Chapter Text
Part Two: Quidditch and a Bromance
1 5th July 1994
The past week had flown by full of simple activities, such as going out in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade and visiting magical communities without the fear of Sirius being accosted in the street by some vigilante member of the public.
This afternoon saw Harry and Sirius standing in a park in the middle of a square of townhouses situated in Islington, London. The park had a small ice-cream stand, where Sirius had insisted that he buy Harry whatever he wanted and when the young boy had simply stated a lemonade lolly Sirius had overridden his decision and insisted on the biggest waffle cone the Muggle behind the counter would go.
So, Harry sat on a bench under the shade of a sycamore tree, lapping contentedly at chocolate, salted caramel and strawberry ice-cream whilst in absolute heaven as the salty sweetness assaulted his senses.
“Prongslet, I need to warn you of a few things we might find within,” Sirius began, his voice soft as he settled further back on the bench, the rum and raisin ice-cream threatening to melt over his ripped jeans. “My parents’ house is not a nice place to say the least… the Blacks are, umm, renowned , for being Dark ,” there was a heavy emphasis on the word Dark as Sirius’ grey eyes bore into Harry’s. “I’ve not been there since I was fifteen, I think, before I moved in with your grandparents. I don’t know what nasty traps Walburga would have set up, so we will need to be careful.”
“What happened?” Harry asked softly, his focus shifting to his ice-cream as he wondered whether he actually wanted an answer to the question.
“Walburga summoned me home one Yule,” Sirius began, his voice losing all emotion and inflection. Harry risked a quick glance at his godfather and immediately regretted his question when he saw the haunted mask, blank of any expression barring unseeing eyes. “If it hadn’t been for my sister, I doubt I would have made it out alive… my aunt Dorea, your grandmother, and cousin Meda saved my life when I eventually triggered the Portkey Dorea insisted I carried on me all the time.”
Harry stared into the middle-distance between the two of them, his mind desperately attempting to throw him back to his own memories that had surged up at the implication behind Sirius’ words.
“You’re lucky you had people to watch your back,” Harry heard himself say, his tongue running out of his control, purging the speck of bitter resentment that had surged within him at Sirius’ admission. “I had to heal the Muggle way, every single time Vernon lay hands on me… aside from my twelfth birthday when Cassie and Luc came to get me.”
“What do you mean?” Sirius’ soft voice asked.
“The Dursleys, they…” Harry paused, his eyes lighting on an iridescent beetle scuttling along the metal arm of the bench. “They hit me.”
A part of Harry was shocked at the blasé nature he was beginning to spill his darkest secrets, secrets of which Draco, nor Cassie, knew the extent of. But Sirius knew what it was like. His mouth kept dropping small bombshells, even as his heart thundered in his chest; his mind went haywire at the fact someone else would know what had truly happened to Harry Potter… the Boy-Who-Lived only to be beaten to a pulp by his Muggle family.
“Vernon was the worst, he’s my uncle,” Harry continued in an emotionless voice, belying the way the beetle blurred as he stared at it to keep his face hidden from Sirius. “The smallest thing could go wrong, and he’d kick and punch me. The earliest I remember is when I was five. I’d had a bout of accidental magic; Dudley did something to me, and Vernon lost it. Called me a Freak , told me he’d beat the unnaturalness out of me.” Harry let loose a chilling laugh, even as a warm trail eeked its way down his cheek. “Bloody hell did he try. Petunia, she’s mum’s sister, never lay a hand on me but I’d have to do the washing up in boiling hot water, so hot it would blister my hands. Or work in the garden when it was so hot, I went dizzy from dehydration. And she was the one who had control of my meals. I’ve been starved for a week before.”
“Oh Harry,” Sirius groaned, a tentative hand moving to rest lightly on his knee. “Prongslet, I can never apologise enough for abandoning you to those Muggles. I should have thought of you first, I should have been the man your parents believed me to be.”
Harry had staved off the instinctual flinch at Sirius’ gentle touch, so at odds at what his mind was replaying on a loop, and after several heartbeats, he managed to clasp Sirius’ hand in his.
“It’s in the past. I didn’t understand until you spoke about it… but I can imagine I would do the same if something happened to Draco or Hermione. They’re my family, the brother and sister I never had. Cassie and Luc are the parents that I never got to enjoy.” Harry knew the truth to his words, could feel it resonate deep within his soul. “And Siri?” Sirius looked him dead in the eye when he spoke the others name. “I would like you to be my godfather, my uncle, that you should have been all those years ago.”
“Oh kiddo.” Harry could hear the restrained emotion bubbling beneath Sirius’ words as he was enveloped in the warmth of his godfathers embrace.
It wasn’t immediate safety as he experienced with Lucius, or even Professor Snape, their presence was much akin to a comfortable sweater that you ensconced yourself in, a cosiness and contentment that was rarely achieved, but Harry could feel the warmth and love emanating off his godfather, knew that within his arms was the potential of safety.
“Are you sure you’re ready to go in?” Harry asked, his voice muffled by Sirius’ Iron Maiden t-shirt.
A soulless bark of laughter left the older wizard before he said, “Cass and Malfoy won’t want me littering the Manor for much longer now I’m free… so I kinda gotta get used to it.”
He’d gasped when the house had shoved its neighbours out of the way, appearing from somewhere else once Sirius had informed him of the address. Harry had not realised the extent magical folks went to keep their homes secret and safe from Muggle eyes.
As the two stepped through the gate of number twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. There was a spring in his step, the air moved easier into his lungs.
He had never believed the old adage that a burden shared was halved. He had firmly believed that he had to shoulder the knowledge of his Muggle families abuse until his last breath. That no-one would understand, nor look at him in the same light, if they knew what had happened for most of his young life.
The short, paved path leading to the battered and peeling front door was uneven and treacherous underfoot, awaiting an unwary foot to catch on the lipped stone and take a tumble. The door was weatherworn and unadorned barring a twisted snake knocker. Harry had cast a side-ways look at Sirius, wondering where the keyhole was but Sirius had just lay a hand on the door and with a begrudging shudder, the timber had opened easily.
“Keep your voice down,” Sirius warned in a whisper, creeping along the entryway, casting a furtive glance at a patch of wall that had curtains drawn over it. “If Walburga kept her word, her portrait will be behind that,” a thumb was jerked in the direction of the curtains, “And you won’t want to meet her.”
Harry nodded and cast his gaze about.
The hallway was laden in dust, lighter patches on the grimy walls spoke of where portraits had once hung. Someone had obviously taken the time to effectively shut down the Black House, retiring the portraits to who-knew-where and when Harry glanced into a room off the hallway, he saw the furniture draped in plastic.
“Come, I want to show you something,” Sirius said into the silence with a foot already on the bottom stair.
Harry trotted a couple of steps to follow on Sirius’ heels as they ascended to the first floor of the house. The runner underfoot was threadbare in the middle, the outer-edges and the exposed wooden flooring still retained their colour and vibrance under the heavy layer of dust.
Sirius eased through a doorway, after brushing a hand lovingly against a golden plaque declaring R.A.B on a door several doorways before.
“Welcome to The Black Tapestry Room,” Sirius announced grandly, standing in the middle of a barren room, arms spread wide grandiosely.
Harry gaped when his gaze landed on the walls. There was no peeling wallpaper or flaking paint in sight here, no there was an immaculate, pristine mural encompassing a majority of two of the four walls.
He stepped forward and immediately saw the name Cassiopeia , but instead of having Sirius’ name beside her, there was a Pollux, Marius and Dorea Black. Harry’s attention homed in on the name Dorea and skittered across to Charlus Potter , which made his heart leap in his chest. His eyes ticked downward and saw James Potter linked to Lily Evans and underneath that was the name Harry Potter .
Excitedly, his gaze tripped over to the next line, falling on the name Draco Malfoy . From there he discovered, finally, Sirius Black III and Cassiopeia Black II .
“Who’s Regulus?” Harry asked even as he tried to work out how he was actually related to the man beside him and his best friend. For they were related, and it made Harry exponentially happy to realise that his pseudo-family was also family through his paternal grandmother’s blood. Whilst it wasn’t direct, it was enough that Harry beamed.
“Reggie was my baby brother, he disappeared at eighteen and the Tapestry is convinced he is dead.”
Harry shot a sharp look at his godfather-come-cousin once or twice removed (thinking on that had given Harry a headache trying to figure the logistics).
“I’m sorry, Siri,” Harry said genuinely as he stepped up to his godfather and rested an arm on the elder wizard’s waist. “What happened to that person?” Harry asked, changing the subject as subtly as a Hippogriff charging into the room, pointing at black burn at one of Sirius’ mother’s siblings.
“That’s my uncle Alphard, he was blasted off the Tapestry. Walburga decided he was a Blood-Traitor for helping me out once I graduated Hogwarts. I’m honestly surprised my name is still intact.”
Harry looked at him questioningly.
“Technically, I am a Blood-Traitor too, it means exactly as it sounds. My parents were Blood-Supremacists.”
Harry’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of surprise.
They stared in surprise as shudder rippled through the Tapestry and pulsed over where Sirius’ cousins were situated.
“Holy shit,” Sirius swore as he gazed at the black mark between Bellatrix Black and Narcissa Black . A name was revealed, along with a spouse and offspring.
“Andromeda Black, married to Edward Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks is their child,” Harry deduced before turning to Sirius.
“What in Merlin’s name is going on with this house?” Sirius demanded incredulously. “I think we need to go home; I need to talk to Cass.”
Harry nodded, sensing immediately that the Tapestry had unsettled Sirius and they quickly, but quietly especially passed the hidden portrait, exited the house. As soon as they were on the top step, the front door shut behind them, Harry felt the unsettling sensation of being yanked down a tiny tube before thumping down in the Malfoy’s Receiving Room.
“Cassie!” Sirius bellowed even as Harry tried to regain his equilibrium. “Cass!” the second was more of a shriek than a shout.
Harry sat down heavily, his head spinning from Sirius’ rough Disapparation, as his godfather ran out of the room, hollering for his twin.
*
Meanwhile, the Tapestry of Noble and Most Ancient House of Black continued to shudder, revealing names that had been burnt off by Walburga Black. Another name was altered. An open-ended date remaining in place, denying the previous belief that they were dead.
*
31st July 1994
Harry woke to the feeling of something changing irrevocably.
He had gone to bed the previous night full of anxiety, not knowing what to expect, but he had eventually calmed, telling himself he couldn’t change what was already in effect.
So, it was at six thirty-seven am as Harry lay on his back, eyes still shut as magic ebbed and whorled around him. A strange feeling of contentment enveloped him.
The sensation of the bed dipping at his side caused his eyes to snap open, and he blinked in against the surprisingly bright, yet still gloomy, room. He watched as his hand rose of its own accord and he was certain he should be able to touch something tangible, right where his mattress noticeably dipped.
‘All is well, child. I am just severing the familial ties to your maternal lineage,’ an otherworldly voice whispered in his mind.
Harry smiled, even though he should be alarmed that it was evident something was in his room with him and speaking directly into his mind.
‘Never fear, child, that emptiness you still feel will be filled soon… a lot sooner than you believe.’ The voice had added cryptically. ‘Now, sleep. You are safe and you are free.’
By six thirty-nine, Harry was tumbling back down into the welcoming embrace of slumber, his heart feeling lighter, a smile plastered across his face.
*
Simultaneously, another sat in the rundown cottage, surrounded by the ghosts of his past, knee deep in his own machinations, when he felt it.
The force of the magical backlash knocked him back in the armchair, toppling him and it easily.
Periwinkle-blue eyes widened before flashing dangerously.
He knew the implications, and his mind set to work even as he pulled himself back to his feet, brushing down the tatty robes that draped over his thin frame as though they belonged to another person.
*
Once the day had truly broken, Harry awoke, feeling refreshed and as though a binding pressure across his chest had been broken.
He felt free .
He couldn’t remember much of what had happened a few hours earlier, his dreams having been fantastical when he returned to sleep, but he clearly remembered the sensation of magic flowing around him and the comfort that had seeped through him.
His mind seemed to skitter away from the memory as though it had been blocked from him and he immediately forgot about it.
Excitement surged up in its wake, and Harry bounded out of bed and rushed through his morning ablutions before tearing through the hallways and downstairs until he skidded to a halt outside of the Solarium.
“Ma puce, mon chéri, if you dare leave this room to wake up Harry, I will make you wish you had never even entertained the idea!” Cassiopeia’s voice was steely hard and there were audible gulps of trepidation in the ensuing silence.
Harry smiled as he stepped into the room, all eyes turning immediately onto him.
“Happy birthday!” everyone within called.
Harry could feel the blood suffusing his whole face, so much so that he was certain if he caught sight of himself, he would have resembled a tomato. He muttered his thanks to everyone as he slid into his usual seat and carefully began loading his plate up with a variety of pastries and fruit, all of which were his favourites.
He smiled fondly as he imagined Daisy’s hand in the breakfast choices, and how she would have browbeat the Elves in charge of the kitchen into doing what she demanded.
Conversation resumed around the table, with Harry listening in on the adults’ conversations, whilst somewhat absent-mindedly agreeing with Draco to fly their brooms after breakfast.
“You have quite the pile of gifts, my love,” Cassie said as soon as Harry had pushed his plate away from him.
His head shot up, gaze darting around the room until he located the pile Cassiopeia was referring too and, by Merlin’s saggy ballsack, did he have a lot of gifts. There was a variety of sizes, wrappings, and colours.
He looked at Cassie pleadingly and she nodded her head with a smile before levitating the whole lot to the space before Harry that Draco had cleared.
“Open that one first!” Sirius barked, his finger pointing insistently towards a slender parcel wrapped haphazardly in dark blue paper.
Harry immediately picked the parcel up and ripped into it. His heart stopped even as it leapt into his throat. Quickly revealed was a pristine broomstick.
“Merlin’s beard!” Draco murmured in awe beside Harry, his trembling hand extended out only to stop short as though he dared not touch the object. “A real Firebolt.”
Harry glanced over at his godfather, who was looking smug. A huge grin adorning his face as his grey eyes sparkled with delight. Harry truly did not know how to express his gratitude for such an extravagant gift, his heart felt as though it was swelling with emotion as he wandered around the table and gave his godfather a quick hug.
Upon returning to his seat, Draco nudged a package that contained an assortment of Honeyduke’s sweets, all of which were Harry’s favourites but had never allowed himself the extravagance of purchasing them all in one fell swoop… nor in the quantities Draco had gifted him. Harry felt his eyes bug out of his head at the veritable bounty, his mouth salivating at the heady aroma wafting up from the hamper. He was overwhelmed with all manner of soft feelings for his best friend; the boy who grew up with everything, determined to show his best friend the delights that Harry had missed out on.
Next, there were two envelopes, one scribed in Cassiopeia’s elegant hand and another a bit rougher. Harry pulled the heavy parchment envelope with his name on in Cassie’s hand and opened it to reveal a ticket.
“The Quidditch World Cup?!” Harry exclaimed incredulously. He and Draco had been following the International Tournament obsessively on the Wizarding Wireless. His gaze flicked down to the date. “The Final!!”
Harry was convinced he would melt into a puddle of pure excitement. First, he had an international level broom and now he was going to see the Final! Giddiness bounded through him as he threw his arms around Cassiopeia’s neck and pressed a kiss to her cheek before being encased in Lucius’ strong embrace.
There were other gifts within the small box that Cassie and Lucius’ main gift had sat proudly on top, all of it Quidditch related, including a new set of goggles that had repellent charms woven into them and a pair of super soft, luxurious fingerless gloves.
In his excitement, he had forgotten the other envelope with its small box attached and had pulled the gift from Hermione forwards, which had contained some French cosmetics, including an eu de cologne that smelled of bergamot and some hair care products.
“Well, she does have a point, you do look like a hobo half the time!” Draco muttered as he examined the giftbox, making approving sounds all the while.
Harry was torn between the unmarked parcel wrapped in plain brown paper and the box with its letter. He blindly reached for one and his fingertips clasped onto parchment.
He opened the envelope and a smile crept over his face.
Dear Harry,
I must apologise for the length of time it has taken me to reply. Unfortunately, one of the catacombs we were commissioned to work in was a lot more involved and complicated than anyone anticipated.
A little bird informed me that today (hopefully the owl’s have arrived in time) is your birthday, so happy birthday Harry!
In response to your questions, no I don’t always live in Egypt. The Egyptian Ministry does hold the biggest contract with Gringotts, but I have been to Romania (I’ve just returned from there with my brother!), Brazil, and a creepy island that the Muggles supposedly used to quarantine sick people in Italy. I’ve seen many countries, some highly magical, others where the magical communities are spread far and wide but not heavily populated.
Every wizarding community is different, there can be slightly different dialects used, or different cultures and then you have the communities that are solely inhabited by those of Creature Inheritance. I won’t lie, Harry, it’s one of the most fascinating facets of this job.
Yes, I solely work for Gringotts. If you decide to learn under the Goblins, they will require a contract to say that you will remain with them for around fifteen to twenty years. I may extend my contract, I’ve got another 5 years on mine, either that or I can go free-lance, still take Gringotts contracts but also get my own work.
Well, if you start working directly after receiving your NEWTs, you’ll start in the Vaults when I am 27… Vault work isn’t a strict timeline so who knows how old I’ll be.
Now, on to something slightly different… guess what? Charlie (that’s my brother that I came back from Romania with), and I have Cup Final tickets! Can you believe it? We submitted into the free draw and we both bagged a pair of tickets. Did you want to come? Charlie is adamant we should invite the twins but that will cause issues with the rest of our siblings… so do you want to have my spare ticket?
Let me know as soon as, yeah?
Oh, in case you didn’t realise, I am back in England. I must go see my parents at least once before getting hauled back out of the country, but if you’re up to it, we could have a sit down and properly talk about Curse-Breaking face-to-face with Lady Malfoy? Maybe when you’re meant to go and get school supplies?
Let me know about the ticket.
Bill.
P.S. I got you a gift and dug out my old books that I had with me, if I find any when I go to the Burrow, I’ll bring them with me either to the Cup Finals, or our meeting in Diagon… or I’ll send them to you. No pressure.
Harry ripped into the parcel after setting the letter down tenderly. Within the box was the promised books, the three of them well-worn but obviously looked after and underneath them was a strange, glass item that resembled a Muggle spinning top. Harry pulled it out and stared at it quizzically.
“A Sneakoscope! Looks like a decent one too,” Draco exclaimed. “Who gave you that?”
“Bill,” Harry replied as he wondered what in Merlin’s name a Sneakoscope did. After several heartbeats, he voiced his thoughts; “So what does this do?”
“It’s a Dark Detector,” Sirius’ gruff voice answered. “If someone near you is doing something untrustworthy, it will spin, light up and whistle. They’re handy as hell, and depending on how good that one is, you will not want to take it with you to school.”
Harry’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ of comprehension.
“You have another gift,” Lucius nudged him.
Harry’s heart thrummed as he stared at the, as usual, anonymous gift. With trembling hands, he peeled the wrapping back carefully to reveal a long, thin box around a foot in length but no more than a few inches wide.
He eased the box open and blinked owlishly at the contents within.
It was a long, slender piece of light wood, ash maybe or willow, Harry didn’t have a clue really. It looked old and had the well-worn and highly loved appearance that Harry’s own wand would eventually have.
He pulled it out and heard an echoing gasp.
“It can’t be,” Sirius croaked as Cassiopeia stared at the wand in his hand.
The wand felt warm and comfortable within his grasp, even as he could sense its reticence at not being in its rightful owner’s hand.
“What?” Draco demanded.
“That’s Lily’s wand,” Cassiopeia replied in a stunned manner, her gaze focused fully on the slither of wood in Harry’s hand.
The resultant explosion of noise caused Harry to reel backwards in his chair. His eyes were wide, breathing grew shallower with every increase in the cacophony until he was perilously close to hyperventilating.
Sirius was gesticulating wildly, his deep voice barking as he threw his arms about without a care in the world. Cassiopeia was taking her twins mania stoically, interjecting sentences that started off in a calm, numb voice but rapidly grew shrill as the two’s energy intertwined into something resembling chaos.
Harry felt his heart begin to thunder almost painfully hard against his breastbone, his breathing grew shallower as he fully descended into hyperventilation.
Sirius’ hand slammed against the dining table with a meaty thwack and Harry was unceremoniously thrown back into a memory he had thought he’d long forgotten.
~ “Vernon, I said no!” the shrill voice of his aunt echoed up the stairs. “The boy isn’t even five yet.”
“Are you sticking up for that freak ?” the bellowed response from Vernon reverberated around the house.
A muffled reply did not reach Harry’s straining ears, but the resounding crack of hand meeting flesh did. He heard his aunt’s cry of pain; he heard the enraged roaring of his uncle. The whole energy of the house had transmuted to something scary and incomprehensible to the young boy.
The thunderous sound of his uncle’s footsteps barrelling up the stairs caused Harry to lose control of his bladder. He’d hidden in the family bathroom: the one place that Vernon had never found him before when he’d lost his temper… but the acrid stink of fresh piss on the vinyl floor caused another apoplectic roar of unfathomable anger to resonate through the hallway just before the door crashed open. ~
Harry snapped back to the present as a large hand clamped down on his shoulder, causing him to let out a piercing scream.
Instead of his uncle’s dangerous whisper, a softer, deeper rumble rolled over him.
“Mon petite caneton, remember what Severus taught you. Breathe in and out slowly, here,” strong fingers lightly clasped his, moving his hand to rest on something silky and soft. A bit of pressure pushed his hand against something a bit harder and Harry could feel the steady thud-thud of a heart, the easy movements of lungs drawing in and expelling air.
Unconsciously, Harry felt his breathing slowly alter to mimic the movements under his hand.
He wasn’t sure, it could have been a few minutes, or it could have been an hour, but with the soft voice talking to him calmly, he pulled out of the trap his mind had sprung upon him. His gaze homed in on the aquamarine orbs of Lucius, which had darkened slightly with his concern. A faint frown marred his handsome features until he registered that Harry was back with him and then his whole face transformed before Harry’s eyes. The tempest within calmed as a broad smile creased his face.
“You back with us?” Lucius asked quietly.
Harry nodded slowly, the ringing in his ears subsiding until he realised he could hear nothing more than their breathing. His gaze flicked over Lucius’ shoulder to see that his Godfather and pseudo-mother were still going at it, although from the gesticulations, Harry assumed they had calmed somewhat and thankfully blocked from his hearing by a Silencing Charm.
“Thank-you,” Harry said shakily as he slid off the chair and into Lucius’ lap, causing the older wizard to lose his balance and drop to the floor, cradling Harry tightly to his chest all the while.
*
Harry had unapologetically retreated to the library as soon as he had calmed down. He’d given Draco a look that promised they would fly later, and it was helped by Lucius’ quelling hand on his son’s shoulder accompanied by whispered words.
He settled in the tiny nook he’d claimed as his own and felt some of the tension finally seep out of him. The only item he had taken away from the table was Bill’s letter.
With a small smile, he re-read the older wizard’s words and more than anything wanted to pen a response.
Bill had wanted to invite Harry to the Cup Final. It made his heart flutter and a warmth rise to his cheeks as he wondered on the implications. So far, they were veritable strangers, but, to Harry at least, he felt a connection forming between him and his pen-pal.
As he gathered his thoughts, he’d inked his quill and hovered over the sheath of parchment.
Bill,
Merlin! Cassie and Lucius got me a ticket to go to the Cup! We’re all going.
Lucius said something about staying the night… are we meant to be camping?
I’ve never been camping, is it fun? I can’t imagine Lucius putting up a tent… can you?
We’ve had a lot going on here, I’m sure you’ve seen in the Prophet about Sirius’ trial. It felt as though it lasted an eternity even though it didn’t. But Sirius has been equitted acquitted of the charges so he’s a free man.
He’s still living at Malfoy Manor with us, but he has a house in Islington that he’s going to move in to. I think you’ll like Sirius. He’s a nice man. Very strange, Luc says it’s to do with his time in Azkaban, but nice enough.
Definitely very over the top.
But I like him.
You’ll probably like him too. He’s coming to the Cup as well now; the Minister gave him a ticket for the Top Box!
Cassie said something about it not making up for being wrongly imprisoned for 12 years though. Sirius just laughed. He likes winding his twin up, says he has a lot of making up on that front.
Oh, I’m not sure what the plan is for getting school stuff this year, Draco said something about one Final taking days to finish. Can we meet up at the Final?
I’ll speak to Cassie about meeting up in Diagon as well, maybe a bit closer to the start of term… the Final won’t last more than a week really, would it?
Anyway, Daisy is telling me off, dinner is getting cold!
She’s the best House-Elf ever!
(She made me write that, but it’s actually true… even if she does remind me of Professor McGonagall sometimes!)
Take care,
Harry.
Daisy was looming over him menacingly, already having berated him that he had missed lunch and that he was perilously close to missing dinner as well. With an aggressive pop , Daisy Disapparated to take his letter to the Malfoy Owlery as Harry trundled along the hallways to the dining room.
*
4th August 1994
Harry,
That’s fantastic news about your Godfather!
I did read about it all in paper. Glad Skeeter didn’t cover it as I wouldn’t know how much of it is truth or that dastardly Quick-Quotes Quill.
Only a couple more weeks until the world descends upon a random field in the middle of nowhere. Shame England were trounced so soundly... so I guess I’m rooting for the Irish.
I’ll be listening to the Semi-Final on the Wireless over the weekend, should be interesting!
We’re Apparating in on the day, I think our time is 12.23. Let me know what time you’re arriving and where your pitch is and we’ll sort something out.
Oh, Charlie is with me and he’s bothering the shit out of me to ask if you play Quidditch... if so what position. Charlie was Gryffindor’s best Seeker in an eon... coulda played for England himself if he hadn’t decided to go chase Dragons instead!
I can kinda sense the torrent of questions that are going to bombard me if I don’t tell you a bit more about Charlie.
He’s 2 years younger than me. He’s got tonnes of scars, Merlin’s left nut our mum never shuts up about how dangerous his job is...
Yes, I was being serious about the Dragons, Charlie works on a Reserve in Romania... he’ll bore you to tears with everything if you ask about it at the Cup. All kinda things like hand rearing Dragonlings and various conservation things... definitely ask him.
He’s currently trying to steal the quill off me to bore you to tears with the lameness that is his job right now -----
Bloody hooligan, he just hit me.
Anyway, I need to go teach my brother a lesson.
Speak soon and write back 😊
Bill.
*
Bill,
Are you serious?? Your brother works with Dragons??
Gotta be honest, he sounds super cool.
Err, how do I ask this?
Do you have a younger brother called Ron?
I can’t wait for the Cup, it’s really exciting. Yes, I’m going to nick Lucius’ Wireless to listen to it as well. We might play some Quidditch later, either that or Cassie is going to throttle me, Draco and Sirius!
Tell Charlie that I play Seeker for Slytherin, I love it. Also, as cool as Dragon’s sound, I can’t believe he passed up playing for England!
Lucius said our Apparation time is 11.13am on the Monday and we’ve got a pitch right next to the woods that splits the Stadium and the camp site? Hope that makes sense to you, ‘cause it don’t to me!
I hope this doesn’t sound lame, but I can’t wait to meet you or Charlie. Who got your spare tickets in the end?
Oh, I got to go, Sirius needs my help with something. And it’s almost time to sit down with Cassie and learn some more Gobbledygook!
Harry.
*
11th August 1994
Dear Harry,
I hope you don’t mind, but I asked Bill if I could send this with his letter to you.
As my brother has already told you, my name is Charlie.
I was a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, Quidditch Captain and the best bloody Seeker that team has seen in ages… yes, I know that sounds bigheaded, but I need something to brag about. Unlike the Prefect/Headboy Bill Weasley… who also got some ridiculous amount of N.E.W.Ts on top of that all… yes Bill is a giant nerd if you hadn’t already cottoned on.
Anyway, Bill is a bit rubbish at discussing Quidditch and I can sense another fanatic in you.
So, tell me what you think of the plays executed throughout the Cup so far? I know I for one, would absolutely love to see the Wronski Feint played in the flesh.
If I don’t hear back from you by the time we head to the Final, I will see you there.
Charlie.
*
Dear Harry,
I don’t need to answer your questions about Charlie as there is a letter from him here too.
Yes, I do have a younger brother Ron, why do you ask? I don’t have much to do with him, he’s very much a mummy's boy and is rarely very far from her side when I am home.
It’s strange that family can quickly become strangers, don’t you think?
Anyway, yes! The Cup has been phenomenal so far, I can certainly understand your excitement for it. In truth, I think Charlie is very close to getting an accidental overdose on Calming Draught, I’ve snuck it into his evening tea several times to get the idiot to sleep!
I can guarantee it, Harry, that it’s not lame. Charlie and I are eager to meet you as well. We both invited our twin brothers, we’ve managed to keep it quiet, but I think Dad might have managed to snag a few tickets himself in the Ministry Draw, so no one needs be any wiser. Although, they have to pitch over the weekend and leave at some ungodly hour. I am very glad we are not staying at the Burrow.
I hope you aren’t finding Gobbledygook too difficult, I know it took me an absolute age to learn all the inflections correctly. I found the etiquette much easier to learn, but I have always struggled with languages... how I wish I had been born an Omniglot!
Anyway,
We shall either continue our written correspondence, or see one another at the Final, owls dependant.
Bill.
*
12th August 1994
Dear Bill,
There’s a Ron Weasley in my year, he’s a Gryffindor and honestly I don’t know why I am telling you this as it makes me feel like a rotten tattler, but he’s a bully. He won’t be with you guys will he?
I’ve just finished listening to the semi-finals on the Wireless… what pure excitement! If the Final is anything like that, I think I will die from sensory overload!
Cassie said that providing the Final doesn’t overrun, we can arrange to meet up in Diagon around the 28 th of August. Apparently, it might be a bit calmer, what with being only a few days before we head back to school.
See you soon!
Oh, I’ve replied to Charlie’s letter, it’s that tightly bound scroll.
Harry.
*
18th August 1994
The time from receiving the tickets passed in a blur of mounting excitement, nerves and chaotic energy roiling off the two youngest inhabitants of Malfoy Manor… and one adult, who seemed to be able to drag the two younglings into whatever hair-brained, chaos-fuelled, idiotic scheme had cropped up.
Harry had found himself in near daily correspondence with Bill Weasley as the Curse-Breaker had settled back in England for the month. He had been beside himself with joy when the additional letter had turned up with Bill’s and so begun a Quidditch fuelled correspondence with Charlie Weasley.
And so, as the sun breached the horizon on the day of the World Cup Final, Harry bounded out of bed. His bright green eyes were alive and full of excitement as he rampaged through his morning ablutions, dressing in a flurry of fabric, and eventually launching himself out of his suite.
His trainers squeaked slightly in his haste, skidding slightly as he hurried around corners and down the stairs until, fingers grasping frantically on the architrave, he swung into the doorway of the Solarium.
Instantly, he was greeted with the now extremely familiar sight of Lucius sat in a comfortable armchair, his leg crossed at the knee as he perused a copy of the Prophet. A steaming mug of rich coffee emitted its aroma into the air at his left elbow.
Cassiopeia delicately wiped her mouth, laughing softly at something her twin had said as she pushed her breakfast bowl away. Her hair was bundled at the back of her head in a messy bun, which Harry noted in amusement was mirrored by Sirius, heightening the similarities between the siblings.
Sirius lounged, slobbishly, in his chair, eyes bright with mirth as he stuffed a good portion of half a bacon sandwich into his mouth before chewing obnoxiously. He jerked aside from Lucius’ silent Stinging Hex that had fizzled through the air towards the Lord Black.
Harry noted that the two Malfoy’s wore more casual robes, whereas Sirius had on an old Quidditch jersey and, even though Harry could not see them, ripped Muggle denims.
“Good morning, my love,” Cassie greeted as soon as Harry stepped fully into the room. “You are up rather early.”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “I couldn’t sleep anymore.”
“No doubt Draco will sleep for another couple hours, so what do you plan to do with your morning?”
Harry turned hopefully towards Lucius. “I was hoping Lucius would be able to take me to meet the Granian herd.”
A flick of his wrist had the top half of the Prophet flopping down so that Lucius could peer over it, an eyebrow raised questioningly.
“I have always like horses,” Harry mumbled shyly as the tops of his cheeks turned pink.
“Old Luc here doesn’t just have Granians, he has Muggle horses as well as Thestrals,” Sirius barked, “Probably Abraxans as well… bloody poncy tosser.”
The last part was muttered so softly that Harry was almost certain only he could hear it as he dropped into the seat next to his Godfather.
Breakfast was a simmering affair, with Cassie trying to keep her twin calm, Sirius trying desperately to get a proper rise out of his brother-in-law and Harry vainly attempting to prevent himself from choking on his breakfast as Sirius’ antics grew ever more antagonistic.
As soon as Harry’s knife and fork were together on his plate before him, Lucius was up and out of his chair, giving Sirius the stink-eye as he motioned for the young wizard to follow him.
When they stepped out into the fresh air, Harry relaxed. As entertaining as his godfather was, the man quite simply exhausted Harry with his frenetic levels of energy.
“That mangy mutt is unfortunately right, I do have Abraxans,” Lucius announced once they had stepped off the main paved path onto a winding gravel bed leading them inexorably on towards a cluster of outbuildings. “One of the finest herds in Wizarding Britain.”
Harry could not prevent the snort of amusement that whistled from him at Lucius’ admission.
A warm comfort settled over Harry as he walked alongside Lucius, his gaze tracking across the unfamiliar plot of the Manor’s grounds. Draco had never had any need to bring him towards the stables, so Harry had never seen it.
The outbuildings were simultaneously sprawling and ginormous. A sweet smell began to permeate the air the closer they got and Harry felt the slight ripple of Wards. As they breached the Wards, Harry was assaulted by the sounds and smells.
He could hear nickering, whinnying, braying and hooves stomping against hardstanding, thudding against timber walls and the calm, clip-clop of being led placidly elsewhere.
“Wow,” Harry breathed.
He had never been to a stables, or even a farm, but he had seen pictures of them either in the leaflets that the Dursley’s left around the house after days out, or in books at the local library. Somehow, during that time an absolute adoration for anything equine had grown within Harry.
The one thing pictures could not fully convey, was the sheer size of a horse.
“This is Njal, he is my pride,” Lucius said as they stood before the stall of a magnificent looking stallion. The horse’s coat was a gleaming, jet black and he was massive . The stall door was open with only a pitiful looking rope, in Harry’s opinion, blocking the stallion from leaving its confines and Harry could see hooves that looked like they would easily smash a watermelon... or his head. “He is very big for his breed, but he is gentle. Do not let his looks fool you. Freisans are renowned for their gentle nature.”
Harry nodded, the admiration for the species now having a healthy dose of respect. But, when Lucius coaxed Harry’s hand out and under the velvety looking nose, Harry was beside himself with glee when the horse lipped at his fingers, whuffing as he did so.
They moved on from Njal, and Harry could not decide where he wanted to look next. There was all manner of Muggle horses in the stables they were in, from stocky cobs to high strung Arabs. They did not linger near any of the other horses, some had unpredictable temperaments, and others were nearing their heat or seasons.
Lucius spoke the whole time, explaining his plans for certain mares or stallions, where he had acquired others or even what type of work each horse did. It soon became apparent that the Malfoy stables was one that was involved in many equine disciplines in the Muggle world... something that simultaneously shocked and did not surprise Harry in the least.
They left the Muggle stables and headed towards where Lucius’ Magical horses were stabled, but these were almost empty aside from the odd specimen, which after the Muggle horses, were simply gigantic. Comparable to Harry and the Hogwarts’ Groundskeeper Hagrid.
“Salazar,” Harry breathed.
“The Palamino's are Abraxans, greys are Granians and the chestnuts are Aethonons. The herd is primarily Abraxans, my Father was extremely partial to them and established the main herd before I was born,” Lucius explained as they walked along the wide corridor banked on either side by fifty-foot-wide stalls.
A huge gust of wind made Harry turn on the spot to where a lightly dappled-grey Granian was stretching its ginormous wings, ruffling Harry’s hair with the movement.
“They’re awesome... have you ever flown on one?”
Lucius laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “Of course... although my mother spanked me thoroughly when she discovered my adventure.”
Harry followed behind Lucius, wondering what riding a living animal would be like... how different would it be to riding a broomstick?
Lucius casting a tempus brought Harry out of his musings.
“We had best return to the house, it is almost time to be leaving and Cassiopeia will insist you are clean and presentable before our Portkey departs.”
*
Harry unashamedly gripped tightly onto Lucius’ massive hand as they stepped out of the Floo together. He was glad of his deathgrip as he instantly went to pitch forward, face first into the grand marble floor as they stepped free of the fireplace and directly into the Department of Magical Transportation.
Harry did not relinquish his grasp on the elder Malfoy as they briskly walked toward a reception desk with a kindly looking welcome witch sat behind it.
“Malfoy Party for the 11.13am Portkey to the Cup Final,” Lucius barked, barely giving the witch a moment to breathe out her memorised greeting.
She took it in stride easily, however, as the rest of their party gathered behind them, with a brisk nod of her head.
“Straight down the hall to my left and into room 3b, please Lord Malfoy. Enjoy your journey.”
Lucius nodded and with a reassuring squeeze of Harry’s hand, led them down the specified corridor and into the room.
The room behind the plain door was empty barring a single table and upon that table was an antique looking mirror, the glass of which was dull and murky with neglect.
“Come along, hurry up. Everyone, place a finger on the mirror,” Cassiopeia said as she bustled in behind Lucius, a complex ward displaying a countdown hovering in front of her face. “We have just over thirty seconds before it activates.”
Harry was conscious of his backpack as he was sandwiched between Draco and Lucius. Even though their party was small, the object they were all attempting to touch was even smaller, especially when the sheer breadth of Lucius’ shoulders were taken into consideration and Sirius was not a small man either.
Cassiopeia settled between Lucius and Sirius as her ward continued its countdown and Harry could not help watching it avidly as anxiety, nerves and excitement roiled his stomach uncomfortably.
Ten, he thought alongside the magic. Seven, six. He looked around. Sirius and Cassie were smiling at one another in a way that said they were reminiscing. Four, three. Draco shuddered beside Harry, his pale skin looking slightly green already and suddenly the nerves transmuted into Dragon sized butterflies that made him feel sick. One.
It happened instantly. A hook settled right behind his navel and yanked him forward. Unlike with Apparation, this felt like he was flying through the air at phenomenal speeds, his whole body being buffeted as his and Draco’s shoulders banged together and his shoulder rubbed painfully against Lucius’ elbow. He felt as though he was being sucked forward, his finger unable to break the suction like connection to the mirror until...
They all landed with a thud.
Harry had no chance of remaining standing as his knees buckled underneath him from the force of their landing. Draco had collapsed on top of him, the green tinge alarmingly more noticeable as Sirius pulled the blonde back to his feet.
Harry looked up at Lucius, who looked only slightly worse for their mode of transport, until with a wave of magic, every single hair returned to lying flat on his head and the tiniest of creases disappeared from his shirt and tailored slacks.
“Eleven-fourteen from Ministry DoMT,” a soft voice declared.
As Harry clambered to his feet with the help of Lucius, he managed to catch sight of where they were... pretty much in the middle of nowhere. There was a stretch of barren moor bracketed on all side by sparse woodland.
The only other inhabitants that could be seen were two tired looking wizards, one bearing a bigger-than-usual pocket watch and the other peering blearily at a scroll of parchment. Both were dressed as Muggles in varying levels of expertise.
“Malfoy and Black party,” the one holding the scroll said as he made a mark with a drab looking quill. “Just through the woods, you’ll come across a cottage where the Site Manager lives, a Mr Smyth.”
Cassiopiea nodded her thanks with a muttered goodbye before they all headed in the direction the man had jerked his head.
It was a somewhat lengthy walk; Harry was certainly glad he had opted for his Dragonhide boots rather than anything else as they trudged over the grass that was littered with thick knolls, hidden holes and even the odd half-disguised stumps.
After about ten minutes of silent walking, they emerged on the other side of the trees and onto a dirt-track, and several meters up the track was a stone cottage next to a wide, metal gate. Beyond the cottage was miles of fields littered with hundreds of tents.
A man stood at the picket fence delineating the extremity of his private property, staring out over the fields in wonderment. Harry knew instantly that this was an actual Muggle.
“Mr Smyth?” Lucius called, dragging the Muggle’s attention towards their party as they pushed through a pedestrian gate.
“Yes?”
“Malfoy and Black, two tents booked several weeks ago.”
The man nodded as he turned to regard a huge spread of paper tacked to a weather-proof notice board.
“Yes, two plots next to each other, closest to the woods.” The man turned to them. “The one night? And you’re paying now?”
Lucius nodded and pulled the biggest wedge of Muggle notes Harry had ever seen, quickly counting out the required amount. He gave the notes to Mr Smyth, before briskly heading in the direction the Site Manager had indicated.
“A map of the campsite,” Mr Smyth said as Harry took the proffered paper from the man and hurried off after the others.
He was absent-mindedly casting his eye over the map as he walked in Sirius’ shadow, happy to absorb himself in memorising the map and trusting Sirius to not let him fall, until his heart leapt into his mouth.
There were three pitches under the name Weasley.
And one was right next to theirs.
Harry darted around Sirius and pushed himself between Cassie and Lucius, taking the broad hand hanging lazily at Lucius’ side in his own, pulling comfort from the pseudo-parents either side of him.
Harry’s worry was for absolutely nothing... for there was four red heads lounging around a fire, only two of which were vaguely familiar.
“William,” Cassiopeia greeted, causing the calm that had settled over Harry to erupt into shyness.
“Lady Malfoy,” the rugged, long-haired man replied cordially.
Harry could not help staring at the man, his jaw slightly dropped. William Weasley, or as Harry knew him, Bill, had long, auburn hair, dusky skin spattered with freckles and bright blue eyes that looked to be a hairs breadth from laughing at any given second. He looked to be tall, as he reclined in tatty jeans and a faded polo. On his feet were well-worn, but obviously cared for, Dragonhide boots.
“Charles,” Cassie nodded to the other that Harry did not recognise.
“It’s Charlie, and you know that,” Charlie muttered as he shot a cocky grin at Cassie.
Charlie was built like the twins, stocky and broad-shouldered. Bared forearms were shiny in places with burns and his skin was tanned even darker than Bills. Unlike his older brother, Charlie wore his hair closely cropped to his head with a slight fringe swept over his left eyebrow.
“Alright -”
“-Harry?”
The Twins spoke in their usual, disjointed twin-speak, drawing everyone’s attention to where Harry continued to hide in Lucius’ shadow.
His cheeks tingled with his embarrassment as the older Weasley’s smiled broadly at him, hauling themselves to their feet.
Bill extended his hand.
“Finally, we meet!”
Harry took the proffered hand, feeling all the callouses and roughened skin on Bill’s palm as he did.
“Hi,” he squeaked.
Charlie laughed in a way that did not make Harry feel like he was the butt of the joke, but rather in a way that said Charlie laughed at most things.
“Now, where’s that incessant, forever-questioning, young man we have been talking to through Owl?”
Harry ducked his head, before clearing his throat, only for nothing to come out when he opened his mouth.
“Maybe it would be best if we all retired and shared a meal at lunchtime, it will give everyone a chance to settle down and get over the shocks of travelling by Portkey.”
Harry could have kissed Cassie at that suggestion, waving shyly at the Weasley brothers before darting off; keeping to Lucius’ shadow as they watched Sirius magically erect one massive tent that took over the two plots Lucius had reserved.
*
The rest of the day was spent with the four Weasley’s when quad joined their fire at a little past one in the afternoon.
Harry found that the bit of time to decompress after two horrific forms of transport had made it easier for him to overcome his shyness.
Plus, Sirius’ frenetic energy combined with the chaotic Weasley Twins, drew the attention off Harry, meaning he could ease his way into conversation with Bill.
It did not take long for Harry to completely come out of his shell as he hounded Bill with a multitude of questions ranging from what type of work would be expected in the Vaults, to the nuances of Goblin etiquette that would never fully be appreciated unless one worked with Goblins on a regular basis.
Charlie distracted them from Curse-Breaking talk with a passionate argument with Sirius over what the final score would be and which team had the better Seeker. It quickly devolved into a ferocious, but banter-filled, argument that had Lucius rolling his eyes and turning his shoulder towards them and Cassie smiling bemusedly at the four Weasleys, Harry and Draco.
They had finally agreed to the point that Ireland’s Seeker was extremely good but did not hold much against the youngest professional Seeker seen in many years.
Harry froze when a growl was heard rumbling from behind him, eyes widened with fear turned to regard Lucius who was staring, eyes narrowed, at a widely grinning man bounding his way towards their pitch.
The man could not have been any more obvious that he was a wizard as he wore striped Quidditch robes that strained across a slightly pudgy belly.
“Mamour, please, leave the growling to Siri, it really does not become you... plus, Bagman is hardly worth your time,” Cassiopeia murmured softly at her husband, a calming hand resting on his knee and causing the grumble to cease abruptly.
Ludo Bagman, ex-Beater for the Wimbourne Wasps, caught sight of the hard mask that had settled upon Lucius’ face and swiftly diverted from his original trajectory... and just as they lost sight of the retired Quidditch player, a gong sounded, echoing and rolling over the fields as the tension that had slowly been building abruptly ratcheted up to palpable levels.
“Yes! It’s time! C’mon!” Sirius crowed, leaping to his feet and darting off into the woods.
*
They emerged as one group from the woods after following a lantern-lit trail, listening to the laughter, the excited shrieks and the odd burst of singing, into the shadow of a ginormous stadium. Harry could not prevent his jaw dropping at the sheer size of the monstrosity before them.
“Seats a hundred thousand,” Bill said as he turned to check where Harry had gotten to, “Or so my dad told me anyway. Apparently it took a year to build, not just physical construction, but it’s steeped in Wardic magic.”
Cassie grunted from just in front of them.
“Hmph, I have never been so tired, no one could settle on what type of Wards they actually wanted for months, so in the end I had to go rogue and do what I thought best.”
“Yes, and that certainly cost us,” Lucius muttered.
“A contract with the Ministry is hardly that prestigious, Luc,” Cassie reprimanded her husband as she nestled her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Anyway, enough of this, we must get to our seats.”
Harry could not believe what he was hearing... Cassiopeia had helped construct the Quidditch Final Stadium... and had kept it quiet from him and Draco! He shared a betrayed and shocked look with his best friend as they were ushered towards one of many entrances.
“Lord and Lady Malfoy,” the Ministry witch ensconced in a weatherproof booth greeted, her eyes widening at the rest of the group. “Lord Black.” she took the tickets from Cassie’s hand and nodded. “Top box, the stairs -”
“Yes, Marissa, I am well aware of where the Top Box is,” Cassiopeia interrupted, as they took the tickets back.
Marissa went red before turning sharply towards the next group waiting politely a few paces back.
Cassiopeia led the way confidently, moving quickly so that none of the others had time to really absorb the grandeur of the walkways, which, once Harry managed a quick glance, he noticed were carpeted in a soft looking purple. Everything seemed to be either purple or gold.
They emerged at the very top into a comfortably sized box, situated perfectly, exactly in the middle between the two sets of golden goal posts.
Harry took a seat, with little urging between Charlie and Lucius in the front row, but furthest from the entrance. Cassie, Draco and Sirius sat on Lucius’ other side, with Bill and the Twins sat beside Charlie.
Harry gawped down at the scene below him. Hundreds upon thousands of witches and wizards were milling about at various levels, finding their seats. The dull roar of a hundred thousand voices was enough to make one's ears rang if they focused solely on the noise, but Harry let his attention home in on the billboard directly opposite them as it rolled through a bunch of advertisements.
“Here, I managed to nab some of these,” Sirius said, leaning over everyone to dump Omnioculors in the recipients’ laps.
“You didn’t need to,” Bill began to protest, only to get a stern hand gesture off Sirius.
“It’s the least I can do,” Sirius admonished cryptically.
George had happily received his gift and pressed them immediately to his eyes, demanding of his brothers; “Where is Dad sat? Do you know?” He twiddled various knobs on his Omnioculors as he scanned the crowds opposite and below them.
“I think they’re quite low somewhere,” Charlie replied. “Dad didn’t seem that happy about their seats...”
“Bloody ungrateful if you ask me,” Fred muttered savagely. “He got free tickets.”
“So did you, and you’re in the top box,” Bill replied.
The other twin shrugged, the one Harry thought was George, so Harry was a bit confused as to whether he was right... he shook his head and instead inspected his own Omnioculors as Lucius perused one of the programs that had been bought.
Slowly, the box filled, and Lucius, as well as Cassie’s, attention was more often than not pulled away from their own conversations to greet various witches and wizards, either shaking hands or nodding politely.
“Ah, Lucius,” a jovial sounding voice pounded them from behind.
“Cornelius,” Lucius was saying before he had even turned in his seat. “Is everything well?” Lucius’ cocked eyebrow implied that he did not believe it to be so as everyone could see the faint mist of sweat on the Ministers brow and how creased his bowler hat was from far too much handling.
“I do wish Barty were here,” Fudge admitted, jerking his head towards the man standing at his shoulder. “I can’t speak Bulgarian and I’ve been left with their Prime Minister!”
Lucius opened his mouth, only to receive a sharp below just below his ribs from Cassiopeia.
“Shame,” he wheezed, “hopefully he will return soon.”
Harry shared a confused look with Draco over Lucius’ lap before the pair shrugged simultaneously and their attention was drawn to Ludo Bagman bouncing his way into the box.
“Ready?” Bagman asked, his face gleaming with excitement. “Minister?”
“Ready when you are.”
Bagman whipped out his wand and directed it at his own throat before muttering; “Sonorus!”
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” Bagman’s voice echoed across the stadium, drowning out the excited chittering of the gathered crowd.
Harry did not know where to look, his ears seemed to be filled with static as Bagman introduced the teams mascots. The Bulgarian’s had brought Veela, which had caused all kinds of chaos with many male members of the audiences much to their neighbours amusement. The Irish had Leprechauns, which scattered their false gold amongst the crowds, causing mayhem for those that were unaware of the properties of Leprechaun gold.
Next the teams themselves were being introduced, the Bulgarians in red where blurs as players shot out to their names: Dimitrov, Ivanova, Zograf, Levski, Vulchanov, Volkov and Krum . The Bulgarian supporters were going wild in their applause of their team. Although the final name got a general uproar as everyone had heard of the eighteen-year-old superstar Seeker, Viktor Krum.
The Irish came out in green, blurring their way across the field from the opposite side as they were called forward: Connolly, Ryan, Troy, Mullet, Moran, Quigley and Lynch .
The match, once it was kicked off by the Egyptian referee, was crazy quick. Bagman barely had a chance to get each player's name out as the Quaffle was shot from Chaser to Chaser. Harry wondered how the commentator was able to draw breath as he struggled to keep up with the play himself.
Bludgers shot around the field, either under their own momentum or from the jarring impact of a Beaters bat.
The sheer ferocity of the match had Harry on the edge of his seat, the excitement thrumming through his veins on par to what he felt when he was flying himself. His heart was in his throat as he watched the manoeuvres of each team, wondering if any of them were plays that amateur’s would be able to replicate... maybe he would be able to talk Draco and Sirius into trying some of the Chaser’s tricks.
Troy scored very quickly, putting Ireland into the lead and ten minutes after that Ireland was leading thirty-zero.
Harry could tell that the Ireland team were the superior team, their Chasers flew as a cohesive unit, performing manoeuvres seamlessly as they barrelled through the air.
Bulgaria managed to pull back a goal, dodging the Irish Keeper with feigned ease, as the game seemed to become still faster but much more brutal.
“Oh, I say!” Bagman exclaimed as the two Seekers, Lynch and Krum, plummeted into a steep dive.
A collective gasp echoed around the stadium as everyone’s attention focused on the two Seekers.
“They’re going to crash,” Draco moaned.
He was partially right, at the very last moment Krum pulled up sharply from the dive, Lynch however slammed into the ground with a meaty thwack, which made Harry wince.
“See what I meant about the Wronksi Feint?” Charlie asked Harry, who could only nod jerkily.
The dare-devil side of him wanted nothing more than to jump on his own Firebolt and attempt that obviously dangerous diversion tactic... he loved a controlled dive, but had yet to attempt one at such a steep incline.
There was a time out as Mediwizards hurried out onto the field to tend to the Irish Seeker.
During that time, Krum was circling like a vulture, eyes searching ceaselessly for the Snitch whilst everyone waited for Lynch to be revived and play to be resumed.
The rest of the match was evermore faster, furious and down-right vicious.
Krum stopped a Bludger with his face at one point, but refused medical assistance as claret spattered down his face and flecked his robes.
Ireland pulled in front with a magnificent lead, until not even catching the Snitch would secure Bulgaria a win... which was when Lynch dropped into a steep dive.
Krum was hot on his tail.
“He’s seen the Snitch!” Harry shouted, catching the tell-tale glimpse of gold.
Screams echoed out.
“Lynch isn’t gonna make it!” Fred sing-songed.
Fred was right, Lynch could not pull up out of his own dive, Krum’s fingers settled around the tiny Snitch and Lynch ploughed into the grass for a second time, this time of his own making.
The board in front of the Top Box lit up with the words Bulgaria 160 – Ireland 170.
Ireland won... Krum caught the Snitch but still Ireland won.
The green section of the stadium erupted.
Whilst the Irish was still screaming their euphoria, the teams were called into the Top Box, the Irish being handed a massive Quidditch Cup.
It was exhilerating.
It was the best birthday present Harry had ever been gifted with.
And it was all over.
And Merlin’s pants, was Harry exhausted.
*
Harry woke briefly to the sensation of being carried, the comforting aroma of cinnamon and honey in his nose as he buried back into the warm neck, inhaling the scent of safety as he did so, allowing himself to drift back off. He did not stir again even when Lucius carefully lay him down in his bed.
Drifting through to his subconscious, Harry could make out the sounds of celebrations, permeating his dreams of being a world-class Quidditch player.
And so, when the first scream rent through the air and the urgent hand was pressed to his shoulder, Harry woke up badly. A whimper caught in his throat at the sight of Lucius peering worriedly at him.
“Harry, you and Draco need to go with the Weasley Twins, hide in the woods. Do not leave the safety of the woods until I come and get you! Do you understand me?” Lucius commanded.
Harry could hear Draco getting the exact same talk from Cassiopeia in the next ‘room’ over.
He nodded, fear pulsing through him as he pulled on a pair of jeans and a heavy jumper. He stumbled out of the tent, the sounds of screams and fear louder once free of the fabric confines. Draco’s slender hand slipped into his as they watched Bill and Charlie charge off into the fray, commands that the Twins look after Harry and Draco thrown back over their shoulders.
“Stay safe, both of you,” Lucius said, a particularly loud shriek causing Lucius to flinch before wrapping both boys in a tight hug. “Do not leave each other and do not return here until either Cass or I come to you, do you understand?”
They nodded quickly. The screams were getting louder, the sounds of feet pounding into the hardened earth rumbling underfoot.
“Go, do not leave Messieurs Weasley’s sights. Je vous aime très fort tous les deux,” Lucius said, pressing his lips to Draco’s then Harry’s foreheads in turn. “Go.”
George grabbed Harry’s other hand as Fred did the same with Draco. They started off walking briskly until a loud bang caused Harry to yip in fear and then they were jogging... although the sensation that they were being followed grew even though they could see no one else, the jog broke into a run, which did not slow until they reached the dubious safety of the dark, gloomy woods.
Harry clung to Draco as they settled in an especially dark area, pressing their backs to a couple of trees as the four glanced around nervously.
*
Lucius could feel the fear pounding through him even as he felt his Cassiopeia pressing her back to his.
Spellfire blazed around them, witches and wizards alike aiming wands indiscriminately to do nothing more than cause chaos.
He could not fathom the reason behind the fight, he had felt the strange magic roiling off the nexus of the fight and had been drawn in. Aurors and Ministry officials hesitated, not knowing who to incapacitate, but Lucius and the other ‘civilians’ who had joined the fight had no reservations.
Lucius could feel the wrongness coming off the main perpetrators, but it appeared that not many others could.
Screams erupted anew as everyone’s attention was pulled back towards the woods.
Ghastly and intimidating, hanging like a dense cloud of pure fear, sat a mark in the sky.
A snake emerging from a skull to constrict around a phoenix.
It was a message.
A message that many would misconstrue, but Lucius knew it for what it was.
He had something similar branded on his inner forearm... but what hung in the sky was a bastardised version that had been used at the height of the War.
Fear surged through him anew.
His heart thundered as adrenaline pulsed with every chaotic beat of it.
Draco was in those woods... and so was Harry.
His wand moved in a complex move as he physically threw his fist through the air, landing solidly in the face of someone blocking his path.
He had to get to the boys.
He needed to make sure they were safe.
Wand and fist, devestation was left in his wake as he forged a path through the mass of people. Aurors following behind him, detaining those left unconscious.
*
19th August 1994
Harry found that he could not force the images from the previous night out of his mind as he clung desperately to Lucius.
The wild look in the elder Malfoy’s eyes had calmed only a few hours ago, even once they had Apparated safely back into the Manor.
Harry had been unable to sleep in his bed, even after Lucius had sat with him for a long time, instead being brought down to Lucius’ study, where he had been wrapped in a soft blanket and nestled tightly into the older man’s side.
He had dozed fitfully, only to wake with a whimper trapped in his throat. He could not rid himself of the images of spellfire zipping across the horizon. Screams echoing in fear or pain through the woods. And then the mark appearing in the sky.
Harry clung to Lucius, not even allowing the man to leave him along long enough to use the toilet.
He could not stand to be separated from him for more than a minute before anxiety pulsed through him, panic attempting to steal his breath.
And so, for the next three days, Lucius and Harry nestled together in the study, the comforting thrum of wards easing Harry’s fears, until the memories did not burn quite so brightly behind his eyelids. Until finally he could sleep without remembering vividly what it had felt like to be left in the woods with a fifteen-year-old and two sixteen-year-olds as protection.
*
26th August 1994
It was unusually early as Harry blinked his eyes open, the old-fashioned time piece at the side of his bed informed him that it was eight in the morning.
He had finally gotten over the fright of the Aftermath of the Final, with the help of some meditation and low-level Occlumency practices, the bright, sharp edges of the memories had been dulled so that he was able to remember the excitement of the match mainly.
He stretched and almost rolled over on his side to go back to sleep, but a sudden urge had him clambering out of bed and rushing into the bathroom to steam through his morning ablutions.
Once he was clean, Harry pulled on a pair of navy-blue tailored shorts, revealing to the world his knobbly knees. His head popped out of the neck of a white polo-shirt and bare feet were slipped into a super comfortable pair of boat shoes.
Harry barrelled out of his room and down the stairs, before slowing to a more respectable pace as soon as the open door to the sunroom was in his sight.
His mouth instantly opened, Cassiopeia’s name on the tip of his tongue when he realised there was only one other person occupying the slowly warming room.
Lucius peered over the top of the morning edition of the Prophet and cocked an eyebrow enquiringly at the gawping teen in the doorway.
“My mother always told me that if the wind changes, your face will remain that way for the rest of your life,” his voice rumbled over the distance, jolting Harry out his stupor.
His jaw clacked shut as he strode towards the table, noting that there wasn’t even another place set and only Actaeon lazily thumped his tail in greeting.
“Morning, Lucius,” Harry finally said as he dropped into his usual seat, pulling a warm croissant towards him before swiftly proceeding to break it into pieces and pop them in his mouth. In between bites, he filled a glass with orange juice.
“My, you are noisy this morning,” Lucius said, a smirk lingering at the corner of his lips as a mock-frown furrowed his brow, pretending to wince and rub at his temples. “Cassiopeia is having a very rare lie-in today.”
Harry nodded, slowly quietening his mind as he had realised that Lucius’ comment meant he was projecting loudly.
“If you like, I could take you to Diagon,” Lucius offered cautiously.
Harry sat to attention, like a Niffler with something shiny in its sight.
“Would you?” Harry couldn’t prevent the beaming smile that revealed pearly white teeth.
Lucius nodded, a calculative light entering his eye. “I can tell you have some important business to tend to in the Alley.” He paused before adding, “Plus, Cassiopeia was intending to make me go to Twillfits for your robes anyway, apparently they will not Owl the blasted material she requested.”
Harry wiggled, excitement brimming as he thought about the long-made promise to himself. It was now or never.
“Can we –”
“Yes, you insatiable imp, we can go now,” Lucius cut in, a faux-put-upon look gracing his features. “Gringotts will already be open for business, and I have some paperwork I must sign in person whilst you raid your Vault once more.”
Harry bounced in front of Lucius, whizzing around like a kid hopped up of sugars and e-numbers. His mind darted at a million miles an hour, the grin that had rippled across his face at the surprised delight of his Goblin escort when he greeted, albeit slightly brokenly, the Goblin in Gobbledygook, had not abated one iota.
He practically dragged Lucius by the hand into Flourish and Blotts, before promptly darting down the aisles towards the Ancient Runes section, to lay hands on a Runic dictionary Bill had suggested. Lucius had just managed to catch up with him when he sped off again towards the language books, determined to unearth some other texts on Goblin culture.
“You could pause to take breath, you know,” Lucius huffed good-naturedly as he finally captured the manic youngster. “You know, I could ask my contact if he can find any of the rarer texts on Goblin etiquette and culture.”
Harry turned a dazzling smile upon Lucius before impulsively throwing his arms around the older wizard’s waist. “That would be awesome! And… thank you for bringing me.”
Lucius coughed roughly as he returned the embrace.
Once Harry had had his fill of the bookshop, the pair returned to the street, packages safely shrunk and stowed in pockets. The day held the promise of scorching heat as they traversed the Alley, meaning that even though it was passed mid-morning, there were still so very few other patrons gracing the cobbled streets. After the bookstore, Harry dived into other run-of-the-mill shops, gathering additional materials he had forgot to place on his Owl order.
He managed to grab additional ingredients for his potions kit as well as plenty of quills and parchment. He even brought Hermione a quill that claimed to be unchewable.
“Mon petite chou, we must detour from your frenzied shopping spree to pick up the robes. Cassiopeia decided an appointment would ensure I would not conveniently forget to go in the tailors.”
Harry endured half an hour of prodding and poking, bolts of cloth offered up against him as the tailor would not pass up the opportunity for any final adjustments with the recipient in the shop.
“That was actually better than Maulkin’s, I didn’t get stabbed once,” Harry muttered as they left the establishment, his coin-purse much lighter than when he’d left Gringotts that morning as he had ordered some casual-wear for himself.
Lucius just snorted indelicately and lead Harry back onto Diagon Alley, where he stopped at the sight that greeted him in the window display of Eeylops Owl Emporium.
“Lucius... can we go in there please?” he couldn’t stop staring at the owl that sat in the window. A pale grey face stared back at him, striations of dark flittering out from the disc of its face. A yellow beak opened and closed several times as though it was twittering, dark brown eyes blinking slowly.
Lucius nodded and walked into the dingy shop, the pungent aroma of a multitude of animals wafting towards them immediately. The cacophony of sound was almost mind-boggling in its variety.
Harry veered straight towards the owl he had spied in the window, excitement swimming within him.
A tiny chrome placard declared:
Ural Owl, Female. Approx. 2 years old.
“Hi,” Harry breathed.
The owl cocked its head slightly before a hoarse kuwett left it. Wings spread, a quick shake of its feathers and the owl launched itself up and landed on Harry’s shoulder, where it instantly began preening his hair.
“I’ll take her!” Harry declared, turning carefully on the spot to come face-to-face with a slightly startled shop-assistant.
Money was exchanged on the spot, the assistant declaring that the owl had barely tolerated being around humans whilst in the shop. They’d only had her ten months, but they hadn’t made any progress with her, and had resigned themselves to the owl never being sold.
Harry glanced up at the owl, still perched happily on Harry’s shoulder, and a beatific grin lit up his face as the owl gave another hoarse kuwett , before shuffling tighter to Harry’s head and nibbling gently at the shell of his ear.
A calmness rolled through him as relentlessly as the tide, consuming him, as he was groomed for the first time in months albeit this time by a less lethal looking beak. There was no crooning, but Harry grinned maniacally as the beak worked at a knot in his temple.
Once more, the pair returned to the high-street, this time with an owl perched on Harry’s shoulder.
“Are you ready for Hogwarts now?”
Harry just nodded happily, stroking the impossibly soft feathers on his newest friend’s chest.
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