[From Litha to Lammas]: A Year Like This, Malfoy series, gen, PG-13, 4/6

[lomonaaeren]

Part Three.

Part One.

Title: A Year Like This (4/6)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Background Lucius/Narcissa, otherwise gen
Content Notes: Massive AU (Harry is a Malfoy), angst, violence, dysfunctional family issues
Wordcount: This part 4100
Rating: PG-13
Summary: AU. Harry goes back to Hogwarts for his third year, after a charged summer with his family. Sirius Black is still out there somewhere, the Ministry thinks it’s a good idea to send Dementors to the school, Dumbledore has things he wants to talk to Harry about, and Harry still doesn’t really know how to react to the notion that his father was once a Death Eater and his mother would literally kill to protect him. Also, Draco is a very, very annoying brother.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “From Litha to Lammas” fics, being posted between the summer solstice and the beginning of August this year. It’s also part of my “Like a Malfoy” series, and follows “How Like Hatred,” “A Name Like Henry,” and “A Godfather Like Him.” Don’t read this without reading those first. This will likely have five or six parts.

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Part Four

“And he wanted you to keep it a secret from us.”

Harry nodded, but kept quiet. He didn’t think that he needed to say anything else, at this point. Father was repeating those words because he had to, because he would probably curse someone otherwise.

Mother, meanwhile, sat in the middle of the private room that the Silver Swan had provided for them again with one arm around Harry and one around Father. She hadn’t moved much since Harry had told them the story. But Harry had looked into her eyes and seen such cold, focused fury burning there that he didn’t think for one moment she was less angry than Father. Only someone foolish would underestimate her.

“And you saw this Remus Lupin threatening him as well, Healer Letham?”

Healer Letham nodded. She had taken up a stance near the fireplace, seeming comfortable standing even though it had been nearly an hour now since they’d arrived. “However, I will need Harry’s permission to speak further about it.”

“You can tell them,” Harry said. “One thing I don’t understand is why Lupin thought he could persuade me to take the training, when I’d refused Dumbledore and Lupin still didn’t even admit he had a connection to me when I was a baby.”

“A stolen connection,” Mother whispered. “A forced connection.”

Harry nodded, but didn’t comment. That was true. He just didn’t see the point of delving into it right now.

“This is only my speculation,” said Healer Letham, finally shifting a little. She was looking at Harry as she spoke, not Father. “But I think both the Headmaster and Lupin are desperate. They believe that Harry will die unless the Order of the Phoenix trains him, either because Voldemort will kill him or because you will sacrifice him to your master, Mr. Malfoy.”

Father flinched, but said nothing.

“I would call it a combination of genuine fear for a boy who might die and worry over losing someone they think is their best chance of defeating Voldemort in the long run.” Healer Letham shook her head. “Perhaps Lupin was intending to reveal his connection to your kidnappers in this conversation, Harry, and count on that to persuade you. Perhaps he even thought that you might pay attention to his advice for the opportunity to learn more about them.”

“They were monsters,” Mother said flatly, and clutched Harry a little closer.

“I am not disputing that,” Healer Letham said in the most neutral voice of all, the one she used when Harry’s accidental magic got out of control during their sessions. “I am only attempting to answer Harry’s question about what they might have hoped to achieve.”

“Lupin seemed shocked when I asked why he thought I was on their side of the war,” Harry said quietly. “No, horrified. So maybe they thought they could save me from being evil and corrupted, too.”

“I want you out of Hogwarts,” whispered Mother. “Back at the Manor.”

“No!”

“Henry,” Mother said, and her hand trailed gently through his hair, so much tamer than it used to be. “Hogwarts isn’t safe. If Dumbledore and Lupin really are as desperate as the Healer suggests, they might decide that methods like mind-controlling you with the Imperius are acceptable. You could be Memory Charmed, or laid under compulsion. I want you home.”

Harry swallowed and looked desperately at Healer Letham. She was really his only hope. He knew that most people wouldn’t think he was in danger if his parents just took him home, and now that he had parents, no one could legally interfere, either.

“That would be the wrong decision, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Don’t tell me how to keep my son safe!”

“I will,” said Healer Letham, and now she was looking at Mrs. Malfoy as if she was a dueling opponent, “when you are prioritizing his physical safety over his mental health.”

Harry thought Mrs. Malfoy was going to snatch him up and storm out of the room for a second. Mr. Malfoy had gone still. But Mrs. Malfoy managed to make herself sit back and close her eyes, shuddering, before she gave a stiff nod.

“All right, Healer. Tell me why.”

“Harry shouldn’t have to give up the comforts of Hogwarts, his place in Gryffindor Tower and his friends and regular contact with a variety of different people, because the Headmaster made an inadvisable decision and one of his professors is rather forward about trying to forge a personal connection with him.” Healer Letham spread her hands a little. “We cannot yield the ground to them. They should be the ones made to back off, not Harry—”

“Stop calling him that! His kidnappers called him that!”

“I work for him, and not you. And he is living between the names, right now. If you want him to cling to his past, if you want to drive your son into the Headmaster’s arms, by all means insist that Harry do exactly what you wish him to.”

Mrs. Malfoy’s arms trembled. Harry pushed her gently away and sat back to look between Healer Letham and his parents. Mr. Malfoy had his right hand on his left forearm, presumably covering the Dark Mark, and looked frozen with indecision.

“We cannot make Dumbledore back off,” he said after a second. “Not when he thinks he’s right.”

“Of course we can.” Healer Letham gave Harry’s father an unimpressed glance that made Harry, despite everything, smile. “You have legal right on your side, as Harry’s parents, to declare that the Headmaster can’t speak with him privately in his office, for example. And you can insist that Harry have a different tutor for Defense Against the Dark Arts alone, if that is necessary and Lupin will not temper his behavior. In fact, you might be able to get Lupin sacked, if you press the idea far enough.”

Harry swallowed. He wondered if he should offer up the idea that Lupin was a werewolf, and werewolves weren’t allowed to hold any ordinary jobs in magical Britain that he was aware of, certainly not as Hogwarts professors.

But uncertainty and shame held his tongue still. It was true that werewolves couldn’t hold those jobs, but it was also wrong. Harry didn’t think he should get Lupin sacked for what he was instead of what he’d done.

“But how do we know that the Headmaster and Lupin will abide by those restrictions?” Mother demanded.

“We already know that they don’t want to work against you openly. Or Dumbledore wouldn’t have bothered to tell Harry to keep his offer of training a secret.” Healer Letham shrugged. “With all due respect, Mrs. Malfoy, I think you are too used to dealing with a different caliber of enemy, like the man who kidnapped your son. Dumbledore and Lupin are not evil. They’re shortsighted. Instead of cursing them or immediately yanking Harry out of school, fight them with their own methods. They are trying to manipulate Harry and keep you from knowing about it. That requires legal means and words to deal with, not curses.”

Mother trembled a little more, and then nodded slowly. “I appreciate your insight and wisdom, Healer.”

“Of course.”

“I see that you are suggesting we pursue a legal path,” Father said then. “Not a thing often done at Hogwarts, or there would be more students taking Potions with a tutor instead of Severus Snape, and more Mudbloods—”

Harry opened his mouth in outrage, but stopped as he saw how viciously Mother had just pinched Father’s side. Father went completely white and leaned for a second against the arm of the couch, then coughed and cleared his throat. “More Muggleborns demanding special treatment and extra lessons,” he muttered, without looking at Harry or Mother.

“Just because it’s not used often does not mean we cannot use it.” Healer Letham had probably seen the pinch, Harry thought, but she was still completely calm and unaffected. “I’ll help you look up the relevant laws, if you like.”

“Thank you, madam, I think I am capable of that.”

Healer Letham gave Father a single cool look, then walked over and knelt in front of Harry. “Do you need anything more from me, Harry?”

“No,” Harry said. “Um. Thanks for coming with me.”

“You are welcome.” She gave him a nod, and then turned and went to the Floo. Harry had no idea where she went, other than probably not back to the classroom where they met in Hogwarts. She said the words too softly to be heard.

“So we will say that Dumbledore can’t meet with Henry privately,” said Mother, transferring her hug completely to Harry.

“Yes, that would be a good idea,” Father said. His face was abstracted, and his hand moved back and forth a little on his left arm. “That’s the place to begin.”

Harry opened his mouth to ask what he was thinking about, and then Mother pulled him close. Harry sighed and leaned back into her embrace.

He had survived telling them, and they hadn’t even been all that angry, in the end. At least one of his problems was over, however many more there were to come.

*

“You won’t be granted permission to meet with Henry privately in any capacity,” Father was saying, his voice so cold and remote that Harry thought he understood why his parents had chosen to have Father be the one to give Dumbledore the news. Mother probably couldn’t have been this calm. “Either his Head of House or his brother is to be with him at all times. In addition, we have hired a private tutor to work with him on his Defense spells.”

Dumbledore sat behind his desk the way he had when he’d met with Harry a few weeks ago, but he looked so much older that Harry might have thought he wasn’t the same man. He kept looking back and forth between Harry and Father, and the silent Mrs. Malfoy standing behind them, as if this was a riddle whose answer he didn’t like.

“Without training, how do you expect Harry—”

“I told you to call me Mr. Malfoy, Headmaster.” This time, Harry was absolutely sure that his sneer compared well with Father’s and Draco’s.

Dumbledore sighed, as if doing what Harry asked was a huge imposition, and continued. “How do you expect your son to survive?”

“If we think it necessary to give him such training, we will provide it,” Mother said, her voice as flat as ice. “Or his new tutor can. But you instructed him to lie to his family, Headmaster, and to accept tutoring from a vigilante group. It’s very hard to believe you have our son’s best interests at heart.”

“There is still a prophecy that Voldemort believes, even if you don’t. There is still a chance that he could come for—Mr. Malfoy.”

“And you never even asked us what we intended to do about it,” Father said, his cane tapping for a moment on the office floor. “You simply assumed that we would leave Henry to die and you had to step around us.”

“I will never trust you when it comes to Voldemort, Lucius Malfoy.” Dumbledore leaned forwards, and his hands clasped the edges of the desk now, instead of each other. His eyes glittered, harsh and bright, enough to make Harry freeze in place in the chair next to his father. “Because you bear the Dark Mark.”

Father studied Dumbledore in silence, his expression so completely closed off that Harry had no idea what he was thinking. Then he nodded and stood, with a glance at Harry. “Come, Henry. I think it’s time for you to meet your new Defense tutor. We’ll be having Draco work with him, as well. You’re welcome to invite your friends to attend the lessons if you want, but I don’t know what their decision will be.”

“Harry.”

Dumbledore’s voice was pleading. Harry almost wanted to look over his shoulder. But he knew that, no matter how curious he was about what Dumbledore would say, it would add up to the same thing in the end.

Justifications, and excuses, and certainty that Sirius had done the right thing all those years ago, kidnapping Harry for the Potters.

Harry walked out of the office after his parents.

*

“Who are you?”

Harry sighed. Honestly, Draco could have waited just a minute to ask that question, and he’d probably already have an answer.

The sturdy man standing in the middle of the room smiled at them. He looked perhaps as old as Father, with sandy-grey hair and brown eyes. His robes were plain and black, and Harry couldn’t tell anything from looking at them.

They were the only ones in the classroom where they’d been meeting with Tonks in the past month to learn the Patronus Charm. Hermione had said that she wanted to stay in Professor Lupin’s class since he was a good teacher, and Ron had been shamefaced; apparently his family was okay with him learning from a Malfoy-approved tutor when it was the Patronus Charm and not something they’d ever learn in class, but wanted him in class otherwise.

“My name is Ted Tonks,” said the man, and then laughed at the face Draco made. “Yes, in fact, that means you’ll be learning from a Muggleborn. And also from a Shadowfollower.”

That made Draco gasp. Harry looked back and forth between the man who must be Tonks’s father and Draco, not knowing what that meant.

“They’re just a myth, though,” said Draco. But he looked uncomfortable.

“A myth I’ve never heard of,” Harry said loudly, to stop them from forgetting about him.

“Do forgive me, Mr. Malfoy.” Ted turned to face him. “Most of the people who work for the Ministry don’t have much combat skill. There are three large exceptions: the Hit Wizards, who handle such things as riots and hostage situations; Aurors, who handle the Darker wizards and have more specialized training; and the Unspeakables, who work in the Department of Mysteries and investigate questions that have puzzled us for centuries. No reason for the others to have that much combat magic, honestly. They do their paperwork and go home at the end of the day.

“But now and then, it’s a good idea for the Ministry to have someone to handle a difficult situation who isn’t known to have combat experience, and who doesn’t have to be burdened with the sort of—ethical difficulties that burden Aurors and Hit Wizards.”

“The Shadowfollowers,” Draco whispered.

“Can you tell us this, though?” Harry asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Ted shrugged. “I’m retired, now. Being a Shadowfollower isn’t something you do for a lot of years. You either retire or you die in the line of duty. And most of the time, I was just an ordinary man with a wife and a daughter and a job I liked.

“When they needed someone who knew some dirty tricks, though? And particularly knew how to move around unnoticed in the Muggle world? They called on me.”

“How many of the Shadowfollowers are Muggleborns?” Draco demanded, who sounded as if he was furious with himself for never thinking of that. “All of them?”

“Oh, no.” Ted smiled, and watched Draco relax, before he added, “Just ninety-five percent or so of us.”

“Because people have a tendency to overlook you because they believe in pureblood superiority?” Harry asked.

Ted nodded. “That’s not the only reason, but it’s a prominent one. Another is that purebloods, as a group, don’t like to leave the credit for their investigations up to someone else, or even see them go entirely unclaimed.” He chuckled as he looked at Draco again.

Draco poked Harry sharply in the ribs, making him dance back with an oof. “Just remember that you’re a pureblood, too, Henry.”

“But he seems to be one of the few sensible ones,” Ted murmured. “Now. Are you ready to begin learning, or did you want to stand there and loudly proclaim what you don’t believe some more?”

Draco straightened up with more dignity than Harry would probably have had in the same situation. “We’re ready to start learning.”

*

Harry stood still with his wand extended and focused as hard as he could on the memory of his mother holding him after he had told her the secret about the training, then whipped his wand forwards.

“Expecto Patronum!”

There was only silvery mist when he opened his eyes and looked, and Harry exhaled a little, hard. But Hermione and Ron clapped and cheered from their chairs along the far wall of the classroom, and Tonks turned her hair blue with excitement.

“That’s a very good start for a month into training!” Tonks chortled, and her hair turned green this time. “Sometimes it’s all people manage. And even that mist would at least make a Dementor hesitate. You’ll get better at it, especially if you continue to practice with as much dedication as you have been.” She eyed him. “A powerful memory?”

Harry nodded, watching the mist as it cleared away. Then he turned as Draco got up from his own chair.

“I bet you I can do that better than you, Henry.”

“Oh? And what are you going to bet, Draco Lucius?”

Draco’s face screwed up with annoyance. Harry grinned. He’d heard Mrs. Malfoy using that name once during the summer, and had been looking forward to the point when he could bring it out.

“That Falmouth Falcons poster on the wall of my bedroom that you liked so much.”

“Done,” Harry said immediately. He knew that the Malfoys would have bought him a copy of the poster if he’d ever asked, but the point was, he hadn’t.

“What are you going to bet?”

“I’ll never call you Draco Lucius again.”

From the way Draco’s eyes narrowed, he seemed to be on the verge of demanding something else, but then he decided to accept it, maybe because Ron was smirking. “Fine,” Draco said, and turned around, his wand aimed in front of him. Harry opened his mouth to tell him that his wrist was a little too stiff and would probably ruin the Patronus Charm he was trying to cast, but then closed it. Draco hadn’t tried to disrupt Harry’s attempt to cast. Fair was fair.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The silver mist billowed out, and clung together for long enough that Harry thought he caught a glimpse of a muzzle. Then it broke apart.

“Well done, Draco!” Tonks clapped hard enough by herself to make up for the fact that Ron and Hermione didn’t—unsurprisingly—and Harry joined her. That really had been great, much better than Draco’s first attempts and better than his.

Draco gave Harry a triumphant smile. Harry grinned back. Draco was still pretty obnoxious sometimes, like with the thoughtless comments that he dropped around Ted during their Defense lessons, but it was also fun having a brother.

*

Harry was expecting to have a big pile of presents and a huge tree at the Manor for Christmas, because that was what had happened last year. What he didn’t expect was to walk into what looked like the center of a party the instant they came through the Floo, although it was one without guests and a huge table piled with food and gifts at just one chair.

“What’s going on?” he asked, staring at his parents as they came forward to welcome them. From the way Draco was smiling as he came up beside Harry, he’d anticipated this, but Harry had no idea what it was.

“This is a belated celebration of the day we found you,” Mrs. Malfoy said, embracing him, while Lucius wrapped a light arm around Draco’s shoulders. “We thought about taking you out of school on the actual day, but I knew that you were having a session with Healer Letham that day, and—well, we were going to see you anyway. And I wanted to wait until we could have a proper celebration.”

“These gifts are all for you,” Mr. Malfoy added, steering Harry towards the chair with the presents in front of it. “So that you can remember how much we love you.”

Harry held back a sigh as he sat down. It was like his family to show love through gifts, he realized that now. And it was better than the Dursleys never giving him anything.

It just made him feel weird, sometimes.

“But, um.” Harry glanced at Draco, trying to say without saying it that he was worried about his twin being jealous.

Draco laughed at him. “I helped pick out of most of these gifts, Henry. And I got twelve years of being spoiled all by myself before you came along.” He sat down at the chair facing Harry’s on the opposite side of the table. “How many older brothers can say that and have their younger brothers be the same age?”

Harry smiled, and began to unwrap the gifts. The first one was a copy of the Falmouth Falcons poster on the wall of Draco’s bedroom, the one with the players zooming against a background of deep, intense blue sky. He glanced at Draco. “Does this mean that you admit my Patronus was better than yours after all?”

“Shut up.”

Mrs. Malfoy smiled, and Mr. Malfoy gave something that might have been a laugh, if it was quiet and under his breath. Harry smiled as he set the poster aside, and went on opening the rest of the gifts.

Books, robes, a model broom that would allow him to study maneuvers before he practiced them, a pair of dragonskin gloves lined with niffler fur that Harry kept touching because he loved the way they felt, a glittering jade inkwell, and a set of Omnioculars joined the poster on the table. By the end, Harry was feeling a lot more relaxed. Draco obviously wasn’t jealous, and in fact would smile with anticipation as Harry opened each gift. Apparently, seeing Harry’s face when he looked at them was part of the fun for him.

Harry turned to his parents and opened his mouth to thank them, then closed it again as a house-elf abruptly popped into the room. It wasn’t Dobby, but Harry had to rack his brain for a second before he remembered this elf’s name. Sidney, that was it.

“Master Henry Malfoy is having one more gift,” Sidney said, crouching a little, as if he thought that Harry’s parents would be upset about having forgotten a present from their tally. He extended an obviously broom-shaped package.

Harry blinked. He really did think that the Malfoys would have bought a broom for Draco, too, if they were getting him one. And by the way that Father was starting to his feet and drawing his wand, they hadn’t done that.

“Do not give that to him,” Mother said sharply. “Sidney, what were you thinking?”

Sidney whimpered and reached up to tug his ears. Harry stood up. “Don’t punish him,” he snapped.

Mrs. Malfoy glanced at him and took a long breath, then nodded. “Fine,” she said. “But I want to know how that thing passed our wards.”

“If there are no curses on it…” Father said.

“Of course there would be! What other purpose would there be in sending it to him?”

“There is being this card,” Sidney squeaked, and slowly held out what looked like a thick square of parchment with golden lettering on it. Harry tried not to resent it when Mother snatched it. It probably was dangerous, and not just post for him.

Mother cast a bunch of spells on it, and then held it out wordlessly. The tremble in her fingers told Harry who it was from before he read it.

If this is the only way I can be your godfather, then I’ll send it to you. This is the new Firebolt broom. Happy Christmas.

Harry felt a thick clutch in his throat for just a second. The Firebolt. Man, if that hadn’t been a gift from a man who’d kidnapped him when he was a baby, wouldn’t he have just loved to have it?

He held out the card to Draco when Draco extended his hand in a silent question. Draco read the card quickly and looked up. “Mother! We have to keep it!”

“No,” Mother said, her voice quiet and savage. “We will be destroying it tomorrow, Draco.”

“Mother—”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

Draco sat down at the table in a visible sulk. Harry gave his own longing look at the Firebolt as Mother told Sidney to take it away, but he was careful not to be seen looking. He could absolutely understand why his parents wouldn’t let him, or Draco, keep the broom.

But he did have to wonder what in the world Sirius thought he was doing. Did he think he could buy Harry’s affection with a great broom?

Well, Harry admitted after thinking about it for a minute. He can’t, but this comes closer than a lot of other ways would.