Harry Potter fic - Whispers and Rumours (Chapter Two)
Next part!
Title: Whispers and Rumours
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters and pairings: Canon 'ships, some non-ship OCs added for flavour. Malfoy-centric fic.
Genre: Gen/family
Era: Deathly Hallows to Epilogue
Warnings: Contains... well, not much warnable content, except tense changes for effect, indicated by italicisation.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all canon characters, settings and concepts thereof are J.K Rowling's, not mine.
Reviews very much welcomed.
Chapter One: [ Here]
Chapter Two: [You Are Here]
Chapter Three: [ Here]
Chapter Four: [ Here]
Whispers and Rumours
The Fall and Rise of the House of Malfoy
Chapter Two: Building Bridges
He’s trapped. Draco Malfoy looks around, trying to calculate a way out of this. No escape in sight, not if he wants to keep his dignity. He closes his eyes for the barest moment, resigning himself to the unpleasantness that’s sure to follow.
“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” The voice isn’t one he’d been expecting. He turns, and sees a young, dark-haired witch with a friendly smile. “I wonder if you might remember me?”
He frowns for a moment, searching his memory. “You’re... Daphne’s sister, aren’t you? Astoria, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” A hint of delight flickers into her expression at being remembered so quickly.
“I remember you from Hogwarts.” Taking this excellent opportunity, Draco gestures elegantly to her in an offer to take a walk. The gathering had begun to turn frosty, and he’d heard the first few resentful mutterings about his presence. There had been no chance to leave smoothly, but with Astoria beside him, he has an excuse to put some diplomatic distance between himself and those searching for reasons to confront him. “You’ll have graduated now, no? Did you do well?”
“Oh, well enough.” She walks with him readily, smiling up at him.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They exchange pleasantries for a while longer, as though trying to get some kind of sense for each other. It’s the way of many who’ve been in Slytherin, this wary amiability - the silken veil draped over a knife, just in case. And Draco has seen too much not to fall back upon that wariness. Even now, caution is what keeps him alive.
At last, the gathering ends, people going their own ways. Draco feels an odd reluctance to leave just yet. Unlike many, Astoria shows no hostility, no apparent compulsion to denounce him for his former activities.
It’s a rare occasion, and he feels a strong urge to prolong it. Still, eventually even playing for time will no longer avail them.
“I have to go. I hope I’ll see you again.” She smiles at him, coaxing a smile in return.
“I hope so too,” he says, quite honestly.
And then, she is gone, and he is making his way home, for once cheered by even this brief connection to another person.
***
“I need to speak with one of your Aurors.” The words do not come easily to Lucius.
“Oh, you do, do you?” The woman sighs, and walks away from her desk, returning with one of the few individuals whose arrival could possibly make this any more difficult.
Harry Potter looks back at Lucius, expression carefully neutral. “Yes?”
“Mr Potter.” A sharp, precise nod accompanies this greeting. “I... find myself in a position to reveal something to you.”
“What would that be?”
Finally, Lucius is on more solid ground. “The location and purpose of a number of Dark artefacts. I would assume you would want such things taken away safely, after all. I can help, there.”
“Why?” Potter is curious, Lucius can tell.
Lucius shrugs. “To be entirely and uncharacteristically blunt, I tire of constant suspicion. In order to prove it is no longer necessary, I suspect it would be advisable of me to assist you.”
It works. He’s led further inside, where he answers readily all of the questions put to him, helpfully volunteering extra information where necessary. It grates upon his sensibilities to reveal such ancient objects to the grasping hands of bureaucracy, but he puts aside his distaste. It is a matter of pragmatism, after all; even a small improvement in his current circumstances is worth a thousand such ancient treasures.
“Be very careful with that goblet,” he informed one of the Aurors standing with him in the cave. “If you tap it with anything metallic, it will chime like a bell, and none of us will wake up again, except the one holding it.”
The man nodded silently, carefully wrapping the goblet in a length of fabric before stowing it in a wooden case.
“No cure for that sleep?” one of the other Aurors asked curiously.
“Being given water from the goblet by its holder. But most haven’t been inclined to do so.” Lucius was in his element now, feeling rather more comfortable. He’d been raised to feel connected to matters of history. Items like this one were well within his field of expertise. “The goblet was placed here by a deaf man, immune to its sounds, when its last owner foolishly dropped it upon a metal railing, sending himself and seven others to sleep, ten years ago. I will spare you its full history, which is far longer.”
A dark-haired Auror froze. “Some of those people are still being kept alive in St. Mungo’s. This could wake them?” An odd note of hope touched his voice.
“If they’re still alive, yes, water from the goblet will wake them.”
The Auror met Lucius’s eyes. “One of those people is my sister. Thank you.”
It will be a long road for those awakened, to regain their lives after ten years asleep; but they have that chance. Lucius has discovered that the Auror to whom he spoke took that job specifically out of a desire to prevent curses from destroying any more lives the way the goblet did for his sister.
He knows that the news is spreading. Even beyond his assistance with the other artefacts, it will be known that it was his doing that these people have their waking lives back again.
He can only hope that this will help matters for him. Oh, he feels some relief for them - he can imagine his own anguish if it were Narcissa or Draco - but nevertheless, he too wants his life back. For that to happen, the hostility must lessen, and so doing deeds that gain public approval is a suitable step. Unlike the ones whose curse has now ended, the restoration of his life will require considerably more time than that required to tip a magic goblet.
***
Narcissa sighs. What she’s doing now is entirely necessary, she feels. However, she wishes it were easier.
“And I suppose you were wanting it named after your family.”
“No, of course not.” The scepticism stings her. “That would be wrong. This isn’t about what will make us famous, or our names. This is part of the debt we owe to these people.”
The Healer seems to soften, very slightly. “Correct. I’ll have to speak to others about this, but if you really do mean this in the way you’ve told me, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
It’s just as well, Narcissa muses, that the family money came to her. Part went her way initially, but she now has the Galleons previously belonging to Bellatrix, too, which means that not just Black money, but Lestrange money has come to Narcissa. As a result, she can afford her current gesture; a new ward at St. Mungo’s for the victims of the war, and specialised treatment expressly for them.
She had not, however, expected her efforts to be derided as they were. It had been initially dismissed as a ‘typical Malfoy gesture’; throwing Galleons at a problem to buy their way back into favour.
The hospital, however, needs all the funds it can get; it’s in no position to turn down her largesse merely because of who gave it.
Her next judicious use of family funds has slightly different motivation, though no less obligation. The Galleons are transferred both to one who should have gained some originally, and to the child being raised by that person.
Andromeda, disowned or not, is family, and little Teddy Lupin, no matter where his other ancestry lies, is also family... and will need support of many kinds since the war took his parents from him. Financial support is the only kind Narcissa can give, but she gives it nevertheless.
It’s done discreetly, care taken to be sure the source is not identified. She doesn’t want Andromeda rejecting the money out of pride.
“You’re very recognisable, you know.”
Narcissa turned, startled, as Andromeda spoke. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were remembered. I asked around. It wasn’t hard to work out where that many Galleons came from.” Andromeda’s tone sharpened a little. “Why?”
“...You’re my sister. And the baby... he’s family too.” Narcissa’s voice became quieter. “We owe it to you, and to him. For everything that happened.” To her sister, she could admit the things that she was far too proud to say to any other.
“If you think you can buy yourself a clean conscience, you’re wrong. But if you really mean that...” Andromeda’s expression softened slightly. “Thank you.”
Narcissa lowered her eyes for a moment. “If you’ll accept them... my apologies, and my condolences, for their loss.”
Andromeda’s eyes widened, and something in her expression seemed to crack as she wrapped her arms around her sister. “I miss them every day,” she whispered, before the tears broke free.
They stand there for some time; Narcissa doesn’t know how long, only recalling the tears and tight embrace as they release sorrow as one. She has missed her sister, though doing her ‘family duty’ in disowning and subsequently avoiding her so many years ago. She remembers so much from before then, however, when they stood united, shielding each other against the excesses of their mad eldest sister Bellatrix.
When, at last, they part, there are no harsh words this time. The past is gone, both good and bad... but at least there might be a future.
Title: Whispers and Rumours
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters and pairings: Canon 'ships, some non-ship OCs added for flavour. Malfoy-centric fic.
Genre: Gen/family
Era: Deathly Hallows to Epilogue
Warnings: Contains... well, not much warnable content, except tense changes for effect, indicated by italicisation.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all canon characters, settings and concepts thereof are J.K Rowling's, not mine.
Reviews very much welcomed.
Chapter One: [ Here]
Chapter Two: [You Are Here]
Chapter Three: [ Here]
Chapter Four: [ Here]
Whispers and Rumours
The Fall and Rise of the House of Malfoy
Chapter Two: Building Bridges
He’s trapped. Draco Malfoy looks around, trying to calculate a way out of this. No escape in sight, not if he wants to keep his dignity. He closes his eyes for the barest moment, resigning himself to the unpleasantness that’s sure to follow.
“Draco? Draco Malfoy?” The voice isn’t one he’d been expecting. He turns, and sees a young, dark-haired witch with a friendly smile. “I wonder if you might remember me?”
He frowns for a moment, searching his memory. “You’re... Daphne’s sister, aren’t you? Astoria, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” A hint of delight flickers into her expression at being remembered so quickly.
“I remember you from Hogwarts.” Taking this excellent opportunity, Draco gestures elegantly to her in an offer to take a walk. The gathering had begun to turn frosty, and he’d heard the first few resentful mutterings about his presence. There had been no chance to leave smoothly, but with Astoria beside him, he has an excuse to put some diplomatic distance between himself and those searching for reasons to confront him. “You’ll have graduated now, no? Did you do well?”
“Oh, well enough.” She walks with him readily, smiling up at him.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They exchange pleasantries for a while longer, as though trying to get some kind of sense for each other. It’s the way of many who’ve been in Slytherin, this wary amiability - the silken veil draped over a knife, just in case. And Draco has seen too much not to fall back upon that wariness. Even now, caution is what keeps him alive.
At last, the gathering ends, people going their own ways. Draco feels an odd reluctance to leave just yet. Unlike many, Astoria shows no hostility, no apparent compulsion to denounce him for his former activities.
It’s a rare occasion, and he feels a strong urge to prolong it. Still, eventually even playing for time will no longer avail them.
“I have to go. I hope I’ll see you again.” She smiles at him, coaxing a smile in return.
“I hope so too,” he says, quite honestly.
And then, she is gone, and he is making his way home, for once cheered by even this brief connection to another person.
***
“I need to speak with one of your Aurors.” The words do not come easily to Lucius.
“Oh, you do, do you?” The woman sighs, and walks away from her desk, returning with one of the few individuals whose arrival could possibly make this any more difficult.
Harry Potter looks back at Lucius, expression carefully neutral. “Yes?”
“Mr Potter.” A sharp, precise nod accompanies this greeting. “I... find myself in a position to reveal something to you.”
“What would that be?”
Finally, Lucius is on more solid ground. “The location and purpose of a number of Dark artefacts. I would assume you would want such things taken away safely, after all. I can help, there.”
“Why?” Potter is curious, Lucius can tell.
Lucius shrugs. “To be entirely and uncharacteristically blunt, I tire of constant suspicion. In order to prove it is no longer necessary, I suspect it would be advisable of me to assist you.”
It works. He’s led further inside, where he answers readily all of the questions put to him, helpfully volunteering extra information where necessary. It grates upon his sensibilities to reveal such ancient objects to the grasping hands of bureaucracy, but he puts aside his distaste. It is a matter of pragmatism, after all; even a small improvement in his current circumstances is worth a thousand such ancient treasures.
“Be very careful with that goblet,” he informed one of the Aurors standing with him in the cave. “If you tap it with anything metallic, it will chime like a bell, and none of us will wake up again, except the one holding it.”
The man nodded silently, carefully wrapping the goblet in a length of fabric before stowing it in a wooden case.
“No cure for that sleep?” one of the other Aurors asked curiously.
“Being given water from the goblet by its holder. But most haven’t been inclined to do so.” Lucius was in his element now, feeling rather more comfortable. He’d been raised to feel connected to matters of history. Items like this one were well within his field of expertise. “The goblet was placed here by a deaf man, immune to its sounds, when its last owner foolishly dropped it upon a metal railing, sending himself and seven others to sleep, ten years ago. I will spare you its full history, which is far longer.”
A dark-haired Auror froze. “Some of those people are still being kept alive in St. Mungo’s. This could wake them?” An odd note of hope touched his voice.
“If they’re still alive, yes, water from the goblet will wake them.”
The Auror met Lucius’s eyes. “One of those people is my sister. Thank you.”
It will be a long road for those awakened, to regain their lives after ten years asleep; but they have that chance. Lucius has discovered that the Auror to whom he spoke took that job specifically out of a desire to prevent curses from destroying any more lives the way the goblet did for his sister.
He knows that the news is spreading. Even beyond his assistance with the other artefacts, it will be known that it was his doing that these people have their waking lives back again.
He can only hope that this will help matters for him. Oh, he feels some relief for them - he can imagine his own anguish if it were Narcissa or Draco - but nevertheless, he too wants his life back. For that to happen, the hostility must lessen, and so doing deeds that gain public approval is a suitable step. Unlike the ones whose curse has now ended, the restoration of his life will require considerably more time than that required to tip a magic goblet.
***
Narcissa sighs. What she’s doing now is entirely necessary, she feels. However, she wishes it were easier.
“And I suppose you were wanting it named after your family.”
“No, of course not.” The scepticism stings her. “That would be wrong. This isn’t about what will make us famous, or our names. This is part of the debt we owe to these people.”
The Healer seems to soften, very slightly. “Correct. I’ll have to speak to others about this, but if you really do mean this in the way you’ve told me, there shouldn’t be a problem.”
It’s just as well, Narcissa muses, that the family money came to her. Part went her way initially, but she now has the Galleons previously belonging to Bellatrix, too, which means that not just Black money, but Lestrange money has come to Narcissa. As a result, she can afford her current gesture; a new ward at St. Mungo’s for the victims of the war, and specialised treatment expressly for them.
She had not, however, expected her efforts to be derided as they were. It had been initially dismissed as a ‘typical Malfoy gesture’; throwing Galleons at a problem to buy their way back into favour.
The hospital, however, needs all the funds it can get; it’s in no position to turn down her largesse merely because of who gave it.
Her next judicious use of family funds has slightly different motivation, though no less obligation. The Galleons are transferred both to one who should have gained some originally, and to the child being raised by that person.
Andromeda, disowned or not, is family, and little Teddy Lupin, no matter where his other ancestry lies, is also family... and will need support of many kinds since the war took his parents from him. Financial support is the only kind Narcissa can give, but she gives it nevertheless.
It’s done discreetly, care taken to be sure the source is not identified. She doesn’t want Andromeda rejecting the money out of pride.
“You’re very recognisable, you know.”
Narcissa turned, startled, as Andromeda spoke. “I beg your pardon?”
“You were remembered. I asked around. It wasn’t hard to work out where that many Galleons came from.” Andromeda’s tone sharpened a little. “Why?”
“...You’re my sister. And the baby... he’s family too.” Narcissa’s voice became quieter. “We owe it to you, and to him. For everything that happened.” To her sister, she could admit the things that she was far too proud to say to any other.
“If you think you can buy yourself a clean conscience, you’re wrong. But if you really mean that...” Andromeda’s expression softened slightly. “Thank you.”
Narcissa lowered her eyes for a moment. “If you’ll accept them... my apologies, and my condolences, for their loss.”
Andromeda’s eyes widened, and something in her expression seemed to crack as she wrapped her arms around her sister. “I miss them every day,” she whispered, before the tears broke free.
They stand there for some time; Narcissa doesn’t know how long, only recalling the tears and tight embrace as they release sorrow as one. She has missed her sister, though doing her ‘family duty’ in disowning and subsequently avoiding her so many years ago. She remembers so much from before then, however, when they stood united, shielding each other against the excesses of their mad eldest sister Bellatrix.
When, at last, they part, there are no harsh words this time. The past is gone, both good and bad... but at least there might be a future.