lomonaaeren

Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Seven—Knowledge Traded and Received

Lord Voldemort smiled to himself as he stepped out of the small room where Harry Grayson had taken refuge, shaking his head.

The boy was amusing, and interesting. A mere Muggleborn, to have achieved so much facility in brewing Potions in such a short time? Someone who had been mistreated by his Muggle family, as well, from the short dip Lord Voldemort had taken into his mind. And someone who had chosen the streets of Knockturn Alley over going back to them.

The boy’s skill had impressed Lord Voldemort’s servant. Lord Voldemort himself could not say that he had taken much notice of the boy while he rode on the back of Quirrell’s head. There had been a mild curiosity as to how a Muggleborn had found himself in Slytherin, but that had been all.

It seemed that he should have paid more attention.

Especially since someone had laid powerful magic on the boy that sometimes wavered like a heat haze in the eyes of a wizard with enough strength to notice it. His servant had noticed something odd about Grayson, but hadn’t managed to see through it. Not even Lord Voldemort could, which told him the spells were linked to a number of contingencies, and someone who knew about them could have seen through them without trouble.

But the spells had revealed little. So the boy’s hair was darker than it really was in truth, and so he had green eyes. Lord Voldemort did suppose that it might have been an attempt to conceal the boy’s pureblood parentage. Perhaps he was really a half-blood.

A half-blood in Slytherin, thinking he was a Mudblood, as the great Lord Voldemort had once been…

The Dark Lord had enough other plans in progress that he certainly would not put them on hold to pursue this little mystery, which in any case was probably only a matter of attempting to soothe some pureblood’s injured pride. But it was enough to earn his amusement and ensure that he would keep tabs on the boy.

And now they had a business arrangement.

It was far from the worst outcome to the meeting.

*

“Grayson!”

Theo had told Draco that he had met Grayson in Knockturn Alley. Draco had half-believed him and had half-thought that it was Theo’s attempt to make him believe a lie. But in case it was true, he had asked Father to take Draco with him the next time he went to make a purchase at Borgin and Burke’s.

He couldn’t let Theo win their competition, after all.

“Malfoy.” Grayson turned towards Draco and gave a little bob of his head.

“What happened to you?”

Grayson blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re—carrying yourself, differently.” Draco squinted at Grayson. It was subtle, he thought, and that was never Draco’s favorite thing to try and figure out. But he did think that Grayson had—an air. As though he had crept along for years, thinking he was worthless, and now he had had someone telling him he deserved some dignity.

Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“Well, I did manage to survive in Knockturn Alley longer than I thought I might.”

“You thought you might not survive?”

“Yes.”

“Then why come here?”

“It was worth it, not to have to return to my relatives.”

Draco stared at Grayson. He knew his mouth was open. He couldn’t help it. He had known Grayson was different from the other Muggleborns, but he hadn’t thought Grayson held this kind of will, to choose death rather than pain. It was the kind of will that had finally let Draco’s father break through the Imperius Curse that he’d been held under.

“I—I see.”

They were starting to draw a little too much attention, so Draco jerked his head at Grayson and led him out of the shop. Grayson came calmly enough. That reassured Draco. Whatever notice he had drawn, or whatever he had done to let himself survive, Grayson still recognized superior quality when he saw it.

“Have you been making enough of a living from your potions?”

“Yes. I have a few dedicated clients, and that’s enough.”

“Even with as young as you are?”

Grayson’s lips wrinkled with something that wasn’t quite a smile. Interestingly, Draco had seen it during the school term and mistaken it for a smile. He would never do that again. “They don’t necessarily know my age. We conduct everything by owl order.”

Draco nodded slowly. That was the kind of thing he had never thought of doing, but—well, he’d never thought of setting up a shop or anything of the kind, either. It was beneath a Malfoy.

Seeing the way that Grayson glowed with self-confidence, Draco was beginning to think that it wasn’t as bad an occupation as he’d always considered it.

“Do you think that you might want to meet my father?” Draco blurted, following his instincts rather than anything more considered.

Grayson blinked at him in what was probably the equivalent of a shout of shock for anyone else. Then, carefully, he said, “I—wouldn’t want to cause your father distress by being around him when I know that he has certain beliefs about—people like me.”

Draco smiled. That thought alone proved that Grayson was more thoughtful than other Mudbloods. “He’s always interested in talent, and I’ve told him a little about you. Being Sorted into Slytherin is already unusual enough that he’d like to meet you.”

And that was actually true, although Father hadn’t pressed it and Draco had certainly not though that he’d have a chance to introduce Grayson to Father so quickly.

“I see.” Grayson waited a moment more, as though giving Draco time to retract the invitation, and then nodded. “If your father wouldn’t mind, I would like to meet him.”

“He won’t,” Draco said, a bit dizzy and smiling. This was a connection he had made on his own, not because he was Lucius Malfoy’s son. “Come on, he’s just down the alley.”

As they walked down to Borgin and Burke’s and a few people nodded to Grayson, Draco felt smug for another reason.

Take that, Theo.

*

“Mr. Grayson. I have heard much about you. A pleasure.”

Lucius Malfoy was a monument to ice, the coldest person Harry had ever met besides the Dark Lord, and he had the kind of dignity that Draco would only have in several years, if ever. So Harry made sure to keep his eyes down and his voice soft and shy as he offered his hand. “Thank you, sir. Draco’s told me a lot about what a great man you are. Thank you for meeting with me.”

“Have you told Mr. Grayson all about me, Draco?”

Harry wanted to conceal a sigh as Mr. Malfoy shook his head and then turned towards Draco. It seemed Mr. Malfoy might think Draco had revealed some kind of secrets about his Death Eater past. And honestly, he hadn’t. Harry had heard that kind of thing from some older Slytherins, but not Draco.

“He’s only told me the good things, sir. For example, how many Galleons you donate to St. Mungo’s on a regular basis.”

“And has he told you about our family?”

“I know that you are an ancient pureblood family, sir. And that you Sort mostly Slytherin.”

Harry wasn’t sure what Mr. Malfoy had been expecting for the answer to that question, but it seemed Harry’s words had satisfied him. A cold smile stretched his lips, like a knife sliding into a wound. “Yes, indeed. And I must say that you are living up to his praise of you, Mr. Grayson. An accomplished brewer for your age, capable of surviving on your own in Knockturn Alley, and an interesting Mudblood.”

He must have been waiting for Harry to react to the word, but Harry only smiled a little and nodded. “I like to think I am, sir, although it would be crass for me to put myself forwards.”

“How interesting.”

Harry ducked his head and kept his eyes on the pavement. He would have to fly beneath Lucius Malfoy’s regard, but honestly, that was no trouble.

Not when he had the patronage of the Dark Lord backing him up. Harry would have more than enough power and protection in the future. If the Dark Lord hadn’t told Mr. Malfoy about his acceptance of Harry so far, then Harry would leave that to him.

“You do seem to know your place in a way that not many Mudbloods in our world do, Grayson,” Mr. Malfoy said abruptly. “I wonder if you would care to accept an invitation to our home for the last fortnight before Hogwarts begins? My wife is also interested in meeting you, and of course you would have full run of our library and the Potions lab.”

Harry controlled his immediate reaction and looked at Malfoy the younger out of the corner of his eye. Draco was gaping at his father. So he wasn’t responsible for this invitation, and hadn’t suggested it.

Maybe the Dark Lord mentioned something to Mr. Malfoy after all. Or maybe he just finds me entertaining.

“If you are sure that I won’t bore you, sir. And if I could occasionally have access to Knockturn Alley so that I could complete a few brewing commissions for my loyal customers? That’s all I would ask.”

“A most reasonable ask.” Mr. Malfoy waved his hand in a way that told Harry he enjoyed playing the gracious gentleman. “I think we shall be able to accommodate these things.”

Malfoy the younger bounced beside Harry on the way back to the Floo, chattering about the flying they would do and the games they would play. Harry listened and nodded in silence. Malfoy didn’t really need an audience when he got going like this, just someone who would nod.

And all the while, Harry clutched his triumph to himself like a secret sapphire.

He had done it. He had overcome the stigma of his birth. Even the Dark Lord found Harry worthy of attention. Even a blood purist like Mr. Malfoy.

Harry had once only intended to survive. Now he intended to climb, and to let no one drag him down.

*

Sirius jerked to a stop with a rough sound in the back of his throat. He could sense James putting a hand on his arm and Lily asking what was wrong in concern, but his eyes were too busy following the boy across the shop for him to respond.

Then he shook his head and snapped out of the daze. “Look over there,” he said, barely managing to keep his voice low enough. “Beside the Malfoys.”

“Sirius, what are you—”

Lily grabbed James’s arm with sharp nails. “Harry,” she whispered, the grief in her voice so powerful that Sirius had to close his eyes for a moment.

And then he opened them and looked again, and—yeah. It was Harry. Honestly, he didn’t know how no one had ever guessed, even with the spells on Harry severing him from the Potter family. His hair wasn’t that different in shade from James’s, and his eyes were the same shape as Lily’s for all that they weren’t the same color.

“What is he doing with the Malfoys?” James hissed.

“They sat beside each other all the time at the Slytherin table.” Lily bit her lip, her eyes following her son with an obsessiveness that Sirius could understand. Didn’t all of them want Harry back? “But I didn’t think they were close enough for Lucius to invite Harry for the summer!”

Sirius could hear how loud her voice was getting, and decided he had to intervene, before Lily made Harry think worse of her. He strode towards the Malfoys, and ignored the displeasure in Narcissa’s eyes when she turned around.

“Cousin Sirius. How lovely to see you.”

“How utterly lovely,” Sirius echoed back, watching as her own smile twisted to nearly match his own. “I thought you had only one child?”

And there it was—a flash of anger in her eyes. Oh, she hated having a Muggleborn mistaken as her own child.

If only I can point that out to Harry. If only I can make him see that the Malfoys are only using him.

“Mr. Grayson is a yearmate of Draco’s whom my son chose to honor with an invitation to our home,” Narcissa said, and her voice could have made flakes of ice appear in the air. “I was pleased to accept him.”

“Were you, really? Because I don’t think Grayson is a pureblood name.”

“Mr. Grayson is an undoubted talent in Potions. In fact, he told me that you tried to recruit him already. Is this another attempt to snatch him away, Cousin Sirius?”

Sirius couldn’t help the sneer that spread across his face. Lucius had come up beside Narcissa, resting a hand on her shoulder. They were cold and glittered together like the snowflakes Sirius had imagined appearing from Narcissa’s voice.

He couldn’t believe that anything about them truly appealed to Harry. It must be desperation to stay in the magical world rather than the Muggle one.

“Mother? Father?”

That was their son, whom Sirius remembered was called Draco, stepping up beside Lucius and Narcissa and staring at Sirius. Then his face chilled, and he inclined his head. “Of course. Cousin Sirius. Appearing out of nowhere to try and take my friend away.”

“You’re not his friend. Everyone knows that people like you don’t consider Muggleborns real friends—”

“Mr. Black?”

Sirius turned to face his godson for the first time in eleven years with his heart going so fast that it made red fluttering impressions appear in front of his eyes. “Harry,” he croaked. “Please, you need to listen to me.”

Harry took a step back from Sirius. He was clutching a basket filled with books. Sirius wondered how he could afford them, when he had no access to the Potter vaults, and then realized that it must be Malfoy money he was spending.

He would sink so low as to take charity?

“I don’t know you at all, sir,” Harry said, his voice as chilly and polite as his eyes, that unnatural blue-hazel shade. “Other than overhearing that you’re Sirius Black, and that you once wrote to me offering to sponsor me for no apparent reason.”

“I really care about you! I care about talented Muggleborns!” Sirius wanted to snatch Harry up and hold him against his chest while snarling at the Malfoys, but he couldn’t do that. “A lot more than Death Eaters do!”

Lucius’s face grew tighter. Draco gasped. Narcissa was so still Sirius knew she was infuriated.

Harry looked at Sirius with a bored expression. “The Malfoys graciously invited me to stay with them. I am grateful to them, and willing to let the past lie in the past.”

“But you don’t know what Death Eaters were!”

“Yes, I do, sir. And I know that Mr. Malfoy was under the Imperius Curse, but he’s not now, and he’s been gracious enough to let me stay with him.”

Sirius stared at Harry. What was wrong with him? It was as if someone had taken a statue that looked sort of like Harry and enchanted it to walk and talk. He couldn’t be so unlike James and Lily as to lack any of their fire!

He got Sorted into Slytherin. That means he has to care about something.

“You don’t care that they want to kill people like you?” Sirius’s voice was harsh, but he felt as if he were slipping off a cliff that was crumbling under his fingers, and he had to cling as hard as he could. “That they call you Mudblood?”

“The past lies in the past,” Harry repeated with what sounded like iron calm. “And I trust your intentions less than theirs, sir.”

Before Sirius could say anything in his own defense, Harry turned and walked back to a corner of the bookshop. “Did you manage to find the Defense texts, Draco?” he called over his shoulder. “There seem to be a lot of them this year, all by Lockhart.”

The young Malfoy gave Sirius one more suspicious look and then trotted off to look for the books. In a second, both boys were laughing over one of them, apparently the cover. Well, Malfoy was laughing, at least. Harry limited himself to a small smile.

Exactly the kind of smile that Malfoy told him was acceptable, I’m sure.

“Sirius!”

James was coming after him, now. Sirius was glad that he had waited as long as he had. He’d wanted to see whether Sirius could bring reality home to Harry, and he’d given him a chance to do it.

Now, both James and Lucius glared at each other while James rested his hand on Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius found it hard to care about the resulting clash of words and tempers. His attention lingered on Harry.

Harry, who must burn at the injustice underneath it all, but believed he had to play along to get good books and lodging.

Somehow, I have to get through to him. To make him understand that he doesn’t have to cooperate with people who hate him for existing.

*

Harry kept his head down and nodded along to whatever Draco said until he saw Sirius Black leave the shop. Unsurprisingly, Professor Potter and a man Harry had sometimes seen photographs of in the paper, her husband James Potter, were with him.

What do they want with me?

Harry concealed a shrug. It was probably a variation of what the Malfoys wanted with him, but in their way, the Malfoys were straightforward, even if they sometimes disguised their intentions with subtle language. It was transactional, what they wanted from him, just as it was with the Dark Lord and Professor Slughorn and Nott.

Harry preferred that.

“Harry! Come here!”

Harry blinked. It was the first time Draco had called him by his first name. Harry had only used his first name in his head, to distinguish him from his relatives.

But it appeared that part of the Malfoys’ use of him was appearing polite on the surface. Harry could admire that, get used to it.

With a small smile, he went to see what Draco wanted.