Whispers of Discontent
The Burrow was a haven of warmth and chaos, a stark contrast to the sterile elegance of Malfoy Manor. Harry sat at the crowded kitchen table, a plate piled high with Mrs. Weasley's famous Sunday brunch in front of him. He'd been coming to the Burrow for years, finding solace in its cozy familiarity. But today, a sense of unease settled over him.
"So, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley began, her voice a touch too bright, "how was your week?"
He's been so withdrawn lately, she thought, her brow furrowing with concern. Ever since the war ended, he just hasn't been the same. He needs someone to look after him, someone to bring the sparkle back into his eyes. Someone like Ginny.
"It was… interesting," Harry replied, picking at his sausages. He hesitated, debating whether to mention Lucian. He knew how the Weasleys felt about the Malfoys.
"Oh?" Ginny chirped, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Do tell!"
Maybe he met someone at the Ministry ball, she thought, a flicker of hope igniting within her. Someone suitable, of course. Someone who understands him, someone who can make him happy. Someone like… me.
Harry took a deep breath. "I met someone," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "At the Ministry ball."
"Ooh, anyone we know?" Ron asked, his mouth full of bacon. Hopefully someone rich and famous, he thought. Someone who can get us good Quidditch tickets and maybe even a new broom.
"Lucian Malfoy," Harry said, bracing himself for the reaction.
The table fell silent. Mrs. Weasley's smile faltered, and Ginny's eyes widened in disbelief. Arthur Weasley, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. "Lucian, you say? Draco's uncle?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed, feeling a defensive edge creep into his voice.
"Well, that's… unexpected," Hermione said, her voice carefully neutral. A Malfoy? she thought, surprised. Of all the people he could have met…
Unexpected? Harry thought, bristling. Is that all they have to say? Don't they even want to know what he's like?
"Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley said, her voice laced with concern, "are you sure about this? The Malfoys… they're not exactly known for their… kindness."
Not all Malfoys are the same, Harry wanted to shout. Lucian is different.
"He's nothing like his brother," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm. "He's kind, and intelligent, and…" He trailed off, realizing how that sounded.
Ginny snorted. "Kind? A Malfoy? You're having us on, Harry."
He's probably just confused, Ginny thought, a pang of disappointment echoing through her. He's been through so much, he doesn't know what he wants. He needs someone to guide him, someone to show him the right path. Someone like me. We could be the next James and Lily, the perfect couple.
He's not using me, Harry insisted. "He's… he's just being nice."
"Nice?" Ginny scoffed. "A Malfoy? Please."
Why are they being like this? Harry thought, feeling a wave of despair wash over him. Don't they want me to be happy?
"Harry," Arthur Weasley said, his voice gentle but firm, "we only want what's best for you. And we're not sure this… association with a Malfoy is in your best interest."
What do they know about what's best for me? Harry thought, his anger reaching a boiling point. They just want me to marry Ginny, become a proper Weasley, and secure their place in the wizarding world. Like I'm some kind of trophy husband!
"I have to go," Harry said, pushing his chair back from the table. He couldn't take it anymore. He needed to get out of there.
"Harry, wait!" Mrs. Weasley called, but Harry was already gone.
He Disapparated from the Burrow, the image of their disapproving faces burned into his mind. They don't understand, he thought, his heart heavy. They don't understand at all. And then, a thought struck him, sharp and painful. They want me to be like my parents. But I'm not my parents! I'm not James, and Ginny isn't Lily!
The familiar gloom of Grimmauld Place enveloped Harry as he stepped through the front door. The house was quiet, a stark contrast to the boisterous atmosphere of the Burrow. He was glad to be back, glad to be away from the suffocating expectations and the judgmental stares. They just don't understand, he thought, the familiar ache of loneliness settling in his chest. They want me to be someone I'm not. Someone who fits their mold.
"Master Harry!" a gruff voice rasped. "Back already?"
Kreacher, the house-elf, materialized beside him, his wrinkled face etched with a permanent scowl. "Didn't those… Weasleys appreciate your presence? Typical. No appreciation for quality."
Harry sighed. "It's not that, Kreacher," he said, sinking onto the worn sofa in the drawing-room. "They… they don't approve."
Kreacher's ears perked up, a flicker of malicious glee in his eyes. "Don't approve of what, Master Harry?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Of Lucian," Harry said, the name feeling strange on his tongue, yet oddly comforting. "They don't approve of me seeing him."
Kreacher's scowl deepened. "Ah, the Malfoys. A fine family. Not like those… Weasleys. No sense of tradition, no respect for proper bloodlines."
A fine family? Harry thought, raising an eyebrow. Kreacher's definition of "fine" is certainly… unique. But then again, what’s my definition of family these days? The Weasleys, who want me to be someone I’m not? Or Kreacher, who’s fiercely loyal in his own… peculiar way?
"It's not like that, Kreacher," Harry said, a touch of defiance in his voice. "And they are nothing like that. They have been kind to me all these years and…" He trailed off, realizing he was unable to think anything more positive about the Weasleys. Kind? Or convenient? They took me in, yes, but was it out of the goodness of their hearts, or because I was the Boy Who Lived, a source of fame and… potential wealth?
"Now, now, Master Harry," Kreacher interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Don't try to defend those… Weasleys. Kreacher remembers. Kreacher remembers their greedy eyes, their constant whispers about your… fortune. They only tolerate you for your gold, Master Harry. Just like they tolerated that blood-traitor, Dumbledore. Always sniffing around for more money."
Harry frowned. They’re not all like that, he thought, though a nagging voice in the back of his mind reminded him of Ron’s occasional hints about needing a new broom, or Mrs. Weasley’s pointed comments about the cost of Ginny’s new robes. Maybe Kreacher has a point. Maybe they don’t see me. They see… the Boy Who Lived, the one who defeated Voldemort. The one with the Gringotts vault.
"With him… He's different," Harry mumbled, more to himself than Kreacher. He is different, isn't he? Lucian… he looks at me. He sees… me. Or at least, I think he does.
Kreacher, however, seemed pleased. "A Malfoy, you say? Excellent. A much better choice than those… blood traitors." He muttered under his breath, "Perhaps Mistress Narcissa will visit again. It's been too long."
Mistress Narcissa? Harry thought. Kreacher misses Narcissa Malfoy? That's… unexpected. He even called Dumbledore a blood traitor. Kreacher’s loyalties are certainly… complicated.
"You like the Malfoys?" Harry asked, surprised.
"They were the rightful masters of this house," Kreacher rasped. "Not like those… interlopers." He shot a venomous glare towards the portrait of Sirius Black, which was currently hidden under a thick dust cloth.
Rightful masters? Harry thought, a flicker of anger igniting within him. This house belonged to Sirius. And he was nothing like the Malfoys. But then, another thought crept in. And the Weasleys… are they really so different? Are they just… less obvious about it? They all want something from me. Maybe Lucian does too. But… it feels different. It feels… real.
"I am fond of him, Kreacher," Harry admitted, a soft smile gracing his lips. "He's… special." He’s different. He sees me, not Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. He sees… me. Or at least, I think he does. He makes me feel… seen.
Kreacher, surprisingly, didn't argue. He simply grunted and said, "Master Harry must be hungry. Kreacher will prepare a steak tartare. Rare, of course."
As Kreacher bustled off to the kitchen, Harry leaned back on the sofa, a sense of calm settling over him. He was glad he had Kreacher, glad he had someone who, despite his occasional grumbling and questionable culinary tastes, genuinely cared. In his own… peculiar way. He's loyal. In his own twisted way, he cares. And he doesn’t want anything from me, except maybe for me to appreciate a rare steak. Unlike the Weasleys…
He closed his eyes, the image of Lucian's face swimming into his mind. He thought about their conversations, their shared laughter, the way Lucian's eyes seemed to see right through him, yet without judgment. He’s… captivating. Intriguing. I want to know him better. I want to know what’s hidden behind those stormy grey eyes. I want to know… him.
Potter, Lucian thought, as he rearranged a vase of lilies in his study. He’s… different. There’s a vulnerability beneath the surface, a weariness that resonates with me. And those eyes… they hold so much pain, but also so much kindness. He’s… captivating. Intriguing. I find myself wanting to be near him, wanting to hear his laughter, wanting to… He stopped himself, a flicker of unease crossing his features. This is foolish. He’s Harry Potter. And I’m… me. A recluse. A man with a dark past. He deserves better than me. He deserves someone… uncomplicated.
Harry thought about the invitation to Malfoy Manor, the prospect of getting to know Lucian better, of exploring this unexpected connection. It’s a risk. Going to the Manor… it’s a risk. The Weasleys are right about one thing. The Malfoys are dangerous. But… I have to. I have to see him again. I have to know… if this is real.
Lucian thought about the upcoming dinner. He’s coming. To the Manor. What will he think? Will he judge me? Will he see the darkness that lurks beneath the surface? The secrets I’ve kept hidden for so long? He sighed, a feeling of anticipation mixed with dread swirling within him. I shouldn’t have invited him. It’s too dangerous. For both of us. He’ll be exposed to the… the ugliness of my world. And I… I’ll be exposed to his light. And that’s even more terrifying.
A smile touched Harry's lips. He had a feeling that this was just the beginning of something… wonderful.
Lucian, however, felt a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. Wonderful? Or disastrous? I’m playing with fire. And Harry… Harry is going to get burned. And I… I’ll be the one holding the match.
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawns of Malfoy Manor. Inside, a flurry of activity filled the air, a stark contrast to the usual quiet elegance of the house. Lucian paced his study, a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. He's coming, he thought, his mind a whirlwind of anticipation and dread. Harry Potter is coming to dinner.
He glanced at the clock. It was almost five. He'll be here soon. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. I need to tell the others.
He left his study and made his way to the grand drawing-room, where his family was gathered. The room buzzed with a nervous energy, a far cry from its usual composed atmosphere. Mandamus Malfoy, his grandfather, sat in a high-backed chair, his expression thoughtful. Beside him sat Felix, his grandpapa, offering a reassuring smile. Cecilia, his mother, chatted quietly with Narcissa, her sister-in-law, who sat gracefully on a chaise lounge. Lucius, his eldest brother, stood by the window with Draco, their expressions a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Maximus, his second brother, and his wife, Vivian, sat on a nearby sofa, exchanging quiet words. Nearby, Sebastian, his uncle from Russia, stood with his wife Medona, Martin, his son and daughter-in-law, and their twins, Livia and Roland. The twins, despite the tense atmosphere, were whispering to each other, suppressing giggles.
"Lucian, dear," Narcissa said, her voice warm and welcoming. "Is everything alright? You seem… agitated."
"I have something to tell you," Lucian said, his voice slightly hesitant. "Harry Potter is coming for dinner."
A ripple of surprise went through the room. All eyes turned to Lucian.
"Harry Potter?" Mandamus repeated, his eyebrows raised.
"Here? At the Manor?" Sebastian asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Yes," Lucian confirmed. "I invited him."
Draco sat up straighter, his eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and… something else. Potter? Here? What will he think of me? Of us?
Lucius turned from the window, his gaze fixed on Lucian. "Are you sure this is wise, brother?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. "He may not be comfortable here." This house… it’s filled with shadows. Memories. Will he ever forgive us?
"He's coming to dinner, Lucius," Lucian said, a touch of defiance in his voice. "Not to a torture session."
Lucius sighed. "I'm merely concerned for his well-being," he said. "He's been through a lot. This house… it holds unpleasant memories for him." Memories I’m ashamed of. Memories of what we were forced to do.
"He's stronger than you think, Lucius," Lucian said, his voice firm. "And he's not afraid of the past."
Narcissa smiled. "I'm glad he's coming," she said. "It will be good for him to see that not all Malfoys are… unpleasant." We were trapped, just like everyone else. We had no choice.
Draco shifted uncomfortably. "I… I used to bully him," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing with shame. "Back at Hogwarts." I was a fool. A spoiled, arrogant fool.
"That was a long time ago, Draco," Narcissa said, her voice gentle. "And you've changed."
"Besides," Lucian added, "he saved your life, didn't he?"
Draco nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor. "I know," he said. "I'm… grateful."
"We all are," Lucius added quietly. He saved us all. From prison. From… ourselves.
"Then let's welcome him properly," Narcissa said, her voice filled with warmth. "Let's show him that the Malfoys can be… hospitable."
"And that we are genuinely sorry for our past actions," Lucius added, his gaze meeting Narcissa’s with a look of deep affection. We were not ourselves. We were under his control.
"We were all victims," Cecilia said softly, reaching out to take Lucius’s hand. "No one blames you, Lucius. We understand what you went through."
"We’re just glad you’re back," Mandamus said, his voice firm. "And that we’re all together again."
Felix nodded in agreement. "Family is all that matters," he said, his gaze sweeping over the assembled Malfoys.
Lucius smiled, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."
Lucian glanced at the clock again. It was almost time. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He'll be here soon.
Meanwhile, at Grimmauld Place, Harry was getting ready for dinner. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie. He was wearing his best robes, the ones Hermione had helped him pick out for the Ministry ball. He'd even tried to tame his hair, but it was a lost cause.
What am I doing? he thought, his stomach churning with nerves. Going to Malfoy Manor? For dinner? With Lucian? With his entire family?
He glanced at his reflection. He looked… nervous. And a bit… hopeful. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I’m walking into a trap.
This is crazy, he thought. But… I can't stay away.
He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. I'm Harry Potter, he reminded himself. I defeated Voldemort. I can handle a dinner party. Even with the Malfoys.
He grabbed his cloak and headed downstairs. Kreacher was waiting for him in the hallway.
"Master Harry is looking… presentable," Kreacher said, his voice gruff but approving.
"Thanks, Kreacher," Harry said, a smile touching his lips.
"Don't let those… Malfoys intimidate you, Master Harry," Kreacher said, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Show them who's boss."
Harry chuckled. "I'll try, Kreacher."
He stepped out into the night, the cool air bracing against his skin. He Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor, his heart pounding in his chest.
Here goes nothing, he thought, as he walked towards the imposing front door.