Chapter Text
“What do you mean he didn’t show up?” Lord Voldemort practically whispered the question into the meeting, making several of the proud purebloods tremble in their seats like terrified children. Voldemort had, unfortunately, met actual children with more backbone in them than these poor excuses of wizards and therein lay the problem.
“We waited the whole night, my Lord- Potter never arrived.” Lucius Malfoy spoke, eyes downcast onto the table and his neck stiff.
“And then where, would you say, he ended up the night he left the school?” Voldemort stood, irritation pulsating out through him in waves and making magic like smoke swirl through the room. “If we’d have the good fortune of his demise, I’m sure we’d have heard about it by now.” The hall remained quiet for several breaths, before Lucius spoke up again.
“My Lord- the prophecy itself had been… moved. Since the boy didn’t arrive, we searched the hall several times- all we found was this.” Lucius Malfoy reached forth and set a small silver object onto the table, and Voldemort summoned it to him with a flick of his hand that made it whip through the air like a bullet.
Turning it over, it was a silver tag with neat words written into the silver, not unlike the name tags guests were given upon arrival at the ministry. But the words embedded into the silver made his temper flare and the windows exploded behind him.
Tom Riddle, Up to no good
His followers covered their faces from the glass shards, and on those who screeched in surprise he rained crucios like bombs during the blitz as his anger pulsated through him like a violent drug.
“Who found it?” He asked, voice trembling with rage as he turned back to his followers and Macnair indicated himself. Voldemort was in his head within seconds, tearing through the memories until he found the one where Macnair bent down to find the little tag in the place where his prophecy should have been. Had been for several years. Macnair wiped a thin layer of dust off it, read the words and showed the others before they’d all searched the entire hall twice more before returning to him with the news.
Something about the words picked at him through, nagging at him as relentless as Potter’s existence infuriated him. Trying to draw his temper back minutely, he returned his eyes to the tag still in his hand.
“Up to no good.” He mumbled, about to walk around the room when he noticed how Wormtail had tensed in his seat. Voldemort threw himself at him like a snake on a rat and found the memories right in the front of his brain. Screaming his rage into the room, his magic threw the table over to the side and shattered it against the wall of Malfoy Manor. Several of his Death Eaters had thrown themselves onto the floor and glass shards to escape, and somewhere in the chaos Bellatrix was laughing maniacally.
“I’m sorry my lord!” Wormtail wailed, begging while trying to hide his crying in fear. “I had nothing to do with this-”
“Of course you didn’t, you pathetic worm!” He screamed at his follower, his magic creating a strong storm in the room that almost swept the rat away. His anger pulsating like its own entity inside him that refused to settle. Lord Voldemort pushed through with all magic and rage and apparated while following that pull of magic inside him that screamed Harry Potter.
He landed in the middle of a bright, sunlit street filled with almost identical houses in a suffocating muggle place. Voldemort turned around, hissing at a child playing in their garden and making her run inside with a scream that might have delighted him any other day.
His official return to the wizarding world was supposed to be dramatic, planned to perfection as the historical moment it was. Now his first official sighting was scaring children like some common ruffian. As always; his plans were utterly destroyed by Harry fucking Potter.
“Potter!” He screamed out in his rage, making his voice magically carry enough to shake some of the closest houses. There was a silence before several curtains moved and doors opened for curious and frowning muggles to peek out at the commotion. Most, like the child, shrieked and fled at the sight of him and it was only one child about Potter’s age that remained frozen in the street, a cigarette hanging dumbly from the corner of his mouth.
“Potter.” Voldemort repeated, and the boy’s eyes instantly flickered down the stairs.”
“O- only Potter here is number four.” The boy whimpered, and Voldemort stalked past him down the street just as Potter himself indeed came around the corner of one of the small houses. The bane of his existence had a frown on his face and wore muggle clothing not even fit for rags. Those killing curse eyes found the dark lord and he stopped mid step. The expression didn’t grow into the same blank expression of fear the other muggles or even his followers had had, but he remained firm where he stood.
“You called, oh great and terrible overlord?” Potter drawled eventually, rolling his eyes. The boy looked insolently careless, still pulling a garden hose after himself as he came into the front garden.
“You have my prophecy.” Voldemort declared, now with his prey within his sight, slow to stalk him. But his prey just kept his eyes on him, not shrinking away or running but jutting his jaw out in defiance. By the property line, Voldemort walked straight into the wards that pushed him back violently. Growling in anger, he banged his hand against it and made large sparkles and ringing sounds explode in the otherwise quiet street.
Potter gave him an odd look, eyes the wards that held strong under his continued assault. Then, to Voldemort’s complete disbelief, the brat started to water the bushes in the garden, as if there wasn’t a furious dark lord ready to tear his throat out.
“Our.”
“Pardon?” He hissed furiously, glaring at the boy so hard it was a wonder he’d not caught fire yet. Potter wasn’t even looking at him anymore.
“It’s our prophecy. It had my name on it too, you know.” Potter spoke softly, as if there wasn’t only a fragile sheen of magic between him and an enraged dark lord. His eyes were focused on the roses and petunias as he watered them with the body language of someone used to the chore.
“When did you even get it?” He hissed in parseltongue, hoping to intimidate the boy who only gave him an uninterested glance.
“Christmas” The boy hissed back, as if meeting another parseltongue wasn’t a marvel. The hisses were low, almost sultry in Potter’s melodious voice and it stirred a curiosity in him he’d not felt since his starting journey on the dark arts. Like, excitement.
“Give it to me.” He demanded, and the boy, the stupid insolent boy, hosed water into his face.
“You didn’t ask nicely.” Potter said plainly and Voldemort did set several of the cars along the road on fire with his rage alone. “You’re not exactly fostering goodwill here.” Potter observed, looking up and down the street in an unimpressed manner.
“You-” he shot a crucio for the boy, but by the time it had fizzled past the wards and hit him in the chest it was weak and only made Potter rub his chest absently, as if he didn’t need to think about it. Voldemort wanted to strangle him with his bare hands. Pouring healing potions down his throat to keep him alive during an entire autopsy and show him his own organs. Squeezing his heart until it squashed in his hand as Potter watched and keep his head in a bottle on his desk.
“Gruesome. Hope you plan to do all that in a tiled room. It’ll be easier on the clean up.” Potter said casually, just as the door to the house opened and a thin woman with a sour expression peaked out.
“Boy!” She breathed in irritation and made Potter turn off the hose while looking back at the house.
“Well, that’s my que.” Potter shrugged half heartedly, looking back to Voldemort with eyes that met his own straight on. There was no cowering, no fear. Only the odd feeling of being fully seen. They were still in that standstill when there were several pops of apparition behind him. Voldemort twisted away, turning his back to the weaponless boy and reflected the spell coming at him back down the street towards Dumbledore who was already trying to draw him away from the wards.
They duelled for a long time, moving up and down the street as his Death Eater’s arrived and joined the fight. Sometime during the evening even aurors showed up, but Voldemort refused to yield up his ground or be forced to flee. It turned out even the other houses on the street were warded, so the houses and their families remained oddly unaffected by the war among them. Occasionally Voldemort saw Potter sitting in the window, observing the chaos with a blank expression.
Thankfully, a curse grazed Dumbledore and forced him to flee due to needing medical help, something that turned the battle in their favour. The aurors retreated back, setting up wards to repel other muggles and handle the chaos while giving up the street and the order’s members one by one fled up onto the lawn in front of number four and slowly gave ground until the street was theirs.
Sometime during the chaos Potter had come out, and he was moving between people on the lawn and giving surprisingly accurate first aid. Some wounds he tended would make many older wizards falter, so Voldemort observed the boy’s steady hands and slow breathing as he evaluated and treated.
“My lord?” Bella breathed behind him, words spoken in a low husky voice that was too obviously meant to be seductive. “Let me go in, my lord, let me pull him apart for you.” Bellas hands were on his robe sleeve, pulling gently and oozing dark magic and wantonness.
“Set up camp.” He spoke while ignoring her, stepping closer to the wards again to inspect them. Potter glanced up and took him in, but as the wards kept him on the other side Potter returned his eyes to forcing a dislocated shoulder back into its socket.
Though they stayed the whole night, he couldn’t break the wards.
--
At daybreak Dumbledore returned, holding a symbolic white cloth into the air until Voldemort sighed and waved him forth. They met in the middle of the street, Voldemort having the strong urge to rip the old man's spine out through his anus. Behind the wards there was an almost inaudible snort from the chaos gremlin, who acted as if he’d not noticed them.
“Tom,” Dumbledore greeted and Voldemort instinctively hissed at him like he’d done the child in the street. The old man, unfortunately, didn’t run away to hide behind his mother’s skirts. “I’m surprised to find you here, in broad daylight.”
Voldemort sneered, occasionally letting his eyes drift over Dumbledore’s shoulder to take in the chaos gremlin before letting them drift back. When he said nothing, Dumbledore sighed and took off his glasses to wipe them clean.
“Blood magic for the wards.” He said instead before he decided to rest his eyes on Potter. Keeping his eyes on the old man only made his temper fluctuate and the brat had proven an unfortunate capability of slipping through his most well laid plans. “For being the paragon of light, you’ve dabbled into the higher magics quite proficiently.”
“In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.” The old man turned around as he spoke to also watch the tiny house and the lawn before them. Potter resolutely ignored them, helping someone who’d probably lose their leg to drink water without coughing.
“Jokes on you then.” Voldemort spoke, feeling satisfaction curl around his spine like a snake, hissing in delight. “I have enough of his blood through my veins to alter the wards, a quite large flaw in your great plan to keep the precious boy who lived safe.” His smile, cold and calculated to send fear through the heart of his enemies spread over his face. “He can’t leave from within the wards- portkey, floo, apparition…”
His smile grew, and he noticed that Potter’s hands had stilled in their lifting of the cup. The person made some kind of sound in protest, and the boy snapped back to his chore as if he’d not heard them. The silence grew between the older men quite a while before Dumbledore spoke again.
“You can’t wait him out, the longer he remains, the stronger the wards grow.” And with that, the old man approached the lawn and started to remove the order members by portkey. Voldemort remained standing on the street, staring at his fated enemy until eventually it was just the two of them left.
“You can’t remain there your entire life.” He spoke, catching Potter’s green eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Will you?” Potter asked, looking away with an odd look in his face. Then the demon pulled forth that damn water hose again and started to wash the blood off the pavement and put out the embers that had been a rosebush. Voldemort kept observing him, only shaking his head at the nonchalance and returning to his death eaters when the boy was pulling forth the lawn mower.
“My lord,” Lucius bowed as he approached, his back stiff, his hair smelling of smoke and his eyes repeatedly jumping to take in the muggles that started to come out of their houses for the day. “If I may, how long until the wards will fall?”
“Get rid of that house.” He spoke, glaring at the house occupying the lot directly opposite of number four. “And the one directly behind it.” Bellatrix, never far from him, were already tossing spells at the building- yet nothing seemed to catch. She was growling, fiend fyre already reflecting in her eyes when he wordlessly summoned her wand into his waiting hand. He only gave Lucius a glare, before turning his back to them both and returned to his staring down his prophesied enemy.
---
“What are all those freaks doing here?” Dudley asked, awake surprisingly early and tried to peek through the curtains out at the street. Aunt Petunia had, upon her noticing the street and her front lawn littered with wizards and blood, covered every window downstairs just shy of the craze approaching his eleventh birthday. Drawing her attention, Aunt Petunia flittered over and tried to pry her curious son from the windows, made harder by the fact he wasn’t even interested in the food Harry was setting onto the table.
“Stay away darling Dudikins. Better pretend they’re not here.” Harry held back a snort, but did roll his eyes since he was facing the stove and they’d not be able to see him. ‘Pretend it doesn’t exist’, he thought amusedly as he flipped the bacon with an arm that ached from exhaustion.
“Best not let ‘em hear you call them that.” Harry spoke softly, keeping his head down but tossing a stray glance through the semi-transparent lace curtains. Mr and Mrs Robbinson of number eight had left the house just as he went in to start on breakfast, their expressions vacant and dreamy in a way that indicated the imperius. That and the fact they were wearing their snow coats with their pyjamas, swimming goggles and clutching one single galleon as they’d stalked down the street wearing one shoe of a pair each. After that bizarre sight, number eight had been swiftly torn down, cleared away and a wizard tent was going up that was large even by wixen standards.
It was white, had a large portion with a sunroof but open sides and the inside was very obviously larger and split into several rooms by the quick glances he’d been able to steal. The decoration of the patio was being overseen by Narcissa Malfoy, who was directing rugs probably more expensive than the Dursley house on the ground. In the half dark of the tents interior the silhouette Harry would know anywhere as Voldemort sat in a chair and seemed occupied by something. But as if he sensed Harry’s eyes, he stood swiftly and came to the tarp of the tent to stare at the house as if he could see through the walls.
“Why does he look like that?” Dudley exclaimed, and Harry hurriedly moved his eyes from the dark lord back to the pan.
“Dark magic.” He replied flippantly, tensing when he heard Aunt Petunia’s china clatter. “Sorry Aunt Petunia.”
“It’s always your fault.” She snipped, and Harry didn’t need to turn around to know her face was pinched and her eyes hard. “Ruining our nice neighborhood. Bringing down property values. Ruining out sweet Dudders summer vacation…” Harry bit his tongue and transferred more of the bacon to a plate before setting it down before her.
“More tea, Aunt Petunia?” He tried to distract her, keeping his head down and motioning for the kettle. There was a tense silence, until Aunt Petunia made a small sound in the back of her throat he knew meant she’d agree. So he moved swiftly, forcing himself to not relentlessly glance through the window. That’s when Uncle Vernon came into the kitchen, steps heavy and breath already a little harsher than normal. Fuck. Moving as quietly as possible, he stepped over the room and kept his back to the window rather than his uncle as he poured Aunt Petunia her tea.
Unfortunately, he’d already caught Uncle Vernon’s attention and the man grabbed him by the elbow and yanked him backwards as soon as he set the kettle down. The motion caught him off guard, and only his uncle's firm grip kept him from falling to the floor. His shoulder hurt from the near save though, making pain flare out in painful stabs with every movement.
“What are those freaks doing here Boy?” His uncle’s spit hit the side of his face as the older man roared practically in his ear. “Why’ve you not made them leave ?”
“I can’t!” Harry declared before his brain caught on to his mouth, trying to pull free from Vernon. “Did you miss how everyone tried to get them to leave all night?” He gesticulated needlessly to the front lawn. Well, in for a pound in for a penny he guessed. “That’s the bloody dark lord - he’ll do whatever the heck he wants no matter what you think about it!” Uncle Vernon grew, if possible, more purple and it made Harry’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
“And what would a lord want with the likes of you ?” Aunt Petunia practically hissed, making Harry for a moment wonder if she’d spoken in parseltongue. But as he glanced at her, he only saw her look him up and down with plain disdain. Only his teeth clamping down harshly on his tongue kept him from muttering out ‘murder’.
“He wants something.” Harry grit out instead, keeping his eyes firmly on the ground as Vernon yanked him again, making the pain grow into pulsating fire.
“You’ve stolen from that freak?” Uncle Vernon asked, sounding, if more enraged. “You good for nothing piece of-” There was a sighed curse before he was pushed away, the surprise of the lack of restraining made him tumble to the floor. “I’ll deal with you later.” And with that, he stalked out the door. Harry blinked after him, shocked, until he heard the familiar rumble of the engine starting. Stumbling up, his heart beating violently in his chest, he tossed himself at the door and pulled it violently aside, half stepping out to stare.
Uncle Vernon’s car was backing out of the parking space, still dropping water from where Harry had hosed off the blood splatter before. The Death Eaters had all stopped in their setting up camp, with the dark lord himself grinning and watching the vehicle back out into the no man's land like the predator he was.
“Don’t-” Harry tried to stop his uncle, but was ignored. The car was fully onto the street now, and the dark lord raised his wand. The ground violently rippled, breaking apart and obviously tried to explode the car- but to everyone’s equal surprise the car didn’t. It jumped and rolled over the buckling road- his uncle looking ready to combust from indignation- the car even rolling over once but righting itself and kept driving away. Both itself and the occupant were unharmed, and they all stared in dumb silence after the retreating car as it puttered down the road. The whole thing reminded Harry oddly of a giant beadle.
“What the fuck was that?” Harry couldn’t help but to exclaim, turning wide eyes to one of the most brilliant and twisted minds in generations. “That cannot have been intentional?”
Voldemort’s anger hit him like an overpacked trolley, images of him being ripped apart bone by bone while regrowing them, strapped to some sort of table that Harry was sure he’d seen in some old schoolbooks about medieval torture or the spanish inquisition. Wrinkling his nose, he still met the furious eyes of red. “There must be spells to do that more efficiently, right? Don’t seem like you’d have the time to loiter around in my bones all day by hand…” He muttered, stepping out into the garden to take in the rest of the street around them.
The street looked suspiciously normal, with the exception of the giant tent that Harry thought reeked of magic. Why Mrs Wright of no 7 was out this early, or wearing her sunday pearls as she was sorting her mail on the garden path, was anyone’s guess. At him addressing the monster across the garden wall from her, her hands stilled suspiciously and he could practically see her ears sharpening.
Voldemort replied by sending a curse at him. The cruciatus hit the ward, making it sparkle and glow bright lilac until it was gone. Snorting amusement, Harry stepped closer to the garden wall to see where the edge of the wards went but it was gone too fast for him to see properly.
Another curse hit, this one a familiar green that made the wards shimmer and crackle like the ants on the telly used to do. Instinctively he’d tensioned, but as the curse fizzled out he couldn’t help the delighted laugh. The curse travelled along the dome of the ward like lightning bolts, almost to the top. With the relief he’d not fall dead in an instant, he could appreciate how beautiful it was. Mrs Wright had dropped both her letters and her jaw as she stared at them.
---
It turned out the street was called Privet Drive and was located in Little Whinging, Surrey.
Voldemort hated the very air of the place and the disgusting devotion to muggles' ordinariness that it was. It was a hymn sung in the sounds of cars coming and going, children being reprimanded and the boring to death conversations of nothing but the ordinary. It was a temple built with muggle machines and concrete, an ode whispered by slaving over chores in an attempt to be more effortlessly pious than their neighbour.
Voldemort saw it and tried to burn it to the ground, baptize this unholy street with blessed fire to sanitize the earth off the mediocrity- yet nothing took. He and his Death Eaters held the perimeter for several blocks around Potter’s house, a literal eye of the storm no one could breach. Around them, the order and ministry together extended and firmed the wards- creating this odd no-mans-land where the muggles were suddenly exposed to magic yet not obliviated within an inch of their mind.
That first day, everyone held their breaths and waited for something to give. The wards, the dark lords obsessive patience or the ministry’s flighty employeds, the boy’s flight reflexes.
It was dusk when Albus Dumbledore strolled down the street, nodding to the woman next to them that had only just returned out to collect her letters from the pavement as if they were old acquaintances. She stared at him, mouth hanging open as the old man stopped between number four and his tent to face him.
“Tom, my boy,” Dumbledore spoke jovially, as if he was Slughorn and Voldemort his star pupil once more. Hissing, the old man gave him a look that was chided. “The minister has approached me, seeking advice on how amenable you might be to negotiations.” The old man clasped his hands together before him, like he used to do during lectures.
“And your perception of the matter?” He practically hissed, taking slow and stalking steps towards the small wall still separating their camp from the street. With a swirl of his hand, a chair flew over from the seating arrangements made by Narcissa Malfoy and landed on his side of the garden wall. He sat down, keeping his face relatively blank of his disdain as the headmaster conjured a garishly patterned stuffed armchair. As he took a seat, Voldemort’s eyes swept past his shoulder over the damned house.
Potter was half hidden behind a curtain, and after holding his gaze a moment before something seemed to beckon the brats attention inside. For a flashing moment, he remembered. Remembered how the green light had lit up the boy’s features as he tipped his head back, a carefree laugh born of true mirth and delight spilling out from his mouth.
“Will this be a long winded, painful interaction then?” Voldemort asked, returning his eyes to the old man while imagining skinning the skin of his face. How would the wrinkled skin twist and turn, he wondered, and would it be worn thin if he held it up to the sun? Perhaps that was too personal- carving manually would be intimate and take time- something he wasn’t sure he’d want to spend on the old man. Perhaps simply strippin grim of his magic would do, Voldemort through lazily and let his eyes sweep the old man in consideration. Having him ripped to shreds by his loved ones bara hands-
There was a flicker of the curtain again, but he saw nothing.
“Negotiations require a certain element of back and forth, tit for tat, if you will.” Dumbledore spoke conversionally, calling an elf and having tea brought forth. Voldemort, plainly, ignored the invite. “I suspect that any negotiations would be preformative, yielding too many concessions that would be detrimental to our world before you’d resume your violent grasp for ultimate power.”
“Your opinion of me remains immense, I hear.” Voldemort spoke, keeping only barely from hissing angry warning sounds at the other. “Has it ever occurred to you that my approach is a result of you standing in my way for any other path?” He kept his voice calm, but he felt his eyes burn with rage.
“You’d demand the prophecy?”
“Evidently.” His eyes swept the house again, but there was nothing moving inside. “And I’ll be killing the boy.” Or perhaps nailing him to the office wall in an unholy parody of the crucifixion. Healing him and returning him there to observe the rise of the dark lord’s new world for the same decade he’d been reduced to a wraith.
“Harry’s just a boy.” Dumbledore spoke, turning to also let his eyes take in the pathetic house. “Who’ve been through too much already. I’d be willing to give up the prophecy for his safe passage.” The old man looked surprised by his short laugh.
“Just a boy-” he mumbled, amusement burning through him as he returned his glare to the headmaster. “Would a boy be the subject of a prophecy? One which includes myself? Would just a boy be a survivor of the killing curse and wreck my plans time and time again?” He turned his face back to the house, still shrouding Potter from his eyes. Infuriating.
For a fraction of a moment he remembered the eyes. Made impossibly more green by the light of the killing curse striking the wards. The boy’s expression as he took in the light of his assassination attempt with a wide grin. Voldemort had stared at him at the time, yet now it caught the chuckle in his throat. “The boy will remain. I’ll hear the prophecy after I rip it from his cold dead hands and piss on his corpse.” His amusement now sour in his mouth left him glaring at the brick across the road. “Leave.”
The headmaster did, after a moment's hesitation. He stood, leaving the horrid chair behind as he walked across the street. He stood by the edge of the wards, shooting sparkles and trying to get the inhabitants attention but no one ventured outside. Eventually, the old man admitted defeat and returned down the street as he’d come.
Reluctantly replaying the memory in his mind, he saw how the demon had eventually lowered his eyes to meet him head on. His jaw had jutted up in defiance and his grin too big for his face. The last time he’d seen the face this close up had been in the graveyard, just shy of fifteen and pale as a ghost. The face that had stared back at him now was all too harsh angles, skin glowing golden from the sun exposure and his features sharp. Eyes bright with defiance as the demon of a boy lifted his non-dominant hand and flipped him off.
The boy had spun around on his heel and stalked into the house with the confidence of a swashbuckler. He’d only cackled more mad laughs at the sky as Voldemort peppered the wards behind him with curses, vanishing into the house like a ghost into smoke.
Where he’d remained since.
Notes:
Hope you enjoyed!
For those of you who've not read the original but would like too, you can still find it and read it if you'd like with my other works.
I've re-written most of the story already, so I hope that updates will be fairly regular. I just really wanted to celebrate my return to fanfic writing after over a decade by giving back to you all. You mean the world to me
Chapter 2: The new normal
Chapter Text
Dinner was in the oven already, so Harry was doing the washing up when the familiar sound of Uncle Vernon’s car drove up into the driveway. Harry took a few deep breaths, trying to ground himself as much as possible. Not two minutes later the door opened and closed, gently, but the steps that came towards the kitchen were anything but. He set the pan down on the towel to carefully dry the water of the iron.
Vernon grabbed him by his bad shoulder, making Harry flinch and grit out a sound through clenched teeth. The rest of himself, he forced to relax, so Vernon wouldn’t perceive him as having an attitude.
“What was that funny business this morning Boy?” Uncle Vernon whispered so forcefully in his ear Harry could smell the cheap cigarettes and beer on his breath. “You’ll undo whatever you did with my car this instant or-”
“It wasn’t me.” Harry spoke softly, trying to keep his eyes on the floor and hold his bloody temper in check. His left hand burned as if he’d just carved the bloody words into his own skin again. “It must have been the wa-”
“It’s never your fault, is it Boy?” Uncle Vernon hissed, suddenly pushing him forward so that his nose and forehead was slammed into the kitchen counter. Pain exploded together with blood, and Harry fell to the floor in surprise when Vernon let go of his grip on his shoulder. “I didn’t drop that cake. I didn’t hurt Dudley and I didn’t threaten him with my nonsense, I didn’t blow up Marge-” Harry tried to draw breath into him while keeping tabs on his uncle who was bent over him practically oozing with rage.
“I didn’t!” Slipped out his mouth before he could stop it, clasping his hands before his nose to feel. With a pained groan, he inspected the nose and it thankfully didn’t seem broken.
“Vernon!” Aunt Petunia was suddenly there, and when Harry threw a glance up he noticed she was holding her husband back. “Not the face, those freaks will see.”
Gee, thanks Aunt Petunia, Harry thought bitterly and inched away from them. Uncle Vernon looked barely contained with his anger, but did hold back from another explosion of rage.
“You go out there and get them to leave.” Uncle Vernon spoke through his teeth, only keeping his temper by directing his eyes away from Harry. “Give them back whatever you stole, Boy, and-”
“They’re the ones trying to kill me .” Harry spoke, his heart beating furiously in his chest while his mind worked in a panic. He missed Hermione suddenly and fiercely.
“Then let ‘em have you!” Vernon exploded, returning his furious eyes to Harry. “I’ve had enough of you-” He made to grab Harry by the shoulder again, but he crawled backwards ungracefully down the floor in a panic.
“They’ll kill you too!” He called out, eyes darting around the kitchen for any kind of escape route. “Those are the people that killed Mum, Aunt Petunia!” His words actually seemed to freeze his aunt, as if she’d been struck by spellcraft. “ If I die or you hand me over- the wards keeping you all safe will crumble and-”
“Vernon.” Aunt Petunia croaked out, reaching her husband again who rewarded him for his logic with two kicks to the legs and ribs each. “What if-”
“Did you see what he did to my car?” Vernon turned on her, pointing a meaty finger at Harry.
“It was the wards protecting you.” Harry fought on through wheezed breaths. “Those spells would have exploded you to pieces-” Again he was interrupted, but this time it wasn’t by his relatives. Instead, it was the phone on the wall that had started to ring. They tried to ignore it, but after the line went dead, it soon rang again. Insistent. After a shared look, Aunt Petunia approached the phone and carefully answered in her normal delivery voice.
“Dursley residence.” Harry and Vernon both stared at her, Vernon’s purple face slowly residing to a more normal colour. “He’s in bed already, exhausting day.” She replied and Harry felt his eyebrows frown. The words were too harsh and few to be about Dudley, but they couldn’t be about Vernon either?
“I see. I see. Well, he did say we’d be safe inside.” Aunt Petunia shared a look with Uncle Vernon, and Harry realized with a sinking feeling they were talking about him. “This is a terrible inconvenience for my family, you must understand. All these… things, right on our front lawn.” A memory of being maybe six struck him, when he’d been dragged with his Aunt to complain about something or other at the store. How she’d spun and needled until she’d been given a refund and a lifetime discount for something Dudley had already forgotten.
“Well I never asked to participate in your so-called war, now did I?” Aunt Petunia said, making Harry drop his jaw. “Now excuse me, I have my family to feed.” And with that, she hung up. This time, the phone didn’t ring again.
The air in the room was almost crackling with tension, and Harry just wanted it to break. To be over, even if it probably meant being beaten into a pulp. But to his surprise, Uncle Vernon took a deep breath before pointing a meaty finger onto him.
“You will do exactly as you’re told.” His uncle spoke in a furious tone. “You’ll stay inside and only go outside when told to- understood? And if those freaks call again, you will say nothing about how we raise you in this house. And any one of your chores not being done, or being done sloppily, we’ll have your hide for it. Understood?”
Harry nodded, trying not to glare up at his uncle and make him angry again. Eventually Vernon must have taken it as the submission he needed, because he gestured for Harry to get to his room. So Harry did, slipping past his uncle and taking the stairs two at a time until he was safely into his hovel of a room. Then he settled into the bed in darkness, staring into the ceiling.
---
Narcissa Malfoy had outdone herself. He’d paid no attention to the decorating of the tent, its furnishings or even spoken of the needs it would need to serve, yet when he retreated into it there was nothing lacking. The entrance opened up into an informal sitting room, including a small writing desk and several bookcases around the delicate furniture. From this room, there were several openings leading to separate parts of the tent.
The first one to the right led to his office and through that, his private bedroom. The opening in the left showed a short corridor, leading into a library, a duelling chamber and a potions-lab. The middle opening showed a longer corridor, with bedrooms going both directions for his Death Eaters to retire.
His own chamber, large enough to host his own bathroom, sitting area and another desk was just as comfortable and luxurious as the one in Malfoy manor. Another bonus, Voldemort was sure Narcissa had thought about and he’d have to reward her for, was that his bedroom was accessed through his official office. Which he warded and shielded extensively, meaning Bellatrix couldn’t get through unannounced.
The woman was as loyal as she was devoted, yet her passions were growing more and more tedious as the days passed. Falling back into an armchair before the fire, alone and tucked away for the first time since his descendant into muggle hell, his muscles relaxed.
“Master forgot my heated stone!” Nagini’s tongue tickled the inside of his ear as she hissed, making him flinch away by the surprise and intrusion. “What great disservice has Nagini done to deserve such torturous treatment?”
“Nagini!” He hissed back, setting his hand on her head and pushing her away perhaps a bit too roughly. “You know all you had to do was ask.” Voldemort pulled his wand as she showed him her fangs in annoyance, but he only gave her an exhausted look as he summoned the requested stone by the fire. The teeth retreated imminently, and Nagini made pleased sounds as she slithered over to it.
“Master should know better.” He rolled his eyes at her, and closed his eyes while relaxing back into the sofa. “This place smells. And there are not enough rabbits here.”
“Cease, Nagini.” He groaned into the air, lifting his hands to rub his face. “Have I ever let you starve? Have I left you cold and miserable?” Nagini made a sound from her rock, refusing to answer. They remained in silence, until he dropped his hands to stare into the sloped canvas. “We’ll be here until I’ve broken the wards and gotten the prophecy. Surrounded by filth.”
“This place smells.” She repeated lazily, half asleep by the sound of it. “But the magic tastes nice.” Frowning, he turned towards her.
“These are muggles. There’s no natural outlet or old temple for miles.” But as he hissed, he did spread his fingers out more firmly and sent his own magic out. He’d been right- there was no ancient magic seeping out through the cracks of the earth or radiating out through power-keg stones.
Yet.
There was something in the air, but it wasn’t quite tangible. To Nagini it might smell bad, but the more he felt it between his fingers the more he could pick out the spicy, earthy scent. Juniper, ginger and burning amber- maybe even vanilla? Elusive as it was, he was too tired and dropped the thread of magic again.
---
“My lord.” Bellatrix leaned close, looking to be a breath from touching his arm. “Let me round up some muggles. Let us turn them inside out until Itty Bitty Potter breaks out to come play hero-” His raised hand stopped her.
“Avery” He said instead, not removing his eyes from the house. They sat in the larger room, but with the tent-entrance open and half hiding them from view. Avery bowed his head deeply in inclination.
“No sighting of Potter since you retired, my lord. The auror presence has grown, but they’ve done nothing but keep track of muggle activity outside the dome. There is already some more muggle activity inside the dome, but nothing beyond staring.”
“Let me deal with them my lord, let me make you proud-” Bellatrix spoke up again, her eyes bright with violence. His crucio hit her without him even looking, making her tremble both howling and laughing to the floor. Around the table, no one reacted except for Narcissa whose neck stiffened as she kept her eyes firmly onto the table. He released the curse on a whim, refraining from rolling his eyes.
“Let me know when you see him. And if anyone approaches from the ministry or order. Lucius-” He turned to the man as he inclined his head. “Have the wards on the muggles examined. I want detailed reports on what they are and how they’re working. And notify Severus I wish to speak with him.” Lucius inclined his head and when he dismissed them shortly after, Narcissa had the grace to lure her sister away to the bedchambers.
He himself stepped out into the shaded front room of the tent, sinking down by the desk and the house while an elf brought his work from Malfoy Manor. It was surprisingly plain and humble, for housing the great Harry Potter. The brick was clean, the garden immaculate and there were no general signs of wizard living. There wasn’t even a garden gnome, which was quite surprising since the pest always found their way to wixen. Voldemort remained observing the house for quite some time, but since there wasn’t even a stirring of curtains he eventually lowered his eyes to work.
“My lord.” Severus brought his attention from the ministry approval evaluation of Hogwarts curriculum and he looked up. Severus was bowed, his robes the usual dark ones and he paid the muggles gawking at them from the street no mind. “You called?”
“Severus.” He inclined, setting his quill into the outlandish stand on the desk. “You know why we’re here?” He asked, setting his eyes onto the other man who didn’t give any outward sign of gawking the street like his other followers had.
“I’ve come to understand there’s a siege on Potter’s residence. The headmaster mentioned him having the prophecy?” Voldemort gestured for him to rise eventually, letting his eyes drift to the house again. Still nothing.
“How come you’ve failed to inform me that he’s been in possession of it since christmas?” He practically hissed, taking delight in the minute widening of his eyes in surprise.
“Neither the headmaster or anyone in the order were aware it had been moved at all, my lord, even less so by anyone on behalf of the brat himself-” The cruciatus brought him to his knees, cutting the potions master off violently.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried any method known to man to remove the prophecy without taking it with my bare hands?” He hissed, breaking the curse with a sneer. “And you think that whelp somehow managed it?” Severus was gasping into the rug, trying to heave himself up somewhat. “Are there no precautions for his movements? Is there no one watching him?”
“The boy was evacuated from school before the start of the winter holiday. He went with the remaining Weasley children after the attack on their father, I’ll find out how he escaped the protections-” He crucio’d the man again, the power pulsating through him not enough to wash away the frustration at the sheer stupidity.
Severus screamed, yet there was no movement inside the house. He lifted the curse with a frustrated sneer.
“Has he managed to grow some sense of self preservation?” He asked himself, keeping his eyes on the house this time. “Has his heroism faded?” That the brat would sit back inside didn’t strike him like being Potter’s typical approach. From his previous experience and knowledge of the boy he tended to make an escape attempt or final stand, especially when everything seemed lost to the most reasonable of wizards.
“He’s as arrogant and reckless as he’s always been, my lord.” Severus' voice was raw from his screaming. “The only thing that might aid him in this situation is his pigheadedness and stubbornness. I doubt he’ll manage to remain within the wards for more than a week at most. He usually spends the summers loitering the streets.”
“There’s a lab inside. Prove you’re worth something to me alive. ” Voldemort waved him off, ignoring him as he backed away out of his sight. The only change relating to the damned house in question was when the neighbour to the left of them walked up the path and knocked on the door. She was let in by one of the ugliest women Voldemort had ever had the misfortune to witness, and she closed the door as quickly as if they might catch the plague otherwise.
The neighbours' arrival seemed to be some kind of sign to the street as a whole, because soon there was a flutter of people coming in and out from the house throughout the afternoon. He returned to his work, pestered by Nagini’s whining from time to time until Lucius approached him.
“My lord, Avery just sent word the minister of magic has arrived. About five minutes out.” Voldemort didn’t put the report away, wondering if it was heinous because of the high inquisitor or the actual curriculum itself. He was inclined to believe it was both.
“Let them through.” He said absentmindedly, marking in the report as thoughts and questions came to him. Behind him, several masked Death Eaters took places around and behind him. In the corner of his eyes he caught sight of red, and looking up he smiled coldly to Fudge who looked wildly uncomfortable in his escort of aurors. He noticed one of them was Mad-eye Moody, who’d retired, by his information. Already bored, he returned his eyes to the report while he tapped the table with his nail.
“Erm, greetings, Dark Lord.” Voldemort didn’t even spare the farce of a minister a second glance. There was a silence when he refused to acknowledge the man further, and then the sound of the minister joining him by the table. “You have, eh, returned.”
“Yes.” He spoke lazily, still insulting the minister by not even offering him a scrap of dignity. “If only someone had said something.”
The silence grew painful before there was a strange cough coming from beside the minister.
“Yes, well, be that as if may. We’re happy to negotiate with you now, Lord, erm- Lord You-know-who.” Fudge spoke with a grimace of a smile as he looked like he wanted to sink through his chair.
“And why would I be even remotely tempted by that?” He asked, letting his quill fall to the table and leaned back in his chair. Fudge couldn’t meet his eyes head on, and still wrung that poor hat like a frisbee.
“Well, I’m sure we’d come to some kind of an agreement, couldn’t we? One where we’d not have to go to- to have unnecessary deaths and-” the minister swallowed. “-and torture.” Through the corner of his eye there was movement, and Voldemort returned his gaze to the house. He almost missed the tiny motion of a curtain move, as if someone had just peaked out from behind them. His irritation spiked, and he turned back to the minister, any patience lost.
“You’re pathetic. That demon child-” Voldemort pointed towards number 4, voice low and threatening. “has more backbone than either of you put together.” Voldemort turned from them, rather observing the boring house than these insects. The minster spluttered uselessly for a moment, apparently not used to being treated like the vermin he was.
“There must be something you want- something we can- can give you that you’re not having?” The absurdity of the question made him laugh, cold and punishing.
“Minister, anything that you have or might have- I already consider mine.” He smiled, watching the other man shrink back. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“But- well-” the idiot blurred, stumbling from his chair as if it had burned him. “Nonetheless, I’ll send you a few offerings. G-good day.” And with that, the minister slunk away with his tail and aurors between his legs.
‘Coward’ he thought, still staring the house down.
---
Harry had, unsurprisingly, been confined to his room and told to pretend he didn’t exist. He’d been let out for cooking both breakfast and lunch, but otherwise he remained curled up on the desk beside the window and glanced through the curtains to the mess outside. One of the few benefits of growing up with nosy Petunia was learning how to peek through curtains without being spotted himself. Well, that and some natural instinct he might have cultivated over the years.
His ribs still ached, probably only bruised, but his magic had mostly reduced the shoulder to a dull ache rather than burning pain. After lunch though, there had been an increase in visitors, and Harry expected to soon be dragged down to fix tea and refreshments while Aunt Petunia held court.
Then there was a lull in the conversation downstairs, not enough for Harry to hear much over Dudley’s videograming with Josh and Piers next door. That’s why he was taken aback when his locks started rattling in a hurry. Slipping off the desk, his feet just hit the floor when Aunt Petunia stepped in and closed the door firmly but quietly behind her. In her hand the home-phone remote was held in a vice like grip. Aunt Petunia was deathly pale, and her lips so pursed he thought she might break some teeth.
“For you.” She whispered, barely audible and gestured to the phone. Harry noticed she had her finger harshly over the microphone-receiver. “One beep out of line, one word I don’t approve off-” Aunt Petunia pointed at him with a sharp finger, making him stand straighter automatically and nodding slowly. It had probably been a decade since they’d actually laid down the expectations of him this thick, making his voice rough as he accepted the phone under her sharp stare.
“Hello?”
“Hey Pup, sleeping the day away?” The warm voice was like balm on his tense soul, and even through his godfather sounded tense under it all Harry felt relieved.
“Eh, yeah. Kinda knackered.” He spoke, turning his eyes to Aunt Petunia who still looked like he was a ghost. On the other side, Sirius laughed on the line despite the tension.
“Well, you’re calmer than I’d be being stuck there, that’s for sure.” Harry felt his stomach twist slightly.
“Stuck huh?” He asked, watching Aunt Petunia's mouth twitch but not in a terrible way. “How long?”
“Well, you know.” Sirius spoke casually, and Harry could imagine him standing up, casually leaning against a wall and maybe smoking as he spoke. “Dumbledore and Arthur’s working on a way to get around the floo-blockage but that’s our best bet. But the ward’s supposed to grow stronger the more you’re there, so just stay inside and don’t go out for anything- you hear me? I’m serious, Pup.”
“I know, it’s what your parents named you.” On the other side of the line, Sirius howled a laugh.
“Ran into that one, didn’t I? Cheeky monkey.” Sirius chuckled, making something in Harry’s chest ache after him. “So, last thing last- the prophecy?” Harry tensed up again, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aunt Petunia’s eyes narrowed at him.
“Well, Dumbledore says the best bet to get the snake-man from your lawn is to hand him the prophecy through the wards and let him take it to safety. Right now you have two juicy baits on your side of that ward, and hopefully the other one will be worth following.” Harry’s eyes caught over Aunt Petunia’s shoulder, on some trinket she’s put on the wall there without really seeing it.
“He does know he’s been wanting to kill me for years , right?” He asked, doubtfully and only snapped back to himself when Aunt Petunia made a waving motion for him to get a move on. “Well, I’ve got to go. Would give you whatever if I had it.”
“Speak to you later Pup- stay inside the wards!” and with that the line went dead, and Harry held it back to his aunt who took it and jutted her head towards the door.
“Go make tea and biscuits for the people downstairs, then start on dinner.”
“Sure Aunt Petunia.” he spoke softly, taking the lead downstairs. As he came into view the laughter of the housewives quieted down, but painfully used to ignoring the silence and the staring, he made his way to the kitchen without looking up. When he heard Aunt Petunia join them again, the sound slowly came back. He ignored them the best he could but as he was knitting the dough some words came through.
“-but what were those lights yesterday? And does he know them?”
“Ran away from his school once or twice, got caught up in those people-” Aunt Petunia said something more, and Harry tried to sharpen his ears. “Trouble, the lot of them. Stay away and they’ll leave shortly.”
“But why don’t the police take them away?”
“And what happened to that man’s nose ?”
“Some kind of freak accident, I’m sure- Clara, what about that recipe you made for…?”
---
Potter hadn’t been out for three days, and had only been glimpsed for stolen moments through the windows. The aunt had dared to enter the lawn and Voldemort glared at the woman, who spoke to the neighbour on the other side of the garden gate. The beastly woman dared glare at him, and he hissed at her, just for good measure. She flinched back before hurrying back inside, and he smirked before returning to observing the house.
He’d become a sentinel by the table outside, keeping the house well within his sights and being sure to be plainly seen. Before him, today, was another offer of negotiations from the minster that he half the time didn’t bother to open. Instead, the unyielding need to see Potter grew by the hour and made him snappish.
The wards around the house hadn’t once informed him Potter had even approached the barrier, invisible- polyjuice, transfigured or any other way disguised. It appeared he was simply hiding away inside, and something about it made his temper roar.
“My lord.” Narcissa bowed before him, and he gestured her up without taking his eyes off the house. “I have gathered the information you required.” That did make him turn his attention to her, gesturing to the seat opposite of him.
Narcissa Malfoy sank into the chair delicately, spreading the muggle dress around her as she did so gracefully. It was still a delightfully odd sight, and he’d caught Lucius being equally horrified and aroused by the sight several times. But as she poured them both tea, the endeavour had obviously born fruit. Narcissa had gotten access to the women and social network of the street and was quickly becoming his most competent and reliable source of information.
“Potter grew up in that house, his cousin just a few weeks older.” Narcissa began, sipping her tea. “They attended school together up until his departure for Hogwarts. According to the neighbours, the cousin was quite popular and accomplished while Potter was more of a troublemaker. Many of the other children stayed away from him from a young age.” His attention turned fully onto her.
“There’s no one here we can use?” He asked, incredulous. Severus and even Lucius had, indeed, hailed the boy as a troublemaker and nuisance but it seemed unlike Potter and his bleeding heart so have noone to confide in.
“Most say he’s somewhat of a bully, my lord.” Narcissa asked, her eyes firmly attached to her cup.
“Potter, a bully?” He repeated the words, testing them in his mouth. That seemed… strange. Potter had those friends of his at Hogwarts, and from reports they were certainly devoted and protective of him. For the first time in years he considered the memories and impressions of Quirrell on the young boy. The small thing that had filled into the classroom, looking like a stiff breeze might topple him over. The shy disposition, hesitant to speak up in class yet daring enough to actually defeat a mountain troll after only two months of schooling for his friend. Waving her away, he remained impatiently staring at the house.
Chapter 3: Deals, diplomacy & discretion
Chapter Text
On the forth day, he was in the middle of giving his Death Eaters their new assignments as it happened. The door opened, and rather than the muggles stepping out on the front stoop Potter did. The infernal demon sent to haunt him let his eyes sweep the street as casually as if they weren’t there before he closed the door and stepped down and strolled to the shed for supplies. Voldemort stalked across the street slowly, eyes never leaving his prey who stood with his back to him as if he wasn’t there.
He was right by the edge of the wards when Potter came back out, pulling the lawnmower after him. When Potter noticed him, he stopped but didn’t cover back. Instead, one of those dark eyebrows rose while his jaw definitely rose.
“Yes?” The insolent whelp asked.
“You don’t really think this magic will keep you safe from the great Lord Voldemort, do you?” Potter laughed, moving to casually lean onto the muggle device.
“You know, for being so damn upset I’m all up in your business, you sure are up in mine. Frustrated that I’m minding my own damn mind?” Potter gave a jerky nod back to the tent. “Either kill me or get fucking lost, I got the garden to do.”
Voldemort’s anger exploded, and he threw dark curse after dark curse on the boy. Around him, the death eaters joined him but other than the ward glowing up like fireworks nothing happened. On the other side, Potter looked bored but had covered his ears against the sound. Eventually they stopped, breath heaving and Potter dropped his hands with an incredulous expression. Then, without a word, he turned to the instrument beside him and got it started.
The demon child didn’t even look up as Bellatrix started hurling curses at the ward again, but got through the motions of cutting the grass in neat lines. Eventually, Voldemort returned to his meeting, slowly followed by his death eaters and last by Bellatrix after another ten minutes of excursion that left her heaving for breath and glistening with sweat. By the time their meeting was done, Potter had finished up the grass and now sat by the flowerbed and pulled weeds out by hand.
---
The following day, the minister returned with a confidence in his step that Voldemort felt unprovoked. He much rather spent his time ignoring the man shamelessly while he watched Potter putter about in the garden, replanting flowers into larger pots with ease. There was something strange by how he held himself, like he braced himself after having moved the large clay pots around.
“-what is it about the muggleborns that you particularly don’t like? Because you’ve been here for close to a week now, and they always seem lovely enough when I come to visit- if perhaps a bit strange…” He wondered if it would be easier or harder to take over the ministry if he squashed his head like a grape now. He probably should leave off until they could control who’d step up to fill the void, but that voice-
“He’s considering murdering you, you know.” Potter’s voice interrupted his daydreaming and the minister’s monologue. Fudge’s jump away from him was amusing, even if Potter hadn’t looked up from his handiwork.
“Harry! I didn’t see you there lad-” Fudge tried to save face, something that made his prophesied nemesis glare at the shorter man. It wasn’t anything like the hateful glares he had received in the past, yet something in him practically roared at Potter looking at anyone else like that. But then something shifted in those emerald eyes and his face grew a bit smooth.
“Don’t take my word for it though. I mean, he might not even be real. Haven’t you heard? I’m crazy.” Potter made wiggly motions with his fingers, completely stained by dirt and mud from his work. Voldemort felt a spike of amusement rush through him as he looked over Potter with a new curiosity. But the gremlin had already returned to his work, back to ignoring them while the minister for magic spluttered like a fish beside him.
Beautiful execution of humbling, in the dark lord’s opinion.
---
Harry couldn’t help the faint smile from spreading over his face as the voice greeting him on the other side of the phone was Hermione. The Dursley’s had started letting him take his calls in the kitchen, sitting by the table while the Dursley’s half listened from the living room. They’d eased up with their deep monitoring of his calls when he’d made no attempt at talking shit about them- as if Harry didn’t know better.
“‘Sup ‘Mione.” He said, relaxing into the chair. “How’ve you been?”
“How I’ve been?” She repeated with a huff and Harry grinned, picturing her crossing her arms and glaring at him if she’d been there. “Harry James Potter, my best friend is trapped in a foxhole by the most terrible dark lord in time- how do you think I’ve had it?”
“Well, what else is new?” He shrugged, wincing a little at the sigh she let out. “They think you’ll have better luck talking sense into me?” There was a tense silence where Hermione held her breath, making him close his eyes at the stab to his heart.
“Maybe you can send it in the post? Then it would leave your house by a currier, and Ron thinks the pure bloods won’t suspect something so muggle with something so important…”
“Hermione.” He spoke, heart heavy in his stomach. “I don’t have it.” They both knew he did, but the multiple people on the call didn’t need to know that.
“Only you and him could have taken it, Harry.” Hermione said unwillingly, and Harry practically heard her biting her lip. For a moment he hated whoever was forcing her to do this. But then his mind latched onto her words like they were the glint of gold on the quidditch-pitch.
“Well, I never said I didn’t take it, did I? I just said I don’t have it.” There was a silence for a breath.
“Harry-” A nudge, a hidden question in the words. His face split into a grin. Anyone else might think there wasn’t a change, but Harry heard it. This was distraction-Hermione talking. The Hermione who spoke to Flitwick, or trying to stall the mass murderer with questions to win them time.
“You won’t tell anyone, right?” He urged, playing the clueless idiot that didn’t know they were being monitored. But she and him both knew that he knew. “Well, I hit it in the safest place in England, with the exception of Gringotts of course.” It was hard to hold his giggle back in the silence that stretched out. Hermione was obviously being whispered at by someone and had put a hand over the receiver.
“You hid it at Snuffles place?” Hermione asked, but he could tell by the tone it wasn’t her question. She knew what he insinuated.
“No, ‘Mione. The only place where he’d have more trouble getting in than here” He grinned, glancing out the window at the tent on the other side. Voldemort was out in his regular chair, having tea while scratching away on some kind of parchment longer than Harry himself. There was a tired resignation that wasn’t his own that ached through him while Hermione was being whispered at again.
“If we find it, we can lure him away and get you out.” Hermione’s desperation for that to be true shone through, even though the way to retrieve the prophecy would be different. Harry smiled sadly, turning his gaze away from his would-be murderer. “Please, Harry.”
“Those years of sneaking about paid off ‘Mione, I hid it well. And if I’m the only one who knows where it is- well, let’s just say I know where I have him here.” He refused to follow the urge to glance out the window again. “Have you gotten that assignment for m-” he caught himself just in time. “-that theory-thing written down somewhere? I must’ve forgotten it at school.”
They knew he hadn’t. Hermione sighed anyway, only playing the role by half when she answered.
“I’ll send it in the post, would that work?” Harry glanced to the living room, but there were no sign of Uncle Vernon.
“Yea, that works.”
“You and Ron are helpless.” Her tone was fond though. “I’ll include some other assignments and the actual textbooks.”
“You’re the best ‘Mione. Love you.”
“Love you too.” She mumbled on the other side, a hesitant pause in the conversation. “You’ll be out by the start of term,won’t you? You’ve got a plan?” She asked, and this time he glanced at the window again. Outside, Bellatrix had joined the dark lord and was sitting much too close to be comfortable for anyone.
“The same one as always.” He grinned, despite himself. “Flying by the seat of my pants.” They hung up not long after, and Harry returned to the dinner preparations for dinner the next day. Outside, Bellatrix was screaming and writhing on the ground.
---
“Wohoo, Cissy!” a voice called, making Narcissa stop and turn towards the voice. From the direction of number four came two of the muggle women she’d ‘befriended’, Sarah and Beth from number 16 and 18 respectively. Narcissa raised her hand in a greeting, like the other muggles she’d seen do on the street do and waited the others in as they caught up with her.
Sarah smiled widely at her, holding out a small paper box in offering to her as they were close enough. Peaking in, Narcissa saw neat rows of little cookies shaped like flowers and to be polite she took one.
“We’ve just come from number four. Have you met Petunia yet?” Beth asked, carrying her own little paper box. Narcissa shook her head, taking a small bite of the cookie. It crumbled into her mouth and practically tasted indecent in how well made it was. Beth, the older sister of the two, gave her a knowing grin.
“He’s a frightful little thing, but you’ve got to give it to him- he bakes bloody well.” Beth said conspiratorially, pulling some of her mouse-brown hair behind her ear.
“Whom?” Narcissa asked while Sarah took another cookie for herself.
“Petunia’s nephew. He made a cake for Tilly’s birthday when she turned six and she still refuses to have anyone else’s. I don’t know what we’ll do when he moves away.” The neighborhood was strange, like only muggle places could be. They were crowded, the houses small and there were people everywhere- yet the muggles had all been very polite to her. Beth, the older sister of the two shook her head.
“I never understood how Petunia could stand that sullen look, but…” Beth and Sarah shared a look and Narcissa glanced to the house they’d left. It was one of the most looked after house in the entire street.
“Well, I suppose everyone has to have some redeeming qualities.” Sarah spoke with an air of annoyance, but it turned to a sigh as her eyes landed on her own front lawn. “Robert is missing him in the yard though. He always did as told and never gave us any lip. Petunias roses really are the prettiest.” Sarah and Beth shared a look again before smiling back at Narcissa. “You’ve only got the one son, right? I know some people around here keep their teenage daughters away from him around here, but I’ve never seen him be anything but polite to them.”
“Yes, only me, my son and my husband.” Narcissa replied, oddly wanting another cookie. “Is this that Potter boy everyone keeps talking about?” She asked innocently, sweeping her eyes over the street and houses again. It all looked so put together and neat, not at all like the sloppiness of muggles Bellatrix and Lucius talked about. It didn’t even look particularly like the children were in danger either.
How could the chaotic and wild Potter have grown up here?
Beth nodded, reaching out to rest a familiar arm on Narcissa’s elbow and gave a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, he’s always the talk of the town when he returns from that criminal-school of his.” It was only Narcissa’s good breeding that held her back from flinching at the muggle’s words. “Don’t worry though, the Dursley’s got him well in hand.”
“And his baking really is spectacular.” Sarah added with another friendly smile. “Petunia’s coming to bridge at mine’s tomorrow, you should come! We’ll introduce you.” Sarah then leaned close conspiratorially with a widening smile. “Just make sure you have some good gossip and your patience with you. Petunia loves gossip and to brag about her boys, so if you play your cards right you might even end up with your own cookie subscription.”
Beth gave out an unladylike snort in amusement at the words, but jiggled her box of cookies with a conspiratorial smile. Then the both muggles excused themselves and carried on on their walk back to their own houses.
Narcissa stared after them for a moment, then glanced up at the houses surrounding them again. In the few days she’d been interacting with the muggle women, they did seem to hold social gatherings in their homes fairly often. She’d already been asked when they were holding their house-warming several times. Making up her mind, Narcissa took the walk back to the dark lord’s base of operations with secure steps.
She found him sitting in the evening air outside, for all intents and purposes focused on notes before him, yet she noticed he hadn’t moved them since she began her approach. Bowing for him, she remained crouched until he acknowledged her.
“My lord.” She spoke softly, to not invoke his irk. On the other side of the street, Potter was painting the window-frame with ease. “I request your permission to require a dwelling here for myself and Lucius.” She kept her tone low and as humble as possible.
“Tired of my hospitality so soon, Narcissa?” The dark lord inquired uninterested, raising the parchment a bit into the air.
“Never, my lord.” She spoke softly, bowing her head more to show him the back of her neck. “But it would aid me in my quest with the muggles. A home here, to host socials and give off a muggle-impression will pull me deeper into their confidence.” There was a silence for a moment as the dark lord thought the request over and Narcissa knew better than to stand up before requesting to do so.
“Your son attends the same year as Potter, does he not?” Narcissa felt her heart freeze for a moment, breath suddenly hard to draw into her chest as panic exploded through her nervous system.
“That’s correct my Lord.” She spoke gently, trying to not let the monster sense blood that might excite him.
“Bring him here.” He returned his eyes to the text again and Narcissa felt the sam kind of doom as when she’d heard about Bellatrix Azkaban sentence.
“My lord,” Narcissa spoke, keeping her voice calm. “Draco longs to serve you, yet he’s still a boy in many ways-”
“Bring him. The children might be more forthcoming to another child.” He spoke, ignoring her as if she’d not spoken. “You may find a house suiting your needs and do with it as you will.” Narcissa bowed, thanked him for his grace and backed away before slipping off when what little attention she’d held had returned to Potter.
The quietly thought a gratitude prayer to magic itself the dark lord hadn’t decided to bestow the same interest on her child as the Potters.
---
“The minister has started negotiations with the dark lord.” Arthur Weasley spoke, and the tension in the room was palpable. Sirius tapped his fingers onto his knee while balancing on the back legs of the chair. The order was gathered into the kitchen of number 12 and there had been an influx of people since the battle of Privet Drive and the acknowledged return of the dark lord.
Sirius still couldn’t quite wrap her mind around how Dumbledore had warded the house against him leaving during the battle, or how the people fleeing the street had looked like they’d been through the forbidden forest on a full moon.
“What has been the result so far? Has he been amenable?” Dumbledore asked, giving the redheaded patriarch all his attention. The older children were there, yet the twins were oddly absent. Sirius wondered briefly why, since they were off age and out of school now. Perhaps they weren’t trusted to not tell the orders secrets to the younger ones. Sirius would have.
“Fudge has been less successful than he wished and fails to see the fact he’s survived as success in itself.” Arthur spoke and looked serious as he eyes the table. “The minster seems to place a lot of the blame for the failure to negotiate on Harry. Apparently he was… less than helpful.” That had Sirius bark out a laugh-snort, making several heads turn to him.
“Fudge did spend the past year slandering and discrediting him.” He said, letting his eyes sweep over the others seated at the tables.
“And that gives Potter the right to ruin any chance for negotiations?” Snape drawled, like the slimy greaseball he was beside Dumbledore.
“The dark lord will never bend to the negotiations, they’re simply a ploy to placate the ministry before he returns to raids and murders.” Moody spat with disdain. “We better not waste time talking and focus on getting the prophecy before he gets his hands on it.”
“And getting Harry.” Tonks added, giving the older auror a pointed look. Moody glared back at her, crossing his arms and Sirius felt his hackles rise.
“The boy is second priority- he got himself into this mess.”
“He’s a boy-” Molly started to object, getting riled up by the way her boys tensed in preparation while Moody interrupted her.
“A boy who managed to steal the prophecy from the department of mysteries under all our noses, possibly losing us the war in doing so.” There was a silence around the room for a moment, the air heavy with emotions.
“Yet he also forced Voldemort to show his hand, ending the farce of Him not having returned.” Sirius spoke, glaring Moody down. “Perhaps he’d not have nicked it, had we told him about the importance of keeping it where it was.”
“Potter is a direct breach of security until he manages to learn occlumency, something his arrogance and lack of effort have proven his utter uselessness at.” Snape hissed angrily, eyes burning with hate and Sirius wanted to sorely tell him to fuck off.
“Yet Voldemort didn’t know he had the prophecy already either, did he?” The words hung there, almost vibrating in the air until Dumbledore sighed. The old man placed his hands together, seemingly lost in thought as he stared off into the ether somewhere on the table. “Harry’s a smart kid. It’s not unreasonable to want to be kept in the loop on things that concern his life.” Sirius argued, staring the old headmaster down.
“The dark lord hasn't left the street since the siege began.” Snape spoke through gritted teeth, like the words were being pulled out from him with pliers. “He barely let the house out of his sight- the interest he’s had in Potter has now become a full out obsession.”
“There will be no way to salvage this that doesn’t include the loss of Harry somehow.” Dumbledore spoke, hindering the budding fight Sirius felt bubbling like fire in his blood. Now ice filled the veins together with dreaded horror.
“What?”
“The wards have been manipulated. Harry can’t leave from within them and Voldemort is lying in wait, knowing this. Cornellius will probably be more than inclined to give Harry up as a part of any possible peace treaty even if it is a scam.” The silence in the room was the loudest Sirius had ever heard it.
“Madam Bones wouldn’t-” started Tonks, but she faltered a bit at the look Moody sent her way.
“I’m afraid Cornellius will try to do what is easiest, rather than morally just.” Dumbledore spoke in a saddened tone, still not looking up at any of them. “Harry will remain safe as long as he stays within the wards. Our best bet for his safe recovery is for him to hand us the prophecy and let us draw Voldemort after us in pursuit of it.”
“So someone reliable and capable will die, because Potter can’t mind his own business and do what he’s told.” Snape sneered, making Molly send a furious hex his way while Sirius exploded.
---
Draco Malfoy was a lot of things. Attractive. Prefekt. Quidditch-player and the best in almost all his classes, with the exception of Granger. Yet as his mother herded him into his room he felt suddenly small and uncertain.
“What do you mean muggle-esque attire?” He didn’t whine, yet he was glad there wasn’t even a house elf around to hear him. His mother, usually a vision in haute couture robes wore a dress flared at the waist and had thin stripes that held it up over her shoulders. Draco wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her naked shoulders or calfs before, and it was strange.
“Something that the muggle borns or half-bloods might wear in school on the weekends.” His mother said, marching him up to the closet. He gave her a look, and for a moment it appeared like she was holding her breath before she sighed. “Pack some things to do, like your books, homework- nothing that require magic, the trace will be able to track you-” His mother said, already abandoning him to dig through his closet like a woman possessed.
“The trace? Mother!” Draco did not stomp his foot. He was well beyond such things, at almost sixteen. Yet the look on his mother’s face as she turned upon him reminded him horribly of aunt Walburga as she’d crucio’d that frail-looking house elf.
“Draco Malfoy.” His mother said as she pulled herself together from the frantic, unfamilliar woman she’d been to Lady Malfoy, daughter of the house of Black, as she approached him. “The Dark Lord has asked for you specifically. You cannot let him see even the smallest of doubt. A sliver of hesitation.” Draco felt as he imagined Potter must have felt diving into the Black lake in february, frozen and terrified.
“H-he asked for me ?” He heard himself asking, wanting to back away like a scared first year. His mother, now the pureblood socialite, followed him relentlessly.
“Yes, Draco, you. You’re the only son of one of his closest confidantes and only heir to the Black lordship. It’s time to shed the boy now, and be the young man your father and I raised you to be.” The blue of her eyes were cold and deep, like staring into the universe on a winter night.
So Draco nodded, gathering his courage and turning to pack things that wouldn’t need magic. Yet he felt how he slipped away from his body, not really feeling the hand his mother placed on his shoulder to guide him out of his room to the front hall. When they apparated into a strange place, Draco didn’t smell the freshly cut grass or the smell of meat barbequing in the early evening sun.
Notes:
Okay, the Draco plotline? 100% a last minute side-quest that snuck up on me. Guess that's what I get for using the 'fuck around and find out' method of writing.
Please feed my ego with comments, they make my day and do encourage me to keep going.
Chapter 4: Welcome to Privet Drive
Notes:
Hello darlings! Thanks for all the love❤
Here, have another chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“My lord.” Lucius bowed deeply before him, but Voldemort barely spared him a glance up from the schematics of Diagon Alley. He let the younger man remain like that for a few minutes before finally dignifying him with a response.
“Yes?”
“The minister has sent a representative to negotiate with you, my Lord. She’s in the great room.” Voldemort hmmed, while jotting down a mark where the wards of the shopping district probably would be at its weakest, before standing up. Then he strode out of his personal office, Lucius and Nagini trailing after him. Standing in the middle of the room, observing the unremarkable house opposite the street through the door just as he was known to do, stood the strangest ministry representative Voldemort had ever seen.
She was short and stout in a way that reminded Voldemort partly of Mrs Cole from the orphanage and partly of the demon child's uncle. Her hair was graying and fluffed up, giving her a professional impression if it wasn’t for her completely pink outfit.
“My lord, may I introduce Ms Dolores Umbridge, Senior undersecretary to the minister of magic.” Lucius spoke softly, barely adobe a whisper yet making the woman turn around and incline her head at him. Her smile was wide, yet she seemed to have the common sense to not meet his eyes directly. How curious.
“Have the minister lost what little spine he had left in him, and passed the negotiating to you?” The dark lord spoke barely above a whisper, making to circle the woman slowly to take her in. She shifted while remaining in place, giving her an eye on the house again. Irritation flared up in his chest, and his fingers itched to crucio her for her insolence and audacity.
“The minister hoped we’d be able to start the conversation, since his previous efforts have been… unwelcome.” She spoke in a measured tone, and Voldemort stopped his walk in her line of sight on the house. There was a tick in the muscles beside her eye, yet other than that she remained impassive. “Finding a compromise and avoiding further casualties is the minister's highest priority at the moment.”
“And if further carnage is what I desire?” He asked, tilting his head slightly, like a snake considering its prey. To her surprising credit, Umbridge took the statement with very little outward reaction.
“I’m sure we can find a solution that will be mutually satisfactory, don’t you think? If I may?” She gestured between her small purse and the table, and curious he inclined his head in permission. Umbridge practically skipped to the table, while clasping the purse open and pulling a long scroll of parchment from within. “We’ve based several of the suggestions on some of the, points made during the last war and-” Umbridge spoke as she spread out the roll on the table and weighted down the corners with ceramic kitten-statuettes she pulled out.
“-and privately, the minister does share some of your concerns about the stature of secrecy and the risk of muggleborns exposing us to the masses. The public is more open to the discussion, since Dumbledore’s been removed from his positions of power yet-”
Voldemort held back the urge to roll his eyes as he silenced her with a wave of his hand and stepped around her to look at the document. The woman seemed unaware of her inability to speak for almost a minute before her mouth stopped moving and she clasped her hands together aggressively.
“This document has offerings for negotiation” he clarified, dragging his finger along the rather long list as he skimmed it. The woman nodded her head twice, making her graying hair bobble. “I’ll consider them. Return in three days.” He spoke, making the figurine-kittens explode into dust as he picked the scroll up. The woman had thrown her arms up to shield her face and Voldemort didn’t spare her a single glance before striding back to his office.
---
As far as Harry could recall the Acromantula in the maze hadn’t been radioactive, so the likeliness of him having a spider-sense was quite low. Yet, he had the uncanny feeling at the back of his neck as he stepped into the house. Perhaps it was credited to Dudley having bit him in preschool, or to having learned to duck from frying pans at a moment's notice. Perhaps it was just his dumb luck.
Eitherway, he wasn’t surprised when he came into the hallway to see Uncle Vernon in the door to the living room, his arms crossed. His feet stopped automatically, and they simply regarded one another for a few breaths, during which Uncle Vernon turned more and more into a prune. The tension was growing so taunt that Harry eventually slipped up.
“What?” Escaped him, and they both realized he was fucked at the same time. Harry tried to bolt backwards into the kitchen, but Vernon had apparently seen the motion coming because he managed to grab him by the neck of his shirt and haul him back onto the floor. His breath was knocked out of him and his hip pulsated in pain as the first fist made contact with his stomach.
“How dare you embarrass us this way, after all we’ve done for you?” His uncle raged, more fists hailing over his torso as he yelled. “You ungrateful piece of shit!” Harry tried to gulp air into his lungs and curled up the best he could to protect his stomach. Eventually, Vernon grew tired and stopped, leaving Harry to gulp down lungfuls of air that burned his throat.
“Go to your room.” Vernon finally broke the silence, his breath harsh from the exercise. “You’re to stay in your room unless your aunt needs you, is that understood?” Harry nodded, cheek pressed into the floor and his breath a bit easier when his uncle’s steps took him back to the living room.
It took him a few breaths, but the time of grace was short and before he was ready he forced himself up and to limp up the stairs. The goal, his room, was as strong a focus point in his mind as the cup with Cedric’s body had been. As important as staying ahead of the basilisk and giant spiders had been.
When the door finally closed behind him, Harry practically fell back against it and slid to the floor. Closing his eyes, he tried to recount the properties of stirring in potions until he could take stock of what hurt.
It was completely dark outside by the time he got up, and he didn’t bother to turn on the light. The room might be bigger and he’d spent less time in it than the cupboard, yet he still knew every nook and cranny enough to not need light. He climbed on top of the desk by the window, wrapping his arms around his knees and leaning against the frame as he peeked outside.
Voldemort seemingly had returned to the inside of the tent, which left several masked Death Eaters standing about the peremitter. Something between a shadow and a person walked along the street with dramatic robes swirling behind him and Harry didn’t need to see his face to know it was Snape. He stopped, changed some words with one of the guards by the tent door before disappearing from view. Harry remained there, staring out as his mind went pleasantly numb yet without the nightmares of sleep.
---
Sarah’s home had the same layout as the few other’s Narcissa had been inside since her mission began, yet something about it reminded her of Andromeda. Perhaps it was the warm colours of the living room, or the eclectic patterns and fabrics making up the room less formal and more familiar. Perhaps it was the drawings on the wall, Sarah’s landscapes and a child’s portraits mixed in between photographs and artwork.
Perhaps it was the ballet slippers handing off the barristers, or the fruity scent of perfume as a girl Draco’s age waltzed past her and out the house. Narcissa almost turned after her, for a moment remembering how she in girlhood had followed Dromeda around like she’d hung the moon. But she was called into the living room properly as Sarah stood to greet her.
“We’re so happy you could make it!” Sarah cheered, stopping to fetch two glasses of wine before handing Narcissa one. The brunette was already flushed from the crowded room, but she swept Narcissa into a one sided hug. “Everyone! This is Cissy, she and her family just moved into- where was it again love?” Sarah’s eyebrows frowned in confusion as she tried to remember. Narcissa smiled and patted her arm gently.
“We’re in number twelve. And thank you all for letting me join in.”
“Ah, no worries- you know Beth and Ethel, of course-” Sarah started the introductions, leading Narcissa around the room as women smiled and nodded up at her. “And Petunia, of course. You’ll have to have your wits with you around this one, she looks friendly but she’s a shark around cards.” Several of the women laughed, Narcissa included, as she took in the thin and blonde woman by the table.
Narcissa hadn’t paid much attention to the young muggleborn who’d sorted into Gryffindor, naturally. The girl who’d grow into Lily Potter, the most famous Potter second only to her son had started her first year while Narcissa entered her sixth. Yet, she’d seen her a few times when she spent time with a young Slytherin with few other friends. After the first war, there had been books upon books written on the young muggleborn, articles on her charm work and theories about what magic she might have uncovered to save her only son.
There was nothing off Lily Potter’s warmth in her sister’s face, even as she smiled up at her. There were no remarkable green eyes or strawberry shade to her hair. Petunia Dursley was simply a muggle- unremarkable and plain, where her magical relations were off mythic proportions.
Soon, the pairs were split up for bridge, and Narcissa found her glass topped up by a friendly woman named Charlotte who occasionally would whisper a naughty limerick just to laugh at Narcissa blushing and Petunia, who was seated at their table, pinch her mouth. But after a few more glasses, and a win, Petunia seemed to be loosening up a little.
“You have a son, don’t you Narcissa?” Charlotte asked, refilling all their wines and Narcissa felt pleasantly flushed as she nodded. “Lovely, how old?”
“He’s just turned sixteen.” Narcissa spoke. Draco was back in their new home, getting his room in order and getting familiar with the house before he’d be forced to be introduced to the dark lord. At the thought gooseflesh rose all along her skin and she pushed it down by taking a big sip of wine.
“My Dudley will be sixteen too, on the 23rd.” Petunia added, lighting up properly for the first time. “Such a good boy, goes to my husband's old private school and is prized for his boxing.”
“You must be very proud.” Narcissa offered, noticing how Ethel, who sat partly behind Petunia made a rather rude impression of the woman that was quite accurate. “Draco’s playing for his school team too, but we’re trying to encourage him to focus on his studies.”
“Vernon doesn’t want Dudders to be too much cooped up inside. It’s healthy for boy’s to be out and prove themselves.” Petunia said, the tension around her mouth a little too firm again. “Makes them strong.”
“Didn’t he end up getting mugged last year though?” Someone from the table beside theirs asked, looking up from her cards. “Down Magnolia Crescent? That Figg-woman spoke about it last fall.” The tension around Petunia’s mouth grew more pronounced as she stared down at her cards with too much forced nonchalance to be natural.
“It’s that Boy. Always dragging trouble to our doorstep. We were too lenient with him last year. Thought it finally was turning a corner, and what happened? Some drug-dealer comes looking for him and attacks my poor Duddikins. He could have gotten him killed, that boy.”
“We thought about taking in foster-kids once, Hank and I.” Charlotte said beside her, reaching over to pat Petunia’s bony hand. “But Hank pointed out the trouble you’ve had, Runaways and such, right?”
“Several times.” Petunia nodded, and Narcissa observed her. The woman held herself stiff, her eyes downcast into her cards as if contemplating and yet something in the words had Narcissa’s teeth on edge. “Once when he was thirteen he ran off for weeks at an end, we thought he’d wound up dead like his dead-beat parents! He’ll be giving my poor Vernon a heart attack one day. The stress, you understand.”
Narcissa, who’d been sipping on her wine just then, almost choked on the liquid. Yet she managed to get control of her throat before she made a fool of herself and only hummed in agreement with the other women claiming how strong and kind the woman was. The game-day soon ended, and as they all helped put away the extra tables and foldable chairs Narcissa found herself beside Petunia with no action of her own.
“What did you say your husband does?” Petunia asked her, folding up chairs with alarming speed that Narcissa tried to match to not stand out. Narcissa, who hadn’t said anything of the sort, simply smiled and folded up the the chair in her hands.
“He’s working in politics. He’s always had a strong sense of wanting to better the world, but our son’s future has made him take up the struggle more actively.” Or rather, doomed them all by tying them down to a dark lord that could be defeated by a baby, and now, the wards surrounding that baby. Petunia however, didn’t seem to notice her souring thoughts because she only nodded.
“It was down at number twelve, right? You’ll have to have me over some day. The Harrises who lived there previously had ghastly taste, and I’d love to see what you’ve done with the place.” Petunia smiled at her then, wide enough that it showed her teeth and for the first time Narcissa saw Lily Potter in the woman.
Narcissa laughed, nodding her agreement and thankfully could slip away from the woman shortly after.
---
When the time had come to choose what elective subjects they’d be taking in third year, the largest joke among the slytherins had been who’d take muggle studies. Snape wasn’t the most compassionate teacher, but he did staple statistics onto the notion board to help his students choose. In slytherin, the leasts taken subject had for the last century been muggle studies. For reference, there usually were about 13% of slytherins who took divination every half-decade.
Draco had, of course, been the one who laughed the loudest at the suggestion of taking the elective. And the only student in their year who had chosen it was Tracey Davieswho, naturally, had been ridiculed for it that first year. Pansy had told him later that Tracey had reasoned that muggle studies might come in handy, if the statute of secrecy ever broke. Again, Draco had laughed and teased her mercilessly all up into fourth year.
Now, standing in a dollhouse-sized muggle home it didn’t seem as ridiculous anymore. He’d spent about ten minutes demanding the kitchen provide him with something to drink, yet nothing had happened. Glancing about the room, he stepped up to what was obviously a work bench and with only a second's hesitation he opened the cupboard on the wall. There were several paper packages standing in messy rows, mixed in with transparent containers and the odd metal tin. Pulling one of the packages down, Draco deduced it was whole oats before putting them back and looking into the next cupboard.
If anyone asked, Draco would never admit it took him almost half an hour to find glasses, and then another seven to figure out how to get water out of the tap in the sink. He’d never acknowledge that even after that, he’d spent several moments continuing looking through the room. The oddest things were the odd instruments he found in the cupboards and the large white cupboard that was cold on the inside.
The small space was making him claustrophobic though, so with his glass in hand Draco stepped out onto the street. Further down the street Draco could see the dark lord’s tent, put up like a focal point of magic in this muggle domain. Looking away, Draco mindlessly started walking the other way while taking in the place. He was so busy watching at a carriage rolling past him without horses when someone called out. Turning around, Draco noticed a hidden away playground with several kids his own age hanging out by the swings.
“Yo, new kid!” The scrawnier boy called again, his face full of acne and a grin that needed dental supervision. There were two other boys, bulky and childish-looking, while there was one who was bigger than the others but had something hunted looking in his eyes. Draco wasn’t sure anyone else noticed that the fingers holding his cigarette were trembling slightly.
“Hello.” Draco replied as he approached, eyeing the three girls who stood together a little at the side. Two of them were smoking too, but the last one didn’t have a cigarette in her hands and stood upwind from the others.
“Your folks have any vodka at home?” The boy who’d called asked, nonchalantly leaning back onto the swings. “If you do, there’s a party at mine tonight. We need the booze now that Big-D’s house is a bust.” The largest boy with the haunted eyes glared at his friend and gave him the finger, something that struck Draco as very familiar somehow.
“Eh, yeah I can get some.” Draco found himself saying, noticing the none-smoking blonde girl was eyeing him up and down when she thought he wasn’t looking. Automatically he stretched himself a little more up. “Do we need anything else?”
“Some MJ would be great, if a fancy dude like yourself can get it.” One of the other boy’s replied, blowing a smoke ring into the air.
“What’s your name anyway?” The boy, Big D, asked while looking him over like he was evaluating him.
“Malfoy. Draco.” Draco said, and the boy nodded as if the name didn’t say anything to him anything. One of the smoking girls with short dark hair (Becca) introduced them all and Josh even offered him a smoke wordlessly. Draco took it, took a deep breath as instructed and the others practically fell over themselves laughing as Draco doubled over coughing and heaving as if he might puke.
“You’re alright Dray.” Josh said with a grin, punching his shoulder so hard it hurt. “You’re alright.”
---
That day, Potter didn’t start on his yard-work as he entered the yard. Instead he stepped up to the wards edge and waved.
“Hey Snakeface!” He called, grinning widely. Growling, Voldemort stepped out from the shade to glare across the road at the boy. Potter’s magic was swirling about him, sparkling like stars in a dark winter night and smelling sweet like sin. The scent would intoxicate you if you let it. Behind him, the Death Eaters in the meeting he’d had turned to observe.
“I will mount your stuffed head on the wall for your insolence one day.”
“Yea, yea.” Potter waved it off, holding up the book so he could see the front. “Since you’ve got nothin’ better to do-”
“I’m orchestrating a coup, thank you for asking.”
“Sure, but if you can’t breach a muggle house- how effective will you really be against the ministry?” His only reply was an raised eyebrow, the memory of Fudge’s last visit a painful ghost hanging between them. The demon child made a face that Voldemort took to agreement, then unexplained grinned at him again. Potter raised a book in his hand, tapping the spine absently with a finger. “You’re supposed to be bright. My regular genius is in Bulgaria, do you know anything about magical theory? Because this shit makes no sense.”
“Language”
“Fuckin’ cocksucker, devil’s shit-tit.” Potter didn’t even blink an eye. “Please?”
Sighing, Voldemort actually sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. This child, the one he’d been obsessively trying to kill for its entire life, was going to be the death of him. The demon plague wouldn’t even need to raise a wand to do it, the way this kept going.
“And in return?” He asked eventually, looking back at the brat who’s face had lit up with a fire behind it and was already scampering forth to sit on the grass by the garden wall.
“Not the prophecy.”
“That you claim to everyone but me you don’t even possess.” Voldemort spoke calmly as he crossed the street to get closer to the brat. The sun was glaring down, so he transfigured forth an umbrella and a chair for himself before sitting down. “Which one is it Harry, do you have it or don’t you?” He all but purred, leaning forth while inspecting his enemy. Potter didn’t, naturally, react.
“ What do you think?” his plague grinned, and the viciousness of his grin made him seem more youthful somehow. Less… worn. Voldemort took in the face, enjoying this weird stand off despite himself.
“You’ll answer three questions.”
“ I’ll have the right to request another one.” Potter shot back, no hesitation.
“Very well. As long as you expand on the answers until they meet my satisfaction. ”
Potter waved his hand in agreement, opening the book before him which had muggle note-pages scribbled with text sticking out half-haphazardly. The dark lord settled back, plainly ignoring his followers still by the table inside. Bellatrix and Rodolphus had been uncommonly stupid today, after all.
To his immense surprise, Potter asked accurate questions, made notes of the answer and did occasionally reply with an insight or thought of his own. It was an oddly pleasant encounter, until Potter’s horrid aunt called him back in to make dinner. His demon glanced back, then to him again.
“Raincheck on the questions?” He asked, gathering his study material around him into a neat pile.
“Only because we both know you’re a man of your word.” the dark lord agreed, standing as well white looking over the house. He knew every minute crack, every panel of glass and the number of bricks in the chimney, yet it made his anger boil by its… ordinarity. Potter snorted again, an amused sound as he too stood. “Well, technically I didn’t agree…” The plague grinned as he instantly felt rage well up inside him like a burning fire. “But it’s not like I’m going anywhere, is it?” The cheeky thing shot back before skipping inside.
Notes:
Adding the spontaneous Draco-plotline is giving me some greif, but we'll get through it!
Feel free to give me some love 🥰
Chapter 5: Idle hands are the devils playthings
Summary:
Sirius and Severus argue and Draco is confused by muggles.
Oh, and Harry and Voldemort flirt.
Chapter Text
“He’s going to be the death of us all!” Snape declared loudly, rage written clearly over his entire person as he moved the room like a caged beast. Dumbledore simply observed the other man, and not with the grim delight that Sirius had trained on the slytherin. His own, spontaneous meeting with Dumbledore had been interrupted by a snarling patronus on end with the graceful doe that had delivered it. Not long after Snivillus had descended into the kitchen of number 12 like a stormcloud spitting lightning bolts.
“Has Harry left the wards?” Dumbledore asked, but Sirius doubted it. Partly, because no matter what people seemed to think, Harry wasn’t stupid. Partly, because if his godson actually had left the wards somehow and Snape had done was to report back rather than to save him Sirius would have his fucking hide. Bloody tie him down arm to arm with Moony on his time of the month struck as particularly ironic.
“No!” Snape snarled, turning his furious eyes onto Dumbledore and ignoring Sirius even being in the sitting room with them. Rude. “But he’s baiting the dark lord constantly, both by prancing about the edges of the wards like the self centered fool he is and insulting him.” Dumbledore looked lost in thought.
“What did he say?” Sirius asked, sliding a bit further down into the armchair and settling his ankle onto his knee- taking up space. Snape’s face paled with rage. “What, the great spy doesn’t know?”
“He belittled the dark lords attempts to break the wards on the house, called him Snakeface and-” Whatever Snape had been meaning to say fell on lost ears as Sirius barked out a loud laugh and slapped his one hand onto his thigh.
“To his face ?” He demanded, taking the burning hatred in Snape’s eyes as confirmation. “Atta boy.”
“It’s reckless and will force the dark lord to double down on his efforts to take the house- despite your appreciation Potter just signed his death warrant!”
“I hardly believe Harry simply did it to be reckless.” Dumbledore broke his pause, still staring off into the distance. “I’ve never known him to be needlessly so.” Snape reared up to start yelling again, but Dumbledore thankfully did choose to fasten his eyes on him then. “What more happened, Severus?”
“He asked for help with his summer homework.” It looked like Dumbledore had pulled the words out of the portionsmaster with painful dark magic, judging by the expression on his face. Sirius only barely managed to hold onto his laugh this time, but a snort did escape him and he looked away hurriedly to hide it from Snape’s glare. “Is it funny, Black, how your godson seemes to be suicidal with zero regards for what others he might take with him?”
“And what was Voldemort doing at the time?” Sirius snapped back, eyes narrowing.
“He was leading a meeting.” Snape eventually conceded with disdain dripping from his words. Sirius hoped he’d slip on it when he left.
“And what happened after Harry voiced his request?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes drilling into Snape in a way that set Sirius teeth on edge. “What did Tom do?”
“The dark lord joined him by the wards to do so.”
“So…” Sirius drawled lazily, taking delight in rubbing Snivellus nose in it. “Harry successfully interrupted a meeting and single handedly disrupted the organisation of murder and mayhem without casualties?” If Kreacher decided to appear right then and light a match, the room would have erupted in flames. That’s how much the air trembled with tension between the two men, before Snape finally broke.
“The boy is a blatant liability!” Snape roared. “His interference with the minister made him send Umbridge to negotiate in his stead!” This seemed to bring Dumbledore from his thoughts and Sirius noticed the sharpness in his eyes now as he took in the slimy bat.
“Cornelius has backed down from negotiations completely?”
“The dark lord acts out the charades of negotiations, having Lucius and Umbridge chasing each other's tails while he spends his days glaring at that house.” Something passed through Snape’s eyes for a moment, but it was gone again as soon as Sirius registered it in his face. Dumbledore didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps didn’t care because he said nothing about it.
“His obsessive need for control might play into our favour, distracting him while we gather strength against him.” Dumbledore mused. “Harry is resourceful, after all.”
“The dark lord can be… persuasive.” Snivellus said, and Sirius felt himself stiffen as he glared down at the man. “We’ve not yet discussed the possibility of Potter being inveigled.”
“Inv- that bastard killed James!” Sirius found himself flying up from his chair and advancing on his school rival with his blood roaring in his ears.
“Do you think the dark lord would have risen to power if he couldn’t speak his way? He-”
“Tom always had the talent for enthralling people with his promises of grandeur and learning forgotten magics.” Dumbledore interrupted Snape who didn’t lessen his hateful eyes staring into Sirius like he hoped he’d catch fire. The feeling was mutual. “I have faith in Harry’s remarkable ability for empathy and moral judgements.”
“The boy knowingly lured a teacher after him into the forbidden forest where he left her to be found by the centaurs!”
“From what I’ve heard, he was doing everyone a favour!” Sirius yelled, feeling flush under his shirt. “Took her weeks to get back, didn’t it? After the term ended, even.”
“Enough” The force of Dumbledore’s words weren’t in their volume, but it went like an electric current through the room. “There is no change to our situation- we must persuade Harry to slip us the prophecy somehow before it falls into the wrong hands. Tom will find a way to dismantle the wards given enough time, and we cannot let that happen.” The old professor looked between them and Sirius wanted to spit right into Snapes smirk. “I’ll return to call Harry later myself, but now I have to try to reason with Cornelius. Severus, walk me out.”
The other’s left Sirius remaining where he stood, and when he heard the front door closing behind them he kicked the coffee table so hard that the leg broke off.
---
Harry sat in his too hot room, trying to take notes from the text before him but his head kept losing track of the words. The window was cracked a little, letting in the occasional minute breath of air but mostly it was like a sauna in the small room. The phone rang, and a moment later he was called down by his Aunt. He made his way down to the kitchen, took the phone and leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Hello?”
“Harry my boy, how are you holding up?” Harry straightened up at the sound of Dumbledore’s words, glancing through the window. Everything on the outside looked like the new normal- Voldemort bent over massive tomes while looking like a tired bureaucrat.
“I-I’m well Professor, thank you. Does that mean- is there a plan?” He felt his stomach twist and turn, an odd mix of apprehension and hope.
“Oh, I’m sorry Harry. At the moment, the best course of action is to remain and keep your head down.” ‘just like last year’, went unspoken between them. “I’ve heard you’ve been speaking with him.” There was a moment of tension, and Harry focused on taking a deep breath with his eyes onto Voldemort. Lucius had come up to the table with scrolls, and Voldemort was giving off the air of losing his last patience with the man.
“Idle hands are the devil’s playthings.” Harry finally said, unable to find anything else that made sense. Dumbledore made a sound between a hum and agreement, letting the silence grow. Harry didn’t break it though, he was too tired. Dully he watched how Lucius blatantly missed his ques to run for his life as the dark lord grew more and more annoyed.
“My dear boy- Lord Voldemort is very stubborn. Tenacious. If he’s committed to waiting you out, he will. The siege might very well go on for years. Our best bet is the prophecy- where is it?”
“If you can’t find it- what will happen in September?” Harry closed his eyes, trying to picture the castle in the evening light. There was a silence, and Harry’s urge to throw up seemed overwhelming.
“Things might change, should we be able to lure Voldemort away. Miss Granger told me it is somewhere in Hogwarts, but we’ve not had much luck in finding it.” Harry closed his eyes, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Where is it Harry?”
“Somewhere safe.” was all Harry replied, his head spinning. He wasn’t sure what they said beyond that, because his brain was filled with cotton.
---
Aunt Bellatrix was terrifying. Draco tried to ignore her and pretended to be reading a book, but Aunt Bellatrix’s energy tore through the small building like a hurricane.
“They’re muggle-filth, Cissy, who cares what they think!” His Aunt declared, falling into one of the armchairs and sprawled herself out with a delicacy that reminded him of Potter’s Weasley. His mother didn’t remove her eyes from the sitting room wall as she was spelling it different colours. At the moment, they pale pink with shimmering roses woven into a subtle pattern.
“The dark lord has tasked me with gaining their trust and confidence, you know this. If you will not be helpful, you can leave.” She spoke, her tone and posture as clipped as the aristocrat she was even in the strange dress that looked like a combination of a dress and a button down shirt. It was still odd to see her in such a way, but the pale blue pattern did bring out the warmth in her eyes. The walls were the gentle lilac of a sunset.
Aunt Bellatrix rolled her eyes with her whole body going along with it, and she carelessly popped her bare foot up onto the coffee table without a care in the world. Draco had to look away from them, the toenails being crooked, long and yellow and the soles of her feet covered in mud. His mother had whispered in his ear before bringing him down yesterday to be introduced to her to not comment on it. She’d apparently taken up the habit, since the dark lord tended to walk barefoot.
“I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” His aunt complained and Draco noticed his mother was ignoring the filthy foot on the table as well. “Just a neat imperius here and some veritaserum there et voilá.” his aunt finished with a flourish off her hand in the air as she spoke. The walls went from a burnt umber colour to the blue of her dress.
“We’re going for subtle, Bella. Not brute force.” His mother’s tone reminded Draco of when he had been seven and screeched loudly to be given a new broom. He heard the reprimand clearly, even if his aunt did not. The colour of the walls around them turned a pale, warm green.
“But baby Draco here has to practice Cissy!” Aunt Bellatrix was suddenly on her feet, ripping the book from Draco’s hands with one hand and taking a forceful grip on his jaw with her other to stare into his face.
She was even more terrifying up close, the Black madness clearly shining through her eyes and with her face worn from over a decade in Azkaban. Her teeth were yellow and as crooked as her toenails, and there was a scent of decay and muskness that clung to her like perfume. Her hair, wild and curly in a way that was foreign to Draco, stood on several ends and in one place almost looked like it did contain a nest of some kind. He tried not to look into it.
“Draco has his own job. There’s time for such things later.” His mother’s hands were on his shoulders, her lily of the valley perfume engulfing him and his body went lax as she loosened the grip his aunt had on him. When he finally was free his mother moved them around, and Bellatrix hands clawed onto her sister instead, even as Draco stumbled back.
“Go.” His mother mouthed to him without a sound, before turning back to try and placate her sister. Draco didn’t need more directions, but dashed from the room at a calculated pace into the small hallway. There he opened the cupboard under the stairs and stuck in his head.
It was a sad little space, with a lonely lamp in the ceiling, a few shelves and an abandoned bucket and mop that smelled a bit mouldy if you came too close to it. Draco stayed away though, only grabbing the bag of vodka his mother had gotten for him before disappearing out the front door.
The directions to the ‘garage’ had been rather confusing, made more so since Draco wasn’t sure what a garage was. So Draco wandered the almost identical streets for a while before he finally gave up. There were three small girls who were jumping ropes on the sidewalk, so he asked them. They were helpful until he mentioned the Polkin's name, then their body language shifted into something reminding him of first year hufflepuffs when older slytherins were around. They hurriedly pointed to one of the non-descript houses at the end of the street and after thanking them and walking off, he felt their eyes burn into his path. It wasn’t until he was more than halfway there that the sound of rope hitting the pavement resumed again.
Knocking on the door, there was a long pause before he could hear sounds of steps inside. The door opened to reveal a plump woman, with her curly auburn hair in a short haircut that fell partly into her eyes.
“Hello Dear. Can I help you with something?” She asked smiling politely, but Draco could see how she was sizing him up.
“Hello Ma’am, I was invited by Piers. I think this is the right adress?” The woman brightened at his words and held the door open for him.
“Oh, come in! They’re in the garage already, you can step through the door right there.” The woman gestured to a non-descript and plain door in the hallway close to the bathroom door. “You’ll be staying for pizza later then?” Draco tore his eyes away from the door to the woman again. She wore some kind of white calf-long dress and with a pale pink cardigan over her shoulders that reminded him a little too much of their last DADA teacher. Answering yes politely, not sure what pizza was neither, Mrs Polkins face lit up and she petted his shoulder affectionately. “Good lad. Now off you go, and feel free to make yourself at home.” And with that, she turned around and walked back to the kitchen where a kettle had just started screaming.
Taking a deep breath, Draco tried to draw his shoulders down from his ears before he took the two steps in the hallway and knocked once. Standing there, he could hear some kind of muffled music and sounds from people chatting inside but wasn’t able to make out what they said. The door being ripped open startled him as he came face to face with the boy who had that haunted look in his pale eyes.
“What’cha knocking for?” He grunted, and stepped aside to let him in. Draco did so, being greeted by a gang of voices in the semi-dark. The room looked like one of Filtch’s storage closets had married a potions-lab with an explosion in it with some odd furniture thrown in to make it look livable.
There was a couch in the middle of the room, filled with several of the boys from the playground who all leaned forth while staring into one of those big black boxes muggles had in their living-room. But this one wasn’t simply a dark reflection, but had some little painted figures jumping about and hitting each other. The boys sitting on the couch were controlling them somehow, judging by the things they were shouting at one another. It reminded Draco of the locker room before a quidditch game.
There was a worn rug on the floor, some side tables and a couple of armchairs standing around, with a few lamps displaying colorful light throughout the room and there were shelves with clutter and boxes around the room.
“Looks like you’ve got a heavy bag there- fuck you!” The taller brunette (Josh) shouted, turning to swat the boy with the odd teeth, Piers, over the back of his head. Pierce ducked though, laughing loudly as his little person shoved the last other person off the platform and was declared a winner.
“No thanks, I have standards.” Draco said, setting down the bag onto the table before them. The others broke out into whistles and laughs, while Josh flushed and told him to bugger off. The last one, Big D, came from the side and set a tower onto the table. The others scampered to it, lifting off pieces and turned them around which turned them into glasses. Draco followed suit, feeling how the material shifted under his hands pressure. Big D held out a bottle in question, and Draco held out his glass to have it filled. It was only filled to about half though, and showing no fear Draco lifted the glass and took a large swipe.
It wasn’t like fire whiskey, that hurt and burned but filled you with an warmth like you had a bonfire inside you. This thing tasted foul and also burned on the way down, but much like the smoke left him wanting to cough and spit. The laughter following the cigarette though was making him force his face to remain neutral, with the small exception of his scrunched up nose. This time his attempt was met with ooh’s and appreciative laughing.
“You’re wild.” Josh said, giving him a slap on his shoulder that almost had him toppling over.
“You take over- I’ll go get us some soda.” Piers pushed Draco into the lumpy couch and trust the strange thing with a cord into his hands before he re-entered the house through the door Draco had just come through.
“Eh, how does these work?” He asked the boy with the haunted eyes, Big D who sat in the armchair closest to him. The watery blue eyes gave him a look as if he’d asked if pigs had tails.
“You’ve never played Super Smash Bros?”
“No?” Draco wondered if the other boy was a bit stupid. Then again, he looked like he thought the same about Draco.
“Why, have you been living under a rock?” One of the other boys, Malcom, asked while picking up his own ‘handle’.
“I go to a boarding school, and they’re pretty strict.” Draco said, watching as Malcom showed him how to operate the strange machine.
“Like Eton or something?” Josh asked, sinking down further into his seat in the sofa so he was practically lying down and put his scruffy trainers onto the table.
“Yes.” Draco agreed easily, following Malcom’s instructions and trying to put them to memory. Why were there so many buttons? What did they need them for, couldn't the little wand-thingy do it all?
“Ooh, posh.” Josh teased with a lazy drawl. “Then us commoners won’t see you at the public school then?”
“Ey!” Piers spoke up as he entered the garage again, his arms field with colorful bottles as he kicked the door behind him closed. “Speak for yourself mate!”
“Big D and Piers here goes to that fancy private school outside of London.” Malcolm grinned, falling back into a position that imitated Josh. “Smellies, right?”
“Haha.” Big D said, and used his food to kick Malcom’s shins violently. Malcolm only grinned though. “Smeltings.” Draco nodded as if it said him anything, mostly focused on trying to choose a figurine to play. He somehow was stuck on a pink princess that had the others giggling and teasing him as if they were talking about cooties.
Soon the game started, and Draco was quite horrifically maimed to death within seconds. Groaning undignified he fell back, keeping his eyes onto the screen to watch the others try to win over the other. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, broken only by curses and shoves to get the upper hand. Someone had poured yellow fizzy soda into his vodka-glass and Draco almost drank the whole thing in one gulp.
It was oddly pleasant to sit in the semi-darkness, his head oddly buzzing from the drinks and his limbs pleasantly heavy. His mother had urged him to follow the muggles suit and gain their trust, so it was easy to let his competitiveness show as he gained more confidence with all the bobs and buttons.
By the time the girls opened one of the walls from the floor to about halfway up before slipping inside he’d seemingly found his footing in the group. But his etiquette still had him standing to go and greet the newcomers, which had the room swaying and left him stumbling on the frayed rug. The motion sent him in an ungraceful tumble worthy of Weasley himself right into the girls who laughed with the roaring boys and caught him between them. The blonde one who hadn’t been smoking before smelled sweetly of vanilla and something that made Draco think of candy, but he didn’t know what made the connection.
“Falling for me already, are ya?” She spoke, giving him a playful shove while leading him back to the others.
“You’re very pretty for a muggle.” He thought, caught up in how warm her brown eyes were. To his confusion, her eyebrows wrinkled and the wide eyes pinched a little.
“A what now?” She asked, making him blink at her in growing panic.
“A, eh,- they’re a type of greek nymph. Not very common.” Draco declared with all the confidence or a pureblood heir. The muggle-nymph still looked at him with a look that reminded him of Potter and Granger both at once. When her eyes narrowed, reminding him even more of Granger before her fist introduced itself to his nose, he knew he was on incredibly thin ice.
“Nymphs are considered pretty. You said I was pretty for being one, which indicate that they’re usually not very complimentary.” She said, and removed herself from his side as soon as Draco found some support from the closeby table. “You’re just as full of shit as the rest of them, aren’t you?”
“Oh come off it Tilly!” One girl called out, Claire, Draco thought as the brunette approached the girl, Tilly. Claire had the same lithe body-type and graceful movements but had her dark hair pulled up into a messy knot on her head. “How he’s supposed to find his words when he can’t find his feet, the poor dear?”
“So I should lower my standard just because you think he’s cute?” Tilly snapped to her friend, giving her a glare. Claire grinned around the lollipop she had between her teeth.
“Till, how was it?” Piers suddenly called and drew the girls attention away from him. It made something in his chest twist, as if Draco had indigestion. “Did you score yourself your infamous cake?” The words brought a genuine smile to the girls face and she surprised Draco by giving Piers a rude gesture with her hand. Again, something in the movement made Draco uncomfortably reminded of Potter.
“You’re just jealous he’s refusing you point blank.” Tilly declared, spun on her toes so her blonde hair spun and sent more of that intoxicating perfume into the air, which left Draco so dazed he almost missed her walking to one of the chairs and sitting down onto the armrest by Becca.
“Haza refuses everyone but you and Darling Dudddikinns over there.” Malcolm had to duck to get away from the right hook Big D was sending him with a scalding glare, but the others only laughed. Draco felt lost though.
“What’s a Haza?” he asked stupidly. He was itching under his skin, feeling an urge for something but having no clue to what. It could be a Haza for all he knew.
“Dud’s freak cousin. Short for Harry-Hazard, which he hates.” Piers grinned again, and this time there was something mean glowing in his eyes. “They’ve got him locked up in a criminal facility most of the year up north.”
“Don’t call him that.” Tilly said, leaning over and slapping Piers in the back of his head. “You’re always so bloody mean to him and I’m bloody sick of it!”.
“Your crush is still going strong, we hear.” Josh teased, pouring them all another mixture of vodka and orange. “Still painting little hearts with your names all over your things?” Josh ducked the slap aimed his way, but Claire, who’d squeezed herself down between the boys, elbowed him uncomfortably low in the stomach with a savage grin.
“No, I’m not- but you’re all being right pricks to him. Remember, he saved Dudley from those muggers last year!” Tilly gestured to Big D, who looked a little green as he stared into the distance, but he did pull himself up a bit.
“That only was there because of him.” Piers inflicted, parring Claire’s flying elbow with his own.
“They weren’t.” Dudley spoke up, and several of the others turned to observe him with an attention that even Draco in his mildly intoxicated self realized came from him not speaking of the incident often. It reminded him oddly of the air after Potter’s article had come out, and people stared after him in the corridors. “They were going to kill us, I know they were. And even after everythin’- he could have just knocked his one away and ran. You all know how bloody fast he is.” There was an almost hypnotic way that Dudley looked, that drew them in like moths to a flame. The comment got some grunts and grins in approval, but otherwise it was quiet. “Didn’t even hesitate. Had mocked him for the death of his boyfriend just minutes before.”
The silence grew heavy and thick, and it struck Draco then that the dementor rumor must have been true. His father and Umbridge had both, separately from one another, claimed it like a huge lie to let Potter off the hook, but the look in his cousins eyes- it was like staring into the Black Lake and praying Potter actually would come up again, as the minutes dragged on past the deadline.
“And that’s why I don’t got a crush on him anymore.” Tilly spoke suddenly, breaking the spell with a grin and holding out her hands gracefully. “Poor bloke can’t help it if he’s bent, now can ‘e?” It brought some laughs and giggles back to the room, and another round of super smash started soon after. Towards the end, Piers mother came in with a tower of smelling boxes that she placed on the table and left while the others descended onto them like a pack of feral beasts. Or, perhaps more accurately, like post-Azkaban death eaters who saw a table laden with food. The thought was oddly sobering, and Draco glanced around the room.
“So…” Draco spoke, trying to figure out how to handle the soft triangle of hood he’d been handed without both plate or silverware. “Think I can convince this Haza-bloke to bake a cake for my birthday?” Bid D, sitting beside him, froze for a moment mid chew and looked him over with something that looked like guarded thoughts behind his eyes that caught Draco off guard. Then, whatever he judged, his tension flowed out of him and he returned to shoving food into his mouth.
“Probably. He makes all the little kids cakes if they ask him” Big D grunted, not looking up again. “Out of us here, he’d rather take a beating than bake for us if he can help it. Outside of Tilly that is.” Draco, who’d just swallowed the warm and delightfully cheesy bread in his hands, almost choked on it but when he looked back Dudley looked like he hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. Dudley simply chewed on, nodding as if he thought about something. “You’d better ask through your mum though, Harry’s got a weak spot for mums. What’s your favourite cake?” Draco blurred out something, and Dudley ended up having quite the palette of bakeries to voice his opinion on.
---
“Master.” Nagini hissed in his ear, making him yolt in a manner very unfitting of a dark lord and glare at the giant snake in the darkness while he tried to calm his racing heart. “ Master’s trickster is outside the den” Nagini hissed, seemingly unaware or bothered about his rage. That’s why it took him a moment for her words to catch up with him, but when they did he practically flew out of the bed and towards the door.
“He’s outside the wards? Where, Nagini?” His sleepwear transfigured themselves to his normal robes as he stalked though the office and he was by the tent door when she replied.
“ Trickster is the pen, hunting slugs” Her words made him stop, and through the door he could see outside. It was still too early, and the morning air was chilled in the murky morning light. Yet when he strained his eyes, he could make out the faint shape of someone moving on their hands and knees behind that damned garden wall. “ Humans are strange.” Rubbing his face, he took a deep breath.
“He’s not outside the den, my dear. He’s still in the enclosure.” He told his familiar, partly annoyed and partly resigned to being awake and up.
“But Nagini can see him!” The snake protested, giving him a look of indignation that looked oddly out of place on a snake.
“ Yes, but his den reaches to that wall there.” He gestured fruitlessly, and Nagini just huffed before she turned to slither off back to the bedroom and her hotstone while muttering about stupid humans beneath her breath. Voldemort rolled his eyes, a luxury he afforded the darkness he inhabited alone, and glanced back across the street.
Potter moved slower than he had the other day, and even in the darkness Voldemort could see a black eye blooming into an ugly bruise. He was doing something repetitive on the ground, and he seemed far off in his thoughts as he worked. Observing him for a few minutes, his little enemy seemed… tired. Worn down in a way that Voldemort wasn’t sure he’d ever seen on the bane of his existence. After a few moments of this, he stalked across the street with purpose.
“Is your plan to shoot those at me with a slingshot?” He asked in greeting, making Potter glance up from the slug he was lifting into a plastic box. It was almost like watching something come alive from the dead; how the sparkle glowed in his eyes and how some blood flushed that pale face. And as he always did, the demon started grinning at him.
“It is now.” The imp replied and sat back on his feet rather than standing on hands and knees in the dirt. This would probably be the closest Voldemort ever would come to seeing him kneel before him. “Why’re you up? Shouldn’t you be exhausted from forcing your minions to run a hobby-horse race the entire night?”
“Lucius' horse dropped a shoe, so we had to reschedule.” He spoke in a serious tone, making the imp stare at him a moment before bursting out laughing. Something eased throughout his chest, but Voldemort ignored it. Instead he focused on the growing bags under Potter’s eyes and the knowledge of how long into the night the lamp in his room were lit.
Without a word, he transfigured the garden wall between them to widen partly into a table. He had two chairs from the tent soar towards them. Catching one in the air, he reached it through the wards to Potter who got up while looking surprised as he took it and set it down on his “side” of the table. Potter eyed him sceptically, but did sit down and stretched out his legs and let out a sigh.
“Cushioning charm?” The brat asked and relaxed fully into the chair while Voldemort simply asked magic to bless him with patience.
“Obviously.” He said, taking the moment to look over his personal plague. The boy was skinnier still, had bags under his eyes and his clothing looked if possible to be hanging off him. Without thought, he summoned tea, fruits and some finger sandwiches from the big tent to sit down on the table between them. The rattle of china made Potter splutter, apparently half asleep already. “Tea?”
“Coffee.”
“Of course you drink coffee, you beast.” Voldemort snapped his fingers, and another pot came from the tent.
“Why does it appear like I’m having breakfast with you?” Potter asked, and leaned back into his chair as if completely comfortable. Those killing curse green eyes stared at him, unafraid, steady and unyielding.
“You’re mine to destroy and torment Potter, I will not have my entertainment robbed of me just because muggles' living standards are subpar.” Potter snorted, with genuine mirth, and watched as the second pot poured coffee into his cup. The brat reached for it eagerly, but stopped with it half way to his mouth to give him a suspicious look.
“You’re not trying to poison me, are you?” The boy asked, and when the dark lords only reply was a raised eyebrow, he shrugged and drank it. Potter let out a bordering obscene sound and took another greedy gulp as some colour returned to his cheeks. Made him look more alive again. “You know what, if that does get rid of me, I think I’ll die happy.” Potter said as he finished the cup and finally opened his eyes to return them to the dark lord.
“If only I’d know a good cuppa would have had you kneeling over, I’d have tried it years ago.” It earned him another of those amused grins as Potter poured himself another cup. “How is your homework coming along?” Voldemort chose to ask instead, drinking his own tea at a decent pace as he took his little enemy in.
“Is that one of your three questions?” Potter shot back, that feral smirk on his face again that stirred something unknown in Voldemort.
“No, merely making conversation.” He replied smoothly, pushing the plate of food across the table and closer to the brat. “Eat.” He ordered softly, making Potter glare at the offending plate for a moment. He was probably stuck in a debate over accepting food from his enemy or starving at the hands of muggles before hunger won out and those slender hands reached for the food. There was a rather peaceful silence as the boy ate three sandwiches, before he finally leaned back with another cup of coffee into his comfortable chair. “So?
“What’s the point? I’ll be stuck here come September.” Voldemort observed him, raising an eyebrow.
“Given up on your fragile hopes of escape already?” He asked pleasantly, taking another sip of his tea. “How unlike your usual heroic stubbornness.”
“Oh fuck off Vee.” Potter snarled, annoyance radiating off him like warmth around hot charcoal. “It’s too fucking early for this.” Voldemort observed his enemy, who eyed the sandwiches while holding himself back. Instead he poured more coffee into Potter’s cup and they remained in a surprisingly comfortable silence.
“ Have you and your family always lived here? ” He asked finally, breaking Potter’s salacious affair with the coffee up. Their eyes met, and Potter raised an eyebrow in a quite well done impression of him.
“ Is that one of your questions? ” The parseltongue sent a shiver down his spine and sparked an odd delight, so he only indicated a yes with a minute tip of his head. The boy rolled his eyes and sighed as if he’d been tasked with mapping out the entire Slytherin family tree from scratch. “ My family and I lived in Godric’s Hollow, as you’re well aware. ”
“ Harry .” He hissed back, giving the brat another look. The demon gave him a rude gesture, but sighed and only leaned back further into the chair.
“ Yes, we’ve always been here. Same house, same street, same people .” His eyes swept the immaculate house behind Potter. The gleaming windows and presine yard all his handiwork.
“You’re not close to your relatives.”
“ That’s not a question .” Potter replied, and when Voldemort returned his eyes to the boy he’d sunk further into the chair, rested his head backwards and closed his eyes.
“ Not a question .” He echoed, caught off guard by the total relaxation his enemy displayed, even through the wards. But in the dim morning light, the bags under his eyes were dominant on his sun kissed skin. “ Why didn’t you deliver the prophecy to Dumbledore after you stole it? ” He eventually asked, noting that Potter only let out a resigned sigh that seemed to radiate from his very bones.
“ It’s not his, now is it? ” Potter eventually asked, tilting his head to the side so he could glance at him through half lidded eyes. “ He has his secrets and I have mine .” There was the barest hint of a grin on the brats face, but he still looked… less. Potter always had been, despite Voldemort’s best attempts, full of life, defiance and vitality. Still, Voldemort smiled and leaned forth a bit more.
“ What secrets do you have, Harry, that you keep hidden away? ”
“ Is that your final question? ” Potter asked, closing his eyes again but the grin on his face grew wider.
“ It’s a clarification to the second one. ”
“ Doubtful, but I’ll humor it. ” Potter shook his head faintly, keeping his eyes closed. “ We brewed polyjuice in the bathroom that holds the entrance to the chamber of secrets back in second year. ”
“ You what? ” Voldemort asked, taking in every curve and minute shift in the face. “ You and your… friends?” He continued, making his face split into a wide and genuine grin that made him look younger.
“ Yes, obviously me and my friends. It worked too, the only mishap being that Hermione’s hair turned out to belong to a cat.” Potter waved his hand dismissively, still grinning.
“You three brewed polyjuice successfully, in a school bathroom, without being found out? For academic purposes?” He couldn’t help but ask, both delighted, impressed and surprised all in once.
“ We had to break into the slytherin common room to interrogate Malfoy, we suspected he was the heir of slytherin.” Here Potter did open his eyes to catch his and give him a pointed grin. “ Obviously, that was before we knew about you , your royal highness. ” Voldemort just stared at the gremlin before him, the personification of utter chaos and who seemed to be held together by some strange magic itself.
“ Severus says you’re horrible at potions.”
“ Absolute pants at it .” The cheeky gremlin said, before there was a strange sound of someone stumbling in the early morning and giggling to themselves. They both turned their eyes to the side in time to see Potter’s cousin pick himself off the ground with his hands planted to the pavement as he wobbled like a newborn foal. Potter, who’d a moment ago been completely relaxed, shot from his chair and had his eyes on the cousin like a hawk. “Dudley, are you drunk ?!”
The cousin looked up, blinked watery and red eyes before his face lit up with a wide smile as he saw his cousin. Voldemort was surprised to see it had the same tilt to it as Potter did, but it completely lacked the edge or sharpness off his much smaller cousin.
“Haza!” The cousin exclaimed, pushing himself up with his arms but not strongly enough to right himself enough. The child fell forward again, his face only not smacking into the pavement due to his hands being in the way. The cousin laughed though, a high bubbling laugh that was shrill to his ears.
“Haza?” Voldemort asked Potter, who did give him a quick glare. Satisfaction made Voldemort grin, even as Potter turned his eyes back to his cousin who was sitting back on his heels this time.
“‘Cuz he’s Harry Hazard!” The cousin declared, punching his hands straight into the air in a winning gesture. Potter groaned, and Voldemort found himself amused by the muggle. Perhaps they’d be able to keep some as pets, this one was oddly charming. The filthy look Potter shot him indicated he’d definitely heard that.
“Come on Duds, get over here.” Potter had edged close to the wards, his eyes laser focused on his cousin and Voldemort felt the satisfaction in realizing Potter was anticipating saving his cousin from him.
“ Why don’t you go get him?” He hissed, tilting his head a little as he observed the cousin. It would be so easy to kill him, he’d not even have to pull out his wand. He’d be able to summon something right out of the brat’s stomach- perhaps his gallbladder. Then he’d squeeze it, crushing it while the child bled out and howled for its pathetic mother while Potter would be in pure anguish about saving him or remaining inside the wards.
Potter ignored him.
“I’ll let you fetch him and return.” That brought those killing curse eyes back to him, and Voldemort saw how his little enemy assessed him.
“ What’s the catch?” Clever little minx.
“You’re doing the hissy-thing!” The cousin exclaimed happily, looking between them and laughing. “You’re gonna open the cage?”
“ Three questions and two secrets.” Those green eyes narrowed, uncowed as they seemed to stare into his very soul. Or what little remained of it.
“ That’s it?”
Voldemort simply held out his hands, and they stared at one another while the cousin continued to babble at Potter. But he saw the moment Potter broke, because his eyes darted back to his cousin and measured the distance. A few steps at most.
“Stand over there, so I can keep my eye on you.” Potter hissed, looking like Voldemort had stabbed him. Gracefully in sweeping robes, Voldemort stood with unrelenting dignity and slowly walked regally until he stood about three meters right behind the cousin.
“So little trust Harry, I’m hurt.”
Potter gave him a look, then weighted his weight on the balls of his feet for a moment. Then his shoulders set, he reached out for the little gate and pulled it open before he stepped out through the wards minutely. Voldemort remained perfectly still, taking delight in the tension in the air between them. But Potter seemed to find some faith in it, because his steps grew longer and he grabbed his cousin under one arm and heaved him up with surprising strength.
“Come on Duds, let’s get you some food and into bed.” Potter still didn’t take his eyes off Voldemort, and he backed back towards the wards without taking his eyes off him. Good boy. When they stepped through the wards, something in Potter’s shoulders relaxed and his eyes lost some of the guardedness.
“You’ll make me a milkshake?” The cousin asked, hanging so heavily on his cousin that it looked like he might snap in two. “Yours are the bestest.”
“Aunt Petunia will kill me for using the blender before dawn Big D.” He heard Potter mumble as the young ones turned and huddled back towards the house. “How about some eggs and bacon?” Voldemort watched them go leaving a half drunk cup of coffee behind.
Notes:
Sooooo, a few things.
Super smash bros was released in 1999, not 1996 but it's my story, so I went with it.
Hope you've enjoyed it! The random plot-addition of Draco among muggles threw a wrench into my machinery, so some things will have to be rewritten and remodeled but we'll get there 😘
Chapter 6: Family breakfast
Notes:
Hello, hello, hello!
Just wanted to wish you a happy day and have fun reading. ❤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Draco groaned, the sunlight being like daggers into his eyes as he sat by the smll table to eat lunch. His mother was filling a plate for him, while his father seemed to pointedly ignore him in favour of cutting up his own food. It was salmon cooked to perfection with roasted potato and veggies, usually a favourite of Draco’s but today the only thing that seemed appetizing was that cheesy-bread- thing from yesterday.
“Where do we keep the potions?” Draco asked his mother, finally pushing his plate away from him and giving up on eating right now.
“If you can drink yourself into a stupor like a filthy muggle, you can deal with the consequences like one.” His father declared, not dignifying him with a look and therefore didn’t notice the look his mother sent him.
“I’m gaining their trust, like the dark lord himself tasked me with.” Draco defended, pulling himself up into his height even if he still felt like he might throw up at any point.
“Don’t mind your father, Draco. He’s simply frustrated that his own mission from the dark lord isn’t going as smoothly as ours.” His mother said, returning her eyes to her plate innocently and ignoring the scalding look Lucius sent her, this time around. “Why don’t you ask Draco for advice, Darling? He had that ministry-woman eating out of his hand the whole school-year.” Draco had to beat his chest so the sip of water he’d just taken wouldn’t be spit out all over the table, despite the disdainful look his father gave him this time.
“Umbridge’s here?” He asked, looking between his parents. This had his father set down the silverware carefully, while seemingly contemplating his words.
“She’s been tasked by the minister to spearhead the negotiations.” His father spoke, and there was plain disdain in his voice too. “So far her attempts have been lacking, yet the dark lord amuses himself with humoring them for the time being.” Draco tried to think, around the pounding in his head. Thankfully, his mother seemed to covertly shade the windows with a spell to dim the worst of the piercing light.
It seemed his father had lost whatever patience he had for them at the moment, his temper made shorter by the tiny dwelling that his mother insisted be mostly run as muggles to sell the illusion. He stormed off, leaving his plate almost untouched and muttering all the way until the front door slammed shut after him.
“What is it, Draco?” His mother asked, summoning a sobering up potion from one of the cupboards. Draco swallowed the whole thing greedily, almost gagging on the taste of rotten fish and the feeling of the alcohol being forcefully burned out of his skin within seconds. But his head cleared, even if he felt more nauseous than ever.
“That’s awful.” He groaned, the smell of the fish suddenly overwhelming him to the point of him having to stand and move to linger in the open doorway outside. The clean air did him good though, and he wished he could go for a fly. The fleeting image of asking Potter to a seeker’s game fluttered through his mind and made him smile briefly, in its absurdity. “Potter’s cousin was there last night. Opened up a little bit. I think that the dementor attack last summer actually happened.”
“What dementor attack?” His mother asked, making him turn to observe her. She wore another sundress, her hair gathered in a loose chignon at the base of her neck. It made her look softer, and younger somehow.
“Potter was almost expelled for underage magic last year.” Draco spoke slowly, frowning as he did so. “Rumor in school has it that he was on trial in front of the entire Witzengamot.” His mother simply stared at him, making him want to twist on his feet like a misbehaving toddler. “Has Father not mentioned it…?” He asked, making his mother obviously gather herself and standing up. Her wand was swirled gracefully into the air and sent dishes clashing to the sink making them both jump. Cursing under her breath, his mother silenced the area with dishes aggressively cleaning themselves.
“He has not.” His mother said, her tone and face giving nothing away. “Are there other rumors about Potter I should know about?” Draco snorted, earning himself a look that had him straightening up again.
“There are more rumors about Potter and his adherents than dinner options at the welcoming feast.” Draco said, glancing out into the street again. The young girls’ who’d pointed the way for him yesterday were walking down the street and Draco found himself raising his hand in greeting. The girls saw him and waved back, hesitant smiles before they put their heads together and whispered as they walked.
“Make some tea then when I fetch my quick notions quill.” His mother said plainly, making Draco turn back again.
“You don't want to hear every rumor there is, we’ll be here all day!”
“Draco-” His mother said, pinning him with a look sharp enough to have his breath freeze in his lungs for a moment. “Every day that passes, the Dark Lord grows more and more obsessed with that house and that boy.” His mother spoke, barely above a whisper as if they were speaking truths that shouldn’t see the light of day.
“Your fathers position grows fickle, with his repeated failures to accumulate a weapon and get these negotiations in order.” His Mother stepped closer to him, settling her soft and cold hands onto his shoulders in a comforting weight. “We didn’t choose this path, yet it is the one we must walk now and we must walk it so that we might have the highest chance of success.” Draco stared into her eyes, noticing the heavy cold of resolution in their depths.
“...he’s going to kill him, isn’t he?” Draco asked, his voice a childish tremble he barely heard himself. The hands squeezed his shoulders gently.
“He’s a spirit walking bound in flesh.” His mother nodded, then used her hands to pull him closer and resting their foreheads together. “But rather him than you.” Draco swallowed, nodding while closing his eyes. His mother smelled just like she used to when he was little and it soothed his rattled nerves.
“You’ll need a bloody notebook then.” Draco muttered, offering a weak smile that had his mother smile and pull back. “Honestly Mum, everything?”
“Knowledge is power darling, knowledge is power.” His mother practically sang as she walked off to get her writing utensils.
---
The next visit from the senior undersecretary came later that same day, and she proved that her dressing on the previous occasion wasn’t due to a prank spell or misfortune with her house elf. No, this time she was just as pink and decorated in multiple bows as she was guided into the tent by a perturbed Narcissa. Voldemort himself sat in the middle of the long table, Lucius sitting at his side and Bellatrix standing off behind him. He ticked the nib of his quill rhythmically onto the table as he observed them.
“My, oh my aren’t we prepared?” Umbridge exclaimed with a forced giggle as she took in the room's occupants. Somewhere to the side sat Barty and young Malfoy, and he noticed Umbridge’s eyes landed there for a moment longer than necessary. “How delightful.”
“Sit.” He ordered her, with a forceful stab of the quill into the wood. The nib buried itself down, leaving it standing in place as he moved to flatten the parchment out. The air in the room seemed to thicken from his followers, but seemed to go unnoticed by the ministry official. Yet she did as asked, sitting down opposite him at the table and taking out her own notes together with a pink quill. Obviously.
“The minister was pleased to hear you've agreed to acknowledge the offer.” She spoke finally, clasping her hands primly onto of her notes and settling her eyes just above his shoulder with a wide smile.
“The offer is, frankly, insulting.” Lucius spoke at his side, drawing her attention. “The ministry has offered nothing, other than a role as executioner at best.” The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, as she took in the blondes words.
“It’s hardly nothing, Lord Malfoy.” She spoke assuredly, like he assumed she’d speak to children. “The ministry is the backbone of this country, and nothing seeking to improve our society should try to disrupt that.” She droned on, and Voldemort wondered what her ears might look like nailed to a door. “Yes, the executions would be the primary way to offer fitting sacrifice to clench the blood craving, yet there are several more ways we might be able to open up to that endeavour.” She spoke softly, accepting a cup of tea from a house elf without a glance at it. “For example, the muggle-born registry and outlawing marriage between muggles and wixen.”
“Those bills will be vilified and fought as oppressive on the wizengamot floor, or construed until they do none of the things they set out to do.” Lucius spoke from his side with a sneer as Voldemort remained in observation of the woman. “ Taking power would ensure the change we wish to see for our world would actually take shape.”
“The minister agrees that action needs to be taken and if aware of… unwanted influence in government functions previously.” Umbridge spoke diplomatically, her eyes swaying again to the side behind him. “The minister has already started on several approaches to revoke that influence and instead proper order once more.” Her smile grew minutely wider, and behind him someone shifted in their seating. Judging by Narcissa’s eyes, standing by the door, it was probably young Malfoy who had done it.
“You’re referring to Hogwarts.” He spoke softly, liking how the woman jerked a little as if she’d grown comfortable pretending he wasn’t there. Oh no, that wouldn’t do.
Not. At. All.
“And your role was, what was it, oh, High Inquisitor and headmistress?” He inquired, voice practically dripping with honey.
“That’s correct, his lordship.” Umbridge replied, yet her shoulders had drawn up and her eyes, colder now, were on the table between them. “The leniency there has ruined a tragic amount of children and several bright futures have been snuffed.”
“...I seem to recall you also lost control over the school at several points over the past year, did you not?” He inquired, a faint smile on his face as he watched her shoulder’s rise further and her nose to flare. Yet, as suddenly as it had come it disappeared behind one of her smiles.
“There was a certain disturbance in attendance, yes. But with that disturbance now removed, I see no further influence on the other children to disrupt their education.” Her eyes again flickered to young Malfoy over his shoulder and Voldemort wanted to rip her organs out through her anus. He could practically hear Potter snide something clever about cleaning or washing his hands in his ear.
“Yet…” He spoke, as if aimlessly as he took her in. “If you cannot handle a school of children, how can you expect me to believe you are fit to govern yourself?” Voldemort rose to his feet, surprising the woman. “Lucius, this is a waste of my time.” He made a gesture to the papers on the table before moving aside and stepping out of the tent.
Restless, he was about to start walking up the street when something caught his eye. Nagini was half propped up against the garden wall to number four, with her eyes aimed into the only tree in the ward. Glancing up, he eventually saw the brief silhouette of a foot swaying in the wind. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he edged closer carefully to not draw attention to himself from either of the two troublemakers.
“I do not want slugs, I want mice.” Nagini whined, and the chuckle from the tree was so faint he almost didn’t hear it.
“ Well, I don’t have any mice. They’re not around our house so much, too clean.” Potter sounded both apologetic and amused at the same time, and Voldemort could practically see the grin on his face even if he was hidden from view.
“Such a stupid den, having no mice.” Nagini retorted, obviously still cranky. “Master says all great dens have them, since they’re old and powerful.”
“ Old and powerful mice?” Potter practically giggled from the tree. Nagini, bless her, didn’t catch on to the sarcasm.
“ Dens. Small tricksters like you wouldn’t know.”
“I have been to some old dens, thank you very much. Like Hogwarts, plenty of mice and rats there.”
“ Master lived there once!” Nagini brightened up. “Now come down. Nagini is hungry.”
“ Nagini, you threatened to eat me. Twice. I’m not coming down.”
“ Just a little bit.” Nagini sulked, and Voldemort eased back to the tent and left the chaos behind before he revealed himself by snorting. Inside, he found young Draco Malfoy stood by the table beside his mother, his eyes downcast onto the fancy pattern of the carpet.
He canceled the charm and came over to them, ignoring everyone else in the room. As he stopped before them, Narcissa nudged her son in the side discretely and he stiffened for a moment. When had his glorious, brave and convicted followers turned to such soft stock of frail nerves.
“My lord.” The child mumbled, keeping his neck bent and eyes away from his pondering glare. “I’ve infiltrated the cousin’s friend group.” The child was probed by his mother again, and seemed to catch on. Children, the lot of them. “I’ve not gained their trust fully, but I’ve gained some leeway by supplying them with alcohol.” The child spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.
“And?” He prompted, wishing to drown this horrible interaction with a hot bath and alcohol consumption of his own. He noticed how both Malfoy’s breath puffed like faint smoke. Had Potter been here, he’d have cracked some stupid comment about it, no doubt. He tried to rail his temper in.
“They’re explaining Potter’s absence during the school-year with him going to a facility for criminal youths.” The words poured out of the child with an oddly uncertain tone he hadn’t even known a Malfoy could produce. “They used to play something called ‘Harry hunting’, but I’m not sure how… entertaining it would have been.”
And didn’t that make perfect sense? Voldemort thought, thinking back to Potter’s quick ducking, diving and running in the cemetery almost a year ago. The sharp look in those eyes of death that seemed to glow with the very spark of stubborn life itself. He’d seen that same look in his reflection, worn those rags that did nothing to diminish the godlike raw power beneath their tarnish.
“Did you find any possible accidental magic?” He found himself asking, almost lost in his own thoughts.
“The cousin was reluctant to speak any, but the others mentioned a few. Changing their teacher’s wig blue. Shrinking clothes and vanishing a glass at an animal-pen and releasing a snake on one of them.” Voldemort gave a half sound from the back of his throat, amused despite himself.
“What happened to the snake?” He asked, noting Nagini slithering in from her discussion outside.
“Recaptured, according to the papers at the time.” Narcissa Malfoy spoke up, and Voldemort dismissed them with a wave. He and Nagini both moved towards his private chambers, when Bellatrix appeared from the side to walk beside him.
“Yes?” He acknowledged her enough to speak up.
“My lord, a word in private if you would.” Hesitantly, he nodded his assent and let her follow him into the office. She remained to close the door while he sank into his office chair behind his desk. She took, incorrectly, his raised eyebrow as permission to continue once she’d shield the room from anyone overhearing.
As if his office wouldn’t be warded against anything beyond a muffliato already.
“My lord.” She spoke, stepping across the room slowly as if not to startle a wild beast, yet her eyes gleamed with resolve and thirst. “Please. Give me the pleasure to make our stay here more comfortable.” She stopped beside the desk and slowly sank to her knees. But it wasn’t with a cowed bent head, no, this time it was with intent to remain in more active enterprises.
It wasn’t that he was… uninterested in that particular side of hedonism. His genuine interest was simply held to the same standard as he applied in all endeavours. Bella had come close to it. Once.
When the rot of Azkaban hadn’t robbed her of her beauty and decayed her mind into the spiral of Black-madness. When she still held the wit and conviction that made her a formidable soldier for the dark arts and the furthering of his goals. Even now, she presumptuously reached out for the edge of his robes, her hands were rounded like claws and her nails covered in filth.
His magic lashed out with a cutting curse, slashing long gashes over her front and face in a way that made her shriek in pain. Warm blood hit his face, warming his skin pleasantly against his ice cold temper.
“That won’t be necessary Bella. Be gone.” He spoke, having his magic pull her out by her ankles and leaving a long trail of blood on the carpets.
“Nagini could have eaten that.” The snake spoke as she slithered up to the blood to sniff it.
“ It would have given you indigestion.” He said casually, relaxing into the seat as the wards settled like moats around his little haven. “ You spoke to the trickster.” he observed, closing his eyes and stretching his long legs out before him.
“ Master was trying to be sneaky. ” His familiar reprimanded him, already on her way to her favourite hot stone by the fire. “Nag ini knew Master was there.”
“I wasn’t hiding from you.” He sighed, and with his eyes still closed he levitated a rabbit from the ice-box over to her. They remained in comfortable silence while Nagini swallowed her rabbit whole, only the sound of the fire breaking it. “ What did you think of him?” He finally asked, his thoughts constantly returning to the daring eyes constantly defying him.
“ The trickster?” Nagini asked sleepily, half asleep. “ He’s tricky. Like Master.” Voldemort opened his eyes and looked to her, but she’d already fallen asleep. Frowning, Voldemort shook his head and straightened up in his chair. If he was here, he might as well go over the new pathetic attempt at negotiation.
---
Breakfast at the Dursley’s were both wildly unlike breakfast at the Weasley’s and in some ways just the same. The comparison would have had Aunt Petunia drop down in a heart attack and contemplate finally handing him off to that orphanage. But it was true. There was almost the same amount of food, the same amount of fussing about someone eating more and the same amount of noise (from the telly).
The smell of bacon and scones were heavy in the air as Harry scrubbed out a pot that could give 1st years potion-failures a run for their money in foulness. Vernon had left the house about ten minutes ago, leaving Dudley to shovel food in his mouth with the same ferociousness as Ron on a Hogwarts feast (another resemblance, he noted mirthlessly). Aunt Petunia sat by the table and was writing his list of chores for the day, and he didn’t need to look to know it was only getting longer and longer.
Lost in his thoughts, he startled when Aunt Petunia suddenly slammed the list onto the counter beside him. ‘So much for a spider-sense’, he thought dryly and dried his hands on the towel before picking the list up.
“The gift baskets need to be done by two o’clock, and Marge’s room during the afternoon.” His aunt snipped, looking repulsed to even be speaking to him. But it was hard to hear her over the pounding in his ears.
“Aunt Marge’s coming for a visit then?” He’d meant to say it as a statement, but unfortunately it came out as more of a question. His aunt gave him a sharp look, before hissing at him to not ask questions and storming out of the room to watch her morning show on the telly in the living room.
“She’s coming tomorrow.” Dudley grunted between bites of scones without looking up. Harry only gave a nod, exhaustion riddled through his very bones. The only silver lining being his actual meal the night before, even though he had a terrible headache this morning.
“The dude out there.” Dudley spoke suddenly, sounding oddly thoughtful and making Harry freeze with his hands back in the soapy water. “You can’t use your stick on him, like those thingy’s last year? Make ‘im go away.” Harry couldn’t help the small grin, but didn’t turn to look at his cousin.
“He’s not a dementor, so no. He has a stick of his own and is…” Harry searched for the words to explain while being within the nonsensical no-magic limits of this bloody household. “He’s like the big boss at the end of your video games. Those other people, with the masks? They’re the small bosses leading up to the big one.” He reached out to put the pot away, feeling his bruises stretch and ache with the motion.
“What’s the big boss got to do with you?” Dudley asked, honest confusion in his voice and Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Dudley’s blonde eyebrows knit together deep in thought. “Did you steal their drugs or something?” Harry laughed, imagining the image of having run away with Voldemort’s cocaine or something.
“Yeah, nothing like that.” He shook his head. “Marge’s coming for your birthday?” He asked, setting up some plates to dry on the rack. Behind him, Dudley groaned in a way too relatable display of distaste.
“Yea.” His cousin groaned, and Harry glanced over his shoulder again. The blonde was rubbing his face with his hands. “Unfortunately.” Harry grinned, draining the water from the sink.
“Chin up Big D.” He said, wiping his hands again to look over the list of chores and required cooking. “Least she won’t send the dog on you.” Dudley grumbled something, and Harry started getting out the ingredients for the muffins. They remained in a surprisingly companionable silence, making Harry almost forget Dudley was there until he spoke again.
“Mum wants to throw a party. Says 16’s an important one or something.” Harry glanced over his shoulder again, taking Dudley’s face in. It looked thoughtful, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep a snide comment in. Turning back, he added the ingredients to the bowl before him.
“You’re not into having a party?” Harry asked, unable to stop his grin. “Scared you won’t get enough presents?” Dudley tossed some cold scrambled egg on him, which slipped under the neckline of his shirt and down his back. Flailing stupidly to make the offending food slip out of his clothing, he glared at his cousin who laughed.
Turning back to his work Harry tried to ignore him, but Dudley tossed more cold eggs at him. Having expected it this time Harry danced out of the way. Some of the eggs, unfortunately, landed in his bowl and with a curse he dove in to fish them up before they got lost in the batter.
“You make this all look so easy.” Dudley said suddenly, making Harry give him an odd look.
“Years of practice.” Harry replied, the grin on his lips feeling a bit shaky. Had he and Dudley ever had a conversation this long? If they had, Harry couldn’t remember it. There was an expression in Dudley’s eyes, as if he was contemplating something other than boxing or smelting-sticks. “Your face might get stuck like that if you keep that up.” He warned, trying to break the mounting tension.
“Like what?” Dudley asked, but the expression smoothed out again.
“You know it’s not good for you, all that thinking. Get your face all shrivelled up.” Dudley snorted, still looking a bit amused before the air seemed to change over an instant back.
“I never said sorry. ‘Bout what I said about your, eh… special-friends death.” Harry turned properly then, his brow frowned in confusion as he took in the way Dudley stared at the table between them.
“What special friend?” He asked, his confusion growing as Dudley’s eyes glanced to the living room before reaching over for the kitchen tv-remote to turn it on. With the sound turned up, Dudley looked to him only briefly before this time fastening his eyes onto the telly.
“You know, your, eh, boyfriend.” Dudley finally spluttered out, voice barely audible over the sound of a boxing match. Harry felt frozen, like when they’d almost been kissed by the dementors and it was hard to breathe. For a moment he wondered where his mother’s pleading for his life was. “Cedric, right?” Dudley carried on, still staring onto the screen like it held the sacred to gathering the philosopher’s stone.
“Cedric wasn’t-” Harry started, having to swallow to get his tongue back under control. The sound of Cedric’s helpless body hitting the ground beside him. The horrific colding feeling of his chest as Harry clung on to his chest and having to be pried away. Amos Diggory’s screaming of woe. “I’m not gay.” Harry coughed out, making Dudley turn a confused face to him. Then it smoothened out, and Dudley leaned closer.
“I don’t care though, I know I said all that bullock about it but-”
“Dudley, I’m not!” Harry snapped, turning back to the counter and his stupid muffins. “I just- saw him die, okay? Just- he died, and there wasn’t anythin’ I could do about it.” He said, measuring out the flour aggressively. He should have done something. He should have pushed him aside, he should have taken the cup alone-
“What could you’ve done though?” Dudley said, and Harry practically felt his eyes drilling into the back of his neck. “You were just fourteen.” Harry snorted, then being caught off guard that he felt his eyes getting wet.
“Just fourteen.” Harry mumbled, being reminded of Mrs Weasley last summer. ‘Only fifteen’ she’d said, and yet-
“The man that murdered him wanted me. Cedric was just… in the way.” Harry said, taking a deep breath to gather himself and make his hands stop trembling. “He’d still be here if it wasn’t for me.” The silence stretched out for a moment, and Harry almost thought Dudley had resorted to dealing with this conversation like how his parents dealt with Harry’s existence- ignoring him, when there was the sound of the chair moving. Then Dudley came closer, and Harry stubbornly kept his eyes onto his hands.
“Doesn’t mean it was your fault though, was it?” Dudley said, getting up beside him. “Was it one of the small bosses out there?” Harry shook his head, then gently pushing the bowl into his cousin’s fumbling hands.
“Make yourself useful, won’t you- pour that into these forms, about halfway up.” Harry said, already trying to bury the feeling of drowning in work. The gift-baskets would need biscuits, shortbread and some soft cake- possibly sticky toffee pudding. Dudley, surprisingly, did as directed without complaints (even though he also made a bigger mess than Harry would have at nine). So Harry started getting the other ingredients going, slowly by slowly returning to his body and getting easier to breathe again.
“Into the oven then?” Dudley said, looking down onto his creations, then, as he carried the baking tray over. Harry helped him setting it in, and glanced at the clock on the wall to check the time. “I’m ‘sposed to meet up with the others.” The companionate air shifted a little, and the lightheartedness he’d felt for a moment sprung a leek in his chest. Nodding, he gave a nod.
“Stay away from the people outside Dud.” Harry said as Dudley started stepping away, making him stop in his steps but this time it was Harry with his eyes stuck on the counter before him. “Just- keep away from them.”
“The woman with the big hair and wild eyes tried to throw some lights at me in the beginning, but they kind of just… slipped off.” Dudley said, and for a horrible moment Harry didn’t see the green light taking the light from Cedric’s eyes, but Dudley’s. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d gripped the counter until Dudley’s hand gently eased his grip. Then, after squeezing his hand so quickly Harry almost thought he’d imagined it, Dudley left the kitchen.
---
It was late, and it was only Potter and Voldemort awake. Voldemort remained in his seat outside, with Nagini resting by his feet while the boy remained in his room. The boy had left the curtains gaping slightly. If it was negligence or stupidity, Voldemort didn’t know but he could see his very own biblical plague moving about the room as a shadow and occasionally glimpse him through the sheer fabric. It seemed he was changing after his work in the yard, pulling off the monstrous shirt he wore. Suddenly Potter twisted towards the door, taking a step backwards closer to the window.
Voldemort’s eyes instantly zoomed in on a large, blackish-blue blob stretching from the shoulder and downward like a giant macabre flower. Rage exploded through him, making several car windows crack along the street and he noticed Potter glancing back over his shoulder right before another shape moved into the room. The shape grabbed him from outside of his sight field, but seemed to grab Potter by the hair and yank him away from sight.
For the first time, Voldemort wished he had Potter’s uncanny ability to just know the other’s thoughts.
Staring up at the window, the boy didn’t return to his sight. The house opposite the street remained quiet and dark.
Notes:
So some quick notes:
I know Barty is supposed to be soulless somewhere according to cannon, but I wanted him here and here he is! Just like magic 😎
Know I love and appriciate all of you for being here, it means the world to me.
With that said, please feed my ego with some extra love. I've had a rough week.
Chapter 7: Dogs, wands & perfume
Notes:
Hello Darlin's!
Big boy chapter today, almost double the usual size but I'm very excited about it ❤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He, if possible, observed Potter closer after that.
The foul muggle left the house as normal the day after, driving off in his little vehicle and Voldemort let him live in his false sense of security. His reckoning would come, and Lord Voldemort could be patient. When he would strike, the muggle wouldn’t know what hit him.
The boy remained inside the house most of the morning, but eventually came out to move some things from the house into the garage. Voldemort said nothing for a long moment, simply stepping up to the wards and observing his nemesis. Potter moved perhaps slower than normal, at a more measured pace- yet his face portrayed nothing if his movement caused him any pain.
The fact the gremlin was positively ignoring him was irking him though, leaving an nasty feeling in his mouth.
“ They abuse you. ” Voldemort spoke plainly, taking delight in the glare the boy sent him. It was positively murderous. Potter set the chair down again, straightening up fully.
“ That wasn’t a question, if that was your intention. ” Potter hissed back, and again the huskiness and novelty sent a shiver down Voldemort’s spine.
“ Indeed. Your skills of observation have no bounds. ” He spoke softly, taking in his opposition. “ These muggles have treated you no better than a house elf, yet you still don’t see the danger of muggles. ” His words made Potter’s nose twitch, just a flicker of a movement. Then his eyes drifted, and there was plain surprise on the demons face as he stared above his shoulder at something.
“Is that Barty bloody Crouch?”Potter blurted out, dropping his crossed arms to come a bit closer to the wall. Turning to where the brat was staring, he caught sight of Barty who was speaking with Bellatrix and Lucius.
“No.” He replied lazily, returning his eyes back to his little enemy. “He’s dead, I believe.”
“Oh I’m sorry Junior - is the distinction that important to you?” That made him glare at the boy and hiss, something that only resulted in rolled eyes. He seemed to have forgotten whatever animosity he had left from the previous night. “Obviously Barty Bloody Crouch Junior , I was the one who found Senior dead.”
“Of course you were.” Voldemort didn’t hold back the eyeroll at the disaster in human form. “Barty!” He called, amused to notice how Potter drifted closer to the wards still. But the fact it was Barty’s doing, not his own, grew clearer as those green eyes didn’t leave Barty.
“What is it with your cult and patricide anyway? Anyone else I should add to the list?” Potter asked with what seemed as genuine curiosity just as Barty came up to his side. Potter finally being this much closer though, allowed Voldemort to see the bags under his eyes and the way he seemed to favour his left leg just slightly.
“You summoned me, my lord?” Barty took a shameless look at Potter, and a predatory grin that spread over his followers face as he looked down on his nemesis.
“Yes, Potter wishes to gawk at you.” He spoke, a warning in his voice.
“How delightful! Well stare your fill Boy.” Barty held out his hands to his sides, opening up his body for the assessment and Voldemort noticed how those murdering green eyes turned colder. They didn’t, however, budge an inch to take the rest of Barty in. Instead they remained on his face with harshness.
“I’d rather you piss off, you piece of shit.” Potter gave a forced grin that startled a laugh from Barty.
“You don’t still have your panties in a twist about the whole tournament thing? It wasn’t personal, you understand.” Barty grinned, looking more alive than he had in years. Potter looked like a riled up street cat, ready to begin hissing and spitting at any moment. Then he settled, a small smirk settling on his face as his eyes devoured Barty. It made the frustration in him grow.
“I get it.” Potter spoke in a lazy drawl while sinking into the seat by the garden-wall-table beside them. He seemed suspiciously unbothered and the brat even raised his hand to inspect his nails in a nice imitation of Lucius Malfoy as he crossed his leg over his knee. “Say Vee, did you know it was Barty here who taught me to resist the imperius? Practically robbed you of your chance to have me gravel at your feet and just die properly in that graveyard.”
The words took a moment to register in his confused brain, before the familiar and comfortable anger flared up. Barty was already backing away, holding up his hands in a defenceless manner.
“I was breaking them in for you my lord, I didn’t know he’d be able to- that you’d wish to-” The crucio hit him before he took another step, and the thrill of the curse bloomed out through Voldemort’s limbs as he stood and stared down on his servant. He amped up the power in the spell significantly for the last minute, leaving Barty a trembling mess on the pavement.
“Useless.” He hissed in disgust, brought out from his rage by the amused snort behind him. He turned just in time to see the boy catch a grape with his mouth he’d tossed in the air before. A house elf must have set the table while his back was turned, and he noticed with satisfaction Potter had grabbed a bowl of the fruit with seemingly no hesitation.
“For being a wunderkind, you certainly employ a lot of idiots.” Potter hissed out agreeably between bites of his grape. The high emotions their previous guests seemingly evaporated. Has Potter always been this… feral? This fierce little creature came up against him, fighting tooth and nail for every scrap.
“You’re disgusting.” Voldemort sneered back at him, oddly amused by the world's golden boy who beneath all his shine was nothing more than a gremlin. But something in him settled, now that all attention was back where it should be.
“ If only my parents had raised me better” Porter spoke with a contemplating voice, before giving him a pointed glare. “Oh wait. They didn’t, because you murdered them. Big load of fucking good it did you, in the end.”
“When I lock you into my dungeon, I’ll rip your eyes from your face and wear them as a necklace. That way, you’ll see how the world crumbles while you rot away like a forgotten memory.” The plague of his existence rolled his eyes before hollowing his cheeks and shooting grape seeds at him with terrible accuracy. Voldemort stopped them with a vibrating shield that incinerated them on impact and the small fiers made Potter laugh.
“Wait, was that your way of saying you like my eyes?” The demon exclaimed loudly and delightedly in English before he proceeded to bat his eyes exaggeratedly at him. Voldemort imagened flaying him out in a ritual room, putting his veins on the outside of his skin. He’d strappado the beast for his grand balls and suspend him from the chandelier as his followers celebrated below him. His fantasies were rudely interrupted by a splash of water hitting his face and making him stumble back a step. Potter's violent laugh was interrupted by the muggle woman he allegedly was related to calling him back inside the house.
That afternoon the muggle man brought a woman with him. She was squat, had a foul dog with her and descended onto the house as if she owned it. Potter was out briefly, lifting in her bags into the house. Then, he disappeared into the house again. A moment later, his window upstairs cracked open and a paper plane was tossed in his general direction.
Bringing it to him with a wave of his magic, Voldemort unfolded it and glanced at the awful penmanship.
Heart squeezing still on the table?
Looking up, he caught Potter's eye through the window and the brat shrugged. Then the boy grinned, pretended to wrap an invisible rope around his throat and hang himself. Voldemort snorted and rolled his eyes. Summoning a pot of ink, he wrote his reply on the parchment and sent it back in the shape of a bird.
Potter ripped it open, without any time to appreciate the folding, like the little brute he was. Then he grinned, flipped Voldemort the finger and disappeared back into the room. Rolling his eyes, he turned back to the tent and stepped inside.
---
The muggles had left the house about half an hour before Potter came out, bringing his schoolbook and notepad. Voldemort raised an eyebrow, remaining in his seat by the table.
“Any good at potions?” The brat called, holding up the textbook for show.
“Did you, or did you not, claim to have brewed polyjuice successfully?” He asked, adding a note to the parchment before him. Potter rolled his eyes with his entire body.
“I told you, it was a team effort and the brain is still in Bulgaria. So you’re my fall back choice.”
“You would yield more success with charm than insults, you know.” Voldemort spoke, standing up slowly and lazily walking towards the boy. “Shall we try again?”
“Oh Lord Voldemort, most terrifying of boogie-mans, the one who made up his name and loser of his nose- would you please guide my poor addled brain to understand this potion-theory?”
Voldemort had killed men for less. Had sent better men to the ground screaming until they kissed his robes and begged for their lives. Had had the proudest of purebloods offering up their first borns to get back into his good graces. Yet this boy…
So Voldemort sighed, sunk into his seat at their table and had an house elf barring him some fire whiskey while the brat put his things onto the table with a wide grin.
It didn’t last long.
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Potter exclaimed, tossing the ball point pen on the book before him. “Potion’s is tossing random shit in a pot and hoping for the best, and you can’t convince me otherwise!” The green eyes turned to him, fierce and glowing and something in Voldemort thrilled at having those eyes focus on him.
“Have you, or have you not been taught by one of the best potion masters in modern history?” he asked instead, giving the boy a look back. “Say the word, and I’ll have him here.”
“Oh please!” Potter threw his hands in the air so violently he almost toppled himself over onto the grass. “Snape’s an awful teacher! Why do you think I’m pants at it?” They observed each other, and behind him someone clears their throat. Both of them turned, glaring at Dawson who bowed deeply.
“Pardon my Lord, but the ministry has arrived. To negotiate.”
“I’m occupied.” He snapped, feeling his temper flare. “Have them wait or return later.”
“Erm-” Dawson glanced between Potter and him, before dropping his eyes to the ground again. “My lord, the minister-”
“Did he mother fuckin’ stutter Dawson?” Potter snapped, jutting out his jaw in that delightfully stubborn and defiant way. “Give Fudge our love, but tell him to fuck off until he’s called.” Voldemort felt a grin tug at his lips, and he turned to admire the teenager sitting cross legged on the other side of the small garden gate in too big clothing. Under those beggar's rags there was a god hiding, full off too harsh angles and rage burning to break free.
Dawson stuttered, then after a glance at him bowed deeper and left back to the tent.
“Ey Dawson!” Potter leaned to his side, staring after Dawson who stopped but didn’t turn around. The cruciatus hit him square in the back for his attitude, and Voldemort rolled his eyes as the death eater screamed shrilly. A grape hit him in the back of his head, and he turned to glare at the grinning demon. “Rude.” Potter said, squirting him with a water bottle as if he was a common misbehaving cat. Hissing, he dropped the spell to glare at Potter.
“My- Mr Potter?” Dawson was on his knees now, bent over and the second cruciatus only hit him long enough to fall on his face before Voldemort let it off this time.
“Sir.” He commanded casually, enjoying the unrestrained look of panic and horror on his followers face.
“Sir?” Dawson stuttered out, blood flooding down his nose and slurring his speech.
“Is Umbridge with him?”
Umbridge?
Voldemort returned his eyes to his little nemesis, clocking the storm in those eyes and the slight flush to his cheekbones. The expression spoke of strong emotions and Voldemort hated it. What had she done to inspire such vivid feelings? Had she given him favours as the high inquisitor? Had she given him favours -favours? For a horrible moment, he had the image of the pink horror of a woman withering and rotting on top of the skinny and fiery gremlin.
“I- who? Sir.”
“Undersecretary. Pink, you can’t miss her.” Potter spoke, and Dawson shook his head, playing stupid. “Okay. Fuck off then.” Dawson did, and Voldemort leaned back to observe the boy as he stared back at him in clear defiance. His arms were crossed over his skinny chest, making that horrible blanket of a shirt dip low in the front and showing off some tanned skin and greenish bruises.
“The qualities of stirring directions, and their counter stirs are…?” Voldemort asked, drawing out a tortured groan from the gremlin who picked up his pen again.
---
The little dog that had arrived at number four was driving Voldemort insane. It hadn’t started out too bad, but the thing barked every time it heard or saw anyone, which was problematic from the siege’s perspective. Wormtail had managed to kick the thing once, but that happy accident had yet to present itself again.
Voldemort was taking tea, looking over the curriculum Lucius had brought from the board of governors of Hogwarts when he heard a door, the annoying barking and then a familiar yelp. Stepping out into the open part of the tent, he noticed Potter balancing on the garden wall while the hellhound was snapping at his heels.
Excitement flushed through his blood as he tried to summon the brat to him, but the spell only bounced off the wards with a bell-like sound, making him growl. Potter looked up to him, while the beast had a bite on his muggle trainer and was jerking the foot around.
“Sup?” Potter asked, somehow remaining balanced with his foot still being jerked about in the beast's jaw.
“What is that monstrosity?” Voldemort asked, stepping closer and peering at the dog with disdain. Perhaps it actually was a hell hound of some kind, and could be utilised in the war effort. With the proper training.
“What, this thing?” Potter jerked his foot, making the dog swing in the air. The motion almost made Potter lose his balance again, but he caught it. Perhaps there was no hope for training the thing after all. “You’ve obviously not had care of magical creatures with Hagrid if you think this is monstrous.”
“So you’ve returned to continue the discussion about your horrible education?” Potter snarled a laugh, then managed to get the dog off by slipping his foot from the shoe.
“Hah- no.” Potter gave him a look and crossed his arms, delightfully defiant as he looked down on him. It was oddly amusing, looking up at the demon boy rather than down. His face was made up of hard angles and eyes sharp enough to cut oneself on. Unyielding and killing curse green. “My cousin’s birthday is this weekend.”
Voldemort only raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Potter rolled his eyes, then swept them over the street behind him. Then those green eyes turned back to him, as if they saw straight through him.
“I fail to see how that has any relevance whatsoever.”
“You’re obviously shit-faced-bored.” Potter sighed, rolling his eyes and Voldemort gave him a look.
“Language.”
“Cock-sucking arse wipe.” The brazen words rolled off the demon's tongue like water of a goose.
“I fail to see how a muggle celebrating his pathetic existence is of relevance to my entertainment. Unless you will let me rip him apart?” His grin widened, and Potter rolled his eyes again.
“Is anything amusing to you, that isn’t blood and murder?”
“The dark arts.” Voldemort inspected his nails. “I’m sure a demon-child like yourself has heard of them.”
“I- fuck off Ripper!” Potter snarled to the beast, who had just lunged for his unprotected heel after having torn the shoe to shreds. The dog only snarled madly, and it was only Potter jumping that let him escape the bite.
“Adequate name.”
“Do you mind?” Potter snarled, gesturing wildly to the dog.
“It’s inside the wards.” Voldemort shrugged, amused. “Looks like a you-problem.”
“Oh fuck off.” Potter somehow got his remaining shoe off and swatted the dog at the snout, making it yelp and dash about a metre away to growl. Potter let out a sigh and dragged his hand through his hair, making it standing on end. “What about another trade?”
“The prophecy?” Voldemort lit up, turning excited eyes to Potter’s, who only set his hand on his hip and glared down at him.
“No. You want anythin’ else?”
“We already have an active trade. Three questions and two secrets. Unless you’re offering your head on a platter?” The look Potter gave him was vaguely amusing.
“Wow, ambition right here.” Potter rolled his eyes. “How about this, you have your lot under notice-me-nots this weekend during the party, and I get to come into the yard and help you annoy your henchmen?”
“So you’re offering nothing new to me.” Voldemort clarified, crossing his arms too, a mirror to Potter.
“Well, while Marge’s here I’m supposed to stay in my room and pretend I don’t exist.” Potter grinned, and it reminded Voldemort a bit of a goblin- a little too wide and with a little too much teeth.
“You could just kill them.” He offered helpfully, only to have Potter's trainer swatting him in the forehead. He stumbled back, hissing and spitting in indignation. “You-”
“Murder. Is. Bad!” Potter declared with a glare, pointing the infernal shoe at him for emphasis. “How many times must I say it?”
Voldemort cast a killing curse at the boy, who sidestepped it as if he’d seen it coming. Furious, Voldemort made water shoot from his wand and spray Potter so violently he fell backwards back into the garden while spluttering. “Go back inside and pretend you don’t exist, why don’t you?” He snarled, viciously grinning as the dog took a bite at the demons shoulder.
Like the winner of a fierce battle, Voldemort strode back across the street to his tent.
---
Harry probably should reflect on his annoyance that Voldemort had retreated and left him alone in the garden, but he preferred to ignore it in favour of bending his head down and getting the grass cut. Pushing the lawn mower was hell with his bitten shoulder, yet Harry only grit his teeth together and pushed on. His only solace was Marge thinking he’d run Ripper over with it intentionally, so the bloody monster was locked inside.
“Manual labour looks like it’s doing you good, Potter.” A voice Harry would die happy if he never heard again spoke sweetly, making him freeze in his step. Turning, he came face to face with Umbridge who smiled at him as if she was one of her bloody cats and he was a trapped mouse. “Perhaps your relatives and I should have joined forces in curbing your behaviour.”
Harry gritted his teeth again and turned the lawn mower off.
“The centaurs didn’t finish you off then?” Harry said, glancing back to the tent behind her before returning his eyes to her. “Pity.”
“We will not be missing your attitude at school. But I may still decide to keep an extra eye on your friends- especially those two rouges you keep company with.” Harry stepped up to the wards, feeling his agitated magic rise up in his blood.
“If you even think about doing anything to them, I’ll make you regret it.” Umbridge’s grin widened, and she looked him over like teachers had done back in primary school.
“Your threats are meaningless, since we both know you’ll be staying. Right. Here.” She spoke, stepping closer to the wards too. “Between you and me- I do hope I’ll be here when he get his hands on you. It would be a pleasure to watch you twist and turn in pain again.”
“Boy!” Harry flinched away, taking a step back from Umbridge while twisting his head back to the house. Aunt Marge stood in the steps of the house, her glass of gin in her hand and her beady eyes onto them. “Get inside and clean up the living room. Ripper had a little accident since you’re taking so long.”
Letting his eyes sweep before them, he eventually stepped back from the wards while giving Umbridge a foul look.
“Stay away from them.” Harry whispered in warning, then he turned on his heel and stepped up into the house again. To his dismay Marge didn’t follow him, but stepped out and closed the food firmly around him. He hurried over to peak out the windows, but stepped into Ripper’s ‘little accident’ and slid until he barely caught his footing again. But the flailing had upset his busted shoulder and made it burn like hell. Groaning, he noticed the two awful women talking outside, before he sighed and went on to clean the floor.
He was just getting done as Aunt Petunia came home from wherever she’d gone and the look of disgust was plain. She sent him to start on dinner, and when Marge came in again she got Aunt Petunia drawn into a discussion about going out for dinner sometime that week.
---
As the next few days progressed, Voldemort didn’t see Potter again. Voldemort suspected it was only a matter of time though, because the roses were starting to droop a little and the grass had dared to grow an inch or so. Beside him Lucius was rattling off the latest changes to the possible treaty but Voldemort barely listened. His eyes roamed the house that hid his little enemy from sight, before returning them to the report before him.
“There is more and more resistance, my lord. The minister is very open to a lot of the proposals we’ve given, yet he keeps taking any draft we make back to Dumbledore who rips them apart.” Lucius flipped through some papers, before handing over another note. “Here, for instance, is his edited version of our bill with over 70% redacted or changed fundamentally.”
Voldemort sneered at the reform, filled with red inc and notes lining the margins, before tossing it onto the table before him. They sat in the shade outside the tent, the humid heat making the air stuffy even in the magical tent filled to the brim with cooling-charms.
“Fudge might have served his purpose.” He spoke slowly, tracing one of the large x-s over a paragraph in the document. “Should an accident bestow him at the moment though, the choice for an acting minister might be irksome.”
“The most likely candidates are Amelia Bones, Rufus Scrimgeour or Dumbledore, my lord” Rookwood spoke up from further down the table, cleverly keeping his eyes downcast.
“The old fool won’t leave his real seat of power.” Voldemort spoke slowly, his eyes drifting over the bricks of the house again. There was the faint shadow of a silhouette behind the upper bedroom curtain, but it was gone as fast as it had come. It might be nothing, yet he felt Potter’s presence there as if he stood only a step away from him. Bones would be problematic, yet Scrimgeour might have some value. His distrust of Dumbledore is as infamous as it is deep. “In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity.”
Dawlish, one of his few aurors shifted before speaking up. “I’ve been partnered with the mudblood-spawn Tonks for the coming two years. I can all but confirm she’s a member of the order.”
“The metamorphmagus?” Someone asked further down the table, probably Avery. Dawlish nodded his ascent.
“I overheard her talking to the oldest Weasley the other day. They’re turning over every stone and pillow for something.”
“Potter maintains he’s not in possession of the prophecy, currently.” Severus spoke up, drawing Voldemort’s attention. The sour man sounded as dry as usual, his nose slightly sneered at the way Pettigrew was biting his thumbnail. “He’s indicated it might be hidden somewhere in the school, but several locations have been searched for it.”
Wasn’t that interesting.
“There has been no sighting of his owl coming or going with letters.” Barty pointed out and Voldemort threw a quick crucio at him. The sense of euphoric release at the spell made his spine tingle pleasantly.
“They’re using muggle means of communication.” He said over the screaming, before breaking it. Barty was still twitching awkwardly as he retook his seat as quietly as possible. Severus nodded before speaking;
“Primarily the phone, but I know there have been a few letters arriving from his friends. No outgoing post.”
The wards have given no indication of magical objects either going in or out from the limits. Voldemort had modified them himself, and it wasn’t something that could be undone by a sixteen year old alone. Then again…
“Has the girls bathroom on the second floor of Hogwarts been searched?” He asked, thinking back to his conversation with Potter. The tension around the table turned tangible as everyone tried to find out his meaning and how to gain his favour with it. Tedious. Still no shadow in Potter’s window, but there was one of the larger men moving around downstairs.
“There has been nothing indicating that that bathroom would be of particular importance to the boy.” Severus replied diplomatically, and Voldemort almost grinned like a crocodile as he observed his favourite human snake.
“Him and his friends used one of the stalls for brewing polyjuice potion in their second year. Successfully, I might add” The tension in the room grew suddenly harsh. Literal children, outsmarting some of the oldest and most influential wixen of their time. His little enemy was certainly proving an interesting fountain of challenges.
“Pardon, my lord?” Severus eventually broke the silence.
“They brewed polyjuice potion in the bathroom to infiltrate the slytherin common room.” He repeated, indulging in the despair and horror he obviously inflicted on the younger man. There was a prolonged silence and Voldemort took delight in the way Severus clenched his jaw.
“I’ll indicate there might be a need to search that room, my Lord.” Severus finally conceded. “The headmaster hopes against hope that Potter has hidden it in the school”
“If he did, he probably left it in the chamber of secrets.” Voldemort spoke lazily, eyes again drifting over the house. It’s what he would have done.
The shadow hadn't returned.
---
Growing up, Harry hadn’t ever really gotten sick. Dudley had, on more times than Harry had both fingers and toes combined to count them. When he was little, he’d watched with envy through the grates in the cupboard door how Aunt Petunia fussed over an oddly subdued Dudley who’d spend the day on the couch with his semi-glassy eyes glued to the telly.
He’d pretended too, once. When he was maybe five and thought that if he got sick Aunt Petunia might treat him a little better. She hadn’t, and it only earned him two weeks in the cupboard for his lying.
Perhaps Umbridge had been on to something, after all.
Today, though, he woke up in cold sweat from a few hours of sleep and just knew his infamous Potter-luck had struck again. Sitting up, he felt like he might throw up before the feeling subsided again. Trying to get up, his bitten shoulder pulsated pain outwards from the bite, painful enough to make Harry hiss. Pulling the neckline out, he glanced down at the red and puffy skin that looked like it was growing sickly yellow in some places.
“Fucking hell.” He muttered to himself, glancing over to the broken alarm clock. He’d soon be called down for breakfast. Finding the closest and cleanest shirt, Harry made a makeshift bandage and had just pulled on a shirt on top when Aunt Petunia’s familiar rapping on the door came. Holding back a sigh, Harry got up and followed her downstairs.
---
“Hey Mate,” Ron’s voice came through the phone, and Harry relaxed back against the door in his room. Dudley had just stuffed it though the cat-flap with a cold can of soup, and the thought of getting up and moving seemed like a Herculean task at the moment.
“Hey,” He replied back, closing his eyes. He could almost imagine that they were beside the fire in Gryffindor common room, Harry leaning back against the sofa while Ron sat behind him. “How’s the outside?” He asked, trying to go for casual iniquity but just sounded dull to his own ears. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t notice the extended silence.
“Percy still has his head up his arse, even though he’s been proven wrong. Mum’s still upset about it, but Dad says he’ll come around. The twins are up to something, so I think they’ll make him regret it though.” Harry hmm’ed, trying to imagine the chaos of the Burrow. “How’s the muggles?”
“The same. And the rest of the outside?” There was a long silence, and Harry assumed it was Ron arguing with whoever listened in about what he could and could not divulge.
“Ministry is trying to negotiate with You-Know-Who. They’re trying to keep Dumbledore out of it, but we’ve gotten a copy of the last draft so we’re not completely blind.” Harry grinned.
“Always the strategist.” He complimented and pretended he saw Ron flush but still sat up straighter in his seat. “Have they found the prophecy yet?” He asked, grin growing as Ron groaned.
“You know they haven’t-” Ron said, and there was a sudden explosion in the background and some running steps. Then Ron’s voice returned in a hurried, hushed tone. “I’ve probably only got a minute- Mate, you have to help us help you.” Ron sounded tired.
“If you want to help me, have Hermione send a bottle of essence of dittany.” Harry spoke back, also in a hurried whisper now.
“Why’d you need- if you post the bloody thing to us, we can take you away from there. You’re being stubborn.” Ron hissed back, frustration making his voice tremble a little.
“He’s not raiding muggles though, or burning villages, is he?” Harry snipped back. “He’s here, looking at the shiny distraction.”
“So you’ll toss your life away for nothing?”
Harry saw Cedric’s eyes staring up at him, unseeing. He saw Barty Crouch Sr on the forest floor, equally empty and broken. He remembered the body of Myrtle being carried out in that memory, his mother’s heart wrenching pleading and how Alice Longbottom had pressed a candy-wrapper into her son’s hand.
He remembered Hermione, petrified in a hospital bed for weeks and almost getting her soul sucked out. Ron’s pale face as they almost had their memories wiped and Ginny’s lifeless body in the muck of the chambers floor. Mr Weasley, pale and frail in that hospital bed.
“It wouldn’t be for nothing.” Harry mumbled, throat thick and his damned shoulder pulsating with pain with his breathing. “When it happens- get out, all right? I’ve added you and ‘Mione to my will. Start fresh somewhere safe that’s far from here.” His voice broke a little at the end, and he hung up while Ron spluttered on the other side. Afterward he opened the line and held it like that for the next half an hour before Aunt Petunia came for the phone. When she did, she sent a glare at the window even though the curtains were drawn tight.
“Dudley’s birthday celebration is this weekend.” She said eventually, looking like she’d just been served a fresh plate of dogshit. Harry, having spent most of the week prepping for said celebration, only raised his eyebrow. “We’ll be having it in the yard. You’ll get those freaks out there to hide or act normal or something for the party.”
“We’re being held hostage, I can’t exactly make demands of them.” Harry spoke, obviously making her more upset by the expression on her face.
“You’ll get rid of them, or spend the rest of this ordeal locked in here with only weekly visits to the bathroom.” His aunt looked him up and down, before something smoothed out around her eyes and she smiled. “Or perhaps we’ll put you back in the cupboard. None of this would have happened had you just stayed there where you belonged.” And with that she left, unbothered by Harry’s racing heart and sweaty palms.
---
Draco had, for some reason, been terrified of having the muggle youths over at ‘their’ house for the first time. Would his room look odd compared to theirs? Was he missing something obvious?
His mother had worried their house wouldn’t look ‘lived in’ enough, and had gone through the house like a whirlwind with the house elf she’d brought there in secret (but commanded his father to know nothing about). So far, the ruse was complete and was driving his father mad.
But now, as he opened the door and let the group of boys into the house they filed in with only a few curious glances about the room before they filed into the livingroom and without another glance at the goblin chandelier or the antiques in the cabinets. They only fell into the sofa and pulled the gaming consoles to themselves in the familiar routine while arguing loudly about what to play. The only thing out of the ordinary was Big D lingering a moment too long in the hallway as he headed to the kitchen to get them soda from the fridge.
It was only later, after Big D had been gone suspiciously long from the living room that Draco went to find him. He found him in the upstairs bathroom, the door ajar with the larger boy rifling through the cabinet behind the mirror above the sink like a man possessed.
“What are you doing?” Draco asked, making Dudley jump before twisting about to face him, rapidly turning red and dropping a perfume bottle that broke on the tiled floor.
“Shit, you scared me!” Dudley exclaimed, using his now empty hand to clutch his chest.
“Okay,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose at the suddenly strong and heavy floral smell. Probably something left behind by the previous muggle owners. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing up here though?” He said, watching the larger boy bend to pick up the glass from the bottle.
“I was looking for some paracetamol or something.” Dudley said, keeping his eyes firmly onto his hands. Draco bent down too, joining him in the manual task.
“Don’t know if we have any.” Draco said, not sure what paracetamol even was. “Can’t you get some at home?”
“Mum keeps pretty good tabs on them, so I can’t sneak any.” Dudley said, turning to pull the trash bin closer to them and dump the glass down there. Draco observed the other boy, noticing the swift way he avoided his eyes.
“Why’d you need to sneak them at all?” He asked, trying to hide how little he knew what this paracetamol-thing was. Dudley froze, but only for a moment before he resumed the picking up. Draco was struck by the realization he might have to ask if his mother knew anything about legilimency. Perhaps even teach him, least they make the dark lord enraged with his slow progress.
He’d woken up several times soaked in sweat last night, seeing Potter being held under the cruciatus curse.
“Mums into not using pain killers- something about your liver and poisoning fishes.” Dudley mumbled, and Draco almost laughed. But held it back- perhaps he’d do well to try and write Tracey. Perhaps she’d borrow him some books on muggles that might help him figure this kind of stuff out. But what livers and fish had to do with pain relief, he had no idea.
“Yeah, that’s horrible.” Draco said instead, watching Dudley take some paper to wipe up the spilled perfume.
“Sorry ‘bout your Mums perfume.” Dudley said, looking up at him with a more genuine expression this time. “Hope it wasn’t her favourite.” Draco couldn’t hold back the snort at the words, giving the other blonde a look.
“That cheap thing? She hated it. Was a gift from some old relative.” He brushed it off, leaning back onto the doorframe and getting comfortable on the floor the same Dudley had. His words made Dudley break into an unexpected half grin that suddenly reminded Draco of Potter at the gryffindor table at dinner, grinning to one of his friends at something. It caught him so off guard he almost didn’t catch Dudley’s words.
“-aunt’s come to visit. Used to love it- she’d give me all these things and I’d used to find ‘er funny but this time I just… wish she’d go home to be honest.”
“Yeah?” Draco asked, taking in the strange haunted look returning to those blue eyes. “She’s related to your…?”
“Dad.” Dudley said, getting a little more anchored in the present again it seemed like. “Kinda makes me want to hide from home.”
“Do they argue?” Draco asked, getting up from the hard floor. “Let’s step out, I desperately need a smoke.” He brushed off his jeans, offering his hand to help Big D up and together they snuck out through the kitchen door to the garden. Draco fished a crinkled pack of cigarettes he’d stolen from Piers and lit a cigarette. “Do they? Argue?” He reminded the other while offering a cigarette to the other boy. As Big D took a drag of his own, he noticed some of the tension leaving his shoulders.
“Nah, not Marge and Dad.” Dudley said, slowly letting out a steady stream of smoke. “Mum’s pretty miffed though.” Then the other fell silent again, and some of that distance returned in his eyes. Draco steadied himself, then took the plunge while giving his most uninterested impression.
“What about that cousin of yours?” This earned him a strange, assessing look from the other boy. “What?” He played it off, taking a long breath from his cigarette. Big D was still looking at him as he tried to see through him into his thoughts.
“Nothin’.” Dudley said, taking another deep breath of his smoke as he thought his answer through. “She loves to rack down on him, trying to rile him into losing his temper.” Instantly Draco had the image of Potter glaring up at Umbridge in the corridors, and the rumors of what they’d said to one another spread through the castle like wildfire. And Draco knew quite a lot about ending up on the wrong side of Potter’s temper.
“Yeah?” He repeated, rubbing his jaw with the hand holding the cigarette mindlessly. It had been healed up fine, no trace of the incident in the quidditch-field yet he could swear he still felt the bones ache sometimes. “Like screaming at one another, do they?”
To his surprise, Dudley huffed an amused snort and shook his head.
“She’s a right bitch.” Dudley said, taking another lazy breath of his cigarette. “Says real horrible things ‘bout his parents too.” oooh, Draco knew just the look it would light up in Potter’s eyes.
“Where are they?” He asked, letting his eyes drift to the street. Those same young girls were walking down the street again, raising their hands first in a wave this time. Draco nodded back.
“Dead.” Dudley said, tossing the butt of the cigarette onto the ground and stepping on it. “Car accident.” Draco almost flinched, looking back at him.
“What?”
“Yeah, driving drunk.” Dudley nodded, sounding resigned. “Harry was with them when it happened. Mum says it’s why he’s… like he is.” There was something odd in his tone, yet Draco codon’t place it. Instead he looked back out over the street, lost in sudden thoughts. Was that a cover story? It didn’t seem to go together with the way Potter’s childhood had been portrayed in the wizarding world. It sounded like Potter being mad was about the only think the ministry had gotten right, and even then Potter hadn’t lied.
He’d seen Potter keep his head down the entire year, putting his own skin on the line to let others make their escape.
---
Potter had yet to step foot outside the house, so when the door only revealed the frightened looking cousin Voldemort returned his eyes to the letters he was replying to both to foreign allies and fractions within England. The grand room in the tent was otherwise blessedly empty. So when Dawlish cleared his throat, Voldemort’s only reply was a raised eyebrow.
“Yes?” He inquired, as his follower twisted like a worm on a hook. Spineless, the bloody lot of them.
“The cousin is asking for an audience, my lord. Says he’s got something for you.” Dawlish spoke to the floor. Voldemort observed the back of his head for a moment.
“Nothing magical has passed through the wards.” He stated, reaching his magic out to make sure he’d not missed anything. Dawlish only nodded. Holding back a sigh, Voldemort told him to fetch the brat. Barely a minute later, the child stepped into the room while clutching a basket in his hands closer to his chest. There was still no sign of danger, magic or even the inclination the cousin would be capable of anything.
“Er, Mr. Dark lord sir? Evil overlord or wizards and mages and everything cool?” The boy hurriedly spoke, as if a well practiced line as his eyes swept the tent. They were equally amazed and horrified, and they didn’t settle on him once. Voldemort’s eyes narrowed.
“Indeed.” He agreed, wondering what Potter had thought up this time.There was no chance he wasn’t behind this.
“Eh, Harry told me to bring this to you.” The boy stumbled forth, setting the basket on the table before him before stumbling back. Raising an eyebrow, Voldemort waved a hand and the towel covering the basket flipped aside and slapped the muggle in the face. The cousin yelped and stumbled while wiping it from his face.
Inside the basket lay a loaf of bread, but it looked odd. Leaning closer, it appeared the loaf was shaped to resemble a head. There were two small pieces attached to the sides in imitation of ears and the slits in the bread to let out steam were made to resemble a face. Somehow, a lightning bolt scar had been painted on together with what Voldemort only could assume was supposed to be ‘blood’.
In the basket there even was a small jar of jam, where the label had been scratched over and replaced with ‘Blood of enemies’ scratched on top in the familiar chicken scratches. Voldmeort couldn't help it, he laughed, much to the muggles dismay.
Only Potter would be able to so brazenly give into his request, yet not at all as he’d expected. Of course.
“Very well.” He conceded, leaning back in his seat again. “We’ll hide ourselves for your feast, muggle.” He set his red eyes on the muggle who flinched. “But Potter will be allowed into the front yard until I say otherwise.” Voldemort said while he lifted the ‘head’ onto the table and started slicing the still warm head-bread up. The muggle was staring at the head, looking oddly frightened.
Muggles. Being scared of bread.
“Be gone now.” He dismissed the child, making him snap out of his stupor and hurry backwards out from the tent. While Voldemort cut up the ‘head’ with magic the door of number four slammed shut. He put an ear into his mouth and closed his eyes.
---
The next day, Potter came out into the garden again. They did the usual tug of war, tossing insults before Potter asked him about magical theory and he eventually did fold. They had quite the enjoyable afternoon, until that horrid woman came back out.
“Boy!” The aunt called, making Potter sigh and starting to gather his books. Frowning, Vodlemort looked towards the house.
“Woman!” He called, making his nemesis frown and look at him. When he started to open his mouth, Voldemort just held up his hand to quiet him. Shockingly, the demon-child remained silent, but he did cross his arms. The ugly, thin woman appeared in the window, glaring at him as if he brought mud into her clean floors.
That Potter would slaved over, no doubt.
“My people will fetch you dinner. Your decision, my treat.” He spoke with command, daring her to disagree. They stared each other down, until she gave a curt nod and disappeared into the house again.
Perhaps she was related to the demon after all; she seemed to be equally stubborn.
“ What are you doing? ” Potter hissed at him, an odd look in those killing curse green eyes. This time, they didn’t wander to something else but his face.
“ We’re tormenting my henchmen. ” He replied, brushing lint from his crossed knee. “And working on righting your abhorrent education.”
“My education might not be abhorrent if someone hadn’t tried to kill me every year, suspiciously around exam-times.” Potter’s glare was thrilling, and he grinned.
“Your mu- friend-” he glared at the spray-bottle Potter had reached for. “Seems to manage fine.”
“My friend is super human, ask anyone.” Potter conceded, as the woman appeared again and stepped out, a note clutched in her hand like it might bite her if she let up.
“I’ve ordered from Les chez, on the other side of town.” She held out the note towards him with disdain, and Voldemort wanted to hiss at her. Instead he smiled, and snapped his fingers.
“Lucius!” The blonde appeared, and proceeded to look the woman up and down with enough disdain to fill the whole sorry neighbourhood. “Fetch this disgusting excuse of a person and her family the food.” Lucius snapped the note to himself and apparated away while the woman spluttered at the insult.
Potter, though, seemed to have tensed up and was observing the shew under his lids. When Lucius returned, she snapped the paper bags to her and stormed into the house again. Voldemort bit back a comment about muggles by the skin of his teeth.
“Good.” He returned his eyes to Potter, who had turned his back back to the house and were watching them with an odd expression. “Now, go find the most expensive restaurant in muggle London and get us dinner. You may take your spawn with you to guide you on what Harry might find appealing.” He waved his hand in dismissal, but did enjoy the wide eyes Potter gave him. Lucius bowed, before walking in quick steps to the tent.
“What’s the ruse?”
“Ruse?” He asked pleasantly, his grin growing at Potter obviously calling his bluff.
“You might have pulled the whole ‘innocent’-schtick when you were young and pretty. Alas, you look like a snake that’s been in a car-crash and ended up Frankenstein-ed back together.”
“Frankenstein-ed isn’t a word.” He replied instead, looking away from his little nemesis to have silverware and a tablecloth float over from the tent.
“Ha ha.” Potter replied dryly, giving him a look while Voldemort opened the bottle of wine. Holding up the bottle in question, Potter grabbed his glass to get some, yet stopped to inspect the glass. “This is crystal.”
“Indeed.” He spoke, tipping the neck of the bottle through the wards enough to pour some red wine into the glass. “Would you have preferred them diamond?” He asked, amused by the exasperated look taking over Potter’s whole face.
“You’re such a prat.” Potter complained, yet there was a grin on his face as Lucius appeared by their side again. With a flick of his wand, the food returned to their proper sizes and transferred themselves onto the serving plates on the table. With another bow, he left and Voldemort took in the scents of the table. But he noticed Potter had gone stiff, and clasped his hands together surprisingly primly in his lap.
“Will you fill your plate, or should I?” He asked as if he hadn’t noticed, observing how that head of mad curls moved at the brat observed him. Potter remained oddly quiet for a moment more, considering.
“Pass me the duck, won’t you?” Potter asked in reply, gesturing to the plate closest to Voldemort’s elbow. The plate lifted itself from the table on its own and floated over to the delighted expression of the demon. Whatever melancholy had gripped its nasty claws into his menace seemed to slip away and he soon returned to his usual chatter as dinner progressed.
“You know, Crouch wasn’t even the worst DADA teacher we’ve had? Sure, he was batshit like most of your band of merry men-” Potter’s eyes swept behind him, landing on someone a fraction too long and the sudden spark of sudden spike of irritation returned for a fiery moment.
“And his methods were shit. But he was better than most.” The demon childs grin grew feral again as those killing curse eyes returned to stare at him unflinching straight in the eyes while dark amusement radiated off him like a dark star. “Better than you were, too.” Voldemort didn’t take the bait, the only visual reaction to the slight being one eyebrow rising.
“You were a bumbling first year, and a mediocre one at best and plain stupid at most.” He spoke, but the gremlin before him only rolled his eyes and took another swift clunk of wine. This was his second glass, and Voldemort was amused to know his nemesis was getting tipsy.
“Perhaps.” The brat shrugged, as if it was inconsequential. “Yet I managed to defeat you thrice by the age of twelve, defeat a basilisk in a sword fight and produce a corporeal patronus at thirteen.” The jaw ticked up again, defiance making his eyes glow while he stated facts. “What had you done by thirteen again? Not even found the chamber, as far as I recall.”
Voldemort wanted to tackle him to the ground, forgoing magic for the simple pleasure of holding him down and feeling the beast struggle under him to get free. He wanted to make his nails into claws and rip them open with his bare hands, digging transfigured fangs into his jugular and feeling the blood explode into the back of his throat until the brat stopped twitching. He’d then bring him back from the brink of death, and do it again.
“Geesh, your elves must have some good ways to clean blood out of fabric.” The bane of his existence spoke, taking another casual sip of his drink. “Or do you just burn everything, and get new clothes?”
“You’re a nightmare.” Voldemort growled, yet remained in his chair as he glared. “And strangely indifferent to your death, which you know I’m longing for daily.”
“Well, you know.” The brat shrugged, setting his glass down and setting up from the chair. “One can only take so much before they become desensitized, can’t they?” Potter gave him a jut of his jaw in goodbye but had only come a couple of steps before Voldemort’s words stopped him.
“Show me your patronus.” Potter’s eyebrow were raised as he turned back.
“I know you think me stupid, but I do know you get expelled for magic outside of school.”
“I wish.” Voldemort stood swiftly too, towering over the shorter man. “Do you know how easy you’d be to kill with your wand snapped? It would just be to wait for the pickings.” He smiled, a thing that usually sent shivers down people’s spines but the demon child from hell tipped his head backwards and laughed into the evening air.
“You mean like you’re doing right now?” The brat chuckled, finally returning his eyes to him with that feral grin splitting his face again. “How’s that going for you? Any closer to my jugular?” He sent a crucio at the demon who only let his head fall backwards in a mad cackle as it fizzled out along the wards.
“Show it to me.” He growled, spreading both hands onto the tabletop and leaning as close to the shimmering ward as he could. The boy just started chuckling again.
“My jugular?” Potter still wore that defiant grin and tipped his jaw in defiance again, but this head was more tilted to the side and exposing the length of his throat. The dip of that horrible, too big shirt made it look even longer, stretched out like that in the golden light of the sunset and Voldemort wanted to feel it beneath his teeth. The grin on the brats face grew, if possible, more feral.
“Your patronus .” He practically growled, wanting to slam that face into the table until that smile was wiped off and it was covered in blood. Potter only snorted, turned his back to the dark lord and stalked back into the tiny house without a single over his shoulder. Like he had no care in the world. Voldemort sent another curse after him, but the brat didn’t even turn as the curse made the wards groan and cackle fire. Instead he chuckled, childishly turning to walk backwards to stick his tongue out at him. Then he closed the door and was gone. The only thing shielding him from his death is flimsy brick and mortar, with the exception from the wards.
---
Harry pressed the numbers on the phone, having nicked it from the kitchen and locked himself into his bathroom to try and steal a moment. The signals rang, and Harry was thinking he might actually pass out from the swaying world when the line was answered.
“Hello?” Remus' voice spoke, a bit hesitant, and Harry closed his eyes in relief. His shoulder was throbbing painfully and practically burned a hole through his clothes.
“Hi P’fessor.” He mumbled, feeling some of his stiff muscles relaxing. “It’s Harry.”
“Harry? Is everything okay?” Remus asked, voice tighter and more alert now than a second ago.
“I-” His breath caught on a sudden lump in his throat, and he closed his eyes to try and get past it. “I think I need Madam Pomfrey.” There were some sounds further back on the line, and some mumbled voices Harry couldn’t make out before Remus returned.
“What happened, did you fall? Did you break something?” Remus asked, and Harry swallowed. The lump in his throat was bigger than before to admit it while shame tried to light him on fire from within.
“I got bitten by a dog” He said, and the silence from the line was suffocating and the only sound was the muffled mutterings between the people on the line.
“Have you tried to brew a healing potion?” Remus asked, and Harry tried not to sigh. This whole conversation was just making him so bloody tired. “ They usually only take an hour.” Remus added, and Harry felt how the lump in his throat suddenly grew heavy enough to drop to the base of his stomach.
“No.” He replied, already having a horrible foreboding to how this would go.
“Well-” Remus said, obviously geering up for something. “Brew that. We have an idea how you can slip the prophecy to Severus without upsetting the wards, but-”
“The prophecy? What’s that got to do with this?” Harry asked, feeling stupid when his head was spinning. “Can’t Snape use that plan to get me out?” The silence on the other end grew long. Too long.
“We can’t afford Severus to blow his cover like that.”
Harry had opened his mouth to reply; what, he wasn’t sure, when suddenly there was a familiar rapping on the bathroom door.
“Boy, stop lazing about. You need to start setting up the pavilion in the yard.” Aunt Petunia instructed in a sour tone, and Harry hung up the phone without even saying goodbye.
---
Something was wrong.
Voldemort had known the moment Potter stepped out from the shadowed bowels of the house and into the lit front yard. The magic usually coating Potter was hypnotising and powerful, reminding Voldemort of the infinite night sky in winter with stars moving brightly in its currents. Now the stars were full, and the usually lively swirls around the boy were thick as syrup.
Potter lumbered over to the garage, nothing of his usual vitality in his steps and held himself oddly while he opened the door with one arm. Voldemort remained in his seat in the shade, cup of tea held in his hands. His eyes remained trained on the imp as he moved, pulling out some kind of tent one handed that the boy proceeded to put up.
Alone.
Stubbornly the brat moved through through the motions oddly stiffly.
“You’re a wizard.” The dark lord drawled, having another sip of his tea as he came to a stop by the wards edge. “Use your wand.” Potter gave him a glare, oddly subdued and glossy while his face was flushed before returning his glare unpacking the tent by hand.
“Expelled.” Potter grunted out while rolling the canvas out and swayed oddly.
“So heroically stubborn.” He spoke softly, watching how sweat started to pool on the brats shirt and making the material stick to his lithe body. “What’s the point of bending to the rules when we both know you’ll never see the castle again.” Potter ignored him after another one of those half-hearted glares. They remained in their standoff, Potter stubbornly pushing poles into the grass. “Come now Harry, it’ll be our little secret.”
Potter snorted.
“Piss off, you sound like a total creep.” Those killing curse eyes glared at him under long and thick lashes almost coyly, but the moment was over as soon as it started. Potter returned his eyes to his work and pointedly ignored him and his presence.
Voldemort kept his eyes on the boy hero struggling with his chores. But the view was as boring as it was repetitive, and he returned to his work by the tent yet again. It all changed though, when Narcissa was serving him tea and suddenly dropped the teacup so it shattered on the ground. Looking up at her, her eyes were firmly locked onto the yard with a horrified look on her face.
Potter’s back was to them and he held his shoulders tense, obviously having just pulled off his shirt to wipe his sweaty face. The motion had displayed a strange looking bandaged shoulder. The shoulder was obviously swollen to an almost grotesque degree, the dark bandages soaked with liquid that even from a distance looked like puss mixed with blood.
Voldemort hadn’t even noticed he’d stood up and was striding across the street as if he owned it. He practically did anyway. Potter hadn’t moved, his face still hidden behind the drenched cloth.
“ What is that? ” he hissed, barely audible in his rage. Potter was oddly still, as if his soul had left his body. “ Potter!” He snapped, making those killing curse green eyes glare at him again. “ What is that? ” he repeated, holding those misty eyes with his.
“ Pissed a bloody dog manages what you can’t?” and to his surprise, Potter started laughing with a strange tilt to his voice that sounded a little broken. “ The infamous Harry Potter, slain by muggle pets where the great dark lord Voldemort failed.” Voldemort glared at him, noticing how his skin went into goose flesh and he shivered in the warm air.
“ You’ll do no such thing, you miserable little shit.” Voldemort sneered as his magic crackling and snapping like sparks in the air around them. “ You’ll die when I bloody well let you.”
His little enemy who was staring at him oddly with those oddly dull eyes. “ How fortunate I am,” Potter hissed, an odd expression of disgust and resignation in his suddenly much more worn looking face. “ Constantly living to serve your entertainment .”
“My lord.” Narcissa spoke softly, and Voldemort didn’t take his eyes from the covered up wound on his personal plagues shoulder. His servant bowed, and held out something before her. “Wound-Cleaning Potion, Anti-Inflammatory potion and a Pepper-Up potion.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and at his choppy nod she placed them on the table in the wards before quickly and quietly leaving again unprompted.
“ Remove the bandage.” He demanded, earning him another glare from Potter, this one with more of his usual fire.
“Fuck you.” Potter hissed back with enough venom to kill someone of less calibre. “I’m not one of your fucking slaves, you can’t tell me what to do!” Potter stalked towards the wards, stopping in defiance just an arms length away from him. The closeness brought a purid smell from the cloth.
“As long as you draw breath in this world, I will be here.” Voldemort hissed, dropping his voice and stepping closer to the wards too. “ Where are your friends?” He opened his hands, gesturing to the street around them. “ Where is your precious Dumbledore? Where is your so-called family?”
They stared one another down, red meeting green in a fierce battle of wills. Behind the stubbornness Voldemort could see his little enemy’s mind whirling through emotions- anger, rage, embarrassment, hunger and that ever present defiance.
But that last strain of defiance broke, Potter’s fight seemed to go out before their eyes, until the brief light in those eyes dulled so he looked almost an inferi standing there.
“ Harry.” He hissed instead, voice low and buttery. “ Trust in my desire to see you dead by my own hand.” Not breaking his gaze from his little nemesis, he set the summoned potions on the table up along the wards. Potter eyed them with disinterest.
“ Maybe I like knowing I’d be robbing you off it.” Potter spoke in a hoarse whisper, eyes lowering to the bottles. Always his defiant little bird.
“You’ve dragged me into this muggle-infested stalemate of a siege.” He hissed, his own voice trembling with emotions he could not name. “You’ve fooled Dumbledore in his own game.” Slowly, those green eyes turned up to meet him head on. Unafraid, while filled with emotions Voldemort would never be able to name. “Dying like this is a bloody waste. Do you want your legacy to go from being my greatest menace to statistics in muggle-committed crimes?”
They stared at one another, a whole universe created in the space between them.
“ I don’t do this for some fucking legacy.” Potter eventually hissed, reaching for the potions. Unstopping the Pepper-up with trembling fingers, Potter drowning it with a grimace. Voldemort didn’t speak, only sinking back into his seat by the table while observing his personal demon. The gremlin followed his lead, probably not even aware of it as he started to unwrap the cloth from his shoulder.
As the raw wound was exposed to the sunlight, the putrid smell filled the air like a morbid perfume. Voldemort inspected the wound as Potter took it in with unflinching eyes. His little nemesis took the Wound-Cleaning Potion and started to apply it to the badly infected wound. As the potion made contact with the skin it started smoking and hissing, even leaving a faint burning sound yet Potter only pressed his jaw together without a sound.
Such beautiful defiance and inner strength.
He’d have been the gem in Voldemort’s army, was he not destined to be his vanquisher.
As the wound knitted together over itself, still raw and puffy, Potter took the last bottle- the anti-infection one and drowned it. Shortly after that, his face lost some of its pale pallor and sweaty appearance. But instead of remaining sitting, or heading inside to lie down the never ending stubbornness of the child had him heading back to the tent.
“You need to cast a bandaging spell on that.” he hissed, making the boy stop but not turn back to him. Without his shirt on, it was easier to notice the minute stiffening of his shoulders and how his wand-hand squeezed.
“ You’ve not pulled it once, since our arrival here.” He continued, the silence heavy between them. Yet the slow dullness of Potter’s magic was growing more energized again, when it didn’t need to keep him alive anymore. “ You don’t have it, do you?”
Potter only turned, glaring him down while the wounds on his shoulder gleamed silvery in the sunlight. So many scars. So much strength. Slowly, holding the wild animal that was Potter’s gaze, he took his wand from his sleeve by the tip and offered it to his little nemesis through the wards. Potter’s face didn’t change or give, he only kept staring deep into his eyes.
“Expelled.” Potter declined, eyes not even glancing at the offered wand.
“ There is no trace on my wand.” The wand hung in the air between them, the warm wood chirping with happiness. “ Fix your shoulder. Put up that thing.” Potter’s eyes flickered to the wand, just the barest of change and Voldemort’s stomach thrilled.
“ What’s the catch?” Potter asked, turning his body back towards him.
“Show me your patronus.” He spoke softly, delighting in how Potter was swaying on the back of his heels. Then he took a few steps towards him, his outstretched hand just shy of grabbing the offered wand before meeting his eyes with defiance again.
“ I don’t trust you.” Potter said, making Voldemort’s smile grow.
“You shouldn't.” They regarded one another as if they were the only people in the world, and then Potter took a deep breath and grasped the handle. If the wand had been happy by the offer before, it practically burst out in warmth and phoenix song ringing in his ears- the ghost of it still lingering on his skin as he let the wand go.
It was thrillingly strange to see his destined foe, standing in his not so imposing height, with Lord Voldemort’s own wand in his hand. Yet excitement trailed along his spine like fiendfyre in a draught-crisp forest. Potter himself didn’t seem to pay attention to the historical importance of this event, instead he turned it on himself as if it was his own and barely mumbled a few spells.
Voldemort noticed there were several spells that left his wand, not only the wound wrapping one. When it finally did wrap the shoulder up, surprisingly neatly and efficiently. Then, without a single glance back at the dark lord Potter had the canvas make up the tent in a frankly fluid display of capability. As the shade settled into place, Potter was already conjuring water into a cup transfigured of a leaf from the closest rose bush.
“Engage your core.” He spoke softly, eying . “The more grounded you are, the less it will be affected by the outside elements.” Potter glanced over at him, thought in those already more alert eyes before determination settled in those eyebrows. Then, as if a miracle, he did as prompted. When he summoned garden furniture from the garage and had it set itself up in the yard it did so with minimal fuss.
They spent several moments in comfortable silence, while Potter finished his chores without manual labour. Towards the end, Potter glanced down at the wand in his hand as if hesitant to give up the power he’d been granted by employing it.
“ What’s your patronus like? ” Potter hissed, the serpent's tongue enticing on the golden heros’ lips. Perhaps it was the speaking in his birthright that allowed him to show just the hint of a weakness.
“I wouldn't know,” he replied, comfortably observing the boy. “I’ve yet to produce one.” This had those green eyes snap to him, filled with disbelief.
“You can’t cast one?”
“ Your confidence in my capabilities are touching. ” he hissed back, voice like thick honey and to his utter delight, the back of Potter’s neck seemed to grow a little redder. He wanted to take that tendon under his teeth and feel the warm skin heat him up.
The boy gave him a strange look, before pointing his wand to an open space and let a beautiful patronus spill forth.
Wordlessly.
With minimal wand movement.
The notion that this child was a bumbling idiot or lacking magical power was frankly insulting.
The large stag was almost too bright to look at, it shone so bright and it was easily taller than its master. The beast seemed to look around, seeing no obvious threat for it to attack and when Potter raised a hand towards it it came and nuzzled his free hand like it was an overgrown kitten. The smile Potter wore, staring at his patronus was gentle and made his face more relaxed than Voldemort had ever seen him.
The stag huffed a breath, then it turned its eyes onto him before easily walking through the wards and up to him. Voldemort remained still as the very representation of Potter’s soul nudged his hand with its nose. Hiding his surprise and impression, he raised his hand to stroke the large beast over its forehead and down between its eyes.
The patronus was solid under his touch, giving a ghostly feeling of breath against his chest and fur under his fingers. Delight and happiness nippled like little sparks that burned his hand as he touched it.
Remarkable.
“I can teach you.” Potter spoke, almost sounding as if he were somewhere much further away. “ I’ve done it before.” Voldemort observed his enemy through the corner of his eye, even as he remained petting the conjured animal. He was about to inquire more, when there was a panicked scream of pure terror from the house. Potter spun around on his heel, the dark lords wand already glowing with an expelliarmus as it was pointed on the cousin with startled accuracy. Delight and excitement swirled like a hot flame low in him.
“Are those things coming again?” the cousin shrieked, looking wildly around the street with his hands over his ears. Potter cursed under his breath, lowering the wand yet still remaining ready to move at any moment.
“They’re not.” Potter snapped, any relaxation lost in his movement as he summoned his shirt wordlessly and muttered a halfhearted cleaning spell before pulling the sack back onto him.
“But you got that- that thing !” the cousin all but screamed and pointed at the patronus in clear terror, then there was a large crash from inside the house.
“Stop shouting!” Potter hissed angrily, but it was to no point because the door to the house flew open and the muggle stalked out while looking a particularly vibrant shade of purple. Voldemort usually only saw that colour in a human after about a minute of crucio when the person was particularly prone to screaming. The muggle grabbed his son by the shoulder and hauled him inside the house behind him, his beady eyes finding Potter and Voldemort’s wand with surprising accuracy.
“Boy, what are you doing with that thing?” The muggle snarled barely above a whisper and started to stalk forth into the garden. Potter, quick as a lightning bolt, turned and tossed the wand back at him. He took it, not taking his eyes off how Potter dodged the muggle's hand swiping out to catch him by the scruff off his neck.
The dance was obviously well practiced, because wherever the muggle's large hand tried to catch the slippery brat he dodged. The dance was eventually disturbed by Potter stumbling over something laying on the grass, and the uncle practically dragged him in before slamming the door shut.
Voldemort remained where he’d stood, observing the house.
The infernal hell hound came out into the yard and growled at Voldemort where he stood. Grinning, he transferred Potter’s abandoned cup to a bloody piece of meat. The dog peaked up and eagerly came to the wall.
Notes:
Thank you for all your love and support, and all the sweetness on the last chapter. You all mean the world to me.
Edit; 18th of may 2025
Hello! I have bot abandoned you!
The ao3 curse struck, so the end of our pregnancy was littered with hospital visits/stays, and then we had the baby! Baby's healthy and fine, but mom still have some heavy dips from time to time. So right now I'm looking after the family, but will be back with the regularly scheduled program when life finds a new normal again.Again, thank you for your love and support. ♥️♥️♥️
Chapter 8: Happy Birthday Dudley!
Notes:
Hello my darlings! I hope you enjoy this chapter ❤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sitting in the armchair in his bedroom, Voldemort slowly spun a tumbler of whiskey as he stared at the spells emerging from his wand.
Ferula.
Brackium Emendo.
Episkey.
Vulnera Sanentur.
And two spells unknown to even Voldemort himself, but with the company of the others and the general feeling of the spell's ghosts they were also healing ones.
The shadow of the patronus watched him with dull interest before returning to graze at the rug.
“So much power in such a small thing.” Voldemort mumbled to himself, nulling the stream of spells when they caught up to his own yet keeping the ghosts around. He took a sip of the whiskey, feeling it burn pleasantly on the way down. “Such… potential.”
Before the powerful dark lord, there had been the charming and charismatic Tom Riddle. As his good looks diminished in trade for more power, the use of brute force and fear had become the easier routes to shape reality in his image.
That did not mean Lord Voldemort had forgotten how to use the more subtle ways.
---
Severus wanted to rub his face, but it was a sign of weakness he couldn’t afford himself in present company. Lupin had for some reason chosen the seat beside him, which earned the ire of Black who defiantly sat further down the table and occasionally glared his way. Severus resolutely ignored them both, but it still wore his rather fragile patience even thinner.
“Severus, I’m so glad I caught you.” Molly Weasley said, settling herself in the empty chair at his other side and turned to give him a tired smile. “I wanted to hear if you’d been called anything to Privet Drive?”
“Since it’s bound to be a part of the meeting, I see no need in giving you a preview of the report.” Severus spoke, wishing for a strong bottle of brandy and a dark cold dungeon to hide in. All this light and sound was tap dancing on his headache and nervendings. Beside him the wolf shifted, no doubt too curious for his own good.
“Iknow, I just wanted to know how Harry’s been holding up. I had to keep the twins and Ron from storming off to save him again last night- you know how gryffindor boys are.” Molly Weasley half laughed, and Severus couldn’t hold back the sneer if he tried. He did indeed know, and those particular hellions even more reckless than the normal gryffindors.
“Perhaps it would be more prudent to chain them to their beds then.” Severus said dryly, feeling Lupin glare at the side of his face. “Bellatrix in particular has been very distraught at not having a proper motivation for Potter to leave the safety of the wards. I’m sure she and her husband would be overjoyed to welcome them to the neighbourhood.” He saw in the corner of his eye how Molly Weasley turned a sickly pale, and the mumbled excuse was barely audible to him as she got up and left the kitchen entirely.
“That was cruel Severus.” Lupin reprimanded mildly, staring after her.
“Cruelty would have been to let the children run off and face a beyond painful death.” Severus spoke, eyeing Moody with an odd jealousy as the other man sipped from his pocket-bottle of booze. “Bellatrix cruelty have been sharpened by her stay in Azkaban, and with a Weasley in her grasp Potter would break like a blade of grass.” That Lupin had no comeback to, and Severus settled back into his seat. Shortly after Albus Dumbledore walked into the room and strode towards the furthest end to sit down.
The kitchen quieted down, with the faint sounds of a still pale Molly Weaslery returning to the room later and slipping into a seat beside her husband like a kicked dog with their tail between their legs. Dumbledore looked more worn than Severus had seen him in a long time, and the faint hopefulness he’d felt at the dark lord being distracted seemed to dull into a slow ache.
“The wizengamot is going to hold a vote about my permanent removal as headmaster of Hogwarts tomorrow.” The old man spoke softly, leaning back against the backrest. “If they succeed, which we should assume they will, there will be a period of one week to nominate the precessor.”
“But Minnerva’s deputy,” Nymphandora Tonks spoke up, looking around at the room. “They can’t just disregard that, can they?”
“The result of Umbridge’s time as High Inquisitor and her subsequent expatriation to the forbidden forest has cemented the ministers and board of governors opinion that the school needs a complete revision.” Severus pressed his teeth together to keep from snarling. Potter ruined everything he put his grubby little hands on and everyone just skirted around the fact like it was nothing. The silence in the room was heavy though, and Dumbledore did seem tired.
“Perhaps this is an opportunity.” Diggle spoke up, sounding hesitant even as he said it. “Perhaps we can-”
“The likeliness of someone being appointed without the direct approval of Voldemort is very limited.” Dumbledore spoke, resting his fingertips together. “We must consider the school lost to us, and we must make arrangements for how to best protect the students. Especially the muggleborns.”
“So we’re giving up and offering; what, an underground education and hideout location?” Black asked, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Dumbledore like he was trying to find a way to pick a fight. Dumbledore however simply nodded.
“Quite well put. I have faith that many of the professors, if not asked to return, would offer their aid and help train new educators for this impromptu school. This will have to be one of our highest priorities, since our access to the enrollment-books will be limited.”
“It’ll have to be boarding style. The brats being moved back and forth creates too much risk of discovery.” Moody growled from his corner of the table, slamming his hand onto the table.
“There is probably a possibility some might also seek to finish their education abroad, especially those who remember the tournament.” Lupin spoke up, and Severus noticed the wolf was pulling at his sleeve- a thinking habit he’d had since their own schooling. At the head of the table, Dumbledore nodded.
“Minnerva is already looking into that and the possibility of creating an exchange program with schools outside of Europe for our more… high profile students.” Dumbledore’s eyes didn’t drift to the Weasley parents, but several other people did.
“Be sure to inform the faculty lucky enough to host our resident celebrity and know-it-all they have to cast strong protective wards over their bathrooms. I’ve recently been informed they’re particular to brewing advanced and dangerous potions far beyond their capabilities in such hygienic and safe environments.” Severus snided, taking almost perverse delight in the look of horror on several faces turning towards him. To elevate his macabre mood, Dumbledore only blinked at him.
“I’m sorry Severus, I’m not sure I understand what you’re referring to.” Severus reached out, placing his hand onto the table and feeling the grain of the wood. He set his eyes onto his fingers, feeling the attention of the room hanging onto his words.
“The Dark Lord informed me personally Potter and his little gang used the haunted bathroom on the second floor to brew polyjuice in their second year.” He spoke the words articulately, tapping the table lazily almost like the dark lord did while thinking. “He also suggested the search for the prophecy is futile, because Potter might have hidden it in the chamber that only he and the dark lord can enter.” There was a heavy silence in the room, only interrupted by the shifting and creaking off old chairs.
“I told you he’d corrupt him,” Moody boomed suddenly, slamming his fist into the table and making several people jump. “Potter’s cracking under the pressure. Happens to aurors all the time.”
“Harry’s a tough kid.” Black spoke coldly, surprising Severus with keeping his infamous temper in check. “You’re not giving him enough credit.”
“I’ve seen him out a couple of times, undercover, and he’s worn but not knocked down yet.” Tonks added to her cousin, while giving her superior a sharp glare.
“Cracking like an egg.” Moody declared with a lopsided grin, earning himself another glare but this time from Molly Weasley. “And when he does, the dark lord will sweep him up and twist his little head all around.”
“Alistor, that’s enough.” Dumbledore broke the conversations, and Severus noticed how the tone had several of them pull themselves together. “Let’s return to the conversation about alternative schooling. It would be easier if the location already has foundation-wards, but those are also hard to come by and probably one of the first places Voldemort would look…”
The discussion stayed on track after that, going on well into the night.
---
It was a perfectly ordinary morning at Grimmauld place. Since the order meeting the night before had run late, so several members were added to the crammed table for a large breakfast before work. Mrs Weasly was still by the stove, masterfully whipping up even more food while accepting compliments and trying to rein in the twins interchangeably.
Hermione rubbed her eyes, flipping through the Daily Prophet while also trying to keep the paper from being soiled by Ron’s sloppy eating at her side.
“We’ll be callin’ Harry today.” Ron said between chewing, making Hermione want to slap him with the magazine. “Think you-know-who’ll drop by to listen?” Ron muttered more quietly after swallowing, and Hermione felt some of her irritation shift. The amusement they both got from renaming Dumbledore with the dark lord’s epithet was immense and if Harry heard about it, he would be cracking back up for hours.
“No, but I’d be surprised if no one reminded us about how important it is for the war we find it.” She replied, turning the page to another article from the siege. This one had her tensing up though, and elbowing Ron in the side to catch his attention. He coughed, hiding it by swallowing some juice as Hermione angled the paper up some so the others wouldn’t see it.
There were several pictures, but the biggest one in focus was showing the Dark Lord offering his own wand through the wards and a worn looking Harry taking it in his hand. The smaller images showed Harry healing his shoulder, producing his patronus and ducking to avoid his uncle's hands. The article, another Skeeter piece, was contemplating Harry’s descent into darkness and his betrayal of the light.
“They’ve starved him again.” Ron muttered under his breath, close to her ear. “He’s lost pretty much everythin’ we had him put on since last summer.” Glancing to him, Hermione noticed he was eying Harry’s half-naked chest where the ribs were clear as day.
“We’ll send him some food and nutrient potions with the muggle mail.” Hermione said, searching through her bag for a pencil to jot down a list right in the margins of the article. “We’ll have to make some kind of bottomless bag or something. So it won’t be too big for the post yet fit plenty-”
“Some healing potions too.” Ron tapped the picture where Harry moved, showing a blurry but obviously nasty wound. “Stronger than dittany and murtlap.” Hermione let her pen stop, staring at the image of Harry for a moment. There was something in his expression that seemed to relax as he took the wand from the dark lord.
“If they won’t help him, we will,” Hermione said, jotting down things onto the list. Peruvian Instant darkness powder. Portable swamp. Fireworks. She kept adding to the list.
“I’ll let him know on the phone later.” Ron said while accepting a letter passed to him by Ginny. “If he got out, do you reckon he’d be able to hide here?”
“Honestly?” Hermione said, returning her eyes to the picture. The way the dark lord was staring at her best friend was unnerving. She’d never actually met the monster, but if anyone ever looked at her that way she’d not have the nerve to remain in place. “I’m not sure there’s anywhere that’s far away enough.”
“...he talked about his will again. On the last call.” Ron suddenly mumbled, and Hermione turned to stare at him. He’d grown pale now, and had started to only listlessly poke at his breakfast. “Wanted us to start over somewhere.”
“Well, we’re not going anywhere without his stubborn arse.” Hermione declared, turning her eyes back to the list. But her eyes were drawn back to the images again. “He borrowed him his wand.” She mumbled, touching the image lightly to make sure it wasn’t a trick-illusion somehow. Yet photo-Harry only glared at her before accepting the wand again. “That’s… strange, isn’t it?”
Beside her, Ron just shook his head and returned to shuffling food into his mouth even if it was with less gusto this time.
“Don’t ask me to explain Harry to you ‘Mione, you know it’s just better to go along with it.”
---
Bellatrix's face and decolletage now bore faint shimmering scars that were barely noticeable unless the light hit her face just right. Narcissa hadn’t asked her sister what caused it, nor had her sister brought it up. Bringing her breakfast tea to her lips, Narcissa glanced through the prophet, skipping the parts about the dark lord and Potter while her sister stared out the window onto the street, lost in her own thoughts. Narcissa saw no need to set Bellatrix off this early in the morning if she didn’t have too. There were the sounds upstairs or her son moving about, then the creaking of the wood as he came down the stairs.
It was surprisingly pleasant, hearing him move about the house. Back in the manor it was impossible, especially when Draco had grown out of the nursery. She’d often had to resort to asking the elves where he was, and even though she missed the space and splendour of the manor this little temporary solution was pleasantly intimate. Her only baby boy would be an adult in only a year, after all.
Speaking off, Draco stopped in the door to the kitchen only briefly and barely showed his stiffening at seeing his aunt. Not that Bellatrix noticed, thankfully.
“Good morning Darling.” She greeted him with a smile, offering him the sports section of the paper. “Slept well?”
“Well, thank you.” Draco said while sitting down. The growing bags under his eyes and the pallor of his face was growing worse, yet she let him think she’d not noticed. “Dudley’s party is this weekend.” Her son said as he poked about his breakfast.
“Have you found a suitable gift?” She asked, both of them ignoring her sister who seemed lost to the normal world at the moment anyway. It happened occasionally, especially without the Dark Lord's presence to ground her. This made Draco glance up at her for a moment.
“Yes. When I had them here the other day, he was very impressed by one of the games I had.” Draco nodded, moving food into his mouth with less grace than she normally saw of him. “The party’s at his house though.”
“Oh? I thought there had been talk about renting a place in town?” She said pleasantly, stirring honey into her refilled cup of tea.
“Mother, at their house.” Draco repeated, meeting her head-on this time with a pointed look. “Potter will see me, and can I even get through the wards?” They stared at one another for a moment, the complexity of the situation suddenly shifting in.
“He’ll not be pleased to find you in his house.” Narcissa spoke slowly, thinking back to last night. The fiery way the boy argued fearlessly with the dark lord, who was a formidable and terrible wizard. What would happen if that fierceness turned on her son?
“The dark lord has modified the wards.” Bellatrix's distant voice broke through her thoughts, and she was still staring out the window. “If you bring out the prophecy for him, you’ll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams little Nephew.” Her sister turned her face to Narcissa’s only child then, and the far-off edge to her eyes seemed to fade rapidly.
“What does it look like?” Narcissa asked, for a brief moment, wishing her sister back in Azkaban. Thankfully, her words made Bellatrix give her a glare like she was stupid.
“It’s a glass ball. About the size of a remember all-ball.” Bellatrix said with rolled eyes, leaning back into her chair lazily now. Her leg bounced under the table, making an annoying ticking sound from the floor. “Baby Potter’s gotten a false sense of security behind the wards- he’s probably not even hidden it.” Bellatrix grinned then, a grin that had Narcissa’s stomach turn. “I hid a cursed knife in my vault way back when, it should still be there.” She mused, making Narcissa’s stomach turn further. “I’ll get it for you little Nephew, so you can make your house proud.” The grin her sister aimed at her son then made Narcissa want to take him and flee to the colonies.
---
The kitchen was humid enough to boil an egg and Harry was on his hands and knees, hacking off blocks of ice to speed up the defrosting of the freezer. The Dursley’s had left the house about an hour ago, and Harry felt like he could rub his face for a moment and feel his cold fingers against his too hit face.
“Lazing about Boy?” Aunt Marge snapped unexpectedly, making Harry jump before he twisted about to glare at her. She looked at him up and down with clear disgust and Harry felt a strong urge to cast the slug-vomiting hex on her. Choosing instead the safest course of action, Harry turned back and resumed his work.
“You ungrateful brat.” Marge mumbled almost lovingly behind him, and he heard her move into the room further. Every instinct told him to turn around and face her, to keep an eye on the threat but he forced himself to remain as he was even as his blood boiled. “After everything Vernon and Petunia have done for you and you bring these criminals here. Making them prisoners in their own home.”
Harry wanted to point out they left the house. Daily. Aunt Petunia had even gotten a more active social life since everyone wanted the gossip from her directly now, leaving her stewing in irritated delight. Not replying was the safest option, yet biting his cheek grew harder by the minute.
Eventually Marge seemed to lose her interest, and with a slap to the back of his head that made his forehead bump into the freezer-shelf she left. Harry, having actually bit the inside of his cheek this time, got up and flushed the blood from his mouth in the sink.
“Boy, have you seen Ripper?” Harry jumped and spun around to face Uncle Vernon, who stood by the door and looked into the yard. He hadn’t heard him return, and for a moment he was worried he’d get another beating for being by the sink.
Letting his own eyes sweep the street, he noticed Voldemort sitting in the open front-tent and was having tea with what appeared to be Death Eaters. Nothing else seemed out of place until his gazse moved to the green serpent lazing in the sun. Nagini was oddly lumpy and thick in the middle, and looked like she was blissed out beside her master who seemed less then pleased with his followers.
“Er, no. Sorry Uncle Vernon.” He returned his eyes to his uncle, and tried to not break into a grin. “Maybe Dudley took him with him to the library?” He suggested, as if that would ever happen.
“Yes, maybe.” Vernon grumbled, seemingly lost in thought. Through the window, he caught Voldemort’s eyes and gave a quick thumbs up while Uncle Vernons couldn’t see him. Voldemort grinned, a probably terrifying sight to most people, and then returned to looking exhausted at his followers.
When Uncle Vernon turned back to him and glared at him, Harry had already managed to school his face. “Marge thinks we should let Dudley have the house to himself for his party this weekend.” There was a hard and guarded look to Uncle Vernon’s face, and Harry had a spike of terrified panic that went through him.
“I’m sure Dudley would like that.” Harry said, going for a nonchalant tone. Uncle Vernon’s eyes narrowed, and he looked around the kitchen with his eyes eventually landing on the open freezer.
“Is everything prepared for the party?” Uncle Vernon asked, twisting the knife of worry in Harry’s stomach. He nodded to earn time, swallowing to get his throat back in order.
“Er, yeah. The foods done and the decorations are up. Just have to finish the freezer, and go over the bathroom again.” Uncle Vernon stepped closer to him, grabbing him by the neckline of his shirt and listed him so Harry had to tiptoe on his toes to remain standing.
“And if we leave the house to Dudley tonight, what will you do Boy?” There was only one answer to that, wasn’t there?
“I’ll stay quiet in my room and pretend I don’t exist.”
“That’s bloody right.” Uncle Vernon practically spat at him, shaking him by the shirt. “And if I hear anything about Dementi-ninnies, flying cakes or cars or anything else so help me, I will put you in the fireplace and brick it back up around you.”
“Yes Sir.” Harry replied, thankfully sincerely enough that Uncle Vernon dropped his grip on him and Harry stumbled back, knocking his back and hip into the edge of the workbench.
“Finish up here Boy,” Uncle Vernon spat, then he stalked out of the room and Harry heard him pick up a conversation with Marge in the living room about what hotel they should stay in for the night.
---
As he approached the unassuming house, Draco had to brace himself against glancing back to where he knew the wizarding-tent stood hidden behind walls of invisibility. Even though he wouldn't see them, Draco felt the keen eyes of several Death Eaters and probably the Dark Lord himself burn in his neck as he approached the edge of the wards. The garden had a pavilion set up, and there were streamers, flags and lanterns hanging from the ceiling and the only tree in the yard. The grass was full of people, several from the friend group but also some other kids and adults that probably were family and other people.
Taking a deep breath, Draco forced himself not to stop as he took the final step and expected to be either forcefully flung back and humiliated or perhaps struck by some kind of curse. Instead, the wards hummed and buzzed against his skin, and it felt like he was forcing himself through dense jelly, but he did get through. He probably imagined it, but he swore he heard several cheers from the other side of the street.
It felt like he could breathe again, and when Josh crashed into him and pulled him into the intimidating crowd he laughed and followed along. Keeping his eye out for Potter, Draco was surprised he didn’t see him. But he was pulled up to the gang, and soon pulled into trash talking before dinner was served. They formed a crooked line and took food buffet-style inside and returned to eat outside, and it was among the best tasting food Draco had had.
But as he relaxed and settled, he noticed he’d not seen Potter’s wild birdsnest even once. Especially since he’d prepared for Potter ascending on him like a snarling dragon, with his own distinctive hair.
In the early evening there was gift-opening, then the adults seemed to drop off. Dudley’s dad patted him heartedly on Dudley’s shoulder and whispered something in his ear. Then they too left, and there was only the youths left. Several people Draco hadn’t met before, but they were surprisingly pleasant to be around.
With the party being in full swing outside, the loud music and people everywhere it had been easy to slip away inside under the pretense of using the bathroom. His heart beat violently in his chest and his nerves strung like piano-wires.
The layout of the house was the same as Draco’s, so it was easy enough to navigate even if the home was strange. It didn’t look anything like how he’d imagined the house either Potter or Dudley had grown up in. Potter couldn’t leave the property, yet Draco hadn’t seen him once.
He threw a quick look through the living room full of florals and doilies, yet doubted Potter would have hid it in plain sight like that. It would probably just vanish into thin air even if he did find it, like Potter always tended to do. Otherwise the room looked mostly like other muggle homes he’d been in, with the exception of some trophies on the mantle and the excess of picture’s on the walls. Something here was setting his teeth on edge though, so he left the room to go upstairs.
At the top of the stairs, the first door stood open and showed a room that looked a bit plain but with florals and dog bowls at the floor, so Draco hurriedly stepped past it. There were no signs of a wizard living there after all, and even if Potter seemed tidier than Weasley he didn’t think the room would be that pristine. The first room to the right, his room back home, held a queen sized bed and two dressers with an old wedding picture on the wall, implying it belonged to Big D’s parents.
The room that back in their house that technically belonged to both of Draco’s parents, but effectively was his mother’s, looked more like it might hold Potter. Glancing in, the room was a mess and held both its own tv and gaming console, strengthening the impression. He glanced at the last door though, listening hard for the sounds of anyone coming to look for him from the party. He’d already been gone too long, and couldn’t waste time rifling through the wrong room.
The last door was closed, but none of the many locks were locked. Opening it carefully, holding his breath as he did so, Draco peaked inside. It was an obvious storage room, filled with broken furniture and boxes of trash that obviously was going to be disposed of. How did muggles even dispose of things? Wizards would just vanish it, but letting it pile up like this was awful. He reflected numbly, moving to close the door. But as he did, something in the corner caught his eyes. A large bird cage, empty, stood on top of a closet that seemed like it wouldn’t close properly. Glancing around, there weren't really any other signs of Potter in this room- with perhaps the exception of a few old school books laying by the desk.
Shaking his head, Draco closed it quietly again and stepped back carefully to the other room. Going through it for the obvious hiding places, he didn’t find anything and as someone came into the house and moved about downstairs Draco held his breath for a long moment sitting perfectly still. The person stepped out again and releasing his breath Draco looked under the bed. Nothing.
Glancing around again though, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off. Draco didn’t see any sign of a wizard living in here neither. Sure, he and Potter didn’t actually know one another, but Draco prided himself on knowing quite a lot about his rival.
He knew Potter was the type of bloke to keep his broom in good condition and take pride in caring for it. Potter always wore a Gryffindor scarf when it was cold and seemed like those awful knitted jumpers he wore in winter was the finest of haute couture. During potions, his work was a mess but he always left a spotless work-station. There certainly wasn’t a pile of letters from Granger or even a wrapper from a chocolate frog that he could see. There wasn’t even a second bed in the room, now that he thought about it.
Glancing about the dark room, something about it sent shivers down Draco’s spine. Getting up, he hurried downstairs again and took a second look through the living room. The almost absurd amount of pictures showed a blonde baby growing into a young man, sometimes flanked with his parents or some of the trophies. Glancing about, there wasn’t a single picture with Potter in it.
Had he gotten close to the wrong boy? Draco thought dully, looking into the grinning face of Dudley at the age of about six by the sea. But Dudley had spoken about Harry Hazard, and if that wasn't a suiting nickname for Potter Draco didn’t know what was. Outside there was a burst of loud laughing and cheers, and Draco felt his heart race as he looked around in desperation. His aunt might actually strip him of his skin if he came back with nothing.
His eyes landed on the unsuspecting slotted door under the stairs. The only thing about it that seemed odd was the multiple locks on the door, but then again so had the room upstairs. Draco undid the locks in a haste and pulled the door open.
No matter what he’d thought he’d find, he was not prepared for the reality.
His first impression was that the cupboard was stuffed to the brim, so much that it was hard to make out what even was in there. Then the darkness moved, some light reflected in glass and then a hand came out from the darkness and grabbed him tightly by the collar of his shirt.
Yelling in genuine panic, Draco tried to slap himself away from the thing emerging from the closet. Then the thing let out a heavy, wheezing breath while it slammed him against the wall behind him. Draco was as scared as if he was eleven again and running for his life in the forbidden forest, leaving Potter behind to fend for himself. Within a second a bony arm pressed across his throat into the wall, and he realized he was staring up into very familiar, furious green eyes as he tried to breathe.
“Malfoy?” Potter hissed in disbelief, not easing up on his pressure and Draco struggled to see around the spots forming before his eyes. With his free hand, Potter was rifling through his clothing and Draco felt himself slacking further into the hold as his own wand was pressed into his chest. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Draco pulled after a gasping breath, slapping Potter’s elbow to remind him and was rewarded by the pressure easing up enough for him to draw a gasping breath that hurt going down. Coughing, he almost bent over and Potter let him without letting him go completely. Grabbing his throat around the arm pinning him, Draco was sure it would bruise.
“Blood ‘ell Potter.” He gasped, rubbing the throat. Potter took another half step back, still pointing his wand at him. The two stared at one another, Potter’s eyes flickering through several emotions before narrowing dangerously.
“How’d you get through the wards?” Potter asked, still looking at him with a dangerous calculation Draco hadn’t ever seen in him before. Draco gasped, finally with enough strength to lean back on the wall and take several deep breaths more. For a horrible moment, Draco was suddenly afraid Potter might actually hurt him. Potter’s magic seemed to fill the air around them, crackling like an agitated fire and making the air smell like thickening ozone.
“I don’t know, I just did.” He coughed out, slowly holding up his hands to show Potter he wasn’t up to anything. He was reminded of the horrible disaster of a hippogriff lesson, and felt the odd urge to bow to the younger boy. The wand jabbed into his ribs harshly, and Draco’s breath hitched. “I don’t! My best guess is that I don’t want to harm you!” Potter’s dark eyes seemed to search his, and Draco had the uncomfortable feeling along his spine that reminded him of being under the scrutiny of the dark lord.
“Er, Harry?” Neither of them turned to look at Dudley, who’d suddenly showed up in the doorway to the kitchen. “Where did you come from?” Potter didn’t reply other than kicking the cupboard door shut behind him without a single glance in its direction. Beside them, Dudley dropped something that cracked against the floor. “He didn’t!” Dudley exclaimed, and Draco wasn’t sure how but Potter actually rolled his eyes at them.
“Lay off it Dud.” Potter warned, his voice still rippling with command. He tried to slip from Potter’s grip, but the wand only jabbed into him harder and made him freeze up. He’s heard rumors of Potter’s little club, and the punch his spells could pack when he was pissed off.
“Why’re you pointing that thing at Dray?”
“You know him?” Potter spoke, finally stepping back and not jabbing the tip of the wand between his ribs anymore. The tone of voice was dark though, and Draco felt shivers of fear along his spine. “Of course you bloody do. I bet you get along famously .”
“Potter, it isn’t what you thin-”
“Wait, you know him?”
“Draco here goes to my school Dudikins, didn’t he tell you?” Potter replied without looking to his cousin before holding up the wand and wiggling it about. “Got a stick of his own and everything.” The silence was heavy in the hallway for a moment, and Draco suddenly wasn’t sure what was worse. That he’d been caught out, or the look of betrayal in Dudley’s face.
“Get the fuck out.” Dudley said, and Draco unwillingly turned his eyes from Potter.
“D, I didn’t mean to-”
“I said get out!” Dudley shouted suddenly, pulling himself up into his height and flexing his muscles in a clear warning. Draco glanced between the cousins, then made a move to grab his wand from Potter. “He’s keeping it.”
“What?” Draco spluttered out, eyes flying between them. “But it’s-” But he never got to finish, because Dudley suddenly grabbed him by the scruff off his neck and pulled him along out of the house and across the yard. Some of their friends noticed and stopped to stare, but none of them stopped Dudley from marching to the path and forcefully pushing him across the ward-lines. They gave electric pulses across his skin as he stumbled though, and he noticed Potter standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, Draco’s wand out of sight.
“Piss off.” Dudley spat, suddenly the very image of his angry cousin. Draco glanced at the others, feeling his face heat painfully as he noticed Tilly staring between him and the house. “Potter, come on.” He tried to sound composed, but was painfully aware his voice cracked at the end. His eyes unwillingly darted the street, trying to see if any death eaters or even the dark lord saw his humiliation. “Please.”
There was a long silence, the other teenagers staring between them like it was an intense game of gobstones before Potter seemed to deflate. With a sigh, the shorter brunette came down the path to stop just inside the wards edge.
“Harry-” Dudley started as his cousin came up to them, and Potter just shook his head while still looking through Draco as if he was assessing him.
“You should get away while you still can Malfoy.” Potter said softly, pulling Draco’s familiar hawthorne wand from his sleeve. “Before you’re trapped too deep.” His old rival moved to hold out the wand, handle first when Dudley grabbed his wrist and stopped him.
“You need that- what if the bad guy comes back?” Draco frowned at him, then glanced at Potter whose face didn’t move. But Potter just shook his head and held the wand out. Draco took it, his heart beating so fast in his chest it felt like he’d been racing Potter for the snitch for hours. His fingers trembled as he reached out, and he tried to still them by sheer force of will.
“If he does, Malfoy needs it more than I do.” Potter said, releasing his grip on the wand easily and letting Draco take it. “He might actually have a chance.” Then the shorter boy turned on his heel and walked back inside without a single glance, dismissing Draco completely. Straightening up, he corrested his clothing and stalked proudly from the house towards his own. His heart beat so wildly in his chest he didn’t hear anything else.
---
Severus accepted the cup of tea from Narcissa, sitting in the quaint little living room in the house they’d taken as their own. Bellatrix was, thankfully, off trying to climb into the dark lord's bed and Lucius was who knew where.
“Lucius isn’t pleased with how you’ve arranged the house?” He asked pleasantly, taking a sip of the cup. Narcissa sat down in the armchair opposite him and arranged her flowy trousers around herself one would their robes.
“Lucius prefers to remain close to the dark lord, to more effectively come to his aid.” Narcissa replied breezily, and Severus simply made an agreeable sound in the back of his throat. It seemed like Lucius and Bellatrix was slow to adapt to the change in the dark lord’s behaviour, and that left them frustrated and grappling for control. Narcissa, however, seemed to Severus to be a dark horse and his suspicion to keep his eyes on her grew more and more solid.
“We all strive to do his bidding.” He agreed instead, setting the cup down into its saucer. “You’ve reaped success with the muggles then?” He asked, showing her attention that brought a miniscule pleased flush to her cheekbones.
“Yes, they are pulling me further and further into their circle every day.”
“Bravo.” Severus said, reaching over to take a cookie from the tin on the table. It broke apart pleasantly into his mouth, and he would have to apply all his self control to not shove the whole thing into his mouth.
“I asked you over in need of a favour, if you’d be so amendable.” Narcissa said, taking a dainty bite of her own biscuit. “Do you have any veritaserum you might spare?” Severus fasted his eyes on her, yet her face gave nothing away this time as she observed him back.
“It’s a highly regulated potion.” He said, earning him a contemplative nod from the other.
“It is.” She agreed, smiling as if they were simply discussing the pros and cons of the current french weather. “Yet it would aid the dark lord greatly if you were to acquire some for me, and I’d be sure to bring it to his attention.”
He didn’t doubt it. He was saved from answering though by the door slamming open and Draco rushing in looking dishevelled. Narcissa set her cup down, looking her son over in a hurry.
“Draco? Weren’t you at the party?” She asked, standing up when Draco said nothing but rushed upstairs and the sound of a door slamming closed. The adults both listened, then Nacrissa seemed to pull herself together. “I’m afraid I must deal with this Severus, I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” He said swiftly, setting the cup away and standing himself. “I’ll see what I can do about that request of yours.” He said and left towards the front door as he heard Narcissa already climbing the stairs behind him. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he walked up the street towards the huge tent being covered by anti-muggle spells for the night. Stepping in behind the wards, he remained standing there and observed the garden opposite. There was a small pavilion set up, and several tables filled with rowdy teenagers. Several seemed intoxicated, and there were groups split up between writhing together to the music and playing board games at a table. Some of them were eating and he noticed Potter moving between taking food to a table and fetching more drinks from inside.
Strangely enough, the youth wasn’t at the heart of the party making a fool out of himself, and he narrowed his eyes taking the brat in. He looked skinnier than he remembered him being.
“Severus.” A cold voice said pleasantly from behind him, and he turned to bow for the dark lord. The dark lord didn’t acknowledge the action, his famous red eyes locked onto Potter’s movements across the street. “What an unexpected surprise.”
“My lord.” He turned back, feeling comfortable to join the dark lord in this activity. “Narcissa Malfoy has requested veritaserum from me.” He said, and the dark lord didn’t give any inclination he’d heard him for quite some time.
“I trust Lady Malfoy’s discretion.” The dark lord said eventually. “You may aid her in any requirements she may have.”
“A very gracious favour, my lord.” He answered with another bow of his head. Noticing how Potter across the street looked in their direction. Lily’s eyes swept the side of the street, as if he couldn't see them either before he raised his hand and gave a rude gesture in their general direction before returning to his work. The dark lord, to his surprise, didn’t bristle at the insult but seemed… amused.
“From my understanding, the patronus charm isn’t included as standard practice even among NEWT students.” The dark lord spoke contemplatively, and Serverus remained unmoved as he gave a shallow nod.
“That’s correct my lord.”
“How did it come to be that Harry learned to cast it so young?” The worst thing one could have was the dark lord’s interest. For his enemies, it might mean his personal involvement in your death and if you were a political adversary you would find yourself in a game of chess, caught up like a fly getting snared into a spiderweb. But the worst might be if you gained his favour, because it was a fickle friend with painful consequences for those who disappointed him. ‘Oh Lily, he might be beyond my help now.’
“When Black escaped Azkaban, the minister stationed dementors around the school.” He replied instead, putting the memory of Lily’s laugh and her lifeless eyes as far down as he possibly could in his mind. “Potter whined to Lupin about it, and was later taught the charm.”
The Dark Lord made a contemplating sound in the back of his throat, still observing the foolish boy. He was now talking with Petunia’s offspring by the door, apparently a harsh conversation before Potter stalked off in a huff.
“Remarkable.” The dark lord finally said, turning back to give him a bored glance. “I want our supply of healing potions fully stocked, and I want a complicated nutrition potion made. Standard dose for thirty days to start with.”
“You’re feeling unwell, my lord? I can tailor the potions to your needs specifically-” The look he received made him quiet instantly and bow his head.
“Do as I say, Severus. Nothing more.” And with that the wizard walked back into his tent. Severus observed Potter on the other side of the street for a moment more. And this time he really took him in. The harsh lines in how he held himself, rigid. How his eyes seemed to sweep over the crowd of teenagers, assessing them as he moved about them and navigated them ever so gently away from the wards edge when they drifted too close.
He saw how lithe he’d become.
Severus stalked off into the night, leaving this hellscape behind.
Notes:
That's it! It was giving me some grief, but I do like how it turned out even if it was lacking a little bit of... flair.
Since we're celebrating easter next week here in Sweden, I've put in a little plot-easter egg!😉
And per usual, I love and appriciate each and every one of you. I read every comment, even if I am horrible at replying to them. I'm trying to do better.😅P.S Our baby is due in four weeks! So they might arrive at the drop of a hat from now on. So if I unexpectedly fall off grid, you know what it might be.❤
Chapter 9: The morning after
Summary:
The teenagers are hungover, Harry house-elves and Draco don't panic about last night.
Notes:
I'm not dead, yay! 😘
Thank you for your patience!
Baby's fine, postpartum depression is getting better and we're coping with the new reality better and better. Thank you for everyone who's thought about us.❤
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Rubbing his face for the seventy-eight time that morning, the bone-dense tiredness didn’t leave him. So with a sigh, he flipped the pancake with the spatula with one hand and a sip of his strong coffee with the other. With the Dusley-parents being off, Harry had brewed a pot in silent defiance and was drowning his third cup.
“That smells divine!” Someone spoke from behind him, making him jump and spill coffee onto his arm and the floor. Harry cursed awfully, giving Tilly a glare as she laughed. But the blonde was already walking towards him, taking paper from the counter. “Gee, you’re good with compliments, aren’t you?”
“Till.” Harry gave her another look, gentler this time, and let her wipe the coffee up from the ground. “Figured you’d all be hungover and hungry when you woke up.”
“Ah Haz, you’re too good to us.” Tilly said brightly, and as she stood she leaned in and placed a big kiss on his cheek. The action made Harry freeze up, not used to such things, but Tilly had already left to toss the wet paper. Someone flushed the toilet in the hallway bathroom and soon Claire appeared in the doorway. Her face was swollen from sleep, her hair in an unbrushed mess and her eye-makeup had smeared during the night. The second girl only grunted in greeting and Tilly filled the air with conversation herself as she set the table for them. It had probably been ten minutes when Claire was awake enough to say something.
“You know Dray or something?” Her voice was rough from sleep still and beside her Harry noticed Tilly’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. Harry kept his eyes on refilling her cup of coffee.
“We go to the same school.” Harry said eventually, deciding to go with the truth. He practically heard Claire’s mind trying to put it together while he returned to flip another pancake.
“Dray goes to some fancy boarding school, not your criminal institution.” Claire eventually said and Harry heard Tilly hiss something at her friend.
“Then I suppose either Malfoy’s or Big D’s parents are lying.” He shrugged.
“Seems more likely you're the one lying.” Claire muttered, and Harry stacked the pancakes on a plate before taking it to the table.
“I must not tell lies” Harry said sarcastically, setting the plate down with his scared hand and smirking faintly when Till noticed it and grabbed his hand.
“What's this?” She demanded, but he was saved from the conversation by Josh and Dennis stumbling into the kitchen. Pulling his hand loose gently, Harry returned to the stove. More and more hungover kids came into the kitchen, keeping Harry blessedly busy. Faintly he noticed the phone ringing, then Tilly calling his name. Turning, Harry caught her amused eyes as she held the phone to her shoulder.
“Haz, there’s a girl for you.” The boy’s around the table started ooing and slamming their hands onto the table and Harry rolled his eyes while taking the phone from her.
“Hello?”
“What’s going on? It sounds like you’re in the common room after a winning game.” Hermione’s familiar voice spoke, and Harry felt his shoulder’s drop in relaxation.
“I wish. How was Bulgaria?” Harry held the phone between his shoulder and ear to get back to his comfortable cooking. “How many practices did Victor make you watch?” On the other side, Hermione sighed in pure helplessness and the familiar sound was like balm on an open cut.
“It was good, and too many. He gave me some notes to pass to you though, they’ve been working on some new feint or something and he’s obsessed.” Harry laughed, flipping another pancake. “Why did Voldemort give you his wand?” The laughter got stuck somewhere in his throat.
“What?”
“I’m calling from home, no one’s monitoring this.” Hermione said casually, and Harry shook to get his head back in order. “So?”
“Gee ‘Mione, at least buy me dinner first.” He mumbled, trying to get his bearing while painfully aware of the many pairs of eyes staring into his back. There were a few whoops as well. “How do you even know about that?”
“You're being held hostage by the dark lord- it's obviously all over the papers Harry.” Ah, those. Harry thought without feeling. Perhaps he should start up his prescription again.
”He wants to deal with me himself, and I needed to fix my shoulder properly.” Harry tried to deflect, “It was business, basically.”
“You should have snapped it.” Hermione said in that no nonsense voice of hers and Harry snorted in equal parts delight and shock.
“Hermione!”
“It would just make everything much easier. Most wizards are completely useless without their wand.”
“Okay, one- he’s scary good without it so it wouldn’t really hold him back and second, nothing would stop him from just getting another one. So it would just have pissed him off for no reason.”
“It would have sent a message though. And he’d be inconvenienced at the very least.”
“Tell that to the crippling migraines his temper tantrums earn me.” Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ll never guess who was here last night though.” He grinned, feeling Hermione take the bait. “Malfoy.”
“Harry, we knew Lucius Malfoy was there.” Hermione’s own eye roll practically heard through the phone line.
“The younger one.” Harry said, setting more fresh pancakes onto the table. The plate had barely touched the table before it was empty again. “Hey, where does Dray live?” He asked the table in general, earning him a few uncertain looks from the girls but little to no reaction from the boys. But it was Piers who grunted out his reply.
“Number 12. His mum’s bloody fit too.” This earned the boy a few claps on the backs from the others, and looks of disgust from the girls. Harry wrinkled his nose with them and returned to his work.
“No 12, where the Fergussen’s used to live.” He said, and there was the faint sound of pen scratching on paper on the line. “Don’t do something stupid ‘Mione.”
“Call it spending too much time with you two.” Hermione said, her mind obviously working a mile a minute already. “I’ve gotta go; anything special you need?” Harry stilled, looking out the window over the sink as he thought. Voldemort was nowhere to be seen, but Nagini was lazying about in the sun. She looked content, even as Death Eaters walked on their toes around her.
“Maybe a book or something. Something… clever.”
“Something clever?” Hermione asked, and this time Harry pictured that confused crinkle between her eyebrows. Then there was a subtle shift in her breath. “It’s not for you, is it?”
“Your confidence in my reading abilities are making me blush.” He laughed, genuine and it made him feel lighter and happier than he had in days.
“Harry, you’re one of the smartest persons I know, but we both know you’re a jock at heart.”
“Ow, that hurt!” He exclaimed in mock pain, rolling his eyes as the girls behind him giggled. “Hold on-” He said, putting the phone down to takeout the bread from the oven when there was a suspicious silence before the scraping of a chair behind him. He turned, almost slamming the hot baking sheet into Claire who’d jumped up and grabbed the phone.
“Hello, who is this?” Claire asked sweetly, dancing away from him as he tried to get the phone back with one hand. Unsuccessful, he set the tray down to hunt after her, but both Pierce and Dennis was getting up to block his advances while Claire grinned on the other side of the kitchen with the phone clutched to her ear. “-hi Hermione, I’m Claire. We all know Haz since primary, we go way back. So, how long have you’ve been dating? Has he shown you his knob yet? Where did you meet?”
“Oh piss off Claire!” Harry called, trying to duck around the boys who managed to pick him up and toss him back. But Claire didn’t seem to be paying him attention, she was frowning at whatever Hermione said.
“St Brutus is an all boy’s school though.” Hermione said something again, and at the table Tilly was looking between them with worried eyes. “I-”
“What’s going on here?” Dudley asked from the doorway, expression dark as he saw his friends still man-handing Harry who tried to get to the phone still.
“She nicked the phone!” Harry said, taking the moment to point to Clare who stuck her tongue out at him.
“It’s a joke Haz, have you heard of them?” But Dudley were already taking the phone from her forcefully, and glared at his goons until they set Harry down again. Stepping up, Dudley only halted from handing him the phone for a moment.
“If it’s the twins, let them know I helped you, all right?” Dudley asked quietly, looking a bit green around the eyes. Harry nodded, took the phone and glared at the room. Then he snuck past them and out from the kitchen towards his room.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” He said as he took the stairs two at a time, and at the other side he heard Hermione sigh.
“Claire, was it? What’s her last name?” Hermione asked, and Harry heard the shuffling of paper and pen again.
“Why?” He asked, suspiciously. The last time she’d sounded this innocent, had been the minute before she revealed she kept a kidnapped journalist in a glass jar.
“No reason, I just want to be informed about the layout of your current battlefield.” Ah, the deflective nonchalance. Sighing wearily, he told her both her name, address and phone number because if he didn’t, she’d do an Hermione and find out anyway. And the girl said he and Ron were trouble. Hermione hummed as she made a note of it, and Harry took the moment to glance out the window. The tent was still hidden away behind a mirage, but Harry tried to see past it. Something in him told him Voldemort wasn’t out in the open, probably sneaking to just inside the tent like he was known to do. Weirdo.
“So about the… gift?” Hermione was weary, but resigned in a way that meant her brain was usually working at top speed.
“He’s feeding me and healing me ‘Mione.” Harry said, not sure why that statement made his voice tremble just a little. “I’ve got to keep the momento of good will flowing somehow.”
“One could say he’s repaying for all the attempts to kill you.” Hermione grumbled, and Harry smiled. “What books does a dark lord even read? An essay on medieval torture methods and their evolution into the spanish inquisition?” Harry laughed at her dry and resigned tone.
“I don’t know ‘Mione, you’re better with these sorts of things.”On the other side of the line, Hermione sighed as if someone had told her there were no other books in the world to read.
---
With most of the teens piling up in a hungover mess in the livingroom, staring mindlessly at the latest Die hard movie. Dudley couldn’t focus though, his eye kept drifting to the kitchen, where there were the faint familiar sounds of Harry moving about and cleaning up. There was even the mellow scent of onion and spices being cooked together for the lasagna he’d mumbled about making while kicking them all out of the kitchen. Dudley shifted for the tenth time, then he was elbowed in the side by Pierce.
“Stop squirming like a virgin in the Playboy house,” The other boy grumbled, not even looking at him. “Go get a snack or a wank or something.”
“Piss off you Poof.” Dudley mumbled back, but he did get up from the couch and stretched out. Then his feet took him automatically to the kitchen, where he found Harry chopping vegetables and stirring the pan every other moment. “Need help?” He asked after stepping up to the sink and pouring himself a glass of water. Harry glanced at him, his green eyes seemingly staring into his very soul. It was unnerving, when had that happened?
“Not really, no.” Harry replied, returning his eyes to the chopping.
“Do- you want to talk about yesterday?” Dudley pushed through, picking at the jars of spices and looking at the labels. Turmeric, paprika, garlic and thyme-
“No, Dudley, I want to finish this lasagna in peace while listening to the radio.” The silence was tense, only filled with the whining of Alanis Morisette. Dudley didn’t leave his cousin though, he remained where he was and watched his hands as they moved. Certain, steady. When the song turned into Wonderwall, Dudley swallowed before trying again.
“I didn’t know he knew you. I’d have told you, if I did.” Harry spared him a glance. Fluid, fast, yet it seemed to categorise everything. The tension seemed to bleed out of Harry’s shoulders though, and the smaller boy sighed.
“I know Duds.” Harry said, his hands returning to their steady work. “But you can’t just- you’ve gotta let people show you who they are before trusting them, all right? Especially in this mess.” Harry waved vaguely with the knife towards the windows, but didn’t say anything else. Dudley glanced out though, suppressing a shiver. He couldn’t see the tent-camp anymore, but he still felt like they were in a giant fish-bowl being stared at. He hated it.
“So Dray’s one of the bad guys?” He asked, still looking out the window. Harry sighed again, then put the knife down with a clatter before he rubbed his face.
“The world isn’t split up into Death Eaters and good people.” Harry said eventually, sounding resigned and tired. “Malfoy isn’t- his dad is one of the bad guys, and Malfoy grew up prejudiced but it’s hard to tell what’s his upbringing and what isn’t.” Harry sounded so old, while what he said mainly made Dudley’s head spin.
“Prejudided about what?” Dudley heard himself ask, not sure he wanted to know the answer.
“Muggles” was thankfully everything Harry said, even if it left him with more questions.
“But- from what he’s shown me, he’s been okay.” Dudley tried weakly, and the look Harry gave him was scalding.
“You’ve known him what, a couple of weeks?” Harry asked, and Dudley made a sound of acknowledgement in the back of his throat. “I’ve had several teachers I thought highly of for a year try to kill me.” It was spoken offhandedly, but Dudley had to grip the counter harder to not topple over.
“What?”
“Just- good and evil isn’t as simplistic.” Harry spoke, then his hands stopped moving for a moment. “Someone once told me, there is no good or evil, only power and those too weak to seek it.” Harry still looked lost in his thoughts, like he'd forgotten Dudley was still there. “I think he’s wrong. We’re all just trying to survive, and if we think power, fame or money will aid that, then our choices will reflect that.” The tanned hands returned to their work, and Dudley wasn’t sure he had been breathing. “Noone of us are the bad guys in our own life stories.” Dudley didn’t know what to say to that, and Harry seemed lost in his thoughts again so he left.
---
Draco Lucius Malfoy had been raised not only on his blood superiority, but also on the aristocratic values that he was superior. He had not been raised to doubt, or to hide around corners of muggle streets and spying until we saw for sure that Tilly had arrived back home after the party. He hadn’t even decided yet what he’d say, if he approached the house, when she entered the back garden and waved him over. Stumbling like a fool, he made his way over and joined her by the old swings.
“What happened last night?” Tilly asked, watching her knees. She wore a short skirt and some flowy top to it, with plastic butterflies holding her hair back. It was cute, and reminded him of his cousin Luna. Swallowing momentarily, Draco watched his shoes as he shrugged. “Was it something to do with Harry?” She continued when he said nothing.
“Yeah,” Draco said, tipping his head back to stare up into the blue sky above. He’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to find a good position. His bed was the same as his one at home, a queen spelled to look like a single one but spacious enough. It should have been the most natural thing in the world, falling asleep. It hadn’t.
“Figured.” Tilly said softly beside him. “They’ve always been pretty much at each other's throats growing up, but I think the thing last year really spooked Dud.”
“It sounds like it must have been pretty scary.” Draco said, thinking back to the train ride before their third year. How the dementors had opened the door to the compartment, Pansy crying in panic and hiding her face against his shoulder and Greg breaking into violent cold sweat. He remembered the awful cold, the desperation and that the castle with a sliver of a moon had never looked as pretty as that night when they arrived.
“Yeah, I think so.” Tilly agreed, and he saw her glancing at him from the corner of his eye. “He’s never defended Harry like he has the past year, so I think whatever you did- just apologize.”
“Yeah, that’s probably good advice.” Draco agreed. He had a feeling though, just talking to Dudley wouldn't be enough and Potter?
There was nothing he'd be able to say to Potter to actually get into his golden good graces. There was too much history, too much animosity. Too much… simply too much to bridge. His hand burned at the phantom sting of it not being taken back then. Potter hadn't looked like he'd expected at eleven though, had he? He'd been big like a seven year old, his clothes huge and worn more than Weasley's had been. Thinking back, Potter had looked so small even though rage blistered beneath his skin. Shaking his head again, Draco stood up with a deep sigh. “Thanks Till. I’ll see you.”
“See you.” She replied behind him, and he walked the short way home to number 12 from number 16. His father had informed Draco and his mother at breakfast that they were expected to have dinner with the dark lord that night. The thought sent gooseflesh along his arms and a weird taste in his mouth. The dark lord was terrifying, and his magic hung around him like a heavy, cold mist. The way he effortlessly used wandless and wordless magic was alarming and Draco couldn't help but feel like his neck might be snapped at any moment. Or any other limbs for that matter.
He was almost at the door when a cough made him jump, terrified and undignified all at once. Dudley Dursley sat on the steps to the house, looking both determined and awkward at the same time.
“Dray.” Dudley said, standing up and brushing his hands over his bum. “You’re one of Harry’s lot.”
“I am.” Draco said, fishing up his key from his pocket and slowly stepping closer to the bigger boy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“It’s s’posed to be a secret.” Dudley shrugged, and when Draco stepped inside he followed him inside. Draco was about to lead him to the kitchen, but his eyes got caught on the cupboard door and he turned around to head to the living room instead. Dudley’s footsteps followed him, and they sank down in the living room furniture without another word for several minutes. “So…” Dudley said eventually, breaking the tense silence. “Eh, you know Harry?”
“Yes. We’re in the same year.” Draco said, keeping his eye on the small portrait of the manor over the fireplace.
“... were you friends with Cedric too?” Dudley asked, and Draco’s mind was blank for a horrible moment as his face went icy cold. No one in Slytherin said that name anymore. Not after hearing Potter’s greif that night and especially not since they’d all returned home after that year and been forced to face the reality of Potter’s words. The fear he’d felt as he’d stared into those blood red eyes and the pain of having his mind ripped open as the dark lord tore through his memories of Potter’s return that night.
How the presence in his mind lingered on Potter’s howl-like screaming and how the memory of his rival clinging to the corpse seemed to slow down and go on repeat and repeat inside his mind before the dark lord finally retreated. How he’d searched for any glimpse of Potter in his memories of the days after. “Dray?” Dudley said, and Draco swallowed thickly.
“No, he was a few years above us and in a different house. He was on the quidditch team though, so we both played him for the cup.” Draco said, for a moment remembering Diggory’s smile in the blazing sun, shaking his hand and congratulating him on a great game. Diggory hadn’t cared all that much about house-rivalry, and had always been pleasant the few times they spoke.
“Harry plays sports?” Big D asked. Draco was pulled from his thoughts abruptly and he blinked. Dudley looked excited, but there was a crease between his eyebrows. “He always was fast.” The snort escaped him before he could stop it, and Draco felt a smirk tug at his lips.
“Well, it doesn’t hurt he has the fastest broom in school, doesn’t it?” This, however, made Dudley snap his eyes to him and Draco felt how he sank further into the couch. This was better than having his nose punched in by an angry cousin.
“That’s for sports?” Dudley asked, pulling his legs up into the couch and turning more to face Draco. Clearly interested now that Draco had proven willing to answer his questions. Why didn’t Dud know this already? “I just assumed they were for travel.”
“Well, one can do that.” Draco said, also turning more towards Dudley. “But it’s uncomfortable for longer journeys, and depending on the weather it can get pretty cold.”
“Right…” Dudley said, nodding his head as he obviously thought about this for the first time. And wasn’t that odd to think?
“He doesn’t talk about school?” He asked, drawing Dudley’s attention back to him. The other blonde shook his head. Then that look of determination set in on his face, and Dudley straightened up.
“Tell me about Quidd-lick. Do you have any pictures?” They stared at one another, then Draco found himself nodding and getting up.
“I’ve got the sports-section here somewhere…” He mumbled, going to the kitchen and digging around a bit before finding the box where he stored them. Dudley was enthralled by the moving pictures, poking a few and making the players have to swirl out of the way while waving their fists at them. Draco grinned, his heart soaring at having the chance to escape the war and duties for a while by just explaining the best sport in the world.
He even found himself explaining some of the games between Gryffindor and Slytherin, delighted by the vividity of Dudley’s attention. The talking was making him thirsty though, so he went to get them soda from the kitchen. The window was ajar, and let in the breeze while Draco could hear movement of people in the street. It was… nice, to have people around like this. It somehow made everything a little less lonely.
Coming back to the livingroom, his mood sank rapidly seeing that Dudley had picked up a copy of the prophet and was staring into it. It was the other blondes facial expression that told him it wasn’t anything good he’d found. Stepping closer while holding his breath, Draco glanced to the paper. The image of Potter’s familiar patronus filled the front page and all he could see of Dudley were his eyebrows knitted together.
“That snake-man’s the one who killed Harry’s parents, isn’t he?” Dudley said eventually, slowly lowering the paper between them. Draco nodded, setting down the glasses and soda carefully. “But Harry’s not giving him whatever it is he’s wanting, so how could he be turning bad? He doesn’t even have anything dangerous he’s just… Harry.”
How did one explain the Boy Who Lived to a muggle? How did one explain the killing curse and outflying dragons and not running from monsters killing unicorns in the forbidden forest? How did one explain the cruciatus curse, and the way it ripped your nerves apart? How does one explain the helplessness one felt, having been born into a war you’d never expected to return. How’d you explain tossing yourself in front of a crucio to shield a first year from another house?
“Potter’s not…” Potter was dangerous though, wasn’t he? In his own way. He’d attacked Draco several times. He’d run an underground fighting club and if he wasn’t dangerous, would the dark lord really be spending all this effort on him? No, Potter was dangerous, and not only as a figurehead. It didn’t make it easier to see, though. Draco still mostly pictured him as that scrawny eleven year old who’d drowned in the sorting hat.
“Potter wears his heart on his sleeve.” He said eventually, trying the words out in his mouth. They didn’t feel untrue.“And he doesn’t mind standing up for it- sometimes that rocks the boat in ways that make people uncomfortable.” He glanced at the image in the paper, the one with the awful wound in close up. It was one of the few pictures in colour, and it was making bile rise up in his throat.
“But why do people care, though?” Dudley groaned, looking at the magazine again. “He’s just a kid.” Draco thought about the growing darkness in Potter’s eyes. The wild fury he’d carried in his shoulders all of last year. The way he took down most of the inquisitorial squad himself and the wild duel with Umbridge before they took off into the forbidden forest.
“The dark lord just vanished after he tried to kill Potter that night.” Draco heard himself whisper, the house so silent that the carbonated bubbles in their glasses seemed like explosions. The silence stretched out until it grew into a painful pressure in his chest that might suffocate him.
“You saw inside the cupboard, didn’t you?” Dudley asked suddenly, voice barely a whisper.
Draco closed his eyes, trying not to see those shaky, uneven blue letters on the note in that dark depressing little space. Nodding, he only heard Dudley gasp after breath once and it broke over him like he imagined a dementors kiss would be. Icing and vile, leaving you hollow and locked into your body as a prison.
“I used to think it was normal.” Dudley went on in a tone as haunted as his eyes got sometimes. “How messed up is that? I was jealous of him too. Mum never taught me to cook.” Then Dudley laughed, and it was a chaotic sound that sounded a little broken, somehow. “I don’t think she really taught him though, I figure he just taught himself. Mum’s cooking is always horrible when she has to do it herself.” Dudley groaned, and there was a slapping sound. Glancing over, Draco saw Dudley had covered his own face with his hands and dropped it back in obvious distress.
“I used to dream about becoming his best friend growing up.” Draco barely heard his own voice over the ringing in his ears. “It was what I wanted more than anything in the world- best friend of Harry Potter himself.” Draco fell back into the backrest as well, staring up into the ceiling. It felt like a lifetime ago now.
“Why didn’t you?” Dudley asked, and there was such obliviousness that Draco found himself laughing.
“I don’t know.” He admitted, remembering so vividly how embarrassed and humiliated he’d been back then. “Weasley got to him first, I suppose. Then we sorted differently and that was that.” There was a contemplative sound from Dudley that made Draco look at him again.
“That’s that red headed family, right?” Draco nodded, and Dudley’s nose scrunched up.
“That’s the one.”
“They blew up our fireplace a couple of years ago. Didn’t know Dad had bricked it up and tried to come through somehow.” There was a faint smile on the other boy’s face then. “Harry started talking to them through it though, and there were just more and more of them piling up back there. He had a good laugh about it though, I think.” That made Draco laugh too, trying to imagine the disaster. It made Dudley beside him laugh as well, and it sounded so desperate that it triggered Draco to laugh even more.
Notes:
There we go! A bit shorter than usual, but I've had it written for a while and not been happy with it so it needed some editing. But I thought you all deserved a nice chapter while wifey and baby nap ❤
I have some ideas where to take this, most likely an expansision on what happens AFTER the original story's end for those who wanted to know more about whay happens next. I also am surprising myself by low-key shipping Tilly and Draco?! It wasn't my intention, but I'm having a harder time stopping myself. Thoughts? I mean Lucius finding out his heir is dating a muggle would be entertaining... 😅 But I'll let you all decide!
Until next time darlin's! ❤❤❤