Standard Disclaimer: The usual disclaimers: the story is based on characters and situations created by JK Rowling, copyright owned by JKR, Bloomsbury, Scholastic Press, Warner Bros., etc. No money is being made from this tale, yadda yadda yadda ...
Author's Notes. And here's the next part … after thirteen (13) drafts - including completely junking the first four drafts, which will hopefully form another chapter of this tale.
And people think we're having fun!
Anyway, thank you for the reviews. They've kept me on track and - often - lead the story down paths never anticipated but which have, hopefully, improved the tale immensely. Thank you.
So … on with the show.
Grâce au Malfoys - Part 4
The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)
It was an idyllic scene - one which had been repeated often in the days alone in the magical tent during the Horcrux hunt. Hermione was seated on the bed, back propped up by pillows, her legs stretched out while Harry was lying on his back, head in her lap, staring at the ceiling, Hermione's fingers running through his soft, unruly hair. Running her fingers through Harry's hair was a comfort to the young witch - her father had often done the same to her when she was little, and a small part of her mind wondered whether Harry was deriving the same sort of comfort from her...
She had just finished telling Harry what had happened to her - not that there was much to tell, since the last thing she remembered was falling asleep in her dorm and then waking up in a strange room with a half-asleep and probably wet-dreaming Ronald Weasley behind her. She wince at the memory - not so much at Ron's behaviour which she could objectively understand but at the fact that, according to Harry, she'd been missing for a whole day.
And in the space of that single day, she had apparently eloped with Ron, ostensibly been married in a muggle ceremony ... and she had been one step away from murdering Ronald Bilius Weasley with her bare hands. And then, finding out that the marriage contract had been rejected by the Ministry of Magic through methods still unclear to her, plus having Harry find her...
Quite a busy 24 hours ... of which only the past two hours or so she'd been awake for.
But it was over now - she was content, relaxed, unmarried and happy ... she closed her eyes contentedly as she continued combing Harry's hair. She heard a soft sigh and peeked down at a similarly relaxed Harry, whose sleepy, rambling voice told her, more than anything else, just how much tension, and fear, and apprehension he'd gone through...
"What now, love?"
Hermione sighed. For a brief moment, she thought that this moment would last forever - but there was no avoiding reality. There were things that had to be done if she was to live a normal life ... and the same held true for Harry. Much as they may wish it, the fact was that if they didn't get moving, things may turn out worse.
She went back to her earlier thought - there was more to this than a simple prank ... too much had been spent in terms of planning, execution and resources. There had to be more to this ... but what?
She relayed her thoughts to Harry, who nodded in agreement. He was of the same mind - there must be something more to this than causing Hermione and him some inconvenience. In fact, thinking about it, the whole thing was not about causing them `some' inconvenience ... the intent of the whole thing was clear: to get Hermione and Ron married, in both magical and muggle worlds … which meant that someone did not want Harry and Hermione together.
The question was - who? And more important ... why?
Hermione shook her head, and made a move to get off the bed. Reluctantly, Harry sat up and watched with worried eyes as Hermione reached for the dresser where the pictures of the `wedding' were scattered. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath - picking up those pictures and perusing them was not what she wanted to do right now. She would much rather spend the rest of the day snuggling in bed with Harry, but that wasn't in the cards.
They had to find answers ... and those pictures were the first step in unravelling the mystery.
If only it wasn't so hard to look at those pictures.
Even if she knew that she was not a participant in that farce of a ceremony, even if she knew that she'd been asleep and totally unaware of what had been going on and that someone else had gone through the twice-be-damned farce of a wedding ... it was just so friggin' hard to look.
She nearly jumped when a hand covered hers and gently pulled the pictures away from her. She shot Harry a grateful look and went back to the bed, slumping bonelessly while grabbing a pillow, thinking, I'm not alone in this anymore. Harry's with me now.
As it was wont to do, her mind started wandering, reviewing the past seven years. If anyone told a young Hermione Granger what the Future had in store, she would have been reaching for her mother's Tazer while calling for the men in white ... her life to this point often sounded like fiction - badly written fiction, at that.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a touch on her shoulder; she blinked and realized that Harry was sitting beside her, a look of combined worry and puzzlement on his face. She raised an eyebrow at him as she sat up - he smiled briefly before handing over the picture in his hand.
Unthinking, she grabbed the picture and looked at it; in the next moment, she wished she hadn't as the events of the day she had no memory of crashed down on her and she felt sick...
The `Ron' and `Hermione' in the picture were engaged in an all-out snog - a lip-mashing, tongue-clashing, tonsil-seeking battle which left nothing to the imagination … including a brief glimpse of `Hermione's' hand deep within `Ron's' robes … and `Ron's' right hand fisted in `Hermione's' brown, bushy hair…
Before she could throw the picture away, Harry's gentle hand on her wrist stopped her; before she could make a move to throw up, Harry's gentle voice forced her to focus as he asked, "What's this?"
Hermione's eyes focused on the spot that Harry was pointing at, and narrowed as her impressive brain power came into play. Harry's finger was pointed at picture `Ron's' hand where a blurred, darkish something could be seen...
Her first thought was that Rita Skeeter had somehow made it to the `wedding' but the idea was quickly dismissed. Why should a beetle choose that particular spot for a perch when others were just as available? The thought brought back memories of Viktor pulling at her hair after the second task of the Tri-Wizard, saying, "You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny."
She shook her head and focused. There was something wrong with that picture ... but she couldn't make out what it was. She was getting frustrated when Harry, who had been looking through the other pictures, asked - "Ron's right-handed, isn't he?"
The question caught her by surprise - yes, Ron was right-handed as were the majority of people on earth, magical and non-magical but ... "Look at this, Hermione," Harry said. "Every picture shows `Ron' using his left hand..."
Hermione's eyes flicked from picture to picture - and realized Harry was right. Every picture showed Ron's left hand: waving at people, feeding `Hermione' cake ... even the champagne toast showed the flute in his left hand. `Ron's' right hand was always hidden away ... in his pocket, apparently scratching at his chest beneath the suit ... even when he was signing the muggle contract, he had his left hand covering the right...
Which brought her thoughts back to the only picture where the right hand could be seen with that dark, blurred something ... definitely not a beetle ... and a memory from the years of dodging Colin Creevey's camera came to mind: magical cameras didn't have auto-focus. And that meant that the `thing' was simply out of focus...
Seven years of study covering almost all aspects of magical culture and life came to mind and her eyes narrowed ... she turned to Harry with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.
"Harry!" she said in excitement. "It's a family ring!"
Harry's response was exactly what she should have expected: "Huh?"
***
Malfoy Mansion
The three Malfoys were sitting down to an early lunch, after consuming a liquid, champagne-fuelled breakfast. As befitted their stature and social standing, this was in their formal dining room - and the meal was eaten mostly in silence, save for the occasional clink of silver utensils on plates, or a polite "Please pass the salt."
The world as they knew it may have ended outside their walls; the whole wizarding world may well be in feasts or celebrations at the demise of the Dark Lord, but within these walls decorum and etiquette were supreme. Their house may have been used as a headquarters by the Dark Lord; its halls overrun with the riff-raff that they'd had to deal with in his service; their basement may have rung with the screams of torture...
But that was all in the past.
It was over.
The time now was for their future.
These thoughts passed through Narcissa Malfoy's mind as she slowly and delicately cut up the kippers on her plate. Working class fare, she thought disdainfully but there was nothing to be done about it now ... it was the best that their remaining house-elf could come up with and she knew she should be thankful for small favours.
She glanced at her companions. Draco was, as usual, eating with all the refinement and manners that had been patiently taught to him since childhood, as the Heir of a Noble House. She sighed; unlike others, the House of Malfoy could only claim the title `Noble' while the Potters, Blacks, Bones or even the blood-traitor Weasleys claimed the title `Most Ancient.' And while the Bones were certainly not `Noble,' the `Most Ancient' in their title placed them a rung higher on the social ladder than theirs.
She briefly wondered about Susan Bones ... she'd had brief glimpses of the young woman during the final battle at Hogwarts, fighting with an intensity and determination that was frightening to see and awesome to watch ... and wondered if a match could be made between the young lady and her son. Never mind that the Bones' family had long-standing grudges with the Malfoys ... Susan was the last of her line and family must continue.
She shook off the thought - given what had happened to Amelia, she somehow doubted that Susan would be willing to marry Draco, no matter its political desirability. It would be likely that that marriage would last less than a day and Susan would be walking around in widow's weeds the day after ... no, not something to contemplate.
Narcissa glanced at her husband and the sneer on his face at being forced to eat this `pedestrian' food. No doubt she'd hear about it later - she had to remind her husband not to abuse their remaining house-elf until she had time to buy a few more.
If they had the galleons for it.
She shivered at the thought. This damned war had been a hardship in more ways than one. Lucius' support of the Dark Lord had depleted the Malfoy family coffers ... the problem was, they had an image to protect and they needed a means to bring back their vault to pre-war levels ... or before Lucius started depleting it to payoff politicians like Fudge, Barnabas Cuffe of the Prophet and the network of spies and traitors in the Ministry of Magic...
A flash of light caught her eyes and she grimaced behind the napkin at her lips. If there was a fly in the ointment of an otherwise perfect plan ... that was it.
The Malfoy Family Ring was an ancient artefact, passed down from one Head of House to another magically ... as one Head died, whether by poisoning, battle or duel, the ring would disappear to show up either on the finger of the next Head of House or in the Family vault in Gringotts, in the event no one of age was available to claim the title.
There were also other enchantments on the ring - and the Malfoys, being a proud and vain family for years beyond memory, had ensured that once the ring was on a Head's finger, it would never come off until it had to. The enchantments also ensured that the ring would never be hidden or obscured under disillusionment charms - it was the visible sign of their name and position in society and the Malfoys would be damned if a Head of House would try and hide it.
It was the only possible glitch in an otherwise perfect plan ... a plan, she realized, that she didn't have an inkling about. Like a dutiful wife, she had followed Lucius' lead - he'd wanted to stage that marriage between Weasley and the mudblood and she'd gone along. She shuddered again at the memory - poor girl, she thought. I wonder how she's feeling now when she knows that her `husband's' physical assets were on the same level as that family's monetary assets: too small to be considered of significance.
The question, however, was why? Why take the risk of, literally, kidnapping Granger and Weasley? The fallen wards around the castle made that task easy - slipping into their rooms, casting the sleeping spell, portkeying them to the prepared bedroom in the Shrieking Shack, setting the portkeys in their clothes to bring them to the Three Broomsticks ... all executed with a minimum of fuss and bother.
It smacked of meticulous planning and preparation - not a spur of the moment idea.
She'd anticipated problems in finding witnesses for the muggle ceremony. Weddings in the muggle world between magical people was rare ... even the muggleborn usually opted for a magical wedding - but the procedures for doing so were there.
All they needed were two magical people to witness the ceremony and to sign the muggle wedding contract, after which the papers had to be filed at the Ministry of Magic. That had her worried: where the hell to find - on short notice - two magical witnesses who were comfortable in the muggle world and willing to go along with the farce?
It was a walk in the park.
Literally.
After bringing Weasley and Granger to the Shrieking Shack, they'd polyjuiced themselves as Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, then Lucius/Ron transfigured their robes into hooded cloaks and then they'd apparated to Diagon Alley.
Where they started walking.
Their hooded cloaks kept them anonymous - a good thing, Narcissa realized. Following Lucius' lead, they'd walked around for a bit until she saw a short person man (who reminded her of Professor Flitwick) who exchanged glances with her husband. Lucius/Ron pulled her towards a couple in their twenties who were sunning themselves on a bench near Gringotts.
They'd engaged the couple in conversation; the two were understandably leery of their hooded appearance - until Lucius/Ron pulled back his hood to show his face and red hair and things suddenly turned weird. The two had jumped up and nearly crushed them with bone-breaking hugs, crying, congratulating and talking a mile a minute ... it had taken enormous willpower on their parts to accept the hugs; stealthy casting of Notice-Me-Not charms around them to divert attention from the commotion until they were able to adjourn to a private booth in the Leaky Cauldron for a late breakfast.
It was there where they learned Dick and Jane's story: muggleborn `Puffs who'd finished Hogwarts in `75 - they'd lived a quiet life in the wizarding world, surviving the first rise of Voldemort and escaping into the Muggle world last year. It had been a hard life - their years in the wizarding world had left them ill-prepared for life as muggles; they'd been nearly caught several times when they'd inadvertently used magic and were literally on their last galleon when the Dark Lord was finally defeated once again by Harry Potter.
It was clear from the awe the two held for their Polyjuiced companions that they held Harry Potter and his friends in extremely high regard - thus, the rib-breaking hugs and squeals of joy at `accidentally' running into two of their heroes.
And it went swimmingly from there. It was easy to convince the two to help them `elope' - they were more than honoured to do so, and easily fell for the line that `Ron' and `Hermione' wanted to do this quietly and out of the public eye. Questions about Harry were diverted by saying that the Hero of the Wizarding World was still in Hogwarts' hospital wing, recovering ... Lucius/Ron had handed the two a bag of galleons which they exchanged at Gringotts for muggle money; a quick shopping trip in London for muggle clothing to blend in and then Dick and Jane Harper took them by side-along apparition to Gretna Green where - surprisingly enough - the couple themselves had married soon after leaving Hogwarts...
Narcissa smirked - who knew posing as someone else could be such fun? Posing as Weasley was no problem for Lucius - they were both purebloods with little or no experience of the muggle world. She also didn't have a problem - thanks to the summer days she said she spent with Severus but actually had fun with Lily Evans and Severus Snape.
A thought struck her - it wasn't too difficult for Lucius to `act' like Ronald Weasley because they were alike in many ways. Purebloods who believed in the `superiority' of magic over mundane technology, they were also both braggarts with a tendency to inflate their own importance beyond their actual contributions.
Draco and others had told stories of how the redheaded idiot constantly boasted about some accomplishment or other, never knowing or caring that others knew or heard the real stories behind Sirius' attacking Weasley and the latter fighting him off (Pettigrew had clarified that for them); or helping Potter rescue the hostages in the Tri-Wizard (Draco's friends had detailed that to general amusement) or even his `exploits' on the Quidditch pitch (although there was room for doubt since Draco was just as big a windbag as Weasley and her husband.
As for Granger ... the Sorting Hat almost put Narcissa in Ravenclaw for a reason, but allowed her to go to Slytherin because her cunning and ambition far outweighed her thirst for knowledge. All she had to do was to allow her intelligence to shine through, try to `tone down' the `Weasley's' exuberance fall back on experiences in the muggle world with Lily and she, too was set.
Besides, all she needed to do was act flustered and confused because she was anticipating the `first night' with her `beloved Ronnie' ... Narcissa shuddered, again wondering how Granger would cope with the reality.
It had gone swimmingly ... the only hitch being the damned Malfoy Family Ring. Mistake number 1 - neither of them thought of conjuring bandages to cover Lucius/Ron's hand before approaching the muggleborn witch and wizard. Mistake number 2 - Lucius/Ron spinning a story about having `injured' his hand which was why he wasn't using it much. Mistake number 3 - how does a right-handed wizard sigh a marriage contract with an `injured' hand?
There was no getting around it. Lucius had to sign with that hand - which exposed the ring to the bemused magical witnesses. She saw the panic in Lucius' eyes and stopped him from obliviating them; she'd pulled the two aside and murmured something about `spoils of war' which the two - thankfully enough - smiled and accepted.
And so here they were ... safe and comfortable in Malfoy Mansion with all evidence of their `activities' gone for good: the clothes they'd `borrowed' from the real Weasley and Granger burned; the polyjuice vials Banished and - the final stroke of genius - they'd convinced Dick and Jane to file the muggle marriage contract with the Ministry of Magic, thus avoiding the risk of going in there and encountering someone `looking' for them.
There was no need for a `personal appearance' at the Ministry - once filed, the documents (both muggle and magical) would be delivered, as per instructions, to the Three Broomsticks.
Simple plan, perfectly executed ... except for one thing. She still didn't know what it was all about. WHY was it so important to Lucius to stage that elaborate scheme now? It was meticulous planned but totally unrehearsed ... it was only the simplicity of it which allowed for its proper execution with only a minor glitch...
But she still did not know WHY.
Her mental ranting stopped when a soft cough was heard in the silent dining room. Looking up, she saw Draco wiping his mouth with his napkin, apparently done with the meal. When Lucius in turn looked at him, Draco asked, "Father? There is something I would like to ask, if permitted?"
The patriarch of the Malfoy Family nodded regally at which Draco asked, "May I inquire what this" - and he held up their copy of the Daily Prophet, still with the picture of `Weasley' and `Granger' trying to tie their tongues into knots - "is all about?"
Lucius was silent, staring at his son for a long moment - to his credit, Draco sat and looked back without flinching until Lucius seemed to relent. With the air of someone cornered into a decision, he slowly asked, "What do you know of the laws of inheritance of House Black?"
***
The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)
Hermione sighed in frustration; she had a significant clue to their dilemma and - for want of a wand, she couldn't do anything about it.
She'd explained the significance of family rings to Harry - pointing out that Ronald would not have the access or the authority to wear one. Only Arthur of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Weasley could wear it and, on his death or disablement, the ring would pass on to Bill, as the presumptive Heir and Head of House. And if Bill couldn't be the Head of House Weasley, the ring would pass on down to the different brothers ... Ron, being the youngest, would most likely never have a chance to wear the ring.
Which eliminated Ronald and the Weasleys from the list of suspects - even Harry realized that Arthur would never stand for such an underhanded scheme, never mind if Molly `My Way or the Highway' Weasley was thoroughly convinced that she and Ron belonged together ... urgh!
That was a thought she didn't want to contemplate for long. It was, to Hermione, just another indication that the magical world was nuts.
Sure, there were wondrous, fascinating things about this world ... but contrast those with the terrors and battles that she'd been in with Harry, and one would have to wonder. Add to that the seeming belief of so many people that she and mo-Ron ever had a `thing' for each other ... it was insane!
True, she'd kept her friendship with Ron in the face of the latter's inanities and betrayals ... but only because of Harry. She'd seen the signs early on - Ronald was Harry's first real friend in the magical and muggle worlds, and the fierce loyalty that he had would have kept him protecting the prat, no matter what. There were times early on when she wondered if Harry was gay, finding out that Ronald was the one he would `miss the most' during the Tri-Wizard had planted that thought in her mind. It was only much later, during their `alone time' in the tent that she realized that Harry was not into red-headed boys ... it all boiled down to the fact of his fierce loyalty towards his friends and those who had shown kindness to him after ten years of Dursley Prison.
"Hermione?"
Harry's soft voice shook her out of her mental rant and she focused on the task at hand. There was a spell that would adjust the focus of the magical picture to allow them to see what it was - knowing Colin Creevey, rest his soul, did have some compensation, after all.
The problem was, she didn't have a wand ... and she turned apologetic eyes to Harry as she explained this. With a sigh, she turned back to the picture and the problem, only half-hearing Harry say, "Here - I'm giving you this wand," and automatically reaching out for it -
And her world turned black.
For a long, dizzying moment, alien memories assaulted her - brief flashes of people, seemingly from all walks of life and from several different centuries ... with violence, deceit and conflict marking each and every memory: a burly, drunken man stabbed in his sleep while his shadowy assailant faded away ... a bearded man crying in a cellar as the life slipped away from him ... a bloody battlefield with a man standing all alone, hysterically laughing as he held something high in one hand ... a young man with long blonde hair laughing madly as he leaped out a window ... a spectacular duel between Dumbledore and the blonde man ... Voldemort casting Avada Kedavra ... and she realized what she had in her hand.
She turned huge, shocked eyes to Harry, who was looking at her with a look of mingled bemusement, fear and ... was that love on his face? She could only stutter as she tried to open her fingers to drop the wand but they wouldn't respond...
Harry Potter was looking back at her calmly, holding on to the fear he felt with an iron will. He wasn't sure what would happen when he gave Hermione the wand ... there was only one thing on his mind when she mentioned her lack of a wand - that it was time to pass it on, to the only person he had absolute trust in.
The only person he felt absolute love for.
In that moment between the decision to give the wand away and the action of turning it over, he felt a resistance - no, more of a seeming reluctance - from the Elder Wand, to be followed by acceptance ... of surrender. It felt to Harry, in that singular moment, that the wand had resigned itself to its fate ... but within that apparent agreement was a profound sense of relief, almost as if the wand was more than eager to bond with a new master.
Harry sensed that the wand was looking forward to bonding with its new master - especially since this bond was coming from trust and love, friendship and bravery rather than the deceit, violence and capture that had accompanied it throughout its long `life'.
Harry had to close his eyes as a dazzling lightshow exploded around Hermione - red and gold lights mingled with the colours of the rainbow seemed to leak through his closed lids. He didn't know how long it lasted ... he only opened his eyes when he heard Hermione's stuttering words: "Ha...Ha...Harry! Th...thi...this..."
"The Elder Wand." He sighed at the look of abject fear and loathing he saw in Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes and he laid a gentle hand on her mouth before she could protest or react.
"It's yours, Hermione. I'm giving it to you." The look of fear in her eyes was replaced by surprise as he continued, "You're the only one I trust absolutely with that wand, Hermione. You'll never use it for evil, you'll never use it in anger ... you'll never use it in battle ... well, probably not. You will always use it in defence of your friends and your beliefs ... but never for evil. Of that I am sure.
"You're too good of a person to turn Dark, Hermione. You're the only one I can absolutely trust to use the Elder Wand for good."
"But Harry..."
He held a hand up and she fell silent. "Who's to know that that is the Wand of Destiny, Hermione? Luna's father said it - the wand has been lost to history. Others like him may keep searching for the Hallows but what do they have as a lead to chase after? Grindelwald is dead ... Voldemort is dead ... Dumbledore was the last one of that crowd to know where the wand ended up with."
"But Ron -"
" … knows that I placed the wand in Dumbledore's tomb. Only you and I know that I gave it to you ... I trust you won't go around proclaiming to everyone what you have?" The last was said in a teasing tone and he smiled as Hermione tried to punch his shoulder. He knew her that well, his best friend and his love, and knew the wand would be in safe hands.
Hermione's eyes locked with him for a long moment before she nodded her head in acceptance. She could understand why he did it and she knew the reason why he chose her and not Ron. Unbidden, the memory of Ron's look of longing when Harry informed them of his decision regarding the wand came to mind. There would always be a seed of doubt regarding Ron ... no matter the years of friendship or his role in Voldemort's defeat, there would always be that question in his mind: what if he were the wielder of the Elder Wand?
She remembered Harry telling her about the Mirror of Erised and how, when all he could see were the images of his dead family, Ron's desires were clear: fame, fortune and recognition. Add to that his blinding envy during their fourth year and his abandonment of them last year ... She shook her head. Harry was right, she knew. The knowledge of where the wand was hidden could become an unbearable temptation to Ron - maybe not now, maybe not in ten or twenty years, maybe never ... but could they take the risk?
A sudden thought struck her and she spoke, "Harry! You're just giving me the wand? But -"
Harry held a hand up, stopping her. "You're supposed to `win' the wand, right?" Hermione nodded, and Harry sighed. "Maybe ... but then again, no one ever had the chance to pass the wand on, to give it to someone else from their own choice and free will? From the day Antioch Peverell was first given the wand, there has only been one thing on people's minds - they needed to own it, and didn't care if they killed or maimed to do it.
"Even Dumbledore bought into the legend. Rather than just giving the wand to whoever would make the best use of it - and it didn't even have to be me! He could have given it to Minerva or Flitwick, Remus or Tonks but no! He had to set up some intricate plot to die as the Master of the Wand only for Draco to defeat him ... and then Snape supposedly `beat' Dumbledore - which set up Snape for Voldemort because Tom thought Snape was the new Master of the Wand!"
Harry was breathing heavily; Hermione grabbed him and held him tight, shutting off his rant and helping him calm down. "The Wand was never given a chance by its past Masters to be passed on, Hermione. Even Antioch, the first master, thought nothing of bragging and brawling because of his `unbeatable' wand ... he never even thought that it was not the wand that was unbeatable but the witch or wizard who wielded the wand."
He pulled away slightly to look Hermione in the eye. "You are an unbeatable witch, Hermione ... without you, I would have been dead a long time ago. I trust you, Hermione ..."
No words needed to be said; without a thought, she rose on tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips to which Harry responded with a rib-breaking hug that she gladly reciprocated...
An indeterminate time later, they broke apart. Harry had a silly grin on his face, matched only by Hermione's smile - but the grin on Harry's face dimmed as a serious look came over his face.
Stepping away from the frowning Hermione, he said, "Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."
For the briefest of moments, Hermione gaped - and grinned. Those were almost the first words she'd said to Harry, all those years ago. With a flourish, she pointed the wand at the pillow on the bed and incanted, "Sunshine , daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."
The two of them jumped as a yellow beam shot out of the wand which hit the pillow, turned it into a pure yellow rat which blinked and jumped, scampering beneath the bed and out of sight.
"Woah!" Hermione breathed. It was meant to be a joke but it seemed that the wand was in no mood for jokes. She blinked owlishly at Harry when he intoned, "It seems that the wand has chosen a new master, Miss Granger."
"That's mistress to you, Potter."
They stared at each other for a moment before dissolving into laughter ... soon enough, they sobered and confronted their problem once again. Hermione took a deep breath - `There will be no silly wand-waving this time,' she thought and with a silent incantation, gave a jab at the magical photo in question.
A moment later, they were both studying the ring - a rather massive, gaudy ring formed by two snarling, golden snakes inlaid with green, entwined and supporting a large, green stone with etched snakes on its face. They stared at the ring for a long, silent moment - broken only by Hermione's sibilant hiss: "Malfoy! It's the Malfoy Family crest!"
The revelation caught Harry by surprise. "Malfoy? What the hell do they have to do with all this?"
He paused and cocked an eyebrow at her. "And how do you know about that?"
***
Malfoy Manor
To say that mother and son were gobsmacked was putting it mildly. They'd both worked out a dozen or more different scenarios in their minds as to why Lucius spent precious time and treasure to pull an elaborate prank on Potter. Lucius' seeming non sequitur of a response set their minds spinning.
For Narcissa Malfoy nee Black, the shock was fleeting - her mind quickly went to work putting possible scenarios together and within seconds, a plausible explanation had formed and that caused her to stare at her husband in shock, wondering why her warm blood had turned into ice as she fought a shiver of fear from climbing to her brain. There was only one reason she could think of that would connect the inheritance laws of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, of which her son Draco was the last living male relative-by-blood, to Harry Frigging Potter...
There was only one plausible reason why Lucius Malfoy would concoct and implement such an elaborate scheme as the `prank' he'd pulled on Potter - and the very thought of it made her choke. No matter the utter simplicity and singular brilliance of the plan and the ease of its execution, the fact remained - it was Lucius Bloody Malfoy who'd developed, planned and executed it!
Lucius was the perfect Slytherin in most people's eyes - what very few realized (Narcissa and Snape being two of them) was that Lucius Malfoy's ambitions far outstripped his cunning by a magnitude of 10, or even 20, to 1 …
In that, Draco was truly his father's son.
And he proceeded to prove the fact by asking, with all the pureblooded arrogance that even a year in hell couldn't destroy: "What does Potty have to do with the House of Black?"
Two sets of ice-cold eyes were trained on him and he cringed; both were looking at him as if he were something that had crawled out from a pile of dung, as Lucius answered: "Potter is now the Lord Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black."
Narcissa slumped in her chair; Lucius' words had confirmed her worst fears. Potter was the Lord Black, Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black - and her fool of a husband had involved her in some idiotic scheme to meddle with the inheritance!
She jumped at a sudden sniggering in the silent room - she stared wide-eyed at her son who was giggling in his chair as he said, "That's a good one, Father. Potty as Lord Black?"
Lucius was on his feet: "THAT MANGY MUTT SIRIUS BLACK NAMED HARRY FUCKING POTTER AS HIS HEIR - AND TO MAKE SURE NO ONE COULD CONTEST IT, THEY PERFORMED A BLOOD ADOPTION IN CHRISTMAS 1995!"
"So?" The word was laced with all the haughtiness of a hundred years of Malfoy snobbery and Draco Lucius Malfoy turned his nose up in the air. "Aunt Bella assured me that I will be the next Lord Black ... as soon as the war was over, she said, the goblins would be in touch with me..."
"YOU IMBECILE!" Lucius roared, his face red and nostrils flaring, eyes shooting sparks at his oblivious son. "BELLA KNOWS NOTHING OF THE INHERITANCE LAWS OF HOUSE BLACK AND YOU LISTENED TO HER?"
His voice dropped to a whisper as he collapsed in his chair, fingers rubbing the sides of his head, "I have sired an ignoramus."
Narcissa decided to step in; she couldn't take this anymore. "Use your head, Draco!" she snapped. "The goblins are supposed to inform you of your accession to Lord Black when you turned seventeen - you're nearly eighteen now. What in Hades do you think that means?"
It was obvious that this had never occurred to Draco - and Narcissa had to wonder whether his time with the Dark Lord had addled his brain as he replied, haltingly, "I … I thought, because of the war…"
"Fool," hissed Narcissa, who was now rubbing the sides of his head in perfect synchronization with her husband. "You came of age in June when the Dark Lord had not even made his move on the Ministry … what war are you talking about?"
The Scion of House Malfoy sat silent, mouth flopping open as he tried to say something but couldn't.
"Draco," Narcissa intervened, trying to salvage the situation. "The Black inheritance is not automatic - it is not granted simply because you're `next in line' by blood. There are codicils that have to be met to gain the title of Lord Black and Head of House."
"Bu…Bu…But," Draco swallowed convulsively, a look of panic on his face. "I thought … I assumed…"
"You assumed." Lucius voice dripped utter contempt as he stared at his son. "Better men than you have died because they assumed … the Dark Lord is dead because he assumed he was better than Potter."
"That's not fair."
Lucius snorted and turned to his wife who was staring at him with a cold intensity that almost made him gulp in fear but he held her gaze without flinching. He had committed his family to this course of action - "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he thought … involving his wife in this particular scheme would ensure that his back was protected. She may have been born a Black for whom family is everything - but she was a Malfoy now and would be till the end of time.
Behind her cold gaze, Narcissa contemplated her husband and his recent actuations - especially the surprising and sudden shift of his loyalties. He'd been among the most loyal of the Dark Lord's followers and been among the first to come running when Voldemort was resurrected in `95 ... even after he'd been in Azkaban for a year after the disastrous battle in the Department of Mysteries in `96, he'd loudly proclaimed his loyalty to his Lord ... Until June 1997 when Draco turned seventeen and considered of age in the magical world. Soon after, Lucius started changing in various small ways: showing more affection towards her, expressing concern and worry about Draco in Hogwarts … spending more time in the kitchen or his rooms rather than gallivanting around ... his quiet `rebellion' against the Master he'd served for so long…
The light dawned and she could only shake her head mentally at the sheer audacity of the man she'd married. Of course he'd be worried for the safety of his son - Draco was his meal ticket!
Draco was the last Black by blood … lose Draco and the Black coffers go into limbo - actually, into the vaults of the Goblins from which they would never emerge. There would be no retrieving them in the near future without Draco … not unless her Teddy - Nymphadora's son by that werewolf - could lay claim to the Black title as the last male of that line … good luck to that! Besides, that would be sixteen years away…
Lucius and Narcissa were so lost in their thoughts that neither one heard Draco's agitated mumbling as the earlier discussions finally began to sink in: "It's not fair … it's not fair … Potty the Lord Black? The cheating, scar-headed half-blood is not worthy …" His mind was soon lost in a red haze of hate for all the times he'd suffered at the hands of Potty and his friends ... from that first year when Potty refused to accept his hand in friendship - an outright insult to the Pureblood Prince of Slytherin ... to losing the Snitch to Potty every time they met on the Quidditch pitch ... the feel of the mudblood's palm on his face when she slapped him in third year ... Potter's and the Weasley Twins' fists as they beat him up in fifth...
His parents were jarred out of their thoughts by his fists slamming the table, causing the cutlery to jump to his feral roar: "THAT BLOODY POTTER STOLE MY INHERITANCE? I'LL CHALLENGE HIM TO A DUEL FOR THE HEAD OF HOUSE..."
SLAP! Draco fell back in his chair, shocked as his ears rang, one hand holding his cheek where his mother had slapped him. He blinked and looked up to see his father's red face and angry eyes burning into his as the older man shouted, "YOU FOOL! You want to challenge the boy who duelled the Dark Lord TWICE in my sight, DEFEATED him both times and KILLED THE DARK LORD? Are you Slytherin or Gryffindor? He's already BEAT YOU UP and you keep coming back for more!"
Narcissa spoke, her calm but ice-cold voice in contrast to Lucius' heated roar but with words that stabbed right at the heart and ego of her son: "And what happens if you challenge and lose, Draco? Under the By-Laws of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, a challenger to the Head of House who loses the duel is guilty of attempted assassination. There can be no appeal since that is a Family affair ... and the Head of House has the right to impose any sanction he wishes.
"Up to and including your beheading with a dull sword."
Lucius looked at her in surprise. He wasn't aware that she was familiar with the laws of House Black; Narcissa caught his surprised look and glared. "I may have married you, Lucius," she said coldly, "but I am well aware of the family laws that govern my House."
"Beheading with a dull sword," Lucius repeated, using this as a chance to divert Narcissa's attention from him. "You'll be another Nearly-Headless Nick, Draco. Rather appropriate ... you've been acting more like a bloody Gryffindor than a Slytherin lately."
Draco's normally pale face turned dark red at the rebuke and outright insult from his sire. Before he could try to respond, the sharp CRACK! of an open palm striking the table made the Malfoy males sit and gape at Narcissa Malfoy nee Black.
"Enough!" Narcissa had no need to shout - the sheer malevolence in her voice, almost as if she were channelling Bellatrix Lestrange - fuelled by her anger at her husband for stupidly involving her in his schemes, and at her son for his imbecilic stupidity - made every syllable she enunciated clearly audible to the two clueless males. "Lucius, can you please explain to our son just exactly what you've done and why?"
Lucius Malfoy was about to answer when he stopped and scowled. Her family may be higher in the social and blood purity ladder than his but she was still his wife and she did not wear the pants in this family! His response to her was frigidly cold albeit with impeccable courtesy: "Perhaps you can explain the matter to our son, Lady Malfoy?"
The subtle emphasis on her title and married name broke Narcissa out of her funk - she was the wife of the man across from her and, as such, subject to his authority and commands. Not that it would protect her if something goes wrong with his scheme ... She took a deep, cleansing breath and released it, before focusing her ice-cold blue eyes on her son and began.
***
The Three Broomsticks (Honeymoon Suite)
Hermione Granger sat in the middle of the huge waterbed, knees pulled up to her chest, chin resting on knees, arms around her legs, her borrowed school robe demurely wrapped around her. She watched an agitated Harry Potter pacing around the room, hands waving around wildly but saying nothing distinct - mumbles, whispered fragments of words were all she could hear.
She sighed as the lines from some muggle commercial or addy came to mind: "It's not a career - it's an adventure."
Dealing with Harry Potter, she realized, was both a career and an adventure. She'd reflected earlier that Harry's upbringing had left him woefully unprepared for dealing with the magical world; now, she realized that even six years of a Hogwarts education left him unawares of so many things in this world.
Add to that the fact that his mind was a continuing minefield of past traumas, heartaches and psychic damage ... dealing with Harry promised to be both career and adventure.
She was looking forward to the challenge.
Hermione thought back to Harry's reaction to her knowledge of the Malfoy Family Crest. Her first reaction to that was defensive - until she realized that he was genuinely curious about how she knew and not, as she first thought, suspicious of her for whatever reason.
She could only sigh as she remembered that particular conversation ...
*** FLASHBACK***
"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed in resignation at Harry's suspicious look and even more sceptical question. "It was during the Yule Ball in our fourth year …"
"I don't remember much of that," Harry responded in a peeved tone. "What I do remember is kicking myself again and again for not having asked the most beautiful girl in the school to the ball before she'd agreed to go with someone else …"
"Still mooning over Cho, Harry?" She asked in a light voice. She still had bad memories of that night - especially the blazing row she'd had with Ron which ruined one of the best nights of her life -
"I was thinking about you, Hermione." The response blindsided the bushy-haired witch and she watched, open mouthed, as Harry continued, a far-off look on his face. "There we were, waiting at the entrance to the Great Hall and I was so nervous that I can't think of anything except to pray that I wouldn't make an ass of myself in front of all those people …I didn't want to look at Cho and Cedric … I was too embarrassed over Roger Davies drooling all over Fleur … I was scared of stepping on Padma's toes … and then I saw this beautiful girl in a periwinkle-blue dress with the most enchanting smile on her face beside Krum…"
`Move, brain!' Hermione screamed inside her head. `Say something, ANYTHING!'
She did: "You remember the colour of my dress?"
She would have slapped herself silly if Harry hadn't grabbed her hands. She looked into his eyes and fell silent at the hard glare in his eyes. "I remember everything about you, Hermione," he said in a soft voice. "Everything," he emphasized, staring at her and Hermione was held powerless in the grip of his gaze.
"Last night," he paused to take a breath, "I couldn't sleep, wondering where you were and what had happened to you and I realized that I was living my worst nightmare. I was afraid that something happened to you and I would never be able to speak with you again ... never be able to apologize for every wrong that I have ever done to you … for every moment that you've been with me and I ignored you…"
There was only one way to stop the downward spiral of Harry's thoughts - she grabbed his hair in both hands and pulled him to her lips. Inadvertently and without realizing it, Hermione's borrowed school robes fell open and it was her naked, flushed skin that Harry could feel through the thin cotton of his shirt and the thick cloth of his jeans.
And again, his higher brain functions shut down - everything in his mind and soul were focused on the area where his lips were fused to Hermione's although a distant part of his brain was waving a red flag, telling his lower brain to send some blood up higher before he passed out from the intensity of his emotions …
Dimly, Hermione could hear her brain begging for oxygen but threw the thought off - as far as she was concerned, there was nothing wrong with blood rushing to key points of her body … her chest, the region between her thighs, her head … her tongue …
Unknown to the two of them, a rather large afternoon crowd was in the dining room of the Three Broomsticks, directly below them … all of the people watching in awe as the chandelier above their heads swayed dangerously … dust motes dropping from the massive screws holding the chandelier in place …
Back in their suite, survival instincts finally kicked into place - brains needed oxygen to survive and function - and how can the body receive any air when mouths were fused and tongues were blocking the other's throats … With an audible pop, the witch and the wizard separated - both breathing hard as bodies starved for oxygen greedily sucked in air …
In the room below them, a soft breeze passed as breaths were released as people realized that the swaying chandelier had ceased its gyrations. Unbeknown to the patrons of the Three Broomsticks, a single thought was in all their minds, albeit divided by gender lines: "Lucky bastard," thought the men. "Lucky witch," thought the women.
Harry and Hermione were leaning against each other, drawing strength from the simple act. As their breathing settled down and blood was pumping normally to where it was supposed to go, Harry asked, "What were we talking about?"
Hermione's first thought was to say, "Less talk, more snog" but her rational side admonished her, telling her that there was time enough for more snogs (and more) later ... once this mystery was solved. Reluctantly, she pulled away, concentrated ... and frowned.
She couldn't remember what they'd been talking about earlier ... something about the Yule Ball? No ... it was something about her clothes ... nu-uh, she was sure it was about Harry apologizing for something he did or didn't do...
"Hermione?" She shook her head violently; try as she might, she just couldn't remember what they'd been talking about ... and shrugged her shoulders and blinked as she felt the cloth of her borrowed robe fall to the floor.
She heard Harry's voice squeak and turned to him, an eyebrow cocked and a look which Harry correctly interpreted as `So? You've seen me like this before ... what's the problem?' She watched Harry's face turn beet-red and smirked ... deliberately, she stepped closer to him and hugged him tightly, smiling as she felt his arms snake around her and begin rubbing her back in a comforting manner.
As the two friends relaxed in the other's arms, Hermione's brain finally kicked into gear. Softly, she said from her position on Harry's chest, "The Family crest, Harry ... it is worn on the left breast of your formal or dress robes. Malfoy had his Family crest on his robes ... so did the others - Greengrass and Zabini, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and Ernie Macmillan. Ginny and Neville also ... I don't know about Ron ..."
"He didn't," Harry replied. "There was something on his robes but he tore it off, saying something about not adding to his family's shame by wearing `it' - whatever `it' was." A thought struck him -
"Hermione?" When he felt her nod against his chest, he continued, "You said that the Family Crest is supposed to be worn with formal or dress robes, right?"
"Of course. It is a means of identifying you to other people, especially in large, formal occasions where the chances are high of meeting up with someone you don't know. Also, the Family Crest sort of establishes where you are in the social register..."
Harry interrupted her before the lecture could get completely underway: "So why wasn't the Potter Family Crest on my robes? For that matter ... do I even have a Family Crest?"
*** END FLASHBACK***
And that effectively killed the mood.
Harry sighed and stopped his pacing - this was getting them nowhere fast. He'd had the idea, in one of those idyllic moments in their magical tent, that when Old Snake-Face was dead and in the ground, that his life would return to normal ... or what counted for as `normal' in this world.
No more Dark Lord after him, no more need to study curses, hexes and jinxes without number, just a nice, normal, quiet life with the woman in his arms. They'd have a small cottage somewhere and they'd lead the typical lives of busy people - up in the morning and snog, breakfast and shower then snog, off to work and then meet up for lunch and then snog...
But no ... oh, no. It seemed that as soon as one mystery in his life was solved, another one would pop up to bite him on the ass.
Unconsciously he rubbed his posterior - the action drawing Hermione's attention and making her raise her eyebrows. For some reason, she caught a mental image of a snake biting him there - `lucky snake', she thought before mentally slapping herself for that Freudian slip. She had to do something, she thought ... she was, after all, the brains of this operation ... and Harry was, at the moment, a bit too agitated to think clearly.
All right, she thought, first things first ... the absence of the Potter Family crest. She was sure they had one - they were, after all, one of the "Noble and Most Ancient" Families in the wizarding world. Harry's dress robes not having the crest was nothing short of criminal ... from one perspective, the Yule Ball could be seen as Harry Potter's `coming out' party, the first real time that he would be at the centre of the stage: Boy-Who-Lived, Slayer-of-Basilisk, Tri-Wizard Champion, Last Scion of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter.
So why did he come to the Yule Ball with an `ordinary' set of dress robes - no Family Crest, no decorations or anything ... Hell, Hermione thought, the Magical Government should have at least given him a couple of Orders of Merlin First Class - first for defeating Voldemort as a baby, next for defeating You-Know-Who at Hogwarts, another for slaying the basilisk which had already petrified several students - and killed Moaning Myrtle.
The thought came back to her - the magical world was nuts!
Unless there was something here they were all missing ... simply because every freaking year for the past seven years, Harry was always getting tossed into some life-or-death scenario where he was forced to sink or swim ... and where were the adults when they needed them?
Hermione frowned. And that was another thing ... six years at Hogwarts with most of the teachers saying they knew the Potters at school - one of them even being their schoolmate and close friend - and not one of them telling Harry stories about his parents? Except for the album that Hagrid gave him before he left for school that first year, all the information he'd had about his parents were innuendo (Snape) or overheard conversations (McGonnagall, Flitwick, Hagrid and Fudge in the Three Broomsticks) ... only Sirius had been more than happy to talk about his best friends during their stay at Grimmauld Place, but even those occasions were few and far between - Molly Weasley kept interrupting the `bonding sessions' between Harry and his godfather by assigning them chores ...
Just what the hell was going on?
"Hermione?"
She looked up into his worried face and couldn't stop herself - she reached up and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his chest, striving for the comfort she always found in his arms. As he was wont to do now, he hugged her back - not saying a word, just rubbing her back comfortingly until she was ready to tell him what was bothering her.
After a few minutes to compose herself, she started talking - and Harry just sat back and listened, frowning as she made her points. When she'd finally exhausted herself, Harry looked away and raked his hair with his fingers, sighing in frustration.
"I've never really thought about it that way, Hermione ... it seems that every year since I came to Hogwarts, it's always one adventure after another and then I go on to the Dursleys where simply getting through the days is another adventure. I -" He paused to smile at her. "We never seem to be able to find time to breathe, really breathe ... and think about what's going on."
"I know, Harry."
Silence fell between the two friends - only to be interrupted by a low rumbling coming from two empty stomachs. Surprised, they looked at each other before dissolving into laughter, the pensive mood surrounding them broken. Hermione looked around and grimaced ... she'd checked the icebox earlier and found - to her amusement and frustration - champagne, oysters and a selection of fruits (especially bananas) plus chocolate syrup in there. Typical honeymoon fare, she thought ... but not exactly what they needed right now.
Harry had completely agreed with her ... he felt the oysters were slimy, the fruits reminded him of Dudley and his diet, champagne would get him drunk and chocolate syrup ... he wasn't sure what to make of that.
And then an absolutely brilliant idea hit her and she jumped up in glee, catching Harry by surprise and making him fall on the bed. "Harry! I've got an idea ... we need information, right? We need to know just what the hell the Malfoys are up to, as well as why this -" she held up the Magical Marriage Contract with its bright red letters spelling `DENIED' - "has happened, right?"
Harry nodded at her, a lopsided grin on his face at her enthusiasm. He had a feeling he knew where this was going and - while not exactly what he wanted to do, he was always willing to indulge her.
"I think we should go..."
"To the library."
"Huh?"
Harry looked at her, puzzled - an expression mirrored on her face. It took her a moment to understand what he said - and she playfully hit him on the shoulder as she said, "NO, you prat! Why go to the library when there's a better place where we can go to?"
"And that is?"
"The Ministry, Harry! There's got to be someone there who can tell us what happened with this -" Again, she brandished the magical contract - "as well as Tonks or some Auror who can advise us on what to do about the Malfoys."
A slow grin appeared on Harry's face. "I've got an even better idea, Hermione. Let's talk to Kingsley."
Hermione's puzzled look lasted for a bare second before matching the grin on his face. "Of course! He's the Minister of Magic now ... if anyone can open doors for us, and provide us with help, it would be Kingsley!"
She pulled him to his feet and prepared herself to Disapparate them when Harry stopped her - "Uhm, Hermione ... do you think it would be a wise idea to go visiting Kingsley like this?" He pointed to his dishevelled clothes and to her school robe and bare feet.
"Oh. I don't have any other clothes …"
"Hem. Hem."
It took only one glance for Hermione to read Harry's thoughts - `Are you a witch or not?' She blinked and smiled and, with waves and flourishes of her wand, she transfigured the bed sheets into grey hooded cloaks, cast Obscuring Charms on the hoods so they wouldn't be recognized and wove Notice-Me-Not Charms into the cloaks themselves.
They checked each other over and were satisfied; Hermione gave Harry a tight hug and with a single thought, he apparated them to the Leaky Cauldron.
Beneath the bed, Phineas Nigellus Black was cursing a large yellow furball that had somehow fallen asleep on his face.
***
Malfoy Manor
"It is obvious you're labouring under a misconception, Draco," Narcissa began. "Accession to the title of Head of House is not an automatic occurrence. Laws of inheritance - many of them formulated centuries ago - have been established to ensure the peaceful transition of title from one member to another. It can be as simple as those for the Potter or Bones families; in any case, since Harry Potter and Susan Bones are the last of their line, they only need to present themselves at Gringotts, take the requisite blood test to prove their line and they can receive their family rings making them Head of their House.
"Also, in both cases, Head of House is not limited to the male line - women have been Head of House in both cases, the most recent being Amelia Bones.
"The Black Family, however, has a different protocol for accession to the title. First of all, the Black Family is patriarchal by law - only males can become head of house. Secondly, blood purity is not a concern - yes, I know," she said quickly, stopping Draco's incipient protest. "Toujours Pur and all that crap ... that started less than a hundred years ago with your great-grandfather Arcturus Black. He'd been exceedingly proud that his branch of the family had no blood traitors within their ranks ... until my cousin, Sirius Black, that is.
"But I digress.
"There are three codicils or riders on the inheritance laws of the House of Black; the first two which must be met in order to gain the title, and the last which makes the title permanent. All three codicils are interlinked, as you will see.
"First, you must be of age in the wizarding world before you can gain the title - there is no way around this rule. In the the designated Heir is underage or unable to gain the title, it is held vacant until such time as the rightful heir is of age and can meet the terms of the second codicil."
She paused for questions; seeing none, she continued, "Second, you must be a resident at the Ancestral Black Family Manor. Once the Heir is in residence, ownership of the property transfers to him and this activates the inheritance. It used to be that the goblins were required to go to the House and present the Family Ring to the new Lord Black but that was changed by agreement with the goblins sometime in the mid-1800s, I believe."
"It was during the time of Phineas Nigellus Black," Lucius intoned from his seat. "The goblins argued that for them - a separate magical nation with their own government - to go there to present the ring implied that they were a vassal nation to the Lord Black." He raised a hand before Draco could ask. "It was imposed on Phineas by the Ministry of Magic - the goblins pointed out that if they were seen as a vassal nation, what did that make the Ministry?"
Draco nodded his understanding, and Narcissa continued.
"The final codicil was imposed to ensure the continuation of the Black Family, no matter what. Within a year of gaining the title of Lord Black, the Head of House must either marry or name an Heir. If he chooses to marry, he is given five years to sire an Heir for House Black. If he chooses not to marry within the prescriptive period, he must name an Heir before the year is up. If he doesn't, the Family magic will strip him of the title, and it will then pass on to the next in line who must also meet the previous two codicils."
Silence descended on the room as the elder Malfoys watching the younger as he processed the information. Eventually, Draco looked up. "I thought that Sirius Black was disowned from the family ... Aunt Bella told me that his name had been struck from the Family Tapestry, so how did he become Lord Black?"
Lucius turned to Narcissa who, in turn, sighed. "The Black Family laws ... once a Head of House is named, it cannot be withdrawn. Heirs can be changed or removed; a Head of House is the Head of House until he dies or is stripped of the title for violating family law."
She shook her head. "Your great-grandfather Arcturus Black designated Uncle Orion - Sirius' father -
as head of house in ... '65, I think. Anyway, Sirius was the designated Heir, being the eldest, until he was disowned in '76 and was replaced by cousin Regulus. Unfortunately, my father, Uncle Orion and cousin Regulus all died in '79 leaving the family without both a Head of House and an Heir. Being the last Black, the title went to Sirius. Unfortunately, he couldn't claim the title since he couldn't enter the Black Family Manor while both Grandfather Arcturus and Aunt Walburga were alive ... with Arcturus' death in 1991 and Walburga dying earlier, the way was cleared for Sirius to take the title.
"But Sirius Black has been missing since '93, when he escaped from Azkaban..." Draco trailed off, thinking and continued before his mother could respond. "Oh ... he must have holed up in the Black Family Manor, then."
"Close, Draco," Lucius responded. "No one knows where he went when he escaped from Azkaban in `93 until Severus told us that he was back in London at Black Manor in `95. That would be when he activated his inheritance ... and then he named Potter as his Heir and performed the Blood Adoption Ritual in Christmas of that year."
Draco nodded slowly. His father's schemes were slowly coming into focus and he clamped down on his incipient resentment at the stupid protocols that had denied him his inheritance. There was nothing to be done about that ... he knew that much. Old magic governed the Ancient Families - he would be going against them at his peril. Given this, he had to acknowledge his earlier stupidity at even thinking of challenging Scarhead to a duel.
What chance would he have, really, of beating The Chosen One in a duel - one where he would have absolutely no chance of turning the odds in his favour (calling it `cheating' was so pedestrian).
Having Potter killed was out of the question - no one would be willing to test his mettle ... besides, any move against Scarhead would launch an investigation which may bring all this into the open …what fun would being Lord Black have if one spent it in prison?
When you think about it - and his mother slapping him had done the job, for which he'd thank her later - his father's scheme made sense. Having Granger and the Weasel `elope' would break up the Golden Trio and remove Granger from the board…
Draco frowned. Potter had never been with Granger. In fact, he was with the youngest Weasel last year - no, that was two years ago, during their sixth year…
"Oh, really?" Lucius' unctuous drawl cut into his thoughts, and Draco blushed as he realized that he'd verbalized his thoughts. "And where was Miss Ginevra Weasley all of last year, Draco?"
Draco hated it when his father started these stupid questions; they were meant to make him look stupid in front of other people ... but there was nothing he could do about it now. He may have finished with Hogwarts but with his father's affiliations with the defeated Dark Lord, it would be difficult to find a job higher than a gardener or labourer for the foreseeable future ... until his inheritance comes into play, that is.
Until that time comes around, he will just have to play his father's stupid games. "She was at Hogwarts, Father ... she went home for the Easter hols and then didn't come back until the battle."
"Right," Lucius replied in a condescending tone. "So we have Potter and the mudblood `missing' for most of a year on some `quest' for Dumbledore ... what do you think are the chances that the little -
what did you call her? - Weaslette will even have a chance with Potter after that?"
"But Weasley was with them the whole time..."
"Really?" The word was drawn out as Lucius smirked. "I have it on good authority that young Mr. Weasley was seen staying with his brother, the former Gringotts curse-breaker, for several months last year. Don't you think that that would give Potter and Granger the chance to get `closer' to each other?"
Draco had to concede the point. If it were him, he'd be shagging the Granger bitch every chance he got - not that he would even touch the bint with a ten-foot pole. And if the two lovebirds `forgot' to use contraceptive charms or potions … there'd be a Potter sprog in the oven just waiting to take over the Black inheritance.
Still … "What if Potty decides to marry the Weasley bint, Father? What then?"
If anything, Lucius' grin grew even wider. "Do you really think Potter would marry someone whose mother has been feeding him love potions for almost a year?"
Lucius couldn't help it - the shock and amazement on the faces of his wife and son were just too delicious - and he laughed, a high, cruel cackle that grated on the ears of his audience. He quickly got himself under control, although he was still sniggering as he said, "Amazing what you learn if you know who to ask." In a sharp voice, he commanded, "Blinky!"
Mother and son blinked as a seemingly elderly house-elf wearing a tea cosy with the Malfoy crest popped in. He looked around nervously, hands wringing the tea cosy spasmodically. Narcissa shook her head - Blinky was the only house-elf left to them after the Dark Lord's riff-raff had used the others for target practice. The only reason he was alive was because he'd been sent to Hogwarts as Draco's house-elf, a practice many pureblood families followed to ensure their children were well cared for. Narcissa knew that he wasn't part of the house-elves rebellion led by that traitor Kreacher … in fact, they'd found Blinky watching over an unconscious Draco, who the elf had knocked out to keep him safe from the battle…
Narcissa pushed those thoughts out of her mind as she focused on Lucius and the elf.
"Blinky," Lucius said, "tell your Mistress and the young Master about the gossip concerning Potter."
Narcissa shook her head. Trust Lucius to pick up on that after losing Dobby to Potter in `93 … Draco had been bragging and boasting - to himself and his friends, especially Crabbe and Goyle - about what he would do to Potter when they returned to school. Who could have thought the crazy elf would take it upon himself to warn Potter about her son's idle boasts?
And then the whole thing spiralled out of control when Lucius planted that stupid diary on the Weasley girl…
She shook the thought off and turned back to the house-elf who was squirming as it tried to phrase its words properly: "Blinky's overhearing Dobby and Kreacher fighting over the great Harry Potter last last year (Narcissa translated this to mean two years ago - Draco's sixth year). Dobby was placing something on the great Harry Potter's plate and goblet but Kreacher kept trying to stop him. Kreacher telling Dobby he be placing love potions in the great Harry Potter's plate and goblet but Dobby kept saying nutritional potion that Missus Wheezy prepared specially for the great Mr. Potter."
"Missus Wheezy?" Narcissa asked, puzzled.
"Red headed mum of redhead in the great Harry Potter's year and dorm."
Narcissa nodded but was interrupted by Draco's snide voice, "What's with all this `great Harry Potter' shyte?"
She was about to reprimand her son on his language but she turned back to the visibly cringing house-elf, "All Hoagy-warty elves call him that, Master. Is after he slew King of Snakes in secret chamber five years ago."
Draco's scoffed "King of Snakes?" was matched by Narcissa's whispered, "A basilisk? In the Chamber of Secrets?" She cast narrowed eyes at her husband who was looking away, no doubt remembering the torture he'd endured when the Dark Lord learned of the fate of the diary he'd had in Lucius' safekeeping. It was another of Lucius' `brilliant' plans gone to the dogs - he'd never fully explained why he'd decided to plant the accursed thing on the Weasleys unless …
Her eyes narrowed. Unless he was planning on depositing it in his Gringotts vault, like Bella did with her artefact, but got distracted when he picked a fight with Arthur in the bookstore - and decided, in a moment of pique, to plant it on the youngest Weasley. In which case, his stupidity got paid back a thousand times worse when Voldemort (she shuddered) found out.
"You are dismissed, Blinky," she said. She watched the house-elf pop away and shook her head. That was a disastrous year for Lucius … only, the implications were not apparent for years. Voldemort's diary was not part of any plan to cause mayhem at the school … Lucius had simply jumped on the bandwagon when students started getting petrified and he had an opportunity to try to kick Dumbledore out … Arrgh! She thought to herself … her husband's `plans' never worked out well -
there was always some small flaw, some little thing overlooked that came back and bit him on the ass, often taking a large piece of flesh with it … good thing that the `biting on the ass' thing was figurative, not literal, she thought or he wouldn't have an ass left…
She turned back to the conversation between her son and her husband - she had to admit that Draco was asking some good questions; apparently, that slap to his head was doing some good.
"But what's to stop Potter from marrying someone else? If it gets out that he's Lord Black…"
"Do you really think he would? Marry someone else, I mean? He's had seven years at Hogwarts with no girlfriend except for that potions-induced fling with the Weasley bint … When he finds out what Molly Weasley has done…"
Narcissa couldn't help it - her grin rivalled that of her husband. Yes, he did have a point, she thought. His best friends `eloping,' leaving him alone at the height of his victory, to be followed by the revelation that his girlfriend's mother had been dosing him with love potions … that would be more than enough to send him screaming for the hills.
And that, she realized, may be the ultimate objective of Lucius' scheme - to push Potter beyond the breaking point by piling romantic betrayal on top of romantic betrayal … he'd swear off women for a long, long time - long enough for the codicils to take effect and -
Her eyes narrowed at the thought. Again, the combined simplicity and elaborate nature of the plan struck her as odd … and the timing of the whole thing was suspicious. Why now? Why the seeming rush on the whole thing?
She could feel her brain speeding up again as she went over everything they'd been discussing …
Fact - Potter was of age last July; the whole magical world knew when his birthday was; Hades, even the Dark Lord knew - which was why he'd attacked Potter's muggle home on his birthday. Plus, being the Black heir since `95 … he'd already fulfilled the requirements of the first codicil.
Fact - nobody could find him for some months … until that oaf Yaxley almost caught Potter, Granger and Weasley when they'd escaped the Ministry of Magic in early September last year. And they were headed right for Grimmauld Place. Her face hardened at the thought - Yaxley's holding on to Granger when the latter apparated brought him right into the Black Family Manor … and while Potter and friends were able to escape, bringing Yaxley into the house broke Dumbledore's Fidelius … so now they knew where the Black Manor was.
The thing was … Potter had been staying there, probably since the start of August when the Dark Lord took over the Ministry. Which means that the requirements of the second codicil had been fulfilled … Potter is the Lord Black.
But that meant … the one-year time frame for meeting the third codicil had only four more months to run. In four months, unless Potter married or named an Heir, the Black magic would strip him of the title and Draco can step up to the plate…
But then … of course, she thought. Potter doesn't know he's the Lord Black - which means he probably isn't aware of the protocols and codicils implicit in that title! If he did know … Narcissa shuddered. If he had known he was the Lord Black, he wouldn't have tried breaking into Gringotts to go after Bella's artefact. Shyte, she thought to herself. If Potter only knew of his title and position … it would have been as simple a matter as dissolving Bella's marriage to Rodolphus and ordering the return of her dowry - and every other Black property that Bella brought into the marriage!
But he didn't know … thus that break-in and spectacular escape on a dragon!
She shook her head in both exasperation and admiration … foolish boy! If he'd only known … but he didn't. On such small things does the world turn - and battles are won or lost.
But then, why didn't he know? The goblins are duty-bound to tell him … unless they couldn't find him! Potter had been successful in hiding from them for nearly a year … not just hiding but actually escaping them as she remembered Potter escaping from here because of that damned house-elf!
The goblins couldn't tell him anything unless they could find him … but now that the war was over, it should be a simple matter of getting in touch with him, scheduling an appointment and then explaining the facts of life…
She sat back in her chair, dizzy from all the scenarios and permutations of Lucius' plan. That was it, she thought - it was never about causing Potter pain, or creating some inconvenience for Weasley and Granger. As she realized earlier … it was all about driving Potter away from the wizarding world. With Granger and Weasley `married,' the youngest Weasley and her mother's potions plot exposed … being betrayed by his friends would be enough to drive him away - anywhere where the goblins and the magical world won't find him.
No Potter, no marriage, no heir … no Lord Black.
Draco would just simply walk in to Grimmauld Place and take over.
No muss, no fuss.
Unless the goblins find him first … and another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Didn't the Death Eaters at the bank say that Potter had a goblin with him when he broke into Gringotts? True, that particular goblin may not have known of the Black Inheritance but still … Lucius also knew about the blood adoption - those rituals had to be witnessed and supervised by a goblin.
She had to stop this, she thought. Too many possibilities, too many scenarios … she just had to hope that Lucius' scheme would fall into place without crushing them beneath it. Much as she hated to admit it, there was a certain elegance and simplicity to the plan that would make it workable.
And as for Lucius doing the planning?
She just had to trust he knew what he was doing. After all, you don't plant a thousand seeds without harvesting at least one potato, right?
Narcissa realized that the dining room was silent; her husband and son were looking at her strangely. She shook herself and smiled at them - content that she knew what she needed to know. She looked up in the air for a second, thinking, and shouted - "Blinky! Cham - no, cognac!"
A few seconds later, with a small "POP!" an ancient, dusty bottle of cognac appeared on the table, along with three crystal snifters.
She smirked at Lucius, who was looking at her suspiciously. "Milord, if you will do the honours? We celebrated your `prank' this morning with champagne; since it is after lunch, maybe it's time for something more ... aromatic?"
Smiling, Lucius proceeded to pour the drinks; when he was done, he raised his glass in a toast. "Here's to Draco Lucius Malfoy, soon to be Lord Black, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."
The three Malfoys clinked glasses and, after the ceremonial heating of the snifters and imbibing of the aromas, they proceeded to sip their drinks while they contemplated the future. The two male Malfoys, however, did not notice that Narcissa (contrary to all her training) didn't sip her cognac - she actually gulped down a dram, relishing the heat that made it down to her stomach.
As she slowly sipped the remainder, she kept wondering why her mind continually replayed something she had watched with Lily Evans when they were much younger: Wile E. Coyote watching an anvil falling down on him.
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