"With Different Hats" - Chapter Four - A Harry Potter Fanfic
Title: With Different Hats -- Chapter Four
Author: originalpuck / Morgan O'Friel
Rating: R
Word Count: 3874
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Warnings: Character Death, Dub-con, Violence
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: When the Malfoys are murdered, Harry Potter is called in to find their killers. Unfortunately, the freshly undead Draco has deemed Harry incompetent, and decided to strike-out on his own. Of course, before avenging his parents he has to find some clothes, remember not to fall through walls, and prevent Harry from making things even worse. Previous installments are located here.
Chapter Four
Of course, haunting someone might work a helluva lot better, Draco thought, if he knew where the bloody git lived. So far nobody had been willing to share that tiny fact with him. So he’d shaken off his ‘guard Auror’ about an hour ago, and dragged himself to his Aunt Andromeda’s home. Draco figured that he’d give her a good rollicking, let her know precisely how his parents wanted to be buried and just what would happen if she tried any funny Muggle-loving stuff on them. And, while he was there, perhaps he could guilt her into telling him where exactly Potter spent all of his time.
Which was where Draco was standing now, having mastered the fine art of ‘has-been’ travel. It was something like a mix between Apparating and running someplace, and it left him wheezing when he reappeared, several yards from his intended destination.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering the screaming and shouting that was going on at the end of the lane. Snow covered a wide, white fence. On the other side were balloons, screaming children, and the lone figure of Potter, looking windswept and delightfully bewildered with all of the bustling. It made Draco feel a little ill.
He wanted to holler at him, inform Potter that he damn well better look miserable, that Draco had died that day, and that he had no right to be partying. But he bit his tongue. The kids were swamping Potter, throwing snow and dragging him around in the snow. As he watched, Potter was zapped with what Draco easily recognized as a kid’s unintended magical discharge, throwing him into a snow-man and letting her run away from his snowball.
It all looked like chaos, and like a family that Draco had lost, a bit of wild joy that Draco could honestly say he’d never had. A blue-haired boy chased a blonde, shouting loudly as he approached and alerting her and her friends that he was coming. Unable to stop himself, Draco winced as the boy was surprised with a sneak-attack from the blonde. It served him right. If he’d properly planned and considered, his attacks would have decimated that girl.
He shook his head when the evening wind howled his way, throwing snow through him. He was gawking, he knew. The Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers were pathetic, he also knew. But maybe they could become a bit better if they were guided the proper way. And maybe, just maybe, Draco needed a distraction that day. He had died, after all. It was a draining process.
And besides, he had to show Potter what he’d learned at the Ministry of Morons. And if in the process Potter’s head was split open with icicle chunks, well, so much the better.
---
“Victoire, hang about!”
Harry winced. Teddy, Vicky, and some of the neighbor kids were all running around outside, working on building their very best forts. It was boys versus girls, and so far Teddy’s team seemed to be winning. That was, if their high-pitched screams were anything to judge by.
But, all in all, Harry didn’t mind too terribly being their adult supervision. Considering the fact that Ginny had brought her latest boyfriend, and that Ron and Hermione were busy discussing their new place, well, outside seemed like it would fit Harry just fine.
Teddy waited on the edge of Andromeda’s gardens, nearly vibrating with excitement. He had Vicky and her friends on the run. “C’mon, Uncle Harry, we’ve got to - mind out!”
Harry whirled, but it wasn’t quick enough to avoid getting an ice-ridden snowball to his face. Spluttering, he raised his hands to wipe the snow off, taking off his glasses so that he could wipe them on his shirt-tails. “Hey, I said no ice!”
“Rules are meant to be broken, Potter. Especially mindless ones like that. What’s the fun without a little danger?”
Harry didn’t need his glasses back on to recognize who had just scored some snowball war points on him in front of his godson. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Malfoy, what are you doing here?” He shoved his glasses back on, decidedly more indignant than he was three seconds ago. The world came back into focus, even if it didn’t seem to make any more sense.
On the one hand, Austin didn’t seem to be anywhere around. On the other hand, Malfoy seemed to have learned something in his orientation. Harry’d have to watch his back from now on. The scales tipped in favor of being annoyed, because Harry knew that even if he hit Malfoy dead-on, there wasn’t any snowball that could wipe that pleased smirk off of Malfoy’s lips. And oh, how Harry wanted to try.
“Well, Potter, I just couldn’t resist your child-rearing charms.” Malfoy’s eyes were hollow, even as his voice mocked. Harry hated the sudden pang in his stomach, the urge to explain himself.
“It’s my godson’s birthday.” Turning, he waved Teddy on. His godson was staring, curiously, and Harry wondered how many ghosts he’d seen before. Considering that it was Teddy’s birthday, and that Andy said he was prone to nightmares, Harry thought that he wouldn’t subject him to the undead for any longer than necessary. Teddy smiled and then screamed a battle-cry, sighting Vicky’s pink scarf where it was hidden behind a shapely rosebush.
He turned back to Malfoy in time to see a thin line on his face, and Harry jerked his head towards the porch. There was a nice swing up there, and if Harry was going to be stuck with him, he might as well try to relax. “Where’s Austin?”
It was a wooden porch swing that creaked every time someone so much as considered rocking on it, and it was one of Harry’s favorite pieces of furniture at the Tonks’. Without another thought, Harry settled into the right side of it. The wind hit his back that way, and the house sheltered his sides.
Malfoy had paused in front of a large, sitting room window. He was staring into Andromeda’s house, a look of absolute distaste flickering across his face. His eyes closed for several long seconds before turning to blink at Harry. He didn’t take the seat next to him, and Harry briefly wondered if he’d learned how to sit yet. Probably, if he could chuck ice-balls, but with ghosts Harry could never be sure.
“Your partner? Left him somewhere around the Leaky Cauldron.” Malfoy shrugged. “He was going on about his nag of a wife, and it was all I could do not to jinx him. I figured you lot would look down on that.”
“So you came here, instead?” Again, a lift of Malfoy’s thinly-clad shoulders. Harry was cold just looking at him. He wanted to throw a cloak over him, or at least be able to get him someplace warmer: Harry didn’t particularly care which option was picked. Even though he knew that ghosts didn’t feel the cold, the desire to warm him didn’t ebb.
“Haven’t you heard, Potter? You’re my new custodian.” In the capable hands of Malfoy, the word custodian sounded the same way that most people uttered the name of Voldemort. “You’re stuck with me until this case is solved. Longer, perhaps, if you bother me enough.”
He was half-tempted to protest. Living with Malfoy was the last thing that he wanted. In fact, he’d take torture at the hands of Bellatrix’s Inferi before being stuck with him for longer than eight hours. But, on the other hand, having Malfoy around might come in handy when investigating the case. He’d have access to some of the Dark Arts sectors that the Aurors hadn’t even heard of, and, if they got lucky, the person who wanted the Malfoys dead might even come back for a second attempt.
Sure, it was nearly impossible to end the afterlife of a ghost, but he knew that the spells and potions existed somewhere. And for someone who was willing to raise the dead, Harry didn’t think anything could be put past the culprit. “Well, I’m flattered. We’re not picking out matching towel-sets, though.”
Malfoy’s lips quirked in a small smile, their edges staying curled even as he spoke. “I doubt you’ve ever had anything match in your life. There’s no point in trying now.”
A muffled squeak caught their attention, and they both turned to stare out at the Tonks’ massive front yard. The kids had made and destroyed snowmen, nurtured elaborate snow forts on both sides of the main sidewalk, and abandoned a variety of mittens and gloves along the fairway of the yard. Against all of that, Teddy was whispering to Vicky, clinging to her arm. They both were staring at Malfoy. A few of the other kids were lurking near their ice forts, peering down their red noses and around the snow's edges.
It took Harry a second to figure out what held their attention; he’d been around Malfoy far too long that day. But it didn’t take him long to figure it out - a quick glance was all he needed. Nobody else could master the art of looking like he could smash a kid on a whim, while standing on an almost-strangers porch in his knickers. “Stop glaring. You’re going to give them nightmares.”
If possible, Malfoy’s scowl deepened.“Don’t you people teach your children any manners?”
Harry worked to keep his blood pressure down. “’You people’?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter.” He turned on Harry. Something was hiding in his face, a darkness that seemed to cancel out the faint illumination that Malfoy was giving off, even in the bright winter yard. “I’m just saying that -“
He was interrupted when the door opened, and Ron and Hermione started walking out. “Oy, kids, it’s time for cake!” Ron called. Grinning, he turned to inform Harry, and stopped dead. Hermione was tugging on his arm, trying to turn him all the way around. Both of their eyes were as large as saucers.
Harry saw all of this through Malfoy, who had moved in front of Harry when he’d tried to explain his annoyance away. It was because of this that he saw Malfoy's fists immediately clench. A small muscle tightened at the top of Harry’s neck, and he sighed in harmony with Ron’s first exclamations of horror.
“What’s this git doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”
“Ron!” Hermione’s voice was shocked, but Harry knew her well enough to know that the look in her eyes echoed her husband’s accusations.
“It’s my family, Weasel. I have more than enough of a right to be here.”
“You’re dead! And besides, nobody wants you here. We don’t let Death Eater scum around the kids.” Ron shook his head, shaking off Hermione, who was trying to drag him back into the house. He paced until he was inches away from Malfoy’s fists. “You’re no more family to Teddy than Voldemort was to a hippogriff.”
Malfoy’s hand tightened on his wand. “I get that your family likes to infect everything that breathes, but you don’t actually have a claim on anyone here, Weasel.”
Harry wasn’t sure how much magic ghosts could use, if any. But he figured that Teddy’s birthday party wasn’t the time to find out. “Just take a breather, you two.”
It was Harry’s luck that they both managed to shout at him to shut up in unison. Great. Harry shot a look at Hermione, who was peering from one face to another. Her eyes steeled when they caught Harry’s, and she nodded firmly. Stepping up towards Ron, she took a deep breath, glanced at Harry, and then whispered something in his ear. From the look of Ron’s face, it was something important, though Harry wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what words were being exchanged. His expression changed almost instantly, though, and that was a big enough of a give-away.
Staring off Ron lowered his wand and turned to gape at Hermione. Malfoy had dropped his wand and uncurled his fists, even though he as now watching them with more disgust than he had a second ago. If Malfoy could wretch, Harry figured that was what he’d be doing, particularly when Ron and Hermione kissed. As it was, he made an exaggerated gagging noise, and turned to Harry for - what, exactly? Approval? Well, he wasn’t getting it.
Sighing, Harry turned away from them, and towards the kids staring at them from the yard. Wincing, he gave a half-smile to Teddy, and hopped the porch’s railing to be closer to him. When he got close enough, he ruffled his godson’s blue hair. “Happy birthday, Teddy. I love you, but I’ve got to get to work.” He jerked his thumb at Malfoy, who was floating just a few inches away from Ron, making derisive sounds about Ron’s kissing style. “Gotta figure things out so I can get rid of that git.”
Teddy just nodded. “You’ll come back tomorrow, though, right? You promised. You said you’d take me to see Mum 'sand Dad’s graves tomorrow, so I could tell them about my party.”
Lupin and Tonks would be so proud of their son. Harry worked to clear his throat. “I promise.”
Teddy nodded, and Harry turned. He came face-to-face with Malfoy. Up close his eyes seemed so heavy, their circles deep and dark. If Malfoy were human, Harry would’ve wondered if they’d feel as papery as they looked. As it was, Harry struggled and tore his gaze from under Malfoy’s eyes. “Er - should we?”
“Where to, Potter?” It was a low drawl, and it suited Harry’s mood just fine. A nice, relaxing trip wouldn’t be bad. But it’d have to be something to keep Malfoy off of his back.
Glancing up, Harry took in the sky. They had maybe a good half an hour left of daylight: the sunset was already starting to give the trees their claws in the dim sky. Not enough time left to go back to patrolling Malfoy’s neighborhood, but it might be just enough to check out the initial scene of the crime. Harry didn’t want to have to visit two graveyards tomorrow, anyways. “Bellatrix’s grave.”
He watched Malfoy take a running ‘pop,’ and hoped that he’d be able to ditch him when the time came. Because if there was anything worse than a Malfoy, it was one that could sneak up on Harry’s own grief.
---
Harry’s footsteps crunched in the heavy snow around the Lestrange mausoleum. It was large, over-shadowing the small lumps that had once been a garden. It hadn’t been easy to get to - it was on the property of the Lestranges, their old manor having gone to rot with Bellatrix' and Rodolphus’ deaths. Of course, there had still been some enchantments, which Malfoy had so kindly warned Harry about after he’d been attacked.
“Well,” Harry said. He was still rubbing his shredded Muggle jacket, where the phantom that had been the house's guard had ripped him to shreds for not being ‘pure’ enough. “We know to look for some claw marks on our suspects.” He muttered a quick repairing spell, something he’d picked up from spending too much time around Andromeda and Molly. “Unless ---“
“Unless they were in league with the Dark Lord,” Malfoy finished. Turning, Harry saw him in the twilight, his hand pressed against the heavy wooden door. The mausoleum wasn’t the largest Harry’d seen in his years as an Auror, but it had enough intricate stonework to make up for it. “Aunt Bella wouldn’t rise for just anybody.”
“Yeah, well.” Harry stared at the ground, mentally subtracting his own footsteps - large boot tracks that had only half-dug into the snow, pivoting wildly while he fired spells at the creature that was trying to tear his ‘filth’ out of him. He muttered a quick Lumos, and checked the remaining bits of the backyard by the small orb of light that followed his steps.
There were plenty of drag marks through the snow, and Harry wondered if they were Bellatrix’s or those of the culprit. It didn’t matter much either way, though - there hadn’t been any fabric or identifiable shapes left in the snow. Sighing, Harry turned back to the mausoleum. The air was changing, getting crisper, and night would fall soon. He wanted to be out of there by full-dark.
Malfoy was illuminating the front of the building, casting shadows on the castle-like structure. There were two lions out front, and Harry tentatively bent to run his hand over one. Their fangs were out.
“Made from the bones of Chimaeras,” Malfoy said. Harry glanced up, shaking his head. That would explain the thrum of magic he felt from them.
If he never saw another animal statue, it would be too soon. “Just checking for more traps.”
“There aren’t any more.” Malfoy cleared his throat, his left hand holding his useless wand. “Whenever you’re ready, Potter.”
Harry rose and spoke the incantation that Malfoy had begrudgingly parroted to him. The door hesitated for a moment, and then groaned inwards. It was a low, deep noise, almost as if a troll were clearing its throat. Glancing at Malfoy a final time, Harry relit his Lumos spell and plunged inside.
---
Draco hadn’t been to the Lestrange mausoleum since he’d first been released from Azkaban, almost six months ago. Then it had been at its full glory, well painted, swept, lit, and maintained. Now it looked as poorly kept up as the Lestrange family home had been. Even though it hurt, it wasn’t surprising - the only surviving members of the family were locked away in Azkaban for the rest of their lives. Even the house-elves didn’t have anything to fear from them, not anymore.
It all made Draco feel ill. His stomach twisted, even though he knew he couldn’t be physically hurt - he was a ghost, after all.
Sure, his aunt had been willing to throw him under the bus, and sure, her corpse had killed him, but she was still his aunt. She deserved the best resting place that the Wizarding world could provide.
He descended the remaining twenty-three steps - a perfect twenty-seven steps, a new one being added every time a coffin was filled - and took in the room. More came into view as Potter lit the few candelabras that hung around the room, some flaring to life and others sputtering against thick spiderwebs. Each tomb had the name of its occupant engraved in gold, as well as their family crest, lineage, and symbols that stood for their skills in life.
Potter’d hurried over to find Aunt Bella’s coffin, but Draco meandered, looking at the graves of all of the great purebloods from the past. His hand hovered just above his great, great grandfather in-law’s coffin, Francis Lestrange. Had he been a supremacist, too? Had he worked to get rid of the Mudbloods and Muggles? He shuddered as the glow from his fingers illuminated a peculiar triangle symbol, something that looked like a wand standing at its center. A good duelist, perhaps. It wasn’t a symbol that was commonly explained, and Draco never had figured that one out.
His grandmother in-law had given birth to so many Death Eaters, it made Draco’s head spin. Every Lestrange he’d met had been in league with the Dark Lord, just like the Goyles, Crabbes, and Malfoys. He’d heard stories in Azkaban, from Rabastan, about how Sophia Lestrange had hunted down Muggles just to torment them, tripping them, hurting them as much as was allowed at the time without declaring outright rebellion against the Ministry.
The coffin besides hers was for Draco’s Uncle Rodolphus. The tiger that was stretched-out over the top had also been on his Death Eater’s mask. Draco gathered his strength and let his fingers brush the tiger’s open jaws, jaws which had been split in half during the final battle of the Second War. Uncle Rodolphus’ face had been torn in half, spurting blood all over the battlefield, all over Draco, who’d tried to rush in to help.
His mind was back to the battle, back to the blood that stained him, while Draco had frantically called out all of the Healing spells he could remember. It had been so thick, the blood -
Shivering, his hand plummeted right through the coffin. Overbalancing, Draco bit back a shout as he fell forward, into the coffin. It was dark and he gasped, frantically trying to shove himself back out, hoping he wouldn’t see his uncle’s face, not again, when he realized that he was illuminating an empty box.
His breathing was shallow, and he whirled around inside of it, to be sure. No, the corpse hadn’t slid to one side. And Draco couldn’t remember any family order to remove the body. Which only meant -
His legs weren’t steady as he dragged himself backwards, until he was out of he coffin and back into real life. He was panting, Draco knew, but he didn’t care much. No, not again. He couldn’t let his family hurt anyone else -
“Potter,” he wheezed. Wherever Potter was, he seemed too oblivious to the world to care about Draco’s panic. Dragging himself to his feet, he glided over to him, slipping through coffins on his way, no longer caring about disrupting the dead. Draco was just praying that they were still dead.
Potter was bent besides Aunt Bella’s coffin, holding onto a piece of brown cloth. “Potter!” Boy Wonder looked up, and Draco gestured to the coffin behind him. “We’ve got a problem.”
“I know that, Malfoy. But I’m working on it -“
“No!” He almost bit his lip, almost decided to handle it on his own. Potter was worthless. And yet, it wasn’t like Draco himself could do much, and the only people he cared about were in the coffins strewn around him, or waiting for their chance to decorate the tombs. “My uncle’s gone, Potter, and we’ve got to find him. Now.”
Next
Author: originalpuck / Morgan O'Friel
Rating: R
Word Count: 3874
Pairings: Draco/Harry
Warnings: Character Death, Dub-con, Violence
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: When the Malfoys are murdered, Harry Potter is called in to find their killers. Unfortunately, the freshly undead Draco has deemed Harry incompetent, and decided to strike-out on his own. Of course, before avenging his parents he has to find some clothes, remember not to fall through walls, and prevent Harry from making things even worse. Previous installments are located here.
Chapter Four
Of course, haunting someone might work a helluva lot better, Draco thought, if he knew where the bloody git lived. So far nobody had been willing to share that tiny fact with him. So he’d shaken off his ‘guard Auror’ about an hour ago, and dragged himself to his Aunt Andromeda’s home. Draco figured that he’d give her a good rollicking, let her know precisely how his parents wanted to be buried and just what would happen if she tried any funny Muggle-loving stuff on them. And, while he was there, perhaps he could guilt her into telling him where exactly Potter spent all of his time.
Which was where Draco was standing now, having mastered the fine art of ‘has-been’ travel. It was something like a mix between Apparating and running someplace, and it left him wheezing when he reappeared, several yards from his intended destination.
Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, considering the screaming and shouting that was going on at the end of the lane. Snow covered a wide, white fence. On the other side were balloons, screaming children, and the lone figure of Potter, looking windswept and delightfully bewildered with all of the bustling. It made Draco feel a little ill.
He wanted to holler at him, inform Potter that he damn well better look miserable, that Draco had died that day, and that he had no right to be partying. But he bit his tongue. The kids were swamping Potter, throwing snow and dragging him around in the snow. As he watched, Potter was zapped with what Draco easily recognized as a kid’s unintended magical discharge, throwing him into a snow-man and letting her run away from his snowball.
It all looked like chaos, and like a family that Draco had lost, a bit of wild joy that Draco could honestly say he’d never had. A blue-haired boy chased a blonde, shouting loudly as he approached and alerting her and her friends that he was coming. Unable to stop himself, Draco winced as the boy was surprised with a sneak-attack from the blonde. It served him right. If he’d properly planned and considered, his attacks would have decimated that girl.
He shook his head when the evening wind howled his way, throwing snow through him. He was gawking, he knew. The Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers were pathetic, he also knew. But maybe they could become a bit better if they were guided the proper way. And maybe, just maybe, Draco needed a distraction that day. He had died, after all. It was a draining process.
And besides, he had to show Potter what he’d learned at the Ministry of Morons. And if in the process Potter’s head was split open with icicle chunks, well, so much the better.
---
“Victoire, hang about!”
Harry winced. Teddy, Vicky, and some of the neighbor kids were all running around outside, working on building their very best forts. It was boys versus girls, and so far Teddy’s team seemed to be winning. That was, if their high-pitched screams were anything to judge by.
But, all in all, Harry didn’t mind too terribly being their adult supervision. Considering the fact that Ginny had brought her latest boyfriend, and that Ron and Hermione were busy discussing their new place, well, outside seemed like it would fit Harry just fine.
Teddy waited on the edge of Andromeda’s gardens, nearly vibrating with excitement. He had Vicky and her friends on the run. “C’mon, Uncle Harry, we’ve got to - mind out!”
Harry whirled, but it wasn’t quick enough to avoid getting an ice-ridden snowball to his face. Spluttering, he raised his hands to wipe the snow off, taking off his glasses so that he could wipe them on his shirt-tails. “Hey, I said no ice!”
“Rules are meant to be broken, Potter. Especially mindless ones like that. What’s the fun without a little danger?”
Harry didn’t need his glasses back on to recognize who had just scored some snowball war points on him in front of his godson. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. “Malfoy, what are you doing here?” He shoved his glasses back on, decidedly more indignant than he was three seconds ago. The world came back into focus, even if it didn’t seem to make any more sense.
On the one hand, Austin didn’t seem to be anywhere around. On the other hand, Malfoy seemed to have learned something in his orientation. Harry’d have to watch his back from now on. The scales tipped in favor of being annoyed, because Harry knew that even if he hit Malfoy dead-on, there wasn’t any snowball that could wipe that pleased smirk off of Malfoy’s lips. And oh, how Harry wanted to try.
“Well, Potter, I just couldn’t resist your child-rearing charms.” Malfoy’s eyes were hollow, even as his voice mocked. Harry hated the sudden pang in his stomach, the urge to explain himself.
“It’s my godson’s birthday.” Turning, he waved Teddy on. His godson was staring, curiously, and Harry wondered how many ghosts he’d seen before. Considering that it was Teddy’s birthday, and that Andy said he was prone to nightmares, Harry thought that he wouldn’t subject him to the undead for any longer than necessary. Teddy smiled and then screamed a battle-cry, sighting Vicky’s pink scarf where it was hidden behind a shapely rosebush.
He turned back to Malfoy in time to see a thin line on his face, and Harry jerked his head towards the porch. There was a nice swing up there, and if Harry was going to be stuck with him, he might as well try to relax. “Where’s Austin?”
It was a wooden porch swing that creaked every time someone so much as considered rocking on it, and it was one of Harry’s favorite pieces of furniture at the Tonks’. Without another thought, Harry settled into the right side of it. The wind hit his back that way, and the house sheltered his sides.
Malfoy had paused in front of a large, sitting room window. He was staring into Andromeda’s house, a look of absolute distaste flickering across his face. His eyes closed for several long seconds before turning to blink at Harry. He didn’t take the seat next to him, and Harry briefly wondered if he’d learned how to sit yet. Probably, if he could chuck ice-balls, but with ghosts Harry could never be sure.
“Your partner? Left him somewhere around the Leaky Cauldron.” Malfoy shrugged. “He was going on about his nag of a wife, and it was all I could do not to jinx him. I figured you lot would look down on that.”
“So you came here, instead?” Again, a lift of Malfoy’s thinly-clad shoulders. Harry was cold just looking at him. He wanted to throw a cloak over him, or at least be able to get him someplace warmer: Harry didn’t particularly care which option was picked. Even though he knew that ghosts didn’t feel the cold, the desire to warm him didn’t ebb.
“Haven’t you heard, Potter? You’re my new custodian.” In the capable hands of Malfoy, the word custodian sounded the same way that most people uttered the name of Voldemort. “You’re stuck with me until this case is solved. Longer, perhaps, if you bother me enough.”
He was half-tempted to protest. Living with Malfoy was the last thing that he wanted. In fact, he’d take torture at the hands of Bellatrix’s Inferi before being stuck with him for longer than eight hours. But, on the other hand, having Malfoy around might come in handy when investigating the case. He’d have access to some of the Dark Arts sectors that the Aurors hadn’t even heard of, and, if they got lucky, the person who wanted the Malfoys dead might even come back for a second attempt.
Sure, it was nearly impossible to end the afterlife of a ghost, but he knew that the spells and potions existed somewhere. And for someone who was willing to raise the dead, Harry didn’t think anything could be put past the culprit. “Well, I’m flattered. We’re not picking out matching towel-sets, though.”
Malfoy’s lips quirked in a small smile, their edges staying curled even as he spoke. “I doubt you’ve ever had anything match in your life. There’s no point in trying now.”
A muffled squeak caught their attention, and they both turned to stare out at the Tonks’ massive front yard. The kids had made and destroyed snowmen, nurtured elaborate snow forts on both sides of the main sidewalk, and abandoned a variety of mittens and gloves along the fairway of the yard. Against all of that, Teddy was whispering to Vicky, clinging to her arm. They both were staring at Malfoy. A few of the other kids were lurking near their ice forts, peering down their red noses and around the snow's edges.
It took Harry a second to figure out what held their attention; he’d been around Malfoy far too long that day. But it didn’t take him long to figure it out - a quick glance was all he needed. Nobody else could master the art of looking like he could smash a kid on a whim, while standing on an almost-strangers porch in his knickers. “Stop glaring. You’re going to give them nightmares.”
If possible, Malfoy’s scowl deepened.“Don’t you people teach your children any manners?”
Harry worked to keep his blood pressure down. “’You people’?”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter.” He turned on Harry. Something was hiding in his face, a darkness that seemed to cancel out the faint illumination that Malfoy was giving off, even in the bright winter yard. “I’m just saying that -“
He was interrupted when the door opened, and Ron and Hermione started walking out. “Oy, kids, it’s time for cake!” Ron called. Grinning, he turned to inform Harry, and stopped dead. Hermione was tugging on his arm, trying to turn him all the way around. Both of their eyes were as large as saucers.
Harry saw all of this through Malfoy, who had moved in front of Harry when he’d tried to explain his annoyance away. It was because of this that he saw Malfoy's fists immediately clench. A small muscle tightened at the top of Harry’s neck, and he sighed in harmony with Ron’s first exclamations of horror.
“What’s this git doing here? Isn’t he supposed to be dead?”
“Ron!” Hermione’s voice was shocked, but Harry knew her well enough to know that the look in her eyes echoed her husband’s accusations.
“It’s my family, Weasel. I have more than enough of a right to be here.”
“You’re dead! And besides, nobody wants you here. We don’t let Death Eater scum around the kids.” Ron shook his head, shaking off Hermione, who was trying to drag him back into the house. He paced until he was inches away from Malfoy’s fists. “You’re no more family to Teddy than Voldemort was to a hippogriff.”
Malfoy’s hand tightened on his wand. “I get that your family likes to infect everything that breathes, but you don’t actually have a claim on anyone here, Weasel.”
Harry wasn’t sure how much magic ghosts could use, if any. But he figured that Teddy’s birthday party wasn’t the time to find out. “Just take a breather, you two.”
It was Harry’s luck that they both managed to shout at him to shut up in unison. Great. Harry shot a look at Hermione, who was peering from one face to another. Her eyes steeled when they caught Harry’s, and she nodded firmly. Stepping up towards Ron, she took a deep breath, glanced at Harry, and then whispered something in his ear. From the look of Ron’s face, it was something important, though Harry wasn’t close enough to hear exactly what words were being exchanged. His expression changed almost instantly, though, and that was a big enough of a give-away.
Staring off Ron lowered his wand and turned to gape at Hermione. Malfoy had dropped his wand and uncurled his fists, even though he as now watching them with more disgust than he had a second ago. If Malfoy could wretch, Harry figured that was what he’d be doing, particularly when Ron and Hermione kissed. As it was, he made an exaggerated gagging noise, and turned to Harry for - what, exactly? Approval? Well, he wasn’t getting it.
Sighing, Harry turned away from them, and towards the kids staring at them from the yard. Wincing, he gave a half-smile to Teddy, and hopped the porch’s railing to be closer to him. When he got close enough, he ruffled his godson’s blue hair. “Happy birthday, Teddy. I love you, but I’ve got to get to work.” He jerked his thumb at Malfoy, who was floating just a few inches away from Ron, making derisive sounds about Ron’s kissing style. “Gotta figure things out so I can get rid of that git.”
Teddy just nodded. “You’ll come back tomorrow, though, right? You promised. You said you’d take me to see Mum 'sand Dad’s graves tomorrow, so I could tell them about my party.”
Lupin and Tonks would be so proud of their son. Harry worked to clear his throat. “I promise.”
Teddy nodded, and Harry turned. He came face-to-face with Malfoy. Up close his eyes seemed so heavy, their circles deep and dark. If Malfoy were human, Harry would’ve wondered if they’d feel as papery as they looked. As it was, Harry struggled and tore his gaze from under Malfoy’s eyes. “Er - should we?”
“Where to, Potter?” It was a low drawl, and it suited Harry’s mood just fine. A nice, relaxing trip wouldn’t be bad. But it’d have to be something to keep Malfoy off of his back.
Glancing up, Harry took in the sky. They had maybe a good half an hour left of daylight: the sunset was already starting to give the trees their claws in the dim sky. Not enough time left to go back to patrolling Malfoy’s neighborhood, but it might be just enough to check out the initial scene of the crime. Harry didn’t want to have to visit two graveyards tomorrow, anyways. “Bellatrix’s grave.”
He watched Malfoy take a running ‘pop,’ and hoped that he’d be able to ditch him when the time came. Because if there was anything worse than a Malfoy, it was one that could sneak up on Harry’s own grief.
---
Harry’s footsteps crunched in the heavy snow around the Lestrange mausoleum. It was large, over-shadowing the small lumps that had once been a garden. It hadn’t been easy to get to - it was on the property of the Lestranges, their old manor having gone to rot with Bellatrix' and Rodolphus’ deaths. Of course, there had still been some enchantments, which Malfoy had so kindly warned Harry about after he’d been attacked.
“Well,” Harry said. He was still rubbing his shredded Muggle jacket, where the phantom that had been the house's guard had ripped him to shreds for not being ‘pure’ enough. “We know to look for some claw marks on our suspects.” He muttered a quick repairing spell, something he’d picked up from spending too much time around Andromeda and Molly. “Unless ---“
“Unless they were in league with the Dark Lord,” Malfoy finished. Turning, Harry saw him in the twilight, his hand pressed against the heavy wooden door. The mausoleum wasn’t the largest Harry’d seen in his years as an Auror, but it had enough intricate stonework to make up for it. “Aunt Bella wouldn’t rise for just anybody.”
“Yeah, well.” Harry stared at the ground, mentally subtracting his own footsteps - large boot tracks that had only half-dug into the snow, pivoting wildly while he fired spells at the creature that was trying to tear his ‘filth’ out of him. He muttered a quick Lumos, and checked the remaining bits of the backyard by the small orb of light that followed his steps.
There were plenty of drag marks through the snow, and Harry wondered if they were Bellatrix’s or those of the culprit. It didn’t matter much either way, though - there hadn’t been any fabric or identifiable shapes left in the snow. Sighing, Harry turned back to the mausoleum. The air was changing, getting crisper, and night would fall soon. He wanted to be out of there by full-dark.
Malfoy was illuminating the front of the building, casting shadows on the castle-like structure. There were two lions out front, and Harry tentatively bent to run his hand over one. Their fangs were out.
“Made from the bones of Chimaeras,” Malfoy said. Harry glanced up, shaking his head. That would explain the thrum of magic he felt from them.
If he never saw another animal statue, it would be too soon. “Just checking for more traps.”
“There aren’t any more.” Malfoy cleared his throat, his left hand holding his useless wand. “Whenever you’re ready, Potter.”
Harry rose and spoke the incantation that Malfoy had begrudgingly parroted to him. The door hesitated for a moment, and then groaned inwards. It was a low, deep noise, almost as if a troll were clearing its throat. Glancing at Malfoy a final time, Harry relit his Lumos spell and plunged inside.
---
Draco hadn’t been to the Lestrange mausoleum since he’d first been released from Azkaban, almost six months ago. Then it had been at its full glory, well painted, swept, lit, and maintained. Now it looked as poorly kept up as the Lestrange family home had been. Even though it hurt, it wasn’t surprising - the only surviving members of the family were locked away in Azkaban for the rest of their lives. Even the house-elves didn’t have anything to fear from them, not anymore.
It all made Draco feel ill. His stomach twisted, even though he knew he couldn’t be physically hurt - he was a ghost, after all.
Sure, his aunt had been willing to throw him under the bus, and sure, her corpse had killed him, but she was still his aunt. She deserved the best resting place that the Wizarding world could provide.
He descended the remaining twenty-three steps - a perfect twenty-seven steps, a new one being added every time a coffin was filled - and took in the room. More came into view as Potter lit the few candelabras that hung around the room, some flaring to life and others sputtering against thick spiderwebs. Each tomb had the name of its occupant engraved in gold, as well as their family crest, lineage, and symbols that stood for their skills in life.
Potter’d hurried over to find Aunt Bella’s coffin, but Draco meandered, looking at the graves of all of the great purebloods from the past. His hand hovered just above his great, great grandfather in-law’s coffin, Francis Lestrange. Had he been a supremacist, too? Had he worked to get rid of the Mudbloods and Muggles? He shuddered as the glow from his fingers illuminated a peculiar triangle symbol, something that looked like a wand standing at its center. A good duelist, perhaps. It wasn’t a symbol that was commonly explained, and Draco never had figured that one out.
His grandmother in-law had given birth to so many Death Eaters, it made Draco’s head spin. Every Lestrange he’d met had been in league with the Dark Lord, just like the Goyles, Crabbes, and Malfoys. He’d heard stories in Azkaban, from Rabastan, about how Sophia Lestrange had hunted down Muggles just to torment them, tripping them, hurting them as much as was allowed at the time without declaring outright rebellion against the Ministry.
The coffin besides hers was for Draco’s Uncle Rodolphus. The tiger that was stretched-out over the top had also been on his Death Eater’s mask. Draco gathered his strength and let his fingers brush the tiger’s open jaws, jaws which had been split in half during the final battle of the Second War. Uncle Rodolphus’ face had been torn in half, spurting blood all over the battlefield, all over Draco, who’d tried to rush in to help.
His mind was back to the battle, back to the blood that stained him, while Draco had frantically called out all of the Healing spells he could remember. It had been so thick, the blood -
Shivering, his hand plummeted right through the coffin. Overbalancing, Draco bit back a shout as he fell forward, into the coffin. It was dark and he gasped, frantically trying to shove himself back out, hoping he wouldn’t see his uncle’s face, not again, when he realized that he was illuminating an empty box.
His breathing was shallow, and he whirled around inside of it, to be sure. No, the corpse hadn’t slid to one side. And Draco couldn’t remember any family order to remove the body. Which only meant -
His legs weren’t steady as he dragged himself backwards, until he was out of he coffin and back into real life. He was panting, Draco knew, but he didn’t care much. No, not again. He couldn’t let his family hurt anyone else -
“Potter,” he wheezed. Wherever Potter was, he seemed too oblivious to the world to care about Draco’s panic. Dragging himself to his feet, he glided over to him, slipping through coffins on his way, no longer caring about disrupting the dead. Draco was just praying that they were still dead.
Potter was bent besides Aunt Bella’s coffin, holding onto a piece of brown cloth. “Potter!” Boy Wonder looked up, and Draco gestured to the coffin behind him. “We’ve got a problem.”
“I know that, Malfoy. But I’m working on it -“
“No!” He almost bit his lip, almost decided to handle it on his own. Potter was worthless. And yet, it wasn’t like Draco himself could do much, and the only people he cared about were in the coffins strewn around him, or waiting for their chance to decorate the tombs. “My uncle’s gone, Potter, and we’ve got to find him. Now.”
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