Chapter 5
The room erupted into chaos.
Molly Weasley gasped loudly, clutching Arthur’s arm, while Moody’s magical eye spun wildly as if trying to process everything at once.
Scorpius—Draco, Hermione corrected herself—went rigid beside Remus, his face pale and tense. His wide silver eyes darted around the room, clearly spooked by the sudden uproar. For a moment, Hermione thought he might actually bolt for the door.
Before he could, Dumbledore raised his hand.
"Enough." His voice, while not loud, cut through the noise like a blade.
The arguments and whispers died instantly. Order reasserted itself beneath his calm, unyielding authority. With a serene smile, he settled into the high-backed chair at the head of the table. His gaze swept over the gathering before landing on Hermione.
"This is," Dumbledore mused, as though they had been discussing the weather, "quite the development." His fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Miss Granger, is there anything else of note you would like to add?"
Hermione hesitated. She had planned to tell Ron first—quietly, when Harry wasn’t watching her with that mischievous smirk—but there was no hiding it now. With a small sigh, she shuffled through her stack of documents and withdrew a worn parchment.
"I… yes, actually," she admitted, holding up the paper. "I found this."
She placed it carefully on the table, and several people leaned in to see the crimson seal stamped on the corner—a mark Hermione hadn’t been able to trace to any official Ministry branch. The text was simple but chilling.
Bounty Order: Subject – Draco Malfoy.
A murmur swept the room again.
"A bounty?" Percy asked, frowning as he adjusted his glasses. "Issued by whom?"
"I don’t know," Hermione said, frustration in her tone. "The order is vague, but the seal—it’s not from any Ministry department I recognize."
Moody growled low in his throat. "Could be one of Grindelwald’s shadow networks. His people have been issuing independent orders outside official channels. It’s how they’re disappearing targets without causing a stir."
Sirius, who had been lounging in his chair with an expression of thinly veiled annoyance, snorted. "I still don’t see why he’s our problem," he said, waving a careless hand toward Scorpius. "He’s a Malfoy, and Malfoys don’t exactly have a history of being on the right side of things."
Draco stiffened at the words, his hands curling into small fists on his lap.
Harry opened his mouth—likely to make some smart remark—but before he could, Remus stood up. His usual calm demeanor was edged with steel, and the room immediately shifted under his authority.
"You’re wrong," Remus said quietly, but there was a bite beneath the softness. "He’s a child, Sirius. Whatever his family has done, he hasn’t done anything to deserve this." His amber eyes softened as he glanced back at Draco. "We’re not in the business of leaving children to be hunted like animals."
Sirius looked like he wanted to argue, but something in Remus’s expression made him hesitate.
Dumbledore’s gaze warmed slightly as he inclined his head toward the werewolf. "Well said, Remus. I quite agree. Whatever his bloodline, the boy deserves our protection."
Sirius huffed but didn’t object further.
Still thoughtful, Dumbledore turned his attention back to Hermione. "The bounty—did you find any clues as to why they want him?"
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing concrete." She glanced at Harry, who had tilted his chair back on two legs, looking far too relaxed for the situation. "But… I have a hunch Harry already knows."
Harry grinned but didn’t confirm or deny it.
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again as though he found Harry’s evasiveness endearing. "Perhaps," he said, leaning back with a thoughtful hum, "it has to do with his Animagus ability. Such a talent, particularly one that manifests naturally, is exceedingly rare. There are those who might wish to study—or exploit—it."
That sent a chill down Hermione’s spine. If Grindelwald’s people wanted to capture Malfoy because of his unique magical abilities… it didn’t bode well.
Dumbledore sighed softly, his expression briefly shadowed by something resembling concern. "Until we know more, Draco Malfoy will remain here under our protection." His voice gentled as he glanced at the pale boy. "I assure you, child—you are safe within these walls."
Draco, still tense, gave a small nod, but Hermione didn’t miss the way his shoulders remained drawn tight.
With that being said, the meeting was adjourned.
The Order members began to file out, exchanging quiet farewells as the tension in the room finally began to ease. Moody clapped Harry on the shoulder—hard enough to make the younger wizard wince—while Molly fussed over if Harry would like to come home for dinner. Minerva exchanged a few parting words with Dumbledore before disappearing into the Floo, and soon enough, the room was left with only Sirius, Remus, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Harry.
As the last crackle of the Floo settled into silence, Sirius leaned back in his chair, propping his boots on the coffee table with a sigh. "Well," he drawled, stretching his arms above his head, "looks like Malfoy is going to be sticking around for a while." His lips curled into a faint smirk. "Lovely. Can’t wait to explain that one to Kreacher."
"He’ll be thrilled," Remus remarked dryly, settling into the armchair across from him.
Sirius snorted in amusement before continuing, "Anyway, he’ll need a proper room. We can’t exactly keep the poor kid holed up in some dusty corner forever." He frowned thoughtfully, then shrugged. "I suppose he could have Regulus’s old room. It’s clean enough."
At that, Harry—who had been lounging comfortably on the sofa beside Hermione—stiffened. It was subtle, a slight tightening of his shoulders and a brief pause in the rhythm of his breathing, but Hermione caught it immediately. Her brow furrowed as she glanced at him, but his face was a mask of careful blankness, betraying nothing.
Too careful, she thought.
He felt her eyes on him and, after a beat, forced a casual smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah," he said, voice light but a little too even, "Regulus’s room makes sense."
Hermione’s frown deepened, but she let it go—for now. She tucked the reaction away into the mental catalogue she kept for all the strange things she had noticed about Harry over the years. Another mystery to unravel later.
Sirius, oblivious to the brief tension, rolled his eyes. "And where’s Snape?" he added with a mock scowl. "Did he slink off to his dungeons again like the greasy bat he is?"
Remus sighed, shaking his head in mild reproach. "Sirius…"
"What?" Sirius said defensively, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "It’s true."
Ginny giggled softly from where she was curled up in the armchair near the fire, and Ron snickered openly, clearly unbothered by the jab. "At least the room won’t smell like him," Ron said, earning a fondly exasperated shake of the head from Hermione.
"You lot are ridiculous," Remus murmured, though there was no real bite in his voice. His attention drifted briefly toward the hallway where Scorpius had disappeared earlier, and his expression softened into quiet concern. "The poor boy’s had a rough day. He’s probably still trying to wrap his head around all of this."
Harry’s smile faded slightly at that, and when he spoke again, his voice was unusually gentle. "He’ll be okay," he said quietly, though whether he was reassuring Remus or himself, Hermione couldn’t tell.
Sirius huffed but didn’t argue. "Well, he’s your problem now, isn’t he?" he said, casting Harry a lopsided grin. "Congratulations. You’re officially a babysitter."
Harry rolled his eyes, but the tension that had crept into his frame hadn’t entirely eased. Hermione bit her lip, her curiosity gnawing at her.
As they made their way upstairs to fetch Draco, the mood had lightened—at least on the surface. Harry, as usual, slipped easily into his familiar role, bantering with everyone around him and taking every available opportunity to tease Draco.
"Honestly, Malfoy," Harry said, smirking as he pushed open the door to the guest room, where Draco had swiftly retreated the moment the meeting had ended. "Of all the names you could’ve chosen while pretending to be a Muggle-born, you went with Scorpius? What kind of Muggle names their kid that? Were Astrology Monthly and Ancient Roman Babies your only reference points?"
Draco, who had been sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed, scowled at him. "Forgive me for not planning a lifetime of identity theft," he said coldly. "I had other priorities—like not getting killed."
Harry just laughed, entirely unfazed. "I’m just saying," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "if you wanted to blend in, maybe don’t pick a name that sounds like it belongs to a supervillain."
From beside him, Hermione let out an unexpected laugh, her previous thoughts temporarily interrupted by the sheer absurdity of it. "He’s got a point," she agreed, grinning despite herself. "Scorpius? You could’ve at least gone with something normal—like, I don’t know, Daniel or Michael. I’ve never heard of a Muggle called Scorpius in my entire life."
"Right," Harry added mock-seriously. "It’s like you wanted to get caught."
Before Draco could bite back a retort, Ginny—walking alongside Hermione—let out a snort. "Oh, and Hermione is a common name, is it?" she said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
The teasing jab hit its mark. Hermione’s cheeks flushed pink, and she opened her mouth to argue but faltered. "That’s—" She huffed, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. "That’s completely different."
"Sure it is," Ginny said, eyes twinkling.
Harry stifled a chuckle. Even Draco’s lips twitched like he was fighting the urge to smile.
By the time they reached the end of the hall, the easy flow of conversation seemed to have put everyone—even Draco—a little more at ease. But just as Harry reached out to push open the door to Regulus’s old room, he suddenly stopped.
His face shifted into a thoughtful expression, one that Hermione instantly recognized as trouble.
"Actually," Harry said, turning to them with his best imitation of casual indifference, "I forgot—I need to check on something for Percy. Something about… inventory records." He waved a vague hand toward the stairs. "You lot go on ahead. I’ll catch up."
Hermione’s frown deepened as she watched him stride away without another word, disappearing around the corner before anyone could question him.
That was not normal.
For anyone else, the excuse might have been believable—Percy did love to bury people in paperwork, after all—but not for Harry. Not when he had been perfectly fine a minute ago. Not when the mention of Regulus’s room had made him tense earlier.
And this wasn’t the first time, either. Hermione had been noticing things—small things, easy to overlook if you didn’t know Harry like she did.
An odd reaction here, a deflection there. Moments where he seemed to know too much, or care too deeply about things he shouldn’t. She had chalked it up to Harry’s natural curiosity before, but this… this was different.
As they filed into the room, Hermione lingered by the door for a moment longer, her mind spinning.
There was something there.
She wasn’t imagining it.
And if Harry thought he could keep it hidden from her forever…
Well, he clearly didn’t know her as well as he thought.
---
The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a muted glow across the unfamiliar ceiling. For a brief, disoriented moment, Draco Malfoy didn’t know where he was. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and wood polish—not the crisp, cold scent of Malfoy Manor. His stomach twisted uncomfortably as the events of the previous day came rushing back.
The drowning. The Order. The bounty.
He let out a quiet, exhausted sigh, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Merlin, his life had become a mess. But, as much as it stung to admit it, he really didn’t have many options. If what that Granger girl said was true—if there was a bounty on his head—wandering off on his own would be nothing short of a death sentence.
With a deep breath, Draco forced himself to move, pushing aside the tangled covers and sliding out of bed. He smoothed down his wrinkled clothes as best he could—without a wand, it was hardly perfect—before cautiously stepping out of the room.
The sound of voices drifted from downstairs—loud and easy, the sort of laughter that felt foreign to him now. For a moment, Draco hesitated. It wasn’t too late to turn around, crawl back into bed, and pretend the world outside didn’t exist. But his stomach gave an insistent, almost painful growl, and pride be damned, he needed food.
Squaring his shoulders, he followed the noise to the living room.
There, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Harry Potter were deep in conversation, trading jokes with the kind of warmth and familiarity that made Draco feel even more out of place. Whatever they were talking about must have been funny—Sirius had one hand on Harry’s head, ruffling his hair playfully, while Harry batted him away, laughing. It was… strange to see them like this.
When Remus spotted Draco lingering awkwardly in the doorway, his face softened into a kind smile. "Good morning, Draco," he greeted warmly. "I’m just about finished with breakfast—are you hungry?"
Draco, to his surprise, found himself nodding. "Yeah. Thanks."
"Come on, then," Remus said, waving him over toward the kitchen.
He made his way carefully across the room, acutely aware of Harry’s gaze following him. Sirius trailed after them, still chuckling under his breath, though Draco didn’t know—or particularly care—what was so funny.
By the time Draco settled at the kitchen table, the smell of warm bread and eggs filled the air. It was a simple meal, but after days of barely eating, it felt like a feast. He didn’t even bother with conversation—his stomach had other priorities—and focused instead on devouring what was placed in front of him.
He barely registered the chatter around him until he realized the room had gone quiet. When he looked up, he found everyone staring at him.
"What?" he asked warily, setting his fork down.
It was Harry who broke the silence. "Do you have your wand?"
Draco felt a familiar twist of frustration in his chest. "No," he admitted, shaking his head. "I lost it… when I was trying to escape." He didn’t elaborate—he didn’t need to.
Harry turned to Sirius, his expression thoughtful. "Would any of the wands in the Black vault work for him?"
Sirius leaned back in his chair, frowning as he considered it. "It’s possible," he said slowly. "His mother was a Black, after all—our magic isn’t too far apart." His lips twisted into a grimace, the casual mention of Narcissa like a cold slap against the light-hearted morning.
The reminder hung heavy in the air. Draco’s mother was dead. His father, too. And while the rest of them could laugh and tease each other, Draco barely had time to breathe, much less grieve.
He swallowed hard, pushing the thought aside as Harry spoke again—this time, more gently.
"After breakfast, we’ll stop by Gringotts to find a wand that works for you," he said, his voice surprisingly kind. "Then we’re heading to the Three Broomsticks—you’ll need a disguise, though. Just in case."
Remus nodded in agreement, his face creased with concern. "A glamour would be best," he mused. "You’re a wanted man now—we can’t risk someone recognizing you."
Harry, however, simply smirked and pulled out his wand. Without waiting for approval, he leaned forward and gave a light tap to the top of Draco’s head. "There," he said, grinning. "Now you’ll blend seamlessly with our little group."
Draco blinked, confused by the sudden mischievous looks on everyone’s faces. Even Remus seemed to be holding back a smile, while Sirius—predictably—had already given up trying and burst out laughing.
Frowning suspiciously, Draco stood and made his way to the mirror in the hall. The second he caught sight of his reflection, his jaw dropped.
His once platinum-blond hair was now a vivid, fiery red—Weasley red, to be exact.
He let out a horrified shriek. "You gave me ginger hair?!"
Harry, back in the kitchen, leaned against the table with an expression of mock innocence. "What’s the matter, Scorpius?" he called out. "Isn’t red your color?"
Draco stormed back into the room, glaring at him. "Is there no other color that could work? Black, maybe?"
Harry waggled his eyebrows. "Aw, does Draco Malfoy want to look like Harry Potter? I didn’t know you found me so attractive."
Sirius, already wheezing with laughter, nearly fell out of his chair.
"Whatever," Draco snapped, though his ears burned pink. "Ginger is fine," he grumbled before stalking off back to his room, leaving their laughter ringing in his ears.
Draco stepped into his room and immediately crossed over to the mirror in the corner. His reflection—a pale face framed by garishly red hair—stared back at him, and he despaired. It wasn’t enough that his life had fallen apart—no, now he had to look like a Weasley on top of everything else.
He ruffled his hair with a sigh, trying to smooth it into something presentable. "This is my life now," he muttered under his breath. Ginger hair and charity. How far the mighty had fallen.
As he fussed uselessly with the unruly locks, a more pressing problem crept into his mind—clothes. Everything he had packed was gone, lost in the chaos of his escape. Draco looked down at his rumpled robes, the fine fabric now creased and stained, and scowled. There was no way he could go to Gringotts and the Three Broomsticks looking like this.
He was on the verge of swallowing his pride—of going back to the kitchen and asking Harry Potter for something to wear—when a sudden, sharp pop made him screech and stumble backward.
An ancient house-elf stood before him. The elf’s skin hung in loose wrinkles, and his large, bat-like ears drooped slightly. He wore a black coat adorned with a silver crest—the unmistakable mark of the House of Black.
The elf’s sharp, watery eyes swept over Draco with a mixture of disapproval and resentment.
“Who—who are you?” Draco demanded, trying to regain his composure.
“Kreacher is who Kreacher is,” the elf said, his voice scratchy with age and disdain. “Kreacher serves the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black—though now Kreacher must also serve blood traitor Master Sirius and kind Master Harry.” His lip curled when he mentioned Sirius, but his voice softened with an odd reverence at the mention of Harry.
Draco blinked. Kind Master Harry? Was the world turning upside down? “I’ve never seen you before,” he said suspiciously.
“Kreacher does not waste time with Malfoys,” the elf sniffed. “Malfoys do not belong to the House of Black, even if young master’s mother is poor Mistress Narcissa—may her noble soul rest in peace.” His voice quivered slightly at the end, and Draco’s stomach twisted uncomfortably.
He swallowed down the ache and crossed his arms. “What do you want?”
“Kreacher does not want anything,” the elf huffed. “Kreacher was sent by kind Master Harry and blood traitor Master Sirius to bring young master proper clothing—since young master looks like a filthy beggar.” His bulging eyes flashed with disdain.
Draco bristled. “I don’t—” He cut himself off. He did need the clothes. “Fine,” he said instead, lifting his chin.
Muttering under his breath about ungrateful wizards, Kreacher shuffled to the wardrobe. It creaked in protest as he opened it, revealing neatly kept but dust-covered garments. His gnarled fingers carefully pulled out a dark green cloak embroidered with silver thread, and Draco immediately recognized the Slytherin colors.
“These,” Kreacher said solemnly, “belonged to Master Regulus—a proper Black, not like blood traitor Master Sirius.” His voice softened with an almost painful reverence. “Kreacher has kept Master Regulus’s things in perfect order. Young master will treat them with respect, or Kreacher will know.”
Draco hesitated. He didn’t know much about Regulus Black, other than that he is Sirius's brother that he doesn't seem to be particularly fond of. But the way Kreacher’s voice trembled told him that Regulus meant something—everything—to the elf.
“I… I will,” Draco said quietly. And to his own surprise, he meant it.
Kreacher gave a sharp nod. “Good,” he muttered. He shuffled toward the door but paused. “If young master ruins Master Regulus’s things, Kreacher will make sure young master regrets it.”
And with a loud pop, the elf was gone—leaving Draco alone in the room with a pile of Regulus Black’s legacy and far too many questions.
Draco dressed in the robes Kreacher had provided, brushing his fingers over the smooth, dark green fabric. They were slightly too long—barely noticeable—but he thought better of adjusting them. The memory of Kreacher’s warning about respecting Master Regulus’s things lingered, and Draco had no intention of being on the receiving end of the elf’s wrath.
He ran a hand through his ginger hair in a futile attempt to make it more presentable. It stuck up in odd places, no matter how much he tried to smooth it down. With a sigh of resignation, he gave up and made his way downstairs.
In the kitchen, Harry, Sirius, and Remus were already waiting. Sirius lounged in a chair, boots propped on the table, while Remus stood by the stove, finishing the last of his tea. Harry leaned casually against the wall, twirling his wand between his fingers.
“Took you long enough, Malfoy,” Harry drawled, a smirk playing on his lips. “What were you doing, admiring your new Weasley hair?”
Draco scowled. “Don’t be jealous, Potter,” he retorted. “Not everyone can pull off a bold new look.”
Sirius barked a laugh, clearly entertained. “I don’t know, Harry,” he said, grinning. “I think it’s an improvement. He looks almost friendly now.”
“Shut up,” Draco muttered, but there was no real heat behind it.
Remus set his cup down and gave Draco a once-over, his expression calm but observant. “The robes suit you,” he said mildly. “Regulus had good taste.”
Draco shifted uncomfortably. Sirius clapped his hands together. “Alright, enough chitchat,” he said, rising to his feet. “We need to make a quick stop at Gringotts to find you a wand before anyone in the Alley notices your… unique charm.”
“Won’t they recognize me? Will the hair be enough?” Draco asked warily.
Harry grinned, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered.” He flicked his wand and tapped Draco’s head. A faint shimmer spread down to his toes. “There. Now you’ll blend right in.”
Draco frowned, pulling a strand of his ginger hair forward to check. “You didn’t mess with my face, did you?”
“Nah,” Harry said, too innocently. “Your face is already tragic enough. I wouldn’t ruin that.”
Sirius laughed outright while Remus shook his head with a quiet sigh of resignation.
“Come on,” Harry said, stepping toward the fireplace. “The sooner we get your wand, the sooner you stop being our problem.”
Draco rolled his eyes but followed. He took a deep breath, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and stepped into the hearth.
“Diagon Alley!” he called, and with a whirl of green flames, he vanished.