding,” Lucius finished the sentence.

After several moments of silence, the Auror continued quietly, “Mr. Malfoy, you know perfectly well that I am here because you are the guardian of the Boy Who Lived. When you suddenly turn your manor into a fortress, it means that something extraordinary is going on. Don’t you think that it is in your best interest to enlighten the Aurors?”

“You see, Senior Auror...” Lucius drawled leaning back, “the major part of the problem is that I have no idea what exactly is going on. I know one thing: the ‘break’, as you charmingly put it, will indeed be over soon or is already.”

“How do you?..”

Lucius pointedly, but casually straightened the left cuff and the sleeve of his robes. It was certainly a huge risk, but he hoped he had judged the guest’s character and mindset correctly and would make an ally, not an enemy with that gesture.

“Merlin’s beard...” Shacklebolt croaked hoarsely, staring at his arm as if it were a snake.

“I hope you remember that this is an unofficial meeting,” Lucius smirked. “Your conclusions are your private business.”

“Of course,” the Auror replied slowly. “Are you sure you don’t want the protection of the Ministry?”

“Right now I am. Besides, I have other means I plan to use... if no one interferes.”

“Legal means?” Shacklebolt frowned.

“Not illegal ones,” Lucius smirked. “Some might consider them unorthodox, though. Or, on the contrary, too traditional. Do not worry,” he added, seeing dark suspicions on the other man’s face, “it has nothing to do with Dark magic of any kind. I would rather not disclose any details beforehand, but if everything works out, you will surely know about it.”

“Good luck then.” The Auror stood up. “Thank you for your hospitality. It is time for me to go, I am afraid.”

“Do you not wish to try my excellent poisons?” Lucius smirked.

Shacklebolt threw his head back and laughed out loud.

“Some other time, Mr. Malfoy. Some other time.”

* * *

As was expected, Severus had nothing good to say about the situation. After hearing McGonagall’s matter-of-fact retelling of the story, he sourly asked the troublemakers if they had any objections, but even Weasley was not foolish enough to open his mouth.

“Excellent,” Severus summarized venomously. “Detention to all three, I presume?”

“I think it is fair,” McGonagall agreed. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, I will be expecting you in my office after dinner tonight. Mr. Weasley, you will go to Professor Snape at the same time.”

Harry and Draco glanced at each other. They had already gathered from the conversations in the common room that detentions with McGonagall were not a walk in the park, but they were much better than one with Filch or Sprout. No one in his right mind likes to clean toilets without a wand or fertilize garden-beds with charmed dung.

“Yes, Professor.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Weasley’s face was much sourer — and not without reason, Harry noted with satisfaction. Severus will surely make the Gryffindor cut slugs or dissect toads — at least that was what Severus threatened them with when he was in a bad mood.

“Mr. Weasley?” the Potions master prompted coldly.

“I understand, sir,” the boy answered sulkily.

“I doubt it,” Severus grumbled. “Now get out of my sight. I have a class in half an hour. As you do, by the way.”

McGonagall snorted and left, and Weasley hurried after her. Harry and Draco were about to follow their example when the dishevelled and breathless captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Marcus Flint, rushed in. Usually he was sullen and occasionally snapped at younger students for being in his way, but now he was smiling at Harry.

“Potter, it was amazing!” he blurted out. “You play Quidditch, I hope?”

Severus’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, and then he frowned.

“Mr. Flint, do make yourself presentable and explain yourself. Draco, close the door.”

Very excited, Flint tried to smooth down his hair, straighten his tie and rearrange the robes at the same time. Harry barely contained a snicker.

“Such a pity you didn’t see this, sir!” Flint exclaimed. ‘Potter is a born Seeker. It’s amazing. He must play!”

“I am afraid, Mr. Flint, it is not possible,” Severus shook his head. “First of all, the rules forbid first-years to play for the House team. Secondly, what are you planning to do with Higgs? He is a decent Seeker.”

“Thirdly,” Harry declared firmly, “I will not play without Draco.”

Flint looked thoughtfully at the two of them, then at his Head of House.

“What if…” he smiled slyly. “The rules don’t forbid first-years to train. Only to play and bring their own brooms to school, right?”

“Correct,” Severus said slowly, corners of his mouth curling upwards.

“So, Professor, the next year we are losing a Keeper and a Beater since Baddock and Worth are graduating. And Higgs asked me to find replacement for him because, you see, he wants to prepare for the N.E.W.T.s. With three new players at once, Gryffindor will wipe the floor with us. If we had a decent reserve team…”

“It is an excellent idea.” Severus’s eyes gleamed. Strangely enough, Harry could not remember his godfather being interested in Quidditch, but it looked like the House competition mattered to him. “I have one condition: try to make this fact known to the general public as late as possible.”

“I understand, sir!” Flint grinned even wider, and turned to Harry and Draco, “The next practice is at eight o’clock on Saturday morning. I’ll find you brooms. Don’t be late!” He shouted already out of the room.

“Now that you have settled it all,” Severus grumbled, “get out already! Do you remember that you have a class in two minutes?”

They did not, of course, and had to run to Binns’ classroom at full speed.

____________________

Footnotes:

Tout à fait curieux (Fr.) — How curious.

In heraldry shacklebolt signifies victory; one that has taken prisoners or rescued prisoners of war.

Chapter Text

In the Transfigurations classroom the boys were greeted by the parchments, quills and inkpots laid out for them.

“Sit down, young men,” McGonagall waved in the direction of the desks, “and get on with it. I believe doing those lines a hundred times should be enough for the first time.”

Draco sighed quietly, took a seat and moved the parchment closer. At the top of it he saw the phrase that he was to copy: I should not break the school rules, start fights with other students even if I do not like them, or be provoked by foolish taunts and insults. Yes, this would take time.

“And stop sighing, Mr. Malfoy. By the way, the parchments are charmed: a sentence will not be considered complete if there are spelling mistakes or missing words.”

Draco glanced sideways at Harry who showed him his own parchment grimly. It read, I should not break the school rules, follow my friends blindly or risk my life and health for the sake of a foolish fancy or a prank.

“Yours is shorter,” Draco mouthed.

“Is not,” Harry answered in the same manner.

“If you continue chatting,” McGonagall said acidly, “I will add another fifty lines.”

The boys decided not to risk it and started writing. Silence fell over the classroom, disturbed only by the screeching of quills and rustling of parchments. McGonagall was busy grading student papers.

An hour later, when Draco was only half done, the rustling stopped. Cautiously looking sideways at the Deputy Headmistress, he saw that she indeed had stopped reading the essays and was eyeing Harry silently. Noticing his glance, McGonagall pursed her lips and took another essay from the pile. Draco thought better than vexing her and continued writing.

Finally the detention was over. Draco moved the parchment away with pleasure and started flexing his cramped fingers.

McGonagall snorted almost inaudibly.

“I hope you have learned your lesson, gentlemen,” she smirked, rising to her feet.

You wish, old cat! Draco thought angrily, remembering the insult he heard from the older students.

“Yes, Professor,” was Harry’s only answer. Draco wondered how he always managed to be so level-headed.

“Mr. Potter...”

“Yes, Professor?”

“Your father would have been delighted with your flying skills. He loved Quidditch.”

“My father,” Harry answered calmly, lifting his bag off the floor, “certainly finds Quidditch amusing and values my accomplishments in any field. However, I doubt he’d been proud to know what I’ve done today.”

Draco applauded him in his head.

“Is that so?” McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

“Of course. He’d have left us without dessert for three days,” Draco snorted.

“At the very least,” Harry added, chuckling.

The Head of Gryffindor eyed both of them thoughtfully.

“In that case,” she said finally, “I recommend you not to get involved in something that can cause your parents’ displeasure. Otherwise, the next time I will put you on detention and make sure to inform your parents about your behaviour.”

“Yes, Professor,” the boys answered in unison, carefully holding back giggles. Maybe the old Gryffindor cat was not that bad if she caught up the hint so quickly.

“Off with you now,” she ordered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Professor,” Draco stopped suddenly in the doorway, “do you know if Longbottom is still in the hospital wing? He wasn’t in the Great Hall at dinner.”

“I have no idea, but that is strange,” McGonagall frowned. “As far as I understand, his injury was not serious enough for Madam Pomfrey to keep him over night. Why?”

“I haven’t returned the Remembrall to him,” Draco explained. “All right, we’ll find him. Good night, Professor.”

Neville was not in the hospital wing, though.

“He left almost immediately after I fixed his arm,” Madam Pomfrey shook her head. “Maybe he fell asleep in his bedroom. Mending broken bones takes much energy. If I were you, boys, I’d go to the dungeons. The curfew is in thirty minutes, and I am sure Mr. Longbottom won’t disappear anywhere until tomorrow morning.”

Draco nodded without a word, but as soon as they reached the staircase, he headed up instead of down.

“Where are you going?” Harry inquired.

“To the Gryffindor den,” Draco answered curtly, taking two steps at a time.

“Listen, maybe we should wait till tomorrow. I don’t think Neville will be offended.”

Draco paused on the landing and leaned over the rails to look down at his brother.

“I will not let some Gryffindor beggar call me thief,” he said crisply. “You can return to the dorm if you wish.”

Then he turned and started running up the stairs again.

“Oh you twit,” Harry sighed and followed, of course.

Unfortunately the only thing they knew about the Gryffindor common room’s location was that the entrance was situated on the seventh floor behind some portrait. Ending up in a spacious empty corridor filled with variety of magical paintings, the boys had to stop. Draco walked the corridor a couple of times glaring at the paintings, until a fat lady in a pink dress asked what they were doing there.

“We’re trying to get into the Gryffindor common room,” retorted Draco.

“Password?” she asked.

“Glory?” Harry tried at random. “Bravery? Courage?”

“No,” the pink lady shook her head.

Draco glared at him.

“What? I just thought that Gryffindors must like big words,” Harry shrugged. “Those ones seem to fit.”

“In that case you should try ‘folly’, ‘stupidity’ and ‘cheek’,” Draco grumbled.

“Tut-tut-tut,” a voice came from behind their backs. The boys turned around quickly. There were two willowy, similar looking redheads, bearing striking family resemblance to Weasley. “What do we have here? Two little snakes that got lost?”

Harry hurriedly grabbed his brother’s shoulder before Draco launched himself at the older students or worse — drew out his wand. Of course, their father taught them some simple curses, but strictly forbade them to use that knowledge other than in an emergency. First of all, do not give Dumbledore a reason to reproach me for having bad influence on Harry. Secondly, the opponent should underestimate you, not the other way around. The main problem, though, was that they still could do very little.

“Good evening.” Harry’s voice was cold and pointedly polite. “We would like to see our friend Neville Longbottom if you would be so kind as to fetch him. He is a first-year.”

The red-heads looked at each other.

“Wow! Slytherins…”

“…befriending…”

“…a Gryffindor…”

“So you are…”

“…the ones…”

“…the whole school…”

“…talks about?”

“Cool!” they finished in unison. At that moment Harry stopped trying to tell who said what. “Who are you?”

“Harry Potter,” he extended his right hand and nudged his brother with the left.

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco sneered through his teeth, but extended his hand to one of the twins too.

“Dred…”

“…and Forge…”

“…Weasley at your service!”

“So it’s because of you our little brother is still cutting slugs at Snape’s office, isn’t it?” the twin who introduced himself as Dred narrowed his eyes slyly.

“I don’t know,” Harry answered casually and asked Draco, “Do you think he’s cutting slugs or dissecting frogs?”

Draco shrugged.

“Uncle Sev equally often threatened us with both, so I have no idea what he chose this time.”

The twins stared.

“Uncle Sev?”

“Professor Snape to you,” Draco answered haughtily. “He’s our godfather.”

“Cool!” both Weasleys breathed together.

“Well, boys,” the Forge twin said, “who again were you looking for?”

“Neville Longbottom,” Draco said gruffly. “A clumsy plump oaf — he is a first-year.”

“I’ll fetch him,” Forge promised, turned to the pink lady and announced the password, “Pig’s snout.”

Draco cracked up laughing.

“Did you hear that?” he managed leaning against the wall. “And you tried to get in with ‘bravery’ and ‘fame’…”

“It’d be a stupid password if anyone could guess it,” Dred snorted. “By the way, if any other Slytherin sneaks into our tower, we’ll know for sure on whom to revenge.”

“For that you’ll have to get to us first,” Draco chuckled.

“We won’t tell anyone though,” Harry promised and added slyly. “Such sensitive information shouldn’t become common knowledge.”

Dred laughed. The frame of the pink lady’s portrait slid sideways, and Forge reappeared.

“Your Longbottom isn’t here,” he said, baffled. “Are you sure he should be in?”

“He’s got nowhere else to be,” Draco grumbled. “He’s not in the hospital wing. Fine, we’ll find him later. We’ve got to go.”

“Thank you,” said Harry.

They had hardly made a couple of steps, and the twins had barely moved in the direction of the room when Ron Weasley emerged from the stairs. Seeing his own brothers in the company of the despised Slytherins, he turned purple.

“Fred! George! What are those… doing here?”

“Leaving,” snapped Harry, tugging Draco firmly by the sleeve. It would not do to get involved in another fight. Since that first meeting on the train Harry already had enough of Weasley Jr.

“Cowards!” Weasley shouted to their retreating backs. “You are sorry cowards!”

Draco broke away from Harry’s grip and turned sharply.

“And you’re the brave one, huh? Let’s see about that. Duel?”

“All right,” Weasley snapped. “When and where?”

Harry who was worried and the twins who looked rather intrigued watched the show with bated breath.

“At midnight in the Trophy Room,” Draco answered glaring at his opponent. “Harry will be my second.”

“Fred will be mine,” Ron replied. “Right, Fred?”

“Of course, oh valiant brother of mine,” the latter announced in a tragic voice, pressing a hand to his heart. “Of course I’ll be your second. At dawn, with the first rays of sun, I’ll bring your cold breathless body to McGonagall so that she could avenge you.”

Harry and George snickered.

“Fred!”

“Ron!” he mocked. “All right. We’ll have to go with you to make sure you poke each other’s eyes out strictly by the rules.”

“The only thing left,” George interjected, “is to figure out where you should wait until midnight. If you return to the dungeons, guys, you won’t be able to get out till morning. You’ve got either Snape or Baron there watching you.”

Harry opened his mouth to say that Baron was not a problem, but got a poke in the ribs from Draco just in time and kept silent. Really, things like this were not to be shared with everyone, especially in front of Ron Weasley! He should have stayed vigilant.

“Yes, it would be awkward,” Draco nodded as if they were discussing a party guest list.

“We could let you into the Tower,” George continued, “but then the whole Gryffindor House will know that we’re up to something. Well, Fred, shall we show them?”

“Looks like we have to,” Fred shrugged. “Anyways, I like them.”

Draco snorted scornfully, but said nothing; Ron pouted. Harry looked at the twins with interest.

“Let’s go,” one of them winked and walked away from the main staircase. As soon as the twins moved, Harry could not tell who was who anymore.

“We should move our behinds,” the second one agreed. “Otherwise McGonagall will catch us sooner or later.”

“Where are you taking us?” Draco frowned suspiciously.

“To a place where no one will find your little skeletons for another couple of centuries!” the first twin wailed ominously and laughed at his own joke. “Get on with it, or we really will get a detention. It’s past curfew.”

Draco did not budge.

“Where are you taking us?” he repeated stubbornly.

“Look, Fred, this is a tough one,” George snorted. “Slytherins, they can’t help it. All right, boys, I swear on my magic that you’ll be in the Trophy Room at midnight safe and sound. Is that satisfactory? The rest is easier to show than tell.”

“All right,” Harry answered, not giving his brother a chance to speak. “Let’s go before we get caught!”

“I hear the voice of reason,” Fred said spookily.

“That’s not the voice of reason, that’s the voice of folly,” Draco grumbled. “It sounds as if my brother is a Gryffindor!”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing,” the twins exclaimed in unison and laughed. “Let’s go!”

Pranksters or not, the redhead twins knew their way around the castle. Sneaking by the main staircase they turned into some passageway that in a couple of minutes led them to some smaller stairs. They went two floors down, crept across the main corridor by a big statue (Boris the Bewildered, a complete dimwit, the twins announced in a loud whisper), then turned again and ended up on another staircase — winding and narrow this time.

“Shhh,” one of the Weasleys whispered, “Filch often patrols here. And that cat of his... I’d gladly kick it! It’s always snooping and sniffing out.”

Keeping as quiet as possible, they went to the third floor, sneaked in another corridor with several doors and stopped in front of a statue of a hunchbacked witch. The second twin touched it with his wand and commanded, “Dissendium!”

The witch’s hunch moved sideways, revealing a narrow opening. It was pitch-dark inside.

“What are you waiting for? Get in, but be careful, don’t hurry. Fred, you go first.”

Fred squeezed in, Ron followed him. Draco and Harry looked at each other, and Harry determinedly crept forward. There was a low-sloped descent with slippery stone floor, but if one walked slowly never taking a hand off the wall, it was all right. Draco and George caught up with them soon.

“Lumos!”

Harry carefully trod the dark descending passage doing his best not to slip. It would not do to fall and slide down on his bum, he would hear no end of it! The light of two wands was barely enough for them not to bump into each other. Harry regretted not being able to do Lumos himself — the journey would have been so much easier!

“Just a little further,” George’s voice behind them dully resonated off the walls. Harry saw Draco shiver. “There are torches down there.”

At last the corridor floor grew level. The black damp tunnel was leading away from the castle if only Harry counted the turns right and his sense of direction was still working.

“Where does the tunnel lead?” Ron asked.

“To Hogsmeade,” Fred smiled. “To Honeydukes.”

“Wow!”

“We won’t go there, though. We’ll show you something here,” George joined in.

Two dozen steps later the twins stopped. One of them carefully inspected the earthen wall and tapped a stone sticking out of it. Part of the wall moved in and sideways creating an opening with a room inside.

“Wait till we light the torches, it’ll be quite cosy! George, do we still have some butterbeer here?”

“Yes. Look in the corner!”

Fred lighted four torches, and Harry was able to look around properly. The room had stone walls and was rather small, maybe three yards by two. There were two benches along the wall, a tiny fireplace and a table. The most curious thing though was a magical window showing a part of some tunnel — probably the same one, but closer to Hogsmeade.

“A guard station,” Draco nodded approvingly. “Did you find this room by accident or did you look for it?”

“Looked for it, of course. What a secret passage has no guard?” Fred replied and put five bottles of butterbeer on the table. “Do you want me to open it?”

“No, thank you, I’d rather open it myself,” Draco said stiffly. “And Harry too.”

“You’re a smart one,” George guffawed. “Here you go.” He gave them unopened bottles. “So, do you fancy a round of Exploding Snap?”

They played not one, but half a dozen rounds when George suddenly announced, “It’s time. Let’s go before we’re late.”

“Oh,” Harry yawned. “Why don’t they just fight here in the corridor? I’m really sleepy.”

“No,” the soon-to-be duellists answered in unison and glared at each other.

“All right, all right, etiquette and all that, I get it,” Harry sighed. “Let’s go.”

They went back up without any trouble (apart from Ron slipping a couple of times, that is). The trip from the hunchbacked witch statue to the Trophy Room was short, and a couple of minutes later they were there. Golden cups and other prizes sparkled in bright moonlight that was filling the room.

“And what are you going to do now?” one of the twins asked with a grin.

“Harry and I will sit on a windowsill and make sure that everything is by the rules,” the other snorted. It was probably Fred. “And you stay on guard, will you? In case Filch comes by.”

“Deal,” George agreed. “Hey, you duellists! Do you at least know the rules? Stand facing each other, bow...”

“Are you taking us for babies?” Draco was indignant. “I at least know everything.”

“Me too,” Ron grumbled.

“Carry on then,” George waved his hand and stepped closer to the door.

“Listen up now,” Fred announced suddenly serious. “Duel is a duel, but no fighting is allowed. Unless you want to explain a black eye or a swollen nose to Snape or McGonagall in the morning. You may exchange a few spells, and that will be all. Go ahead.”

Draco and Ron went to the centre of the room and reluctantly bowed to each other, holding wands at ready while Fred counted: “One... Two... Three... Go!”

“Expelliarmus!”

“Protego!”

Neither of the spells worked, of course — both wands only gave some sparks. Harry did not know about Ron, but neither Draco, nor himself could do the Disarming spell no matter how much they practiced last summer. Their father only shrugged and said that all would happen in its own time.

“When will they get tired, what do you think?” Fred asked, dangling his feet. The duellists exchanged another couple of spells with the same results.

“I don’t know,” Harry signed. “It’d better be soon. If Severus catches us... we’d be cutting flobberworms till the end of the year!”

“So, is it true that they teach you the Dark Arts at home?” Fred asked in the same tone.

Harry flinched. He is just like the rest of them!

“Sure,” he answered acidly. “Severus teaches us Dark Magic on Saturdays, Dad on Sundays, and Mum takes the rest of the week. Are you jealous?”

Fred laughed.

“Of course!” he snorted. “Mum hides our wands for summer.”

Now it was Harry’s turn to laugh.

“I think I know why.”

“Do tell though!” Fred could not hide his curiosity. “I was joking about the Dark Arts, of course. But Mum and Dad talked a lot about you...”

“What were we taught at home?” Harry was surprised — he had no clue why Fred was so interested in home education. “Maths, History, Genealogy... Basic Potions and Herbology. Latin, French, a little Gaelic...”

Fred whistled.

“You studied all day long, didn’t you?”

Harry did not have a chance to answer. George darted to them from the door and whispered loudly: “Run! It’s Filch!”

Everyone ran to the other exit from the room: the second door led to a gallery full of suits of armour. It was easy to hide behind them. Everything would have been fine if Ron had not tripped in the dark over something big and soft. Losing his balance, Ron caught the nearest suit of armour, and its parts fell with tremendous crash.

“A-a-ah!” the obstruction cried out in Neville Longbottom’s voice.

“I’ll have you! There you are!” Filch bellowed from behind.

“Run!” one of the twins whispered in the dark, helping Neville up. The other grabbed Ron by the collar and put him back on his feet. Merlin only knew how, but they managed to turn round the corner before Filch caught up with them.

“Separate!” one of the twins commanded again. “Harry, you go there!” he shoved them toward some tapestry on the wall. “Ron, don’t fall behind!”

Considering how well the Weasleys knew the castle, it would be stupid to doubt them now. Actually, Harry did not even think about that, he just yanked Draco by the sleeve and dove into the passage behind the tapestry. Several minutes of desperate run later they finally felt safe: there were no footsteps or shouts behind. It was time to look around and figure out where they were and how to get to the nearest staircase. Harry turned around... and saw Neville.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, surprised. “I thought you went with the Weasleys.”

“I got confused,” Neville puffed. “I forgot the password and got lost. Then I decided to go to sleep, so that someone could find me in the morning. And then you stumbled upon me, and I ran with you. What are you doing here?”

“We’re looking for you,” Draco snorted and fished out the Remembrall from his pocket. “Here. You dropped it on the field today.”

“Oh, thanks!” Neville brightened. “I was trying to remember where I left it. Now what?”

“We figure out where we are and go to our respective dormitories.” Draco shrugged his shoulders. “It must be one a.m. already.”

They had no time to look around. The door to the nearest class opened, and Peeves, the school poltergeist, emerged. He saw them, made a mischievous face and shouted at the top of his voice: “FIRST YEARS! STUDENTS OUT OF BEDS! HERE, QUICK!”

They heard steps from around the nearest corner and had to run again. Peeves, eager to cause trouble, tried to follow them, hooting, but Harry, who was feeling furious, snapped on the run, “Baron will hear about this, Peeves.”

The poltergeist was mortally afraid of the Slytherin ghost and so immediately shut up. It did no good though, because Filch was still limping behind them, and the corridor had no doors or other passageways leading away from it. Another turn, and they found themselves in a dead end in front of a closed door.

“Alohomora!” Draco blurted without a second thought. The lock clicked. The children darted inside, and Harry closed the door hurriedly.

“Well, now we wait...” Neville breathed a sigh of relief.

“It’s a good thing Peeves is afraid of Baron,” Harry agreed quietly. “I surely thought that was it...” He broke off as he saw Draco’s face going deadly pale. His brother was staring at something behind his and Neville’s backs.

Growing cold, Harry turned. A huge three-headed dog sat on the floor quite close to them. There was a collar with a chain, but that was no consolation, because the chain looked long enough. The dog’s expression was sleepy, but curious.

“Goodness,” Neville whimpered.

“N-now we kn-now where we are,” Draco managed.

The dog grumbled dully and started to rise, his chain clinking. Harry realized that one more second, and they would become the dog’s dinner, so he grabbed Draco’s shoulder with one hand, Neville’s with the other and pushed them both out of the room. Better Filch than this three-headed monster! A moment later the door shuddered under the weight of the beast, but luckily it opened the other way.

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. If you had a sudden fit of insomnia which is quite unusual at your age, you could have simply come to me. There was no need to search for Madam Pomfrey in the middle of the night. Especially as the hospital wing is not on this floor at all.”

Well, that was really it. If Severus started by being sarcastic, they were in a fine pickle.

“Ah, Mr. Longbottom is here as well. Do you have insomnia too?”

“N-no, sir.” Frankly, Harry did not expect Neville to be so brave. Maybe there was a reason the boy was a Gryffindor. “I g-got lost. Harry and D-draco found me.”

It looked like Severus was taken aback for a moment, judging by the way he rubbed the bridge of his nose. It did not last long, though.

“Here? You mixed up the forbidden corridor of the third floor with the Gryffindor tower, did you?”

Amazingly enough, Neville spoke up again.

“N-no, sir. They wanted to return my Remembrall to me. Then we g-got lost again.”

“I see,” Severus nodded curtly. “Come with me, if you please. Mr. Longbottom, we shall escort you. If any of you as much as breathes a word about what you have seen here… I will do everything in my power to make you sorry. And all of you are in detention until the end of the week, starting tomorrow. Report to my office after classes. Maybe our united efforts will be enough to break Mr. Longbottom’s unfortunate habit of blowing up cauldrons.”

Without waiting for a reply, the Potions master turned and walked away — apparently to the main staircase. Harry shivered: it was obvious they were in for a big dressing-down if Severus wanted to hide the incident from the Headmaster so much that he did not even take points from Gryffindor. Harry looked sideways at his brother. Draco was frowning, pursing his lips, which meant he was in deep thought. Like we don’t have enough on our plates! Now he won’t rest until he finds out why the beast is there. Anyhow, they were in big trouble.

Chapter Text

When the frightened boys ran out from the forbidden corridor right into him, Severus breathed a sigh of relief: he had been looking for the little rascals all over the school, at the same time trying not to attract the headmaster’s unwanted attention.

Having finally kicked Ronald Weasley out thirty minutes before curfew, he deliberately left the door to his office half-open to catch Draco and Harry on their way from McGonagall’s detention. They could not have sneaked by unnoticed, and at half past ten Severus started worrying. At eleven, he went up to the Transfiguration ‘professor’s office and found it locked. It looked like Minerva had retired to her quarters, and he did not wish to disturb her and alarm the whole castle. Moreover, the Potions master flat out refused to confess to the headmaster that he had lost track of Harry.

Baron de Combrai did not know anything either and only said that he had not seen the children that day at all. By the time Filch reported that some rule-breakers in the Trophy Room had escaped his just vengeance, Severus was already fuming at himself and his restless godsons. However, when the Potions master realized where exactly Filch lost the children, he felt terrified. Hargid’s three-headed pet monster would happily eat a troll, let alone two first-years.

Luckily, the brats had enough sense to flee the forbidden wing just in time. Curiously, there were not two, but three of them. The fact that the timid Longbottom boy not only roamed the school corridors after curfew in the company of two Slytherins, but also lied through his teeth to the Potions master — no doubt covering up for said Slytherins — intrigued Severus immensely. He had no doubts that Longbottom had nothing to do with the ruckus Harry and Draco had made in the Trophy Room, and besides, according to Filch, there had been not three troublemakers, but at least four or five. No matter, he would get to the bottom of that later.

The worst part, Severus thought glumly while escorting his guilty charges to the Slytherin dormitories, is that I have to write to Lucius about the incident.

* * *

The next morning after breakfast, Harry and Draco, still tired and yawning, were shuffling to classes when the Weasley twins caught up with them on the stairs.

“Well...”

“...how did...”

“...it go yesterday?”

“Not so well,” Harry admitted. “We got a detention with Severus for the whole week. Draco, Neville and I. Your brother will be delighted.”

Draco sniffed gloomily, obviously refusing to feel guilty.

“Ronny takes his cue from Percy too often,” one of the twins waved his hand.

“They are very useful as lab rats, though,” the other one smirked.

“Who is Percy?” Harry asked.

“Our older brother. Fifth year...”

“...and a prefect, can you imagine that? Such shame for the family!”

“How many of you are there?” Draco asked mockingly, finding consolation in taking it out on someone else.

“Seven!” both twins answered proudly.

“Bill, Charlie, Percy, George and I, Ronny and Ginny,” Fred elaborated. “She is not going ‘to school until next year.”

“Poor girl,” Draco managed to mutter before they parted — first-years had to hurry to Transfiguration, while the twins went to Charms.

“You have no idea,” the twins laughed running up the stairs.

“Clowns,” Draco grumbled. “You have a talent for choosing friends, that’s for sure.”

Harry wisely said nothing.

* * *

By eleven ‘a.m. Severus already knew about the conversation his godsons had had with the red-headed twins, thanks to a couple of Slytherin portraits on the landing between the ground and the first floor. The overheard snippets shed enough light on the night accident to calm the Potions master down. The Weasley twins were pretty infamous pranksters, but they were never caught doing anything really stupid. Actually, they seemed uncommonly bright, unlike their pompous older brother Percival or the younger Ronald. That made them even more dangerous, even though Severus did not think that they would do any real harm to Harry or Draco. Also, he could not help but wonder what would be left of the school if that lot started having fun together. Severus secretly hoped that the twins would simply get bored with the first-years. Anyway, this part of the problem he could manage.

What Lucius would say on the matter, though, was another question.  So, the Potions master decided to spend the lunch break in his office doing something productive — namely, snack on some sandwiches and write that blasted letter to his friend.

Yesterday we had a bit of an incident here…

Nah, it was put too mildly.

Luc, your children are absolutely out of control!

No, it would not do to sound as if he was blaming Lucius — that could lead to a quarrel.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

Hereby I inform you that your scions...

Again, no. Luc would simply kill him for such a mockery (and would be quite right).

Half an hour later, after throwing out several parchments and breaking two quills, Severus felt desperate and wrote simply,

The children have found Fluffy. The beast is mildly shocked, but unhurt. The boys got detention till the end of the week.

S.

He had just sealed the letter when Deputy Headmistress burst into the room without any warning.

“Why were you not at lunch?” she asked indignantly.

“I was busy,” Severus shrugged and waved the letter. “Why? What happened? You usually actually knock, most of the time.”

“Oh, my apologies.” Minerva gathered her wits, locked the door with a spell and seated herself in a chair in front of his table. “ I would like you to keep me informed about any problems with my students’ behaviour, however. Why have you given detention to Mr. Longbottom, pray tell? Was it that blown up cauldron? It was several days ago!”

“May I ask,” the Potions master said slowly, “how do you know about that?”

In his opinion, Neville Longbottom did not look like a sneak and a cry-baby, but everyone can make a mistake.

“Mr. Longbottom told me himself,” Head of Gryffindor said guardedly, “to explain why he could not serve a detention with me this week.”

This time Severus did not even try to hide his surprise.

“You too? What did he do?”

“Brawled with Mr. Weasley,” Minerva answered drily and pursed her lips. “Because of Mr. Malfoy.”

“Please go on,” Severus livened up.

“Unfortunately, I cannot satisfy your curiosity because these young men refused to share the details with me. I only heard Mr. Longbottom calling Mr. Weasley a coward. Mr. Finnigan who was present during the fight muttered something like ‘It’s all because of Malfoy’, though.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Severus said thoughtfully. Considering what the portraits said... There was no doubt what exactly the young troublemakers were up to in the Trophy Room. What was it with children and this room? One could think it was old Place Royale in Paris, not a showroom for school trophies. Who started it, that was the question, though.

“What exactly did Neville do?” persisted Minerva.

“Mr. Longbottom loitered in the school corridors in the dead of the night, visiting places children his age should not,” Severus answered evasively.

“Alone?” Minerva was astonished. And then she narrowed her eyes knowingly, “Or in the company of Mssrs. Potter and Malfoy? Do they also have a detention till the end of the week?”

“They expressed an ardent wish to help me teach Mr. Longbottom out of blowing up cauldrons,” Severus snorted. “Friends should help friends, don’t you agree?”

Minerva was so taken aback that she did not know what to say.

“If I were you, I would have given Mr. Longbottom five points, not a detention. Maybe, even ten points. He is a true Gryffindor child,” Severus added mockingly. The mystery of his godsons’ night adventures was almost solved, which was a comforting feeling.

“Tell me, please,” Minerva said after a long pause, “did Mr. Weasley also visit places children his age should not?”

“Probably,” Severus shrugged. “But he is no concern of mine, and, believe me, I have not seen him.”

“I do,” Minerva snorted. “Since my House still has some points...”

“That can be easily remedied, mind you!”

Both of them laughed, the conversation turned to other matters, and Severus wondered how fast his relationship with McGonagall — strained at best before all this — turned into an easy camaraderie. Not bad, he thought, it can turn out to be very useful.

* * *

Draco, annoyed with himself and the world, sulked the whole day. Used to his brother’s moods, Harry did his best to leave him alone and keep away everyone who could get hurt for no reason — Hufflepuff girls, for example.

When they walked to Severus’ office after dinner, Draco turned suddenly and asked darkly, “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“Of course,” Harry replied immediately. “You ask idiotic questions, ergo, you’re an idiot.”

“I’m serious!” Draco flared.

“Even more so,” Harry laughed, “if you’re asking idiotic questions in all seriousness.”

“You are hopeless!”

“Listen, you,” Harry poked Draco, “just stop pouting. Detention is nothing.”

Turning around the corner, they saw Neville hovering awkwardly at the Potions master’s door. His cheekbone was turning purple, and his upper lip was bruised. Draco whistled in surprise.

“What happened?”

“Weasley happened,” Neville shrugged.

“Why?”

“Well, he saw me return. And that Professor Snape walked me up there. Weasley asked me later if we got punished. And I told him about the detention. Today he started talking about you getting caught at night, and Snape giving detention to his own pet Slytherins. I got mad and said that he didn’t have courage to go to the Trophy Room at night.” Neville smiled shyly and crookedly because of the bruised lip. “So, he started a fight. He couldn’t say in McGonagall’s presence that he had been there too.”

“And you?”

“I gave him a shiner, I think,” Neville replied uncertainly.

“Mr. Longbottom,” a voice boomed from the office, “you can continue the story of your gallant deeds in here.”

The children hang their heads and darted inside. Severus waited for them sitting back in his armchair. As soon as they entered, the Potions master locked the door and cast silencing charms on it.

“Sit down.” He gestured at three chairs standing in a semi-circle in front of his desk. The boys obeyed. “First of all, I have to say that you talk too much. It’s been less than a day, and I already know all the major details concerning the incident in the Trophy Room. Apart from two things: who challenged whom and how you managed to get Mr. Longbottom into it.”

“How...” Draco started, but caught himself guiltily.

“Portraits,” Severus explained curtly. “Portraits, ghosts, students and other teachers. All of them do talk. And you too. You must understand, Hogwarts is not Malfoy Manor. There are more ears than walls here. So, who challenged whom to this duel?”

Harry glanced sideways at his brother who was sitting hunched and staring at the stone floor. Neville touched his bruise gingerly.

Sighing in irritation, Severus stood up.

“You can keep silent all you like,” he said grudgingly, approaching a tall locked cabinet in the corner. “I am not particularly interested in that, though I am willing to bet several Galleons that it was Draco who quarrelled with Weasley. Harry tends to think at least a little before acting.”

Draco choked on air indignantly, and the Potions master laughed.

“And he has better self-control. Mr. Longbottom, take this.” He handed Neville a small vial with yellowish salve. “Get rid of your battle wounds. There is no point in flaunting your scars even if you are a Gryffindor.”

Neville blushed, opened the vial and clumsily started applying the medicine to his left cheek and bruised lip. Three minutes later his face was normal colour and shape again, and Severus nodded contentedly.

“Excellent. Keep the salve,” he snorted. “I have a feeling you will need it. Now let’s get to business. Do you have any idea what sort of concoction it was that you covered my classroom with two days ago?”

* * *

Lucius’ answer to Severus’ letter was more than strange. First of all, the guarded note was written in French, which usually meant that Lucius felt terribly agitated. Secondly, not a word was said about the boys’ latest adventure. Instead, it stated that Lucius had news de première importance and Severus should try to visit Malfoy Manor as soon as possible, preferably on the next Saturday at breakfast. The Potions master sent the confirmation immediately and started thinking what to fill the boys’ time with after the Quidditch practice so they would not get into any trouble.

The problem got resolved on its own. During Friday’s dinner, Hagrid cautiously asked if he could invite Harry and Draco to his hut for tea.

“I, um... know the boys got into trouble....” he muttered, tugging at his beard, “but it’s a weeken’... I’d show ‘em all kinds of animals, an’ I bet Harry’ll be happy as a kin’ to hear abou’ James an’ Lily.”

In any other circumstances Severus would have happily countered this outrageous proposal with a biting remark, but now it was most opportune.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” he said through gritted teeth. “It is very fortunate that you came up with that idea. I have to be away tomorrow, and I will tell them to come straight to your place after lunch. It would be great if you look after them until dinner. You can put them to cleaning the stables or something.”

“Ah, that I can,” Hagrid was sincerely glad. Someone — maybe, Minerva — giggled. “Thestrals’re always a handful, I could use some help.”

“Excellent,” Severus replied, biting back a laugh.

On Saturday morning, he went to Wiltshire with a clear conscience.

“I have the most peculiar news,” Lucius said right away, greeting him at the gates.

“What is it?”

“Do you know that there is some sort of prophecy about Harry and Voldemort?”

Severus felt the ground slipping underneath him, everything reeled before his eyes... and then he found himself sitting on the low stone wall that ran along the main path to the house. Lucius was standing by his side, holding him by the shoulder with a strange expression on his face.

“How do you know?” Severus blurted out.

“So, I am right, and you have something to do with it,” Lucius said gloomily. Snapping his fingers, he summoned Dobby and ordered Firewhisky. “Drink it, you do not look well. Not that you are much to look at when you are at your best, mind you.”

“Drop it, Luc,” Severus asked quietly and gulped his drink in one go. Then he tried to regain his breath, but hardly succeeded. “You have no idea what I have to do with it.”

“It was in 1980, right? In spring or in early summer. And in the autumn, when Voldemort began searching for the Potters, you rushed to Dumbledore...” Lucius contemplated. And suddenly he concluded, “Harry does not need to know that. At least, not for the next few years. We cannot have him stop trusting you and start doubting me, and now he is not yet able to understand. It would be a disaster.”

Severus shuddered. His friend was always good at finding the exact points that determined the whole path.

“So how do you know?” Severus pushed.

“My... sources at the Ministry considered it necessary to warn me,” Lucius answered vaguely. “I was only told that the prophecy exists, but it was enough to come to some conclusions. And you confirmed them just now. Why haven’t you told me?”

Severus started getting angry. He was not the boy to run with reports from one master to another.

“The same reason you have not told me about your sources at the Department of Mysteries. Or how exactly you are going to protect the manor,” he snapped. He was a little lightheaded — Firewhiskey worked too well on an empty stomach.

Lucius nodded. He looked surprisingly calm.

“Touché. But something’s got to give. Sev, this is not a matter to be trifled with, and you understand that as well as I do. You have to decide whose side you are on.”

“And you?”

“And I,” Lucius smirked a little, “am on my own side. Together with Cissy, the boys and you. Or at least I really hope so.”

“As if I have a choice,” Severus muttered in irritation. He was tired of all these endless questions — “Whose side you are on?”. At first his mother and father, then Lily, then Voldemort, after that Dumbledore... and now Lucius.

“Ne fais pas l’idiot!” his friend flared up. His stupid habit of randomly switching to French could not have come at a better time: Severus calmed down. Lucius was just being Lucius. The only person who had never stabbed him in the back.

“Il y a toujours des alternatives,” Lucius continued agitatedly. “Mais je ne veux pas que tu fasses ma vie plus difficile qu’elle est déjà maintenant. Tu es de la famille. Il sera presqu’impossible de protéger ta vie si tu essayes de jouer contre moi! Je m’enforçai malgré tout, bien sur. Mais tu pourrais...”

“I have heard only the second part,” Severus said out of the blue, having finally made up his mind. Let Dumbledore deal with his politics, the family was more important. Curiously enough, the world did not stop turning. Neither could he hear the crackle of the burning bridges behind him.

“What?” Lucius asked. “Ah, I see. And what was in it? Hang on. Let’s go inside, it’ll be more comfortable there. And much safer. And it is high time we had breakfast.”

“Is Cissy at home?” Severus inquired and stood up cautiously, glad that at least his legs stopped shaking.

“No,” Lucius grinned strangely again. “She went to Gringotts to get some Blacks’ heirloom. Come on, I will tell you about it inside.”

* * *

While Narcissa was away, they discussed almost everything. As could be expected, the overheard part of the prophecy made Lucius quite happy. He did not doubt Harry’s abilities before, but it was very good to hear a confirmation that the boy had powers to overcome Voldemort.

In his turn, Severus was rather taken aback by the breadth and... er... unorthodox nature of his friend’s plans.

“The Blacks will be rolling in their graves.”

“Let them roll as much as they will,” Lucius waved the argument away. “It is not my problem.”

“And why Cissy and not you?”

“It is better if a woman does it. Then we’ll have a proper symmetry.” With his wand he drew a glowing triangle in the air to illustrate the idea. Then he smirked, “Besides, Evans had a quite suitable name. It will be a very nice flower garden.”

“You like your jokes, do you,” Severus sighed. “You better think what I should tell Dumbledore. He definitely will be interested in the reasons why you have called me.”

“The truth,” Lucius said firmly. “You will tell Dumbledore the truth: I called you to help me to ward the manor. I would like to finish setting everything up before Christmas in order to bring the boys home for the holidays and to conduct the ceremony without hurry. He does not have to know that part, of course.”

“And what if he questions me why you need the protection so urgently?” Severus frowned.

“Tell him that I was very distressed by the Gringotts break-in. Have you told him about the Mark?”

“Of course I did. How could I not?”

“Excellent. He would draw the necessary conclusions on his own. We do not need to get on his bad side right now. Let him continue believing that you spy on me.” Suddenly Lucius shook his head. “Nonetheless, you are a genius, Sev. Voldemort trusted you, Dumbledore trusts you, I... do trust you, too. Incredible. Are you sure you have not doped us all with something?”

Severus would have been probably terribly offended had someone else said that. Perhaps, even if Lucius had said that just a few hours earlier. But not now.

“You know, it is a great idea, Luc,” he responded lightly. “I shall think about it.”

Lucius laughed. Then he twirled his wand in his fingers and continued very seriously, “We have another problem, Sev. And I do not know how to deal with it.”

Severus turned serious.

“What is the matter?”

“You see...” Lucius’ smile vanished. “Before going to the Potters, Voldemort left me one thing to keep. A small black Muggle notebook.”

“And what’s wrong with it?”

“Everything. For one thing, he commanded me to cherish it as the apple of my eye. For another, it is empty. Thirdly, it’s indestructible.”

“What do you mean?” Severus leaned forward, clutching the arms of his chair.

“I mean what I said. Neither fire, nor water, nor cold can destroy it. Sharp objects, cutting charms and things like that are of no use either.” Lucius whispered, “I have even tried the Killing Curse. Using a spare wand, of course, but still… it does not even have a scratch on it.”

“And what does it do?” Severus frowned.

“Nothing, thank Merlin!” Lucius answered with feeling. “You cannot even write in it: everything vanishes immediately.”

The Potion master paused to think.

“You know,” he said finally, “I think we could put off dealing with it for the time being. As far as I understand, you do not expect any trouble with the Ministry now?” He did not even try to hide the snide tones in his voice.

Lucius snorted.

“You understand correctly. Of course, Shacklebolt is not completely reliable — at least not yet, besides, his authority is quite limited now. However, at the moment we have a mutually beneficial partnership.”

“Excellent,” Severus nodded. “After we carry out all your warding plans and the current nightmare with the Stone is over, we will deal with this thing. For now just hide it somewhere safe.”

____________________

Footnotes:

De première importance (Fr.) — Of primary importance.

Ne fais pas l’idiot! (Fr.) — Don’t be foolish!

Il y a toujours des alternatives. Mais je ne veux pas que tu fasses ma vie plus difficile qu’elle est déjà maintenant. Tu es de la famille. Il sera presqu’impossible de protéger ta vie si tu essayes de jouer contre moi! Je m’enforçai malgré tout, bien sur. Mais tu pourrais... (Fr.) — There is always a choice. However, I would be grateful if you do not make my life more complicated than it already is. You are family. If you begin to play against me, it will be almost impossible to protect you. Of course, I will try to do it anyway. But you could...

I have heard only the second part...— As we remember, Severus was caught red-handed. That happened right after Trelawney had finished the prophecy. Yet, Dumbledore claimed that Severus overheard the beginning: about the power that The Dark Lord knows not, etc. However, the end and the beginning of the prophecy are quite similar. The conclusion from this is that technically he overheard the end, when Trelawney almost literally repeated the first sentence of the prophecy (Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix, chapter 37). Let’s think how all that looks for Severus: he heard something, was caught in the act by Aberforth and dragged into the room where Albus had a conversation with Trelawney. Of course, Severus is sure that he overheard the end of the prophecy, but not the beginning.

Chapter Text

Draco sat on the hard bench, squirming and suffering. Everything in the Groundskeeper’s little house was driving him mad, starting from the pheasants hanging from the ceiling and to the dirty table top, not even covered by anything approaching a tablecloth. In fact, this Saturday definitely was his unlucky day.

Because of the evening detentions, the boys had to do their homework in the mornings, so when the weekend came, they wanted only one thing, and that was sleep. However, it was twenty minutes before eight when Flint banged on the door of the first years’ dormitory, and they had to get up. Despite all the love Draco felt for Quidditch, the hard morning practice did not improve his mood, as it also was a cause of many bruises and bumps. Severus did not come for breakfast to the Great Hall. Draco and Harry were on the way to take advantage of his absence and to run away to Baron de Combrai’s comfortable chambers when Stapleton stopped them near the doors.

“The Head of the House ordered you to go straight to the dormitory after breakfast and do your homework,” he said sternly. “He asked me to make sure of it personally. You’ll go to the lunch with Olivia, and after that Hagrid will be waiting for you. He will bring you back to dinner, and then, I hope, professor Snape will be back. Is it clear?”

Of course, it was clear.

Make sure of it personally… Pompous parrot! Draco thought, gloomy following the Head boy to the dungeons. You’ll see I’ll call you on it one day.

Writing a Potions essay on his own was boring: without Geraint there was no one to discuss the assignment with. Harry was by no way willing to become enthusiastic about Potions; in class and during detentions, he did everything thoroughly, but without pleasure. He liked the Defence against the Dark Arts class much better (that could be explained) and anything about magical creatures, which, in Draco’s opinion, was absolutely stupid. In Draco’s eyes, all animals — magical and non-magical — were of two categories: useful ones and dangerous ones. Owls he was ready to deal with; farmers or Archer at worst should deal with other useful beasts. And he had no intention of meeting dangerous ones, under no circumstances.

That was why he felt so frustrated: as soon as they entered the Groundskeeper’s hut, Harry and Hagrid started a long and quite boring discussion about flying horses’ species.

“Granians are bred only for races these days,” Hagrid grumbled, pouring tea into huge dented tin cups. If one looked closely, one could notice some shavings of straws there, so Draco bravely drank it without looking.

Biting back a sigh, he discreetly looked around again: what to do? Suddenly he noticed a piece of paper peeking from under the flower-patterned patchwork tea cosy. It looked like a cut-out from a newspaper. Draco glanced sideways at enthusiastic Harry and Hagrid and pulled it closer. It was indeed a cut-out from the Prophet. The article was small, but the headline was huge:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Wow! Draco thought.

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the previous day.

“But we’re not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what’s good for you,” said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Draco mused about that. Only the dumbest Muggles would not have heard about the break-in into the most reliable bank of the Wizarding world, but the unsuccessful investigation still continuing… that was strange. Even stranger was the fact that the Hogwarts’ Keeper of Keys collected articles about it. What was his business with Gringotts? Had he anything to do with the break-in? Or ... with the vault itself?

“Harry?” Draco called.

“What?”

“Look,” Draco said in a bored voice giving the article to his brother, “News about Gringotts again. They still don’t know anything.”

“What a surprise,” Harry shrugged, leaned in and read the article. Then he frowned.

“Give it to me,” Hagrid grumbled suddenly. “Ye’ don’ need this.”

“Hagrid,” Harry said slowly, “you took something from the bank that day… On Professor Dumbledore’s behalf, right?”

Draco rejoiced. His guess was correct: the Keeper of Keys did have something to do with the break-in. What exactly, though?

“Never yeh mind, Harry,” Hagrid said. “Stay out of it. Yeh too,” he nodded at Draco. “Don’t be so curious. It’s dangerous.”

“You also said,” Harry continued stubbornly, “that is was “terribly secret business”. I remember that.”

“Tha’s enough!” Hagrid slammed his hand on the table, and the cups jumped up with terrible noise. “I told you — stay ou’ of it. Finish yer tea, then we’ll go to the stables. The thestrals’ stalls need cleanin’. Yeh will help me, since we have time before dinner.”

The boys looked at each other.

Merlin, what made me speak up? Draco thought darkly.

* * *

Severus returned to the school right on time for dinner and immediately realized that something had happened during his absence. Hagrid was unusually grim and silent while the boys were in a piteous state: they bleakly picked the contents of their plates. It looked like every move took a great effort for them.

“What did you do to the children, Hagrid?” he asked acidly. “They are barely moving.”

“Good, they are too quick,” the giant grumbled. “Maybe they’ll stop poking around…”

“What is it, Rubeus?” Dumbledore suddenly sounded interested. “What did Harry do?”

“ Nothin’,” Hagrid admitted reluctantly. “They found a cut-ou’ from a newspaper on me table. About … You-know-what.”

“Of course,” Severus made a face. “You scatter the articles around, but the children are to blame. You could have put the books by Flamel for everyone to see, just to make the picture as plain as possible. But wait, you would only barely understand the titles!”

“Severus!” Dumbledore cut him off. Hearing this squabbling, their colleagues started turning heads.

The Potions master winced and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“My apologies, Hagrid,” he said quite sincerely, if somewhat sourly. He did not mean to offend the guileless Keeper of Keys, but Hagrid’s naiveté did not only vex Severus, but also created a lot of trouble for the Order in general. “I am very tired.”

“Tis alrigh’,” Hagrid waved it away. “The boys… they were jus’ helpin’ me at the stables, that’s why they’re tired. You asked for that yourself, did you not?”

“I did,” Severus snorted. “This is a bit too much, however… Anyway, it will do them good still. I will dismiss them tomorrow evening since they worked so hard today.”

“And Mr. Longbottom?” Minerva who sat by the Dumbledore’s other hand interrupted.

“And Mr. Longbottom too,” Severus agreed amicably. He was so tired this week that the very idea of Sunday night detentions was truly horrifying. “The boy actually shows some progress, as in the last two days he did not blow a single cauldron.”

Minerva half-rose and touched the Potions master’s forehead.

“Are you sure you are well?”

“Minerva, what is happening?” the Headmaster asked patiently. “And what did the boys do that you gave them a detention over the weekend, Severus?”

“Nothing,” the Potions master answered calmly noting with pleasure that McGonagall did not bat an eye hearing this lie. “Unfortunately, from the first lessons it was clear that Mr. Longbottom is a danger to his peers. I decided to take action; Harry and Draco volunteered to help me.”

“And?” Dumbledore prompted.

“And in the evenings we studied potions,” Severus answered coolly.

“Hmm,” the headmaster stroked his beard, lost in thought. “What about that ruckus in the Trophy Room last night? Poor Argus is still upset that he did not catch anyone.”

“Unfortunately, I was busy. I could not have helped him.” Out of the corner of the eye he noticed Minerva turning away to hide a smile. “Tucking in the first years is quite time-consuming.”

McGonagall could not help herself and giggled. Dumbledore immediately turned to her, but she managed to look stern so the Headmaster finally decided to let it go. Soon Sprout started complaining about the leaking roof in the second greenhouse, and the topic of the conversation changed.

* * *

Harry was struggling with the shepherd’s pie: who would have known that cleaning after thestrals was so tiring? His arms, back and shoulders ached, moving around was quite unpleasant. Father often punished them for misbehaviour (harshly sometimes), but those punishments were never physical and did not include… how to put it… farm labour. At most, they had to tidy up their rooms without the help of the house elves at home.

“I hate Hagrid,” Draco grumbled quietly.

“What is it?” Millie asked curious.

“Stalls. Shovels. Dung,” Draco explained curtly. “Lots of dung. Should I continue?”

“Please, no!” Pansy winced. “We are eating here!”

“You didn’t turn up your nose for long, aye?” Nott sneered. “This is not your Daddy’s estate…”

Harry saw Draco clench the fork like a dagger and realized that if he did not interfere at once, the explosion would be larger than anything Longbottom could manage in Potions.

“Theodore,” he said with reserve, “do you see that redheaded first year goof at the Gryffindor table?”

Nott turned around quizzically.

“Yeah, I see him, Potter.”

“I highly recommend him to you as a companion,” Harry continued casually. “You have a lot in common.”

There was silence; Nott was digesting the last phrase. He realized it was an insult three seconds after everyone started giggling.

“I… You… I’ll..!” Nott sputtered, but the moment was gone.

“Oh, Harry…” Olivia shook her head, but it was clear that she interfered for the form’s sake.

After dinner, everyone went to the dungeons. Blaise was teasing his friends good-naturedly, the girls were groaning companionably. Nott and his goons received a warning from the Heads and left the friends alone.

Harry could not keep his mind off the article Draco found. There were too many coincidences. Hagrid’s cryptic allusions in Gringotts, the unsuccessful bank robbery on the same day, the article found in Hagrid’s hut… A sudden idea almost made him stumble in the middle of the corridor for no apparent reason. The Forbidden Corridor on the third floor! Could it be a coincidence that professor Dumbledore asked Hagrid to collect something urgently from Gringotts, and after that, there some place in the castle becomes prohibited for students?

It had not happened before — that, the boys already knew from the senior students. Something suspicious was going on here…

Thinking about the mysterious events of the day, Harry dragged himself to the dormitory and was about to drop half-dead on the bed when he noticed a small bright package on his pillow that had not been there before. A note, about a quarter of a parchment sheet, was pinned to something wrapped in dark purple paper with yellow lilies.

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.

Albus Dumbledore

For a moment Harry went numb and froze with his hand stretched toward the package. Almost immediately, Draco appeared from behind his back.

“What happened?” he whispered and added, seeing the note, “wow!”

“Sshhh,” Harry turned around quickly: Blaise was ransacking his trunk; Nott, Crabbe and Goyle had not come yet — perhaps, they were still in the common room. “Do you think it is all right to touch it?”

“It is from the Headmaster … It should be safe.”

“What if it is not really from him?” Harry grumbled. Then he took the package carefully and unpinned the note.

Nothing happened.

He looked over his shoulder to Blaise one more time, unwrapped the bright paper, and something thin, silvery and fluid, like water, slid on his bed.

“Wow!” Draco repeated right into his ear.

And this was an understatement.

Dumbfounded, Harry watched the Invisibility Cloak that lay in front of him.

“That is crazy.” Draco put out his hand and caressed the smooth cloth. His hand looked weird, separated from the shoulder. “We should hide it.”

Harry caught the unsaid question at once.

“Exactly. Severus will take it at once. As will Dad.”

He wrapped the cloak hurriedly in the first jumper that came to hand and put everything away in his trunk. Then he folded the paper and the note neatly so they fit in his pocket.

“We should burn it afterwards. Somewhere no one will see.”

“We can do it at the Baron’s room,” Draco answered quietly.

“Hey, what are you whispering about?” Blaise asked flopping on his bed and showing a pack of cards. “Shall we play?”

“Sure!” Harry agreed immediately, and they played Exploding Snap till late at night.

* * *

True to his habits, Severus avoided the staffroom unless it was an emergency. That is why, actually, he was not really surprised when Minerva came to the dungeons a week later. However, she behaved quite strangely: she brought a bottle of Bordeaux with her (“I hope you have spices? This afternoon is just made for mulled wine, Severus!”), and after that, looking exaggeratedly easy-going, she chatted with him for about a half an hour. It definitely looked suspicious, as if she tried either to bribe him or to get him drunk enough to talk freely. At last, Severus had enough.

“What happened, Minerva?” he asked outright. “What do you want from me?”

The Head of Gryffindor blushed bright red.

“I do not wish to be misunderstood… I would like to know one thing. Did you give the password for the Gryffindor Tower to the boys?”

“No,” he answered, perplexed, and frowned. The passwords to classrooms, student dormitories and other school rooms were, of course, known to all the teachers, and technically anyone could give them to the students of his own choice. However, the unspoken traditions upheld that the password to the House dormitory should not be given to the students of other Houses — unless an emergency happened. “Why?”

“You see,” Minerva sighed, “something… strange has been happening in the last few days.”

“What kind of strange?” Severus frowned even deeper.

“It is basically harmless. Flying inkpots, missing student books, thistle under a bed sheet and other things like that. And there is always nobody nearby. Only the first years are present, and they do not have enough skills for that. It feels like James Potter is back.”

Severus winced.

“And what does all this... oddness have to do with the boys?”

“All these strange things, if you could believe in such a coincidence, seem to concentrate around one Ron Weasley. Sometimes also around his friends, Mr. Finnigan and Mr. Thomas, but most frequently it is the boy himself.”

“What about Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Granger?”

“They are always seen somewhere else. Unless all the first years decided to play me for a fool, they have nothing to do with it. And I asked if they had given the password to anyone outside of the House. They claimed they had not, and I believe them.”

Severus snorted. He knew all too well who could give the password to Harry and Draco, but decided not to share his knowledge for the time being. He had his duties, but that did not negate the House rivalry. And if the children found the way to get in the Gryffindor Tower, he will not hinder them, just warn them to be careful. And he should watch the twins more closely…

“Just change the password,” he advised.

“Who do you take me for?” Minerva huffed, stirring the last part of her mulled wine angrily. “Why do you think I have changed it twice in the forthnight? The Fat Lady is displeased, and all was for naught.”

“In this case, just leave it as it is.” Severus shrugged. “In the end, you did not really try to stop James Potter,” he added acidly.

“Yes, but…” Minerva begun, but checked herself and looked away.

“But what?” the Potions master asked malignantly. “But James Potter was a Gryffindor? And the focus of his so-called jokes were mainly Slytherins?”

“Well, you know, you were not exactly innocent either,” she sniffed.

“No, I was not,” he responded gloomily and tipped back all his cool mulled wine. Oh, Lily, Lily…

“I am sorry.” Minerva touched his left hand carefully, and he shivered. “I did not want to remind you…”

“It is unlikely I can ever forget it.”

“Severus, believe me, I am really sorry. But the situation is different now. Even if James and his friends often hexed you when you were alone, you did not share a dormitory with them.”

“What?” he was puzzled.

“I have four first year boys,” she explained impatiently. “Three of them are the target of different silly practical jokes, and the fourth is a friend of their suspected offenders. Can’t you imagine the possible results?”

Being the Head of Slytherin House, Severus could. Even better than Minerva did, and better than he would have liked.

“I see what you mean,” he nodded. “What do you want from me?”

“Talk to Harry and Draco, please. If this is their doing, they should curb their enthusiasm, at least for the time being. I do not wish to spend next seven years guarding Mr. Longbottom night and day.”

Somehow I think, the Potions master thought, that you will do it anyway.

Out loud he said, “Alright, I will. Anything else?”

“You know,” Minerva contemplated suddenly, “I cannot even say that I really blame them. Mr Weasley… well, he is not a bad boy, just…”

“A dunderhead?” Severus sneered.

“No,” Minerva shook her head, “He is not really stupid. But he is very young. And quick-tempered. And also jealous. He has five elder brothers, and all of them are quite gifted. Bill’s marks for DADA and Charms could be compared only to yours and Lily’s. He is in Gringotts for a reason. Goblins do not take everyone. Charlie was the best Gryffindor Seeker after James Potter.”

“Do not remind me,” the Potions master made a face.

“And even if Percy is quite… a pedantic young man,” his colleague continued, “he has high grades and is to complete Hogwarts with excellent records. Molly is always holding him up as an example for the juniors. Finally, the twins are extremely talented, despite being the double pain in our... ahem... necks. Oh, you should see the things they are up to in my classes!”

“What they are up to in mine is more than enough for me, thank you. I see what you are driving at, though. Mr. Weasley Junior cannot understand what he is by himself, and envies everyone who has answered the similar question or has not wondered about it yet.”

“Exactly. And I would rather prefer not to push him towards… the negative answer.”

“You spoil your students.”

“And you don’t?”

“Sometimes I wonder,” Severus said out of the blue, “what would have happened if I had ended up in Gryffindor.”

“I would have become grey prematurely,” Minerva claimed confidently. “You in one dormitory with James and Sirius? The whole castle would have blown up before the end of your first year. Enough talk of the old days, though. Do you play chess?”

“A little,” the Head of Slytherin answered evasively. He lost only to Lucius, but McGonagall’s skills were legendary.

“Great,” McGonagall said, her eyes gleaming. “If you do not have any special plans for the rest of the evening, bring the chess board and the pieces.”

Chapter Text

Lucius looked over the lopsided house and smiled smugly: the shack appeared to be even more miserable than the last time he saw it. Obviously the Dursleys’ well-being still had not improved. Lucius passed a rickety picket fence that separated the street from a sad excuse for a front garden. With a wry grimace of disdain, he got over a half yard of a dirty wet path without a grain of gravel on it. In other circumstances he would have arrogantly opened the door with magic, but now he needed the consent and assistance of the silly Muggle woman to bring his plans to life, so he had to knock and to wait.

Couple of minutes later, there was a sound of the approaching footsteps inside, and a hoarse angry voice asked “Who is it?”

“Your nephew’s guardian.”

The door flew open so abruptly that is was difficult not to recoil. The woman standing on the doorstep had aged and grew even thinner during the last three years, so she resembled a horse more than ever, but now an exhausted and blown one.

“You?” she exhaled. “You?! How dare you to come here? I wish I had never set eyes on you and all your damned kind! You bring only misfortune, pest on you!”

“Mrs. Dursley...” Lucius tried to interject.

“Evans!” Petunia snapped out bitterly. “All thanks to you! After all that jinxed papers of yours and another police investigation Vernon decided that he didn’t want...” she swallowed, but straightened her back with dignity, “to have anything to do with me anymore.”

“Mrs. Evans,” Lucius said politely, but firmly, “believe me, I commiserate with you. However, as you understand, the last time we met under the circumstances that can only be called unfortunate at the very least. I was quite... displeased with the way my adoptive son turned out to be in your house again.”

“You ruined my entire life!” Petunia’s eyes were flashing not because of unshed tears, but with anger. “Firstly Lily with her tricks, and then that Dumbledore of yours, and then yourself... Why did you come here again? I have nothing left! Even if I had done something to that Lily’s snotter, I paid for my mistakes more than enough long ago. I don’t want to have anything to do with your world! And I’ve never wanted to!”

“Ms. Evans,” Lucius patiently begun again, “I know, however, that you wrote to Dumbledore when your sister received her Hogwarts invitation.”

Petunia gasped.

“How? How do you know that?”

“I am aware of a lot of things,” he answered vaguely realising that it was better not to mention Severus for the time being. “However, it is not really important now. You asked me why I am here. I would like to make you a business offer.”

“Will you promise me fake money again?” The woman was full of contempt. “Much good that will do for me! They say in fairy tales for a reason, that leprechaun’s gold brings misfortune!”

“No,” Lucius said in the same neutral tone, although staying calm was more and more difficult. “I intend to offer you something more. You have a son, do you not? I suppose, you would like to secure his future. You will not have to bother about money, though, if you accept my proposal.”

“And if I refuse?” Petunia asked gloomily, looked at him suspiciously and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“If you refuse you will put in danger not only your well-being, but your life. Believe me, this is not an idle threat. And the danger will come not from me.”

Apparently, his cold-blooded calmness finally made the needed effect because Petunia nodded briefly and gestured him to come in.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” she drawled acidly. “By the way, could you please introduce yourself? If you intend to make a proposal, then at least tell me your name.”

“Lucius Malfoy at your service,” he smiled, appreciating her grim humour as well as the hidden dig: indeed, he considered beneath his dignity to introduce himself during their previous two meetings. It seemed, the Muggle woman was not so silly and quite determined. However, if Lily was a witch, maybe Evanses had wizards among their kin. It could explain a lot...

“What I propose is this...”

* * *

Next Saturday, Severus was for the first time on duty in Hogsmeade, and Lucius used that fact to his advantage. Nobody could be surprised when one of the school governors appeared in Hogsmeade and started a conversation with an old friend that he “accidentally came across”. It was better than calling Severus to Malfoy manor: it was bad enough that his every absence evoked Dumbledore’s great attention. However, they would have to be much more cautious and speak indirectly — too many curious eyes and ears in the village.

He found Severus in the main street of the village not far from The Three Broomsticks. His friend was busy scolding two messed-up Slytherins and two same-looking redheaded boys wearing dirty Gryffindor robes. Minerva McGonagall was standing near with her arms across her chest, looking very displeased. However, she did not interfere, which was strange. One of the guilty Slytherins was touching his bruised lip; the second one had a swelling bruise under his eye. The redheads were also battered, but extent of their damage was much smaller; they were quietly listening to Severus with a perfectly false repentance on their faces.

“More Weasleys,” Lucius winced and came closer.

“…beyond my comprehension!” Severus hissed. “You were left alone for a quarter an hour, and what do I see here? A disgusting brawling in the middle of a street. Weasley!”

“Sir?” The twins responded in a mournful chorus.

“How can you explain your abominable behaviour?” The Potions master asked in a silky voice.

Equally mournful silence was the boys’ response.

“And you, Pucey?” Severus turned to his pupils. “Montague?”

“They started it,” the one called Pucey grumbled.

“It is of no interest for me,” Severus snapped. “What I am asking is the reasons of your behaviour.”

Pucey looked away, Montague shrugged.

It is time for me to interfere, Lucius thought. The repetitive spectacle started to annoy him and could probably drag like this for a long time.

“Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall,” he said amiably from behind her shoulder, and she jumped up in surprise. “Good afternoon, Severus. What is going on?”

“Modern educational process,” his friend responded gloomily. “In other words, we are wasting our time. A detention to all four of you, this evening. Filch was just complaining about dirty toilets on the ground floor. And now off with you! Go back to the school!”

This time, the mournful look of all four boys was totally sincere.

“Excuse me, sir…” one of the redheaded twins spoke to Severus courageously.

“What?” he grumbled.

“We promised… to bring some sweets for the first-years. May we visit Honeydukes on the way before we go back?”

Lucius smirked to himself: of course, the children did not notice it, but for a moment, his friend was taken aback with such impudence. He also wondered why these insolent Gryffindors did not ask to the Head of their own House.

“Your care does you credit,” Severus answered acidly as soon as he recovered. “However, you should have thought about keeping your promises before putting up a fight. Admittedly,” he smiled a little which truly made the children jump out of their skin, “the holiday is coming... Minerva, could you please look after them and make sure that they buy what they want and return to the castle immediately after that?”

“Well, if you insist,” Minerva sighed. “Remember, in this case you are in charge, and all the other little trouble makers are your concern until I come back.”

“Being the school governor, I suppose I could temporarily replace you on your duty,” Lucius offered politely.

“This is very kind of you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said grinning. “Perhaps, in this case you and Severus could deal with everything without me? I have a lot of other things to do.”

“Of course,” Lucius responded immediately, depriving his friend of the chance even to open his mouth, much less to voice an objection. “As it happened, I am completely free today.”

McGonagall snorted softly, and Severus frowned, to be more specific — sulked, but said nothing and nodded. The delinquent boys were watching the conversation with interest, but turned out to be wise enough to keep any suggestions that came to their minds to themselves. Finally, the Head of Gryffindor scowled at the scrappers, ordered them to follow her and went to the sweets shop. The children obeyed, but continued to make faces to each other behind her back.

“Well, what was all that for?” Severus asked gloomily as soon as McGonagall was out of the earshot.

“I have news,” Lucius explained, shrugging. “Better here than in the castle, and if you come to me one more time without any obvious reason Dumbledore will become a true pest. He is more curious than a dozen of cats.”

“Has something happened?”

“The day before yesterday I visited Petunia Evans,” he said in a low voice, “and we had an agreement. Let’s go, I will tell you. As far as I understand, your duty is walking in the village and looking after the little rascals? And how long should it last?”

“Till five,” Severus smirked. “You will regret your generous offer. You never know what they will do. Although, the two main troublemakers are taken back by Minerva right now, and thank Merlin their chief potential followers are still too young.”

“Are you implying something or does it only sound like that?” Lucius asked.

“I really am. Mark my words, one or two years more, and your boys with their friends will turn the school upside down,” Severus promised with a wry smile. “By the way, speaking of their friends: did you see the two Gryffindors Minerva took away?”

Lucius nodded.

“I did. Some more of Arthur’s numerous offspring, I presume?”

“Exactly. Fred and George Weasley, the third-years. So, unlike their younger brother, these redheaded devils are quite cordial to your children. So much that they helpfully told them the password for the Gryffindor Tower.”

“Merde,” that was all what Lucius could say to that.

Severus laughed in reply.

* * *

Ever since Severus sent a very clear signal that it was better to leave the Gryffindor Tower in peace, exploring the possibilities of the Invisibility Cloak became much less amusing. Draco and Harry had already explored most of the dungeons, and they could hang around in the school even without the Cloak. That was why a week after Dumbledore’s gift was wrapped in the most worn jumper and ended up on the bottom of Harry’s trunk again.

The last Saturday of October was not quite warm, but dry, which was why all their group went to the yard to play blind-man’s-bluff after breakfast. Nobody knew the charms for the magic blind-man’s-bluff yet, so they had to play like Muggles, but that did not bother them. Harry, already laughing his head off, was running away from Hermione when he heard voices calling him from two different directions:

“Harry!”

“Potter!”

The children froze.

Harry looked at Weasley twins in one corner, then at Pucey and Montague in the other one…

“It is going to be an explosion,” Draco quickly summed up the situation. “Right, you go to Weasleys quick, and I will speak to our guys.”

“Why not vice versa?” Harry narrowed his eyes.

“Potter!” the shout came from the both sides now.

“You tamed these two blithering idiots,” Draco nodded at the twins, “so deal with them yourself.”

And without waiting for answer, he walked confidently to the two players of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Harry looked at him for a moment, then shrugged and went to the twins. Coming closer, he noticed that they looked battered.

“Something happened?” he asked.

“Yeah,” one of the twins smirked. “Snape happened…”

“In Hogsmeade,” the other one caught up. “He sent us back…”

“…because of the “abominable behaviour”!”

“Although we have never…”

“…done anything like that in our lives!”

“Right,” Harry responded putting on a serious face. “So, it was Professor Snape who tore off two your top buttons, Forge?”

“What? Where?” The twins started checking each other’s collars, pretending to be frightened.

Harry laughed.

“Oh, come on. What is it between you and Pucey and Montague?”

“How do you know?” one of the brothers asked curiously.

“It is obvious,” Harry smiled. “They would have never come back so early if nothing had happened.”

“Bingo,” the other twin nodded. “But they…”

“… got it worse. Montague has…”

“…a really big shiner under his eye…”

“It will be really useful in the dungeons…”

“…it is always so dark there!”

“Oh?” Harry waved them aside. The twin’s impossible way of talking simultaneously was funny only for the first five minutes, and then your head started spinning. He realized perfectly well though that it was just the effect they wanted to achieve. “What do you want from me?”

The twins looked at one another.

“McGonagall allowed us...”

“…to go to the Honeydukes…”

“…because we told her…”

“...that we would bring some sweets for the first-years!”

Like illusionists, the twins took small packages from their pockets with a flourish and held them out to Harry, “Here they are!”

Harry looked at the gifts doubtfully: a pack of the sugar skulls and a chocolate frog. First, Merlin only knew, which charms the twins managed to put on the sweets as soon as McGonagall let them go, and second… he remembered very well that Weasleys had to count every single knut.

“May be you’d better give it to Ron,” he objected weakly.

The twins looked at each other again.

“Whence come…”

“…the honest Slytherins like that?”

“It is an anomaly!”

“Dreddy, I think he wants to offend to us!”

“No, Forgy, he is just afraid of us!”

They laughed cheerfully and loudly, then suddenly stopped fooling around, and one of them spoke with unusual seriousness, “Harry, don’t worry. They are not charmed, and we won’t go bankrupt because of it. We have some income.”

“Independent personal income,” the other one winked.

“So take it, eat it and share with friends. Especially with that funny curly geek girl.”

“Our dear brother has got to her too much recently.”

“All right,” Harry smiled and took the sweets. “Thank you.”

“That is nothing. We snagged something for ourselves too.”

They heartily patted him on the back and left, and Harry went back. The senior Slytherins had already gone away, but the game had not been resumed: everybody took a seat on the benches near the central fountain and waited for Harry.

“What did they want?” Draco asked impatiently.

Instead of answering, Harry gave him a pack with sugar skulls.

“They brought it from Hogsmeade. Would you like to open? It’s for everybody. And what about Pucey and Montague?”

Draco smirked and showed the second pack of skulls.

“Wow! Cool!”

Both packs were immediately opened, and everybody started polishing the sweets off, even Hermione, who at first grumbled that “It’s pure sugar!” and “too harmful for teeth”. Chewing, Harry tore the frog’s pack open, dexterously caught the quick chocolate amphibian and gave it to the girls who liked chocolate more than he did. He was much more interested in another thing — a famous wizard card. He fished it out of the packet and nearly choked: this time, it was Albus Dumbledore who gave him a wink from the miniature portrait.

* * *

Towards the evening, Severus ran out of luck. If Lucius’ manoeuvres had an effect, it was the opposite one to what they wanted: after the dinner Dumbledore softly, but persistently offered to have a little chat and a tea in the headmaster’s office.

Merlin, why is it always tea? Severus thought gloomily, following Dumbledore upstairs. Why not Bordeaux, cognac or sherry? Mind you, Firewhiskey is more appropriate for most of our conversations.

“Does something trouble you?” Dumbledore asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Me? Not at all,” he answered, sitting down in the chair. “It was you who wanted to speak with me.”

“I did,” the Headmaster confirmed vaguely and started stirring sugar in his tea slowly. Then he picked up the cup, and Severus suddenly realized how withered and thin the old man’s hands were. Strangely enough, that revelation disturbed him very much.

“Can I help you?” he asked cautiously.

“I do not know,” Dumbledore responded in a strange voice. “You see... I have thought a lot about you recently.”

Oh, Merlin. Severus expected anything from his employer and to some degree protector: questions about Lucius or Harry, thoughts about the philosopher’s stone, guesses on Voldemort’s next probable steps, — anything but this. Deceiving both sides was quite all right, but talking heart-to-heart?! For goodness sake!

“Indeed? I am flattered,” he sneered bitterly. And strengthened his mental shields, just in case.

However, the old wizard continued as if he had not noticed anything.

“I came to the conclusion that I had underestimated you a lot. Your love for Lily…”

“No,” the Potions master flinched, “no, don’t.”

Don’t you dare!

“Severus,” Dumbledore said very quietly, “please. May I continue?”

Not seeing an alternative, Severus nodded darkly.

“If you still do not want to hear compliments, I will save you,” the Headmaster smiled a little, “although, it is not very kind of you to deprive me of an old man’s pleasure to say what comes to my mind. But that is not the point…” He paused, twisting the silver spoon in his fingers, thinking. “That year, when you came to me, I was quite… rough with you. I hoped that I would make you realize on the verge of what abyss you stood. I am proud of your choice and the journey you made in all these years. And at the same time… I do more and more regret that my decision that day seems to have lost me your trust.”

Severus suppressed his desire to object. He would not like to lie to Dumbledore, at least not yet — and the less so, because usually he succeeded very poorly. He looked away.

“Yes,” Dumbledore confirmed sadly. “Quite so.”

“I do not trust anyone,” Severus forced between teeth. Maybe he would succeed this time.

“And Lucius?”

That’s it. He should not even try. A impudent little voice cried malevolently at the back of his mind: Lucius has never given me a reason to doubt him! But that was a lie too; even a more primitive and shameful one. A thing like that should not be told even to oneself.

“Lucius knew that I went to you,” Severus said at last and fell silent again, failing to find the right words to express everything this fact implied.

Dumbledore looked at him over his spectacles in surprise.

“Did you ask him for advice at the time?”

“Of course not,” Severus sneered. “He guessed it himself.”

The Headmaster put the spoon on the saucer.

“I regret I did not know it before.”

I regret it too, Severus thought and shrugged. The further it went, the less Severus liked this conversation, which was too intimate and too dangerous. For both parties.

“How…” Dumbledore oddly faltered. “How can you be sure that your friend does not... pursue his own ends?”

“I cannot,” he answered simply. As well as I cannot be sure that you don’t. And it does not matter whatsoever. “Headmaster, if I cannot be of any help to you…”

Dumbledore sighed.

“You can, Severus. If you by any chance have some free time, please, give an eye to Quirrell.”

The Potions master startled.

“And what is wrong with him? Except for all the evident things, I mean.”

“If I only knew,” Dumbledore sighed again. “But there is definitely something wrong in him that I can’t put my finger on.”

“All right,” Severus nodded slowly. “I will try.”

Chapter Text

“Quirrell?” Lucius was extremely surprised both by the question and by the fact that Severus came to the manor at dawn without warning, and through the Floo network, at that. “That theorizing halfwit?! What is wrong with him?”

“Apart from the fact that he wears a terrible turban, reeks of garlic and stutters at the mere thought about the Dark Arts, I have no idea. Dumbledore is interested in him, though.”

“Does he wear a turban?” Lucius suppressed a yawn and realized with annoyance that he could not think straight without a good cup of morning tea. “Oddly, I have not noticed that. Last time I saw him, he looked more or less presentable.”

“I don’t know how it is possible not to notice THAT. He had been weird enough before, but now...” Severus caught himself and frowned. “Wait. Have you seen him after his return from Albania?”

“Yes, I have, in Diagon Alley,” Lucius shrugged, “In the summer when we were buying wands for the boys. He had just left the Leaky Cauldron and greeted us. No traces of turban or garlic at the time.”

“Curious...” Severus mused, pinching his nose. Then he jumped. “Wait! When exactly do you say you saw him?”

“I told you, it was in the summer,” Lucius answered impatiently, only then realizing what his friend was implying. “Merde! The Gringotts break-in! Sorry, I am not properly awake yet.”

“That’s because someone does not drink coffee in the mornings,” Severus snorted. “As if it is not English enough.”

“That’s because someone woke me up at an ungodly hour,” Lucius retorted. “Six a.m.! Who gets up at such time on a Sunday? Dobby!” He snapped his fingers. “Tea with milk for me, and black coffee for Severus. No sugar.” When the house elf had disappeared, he continued, “So, on the 31st of July we saw Quirrell without the turban. On the night between July, 31st and August 1st there was an attempted robbery at Gringotts which failed because Dumbledore took had emptied the vault beforehand. In August — am I correct? — Quirrell showed up in Hogwarts already in a turban and reeking of garlic. By the way, how does he explain that?”

“He says it repels vampires.”

“Then it must be a good repellent,” Lucius quoted an ancient joke. “Finally, yesterday Dumbledore personally asked you to keep an eye on Quirrell, saying that he felt uneasy about the man. Hmm. I can relate to that, though. If I were him, I’d give an eye to anyone who teaches that ridiculous class.”

“What is so ridiculous in DADA, pray tell?” Severus asked, slightly vexed despite himself.

“One cannot teach defence against something that the students have no idea about,” Lucius grumbled, taking a cup of tea from Dobby. “Although it is possible,” he took a first sip, “that brainless teachers are to blame.”

“Would you like me to recommend you?” Severus threatened.

“Don’t you dare!” Lucius winced. “And don’t even think of applying for the post yourself, do you hear me? There was a rumour among our ex-compagnions d’armes that the Lord himself cursed this position. We have enough problems without you being cursed, don’t you think? However, we got side-tracked again.”

“Not ‘we’, but you.”

“Alright, not ‘we’, but ‘you’. I have no desire to argue with you. Now, let’s get down to business. Do you think Dumbledore assumes that Quirrell is after the Stone?”

“What Dumbledore assumes only he and Merlin know,” Severus grimaced. “And I am not entirely sure about Dumbledore. Yes, that is a possibility. Anyhow, ten people took up that position in the last ten years, and he never approached me with such a proposition.”

Lucius twirled the empty cup in his hands, deep in thought.

“It doesn’t make sense,” he finally concluded. “As far as I know, ten years ago Quirrell was not a Death Eater. If we assume that this ignoramus met the Dark Lord during his travels in Albania, it explains what he was doing at Diagon Alley, but it does not explain his turban and garlic. If I am not mistaken, Gringotts is not guarded by vampires! Dragons are hardly discomforted by garlic. And if Quirrell met Voldemort after the attempted robbery ... No, it does not hold up.” He sighed and put his cup down. “Not enough information, Sev. Should we hand this puzzle over to Shacklebolt or it is too early?”

Severus frowned.

“It is too early. More than that, what could you actually tell him? We have nothing but vague suspicions and Dumbledore’s intuition.”

“Alright. In this case, you have no choice but to comply with your Headmaster’s request.” Lucius stood up, Severus followed his example, and they said their goodbyes. “Keep an eye on this turban-lover. Especially on Halloween. The Lord loves symbolic dates, as you are well aware. I will be busy and will not be able to help you.”

“Why not on Samhain?” Severus stopped in mid-step. “The Veil is thinner during Samhain...”

“In general, that is true,” Lucius answered dryly. “But The Lord was stripped of his power not on Samhain, but on Halloween. Exactly ten years ago. So, the next Thursday will be the most... likely date.”

Severus winced, hunched over, nodded darkly and stepped closer to the fireplace, but Lucius stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Pull yourself together,” Lucius squeezed tighter, shaking him a little. “We don’t have time for this. We have Harry to protect and the war to win.”

“Piece of cake,” Severus smiled, albeit crookedly. “Are you sure we will win?”

“There is no other option,” Lucius looked at him gravely. “Any other outcome is not acceptable, as you well know. Now, that’s enough of being mushy. Go eat Gryffindors for breakfast, or what else you do in the mornings to cheer yourself up. And I will start the preparations.”

* * *

On 31st of October, Harry woke up early and in great mood. He loved Halloween, and even though there were no masquerades at Hogwarts, a holiday was still a holiday. All the more so when a feast was planned for the evening. And this feast most certainly would include pumpkin pies and other delicious food... He got out of the bed and promptly started waking Draco up.

“Hey, come on,” he shook his brother. “Rise and shine.”

“M-m-m,” Draco replied, putting a pillow over his head.

“Wake up!”

“Stop shouting, Potter,” Nott’s displeased voice came from the other side of the room. “Let us sleep.”

Not paying him any attention as usual, Harry grabbed Draco’s pillow and pulled.

“Get up! Or you’ll sleep through all the fun!”

Draco who was holding onto the pillow suddenly let it go. Not expecting this, Harry lost his balance and fell hard on the floor with the pillow in his arms.

“I say!” he exclaimed.

“Got kicked in the bum, Potter?” That was Nott again.

“Shut up, Nott,” Blaise replied sleepily.

Draco rubbed his eyes, sat up, looked around and smirked.

“Harry, give my pillow back!”

Instead of answering, Harry threw it into his brother’s head.

“Great!” Draco said cheerfully. “Now all of us are armed! Attack!”

The pillow fight continued until Larry heard the noise and shooed everyone to the showers. Even then, they were almost late for breakfast.

* * *

Charms with Flitwick went brilliantly. The first-years finally started learning the levitation spell, and Harry even had some success. Although the feather he was levitating floated only for a short time and quivered like a leaf, still, it floated! Draco’s feather was airborne a little longer, but tended to float away as if it did not want to stay still. Very much like Draco, Harry thought, got side-tracked and dropped his own feather. He sighed and tried to concentrate again.

“Patience, my dear friends, patience!” exclaimed Flitwick, enthusiastic as usual. “Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important... Well done, Mr Cornfoot! Mr Zabini, the ending is um, not om.”

At the end of the class, Harry was fed up with feathers. There was DADA after Charms — with Hufflepuff, as always. Professor Quirrell was stuttering and fidgeting more than usual.

“I don’t understand why they keep him here,” Draco whispered into his ear. “He’s useless. Dad or Sev could have taught us much better.”

“Hear, hear,” Harry said rubbing his forehead. His scar was aching again.

“Although,” Draco continued thoughtfully, “if Sev starts teaching DADA, we won’t have a Potions professor...”

“We can live well enough without Potions,” Harry grumbled.

They kept whispering until the end of the class, knowing full well that Quirrell would not stop them. They had Potions with Gryffindor after lunch, and this is where everything went pear-shaped. The Gryffindors came to class sullen and frowning and kept bickering quietly. Hermione was not among them.

“Parvati, listen,” Harry hailed Padma’s sister. “Where is Hermione?”

“I would like to know that too,” Severus said, rising from his seat. “Miss Patil, could you please enlighten us on Miss Granger’s whereabouts?”

Parvati blushed.

“Hermione... She... She’s not feeling very well,” she stuttered. It was clear that the girl was lying.

“Is she?” Severus raised his eyebrow. “It is a pity. I hope she contacted Madame Pomfrey.”

Parvati turned pale.

“I... I don’t know. I think she did...”

Ron Weasley who was sitting with Seamus right behind Parvati and Lavender snorted quietly. What an idiot. Severus would never let something like that slip. Even Draco or Harry would be reprimanded, never mind a Gryffindor boy who could not remember the difference between ‘clockwise’ and ‘counter clockwise’ after two months of classes.

“Mr Weasley! Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

“No, sir,” Weasley answered quickly, because even he wasn’t that stupid. “Sorry, sir.”

“In this case, three points off Gryffindor for improper sounds during the class,” Severus snapped. “Does anyone want to add anything? No? Then let’s get down to business.”

Harry fidgeted through the whole lesson, pondering the reasons for Hermione to skip Potions. He would have spoilt his own potion if not for Draco who thankfully paid attention. The burn-treating ointment that they were brewing was not only salvaged, but even decently done. Of course, Severus grumbled that it was not thick enough, but still marked their efforts as Exceeds Expectations.

Finally, the torture was over, and the first years filtered out into the corridor. Harry turned to Parvati again.

“What happened? Where’s Hermione?”

Draco, Pansy, Millie, Blaise and Neville all gathered around them. The other Gryffindors had already left, eager to be out of the dungeons. After making sure that Snape closed the door, Parvati sighed with relief and said, “That twit, Weasley, was a royal pain to Granger today. We were going over levitation...”

“We did that too,” Draco interjected.

“Granger was the first to do everything right, of course. As always,” Parvati shrugged, a bit annoyed. “Weasley didn’t succeed at all. He only managed to burn his feather down. She started giving him advice, and he... well, he said some terrible things.”

“He said she won’t have friends even if she’d make all the feathers in the world fly. Or something like that,” Lavender Brown said, coming closer. “That she was insufferable and awful.”

Draco opened his mouth to agree, but saw Harry’s face and shut up.

“What happened then?” Harry frowned. “They quarrelled, and?”

“She’s been crying in the girls’ bathroom on the ground floor,” Lavender said. “We tried to convince her to come to lunch, but she refused.”

The boys looked at each other.

“Maybe we should go to her...” Harry said uncertainly.

“I don’t think so,” Millie shook her head. “She needs to cry it all out and calm down. You’d better think of some prank to get back at Weasley. No one in their right mind will befriend him!”

* * *

To celebrate Halloween, the Great Hall was brightly decorated: glowing pumpkins were placed on every available surface, some even floated in the air, bats were flying around, twinkling lights were spinning, and the Hogwarts ghosts were walking around. Baron de Combrai and the Grey Lady were sitting on the capital of a column, quietly chatting by the looks of it. Peeves was nowhere to be seen, the Baron probably frightened him off.

Harry looked at the Gryffindor table trying to locate Hermione, but she was not there.

“She must be still crying,” Draco said quietly.

“Right,” Harry sighed. He was itching to kick Weasley. “We should bring her some pie or something...”

They did not have a chance to start their desserts, though. Harry just put some baked potatoes on his plate when Professor Quirrell ran into the Hall, panting, turban askew. His eyes were wide with terror.

“Troll! A troll... in the dungeons,” he blurted out and fainted promptly.

Silence filled the room for a second, then everyone started talking at once. Dumbledore managed to roar above the noise, “Prefects, lead your Houses back to their dormitories immediately!”

Larry Stapleton started arranging things out, while Olivia made sure that no one was left behind in the process. Harry realized that he would not get another chance like this.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed his brother’s arm and pulled him towards the Gryffindor table.

“Where are you going?” Draco sounded surprised.

“To get Weasley,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Why?”

“Hermione doesn’t know about the troll. Someone must warn her.”

“And you want to trust that idiot?”

“No, I want to show him a thing or two about trolls.”

* * *

That day, Severus felt ill at ease since morning. He made such an effort to keep Halloween and that awful night separate for so many years... and after a single conversation with Lucius all of it went down the plughole. The Potions master picked gloomily on his potatoes and pumpkin pudding, drowning in self-condemnation, when suddenly Dumbledore leaned closer and whispered, “Do you happen to know why Quirrell is still not here?”

Severus jumped and came to his senses.

“I have no idea,” he answered quietly. “I saw him last at lunch, as did you. Why?”

Dumbledore did not have a chance to reply as a panicking Quirrell burst into the Hall, and the next moment the whole castle was in uproar. On the way to the dungeons, however, Severus caught the unconscious thought that was bugging him.

“Wait,” he unceremoniously caught Dumbledore’s sleeve. “I’m going upstairs.”

The headmaster stopped and stared at him. Then he nodded.

“That would probably be wise. Be careful, Severus.”

* * *

In such a commotion, it was easy for the boys not only to sneak out of the Great Hall unnoticed, but to drag Ron Weasley with them.

“What do I have to do with it?” the redhead protested, but in truth, he sounded guilty. And he did not really resist, too.

Probably feels the shoe pinching, Draco sneered to himself. With confused Hufflepuffs crowding the main hall, the boys had just enough time to sneak into the side one. Right after that, they heard approaching footsteps. In a second, the boys ducked behind a statue into a barely lit alcove, and even Weasley did not object. Then Severus swept past them up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

Draco and Harry looked at each other: they could bet a thousand Galleons that they knew just where their godfather was heading... They did not want to discuss the topic in front of Weasley, though.

“Hey, you!” Harry tugged sharply at the redhead’s robes. Draco has never seen his brother so angry. “It was you who upset Hermione, so it’s for you to apologize. Come on!”

Weasley mumbled something incoherent, staring at his feet.

“At least you’ll be a good bait,” Draco grumbled.

To the Gryffindor’s credit, he did not argue, just sulkily trailed along to the other end of the corridor. They only walked fifty feet when a terrible smell reached them as if someone decided to keep thousands of dirty socks in a very filthy toilet.

“Shush!” Draco grabbed Harry’s sleeve and dragged him into the shadows. Weasley followed. “Look!”

They stared in horror at the approaching monster. Draco had seen trolls only in the pictures, and even then these creatures did not look nice. I’m going to be sick, he wanted to complain, but wisely decided to keep his mouth shut. Meanwhile, the troll looked around, twitching his ears, and looked into some open door. He sniffed, bent down and crawled inside.

“Merlin,” Harry inhaled. His face was ashen. “This... this is the girls’ bathroom!”

Ron Weasley turned green. Right that minute Draco shared his feelings.

“Let’s go,” Harry continued decisively and straightened up.

“Are you mad?” Draco hissed. “Willingly go to the troll? We need to call someone to help!”

“While you run there and back it will be too late!” Harry snapped. “Anyway, I won’t drag you there. I can go alone.”

“Are you insane?” Draco shouted angrily, forgetting that the troll could hear him. “I won’t let you go alone! Let’s go!”

Weasley looked as if he was going to be sick from fear here and now, but still mumbled, “I’m going with you.”

Right at that moment they heard a petrified scream.

“Move!” Harry called and ran.

The three of them burst into the bathroom. Granger, white as a sheet, huddled near the far wall as if trying to melt through it like a ghost. The troll slowly walked to her, waving his club and knocking sinks off the walls.

“Distract him!” Harry shouted.

Draco did not remember much of the next few minutes. He was terrified, thinking even less straight than Granger was. It seemed like Weasley and he were throwing something at the troll, while Harry tried to make the scared girl move. When Harry jumped on the troll’s back and stuck his wand into the beast’s nostril, Draco almost fainted, but still he tried to use the only fighting spell he knew.

“Stupefy!”

Strangely enough, the troll even teetered, losing his balance a little. In any other circumstances it would have delighted Draco, but he was so scared that he did not even notice his first success in battle magic. Then Ron Weasley used the spell that no sane wizard would have even considered in the situation.

“Wingardium Leviosa!”

The club flew up out of the troll’s hand and crashed down right on top of its owner’s head. The monster swayed and fell to the floor. Harry barely had time to jump away. Weasley stood bewildered, staring at what he had done.

Draco caught his breath, lowered his wand... and quietly sat down on the floor.

“Is it... d-dead?” Hermione managed.

“I don’t think so,” Harry replied standing up and dusting himself. “I think it’s unconscious. If trolls have a consciousness, anyway.”

When Harry started wiping the troll snot off his wand, Draco felt really sick. He quickly turned away and carefully stood up. His knees were shaking, but he managed to stay more or less upright. Especially if he leaned on the only sink intact.

Then they heard new voices and running footsteps. Severus, McGonagall and a panting Quirrell burst into the bathroom. At the sight of the troll in the heap on the floor, the DADA professor paled, gulped and with a whimper sank quickly onto the nearest toilet. Draco could somewhat sympathize.

The first thing Severus did was glance at the boys — clearly checking them for injuries. Since they did not even have a scratch on them, Draco could not expect his godfather to be forgiving. If only Weasley would keep his mouth shut and wouldn’t put his foot in it!

“You... You...” McGonagall seemed to have difficulties with forming coherent sentences. “What were you thinking? Why are you not in your dormitories? Why did you come here?”

After making sure that his charges were in one piece, Severus pursed his lips and stepped closer to the Head of Gryffindor. Draco groaned inwardly: they were surely busted!

“Take it easy, Minerva,” the Potions master said silkily, holding her by the elbow. “No harm is done, and we have enough time to strangle them if we wish.”

McGonagall choked at such familiarity and fell silent.

“Well?” Severus prompted, glaring at them. “Have you lost your tongues? I would like to know what happened here. Harry? Draco?”

“It was all my fault,” Granger spoke up and carefully got to her feet. “They were looking for me. I... I wanted to find the troll myself because I thought I could handle it. I’ve read all about trolls, you know.” She sniffled. “If the boys didn’t come it’d kill me! They didn’t have time to call for help, I swear!”

It took great effort for Draco not to show his shock: first, he was dumbfounded by amazement, then by admiration. The goody-two-shoes Gryffindor was lying so smoothly that any Slytherin would have envied her. And McGonagall believed her! Harry and Draco not only got away with only a reprimand, but also managed to earn ten points for Slytherin!

Finally, the Transfiguration professor left with Granger and Weasley, still scolding them on the way. Quirrell also managed to stand up, stuttered out a promise to get the headmaster to deal with the troll and scrambled out. The Slytherins were left alone, and that was when Draco got really scared.

“Now, would you be so kind to explain yourselves?” Severus demanded icily. “What actually happened here?”

Draco looked away, not being able to look at his godfather. And he was not much surprised when he heard Harry say,

“It was my fault.”

“I can easily believe that!” Severus snapped. “Draco, look at me, if you please!”

Draco obeyed.

“It was my fault too,” he said, shaking. It was true. Draco wished that he had put his foot down.

“I’m sure it was,” Severus said grimly. “But I want to know what happened. Now!”

Draco looked desperately at his brother. He could not say anything, it would be telling.

Harry took a deep breath and began explaining in halting tones. “Hermione had... a terrible day. She was crying here...”

“Since morning, I guess?” Severus asked.

“Because of that stupid Weasley,” Draco added vindictively.

“I see,” their godfather nodded coldly. “And what happened then?”

“When Qui... Professor Quirrell ran in the Hall, we realized that Hermione didn’t know about the troll. And that we needed to warn her!” Having regained confidence, Harry was speaking calmly and confidently. “We only wanted to warn her... Then the troll appeared. There were no teachers nearby, so we had no time to call for help! Are you saying we should have left her all alone?”

Severus smiled weakly.

“And obviously there was absolutely no other way to go,” he said silkily, “is that correct?”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. None wanted to answer ‘yes’ to this question.

“Right,” the Potions master said suddenly. “I suppose you do at last realize what a foolish thing you have done, which luckily ended without casualties. And I hope you possess enough wits to know that there were other ways to resolve the situation.”

“Yes, sir,” the boys answered in unison.

“Good,” Severus smirked, “because I’m expecting an essay from you on Sunday. You may even do a joint project. I want you to write down ten possible ways to save Ms Granger without putting yourselves in danger and giving your teachers a stroke in process. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!”

After making sure that the danger passed, Draco carefully stepped closer to their godfather. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry doing the same. And he was not very much surprised when Severus grabbed both of them by the shoulders and hugged them.

“Idiots,” he mumbled. “Let’s go back to the dungeons. I don’t know about you, but I missed dinner.”

____________________

Footnotes:

The joke Lucius referred to in the Muggle world goes like this.

A man walks down the street, every once in a while claps his hands and shouts.

The passers-by ask, “What are you doing?”

“I am repelling crocodiles!”

“There are none here!”

“Then I’m a good repellent!”

The Wizards’ version can differ, but should still be recognizable since Lucius knows it. :)

Chapter Text

The knock on the door came early in the morning — Severus had just dressed. Buttoning up his waistcoat, he let the headmaster into the room, then summoned Tinki and asked for a coffee for himself and a tea for his guest.

“Have you managed to find out how the troll got into the school?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

The old wizard shook his head.

“Quirrell claims that he encountered it near the kitchens. There is no more information.”

“Claims?” Severus frowned. “Do you think he is lying?”

“I do not know,” Dumbledore sighed. “It seems strange to me that the troll first went to the dungeons without anyone seeing him, and then suddenly ended up on the ground floor in the North wing.”

“There is a staircase there,” the Potions master shrugged. “It is not far from my study, I use it often.”

“Precisely,” the headmaster announced grimly.

“What… what are you implying?!” Severus choked with indignation.

“Severus,” Dumbledore reproached him. “Really, you should stop taking every word personally! I only meant to say that if the troll had wandered in the dungeons of the South wing, near the kitchens, it would have used the South staircase, or at least the main one. Trolls are ultimately not very intelligent creatures. They usually use whatever they first lay their eyes on.”

“You are right,” the Potions master answered awkwardly. Then he reluctantly added, “I am sorry.”

“No need to apologise.” The old man sighed again. “I am very grateful for your prudence last night. No matter who had let the troll into the school, it was surely done to divert our attention from the Stone. By the way,” he smiled a bit, “what was that story Minerva told me all about? Did Miss Granger really go hunting trolls alone?”

“Why not?” Severus snorted. “She is a Gryffindor, ergo, capable of any folly.”

Dumbledore’s beard hid his grin.

“If yesterday’s events are any indication, Slytherins are just as capable of the same. Please, do not take offence.” He said to the visibly irritated Potions master with raised hands, “it was a joke. Honestly, though, Harry’s behaviour yesterday pleases me a lot. Friends in Gryffindor will do the boy good.”

“The boys have friends everywhere,” Severus commented with bile. “Harry and Draco are not easily prejudiced. This is quite pleasing indeed. It is great progress compared to the Marauders, is it not?” he added, unable to help himself.

“Yes,” Dumbledore slowly nodded. “Yes, of course. By the way, when are you going to tell Lucius about this?”

“Tomorrow morning probably,” the Potions master shrugged with calmness he did not feel. He was not eager to talk with Lucius about his godsons’ latest adventure. “If you do not mind. I have detentions to supervise this evening. Why do you ask?”

“I do not mind, of course.” The headmaster rose. “As for the reasons for my question… I hope you will be able to calm Mr. Malfoy. It would be unfortunate if he takes his children’s ill-judged, but sincere actions too seriously.”

And sues the school, Severus thought cynically.

“I think Lucius will understand everything right,” he said aloud.

“Perfect,” answered Dumbledore. “In this case, let’s go and have some breakfast?”

* * *

Lucius, of course, understood everything right.

“It’s not a school, it’s an asylum for the terminally insane!” thus he ended his thirty minutes’ indignant monologue devoted to Albus Dumbledore’s diverse deficiencies and wrong-doings, both real and imagined. “It’s Bedlam!”

“I have been telling you this for the last ten years,” Severus snorted. “And only now you start to believe me.”

“Sev, this is not funny!”

“I know. I live and work there, by the way.”

“Enough!” Narcissa intervened. As strange as it is, she took the news of her children’s dangerous adventure calmer than her husband did. “Stop it, Luc, stop pacing around, have pity on the carpet. The boys are unharmed, everything is fine. Now, Sev, tell us, please, about that girl… Miss Granger, is it?”

“What?” Severus was lost.

“I am just curious for whom our boys voluntarily got themselves into a fight with a troll.”

“Hmm… She is a Gryffindor,” Severus began dubiously.

“I gathered as much,” Narcissa nodded a tad bit dryly. “What kind of girl is she?”

“She is quite talented and has good grades,” Severus continued even less confidently, not quite understanding what the question was. “She reads a lot, even too much. She quarrels with Weasley. That was what triggered the whole thing.”

“Is she a Pure-blood?” Lucius asked. “I do not remember such a name.”

“She is a Muggleborn,” Severus shook his head.

“Merlin gracious!” Lucius groaned quietly. “Not again!”

Narcissa laughed suddenly.

“Does she have a flower name, by any chance?”

“Flower name?” Severus was taken aback. “No, her name is Hermione. Why?”

“Considering the current situation, it would have been funny,” Narcissa answered vaguely. “Hermione? That is unorthodox. Her parents probably have something to do with either Greek mythology or English literature.”

“I think both of her parents are actually dentists.”

“Things are going from bad to worse,” Lucius muttered through clenched teeth.

“Frankly speaking,” Severus finally gathered his wits and started enjoying this silly conversation, “I do not think either of the boys are interested in her that much. Your anguish is unnecessary, Luc, as it is too early for considering Miss Granger as a daughter-in-law. At least,” he snorted, “for three more years.”

“Sev!”

“Luc, he was just joking,” Narcissa giggled.

“On the whole, as far as I understand your children’s logic anyway, this is actually a question of politics,” Severus continued. “They choose their friends deliberately. By the way, apart from Miss Granger, their bunch also includes young Longbottom boy, along with Bones’ niece, one of the Patil girls and Cornfoot’s son.”

Lucius hummed thoughtfully, calmer now. “This can actually be useful.”

* * *

The week after the adventure with the troll was strangely quiet. Apparently, Weasley stopped provoking Hermione at every opportunity if not declaring a truce with her. November brought more cold, the nights turned frosty. There was thin ice on the lake in the mornings. The walks turned unpleasant, the moist icy North wind chilled to the bone. Harry and his friends spent more and more time in the castle — sometimes in the library, sometimes in the Baron de Combrai’s rooms. After a long discussion, the Slytherins decided to share their secret with Hermione and Neville.

“The less people know our meeting place, the better,” Draco said adamantly. “Even Severus does not know… in theory. At least I’m sure Granger won’t tell.”

“Are you?” Pansy drawled and looked at him slyly. “I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I don’t,” Draco looked embarrassed. “But she can lie smoothly when needed and didn’t give us away that time.”

Millie laughed.

“It’s a pity we were not there. I would have liked to see McGonagall’s face!”

“Not if I can help it!” Pansy shuddered. “Chasing a mountain troll? Boys, you are mad. You should be up there in Gryffindor, that’s for sure.”

“Far from it!” Draco’s indignation knew no bounds. “Anyway, I’m innocent, it was all his doing!” He pointed a finger at Harry.

“I didn’t drag you with me!” the boy in question brushed the complaint aside. “So, do we tell Hermione and Neville? Are we agreed?”

So, now there were seven of them. Hermione was ecstatic when she first saw the Heads of the Houses Gallery.

“Amazing!” she whispered enthusiastically. “They are all here! I read about them in Hogwarts: a History! Do you realize how much they know? Peredir the Prudent, and Carvel the Cunning, and Owain the Poisoner, and…”

“What a disgustingly well-read child,” one of the portraits cut her short. It was a quite nasty-looking old man in a blue wool cloak that would have been magnificent if it did not have moth holes in it.

Draco valiantly tried to stifle a giggle, but did not quite succeed. Hermione pursed her lips and turned away, but it was obvious that the old man’s remark and Draco’s reaction hurt her. Harry and Pansy simultaneously reached out — to pat her shoulder in consolation or something like that — when Geraint spoke,

“Do not mind Brewster, my dear young lady. He had his nickname for a reason, and, honestly, it is the only thing he earned in his life.”

The nasty old man choked indignantly, but his reply drowned in a chorus of laughter from the other portraits. Harry looked sideways at the heavy frame, and it in fact read, “Brewster the Bitter”. He giggled quietly, jerked Hermione’s sleeve and pointed a finger at the copper tag, green with age. Hermione read the name, giggled, sniffled quietly and finally smiled.

“I see why I’ve never read about him in Hogwarts: a History,” she said, sticking her nose out proudly, and turned to Geraint. “Unlike you, Your Royal Highness.”

“You are probably right, my lady,” the prince agreed slyly. “Please, let us skip the titles. In a thousand years the ceremony — how to put it mildly — becomes boring.”

“My name is Hermione.” Her eyes were shining. “Is it true that you invented…”

“Merlin,” Draco groaned quietly, “now no force will separate her from Geraint. And I won’t be able to talk to him about potions… Why are you laughing? Why are all of you laughing?! You are just not interested in the delicate science of potion making!”

* * *

Later, after considering everything without haste, Harry had to admit that if bringing Quidditch through the Ages to Potions was not prudent at all, trying to read it in secret was simply foolish. The lesson was very boring, though. First, they brewed simple antipyretic drops that even Neville could make at any time, even in the dead of the night, then Severus told them to reread the previous three chapters of the textbook, promising a test during the next lesson. Thanks to Draco’s diligence, Harry knew the textbook forwards and backwards for two months ahead, so he almost dislocated his jaw yawning. Nonetheless, assuming that their godfather would not notice Harry putting a book about Quidditch over Magical Drafts and Potions was idiotic. He did not lose points, of course — Severus rarely took them off his own House — but he lost the book and got a detention with Filch.

He completed it yesterday, trying to guess what got into Severus. Most of the time he gave Slytherins detentions with himself or at least with McGonagall — to spend time with benefit and, as Draco put it, “to try to squeeze half an ounce of knowledge into the poor students’ heads”. Harry was torn between curiosity and self-preservation: to inquire what made his godfather so angry was definitely a suicide.

The problem of the book remained. It was due to the library next morning at the latest, which meant that, willing or not, Harry had to talk to Severus today. After checking the Potions class and Potions master’s personal rooms, he sighed and dragged himself to the staff room. He knocked cautiously. There was no answer. He knocked again with the same result. Harry shrugged, opened the door a little and peaked inside just in case. Maybe Severus left the ill-fated book there. At least Harry could apologize later and explain that he had taken it without permission not out of impudence, but in order to return it to Madam Pince…

Contrary to his expectations, the staff room was not empty. Severus was sitting in one of the armchairs with his robe bunching up on his lap. There were bite marks and blood on his ankle. Filch was sitting in front of him, changing the bandages.

“Blasted beast!” Severus swore. “How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?”

Harry realized that the best course of action was to leave — immediately and quietly. He was out of luck, though: at exactly that moment, Severus turned his head to the door.

“Harry!”

It was too late to run.

“I am sorry… sir,” Harry managed, terrified out of his wits. “I need to return the book to the library, and I…”

“I can always give him a flogging,” Filch proposed, grinning, finished his job and stood up. “I still have whips somewhere in a closet…”

It looked as if Severus remained calm with some effort.

“Argus, this is not a good time for your jokes. Thank you for your help, but leave us, please. Harry, come in and sit down.” His voice was sharp enough to cut glass.

Harry obeyed silently.

“As you say,” Filch snorted. “Alright, I’ll go, I have two more detentions this evening.”

When the door closed behind the caretaker, Severus cast warning and silencing charms on it, and then stared at Harry. The boy gulped, but did not look away. The Potions master sighed.

“What do I do with you now?”

“I won’t tell anything to anyone,” Harry said quickly and sincerely.

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose and frowned.

“I did not want you to get the impression that I was doing something… reprehensible,” he finally said. “You, no doubt, have guessed where I had been.”

Harry slowly nodded.

“I checked… on some things,” Severus reluctantly explained. “On the headmaster’s orders. Unfortunately, I was somewhat… careless. It is very important that no one knows about it.”

“I understand,” Harry said, agitated, then bit his lip. “Does it… hurt very much?”

Severus made a face.

“The pain is bearable. I keep forgetting that you are only children. Do not worry, this is nothing.” He bent forward and seized Harry’s hand. “Do not tell anyone — do you hear me? Anyone! Especially Draco. Try to distract him today so he would not see me… limping. Everything will be fine by tomorrow.”

“Alright,” Harry whispered, although he was very curious.

“Good.” Severus smiled out of the corner of his mouth, rummaged somewhere on the left from him and gave Harry Quidditch through the Ages. “Go return this garbage to Madam Pince before she forms a grudge against you. And if you even think about reading books unrelated to the lessons in my class again…”

“I won’t! Honestly!” Harry swore, smiling brightly.

“I will pretend I believe you,” Severus grumbled. “Now off with you before I change my mind.”

Harry did not need to be told twice.

* * *

By that evening, Severus allowed himself to relax. The wounded leg pained him much less than in the morning, and there was hope that he would indeed stop limping the next day. If only Harry hadn’t entered at such an unfortunate moment! What was done was done, though. The only hope was that the boy would be sensible and keep quiet. Not that the Potions master really feared that Draco would tell whole school about the wound if he learned about it, but Mr. Malfoy Jr.’s insatiable curiosity could be compared only to that of his father. And Severus remembered quite vividly the expression on Draco’s face after meeting Fluffy. He would rather not have the boy’s habit of poking around make their lives any more difficult.

The majority of the professors gathered in the staff room before dinner, as usual. There were discussions of the latest students’ pranks, gossip, quarrels, bets and occasional Firewhisky drinks (when the day ended really well or, quite opposite, in complete disaster). Today, unsurprisingly for this time of the year, the conversation revolved around the upcoming opening of the Quidditch season.

“Minerva,” Severus started lazily, “let me express my condolences for Mr. Charles Weasley’s absence.”

“I bet you have been reserving this wisecrack since June,” McGonagall answered tartly. “I must admit that the dark glee suits you, though. Do you have any relatives in Maghreb?”

“Not that I can remember,” the Potions master replied with fake absentmindedness. “Do you have any from the Strofades?”

Out of the corner of the eye, Severus noticed Dumbledore grinning behind his beard. Bathsheba Babbling and Aurora Sinistra hurriedly gathered their parchments and bid their goodbyes, though — they did not want to be caught in the crossfire of spells if things would go too far.

“That’s a good one!” Minerva snorted with approval. “I have never heard it before.”

“I am happy to have cheered you up,” Severus formally inclined his head. “However, I am truly curious how your team will play without an experienced Seeker.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Minerva reflexively countered, choking on her own words the next second. “Oh, damn you!”

Severus laughed heartily.

“Confess it, how many years did you wait for me to say that?” she asked, smiling against her will.

“Too long to deny myself this pleasure at the moment of your misery,” the Potions master admitted.

No one knew how long this contest of wits would take, but the conversation was stopped by the knock on the door.

“Enter, please,” Dumbledore asked.

“Good evening.” Marcus Flint’s face was pale. “Sorry for interrupting, Professor…”

Severus had a bad feeling and sat up straighter.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Flint?”

“I’m sorry, sir.” The boy’s jaw was working as if he consciously made himself speak. “But I’m afraid that we’ll have to yield the game to the buff… erm…” he gave McGonagall a guilty glance, “to Gryffindor. Higgs has just broken his leg… in two places, sir. Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be unable to play tomorrow.”

Severus grinded his teeth, picturing the humiliation Minerva would put him through as soon as the student would leave.

“How did it happen?”

“Higgs says he slipped on a staircase on his way back from the library,” Flint answered with a grimace, as if the Slytherin Seeker had been attacked by violent textbooks.

“Did anyone… facilitate it?” Severus narrowed his eyes dangerously.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Flint shrugged. “Higgs says no.” The captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team made a scornful face. “He said he had been engrossed in a book and hadn’t been watching his steps. I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything, sir. If only…” He looked questioningly at the Potions master, but Severus shook his head sharply. “Well, then,” the boy sighed. “We don’t have another Seeker.”

“Do you not?” Dumbledore asked quietly. “I thought you had a reserve one.”

Damn it! As always, the headmaster chose the most inconvenient moment to show his omniscience.

“That is out of the question,” the Potions master cut it off.

“What is out of the question?” Minerva interfered.

“He will not play,” Severus did not bulge.

“You have a reserve Seeker, but you do not want to let him play?” McGonagall’s eyebrows went up.

“I cannot let him play,” Severus muttered through clenched teeth. “It is against the rules.”

“Mr. Flint,” Dumbledore started again, and everyone turned to him. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I think the rules forbid the first-years only to bring their own broom to the school. The absence of the first-years on the teams is more of a tradition rather than a direct prohibition. The newcomers usually do not have enough time to learn to fly in order to get into the team during the try-outs. It is not a problem in this case, though. What do you say, Mr. Flint?”

“I… I don’t know, sir,” Flint replied, perplexed. Then he livened up, “You really think so? That Harry can play?”

“Harry?” Minerva exclaimed leaning forward.

“Yes, Harry,” the Potions master admitted grimly. “I allowed him to train with the team as a reserve Seeker since September. I do not want to let him play, though. It is too dangerous for the boy of his age.”

Draco and he get into enough trouble already for me to turn grey much before my time, he thought darkly.

“I think this must be Harry’s decision,” Dumbledore said quietly.

“I think as his Head of House I have a right to decide for him!” Severus hissed.

“You could always yield the game,” Minerva grinned.

“Which will make you extremely happy,” Severus snapped at her.

“But sir!” Flint’s indignation knew no bounds.

The Potion’s master, who had managed to forget about the boy in the heat of the discussion, winced a little, took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. It would not do to undermine the teachers’ authority in front of a student.

“I understand that you worry about Harry,” the headmaster said in such a soothing voice that Severus ached to strangle him. “But the whole school will be present at the game. Minerva, Filius and you are formidable duellists. I think if you join the efforts, you will be able to protect the boy. If Harry wants to play, of course, and if his captain thinks he is ready.”

Marcus Flint nodded vehemently. And Severus gave up. He had no chance against Dumbledore.

“Harry does not have a broom,” he protested weakly, more for appearances sake.

“Potter is good with Higgs’ broom,” Flint said with pride. “It’s not the Two Thousand,” the expression on his face became dreamy, “but it’s still a nice Nimbus. I think Potter will do fine.”

“In that case, Mr. Flint,” Severus said wearily, “be kind and summon Mr. Potter here. If he is not in the dormitory, ask the Baron for help.”

“Yes, sir!” Flint barked grinning and disappeared.

“Blimey,” Minerva grumbled. “Just when we lost Charlie you got yourself a Potter!”

* * *

Harry did not believe in what was happening even as he entered the field with the Slytherin team. He was in a strange sort of trance since yesterday evening. Severus’ worried advice, Flint’s last instructions and Draco’s exciting cheers barely penetrated it.

“I want a fair game,” Madam Hooch said when everyone gathered around her. Weasley twins winked at Harry, and he felt a little calmer. “Mount your brooms!”

They soared into the air, and the game began. A dark-skinned third-year Gryffindor was commenting — Harry often saw him with Fred and George, but did not remember his name.

“…And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too—”

“Jordan!” McGonagall cut in warningly.

“Sorry, Professor!”

Harry listened to the commentary with half an ear, vigilantly searching the field for the Snitch. Don’t end up in the middle of a fight if you can help it, Flint warned him. We won’t have time to save you from the Bludgers. If you get hit, there will be nothing left to bury, shorty. Your only concern is the Snitch, got it? Something breezed above his head. Without a thought, Harry ducked and flew sideways, just like during trainings.

“Nice one, Harry!” one of the twins shouted. Harry, however, was quite certain that one of them had sent the Bludger his way. Quidditch before friendship, that’s for sure!

“…Johnson back in the possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she’s really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!”

The audience roared. The Gryffindor part of the stands drowned in red-and-gold insignia. Harry did not spare a thought for it. He was searching the field for the Snitch and keeping half an eye on the Gryffindor Seeker, a boy he did not know, maybe a year older. He was anxiously flying around, trying to look busy.

 ”Slytherin in possession,” Lee Jordan was saying, “Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?”

Harry has also already noticed the tiny gold ball and, without a thought, dived. The Gryffindor Seeker also saw it, and they started their chase, going head to head. In all the excitement, Harry forgot about the other players, shutting out the commentator’s words too, so when his broom made a sudden lurch, he was almost too late to understand what was going on. His reflexes saved him, as he managed to grip the broom tightly with both his hands and knees. The net moment, the boom began to fly up on its own, zigzagging through the air, and every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him. It was totally out of control, and Harry could do nothing but try to stay on it.

“Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell…” Jordan said, but suddenly lost the train of his thought. “Wait, what happened to Potter? It seems the Slytherin Seeker has lost control of the broom!”

* * *

Draco was following the match with undivided attention from the Slytherin stands. It was a pity that only Harry got lucky this time, but soon enough they would be playing together! Pansy, Millie and Blaise kept him company. Granger and Neville wanted to sit with them at first, but Pansy managed to convince them that it was unwise.

“I understand that Quidditch in itself is boring,” she said solemnly to the Gryffindor girl, dismissing the boys’ protests, “but your House unityis important. Weasley will have a fit if you sit with us! I’m not saying that this redhead idiot’s opinion matters at all, but you don’t want him to slander you again, do you? I don’t like Quidditch, but Slytherin needs support! And you need to support Gryffindor. We won’t mind, but your halfwit housemates will realize that you are one of them.”

Finally, Granger agreed. It seemed that Longbottom did not give a hoot about going to the game or not, let alone about the place to sit, so those two went to the section of the stadium occupied by the Gryffindors. Later Draco saw the Hogwarts Keeper of the Keys with them.

At first, everything went well. Draco and his friends watched the game anxiously. Even Pansy grew enthusiastic and was not able to sit on the bench calmly. Since she was more worried about Harry than about the game in general, she seldom put her binoculars down and thus was the first to realize that something went wrong.

“Look!” she squeaked in horror, pointing at Harry’s broom gone berserk. “What’s going on?”

A second later, the commentator noticed it too. Everyone jumped from their seats and started shouting; there was a terrible commotion. Draco turned to the teachers’ box and through binoculars saw Severus with effort mutter a courter curse, clutching his wand. Either he did not know what he was dealing with, however, or the distance was too great. Anyway, it looked like his actions were for naught. At the very best, they might have lessened the effect of the curse that someone obviously put on Harry’s broom. Who could it be, though? Definitely not a student. Well, it could be some phenomenally talented seventh-year, but… Draco knew enough about sport brooms to understand what a complex magic was required for their production and what powerful protection charms were used. One had to be a very powerful Dark Wizard to interfere with such work.

Draco turned to the field, scared to death. Harry and his broom were tossing like a leaf in a storm. Suddenly he lost his grip and slid off the broom. The audience gasped: now Harry was dangling in the air, holding to the broom with only one hand. It was obvious that he would not be able to hang on for long. Both teams abandoned the game. First Flint and Worth, then the Weasley twins tried just to snatch him, but the broom simply rose higher and thrashed more whenever someone approached. So they went lower and circled, hoping to catch Harry or at least to slow the fall. Even Bletchley left his position at the goalposts. Only the Gryffindor Seeker darted about the field confused; he either did not know what to do or hoped surreptitiously to catch the Snitch. In any other circumstances, Draco would have flared up (bending the rules was a Slytherin privilege, after all!), but it was not the time. Perplexed, he did not know how to help and turned again to see what Severus was doing. Amazingly enough, he saw Granger at the teachers’ box, stealthily making her way along the passage just above the seats. Then she crouched, aimed at somebody in the crowd, and blue flames shot from her wand. A cloak caught fire, someone cried out — Draco did not see exactly who it was, as this someone was sitting directly behind Severus. Granger, hidden by the backrests, fetched a jar from her pocket, scooped the fire and scrambled back. The whole affair took less than a minute.

“Potter is back on his broom again!” Jordan exclaimed. “No one knows what that was about, but now everything seems fine. I would like to mention an excellent example of fair play by the Gryffindor House, whose Beaters came to rescue the enemy Seeker. One can only admire their bravery…”

“Jordan!” McGonagall snapped, but her pride was evident in her voice.

Then Harry, who had just managed to straighten his broom, dived down. The audience gasped.

“Not again!” Jordan groaned.

“Oh my!” Pansy, who had been sitting with her face covered for the last couple of minutes and had just calmed enough to actually look at the field, promptly closed her eyes again.

Several yards off the ground Harry suddenly covered his mouth with his hand, as if sick, then landed, fell on all fours and dropped the broom. He coughed, straightened and raised his hand. Something glittered in it.

“I caught the Snitch!” he exclaimed with awe.

“Hurray!” Draco shouted with all his might, totally forgetting about manners due to overwhelming emotions and fright. He rushed down to the field, together with their friends.

The commotion was indescribable. A quarter of an hour later, after checking several editions of the rules, Madam Hooch declared Slytherin a winner by one hundred fifty to ten. The Gryffindor Seeker kept yelling that the result was unfair, as “Potter choked on it instead of catching!” No one was listening though, not even Oliver Wood who was not happy with the outcome. One of the Weasley twins even snorted, “Shut up, McLaggen!”

Marcus Flint looked as happy as he ever got. At least, Draco had never seen such an idiotic smile on his captain’s face before.

“Good job, Potter!” Flint clapped Harry on the shoulder with so much ardour that Harry’s knees buckled a little.

When the excitement of the game twice saved subdued a notch, Draco started looking for Granger in the crowd. He had every intention of finding out whom she had put on fire on the stalls and what all this really meant.

______________________

Footnotes:

Bedlam — originally the Priory of the New Order of St Mary of Bethlem, later an asylum for mentally ill in London city. It was founded in 1247, and had been used for housing “thedistracted” since 1377. Nowadays, it still functions as a hospital for mental illnesses under the name of Bethlem Royal Hospital.

Her parents probably have something to do with either Greek mythology or English literature… — Hermione is the only daughter of King Menelaus of Sparta and Helen of Troy and also the character from Shakespeare’s Winter Tale.

Brewster — old English form of “brewer”, that is either a beer brewer or a potions master. It is a very old surname.

Maghreb — the region of North-western Africa, including all the countries west of Egypt, according to the Arabs of the Middle Ages. Aladdin’s self-proclaimed uncle was from Maghreb.

Strofades, or Strophades — two small islands, part of the Ionian Islands in Aegean Sea. Strofades are best known as the dwelling-place of Harpies.

Chapter Text

“Quirrell?” Draco could not believe his ears. “That idiot? It can’t be. You must be mistaken, Granger.”

“It’s him, I’m telling you! I saw everything through the binoculars! He stared at Harry, pointed his wand and muttered something. He didn’t even blink. I know everything about such spells, trust me!”

“Severus also didn’t let Harry out of his sight. Do you suspect him too?”

“Of course not!” She was indignant. “We know everything about Professor Snape while this Quirrell guy… Also, when his robes caught fire, he got distracted, and Harry’s broom stopped somersaulting! It surely means something!”

“Yes,” Draco contemplated, “that’s true. We don’t know much about Quirrell, and he has been teaching here not that long, unlike McGonagall, Flitwick or Sprout. Whom can we question about him? We can’t ask Severus.”

“What?” Granger was surprised. “Aren’t you going to tell him?”

“About Quirrell? Of course I will,” Draco shook his head, annoyed. “That’s not the point. I can’t ask him questions. He’ll know we’re snooping around and will give us a whole load of detentions, so that we would be always nearby. Or worse, he can make Stapleton chaperone us.”

“So, we need to ask one of the teachers without anyone suspecting anything?” Granger grew thoughtful. “I don’t know…”

“I know! You need to speak to Hagrid!” Draco was enthusiastic. “He can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Who exactly is ‘you’?”

“Longbottom and you.”

“What about you and Harry?”

“First, we wouldn’t be able to drag Harry out of the dungeons till the end of the day. The team will be celebrating. They’ll soon start looking for me too, by the way. And second, Hagrid won’t tell us anything after the last time we met.”

Granger wavered a little, and then nodded decidedly.

“Alright. We’ll visit him in the afternoon. And let’s meet… tomorrow after breakfast, in the library.”

“Why there?” Draco frowned.

“No one will pay attention to us meeting this way. If I come to the dungeons, someone will notice and ask what I am doing down there.”

“Right,” Draco snorted quietly. “And no one will ask what you are doing in the library.”

For some reason Granger was not offended, she only smiled and ran away.

Draco shrugged and went to the dormitories to celebrate.

* * *

The official-looking scroll came with the evening post. La voilà enfin, Lucius smirked smugly.

Really, it was nine days since Halloween, and contrary to all expectations, the Ministry had been silent. He broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. The letter was not from Madam Bones, though.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I see now that you had not been joking about using too traditional and yet unorthodox methods. Even without knowing your reasons for what you did, I am well aware of the value that such information may have, especially for certain undesirable people.

Thus, I believe it to be of the utmost importance to personally discuss with you further possible actions (official and otherwise) that might need to be taken in order to keep this information secret.

Are you available tomorrow before noon?

Sincerely yours,

KS

“Sapristi!”

Apparently, Senior Auror Shacklebolt was not as straightforward as he looked. What was it, blackmail? A covert proposal for an alliance? If the latter, then for whose benefit? Or was it just sincere concern? In this case, why such a cloak-and-dagger approach?

Lucius shook his head. It was a pity that Liam Lloyd had rounded up so little information about Shacklebolt. After that warning in September, Lucius very carefully renewed his acquaintance with Lloyd. Liam was obviously amiable, but still kept his distance. It seemed he rather willingly provided information on his junior colleague, although it was sparse and differed very little from what was known to the public. The Shacklebolts were an old British Wizarding bloodline that had seen better days, and now were not as wealthy as they had been before. There were a lot of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in the family, with an occasional dash of Slytherins. They were mostly battle warlocks (thus the coat of arms), travellers or scientists. No politicians. Almost a century and a half ago, one Henry Shacklebolt, obsessed by wanderlust, ended up in Atlanta, which he later left with a Dixie wife. Their marriage was a happy one, although childless. As a result, Henry’s heir was his wife’s younger brother who agreed to abandon his American family ways for British ones. The man was pureblood enough, and the Shacklebolts were liberal enough to find this arrangement acceptable. For almost a century after that, nothing of interest happened apart from the fact that the new Shacklebolts seemed to be drawn to foreign girls. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s father, also a Henry, married a Frenchwoman, an artist of sorts, and, according to rumours, at this moment lived somewhere in Mexico, researching the roots of Latin-American Wizarding tradition. Kingsley himself studied at Beauxbatons and immediately after graduation joined the Auror office in 1983 when the echo of the First war died down. There was nothing interesting or exciting in his biography.

Except for this curious letter.

Frowning, Lucius took a quill and penned a short reply.

* * *

Saying that Severus was upset by the events on the Quidditch field would be misrepresenting facts. He was neither scared, nor upset. What he actually felt was, alternatively, horror or barely controlled rage. The blame for the latter should be placed solely on the shoulders of the Headmaster who had basically insisted on Harry’s participation in the game despite any objections and misgivings of the Head of Slytherin. The reason for the former could not be shared with anybody but Lucius; however, as Mr. Malfoy Senior was unfortunately not at hand at the time, Severus had to suffer in silence.

Close to midnight, Flitwick gloomily announced that even his vast knowledge of diagnostic magic had been exhausted. Minerva and Severus had already given up twenty minutes before that. As far as they could say, Harry’s broom had not been cursed in any way. Apart from the usual flying and other sport charms, no additional spells, jinxes or hexes could be found. This meant that the malicious magic had been used directly during the match, which in turn confirmed the Potions master’s worst suspicions.

Flitwick said his good-byes and went to bed, but Minerva stayed. Without any nonsensical chit-chat, Severus served them both a little of Ogden’s Finest — the day’s events did not call for mulled wine.

“Who could it be? What do you think?” Minerva asked slowly after several sips. Her question did not need a clarification.

“I don’t know,” Severus answered glumly. “My suspicions, as well as the Headmaster’s, point to one person, but…” he stopped.

“But what? Who is it?”

He hesitated.

“Tell me!”

“Nobody found out how the troll had got into the school. And Quirrell behaved rather strangely that day. Dumbledore asked me to keep an eye on him.”

“On Quirrell…?” The Gryffindor Head snorted dismissively. “It cannot be true. That nincompoop is not capable of anything, especially this sort of powerful magic. I saw how hard it was for you to keep the counter-curse going!”

“Exactly,” Severus agreed gloomily. “But if it was not him, then who was it?”

“An extremely talented seventh-year student?”

Severus did not even grace this absurd guess with an answer. Judging by Minerva’s hesitation, she did not believe her own hypothesis herself. Both were silent for several minutes, staring into their empty glasses.

“And the ‘but’?” Minerva remembered suddenly.

“You see,” Severus started begrudgingly having reached a decision, “when I did the counter-spell, I felt the presence of… of someone who just could not possibly be there in person.”

Minerva gave the Potions master an anxious glance, and he nodded — slowly and grimly.

* * *

“What’s taking you so long? You are fumbling with the porridge as if it’s Polyjuice potion! When are you going to finish, really?!”

Harry looked at Draco in astonishment. They entered the Great Hall only ten minutes ago and had just started eating breakfast. They had a long and wonderful Sunday ahead of them, and nowhere to hurry!

“What’s got into you?” he asked, leisurely cutting an apple.

“Nothing!” Draco snapped. Then he suddenly whispered: “We have an important meeting!”

“What meeting?”

“An important one! Can’t you eat a little faster?”

Harry decided that it was easier to give in and hastily finished his porridge.

“So, where are we going?”

“To the library!”

Not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, Harry obediently followed his brother to the library. He was not surprised at all when he saw Hermione there. There were many big volumes around her, and she was clearly looking for something in one of them. He could not help, but wonder when Draco first passed her by, then stopped suddenly, turned around and asked, “Granger, do you really need Alchemy for Beginners?”

“What? Ah, good morning, Draco. Yes, I do need this book,” she replied.

“In this case, I will have to tolerate your company again,” Draco confidently announced and sat down across from her.

Harry looked at both of them quizzically and sat down too.

“You are both mad,” he said quietly, but with feeling. “If you won’t stop fooling around, half of the school will know that you’re up to something. Now, can you tell me please what it is all about?”

Draco and Hermione looked at each other.

“You start,” Draco nodded.

“Neville and I visited Hagrid yesterday, right around tea time,” Hermione whispered. “He invited us for tea, of course. He praised your Quidditch skills, Harry, so it was easy enough to turn the conversation to the topic we wanted to discuss.”

“Which topic?” Harry asked suspiciously. “Did I miss something important?”

Draco and Hermione looked at each other again.

“We think you were attacked yesterday,” Draco said quietly.

“I’ve noticed that myself, thank you,” Harry made a face. His whole body still hurt after yesterday’s crazy broom ride. “Severus, Flitwick and McGonagall spent the whole evening checking the broom. Flint says they didn’t find anything.”

“Harry, we think it was Quirrell,” Hermione whispered, agitated.

“You think,” Draco corrected.

“I’m almost sure. He stared at you the whole game, Harry, and when I set his robes on fire, he got distracted, and your broom immediately straightened.”

“It is suspicious,” Harry conceded thoughtfully. “But what does Hagrid have to do with it?”

“We wanted to question him. To learn what he knows about…”

“And?” Draco cut her off impatiently.

She glared at him.

“I will tell if someone will stop interrupting me. We talked about the incident with Harry’s broom. I said that it was definitely a jinx, one performed by a teacher because students couldn’t have mastered it. Hagrid started objecting, saying that no teacher here would hurt a student. Then I said, “You must know everyone around here for a long time!” He smiled and started talking. It turns out, he studied here in one year with Professor McGonagall, can you imagine?”

“Old news,” Draco grumbled.

“So you knew about that?” Harry sounded surprised. “How?”

Draco looked embarrassed.

“I didn’t know anything,” he mumbled. “Why is McGonagall important, anyway?”

“Just in case,” Hermione countered. “You never know in advance what might be useful.”

“Or not useful,” Draco snorted. “Alright, I shut up. Sorry,” he added, seeing hurt on Hermione’s face and reproach on Harry’s.

Hermione cleared her throat.

“So, he talked a lot about his time at school and what a good Head Girl McGonagall was. We decided not to interrupt and just listen. When people don’t think that you want to know something specific, they talk a lot more.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Judging by the expression on Draco’s face, he desperately wanted to ask just how the Gryffindor girl learned that, but he kept it to himself. Hermione noticed them glancing at each other, though. And, strangely enough, she smiled slyly.

“At first, my parents didn’t like me reading constantly and asking a lot of questions. They thought that I should choose books for my age and be interested in the same things as the girls from my school class. Anyway, I learned to listen what they talked about when they thought I was busy with something else.”

“And then?” Harry asked.

“What?” She did not understand.

“You said ‘at first they didn’t like it’.”

“Oh,” she shrugged. “They got used to it, I suppose.”

“I am sorry to interrupt…” Draco said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Right,” Hermione conceded. “You are right, we keep getting side-tracked. So, Hagrid first talked about himself, and then I asked him as if by chance who taught DADA at that time. It turns out the teachers for this subject change constantly! That is, at Hagrid’s time it was different, there was one teacher, but soon after the war, they started changing every year and keep doing so! Professor Quirrell taught Muggle studies at first, then he spent a whole year away and now he teaches DADA!”

“Well, at least it means that we’ll have a better teacher next year,” Draco snorted. “That’s good.”

“So he left the castle for a while,” Harry repeated slowly. “Interesting…”

“Is it?”

“How do we know that he is Quirrell?”

Draco and Hermione stared at him.

“Hmm,” Draco frowned. “You do have a point. It should be easy to play his part with that stupid turban and his stutter…”

“He didn’t stutter before,” Hermione added. “Nor did he wear a turban. Hagrid wondered what happened to him. Quirrell wasn’t afraid of vampires before that mysterious vacation. At least, not that much.”

Harry jumped suddenly, barely biting back a cry.

“We’ve all been complete idiots,” he exclaimed. “Well, at least Draco and I.”

“Why am I an idiot?” Draco was offended.

“We saw Quirrell before! In Diagon Alley, remember? During the summer… He had no turban then. And no stutter.”

“Then it’s all clear,” Draco concluded grimly. “This must be an imposter. Do you remember during the first lesson he said ‘I’m glad to meet you’? He probably didn’t know that we’ve already met the real Quirrell.”

“How is this possible?” Hermione interjected. “Why has no one noticed that it’s not him? All right, you didn’t because you had met him only once. But he worked here before! Other teachers and senior students saw him. Why has no one suspected anything? And why does he attract so much attention to himself? Ok, I can believe that he stutters, but the rest of it? Do you really think he’s that barmy? And if he’s just pretending, then why?”

“This I can understand,” Draco replied. “It’s easy to change appearance, but behaviour… If you pretend to be a stuttering idiot, no one will notice if you make a mistake.”

“Easy to change appearance…?” Hermione asked.

“There’s a potion,” Draco explained absentmindedly. “There are other ways. I’ll explain later in details if you want. It doesn’t matter how it was done, it’s important that it’s possible… We need to watch him. Have you learned anything else?”

Hermione looked around to be sure that no one was sitting too close. After checking that no one was listening in, she said, “Yes. It’s the most interesting part. When Hagrid talked of Quirrell, Neville said something really strange. He said, ‘I am curious, does Professor Quirrell know what the three-headed dog is guarding on the third floor?’”

“What?” Draco gasped.

“That’s was exactly what Hagrid exclaimed, and he even dropped the tea pot,” Hermione continued in agitated whisper. “He was so terrified! ‘How did you learn about Fluffy?’ he said. And Neville asked as if nothing happened, ‘Who is Fluffy?’”

“Wow!” Harry was impressed.

“So?” Draco demanded. “What happened next?”

Hermione stared at the boys.

“I think you know something I don’t,” she grumbled. “Anyway, Hagrid said this three-headed Fluffy is his pet. Some Greek person he met in a pub a year ago sold it to him, and now this Fluffy guards…”

“What?” Draco leaned forward in anticipation.

“No one knows,” Hermione sighed. “At that moment Hagrid caught himself and fell silent. Well, almost. He also said that it was none of our business and we should keep out because it’s dangerous, Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel will deal with it.”

“Flamel?” Draco was astonished. “Are you sure that he mentioned Flamel?”

Hermione nodded.

“Yeah. I asked him again, and he was so beside himself that he slipped again. I think it’s someone important.”

Draco moaned, barely audibly.

“Do you know this name?” Harry was surprised.

“You would too,” Draco snapped, “if you read anything on Potions besides the school textbook. Nicolas Flamel is the greatest alchemist in the world.”

“Why isn’t he mentioned in The Greatest Wizards of the twentieth century then?” Hermione asked, perplexed. “I know it, because I read it twice.”

Draco smiled mysteriously.

“Because he became famous long before that.”

“In the nineteenth century?” Hermione guessed. “Is he that old?”

Harry deduced from his brother’s smile that the man was much older.

“Listen,” he started in a whisper. “People are staring, because we’re only talking and not reading or doing anything else. Madam Pince might come to check. We need to meet somewhere else. You know where, do you? Today after dinner. And one more thing: we need to invite Neville and discuss it together.”

Draco nodded vehemently.

“And Professor Snape?” asked Hermione.

“What about him?”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Yes,” Draco promised. “But not today. We’ll talk to Longbottom first.”

* * *

This time Kingsley Shacklebolt did not smile or joke; his every movement spoke of intense concentration. He followed Lucius to the study, declined coffee without a word and stayed silent for a while, staring into the distance.

Lucius waited patiently.

“I think,” Shacklebolt finally said, “it will be better if we first deal with the official part of my visit.”

“I am all ears.”

The Auror took a scroll with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seal out of his robe’s pocket.

“May I use your quill and ink?”

“My table is at your disposal.”

“Thank you.” Shacklebolt moved to the table; Lucius sat in an armchair across from him. “Mr. Malfoy, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be very grateful if you very briefly answer a few questions.” He slightly stressed the word ‘very’.

“I will do my best.”

“Thank you. Let us start. Are you or are you not the guardian and legal representative of Mr. Harry James Potter?”

“Yes, I am.”

Lucius noted with interest that Shacklebolt carefully wrote down the question and the answer. Judging by the barely visible glow that appeared when he put the stop mark, the parchment was charmed against later additions and other manipulations.

“Did you,” he continued calmly, “conduct a category B restricted ritual on the night from October 31st to November 1st?”

“Yes, I did,” Lucius replied, smirking inside. Despite the spell being of category B (category A consisted of the Unforgivable Curses), the ‘restricted’ part in this case meant only voluntary participation of mentally healthy adults. The spell simply did not work without that condition fulfilled, so the Ministry could have not bothered adding it to any restricted lists.

“Is it true that this action was caused by your concern for Mr. Potter’s safety?”

Now Lucius allowed himself a small smile, as he knew now exactly what Shacklebolt was aiming at.

“Yes, it is definitely so.”

“Do you have any serious reason to think that there is a threat to Mr. Potter’s life and health?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And was the ritual you used meant to diminish or eliminate the aforementioned threat?”

“Yes, it was.”

“If the ritual and its consequences become public, might it be dangerous for Mr. Potter?”

“Yes, it is very likely.”

Shacklebolt nodded, satisfied.

“In this case, do you agree, as Mr. Potter’s guardian, to seal all the Ministry documents concerning Mr. Potter, his relations and other connections with the standard Seal of Silence?”

“Yes, I do.”

Shacklebolt finished writing the last clause and without a word passed the parchment and the quill to Lucius. After carefully reading the paper and making sure it had no additions, Lucius signed it and returned to the Auror. Kingsley signed it too, then took out his wand and tapped the parchment three times. The Ministry seal glowed golden, and the parchment duplicated itself.

“Please, take the copy,” Shacklebolt said. “I will have the original.”

“You?” Lucius asked, curious. “Not the Archives?”

“No,” Shacklebolt finally smiled. “Now everything concerning you and your family is strictly confidential. Only I have access to it. And Madame Bones, of course.”

“What about the Minister?”

“He does not,” Shacklebolt shook his head. “Even the Unspeakables will have to ask my permission for getting any specific information.”

“C’est trés merveilleux,” Lucius muttered absentmindedly.

“Je suis d’accord,” the Auror replied, smirking, in fluent French.

“Je voudrais savoir s’il y a un prix.”

“Il y a toujours un prix.”

Lucius looked questioningly at his guest.

“You see, Mr. Malfoy,” Shacklebolt spoke English again, “I do not think it is in the best interests of Wizarding Britain to stand in the way of the only man who holds its future in his hands.”

“I sincerely hope you are exaggerating.”

“Not a bit. I think you should know that you are not the only one with friends in the Department of Mysteries.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Lucius answered impassively, but a shiver ran down his spine. “Do continue, please.”

“I will be frank,” Shacklebolt leaned forward a little. “I think it will save us a lot of time, actually. You are the guardian of the Boy Who Lived. Unlike the general public and our esteemed Minister,” the corner of his mouth curved up, “the selected employees of our Department know full well that it is not just a fancy title that in the future will make its owner shine on the cover of Witch Weekly.”

Lucius allowed himself a snort.

Shacklebolt gave a fleeting grin and then became serious again.

“The fate of the country depends heavily on your ability to prepare Mr. Potter for the perils that lie ahead. And we would be insane to stand in your way.”

“Aren’t you putting too much faith in an eleven-year-old child?”

“I am afraid that we have no one else to put it in. Besides, trust me, no one is expecting the impossible. Either from you or from the boy.”

“In this case, what exactly is… your generous offer about?”

“You give us information concerning any potential threat, anything you deem relevant. The Department reciprocates and protects you from the interference of any third party.”

Lucius thought about it. Then he smiled slowly, “I hope you are aware that there are forces in Britain that even you cannot control.”

“Of course, I am. I am afraid, however, that you will have to deal with them on your own. Perhaps, you will be able to find… some household remedy.”

* * *

Despite their concerns, it was easy to meet up in the dungeons. However, Severus, looking as dark as the sky before rain, summoned the boys before lunch and strictly forbade them to leave first year dormitories without a chaperone while he was gone.

“I will be back before dinner,” he announced in a chilly tone. “And I would like to see you alive and preferably in one piece when I return. Do not leave the school and, for Merlin’s sake, refrain from snooping around for half a day. I hope you possess at least some common sense. If anything happens,” he frowned, “ask the Baron to help. He has greater power in the dungeons than in any other part of the castle. I hope he will be able to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Harry and Draco promised their godfather to be sensible, to listen to Baron de Combrai and assured him that they do not plan to get into any trouble today.

“Something to be thankful for,” Severus grumbled and was off without even having lunch.

“What Dad will say, I wonder?” Harry whispered.

“Nothing good, I bet,” Draco answered.

After lunch, they waited for Hermione and Neville in the Entrance hall, and then slipped into the dungeons. The Bloody Baron escorted them all the way hiding a smirk, so no one stopped them: the students of other Houses got out of their way as soon as they saw the ghost, while Slytherins took more notice of their House spectre than of some first-years.

Blaise, Millie and Pansy noticed, of course, where their friends were headed, but did even not think of asking questions. At least, at that time. They could interrogate them later, so why bother?

Once Hermione was separated from Geraint, everyone gathered near the fake window on soft pillows.

“What did you mean, Longbottom?” Draco demanded.

“What do I mean by what?” Neville was taken aback.

“When you asked Hagrid what his three-headed dog was guarding? Why did you admit that you had been there at all?”

Neville blushed.

“Don’t the teachers know already? Your… I mean, Professor Snape caught us there.”

“What?” Hermione was astonished. “I knew you were hiding something! Tell me everything right now!”

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

“It’s all your fault,” Draco muttered.

“My fault?”

“It’s not me who is friends with… those,” Draco gestured to the Gryffindors.

“What do you mean ‘those’?” Hermione flared up.

Harry sighed.

“Alright,” he announced. “I’ll tell you.”

He sat comfortably and told their story, the short version, of course. He did not mention the twins, Ron Weasley and the duel, only said that Draco and he went to the Trophy Room at night on a dare. He described Filch’s sudden appearance, their escape, the accidental encounter with Neville and the adventure in the forbidden wing briefly, but accurately. Hermione groaned, went pale and tut-tutted disapprovingly.

“Boys!” she only said after Harry finished. “Alright, I got it. Now I want to know what Neville meant.” She turned to him. “Why do you think the dog is guarding something?”

Neville stared at Draco and Harry in surprise.

“Didn’t you see?”

“Didn’t see what, Longbottom?” Draco asked impatiently and sharply.

“It was standing on a trapdoor,” Neville answered, puzzled, dismissing Draco’s rudeness. Since their memorable detention with Snape, he became much more confident. Harry was no longer surprised that the Hat sent Neville to Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff, as Draco predicted on the train.

“What trapdoor?” Hermione frowned.

“There was a trapdoor,” Neville explained patiently. “I was so afraid when I saw the dog that I could only stand and stare.” He blushed a little. “That’s when I saw it. The dog was chained, so no one could come close to the trapdoor. I think it’s guarding something that’s hidden down there. Why keep the beast there otherwise?”

No one could contradict this theory. The four of them looked at each other.

“So,” Hermione started in her ‘adult’ voice, “what do we have? First, a three-headed dog is sitting in a hall on the third floor, guarding something valuable. Second, Professor Snape, Hagrid, Headmaster Dumbledore and someone named Flamel know about it.”

And Filch, Harry thought, remembering the encounter in the staffroom. Since he promised his godfather not to tell anyone, he decided not to share this, though.

“Third,” Draco continued, “Hagrid is very interested in the Gringotts break-in this summer, remember?”

The Gryffindors nodded. The Prophet mentioned the incident so often that even Hermione knew about the attempted robbery.

“It means he took something out of that vault that was robbed later,” Harry added. “He mentioned some ‘Hogwarts business’ that was supposed to be very secret. I think Fluffy is guarding what he took from the bank, whatever it is.”

“What a name for a beast,” Draco grumbled. “Only Hagrid could think of that.”

“What is there, I wonder?” Hermione said thoughtfully. “And what does this Flamel have to do with it?”

Draco stared at the girl incredulously.

“Are you seriously saying that you know nothing about him?”

All the others just stared at him, not understanding.

“Nicolas Flamel,” Draco said slowly, “is the only man in history who managed to create a Philosopher’s Stone.”

“What is that?” Hermione asked bravely, seeing that everybody else looked lost.

Draco just rolled his eyes.

“Come on!” he said. “I had no real hopes for Longbottom, and Granger can be excused, as her parents are Muggles, even if in the old days Muggles used to know about such things too. But you, Harry?! The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which makes the drinker immortal.”

“It can’t be! Why do wizards keep dying then?” the Gryffindor girl exclaimed.

“Because no one knows how to create the Stone,” Draco whispered in agitation. “People have tried to make it for centuries, of course, but everyone failed. Only Flamel succeeded, but he keeps his secret.”

“You bet!” Harry snorted. “So you think the Stone is in Hogwarts?”

“This is ridiculous!” Hermione shook her head. “To hide such a thing in a school?”

“What would you propose if you were in their place?” Draco squinted.

“Some place more secure. For example, some…”

“Bank?”

All of them looked at each other.

“Alright,” Hermione said. “I might see why the Gringotts is out. But why here?”

“Good question,” Draco conceded. “We need to find out what Dumbledore and Flamel have in common.”

“What’s the point?” Neville asked.

Harry shrugged.

“None at the moment. It could come handy later, though. The Headmaster has some very interesting acquaintances.”

“It would be much more interesting to know,” Hermione remarked, “who is looking for this hidden thing. Considering that according to rumours, Gringotts is guarded by dragons…”

“I think,” Neville interfered, “the most important thing is to find out who is trying to hurt Harry.”

“What is there to find out? “Hermione snorted a little. “It’s Quirrell. I mean, the fake Quirrell. It explains everything: the reason for his stupid turban, garlic and stutter…”

“…and why he’s always staring at me,” Harry added glumly.

“We must find out who he is,” Hermione concluded firmly.

“If I may…” Baron de Combrai boomed suddenly, and everyone jumped.

“Yes, Your Lordship?” Draco inquired politely.

“If I were you I would have taken care of Mr. Potter’s safety, instead of trying to reveal your opponent’s identity. I would think that if something happens to him, Professor Snape will be very displeased, as well as your parents.”

Draco shuddered.

“That’s so true. And I will have to suffer the consequences, by the way.”

“Well, thanks,” Harry teased.

“Boys,” Hermione reproached. “His Lordship is right, this is very serious. We should plan our actions so that this Quirrell, or whoever he is, couldn’t hurt Harry.”

Everyone fell silent.

“He wouldn’t dare to do anything during classes or in the Great Hall,” Harry noted. “He’s not stupid enough to play a nasty trick in front of so many witnesses.”

“As if the Quidditch match was a one-on-one business,” Neville said.

“That was different,” Draco frowned. “There were too many witnesses. And everyone was occupied with the game. The only reason Granger noticed something was because she’s not very interested in Quidditch. And usually people like her don’t come to games at all.”

“Do you suggest that I skip all the games?” Harry flared.

“Yes!” his friends replied in unison.

“And no training too!” Hermione said sternly.

“I believe,” Baron said calmly, “this is a sensible precaution. If you also try not to walk alone anywhere, even in my dungeons, and to stay in the dormitories after curfew, it will be even better.”

“I will keep an eye on him,” Draco promised.

 ____________________

Footnotes:

La voilà enfin (Fr.) — (in this case) Finally!

Sapristi (Fr.) — Well, well!

C’est trés merveilleux… — the conversation between Lucius and Shacklebolt in French:

“It is just wonderful.”

“I agree.”

“I would like to know if this has a price.”

“Everything has a price.”

Chapter Text

Sunday began with Severus hopelessly oversleeping. After all the troubles of the day before, he managed to forget about the alarm-сlock charm. As a result, he woke up incredibly late: at almost eleven. Cursing stupid Tinky (it did not occur to her to wake him up), he went searching for his charges even without any breakfast. Strangely enough, the children were in the library doing their homework as was to be expected. Satisfied that the boys were not planning any mischief, Severus left without revealing himself.

Now he was facing a far more unpleasant task: telling the headmaster who had been absent from school on some Ministry business yesterday about the incident on the Quidditch field and the depressing results of the investigation. Severus honestly stated all his ideas and suspicions: the situation was too dangerous to get side-tracked by some political games.

“You know, you might be right,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully when the Potions master finished his story. “I felt his presence too, a while back.”

“And you did not tell me?” Severus flared up. “Are you out of your mind?” He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. Despite his insufferable nature, the headmaster always had a reason for his actions and did not deserve such rudeness… “I apologize. I should not have said that.”

“Do not worry, my boy,” The headmaster smiled slightly. “Firstly, your indignation is quite understandable. Secondly, no one really knows if I am out of my mind...”

“…or inside someone else’s,” Severus muttered.

Dumbledore laughed.

“You have no idea how much you delight me, Severus. Unlike,” he became serious again, “the situation at hand. I did not tell you about my suspicions for one reason only: I did not want to alarm you more than necessary. You have enough troubles on your hands, and I was not sure about the source of my feelings. More precisely, if you pardon me, I assumed that I could feel his increasing pressure upon you,” he nodded at Severus’ left arm. “It has increased, has it not?”

“A little,” the Potions master acknowledged, “but not that much. The Mark is barely visible, and only if you look very closely. Then again, the resistance I felt during the match was not from the inside. Somewhere close, but not from the inside.”

“Close? From the teachers’ stands, would you say?” the headmaster frowned and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Was it really Quirinus? I can hardly believe it.”

Severus snorted.

“Minerva thinks he is a worthless twit. And, frankly speaking, I agree with her. I cannot stand him as you know full well, but I have difficulty believing that he is capable of doing such magic as we saw yesterday.”

Dumbledore took off his glasses and started cleaning them, staring at Severus; his gaze became even more tenacious and intent if that were possible.

“You see, Quirinus is a little… simpleminded. But even simpleminded people have ambitions. And Tom can be very persuasive, as you are well aware. Far more astute people have been trapped in his net.”

Severus winced.

“I know that better than anyone. I have nothing to say to it. Another thing disturbs me: I have never felt his presence near Quirrell before. After all, we regularly meet in the Great Hall and during staff meetings. I did not eat in the Great Hall yesterday evening and this morning, though…”

“And this means that we need to wait and watch. Will you tell Lucius?”

“Do I have a choice?” Severus asked gloomily. “Of course, I will. As soon as I have a spare moment...”

As soon as he finished, they heard wings flapping, and an eagle owl with a small parcel tied to its leg flew into the open window.

Silently cursing Lucius and his unfortunate timing, the Potions master unfolded and read the letter under Dumbledore’s curious scrutiny.

Viens si ça te convient. Si ça ne te convient pas, viens quand même.

“It looks like,” he said sourly, “Lucius thinks that I have a spare minute right now.”

“Of course,” the headmaster nodded. “Go.”

“Thank you.” Severus folded the letter and put it into his pocket. “I will tell the boys to be careful and will ask de Combrai to look after them in the dungeons…”

“And I will take care of the rest. Do not worry.”

* * *

To Harry’s immense displeasure, Draco let Millie, Pansy and Blaise into the secret as soon as Nott and his cronies left. As least into that part of the secret that concerned Quirrell. Everyone immediately agreed that Harry should never be left alone anymore.

“We all should guard him in turns,” Millie announced. “We can’t all go everywhere together all the time. And it would be too obvious. However, if there were only two of us with Harry at any moment... By the way, should we tell anyone else? There are four of us; Granger and Longbottom already know too, it makes three pairs.”

“That’s quite enough,” Harry said hastily. “There is no need to alarm the whole castle.”

“Slytherins are already beginning to talk,” Blaise said solemnly. “While you were gone this morning, we’ve heard a lot of things. Some people are accusing the Gryffs’ team, of course, as your injury benefitted them most. The redheaded twins tried very much to save you, though. Flint was wondering about it the whole morning until Pucey remembered that you had been seen in their company.”

“Yes, we talked with them a couple of times,” Harry admitted guardedly. “They are nice guys. What else is being said?”

“That someone of the senior Ravens must be responsible because no one else has the brains for it; that it was an outsider because there could be no one else; that it was you because you only seek attention,” Blaise listed obediently. “The last version was the favourite among Nott and his gorillas; they shouted about it for a long time until Olivia threatened them with a detention. Then they shut up.”

“Is that all?” Draco inquired.

“No,” Blaise started whispering. “Some of the seniors said that You Know Who is back.”

“Voldemort?” Harry was surprised.

Both girls winced and shivered.

“You can’t say his name!” Millie flared in a whisper.

“Dad always says it, and nothing happens,” Harry countered quietly. “Which means it’s not dangerous.”

“I’m still scared,” Pansy admitted.

“Alright,” Harry shrugged. “Whatever you say. Let him be the One with the Most Stupid Name in the World.”

Everyone laughed — even if awkwardly and a bit nervously.

“What about him?” Draco prodded.

“Nothing special,” Blaise replied. “I think they were really scared. When they noticed me around they changed the subject.”

“So it’s only rumours,” Harry concluded. “There is nothing of interest.”

At this moment Nott, Crabbe and Goyle returned to the boys’ dormitory. When they appeared, everyone stood up and went to the Common Room, and there was no opportunity to discuss their secret, so they changed the subject.

Only late at night and already in bed, Harry realized that, firstly, they did not decide what to tell Severus and, secondly, Draco did not mention the Philosopher’s Stone at all.

* * *

“Do you realize what you are doing?” Severus asked, rushing into Lucius’ study. “Do you know what I was doing when Sherlock delivered that note?”

“You were talking to Dumbledore,” Lucius answered impassively. “When anything happens to you or to me, you always talk to Dumbledore. I got used to it. So what happened at the Quidditch field?”

“How do you know?”

“It is elementary, my friend. You did not object, ergo, you did talk to the headmaster. You had no time to find out what happened to me which means something happened to you. Since the first game of the season was yesterday, it is very probable that something occurred there. Am I right?”

“Yes, you are,” Severus waved his hand and sat down. “But I am afraid that is not a joking matter. Someone attempted to kill Harry yesterday. By throwing him off his broom, to be exact.”

Lucius’ calmness evaporated immediately.

“What Harry was doing on a broom during a game, may I ask?”

Severus grimly told the whole story starting with Higgs’ broken leg, the headmaster’s interference and the crazy broom.

“May I kill Dumbledore, please?” Lucius asked wearily when Severus was done.

“I’d rather you kill Quirrell. It will solve most of our problems. I am sure Cissy will be allowed to visit you once in a while. Every third Sunday, for example.”

“Ridiculous.”

“You are quite right. I have no idea what to do. For now, I asked the Baron to look after the boys, but it is only a temporary measure. And it is not even the worst part of it. Do you know whose presence I felt when I tried a counter-curse?”

Lucius’ face darkened even more.

“I can guess. Was he close?”

“Very.”

“This is bad. We must activate the wards as soon as possible. Can you take the boys home earlier?”

“I think we can hold till Christmas. He is weak now as far as I can tell. And I will not let Quirrell out of my sight.”

“Good. What about that stone of yours?”

Severus snorted.

“Of mine... Ha! It looks quiet. The children have not approached it again. Luckily, Harry is very sensible for his age. They have no time to wander around the castle: Quidditch practices take up a lot of time. There was a reason I agreed to it, you know…”

“Yes,” Lucius replied sourly. “I noticed.”

“You are welcome to take my place,” Severus snapped. “I think Dumbledore will agree just to see the results.”

“Alright, alright, do not get riled up.”

“By the way, was there a reason for you to invite me?”

Lucius smirked and cheered up a little.

“Oh, I have a hectic social life these days. I had a visitor from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, with a very interesting proposal.”

“Which, of course, you declined.”

“Which, of course, I accepted,” Lucius said with a smirk. “However, this agreement has consequences which you will have to take care of.”

Severus sighed.

“I knew it.”

* * *

A week after the infamous “war counsel” Harry was about to climb up the wall. His friends took the threat of an attack very seriously. Harry did not get to spend a single minute outside the Slytherin Common Room alone. To his horror, either Draco or Blaise followed him even to the toilet.

When Harry tried to object, Draco said, “The toilets in this school have a bad reputation. There are trolls there and Merlin knows what else. You don’t want to end up in Granger’s place alone, do you?”

Harry did not. Although he wanted even less to look like an idiot in his schoolmates’ eyes. Sadly, even dim-witted Crabbe and Goyle started to take notice of all these manoeuvers, not to mention Nott.

“Guard for His Highness!” he shouted one morning when Harry was about to step out of the Common Room into the corridor.

Giggles were heard all over the room, of course. Harry shrugged and pretended he had not noticed, but his hands just itched to hit Nott. Sometime later, someone drew a huge frog with a Snitch in its mouth on the blackboard in the Transfigurations classroom. As McGonagall did not get an admission, she took a point off each House so no one could feel offended.

Whispers spread out of Slytherin too. Ron Weasley joined the mockers with evident pleasure, as well as some people from other Houses. Although no one of their crowd, even those not privy to the secret, laughed.

“Some people’s intellect leaves much to be desired,” Padma once said haughtily to her sister, as they both examined Ron from head to toe. The girls looked like they noticed a slug in a strawberry bush.

Sadly, it seemed like the redhead did not know what ’intellect’ was.

Anyway, all this constant supervision and mockery drove Harry into quiet rage. Finally, when during an Astronomy lesson under the cover of darkness someone pinned a note to him that said “The Coward Who Lived”, Harry had enough.

“Thank you very much,” he grumbled, shoved the paper into Draco’s hand and ran down the stairs before anyone could blink. After reaching the dungeons, he deliberately turned the wrong way, dove into one of the unused classrooms full of rubbish, crawled under a broken desk and hid in a pile of some dusty rags — old window or canopy curtains, or something like that. Just as he anticipated, soon there were voices in the corridors outside. His alarmed friends were searching for him, but it did not occur to anyone to look in this cluttered room. Several minutes later everything went quiet. Everyone must have gone to de Combrai’s apartment. The Baron would instantly find him if they asked for the ghost’s help, but until then Harry had a chance to sit here alone and to rub it in, at least for five minutes.

It seemed like five, then fifteen minutes passed, but no one came. Dim light poured from the false window, and in the twilight he could barely see the shape of things around him. In the far corner, some glassy rectangular surface gleamed.

Harry started feeling like a fool. It was time to get up, dust himself off and go to make peace. If I fall asleep here, he thought drowsily, they will alarm the whole castle, and Severus will definitely kill me.

“Harry?” said a voice from the door. “Are you in there?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, relieved and ashamed at the same time.

Draco silently slipped into the room, came closer and sat beside him.

“Don’t be angry,” he begged. “I think we really overdid it.”

“Don’t be angry too,” Harry replied. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

“Mmm.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“They must be searching for us,” Harry said tentatively.

“Nah. I told them I knew where you were and that they should just go to sleep. They think you’re at de Combrai’s.”

“How did you guess that I was not there?”

Draco snorted quietly.

“It’s easy. I would have turned the other way, too. Let’s go, shall we?”

The boys stood up and dusted themselves off, as the rags they sat on were really dirty. Harry sneezed loudly and quickly put a hand over his mouth.

“There’s no one here. Only the Baron is somewhere around, but he won’t give us away. Hey, what is that?”

Harry turned. Draco was pointing at that shiny surface in the far corner.

“I think it’s a mirror.”

“What is it doing here? Let’s go and look.”

Harry nodded, and they started carefully making their way through the piles of broken desks and dirty scratched chairs. Finally, they ended up in the corner near the window.

There was indeed a huge mirror in a gilded frame. Its luxuriously carved top almost touched the ceiling; the legs looked like griffon’s paws.

The mirror did not reflect them. Instead of them, there were some trees bending under a gale, probably some forest. Harry gazed deeper and realized that he knew the place; it was not far from the Malfoy manor on the road to the Parkinsons’. As soon as he understood what he was seeing, the image changed. There was the manor’s park, then the house itself. The windows glowed bright, warm and comforting, and Harry suppressed a sigh. He had not realised he missed home so much.

“This is great,” he said quietly.

Draco did not answer. Harry turned and saw that something was wrong with his brother. Draco was looking into the mirror as if bewitched, the expression on his pale face stupefied and horrified.

“Draco?”

Only then did Harry suspect that they were seeing different things. At first, he thought that the mirror showed the viewer familiar faces and places as such magical objects were very common. But why was Draco so scared then?

“Hey,” he shook Draco’s shoulder.

His brother gained his senses, shuddered and jumped away from the mirror.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

Draco only shook his head.

“No… This can’t be,” he managed at last. “This is a nightmare. An illusion...”

“What did you see there?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco shook his head again and stepped away. “Let’s go. I don’t like it. It must be some Dark artefact.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. “It’s strange. It didn’t show me anything out of ordinary.” He sighed with regret.

“What did you see?” Draco inquired suddenly without taking his eyes off the mirror.

“What? I saw home,” Harry smiled.

“Whose home?”

“What do you mean, ’whose home’? Ours, of course, who else’s? It’s so much time till Christmas…” He sighed again.

Draco frowned warily.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, glancing in the mirror. “Wait, what is this?” He pointed to the upper end of it.

Harry looked up and realized that the pattern on the frame was not just random curves, but letters.

“E, R, I,” he tried to decipher it. “Then S… or is it an E? I can’t see anything. It’s pitch dark in here. Well, almost.”

“Yes, the frame is not glowing,” Draco answered. “We are lucky there is a window. In the dark we could have broken our legs in all this rubbish.”

“If the window was not there we wouldn’t have seen anything and left,” Harry countered. “Nothing can be done, we will return next time with a candle or a torch.”

“Why?”

“I’m curious,” Harry shrugged. “I want to know what’s written up there.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Draco grumbled.

“What did you see there?”

“It doesn’t matter. Don’t ask, eh?” He sounded frightened again. “Alright, I will come here with you again, just don’t ask questions.”

Now Harry was really worried. Insisting was pointless, they would only quarrel now. The main thing was that Draco agreed. Maybe if they read the inscription, everything will become clearer.

“Alright,” he conceded. “Let’s go before Severus starts searching for us.”

* * *

On Friday night when everyone was asleep, Draco and Harry left the dormitories under the Invisibility Cloak and crept back to the room with the mirror. Nothing changed there: piles of old desks, broken chairs and other rubbish were still intact.

They closed the door very carefully so no light escaped out (in case Severus had trouble sleeping or Filch walked by), lit up a candle and edged toward the corner with the mirror.

It did not change a bit, it was still huge, solemn and a little dusty.

Harry looked into it, expecting to see a forest or Malfoy manor, but this time there was a bright light, and he saw…

“Mum?” The word just slipped out of his mouth.

“What?” Draco asked warily over his shoulder.

“Mum is there,” Harry replied happily, still gazing into the mirror. “Look, she’s decorating the tree!”

In the mirror, Narcissa Malfoy, dressed in comfortable dark blue robes, was walking around a huge Christmas tree, hanging up fairy lights with her wand. Everything was so familiar, so real, that Harry’s breath caught in his throat.

“Harry,” Draco whispered hoarsely, “it’s a whole month till Christmas. Why would Mum be decorating now and without us?”

The illusion fell apart like a house of cards. It seemed that even the picture in the frame dimmed and moved away, although Harry knew that nothing changed.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, probably ... We need to read the inscription.”

“Maybe we should leave.”

Harry stubbornly shook his head.

“No. I want to understand. Pass me the candle.”

Draco complied, Harry put out his hand as high as possible to see the top of the mirror.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,” he read slowly. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe it’s a different language,” Draco proposed after some hesitation.

“Only if it’s a Goblin one. Doesn’t sound like anything I know. It’s certainly not Latin, Greek or Gaelic...”

“What about Arabic?”

“Why is this written with Latin letters then?”

“You have a point. Wait,” Draco livened up and started searching his pockets. “Found it!”

Looking sideways, Harry saw him holding a piece of parchment and a quill.

“What do you need that for?”

“You’ll see,” Draco answered mysteriously, flattening the parchment on the nearest desk and bending over it. “Read the inscription again. Slowly.”

“Erised... stra... ehru...”

Draco scribbled away. He finished, straightened and stepped to the mirror holding the parchment in his hands. The glass surface did not reflect anything.

Draco cursed under his breath.

“Alright, give me some light,” he asked.

Harry obeyed, already guessing what that was about.

As he expected, Draco bent down and started writing the inscription backwards.

“I... show... not...”

“I show not your face but your heart’s desire,” Harry read at lastlooking over his brother’s shoulder.

Draco stared at the parchment as though it was poisonous like a scorpion.

“It can’t be,” he muttered.

Harry looked at the parchment carefully, then turned to the mirror, brought the light closer and checked it.

“No,” he said, “everything is correct.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

Draco grumbled something distinctly unpleasant.

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry was getting really worried.

“Nothing,” Draco snapped, but relaxed right away, “Sorry. I saw some stupid things. Just forget it, all right? It’s not important. Please.”

“Alright.” Harry was at a loss. Draco’s insistent pleas did not correlate with the idea that it was not important. Harry knew all too well, however, that prying would do no good.

* * *

Draco has never in his life felt so alone and so miserable. The shameful and disgusting secret that he could not share with anyone troubled him greatly. Harry and he often hid (or tried to hide) their pranks and mischief — or sometimes, as in case with the Ministry ball, something more serious — from their parents and godfather. But never before did Draco have secrets from his brother.

The image from the mirror haunted his dreams. The more time passed, the more those dreams looked like nightmares. A week later, he just could not take it anymore. He waited for Harry to fall asleep, took the Invisibility Cloak and crept out of the Slytherin dormitories. He reached the room with the mirror, stepped closer and stared into the dusty surface.

Unfortunately, his hopes were for naught: the enchanted mirror showed him the same picture as before.

Draco came back two nights later. Then again. And again.

Draco clearly saw that Harry suspected something and was getting more and more worried, but he could not make himself share his fearsor stop visiting the wretched mirror.

“Stupid glass,” he whispered on the eighth night seeing the same image there as before.

“Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?” a quiet voice came from behind his back.

Draco turned around, and his heart sank.

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on a desk near the far wall. Obviously, Draco was so distraught when he came here that he did not even notice another man in the room.

“I am sorry, I didn’t see you, Headmaster,” he managed, straitening and pulling off his magical cloak. It could not get any worse than this. If you got caught, at least behave yourself.

“Strange how near-sighted being invisible can make you, don’t you think?” Dumbledore smiled gently.

Draco gulped.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do not be afraid, Mr. Malfoy. Sit down, please. I will not tell anyone that I saw you here if you promise not to come back. I will move the Mirror of Erised to another place and will ask you not to look for it. I think you have already realized that it can be dangerous.”

Draco nodded silently and sat on a desk nearby.

“Good. Now,” the old wizard continued as gently and amiably as before, “can I help you? Maybe you want to ask me a question.”

Draco clearly saw Dumbledore’s face in the light of the moon that was almost full, and there was no condescension or pity in his eyes, only understanding. So Draco made up his mind.

“Can this mirror lie?” he asked hoarsely.

“There are many definitions of a lie.” For a moment, the headmaster’s smile became sly. “Do you know what this mirror shows?”

“Desires,” Draco forced out in a whisper. “The most secret desires.”

“True,” Dumbledore agreed. “The most secret desires of our heart. However, it holds no knowledge or truth at the same time. The most important thing is not what we want, but what we are willing to do to get it. Or not willing, in some cases.”

“So,” Draco felt his hopes rising, “everything it shows doesn’t mean anything?”

“Why? It means something.” The headmaster was not smiling now. “For example, and please correct me if I am wrong, but something that you saw in there scared you.”

Draco straightened proudly, but did not have a chance to reply, because Dumbledore elaborated, “I am sorry for my unfortunate wording. Not scared, maybe, but alarmed or troubled you. Trust me, I am quite familiar with the feeling myself.”

“Are you really? So it’s normal?”

Dumbledore smiled again — and this time his smile was a little sad.

“I hope so,” he said in a strange voice. “At least it is often so. If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would not worry much. Whatever you saw, I do not think it will harm you or anyone else.”

“Why?” Draco tensed again. “How do you know that?”

“I know this, because you did not like what you saw, my dear boy. It means you are capable of not following your desires blindly. Whatever they are.”

Draco blushed. He realized that he had received a very adult compliment, but did not know if he was pleased to hear such things from a man who was not a friend of the family. Well, he was not an enemy either...

“Thank you,” he said, not wanting to be impolite. “May I... ask another question?”

“Of course.”

“What do you see in the mirror? If it is not a secret...” Right after uttering the words, Draco realized that he had trapped himself. Now the headmaster had the right to ask the same question. I’ll think of something, he thought.

Dumbledore fell silent, staring at him.

“I see myself holding a pair of thick, woollen socks,” he said finally.

Now Draco was completely at a loss.

“You see,” the old wizard continued calmly, “one can never have enough socks. Each Christmas I hope to get a pair, but people will insist on giving me books.”

“I see,” Draco commented, just to say something.

“Now,” the headmaster jumped off the desk easily, “I think it is time for you to return to the dormitory. It is very late. Good night.”

“Good night.”

The headmaster nodded and left. Draco clumsily put on the Invisibility Cloak and yawned. For the first time in a long while, he was sleepy.

He left the room with the mirror without looking back.

* * *

In the darkness of the dormitory, Harry stared into space where the bed curtain should be.

Draco sneaked out again in the middle of the night. And he had taken the Invisibility Cloak.

And Harry had a suspicion where to.

It was not clear what to do about it. He had already tried asking, and he did not want to nag. Should he ask Severus for an advice? That would mean not only admitting to finding the mirror, in the first place, but giving Draco in, a least partly. Even if he tried beating around the bush... No, that would not do. And he certainly could not follow his brother everywhere. Nott had just quit with his stupid jokes.

The door opened, and then closed. There were footsteps, the rustle of bed curtains...

“Draco?” Harry called out.

Everything went quiet, and then the curtain moved, Draco crawled on his bed and sat close.

“Did I wake you?” he whispered.

“No,” Harry answered honestly. “I was not asleep. You... Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Draco answered in a while. “I...” He flopped on the bed, and now both of them were lying on their back side by side. “I went to the mirror, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I wanted so much to see something different there,” Draco whispered, agitated. “I... I was very scared.”

“I know,” Harry repeated. “I guessed. Did you?”

“No. But today I saw... I talked to Dumbledore ... the real one, not from the mirror. He waited for me there.”

Alarmed, Harry rose upon his elbow.

“What happened? Are you in trouble?”

“No, he was not angry. He said it happened sometimes. The most important part is what I decide to do. He promised not to tell anyone if I gave my word not to return there.”

“Will you keep it then?”

“Do you think me mad? I’m sick of that mirror. I have nightmares of this thing!”

They lay in silence for a while.

“Draco,” Harry said carefully, “can you tell me what you saw?”

“Yes,” he replied after a pause. “I can now. I saw that... I saw myself finding the Philosopher’s Stone.”

“And?”

“And I was alone. All alone in the whole world ... There was only that thing and I.”

“Do you really want that?”

“Of course not! But...”

“Yes?”

“I really want to find it.”

Even in the darkness, Harry saw Draco shutting his eyes.

“Listen... Let’s find it.”

“What?!” Draco jumped up. He had a good chance of hitting Harry’s nose if Harry did not duck. Now they were sitting face to face.

“I’m telling you, let’s find it. Together.”

“Why?”

“Because. I’m curious to see it. We can turn some stuff into gold for a lark. The girls will like it. Well, what do you think?”

Draco smiled very slowly.

“Harry, you’re a genius.”

____________________

Footnotes:

Viens si ça te convient. Si ça ne te convient pas, viens quand même (Fr.) — Come at once if convenient. If inconvenient come all the same.

Chapter Text

Finally, the weather turned really cold. One morning in December, all the lawns around the school and the Forbidden forest were covered in snow. Even the lake froze solid.

“What about the squid?” Hermione asked quizzically.

No one could answer her.

“It probably hibernates, who knows,” Draco shrugged.

The dungeons got terribly cold. Sometimes during Potions, their fingers went numb; staying in the Baron’s apartment became unbearable, and now they preferred to meet at the library. It was not really warm in there either, but at least there was no frost on the walls.

Somehow, they ended up not sharing their suspicions with Severus. There was always something that prevented a private talk. The more time passed, the harder it was to gather courage and speak up because their godfather would surely ask (and quite reasonably) why they had not told him at once. Days passed, Quirrell did not make a move and behaved as unsuspicious as anyone else. Harry even started doubting if they were right when one day at the library Hermione whispered tremendous news, “This Quirrell has an accomplice!”

“What?” Draco almost jumped up.

Some senior students from nearby tables turned and hushed them.

Hermione lowered her voice even more.

“Yesterday evening before dinner I went to the DADA classroom to take a quill I had forgotten there. I had left it on purpose that morning, of course. So when I came there, I heard Quirrell’s voice from behind the slightly opened door. He was talking to someone. There was no one around so I leaned in and listened. “No,” he said. “There haven’t been any other opportunities since then. The boy is constantly watched. Yes, I will try one more time.” It was strange that I heard only his answers. Like he was talking on the phone.”

“On what?”

Hermione made a face.

“It’s not important. Just a Muggle thing, I’ll explain later if you want. I didn’t hear the person he talked to, that’s what matters. He went silent, and I knocked. “Enter,” he said. I did, and... you wouldn’t believe it, but he was alone in the room!”

“What about the fireplace?” Draco asked quickly.

“It was ablaze, but Quirrell stood in the other corner of the room!”

“That’s not the point,” Harry interrupted. “If Quirrell called someone through the fireplace, Hermione wouldn’t have heard anything at all. If someone was calling him, she would have heard two voices.”

“It’s strange,” Pansy frowned. “There are some special heirlooms, of course, all sorts of hand mirrors and plates...”

“It doesn’t matter how he did it,” Hermione interrupted again. “He’s not alone, that’s important. Maybe we should talk to Professor Snape, what do you think, Harry?”

Draco and he must have looked so guilty that she immediately understood everything.

“Shame on you! I hope you’ll tell him now. The situation can turn dangerous.”

Draco and Harry looked at each other. It was clear that withholding this information even now was the stupidest course of action. Although they were very, very reluctant to go to Severus and admit that they had not told him.

“Strictly speaking, Granger,” Draco noted, “It’s you who should tell him everything. You set Quirrell’s cloak on fire, after all. And you spied on him yesterday.”

Hermione’s face fell right away. She was not eager to go to the formidable Head of Slytherin and admit to her misbehaviour, even if it had been done for the greater good.

“I have an idea,” Harry said slowly. “We need to warn him in such a way that he wouldn’t know it’s us.”

Everyone started thinking.

“But how?” Blaise asked. “Change the handwriting? Hey, can anyone change their handwriting?”

No one could, so they started thinking again.

“Listen,” Hermione said suddenly, “can wizards collect fingerprints? Like in detective stories?”

“What? Where?”

Hermione sighed and patiently explained the concepts.

“Sounds terribly boring,” Draco said haughtily. “Wizards don’t print any fingers, of course.”

“You mean, collect fingerprints.”

“Whatever. You are right, though: there are some special detecting spells. They help to find out who wrote a letter or touched a parchment. Or cast spells on it. Dad knows them, Severus should know too. There are counter spells, but we don’t know them!”

Hermione frowned thoughtfully, and then brightened, “I think I know what we can do...”

* * *

The holidays were coming soon, so the brats’ minds were occupied with anything but studying. Severus himself was counting days anticipating a long vacation at the manor. None of Slytherins was staying at school for Christmas, thank Merlin!

Meanwhile, all four Weasley scions stayed, which added to Severus’ satisfaction. For once, these troublemakers would be someone else’s problem. When he gloated about it to Minerva, however, she winced and threatened, “Another joke like this, and I will complain to Albus that I cannot handle them alone. Then we shall see who will have the last laugh.” Severus sensibly decided to have that last laugh, but without witnesses — in his rooms.

* * *

Finally, Saturday before Christmas came — the beginning of the holidays. Slytherins got up early to pack the last of their stuff; even Nott was quiet, as everyone was eager to go home. After breakfast, Harry and Draco with trunks went up to the entrance hall where Severus greeted them, to their astonishment.

“I will ride with you,” he announced curtly. “Just in case.”

The crowd around them faded fast. Only Hermione walked with them, not batting an eye.

Outside there were a lot of carriages without horses.

“Thestrals?” Harry asked.

Severus nodded, and Draco shuddered.

Hermione calmly climbed into the nearest one and sat by the window. Harry sat next to her, Draco and Severus took the opposite side.

“What’s a Thestral?” she asked.

“An ugly beast,” Draco made a face. “An undead invisible horse that eats rotten meat and stuff like that.”

Hermione laughed.

“Six months ago I might have believed you, but now...”

“Draco is right, Miss Granger, if not entirely accurate. Thestrals are indeed skeletal, but alive creatures. They are carnivores, but they do not feed on carrion or rotten meat. They are also invisible, but not to everyone.”

“Who can see them?”

“Only those, Miss Granger, who have witnessed someone’s death.”

Draco laughed nervously.

“That’s some luck,” he joked awkwardly.

“You don’t say, Mr. Malfoy,” Severus’ tone was slightly menacing. Hermione bravely changed the topic, “I arranged a trip to Diagon Alley with my parents tomorrow. I want to buy a couple of things and to send some greeting cards. Can I send them even if I don’t have an owl?”

Harry stared out of the window at the snow-covered hills and listened to Severus explaining the rules of using public owl post to Hermione.

* * *

Wiltshire seemed clammy and unpleasant after Hogwarts. Snow was left in Scottish Highlands, and South-West England greeted them with drizzling rain. The longest night of the year was bound to be the chilliest.

Severus shivered.

“Should I participate in this? I am not a relative, after all.”

“Dumbledore is not a relative either,” Lucius waved his hand, “but he did quite well.”

“I am not Dumbledore!”

“You see, sadly, I am not him, either.”

Severus stared at his friend with suspicion, but Lucius was deadly serious.

“Are you feeling well?”

Lucius laughed at that.

“Thank you, I feel great. I meant that despite all my numerous virtues, I do not have the magical abilities of the man who defeated Grindelwald... For now, at least.”

Severus tried to imagine what Wizarding Britain would have turned into if Lucius had Albus Dumbledore’s abilities, and shuddered.

“Just admit that you do not wish to wear a white cloak,” Narcissa cut in. She was dressed in a ritual garb made of a year-old lamb’s or a kid’s wool (Severus forgot the details) and looked splendid.

“I do not,” Severus honestly admitted. “It is not the point, however. I am just uneasy about the whole thing.”

“I can guess why,” Lucius replied, “but I think it would be an advantage rather than not. It would be right.”

“You really believe that?” Severus grumbled grimly.

“I know that.” Lucius was strangely calm. “Today is the right night, three is the right number, I am sure everything will be fine.”

“Alright,” Severus gave up. “Where do we start?”

“In the West wing,” Narcissa replied. “The first floor, then the ground floor. After that, the cellars. The gardens will be last if we still have strength by the time.”

“What if...”

“We shall see. It’s better not to risk it. At the very least, we will ward the house only.”

Severus nodded, and they went to the West wing.

I wonder, he thought idly, what the Headmaster would think about the results of this.

Somehow, he was sure that his curiosity would be satisfied in the nearest future. And that he would also have to deal with the consequences.

* * *

Harry woke up late on Sunday. The weather was not very cheerful, as it was raining. That was probably the reason he slept in... He turned his head to look at the clock. It was almost half past ten!

It was strange that no one woke him up; usually Mum and Dad did not let them to sleep in so late. He dressed, made himself presentable and stepped into the corridor. The door to Draco’s room was tightly shut, he was probably still asleep. Harry contemplated if he should wake his brother with some pillow martial arts trick, but decided that it was too much effort and went to the dining room in search for the adults.

All three of them were already there. By the looks of it, they just started their breakfast. Harry decided that they looked strangely tired. Dad was almost nodding over his cup of coffee, Narcissa was pale, and the bags under Severus’ eyes were more evident than usual. It looked like they were up the whole night or had very little sleep.

I wonder what they were doing, Harry thought, eating his scrambled eggs. Practicing some complicated magic, probably. Why the last night? We only just arrived. Suddenly he remembered his Astronomy lessons. Ah, it’s Yule. Why then didn’t they tell us anything?

He frowned thoughtfully. If this were an ordinary if tiring procedure, Mum and Dad would have warned them. The reason of their tiredness notwithstanding, they obviously did something dangerous, and so they would not answer any questions. Maybe later he could find out quietly what... not now, though.

What should Draco and he do today? Harry looked out of the window and sighed: they could forget about horseback riding or flying. The drizzle had just turned into rain shower. What sort of Christmas weather it was!

Draco stepped into the dining room.

“Good morning!” he said cheerfully. “Well, morning is almost over. Why didn’t you wake me?”

Harry pricked his ears.

“Good morning,” Lucius answered evenly. “Were you not complaining to Severus that you do not get enough of sleep at school?”

Draco shrugged.

“That was at school. Although today,” he glanced out of the window, “holidays are not much better. We have nothing to do. We can’t even go flying.”

“Maybe,” Severus started smoothly, “you could write your Transfiguration essay. Professor McGonagall complained to me only yesterday that you let things slide. She is tired of grading your work with “Exceeds Expectations”.”

“What’s the problem then?” Draco replied nonchalantly, buttering his toast. “She can grade my work with “Outstanding”, I would not object.”

Narcissa laughed.

“I can help you,” she offered, “if you want. The Blacks had hereditary talents in this field. We could practice.”

“Are you sure? Are we not forbidden to use magic during the holidays?” Draco’s eyes shone brightly.

Lucius smiled.

“I took some precautions.” Harry noticed that after those words Severus looked questioningly at Lucius. He nodded and continued, “Taking into account some... special circumstances, the Ministry authorized me to settle this question. I see no reason for you not to spend the holiday doing something useful. Privileges are created to be used.”

“I didn’t mean studying!” Draco protested.

“Me either,” Lucius replied. “At least, not only that. Not today, though.”

Harry clearly saw that Mum, Dad and Severus were desperately trying not to yawn, so he proposed hurriedly to Draco, “Let’s go play chess.”

Draco livened and nodded.

* * *

On Monday, Severus received a very strange letter delivered by an unknown owl. The envelope was a Christmas one with reindeer and gnomes from Flourish and Blotts. The address was not written, but glued on; the words consisted of letters apparently cut out from The Prophet.

The Potions master frowned, opened the envelope and took out the message itself. It was a post paper with the same Christmas design; the words were glued on.

QUIRRELL STARED AT HARRY THAT DAY AND MUTTERED. HE HAS AN INVISIBLE ACCOMPLICE. HE WILL TRY TO DO IT AGAIN. BEWARE.

It could be considered a stupid prank if the warning did not correspond with his own suspicions. The first sentence without doubt referred to the disastrous Quidditch match. What about this “invisible accomplice”, though? Is this a warning or a threat, anyway?

Narcissa and the boys were at Diagon Alley the whole morning, so Severus without much ado went to ask Lucius’ advice. His friend was in his study, going over some Muggle-looking papers which he abandoned with relief rather than reluctance.

“Did anything happened?” he asked.

Severus silently handed him the curious letter.

Lucius read it, and his brows shot up.

“Did this come with today’s mail?”

“If it were yesterday’s, I would have come yesterday.”

“I see. Did you check for the author?”

The Potions master shook his head. Lucius nodded, took his wand, touched the paper and said a long complicated spell. The next moment, astonishment and slight shock were written on his face.

“What is it?” Severus was anxious.

“You would not believe it. Wait, I will try again.”

Lucius repeated the motions, stilled for a moment, then laughed out loud.

“Have you gone mad?” Severus inquired.

“Try it yourself,” Lucius managed through laughter.

Severus did. The image conjured by the spell was so terrible that he winced. Then he tried again. The result did not change.

“It looks,” he said weakly, “like a dead black cow has written this to me. A very dead one.”

Lucius nodded.

“And why is this funny?” Severus flared.

“Think, Sev, think,” Lucius was still smiling. “What does this spell identify?”

“How can it be that...” Severus answered, perplexed. Then it all added up. “Damn it! I will strangle that little brat!” “Please, don’t. Firstly, she is quite bright if Muggleborn. Secondly, if you kill her, you will have to kill my children too, and I cannot let that happen.”

Severus calmed down and snorted.

“Did they really think we would not find out?”

“They made sure the letter could not be linked to them,” Lucius corrected. “Very prudent. The only thing that can be said about this lovely letter is that the author did not use magic and wore gloves. The rest is speculation and circumstantial evidence. This is a very smart manoeuvre. Especially considering their age.”

“Indeed. And if Miss Granger did not ask me about public owl post services only yesterday... Now what?” Severus asked. “Do we pretend we did not understand anything?”

“On the contrary, I wanted to discuss some... details with the boys.”

* * *

They returned from the Diagon Alley right before lunch with heaps of bright parcels and no pocket money left. The presents and post cards for friends were sent on the spot — in the owl post office — so Dad’s Sherlock would not get overtired, and the packages would not be late for Christmas.

Draco was a little worried. If they calculated correctly, Severus should have gotten Granger’s letter by now. What would he think? Would he guess who sent it or not? Draco looked sideways at his brother who was calmly discussing some fine points of turning wood into metal with Mum. He seemed not to be even a little bit worried. Maybe he just forgot. Finally, Draco joined the conversation. It was better than torturing himself with doubts.

The Transfiguration discussion ran over, they talked about it even at the table. When the elves finally served the dessert, Lucius produced a folded piece of paper with Christmas design from his pocket.

Draco looked down and concentrated on his treacle tart.

“Boys,” Lucius started, “today Severus received a most peculiar letter.”

“Did he?” Harry was very convincingly surprised. “What’s peculiar about it?”

“Almost everything, although, the sender is the most curious puzzle... A message from the dead is a rarity.”

Draco froze and then turned to his father. He was looking gloomily at the boys.

“Is this a joke?” Harry managed to say.

“Maybe, but not a very good one,” Lucius answered. “A letter with threats is not a very funny joke either, if it can be considered as such.”

“A letter with threats?” Narcissa was alarmed. “Luc, what is going on?”

“I think,” Lucius replied slowly, “we should better ask Harry about it.”

Draco looked at his brother. The boy looked at their parents with genuine astonishment, “I don’t know anything about any threats. What does it have to do with me?”

What did that idiot Granger girl write there? Draco was panicking. What do we do now?

He was already sure that they could not weasel out of this one. Dad knew that they had something to do with the letter. The only thing to do was to find out the scale of the paternal displeasure.

Rescue came from unexpected source. Severus smirked suddenly and said, “Stop it, Luc. First, you are frightening Cissy, second, your hints are a bit too subtle for them.”

“As you wish,” Lucius shrugged. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Your letter, your problem. Cissy, do not worry, I told you it was just a joke. Our happy-go-lucky boys just decided to have some holiday fun.”

“It wasn’t us!” Draco protested. “And it’s no joke! This is...”

He caught himself, but it was too late.

“Stop torturing our happy-go-lucky boys and me,” Narcissa said decisively. “Sev, give me the letter, I want to read it at least. Do tell the whole story, Harry.”

“Let Draco talk,” Harry grumbled. “He’s seems to have a big enough mouth for that.”

Lucius laughed.

Draco sighed and started talking.

* * *

Later that evening, when the children were finally in bed, the adults settled in a cheerfully decorated and cosy library. Narcissa still giggled from time to time.

“They are good,” she noted.

“Oh yes,” Severus grumbled. “Instead of warning me on time like normal, sensible people would do...”

“...they behaved like normal, sensible children.”

“What does it matter?” Lucius asked. “The main thing is now we know it. Can this Miss Granger of yours be trusted, Sev? What do you think?”

“First, she’s not mine. Second, what do you mean?”

“If she says she saw Quirrell cursing Harry’s broom, was it really so? Or...?”

Severus frowned.

“She does not look like a suggestible child. She had probably seen exactly what she described. It still does not actually prove anything, however. I was not twiddling my thumbs either during the game.”

“I see you became... what do Muggles call it? A solicitor for hell?”

“Devil’s advocate,” Severus snorted. “I understand what you are talking about, but I am objecting for another reason. Quirinus is... a very unlikely candidate. He does not look like a Death Eater. He does not even look like a Dark wizard.”

“Which means that he is no fool, at least,” Narcissa noted. “Only very dim Dark wizards resemble scarecrows from the Ministry posters. And I am very curious about that “invisible accomplice” of his. It is a pity we cannot make heads or tails of it from their story.”

“I will definitely talk to Miss Granger,” Severus promised with an unmistakable threat.

“Poor thing,” Lucius smiled.

“Thank you.”

“Actually, I meant the girl.”

“Gryffindors are never poor things,” Severus sounded homiletic. “They can be insolent brats, lazybones, bullies or ignoramuses any time. Sometimes they are know-it-alls and upstarts, but they are never poor things.”

All three of them laughed.

“By the way, do you know,” Narcissa changed the subject, “that the children sent a present to Headmaster Dumbledore? Severus, do they even talk to the headmaster apart from occasional meetings in school halls?”

“What?” He was astonished. “No, as far as I know, they do not. Although it turns out I do not know much lately.”

“This is strange,” Lucius commented evenly, and it was not clear if he was serious or mocking.

“There is more,” Narcissa continued. “You’d never guess what they gave the man.”

She received two questioning glances.

“Socks,” she said. “Five multi-coloured striped socks.”

Lucius and Severus looked at each other.

“I think,” Lucius said slowly, “I prefer not to know what that means.”

* * *

Even though six years passed since his adoption, Harry waited for this Christmas almost as eagerly as the first time. For a different reason, though. When he was five, every day in his foster parents’ house seemed a miracle, a fairy-tale where he ended up by accident. And now Harry was happy just because he was home. He liked Hogwarts, he had good friends, he played Quidditch there, and Severus’ constant presence softened the blow of leaving the manor. Harry still had missed it, however, without really realizing it. All this cosy traditional homely fuss created a true celebratory feeling.

In the morning of the twenty fourth Narcissa kicked them out of the living room, giving them lots of chores. She was decorating the tree, so the men should take care of the rest of the house. Severus tried to escape to the laboratory, but Lucius caught him and gave him work: Snape was to hang out green-and-silver garlands on the high library windows.

“I am no house elf,” their godfather grumbled, waving his wand in displeasure, as one of the garlands was hanging crookedly.

A flap-eared head appeared from behind a bookcase.

“Dobby am a house elf. Dobby help decorate?”

Severus turned, red in the face. Harry and Draco did their best not to laugh out loud.

“Dobby, help in the kitchens,” Lucius interfered hastily. “Surely there is a lot to be done there.”

The elf’s ears drooped dismally.

“What about decorate?” he asked shyly.

Lucius rolled his eyes.

“Ask Harry. You are his elf, after all.”

Dobby hopefully stared at Harry.

“Let’s do this. You’ll decorate my room,” Harry proposed. “You can prepare the holly…”

Dobby nodded with enthusiasm.

“Dobby listen, Dobby cut holly and make wreaths!” he promised and disappeared.

“Now you’ll have holly jungle there,” Draco snorted.

“So what?” Harry shrugged. “I don’t object, and it makes him happy. Dad, can we play chess later?”

Lucius nodded, “Certainly.”

They did not only play chess, but went horseback riding in the park as the rain finally stopped in the afternoon. That evening Harry went to bed happy despite the smell of the monstrous holly wreaths that filled the whole room.

* * *

The Christmas morning started with a good Christmas tradition: Harry’s pillow was pulled from under his head and thrown on top of it.

“Mmm,” he mumbled.

““Rise and shine,” Draco demanded. “It’s time to wake everyone up and open the presents!”

“I know, I know,” Harry muttered. “Mum, honestly, I’ll be up in five minutes…”

Draco snorted and hit him on the head with a pillow again, “Merry Christmas!”

“The same to you!” Harry suddenly rolled over, fell over Draco with the blanket, and both ended up on the floor. Thirty seconds later, he was sitting on top of Draco and pounding him with a pillow.

“That’s not fair!” Draco flared, trying to shield himself. “You had an advantage!”

“What advantage?”

“You… You were lying very conveniently!”

“Ha! Would you like to remind me about the “don’t hit the man when he’s down” rule?” Harry snorted.

“What is going on, gentlemen?” Lucius asked standing in the doorway. “If this is a Greco-Roman wrestling match, then Harry has already won.”

“What is Greco-Roman wrestling?” Draco asked.

“I have no idea, “Lucius admitted serenely. “Severus explained to me once that the main thing there is to pin the opponent down. Are you going to get up, young men?”

Harry looked first at his father, then at his brother down on the floor.

“I will think about it,” he smiled.

“Think faster!” Draco protested. “You are heavy. And I want the presents.”

“You behave like five-year-olds,” Lucius noted.

“There was considerably less noise and hustle when they were five,” Narcissa countered from the doorway. “Get up, children. Your presents are waiting for you with impatience. If they get any more nervous, someone will get hurt. We will wait for you in the sitting room.”

The parents left. The boys looked at each other, Harry got off Draco and jumped away, dodging a brotherly punch.

“I hope,” Draco said pensively, “it’s something that doesn’t bite.”

Although the mysterious impatient presents did not bite... well, Harry could not find a right word. Actually, he could not say a word for the first minute.

“She’s a beauty!”

The snowy owl hooted and non-too-gently bit his finger.

“And a smart one,” he added hastily. “I’ll name her Hedwig. Do you want to be called Hedwig?”

Hedwig was a witch from Medieval Poland who invented the owl post. Harry read about her recently in The History of Magic.

The owl hooted agreeing, and the question was closed.

Draco was also absolutely taken by his new eagle owl. He could not choose its name and changed his mind five times an hour. The owl observed him patiently and hooted good-naturedly at all his ideas from “Loki” to “Sleipnir”.

“An eight-legged eagle owl, that’s something new,” Harry snorted.

The owl hooted again — mockingly this time.

“Call him Mycroft,” Severus offered with a strange smile.

Lucius laughed, but the boys did not catch the joke. This name was just like any other.

Anyway, Draco did not like it.

“Nah, that’s not interesting enough. I want it to be clear that the bird is mine. And cunning, and fast...”

“What about Hermes?” Harry asked.

Draco shivered.

“Are you mad? The whole school will think I’m in love with that Granger of yours! Never!”

“She’s not mine!” Harry snorted.

Lucius smirked again and looked at Severus with a strange expression, but the Potions master pretended not to notice. Harry was a little intrigued, but decided that they probably would not explain all the same.

“Ulysses then?” proposed Narcissa.

Draco thought about it.

“I like it,” he announced. “Let him be Ulysses.”

The owl hooted and nipped his ear.

In the evening, everyone went to the traditional dinner at Parkinsons’. Pansy got a fluffy white kitten, which she tried to turn black or at least grey without much luck.

“I wanted to call her Hel,” Pansy said grimly, “but it obviously doesn’t suit her. And anyway, I wanted so much to have a raven! But Mother says it’s a too grim familiar for a decent well-bred witch. And one needs a special permission to bring a raven to Hogwarts. Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with this fluffy puff.”

Harry and Draco looked doubtfully at the “fluffy puff”. The cat coolly stared at them with its bright blue eyes as if the whole thing did not bother it.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted and tried to pat the cat.

It sniffed and struck him with her claws quickly as a lightning. Harry hastily pulled his hand back.

“Ow, you’re a mean cat!”

“She’s not used to you yet!” Pansy defended her pet.

“Call her Princess,” Draco proposed, “since she’s so untouchable.”

The cat hissed without giving Pansy a chance to answer.

“Alright, alright,” Draco raised his hands in conciliation and stepped back just in case. “I am sorry, Milady. Don’t scratch me.”

The cat suddenly meowed, stretched and started licking the tip of its snowy tail as if nothing happened.

“So, Milady it will be,” Pansy sighed, grabbed her newly-named pet and settled in a chair. Milady loudly purred, sprawling on her knees. “What about you, what’s going on?”

The boys eagerly told her about their owls, interrupting each other.

“Great,” Pansy answered with a little jealousy. “And cats can’t even deliver mail...”

Milady just snorted disdainfully in reply.

* * *

They returned home late that evening, and Narcissa went to her room right away. Severus left too, but Lucius stayed and warned the boys, “Please do not stay up too long. We have to make a very important visit tomorrow, and we need to discuss something before that.”

Then he wished them good night and left.

Harry and Draco looked at each other, perplexed: why so much mystery?

However, it was clear that they would learn the answer only in the morning, and the only thing left to do was to go to bed.

Chapter Text

Indeed, right after breakfast on the 26^th of December, Lucius asked the boys to come to his study. He also glanced inquiringly at Narcissa, but she shook her head. He nodded in return. Severus mumbled something about an experiment and disappeared.

By this time, Harry was almost dying of curiosity. Obviously, something important was going on. Maybe it had something to do with the strange behaviour of his parents and godfather the Yule morning...

The three of them went up to the first floor; Lucius closed the door of the study behind them and gestured the boys to sit on the sofa. He remained standing, stopped in the middle of the room and became thoughtful for a moment as if choosing words carefully.

"The thing I’m about to tell you mostly concerns Harry."

Harry immediately stiffened: his father’s tone implied that there was trouble. What could have happened? Some problems with the Ministry? With the Aurors? Or with Dumbledore? Since the ill-fated Ministry ball the last year and the talk six months later, Harry was very aware that many people still thought his father to be Voldemort’s servant — or at least treated Lucius with suspicion.

"Although," Lucius continued, "this is not quite true: this matter concerns all of us more or less in equal measure. I think, however, it would be correct to assume that Harry might be a little more upset than your Mum, Draco or I."

"Has something happened?" Draco asked anxiously.

"Nothing dangerous," Lucius replied and for some reason took a pair of thin silk gloves off his desk. He put them on and handed the boys two similar pairs of smaller size. "Put these on, please."

Harry became more and more puzzled. Meanwhile, Lucius opened the hidden cabinet behind the tapestry and took out the two volumes of the family chronicles — the originals, not the copies. He turned to the boys and offered them the books.

"Look inside but be very careful."

Harry and Draco looked at each other.

"We have our own copies, so why..." Harry wondered aloud.

"Look inside," Lucius repeated.

Harry looked at the book before him and almost gasped: now it was twice as big as before. A realization dawned, and Harry opened the cover very carefully despite his impatience. What he saw did not quite meet his expectations, however. He frowned, thinking hard, and studied his new family tree with growing amazement.

"I think it’s great," he announced, throwing a sideways glance at Draco who looked delighted and shocked at the same time. Then Harry turned to his father. "Is that what you, Mum and Uncle Severus were doing all night until Sunday morning?"

Lucius nodded.

"Yes. However, I would prefer not to discuss the details with you right now. I will only say that this is a safety measure, and it is needed for some very serious magic to work. So, I insist that you do not tell a single soul about it. Not a word to your friends. Even Uncle Gérard does not know any particulars, not to mention anybody else outside the immediate family."

"What about the Ministry?" Draco asked.

"Fortunately, this information is classified. Something will surely come out eventually, but now only the selected few are in the loop. And I would prefer for this group to remain very small as long as possible."

"Right," Harry agreed thoughtfully, "but I don’t understand what I should be upset about. More likely, it is..." He looked questioningly at Lucius.

"Yes, I am not thrilled with... some aspects of this arrangement," the latter replied. "But today can turn out to be more unpleasant for you, than for us."

"Right, you promised some super important visit," Draco remembered suddenly.

"You see..." Lucius fell silent as if trying to choose the right words again. "This kind of magic is very complex. No one ever knows what might shatter its balance. Some situations are quite clear-cut, though. How would you define the difference between family and simple blood relation?"

"Well," Harry frowned in thought, "We trust each other, we have the same goals, the same views..." Harry fell silent, embarrassed, because everything he could think of seemed ridiculously irrelevant to the conversation.

"Absolutely right," Lucius agreed with a smile, looking satisfied with the answer. "But I was talking about something more straightforward and simple."

"We help each other?" Draco ventured, glancing at Harry. "We spend a lot of time together?"

"Correct."

Harry shivered.

"I so don’t want to spend a lot of time with Aunt Petunia!" he exclaimed in horror. "Dad!"

"You won’t have to," Lucius answered. "And I will certainly never leave you alone with her. Do not worry. We’ll have to follow some formal requirements, however, and, I am afraid, regular holiday visits are one of them. I hope four or five visits a year won’t be unbearable for us."

Harry calmed down a little, although now he understood why his father had assumed he would be upset.

"I got it!" Draco interjected suddenly. "It’s because of Christmas, right?"

"Yes," Lucius confirmed. "It is a family holiday, and traditions should be honoured. That’s why we’ll have to visit Petunia and her son today, exchange presents, and so on."

"Wait, what about Uncle Vernon?" Harry remembered suddenly.

"To my deepest satisfaction," Lucius smirked, "after our last encounter he decided to divorce your aunt. Do not worry, we won’t see him again."

"Yeah, Aunt Petunia and Dudley are more than enough," Harry grumbled.

"We’ll have to bear it," Dad answered, "although, I hope that after the measures I have taken your aunt will at least be grateful, and her offspring will sooner or later start to resemble a human being."

"What did you do to them?" Harry got curious despite himself.

"What any head of the family should do," Lucius shrugged. "I guaranteed their comfortable existence — within reason, of course, — and with Gérard’s help found a suitable school for your cousin. He will be transferred there only next autumn, though, and until then he will have to content himself with St. Benedict’s Boarding School. Any other questions?"

"So we’ll visit them so this mysterious magic that you don’t want to talk about will work all right," Draco summed up. "That’s it?"

"That’s it."

"It’s alright, then. Harry, if your cousin turns out to be like Nott, we’ll just beat him up," Draco announced matter-of-factly. "And then Dad will turn him into a pig."

"I do not think it is a very familial gesture," Lucius snorted. "Harry?"

"If we must, we must," he replied. "Five times a year is not that much, really."

* * *

It turned out that Aunt Petunia invited them to lunch.

Harry thought they would have to dress into something Muggle, but Lucius said, "One must draw a line somewhere."

In the end, they chose some nice, but not overly formal robes and cast Disillusionment charms.

"Petunia and her solicitor have been informed," Narcissa explained, "and no one else will see us."

"Her solicitor?" Harry inquired.

"Mixing business with pleasure might be a good strategy in this case... if you can find any pleasure in the circumstances, of course," Lucius replied. "We’ll have to discuss some financial matters with Petunia anyway, as well as her son’s grades. I want to be sure that by the end of summer the boy is ready to attend a decent school. I would not want our family reputation with Gérard’s friends to suffer. So, if today we do not only congratulate each other and have the required Christmas lunch together, but do some business, I won’t have to bear a burden of seeing you aunt twice in a month."

"I see."

They Apparated to a quiet empty corner of some park and followed Lucius down a narrow path, then down a wider alley close to a hedge. Despite everything their father said about Dursleys being ‘comfortable within reason’, even Harry, who was only vaguely aware of the Muggle world conventions, understood that the suburb they were in was much more than simply comfortable, maybe even fashionable. The houses on the other side of the hedge looked grand, and the gardens were huge and well-cared for. They were certainly much bigger and better than number four at Privet drive.

Lucius passed two such houses and lead them to the wicket-gate of the third one, opened it calmly and walked straight to the door. Draco studied the surroundings with great curiously.

"Don’t worry, Harry," Narcissa whispered quietly into his ear. "If they take any liberties, I’ll turn them all into pigs, and no family ties will stop me."

Harry snorted quietly and cheered up a bit.

They reached the doorsteps. Petunia was meeting the guests at the door, looking very nervous. Three and a half years passed since their last meeting; she lost some weight and aged visibly. Life must have been tough for her, and that story with fake money certainly did not help. Harry had mixed feelings about her. On one hand, he clearly remembered her ill temper, her bullying and occasional cuffs or shoves. On the other, now he saw just a stranger, an ordinary and unhappy woman. He also remembered his father’s explanations: his aunt must have always been jealous, because she was a Muggle. Thus, she deserved only pity, not fear.

"Merry Christmas," she greeted them stiffly, shaking hands with Lucius and Narcissa. She nodded to Draco and finally turned to Harry, "Hello." Her voice shook just a little.

And Harry suddenly calmed down.

"Hello, Aunt Petunia," he smiled politely. "Merry Christmas."

* * *

While greeting them, Petunia was strangely nervous for some unknown reason. Her hand shook a little, being clammy and cold. Certainly, meeting her nephew for the first time in years could explain the Muggle woman’s unease, but Lucius had a feeling there was something more to it. Inviting them in and showing where to put their coats, she kept giving furtive glances to Lucius and then to the back of the house. Undoubtedly, she wanted to say something before they entered the living room but could not muster enough courage.

"Is something the matter?" Lucius finally asked.

Petunia sighed nervously, then stood straight and said quietly, "The thing is, Mr. Malfoy..."

"Lucius," he corrected dryly.

"You see, I have a... an unexpected... guest," Petunia admitted. Seeing annoyance and displeasure on his face, she continued hurriedly, "He is your solicitor’s brother, that is, Mr. Lewis’s. Mr. Lewis helped me so much, it would have been impolite to refuse, you see."

"Has Mr. Lewis brought his brother with him?" Lucius was a bit shocked. When Gérard recommended him a trustworthy London squib solicitor for handling Petunia’s finances, Lucius did not even bother to check the man’s background, as Gérard certainly could be trusted in these matters. All in all, it was quite natural for a squib lawyer to be acquainted not only with Muggle laws, but also with the magical world. But why would Lewis bring his brother to this family-only gathering?

"You see," Petunia continued even quieter, "he explained that his brother actually knows you already, so that should be alright, and I owe him so much..."

Lucius’ blood ran cold. This looked too much like a well-set trap.

"You owe me," he cut her off icily and instantly drew his wand out. "Cissy, boys, wait here and be alert. If anything happens, return home immediately."

He crossed the hall in several long strides and ended up in the doorway to the living room. And then he was shocked for the second time in three minutes, because he did actually know the suspicious brother of Mr. Lewis.

"Hello," Liam Lloyd stood up and offered his hand. "Sorry for coming without an invitation, but it could not be helped. I learned only this morning that I was free today."

If Gérard knew of this, Lucius thought, I will turn him into a toad and give him to Severus, I swear!

"Glad to see you," he nodded, shaking hands with Liam, then with Lewis. "So, how much information on my family affairs have you managed to pass to the Aurors, Mr. Lewis?"

The lawyer laughed.

"Not that much. Half of it, at most."

"His real name is Llyr Lloyd," Liam announced very solemnly. "And he is my older brother."

Lucius raised his eyebrows: frankly speaking, he could not entirely understand how he had won such confidence from this careful and reserved Auror. However, some things that had puzzled him before now became clear. Having a squib relative, and an older brother at that, certainly explained Liam’s views and career choice.

"I must admit, it is rather difficult to gather information on you," Liam continued as if nothing had happened. "I think you will not be offended if I say that your previous deeds did not invite any desire to have a heart-to-heart talk."

Lucius smirked grimly.

"No, I will not. I think, however, that it is time to invite my family in at least."

Seeing that the guests were talking amicably, Petunia sighed with relief and brought Narcissa and the boys to the living room. As soon as the necessary introductions were over, she proposed without much certainty that "the boys can go upstairs to play".

Lucius looked questioningly at his sons, mostly at Harry. Harry was not thrilled with the prospect of hanging out with his cousin but nodded. Draco just shrugged.

Dudley mumbled some nonsense sounding like "Let me show you my vidi-games", or something similar, and went upstairs. Harry and Draco followed.

The adults seated themselves comfortably. Petunia served the aperitifs and left the living room under some plausible excuse. Narcissa exchanged glances with her husband and also left the room, letting the men talk without interference and saving their hostess from embarrassment.

"You were saying..." Lucius turned to his ex-classmate.

"I took interest in you almost immediately after that adopting the Boy Who Lived trick of yours," Liam announced calmly. "Once again, it was very difficult to gather information on you, and I was in no hurry. Several years later, I was inclined to think that you had actually changed your views, which is quite an admirable development, if I may say so." Lucius frowned, but Liam raised his hand. "Wait, please. I am not asking you to put your heart on your sleeve, but I would like to explain. Anyway, by this autumn I had observed the situation long enough to warn you in September. Frankly speaking, I thought it would be the end of it. You can imagine my surprise when a month later my brother said that you had asked for his assistance! I was well aware of his business contacts with your French relatives, of course, but it did not even cross my mind that you could be interested in his services."

Lucius did not know whether to be angry or amused.

"I take it, Gérard does not know?"

Lewis shook his head.

"No, he doesn’t. Strictly speaking, this is confidential information. As well as any affairs of yours that I take care of, Mr. Malfoy. Liam only knew that I worked for you; that is all. And he knew that much only because I wanted his advice before making a decision. Being discreet is my bread and butter, after all."

"I understand," Lucius smirked. "So, what did you want to discuss, Liam? Excuse me, but it’s hard to believe you are driven by sentimental school memories."

Liam laughed.

"It’s hard to be motivated by something non-existent, indeed. There are two points I thought you should be informed of. First, even if no one was able to ferret out what business exactly you have with that colleague of mine you were so much interested in, the mere fact of this partnership sparks interest. The whole thing looks rather scandalous: someone who has always been unofficially considered Voldemort’s right-hand man suddenly starts keeping company with the protégé of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement department..."

"Protégé?"

"As long as Amelia continues to be Head of the Department, your friend will go far," Liam nodded. "Personally, I have nothing to hold against him; The Shacklebolts are a respectable family, and he is an excellent Auror... However, this is a curious development. It is impossible not to notice the Seal of Silence on all the documents connected to you. People talk, you know."

"And what exactly do they say?"

"Many things. Some in your favour, some not so much... Right now, I would say fifty-fifty. I thought you needed to know that."

"Thank you," Lucius said. "I will keep that in mind. And the other point?"

"Considering all the circumstances, I would like not to be the talk of the department myself," Liam smiled thinly. "But if you need something, I would be glad to help. Luckily, Llyr is your solicitor, so if the need arises, you can turn to him, and he will contact me."

Lucius smiled just as thinly. Translated from Slytherin to English, Liam’s words meant, “I am highly interested in the faction you are obviously creating, and I could even risk joining it.”

"Thank you, it could be very useful," he answered.

Which meant: “I would think about it and could even risk accepting your offer.”

* * *

Harry followed Dudley upstairs, eyeing his cousin with interest. The Muggle boy changed even more than Aunt Petunia. For one thing, he lost weight. Before, he looked like a pink piglet being fattened up for Christmas and promised to become a real boar in a few years. Now he resembled a skinny and dejected foal: he was thin, a little stooped and horse-faced, like his mother. The main difference, though, was that he did not try to beat Harry and looked even somewhat apprehensive. Either Petunia had browbeaten him, or the mere sight of wizards and Lucius’ stern face made a real impression.

Dudley’s room was spacious and well-furnished. He even had his own small TV set. He hovered at the door a bit before offering them to take a seat. The boys accepted, and an awkward silence fell.

"Well," Dudley mumbled at last, "this is my room."

"We guessed as much," Draco quipped, although it was obvious that the surroundings had aroused his curiosity. Unlike Harry, he had never been in a Muggle house before.

"It’s nice," Harry said in a neutral tone. "When did you move here?"

"In November," Dudley livened up a bit. "It was so cool. If you’d only seen the place where we lived before..."

Harry remembered the shack on the seashore and made a face.

"I have."

"When?" His cousin was surprised.

"Doesn’t matter. Go on."

"There isn’t much to tell, really. I don’t know much. It’s just that once Mum said your guardian had come over..."

"His father," Draco corrected icily.

Dudley stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged.

"All right. Whatever. Anyway, Mum said your father had come and offered his help. Mum accepted, and we moved very quickly. And I was sent to this new school," he made a face.

"That bad?" Harry asked with sympathy.

Glancing at the door, Dudley whispered, "It’s awful. Sit straight, don’t put elbows on the table, do all the homework on time, and that blasted French... I hate froggies! And detentions! You breathe wrong, you get one! I cleaned the toilets four times in the last two months!"

Draco guffawed. Harry could not help himself either.

"Sounds familiar... It must be the most popular detention in all boarding schools."

"You meant most unpopular."

"Depends," Harry snorted. "Looks like it’s very popular among teachers. You must be grateful you don’t have to cut flobberworms for hours."

"Cut what?" Dudley opened his eyes wide.

"It’s a kind of small worms, they are used to make the base of many potions," Draco explained. "A lot of small slimy worms need to be cut into very small pieces."

Dudley turned greenish.

"Ugh. Yeah, it must be even worse than cleaning the toilets."

"I don’t know," Draco turned up his nose at him. "I think it’s nothing special. Squeezing bubotuber puss, though..."

"Please," Dudley begged, "let’s talk about something else!"

Harry laughed.

"All right. What did you get for Christmas?"

His cousin immediately livened up.

"Oh! I wanted to show you! My games!"

He dashed to the TV set and started fumbling with the box attached to it.

"What is it?" Draco asked quietly.

"No idea," Harry admitted. "That box is called TV set, and people watch it. It shows moving pictures like our photos, but there are a lot of them. I don’t know how to play with it, though."

"Look!" Dudley called.

They came closer and stared at the screen. It showed some strange blue creature with ridges on the back staring triumphantly at them.

"It’s... very nice," Harry noted tactfully.

Meanwhile, Draco read the phrase at the bottom of the screen.

"A sonic hedgehog?" he asked incredulously. "That’s a hedgehog? Have they ever seen one? And why is it blue?"

"It’s just a picture," Dudley laughed. "And it’s not a sonic hedgehog, it’s his name — Sonic."

"And how can we play with it?" Harry interrupted.

"Not play with it, play the game," Dudley corrected. "Haven’t you ever seen a game console?"

“Oh, and you’ve flown on a broomstick or fought a troll in the school bathrooms?” Draco snapped.

Silence fell.

"You must be joking," Dudley said weakly.

"Not at all," Draco answered. "Both of us have been riding a broom since the age of five, and we are on the school Quidditch team. Quidditch is a Wizarding sport where all the players fly on brooms. You need to throw a ball into the hoops, catch the Snitch and avoid the Bludgers. Those are huge balls that fly around and can easily kill you."

"It’s true, I swear," Harry confirmed, trying very hard not to laugh at his cousin’s stunned expression.

"There are real trolls in your school toilets?"

"Of course," Draco replied matter-of-factly. "There are hundreds of them. You can imagine what it’s like to have a detention there."

"Compared to that, my video games are dull," Dudley sighed sadly.

"All right," Draco said patronizingly. "Show us how to play with your blue monster."

* * *

After studying Dudley’s school reports, Lucius seemed satisfied, if not entirely pleased.

"It could have been better," he remarked, returning the papers to Petunia. "But these are fine results for two months. I hope in six months he will have made up for the lost time, and if not... there is always St. Brutus’s Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. I hear they still use canes as a punishment."

Petunia paled.

"But..." Her voice cracked.

"I am joking," Lucius replied dryly. "I have more up-to-date views on how to treat children, even if they are not mine."

This time Petunia hung her head and did not answer.

"Lucius," Narcissa interfered gently. "Remember, it’s Christmastime."

"Yes, darling," he agreed. "My apologies, Petunia, that was inappropriate. If the boy will keep this up, we will increase the amount of his pocket money... Let’s say, after Easter. Before that, please, do not spoil him. I hope you restrained yourself and did not shower him with some extravagancies for Christmas?"

"I gave him a game console," Petunia said, blushing.

Puzzled, Lucius stared at her, as the word meant nothing to him.

"A Muggle entertainment," Mr. Lewis explained. "Quite a prestige toy, but within the budget we discussed."

"You see,” Petunia bubbled, “children at that school may not be really polite, but they are far from poor. They can’t bring anything like this with them to the school, but they still talk..."

Lucius nodded: he knew perfectly well the importance of establishing one’s social status.

"Fine. If this thing cannot be taken to school, I suppose it cannot interfere with the boy’s studies. Mr. Lewis, are there any other questions that I need to settle?"

The man smiled, "There are none, I think. If anything turns up, I will send you an owl."

"Wonderful. In this case, enough of business-talk, it is time to move to something more pleasant."

"I think, we can have lunch now," Petunia announced. Her confidence returned as soon as her precious son’s future was settled, at least for now. "I have everything ready."

* * *

"How was your day?" Severus asked when they returned home late in the afternoon, just before dinner. He spent all the morning in the lab, and after lunch settled in the library with the latest issue of Studies in Alchemy and a glass of brandy. That was where Lucius found him later.

"Tedious," the latter sighed. "It looks like I will have to endure the company of Muggles for a long time, as a penance for my previous choices." He shuddered. "There were some informative moments, though. For example, you’d never guess who I met there."

"Hmm?" Severus responded absent-mindedly. "I thought you were having a family lunch, not a formal party."

"We thought so too," Lucius smirked, pouring a drink for himself. "However, one guest was informal enough to come uninvited. Guess who?"

"Dumbledore," Severus suggested calmly and looked at Lucius just in time to see him choking on his brandy.

"Do not say such things!" Lucius said indignantly after catching his breath. "I have had enough nightmares for one day."

"My condolences," Severus answered without any sympathy. Today, for the first time since the beginning of the school year, he was able to rest and relax, and all alone at that.

"Thank you very much," Lucius grumbled.

"So, who was it?"

"Liam Lloyd. Do you remember him?"

Severus frowned.

"Vaguely. Isn’t he an Auror?"

"Yes. And my former housemate. He wrote to me in September, and we have exchanged a couple of letters since then."

Severus whistled quietly and finally put his journal down.

"And he came to visit Petunia," he frowned. "To the Muggle town where she had moved only a couple of months ago. And today of all days... I do not like it at all."

"Me neither," Lucius assured him. "It also turns out, he is a younger brother to my Muggle solicitor."

"What?" Severus could not believe his ears.

"You have heard it right," Lucius nodded. "At least, he told me so."

Then he settled into his armchair and retold his conversation with Liam in detail.

"This is utter rubbish."

"Or an unbelievable coincidence."

"Just as I said: rubbish."

"I see three main possibilities," Lucius said slowly, thinking aloud. "First, it is possible that he actually tells the truth, as unbelievable as it is. In this case, he must be assuming that I am in alliance with Amelia Bones and is trying to obtain my support. It would have been nice if I was actually in alliance with her."

"Are you not?" Severus asked slyly.

"Even if Amelia agreed, it would have been a disadvantageous partnership," Lucius made a face. "She is too soft in determining her goals and much too scrupulous when it comes to choosing means. If the war breaks out in earnest, she will not live to see its end."

Severus only shook his head.

"I will not argue with that. And the other two possibilities?"

"The most unpleasant one is that he is lying and Lewis is not a relation of his — say, he is under Imperius. Or he had been bribed, or something else in that vein. If it is so, the whole situation is rather ugly. It would mean that Liam has probably already extracted from his mind all the information on Petunia and has a fairly good idea why we need her."

"Too risky," Severus objected. "It is highly unlikely that he thinks you are naive enough to expect you to trust his word only. In any case, he knows about your contacts with Shacklebolt. Ergo, everything he told you can be verified."

"You are probably right," Lucius conceded. "He is too smart to use such a pack of blatant lies. It could also be a double bluff, of course. There is one more option, though, and I think it is the most probable one."

"Which is?"

"All of it is mostly true, apart from the fact that Lewis was recommended to me on purpose."

"You think your cousin..." Severus sounded doubtful.

"There are other ways. Gérard is French, after all. He has some connections in London, but I doubt they are wide enough.  Most likely, he approached his business acquaintances and made inquiries. It usually takes time. At that stage, someone used, say, a common friend to recommend him a reliable squib with a spotless reputation. I cannot even blame him, as I have seen for myself that Mr. Lewis is a very thorough and careful man in his field of work. I did not tell Gérard why I needed him, so..."

"Wait, are you saying that Liam knew beforehand that you would need a Muggle solicitor? How could he know?"

"This is the most curious part," Lucius said darkly. "Nine days passed between the ritual and Shacklebolt’s visit. The question is, when exactly they noticed the changes in the documents and who had seen them before Shacklebolt."

"Strictly speaking, any time and anyone. The first point can be clarified with Shacklebolt himself. There is another thing I do not understand: Luc, what does it matter? We did not expect to keep it secret for long. What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing really, but when someone wants something from me, I prefer to know what that something is. And why it is wanted. So Mr. Lloyd’s machinations look more than suspicious, even if he sincerely wants an alliance with me."

"It is quite obvious what these Ministry sleuths want," Severus grumbled.

"They always want Harry," Lucius nodded. "They will not get him, though."

"Meanwhile, we must take measures so that they would not know it as long as possible."

* * *

Draco sat on Harry’s desk, swinging his feet, and looked through the books they got from Petunia as Christmas presents. He was flabbergasted to see that Muggle pictures were motionless.

"Muggles are so strange," he concluded, putting the book down. "They have blue hedgehogs, but the pictures are not moving."

"What did you expect?" Harry laughed. "They don’t have magic."

"What do they have?"

Harry frowned.

"I think it’s called technology. I don’t remember what it means. You can ask Hermione. She could probably explain in detail how a TV set works and why Muggle pictures don’t move."

"Thank you very much," Draco snorted. "There are too many Muggles in our life as it is. I’m more interested in magic."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "And those lessons Dad promised. It would be so cool if we return to school knowing many battle spells!"

"What’s the point? Dad will probably forbid us to talk about it. And he will be right, at that."

"Probably. I still can’t wait, though. By the way..." Harry stood up, came to the door, opened a crack and peered carefully outside. Having made sure that the corridor was empty, he closed the door again and returned to his brother. "We need to find something in the library while we are home."

"What?" Draco whispered.

"A book on taming three-headed dogs."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You did want to find the Philosopher’s stone, didn’t you?"

For a moment Draco was speechless.

"Are you serious?"

"Of course I am," Harry smiled. "To do that, we’ll have to pass by that dog. We need to be ready. What if we need some potions or other magical stuff? We won’t be able to get it later at school."

"It won’t be easy here either," Draco grumbled, "with three adults constantly watching us..."

At that moment, someone knocked on the door, and both conspirators immediately grabbed a book each from the new four-volume set, pretending to be terribly busy.

"Come in," Harry said, staring at the picture with three trolls, thirteen dwarves and some strange creature he could not recognize.

Lucius entered.

"Ah," he said, "you are broadening your horizons."

"Do you want to read it?" Draco readily offered him the book he was holding.

"No, thank you," Lucius declined hurriedly. "Actually, I came because, first, dinner is ready, and second, we need to discuss our lessons in defensive and battle spells. What do you say if we begin tomorrow?"

The boys glanced at each other.

"Hurray!" they shouted in unison.

Chapter Text

Severus stared at snow covered Hogwarts grounds from the top of the Astronomy tower and thought darkly that he had been avoiding the Headmaster for two days now, because he was expecting a scolding like a schoolboy caught red-handed. How did that happen? Lucius and he were adults, and as such, they were at liberty to act as they pleased. Even to use some obscure old magic for personal gain. And come to think of it, the gain was not quite personal. Harry’s safety ultimately meant the safety of the Wizarding World, didn’t it?

"Good evening, Severus."

He startled, then turned around and asked sourly, "Is it, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore looked at him, surprised.

"Did I say something wrong? If so, please excuse me. Is there any problem I could help you with?"

Now he managed to talk back like a schoolboy caught red-handed. Severus took a deep breath to calm himself down and said, "Do excuse me. I am for some reason terribly exhausted."

"Yes, some rituals take up much more energy than originally anticipated."

How is one supposed to talk to such a man? And he does not even really need to use Legilimency...

"When did you know?" Severus sighed.

"Almost immediately," Dumbledore answered pensively. "When the back wave reached Hogwarts, and the Register jumped on the shelf. Twenty minutes past midnight, if my memory does not play me false. Much time has passed since November."

"The day your memory plays you false, is the day I hand in my resignation," Severus answered, just not able to help himself. "Just in case, you know."

Dumbledore smirked.

"It depends on who the other player is," he said quietly and mysteriously — to the Potions Master or to himself, it was not clear. Severus did not understand the joke too but decided not to ask questions. Just in case.

"Wait," he remembered something. "I actually meant..."

"Yule. I know," Dumbledore nodded with almost unbearable calmness. "It was rather predictable, however. In November, though, Lucius and you managed to surprise me."

"I had nothing to do with it!" Severus burst out, dumbfounded, before he could bite his tongue. "Are you trying to say that you knew all along? And didn’t say anything?"

"What is it I should have said?" Suddenly the old man looked at him sternly. "‘Boys, you are playing a dangerous game’? I hope you realized that without my help. ‘Did you think about the consequences?’ I hope you did."

"You hope for naught", Severus almost blurted out. For some unknown reason, during these heart-to-hearts with Headmaster he was always tempted to blather some utter nonsense.

"I am not a boy," he grumbled instead.

"Anyway," Dumbledore continued as if nothing happened, "So far so good. You did well during Yule. Good. Don’t wake the sleeping dragon."

"You think so?" Severus hesitated, but shared his doubts. "I am still not sure I should have participated in this. Lucius assured me that it was better that way, however."

Now they stood near the railings side by side. Dumbledore was staring into space somewhere above the Forbidden forest with deceptive absentmindedness. Nothing of note was happening there.

"I always thought Lucius was an extraordinary young man who would go far," he said. "The question was which way he would choose."

Severus choked on air.

"Anyway, in this case I agree with him," Dumbledore continued, unfazed.

"Why?"

"It is always better to deal with the consequences of your actions yourself."

Severus froze for a second, and then muttered through gritted teeth, "Thank you very much for a reminder, sir."

Dumbledore sighed.

"It is not a reproach, it is simply a fact. And what is more, I am quite sure that it is a fundamental law of nature. And magic, obviously."

"Now I understand why you spent half of your life on the Dark Lord," Severus taunted.

"Exactly," Headmaster replied quietly.

Severus shivered and wrapped his cloak tighter around himself. Despite the heating charms it seemed to be very cold on top on the tower.

"I am sorry," he muttered again.

"Then again," the old wizard said suddenly, "it is nothing. If I remember right, you will feel human soon. In about six weeks, or so. You will be surprised how your perception will change. Do you want a sherbet lemon?"

* * *

This time Severus did not wait for a good opportunity and went to the Malfoy manor the very next morning, foregoing all secrecy on purpose. Annoyance that overwhelmed him after the previous night’s conversation with Headmaster demanded immediate release. Plus, it was terribly cold in the castle, and Severus hoped it was warmer in Wiltshire.

Lucius was in the library. Dressed in disgustingly luxurious robes of black silk with emerald-green dragons, he was reclining on the sofa in the so-called card corner with some light reading, like the Liao Zhai’s Treatise on Fox Magic. Severus got angrier just by looking at him.

"Dumbledore knows everything," he snapped in a way of greeting.

Lucius calmly marked the page with a wicker tassel, put the book down and looked up.

"I think you are exaggerating, but I can understand your admiration."

Severus cursed under his breath. Lucius smiled, sat up and waved at the chair before him.

"Make yourself comfortable. The elves will bring refreshments. Would you like something cold?"

"Something hot, if you don’t mind," Severus intervened hastily, as he shivered just from looking at his friend’s light summer robes.

"Will Irish coffee do? Great. Now please tell me what exactly is this ‘everything’ your Headmaster knows."

Severus sighed, sipped some coffee and started his tale.

"Do you know what his parting words were?" he complained acidly finishing his speech. "That everyone should deal with the consequences of their actions themselves."

Lucius listened to his ardent monologue with such equanimity that Severus just itched to curse him. Finally, his friend livened up.

"I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life."

"Have you? Dumbledore insists it is a fundamental law of nature."

"Maybe. Probably. But it doesn’t mean that it should be taken as an instruction. If you jump off the roof to embody the universal law of gravity, the result would be quite ridiculous, don’t you think?"

Severus was at a loss, so Lucius continued calmly, "Trying to control all the consequences of your actions by yourself is a waste of resources and time. And it is impossible to do. By the way, even your Dumbledore doesn’t do it."

"He is not ‘my Dumbledore’!"

"Well, he is certainly not mine either," Lucius snorted. "It is you who catches his every word... but that is beside the point. I could bet a hundred Galleons that your Headmaster meant to say something else. You just didn’t understand him right."

Severus lost his temper. "If you two understand each other so perfectly, maybe you should start talking to him directly. I am tired of feeling like a fool."

"Don’t feel like a fool then, what is the problem?"

"Oh, for goodness’ sake!" Severus stood up, barely restraining himself from throwing his cup at Lucius, together with the spent coffee grounds. "If you can think of nothing but idiotic jokes..."

"Sev."

Lucius said it in such a voice that the Potions Master who was already leaving the library froze in the doorway.

"Come back and sit down. And listen to me. Please."

Severus doubled his fists, took a deep breath, turned around and slowly returned to the armchair.

"I am listening."

"First of all, I’ve never meant to and didn’t want to offend you."

"Good."

"Second, I need to ask you several questions that you might find strange."

Severus, suddenly intrigued and suspicious, forgot to be angry.

"What’s going on?"

"Do you feel alright?"

"Yes... I think."

"Do you? Or do you only think so? Can you specify? Have you noticed anything unusual about yourself lately? Trust me, this is not idle curiosity."

Severus forced down a wave of irritation and tried to inspect his sensations and memories.

"I don’t think I have," he decided at last. "Apart from the fact that I am busy with some nonsense all the time, and I am twice as irritated as usual. Why?"

Instead of answering, Lucius took his wand, wordlessly conjured a bunch of daffodils and sent it away with a dramatic gesture — probably, to Cissy. Severus shivered. Damn these draughts! And could you believe it, there had been times when he used to love winter!

"So?" he grumbled.

"Do you feel anything? Anything at all?"

"Well, I am cold," Severus admitted, surprised. "This winter I am constantly cold for some reason."

Lucius made a face.

"You feel cold and irritated, I am hot, and everything seems ridiculously silly to me, while Cissy is hungry and craves blood... only figuratively for now, thank Merlin. And this happens every time one of us three does magic. Please note that it can be anyone of us."

Severus frowned, seeing the ostentatious silk robes that had caused his earlier indignation in a new light.

"Does the distance matter?"

"No, not between here and London, anyway. We did not test it at a greater distance, but since you did not make a connection between your mood swings and the use of magic... I gather, it reaches Hogwarts too."

Severus mulled over this information.

"I think, you are correct," he acknowledged, frowning. Then he shivered. "Damn! Dumbledore said..." and stopped short.

"What exactly did he say?" Lucius asked quietly and earnestly. Severus almost forgave him all the taunts of today.

"He said, and I quote. ‘You will feel human soon, in about six weeks, or so’."

Lucius sighed.

"Well... I hope you can bear my idiotic jokes for six more weeks."

"We’ll see," Severus smirked, feeling a little better now. "Anything else?"

"What did Dumbledore say about the Register?"

"It is not a concern until Minerva needs it in June."

"Is that all?"

"He also said, and once again, I quote, ‘Lucius and you managed to surprise me’." Severus pulled a face. "I told him, quite honestly, that I had nothing to do with it."

Lucius suddenly laughed.

"You never knew how to take a compliment." Severus tried to burn a hole in him with a stare, but his friend continued mischievously, "As far as any dealings with Dumbledore are concerned, you are doing fine. I don’t think I have enough patience for it. Anyway, after the Fountain of Fair Fortune..."

"After what?" Severus asked, astonished.

"Oh, so you don’t know this story? Ah yes. In the autumn of 1980, you were busy with other matters. It is rather strange that Dumbledore never told you."

"Does he ever tell anything to anyone willingly?"

"You have a point. Frankly speaking, it was the worst autumn of my life. I do not remember ever feeling this afraid, either before or after that time. On my twenty-sixth birthday," Lucius’ smile was both self-deprecating and nostalgic, "I got drunk as a homeless house elf. My parents were in Bulgaria on some Dark Order business. Cissy was nursing Draco. And I was drinking and trying to read anything at hand out of boredom. The first thing at hand was The Tales of Beedle the Bard."

"So?"

"In the morning I wrote a letter to Dumbledore, demanding to take the book out of the school library," Lucius smirked. "Stating that it was advocating marriages with Muggles, and all that rot."

"Had you lost your mind?"

"No, I was simply very drunk. And very young. It was not the end of it, however. He actually replied to me, imagine that. Something about family trees and Muggle blood in every Wizarding family. It was unbelievably insulting. When the letter arrived, I was completely sober, of course, and did not reply."

"But?" Severus had already guessed that the story was not over.

"But it was not the last time I... felt out of sorts," Lucius snorted. "Our correspondence lasted for more than a year — with long intervals. He eagerly questioned my bloodline and my views, and I questioned his choices, his habits and his intellect. I am afraid, I was also much less inclined to mince words. Anyway, it was amusing, but I am not ready to renew casual acquaintance. You will have to serve as an intermediary for now, sorry."

"Both of you just like to have fun at my expense," Severus grumbled.

"Do not tell me you are not enjoying it," Lucius replied.

Severus sighed, but said nothing.

"There you are." Lucius rose. "Let’s go and see what the boys are doing. They have been on their own since morning, and you know who finds work for idle hands."

"Dumbledore?" Severus asked sourly.

His friend tripped over the card table and almost fell.

"You know," he said with feeling, rubbing his knee, "I think you are a sadist."

* * *

Several days later, the weather changed for the better. As soon as the earth became dry barely enough not to squelch under feet, Harry and Draco got away and went riding.

"Did you manage to find anything?" Harry asked. "Easy, Bill, easy."

Bill was his pony. It was brightly sorrel, very clever and terribly restive.

"You wish," Draco sighed. "These lessons... It’s like Mum and Dad are conspiring never to let us out of their sight. What about you?"

"I found something, I think. Yesterday, when you pretended that you couldn’t understand how to turn wool into silk. That was a great idea, by the way."

Draco snorted.

"You bet! What did you find?"

Harry lowered his voice even though they were rather far away from home.

"This three-headed dog is called a Cerberus. It’s a monster from Classical Antiquity. There was this guy called Orpheus... Do you want the details?"

"No, thanks," Draco shrugged. "I’m not Granger. Straight to the point, please. And to the problems."

"The point is that this monster falls asleep as soon as it hears music."

"Just like Sev," Draco giggled. "What about problems?"

"We don’t have a single musical instrument that we can take to school."

"Hrmph. Mum’s harpsichord won’t do, I suppose."

"We can’t even play any instrument."

"Piece of cake," Draco waved away the concern. "We’ll learn. We just need to find something that fits into a pocket."

"Where can we find it?"

Draco contemplated the options.

"We can ask Granger."

Harry cast a sideways glance at his brother.

"She’s in enough trouble already, don’t you think? Anyway, have you noticed that Hermione is now your answer to every question?"

Draco flushed.

"It’s because she’s always in the way. Which is all your fault! Canter!"

And he sent his pony galloping.

Harry laughed.

"Go, Bill! Canter!"

Bill snorted and obeyed.

* * *

The rest of the winter holiday faded away like smoke, and the first morning of the term descended upon Severus almost unexpectedly. He grimly surveyed the students babbling excitedly during breakfast, picked half-heartedly at his scrambled eggs and contemplated the best way to arrange an interrogation — sorry, that was an educational chat — with the Granger girl.

Give her a detention? It was a bit difficult to find a reason for that, and it would attract Minerva’s attention immediately. For a while he contemplated the idea of informing the Head of Gryffindor about her ward’s ‘prank’. That way Minerva would not only approve the detention, but surely would add something of her own. Severus had to admit, however, that he wanted to spare the girl. Granger basically tried to help, even though her attempt was awkward. He was also quite sure that his godsons led her onto this. After the troll incident, the Potions Master was sure that the Gryffindor wouldn’t betray her friends, but the boys wouldn’t be too thrilled if Severus made her a scapegoat for teachers’ displeasure. Moreover, Minerva was neither stupid nor guileless: she would probably not believe in a child’s prank but would most definitely get her claws into Severus about his suspicions concerning Quirrell, and then he would have to tell her everything. That was not an option. He had to find an excuse to talk to the girl without raising suspicions.

"Excuse me, Professor, can I talk to you?"

Startled, Severus raised his head. Granger was standing in front of him with a totally innocent expression on her face and patiently waited for permission to continue. He glanced at the Slytherin table, and saw Harry and Draco looking their way. This meant they had most probably warned her and decided to force the events. Perfect.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he grumbled with carefully measured annoyance, keeping in mind that Minerva had her eyes glued to them too like a vulture ready to attack.

"I’d like to ask for an extra assignment on Potions, sir," the girl announced with the anxiety of a high-achiever school-girl. Any thespian could have envied her sincerity. "May I discuss it with you, Professor?"

"As a matter of fact," Severus growled, feeling the hairs on the back of his head rise under Minerva’s stare, "first year students are advised against carrying out extra projects. You have more than enough work as it is. But if you insist... come to my classroom today after classes."

Granger beamed, thanked him and left, followed with amazed and bewildered whispers of the student body.

"She came to me too," Minerva noted with such a satisfied smile as if she had brought this Gryffindor wonder girl into the world herself. "I couldn’t resist too, I must admit."

Was it so? How curious. Either he had made a mistake, and this was a mere coincidence... or Granger was more prudent than it could be expected from a Gryffindor her age. Or had someone suggested it to her? The boys, probably? Other Slytherins?

"She will soon be hanging around our necks till her seventh year is over," Severus grumbled. "Just you wait, in her third year she would want to take up all elective subjects simultaneously. And in her fifth year she will start preparing for her N.E.W.T.s. Or writing her thesis. Or both."

Minerva laughed.

"We need to restrict her somehow," Madame Pomfrey tut-tutted in concern. "Studying is all good and well, but they are still children, and their health is of the highest importance!"

Severus and Minerva looked at each other and snorted. Restrict? A Gryffindor? They would need shackles for that, at the very least. And a dark dungeon. And still, it would be better not to expect much success.

* * *

"Great!" Harry said, fumbling with a crude handmade flute and blew a note.

Yesterday evening, Hagrid approached him near the Great Hall entrance and hesitantly handed him a parcel in simple brown wrapping paper.

"Sorry, I didn’ send it in time," the Keeper of the Keys said shyly. "I thought maybe yer foster Mum an’ Da’ wouldn’ approve yeh keeping company with me. Here at Hogwarts is one thing, but were I..." He stopped, but Harry understood what he tried to say.

"Thank you." He smiled. "Don’t worry, they would never decide for us which company to keep or to avoid. Anyway, we’re friends with Hermione."

"True." Hagrid cheered up. "They must really love yeh. Oh, I almos’ forgot: thank yeh for the present! And tell Draco too."

"Of course!"

After wracking their brains, they sent the Keeper of the Keys a bottle of Old Ogden’s (that Narcissa gladly bought for them when they explained their idea) and a small dog whistle to summon Fang as Christmas presents.

"Let’s hurry up or we’ll miss the meal," Hagrid said and stepped into the Hall. Making it to the Slytherin table, Harry heard him mumble, "Heh, maybe it’s true, about the Imperius...", and sighed.

"What’s so great about it?" Draco asked, returning him to the present. "Sounds like an owl hooting, not music."

They were sitting in de Combrai’s chambers they had sneaked to right after dinner.

"Great, as in "now we have a musical instrument at last"," Harry countered. "Since we chose not to ask Hermione for something. Now we need to make sure Severus doesn’t kill her. It’s cool she decided to approach him herself. I couldn’t have done it in her place."

"Don’t you remember which House she’s in? They are all mental!" Draco replied. "Do you know what the funniest thing is? I won’t be surprised if she actually does this project of hers. She’s that crazy."

* * *

The ever-hungry herd of fifth year students left the Potions class, hurrying to dinner, and exactly five minutes later there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," Severus grumbled. He had a fierce headache. And who wouldn’t after trying in vain to ram an ounce of knowledge into the thick heads of these Heffalumps? Besides, every second fifth year Gryffindor student could beat any Heffalump in terms of clumsiness.

The Granger girl entered, punctual as usual, greeted him and confidently shut the door after herself.

"What did you want to tell me, Miss Granger?" Severus growled, deciding not to beat around the bush. "Ah," he waved to the desks, "take a seat, don’t just stand there. And hurry up; otherwise, McGonagall will accuse me of starving her pets on purpose."

The insolent girl complied. She sat at a desk and started to tell him in her clear perfect-student voice a completely outrageous story about Quirrell, the Quidditch match and the blue flame. After that, she shared just as outrageous story about an overheard conversation between the DADA teacher and some unknown person. She ended her monologue with her side of an incident with the anonymous letter and admitted shyly, "I’m so sorry, sir, it was my own stupid idea."

"Which one?" Severus specified darkly.

"To warn you with such a letter. I really don’t know what came over me."

Severus sighed.

"Miss Granger, I have precious little free time. Considering your insatiable thirst for random information and love for seeking trouble, I doubt you have it too. Thus, I urge you to stop lying. You don’t want to tell the whole truth, that’s fine with me. Trust me, if I would really need it, I would not hesitate to get it out of you. But please stop wasting my and your time on small talk and futile attempts to take the fall for my godsons. Are we clear?"

The girl had enough conscience — or was it just the lack of experience? — to blush and look down.

"Yes, sir."

"Please do get this right," he continued, softening a little. "Judging by some evidence, you actually have brains and the ability to use it. Trust me, it is not that common within the walls of this school. So, I would ask you from now on to state your reasoning and ideas straightforwardly. If I find them outlandish, be assured, I shall tell you so. If not, it would save us a lot of time. I hope you realize how serious the situation is."

"Yes, sir. I’ll try."

"Good. Thank you for finding a way to share the details. Anything else?"

"Yes, Professor." The girl’s eyes shone. "About my project..."

Severus who was pacing the room stumbled.

"Excuse me?"

"About my project, sir. I’m interested in the inconsistencies in John Dee’s biography versions. Magical and Muggle versions, you know? And I’d like to..."

Severus felt his headache increase.

* * *

Harry jerked awake and sat upright, rubbing his sweat-covered forehead. It was dark and quiet in the dorm, apart from Crabbe’s or Goyle’s snoring, but the cold high-pitched laughter he had heard in his dream still haunted him. And his scar was stinging again.

Harry sighed and lay down again.

These hideous dreams started right after their return to school from holiday. Flashes of emerald-green light and this chilling laughter tortured him every night. He had read enough about the first war with Voldemort to guess that the light was the Killing Curse. Maybe it was even the one that killed James and Lily Potter. Why now, though? And why did his scar hurt every time?

Before that, his scar used to sting a bit every time Harry caught Quirrell looking at him. Recently, though, the DADA teacher — real or fake — not only stopped trying to attack, but actually started to avoid both Draco and Harry. When they met in the halls by chance or visited the Great Hall at the same time, Quirrell always looked away. Harry’s scar did not even sting, not once.

Harry rolled onto his other side and closed his eyes, thinking sleepily. He should have told an adult about the stinging in his scar long ago, of course, and about these dreams, too. But... the fearless Hermione had just fixed their previous blunder of the same sort. Going to Severus and confessing... no, not now, he decided. In a week, maybe. It could be just a coincidence, couldn’t it?

* * *

"Potter!" Black as thunder, Flint burst into the Slytherin common room. "I need a word."

Despite the fact that the captain’s mood boded ill, Harry gladly closed A History of Magic. Very few things could be worse than attempts to memorize the dates of endless Goblin revolts. Judging by the steps behind Harry’s back, Draco followed him.

Flint pulled them both aside, drew a circle with his wand and cast a silencing spell.

"Potter," he repeated darkly.

"What’s the matter?"

"Higgs has left the team. He refuses to play anymore. He has N.E.W.T.s, he says." Flint made a face as if he had swallowed a lemon. "The game with the Ravens is in five days. You must be there."

Harry stared at him.

"But..."

"I don’t think Professor Snape would approve," Draco put in coldly. "Especially after the last time."

Flint’s face fell.

"I know. Still, I thought if you’d ask yourselves he’d give you permission."

"If he gives us something, that will be a detention, not a permission," Draco grumbled.

Harry finally gathered his wits.

"Listen, captain," he said carefully, "you know I want to play." Hearing that, Draco sucked in breath and stepped on Harry’s foot, but Harry didn’t even think to stop. "And I really don’t want to let the House down. Professor Snape will never agree to it, though, if we simply ask him. Someone should persuade him."

"Who?" Flint asked quickly.

"Guess who."

It took their captain thirty seconds.

"Dumbledore!"

Encouraged, Flint turned on his heels and dashed to the door when Harry grabbed his sleeve.

"Wait. If our Head learns that we had anything to do with it..."

"Don’t teach a fish to swim," Flint snapped, but he looked content. "No one will know anything if you two manage to keep your mouths shut. Practice is tomorrow morning at seven o’clock. Anyone who is late will have to skip breakfast!"

He ran out.

"Are you mad?" Draco hissed. "How can you take such a risk?"

Harry shrugged.

"It went fine the last time. And no one knew anything then! Now Severus will watch out for me, and you will too."

"But why?"

"I’m sick and tired of waiting for an attack from around every corner," Harry confessed quietly.

"You are right about sick and tired," Draco grumbled.

"Don’t fuss," Harry waved him away. "It will be alright. Maybe we’ll catch him red-handed."

And then maybe the nightmares will stop, he added to himself.

* * *

"You have gone mad," Severus groaned quietly, sinking into an armchair. "With all due respect, you finally lost it."

Albus Dumbledore studied him calmly across the table.

"This is a curious topic for discussion," he noted, "but an untimely one. We need to decide how to ensure Harry’s safety during the game. Will you be the referee?"

Severus sat up.

"What?"

"I think you ought to referee this game yourself. This way you will be constantly close to the boy. And this time I will be present too, I promise, even if the Ministry will catch on Fiendfyre. I think I will be able to keep an eye on Quirinus."

"But Headmaster..."

"And what would you prefer to do?" Dumbledore leaned forward. "Watch over Harry day and night for weeks on end, expecting another attack? You are smart enough to understand that it will happen at the most inconvenient moment for us."

"So, you propose," the Potion master said slowly, "a controllable experiment?"

"Something of the kind. Taking into account everything you have already told me, Quirinus will have no other way but to try again soon."

Severus frowned.

"If you are present at the stands," he said finally, "he won’t have the nerve. He is stupid, but not that stupid!"

Dumbledore beamed.

"If so, Harry is not in any danger, and there is no reason to forbid him to play."

Checkmate, Severus thought darkly.

* * *

Strangely enough, Severus not only gave Harry permission to play, but did not even fuss about it too much.

"I will referee this game myself," he announced dryly the next day, after summoning the boys to his study. "Dumbledore will monitor the teachers’ stand. Harry, tell your redhead friends to take brooms and watch out."

Either the precautions made the impression, or Quirrell’s plans changed, but the Saturday game went as smooth as it could if one did not count the fact that Harry caught the Snitch too early, earning himself a tongue-lashing from Flint mixed with congratulations. Despite their win, the points gap between Slytherin and Ravenclaw was still too small. Now everything depended on the results of their game against Hufflepuff in the beginning of May and the last match of the season held between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor.

Nevertheless, the mood of the team was cheerful, even overly so. The Slytherins arranged an illegal celebration in the changing rooms with a flask of something that was clearly stronger than butterbeer. Harry pretended he did not notice it, but he was secretly flattered. The older boys now regarded him as one of their own and trusted him not to squeal on them to Severus. Harry felt awkward celebrating with them, though, so he said his goodbyes and left, planning to return Higgs’ broom to the shed.

A few steps away from the changing room he almost bumped into Professor Quirrell.

"Oh, hello, sir! Excuse me!"

Harry tried to act confident, but he felt uneasy: there was no one else in sight. His teammates were close by, but he doubted they would hear him through the closed door and their own ruckus.

"H-hello, H-harry."

Having said that, Quirrell simply stared at him strangely and silently. Half a minute later Harry had enough of it.

"What are you doing here, sir?"

"N-nothing sp-pecial. I w-wanted to c-congratulate you."

"Thank you, sir," Harry nodded, frantically trying to invent a way to escape in one piece without turning his back to the DADA professor.

"T-tell me, H-harry," Quirrell suddenly spoke up in a false oily voice, coming closer. Harry shivered. "D-do you k-know w-what’s h-hidden in the f-forbidden corridor?"

"No, sir. It’s none of my business."

"And you d-don’t k-know h-how t-to get there either?"

That was what this was all about!

"No, sir."

"D-don’t you w-want t-to?"

"Of course not, sir," Harry answered as indifferently as he could, but his heart was beating wildly. "The students are forbidden to go there."

"B-but you are n-not just any s-s-student..."

The last word sounded almost like a snake’s hiss. Harry was ready to cry for help and felt relieved beyond words when he saw Severus turning around the corner.

"Hello, Quirinus," the Potions Master said coldly. "I did not expect to meet you here."

"I just w-wanted t-to c-congratulate H-harry," Quirrell mumbled pathetically. Had Harry not just heard his disgusting hissing, he would have believed that this man was only their cowardly and a little bit crazy DADA professor.

"It is very nice of you," Severus icily cut the man off. "Now as you have demonstrated your good manners, I hope you will let me and my students discuss some matters that concern only House Slytherin."

Quirrell got the hint, nodded and left. Severus did not move until the DADA teacher disappeared completely, then quickly stepped forward and squeezed Harry’s shoulder hard.

"This is my fault. I should not have let you leave my sight."

"You couldn’t have followed me to the changing rooms anyway," Harry tried to laugh it off, but it sounded weak.

"Right," Severus agreed. "However, I should have come here earlier. Why are you alone? Where are Flint and the others?"

Harry cast a quick glance at the closed door. Only now he realized that no sound filtered from the inside. Silencing Charms? If so, who used them: Flint, to prevent their bustle from being heard outside, or Quirrell, so that nobody could come out and help Harry?

"I see," the Potions master drawled menacingly and made a step towards the door.

Harry quickly grabbed his sleeve.

"Don’t. Please. They’ll decide that it is I who has told on them."

Severus stopped. And sighed.

"Alright. I’ll tear their heads off some other time. I hope you had enough sense to refuse whatever they are having there."

"I’m not that stupid," Harry answered, genuinely surprised.

"No," Severus snorted and patted him on the head. "Not quite. Let’s go or you will miss dinner."

They put Higgs’ broom into the shed and started walking back to the castle.

"What did he want from you?" Severus asked quietly.

"He asked if I knew how to get into the forbidden corridor," Harry said just as quietly. "If I knew what was hidden there. I replied that I didn’t know and didn’t want to. He hinted that he could help me get there."

"It gets better and better. I hope you..."

"...have enough sense to stay away from it?"

"Precisely."

"Of course I wouldn’t believe him, I’m not so stupid!"

Severus laughed, and they changed the topic. Harry could not stop thinking, though, with some satisfaction and only a tiny twinge of guilt that he had weaseled out of this one quite well: his godfather did not actually make him promise anything.

Chapter Text

Either Severus managed to intimidate him, or for some other reason, but Quirrell stopped attempting to corner Harry. February came and went, making way for a long, cold and wet March. They had not been able to make any progress with the Philosopher’s Stone, as they were now wary of asking any questions openly, and there had not been no other opportunity to find anything out by chance.

Whenever they could spare a minute, Harry and Draco went to de Combrai’s chambers for training. They practiced their battle magic – the few spells their father had shown them during the winter holiday. Strictly speaking, the spells were not exactly battle ones: Lucius refused to teach the boys anything that could do real damage.

"At the moment," he explained, "you will probably do more harm to yourself than to your opponent. And that won’t do." Severus was even more sceptic. "There is no ‘probably’ about it. I would say ‘for sure’." In short, the boys were taught some simple spells that could help them buy some time and escape in case of an emergency: the Body-Bind Curse, the Tickling Charm and some minor jinxes of similar nature. Unfortunately, the boys were still struggling with the Disarming Charm. Both, however, managed to master the Bluebell Flame that Hermione loved so much: it turned out to be very easy to conjure. "If the boys burn the school down, Luc, that will be your problem," Severus sighed tiredly. "I would say that will be Dumbledore’s problem", countered Lucius, and they both laughed.

Weeks passed. The weather remained awful, so Draco did not even complain much when Hermione drew up a study schedule to get ready for the exams. Not only she followed it fastidiously herself but kept nagging others to do the same.

"Granger, you are crazy," Draco said, but since there was nothing better to do anyway, and the amount of homework only increased, all of them took up a habit of spending all their free time in the library.

In the beginning of April, the south wind started blowing, and spring finally came to Hogwarts. Dark clouds were whisked away as if they never existed, the ground dried up under the bright sun, and the first grass appeared everywhere. Crocuses started blooming.

It was a little less than a week before the Easter holidays. Draco and Harry could hardly wait to get home where spring was already in full force.

Dittany, also known as hop marjoram, dictamnus or diktamo (in Greek), has exceptional healing qualities. Various Greek sources state its unmatched…

"I’ll never remember this." Harry made a face, pushing away One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and stared out of the window longingly. The sky was bright blue like a whole meadow of forget-me-nots. Warm breeze came into the library through the open windows, bringing thoughts of the fast approaching summer.

"Yes, you will," Draco answered calmly. "Otherwise Sev will have your head."

"Thanks for the reminder. Tell me, though, what will our family do with three mad Potions masters? Two are quite enough."

Instead of answering Draco hit him on the head with John Gerard’s Herball, or Generall Historie of Plantes.

"Be quiet, you two," Hermione hissed. "Do you want Madam Pince to throw us out?"

"It would be nice!" Harry brightened a bit.

It was more tomfoolery than real complaints, but that day the mere idea of studying was especially revolting.

"What is he doing here?" Draco whispered suddenly.

Harry followed his gaze and almost jumped up on his chair: Hagrid really did look out of place in the library. The half-giant in his moleskin overcoat, his weather-beaten trousers stained with some unrecognizable sap, and his old shirt with leather patches on the elbows obviously felt uncomfortable among heavy high bookcases and thousands of books. More than that, his whole appearance cried out that he was hiding something important.

"Hagrid?" Harry called out.

Startled, the Keeper of the Keys walked into the nearest bookcase, and several tomes from its shelves fell to the floor. Harry, Neville and Hermione started picking them up. Almost all the books were about dragons: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper’s Guide and so on.

"Give me that one," Hagrid mumbled with embarrassment and took Dragon Breeding for Profit and Pleasure from Hermione. "Jus’ lookin’ fer somethin’ to read, that’s all…"

But the way he looked away and mumbled could make even a Hufflepuff suspect that something was up.

Harry sneaked a glance at his brother. It seemed Draco had had the same idea and now was wondering, "Does this mean that there is a dragon at the school along with the Philosopher’s Stone? That is simply too much!"

"Hagrid," Hermione said quietly, but firmly, "private dragon breeding in Great Britain is prohibited by the Warlocks’ Convention of 1709."

"SHHHH!" he whispered in alarm. "Not here! And not now! Come an’ see me later today for tea, will yeh?"

And he left with the Dragon Breeding under his arm, knocking a couple of chairs on the way out.

* * *

Draco struggled with a bad feeling all the way to Hagrid’s hut. Dragons at Hogwarts?! The school could have done without them, thank you very much.

All the curtains in the miserable hut were closed tightly — in the broad daylight! In his mind, Draco rolled his eyes: the half-giant’s idea of secrecy and security was only one step away from a child’s attempts to hide from the Bogeyman under the blanket. Granger knocked on the door, Hagrid asked "Who’s it?" from the inside, let them in and shut the door quickly behind them.

It was not only dark, but also stifling hot inside. The fire was burning as high as if it were January in Lapland, not April in Scotland. While the Keeper of the Keys made tea and some sandwiches with strange-smelling meat that no one dared to try, Draco surveyed the room trying to see what was hidden there.

"Hagrid, what is this?" Longbottom asked suddenly, pointing at the hearth.

Draco turned around, and his heart skipped a beat. The question was rhetorical: a huge black egg was laid in the very heart of the fire.

"Ah… well…" Hagrid faltered.

"This is very clever of Professor Dumbledore," Harry said suddenly with approval. Everyone looked at him as if he suddenly sprouted two heads.

"What’re yeh talkin’ about, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

"Well, this is a security measure, isn’t it?" Harry answered with an innocent expression on his face. "Just in case Fluffy doesn’t do his job."

The Keeper of the Keys blushed.

"Erm… Ter be honest, the Headmaster doesn’ know abou’ this," he mumbled, looking at his feet. "I haven’ even showed it to him yet. In case he disapproves, you see? But yeh’ve a good idea, Harry, maybe I’ll tell Dumbledore exactly that. Jus’ think how this baby can help us when he grows up!"

"That’s not going to happen anytime soon," Harry sighed. "Let’s hope Fluffy will be enough."

"There are all sorts of enchantments there besides Fluffy," Hagrid laughed, waving away their concerns. "All the Heads helped Professor Dumbledore with this: Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, an’ Professor Snape, of course… Hang on, I’ve forgotten someone… Oh yeah, Professor Quirrell did too! It was his job to…" He suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and frowned. "Why am I tellin’ yeh this? That’s top secret!"

"Don’t worry, Hagrid," Longbottom cut in quickly. "We won’t breathe a word about it to anyone."

Draco looked sideways at his brother, and Granger frowned. It was clear that they were all thinking the same thing: if Quirrell had been in on setting up the Philosopher’s Stone protections, he would have easily found out the ways to bypass defenses created by the other professors. Which made Fluffy the only Stone’s real guard. Well, Severus probably also wouldn’t have trusted Quirrell even then, but that was not enough.

It turned out, however, that Granger worried about something else entirely.

"Hagrid," she said sternly, "If Professor Dumbledore doesn’t know about the egg, where did you get it?"

"Won it," Hagrid confessed, giving a look of pride and adoration to the black egg in the fireplace. "A couple o’ days ago, in Hogsmeade. I was down in the village, havin’ a few drinks in the Hog’s Head, an’ there was this guy, he offered a game o’ cards, and I won. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it. Didn’ know what ter do with it, I s’pose."

And you obviously do! Draco thought darkly.

Granger could not give it a rest.

"But what are you going to do with it when it’s hatched?"

"Well, I’ve bin doin’ some readin’," Hagrid waved the book he had taken from the library. "It’s a bit outta date, o’ course, but it’s all in here. How ter recognize the species, too. What I’ve got here is a Norwegian Ridgeback, they’re rare, them! Yeh should keep the egg in the fire, ‘cause their mothers breathe on I em, so I’m doing my best." He added a couple of logs to the hearth and adjusted them a bit with a poker. "An’ when it hatches, yeh need to feed it on a bucket o’ brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An’ in the twinkling’ of an eye it will start to breath fire!"

"Hagrid," Hermione groaned, "you live in a wooden house! This is madness!"

For once Draco agreed with her completely.

* * *

As soon as they left Hagrid’s hut, their group without much words went straight to de Combrai’s chambers in the dungeons. Seeing them, Prince Geraint even abandoned his cauldron with some bubbling turquois concoction.

"It has been a while," he said. "Are you getting ready for the trials?"

"What trials?" Neville asked.

Hermione caught up quickly, though.

"Yes, it’s only seven weeks until the year examinations start. I have already made us a schedule, and we are constantly revising. I’ve also created a special colour-coding system…"

Draco made a face, and Harry decided to interfere.

"Hermione," he tugged at her sleeve, "I think His Royal Highness uses something of that sort himself. Anyway, isn’t that going to boil over?" he nodded at the cauldron that had developed a heap of bright blue suds on top. "We won’t disturb you further and just go in."

Geraint smirked, letting them in, and returned to his experiment.

They settled around the table and exchanged worried looks.

"Merlin’s beard, it’s outrageous!" Draco burst out. "Bringing a dragon to Hogwarts! Breeding it illegally in that hovel! That half-giant is a danger to society and needs to be dealt with!"

"What are you suggesting?" Hermione asked. "Filling a complaint to the Ministry? To the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

"Why not?"

"Do you realize the size of trouble it would lead to?"

"For whom? For Hagrid?" Draco snorted. "He deserves it. He has to be stopped before one of his pets eat us all."

Harry winced. Judging by the Gryffindors’ faces they also did not share his brother’s indignation, even the rule-obeying Hermione.

"Even if I didn’t pity Hagrid — and I do," he noted sensibly, "first of all, Dumbledore would be to blame. As the headmaster, he is responsible for everything that goes on in this school."

"So what?"

"We do not need any troubles with the headmaster right now," Harry stressed out, looking straight into Draco’s eyes.

Hermione and Neville could not understand the hint, of course, but luckily Draco remembered their father’s words on the topic just in time.

"All right, I get it," he replied reluctantly.

"Maybe," Neville started somewhat shyly, "we could tell Professor Dumbledore about it? He’ll figure out what to do!"

They looked at each other.

"We promised not to tell anybody," Hermione said tentatively. "It’s not right to go back on one’s word."

Draco clutched his head.

"This is all your fault, Longbottom!" he snapped. "It was your brilliant idea to promise such nonsense!"

Neville blushed.

"Stop fighting, please," Harry cut them off. "Nothing happened yet. The dragon hasn’t hatched so there is no reason to panic. It may not even hatch at all."

"You wish," Draco grumbled.

"And anyway," Harry added, "Isn’t it cool to see a new-born dragon?"

"No!" Draco shouted, but, unfortunately for him, others did not share his point of view: Hermione’s and Neville’s eyes were bright with curiosity.

"This is a unique chance... It’s a miracle!" Hermione whispered in awe.

"It’s a huge fire-breathing monster! Have you gone crazy? It could burn the whole castle down!"

"It will be tiny after hatching," Neville said. "I don’t think it will be able to do much harm."

"It only means that it’ll burn only us, you idiots!" Draco couldn’t be placated.

"That’s enough!" Harry interfered again. "Enough. Let’s try this. Until it hatches, we don’t do anything. We’ll look at it first. Hagrid wouldn’t refuse us, he’d be wary, because we already know too much. While it’s hatching, let’s try to think what to do next. It’s obvious that the dragon needs to be removed from here. The question is where to send it."

"We could just free it," Neville proposed.

"It won’t survive on its own, it will be too young," Harry countered. "And we can’t wait until it grows up enough — then it will be able to burn half of the school down for sure. Hagrid’s hut doesn’t stand a chance."

"What about some sort of magical animal reserve? Are there any magical reserves in Britain?"

Everyone looked at each other again. No one knew anything about it.

"We need to research it," announced Hermione. "Boys, can you do it in the holiday without attracting attention to yourselves?"

"We’ll try," Harry nodded.

"You are crazy," Draco grumbled. "Even if an animal reserve exists, how will we deliver this beast there?"

"We’ll figure something out," Harry shrugged. "As a last resort, we could tell dad."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Dad has all sorts of connections," Harry explained. "He could help us if something goes wrong. This is better than reporting Hagrid to the headmaster. It’s just not right."

"It’s the only sensible way," Draco grumbled, but realized that he was alone and gave up.

* * *

The spring holidays came and went without any dragon hatching. Draco calmed down a little, deciding that the egg must have been damaged, and so there was nothing to worry about. Harry’s fascination with all sorts of deadly creatures disgusted him. Trolls, three-headed dogs, dragons... What’s next? Lethifolds? Vampires? Werewolves?!

During the Easter holidays they went through a huge pile of books on magical creatures and their habitats. Due to the approaching exams such an interest did not raise their parents’ suspicions. They had not been able to find anything of note, though. In Britain, wild dragons lived in Wales and in the Hebrides, but there were no magical creature reserves — or their location was classified by the Ministry even for wizards, which was not so improbable. Everything dragon-originated, from blood to egg shells, was a valuable ingredient, often more expensive than gold. And crazy bounty hunters were always aplenty.

Whatever was the truth, they returned to school empty-handed. The first few days of the spring term were uneventful, and Draco was almost sure that Hagrid had failed. But on Friday during breakfast Hedwig brought Harry a short note, It’s hatching.

Draco almost choked on his scrambled eggs with bacon.

"I don’t know about you," he hissed, "but I’m going to Herbology class."

"Me too," Harry shrugged. "We’ll visit him after classes."

Draco could only sigh.

In the greenhouse Harry chose the workplace near Granger and Longbottom. Madam Sprout looked slightly surprised but did not object even when they started whispering during the class. Maybe she thought they were discussing the instructions for yarrow repotting, or she decided not to ruin the friendship between students of feuding Houses — who knows how these Hufflepuffs think?

"Hagrid says it’s time," Harry said quietly.

"No way!" Hermione gasped.

"Now what?" Longbottom whispered. "Are you going to come?"

"After the class."

"What if it has already hatched?"

Something clanked right behind their backs, and Draco turned quickly around. Ron Weasley was standing over large garden scissors he had dropped on the ground. He had a strange expression on his face.

Finally, the bell rang signalling the end of the class. The children immediately ran to Hagrid’s hut (Draco grumbled and protested the whole way). The Keeper of the Keys opened the door, looking flushed from excitement.

"It’s nearly out!" he announced in agitated whisper, closing the door. "Look!"

It was s sight to behold. The huge egg, now covered in cracks, was wiggling and shaking on the table while rustling sounds were coming from the inside. Everyone sat around the table (Draco moved his chair as far away as possible but made sure he saw everything) and waited.

Suddenly the egg cracked loudly and split open. A small black dragon tumbled out. It was difficult to call it pretty; it looked more like a crumpled umbrella: its large wings were too big for its jet-black skinny body. The dragon sneezed, and bright sparks flew out from its snout. One of them almost set on fire the fur rugs on the huge bed.

"Aw, aren’t yeh beautiful!" Hagrid melted and held out his hand. The dragon almost bit it off.

Draco paled and turned away — just in time to notice someone’s curious eye in the gap between the curtains. He jumped up and ran to the window.

"What is it?" Granger asked, alarmed.

Draco turned back to the others.

"Ron Weasley," he replied darkly.

They looked at each other.

"This is awkward," Hagrid said, quite upset.

"Now you simply have to tell Professor Dumbledore everything," Granger pleaded. "He’ll find a way out of this mess."

"Yeah, but..."

"I don’t think that Weasley will babble," Longbottom said quietly.

"Why would he keep his mouth shut?" Draco grumbled.

"It’s just not like him to squeal," Longbottom frowned. "He’s no tattletale."

Draco sighed. The Keeper of the Keys, of course, was glad to hear any excuse to keep this awful fire-breathing monster here for another day.

"Hagrid, how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow?" Hermione asked.

It seemed, however, that Hagrid did not even hear her question. He was too busy cooing over his disgusting new-born pet.

* * *

Slytherin’s last game of the year — with Hufflepuff — was the next day. This significant event drove everything else out of Draco’s mind, including the Philosopher’s Stone, never mind dragons. Up to the last minute, Flint kept giving Harry advice in his usual quaint manner, generously mixing hints with threats. This time Harry had a truly formidable opponent: Cedric Diggory had been on the team for two years already and was quite good.

Severus was to referee again. The tension among the teachers was palpable, even if the students did not notice it. This time, however, everything went smoothly again. Harry even managed to hold off catching the snitch for another thirty minutes, giving his teammates a chance to win more points. Considering the minor points gap Slytherin had after the previous games, now they not just had to win — they had to win by a large margin.

Diggory was a serious opponent indeed. He was fast, strong and dexterous, and did not hesitate to take a risk. A rare quality for a Hufflepuff, Draco thought, biting his lip in agitation and watching Harry take another sharp turn in an attempt not to fall behind the other seeker.

"Hmm, Diggory is the real thing, unlike that McLaggen idiot," Millie mumbled.

"Shut up," Draco hissed.

Offended, Millie pursed her lips, and he relented, "Sorry."

Pansy tut-tutted in annoyance and sing-sang dismissively, "Boys..."

The quarrel was interrupted in the beginning, though, by the hubbub and noise from the stands: while they were arguing, Harry managed to catch the Snitch.

"This is all your fault," Draco grumbled, upset that he had not seen the finale of the game. The all-out joy at the Slytherin stand got to him too. They won! Well, there was still a game between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but thanks to Flint now they had two hundred fifty points on Gryffindor — the Buffoondors would not be able to take the Cup from Slytherin, even if they did somehow manage to do better than the Ravens.

Getting to the Slytherin changing rooms, Draco found Severus at the door. Having heard Harry’s story about his last encounter with the DADA teacher, he was not at all surprised.

"Have you seen Quirrell?" he asked his godfather quietly.

"Not here," Severus snapped. "And not now."

Draco nodded, and they waited for Harry in silence.

* * *

As it turned out, Neville was right. It looked like Ron Weasley had not said anything to anyone. There were no dragon rumours at school, and the headmaster did not invite anyone for a chat. They had been visiting Hagrid’s hut almost every day for a week to see the little dragon grow — which it did rather quickly. Next Saturday it was three times its original size, and soon even Harry had started worrying.

"A few weeks more, and it won’t fit into the hut," Hermione persuaded Hagrid. "It has to be set free."

"It’s still just a baby," Hagrid wailed. "It will die on its own. And it’s got used ter me, too. I’ve even named it Norbert. Look." He turned to the dragon that was already a whole yard long. "‘ere, Norbert, come to yer Mummy!"

Norbert deftly twisted and snapped its terrible teeth literally an inch away from the Keeper’s outstretched hand.

"Yeh see, he knows me!" Hagrid was overjoyed.

"I’m going to be sick," Draco grumbled into Harry’s ear. "This beast has to go and fast. That, or we’ll need to go to Dumbledore."

"But where to?" Harry replied pensively. A vague thought lurked at the back of his mind, but he could not quite catch it. He has surely heard something on the topic... something about dragons... then suddenly it dawned on him: "Charlie!"

Everyone turned to him.

"Charlie?" Draco repeated, surprised.

"Is this some sort of wizarding common phrase?" Hermione asked. "Like ‘eureka’?"

"What is ‘eureka’?" Neville perked up.

"Charlie Weasley," Harry explained impatiently, burning with his new idea. "Fred and George told me about him. He works in Romania, in a dragon reserve. We should send him a letter and ask him to take Norbert."

Everyone except Hagrid liked the idea. Even Draco after some hesitation found it reasonable. They had to persuade the Keeper of the Keys for two more hours, and here Hermione had the most success. She painted such a vivid picture of the little dragon’s future happy life in the open among its kin that Hagrid finally succumbed. He even wanted to write to Charlie himself, but Draco suddenly interfered, "Let Harry talk to the Weasley brothers. To the twins, I mean."

Harry was so amazed, that he could only stare at his brother, while Draco continued, "First of all, no one will suspect anything if they contact their brother. They are family, after all. Surely, they exchange letters anyway. Secondly..." Draco hesitated, and then continued, but it seemed that at first he wanted to say something else. "Secondly, they can also think of something useful."

Much later, when the two of them were walking back to the dormitory in the dungeons, Harry could not hold it anymore.

"Listen, what did you really want to say then? About the twins? You thought of something different, I saw it."

Draco gave him a patronizing glance.

"You are crazy if you think that I’ll take on smuggling dragons myself. I would prefer it to be your red-headed friends’ problem. I’m sure they’ll like it."

Harry laughed, and Draco did too. Their laughter echoed in the empty corridor. It was not the only sound, though, and Harry perked up... No, it was all quiet, so he must have imagined the footsteps.

* * *

Draco had not been mistaken; Fred and George thought it was a brilliant idea. Not only did they take upon themselves all the correspondence with Charlie, but also started visiting Hagrid to help feed Norbert.

"Everything’s just peachy," Fred announced a week later. "Operation Package is planned for this Saturday night. Charlie’s friends will take Norbert from us, but we need to pack it properly first."

"And to deliver it to the top of the Astronomy tower at midnight," George added.

"Piece of cake," Draco quipped.

"It is," Fred smirked.

"Don’t fret, we’ve done worse!" George winked.

Fate decided to ruin their plans, though. Wednesday evening, after another Norbert feeding session, Fred returned to the castle with a bloodied hand hastily wrapped in a handkerchief.

"What happened?" Harry asked in alarm. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Draco’s face fall.

"It’s nothing," Fred waved away the concerns. "The beast bit me. Merlin’s beard, what teeth! How does Charlie deal with them every day? Anyway, I’ll be fine by Saturday."

Sadly, by the next morning his bitten hand had swollen, and by lunch time it had also turned slightly green. There was nothing for Fred but to go to Madam Pomfrey, who made him stay in the hospital wing, of course. Carrying the dragon anywhere on Saturday was out of question. They were lucky that the twins were known for conducting experiments with magic and regularly ended up at Madam Pomfrey’s domain. It seemed, after some time she just stopped listening to their explanations — they rarely told her the truth anyway.

In the evening, when they visited Fred in the hospital wing, George sat by his brother’s bedside, clearly upset.

"I can’t carry the crate up there on my own," he said gravely and quietly, after making sure no one was listening in. "I need one of you guys to help me."

Draco and Harry looked at each other. Draco paled — he doubtlessly did not like the mere thought of carrying a dragon across the whole castle at night himself. Then Harry had another idea.

"It’s alright," he said, stepping on his brother’s foot. "We’ll manage on our own. I have a plan."

Draco stared as if the earth had spun off its axis, and Harry stepped on his foot a little harder, wordlessly saying "I know what I’m doing". Judging by the expression on Draco’s face, he was not convinced, but resigned himself and nodded.

Fred frowned, putting aside the latest Quidditch Weekly. He bookmarked it with some piece of parchment, covered in handwriting.

"Are you sure you’ll manage?"

"Don’t fret," Harry winked. "We’ve done worse!"

As soon as they returned to the dungeons again, Draco gripped his hand and dragged him to de Combrai’s chambers. Apparently, he had such an expression on his face that Geraint did not even bother with pleasantries, but silently opened the door and returned to his research.

"Are you crazy?" Draco shouted as soon as the door closed after them. "Have you got any idea just what you have dragged us into? This is no joke! Dragon smuggling is illegal! Can you imagine what might happen if we are caught?"

"We won’t be caught," Harry answered confidently, even though deep inside he had some doubts. "We’ll use the cloak."

Draco shut his mouth as if gagged.

"Oh," he said. "I forgot about it."

"Don’t get mad," Harry continued hurriedly. "I just... I don’t want anyone but us to know about the cloak. But if you disagree, I can still go with George."

"Are you crazy?" Draco flared. "You’re right, of course. It’s better if no one else knows about it. But... how are we going to fit under the cloak with the crate?"

"I don’t know," Harry admitted honestly. "But if anything goes wrong, we’ll just drop the crate and hide, alright? Let them deal with the dragon in this case."

"Can you imagine what will happen if, for example, Trelawney finds it?" Draco snorted.

"Or Filch!" Harry added. They both laughed.

* * *

However, at eleven thirty p.m. on Saturday they were no more in a laughing mood. Hagrid had been late with the packing. His bruises and scratched arms, along with the visible new dents on the hut’s door made it clear that Norbert was not eager to get into the crate. The ‘Package’ turned out to be terribly heavy and bulky. Luckily, the Invisibility cloak covered both boys and the crate, but it was still terribly unwieldy. Panting and sweating, they carried Norbert to the castle first, then cautiously trudged through deserted corridors to the staircase leading up to the Astronomy tower and sat down to catch their breath.

"If I ever agree to do something like this again..." Draco whispered, winded.

Harry had nothing to say to that. He nodded and suddenly froze: somewhere really close there was a rustle. Both backed into a corner, bundled into the cloak and held their breaths, hoping that it would not cross Norbert’s mind to start fussing right this minute.

Someone was fighting in the corridor, but it was too dark to see who it was. The scrabble became louder, then the torches flared up, and the boys saw Professor McGonagall in a tartan bathrobe, tightly holding Theodore Nott by the ear.

"What are you doing here, Mr. Nott?" the Head of Gryffindor asked menacingly. "It’s almost midnight, curfew was three hours ago! Do you realize that you will get a detention?"

"You don’t understand!" Nott whined. "Malfoy and Potter are here! They want to send a dragon somewhere! It’s smuggling!"

Harry’s heart was beating so wildly that for a second he wondered why no one had heard it yet. Now he was sure he did hear the footsteps that day in the dungeons, someone was eavesdropping, and this someone was Nott!

"What utter rubbish!" McGonagall exclaimed indignantly. "You can’t hope to distract me with such nonsense! Twenty points from Slytherin! And I will report you to Professor Snape immediately!"

McGonagall led Nott away (he was still whining). Draco and Harry looked at each other: they wished pixies pinched this idiot! Knowing them well, Severus, unlike McGonagall, could believe his story — just enough to start checking it up.

"Let’s move," Harry said quietly. "The sooner we get rid of the evidence, the higher chances are of wriggling out of this one."

By the time they delivered Norbert to the top of the tower, they were sweating and out of breath. Wiping sweat off his brow, Harry folded the Invisibility cloak and hid it into his pocket. No one should know about it, especially some friends of Charlie Weasley. On the floor the crate squeaked and shook. Either Norbert was tired of sitting still or it liked being carried, who knew. Time dragged on slowly, Harry was getting more and more nervous. Where were these dragon lovers?

Ten minutes later, four broomsticks swooped onto the landing. Charlie’s friends turned out to be men of business. Without idle chat they quickly fastened Norbert’s crate to the broomsticks with the special harness they prepared for a long flight, cheerfully said their farewells and were off into the night sky. As soon as they were out of sight, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew, we are done," he said.

"Are you indeed?" Severus asked from behind their backs.

They turned around, and their hearts sank. McGonagall, who had added a tartan rug over her bathrobe, and their angry godfather stood at the entrance to the landing.

"What have you done exactly, may I ask?" Severus snapped.

Harry looked down, desperately hoping that this way Severus would not be able to read the degree of their guilt on their faces.

"It was just a joke," Draco mumbled.

Puzzled, Harry looked up and staggered: the Head of Gryffindor was holding the piece of parchment that Fred had used as a bookmark. It looked like a letter... Charlie’s letter?!

"A joke, they say!" McGonagall flared up. "Messing with heads of your housemates, planting a forged letter to the Prefect of another House, running around the castle at night! I have barely talked Percy out of calling for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He sincerely believed that you actually bred dragons in this school! How did you come up with that idea? A detention, for both of you! And fifty points off Slytherin!"

Harry closed his eyes tight. Now Severus will kill them for sure. Losing seventy points in one night!

"For each of you!" McGonagall finished her tirade. "This is just unheard-of! Severus, please take them away before I strangle them with my bare hands!"

"With pleasure, Minerva," Severus replied in such a voice that Harry’s stomach dropped. "With great pleasure. Now, would you be so kind to follow me, gentlemen. And keep your mouths shut!"

With this, he turned around and went down the stairs. There was nothing for it, and they followed him, trying not to make any sounds at all. However, Harry was sure it would not save them, and by the end of this night the loss of a hundred and twenty points would not be the worst punishment they got.

Chapter Text

Harry had never been this scared. Severus strode fast ahead of them, his anger so palpable that it seemed to billow behind him like a black cape. They reached his rooms in the deadly silence, and the door hit the wall with a bang as he opened it sharply.

Then he gestured the boys to come in, and they obeyed; Draco was pale as a ghost.

Shaking with fury, Severus slammed the door closed and cast silencing charms. He paced around the room, trying to regain his temper.

At last, he spoke.

"Apparently, your father and I have greatly overestimated your intellect," he announced icily. "We made a huge mistake thinking you were sensible young men, thinking that we could rely on your common sense in difficult circumstances. Unfortunately, you two are nothing more but spoilt mindless brats who think too highly of themselves!" He was already shouting. "Do you have any idea what could have happened had McGonagall caught you a little earlier? Did you think for a second how much you risked the safety of the family? WHERE DID YOU GET THE DRAGON?"

The world went dark before Harry’s eyes. Each word of Severus was hammered into his mind like a white-hot nail. He really hadn’t thought what could have happened to his parents had McGonagall caught them with an illegally raised dragon. It was one thing to get a detention, it was nothing, but what would have the Ministry said? What would have happened to Lucius who was still a suspect in every shady case? What would have happened to Malfoys’ custody of him?

Through the ringing in his ears, Harry dimly heard Draco’s stammering, as his brother tried to tell Norbert’s story from the very beginning. Harry couldn’t utter a word.

What was going to happen now? It was obvious that Severus would tell their father everything; their godfather would never cover up for them in such a serious business. Harry promptly imagined Lucius’ disappointment and Narcissa’s chagrin — indeed, their foster son had a strange way of showing his affection and gratitude. What if they regret… Now the whole world turned into a blur; the scar flashed with pain, and he felt nauseous.

"Harry?"

There was sticky silence in the study, only Harry’s ears were still ringing.

"Harry, what’s going on?" Severus stopped shouting, but his every word painfully reverberated in Harry’s head like a giant bell clanging.

"Draco… didn’t want… it’s all my… fault…" Harry said with some effort.

Someone grabbed his chin and turned his face to the light. Severus looked him in the eyes, and suddenly Harry felt dizzy. Then the feeling faded, his godfather let him go and murmured something. Several seconds later, Harry felt some foul-smelling liquid being poured down his throat. The nausea increased for a moment, and then disappeared completely, as did other unpleasant sensations.

"Feeling better, I trust?" Severus asked dryly. "Good. By the way, you really shouldn’t think such nonsense."

Draco stared at them quizzically but stayed silent.

Harry looked down.

"It’s still all my fault," he repeated. "If not for me, Draco would have told Professor Dumbledore everything from the start."

"And that would have been the right thing to do," Severus nodded. "Dumbledore is capable of sneaking not just a dragon egg, but a good half of Snowdonia’s dragons out of the country as well."

Draco snickered, but fell silent under his godfather’s harsh gaze.

"Very amusing," Severus made a face. "Your housemates, however, will find it even more amusing when they find out that due to your histrionics Slytherin have lost a hundred and twenty points in one night."

Harry and Draco stared at each other, horrified. They had been so afraid of Severus’ wrath that it hadn’t even occurred to them to imagine their House’s reaction.

"Maybe…" Draco began pathetically.

However, Severus heartlessly cut him short.

"Don’t even think about it. Had I been the one to catch you in the first place, it would have gone differently, but I cannot cancel McGonagall’s verdict now, I don’t have the right. Well, I could challenge her decision in a conversation with the Headmaster… but I won’t. For the record, I annually give a talk to the first-years not because I love hearing my own voice. And you need to experience the results of your escapades. Is that clear enough?"

"Yes, sir," both replied dismally.

"It’s a quarter to one a.m.," Severus noted. "I won’t detain you further. On the other hand… Harry, please, stay a minute. Draco, you can wait outside."

Draco left, casting his brother a sympathetic stare. Harry resignedly waited for the rest of the dressing-down. It was only fair if Severus wanted to lecture him some more as the ringleader. To his surprise, Severus started on another topic altogether.

"How long has been your scar aching?"

"Not really that long," Harry mumbled, looking down on his feet. It was almost true; the scar hadn’t hurt this much before.

"How long is ‘not really that long’? A week? A month? Six months?" Severus pried. He sounded worried.

"Well…"

"Harry," there was steel in his godfather’s voice now, "stop fooling around right now. This is important."

"Six months… or so," Harry whispered. "But it became worse only last month."

Severus sighed.

"It’s nothing," Harry added hastily. "I can stand it. I can stand a lot."

"I noticed," Severus smirked darkly. Strangely enough, it seemed that he was not angry anymore... well, maybe a little bit. "Even when it’s completely unnecessary. Did this ever happen to you before today?"

"What exactly?"

"Nausea, dizziness, panic attacks."

"I don’t think so." Harry was genuinely surprised, then he frowned. "Well, maybe…"

"Yes?"

"I have been having the same nightmare every night," he confessed. "There is a green lightning in it, and someone’s laughter. I think it’s the Killing Curse."

Severus’ pale face turned ashen. He was silent for about a minute, and then added darkly, "I see. Don’t tell anyone about it, not even Draco. If your headaches become stronger or if you feel strange, come to me at once. At once, do you hear me? In the middle of the night or in the middle of a lesson, does not matter. That’s an order. Do you understand?"

Harry nodded dumbly.

"Alright. I hope you have enough sense not only to understand, but to actually do it," Severus sighed again. "Off with you now. Tomorrow will be difficult."

* * *

When the boys left, Severus closed the door, resting his forehead on the cold stones, and stood there for some time with his eyes shut. He desperately wanted to drink himself into a stupor but knew all too well that this was the wrong time and place for it. And it would not help anyway.

The green flash. The laughter.

Harry could have seen the Killing Curse only once in his life.

Did that mean that he remembered?!

Merlin almighty…

Also, the boy’s scar hurt. What was it: a flashback, a sort of body memory? The Killing Curse was considered painless, though… In theory, of course, because no one could describe their experience afterwards... Except for Harry, who as it turns out, remembered. Severus felt sick. He almost ran to the bathroom, started the cold water running and put his head under it. He felt better almost immediately. He turned off the tap and went back to the fireplace in the living room, drying his hair with a spell on his way. Lucius was already in bed, of course, but this conversation could not be postponed.

* * *

It had been a while since Lucius last saw his friend in such a state. If the impending conversation were less important he would have laughed. Now he sat in one of the armchairs by the fireplace and patiently watched a dishevelled Severus pace around the room, waving hands like an agitated crow and choking on words in indignation. When he finally paused for a moment to catch his breath, Lucius seized the initiative.

‘Stop," he said with authority, twirling his wand in his hands, as if deep in thought, and adding a little bit of magic to emphasize his words. It was not the Imperius Curse, of course, just a small suggestion. "Sit down. And try to calm yourself, please."

Judging by the fact that Severus complied quickly, he was exhausted. He noticed the magical interference, though.

"Stop pushing me," he grumbled.

"I am not. You are just tired."

"I am not just tired. I don’t know the right words to explain how much tired I am of constantly watching over your children!"

"Ah, they are my children now, aren’t they?" Lucius drawled with fake astonishment. To Hades with seriousness, they had enough on their hands already.

"Who else’s?"

"It is generally believed that moral upbringing is one of the responsibilities of a godfather."

"This has nothing to do with morals. They lack brains, and that is entirely your fault," Severus snapped, leaning back in the armchair and closing his eyes. He stayed silent for a minute, then added, "Thank you."

"You are welcome," Lucius snorted. "So, I have several things to tell you, and I would like you to hear me out before starting an argument."

"What a cheerful start," Severus said without opening his eyes.

"Don’t fall asleep."

"I’ll do my best."

"First, it was certainly stupid of the boys not to ask for my or your help, but they did fine in the end. If not for that idiotic letter which was lost not by them, and if not for Nott’s whelp, no one would have known anything."

"Exactly! If!" Severus straightened, flaring up. "I told them a hundred times: don’t you dare wag your tongues in corridors!"

"So, you will repeat it for hundred and first time," Lucius answered calmly. "They are children, it is normal. I think after this blunder they will become more prudent, though. Second, no matter how much we want to wrap them into cotton wool until their majority, we don’t have that option. Voldemort is coming back, our friends from the DMLE are breathing down our necks, and I doubt Dumbledore is idle too. And don’t you forget that thing with Harry’s scar. In short, it’s a hundred per cent chance that the boys will get into trouble like this on a regular basis. Let them learn to get out of trouble at least in half of cases. It will make the lives of everyone involved a lot easier."

"I don’t recall you being so calm after the troll incident. Did Dumbledore and you become related by any chance, while I wasn’t watching?" Severus sneered.

Lucius shuddered dramatically.

"I sincerely hope not. Don’t say such terrible things, or I’ll have nightmares. No, I’m still married to Cissy, that’s all."

"And?"

"And when my wife gives me good advice, I try to follow it," Lucius smiled. "There is no point in worrying over something we cannot change."

Judging by the expression on his face, his friend was eager to object but couldn’t come up with a good argument. Lucius nodded and continued, "Speaking of nightmares. Unfortunately, I don’t think Harry’s pain can be chalked off as memories. Even if the Killing Curse is painful… I’ve never heard or read about phantom pains caused by curses — and so many years after the fact. Even the Cruciatus Curse, as far as I know, doesn’t have such an effect. Sev, when you’ll have the chance to talk to him in private, please ask him if the scar hurts in someone’s presence. Quirrell’s, for example."

"What?!"

"Do you remember how you said that you felt the Dark Lord? Through that garlic-smelling idiot?"

"Are you implying," Severus specified slowly, "that Harry’s scar could be a connection to the Dark Lord? Like the Mark? How is that possible?"

"I have no idea. The symptoms are similar, though. Just trust me, alright?"

"Alright."

"So, this was… third, right? Now, fourth. I insist that you try to stop shouting at the boys. It turns out Harry is still, using your own expression, ‘thinking nonsense’ as it is."

Severus blushed so deeply that his cheeks became covered in ugly red spots.

"If you think my methods are inappropriate for your precious heirs…"

"Don’t be daft," Lucius waved him away. "Just save nerves, please. Yours and theirs. And if you feel that shouting is absolutely necessary, just get me first, and then you can shout at me as much as you like, I give you my consent."

Severus choked.

"And undermine our authority?"

"Whose authority?"

"Mine and yours, both."

"Not in the boys’ presence. Sev, you really are in a poor shape. You can shout at me later if you need to let the steam off. It’s bad for your health, however. You need to change your lifestyle; otherwise this school will drive you crazy. You need to get married."

"You’ve gone totally mad. Married — now? Whom to, if I may ask?"

Lucius remembered his great aunt Cassandra’s prophesy, chuckled to himself and decided that it was too early for Severus to know that.

"Don’t get your knickers in a twist, it was just a joke."

"It was a stupid one."

"Alright, Sev, we’ve survived worse. The boys are fine, no dragon was harmed. As to Harry’s scar… We’ve suspected for a long time that there was something wrong with it. We’ll deal with it. Now I’ll go home, if you don’t mind. And you need to go to sleep too. If I am not mistaken, tomorrow you’ll have quite a day. Ah yes, I almost forgot. Be so kind, give the boys a hint that any compromising correspondence has to be burned right away, alright?"

* * *

Severus had been right, of course. The next day – scratch that, the whole next week – was not just difficult, it was absolutely unbearable.

When Slytherins saw their hourglass with a lot fewer emeralds than the day before, they started whispering to each other in horror, trying to find out what had happened. Neither Draco, nor Harry weren’t going to confess to anything, of course. Nott had enough brain cells to keep his mouth shut too, even though his fault in the incident was much smaller. But, alas, Percy Weasley felt no obligation to keep quiet. By dinner everyone knew about two first-years who had stirred up the whole school with their ‘imaginary’ dragon.

Unfortunately, the pompous Buffoondor had enough sense to keep quiet about his brothers’ involvement in the night mayhem. Harry never learned how he managed that. Maybe Charlie had been cautious enough not to use names in his letter… One way or another, Fred and George were not officially involved, so only the three Slytherins – Draco, Harry and Nott – were punished.

It was a real disaster.

Hundred and twenty points they lost threw Slytherin back so far that now only Hufflepuff had less points. Gryffindor who had been not far behind in the first place became the leader now, and the students of the Lion House were rejoicing. Ravenclaws who suddenly had a chance to win the Cup were happy too. Considering the fact that Slytherin won the School Cup along with the Quidditch Cup for six years in a row, it was difficult to be surprised by the joy of the three other Houses.

Unfortunately, their joy took ugly forms very soon. Unfamiliar Gryffindors stopped Draco or Harry in the corridors and thanked them mockingly. Ravenclaws giggled, rubbing their hands. Even Hufflepuffs did not try to hide their delight.

Truth be told, the Slytherins had enough deference for their House’s honour to behave almost normally outside their dormitories and the common room. Once Flint even chased away two fourth-year Gryffindor boys who caught Harry in a hall and tried to ‘toss’ him as if in joy, planning to give him several bruises ‘accidentally’.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly when these idiots retreated, afraid of his captain’s huge fists.

"Shut up, Potter," Flint gritted through his teeth, turned around and went away.

It seemed that Severus or other teachers learned about this, as by the evening Slytherin earned twenty points, and Gryffindor lost the same amount.

But in the dungeons, on their House territory, no one talked to them, even Olivia. The boys from the Quidditch team looked through Harry as if he were not there. The fact that Nott received the same treatment was only a small consolation.

Pansy, Millie and Blaze didn’t abandon them, of course. That gave Harry a new reason to worry: he was afraid that their friends would be shunned out too, and they did not do anything wrong.

Hermione and Neville sympathized with them, of course, but could not do anything to help. What was worse, when Slytherins saw Draco and Harry in the company of Gryffindors, they soured even more, so in two days Pansy hesitantly proposed ‘not to meet until all of this blows over’. Luckily, neither Hermione nor Neville were offended and decided that it was a wise course of action, but the mood fell even more.

They stayed in the library day after day preparing for the end of the year exams. Even the wonderful spring weather could not dispel their awful mood. Harry felt so depressed that he managed to forget about their detention and remembered it only when McGonagall sent them identical notes: Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight. Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.

* * *

Severus received ‘the invitation for tea’ from Dumbledore not during breakfast, as he had anticipated, but at lunch. All that morning he watched his House close ranks and stoically take the blow. He felt rightfully proud of them. At the Marauders’ time, the main rule of Slytherin after ‘don’t get caught’ was ‘everyone for himself’. The open war in which Slytherins ended up on the wrong side also affected the minds, of course, but he wanted to think his leadership had played its part too. At least, no one from the Snake House tried to bully the boys for their blunder. A temporary silent treatment was unpleasant, but not fatal. It was educational too. They’ll live.

Severus smiled grimly at his thoughts.

He was curious if Minerva watched over her own first-years herself. Or maybe she preferred to shift that burden to her prefects?

"Are they alright?" she asked quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

The Potions master looked at her sideways.

"What could be… not alright?" he clarified calmly.

Minerva looked embarrassed.

"Well... they let down their House, what if…"

"It seems yesterday you were not worried about that at all." He could not deny himself a chance to take a small revenge prolonging her worry.

"Severus!"

"Do you admit that you went overboard?" he smirked. "Don’t worry, Slytherin is not the snake pit so many like to believe it is. The rest doesn’t concern anyone."

Minerva sighed and nodded.

"Alright. I must warn you, however… Albus said that he would choose their punishment himself."

Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Really? Since when do you consult him?"

The Head of Gryffindor winced.

"If you want to know, my morning began with an urgent invitation for a cup of tea with yet another Muggle chocolate. ‘Snickering’, or something like that."

"I see."

It meant that joking time was over. Dumbledore usually ‘interfered without interfering’ or just ignored any mischief as insignificant. If the Headmaster decided to act straightforwardly… Severus had to keep both eyes open. And be prepared to negotiate.

Indeed, after a five-minute small talk about seasonal price increase for some potions ingredients and other nonsense, Dumbledore got down to business. And Severus did not like that business at all.

"No. Over my dead body."

"Severus, Hagrid will watch over the children. There is no danger to their safety."

"No danger? In the forest where unicorns are being killed? Have you gone barking mad?!"

Dumbledore stared at him over his spectacles and smiled.

"Is it my imagination or you really stopped feeling… shy in my company?"

Severus was embarrassed for a moment, and then realized: yes, he did – a long time ago. He also suspected that the Headmaster wanted to say ‘afraid’ but decided to spare his ego.

"I apologize," he grumbled. "You have not gone barking mad, you have only lost the remnants of common sense. Temporarily, I hope."

Dumbledore laughed.

"I am glad," he said, not specifying what he was glad about. Then he turned serious again. "Unfortunately, I fear that this is absolutely necessary. There is something in this situation that we fail to see. Something important. And we have very little time. Also… Severus, are you sure that the boys told you everything?" He raised his hand, preventing objections. "I do not ask you to repeat what you have heard. Believe me, I trust your judgement. I am just asking: are you sure?"

Severus thought about it and came to a conclusion that he was not sure. The boys didn’t necessarily hide anything on purpose, they could just think it was not important. One had to have a lot of experience at surviving to be able to turn uncertain feelings and premonitions into a well-thought-through theory. And his godsons were only eleven. Well, almost twelve now, but still…

He shook his head grimly.

"No. I am not."

"Exactly. Who knows what they could notice this time? They, not us, need all the information that could be found now."

Severus ground his teeth.

"I will not let them go to the forest alone."

"They will go with Hagrid."

"He is worthless," Severus cringed. "No, I do not doubt his abilities to deal with some wild forest creature. Even," he flinched, "even with a werewolf. Maybe. I hope. But what if one of my… former colleagues shows up? No. I do not want to take that chance."

"And I do not want anyone to know that this is not a usual detention. Your involvement can scare away the one we are looking for."

"Quirrell?"

"Among others."

"I am still against it."

Dumbledore smiled again.

"Severus, have you read your contract recently?"

"A while ago," the Potions master frowned. "Are you hinting that the Headmaster’s direct order weighs more than the one given by a Head of the House?"

"No, I am just curious. My memory may be failing me, but I think there is no clause forbidding teachers to walk in the Forbidden Forest when they see fit. Apart from the time when they have classes, of course. You do not have classes at night, do you?"

"Not that I can remember, thanks Merlin."

"Good." The Headmaster winked at him, "Try not to appoint detentions on next Saturday night."

A couple of minutes later, the voice of the old man stopped him on the threshold.

"By the way, if it is not too much trouble…"

"Yes?" the Potions master stopped but did not turn around.

"Could you please try to call me by my first name?"

Severus froze and then nodded, wondering why he suddenly felt amused.

"Alright. I will try. You will never know, I may even succeed."

* * *

When Nott heard that they were to go to the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, he shrieked, "Students are not allowed there! You don’t have the right! You’ll regret it! Don’t you know who my father is?"

"A minor clerk who had squandered his family fortune," Draco said quietly, but clearly. Harry looked at him in surprise, while Nott almost blew his top.

"Shut up, Malfoy!"

"Enough," Hagrid cut them off. "The Headmaster ordered it, so yeh’ver got ter go. Follow me and listen carefully. We can’t have anythin’ happenin’ ter you."

As they walked towards the forest, Hagrid told them about a wounded unicorn, and Harry wondered why the Headmaster should have anything to do with all this. The detention was supposed to be assigned by McGonagall… well, it was really unusual, anyway. And dangerous too. Had Severus been informed? Did he approve? If not… Harry shuddered imagining the scandal that would happen when their godfather found out.

"We’ll split inter two parties here," Hagrid said when the path split into two. "Two of yer will go with Fang, one will go with me."

"I’m going with the dog!" Nott announced, clutching the leash.

"Whatever yeh say," Hagrid shrugged. "But I warn yeh, he’s a coward. Who’s coming with me?"

Harry and Draco looked at each other. The idea of stumbling upon a creature who had been able to wound a unicorn did not bother them as much as having Nott for company.

"Let’s toss a coin," Draco proposed. "Does anyone have one?"

For whatever reason Hagrid did not object, on the contrary, he started rummaging through his pockets and came up with a copper Knut. In the end, it was Harry’s luck to go with Nott. Draco tried very hard not to show his delight but failed.

"Alright, Harry," Hagrid announced, giving him one of the lanterns, "take this idiot an’ go. Jus’ remember not to stray off the path! Anythin’ happens, call for help, all right?"

Harry, Nott and Fang went deeper into the forest. Five minutes passed, then ten. Nott was shaking so badly that his teeth were clattering, and he jumped and whimpered from every bush rustling in the wind.

"Shut up, will you?" Harry could not take it anymore. "All the local werewolves will come running to us because of your squealing."

Nott’s eyes turned large as saucers when he heard the word ‘werewolf’. Fang raised his hackles.

"Are there werewolves here?"

"You bet," Harry snorted. He felt far from easy, but Nott’s cowardice irritated him, and that kept him from being really scared. "It’s an old tradition to feed them with students who like poking their noses where they do not belong." Severus’ old joke came in handy.

"I’m going back!" Nott wailed. "This is wrong! Father will sue you! All of you!"

Something cracked in the bushes.

"A-a-a-a-ah!" Nott let out a terrible scream and bolted. Before Harry could feel properly scared, he vengefully wished the idiot would get lost. Unfortunately, Fang was indeed a coward too: he ran after Nott and disappeared into the darkness.

"What am I to do now?" Harry wondered aloud, perplexed.

"Wait. And do not step off the path," the nearest bush advised dryly with a well-known voice.

Harry almost died from relief.

"Severus! What are you doing here?"

The bushes rustled, and his godfather stepped onto the path, shaking dry leaves out of his hair.

"Taking a midnight stroll. The Headmaster kindly reminded me that teachers are allowed to do that — unlike students."

Harry nodded. It meant that Professor Dumbledore had not relied solely on the Keeper of the Keys, but…

"Is this a secret?"

"More or less," Severus nodded. "Officially I’m not here. Now, you should just wait. I think Hagrid will come here himself or he will sent Draco with the dog. The second option is more preferable… we shall wait and see. Anyway, I will stay close."

He patted Harry’s shoulder and disappeared in the bushes – without even an echo of a sound. Did this mean he had scared Nott on purpose? Or was it just a coincidence?

While Harry was pondering on all that, lights appeared at the far end of the path. Soon he saw an angry Hagrid who was dragging Nott almost by his collar, and Draco leading Fang on the leash in the dim light of the lantern. The dog was not very enthusiastic but complied.

"Thanks Merlin, you’re alright!" Hagrid sighed. "This fool was shouting at the top o’ his lungs that werewolves ate yer. Tonight is not even the full moon, but still… I have no idea what ter do. He scared the living daylights out o’ every creature o’ the forest for three miles around."

"Draco and I will take Fang and go as planned," Harry proposed. "So you and Nott can return to your path."

"Maybe we should all go together," Hagrid hesitated.

"That way we’ll wonder around here till morning," Harry objected, hoping that Draco would not start to argue. "Don’t worry, we’ll do fine."

The Keeper of the Keys shook his head but agreed and went away with Nott in tow. When they disappeared from sight, Draco turned to Harry, "What’s going on? I know that you just love to tease the trolls from under the bridge, but…

"Harry is right in this case," Severus said dispassionately, stepping onto the path again. "Draco, can you keep this slobbery hairball under control?" He nodded towards Fang. "I would better have my hands free."

Draco beamed.

"Of course I can."

"Let’s go."

They went along the path deeper and deeper into the forest. Harry was sure they were going in the right direction: the silvery blood traces appeared more often on the tree roots. Finally, they saw a gap between the trees ahead as they came closer to a big clearing. The blood trail ended there.

"Keep close to me," Severus ordered quietly. "And don’t make a sound."

Very cautiously, they followed their godfather to a huge oak on the edge of the clearing and peaked from behind his back.

The unicorn they had been looking for was lying there in moonlight. Alas, Harry immediately knew they were too late. Long slender legs of the beautiful creature were sticking out at odd angles, and its pearly white mane glittered lifelessly on the ground. At that same moment, Harry felt they were not alone: something hid in the darkness ahead of them, like a predator emanating malice and threat. The bushes on the other side of the clearing rustled, and a black-robed hooded shadow appeared. It slid across the clearing to the unicorn, kneeled near its body and started sucking something from the huge wound in the beautiful beast’s side.

Was it a vampire?!

Draco grabbed Harry’s shoulder, shaking badly. Harry was scared half to death too, and his scar was hurting again… They were so lucky to have Severus with them!

"Arooooooo!"

Only Merlin knew what cowardly Fang saw or smelt, but the dog escaped Draco’s grip and with a terrible whine, ran away into the thicket.

The hooded figure turned to face them and rose. Unicorn blood was dribbling down its front.

Cursing, Severus shoved Draco and Harry behind the oak, but it was too late: the monster noticed the humans and stepped towards them. Harry was so terrified he could not even scream, not to mention rise his wand. Suddenly his scar exploded in a terrible pain he had never felt before, and strangely enough, it helped him to snap out of his stupor. Half-blinded by the pain, he straightened, clinging to the rough oak bark with his left hand and trying to remember the signalling charm that Hagrid had showed them. He could not properly see what Severus was doing, but there were no blinding flashes: the godfather did not attack the enemy for some reason. A bouquet of red sparks bloomed in the air – it looked like Draco managed to request help.

Suddenly there were hooves galloping behind them, and something very big rushed by noisily, attacking the eerie shadow in the clearing. Severus shouted out a spell (Harry did not recognize it) — and the silence fell. The pain in the scar faded a little, but the nausea was still there. Draco helped him up. Harry stumbled to edge of the clearing, almost hanging on his brother’s shoulder.

The monster was not there, and Severus was discussing something with… with a centaur over the unicorn’s dead body. The centaur looked young, he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

"Are you alright?" he asked politely, turning to the boys.

"Y-yes, thank you," Harry managed. "What… What was that?"

The centaur did not answer, not taking his bright blue eyes off Harry’s scar.

"You are the Potter boy," he said quietly. "And Lucius Malfoy’s foster child."

Harry nodded.

"You’d better leave the forest, it’s not safe here. Especially for you," he added, still staring, then turned to Severus: "Do the children know how to ride? It will be faster."

The godfather looked at them, assessing the situation. It was not hard to guess what he was thinking: Harry could walk only very slowly, and if Severus carried him he would not be able to react fast enough in case of another attack.

"Thank you, Firenze, it is a very timely offer," he decided. "Harry, will you manage?"

Harry nodded and instantly regretted it, as the nausea increased. Gritting his teeth, he hobbled to the centaur with Draco’s help. Severus tut-tutted and shoved a vial under his nose.

"Take one sip."

Harry obeyed. Why were all the remedies always so vile? The headache and nausea subsided but did not disappear completely. Severus had just helped them up onto Firenze’s back (Harry in front, Draco in the back) when two more centaurs appeared on the clearing, one was chestnut with red hair, and the other was black-bodied and black-haired.

"What do we have here, Firenze?" the black one sounded outraged. "You have a human on your back! Have you no shame? Are you a common mule?"

Severus did not bat an eye, but Harry saw that he had his wand ready, hiding it in his robe’s sleeve.

"This is the Potter boy and his brother," Firenze announced calmly. "The quicker they leave the Forest, the better."

"Calm down, Bane," the chestnut centaur added.

Bane was not about to be pacified, though.

"Better for whom?" he flared. "We are sworn not to set ourselves against the heavens! What have you been telling them?"

"That Mars is very bright tonight," Severus smirked. Both newcomers stared at him as if they had just noticed his presence.

"The Marked one," the chestnut centaur mumbled and stepped back.

"Calm down, Ronan," Firenze said. "Severus Snape is no longer a servant of the one who roamed the forest tonight."

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. So, it was Voldemort, wasn’t it? It was he who had been killing the unicorns.

"What is that to do with us?" Bane shouted angrily again. "Centaurs are concerned with what has been foretold! It is not our business to run around like donkeys after stray humans in our forest! This is our forest, they don’t belong here!"

"Is that so? What about the one that killed another unicorn tonight?" Firenze asked quietly. Bane suddenly fell silent. "Sooner or later all of us will have to make a choice. I set myself against what is lurking in this forest. Yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

Without another word, he walked past the oak to the path. Ronan and Bane silently stepped aside, letting them pass. It was not clear if Firenze managed to convince them or not. Severus was keeping up. The centaur did not canter, just walked, of course, otherwise no human could have followed him on foot, but still, they were moving faster than before. They were silent for a while, and then Firenze asked, "Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?"

Harry frowned. They did not discuss such a subject during Potions classes; he only knew that it was a forbidden ingredient.

"No," Severus answered for him. "At least, I hope that the boys did not have an opportunity to read restricted books."

"We did not," Draco confirmed eagerly.

"Good," Severus answered dryly. "And if you please, Firenze, I would like to postpone this lesson. Centaurs are not the only ones who think that ill-timed education is inappropriate."

"Mars is very bright tonight," Firenze replied, and Harry thought he heard a chuckle in centaur’s voice.

Footnotes:

Thank you, Firenze... — We can only guess why a British centaur has an Italian name when all other centaurs we know of have English or Irish ones. Maybe it was an additional reason for them to despise Firenze. The name itself is the Italian word for the city of Florence.

Chapter Text

All the way to the castle, Draco was lost in thought, comparing everything he saw and heard that day with everything he had known before.

First, it looked like unicorns were being killed by Voldemort. Well, it was possible that Firenze had meant serving Evil as such, but this explanation seemed to be a little too abstract even for a centaur. Draco had never seen any pictures of Voldemort, neither painted nor made by a camera, in his research of First War wizarding papers, and he still wondered why they were absent. Anyway, the black-robed monster fit the idea of a terrible dark wizard very well.

Secondly, Voldemort drank blood of the dead unicorns. Draco had never actually read anything about the liquid, but some conclusions were almost forced on him: a forbidden substance; the living energy of one of the most powerful magical creatures (only dragons and phoenixes could compare to them); said energy was gained by force, through murder. It should have fantastic healing properties – and awful side effects. In short, even a baby could understand why Voldemort needed it. Why Severus refused to talk about it now, though? Well, they could always ask Geraint…

Thirdly, the Philosopher’s Stone that false Quirrell was looking for was hidden in the forbidden wing. Was he seeking it for himself? Or on someone’s orders? Voldemort’s, for example? Draco imagined an immortal and infinitely rich Dark Lord and shuddered. No, they just had to get to the stone before him. For the good of the Wizarding world.

* * *

After making sure that Harry was feeling alright and walking the boys back to the meeting point with Hagrid (who either really had not noticed him or, more likely, had been forewarned), Severus limped back to his rooms, fell into his armchair and closed his eyes. He actually should go and report to Dumbledore about Voldemort haunting the Forbidden Forest, but right now he felt totally drained. On that clearing, in his fright he not only put up the most powerful shield he knew but poured so much magic into it that his hands were still shaking from the effort. Not that he achieved something with his efforts. Well, it was good that nothing had happened, but… well, who knew that the best way of dealing with the dark lords was a solid horse kick?

Severus choked on a nervous laugh and sadly thought that he seemed to be hysterical. Where was Lucius with his stupid jokes when he was so desperately needed? Where was Cissy with her unwavering pragmatic composure? Or at least…

Somebody knocked on his door.

Speak of the devil! the Potions Master thought helplessly. Damn, he had not had the time to discuss Harry’s headaches with Lucius and to decide what to tell the Headmaster about it. He would have to improvise.

“Enter,” he called out and tried his very best to sit straight.

The door opened, Dumbledore calmly entered the room, followed by a house elf with a tea tray.

“Just stay there,” the old wizard advised, taking the tray and sending the elf away.

Severus did not argue. He just silently watched Dumbledore, as the Headmaster arranged tea cups, saucers and sweets on the table and poured two cups of tea. Severus obediently accepted a cup, held it with both hands hoping to control the trembling and waited for questions.

“Have a chocolate,” Dumbledore said.

“He is not a dementor,” Severus smirked a little, but took a bite. The chocolate turned out to be milky and atrociously sweet, but it was just what he needed at the moment.

“No, Tom is not a dementor.” The Headmaster was sad for some reason. “Dementor enjoys the process, at least. And the result.”

Severus almost chocked on his tea.

“Don’t joke like that.”

“I do not. I think. Now, was it actually Tom?”

“No doubt about it,” Severus said grimly. “My arm all but fell off when he saw me. Thank Merlin, it’s the left one that is Marked.” The Potions master shook his head, trying to clear it, as his thoughts seemed to be in quite a mess. “He… He is not simply killing the unicorns. He drinks their blood.”

“So, Tom finally made up his mind,” Dumbledore sighed.

“Have you hoped he would restrain himself for ethical reasons?!”

“I have hoped he would have enough preservation instinct,” the Headmaster corrected him.

“You think too well of people,” Severus grumbled. After two cups of tea and a chocolate bar, he felt a little better. “He never had a preservation instinct in his life. That is why…”

“…he strikes such an impression on… erm… strong-minded men of under twenty,” Dumbledore agreed. “And when they find out what it entails…”

“…it’s too late to change anything.”

“It’s not necessarily too late. It is hard, however, and not anyone has strength to do that.”

Severus made a face.

“It was a compliment, Severus, you don’t have to make such a face,” Dumbledore teased. “That’s beside the point, though. If you are feeling better, tell me all about what you saw, please.”

* * *

To Draco’s great disappointment, Harry was very sceptical about the idea of going after the Stone right away.

“Every Slytherin still looks at us as if we are plague-stricken,” he grumbled. “And Severus will have our heads.”

“He didn’t kill us for the dragon,” Draco shrugged.

“The worst thing that could have happened then was a scandal,” Harry objected. “And now… There is that three-headed dog for one. Try to imagine what else there is.”

Draco did – and winced.

“You’re right. We can’t go there unprepared. We need to do a little reconnaissance first.”

“How do you propose we do that? We’re constantly watched. The first careless question will lead to Slytherin losing all the points! We can’t let the House down again! And the exams are coming soon, too.”

“You’re worse than Granger,” Draco grumbled.

Alas, Harry was not to be moved. Draco had to admit, though, that there was truth in his words: even though the Slytherins stopped turning away from them, the atmosphere was still tense. The yearly exams were coming, O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s frayed everyone’s nerves and dampened the mood.

A week later May ended, and June began with a terrible heat.

The classrooms were stuffy and hot, and several hours of writing in there were a torture in themselves aside from the necessity to answer dozens of tricky questions. Everyone longed for getting out of the castle and going to the lake where the air was cooler. And the know-it-all Granger tried to corner them after each test and retell her answers to all the questions in great detail.

And on top of all that, Draco soon noticed that there was something wrong with his brother. Harry became pale; there were always dark circles under his eyes as if he was not getting enough sleep.

“It’s just a headache,” he said with a grimace when Draco asked him about it.

“Go to Pomfrey then and ask for something.”

“I have already seen Severus,” Harry waved him away. “It’s alright.”

Draco knew that it was not a lie, but it was not the whole truth, either. In different circumstances, he would have pried, but now he decided not to interfere. Harry never asked him questions when he had crept to the mirror of Erised… Summer is coming soon, they will return home in a little while, and everything will be fine.

Sometimes it seemed that even the most diligent students would not live to see this outstanding event, but, lo and behold, the exams were almost over. The first-years had only one left to pass. The whole school despised the History of Magic because of Binns – maybe, apart from Granger who just adored getting information, no matter how useless. After answering a ton of boring questions (List the names of twenty wizards who helped William the Bastard during the battle of Hastings; When did Æthelred the Unready lost a diamond button and provoked the eighth Goblin revolt? and Who was the first one to invent self-pulling armour?), they left the stuffy classroom at last and went to the lake. Draco was delighted despite the fact that Granger and Longbottom followed them.

“Holidays,” he sighed dreamily and stretched on the grass in bliss. “The best birthday present ever.”

“When is it?” Hermione asked.

“Tomorrow,” Draco replied. He felt too lazy to be annoyed.

“Why didn’t you tell before?” the Gryffindor seemed upset. “I don’t have time to find a present now…”

“Don’t worry,” Draco waved it off generously. “We’ll celebrate for real later, at home. But if you want to make me happy…” He paused for a dramatic effect.

“Yes?”

“Don’t retell me your history exam!”

Everyone laughed, even Granger, and the conversation turned to birthdays. Draco half-listened to Longbottom’s mumblings about July 30th and his grandmother when he saw Harry rubbing his forehead discreetly.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, raising on his elbow. “Is it hurting again?”

Harry nodded.

“Yeah. Something is wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Something… bad is happening.”

“What are you whispering about?” Granger asked.

“Nothing special. I have a headache.” Harry rubbed his forehead again. “I’ll go to Madam Pomfrey.”

“I’ll go with you,” Draco stood up. “Bye!”

They left and heard Granger and Longbottom laughing at the Weasley twins who teased the Giant Squid from the shore.

* * *

Harry went to the castle, trying not to show how horrid he felt. The head was about to split apart, he felt sick, his scar was on fire. He had to get to the dormitory as soon as possible and to take the potion Severus gave him. But first he had to warn their godfather.

He was sure the headache was not a normal one: Voldemort was up to something, and it would happen soon, whatever it was.

“Harry?”

“Hmm?” He saw Draco’s worried face.

“Listen, don’t tell me if you don’t want to, but…”

Harry understood him right away.

“Sorry, I can’t. On Severus’s orders.”

“Let’s go to Severus then!”

“I will… I just need to drink my potion first… I feel too sick.”

They reached the dormitory; luckily, it was empty. Harry winced as he drank up the useful, but foul drink and sighed in relief.

“Ah… Now, that’s better.”

Severus was not in the Potions class or in his rooms, and they had to go back up again to check the staff room. Harry knocked on the door, then peeked inside. Alas, Severus was not there too. Professor McGonagall sat at the table by the window and reviewed some parchments. She looked distressed.

 “Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, I think I can congratulate you upon the end of your examinations, can’t I? Why aren’t you celebrating with the other students?” she asked kindly, if somewhat dryly. “The dinner is hours away.”

“Excuse us, Professor, but we’re looking for Professor Snape. Do you know where he is, by any chance?”

McGonagall’s face darkened, strengthening Harry’s premonitions.

“By chance, I actually do. He’s not in the castle now.”

Harry and Draco looked at each other. Should they tell her anything else? Or not?

“What about Professor Dumbledore?” Harry asked cautiously.

McGonagall pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, both of them went for London. They were urgently summoned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Has something happened?”

The boys looked at each other again. Draco was obviously scared, and Harry suspected that he looked the same. The business for which Severus and Dumbledore left the Stone unattended – both of them! – must be a disaster at the very least.

McGonagall must have understood their expressions right because she softened immediately.

“Don’t worry, nothing really terrible has happened. It’s just an unpleasant misunderstanding,” she explained. “I’m sure that Professor Dumbledore will settle everything, but it will take time, and they will probably return late after midnight or even tomorrow morning. What is it? Maybe I can help.”

Harry feverishly considered their options. He could not allude to anything family-related, now that he already mentioned the Headmaster. That was a mistake. Bringing up the Stone was unwise too. Even if Dumbledore and Severus knew what Draco and he had discovered, the Head of Gryffindor might be still unaware. Tell her about Quirrell? What if she did not know about him too?

“Well…” he started with an unhappy face, “After seeing in the Forbidden Forest what we saw… I... erm... feel kind of uneasy…”

‘At least I can always tell her that Voldemort drank unicorn’s blood. Anyone would feel uneasy after that.’

Luckily, the strategy he chose on a whim worked without a hitch. McGonagall got so sympathetic that she even left her scrolls for a moment and stood up to pat Harry on the shoulder.

“I assure you, Mr. Potter, you are safe in this castle. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named cannot harm you here. If you stop breaking the curfew and wandering around the school at night, of course,” she waggled a finger at them.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry nodded. The boys said their good-byes and left.

Upon reaching the dungeons, they went to look for the Baron. After the episode with Nott, they did not want to take any risks. Geraint nodded at them absentmindedly, absorbed in some huge tome and not being in the mood to chat.

“Alright,” Harry said decidedly after closing the door. “We must send an owl to Dad.”

Draco nodded.

“And now what? We’ll wait?”

“We’ll go and check the Stone up. If Fluffy is there, we’ll wait for Dad or Severus. If not… we’ll play it by ear.”

They hurriedly wrote a letter to their father, and Draco ran up to the Owlery while Harry went to the Slytherin dungeons to get the invisibility cloak. The first-years’ dormitory and the common room were still empty: the students who had already passed their exams were enjoying themselves by the lake, and those who were still not done were studying in the library. Harry put on the cloak and ran to the forbidden wing door. It was locked. He put his ear to the door and listened to the snuffling and growling: it seemed that Fluffy was there and he was fine. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He returned to the main staircase, made sure there was no one around, took off the cloak and waited for Draco on the third-floor landing.

His brother came rushing several minutes later.

“Well?”

“Everything is fine. For now.”

“We’ll wait then.”

* * *

When Ulysses delivered Draco’s letter, the Malfoy manor was already wrapped in soft summer dusk. Lucius frowned as he took the parchment from the bird. He knew at once that something was not right. As soon as the boys got their owls, they started writing home once a week, on weekends. A letter on a weekday surely meant trouble.

He broke the seal and quickly looked the letter through.

“Merde.”

Dad,

Severus and Dumbledore were lured into the Ministry, and it has something to do with Magical Law Enforcement. We don’t know what happened, but McGonagall is worried, and that means some serious business. The Stone is poorly guarded, and Quirrell will try to get it today for sure. Voldemort haunts the Forest and drinks unicorns’ blood. We’ll keep watch, but you’d better come over.

D & H

It took only a couple of minutes to rekindle a fire in the fireplace and check if Severus had returned to school. Alas, the Potions master’s study and private rooms were empty. Lucius hesitated, but tried to contact the Floo in the Headmaster’s study to which he had access as any other member of Hogwarts Board of Governors. Not only he failed to contact Dumbledore, but even the Headmaster's Floo appeared to be blocked.

“Merde!” he repeated with feeling.

‘I should have taught the boys to write normal letters, this is Hades knows what. They didn’t even try to be cautious with words. What if the letter were intercepted?’ The idea was good, if highly irrelevant. Lucius incinerated the missive with a flick of the wand and dashed to the door, on his way stuffing his pockets with magical trinkets that could be useful in extraordinary circumstances. ‘What have we come to! I shall need to get battle robes, maybe even two full sets… Just like years before.’

“Cissy!” he called, running down the staircase.

“What’s going on?”

“It has begun. Close down the manor, completely, for everyone. Except the family and Severus.”

“Alright. Then Hogwarts?”

“No, wait here. I will call you if you are needed.”

“But Luc…’

“Not now!”

‘You can kill me later, darling. If you feel like it.’

Why hadn’t he arranged a quicker way to contact Shacklebolt than owl post?! Now he will have to spend precious time and visit the Ministry hoping that the Auror is fond of late working hours. In addition, this visit will be difficult to hide, which means that on the way there he needs to invent a plausible excuse…

He exited a fireplace in the Atrium still without an excuse, but with an unflappable expression on his face. It seemed the fate favoured him because he only made a couple of steps and ran into the very person that he was looking for and didn’t know where to find.

“Good evening, Senior Auror Shacklebolt.”

“And good evening to you, Mr. Malfoy,” the latter grinned. “How fortunate, I was just thinking of stopping over your place for a goblet of some vintage poison.”

“Has something happened?”

“Nothing serious. I just wanted to share a bit of our small joys with you. The department have received a most peculiar anonymous tip-off on you. We are used to hearing all sorts of bizarre things…”

“Indeed. Pray tell what I am up to.”

“You are breeding dragons on your mansion’s grounds and smuggle them out of the country through Hogwarts. Do tell: is it a profitable business?” Shacklebolt grinned.

Lucius smirked.

“Very much so. Do you want a share? I can offer you a very attractive deal. If you have a place where we can talk in private, of course.”

The Auror nodded. He said, “This is Lucius Malfoy – on an official invitation,” – and led him to the DMLE floor, and then to one of the small rooms that officially served for ‘taking private statements of evidence’ and unofficially – for unsupervised interrogations. Lucius managed not to wince, but he had quite unpleasant memories of these quarters.

“Were you looking for me?” Shacklebolt asked gravely when a seriously magicked door closed behind them. “What happened?”

“You’re quite perceptive,” Lucius nodded. “I have new information for you and one urgent question. First of all, Voldemort was seen in the Forbidden Forest.”

The Auror flinched.

“Is the information reliable?”

“Absolutely. It’s unclear, though, how stable he is. If we’re really lucky then he’s not. And he didn’t try to summon anyone yet. But there’s no doubt that he’s back.”

“I see. And what is the question?”

“What sort of urgent business, concerning magical law enforcement, calls for summoning Headmaster Dumbledore and Severus Snape here?”

“What?!” Shacklebolt was extremely surprised. “I’ve never even heard about it.”

“I thought so,” Lucius said grimly. “I suspect that Madam Bones was not informed of it either.”

“I will inquire into this matter immediately.” Auror even gritted his teeth in indignation.

“Hurry then while I go to Hogwarts. I don’t like coincidences like that. I hope your most peculiar tip-off can wait a couple of days, can’t it?”

“Of course. Do you need help? Should I send a couple of Aurors with you?”

“I think it’s unnecessary. I’m not planning to chase Voldemort through the forest. I’ll simply keep McGonagall company until the Headmaster returns to school. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Ah, of course,” Shacklebolt nodded. “In this case, I’ll try to find you later. You can use my Floo. Do you have a broom, by the way? The walk from the village to the castle takes at least thirty minutes.”

Lucius cursed under his breath. ‘I’m getting old,’ he thought with annoyance. ‘Fifteen years ago, I’d have taken it with me out of reflex.’

“Here, take it,” the Auror handed him a standard Nimbus-1500 with the Ministry insignia. “You can return it later.”

“Thank you.”

“Good luck.”

Lucius threw a handful of Floo powder, said, “Three Broomsticks” and disappeared in flames.

* * *

The rest of the day was pure torture; it seemed that the hands of the clock were not moving at all. It will, of course, take time for Ulysses to reach Malfoy Manor: magical owls fly faster and tire less than ordinary ones, but the distance between Scotland and Wiltshire is long. Still, Draco and Harry burned with impatience. They checked on Fluffy several times, but he was alright. The dinner came and went. Most students went to the common rooms, so the boys had to spend some time with their housemates in order not to raise suspicions.

The Slytherin first-years huddled in a corner; only Crabbe, Goyle and Nott were not with them.

“I wonder why Professor Snape was summoned to London,” Pansy mused aloud.

“They were summoned together,” Draco corrected. “Headmaster went too.”

“Nope,” Pansy shook he head, stroking Milady, who curled up on her knees and purred. “Professor Snape was summoned, and Headmaster was very angry and didn’t let him go alone.”

“How do you know?” Harry frowned.

“I heard Olivia talk to Stapleton. She saw Professor Snape receive some sort of official stamped parchment, delivered by an express owl, and showed it to the Headmaster.

“I doubt the Professor would like us poking into his personal affairs,” usually silent Daphne remarked.

“We’re not, we’re just discussing,” Millie objected. “And if we don’t blab about it outside of Slytherin no one will know.”

After that the topic exhausted itself, everyone started sharing their plans for the summer: who would be going where, who had already been invited, who had the worst distant relatives requiring to be visited.

Harry and Draco looked at each other: they could bet Aunt Petunia would have won the Worst Relative Contest. Unfortunately, first of all, they were strictly forbidden to mention her, and second, most students in the House of Slytherin were not favourably disposed towards an information about Muggle relatives.

Gradually, evening conversations died out, and parties split up. Some were planning to review something or other for tomorrow’s test, some wanted to simply read in bed before sleep, some (mostly senior girls) insisted that everyone had to go to bed, otherwise they’d have bags under their eyes tomorrow.

Feigning yawns, Harry and Draco went to the dormitory, trying to avoid suspicions. It would not do if one of Prefects suspected something and guarded the common room door!

Time passed excruciatingly slowly, but finally everyone was in bed, the lights were out. Harry pulled the curtains together and lay on top of the bedspread, listening to his roommates’ breathing evening out. Crabbe was snoring, and when no one grumbled about it, not even Nott, Harry decided that it was time.

He quietly got out of the bed, put Hagrid’s flute into the pocket and grabbed the invisibility cloak. Draco was already standing by his bed, holding his shoes in his hands. Harry took his own, and both tiptoed out to the hall.

Fortunately, there was no one there. They hastily put the shoes on, pulled on the invisibility cloak and went to the Slytherin dungeons door as quietly as possible.

* * *

Severus had no patience for the Ministry of Magic – and not only because he was an ex-Death Eater and a Dark wizard. He could not stand idiocy in other people, and most of the Ministry employees, in his opinion, were stupider than the most insufferable Gryffindors, which was a feat in and of itself. There were exceptions, but Cornelius Fudge was not one of them.

“Your pet Death Eater was seen in the Diagon Alley by three respectable witnesses!”

“On Wednesday?” Dumbledore inquired good-naturedly. “At 2.30 p.m.? Very curious.”

Fudge in his righteous indignation sputtered and paced around the office. The Headmaster kept his usual cool, but Severus thought that only a deaf man or an imbecile could miss mockery in his voice.

“What can be curious about it?!”

“You see, the thing is, Professor Snape was conducting an examination for third-year students at the time. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, is that right?”

“Yes, it is,” Severus confirmed dryly.

“So what?” the minister asked dumbly.

“I am curious, dear Cornelius, how Professor Snape could perform Dark magic in Diagon Alley while being in a Hogwarts classroom in Scotland in front of twenty students.”

Fudge blinked, trying to digest this information.

“Children can be mistaken!” he blurted out.

If it weren’t for the damned Philosopher’s Stone and two nosy brats left unsupervised, Severus would have enjoyed this theatre of the absurd since his own part was minimal. The play was getting too long, though, it was close to midnight, and Severus became more and more restless. Quirrell was an idiot, of course, but even he was not stupid enough not to use such a chance. Was it really only a chance? Since the Death Eaters’ trials ten years ago, no one accused Severus of anything like that; the so-called charge was so obviously falsified that it was ridiculous. Obviously, he was in no danger apart from a scandalous article in The Prophet maybe, but if the ‘investigation’ would take another couple of hours, Quirrell would have enough time to get to the Stone. Severus tried not to think what would happen if the Dark Lord himself, not Quirrell, would come for it.

Suddenly the door banged open, and Amelia Bones entered the office, followed by a black man wearing robes with the insignia of a senior Auror. He met Severus’s eye and surreptitiously winked at him.

‘This must be Mr. Shacklebolt, I presume,’ Severus realized, relieved. ‘It means Lucius knows. Thank Merlin!’

“Cornelius, this is simply unacceptable!” Madam Bones didn’t waste time on courtesies. “When did the Magical Law Enforcement become your jurisdiction? Minister or not, such cases are handled by my department!”

* * *

When Harry and Draco reached the stairs leading out of the dungeons, they stopped to rest. They had not met anyone, even de Combrai, which was very lucky. The Baron would not have approved their quest to the forbidden wing, especially with Severus away. No one knew if ghosts could see through invisibility cloaks work, and they didn’t want to check it themselves…

They had to take one more stairway to get to the third-floor landing when trouble began: Peeves swooped down from the shadows high up, obviously planning some sort of trick. It was impossible to pass him by without alerting him, and should the poltergeist raise hell, they would be done for.

Suddenly Harry had an idea.

“Peeves,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

The poltergeist jumped like a balloon yanked by the string and zipped around the landing, looking around jerkily.

“Who’s there?” he whined. “Who’re you? Who’s scaring poor little Peevsie?”

“You know who,” Harry answered in the same voice. Draco put a hand over his mouth to stifle giggles. “Clear off, don’t stand in the Bloody Baron’s way!”

Peeves shivered and fidgeted, “My mistake, Your Bloodiness, right this minute…”

He wailed in lieu of good-bye and disappeared, leaving a trail of unpleasant smell.

“That was brilliant!” Draco whispered.

“I just hope de Combrai wouldn’t know about it,” Harry replied.

Several minutes later, they were in the corridor leading to the forbidden wing when Draco suddenly stopped – so abruptly that both tripped and almost fell head over heels.

Hermione Granger was sitting by the door to the Fluffy’s room, leaning onto the wall and hugging her knees. She probably heard something despite their efforts because she jumped up immediately.

“Who’s here?”

“Go back! Round the corner,” Draco hissed, and they quickly retreated.

“Who is here?” Hermione repeated. “I heard footsteps!”

“Now what?” Harry asked very quietly. “Do we answer? Or better yet wait for Dad?”

“I have no idea. You tamed her, you decide.”

Harry thought for a moment and whispered decidedly, “We need to know what she’s doing here. It must be important. This is Hermione! She wouldn’t have broken rules for nothing.”

“Whatever you say,” Draco agreed reluctantly. “But hide the cloak first.”

As soon as they took off the magical cloak, Harry hastily rolled it up and tucked it away. Then he peeked around the corner. Hermione was looking around in alarm, clutching her wand and trying to understand where the threat was coming from.

“Hey!” he called out in a whisper. “Hello.”

Hermione jumped, but strangely enough, she didn’t look very much surprised.

“Ah, it’s you,” she sighed in relief, lowering her wand. “Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, coming closer. Draco was not far behind, of course.

“I’m waiting for you! I was hoping you’d come!” Hermione announced in an excited whisper. “Quirrell’s already in there!”

Draco and Harry stared at each other.

“Wait, were you following him?” Draco asked.

“Well, yes. That is, I followed him after dinner when I heard that both Dumbledore and Professor Snape were not in the castle,” she babbled. “It was obvious that Quirrell would use this chance! I was shooed away from the staff room, and McGonagall, Professor McGonagall that is, even threatened to take points when I asked if the Philosopher’s Stone was well-guarded…”

“What did you ask?” Draco asked, horrified. “Granger, you’re mad!”

“…and I had to return…” She stopped in midsentence. “What? No, I didn’t ask it in those exact words. Professor McGonagall asked why I wasn’t with my friends, and I blurted that I was worried if everything was alright in the forbidden wing when the Headmaster was not at school.” She looked guiltily at Harry. “Yes, I know I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t think of anything else, and I didn’t mention the stone, I swear!”

Draco gritted his teeth but kept silent.

“Then what?” asked Harry.

“At first, I returned to the Gryffindor tower,” Hermione sighed. “Then I thought it was unlikely that Quirrell would come here before Prefects, Head Boy and Head Girl went to bed. The risk of meeting someone in the halls would be too high.”

Brothers exchanged irritated glances: it was stupid that they hadn’t think of that themselves and chased their own tail most of the day! It seemed they got too carried away by their plans for the evening to think straight.

“Anyway, after dinner I settled in the corner of our Common Room with The History of Magic and waited for everyone to leave,” the Gryffindor girl continued. “I often sit there till late at night so no one would have noticed anything out of the ordinary.” Suddenly she hesitated, and her expression turned sad.

“Would have noticed?” Draco echoed, frowning.

Harry ran out of patience and stepped on his brother’s foot.

“Don’t worry, Hermione. Do continue.”

“It was past curfew, and everyone left, and I was packing too when Neville called me out. I don’t know what he was doing in the common room, looking for Trevor again, probably. And we… quarrelled.” The more she talked, the more upset she looked. “He tried to talk me out of this. He said this was a dangerous and stupid thing to do. And then he threatened to tell McGonagall… Professor McGonagall about this.”

“And?” Draco asked impatiently. “Speak up, we don’t have time!”

“And I used a body-bind on him.”

Harry and Draco stared at her. It took them a lot of effort and training to learn the Full Body-Bind Curse and to make it work right. When did Hermione learn to use it, and all by herself at that?

“Wow,” Draco said, impressed.

“I am to be kicked out of Gryffindor, aren’t I?” Hermione asked miserably.

“Of course not,” Harry smiled encouragingly, even though he wasn’t entirely sure about that. Severus would not have expelled her, but who knows what McGonagall would do?

“The worst they can do is making you clean toilets under Filch’s supervision the whole next year,” Draco nodded. “Piece of cake!”

“I’m not afraid of toilets,” Hermione tried to smile too. “Even the with trolls.”

The three of them giggled, even though their laughter was a little nervous.

“Alright, we got it.” Draco decided to stick to business. “You got rid of Longbottom and came here and… How do you know that Quirrell is inside? The door is locked. Did you see him?”

“No, but who else could it be? And the door was half-open,” Hermione explained. “I closed it because Fluffy kept waking up and growling. I know the Unlocking Charm. So I waited for you. I was sure that you’d figure him out and come! It’s so logical!”

“What if Quirrell came out of the room?” Harry frowned.

“Well, I’d have made something up,” she waved his concerns away. “Like I was going to the library and accidentally lost my way.”

“To the library? At night?” Draco snorted.

“Just so you know,” she pursed her lips, “there’s a round-the-clock pass. Even to the Restricted Section.” She sighed dreamily. “It’s granted only by the Headmaster’s special permission and is available only for students of fifth year or older, though, but one day I’ll get one…”

“We have to go,” Harry interjected decisively. “Are you coming? I don’t mean to offend, but Neville was right: this is very dangerous. And you’re a girl.”

Hermione straightened haughtily.

“If you say something like that again, Harry Potter, I’ll…” she faltered as if trying to find a proper threat, “I’ll hit you, that’s what!”

“You don’t have to start a fist fight,” Draco chuckled. “Both of you have wands. Remember, Granger, you are a witch!”

“Alright, I got your point, Hermione,” Harry reassured her. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

On his way to Hogwarts Lucius contemplated his next step: going straight to the third-floor corridor where the Stone was kept or finding Minerva McGonagall first. On one hand, he was one of the school governors and therefore had the right to visit the castle at all times, so technically he did not need a permission to be there. On the other hand, with Severus and Dumbledore unavailable, only McGonagall or Flitwick had reasonable chances in a direct confrontation with a Death Eater, if it comes to that. Quirrell might look like an idiot, but impressions are deceptive. More than that, this stuttering halfwit was also a DADA teacher, even if a bad one. Ergo, one should expect surprises from him, mostly unpleasant ones.

The night was pitch-dark: the moon had changed a few nights ago. First quarter is the right time for new ventures and magical transformations, Lucius thought. The Dark Lord might get just the same idea.

* * *

Their trio sneaked past Fluffy uneventfully. When it turned out they had to jump into the trapdoor, Harry handed the flute to Hermione. Fortunately, they didn't have to really play it. The three-headed monster seemed to consider any blood-curdling sound from the flute to be music.

“It's a pity we hadn't thought to bring brooms,” Draco sighed.

“If we went out for brooms, the whole castle would have tagged along,” Harry objected. “I'll jump first. If something goes wrong, one of you should run and get McGonagall. We can always tell her we were hunting trolls again.”

Draco smiled crookedly, but nodded. Hermione kept blowing the flute, warily eyeing the snoring cerberus.

Harry jumped. After several seconds of unpleasant freefall in a damp darkness, he landed on something cushiony and rather soft. Harry carefully touched it: it felt like leaves and stems. It must be some kind of a plant…

“Come down here!” he shouted, looking up. “It's a soft landing.”

Some seconds later Draco landed nearby (and it was a good thing Harry had scuttled away not a moment late).

“What is this?” Draco grumbled, feeling leaves around him. “I hope it's not the giant sundew… Hey, Granger, be careful, there's some suspicious flora here!”

Before Harry could figure out why sundew was dangerous, Hermione jumped, coming down almost on top of them.

“I told you to be careful!” Draco grumbled, and then added in a different, worried tone, “Granger, get out of here, quick! Move!”

Hermione leaped aside to the wall just in time, as at that moment Harry felt that the plant they have landed on so luckily squeezed his ankles tightly with its long tendrils.

“I don't know about you, Harry, but I can't get up,” Draco said gloomily. “And I can't move my hands too.”

“Me too.” Harry tried not to show it, but fear coiled deep in his stomach. “What is this thing?”

“I don't know, but obviously it's here not to make a soft landing,” Draco answered even gloomier.

“I know!” Hermione exclaimed suddenly. “It's Devil's Snare! Don't move! It grabs anything that moves!”

Both boys obediently froze. Grasping tendrils of the plant froze too, but did not let go.

“Now what?” Draco said through his teeth. “Should we just sit here until Quirrell walks back?”

“Shut up, I'm thinking,” Hermione snapped, but it was obvious she was as scared as the boys. “Professor Sprout said… fertilize every third full moon… frequent moderate watering… That's not it…”

“Can’t you think just a bit faster?” Draco prodded. “It's going to suffocate us!”

“It likes the dark and the damp…”

“Great, so we need fire!” Harry brightened up.

“Yes, but Devil's Snare won't burn, it's damp! And I don't have matches!”

“WHAT ARE YOU, A MUGGLE?” Draco shouted. “You have a WAND!”

Hermione exclaimed and hastily muttered the spell to conjure her favourite bluebell flames. Devil's Snare released its captives and retreated to the dark corner in a rustle of leaves, hurrying away from light and warmth. The boys stood up as soon as they were free.

“Let's go,” Harry nodded at the only corridor leading down. “We've already lost a lot of time.”

On they went, holding wands at ready. Harry concentrated on carefully walking down the sloping slippery floor, but he heard Draco ask Hermione what matches were.

* * *

Lucius passed the castle gate before coming to a decision on whether he should look for McGonagall, but in the end, as it often happened, chance decided that for him. He had only took several steps up the central staircase when he came face to face with the Head of Gryffindor.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” she greeted him in surprise. “What brings you to school in such a late hour? The boys must be already sleeping, as the curfew was long ago.”

“Glad to see you, Professor,” Lucius answered. “I'm afraid this evening might become not so good very soon. I intend to check on You Know What in your forbidden wing. Would you like to keep me company?”

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall choked on air. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

“It is not,” Lucius said. “Think, ma’am! Headmaster and Severus are not here. Someone has been trying to get to the Headmaster's little toy the whole school year. Do you really think this someone will miss such a remarkable opportunity?”

McGonagall raised her eyebrows.

“And you took it upon yourself to guard it?” she asked acidly.

“I decided to catch up with my children on your ridiculous obstacle course before it’s too late!” Lucius answered coldly, already a whole flight higher than her. “Are you coming or not?”

The Head of Gryffindor opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and silently followed him, drawing her wand out. Seeing a wide-open corridor door and a gaping trapdoor at the three-headed dog's paws she muttered something quite inappropriate for a polite society. The dog barked desperately as if complaining that it had been fooled.

“Hmm, someone kindly forgot a harp here,” Lucius noted. “What do you prefer, an O'Carolan or a Bochsa?”

McGonagall stared at him.

“How do you know that music is the key?”

“Every decent pureblood Wizard older than thirteen knows the story of Orpheus,” Lucius snapped. “Truly, I am amazed that Albus Dumbledore managed to forget about it. We don't have time, though. I suppose Carolan's Dream is appropriate.”

He concentrated and muttered a spell in Gaelic, and the harp started playing on its own. In a minute the dog yawned, lay down and closed its eyes.

“Let's go, it's a short piece,” Lucius announced, starting for the trapdoor.

* * *

A chamber with keys was a piece of cake. Draco had to admit, though, that for one person who did not play Quidditch it would have been a much bigger challenge. One way or another, soon the three of them were standing at the edge of a huge chessboard. There were black pieces on their side of it, and a door on the other side of the chamber, behind the white pieces.

Draco shivered. No matter how much his father tried to cultivate a taste for chess in him, it was not his game. It was too long, too calculating, too… boring, that was it. Draco could hold his own in chess, he had even won a couple of times against Severus (their godfather complained of headache and was under the weather that whole day, though), but being decent was not the same as being good.

Chess was just not his cup of tea.

Quidditch, that was another matter entirely. Or horseback riding. Or duelling.

“Do we have to take their place?” Granger asked quietly.

“I'm afraid so,” Harry said in a strained voice.

Harry was good at chess. Not as good as their father, of course, but he played Severus almost as an equal. Almost. Will it be enough to get them to the other side of the chamber?

And they had to play black.

When whites have the first move. And they could not choose with which colour to play.

It was so unfair!

“Draco,” Harry called him in an unfamiliar dry tone, and Draco woke up from his gloomy thoughts. “Get on top of that castle over there. Hermione, you take the… knight. This one.”

“Alright,” she answered, coming to the black horse: the faceless black knight silently went down so that she could mount it.

“I'll be a bishop,” Harry said. “Let’s begin.”

The game was fast-paced. Granger paled when the white queen crushed their other knight with one ruthless powerful blow but did not say a word and straightened in her saddle.

There were only few pieces left on the board when Harry cried out in horror, “No! This can't be! I must have made a mistake.”

“What happened?” Draco became uneasy. “Are we losing?”

Harry shook his head.

“No.”

“Then what is it?” Granger asked in a strained voice. “What's wrong?”

“We have to sacrifice a piece to win.”

“Which one?” Draco asked. He realized right away that it was one of their three pieces.

Harry was silent.

“Which one?” Hermione echoed. “Harry, speak up!”

“The knight,” he said dully. “You.”

For a moment Draco felt relief, but then he was ashamed of it and of his fear too.

“We can fall back,” he proposed.

“It's not possible. The board is charmed.”

“What about a draw?”

Harry looked around the board.

“No. It is not possible now.”

“So, it's either all of us are left here or just me,” Granger concluded in a shaky voice. “Harry, what do I do?”

“What?” Harry seemed genuinely confused.

“Tell me what to do. If all of us are stuck here it'll be just dumb. They won't kill me for real.” Granger was putting a brave face on, but it was obvious she was terrified.

“We can switch places, can't we?” Draco did not understand what made him say that. Gryffindor honour – or Buffoondor idiocy – must be similar to a disease. And they say insanity is not contagious! Bah!

“Will it make a difference?” Hermione was surprised.

“Well, you're a girl.”

He realized a bit too late that it was a wrong thing to say.

“If you insinuate again…” the Gryffindor girl started angrily, forgetting her fear, but Draco cut her short, “Yes, yes, you'll hit me, I get it. Sorry. I solemnly swear to forget for ever and ever that you're a girl. Are you satisfied?”

“Very much!” Granger snorted, then turned to Harry and repeated, “Tell me what to do. We don't have” – her voice quivered, - “much time.”

Harry looked at Draco, then back at her and finally nodded.

“Go forward and left,” he ordered.

Draco lost his nerve and looked away. It turned out though, that Harry's desperate pale face was just as frightening, so he turned back just in time to see the white queen dragging Granger's motionless body to the edge of the board.

“She's just unconscious,” he said uncertainly.

Instead of answering him, Harry made his last move. Checkmate. The white king threw his crown under Harry’s feet, and the other white figures stepped back respectfully, clearing the way.

Harry silently kicked the crown with feeling, and it rolled, rattling, on the stone chessboard squares. White figures grumbled from the other side of the board (goodness, their wordless muttering conversation was really creepy!) but did not interfere.

Draco dragged Harry by his sleeve.

“Let's go. The faster we'll get to the Stone, the faster we'll return here.”

He tried not to think about Quirrell who was somewhere close to the Stone, too.

* * *

The further they went, the fouler Lucius' mood became. Sprout's and Flitwick's ridiculous obstacles could stop only first-years… Apparently, they did not do even that. What was it all for? Sealing a room with blood magic would be much simpler and safer. This was a stupid childish game, enough to make a house-elf laugh.

Soon they reached a huge chess board, and for the first time this evening Lucius felt respect for his companion.

“Not bad,” he said approvingly. “This is not just chasing after flying keys. Wait, who is this?” He noticed a small motionless body nearby.

McGonagall gasped.

“Miss Granger!”

Ah. Of course. The Gryffindor girl, for whose sake my children messed with a mountain troll, could not pass an opportunity to come down into the underworld with them. Is this a return of a favour, or something else entirely?

Lucius quickly approached the girl on the floor. She was unconscious but seemed unhurt.

“What are these figures capable of?” he asked, searching his pockets for some painkilling potion. “I hope they hit humans with less force than they hit each other. Otherwise we should be surprised the child is still alive.”

“They stun opponents magically,” McGonagall answered, paling. “Albus made a condition: no irreparable damage.”

Just as I suspected. This old… gentleman planned to lure Harry here right from the start!

“I see. An adversary’s health is of utmost importance, of course. Otherwise it might become very boring very soon. Herr Grindelwald is still alive, is he not?” Lucius sneered. Then he pointed his wand at the injured girl and said, “Rennervate!”

She moved and groaned a little. Lucius knelt on one knee and helped her to sit up, then put a vial to her lips.

“Drink. It's a painkiller.”

Granger swallowed obediently and did not even wince.

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” she said when Lucius helped her up.

“Don't mention it, Miss Granger,” he answered amiably.

She's a smart one. And funny. But she's no Lily, never Lily – there's no charm, just teeth and knees. And Severus mentioned she was a bookworm, Lucius remembered, calming completely about any potential matrimonial dangers for his heir. No, Draco can't become interested in such a young lady.

McGonagall watched the scene unfold with wariness as if she expected Lucius to either poison her precious student or start using Unforgivable Curses. Lucius sighed internally. Even in his best (that is, worst) years as an ambitious Death Eater it would never even occur to him to do something like that in front of witnesses.

“The boys are not back yet, are they, sir?” the girl asked in the meanwhile, casting a wary glance across the chessboard.

“I'm afraid they are not,” the Head of Gryffindor said dryly. “I must say, you disappoint me, Miss Granger. After that troll incident I hoped you had enough sense not to get involved in such escapades! It's an adult business!”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Lucius barely contained a laugh. There was no time for jokes or polite small talk, though.

“Professor, I suggest we postpone disciplinary matters. How do we get to the other side?”

McGonagall stared at him.

“We play chess.”

“Let me rephrase. What is the fastest way to get to the other side?”

She shrugged.

“Playing blitz chess.”

“Are you trying to say,” Lucius said slowly, “that you did not put in a shortcut? Even for yourself, just in case?”

McGonagall looked a little embarrassed.

“Frankly speaking, I did not think about it. What for? If need be, Albus can block any of our creations, he chose passwords…”

“Splendid,” Lucius summed it up. “Just wonderful.”

* * *

After yet another forty minutes of quite tiresome negotiations, Cornelius Fudge was finally persuaded that it was unlawful and even impolite to detain Severus Snape, and by extension Albus Dumbledore, at the Ministry of Magic.

“It's a quarter to one past midnight,” Madam Bones, snapping open a golden pocket watch that she wore on a chain. “Thank you, Cornelius, for a pleasant evening.”

Fudge pouted and just snorted in return.

“That was enlightening,” Dumbledore said with a smile, but Severus could see worry in his eyes. As soon as formalities were done with, both started for the exit as fast as it was polite (after all, it was quite unbecoming for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to run at breakneck speed through the corridors – and at his age of a hundred years, too).

Shacklebolt caught up with them near the lifts.

“Excuse me, Snape, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Severus stopped.

“Is this urgent?” he snapped, irritated. “I think you've held us long enough.”

“It won't take more than a couple of minutes,” the Auror said firmly.

Severus looked at Dumbledore, who nodded.

“Alright,” the Potions Master said, stepping aside with the Auror. “I'm listening.”

Shacklebolt spoke in a low voice, “Mr. Malfoy went to Hogwarts approximately an hour ago.”

“Did he tell you about it?” Severus sounded surprised.

“He used my fireplace to get to the village. And I lent him one of our brooms, so he did not lose time walking.”

“It was very kind of you,” Severus noted. His mood improved: at least the boys would be watched.

“I think so, too,” Shacklebolt nodded. “That is all. I won't delay you any longer.”

They took leave of each other, and Severus had a feeling he had just been tested – he wished to know what the subject was. The Potions Master was already hurrying after the Headmaster to the Atrium fireplaces when Shacklebolt's cheerful voice reached him, “Plentiful kill, Messieurs smugglers!”

“What did this nice young man mean by that?” Dumbledore asked, curious.

“I have no idea,” bewildered Severus answered truthfully and stepped into a fireplace.

* * *

A stunned troll did not improve the brothers' mood.

“The beast was Quirrell's obstacle,” Draco cringed.

“Yeah. Fluffy was Hagrid's. Sprout put up the Devil's Snare, Flitwick magicked the keys. The chessboard… surely, McGonagall's doing,” Harry recited grimly. “So the troll is Quirrell's. There must be something of Severus ahead.”

“That means potions.” Draco cheered up. “Piece of cake.”

Harry was visibly less optimistic, but Draco was tired of being scared. He pulled the door handle to the next chamber and looked inside.

“Oh! I told you – potions! Nothing unusual. Let’s go.”

As soon as he crossed the threshold, they ended up in a trap, though: a wall of black fire appeared in front of them, and a purple one roared up behind.

“Now what?” Harry asked.

“Look, there are instructions here,” Draco replied, noticing a piece of parchment on a table next to the bottles. “It must be a recipe. Let’s make sense of it.”

The parchment was not a recipe, however, it was a rhymed puzzle.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, which ever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting bidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Draco read it twice, frowned and scratched his head.

“Hmm… Let’s see. Second one on the left and second one on the right are the same which means it’s either nettle wine or poison. Let’s assume it’s wine. Then poison is to the left of it, and the next one left must be the same pair…”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted him, bending over the table and staring at something.

“What are you looking for?” Draco became anxious. “Do you think there’s a catch?”

“No, but Severus could miss something.”

“What?”

“That we won’t be the first to find it. Do you remember Hermione telling us about fingerprints?”

“Well?”

“Quirrell didn’t have gloves.” Harry pointed to the third bottle from the left. “He touched only this one, and nothing more. The rest are clean.”

“Do you think we can skip solving it?” Draco sounded doubtful. “If I were you, I’d check again.” He frowned again, read the puzzle over and went over the possibilities. “Yes, that’s right,” he concluded. “To go further we need the smallest bottle. And to return we need the one on the right. Well, let’s go. What are you waiting for?”

“Look,” Harry showed him the bottle again. “There’s only enough there for one of us.”

The smallest bottle contained only one swallow of the potion.

They looked at each other with similar expressions on their faces.

Returning was not an option after everything they went through, after leaving Granger behind. Not that Draco worried about her much, of course, but the most unexpected casualty looked too much like a defeat, even if they won the game.

If they go forward which one of them should do it?

“Flip a coin?” he proposed.

Harry shook his head.

“I should go. I have higher chances of success.”

“Why?”

Instead of answering Harry tapped a finger on his forehead.

“Are you saying that fortune favours fools?” Draco snorted, but a shiver ran down his spine because the scar reminded him not only of Quirrell, but of Voldemort too.

“Yeah. And I’ll take the Cloak. Will you manage on your own?”

“Oh, I’ve forgotten about it!” Draco cheered up. “Of course, I will. I’ll take the broom from the keys chamber and go up. Dad will probably be there already.”

“Past Fluffy? He’s…” Harry bit his tongue before he spilled everything out. He gave Severus a word to keep quiet about it, after all. “He’s huge. He can easily bite off a leg, no broom is fast enough. And Hermione has the flute. And if she doesn’t wake up…”

“I have the flute,” Draco corrected him. “Granger gave it to me almost right away. I’ll still try to revive her, though. Just in case, there’s that troll too. One encounter with it was enough, thank you.”

“Maybe you should take the cloak.”

“I’ll manage. You need it more. Well, let’s go.”

Each of them took a bottle from the table.

“On three?” Harry suggested.

“Are you crazy?” Draco was indignant. “What if we're wrong? I'll go first. If everything goes right ,then you drink yours, not before that.”

“And if not?”

“If not, someone must carry me to Madam Pomfrey's.”

“Alright. Do it.”

Draco lifted the bottled to his lips and drank.

 “Liquid ice.” He shuddered. “It doesn't taste like poison. Let's test it.”

Without waiting for an answer, he stepped through the wall of purple fire. Flames shot upwards and around him without burning him and went down. Draco turned around.

“It's alright,” he said. “You can drink yours. Good luck.”

“Good luck to you too,” Harry replied and opened his bottle.

* * *

Draco disappeared behind a door leading to the troll chamber, and Harry turned to face the black fire. Dark flames danced menacingly, licking the vaulted ceiling and completely blocking the view of what waited him beyond it. After a moment's hesitation, Harry put the bottle back on the table, took out the invisibility cloak and put it on. What if there's not a door, but a chamber behind that wall of flame? It would be stupid to fall into Quirrell's hands right away.

The potion really did resemble liquid ice, it was extremely cold and scorching hot at the same time.

Harry held his breath and stepped into the flames. Black fire surrounded him, flames touched his clothes and even his face, slipping under the hood, but Harry did not feel the burn. He took several steps forward and ended up in a new chamber.

A high vaulted ceiling disappeared into the darkness up high, but the room itself seemed small. There were columns along the walls, the only light came from torches attached to them, and shadows lingered in the corners. In the middle of the chamber, Harry was amazed to see the Mirror of Erised, and Quirrell was standing in front of it.

“Hmm… I see a stone… I see myself offering it to the Dark Lord… But where is it?”

His voice had a little hiss to it, like that time in spring after the quidditch game, but he was not stuttering at all. So, they guessed right that it was all a fake. Quirrell was talking quietly, but sound carried well in the cavernous chamber. Harry realized right away that one wrong move could give him away. He held his breath and crept to the side, hoping to end up on a spot where he could glimpse into the Mirror of Erised too.

The thing I want most right now is to get to the Stone before Voldemort. It means I will see where it's hidden.

Fortunately, Quirrell made it easier for Harry, deciding to walk around the mirror.

“Nothing. Not a clue,” he mused. “I don't understand. Is it inside? Should I break this damned glass?”

He paced around, muttering. Harry used it to his advantage and gained inch by inch on him, moving when Quirrell did and freezing when he stopped. His heart was beating wildly; and his head was aching again – the scar seemed to grow hot from the inside.

“Yes,” Quirrell muttered. “Dumbledore loves these stupid puzzles… but he's in London… when he returns it will be too late… I will complete the assignment the Dark Lord gave me, and he will reward me for my troubles…”

It seemed an eternity passed before Harry was in front of the mirror. He stared into its silvery depth, not knowing what he would see, and almost cried out in amazement.

Draco was standing in the mirror. Draco winked at him and took out a blood-red stone out of his pocket. He flipped it a couple of times and put it back, nodding at the door – Get out while you can.

Before Harry could make head or tail of it, the mirror dimmed, and Draco disappeared. Now it showed Lucius running up the castle main staircase to the third floor. Professor McGonagall was on his heels.

What could it mean?

If it was simply a projection of Harry's wishes, this were, of course, nothing to be surprised at, but where was the Stone? If it was a clue, what did Draco have to do with the whole thing? Maybe the Stone was hidden at some other place, in one of the chambers with obstacles? Did that mean that he had to return?

While Harry was contemplating all this, Quirrell returned to the mirror. He stared again at the reflection only he could see and cursed.

“It's all the same! Oh, help me, Master! Help your worthless servant!”

Harry went cold. Was Voldemort somewhere close? Or – he remembered the conversation Hermione overheard – could Quirrell somehow communicate with the Dark Lord over large distances?

As if answering his question, an eerie voice, high and hissing at the same time, came, “Use the boy…”

Quirrell stumbled over his own feet and almost toppled over.

“What boy, Master?”

The horrible voice, more befitting an evil spirit or a banshee than a living thing, answered, “The Potter boy is here… I hear his frightened breathing… there… Almost near the door…”

Quirrell turned sharply and sweeping around the chamber with shrewd eyes. Where was the ridiculous stuttering idiot, the laughing stock of the whole school, now? Harry froze in the shadow of a column, barely breathing.

“Come out,” Quirrell ordered. “Come out, boy, I'll catch you anyway.”

No thanks, Harry thought despite his desperate circumstances. Catch me first.

Quirrell was not a fool, though: he started for columns and went along the row of them with his hand spread wide. It was the only place to hide here. Unfortunately, the invisibility cloak did not make its wearer intangible.

“Stop,” the horrible voice whispered. “Show me to him.”

Quirrell obediently stopped three paces away from Harry.

“Is it wise, Master?” he wailed in alarm. “You are not strong enough…”

“I want to talk to him,” the voice answered. It seemed to come from Quirrell, but Harry was now close enough to see even in dim light that his lips were not moving. “I have strength enough... for this...”

“Yes, Master.”

Harry expected Quirrell to use charms or some sort of magical contraption, but to his immense surprise, the man began unwrapping his turban. As soon as the last layer of fabric fell away, Quirrell turned his back to the columns where Harry hid.

And Harry almost cried out again – actually, he did not only because he was rendered speechless with horror.

Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, the most terrible face Harry had ever seen. It was chalk white, as if that of a leper, with glaring red eyes and snake-like slits for nostrils, and a lipless mouth.

“Harry Potter…” it whispered. “See what I have become? Mere shadow and vapor... but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds... and even their bodies, too. Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks... you saw my faithful Quirrell drinking it for me in the forest... and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own... If you tell me where to find the Stone...”

His scar throbbed with pain, and Harry shut his eyes, but stood still. Sooner or later Quirrell will find him, for sure, in this small chamber – particularly with the help of a powerful Dark wizard who could somehow feel where Harry was hiding. Now he understood why he had such a headache every time he met Quirrell!

There was only one possible course of action: Harry should wait for help Draco went to get. He had to buy time to save himself and not to let Voldemort return to the Mirror of Erised.

“Are you hesitating?” the monster hissed maliciously. “Fool! Join me, and I will spare you. There is no good or evil, there is only power. Join me, just like your slippery guardian, and you will get as much power as you want. Refuse me, and you will meet the same end as your parents... They died begging me for mercy...”

Harry clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms, but refused to shout, protest or give in and throw a cheeky comment at this hissing jerk.

“Do you not believe me?” Voldemort continued. His horrid face twisted into an ugly smirk. “Well, you are smarter than I thought. Yes, your parents were brave. Your father put up a courageous fight... but your mother needn't have died... she was trying to protect you... Tell me where to find the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain. Tell me where to find it, and I will let you go.”

Harry was sweating because of the stress but kept still and gritted his teeth. Dried nettles, grounded snake fangs, stewed horned slugs, porcupine quills, he recited ingredients for the Boil Cure – the first potion that came to mind. Anything to keep his mind off Voldemort and keep his mouth shut. What did Draco say about Draught of Living Death? There was something else apart from infusion of wormwood and asphodel. I think it was valerian roots and some sleeping beans… that is, the sopophorous beans!

This trick turned to be a mistake, though: Harry got distracted and missed the moment when Quirrell turned around sharply and jumped at him. It could have been Voldemort's help or Quirrell's luck, but he would have stumbled right into Harry if Harry did not jump away at the very last moment. Quirrell bumped into a column instead and landed on the floor, but it was done: Harry gave himself away.

“Seize him! SEIZE HIM!” Voldemort's high-pitched voice turned into a shriek.

A deadly game of tag and hide-and-seek started. Harry darted between columns, trying to stay in shadows and not letting the cloak flap too much. Unfortunately, the invisibility in such a small space was just not enough: footsteps and footprints on the dusty floor gave him away. Quirrell kept up, trying either to grab Harry, or to stun him with a spell.

Harry hold to his luck for several long minutes – until he stumbled in exhaustion and almost fell. Quirrell collapsed on top of him and tried to grab him by his throat, but howled and rolled away. The scar on Harry's forehead exploded in pain when Quirrell touched him, but now sort of cooled.

“AAAARGH!” Quirrell cried out, staring in horror at his wrists: they reddened and blistered.

Harry used that opportunity to jump up but did not have enough time to hide again: Quirrell attempted to grab him again. The second attempt was as futile as the first one, though.

“Master, I can't! I can't touch him!” Quirrell gasped, cradling his burnt hands.

“Use magic then, you fool!” Voldemort shrieked.

Quirrell raised his wand, but Harry did not wait for him to cast a spell. He was quite aware that everything he learnt in class would not help so Harry used the only weapon he had. Realizing that for some unknown reason his touch was painful for the opponent, he lunged at him and held on to his face with both hands.

“AAAARGH!”

Quirrell’s wail seemed to shake the walls. Or was it Voldemort’s?

Harry's head was splitting, the scar was burning up, but he kept fighting, clawing and punching until he was completely spent. His last thought before blacking out was, Draco would have killed himself laughing if he saw me fight like a Muggle girl.

Footnotes

Turlough O'Carolan was an early Irish blind harper, poet and composer (1670 – 1738), famous for his gift for melodic composition. He is a character of many legends and anecdotes. Many melodies that are commonly thought to be folk were actually written by O'Carolan (a complete scholarly edition of his works was first published only in the middle of XX cent.).

Robert Nicolas-Charles Bochsa was a French harper and composer (1789 – 1856). He lived in London since 1817, helped founding the Royal Academy of Music and became Musical Director of the King's Theatre.

Rennervate! — in later editions J.K. Rowling corrected the spell, changing Ennervate to Rennervate.

Danger lies before you... — the riddle belongs entirely to J.K. Rowling.

Sleeping beans — the name of the magical plant Sopophorus seems to be created similar to the word phosphorus. ‘Phosphorus’ consists of Greek roots fo̱s (‘light’) и féro̱ (‘bear’) and means ‘light-bearer’. As ‘sopor’ means ‘sleep’ in Greek, ‘sopophoros’ should translate as ‘sleep-bearer’.

Chapter Text

Harry was floating somewhere. Golden waves rocked and lulled him, gently singing a due voci. One voice was his Mum's, he even recognized the song, it was a Gaelic lullaby that she used to sing to Draco and him when they were little. The second one was… his Mum's too? Yes, it was also his Mum's voice, different from the first one but filled with the same tenderness. The memory was sliping away, disappearing somewhere in the depths of his mind, while the voices sang quieter and quieter, bringing him solace and comfort. At the same time the waves and the wind calmed down, and the waters became still. Now Harry was lying motionless in a great sea, and the water was sparkling in the sun like a huge mirror reflecting the endless sky. The light was blinding, and he shut his eyes tight…

“Wake up!” Another familiar voice – clear and mischievous – demanded. “I can see that you're not sleeping!”

With great effort Harry half-opened his eyes and immediately closed them again: the June sun was streaming through partly opened window blinds.

“Hurrah!”

The bed began to shake – someone flopped on it. Harry carefully tried to open his eyes again and saw Draco.

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

Draco was sitting on the edge of his bed, dangled his feet and chewed a chocolate frog. Harry looked around: sure enough, he was at the Hospital Wing. On his bedside-table there were flowers in a vase and a great pile of postcards, magical trinkets and sweets, including a large box of chocolate frogs. It looked like Draco got his one from there.

“What’s that? Are these your birthday presents?” Harry asked.

Draco snorted.

“These are your well-wishes for your recovery,” he corrected. “I think half of the school is hovering behind that door. Our merry bunch, of course, and your Buffoondors, and Bones, and Hopkins, and Patil… but Pomfrey doesn't let anyone in. And those crack-brained twins tried to send you a toilet seat, but Pomfrey confiscated it.”

“A toilet seat? What ever for?” Harry was astonished.

“No idea, I'm no expert in Buffoondorssense of humour. Or are you asking what Pomfrey might need it for? For the toilet, I suppose.”

Harry could not help himself and laughed – more out of relief and joy that everything was finally over than because of this silly joke.

Draco smiled thinly, but that was it.

“What’s wrong?” Harry immediately was worried again.

“Everything’s fine. Really, it is. I have a lot of excellent news, I don't even know where to start.”

“With the point, of course. Dad always says to start with the point.”

“First of all, you're alive. That's the point, I think. I kind of got used to having a brother, you know.” Draco's tone was light, but there was no laughter in his eyes. Then he leaned closer and said in a low voice, “Secondly, I don't know how you managed it, but I have it.”

Harry stared at him, uncomprehending.

Draco leaned even closer and whispered, “I have the Stone. Honestly, I almost died of a heart attack when it suddenly appeared in my pocket. I didn't even realize at first what it was. And then I did and got awfully scared – what if it meant you had been killed? But it worked out alright, thank Merlin.”

Harry remembered the reflection in the Mirror of Erised. So that's what it meant! It was so simple.

“Happy birthday,” he winked.

Draco smiled at first, and then he asked very gravely, “Will you tell me how you managed that?”

“Of course,” Harry did not hesitate even for a moment. “But later. At home, alright?”

“Fine.”

“What other good news do you have?”

“Oh! We have already been through ‘firstly’ and ‘secondly’, right? Thirdly, then, Dad gave a piece of his mind to Dumbledore. Kicked up a big fuss, really. There was such an uproar! It's a miracle the Hospital Wing is still standing.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because of your cloak. At first Dad was just sneering and scolding. How dare you give such a thing to my son without my knowledge? and all that. And Dumbledore replied, For your information, dear Lucius, I never gave anything to Draco.”

“And what did Dad say?”

“If you don’t count all those words he uses only when he thinks we can't hear…”

“Well?”

“Basically, he repeated several times that you're his son. In several languages. In English, French, Latin, Gaelic and another one that I had never heard before. Something between French and Gaelic. Then he asked if he had been clear enough, and if the headmaster had understood him. Severus listened and, I think, much enjoyed the spectacle, even though he tried not to show it.”

“Wait, and how do you know all that? Did they really have a row in front of you?”

Draco smirked.

“They didn't think so. I conveniently hid behind a curtain at the beginning when they were distracted, and later they just forgot about me.”

“Amazing! What about Dumbledore?” Harry asked. “Give me a frog too, I'm hungry.”

Draco reached out to the bedside-table, fished out a chocolate frog out of the box and threw it without looking – Harry caught it and teared the wrapping eagerly.

“You know what, Dumbledore was very pleased, I think,” Draco said pensively. “He said something like Thank you, the things are much clearer to me now, and then they switched to that language I don't know and discussed something for about five minutes. I think Severus didn't understand much too, but he didn't bat an eye.”

“Why should he?” Harry shrugged, finishing a chocolate frog leg. “Dad will tell him everything later, that's for sure. But he tells us only the most important things, and only half of those, I think. Listen, and who saved me? Was it Dad? Or Severus?”

“It was Dumbledore,” Draco sighed. “All of us were there, and McGonagall too, but you know what… I could never really picture before how this old man could defeat Grildelwald. He was younger then, of course, but still. How old was he at the time? Sixty, or something? Well, now he's over a hundred years old, and he took Quirrell out as if the man were a first-year. He didn't even utter any spells!”

Draco fell silent and stared into space, still dangling his feet.

“I wonder,” Harry commented in a while, “how old is Voldemort.”

* * *

When everyone was safe, thanks to Dumbledore (if one does not count an untimely death of unlamented Professor Quirrell), Severus allowed himself to have a little fun, watching a colorful performance of The Furious Father with Lucius Malfoy in the leading role.

An impromptu performance was a great success, especially for a trained eye. Knowing Lucius well, Severus saw perfectly well that his friend was angry, of course, but not angry enough to actually shout at an elderly school headmaster who was also the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot. Using language completely inappropriate for Wizengamot. He also knew Albus Dumbledore long enough to see that the headmaster enjoyed the performance immensely, allowing himself to tease his opponent, pretending to be an old crackpot of a wizard. Severus would not have been surprised if he learned that Dumbledore also remembered the notorious correspondence on The Tales of Beedle the Bard with some affection.

In a word, everything was splendid until they suddenly switched to Breton that the Potions Master did not know, even though it was familiar enough to recognize the language.

He was surprised at first at this blatant discourtesy towards him from the headmaster – and pointless at that. It was obvious that Lucius would not hide anything from him, anyway. Severus rose and started for the ward to visit Harry when he saw someone’s small shadow behind one of the curtains in the far corner. Well, obviously, he knew that ‘someone’.

What brats.

Suddenly it all fit together: the ease with which two respectable wizards, abeit with polar opposite views, started a row with fireworks in the Hospital Wing, and the need for secrecy when it came to really important matters.

Only one thing urked him: the fact that this secrecy was needed at all. What urgent information did Dumbledore have to share? Fortunately, Severus did not have to seek him out and ask: Lucius showed up in the Potions classroom the same evening.

“Maybe I should spend a night at your place,” he said thoughtfully in lieu of greeting.

Severus reluctantly wrote Acceptable on the exam sheet of a third-year Hufflepuff and put it into the ‘ready’ stack. Truth be told, a Slytherin or a Gryffindor would have gotten a Poor (in the former case to make one learn the topic at any cost, in the latter case to show an example to his or her housemates), but he desperately did not want to have a re-examination in autumn just for one goof-ball Alwin Carmichael.

“You are welcome. What happened?”

“You see,” Lucius said just as thoughtfully, getting comfortable in an armchair near the fireplace, “I did not take Cissy with me yesterday.”

“And?” Severus was surprised.

“And nothing. She's angry now.”

“So what?” Now Severus was truly lost. “As if it's the first time. You've never took her to raids.”

Lucius sighed and looked at him the same way Severus himself looked at a talented seventh-year Slytherin who suddenly asked an utterly dumb question.

“First of all, our children never participated in raids, thank Merlin. Secondly… can't you imagine what happens in the house where a powerful enough witch is constantly being angry?”

Severus shrugged.

“As long as I remember, my mother was always angry at one thing or another.”

“Ah. That explains a lot,” Lucius drawled meaningfully. “Anyway, that's beside the point. Do you know what your precious headmaster told me?”

“I assume the question is rhetorical,” Severus chuckled. “Do tell.”

“He congratulated me and basically said that our arrangements should not have worked.”

The Potions Master almost dropped the bottle of Old Ogden's he was reaching for in the cabinet.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I say. If everything he knows about blood magic is true, then it's not the Evans family who should have become part of the Black family, but the other way round. It doesn't work any other way. He says that the pattern of the spell is irregular, and if Lily were alive it could have worked so-so, but without her… I think he knows enough for us to trust his conclusions.”

“If we can't trust his judgement, who can we trust, indeed,” Severus grumbled, dazed by the news, and poured firewhiskey for Lucius and for himself. “Except, perhaps you could always ask Flammel.”

“Unfortunately, we have not been introduced.”

“Ask Dumbledore for a favour,” Severus snorted. “He will introduce you.”

Lucius made a face.

“I think I'll pass, thank you. Dumbledore himself is quite enough for me. Merlin merciful, six more years – at least!”

“Wait, you said should not have worked. Does that mean they did?”

“You saw what happened to Quirrell. He couldn't even touch Harry.”

“Why then?..”

“No idea. Dumbledore probably doesn't have a clue either. For some unknown reason, however, he strongly recommended to keep this from Cissy. What is your opinion, should I tell her or not? You understand better the way this man… erm… thinks.”

Severus snorted.

“You flatter me. Dumbledore himself doesn't always undertand the way he thinks. If he urges you to do something, though, I think you'd better listen.”

Lucius nodded, and they fell silent for a while, staring at the glimmering embers in the fireplace.

“Will you take the couch here, then?” Severus asked at last.

“Have you gone mad?” Lucius sounded genuinely surprised. “You must be really overworked, if you have lost your sense of humour. Certainly not. Cissy is at home all alone, she is upset, and…” he gave up. “Anyway, I am off. As soon as Harry regains consciousness, let us know immediately.”

He grumbled a second before disappearing into green flames of the Floo, “You should definately get married, Sev.”

* * *

“Sixty-five,” a clear voice said from across the room.

The boys turned around: Albus Dumbledore, smiling, entered the room. Draco straightened and rose to his feet.

“Good day, Headmaster.”

“Good day it is, indeed. How are you feeling, Harry?” he asked, Levitating a chair and sitting down.

“Much better, thank you, sir,” Harry replied. “Sixty-five what?”

“Voldemort is now sixty-five,” Dumbledore said calmly. “To be more accurate, the person he once was would have turned sixty-five last December.”

Harry shivered. A person he once was, indeed. The ugly face he saw yesterday could hardly be named human. It was yesterday, right? Only now it occured to him to ask, “What day is it today? Is it the fifth or the sixth of June?”

“It is the eighth,” answered the headmaster. “I must say, your parents have been very worried.”

Draco could not help it and snorted quietly. Something else must have happened, in addition to the quarrel about the cloak he had already described, but Harry wisely decided not to ask questions in front of Dumbledore. Then he remembered something.

“Oh, it means I missed the last game. How was it?” he asked in agitation. “Who won the Cup?”

Dumbledore looked at him slyly over his spectacles.

“Ravenclaw won the game. But Slytherin got the Cup for the first time in eight years.”

“Hurrah!”

Headmaster smiled into his beard, took off his half-moon spectacles, pulled a silk handkerchief – purple, with a golden monogram – out of his cloak pocket and started polishing the lenses.

“May I ask you, Harry... isn’t there anything else you would like to know?”

Harry immediately became alert and glanced at Draco. That was it: jokes are over, here comes real talk. Could the headmaster share something that their parents and Severus would not?

“Why Quirrell couldn't touch me?” he asked straight away.

Draco stared at him questioningly, but Harry shook his head a little: now is not the time. Draco nodded.

Dumbledore sighed, wiped the lenses again and put his glasses on.

“Unfortunately, I cannot give you a definite answer. I can offer you but a guess.”

“Yes?”

“Your mother – I mean Lily Potter – died to save you.”

“Yes, Voldemort told me about it,” Harry pondered, then caught himself, “Sorry for interrupting you, sir.”

“It is alright. Well, that kind of magic is the most ancient, the most powerful and the most inconceivable of all. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. Your mother loved you so much that her love left an imprint – it is in your blood, in your body, in your very skin. It is a protection that Voldemort knows nothing of and if he did he would not have believed it. That is why Quirinus Quirrell who was so consumed by greed and hatred that he let Voldemort into his body was in pain when he tried to touch you.”

Dumbledore fell silent and became interested in a bird out on a windowsill. He was strangely pensive, it seemed like he was keeping something to himself and had no intention of sharing it. That is why Harry asked a question on another topic.

“Quirrell… What will happen to him?”

Dumbledore sighed again.

“Unfortunately, Quirinus Quirrell died.”

Harry expected something like that, but still shuddered. Realizing that he participated in a murder if not done it himself was disgusting. His horror and distaste must have shown on his face because the headmaster hastened to soothe him.

“You have nothing to do with that. First of all, while I was getting rid of Voldemort, he in his resistance sucked up all the life force that poor Quirinus still had in him. Secondly… even if Quirinus managed to escape or we succeeded in capturing him, his bond with Voldemort would have killed him sooner or later. One body is not enough for two wizards, and Quirinus could never defeat his master.”

“So, Voldemort is dead too, isn't he?” Draco brightened up.

The headmaster shook his head.

“Alas, no. I managed to expel him, that is all. He lost a body and will search for a new one for some time, but I am afraid he will return sooner or later.”

“But why?” Draco was still not satisfied. “Why didn't you kill him? Is he stronger than Grindelwald? You killed that one a while back!”

Dumbledore smiled sadly.

“First, Voldemort is not alive in the full sense of the word, ergo, he cannot be killed. Secondly, it is possible that he is stronger than Grindelwald. Frankly speaking, Grindelwald never was an exceptional duellist, he had different gifts. Thirdly… then again, it does not matter now.”

His expression became mournful and longing at the same time as if he remembered something unattainable – and sad for that reason.

“Does it mean,” Harry said slowly, considering the new information, “that Voldemort will come back for the Stone? Here, to Hogwarts?”

“No,” Headmaster shook his head. “That is, I am afraid he will indeed come back here sooner or later, but not for the Stone. The Stone has been destroyed, Harry.”

“What?!”

“Is that true?!”

Draco and he stared at each other. How could that be?

“Yes, it is,” Dumbledore said. “The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution. Yes, we agreed that it was dangerous to keep the Stone any longer. It is not such a good thing, if you come to think of it. An endless life and an endless amount of gold… These are the two things most people would have asked for if they had a chance, would they not?”

The boys looked at each other again. Was the headmaster suspecting something and testing them?

“I don't know…” Draco said doubtfully, “I think it would get awfully boring soon.”

“I suppose so,” Dumbledore agreed. “One way or another, Nicolas… Do you know about Nicolas?”

Harry nodded.

“Nicolas took care of everything. And he had enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order. Then… After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure.”

“Which means Voldemort's mind is really disorganized,” Draco snorted.

The old wizard smiled.

“Very well said, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Why am I 'Mr. Malfoy', and Harry is just 'Harry'?” Draco pretended to be upset, but it was clear he was simply curious.

“I beg your pardon,” Dumbledore said earnestly. “I knew Harry's parents very well, that is why I allowed myself such familiarity without asking permission. But if you would allow?..”

“Of course.” Draco managed to keep a straight face for several seconds before laughing out loud. Harry and Dumbledore laughed too, and somehow they did not talk about serious things again that day. The headmaster sat with them for ten more minutes and left after reminding them about the end of the year feast.

“Does that mean…” Draco began a little later, but Harry cut him off in a loud whisper.

“Later. At home.”

Draco made a face but nodded. They sat in silence for a while, and then Harry remembered something.

“Hey, why were you laughing when the headmaster said something about our parents?”

Draco grinned again.

“Ah, I didn't have a chance to tell you yet. Mum was here yesterday.”

“And? Was she mad too?”

Frankly speaking, Harry could not picture Narcissa having a violent row or even just losing her temper.

“Of course not!” Draco smirked. “She sat for a long time here with you, then talked to the headmaster and mentioned as if in passing that everyone was praising Beauxbatons Academy, their amazing new curriculum and all that. Dumbledore barely managed to escape her, and he became worried, of course. We won't be going to Beauxbatons, but he doesn't know that!”

Harry listened to news with half an ear. It was not a dream then. Mum had really been here! Maybe when no one could hear her, she did sing, she loved Seoithín Seo Hó very much. Then it dawned on him: the other voice he heard in his dream was Lily's. It was Lily Potter, of course. She must have sung that lullaby to him too…

Seoithín, seo hó,

mo stór é, mo leanbh

Mo sheod gan chealg,

mo chuid den tsaol mhór

Seoithín, seo hó,

is mór é an taitneamh

Mo stóirín ina leaba

ina chodladh gan brón.

A leanbh mo chléibh,

go n-éirí do chodladh leat

Séan agus sonas

a choíche in do chóir

Tá mise le do thaobh

ag guí ort na mbeannacht

Seoithín, a leanbh,

ní imeoidh tú leo.

On the roof of the house

There are bright fairies

Playing and drinking

Under the gentle rays of the spring moon

Here they come

To call my child out

Wishing to draw him

Into the the fairy mound

My child, my heart

Sleep soundly and well

May good luck and happiness

Forever be yours

I’m here at your side

Praying blessings upon you

Hushaby, hush

You’re not going with them

“Hey, are you even listening?” Draco snapped him out of his reverie.

“Of course I am,” Harry replied. “We won't be going to Beauxbatons. It would have been great to study with Nicolas, though.”

“And having classes in French? Just imagine learning ingredients in two languages! You would  have to learn them all in English, too. No, wait, in three languages, I forgot Latin.”

“Is it true?” Harry opened his eyes wide in mock amazement. “You're not keen on learning something about potions, really? The world is coming to an end! Help!”

Draco did not have a chance to reply because the door opened again, and Severus entered. He looked collected and calm, but the dark circles under his eyes betrayed his tiredness.

“Professor Dumbledore said you were awake,” he said, feeling Harry's forehead. “How are you? Do you have a headache?”

 “A little,” Harry admitted. He had not noticed it until that moment, engrossed in the conversation, but his head was throbbing, even though the scar did not hurt anymore. “The rest is fine, though. I can return to Slytherin right now!”

“That's for Madam Pomfrey to decide,” Severus smirked. “And I do not think she would dismiss you just yet.”

“Of course, I won’t,” the matron said, entering the room. “The poor child has been harassed enough for one day. You have five minutes, and that’s it! I won't let anyone in until dinner, no exceptions! And, Severus, please, be so kind and explain to your students that this is neither a public thoroughfare, nor the Slytherin Common Room and not even Quidditch changing room!”

“By all means,” the Potions master nodded and turned to Draco. “Off you go. I need to talk to Harry in private.”

“He'll tell me later anyway.”

“We shall see,” Severus said curtly, giving him a stern eye. Draco had to concede and left, promising to return after dinner.

Severus sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed.

“Does the scar hurt?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Harry replied. “I don't even feel it. But that day in the dungeons…”

Severus' face darkened.

“Rest assured, we shall talk about it later. All together and at home. For now, I have but two questions. First, have you had any nightmares? At night… or may be even during the day?”

“Yeah, I have,” Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Like the ones before, only now there was Voldemort… from the forest.”

“What?” Severus flinched.

“From that time, when he was drinking the unicorn's blood. You know it was him, right? In a hood?”

Severus nodded.

“Why didn't you tell me?” he sighed. “I told you, should your nightmares change…”

“I forgot,” Harry admitted guiltily. “Actually, I thought it was just an ordinary nightmare. Anyone would have nightmares after something like that, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Severus agreed. “You should have taken no chances, however. Now, to my second question. How did you know that Quirrell would go after the Stone exactly that day? Were there any… premonitions? Did you feel peculiar in any way?”

“I got a monstrous headache. My head was just splitting, worse than ever, and I thought Voldemort was up to something. I wanted to go to you, but you were not in the castle.”

“I am sorry,” his godfather said grimly. “It's all Fudge's doing, damn him.”

“Minister Fudge?” Harry was surprised. “What does he have to do with everything?”

“Oh, it's a long and extremely silly story,” Severus made a face. “I will share it later. Alright, this is enough for now. If you remember something else, ask Pomfrey to get me. Now you should rest.” He stood up, patted Harry’s head and left.

Sinking into the pillows again, Harry suddenly felt really tired. At the moment, he was certainly not ready to move out of the hospital wing yet. The sun had changed its position and hid behind a curtain, so Harry’s bed was in the shadows. He closed his eyes and almost instantly fell asleep.

* * *

Some indistinct sound – rustling or rattling – woke him. Half-opening his eyes, Harry saw in bewilderment a red head emerging from under his bed. A second later he was staring in the confused freckled face of Ron Weasley.

“Here,” Weasley said awkwardly, handing over a glass ball with Hogwarts castle inside. “Someone brought it for you, and I… dropped it. Sorry.”

Harry took the ball: such souvenirs were common in the Wizarding world. They once brought similar one from Paris with La Tour du Temple inside, and one from Brittany with the Beauxbatons Academy. He had not yet seen a ball with Hogwarts, though: an unknown supporter must have bought it in Hogsmeade. The green lawns around the miniature castle inside were strewn with daisies.

“Never mind,” Harry said, wondering what possessed the Gryffindor boy to come. At least, the redhead did not look like he was going to start a fight, or something. What did he do to persuade Madam Pomfrey? Probably, just got lucky and sneaked inside.

They were silent for a while. Harry did not know a polite enough way to ask What do you want?, while Weasley apparently could not find words to say whatever he planned to. Finally, he spoke.

“Well… Er… Thaxfntmentngittanone!” he mumbled, staring at the floor.

“I beg your pardon?” Harry said. Honestly, he had no intention of emphasizing the differences in their upbringing, but unexpected appearance of Weasley Jr. from under his bed threw him off the broom, so to speak.

Weasley turned red, and his face became blotchy.

“Sorry, I just could not catch what you said,” Harry added hurriedly. He was honestly curious. The twins finding their way into the Hospital Wing to congratulate him or play a joke on him (both options were equally possible) – that he could understand perfectly. But the last time he saw Ronald, the latter was peeking into the window of Hagrid's hut, spying on them. “Get comfortable,” he offered, nodding at the chair that Professor Dumbledore left near the bed.

Weasley nodded and sat.

“Erm…  I…” He took a deep breath and started over. “I wanted to thank you. For not squealing on my brothers.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Harry blurted out before realizing Weasley probably meant the whole Norbert disaster. It was for the best, though: now he would not have a chance to spill the beans accidently before Weasley explains himself.

“Potter, I know everything about the dragon,” Weasley spoke in a low voice. “Well, almost everything. How Hagrid bred it out, and how Fred and George wanted to smuggle it out to Charlie, and how that dragon of yours bit George… only then Percy found Charlie's letter and ruined everything.”

“Why exactly are you thanking me?” Harry frowned.

“Well, if you told everyone about Fred and George being in on it, Mum would have had kittens… You don't know what sort of howlers she sends!”

“What does that have to do with you?”

Weasley stared at Harry as if he were crazy.

“They're my brothers!”

Harry nodded. There was nothing to say to that, indeed. Well, this Weasley seemed to be not completely hopeless. Well, if you think of it, even Percival, being a pompous douchebag, did not turn the twins over.

“Anyway, I must thank you, Potter,” Ron muttered awkwardly and rose.

“Don't mention,” Harry said. “Thanks for coming over. Do you want a frog? Help yourself,” he gestured at the bedside table with an opened box of chocolate frogs on it.

Weasley was obviously struggling: he wanted some chocolate very much and desperately did not want to accept treats from a rich Slytherin boy. Apparently, he exhausted his resources in terms of peaceful interactions between Houses for a couple of years at least.

“Just take one. I’ve got so many I won't be able to eat them all, really,” Harry added just to see what would happen.

Weasley hesitated for several seconds and finally made up his mind.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, took a frog and left.

Harry took one too and ate it, pensively staring at the door that had closed behind the Gryffindor boy.

* * *

Harry and Draco were late for the end-of-the-year feast: no matter how much Harry assured Madam Pomfrey that he felt fine, she wanted to check and recheck his vitals and tired him out with magical tests. The Great Hall was already full; walls were decorated with golden Gryffindor banners, and there was a triumphant lion behind the High Table.

“What a shame,” Draco lamented while they were making their way to their seats. “We might have won the Quidditch Cup, but not the school one…”

“Hush,” Harry said. “Stop reminding everyone of it.”

As soon as they were settled, Millie and Pansy started showing their support by pestering Harry with questions: how he was feeling, if everything was alright, and so on. They had not yet had a chance to talk: yesterday evening Madam Pomfrey let them into the Hospital Wing but for ten minutes and watched them all the time like a hawk.

“I'd have died of shock,” Pansy announced. “Imagine challenging You Know Who for a duel! Have you become a Gryffindor?”

“I wasn't challenging him,” Harry objected. “It sort of happened, that’s all.”

“Right, you just couldn't sleep and decided to visit the Forbidden Wing at night!” Millie quipped. “And took Granger with you!”

“No one took her, she tagged along on her own!” Draco flared. “I have enough sense not to involve girls in such affairs!”

“Why you did not take me?” Blaise asked. “I'm definitely not a girl.”

“This is just old-fashioned rubbish,” Millie snorted. “I can fight as well as any of you.”

“Boys,” Pansy drawled.

The girls looked at each other and giggled.

The boys looked at each other and shrugged.

Suddenly all the noise in the Hall died down, and everyone turned to the High Table: Professor Dumbledore rose to speak.

“Another year gone!” he said cheerfully. “And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...”

Laughter rolled all over the hall. McGonagall smiled wryly and shook her head, then leaned a little to Severus and whispered something into his ear. He snorted.

“Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding,” he said. “And the points stand thus: in fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred fifty-two points, in third, Slytherin, with three hundred ninty-two points, Ravenclaw has four hundred twenty-six points, and Gryffindor, four hundred forty-two points. Congratulations, well done, all of you.” A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Lion House. “But, as all of you you must have heard, since it is a big secret,” he waited again for laughter to die out, “three days ago, several students rendered invaluable services to our school… even though no one asked them to do so.”

Snickers and whispering started again. Many students turned around and craned their necks to stare at the place where first-years sat at the Slytherin table. Harry stole a glance at his godfather: with a long-suffering look, Severus raised his eyes to the magical ceiling.

“So,” Dumbledore announced. “We shall start with Miss Hermione Granger. For an unprecedented bravery and readiness to sacrifice oneself I award Gryffindor fifty points.”

Gryffindors jumped up, clapped their hands, someone whistled in delight. Harry stood up and turned around too: Hermione was sitting at her usual place, as red as the Gryffindor banners.

“To Mr. Malfoy, for his chivalrous behaviour and excellent manners, I award Slytherin fifty points.”

Draco chocked, wondering if he should take that as a complement or as an insult. Slytherins applauded, and students at other tables started murmuring and grumbling: the Snake House just leapfroged the Raven House, and the Ravenclaws were not very much pleased.

“To Mr. Harry Potter,” Headmaster looked over the hall, and it became very quiet. “For outstanding courage and pure nerve, I award sixty points to Slytherin.”

The noise grew louder and soon turned into rumble: those who could add up while yelling themselves hoarse were the first to realize that Slytherin became a leader in the School Cup competition again. Gryffindors were stomping in indignance and banging their spoons on the table. Slytherins in their excitement created the same uproar.

“Excuse me,” Dumbledore boomed and tapped a spoon on his silver goblet. “I have not finished.”

When the hall gradually fell silent he continued.

“There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies and show audacity where simple common sense rules. But not many have enough courage to stand up to our friends and use common sense where audacity is in favour. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom.”

Silence fell, as everyone was hectically trying to figure out who became the winner now. As one by one the students arrived at the same incredible conclusion, they turned first to the giant hourglasses with the gemstones, and then to Headmaster, trying to understand if that was a mistake. Many looked puzzled, Hufflepuffs whispered to each other in confusion, Ravenclaws frowned. Gryffindors and Slytherins were in the same boat for the first time in a long while, both Houses secretly hoping that this was a misunderstanding or a practical joke.

“So,” the Headmaster continued as if nothing had happened, “Two Houses are tied with five hundred two points each. We need a little change of decoration.”

One wave of his wand, and the Great Hall resembled a Christmas tree: green and red, silver and gold were side by side everywhere.

“And now,” Dumbledore concluded, sitting down, “let's eat. Enjoy your meal!”

Food appeared on the tables, and little by little everyone started eating, still discussing the incident.

“It's all your fault,” Draco grumbled.

“What does it have to do with me?” Harry was surprised.

“If you didn't fall in with Buffoondores, we'd have won the Cup!”

“If it wasn't for Hermione, we'd have never identified Quirrell so quickly,” Harry objected. “If ever.”

“Oh yes, and we'd have never encountered trolls, too, and wouldn’t have carried around you-know-what in the dead of the night…”

“Hush!” Harry shushed him, and Draco fell silent guiltily.

“What’s that about? What exactly were you carrying and where?” Pansy immediately asked.

Harry sighed.

“Nothing,” Draco waved it away.

“Are you having secrets from us now?” Pansy pursed her lips. It looked like she was about to take it personally. Millie was silent, but looked displeased too. Blaise watched them impassively as if waiting.

Draco and Harry looked at each other. It seemed, some secrets had to be sacrificed, if they wanted to keep some others.

“Alright, we'll tell you all about it later,” Harry promised in a low voice. “On the train. There are too many eyes and ears here.”

“Deal!”

Footnotes

Seoithín Seo Hó is an Irish folk lullaby. Here's a nice version: http://youtu.be/lVUrdjWNNMY Irish lyrics with several translation versions can be found here: http://songsinirish.com/p/seoithin-seo-lyrics.html

Chapter Text

The train slowly picked up steam, and soon they could not see the Hogwarts platform even if they would stick their heads out of an open window. The compartment was crowded: after all, it was not meant to house seven passengers even if they were children.

“Well?” Pansy asked as soon as everyone got inside. “You can tell us everything now! What was it, that thing you were carrying in the dead of the night through the school?”

“What?!” Hermione gasped.

“You don't know, too?” Pansy narrowed her eyes. “So, they weren't hiding it just from us.”

Draco mentally slapped his forehead: now Granger will confess the whole story with the dragon, and Pansy will become truly peeved. They should have warned the Gryffindor girl, of course, but it was too late now.

Granger did not let them down, though.

“I don't know a thing.” She even shook her head for good measure. “Well, apart from what we've already discussed together.” She looked at Draco and demanded sternly, “Tell us everything!”

Harry and Draco presented a rehearsed brief version of their adventure, interrupting each other. It did not include Granger or Longbottom. Everyone was delighted and terrified in the appropriate places.

“Now I understand why McGonagall deducted so many points,” Blaise chuckled. “It's a wonder she didn’t zero Slytherin.”

“Well, she didn't know the dragon was real,” Harry said. “She thought we were just pranking Weasley.”

“And? Did professors not learn about it in the end?” Millie asked.

“Severus figured it out, of course,” Draco sighed. “And he got mad.”

Both Slytherins and Gryffindors shuddered in unison: there hardly was a beast scarier in Hogwarts than an infuriated Potions master. However, it looked like Headmaster could be just as dangerous …

As if answering his brother’s thought, Harry said, “Frankly speaking, I think Professor Dumbledore figured it out too. He just… gives little weight to such things. Or he gives enough weight, but in a different way.”

“What do you mean?” Granger sounded surprised.

“Well,” Harry continued pensively. “Remember: he let me play Quidditch, he sent us to the Forbidden forest at night instead of a detention, and now this… I think he knew beforehand that we'd go there. He… I wouldn’t say he wanted, but probably hoped I'd face Voldemort.”

“That's outrageous!” Hermione flared. “You could've gotten yourself killed!”

“As could you,” Pansy reasoned. “But you went there anyway!”

“That was me! And he… he's an adult! He's a teacher!”

Everyone burst out laughing and teasing the Gryffindor girl good-naturedly. Even Longbottom joined them, who apparently was of forgiving nature and did not resent her for the Full Body-Bind Curse. Draco stared out of the window, tuning out the banter, and was lost in thought.

Why did Dumbledore say that the Philosopher's Stone had been destroyed? Was he testing them? Did he simply lie? No, that would be too weird. Headmaster did not look like a man who could lie for no reason, all the more so since no one forced him to spill it. Neither Harry, nor Draco would have asked any questions, it was enough for them that Voldemort did not get the Stone.

No, he should assume that Dumbledore said the truth.

The Philosopher's Stone was destroyed. Then what was that thing that ended in his pocket? Was it a fake to distract them? Or the other way around? Maybe Nicolas Flamel destroyed a fake to distract Voldemort. Or… or even Dumbledore…

Draco’s head was spinning from all these questions. What should they do now? Should they test if it is possible to brew the Elixir of Life with this stone? But they were not alchemists! Even Severus was probably not an expert in this, Alchemy was not Potions, after all.

Suddenly, their idea to keep the Stone in secret seemed very stupid. If it was not real, Harry and he made fools out of themselves, of course. But if the Stone was real… it was too dangerous to just keep anywhere. And it was even more dangerous not to tell Dad about it.

Draco frowned and contemplated possible ways to show the Stone to their parents that would not get them grounded for the whole summer without brooms or some other privileges.

* * *

Severus lowered himself into a chair, stretched his legs and reclined his head on the high back-rest.

“Whew, what a year,” he sighed, staring at carved ceiling of the Malfoys' library.

“The fun has just begun,” Lucius answered from a nearby sofa.

“At least Dumbledore saved me ten Galleons.”

“How so?”

Severus snorted and delightedly told the story of the Headmaster’s awarding House points at the end-of-year feast.

“It would have been even better if he gave us the Cup, of course,” he concluded. “However, it was quite satisfactory. You should have seen Minerva's face when she realized she would not get her prize. I think she had already planned what to spend the winnings on.”

“What a scandal!” Lucius teased. “Gambling on school grounds! And among teachers, too! Maybe I should bring this up during the next meeting of the Board of Governors.”

“As if you didn't keep an on-going betting pool on anything worth money untill graduation. And you were a Prefect, too!”

“I was a Slytherin! It was a Prefect's duty, so to say, to set an example for newbies. Otherwise decades-old traditions will perish, and that will not do.”

Severus stopped staring at the ceiling and looked at his friend.

“You are terribly cheerful today. What's the occasion? Do I have to start worrying?”

Lucius smiled.

“There are plenty of occasions. For example, Shacklebolt came by yesterday.”

Severus frowned.

“Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened. He brought me a present he promised me a while ago – a special folder with anonymous reports to the authorities. It's a remarkable reading!”

“What reports?!”

“The usual ones. Various disgusting suggestions and so-called tips on our big criminal family. Including you, of course. Do you want to read it? This one, for example, sounds amazing.” Lucius leaned forward and fished out one parchment out of a pile. “Have a look.”

 Puzzled, Severus took the parchment, unrolled it and started to read.

“I think it necessary to notify the appropriate authorities that in the academic institution where I am honoured to be educated… What is this drivel?” He asked, surprised.

“Read on.”

“... institution where I am honoured… Wait, I've read that already. Now… Illegal breeding and trafficking of dragons.” His eyebrows went up in surprise. “Well-organized delivery via brooms... Luc, what is this?”

“Does this missive not remind you of something?”

Severus looked the letter through one more time. The hideous style and pompous wording seemed unsettlingly familiar…

“That insolent baboon!” He gasped, finally recognising the handwriting. “I'll show him dragon trafficking! He'll be cleaning cauldrons after the first-years till graduation!”

“Come on,” Lucius laughed. “It is unbelievably funny. And enlightening. I will certainly show it to the boys, so they know how their antics affect tender Gryffindor minds.”

Severus snorted.

“How can a tender mind end up in Gryffindor? I think Percival Weasley is the only one in the House. Poor Arthur. Where does his son get it from, I wonder?”

“Don't worry,” Lucius waved it away. “Only one idiot out of potentially seven? Weasley will not even notice it. I still marvel at the fact that he can tell all his offspring apart.”

His eyes gleamed dangerously, and Severus hurried to turn the conversation to a more harmless matter.

“Now I understand why your Shacklebolt called us smugglers before parting. Dumbledore was very much surprised.”

“You can give this epistolary masterpiece to your Dumbledore as a present,” Lucius retorted. “Let him enjoy it too.”

* * *

When the King's Cross Station first appeared ahead, the students were already dying of impatience – all of them wanted to leave the stuffy compartment as soon as possible, to see their parents and to get home.

The train slowed, moving along the Platform 9 ¾, and the meeting parties were already there. Some were looking into windows, others were patiently waiting several steps away from the train. Many parents came with younger children. After dragging their trunks out of the carriage, Draco and Harry stopped to rest – and to say good-byes to their friends.

“We are going to Cote d'-Azur in July,” Pansy reminded. “And I hope Millie will be allowed to go with us again, like last summer. You have owls now, boys, so you must write to me! And we'll return in August, make sure you come and visit us then!”

“I have no idea where I'll be going,” Blaise shrugged. “Wherever Mum wants. Last year she decided to tour Middle East on broomsticks, and we barely made it alive out of Syria. I think this time she mentioned India … Well, see you in autumn. I hope.”

“I don't know anything either yet,” Hermione joined in. “Maybe we'll go to the continent for a couple of weeks, but not more. Let's meet in the Diagon Alley!”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Neville said sadly. “Grandmother's health would not allow her to travel. Do write to me! Trevor is not fit for sending letters…”

While they planned who would write to whom and when, the Weasley twins approached them. Fred or George – it was hard to tell – smacked Harry on the shoulder.

“Have a nice summer, oh great destroyer of teachers!”

“And have a happy birthday!” the other twin added.

“You can count on a present from us!” both continued.

“A toilet seat?” Draco asked mischievously.

“Order accepted, deal!” the twins guffawed.

A short plump red-headed woman approached them with a red-headed freckled girl of around ten or eleven years in tow.

“Look, Mum! Look! It's Harry Potter!” the girl exclaimed.

“Don't point fingers, Ginny! It's impolite,” her mother scolded her. “Hello, children. Fred, George, where did you lose Ron?”

“How can we lose him, woman? It's virtually impossible!”

“We tried many times, it didn't work!”

“You'd better ask good old Percy!”

“Stop calling me ‘woman’,” Mrs. Weasley waved them away wearily. “Could you please stop clowning around for five minutes? You're making my head spin.” She turned to Harry with a guilty smile. “I'm so glad to see you! Do you know that you look so much like Lily? You have her eyes.”

“Mum, I want to meet Harry Potter!” the red-headed Ginny said in a loud whisper.

“Behave yourself, Ginevra!”

“Yes, Ginevra, behave yourself!” one of the twins mimicked. “Otherwise Harry Potter wouldn't want to associate with you!”

“Oh, Merlin gracious!” Mrs. Weasley sighed.

Draco could not help himself.

“He actually associates with you two,” he snorted at the twins. “I don't think it can get any worse. I apologize,” he told Mrs. Weasley with deliberate courtesy.

“Don't mention it, dear,” she answered, even though her face seemed a little tense to Harry. “And you are Draco, aren’t you?”

Draco gave her a small bow.

“Draco Malfoy,” he introduced himself, emphasizing the last name a little.

“They are really evil, those two!” the twins interjected. “They are taught brewing poisons and using Dark Magic day and night at home, did you know? No rest for the wicked! It’s just terrible!”

Strangely enough, it broke the tension.

“Stop talking nonsense!” Mrs. Weasley was indignant. “I hope they didn't bother you too much at school. Don't listen to them, children, they talk a mile a minute.”

“We noticed,” Draco smiled.

Mrs. Weasley smiled too, and dimples appeared on her cheeks.

“Mum, I want to meet Harry Potter!” her daughter repeated stubbornly.

Harry decided to interfere before they started discussing manners again.

“Hello. Nice to meet you,” he said, offering the girl a hand to shake.

She stared at him as if she were five years old and just saw a huge ice cream in the window of Fortescue's Parlour, then cautiously shook his hand.

“I'm Ginny,” she squeaked.

“I'm clear about that,” Harry smiled.

“Don't you believe him, he's not Clear-About, he's Harry!” Fred and George exclaimed in unison.

At last, Mrs. Weasley finally said her good-byes and decidedly led away all her brood, including a sour-faced Percy and a pensive Ron, towards the exit from the platform.

“What a family,” Draco chuckled.

“It's a whole Quidditch team,” Harry replied a bit wistfully. “Can you imagine having…”

“Don't even think about that!” a voice came from behind their backs. “You two are trouble enough!”

Both boys turned fast, forgetting their baggage piled on the platform.

“Mum! Dad!”

Narcissa was beaming, Lucius smiled calmly, and Harry thought for the umpteenth time how lucky Draco and he were to have such parents.

* * *

The first day at home passed in a blur. Draco and Harry shared their good and bad experience from the last term, told amusing stories about the school life, complained about exams, but by an unspoken agreement never mentioned anything important. Lucius only reminded them that Dudley's birthday was on June 23, so Petunia probably expected their visit on that day.

Late in the evening when Lucius and Narcissa left for a stroll in the gardens, Draco went to ask Harry for advice. Harry was sprawled on the carpet with his feet on the bed and read the latest edition of Quidditch Today. A whole pile of magazines for the last couple of months waited for him nearby. The window was open wide into a warm summer night, the blinds pulled apart. Sheer curtains were fluttering in the breeze.

“Planning to spend the whole summer like this?” Draco asked tartly.

“Yep. This week, at least. Until I read all the magazines.”

“And then what?”

“Then a new issue will arrive!”

Draco snorted, closed the door behind him and sat on the floor too.

“Listen,” he said. “We need to decide what to do with the Stone.”

Harry froze, staring into space, then sighed and put his magazine away.

“Did you have to mention it today?”

“Sorry, but if tomorrow Dad asks, I wouldn't know what to say. You never told me anything.”

“Right,” Harry agreed and put his hands behind his head. “Listen, then.”

Draco listened without saying a word.

“It's very strange,” he said when Harry was done. “Do you remember that time in winter…”

“Yes. What about it?”

“Could Dumbledore guess what I saw in the Mirror? What do you think?”

Harry thought about it.

“I don't know. Maybe. I think he realized long ago that we had found out about the Stone. Hagrid blurted too many things in our presence – and he must be reporting to the Headmaster. Why do you ask?”

“If Dumbledore knew beforehand that we were planning not only to protect the Stone, but to… well, to borrow it, would he have hidden it in the Mirror?”

Harry turned and got into a sitting position, moved closer to Draco and leaned back against the bed.

“I can't figure him out. The more I think about it, the more I believe that he sent me the Invisibility Cloak on purpose, so we'd go down there. Maybe he even lied about the Stone. And now he's waiting to see what we'd do.”

“I thought about that, too,” Draco admitted. “But I don’t think he lied.”

“What other options are left then? If we took the Stone, then how could they destroy it?!”

“Wait. We started at the wrong end. Let's suppose Dumbledore said the truth. Which means they fetched it form the Mirror and destroyed it.”

“Flamel destroyed it,” Harry corrected.

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “He couldn't have made a mistake. It's his creation. So, the question is: what did you procure out of it?”

“A fake,” Harry grimaced.

“Or the second Stone.”

Harry stared at him.

“How did it get there?”

“No idea. We know next to nothing about this Mirror. It could have copied the Stone. Or…”

“Or?” Harry prompted.

“Or there were two Stones right from the start, but Dumbledore didn't know about that for some reason. For example, Flamel himself hid them…”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugged, absently picking off the floor a chocolate frog card that fell out of his pocket. “We have too many maybes.”

“No kidding. What have you got there?” Draco asked.

“Ah, Dumbledore again. I think he was in half of the frog cards I got in the Hospital Wing.” Harry turned the card around, glanced at it, then frowned and started reading.

“What's the matter?”

“Do you remember how we were wondering what Dumbledore and Flamel had in common? Listen. Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon’s blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling.”

“What do pins have to do with this?”

“Nothing at all. Don't you get it? They are both alchemists! They worked together! And who says there's only one Philosopher's Stone?”

Draco snatched the card out of Harry's hand, read the text again, then turned it around – Dumbledore winked at him from under his gold-rimmed spectacles and disappeared. Draco snorted and threw the card on the floor.

“You know what, you're right,” he said after a bit of thinking. “Flamel is famous for creating the first Philosopher’s Stone in history, of course, but who said that he made only one? For that matter, who said that he was the only one who created it? If I'd managed that, I wouldn't have told anyone. Well, apart from you, Mum and Dad, of course. The less people know about your affairs, the better.”

Harry nodded.

“That's right. It's even worse when other people know more about you than you.”

“So, you agree with me, right? We should tell Dad.”

“Yeah. But…” Harry fell silent. “If we do it, we'll have to tell him about the Mirror, too. From the very beginning.”

Draco made a face.

“Yes, there's no getting around it. But let me tell it myself, alright?”

“Of course. You tell about the Mirror, I tell about the dungeons. When?”

“The day after tomorrow, maybe?”

“On Midsummer's Eve?”

“The celebrations won't start until the evening,” Draco reminded him. “It's all so stupid anyway.  The bonfires, the dancing, all this lovey-dovey stuff. It's so boring. Halloween is so much better.”

"Let's just do it tomorrow, then," Harry sighed. "The earlier we get it over with, the better."

* * *

The Malfoy Manor gardens were fragrant at night. The warm air smelt of freesias, peonies and irises; late lilacs still bloomed here and there. House elves lit numerous magical lights on tree branches and hedges that gave warm and soft glow to everything.

Lucius and Narcissa walked one of the farthest alleys and talked quietly.

“It's strange,” Narcissa said. “I think I've never been so afraid. Even… Even in 1980. Or in 1981, when you were arrested.”

Lucius nodded.

“All of it seemed just a game then. And the stakes were different. Now we have higher risks. But the choice has been made.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

“Of course I don't.” He put a hand around his wife's waist and pulled her closer. “Everything will be fine. Harry did well. I must admit – while the children cannot hear us – that he is much more sensible than Draco. Or more careful, at least. We did everything right. Which means we will win.”

Narcissa rested her head on his shoulder.

“I love your confidence. And your composure. Ah well, I just love you.”

“And I you, my darling.”

They walked in silence for a while, then Narcissa asked, “When are you intending to discuss the Stone incident with them? Tomorrow? The day after?”

“The day after tomorrow is a holiday,” Lucius shook his head. “All of us need rest. Midsummer is the time for bonfires and making wishes, not for analysing mistakes. On top of this, I wanted the boys to start this conversation without any prompts. They are not toddlers anymore to do mischief and wait until they are lectured, they should know better. Let them come to us.”

“What if they won't? How long will you wait?”

“Let's say a week. I hope it will be enough to discuss everything and present a consistent version of events,” Lucius smirked. “Let them think. In the meanwhile, you and I will enjoy short summer nights. For example, the day after tomorrow…”

“Yes?”

“Will you do me the honour of sharing the bonfire with me?”

“Luc!” Narcissa laughed. “Do you not think it is ridiculous to jump over open fire at our age?”

“At our age it finally starts making sense,” he countered. Even more so since in the next six years we will not have many opportunities to engage in such harmless trifles.

* * *

Sunday morning was quiet and bright. They barely talked during breakfast: fresh scones with butter and jam were too good to get side-tracked by idle chatter. Lucius lazily contemplated reading the Sunday Prophet or going to his study to quickly be done with Mr. Lewis’s – that is, Lloyd Sr.’s – report when Draco broke the cosy silence.

“Dad, we want to ask your advice on something.”

Lucius put away the newspaper he had barely opened. It seemed he underestimated his children when he allowed them a week for gathering their resolve.

“Did something happen?”

Draco and Harry looked at each other.

“Well…” Draco said. “You must have already guessed that we… held something back, haven't you?”

Lucius nodded.

“We didn't want to discuss it at school,” Draco continued. “So we decided we'd do it at home. I didn't know what’s better to do first, though, to show it to you or to tell the story?”

To show it? Lucius became alarmed at once. He had expected to hear all sorts of details about the reasons the boys set off chasing Quirrell without waiting for help, but 'showing it' definitely did not fit into that category. What have these rascals been up to?

“Well,” he said. “Show me what you have got.”

Draco dived into his pocket, took something out and put it on the table. When Lucius saw the mysterious item resting serenely on the white tablecloth between the sugar-bowl and the coffee pot, he was rendered speechless for the first time in years. The first words that came to his mind were not suitable for the ears of his wife and children, even if spoken in French.

“What. Is. This?” he asked at last.

“Well, we don't know for sure,” Harry answered cautiously. “But we think it's the Philosopher's Stone.”

“If it's not a fake, of course,” Draco added. “You see, we can't verify it ourselves, Dumbledore said the Stone was destroyed, and we…”

“Wait,” Narcissa intervened. “Stop for a moment, then start from the beginning, please.”

Draco took a deep breath and started the tale about finding the Mirror of Erised, Dumbledore catching him there and what came of it. Then Harry took over with the story of how he somehow 'extracted' the Stone moments before the Dark Lord found it.

“So now we don't know what to do,” Harry concluded. “If Dumbledore didn't lie then it's not clear what it is that we found, whether it's the real thing or not.”

Everyone stared at the blood-red Stone: it was laying on the table like a forgotten trinket, giving red overtones to white china all around.

Lucius contemplated the possibility of all this being Dumbledore's cunning scheme in order to provoke them to … what exactly? Flooding the Wizarding world with counterfeit Galleons? Feeding everyone with the Elixir of Life? The Elixir is not quite a Pepper-Up potion for anyone to brew on a whim. Lucius knew precious little of Alchemy himself. Narcissa indulged in something like that in her youth, but, first of all, it was almost twenty years ago, and secondly, in order to at least roughly understand the essence of Magnum Opus, one needed a bit more than a schoolgirl's enthusiasm. Maybe Severus knew something… but doubtfully his knowledge went farther than purely academic interest.

What should they do now? Lucius looked at the Stone again – it glistened innocently in the sun, the only distinction between it and a piece of ordinary polished red jasper was the Stone's inexplicable substantivity. It even looked heavier than a piece of rock this size should be.

Narcissa reached out and held the Stone in the palm of her hand – now splotches of red were all over walls, it seemed the whole room was turning around it as if it were the only fixed point.

“I think it should be returned to the owner,” she said calmly.

Draco made a face, while Harry objected, “Who could that be? We couldn't figure it out.”

“I assume it's Monsieur Nicolas Flamel,” Narcissa answered. “One way or another, he will know what to do with it. Unfortunately, it is not the best trinket to keep at home as a sentimental reminder of the first year at Hogwarts.”

“Aren't we a little late?” Draco asked suddenly. “Dumbledore said that Flamel had enough Elixir to tie loose ends… but that was almost two weeks ago.”

Finally overcoming his shock, Lucius laughed.

“Children, do you have any idea how much time is needed to 'settle' affairs that were conducted for seven hundred years? And that is only if everything has been done properly and carefully! If Dumbledore thinks otherwise it's only because he's a penniless Don Quixote. Even if everything that the honourable Hogwarts’ Headmaster has told you is nothing but the truth, I don't think Flamel and his wife will start their new great adventure in the nearest ten years.”

Draco frowned – he obviously did not like the idea of parting with the treasure acquired at cost of such risks and effort. Lucius, of course, understood his disappointment and even partly shared it, but to keep such a thing at home on a whim would have been an outrageous folly. Moreover, it was beneficial for the boys to realize that there were sometimes unnecessary risks and wasted effort.

“Couldn't we hide it somewhere? Just in case?” Harry ventured cautiously.

Lucius shook his head.

“It is too dangerous. Unless Flamel refuses…”

“Yeah, right,” Draco snorted. “Even if the Stone is not his – who could pass up such a thing! Alright, give it to him.”

Narcissa smiled.

“Wonderful. In that case, I will write to him immediately.”

Lucius looked at his wife in astonishment, then decided she must be pleased to remember the hobby of her youth, and here was a chance to acquaint herself with the great alchemist.

“Excellent,” he nodded. “It's settled, then.”

* * *

Monday evening, after finishing at last all the inevitable end-of-year paperwork in record time, Severus finally escaped from Hogwarts. As soon as he reached Malfoy Manor, he immediately realized that something had happened during the weekend. Draco and Harry looked resentful and went on whispering among themselves, while Lucius and Narcissa seemed to be bursting with some secret that they kept back from their children at all costs. Severus prudently waited until the boys went to bed before proceeding to any enquiries.

“What happened here? Why are the boys so distressed? Have you locked up their brooms for the whole summer?”

Lucius laughed.

“I've done much worse. I took away a toy that doesn't belong to them in order to return it to the rightful owner.”

Severus frowned blankly.

“What are you talking about? I think they are not five-year-olds anymore.”

“So true. At least, the scale of their activities has become much larger. Look at this.”

Lucius handed him a small shiny blood-red stone. One glance was enough for Severus to realize what it was and stop breathing for a moment.

“How…” he managed. “But Dumbledore said…”

“I've been telling you for a while now that you overestimate his abilities,” Lucius teased. “Yet you keep arguing with me. He said many things. He believes any Tom, Dick or Harry, and you believe him… Whose fault is it that later everything turns out to be not what it seemed?”

“Where then…”

“The boys got it. They extracted it somehow from that charming mirror of yours. By the way, it’s not quite an appropriate thing to keep at school. Now I am very curious whether the Dark Lord saw it when he was a boy, and if he did, what it showed him. Judging by what Draco told us, such an artefact can drive anyone mad.”

“But to whom the Stone belongs?”

“Nobody knows. We thought long and hard about it and decided that most likely it belonged to Flamel. If I am not mistaken, he did work with Dumbledore on some alchemical projects, did he not? And he probably visited the castle often at the time…”

“As blasphemous as it sounds, Luc,” Severus gulped, “But the Stone should be returned.”

“Are you sure Cissy and you were not separated at birth? She said the same thing. It must be noted that I agreed with her wholeheartedly. And we send the artefact to the assumed owner. Via owl post.”

“And?” Severus asked, dumbstruck.

“And we received it back today with the morning mail.”

“What?!”

“There was a note in the package.”

Lucius held out a piece of parchment with words written in a fine chancery hand.

Dear Mrs. Malfoy,

Please let me express my gratitude for your very kind letter. I am much pleased to make the acquaintance, even if only on paper, with such a charming lady of many talents.

Regarding your main question, Milady: I am sure this is a misunderstanding. The fate of my sample is beyond any doubt, so yours must be of some other origin. And it is unquestionably genuine, I have checked it myself.

You can find some practical notes attached; hopefully, they can be of help. If you have any questions or difficulties, please do not hesitate to send me a letter with the same owl you used before. Your bird will be able to find me.

Kissing your talented hands,

Nicolas Flamel

End of Part Three and Book One