YOU’RE LOSING ME

———

Harry woke up at such an early hour in the morning the whole world seemed still. He tried to stretch out but his small cramped bed and the poor sleep he’d gotten that night had made him curl in on himself.

He had been back with the Dursleys for six days and for the first time ever he had almost been glad to return. The familiarity that all the streets looked the same in the hell which was middle class suburbia and that they all acted the same as always gave him a sense of normality that he’d lost at Hogwarts. The normality was awful and boring but normal all the same. 

Vernon went to work everyday even in summer as he worked towards some promotion that got him more money or a fancier office and switched things up by ‘networking’ at the local golf club on the weekend. Dudley was with the same gang of large boys that had trailed around him since they were small kids. They liked to play football, generally cause trouble in the neighbourhood and act as if they were hard and rough even though they were actually posh gits.

And Petunia well she was as high strung and traditional and judgemental as always. Her days consisted of cooking and cleaning for her two special boys, getting lunch with the other ladies on the estate to gossip and making sure her garden looked better than her so called friends. All of them also made it clear as always how much they hated him, nothing new there.

“Boy, if you don’t get down here.” The sweet sound of Vernons half choked voice as he shoved bacon into his mouth made its way up the stairs. 

Huh, some things never changed.

“Move out of the way,” Petunia snapped quickly as he entered the kitchen giving him an expression like she’d swallowed a particularly sour lemon, the power of his presence.

“Dudles, come downstairs sweet heart.” She crowed upstairs in a soft tone but from the grunts Harry doubted Dudley would be up before noon though Petunia and Vernon seemed to find it endearing.

“Sit down boy,” Vernon barked almost making him jump out of his skin, “and close your mouth you look simple.” 

He bit his tongue to stop a retort coming out involuntarily as he began drinking some water and nibbling on some toast in the middle until it got slapped out of his hands by Vernon which was the quickest he’d ever seen the man move.

“Here,” Petunia said with her nose turned up like his sight was especially distasteful, “your list of chores.” 

It was full of the usual, cooking, cleaning, hoovering and maintains the garden. He was fairly certain it equipped him to be a perfectly good house elf. Or at least better than Dobby, though he wasn’t sure if that would be an achievement. Dobby was pretty great but he also had an awful habit of making a mess of things.

Harry strangely enough enjoyed the menial tasks, well he didn’t like to be bossed around or anything but it kept the rest of the family out of his way and it helped clear his mind. Soothing, yeah that’s how it felt, though Hermione would probably psychologically analyse that as some sort of childhood thing, she’d gotten into psychology so he was sure she was an expert by now. 

“Tuny, I’m afraid I have to go. Important meeting and all.” He interrupted standing up as he puffed his chest out in self importance, Harry thought he looked like a prat but Petunia simpered all the same. 

“Yes, yes, of course.” She nodded smoothing down her apron as she straightened his tie and wished him well. Harry wanted to tell her he was only going to a drill company not war but instead stole a piece of bacon off Dudley prepared plate when she wasn’t looking so everyone was happy.

“You,” he pointed at Harry, “no funny business.”

Harry gave a roll of his eyes and a thumbs up begrudgingly in answer, honestly maybe Voldemort trying to kill him was better than this. 

Petunia tutted and Vernon slammed the front door leaving only the two of them in silence facing one another, Petunia gave him a once over as her face made an odd expression. 

“Well, what are you waiting for.” She said startled, “start with the weeds in the back.”

Which was as nice of a comment as he expected to get, she hadn’t even called him a useless waste of space. Perhaps it was going to be a good day. 

———

Dear Theo

How are you? Have you heard much from your father, my own is being oddly silent and is away at the ministry often. Is your father doing the same? Mother is in a frenzy about the summer society balls as you know she has been granted the privilege to host the final one, are you attending? The others have already RSVPD yes.

Pansy is insistent we go together, though father has said I should not tie myself down to early. I doubt I will see much of you this summer, though no one seems around. Greg and Vince are taking remedial classes with a tutor in preparation for OWLS so I am incessantly bored. The summer seems all too long. 

I barely saw you at the end of last term but no matter you can update me when I see you next. The manor is largely empty if you’d like to visit I extended the request to Blaise though he won’t be back for a while from Italy. Maybe then we could all play a game of Quidditch. You would have to be on a different team though because I would need to win of course. 

Don’t spend all your time studying or you’ll become sickly. Though you’ll have to update me on what’s your latest obsession.

Best Wishes,

Draco

Dear Draco

Thank you for your letter, the last few days of term flew by in a blur. I hope you are well also. I am still waiting on correspondence from my father though you’d know better than me if he was at the ministry still.

If my father agrees I will attend the ball with Daphne, she persuaded me to walk in with her, I could not say no. You know how she is. Only a few days of summer have passed and yet I feel it is going to stretch longer than usual. There’s an odd feeling in the air. I’m very secluded up by the lakes, the clear, crisp air has been good for my mind though. It is giving me time to think. I’m sure you share that sentiment.

I’ve been reading a rather interesting book on the architectural design of the medieval period and how it has inspired the magical community. Perhaps you would like to see it when we go back? It’s a fascinating read. The intersection between the architecture of magical buildings throughout the different periods and our opinion on light vs dark magic is especially relevant. 

Anyway I don’t know how long it will be until I see you but I hope you take care of yourself, I rather doubt I will get wrapped up in an society gossip or excitement so I’m sure you will keep me updated.

Stay safe,

Theo 

The empty halls echoed with the ricochet of the sound of his quill scribbling, he had received few letters but enough that he could at least comfortably check up on his friends.

Sitting in a shadowy alcove of the library that overlooked the darkened grounds and ignoring the soft pelting of rain against the tinted glass opposite his desk.

His journals and textbooks stretched out alongside the large desks as he annotated his ideas and wrote out plans and maps. It wasn’t that he had anything particularly to study, he didn’t even care about grades, but the things that interested him. Well they just consumed him. The ability to memorise and breakdown problems and draw out solutions was addictive. Especially when it was just him and the house elves in the large and eerily quiet manor.

The library was a pleasant consolation as was the quiet walks he took around the lakes, just him and his thoughts. That and the disgusting muggle habit of smoking which some hufflepuffs had brought to a party that year. Not much else to do in the middle of nowhere in fairness.

“Mister Theo” Dippy muttered as she appeared in the cold room with a plate of hot food. “Would you like some breakfast, sir.”

“No thanks,” he said as softly as possible in order to not accidentally offend her in case she took it as him not liking her cooking. “I’ll ask for something if I’m hungry later.”

“Of course, sir anything you’d like.” She began shaking her head in quick succession before promptly disappearing.

In relief he exhaled a breath of smoke before he stretched back to pick up another selection of books. Truly at least he could get a start, if he ever got the motivation, not that it truly mattered much. 

He had a quick mind, which worked in a way that helped him see things. It was more helpful when he did Runes or Arithmacy instead of History of Magic, but he didn’t mind much. 

Before he’d even realized what had happened he found that his hands had been working in tandem as it was dismantling the quill when he was deep in thought. He was dreadfully bored. It could be worse he tried to reason, boredom was a better hand than a lot of his friends were facing this summer, especially with such a shift in the world. 

That was a benefit to being in the middle of nowhere out here, it meant that with no connection the outside world somewhat he had no responsibilities or events to adhere to.

Not that he would know, what with his father, keeping him in the dark and-

He couldn’t think that way, it would only end poorly.

A quiet snap came from across the room and he turned as sharply as possible the weight of his knife steady against his trouser pocket.

“Master Theo,” and Theo didn’t want be too overcome by embarrassment when he almost jumped out of his skin when at of his father’s house elves appearing in front of him. 

He didn’t even notice the shaking of his hands until he tried to pick up his quill to feign indifference and he almost dropped the thing.

“Sorry sir,” the creaky voice of the old house elf sounded out, looking so forlorn that Theo was half scared the elf might get on its hands and knees and begin to grovel.

“What is it, Alfred?” Theo asked curiously turning to face him. 

Perhaps it was news of his fathers death or even more likely some issue between the house elves.

“You have been summoned, young master,” his voice crackling from old age and smoke like an dying flame.

“By whom,” Theo asked his voice strangely different against his own ears, clear and clinical even as his stomach started to drop.

“Lord Nott, wishes to see you.”

And Theo felt the world turn up on itself once again. 

———

The decor was dreadful and the stench coming off Smith was even worse. 

“And that’s when I told my father that we just had to buy it.” Zacharias boasted as he lent opposite her.

Pansy just looked him up and down before she took another sip of her drink in dismissal. 

Zacharias not only was aesthetically unpleasant but also buffonishly insufferable, all of that could have been overlooked if he had even a hint of potential or proximity to more wealth. 

At most he was painfully under par and awfully short. 

“You know you do look better recently,” he said like it was some sort of award she should be grateful for.

“Nice of you to say so,” she breathed out as she looked around for an escape. 

Her mother and father had forced her to converse with him out of politeness as it was his family who were hosting the first ball of the social season.

“It’s a shame you’ll probably marry Malfoy otherwise, I would ask my own father for a betrothal.” 

“Really,” Pansy said barely stopping an unladylike groan to escape her mouth, “how unfortunate for me.”

“Yes very.” He nodded puffing his chest out, licked his lip and leaned in closer, “perhaps you could save me a dance.” 

He moved his eyebrows in what she guessed he assumed was seductive but just looked sluggish instead. 

She really tried not to sneer or give an unladylike shove at his leery hands but she instead tried to give a pinched smile. This was not the time or place. Once they got back to Hogwarts she would make him rue the day he ever even looked at her. 

“Pansy, dear come here” her mother called out all smiles, hair pushed back and dress long and flowing. It was an expensive material, heaven knows when she had bought it though her father who had been very anxious to get here quickly was nowhere to be seen.

“Excuse me,” she said to Smith and then as subtly as possible stomped on his foot with her pointed shoe. 

He did not quite manage to hold in a wince but his breath did hold when she leaned in closer, her voice a mere whisper so only he could hear. 

“Don’t mess with me Smith,” she hissed before patting him lightly on the shoulder before she gave a sweet smile and turned as delicate back to her mother. 

It hadn’t been a very well thought out plan but it had made her feel better so she figured it was alright. 

Making her way over she slowed once she saw who was there, it was her snooty older sister and her new husband. Who her parents were just so proud of.

“Pansy,” her sisters husband said all smiles as he thrust out his hand, “gosh you’ve grown up so much, hasn’t she Cece.”

He smiled, all blinding teeth on display and tightening his grip even tighter around his sister. Pansy narrowed her eyes. Her sister only looked away.

“That's nice of you to say Mr. Burke.” Pansy said as politely as she could manage as she toyed with the champagne flute. 

“Oh Salazar, call me Locke, I am your brother in law after all.” 

“Of course,” she said placatingly as she turned hoping her mother would carry the conversation only to find her having run off, the traitor. “How are you sister?” 

“Wonderful.” Her sister answered her eyes never meeting Pansy’s and her coolly disposition, that was rather no different than usual seeming more guarded than usual.

“Darling don’t be like that, tell her the good news.”

He smiled again too tightly before his hand which was snaked against her waist and gripped even harder. Her sister seemed to fight a flinch and in that moment Pansy wanted to smash her champagne glass over his head. To turn him away, to get her sister out of this trap or on at least wipe the smug smile on his dastardly face.

“I am Pregnant.” Cassandra said eyes glassy and voice monotone.

Her stomach dropped.

Pansy had truthfully always been jealous of her, always cooler and smarter and prettier. Her older sister who always kept her distance and never seemed to care about anyone but herself. Who was the person she admittedly imitated when she gave out a threat or taunt or smirk.

Before she could form a response she was thankfully interrupted by a small clink from the centre of the ballroom.

She wanted to thank Salazar himself for the distraction as not even she would have been able to spit out a congratulations.

Pregnancy horrified Pansy. She couldn’t stand the thought of it, the very idea made her queasy. Perhaps if it was Dracos children it might be manageable or at least better than the alternative. In her sweetest fantasies the two of them sat at the head of the Malfoy table hand in hand with three perfectly poised, white haired children. All of whom Hogwarts age and who sat a respectable distance away. 

But being pregnant never factored into that. It meant getting fat and actually having a baby. A whining, crying, hungry, tiny human who you had to care for. She already had to chase after Vince and Greg.

It was probably awful that she didn’t feel anything remotely maternal. Certainly not what was expected.

Worse was the fear that she might die in a pool of blood. In her worst nightmares her whole body throbbed as she was in labor, her body rejecting the process. The baby boy leaving her and killing her in the process. Beside her was an older husband who had no care for either her or the baby and who asked over and over if they could try again. It was certainly something that happened to a lot of pureblood women, they all remembered Evangeline Waters.

She did not pity her sister she concluded she was furious instead.

Was she not smart enough to take the necessary precautions?

No Pansy was looking at this wrong her stupid sister probably wanted this. so obsessed with being perfect and the next step in line was of course to have babies. Merlin forbid she was not better at everything pansy could ever want to accomplish.

She’d wanted to be his wife, even against their mother and grandmother’s wishes, she had yet to properly call different suitors, and he was not an heir to his house, Being a mother was probably something she desperately wanted.

Their father had given his blessing, and she had run off into her very own Prince charming’s arms in no time. But it wouldn’t matter, she would marry Draco who was handsomer and richer and better and Cass would see. That she’d been wrong to ignore her ‘stupid little sister’.

The crowd, began partying and quietening down as she was jolted out of her thoughts when she saw Nikolai Travers on one knee. The season had hardly started, how distasteful.

“My dear Saera will you do the honour of marrying me.”

He was handsome, annoyingly so. Young and distinguished with light brown hair and easy classic features. His clear blue eyes seemed to light up when Saera Montague breathed out a yes and jumped into his arms with her reddish head shaking yes. 

The two seemed so in love. Pansy doubted it would last.

The only people who seemed to agree with her however were the two young men standing opposite on either side. 

Graham, a fellow Slytherin in the year above and Saera’s younger brother was similarly striking and he seemed to be also eyeing the pair with a slight degree of apprehension, only being held back by the fellow Slytherin in his year and close friend Adrian Pucey. She wondered what golden boy Nikolai had done to earn this distrust. Was he not all he seemed? 

Her mind whirred. Though both their respective parents of the pair looked over joyed and why should they not. Even though Saera was painfully naive and obnoxiously oblivious at least she was pretty and good natured. It was a perfect match.

The other figure looming like a vengeful demon on his brothers shoulder was Edmund, the younger of the two and opposite in every conceivable way.

He seemed either perpetually sullen or smirking and had a nasty habit of making comments at others expense. His short jet black hair and sharp face should have been handsome but the slightly crooked nose and arrogant expression were off putting. The lean muscular frame as a consequence of being a beater and his crossed arms had an aura of danger. 

She wondered how they were even related.

Then a hilarious thought filtered into her head as she saw Graham turn to Adrian again before they both looked over at Edmund warily. 

The three boys would be sharing a dorm and with the upcoming nuptials she would bet good money it being quite tense in there if this was anything to go by she would have to find out more.

“Pansy,” a familiar voice spoke out grabbing her arm as she saw a flash of white blonde hair in front of her.

Breathing out a sigh of relief she turned to him.

“Draco,” she smiled reaching out to grab his arm, “I have missed you.”

“Come on,” he responded pulling her away involuntarily bossy as always. Pansy could barely protest but as she turned both her sister and her husband were no longer there. 

With a huff she followed Draco out of the ballroom and Pansy wondered if in a few years the same thing would happen between the two of them. A proposal at a society ball.

The thought filled her with something warm inside and she could barely hold back a smile as the sound of dancing music picked up once more but faded into the distance as they walked away alone. 

———

“Can you pass the mash please, Pet.” Vernon barked as the three of them sat eating their Saturday night dinner. Barely a week had passed since he’d left Hogwarts and returned to the Dursleys and their mind numbing normality almost made him wish for another duel with good old Tom.

Obviously it was an almost because he would probably get killed but it was still a fairly nice sentiment as he nearly died of boredom. 

Sometimes he played with the idea of joining them at the dinner table instead of standing with his plate in the adjoining kitchen. The would probably drop their food in shock but it was still hilarious to imagine sitting like a real family and retelling the crazy events of the past year.

He’d describe the Triwizard Tournament and the dragons and the balls and Quidditch. Though the only parts they would probably enjoy were the times he almost got murdered because he’d be of their hands then. 

Maybe he would tell them about crazy defense teachers and Voldemorts return or Dumbledores confession. 

Instead he tuned them out and ate his smaller serving of scarps Petunia compiled from his cooking that he ate quietly alone. He hated the lot of them but it didn’t mean he missed some company even their dreadful ones.

Dudley was at the head of the table so he could watch the awful program he had on the tv easily. It was a quiz show and if you got it wrong your team mates dunked you in mysterious tubes of liquid, he was fairly certain one was pigs blood. 

God if he had some now he could just imagine pouring it on their heads. 

Boy, a small voice echoed in the back of his head.

Boy, it repeated getting louder.

“Boy,” Vernon shouted wagging his finger as he squinted his eyes from Petunia to him “what did you put in the gravy.”

Harry shrugged, “Just what the tin told me to do.”

“It tastes different,” Dudley acknowledged his eyes firmly on the tv as he stuffed his face.

“Hmm, well maybe you could make it next time.” He remarked under his breath quietly to himself and rolled his eyes.

“Pardon.” Petunia pursed her lips as it clearly wasn’t quiet enough of a comment, though she did have suspiciously good hearing. Probably due to her nosiness.

“What did did you say?” she added hotly when he didn’t answer.

“Ignore him, Pet.” Vernon blustered in as Dudley changed the channel to the latest football match. “The boy has something wrong with him, it can’t be helped he’s…geriatric.”

“Pretty sure you meant genetic.” He supplied helpfully as he mumbled looking for a glass of water.

“Watch your mouth” Vernon said not averting his eyes as his team missed a goal, “go get me a beer as well if your just going to stand about like a waste of space.”

Petunia ruffled in her seat.

“I’ll get it Vern, I know how busy you’ve been” she was practically convulsing, she was seconds from a stroke. He almost felt sorry for her. She was genuinely offended at not being ordered about. 

“Don’t worry, Pet.” Vernon patted her hand with a blend of affection and condescension. “Let the boy work for his super, Lord knows he doesn’t deserve it, and then we can have some of that delicious pie you made.” And she downright preened.

Harry placed the drink on the table thankfully getting ignored due to that odd interaction except by Dudley who was eyeing him strangely and looked a little pale. A small bead of sweat was dripping from his head and it wasn’t even a particularly hot day. 

As he turned back to the quiet comfort of the kitchen he heard a loud bang and spewing sounds. Taking the scene in he saw Dudley puking his guts out on the fuzzy dining carpet. 

“Dudles,” Petunia shrieked as both her and Vernon leaped up to confront him. 

Harry didn’t particularly like seeing others vomit it made him feel on edge.

And Dudley who indulged in sweets and fizzy drinks and vodka in the park with his mates surely was no stranger to the sensation. His body probably hated him as much as his mug of a face did. 

Harry uncaring traded the edge of the pie, Petunia had made. He wouldn’t be allowed any of it, except perhaps some leftovers he stole but it did smell nice.

“You,” a voice shouted loud and blaring sending Harry into a panic as a large figure quickly approached, “what did you do to the food.”

Looking into Dudley’s frightened face peering into his and just for a moment Harry wondered how many times he had threatened him out of the same fear he saw in his eyes. 

“I didn’t do anything Big Dud,” Harry answered looking him straight in the face, hoping Dudley would at least trust that. Even when he hated them, he wouldn’t hurt them, or kill them. He wasn’t…like that. He wouldn’t do that.

He was reassured when he saw relief flood his face and an almost friendly nod involuntarily take over Dudley. Though any recent form of camaraderie was quickly snuffed out as Vernon stormed over red faced and full of blind fury.

Grabbing him by the scruff of his T-shirt he picked him with such force he hit his head against the kitchen distance. He only managed to hear an angry accusation. “You poisoned us, I should have known better than to trust your kind.” Before he was struck in the face by two large hands. With his sausage like fingers making their way around his throat. 

“Vernon.” Petunia spoke out, her voice as usual filled with complete devotion though it was slightly clipped. Like how you might reprimand a cat for dragging a dead bird onto your bed. As you knew the action was natural and avoidable but you still didn’t want it to make a mess. 

“Dad” Dudley protested his shirt still with sick running down his shirt and his face filled with slight panic.

Harry wondered just how bad the sight of it all was to get such an extreme reaction, for the scene to keep his attention. He’d blown up Aunt Marge in front of him once and Dudley hadn’t removed his eyes from the to. Whatever was happening but must be better entertainment.

“I ought to kill you,” Vernon hissed the veins in his head popping. “We feed you and clothe and allow you to run off to that damned freaky school, and this is how you repay us.”

Harry struggled slightly against the chokehold he was stuck in.

“So ungrateful, just like your parents.” He paused before he uttered the next phrase, an odd look on his face. “I ought to put you down.”

“Don’t talk about my parents.” Harry ground out.

“Who would care,” Vernon continued ignoring him speaking out, “you’re just a freak, a danger. I shouldn’t have allowed this to go on for so long.”

He choked out as brave as possible to live up to his Gryffindor bravery, “who says you allow me to do anything.”

Vernon gave an ugly short chuckle. Harry locked eyes with Petunia who was only looking away, he wouldn’t have asked for help but he still would have liked to see her expression, to see her face him.

He turned his eyes slightly to stare at Dudley who looked completely frozen. 

“I’m not worried, you can’t do anything outside that freaky school of yours.”

Harry couldn’t help gulping as he tried to steady himself. He felt a lot better at the thought of Voldemort learning the news. All that time and effort and planning and all it took was his muggle uncle whose dinner he ruined.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived through it all except the great gravy incident, what an embarrassing story that would be.

It was the last thing running through his mind before the hands around his neck tightened and the whole house started to shake. 

———

The world spun for just a moment and his eyes flickered and adjusted to the new environment.

It was strangely familiar.

As his feet hit against the hard wooden floor that was when he began to remember where he was and he began to panic.

Alfred told him Lord Nott had summoned him. His father. A man who he had yet to see in years. Who had raised him and who he would be now somewhat a stranger too

“Master wants to see you now” Alfred croaked out the white whiskers on his face from old age which were sticking up, making it hard to take the situation seriously.

He was forced to follow him down a large dark corridor in the manor all thoughts of house elves and old age having to vacate his mind.

Theodore tried not to become overcome by his fear it would not save him. He wasn’t ready. He said he was but he wasn’t. Lord Henrik Nott would want to see improvement, progress.

Maybe it was the beginning of an elaborate punishment for disappointing him in some way. Or he was truly dying like the rumour's suggested. Perhaps he was lying in bed with healers running around after him as he slowly rotted to death. What would that mean for him?

Disownment was still on the cards if what Edmund had inferred had any merit. The Travers boy was obnoxious and insufferable but he had been right when he spoke about the precarious social situation he was currently in. His father did show him no affection or favor and he was in exile. It didn’t help everyone knew everything about one another.

Maybe he was finally getting rid of him for good, he would return to Hogwarts a pariah and outcast. Finally powerless in the face of his fathers enemies and his classmates who at the smallest sight of weakness would pounce.

He didn’t know how to play this. There was no time to scheme or plan. No matter how he went about this the end result was the same he was a walking dead man.

Alfred stood by the black polished door and grabbed the knob with his withered hands wrapping around it and it squeezed the very inside of his heart.

Whatever previous reckless evaporated as Alfred opened it and his body collapsed in on itself.

He would asses the situation when it presented himself and await his punishment, whatever it would be.

———

“So that’s when mother told her she ought to change to change it to the other room. Pansy are you even listening?” Draco moaned a petulant pout appearing on his face as he sat beside her on a couch in one of the many rooms from the hallway, regaling her through some story she admittedly not been paying enough attention to.

She had no idea how he had so much to say already, summer had barely started for her.

“I was” she reassured him with a small nod hoping to deter his interest in what was bothering her. “I’m just distracted.”

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked curiously, if there was anything they had in common it was their mutual love of gossip. If the roles were reversed she would have hounded him until he gave in if he was acting odd.

But when she looked up to answer he was staring so intently she would someone stumble into the truth.

“Are you going away to France this summer” she deflected in the hope that one of his favorite topics might deter him from looking further as he gets sidetracked talking about vineyards and estates.

“I don’t think so.” He turned his face away but his eyes were still on her trailing her features in confusion, she wasn’t surprised. She had never hidden anything from him ever through all the years they had known one another.

“Fathers awfully busy at the Ministry helping Minister Fudge. The man is in a tizzy over something or other daily. Mother is furious you know how much she loves visiting France. But father says it will all be worth it when he becomes Minister supposedly. He says she’s not to worry, though she is incessant, currently she’s ignoring him. He sends apologies flowers daily.”

Pansy wasn’t surprised, Narcissa was a remarkably decisive woman and though she had never directly been faced with her cold fury reserved for anyone besides her dear son she doubted it would be pleasant. From what Draco described crossing her seemed to only end painfully. 

Fudge, the imbecile was his own issue clearly, no doubt run ragged trying to quieten the rumours that the Dark Lord was back. While there were only whispers among her father and his friends, it would be no avail for the Minister as if it was truly the case he was in no position to do anything to stop it.

“What about you,” Draco queried. “Will you be going away abroad in the summer?”

While the Parkinson’s did not have the same wealth as the Malfoy they were still in a fairly comfortable position among high society and her Mothers family were incredibly influential in their own right.

“Yes to visit Grandmam in China, she wants to see the type of young woman I’ve become” Pansy half groaned as she let her head rest on his bony shoulder, it was not the right height or width to be comfortable but she enjoyed the feeling of closeness none the less.

“Oh,” he said with something odd in his voice, maybe relief. “Is that’s what’s bothering you.”

She hummed in an effort to half agree without confirming anything, she felt a jolt to her head as his shoulder jerked back sharply.

“Pansy,” he pleaded looking at her right in the eye before raising his pinky.

She rolled her eyes before she connected hers as well to his.

It was a stupid, childish tradition in order to promise to keep one another’s secrets. Of course back when it started the secrets were stupid in harmless like breaking a vase or eating the cake meant to be served at the gala in the back of the kitchen.

Sometimes when he aggravated her by being cruel or mean she was reminded how he was her dearest and oldest friend. The boy she had spent practically her whole life wife, the boy she loved, the only one who earned her trust.

“Cassandra’s pregnant,” was her response after a long pause.

“Oh well that’s not too bad. Isn’t it to be expected they have been married over two years now” Draco shrugged his face confused though not removing her hand from his.

“No it’s awful,” she protested, “Locke is so awful and creepy and she seems off and upset about it. I don’t know how to explain it but she seems…guarded.” 

Draco was an only child, he knew little of the complexities between siblings and challenging the relationships could be. How fraught and awful and caring in how it all culminated.

Perhaps he remembered her jealousy of her sister in their youth or when they had been ignoring each-other in a stand off in second year when Cassandra had stood firm in her wish to be with Locke even when her and their mother and grandmother opposed it. Or worse the times when as children she was in awe of her and attempted to copy everything she did in an effort to get her attention.

Whatever it was the comforting way he listened had helped lighten her heavy thoughts.

“How long do you think it will be before Nikolai Travers and Saera Montague get married.” Pansy brought up in the hopes of shifting the conversation.

“Not long” Draco triumphantly grinned “I’ve heard it may be a Spring wedding.”

Pansy gasped, how scandalous, they truly did love to gossip.

“So quickly, are there rumours of an ill-timed pregnancy?”

“No,” Draco shook his head “apparently she’s very pure, her parents keeping her awfully sheltered though the dowry is apparently very sizeable.”

Pansy didn’t think Draco could talk about being kept sheltered what with Lucius and Narcissa being his parents. Though if she actually thought about it she too was in an awfully similar position. She knew very little about life outside of her societal bubble, though it must be preferable this way she reasoned if people did not feel the need to burst it.

“Who’s pressuring for the marriage to be done so quickly then” she inquired, academics were something she found uninteresting and studying often loathsome. But the latest societal rumours and whispers were always worth analysing. If she could take an OWL on that instead of Potions she would surely get an O.

“Nikolai, apparently” Draco added though less interested, “the two of them are widely said to be blinded by love.”

They caught each others eyes before doubling over into laughter.

“I doubt it” Pansy commented before a small silence fell over the two of them.

In the quiet she took the time to properly take him in. They were old enough know that matters of courting and relations could start and she would surely find it to be preferable to be with him.

He was firstly handsome, with his clear and skin and striking gray eyes. His white hair had always made her think of him as her very own prince and the sharpness of his chin and cheekbones softened when he gave a secret smile. Secondly he was her best friend, marrying a man she did not truly know or care about was a fearful idea. She could still remember when at thirteen what it was a husband and wife did together, it seemed scary and strange but with Draco it could be appealing in its own way. Thirdly she could truly do worse, her father had always told her Draco as the Malfoy heir would be in need of a wife and was a supremely eligible gentleman for her hand. 

“Where on earth are the others.” Draco muttered the silence obviously having stretched on long enough for him.

“Blaise is in Italy, Daphne in the south of France. Millie in Germany and Vince and Greg doing some remedial lessons for performing poorly last year. Theo is probably at the manor brooding and reading the most boring books in existence.” She rattled off as they were creatures of habit.

“Yes I know all that,” Draco huffed going slightly red not even liking to look ignorant in front of her, “But it’s the first Ball of Summer, surely they should be attending.”

“Ah but it’s the Smiths so it is of little importance who is in attendance,” she explained examining her hand which had a small cut of blood which was surely caused by Draco and his sharply gripped tight nails.

“Ugh I wish I hadn’t attended, it’s been awfully boring.” Draco complained. 

“How sweet of you to say Draco,” she drawled with no real heat to her words, it was her keeping him company anyways.

“That’s not what I meant Pans.”

“Yes I know,” she shifted in her seat. “But this year there’s our debut into high society surely that’s enough cause for excitement.”

Draco averted her eyes and dropped her hand like it had been burnt. 

“I think it’s best we head back Pansy,” he said with a sense of urgency standing just as fast.

“Wait,” she exclaimed placing a hand on his chest to stop him. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t-I can’t-” Draco stammered a little in nervous fevor.

“Draco,” she said her tone enough of a warning. Their honesty was a two way street, he could not afford to lie to her either.

“Father does not wish for me to be your partner at the ball. He says it will limit my options…make it seem as if we are already planning on being betrothed,” he said awkwardly, pushing a hand through his hair as he got the words out and each syllable felt like another punch to the gut.

“Oh,” she answered it sounding cold even to her own years.

“Don’t be this way, what does it matter.” Draco protested looking at her as if she were being the unreasonable one.

“Do you wish for us to marry Draco?” She asked her voice pathetically quiet, the question that had always plagued her mind but she had never been brave enough to utter. She was closer to a pathetic Hufflepuff than she was to becoming a blasted Gryffindor.

Draco gawped at her looking incredibly out of his depth and paler by the second.

“I-uh-what does it matter that isn’t something to concern us for a few more years.” 

Pansy scoffed surely he was not this naive.

“It matters because you are and have always been my first choice and yet you can’t even decide if it is something you want, trailing after you, if you do not care for me makes me look like a fool.” 

“You can’t think that way of course I care about you.” Draco objected. “Its just if my Father wants me to consider all my options of course you are the one I would choose if I’m given the choice-”

“Then prove it.” She said raising her voice to something that was not quite a shout but still came out unexpectedly in her shock.

“I will, I’ll tell him I will be your partner and show you how serious I am about all…this.” He flailed his hand around but he was steadily shaking his head.

“Thank you.” Pansy answered softly cupping his face with both hands and smiling so wide just how her sister used to do when she had wanted something from their father, it had always seemed to melt even the hardest of requests.

Draco’s own face broke out in a matching one before oddly enough it got closer and his lips were on hers. Sealing his promise and Pansy felt as if she had welcomed her very own happy ending.

———

Theodore walked into the room placing one foot in front of the other for a measured entrance. He would not gain any favour by letting his evident fear show in his face. Oddly the room Alfred had brought him to was not the usual parts of the Manor his father had frequented. It was on the West Side for one, something he was aware of due to finally being able to look out a window, and the room was remarkably slim and small for anywhere he expected his father to reside. 

In fact the manor seemed to be the English one, not the one in Ireland his father had never left in all the years he had gone, but with the Dark Lord back he must need to be at his England residence. 

Perhaps it was truly further evidence of a man mad with grief that even his chosen spot of isolation and solitude was now in remembrance of his deceased wife, when he returned to their family home.

Lord Nott, the grieving widower. Theodore thought it was rather unfair that there was a name for losing your wife and not one for losing your mother. Turning to look around the darkly lit room he noted the roaring fire in the centre if the room inside a marble mantelpiece with only a black silken sofa opposite. 

Sitting in wait felt very much how it expected to be before receiving the dementors kiss, like you just wanted to get it over and done with. There was still time to make a run for it but the stupid elf outside the door while old looked spritely enough would probably chase him back. 

“Turn around and let me see you son.” The booming voice erupted though it sounded starkly different than he remembered of his fathers, almost like stranger. 

Age was a funny thing he supposed but he had no idea it would be this drastic. Schooling his features into a blank expression and straightening his back he turned to face his father, Lord Nott. Only when he was facing the man it was a very different Lord Nott. One who was not only dead but who had summoned him from a painting.

“Lord Nott,” Theo said quickly hoping the shock wasn’t too noticeable on his face, “Grandfather I apologise I had no idea it was you who had requested to see me.”

Cantankerous Nott just dutted before he walked over to a table in the painting which had a glass of whiskey and a large shotgun on it. He peered into the barrel as his attention diverted away from Theo before he picked it up to clean and his searing gaze returned on him.

“You’ve grown.” His Grandfather said more factually than as if it were a question. It felt almost like an accusation of perhaps he was just too sensitive about it.

“Yes I have Grandfather.” Theodore replied as dutifully as possible. He was a little unsure why he was here but he was fairly certain he had never interacted with the man on account of him being in the Nott Crypts under the manor before he was born.

“Well look up, let me take a good look at you, see if you still have all your teeth.” The older man was lean with his hair still dark only slightly greying and confident with each word coming out with clear order and it seemed impossible not to follow.

“You look so much like your mother.” Cantankerous said stonily and Theo was unsure if it meant it like a compliment or an insult. He didn’t even know how he knew his mother.

“She named you in this very room.” He continued in quick succession clicking open the shotgun as he placed a bullet in. “Theodoros you were called. Huh she wanted it to be something Greek. My son had none of it, hated the language especially when your mother would skulk around spitting insults at him with it and he didn’t understand. But she got her way in the end even if it got said the English way.”

He peered back at him and Theodore had never seen a painting have such critical eyes, he had half an idea his Grandfather might jump out as if he’d been alive the whole time. Like it was a trick or a test. Shockingly he was a little on edge.

“Do you know what your name means.” Cantankerous asked before he pulled out a pipe from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. 

“Oh…yes sir.” Theodore cleared his throat before answering, he enjoyed studying Onomastics particularly etymology the history of names. “It means Gift of God or a divine gift.”

Cantankerous only raised an eyebrow and puffed out a waft of smoke from his pipe in appreciation with the shotgun hanging half heartedly in his left hand before he raised it. 

Peering down at him from the high mantle about the fireplace Theodore prepared for a lecture before Cantankerous gave a small chuckle in response. 

“Ah I see you are not as dim witted as my son. I wonder if you’ll see the irony in the name your mother gave you.”

“The irony?” Theodore repeated confused.

“Yes. Your father gave very few gifts to your mother and I thought the sight of you would have had the opposite effect, nasty surprise you were, it was much more likely you would have been named something cursed. Though I suppose it was a relief in it’s own rights you came out a boy for her. His heir.”

Theodore did not nod or open his mouth somehow during this particular exchange his body had frozen as it sometimes did when it got particularly stressed. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually spoken of his mother properly. A shutdown of his body began. He was almost positive it was due to his brains protective response when his nervous system got overloaded.

But he saw it as what it truly was. A weakness. And if he didn’t get a handle over himself his Grandfather would too. 

His head felt like the rattling of coins or the last gust of wind before a storm approached. Theodore was sure one particularly strong puff of smoke from his Grandfathers pipe would send him falling.

Everything seemed still and moving all at once. Not for the first time he felt off kilter once more, he wondered how long it would take until he would be steady again. 

“Sit down son before you faint.” Cantankerous huffed before he placed a finger on the trigger and a bullet bit out through the painting smashing a vase.

The shattering sound came through his ears like a loud crash echoing and reverberating with the feeling of an echo. Theodore almost jumped out of his skin. 

“What are your interest in guns Grandfather?” Theodore inquired politely averting his eyes in the hope that regaling stories of his youth would distract him as he sat down on the sofa under the painting.

Cantankerous only narrowed his eyes Theodore wasn’t sure he was going to answer but he indulged him.

“I was a gentleman in politics as you are no doubt aware, nasty business everyone trying to back-stap and take the others down. Vicious the lot of them are especially in the Wizenagamot, it’s kill or be killed. So in order to blow off steam I’d hunt wild animals and mount the heads on my walls. So that when I invited my friends or enemies to speak like gentleman they would have to pass the dead eyes of the predators I’d hunted. It was also incredibly relaxing, word of advise find a nice hobby to clear your mind,” Cantankerous nodded stiffly puffing out of his pipe as if he’d suggested Theodore to take up knitting.

Theodore didn’t really see the logic but what he did gather was that his Grandfather was as insane as the rest of their family even with his composed look. What had his father used to say to him, even a well trained man is till savage in nature, animalistic when pushed too far. All gentleman know it was kill or be killed, it was something carved into them since birth.

“Did you teach my father to hunt,” Theodore asked carefully trying to tense under his stare. 

“Who Henrik, ha.” Cantankerous grunted grabbing a glass filled with whiskey and taking a sip while he stared contemplative his eyes glazing just over Theodore’s head. “He didn’t have it in him to be a killer…at least not at the time.”

Cantankerous jolted out of whatever thought he was stuck on turned and sat down at the table he had been stood beside and picked up a piece of paper with writing on it. Theodore wondered if he was dismissed.

“How are you so…” Theodore started stopping when he couldn’t fine the right word, “sentient.”

“Hunting wasn’t my only hobby Theodore, I always enjoyed finding ways to showcase my power,” Cantankerous looked up his interest clearly peaked again. “Do you know what makes the Great families in similar positions so powerful?”

“Being part of the sacred 28.” Theodore rattled off the answer to a question he had heard many times before.

Cantankerous raised an eyebrow unimpressed.

“The Sacred 28 is a lie,” Cantankerous said plainly his hands finally stopping moving and in the stillness took in Theodore’s shock. “It’s an illusion we use to believe we have any control over our heritage, over who is truly pureblood. Over who has power.”

Another puff of smoke came out of the pipe and Theodore could swear he could feel it on his face.

“But…” Theodore asked a little helpless his hands raising. “But you wrote it?”

“Yes I did and do you know the power I got from that. By writing up the list of who would be us, versus them.”

“Why, what was the point?” Theodore exclaimed his own eyes narrowing at his grandfather the man was no bumbling fool and even dead and immortalised in a painting seemed to know far too much of current events to be trusted not to have some self serving objective for summoning him. The man was a mercenary and he couldn’t forget it.

“Do you know the position the Wizarding world was in Theodore. After the first war, the muggle one, we were a nation divided, the controversy of the Minister Archer Evermonde who had passed emergency legislation preventing wizards from taking part had caused factions to surround him with the Great Lords of the Old Houses agreeing and the newer more liberal Houses silently rebelling. Our very own civil war seemed on the horizon. Of course it didn’t help that afterward with our industries suffering and a depression hitting it meant that we had to take loans from the goblins. While our American counterparts revelled in wealth and stability. I was a young man by then and hungry for power that our family had lost were you aware of that? No of course not,” Cantankerous sighed and picked up another bottle before stiffly pouring more whiskey.

“My father Brutus was a frivolous man he had enjoyed his time with women, gambling, drinking falling down the path that incompetent men often do causing great debts to rack up. Then with the Goblins taking over the banks rather than his friends they were coming for everything we had, I was in my final year of Hogwarts and had been accepted for a highly competitive ministry legal internship, but with my families bad fortune it was going to be taken away.” 

“So what did you do?” Theodore asked on the edge of his seat, he had never learnt about any of this when learning about their family, plus he was curious, he enjoyed learning about things I did not know.

“I followed an esteemed family tradition Theodore. Do you want to have a guess at what I did?” Cantankerous asked calmly his voice steady like the beating of a heart hammering in a strong man’s chest. Theodore’s own heart was beating rapidly due to his accumulating nerves based on the subject this topic was broaching.

“You killed him,” He answered averting eye contact as a shiver ran up his spine. It was a Gentleman’s way wasn’t it kill or be killed. He hasn’t realised just how literal that saying was taken.

“Yes I did.” Cantankerous acknowledged with neither pride nor disgust at his act as if it were logical solution.

“You committed patricide,” Theodore shouted before he could stop himself his voice raised and he jumped to his feet and turned away. The act of patricide went against their gods and was immoral and…was certainly not something Theodore liked to think about.

In his worst nightmares Theodore’s father died in front of him in a pool of blood leaving him for the last time and in his most dangerous dreams it was he who held the knife. Patricide was sinful, he had no idea what could posses a man to commit such a heinous act.

“The man I killed was weak, it was an act of mercy Theodore, you’ll learn that soon enough,” Cantankerous shook his head as if teaching a lesson to a particularly naive child.

“He was your father. Your blood. Your Lord.” He argued unable to comprehend it though a little of the fight had left his body, fathers got killed all the time. Didn't every man have to rid his father to rise from a boy to a man though he was almost certain that did not mean slaughtering him to his supposed death.

“My father was a man a weak one at that and his death allowed me the position to sell off assets to save our family. That is all that matters Theodore the family name, it’s the only way we survive. In generations time no one will care about your petty squabbles or the sad state of affairs in which your emotions dictate you as you try to escape regrets, no only your great actions and failings will be immortalised, trust an old man on that,” Cankerous argued spitting out the words with his voice raised and Theodore knew he could argue no more about the manner, so what if his Grandfather killed his father. What did it matter to him?

“Anyway,” Cantankerous picked up the pipe and relaxed back into his chair, “where did I get up to, oh yes my father was dead and I had to pick up the pieces of my family from ruin, my brother Charles-”

“You had a brother,” Theodore interrupted he had never seen a Charles Nott in the family mausoleum or in the ancestry books his father had forced him to memorise.

“Yes an older half brother from my father’s first wife.” Cantankerous sighed and shifted his head. “He was dead also.”

“Oh did you…” Theodore trailed off unsure if his Grandfather had killed him too.

“No I didn’t.” Cantankerous said simply though he didn’t seem too upset about it, oddly he looked slightly disturbed. “He got removed from the family for his own reasons before his death, he moved to America prior and had relinquished the family name.”

“Right,” Theodore nodded before he breathed out, it had been a heavy day.

“Charles being gone meant that I could officially take my position as Lord Nott of one of the great houses. I went to the ministry anticipating the ability to make change and do you know what I found, that all our titles were meaningless. We were an out of touch bourgeois that cared little for anything except our failing estates and enjoying our inherited assets. The magical elite were squandering our positions and with the other European witches and wizards moving across the channel we had the potential for our power to be eradicated.”

Cantankerous put down his pipe and took another sip of whiskey, the story seemed to have gone on longer than even he had anticipated.

“And so I tirelessly worked up the ranks to become legal secretary under the Minister Terrence, a fairly reasonable man with significant power. When I was drunk one night a solution came into my head and I propositioned the idea to him that the Wizengamot should be split into hereditary and elected members. It would be more democratic, hold the elected members accountable and prevent the whispers of a civil conflict between the two very different types of wizards and witches in England. He agreed with me but then the issue arose how would we narrow down which great houses would hold these positions. And so that’s why I wrote it, once I narrowed down and reasoned which families were the most Sacred in the British Wizarding world it removed the backlash when he put the Wizengamot Reform Bill forward.”

Theodore understood his Grandfathers reasoning but the Sacred 28 was something so valuable and solid to the very foundation for the Purebloods and the Magical world it seemed ludicrous that it was based on passing a Bill. Marriages had been arranged over the document, families broken up and it was all meaningless, how disturbing.

“How did you decide which Great Houses to include?” Theodore questioned, he doubted Cantankerous had decided the list carelessly.

Cantankerous considered his answer though he seemed happy to explain his reasoning and for the first time he saw something vaguely resembling approval appear on his face.

“Ah, well a number of factors, mainly who I liked and didn’t like. Then I had to include different types for instance the powerful French families couldn’t be ignored like the Rosiers for example and neither could the more liberal of The Great Houses like the Abotts. Though really I chose those who had helped me in the past and those who were the most powerful and pure and influential.”

“Power,” Theodore repeated the word knocking around his head, the very meaning to the whole discussion they had gone on a whole tangent for, “it was everything you worked towards.”

“Yes it was,” Cantankerous nodded unabashedly, “the problem many men face is not understanding what type of power they possess and chasing something else. People can tell those who have the capability for it. Tell me Theodore where do you think the power of our ancestors lie?”

“We are warriors,” he answered, his father had been very proud of that fact. “Descended from Old Kings with our power born from the depths of the sea, the God Njord.”

“So what, that is all well and good from where we originated but how did we become powerful here…” Cantankerous continued urging him on this twisted train of thought, “Being just warriors is how the rest of our people came to this country plunging and killing but we chose a different route to power under the Norse-Gaels, do you know what it was?”

Theodore shook his head, again his Grandfather spoke of history that was in no book on no monument and of things his father had never told him. Perhaps he would have if he had the time or and wanted to, but he didn’t, so he could not answer.

“The English nobility didn’t want to speak to savages even as they surrendered, so the people of the Danelaw elected Canut under the Æthelred, the youngest son of Sweyn and a great warrior and brutal leader who after his fathers death had unified the Danish Wizarding world, as their representative. When he came to England he made the Old Great Lords bow to his will and the mighty Canute ruled Denmark, Norway and England.”

“So our power is inherited from coming to a country as its new leader and killing all opposition, but doesn’t that make all the descendants of the Old Lords the same in that way?” Theodore wondered, he didn’t like the idea that his family could kill whoever they wanted now just because it was simply all they had done. It seemed like a bloody precedent to set.

“The mighty Canut wasn’t a war monger he was named a great bird of old and he led a peaceful rule, he did that not with his fist but with his mind. Why else would our family crest be a three eyed raven and not a ship or a sword? That’s how we get our power Theodore, we are a small house alone on this island now, all of the fellow liege houses who crossed over with us have died out. But we lived on through our quests of knowledge Theodore, that is where we find the solutions, the blood and violence can help us get there but it won’t give us an answer.” Cantankerous sat back his great speech over and Theodore was only more confused, he thought the old man had truly gone senile.

“Grandfather if I may, is this why you summoned me, for a history lesson?” Theodore tried to sound polite but each word came out flatter than the other.

“History is important Theodore it’s the only way we don’t repeat it, Old Magik is stirring and my son is weak. Tell me why do you squander your own power in service to him?” Cantankerous questioned and Theodore felt his patience splinter.

“You don’t know anything,” he spat angrily uncaring of the disrespectful attitude he was giving his Grandfather, the man was dead he had nothing to fear and he had not earned his respect.Cantankerous who supposedly cared so much about family had never once attempted to reach out to Theodore before, so he needn't bother now. Where had he been with all his talk of heritage and power and history when Theodore had been sent off alone. He was a painting to be sure but there was no doubt in his mind his Grandfather did not have paintings in all the Nott estates, so where had he been? It was obvious he wanted something from him, why else summon him now. But wasn’t that always the way, to be used and then discarded after you did what was asked of you.

Cantankerous hit his hands angrily against the desk causing a large thud to echo before he stood up in anger and pointed a finger to Theodore. He braced himself for a lecture but the anger swirling deep inside of him like a beast was ready to fight back against his arguments,

“Good, get angry.” Cantankerous said unexpectedly knocking the wind out of Theodore's sails, more impressed at his disrespect than at his placating answers, “Now tell me Theodore what power you wish to follow.”

Theodore felt as if he got deja vu, it was not the first time his loyalties had been questioned in the last few days. Edmund Travers had mentioned the suspicion he and others potentially had in Slytherin that he was a man in the shadows, one who no one knew who he felt an allegiance for. It was partly his fathers fault he knew, it was highly unusual for a son especially an heir to be sent away so young, left to raise himself, that no doubt caused rumours to swirl and questions to be raised. His father in turn had living in exile shutting out the rest of high society and with his mother dead and buried, his undoubted allegiance could not be counted on to act suitably as an heir, that was evident.

“I serve our house, my father Lord Nott.” Theodore repeated sharply to his Grandfather.

“Mmm,” his Grandfather hummed though his body stayed still like he was lying in wait, “Your father still follows that Lord of his own though doesn’t he, will you be following that particular family tradition and doing the same?”

“If it is what is asked of me.” He answered plainly, if his father demanded it, whatever personal reasons he had to wanting to avoid any conflict would be irrelevant.

“And humour an old man now by answering a question…” Cantankerous continued, picking up a cigar from its box on its table and placing it in his mouth slowly “but should a man serve his Lord over his house?”

Theodore let out a large sigh he saw where this was going of course.

“Grandfather I’m unsure what it is you ask of me, as my father’s son, my duty is to obey his decisions.” He twisted his hands softly in his lap.

Cantankerous tutted and took Theodore in, he reckoned he understood now how the animals felt when his grandfather had hunted them, the man seemed a deadly predator and any minute now he was sure his head was about to be mounted on a wall in warning.

“So your going to become a death eater?” Cantankerous frowned in disappointment.

“What other choice do I have?” Theodore asked quietly, the man was a painting his life was not on the line here.

“There are always choices Theodore use your mind, you wish to follow your father, to serve him, a man so weak willed he abandoned his responsibilities and duties as a Lord and a father-” 

“Stop” Theodore shouted in warning.

“To ruin our house even further by allowing that mad man to reign his control and ruin everything we stood for-”

“He wants to further pureblood supremacy, put down the muggles, aren’t those things you wanted!” Theodore protested his hands digging even deeper into one another.

“Is that what you want Theodore?” Cantankerous prodded.

“What does it matter?” Theo exclaimed and pointed his own finger at the painting seething, “all you’ve talked about is power, that is what the Dark Lord wants to give us.”

“Your father doesn’t follow him for power, if he did I could at least respect that even if it’s misguided.” His Grandfathers face tightened in distaste. “You’re not a fool Theodore, the man cares little for the importance of our heritage he only cares about his own agenda. Him rising again, even more monstrous will only cause further destruction for this family rather than empowering it. Plunging and killing only serves one purpose, not using it sparingly spoils its purpose, he will only divide the Wizarding world further, surely your smart enough to see that.”

“How would you know anything about what I believe, or how smart I am, you know nothing about me?” Theodore asked slightly embarrassed the question came out more hurt than furious.

“I know more than you could imagine.” Cantankerous dismissed, “if you ignore the truth, your more like your father than I thought.”

“My father, he’s your son,” he repeated bewildered until the realisation of his grandfathers words hit, “don’t compare me to him.”

“You say you want to follow your father as his heir but what about your mother?” Cantankerous brought up his arms crossed and broaching into a conversation Theodore wasn’t sure why they were having this conversation. He wasn’t going to talk about his mother and he didn’t want to know why he wanted to either, whatever the reason he didn’t care anymore. It had been interesting learning about his family history if not slightly disturbing but he was done now, he would not stay any longer with a man who spoke of such mad things.

“Enough what do you want from me Grandfather to admit that I’m as weak as my father, to follow a different family tradition and kill him?” Theodore stood up quickly his hands no longer shaking and now tightened fists, his stomach lurched and he thought it was any wonder he hadn’t thrown up with the anxiety punching his gut.

“Would you kill your father?” Cantankerous tilted his head before raising both eyebrows and Theodore lunged uselessly his Grandfather didn’t move because he was in a painting and not a real man, though he was really annoying.

“No I wouldn’t.” Theodore gritted out and he wondered if his Grandfather knew if he was lying or not. He didn’t even know if that statement was true either himself, he hoped it was, he really hoped it was.

“Hmm.” Cantankerous hummed obviously sure that he knew the truth, with his stupid pipe back in his mouth and the puff of air feeling like an insult. “I don’t want anything from you Theodore.” He raised his hand as if he knew he was about to protest. “I’m speaking to you because of my own debts.”

“Who are you indebted to?” Theodore questioned bluntly no longer wanting to squirm around the situation.

“Your mother.”

“My mother.” Theodore responded in disbelief.

“Yes, she helped me many years ago and so it would be remiss of me if I didn’t do the same in your own time of need.” 

“I don’t want anything from you.” He bit out the anger that had been bubbling hitting his target at the most in opportune time.

Cantankerous blanched slightly before he took another sip of his drink.

“This family has many secrets Theodore, powerful secrets, if you wish to know them go down to the family crypts and follow the stairs under the fountain. If you don’t, than you will waste your own potential though I think it may be best if you are this…emotional.” Cantankerous sat and turned away as if he was finished speaking.

Enraged and put off that his Grandfather may get the last words, Theodore stood up also.

“You say my father’s weak and that I’m emotional but you’re a failure. You gave your whole life securing the ‘family’ name but its clear you never cared once about this family, my father is who he is but I’m almost certain it’s because of your influence in his life. We are a family in ruin, you dead and scheming in a painting, my father a hermit in Ireland and me estranged and alone. We have no power so everything you did was a waste, keep your debts and secrets I’m better off without them.” Theodore stalked off furious and slammed the door loudly and he almost felt bad when poor Alfred jumped out of his skin in shock.

“Is everything sufficient young master.” Alfred croaked surveying him carefully, house elves in families swore themselves to the family name but like anything followed the person in charge primarily. Perhaps his opinion had changed on Cantankerous, perhaps he needed a new master.

“Yes Alfred I would like you to take me to the crypts.” Theodore commanded, his Grandfather may have been awful but he seemed a proud man and if there were so many powerful secrets what was the harm in knowing one.

———

For half a second Harry thought there was an earth quake in Little Whinging, that was until he realised that he had been the one to cause it.

No more natural disasters just Harry Potter and his temper mental moods, wouldn’t that be funny.

Vernons hands that had been around his neck pulled back as if they had been burnt and the angry image in his eyes had returned to one of fear. Petunia and Dudley were staring around the room as if they had entered some other reality and the shaking of the house was causing everything to vibrate and shake faster and faster and faster and-

“Stop it boy,” Vernon commanded though he was a little too breathless and sweaty to appear frightening, “whatever freaky magic your doing.”

The sound of his shouting seemed to fade further into the background until it was all just one long static white noise.

Harry actually wasn’t sure how the house was shaking, but he thought back to the Aunt he had accidentally blown up and the snake he had set free. His magic certainly wasn’t something restrained. Perhaps it was him, maybe it wasn’t he wasn’t sure he really cared.

Even though the hands around his neck had gone and the fear of his imminent death was no longer hitting him his magic seemed intent to cause some kind of mess and the glass from the table smashed against the ground.

When the tart fell Petunia began to scream and ran towards him, he half thought she was going to smack him but she just grabbed both his shoulders and began to shake him begging and pleading.

He couldn’t really hear her or feel her she seemed so very far away.

Dudley was the only way that was as still as him but very quickly he too was being ushered out of the room.

The house kept shaking and by now it had amplified so they were screaming and running like headless chickens. Harry closed his eyes, they were annoying him, the beating in his head was making everything ache as if this was another nightmare. His body collapses in the far corner of the kitchen and Harry put his head in his hands and on top of his knees.

The ground shook and glasses continued the fall coating the ground in the sharp pieces that had broken apart.

Until a door slammed and the plates stopped falling and the ground vibrated less and less and less.

When Harry looked up he was alone, the only evidence he hadn’t killed them was their shoes and coats gone and the sound of a car reversing in the drive way.

Huh, well dinner was ruined but he had been right it was a fairly good day. He turned and saw a tub of ice cream had survived the fallout so he opened the drawer above him, grabbed a spoon and had some dessert sat in the almighty mess he had made. He wasn’t sure when they would be back but the static noise in his head left him with that similar feeling of uncaring, that the cold taste of vanilla was helping to soothe.

———

The sensation of a mouth on hers was supposed to feel magic but honestly it left her a little…disappointed. The wet feeling of his lips and the disgusting way it felt as if he were about to hit her teeth may her feel a little revolted. His hands too seemed to be working quickly down her body in a way that was putting her more on edge rather than relaxing her.

She burst back for a breathe and was about to laugh alongside Draco about how awful that had been until she opened her eyes and saw a dopey smile on his face.

Had he liked it. Was it just like that. What was wrong with her?

As he lent in again, she almost let out a victorious cheer when she heard the shouts of Narcissa, echoing from a different hallway.

“Shh.” Draco whispered as he put his hand on her mouth, “mother can’t see us like this, wait here for a little till we make our way back to the ballroom and then come out.”

Happy for this ordeal to no longer continue she gave a fast nod and leant back into the sofa as she watched Draco slip out back to his mother.

She should have been sad to see him go but all she felt was relief. If that always felt like that then why did people do it and what about all the other things husbands and wives do together, was it all that awkward and bumbling and nasty.

Pansy didn’t understand. Maybe it was a maturity thing, though she knew of many girls her age who who’d already done all those things and more. The Yule ball had been an experience for everyone and Slytherin house was no different.

Sighing Pansy knew she would have to work out how to fix that, if she even could, because surely Draco would realise something was wrong and she would hate to hurt his feelings or embarrass him. Especially with him agreeing to go with her to the ball now, she could not have anything screwing this up.

Slowly she opened the door to leave and she began making her way down the large hallway until a separate set of voices got louder ones she couldn’t identify. She ducked behind a large chest of drawers to see the door of a room hall open and two men arguing.

As quiet as possible Pansy edged closer the curiousness getting the best of her as she could see the outline of way man with hands and his mouth open, it was all very interesting until Pansy looked again and saw the man opposite with the wand to his throat was her father.