HP-Fic: Circles and Lines - Part 3
Title: Circles and Lines - Part 3
Author: ninnive
Fandom: 'Harry Potter' by J. K. Rowling
Pairing: H/D (not yet), mentions of Ron/Gabrielle
Rating: PG
Warnings: mentions of character deaths
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and this work of fanfiction is written for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: Harry is hungover - not the best condition for letter-writing…
chapter 1, chapter 2
*
'Sunday Morning & the Hangover from Hell' would in Harry's opinion have been a more appropriate headline for today's 'Daily Prophet' than the actual 'Incident in the Department of International Cooperation - Chinese Delegation scandalised'. He couldn't even pretend to be interested in the Ministry's latest mishap and brushed the paper aside without further ado, watching tiredly as it fell to the floor. That earned him a disapproving sigh from Cally, but when Harry raised an eyebrow, daring her to say something, she just cleared away the paper and went on preparing the breakfast. The tiny house-elf had been with him for fourteen years now and didn't show any sign of being impressed by his bad mood. In fact, she didn't show any sign of noticing him at all, which happened rarely but when it did, it could go on for days. And it unvariably ended in Harry apologizing for whatever he'd done, so he decided to skip the rest and just gave in.
"Listen, Cally, I'm sorry for being such an arse, but -"
"Oh, but Master Harry shouldn't speak such things of himself," the elf interrupted him hastily, abandoning the silent treatment immediately as usual. But not without adding: "And Master Harry really shouldn't drink so much when he's with Master Weasley!"
Harry answered that statement with a weak groan that could be interpreted as agreement and reached for the proffered cup of coffee. When the bitter fluid had managed to exorcise at least parts of his hangover, he asked Cally to order all the house-elves that worked for his agency to a meeting tomorrow morning. What Ron had told him yesterday (before the alcohol level had rendered them both incoherent) definitely warranted a closer look.
It seemed that the recent disappearances of Summerby and Goldstein - the first a high-ranking Unspeakable and the second one a secretary of Minister Scrimgeour - were only the last in a chain of suspicious incidents that had played out since last December. Just before Christmas there had been a large-scale robbery in a shop in Knockturn Alley that dealt with obscure magical items and since then a number of rather crude Obliviations had happened among seemingly unconnected people, some of them Ministry officials. Naturally, the victims couldn't tell what they'd been forced to forget, but all of this had first started after a bunch of Death Eaters that had played only minor parts in the Second War had been pardonned; Lucius Malfoy, who'd been in Azkaban since his capture in Harry's fifth Hogwarts-year, the most prominent among them.
Ron wanted to have an eye on the newly released, but as long as there wasn't an 'official interest' in the proceedings, there wasn't much he could do without getting himself into trouble. And since he'd been in trouble with his superiors far too often in the last years, that wouldn't be a good idea. So Harry had promised Ron to ask his house-elves to have a look around in the households that were connected to former Voldemort-supporters. He wouldn't normally abuse his position in such a way, but when it came to possible Death Eaters, there was a noticeable shift in Harry's morale system. They'd cost him too much and he wasn't willing to go through that again if he was able to prevent it in any way.
The arrival of a grim-looking eagle owl wrenched Harry from that rather depressing train of thought. The large bird landed in the middle of the table and, after staring some seconds at Harry, extended a leg to present a neatly tied roll of parchment to him. Slowly, Harry took it off and then reached for a strip of fried bacon to feed it to the owl, but it only turned away its head with an expression as if insulted, spread its wings and flew off, knocking off Harry's empty cup in the process.
Shrugging, Harry ate the bacon himself and unfolded the note.
Dear Harry, it said in a small and sharp script, if you've got time, I'd like to meet you next Tuesday; I could pick you up around eight. And no, this isn't a scheme to abduct you into some high-class noble restaurant and then laugh about your table-manners, so stop fretting. I am just curious. Best regards, Draco Malfoy.
Blinking, Harry read the few sentences again - twice - but that didn't change the fact that he'd just been invited to dinner (he guessed) by Draco Malfoy. That really shouldn't have come as such a surprise after their strange encounter in Godric's Hollow, but Harry had nearly managed to repress that until now. He hadn't even mentioned it to Ron yesterday. Still staring at the single sheet of parchment, he realized that he should probably send an answer. There wasn't really a reason not to meet Malfoy - Draco - Harry reminded himself - and truth be told, he was curious what the other man had been up to in the last nineteen years.
So, after sending Cally for parchment, quill and ink, Harry spent the next half hour trying to formulate a coherent answer that basically said Fine, I'll meet with you; see you Tuesday., but hadn't yet come past the salutation: Dear Dra To Draco Malfoy Hi Draco Dear Draco.
"I don't have time for this," Harry told nobody in particular after staring at his unmoving quill for about ten minutes. "And it is utterly ridiculous!" And going back to his Gryffindor roots, he just wrote Yes in big, bold letters, folded and sealed the parchment and went to look for one of his owls.
*
Harry was lazing around throughout the rest of the day, leaning back and dividing his attention between reading through a book he couldn't even remember the title of and thinking that maybe he should go and pay a visit to Neville. Or Padma. Probably Padma, who at least wouldn't be hounding him about the sorry state of his love life; Neville had developed quite the matchmaking streak after settling down himself a few years ago and Harry didn't have the nerve for enduring his well-meant attempts to set him up with one or other of his Muggle wife's acquaintances today.
But before Harry could decide if he really wanted to get off the sofa, the sudden Apparition of Ron startled him out of these thoughts.
"Ron?" Harry asked in a tight voice. Ron wore his Auror uniform and a defeated expression that set Harry's alarm bells off. "Ron! What's wrong?"
"Harry. I came here as soon as… You shouldn't… shouldn't have to read it in the papers. She was a friend, after all…" Ron nearly whispered.
Harry stood up and gripped his friend tightly around the arms, shaking him slightly. "What happened? Who… was a friend, after all?!"
Snapping out of his stupor, Ron finally managed to say what he'd come for. "Tonks. Tonks is dead."
chapter 4
Author: ninnive
Fandom: 'Harry Potter' by J. K. Rowling
Pairing: H/D (not yet), mentions of Ron/Gabrielle
Rating: PG
Warnings: mentions of character deaths
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling and this work of fanfiction is written for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: Harry is hungover - not the best condition for letter-writing…
chapter 1, chapter 2
*
'Sunday Morning & the Hangover from Hell' would in Harry's opinion have been a more appropriate headline for today's 'Daily Prophet' than the actual 'Incident in the Department of International Cooperation - Chinese Delegation scandalised'. He couldn't even pretend to be interested in the Ministry's latest mishap and brushed the paper aside without further ado, watching tiredly as it fell to the floor. That earned him a disapproving sigh from Cally, but when Harry raised an eyebrow, daring her to say something, she just cleared away the paper and went on preparing the breakfast. The tiny house-elf had been with him for fourteen years now and didn't show any sign of being impressed by his bad mood. In fact, she didn't show any sign of noticing him at all, which happened rarely but when it did, it could go on for days. And it unvariably ended in Harry apologizing for whatever he'd done, so he decided to skip the rest and just gave in.
"Listen, Cally, I'm sorry for being such an arse, but -"
"Oh, but Master Harry shouldn't speak such things of himself," the elf interrupted him hastily, abandoning the silent treatment immediately as usual. But not without adding: "And Master Harry really shouldn't drink so much when he's with Master Weasley!"
Harry answered that statement with a weak groan that could be interpreted as agreement and reached for the proffered cup of coffee. When the bitter fluid had managed to exorcise at least parts of his hangover, he asked Cally to order all the house-elves that worked for his agency to a meeting tomorrow morning. What Ron had told him yesterday (before the alcohol level had rendered them both incoherent) definitely warranted a closer look.
It seemed that the recent disappearances of Summerby and Goldstein - the first a high-ranking Unspeakable and the second one a secretary of Minister Scrimgeour - were only the last in a chain of suspicious incidents that had played out since last December. Just before Christmas there had been a large-scale robbery in a shop in Knockturn Alley that dealt with obscure magical items and since then a number of rather crude Obliviations had happened among seemingly unconnected people, some of them Ministry officials. Naturally, the victims couldn't tell what they'd been forced to forget, but all of this had first started after a bunch of Death Eaters that had played only minor parts in the Second War had been pardonned; Lucius Malfoy, who'd been in Azkaban since his capture in Harry's fifth Hogwarts-year, the most prominent among them.
Ron wanted to have an eye on the newly released, but as long as there wasn't an 'official interest' in the proceedings, there wasn't much he could do without getting himself into trouble. And since he'd been in trouble with his superiors far too often in the last years, that wouldn't be a good idea. So Harry had promised Ron to ask his house-elves to have a look around in the households that were connected to former Voldemort-supporters. He wouldn't normally abuse his position in such a way, but when it came to possible Death Eaters, there was a noticeable shift in Harry's morale system. They'd cost him too much and he wasn't willing to go through that again if he was able to prevent it in any way.
The arrival of a grim-looking eagle owl wrenched Harry from that rather depressing train of thought. The large bird landed in the middle of the table and, after staring some seconds at Harry, extended a leg to present a neatly tied roll of parchment to him. Slowly, Harry took it off and then reached for a strip of fried bacon to feed it to the owl, but it only turned away its head with an expression as if insulted, spread its wings and flew off, knocking off Harry's empty cup in the process.
Shrugging, Harry ate the bacon himself and unfolded the note.
Dear Harry, it said in a small and sharp script, if you've got time, I'd like to meet you next Tuesday; I could pick you up around eight. And no, this isn't a scheme to abduct you into some high-class noble restaurant and then laugh about your table-manners, so stop fretting. I am just curious. Best regards, Draco Malfoy.
Blinking, Harry read the few sentences again - twice - but that didn't change the fact that he'd just been invited to dinner (he guessed) by Draco Malfoy. That really shouldn't have come as such a surprise after their strange encounter in Godric's Hollow, but Harry had nearly managed to repress that until now. He hadn't even mentioned it to Ron yesterday. Still staring at the single sheet of parchment, he realized that he should probably send an answer. There wasn't really a reason not to meet Malfoy - Draco - Harry reminded himself - and truth be told, he was curious what the other man had been up to in the last nineteen years.
So, after sending Cally for parchment, quill and ink, Harry spent the next half hour trying to formulate a coherent answer that basically said Fine, I'll meet with you; see you Tuesday., but hadn't yet come past the salutation: Dear Dra To Draco Malfoy Hi Draco Dear Draco.
"I don't have time for this," Harry told nobody in particular after staring at his unmoving quill for about ten minutes. "And it is utterly ridiculous!" And going back to his Gryffindor roots, he just wrote Yes in big, bold letters, folded and sealed the parchment and went to look for one of his owls.
*
Harry was lazing around throughout the rest of the day, leaning back and dividing his attention between reading through a book he couldn't even remember the title of and thinking that maybe he should go and pay a visit to Neville. Or Padma. Probably Padma, who at least wouldn't be hounding him about the sorry state of his love life; Neville had developed quite the matchmaking streak after settling down himself a few years ago and Harry didn't have the nerve for enduring his well-meant attempts to set him up with one or other of his Muggle wife's acquaintances today.
But before Harry could decide if he really wanted to get off the sofa, the sudden Apparition of Ron startled him out of these thoughts.
"Ron?" Harry asked in a tight voice. Ron wore his Auror uniform and a defeated expression that set Harry's alarm bells off. "Ron! What's wrong?"
"Harry. I came here as soon as… You shouldn't… shouldn't have to read it in the papers. She was a friend, after all…" Ron nearly whispered.
Harry stood up and gripped his friend tightly around the arms, shaking him slightly. "What happened? Who… was a friend, after all?!"
Snapping out of his stupor, Ron finally managed to say what he'd come for. "Tonks. Tonks is dead."
chapter 4