Choosing Family: Spondenum: The Pledging
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All rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, none of which is me, and I do not intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.
Particular thanks must be given to my lovely Betas Tithenai and, particularly, who have helped make this a much better story in both style and content. Any mistakes which remain are, indubitably, my own.
Regarding a canon discrepancy which has become relevant - in Goblet of Fire, the Headmaster's office is on the second floor (rather than on the seventh as it is in Half-Blood Prince), and I'm keeping that (especially since I'm following canon only through Order of the Phoenix).
Additional notes are available before the prologue.
Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated... and it's my birthday tomorrow, and reviews are fantastic presents. I'm just saying. :)
Originally posted 15 Mar. '09
Spondenum: The Pledging
Draco Malfoy made his way to the headmaster's office, torn between hurrying and dawdling, but his pace was closer to the latter. A small part was due to reluctance: it would be a drastic change, the end of the life he'd known and the future he'd expected. He knew, though, that the bonding would allow him to recover a sense of Malfoy integrity and that Harry Potter was a better choice than Voldemort (and he couldn't help thinking that, with a powerful enough Time-Turner, much of this could have been avoided). The primary reason for the slowness of his pace, however, was the strangeness of walking under an invisibility cloak for the first time. Potter had lent it to Prof- to Remus yesterday, and he, in turn, had lent it to Draco. That Potter had it to lend made Draco incredibly envious: he'd wanted one for ages. They were very rare, however, and even Lucius's indulgence had limits, since Draco would have used it primarily for pranks.
Using it to sneak past Granger as he left their rooms confirmed that it would have been just as much fun as he'd imagined.
At the moment, the cloak was serving a very practical use: the formal robes he was wearing would have been a sure sign to anyone who'd seen them that something unusual was occurring, and when Voldemort heard of it, as he certainly would have, he would have immediately recognized the significance of them.
Unlike Potter, Draco thought without malice.
He permitted himself a deep, measured breath as he stood nervously outside the headmaster's office, then knocked.
Since leaving the hospital wing, Draco had noticed that the vague awareness of Potter's location had sharpened, and during lunch in the Great Hall, Draco could locate the other boy precisely even with his eyes closed. Doing so had given him a temporary increase of energy, but not acting on the knowledge had led to heightened feelings of distress. It was uncomfortable, but he had been determined to hold out until the evening when the conditions for the bonding would be ideal.
Now, as he followed that thread to the headmaster's office, the bond was thrumming strongly. So much so that he almost missed it when the rope of awareness splintered slightly. The majority was still connecting to Potter, but two barely perceptible threads, each with that sense of wrongness, were drawing Draco's attention to a portrait hanging high across the room and an ornately decorated box sitting on a table near Dumbledore's desk. He tried to observe the box discreetly as he moved towards the headmaster, but there seemed to be little remarkable about it beyond the obvious age and quality of the workmanship.
As it was Dumbledore's office and he was the highest ranking wizard in the room, he was to be greeted first.
While it hadn't been incorporated as a necessary aspect of the ritual when it had been created, as the concept and practice of legislation became more prevalent in society, the exclusion of any element representing the law seemed to have had detrimental impact on the bond, so it was convenient for their purposes that the headmaster of the school was also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamut. His office could serve as a place that was both public and a representation of authority; he, in turn, could serve as a Ministerial witness.
"Professor Albus Dumbledore, I come before you, a vectigal prepared to pledge. Will you bear witness to my choice that you may confirm the truth of the pledging and make it known" - being unable to make an immediate announcement nor to promise that which was untrue and which he had no intention of doing, they had decided Draco would deviate slightly from the traditional form of the question and hope for the best - "when the time is right?"
The older man raised his wand and released a shower of rainbow coloured sparks, replying, "By magic and honour, I will swear what is true."
If the bond's response is any indication, the qualification will not be a hindrance, Draco thought as he felt it change slightly, as though it were pulsing with excitement.
He nodded in acknowledgment of Professor Dumbledore's support and turned. Remus was standing near Severus, and Draco gave him an apologetic half-smile. The ritual required that Draco recognize his father next, but Draco was uncomfortable ignoring Remus entirely, especially after he'd taken such care of Draco the previous evening. The look was met with one of encouragement and understanding, and he turned to Severus.
Lucius Malfoy was technically Draco's father until the Adoption rite, and he had designated Severus as Draco's godfather, empowering him to act in Lucius's stead when he was unable to do so. There was a slight fear that it would not be sufficient in this case, as Lucius was unaware of what they were doing rather than dead or incapacitated, so it was with some nervousness that Draco said, "I have been asked to serve as vectigal for the House of Black, my maternal line. My father," he hated having to call Lucius Malfoy that, "has authorized and supported this claim. Godfather, will you bear witness to my pledging in his stead?"
"By magic and honour, I will witness and accept your choice in your father's stead." Severus presented him with a dagger, the ceremonial blade of the Blacks, which had been amongst the items in Sirius Black's vault. "May your choice bring honour to your family."
The sparks from his godfather's wand were a green so dark they were nearly black, and Draco could see rainbows of light reflecting in them. Watching them gave Draco an excuse to pause before turning to his cousin, a necessary measure as the bond registered approval at a distractingly intense level. Pritchard needs to figure out how to bottle that feeling. He'd make a fortune.
Relieved, he turned to Tonks, and they exchanged companionable grins.
"Cousin Nymphadora Tonks," Draco tried to mute his satisfaction that he had an opportunity to use it, in public, to her face, without the possibility of retaliation. He'd discovered a liking for this cousin of his, but her abhorrence for her given name, while understandable, was amusing. "Will you bear witness to my choice of dominus and pledge to my choice your support and that of our shared blood?"
She extended her wand, as he did his, the tips of them just touching.
"By magic and blood we are kin, and on behalf of the House of Black, I pledge both in service of your chosen." A bright pink stream of light shot from her wand rather than sparks, and it wound around both wands. Prepared for the bond's reaction this time, Draco braced himself for it, but it was still overwhelming.
Poppy Pomfrey had been asked to witness as well, as a non-participating and neutral party. Her presence was less necessary, one neutral witness would have sufficed, but since she knew - and Severus was still slightly out of sorts about that decision - the added support would not be amiss. Draco smiled at her, but didn't speak. The ritual didn't require that neutral witnesses be addressed directly, though if adoption had already taken place, Remus would have been acknowledged as Harry's father. It was one of the many points they had debated, whether it should be included, since he had agreed to the adoption and was acting as Harry's godfather. They had eventually decided against it, since he was not a Parselmouth, and they didn't want to obscure the line being bound: there was no record of what would happen.
Turning at last to Harry, Draco knelt.
Draco held out his hand, palm up, and he took the dagger, drew the edge of the blade across his palm, set the knife upon it, and offered it to Harry. If Harry been an infant, Remus would have taken his hand, but Harry was capable of doing this himself, regardless of his legal status.
"I am the heir of the House of Malfoy, heir-designate of the House of Black, and I offer myself, all that I am and all that I have. I offer my lineage, the House of Black, all that we are and all that we have. I make this offer to you, Harry Potter, speaker of Parseltongue. Will you accept our tribute and unite our people that we may grow as kindred, in strength and integrity?" That last was the third of their deviations from what they had determined to be the standard ritual, cobbled from available texts.
Under normal circumstances, because the person chosen as dominus could be an infant, Harry would not have had to speak - a baby, after all, could not recite lines on cue. Fortunately, it wasn't forbidden, just unnecessary. Being the only person present with the ability to speak Parseltongue, however, meant they had been forced to modify things so that the language, the signifier of the ritual, could be included.
Harry replied in Parseltongue, but as fascinating as he found the sound of the language (when the Dark Lord wasn't making threats), Draco was soon distracted. When Harry took the blade from Draco's proffered hand, he deviated from the ritual as they'd discussed it, slicing his own palm, mingling his blood with Draco's on the blade. Draco was hard-pressed not to react: not to move, not to speak, not to jump up and demand to know what, exactly, Potter thought he was doing. Blood rituals were dangerous.
Draco nearly turned to Severus to see his reaction - he would be furious, Draco was sure, though he didn't feel the pleasure he once would have taken in that - but even as he had the thought, just the idea of doing so was painful. Bright light filled his peripheral vision, and his eyes watered too much to consider turning towards it. He focussed on Harry, directly in front of him and the only thing that made sense as his head filled with light and insecurity and pride and sympathy, and it was consuming, absorbing, overwhelming, disorienting; it was all he could do not to fall over: it was a wonder that he hadn't fallen already.
There was horror at the thought.
He shouldn't do that, mustn't do that.
He was certain that he mustn't, even if he'd no idea where the certainty had come from.
And there was confidence that he wouldn't fall, that he could stay upright as long as he needed to, even as time stopped and stretched.
Infinite and instantaneous.
Then all Draco felt was dizzy relief.
He wavered slightly, and Harry extended his hand to help Draco up.
Their blood mingled as their palms touched, and they didn't immediately release the grip once Draco was standing. Staring at their hands, clasped in a motionless handshake, Draco's first coherent thought was an inappropriately irreverent, Took you long enough.
He looked up to meet Harry's eyes and saw a rueful half-smile cross his face, and Draco knew he'd had the same thought. That amused Draco, a bit more than it should, though it was tinged with regret, determination, and... distaste? That threw him, since he couldn't imagine what he found distasteful about shaking Harry Potter's hand - it was something he'd wanted for longer than he cared to remember.
It didn't take long for Draco to realize that they weren't his emotions, they were Harry's. That would have put him in a panic, if it hadn't also been clear that it was the need for the ritual, the situation, that he disliked, not Draco.
The light returned to previous levels.
Harry blinked and realized that he was in Dumbledore's office with half a dozen people watching him hold Draco Malfoy's hand. Draco seemed to realize it at the same time, and they exchanged another of those looks of shared humour and embarrassment.
That seemed to be the signal that everyone else was free to move as well, and he and Draco were quickly enveloped by the group. Madam Pomfrey tried to heal their hands, but Snape stopped her, insisting that they had to do it themselves. Harry remembered reading that and was embarrassed to have forgotten. He pulled out his wand, careful to get as little blood on it as possible. "May I?"
The other boy held out his hand without hesitation. "Of course." He seemed surprised that Harry would ask, but Harry didn't feel right about casting on him without permission.
The cut wasn't particularly deep, so Harry's rudimentary healing skills should have been more than sufficient. In seconds all that remained was a thin silver line, miraculous, by Muggle standard, but Harry was puzzled, since this spell shouldn't have left even that. Finished, he turned his own hand over and held it out to Draco.
"May I?" Draco echoed his question, and Harry nodded. Draco cast the healing spell and the same line appeared, which made Harry feel a bit better. His own casting hadn't been rubbish after all.
Draco smiled slightly and murmured, "It's a Spell Scar," before Tonks hugged him.
Harry watched warily as Remus approached, but Professor Snape must have warned him because he limited his admonishment to an exasperated look at the knife before hugging Harry.
Snape eyed the blade with a much darker look, but before he could lecture Harry about the proper care of the blade, Harry murmured quickly, "I wasn't sure, it's Blood magic - are standard cleaning spells a problem?" Harry was shocked to see his professor's expression clearing to something that looked almost like approval as he replied, mildly, "Not as long as you are thorough."
Harry cast the spells to clean the blood off the blade and to prevent it from being recalled, then he cast them again, just in case, and put the blade in the sheath on his belt.
The remarks from the others were congratulatory, which felt strange to Harry, since he didn't think binding himself to another living creature was really something to congratulate. Fortunately, it wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey excused herself to return to the hospital wing, which prompted a general exodus. Tonks and Remus Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, and Draco agreed to return to his room - To rest, Madam Pomfrey emphasized before leaving.
Harry would have left as well, but he was stopped by Professor Dumbledore. That meant Harry was unable to speak with Draco privately, but he had no idea what to say, anyway. Instead, with some trepidation, he faced Professors Dumbledore and Snape.
"Well done, Harry."
Harry nodded but didn't reply otherwise. The headmaster hadn't said anything similar to Draco and likely wouldn't, despite Draco's part taking more courage, more strength, than Harry's did.
"There are just a few practical matters that we need to address, Harry, before you are free to enjoy what is left of your weekend." Harry shared a disbelieving glance with Professor Snape while Professor Dumbledore opened a drawer of his desk. He pulled out a satchel and a smallish envelope and put them on his desk. The satchel, which looked to be dragon-hide and had a Gringotts seal, was stuffed with rolls of parchment that threatening to escape. The envelope was unlabeled.
"I had Remus prepare your financial statement, and he went over it with Professor Snape and Draco-" Harry was taken aback by that, and it must have shown on his face. "It was relevant to your suitability as dominus, Harry, that you are financially able to provide for a vectigal."
That was a logical explanation, but it did little to address Harry's actual concern. If anyone had mentioned the need, he would have been happy to agree to having a statement prepared. In all likelihood, he even would have asked Remus to do it, since he'd been working as Harry's business representative and had a much better idea of things than Harry did. None of which did anything to counter the fact that Harry was legally an adult until Saturday, and neither the headmaster nor Remus had the authority to investigate his finances without his consent. Knowing that reprimanding Dumbledore would be of no use whatsoever, Harry swallowed his resentment and nodded.
"As executor of young Mr. Malfoy's trust, I have had his statement prepared." Dumbledore gestured toward the satchel.
Harry had known to expect that, eventually. The ritual had originally been devised as a means of solidifying treaties. In addition to the vectigal, the dominus would assume, entirely or concomitantly, the territory, goods, titles, and rights which would have otherwise belonged to the vectigal, and in most cases, much if not all of what belonged to the line being bound as well.
Harry took the satchel reluctantly. "This seems awfully personal."
Dumbledore's reply was sympathetic but firm, "It belongs to you, Harry, just as Draco does. You do not have to examine it now, but you will need to be familiar with the contents by the time the bond is made public."
Still uncomfortable at the idea of ownership, he reached for the envelope, hoping to change the topic. It was unsealed, and two badges fell out: one to identify the Slytherin Seeker; the other, a shiny silver Head Boy badge.
It hadn't occurred to him that meant that the badges would be given to him as well. "I don't have to wear it, do I?" He didn't specify he meant the Head Boy badge; he assumed both men realized he'd never don the other.
"The Head Boy badge is intended to ensure ease of recognition in the case of an emergency and should be visible, though I will agree that it would be imprudent to do so before next term. Secrecy is still a factor."
Two Head Boys - unusual, not to mention confusing, Harry thought, but, since arguing was as futile as reprimanding, Harry just nodded again.
"For that reason, the house elves will leave Mr. Malfoy's belongings where they are until then, if you don't have any objection."
Puzzled by that, Harry replied, "Of course I don't have an objection, but why would he have to move his stuff?"
"The room is intended for one, but it can be adapted for the two of you to share," Dumbledore replied slowly, "... if that's what you want."
"It is your right to demand it." Snape added bluntly.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he realized that the badges in his hand weren't the duplicates he'd assumed. Snape rolled his eyes impatiently. "That's the Head Boy badge, Potter. It's given to the Head Boy. Singular. As is the room in the Head Boy/Head Girl's suite."
Harry had a flash of silky ribbon and soft hair. "No," Harry said emphatically, putting the badges on Dumbledore's desk with more force than necessary, "I won't take it." Harry had more than enough on his plate with the responsibilities he already had. Adding the title of Head Boy in any meaningful way would be impossible, even if he wanted it. Most importantly, Draco had earned the position, had been doing a far better job than Harry could have imagined at the beginning of the year, and it would be difficult enough to negotiate their new relationship without adding that sort of resentment.
"I'm afraid you must, Harry." Dumbledore refused to take them. "It is your duty to see that the responsibilities are met."
Harry turned to appeal to Professor Snape, but he spoke before Harry could say a word. "I hope, Mr. Potter, that you are not suggesting shirking your duty in this matter, barely an hour after Mr. Malfoy pledged his life to you?"
Put that way, Harry really couldn't argue.
Harry was in no mood to be rational once he picked up the badges, a fact which was apparently evident, and he was dismissed without further attempts at conversation.
Once the gargoyle had closed behind him, Harry slumped against the wall. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? He had assumed that 'titles and honours' referred to political or hereditary titles - ones that were relevant to the political world in which the ritual had been created. He knew he'd officially be the Black heir, even the Malfoy heir, as much as it pained him. Those types of titles weren't commonly used, however, except in highly fashionable pure-blood circles which Harry had no intention of being part of or maybe in the Prophet, and that would be better than 'the Boy Who Lived.' He hadn't expected it would apply to schoolboy nonsense that had little significance to real life.
As irrelevant as it would be, later, however, it was very important right now.
It was bad enough that Harry was the Saviour of the Wizarding World and the youngest Quidditch player in a century - Draco had no chance to beat Harry at either of those - but he'd made his own House team the following year, and Seeker, too. But this…. The very idea of Harry Potter as Slytherin Seeker was preposterous: even if Draco couldn't do it, Harry wouldn't. Head Boy, though, was Draco's. He'd been the first and the only Head Boy of their year, and as long as he preformed his duties well, which he had, there was no reason to suspect that it would ever be otherwise. Until now.
The situation had seemed bad enough when Harry had assumed they'd have to share it; if Dumbledore was transferring the title instead of letting them share it, Harry wasn't sure he and Draco would be able to recover the progress they'd made thus far let alone accomplish something better.
Just yesterday, it had looked like they would be able to manage. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
Harry stood there, waiting for guidance or inspiration. Eventually, he remembered that he needed to get back to the dorm before curfew and pulled out the Maurader's Map. He was plotting the least populated route back to his dorm when he noticed Professor Snape leaving the headmaster's office. Harry had just enough time to clear the map, fold it, and stuff it in his pocket before Snape appeared. He seemed surprised to see Harry and scanned the area subtly, looking for spectators. Harry could have told him that they were the only people in the vicinity, but he didn't.
"Follow me."
Snape led him down the nearby staircase and into a small room near McGonagall's office. He watched as Professor Snape cast Revealing and Privacy spells and a few others that Harry didn't recognize before he turned to face Harry.
"As much as you find the idea repulsive," he said, not unkindly, "you must think about the duties you will require from your vectigal." Harry wasn't pleased at the introduction of the topic; he'd almost managed to put that discussion behind him. The idea of ownership made him uncomfortable, more so now that Draco had actually pledged... It was worse than a house-elf, somehow, a thought that made him wish, fervently and not for the first time, that there were a way to ensure that Hermione would never, ever find out that the bond existed. He nodded, hoping Snape would leave it at that.
He didn't. "The Joining, the Training Period, the Ending - the ritual is neatly divided into categories, but in practice it is not so tidy. The bond is more fluid, and there is some overlap. It will be evaluating what it thinks you want or need, without the traditional expectations: you clearly have no need for a diplomat, a steward, or a jester. Having an idea now of what you will expect will make that transition easier for the bond and in your own minds."
Logical as that was, Harry was still uncertain. The life he had with the Dursleys was not what he wanted for anyone. Wouldn't it be easier if... "What if I just don't assign anything?"
"Your experiences growing up can answer that," he replied, and Harry started, "though it's not the cautionary tale you're imagining. You've seen what happens to an idle, indulged, undisciplined boy. What if he's also intelligent, talented, and driven?" Harry tried to imagine a Dudley-Draco hybrid. It should have been hilarious, but he kept seeing Tom Riddle.
"He has to do what you order, but he can only do what you order. You will have to give him some employment. " Snape smiled, nearly. The twist of his mouth was less dark than usual, anyway. "A middle ground is possible."
Harry thought of the household chores at the Weasleys', then nodded in understanding and agreement.
"You may also want to consider the difference between fulfilling responsibilities and executing them." Before Harry could ask him what he meant by that, he changed the topic, confusing Harry further. "You'll need to look over the records for hidden traps, though that's far less likely than if Lucius Malfoy had prepared them." Harry had no idea what he was expected to be looking for nor how to identify it if it existed, something his professor evidently recognized.
"Bring the records with you on Tuesday, and-" He narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me you were not planning to walk through the halls of Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy's financial statement in plain sight."
Harry looked down at the satchel, which he'd forgotten he was holding, then, face flushing, back to Snape. "Can it be shrunk?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Snape sighed and performed the necessary spell. "Keep that out of sight. Aside from Tuesday's meeting, I don't want to see it until Saturday," he said shortly.
Grateful to have been let off so easily, Harry nodded. It would be needed on Saturday since the adoption would yield guardianship of inheritance as well as custody, and the satchel would be symbolic of the transfer... almost entirely symbolic, in Draco's case, since the authority of the dominus would take precedence. Harry tried to imagine over-ruling the man in front of him and had a small coughing fit as he tried to swallow a snort.
Once he was calm, he asked Professor Snape to keep it safe until then, since Harry wouldn't need it otherwise, not if they would be going over it together on Tuesday.
"All not as well as it seems in the Gryffindor dorms?"
"Just the opposite, actually; it will look odd if I suddenly have something locked up."
"How singularly lacking in imagination this generation of Gryffindors must be."
Harry couldn't think of an answer to that which wouldn't get him into further trouble and was going to leave when Snape called him back.
"There's one more thing."
Severus was apprehensive about telling Potter that he would be speaking with the head of Gryffindor about the Dursley's treatment of him: his relationship with Potter had improved, but it was untested, and he was not certain it would survive a major confrontation. That apprehension was being held firmly in check, however, by whatever trace of his honour remained. They may not have been related by blood, but that did not make it any less Severus's responsibility. A Hogwarts student had been mistreated horribly at home, and they had not noticed for years. Had Potter not been forced to learn Occlumency they might never have known.
If Potter took offense to that, so be it.
The only reason he said anything about it at all was that Minerva would be unable to refrain from speaking to Harry afterward, and he would otherwise be unprepared for the discussion.
The boy was just as furious as Severus had expected. He claimed that Severus's intervention was unnecessary, as the events discussed had occurred many years ago, he had survived, and the Dursleys were no longer an issue.
Severus had doubts about that last.
It was a scene reminiscent of their Occlumency lessons a year and a half ago: Potter raged about betrayal, while Snape tried very hard to remain implacable in his calmness, waiting silently until the tirade finished. He then extracted a promise of silence from the boy and explained his reasoning.
He reminded Potter that he had not, in fact, promised not to tell, and that he would be happy to borrow the headmaster's Pensieve if Potter did not believe him. He reminded him, too, that there could be others in the same situation, now or in the future, and that neglecting to take appropriate steps to prevent such cases would be tantamount to collusion.
The 'saving people thing' as Granger had called it, was as useful and ever, and Harry, unsurprisingly, grudgingly conceded the necessity.
What was surprising was Potter's thanks for not keeping the information from him.
It was his martyr complex, more than anything, Severus realized, that made it increasingly difficult to imagine how... anyone... could confuse the boy with James Potter. The latter had been quick to identify a perceived slight and to demand restitution. He would have contacted Rita Skeeter within a month of his arrival in the wizarding world, regardless of the danger to his relatives or even himself. It had been a while since Severus had seen the boy solely as James Potter's brat, and he had come to appreciate that he had, in fact, been hasty in his judgment. Harry Potter was dismissive of rules, impulsive, and audacious - in short, a model Gryffindor. Now, however, Severus knew why.
It was becoming apparent that rather than being protected and indulged, as was the headmaster's usual practice with the Gryffindors, Harry had instead been sacrificed, Slytherin-like, despite his House. Dumbledore was pragmatic enough to recognize that in a war, difficult decisions and sacrifices had to be made, and there were always those who suffered as a result. Snape would not have expected the Saviour of the Wizarding World to be one of those.
Regardless of the obviously conflicting demands, Dumbledore's primary role was as leader of the Order of the Phoenix, a necessity in the face of the Ministry's traditional ineptitude.
That, unsurprisingly, put Minerva in charge of the students; it was a natural assignment, for, despite her stern demeanor, they had always been her priority. The entirety of the wizarding world, the adult world, was secondary, except wherein it touched her students. Or so it had seemed.
It was time to discover exactly how complicit Minerva had been.
Minerva McGonagall was in her office late Sunday evening when she heard Severus's knock on the door. Like the man himself, it was abrupt, efficient, and unique.
"Good evening, Severus."
"What is the procedure by which students receive their 'Hogwarts letters'?" he asked brusquely.
The request was puzzling even if the lack of salutation and the delivery were not. Albus's health had been fading for several years now, and Severus was the preferred successor for the post of Assistant Headmaster. Traditionally, the post was filled by one of the Heads of House, and even if Severus weren't her first choice on his own merits, Pomona was a disaster when it came to administration, and Filius was far too close to retirement himself. Unfortunately, despite Severus's potential and Minerva's entreaties, so long as he was spying, his unwillingness to accept the position or to prepare for the possibility of assuming it was absolute, and any tasks which provided access to The Book of Students, in particular, were taboo.
His expression was darker and even more closed than was usual, so Minerva simply took advantage of the opportunity presented to her to explain her duties.
"Standard procedure for students who are aware of the magical world? I draft the letter and duplicate it, then each of the copies and envelopes is addressed with the name of the intended student using an Intrinsic Identifier Quill keyed to The Book of Students and sent to the owlery. The first-year Muggle-borns are contacted in person, for obvious reasons."
He smirked, and she prepared herself for an arsenal of arguments against his suitability as her successor.
"So you don't see the addresses yourself?"
Puzzled, she replied, "Of course not, Severus." Minerva was curious why he would ask the question. She couldn't remember the last time she'd written the full address on an envelope but was quite positive it had been decades. It was hardly necessary with Self-Addressing Stationery, which was so commonplace that Scrivenshaft's didn't even carry any other kind.
"But the Book keeps a record of the letters that were sent and the address to which they were sent, and updates the changes?"
"Yes, of course."
"Is it possible to see that history?"
"Of course." Where in the name of Merlin was this going? "Severus, what-"
"Bear with me, please, Minerva." That he said 'please' was a good indication of exactly how grave his motivation was. "Can you show me, for instance, Draco Malfoy's mailing history?"
Minerva nodded, retrieving the quill and parchment she would need to display the information. His concern made sense now. Each of the heads of house were, in their own ways, dedicated to the students in their care, but Severus was obsessively so. If something had given him reason to be suspect problems with Draco Malfoy... Minerva had often thought it was a shame that he'd made the choices he did at seventeen. He'd been a bitter, angry youth but hadn't had much opportunity or incentive to grow beyond that. If he were ever able to forgive himself, he'd be an excellent father, she thought regretfully as she cast the necessary spell. He grabbed the sheet of parchment from her hand before it had even finished recording, and she continued the thought with amusement, Though I'd want to be well into my own retirement before his children were students here.
Draco Malfoy
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Draco Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire
Draco Malfoy
L'Hôtel Meurice
Paris, France
Severus scrutinized the list of three addresses, each repeated with varying frequency. "Why Hogwarts?"he asked, looking up from the parchment.
"The Headmaster uses the same system for internal notices, as do I myself, on occasion."
"Could you show the history of Ronald Weasley?" What Severus would want with one of her students - Ronald Weasley, in particular! - was beyond her ken, but her curiosity had been engaged, and her Animagus form was not inappropriate, so she cast the spell once again.
There were three addresses for Mr. Weasley as well, or nearly.
Ronald Weasley
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Ronald Weasley
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
The third read simply "Ronald Weasley" with no accompanying address and was written in purple ink rather than black.
Before Severus could ask, she explained. "They were at Headquarters by the time the letters were sent. The Headmaster addressed them himself, by hand."
"One other, if you don't mind, Minerva. Harry Potter."
She held her wand over the parchment and quill but before casting the spell. "I will be getting an explanation for this, before you leave the room." It was not a question.
He nodded, and she cast the spell for the third time.
They began exactly as expected:
Harry Potter
Harry Potter
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry Potter
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
The volume of parchment being consumed by the spell far surpassed that of the other two boys combined. Even more alarming were the additional addresses that appeared as the spell went back several years:
Harry Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry Potter
The Floor
Hut-on-the-Rock
The Sea
Harry Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
Minerva could feel herself blanching at each new address and the seemingly infinite repetition of the last one, taunting her. At the edge of her consciousness, she heard Severus speaking. Assuming he had asked why Harry's were different, more specific, she said, "The address is where the wizard's magic feels the wizard is comfortable, where he belongs. At the motel, it would make sense that it's a specific room, that is the one which has been let. At home, though, it should be the house. Look-" She pulled out the two previous histories, pointing out the lack of specific room designation in their homes.
She didn't draw his attention to the dichotomy between Draco Malfoy's hotel address and Harry Potter's, as Severus was guaranteed to notice. Once, he would have made a snide remark about Harry's sense of entitlement, but he'd become better about applying his perception or at least keeping his remarks to himself. "In Harry's case, it appears he was excluded from the rest of the building." She stared, horrified, at the last entry for several moments.
"We have to tell Albus." She stood, purposefully, heading for the mantle where she kept the Floo powder. Severus grasped her arm as she passed him, and she turned. "Severus, I know how you feel about him, but-"
"He knows, Minerva."
Draco was sitting on his bed ostensibly studying but accomplishing little: he was far too worried about the potential repercussions of Harry's spontaneous change to the ritual. What had he been thinking? Blood magic was not to be trifled with... the consequences could be catastrophic! It was that lack of understanding of wizarding traditions and traditional magic that was adulterating the wizarding world, and now Draco would be suffering because of a whim, because of ignorance.
He was well on his way to working himself into a right state when he heard a knock on one of the doors in the common room. It was tentative, and Draco knew it wouldn't have been audible if his bedroom door hadn't been open. He hadn't quite been able to bring himself to close it completely, needing some contact with the world beyond his magical connection to Potter - a connection which had been fluctuating madly since the Spondenum, especially for the last half hour or so. Tightening and loosening like a yo-yo, and with every pass he felt nervous and guilty, then determined and frightened; the emotional rebound was nauseating and distracting.
He assumed it was the price for criticism of his dominus, and if it was, he could easily see his life devolving into something all to similar to that of Crabbe or Goyle. Having thoughts of his own, fighting for them, wouldn't be worth the effort.
The knock sounded again, and through the space between the door and the frame, Draco saw Granger get up and cross the common room towards the Hufflepuff door. To simplify things in an emergency, their common room had four wizard-space portals, each offering access to and from the common room of one of the houses. Draco stood quickly and quietly to shut his own door completely.
The definition of 'emergency' was relative, unfortunately: the Madley chit was in the midst of a dramatic saga that no one but a third-year Huff would consider interesting let alone an emergency, and she'd been interrupting nightly. Granger had claimed that they'd had a serious discussion the night before, and Madley had promised to leave off, but it seemed she didn't understand the definition of that word, either.
Draco paused when Granger stopped, not in front of the door to the Hufflepuff dorm, but at the door to the hallway. It was rarely used, since students almost always entered from their common rooms, and professors used the fireplace to summon them if they were needed.
As she turned the handle, Draco knew who was behind the door, and he left his door slightly ajar so he could watch.
"Harry?"
Potter's face fell slightly before he anchored on his face the most insincere smile Draco had ever seen. "Hey, Hermione."
"Something you needed?"
"No. I... I was just heading back to the dorm, didn't want to walk alone, and thought I'd see if Ron was still here."
"No, he's left. Are you all right?"
He was looking around her, trying, unsuccessfully, to be discreet about looking into the room behind her. "I'm fine, just tired."
Hermione checked the time (it was nearly curfew). "You can cut through, if you like." It wasn't done often, but Draco was not surprised that she offered, given how out-of-sorts Potter looked.
In fact, he seemed to have forgotten she was there and muttered distractedly, "No... no, that's fine. The walk will clear my head. Thanks, though. 'Night." He left before she could say another word.
Granger stepped forward as though she were going to follow him but stopped, shook her head, and moved to close the door.
Even without the pulsing of the bond, Draco would have known that Potter had been looking for him: his behaviour had been too erratic for anything else. Just out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pile of papers - the work he'd done on their potions assignment - and he grabbed them as he opened the door wide again.
Granger had settled back with her book on the sofa but looked up when he entered the room.
"I thought I heard Potter," he said in a tone of confusion.
Her reply was impressively casual, "Oh, he just stopped by to see if Ron was still here." If Draco hadn't been eavesdropping, he wouldn't have suspected it had been more than that.
"He was supposed to trade Potions notes. Did he say where he was going when he left?" The most frustrating part of fishing for information one already knows is having to wait for it.
"The dorm, I assume, given that it's close to curfew."
"I'll try to catch him up, then."
She turned back to her book with a strangely smug sort of smile, and Draco headed out after Potter.
Having a built-in tracking spell was handy, even if it was determined to give him a linear route rather than a traversable one. Eventually, he caught sight of his quarry, and mindful of the few students still making their way back to the dorms, he called, "Potter!"
The Gryffindor turned, and through the bond Draco felt a surge of relief.
"You forgot these." The other boy looked perplexed. "Notes for Potions tomorrow. We haven't had a lot of time," he said, leaving the 'especially with everything else that's been going on' unsaid, but Potter rolled his eyes, so Draco assumed he'd understood it anyway, and continued, "but there's no way Professor Snape's going to waste a brewing class. You'll need these." He held out his notes for the potion they were researching.
"Oh, but I don't have mine."
"Most of your life is public knowledge. I have enough of the information I need to get started, you can give me your copies of the rest later."
"Oh. Right." He looked around furtively. "Um..."
"I've quite a few Arithmantic equations in there; are you going to be able to understand them?" he asked leadingly, not as harsh as he could have been.
There was relief again and amusement at remembered frustration, though all Draco saw was chagrin. "Probably not. Would you mind?"
Regretting that they were too far from the Head Boy/Head Girl suite to make it worth going back, Draco gestured towards a nearby empty classroom.
Once the door was closed, Potter cast a series of Locking and Revealing spells and turned to Draco with a rueful half-grin. "People tend to try to eavesdrop on my conversations."
Knowing that he was mostly teasing, Draco chose to answer seriously anyway. What he wanted to do was yell, but he knew he had to tread carefully. He remembered their conversation under the stands, remembered how careful Potter was to speak first, to keep things equal between them. He'd appreciated that and used it as his model. He would apologize first and would listen to his explanation graciously and, hopefully, be able to accept Potter's apology in the same way. "I'm not going to apologize for anything I did that has helped you to take your security more seriously or for doing what was necessary at the time." He paused for any sign of condemnation. There wasn't any. "But I will say I am sorry that my actions have made this," he gestured between them, "more difficult."
"That's fair." Draco sensed approval, and it was a heady feeling. So much so that when Harry shuffled awkwardly, Draco gave him an opening. "Something you wanted?"
"Sort of, yeah." Harry exhaled deeply, running his hand through his hair, but when he continued, he spoke confidently. "I know the 'Training Period' doesn't start until after the Joining, but I have a duty - two, actually - that I'd like you to assume as soon as possible."
That was not what he'd expected. That didn't take long, he thought, more bitterly than he would have liked, given the position he was in. But this had been his choice. He could do this. There was humour vibrating through the bond, and it didn't feel malicious, but Draco restricted his response to a nod, not quite trusting his voice.
"It's up to you. But I absolutely refuse to be Head Boy, and I'm certainly not going to play Seeker for Slytherin. So I'd like you to continue to do those, please. If you want to."
Draco stared at the badges extended in Harry's hand but couldn't bring himself to reach out and take them. His heart had nearly broken when his godfather had taken them.
Despite rumours that Lucius Malfoy had bought his position on the team, he'd earned it. The team brooms had been purchased after choosing him, not in exchange for it. He'd known Potter wouldn't take the position himself, so there was a slight chance that he might let Draco continue to play, but knowing, too, that he was Potter's primary competition, he hadn't held out much hope.
The Head Boy badge, on the other hand, he'd assumed was lost to him. Given how hard he'd worked last year to counter the damage he'd done as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, he'd earned that badge as well. That a third-year Hufflepuff came to him with best-friend crises was proof of that.
"Draco?" Harry sounded concerned.
He realized he was still staring at the badges in Harry's out-stretched hand. "But-"
"They're yours, Draco."
Next Chapter
Previous Chapter
All rights to the world of Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and a number of very large corporations, none of which is me, and I do not intend to make any money whatsoever from this endeavour.
Particular thanks must be given to my lovely Betas Tithenai and, particularly, who have helped make this a much better story in both style and content. Any mistakes which remain are, indubitably, my own.
Regarding a canon discrepancy which has become relevant - in Goblet of Fire, the Headmaster's office is on the second floor (rather than on the seventh as it is in Half-Blood Prince), and I'm keeping that (especially since I'm following canon only through Order of the Phoenix).
Additional notes are available before the prologue.
Constructive criticism is always very much appreciated... and it's my birthday tomorrow, and reviews are fantastic presents. I'm just saying. :)
Originally posted 15 Mar. '09
Spondenum: The Pledging
Draco Malfoy made his way to the headmaster's office, torn between hurrying and dawdling, but his pace was closer to the latter. A small part was due to reluctance: it would be a drastic change, the end of the life he'd known and the future he'd expected. He knew, though, that the bonding would allow him to recover a sense of Malfoy integrity and that Harry Potter was a better choice than Voldemort (and he couldn't help thinking that, with a powerful enough Time-Turner, much of this could have been avoided). The primary reason for the slowness of his pace, however, was the strangeness of walking under an invisibility cloak for the first time. Potter had lent it to Prof- to Remus yesterday, and he, in turn, had lent it to Draco. That Potter had it to lend made Draco incredibly envious: he'd wanted one for ages. They were very rare, however, and even Lucius's indulgence had limits, since Draco would have used it primarily for pranks.
Using it to sneak past Granger as he left their rooms confirmed that it would have been just as much fun as he'd imagined.
At the moment, the cloak was serving a very practical use: the formal robes he was wearing would have been a sure sign to anyone who'd seen them that something unusual was occurring, and when Voldemort heard of it, as he certainly would have, he would have immediately recognized the significance of them.
Unlike Potter, Draco thought without malice.
He permitted himself a deep, measured breath as he stood nervously outside the headmaster's office, then knocked.
Since leaving the hospital wing, Draco had noticed that the vague awareness of Potter's location had sharpened, and during lunch in the Great Hall, Draco could locate the other boy precisely even with his eyes closed. Doing so had given him a temporary increase of energy, but not acting on the knowledge had led to heightened feelings of distress. It was uncomfortable, but he had been determined to hold out until the evening when the conditions for the bonding would be ideal.
Now, as he followed that thread to the headmaster's office, the bond was thrumming strongly. So much so that he almost missed it when the rope of awareness splintered slightly. The majority was still connecting to Potter, but two barely perceptible threads, each with that sense of wrongness, were drawing Draco's attention to a portrait hanging high across the room and an ornately decorated box sitting on a table near Dumbledore's desk. He tried to observe the box discreetly as he moved towards the headmaster, but there seemed to be little remarkable about it beyond the obvious age and quality of the workmanship.
As it was Dumbledore's office and he was the highest ranking wizard in the room, he was to be greeted first.
While it hadn't been incorporated as a necessary aspect of the ritual when it had been created, as the concept and practice of legislation became more prevalent in society, the exclusion of any element representing the law seemed to have had detrimental impact on the bond, so it was convenient for their purposes that the headmaster of the school was also the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamut. His office could serve as a place that was both public and a representation of authority; he, in turn, could serve as a Ministerial witness.
"Professor Albus Dumbledore, I come before you, a vectigal prepared to pledge. Will you bear witness to my choice that you may confirm the truth of the pledging and make it known" - being unable to make an immediate announcement nor to promise that which was untrue and which he had no intention of doing, they had decided Draco would deviate slightly from the traditional form of the question and hope for the best - "when the time is right?"
The older man raised his wand and released a shower of rainbow coloured sparks, replying, "By magic and honour, I will swear what is true."
If the bond's response is any indication, the qualification will not be a hindrance, Draco thought as he felt it change slightly, as though it were pulsing with excitement.
He nodded in acknowledgment of Professor Dumbledore's support and turned. Remus was standing near Severus, and Draco gave him an apologetic half-smile. The ritual required that Draco recognize his father next, but Draco was uncomfortable ignoring Remus entirely, especially after he'd taken such care of Draco the previous evening. The look was met with one of encouragement and understanding, and he turned to Severus.
Lucius Malfoy was technically Draco's father until the Adoption rite, and he had designated Severus as Draco's godfather, empowering him to act in Lucius's stead when he was unable to do so. There was a slight fear that it would not be sufficient in this case, as Lucius was unaware of what they were doing rather than dead or incapacitated, so it was with some nervousness that Draco said, "I have been asked to serve as vectigal for the House of Black, my maternal line. My father," he hated having to call Lucius Malfoy that, "has authorized and supported this claim. Godfather, will you bear witness to my pledging in his stead?"
"By magic and honour, I will witness and accept your choice in your father's stead." Severus presented him with a dagger, the ceremonial blade of the Blacks, which had been amongst the items in Sirius Black's vault. "May your choice bring honour to your family."
The sparks from his godfather's wand were a green so dark they were nearly black, and Draco could see rainbows of light reflecting in them. Watching them gave Draco an excuse to pause before turning to his cousin, a necessary measure as the bond registered approval at a distractingly intense level. Pritchard needs to figure out how to bottle that feeling. He'd make a fortune.
Relieved, he turned to Tonks, and they exchanged companionable grins.
"Cousin Nymphadora Tonks," Draco tried to mute his satisfaction that he had an opportunity to use it, in public, to her face, without the possibility of retaliation. He'd discovered a liking for this cousin of his, but her abhorrence for her given name, while understandable, was amusing. "Will you bear witness to my choice of dominus and pledge to my choice your support and that of our shared blood?"
She extended her wand, as he did his, the tips of them just touching.
"By magic and blood we are kin, and on behalf of the House of Black, I pledge both in service of your chosen." A bright pink stream of light shot from her wand rather than sparks, and it wound around both wands. Prepared for the bond's reaction this time, Draco braced himself for it, but it was still overwhelming.
Poppy Pomfrey had been asked to witness as well, as a non-participating and neutral party. Her presence was less necessary, one neutral witness would have sufficed, but since she knew - and Severus was still slightly out of sorts about that decision - the added support would not be amiss. Draco smiled at her, but didn't speak. The ritual didn't require that neutral witnesses be addressed directly, though if adoption had already taken place, Remus would have been acknowledged as Harry's father. It was one of the many points they had debated, whether it should be included, since he had agreed to the adoption and was acting as Harry's godfather. They had eventually decided against it, since he was not a Parselmouth, and they didn't want to obscure the line being bound: there was no record of what would happen.
Turning at last to Harry, Draco knelt.
Draco held out his hand, palm up, and he took the dagger, drew the edge of the blade across his palm, set the knife upon it, and offered it to Harry. If Harry been an infant, Remus would have taken his hand, but Harry was capable of doing this himself, regardless of his legal status.
"I am the heir of the House of Malfoy, heir-designate of the House of Black, and I offer myself, all that I am and all that I have. I offer my lineage, the House of Black, all that we are and all that we have. I make this offer to you, Harry Potter, speaker of Parseltongue. Will you accept our tribute and unite our people that we may grow as kindred, in strength and integrity?" That last was the third of their deviations from what they had determined to be the standard ritual, cobbled from available texts.
Under normal circumstances, because the person chosen as dominus could be an infant, Harry would not have had to speak - a baby, after all, could not recite lines on cue. Fortunately, it wasn't forbidden, just unnecessary. Being the only person present with the ability to speak Parseltongue, however, meant they had been forced to modify things so that the language, the signifier of the ritual, could be included.
Harry replied in Parseltongue, but as fascinating as he found the sound of the language (when the Dark Lord wasn't making threats), Draco was soon distracted. When Harry took the blade from Draco's proffered hand, he deviated from the ritual as they'd discussed it, slicing his own palm, mingling his blood with Draco's on the blade. Draco was hard-pressed not to react: not to move, not to speak, not to jump up and demand to know what, exactly, Potter thought he was doing. Blood rituals were dangerous.
Draco nearly turned to Severus to see his reaction - he would be furious, Draco was sure, though he didn't feel the pleasure he once would have taken in that - but even as he had the thought, just the idea of doing so was painful. Bright light filled his peripheral vision, and his eyes watered too much to consider turning towards it. He focussed on Harry, directly in front of him and the only thing that made sense as his head filled with light and insecurity and pride and sympathy, and it was consuming, absorbing, overwhelming, disorienting; it was all he could do not to fall over: it was a wonder that he hadn't fallen already.
There was horror at the thought.
He shouldn't do that, mustn't do that.
He was certain that he mustn't, even if he'd no idea where the certainty had come from.
And there was confidence that he wouldn't fall, that he could stay upright as long as he needed to, even as time stopped and stretched.
Infinite and instantaneous.
Then all Draco felt was dizzy relief.
He wavered slightly, and Harry extended his hand to help Draco up.
Their blood mingled as their palms touched, and they didn't immediately release the grip once Draco was standing. Staring at their hands, clasped in a motionless handshake, Draco's first coherent thought was an inappropriately irreverent, Took you long enough.
He looked up to meet Harry's eyes and saw a rueful half-smile cross his face, and Draco knew he'd had the same thought. That amused Draco, a bit more than it should, though it was tinged with regret, determination, and... distaste? That threw him, since he couldn't imagine what he found distasteful about shaking Harry Potter's hand - it was something he'd wanted for longer than he cared to remember.
It didn't take long for Draco to realize that they weren't his emotions, they were Harry's. That would have put him in a panic, if it hadn't also been clear that it was the need for the ritual, the situation, that he disliked, not Draco.
The light returned to previous levels.
Harry blinked and realized that he was in Dumbledore's office with half a dozen people watching him hold Draco Malfoy's hand. Draco seemed to realize it at the same time, and they exchanged another of those looks of shared humour and embarrassment.
That seemed to be the signal that everyone else was free to move as well, and he and Draco were quickly enveloped by the group. Madam Pomfrey tried to heal their hands, but Snape stopped her, insisting that they had to do it themselves. Harry remembered reading that and was embarrassed to have forgotten. He pulled out his wand, careful to get as little blood on it as possible. "May I?"
The other boy held out his hand without hesitation. "Of course." He seemed surprised that Harry would ask, but Harry didn't feel right about casting on him without permission.
The cut wasn't particularly deep, so Harry's rudimentary healing skills should have been more than sufficient. In seconds all that remained was a thin silver line, miraculous, by Muggle standard, but Harry was puzzled, since this spell shouldn't have left even that. Finished, he turned his own hand over and held it out to Draco.
"May I?" Draco echoed his question, and Harry nodded. Draco cast the healing spell and the same line appeared, which made Harry feel a bit better. His own casting hadn't been rubbish after all.
Draco smiled slightly and murmured, "It's a Spell Scar," before Tonks hugged him.
Harry watched warily as Remus approached, but Professor Snape must have warned him because he limited his admonishment to an exasperated look at the knife before hugging Harry.
Snape eyed the blade with a much darker look, but before he could lecture Harry about the proper care of the blade, Harry murmured quickly, "I wasn't sure, it's Blood magic - are standard cleaning spells a problem?" Harry was shocked to see his professor's expression clearing to something that looked almost like approval as he replied, mildly, "Not as long as you are thorough."
Harry cast the spells to clean the blood off the blade and to prevent it from being recalled, then he cast them again, just in case, and put the blade in the sheath on his belt.
The remarks from the others were congratulatory, which felt strange to Harry, since he didn't think binding himself to another living creature was really something to congratulate. Fortunately, it wasn't long before Madam Pomfrey excused herself to return to the hospital wing, which prompted a general exodus. Tonks and Remus Flooed back to Grimmauld Place, and Draco agreed to return to his room - To rest, Madam Pomfrey emphasized before leaving.
Harry would have left as well, but he was stopped by Professor Dumbledore. That meant Harry was unable to speak with Draco privately, but he had no idea what to say, anyway. Instead, with some trepidation, he faced Professors Dumbledore and Snape.
"Well done, Harry."
Harry nodded but didn't reply otherwise. The headmaster hadn't said anything similar to Draco and likely wouldn't, despite Draco's part taking more courage, more strength, than Harry's did.
"There are just a few practical matters that we need to address, Harry, before you are free to enjoy what is left of your weekend." Harry shared a disbelieving glance with Professor Snape while Professor Dumbledore opened a drawer of his desk. He pulled out a satchel and a smallish envelope and put them on his desk. The satchel, which looked to be dragon-hide and had a Gringotts seal, was stuffed with rolls of parchment that threatening to escape. The envelope was unlabeled.
"I had Remus prepare your financial statement, and he went over it with Professor Snape and Draco-" Harry was taken aback by that, and it must have shown on his face. "It was relevant to your suitability as dominus, Harry, that you are financially able to provide for a vectigal."
That was a logical explanation, but it did little to address Harry's actual concern. If anyone had mentioned the need, he would have been happy to agree to having a statement prepared. In all likelihood, he even would have asked Remus to do it, since he'd been working as Harry's business representative and had a much better idea of things than Harry did. None of which did anything to counter the fact that Harry was legally an adult until Saturday, and neither the headmaster nor Remus had the authority to investigate his finances without his consent. Knowing that reprimanding Dumbledore would be of no use whatsoever, Harry swallowed his resentment and nodded.
"As executor of young Mr. Malfoy's trust, I have had his statement prepared." Dumbledore gestured toward the satchel.
Harry had known to expect that, eventually. The ritual had originally been devised as a means of solidifying treaties. In addition to the vectigal, the dominus would assume, entirely or concomitantly, the territory, goods, titles, and rights which would have otherwise belonged to the vectigal, and in most cases, much if not all of what belonged to the line being bound as well.
Harry took the satchel reluctantly. "This seems awfully personal."
Dumbledore's reply was sympathetic but firm, "It belongs to you, Harry, just as Draco does. You do not have to examine it now, but you will need to be familiar with the contents by the time the bond is made public."
Still uncomfortable at the idea of ownership, he reached for the envelope, hoping to change the topic. It was unsealed, and two badges fell out: one to identify the Slytherin Seeker; the other, a shiny silver Head Boy badge.
It hadn't occurred to him that meant that the badges would be given to him as well. "I don't have to wear it, do I?" He didn't specify he meant the Head Boy badge; he assumed both men realized he'd never don the other.
"The Head Boy badge is intended to ensure ease of recognition in the case of an emergency and should be visible, though I will agree that it would be imprudent to do so before next term. Secrecy is still a factor."
Two Head Boys - unusual, not to mention confusing, Harry thought, but, since arguing was as futile as reprimanding, Harry just nodded again.
"For that reason, the house elves will leave Mr. Malfoy's belongings where they are until then, if you don't have any objection."
Puzzled by that, Harry replied, "Of course I don't have an objection, but why would he have to move his stuff?"
"The room is intended for one, but it can be adapted for the two of you to share," Dumbledore replied slowly, "... if that's what you want."
"It is your right to demand it." Snape added bluntly.
Harry's eyes narrowed as he realized that the badges in his hand weren't the duplicates he'd assumed. Snape rolled his eyes impatiently. "That's the Head Boy badge, Potter. It's given to the Head Boy. Singular. As is the room in the Head Boy/Head Girl's suite."
Harry had a flash of silky ribbon and soft hair. "No," Harry said emphatically, putting the badges on Dumbledore's desk with more force than necessary, "I won't take it." Harry had more than enough on his plate with the responsibilities he already had. Adding the title of Head Boy in any meaningful way would be impossible, even if he wanted it. Most importantly, Draco had earned the position, had been doing a far better job than Harry could have imagined at the beginning of the year, and it would be difficult enough to negotiate their new relationship without adding that sort of resentment.
"I'm afraid you must, Harry." Dumbledore refused to take them. "It is your duty to see that the responsibilities are met."
Harry turned to appeal to Professor Snape, but he spoke before Harry could say a word. "I hope, Mr. Potter, that you are not suggesting shirking your duty in this matter, barely an hour after Mr. Malfoy pledged his life to you?"
Put that way, Harry really couldn't argue.
Harry was in no mood to be rational once he picked up the badges, a fact which was apparently evident, and he was dismissed without further attempts at conversation.
Once the gargoyle had closed behind him, Harry slumped against the wall. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? He had assumed that 'titles and honours' referred to political or hereditary titles - ones that were relevant to the political world in which the ritual had been created. He knew he'd officially be the Black heir, even the Malfoy heir, as much as it pained him. Those types of titles weren't commonly used, however, except in highly fashionable pure-blood circles which Harry had no intention of being part of or maybe in the Prophet, and that would be better than 'the Boy Who Lived.' He hadn't expected it would apply to schoolboy nonsense that had little significance to real life.
As irrelevant as it would be, later, however, it was very important right now.
It was bad enough that Harry was the Saviour of the Wizarding World and the youngest Quidditch player in a century - Draco had no chance to beat Harry at either of those - but he'd made his own House team the following year, and Seeker, too. But this…. The very idea of Harry Potter as Slytherin Seeker was preposterous: even if Draco couldn't do it, Harry wouldn't. Head Boy, though, was Draco's. He'd been the first and the only Head Boy of their year, and as long as he preformed his duties well, which he had, there was no reason to suspect that it would ever be otherwise. Until now.
The situation had seemed bad enough when Harry had assumed they'd have to share it; if Dumbledore was transferring the title instead of letting them share it, Harry wasn't sure he and Draco would be able to recover the progress they'd made thus far let alone accomplish something better.
Just yesterday, it had looked like they would be able to manage. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?
Harry stood there, waiting for guidance or inspiration. Eventually, he remembered that he needed to get back to the dorm before curfew and pulled out the Maurader's Map. He was plotting the least populated route back to his dorm when he noticed Professor Snape leaving the headmaster's office. Harry had just enough time to clear the map, fold it, and stuff it in his pocket before Snape appeared. He seemed surprised to see Harry and scanned the area subtly, looking for spectators. Harry could have told him that they were the only people in the vicinity, but he didn't.
"Follow me."
Snape led him down the nearby staircase and into a small room near McGonagall's office. He watched as Professor Snape cast Revealing and Privacy spells and a few others that Harry didn't recognize before he turned to face Harry.
"As much as you find the idea repulsive," he said, not unkindly, "you must think about the duties you will require from your vectigal." Harry wasn't pleased at the introduction of the topic; he'd almost managed to put that discussion behind him. The idea of ownership made him uncomfortable, more so now that Draco had actually pledged... It was worse than a house-elf, somehow, a thought that made him wish, fervently and not for the first time, that there were a way to ensure that Hermione would never, ever find out that the bond existed. He nodded, hoping Snape would leave it at that.
He didn't. "The Joining, the Training Period, the Ending - the ritual is neatly divided into categories, but in practice it is not so tidy. The bond is more fluid, and there is some overlap. It will be evaluating what it thinks you want or need, without the traditional expectations: you clearly have no need for a diplomat, a steward, or a jester. Having an idea now of what you will expect will make that transition easier for the bond and in your own minds."
Logical as that was, Harry was still uncertain. The life he had with the Dursleys was not what he wanted for anyone. Wouldn't it be easier if... "What if I just don't assign anything?"
"Your experiences growing up can answer that," he replied, and Harry started, "though it's not the cautionary tale you're imagining. You've seen what happens to an idle, indulged, undisciplined boy. What if he's also intelligent, talented, and driven?" Harry tried to imagine a Dudley-Draco hybrid. It should have been hilarious, but he kept seeing Tom Riddle.
"He has to do what you order, but he can only do what you order. You will have to give him some employment. " Snape smiled, nearly. The twist of his mouth was less dark than usual, anyway. "A middle ground is possible."
Harry thought of the household chores at the Weasleys', then nodded in understanding and agreement.
"You may also want to consider the difference between fulfilling responsibilities and executing them." Before Harry could ask him what he meant by that, he changed the topic, confusing Harry further. "You'll need to look over the records for hidden traps, though that's far less likely than if Lucius Malfoy had prepared them." Harry had no idea what he was expected to be looking for nor how to identify it if it existed, something his professor evidently recognized.
"Bring the records with you on Tuesday, and-" He narrowed his eyes. "Please tell me you were not planning to walk through the halls of Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy's financial statement in plain sight."
Harry looked down at the satchel, which he'd forgotten he was holding, then, face flushing, back to Snape. "Can it be shrunk?"
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Snape sighed and performed the necessary spell. "Keep that out of sight. Aside from Tuesday's meeting, I don't want to see it until Saturday," he said shortly.
Grateful to have been let off so easily, Harry nodded. It would be needed on Saturday since the adoption would yield guardianship of inheritance as well as custody, and the satchel would be symbolic of the transfer... almost entirely symbolic, in Draco's case, since the authority of the dominus would take precedence. Harry tried to imagine over-ruling the man in front of him and had a small coughing fit as he tried to swallow a snort.
Once he was calm, he asked Professor Snape to keep it safe until then, since Harry wouldn't need it otherwise, not if they would be going over it together on Tuesday.
"All not as well as it seems in the Gryffindor dorms?"
"Just the opposite, actually; it will look odd if I suddenly have something locked up."
"How singularly lacking in imagination this generation of Gryffindors must be."
Harry couldn't think of an answer to that which wouldn't get him into further trouble and was going to leave when Snape called him back.
"There's one more thing."
Severus was apprehensive about telling Potter that he would be speaking with the head of Gryffindor about the Dursley's treatment of him: his relationship with Potter had improved, but it was untested, and he was not certain it would survive a major confrontation. That apprehension was being held firmly in check, however, by whatever trace of his honour remained. They may not have been related by blood, but that did not make it any less Severus's responsibility. A Hogwarts student had been mistreated horribly at home, and they had not noticed for years. Had Potter not been forced to learn Occlumency they might never have known.
If Potter took offense to that, so be it.
The only reason he said anything about it at all was that Minerva would be unable to refrain from speaking to Harry afterward, and he would otherwise be unprepared for the discussion.
The boy was just as furious as Severus had expected. He claimed that Severus's intervention was unnecessary, as the events discussed had occurred many years ago, he had survived, and the Dursleys were no longer an issue.
Severus had doubts about that last.
It was a scene reminiscent of their Occlumency lessons a year and a half ago: Potter raged about betrayal, while Snape tried very hard to remain implacable in his calmness, waiting silently until the tirade finished. He then extracted a promise of silence from the boy and explained his reasoning.
He reminded Potter that he had not, in fact, promised not to tell, and that he would be happy to borrow the headmaster's Pensieve if Potter did not believe him. He reminded him, too, that there could be others in the same situation, now or in the future, and that neglecting to take appropriate steps to prevent such cases would be tantamount to collusion.
The 'saving people thing' as Granger had called it, was as useful and ever, and Harry, unsurprisingly, grudgingly conceded the necessity.
What was surprising was Potter's thanks for not keeping the information from him.
It was his martyr complex, more than anything, Severus realized, that made it increasingly difficult to imagine how... anyone... could confuse the boy with James Potter. The latter had been quick to identify a perceived slight and to demand restitution. He would have contacted Rita Skeeter within a month of his arrival in the wizarding world, regardless of the danger to his relatives or even himself. It had been a while since Severus had seen the boy solely as James Potter's brat, and he had come to appreciate that he had, in fact, been hasty in his judgment. Harry Potter was dismissive of rules, impulsive, and audacious - in short, a model Gryffindor. Now, however, Severus knew why.
It was becoming apparent that rather than being protected and indulged, as was the headmaster's usual practice with the Gryffindors, Harry had instead been sacrificed, Slytherin-like, despite his House. Dumbledore was pragmatic enough to recognize that in a war, difficult decisions and sacrifices had to be made, and there were always those who suffered as a result. Snape would not have expected the Saviour of the Wizarding World to be one of those.
Regardless of the obviously conflicting demands, Dumbledore's primary role was as leader of the Order of the Phoenix, a necessity in the face of the Ministry's traditional ineptitude.
That, unsurprisingly, put Minerva in charge of the students; it was a natural assignment, for, despite her stern demeanor, they had always been her priority. The entirety of the wizarding world, the adult world, was secondary, except wherein it touched her students. Or so it had seemed.
It was time to discover exactly how complicit Minerva had been.
Minerva McGonagall was in her office late Sunday evening when she heard Severus's knock on the door. Like the man himself, it was abrupt, efficient, and unique.
"Good evening, Severus."
"What is the procedure by which students receive their 'Hogwarts letters'?" he asked brusquely.
The request was puzzling even if the lack of salutation and the delivery were not. Albus's health had been fading for several years now, and Severus was the preferred successor for the post of Assistant Headmaster. Traditionally, the post was filled by one of the Heads of House, and even if Severus weren't her first choice on his own merits, Pomona was a disaster when it came to administration, and Filius was far too close to retirement himself. Unfortunately, despite Severus's potential and Minerva's entreaties, so long as he was spying, his unwillingness to accept the position or to prepare for the possibility of assuming it was absolute, and any tasks which provided access to The Book of Students, in particular, were taboo.
His expression was darker and even more closed than was usual, so Minerva simply took advantage of the opportunity presented to her to explain her duties.
"Standard procedure for students who are aware of the magical world? I draft the letter and duplicate it, then each of the copies and envelopes is addressed with the name of the intended student using an Intrinsic Identifier Quill keyed to The Book of Students and sent to the owlery. The first-year Muggle-borns are contacted in person, for obvious reasons."
He smirked, and she prepared herself for an arsenal of arguments against his suitability as her successor.
"So you don't see the addresses yourself?"
Puzzled, she replied, "Of course not, Severus." Minerva was curious why he would ask the question. She couldn't remember the last time she'd written the full address on an envelope but was quite positive it had been decades. It was hardly necessary with Self-Addressing Stationery, which was so commonplace that Scrivenshaft's didn't even carry any other kind.
"But the Book keeps a record of the letters that were sent and the address to which they were sent, and updates the changes?"
"Yes, of course."
"Is it possible to see that history?"
"Of course." Where in the name of Merlin was this going? "Severus, what-"
"Bear with me, please, Minerva." That he said 'please' was a good indication of exactly how grave his motivation was. "Can you show me, for instance, Draco Malfoy's mailing history?"
Minerva nodded, retrieving the quill and parchment she would need to display the information. His concern made sense now. Each of the heads of house were, in their own ways, dedicated to the students in their care, but Severus was obsessively so. If something had given him reason to be suspect problems with Draco Malfoy... Minerva had often thought it was a shame that he'd made the choices he did at seventeen. He'd been a bitter, angry youth but hadn't had much opportunity or incentive to grow beyond that. If he were ever able to forgive himself, he'd be an excellent father, she thought regretfully as she cast the necessary spell. He grabbed the sheet of parchment from her hand before it had even finished recording, and she continued the thought with amusement, Though I'd want to be well into my own retirement before his children were students here.
Draco Malfoy
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Draco Malfoy
Malfoy Manor
Wiltshire
Draco Malfoy
L'Hôtel Meurice
Paris, France
Severus scrutinized the list of three addresses, each repeated with varying frequency. "Why Hogwarts?"he asked, looking up from the parchment.
"The Headmaster uses the same system for internal notices, as do I myself, on occasion."
"Could you show the history of Ronald Weasley?" What Severus would want with one of her students - Ronald Weasley, in particular! - was beyond her ken, but her curiosity had been engaged, and her Animagus form was not inappropriate, so she cast the spell once again.
There were three addresses for Mr. Weasley as well, or nearly.
Ronald Weasley
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Ronald Weasley
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
The third read simply "Ronald Weasley" with no accompanying address and was written in purple ink rather than black.
Before Severus could ask, she explained. "They were at Headquarters by the time the letters were sent. The Headmaster addressed them himself, by hand."
"One other, if you don't mind, Minerva. Harry Potter."
She held her wand over the parchment and quill but before casting the spell. "I will be getting an explanation for this, before you leave the room." It was not a question.
He nodded, and she cast the spell for the third time.
They began exactly as expected:
Harry Potter
Harry Potter
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry Potter
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole
The volume of parchment being consumed by the spell far surpassed that of the other two boys combined. Even more alarming were the additional addresses that appeared as the spell went back several years:
Harry Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry Potter
The Floor
Hut-on-the-Rock
The Sea
Harry Potter
Room 17
Railview Hotel
Cokeworth
Harry Potter
The Smallest Bedroom
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
Harry Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
Minerva could feel herself blanching at each new address and the seemingly infinite repetition of the last one, taunting her. At the edge of her consciousness, she heard Severus speaking. Assuming he had asked why Harry's were different, more specific, she said, "The address is where the wizard's magic feels the wizard is comfortable, where he belongs. At the motel, it would make sense that it's a specific room, that is the one which has been let. At home, though, it should be the house. Look-" She pulled out the two previous histories, pointing out the lack of specific room designation in their homes.
She didn't draw his attention to the dichotomy between Draco Malfoy's hotel address and Harry Potter's, as Severus was guaranteed to notice. Once, he would have made a snide remark about Harry's sense of entitlement, but he'd become better about applying his perception or at least keeping his remarks to himself. "In Harry's case, it appears he was excluded from the rest of the building." She stared, horrified, at the last entry for several moments.
"We have to tell Albus." She stood, purposefully, heading for the mantle where she kept the Floo powder. Severus grasped her arm as she passed him, and she turned. "Severus, I know how you feel about him, but-"
"He knows, Minerva."
Draco was sitting on his bed ostensibly studying but accomplishing little: he was far too worried about the potential repercussions of Harry's spontaneous change to the ritual. What had he been thinking? Blood magic was not to be trifled with... the consequences could be catastrophic! It was that lack of understanding of wizarding traditions and traditional magic that was adulterating the wizarding world, and now Draco would be suffering because of a whim, because of ignorance.
He was well on his way to working himself into a right state when he heard a knock on one of the doors in the common room. It was tentative, and Draco knew it wouldn't have been audible if his bedroom door hadn't been open. He hadn't quite been able to bring himself to close it completely, needing some contact with the world beyond his magical connection to Potter - a connection which had been fluctuating madly since the Spondenum, especially for the last half hour or so. Tightening and loosening like a yo-yo, and with every pass he felt nervous and guilty, then determined and frightened; the emotional rebound was nauseating and distracting.
He assumed it was the price for criticism of his dominus, and if it was, he could easily see his life devolving into something all to similar to that of Crabbe or Goyle. Having thoughts of his own, fighting for them, wouldn't be worth the effort.
The knock sounded again, and through the space between the door and the frame, Draco saw Granger get up and cross the common room towards the Hufflepuff door. To simplify things in an emergency, their common room had four wizard-space portals, each offering access to and from the common room of one of the houses. Draco stood quickly and quietly to shut his own door completely.
The definition of 'emergency' was relative, unfortunately: the Madley chit was in the midst of a dramatic saga that no one but a third-year Huff would consider interesting let alone an emergency, and she'd been interrupting nightly. Granger had claimed that they'd had a serious discussion the night before, and Madley had promised to leave off, but it seemed she didn't understand the definition of that word, either.
Draco paused when Granger stopped, not in front of the door to the Hufflepuff dorm, but at the door to the hallway. It was rarely used, since students almost always entered from their common rooms, and professors used the fireplace to summon them if they were needed.
As she turned the handle, Draco knew who was behind the door, and he left his door slightly ajar so he could watch.
"Harry?"
Potter's face fell slightly before he anchored on his face the most insincere smile Draco had ever seen. "Hey, Hermione."
"Something you needed?"
"No. I... I was just heading back to the dorm, didn't want to walk alone, and thought I'd see if Ron was still here."
"No, he's left. Are you all right?"
He was looking around her, trying, unsuccessfully, to be discreet about looking into the room behind her. "I'm fine, just tired."
Hermione checked the time (it was nearly curfew). "You can cut through, if you like." It wasn't done often, but Draco was not surprised that she offered, given how out-of-sorts Potter looked.
In fact, he seemed to have forgotten she was there and muttered distractedly, "No... no, that's fine. The walk will clear my head. Thanks, though. 'Night." He left before she could say another word.
Granger stepped forward as though she were going to follow him but stopped, shook her head, and moved to close the door.
Even without the pulsing of the bond, Draco would have known that Potter had been looking for him: his behaviour had been too erratic for anything else. Just out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a pile of papers - the work he'd done on their potions assignment - and he grabbed them as he opened the door wide again.
Granger had settled back with her book on the sofa but looked up when he entered the room.
"I thought I heard Potter," he said in a tone of confusion.
Her reply was impressively casual, "Oh, he just stopped by to see if Ron was still here." If Draco hadn't been eavesdropping, he wouldn't have suspected it had been more than that.
"He was supposed to trade Potions notes. Did he say where he was going when he left?" The most frustrating part of fishing for information one already knows is having to wait for it.
"The dorm, I assume, given that it's close to curfew."
"I'll try to catch him up, then."
She turned back to her book with a strangely smug sort of smile, and Draco headed out after Potter.
Having a built-in tracking spell was handy, even if it was determined to give him a linear route rather than a traversable one. Eventually, he caught sight of his quarry, and mindful of the few students still making their way back to the dorms, he called, "Potter!"
The Gryffindor turned, and through the bond Draco felt a surge of relief.
"You forgot these." The other boy looked perplexed. "Notes for Potions tomorrow. We haven't had a lot of time," he said, leaving the 'especially with everything else that's been going on' unsaid, but Potter rolled his eyes, so Draco assumed he'd understood it anyway, and continued, "but there's no way Professor Snape's going to waste a brewing class. You'll need these." He held out his notes for the potion they were researching.
"Oh, but I don't have mine."
"Most of your life is public knowledge. I have enough of the information I need to get started, you can give me your copies of the rest later."
"Oh. Right." He looked around furtively. "Um..."
"I've quite a few Arithmantic equations in there; are you going to be able to understand them?" he asked leadingly, not as harsh as he could have been.
There was relief again and amusement at remembered frustration, though all Draco saw was chagrin. "Probably not. Would you mind?"
Regretting that they were too far from the Head Boy/Head Girl suite to make it worth going back, Draco gestured towards a nearby empty classroom.
Once the door was closed, Potter cast a series of Locking and Revealing spells and turned to Draco with a rueful half-grin. "People tend to try to eavesdrop on my conversations."
Knowing that he was mostly teasing, Draco chose to answer seriously anyway. What he wanted to do was yell, but he knew he had to tread carefully. He remembered their conversation under the stands, remembered how careful Potter was to speak first, to keep things equal between them. He'd appreciated that and used it as his model. He would apologize first and would listen to his explanation graciously and, hopefully, be able to accept Potter's apology in the same way. "I'm not going to apologize for anything I did that has helped you to take your security more seriously or for doing what was necessary at the time." He paused for any sign of condemnation. There wasn't any. "But I will say I am sorry that my actions have made this," he gestured between them, "more difficult."
"That's fair." Draco sensed approval, and it was a heady feeling. So much so that when Harry shuffled awkwardly, Draco gave him an opening. "Something you wanted?"
"Sort of, yeah." Harry exhaled deeply, running his hand through his hair, but when he continued, he spoke confidently. "I know the 'Training Period' doesn't start until after the Joining, but I have a duty - two, actually - that I'd like you to assume as soon as possible."
That was not what he'd expected. That didn't take long, he thought, more bitterly than he would have liked, given the position he was in. But this had been his choice. He could do this. There was humour vibrating through the bond, and it didn't feel malicious, but Draco restricted his response to a nod, not quite trusting his voice.
"It's up to you. But I absolutely refuse to be Head Boy, and I'm certainly not going to play Seeker for Slytherin. So I'd like you to continue to do those, please. If you want to."
Draco stared at the badges extended in Harry's hand but couldn't bring himself to reach out and take them. His heart had nearly broken when his godfather had taken them.
Despite rumours that Lucius Malfoy had bought his position on the team, he'd earned it. The team brooms had been purchased after choosing him, not in exchange for it. He'd known Potter wouldn't take the position himself, so there was a slight chance that he might let Draco continue to play, but knowing, too, that he was Potter's primary competition, he hadn't held out much hope.
The Head Boy badge, on the other hand, he'd assumed was lost to him. Given how hard he'd worked last year to counter the damage he'd done as a member of the Inquisitorial Squad, he'd earned that badge as well. That a third-year Hufflepuff came to him with best-friend crises was proof of that.
"Draco?" Harry sounded concerned.
He realized he was still staring at the badges in Harry's out-stretched hand. "But-"
"They're yours, Draco."
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