Chapter 1
Summer mornings went by slowly in the Malfoy household. It was Draco’s habit to sleep late, put on the first shirt and trousers he found in his wardrobe, and wander down to the breakfast room where his parents were often lingering over their tea. On this particular day, his father had the Daily Prophet folded at his elbow, while his mother held the latest issue of Witch Weekly. Draco greeted her with a kiss to the cheek and sat at the table; a plate of eggs and toast popped into the space in front of him. While he was eating, Father spoke up.
“Draco, I shall accompany you to purchase your school supplies this year. I have certain matters to attend to on Diagon Alley.”
Draco looked up. “Does it have anything to do with the letter Professor Quirrell asked me to pass to you?”
“Best ask no more than you must,” Mother put in. “Plausible deniability and all that.”
That was a yes, then. Draco had been as surprised as anyone to learn that Quirrell had been an agent of the Dark Lord, but, “What does it matter? The Dark Lord is gone.”
His parents traded a glance. Father said, “Malfoys do not abandon their vows lightly. In the days of the Anakes our family were their most trusted vassals – ”
Not this again. “The Anakes are gone too, Father, there haven’t been any since Merlin.”
Father raised an eyebrow. “Some believe that the magical world is no longer worthy of such rulers. I will not have such a thing said of the Malfoys.” He paused to emphasize his point. “Perhaps you will be pleased to hear that I have ensured your place on the Slytherin Quidditch team; you shall be Seeker.”
“Excellent, Father!” Draco gulped his last piece of toast and jumped up. “May I have Vince and Greg over to go flying?”
“If their parents approve, certainly.” Father rose from his seat. “I must be about my business. Shall I see you both at dinner?”
“Of course, my dear,” said Mother, and pulled him into a deep kiss. Draco made a face.
“Must you do that in front of me?”
“You’ll understand when you’re older, Draco dear.”
Doubtful. Draco shoved all thoughts of Dark Lords and Anakes out of his head and returned to his room to change into flying robes. “Dobby?”
“Young Master Draco calls?” The house elf appeared at the foot of the bed, twisting his hands in his dingy pillowcase nervously. Draco held back a sigh. While he preferred Dobby out of all the Malfoy elves – the head elf Harker was a nasty piece of work – dealing him was still a trial.
“Bring my broom to the verandah. And Vince and Greg will be visiting, so have an iced tea service ready in the floo parlor.”
Dobby shifted from foot to foot. “Dobby will sees to it at once, young master Draco sir!”
“And for Merlin’s sake, put on a clean pillowcase!”
Dobby nodded frantically and popped away. Draco squinted; the elf was even more erratic than usual. What kind of mess could he possibly have caused now?
***
Harry lay on the bed in the smallest bedroom of #4 Privet Drive, listening to Vernon install extra locks on the door.
“Veles Consanguinus is a fascinating ward system,” Thomas commented within his mind. Harry agreed. The blood-magic ward protected him from physical harm; all Harry’s life the Dursleys believed they were treating him far worse than they actually were.
Vernon liked to talk about beating the magic out of Harry, but had never stuck him. Dudley only tried it at school, outsife the wards.
Petunia thought she was starving him, but serving larger portions to Vernon and Dudley instead. She was perpetually ‘on a diet.’
And now Vernon acted like he was teaching Harry a hard lesson by putting a dozen locks on his door. If he were a non-magical child, one lock would suffice; if he decided to use magic, a hundred locks wouldn’t hold him. The thought of expulsion from Hogwarts was a greater constraint than anything Vernon was capable of.
“I’m certain the Headmaster would make an exception for you, Master,” said Thomas.
“I would rather starve than owe Dumbledore anything.” Harry was far from out of options. And now that his mail wasn’t being nicked by an elf – “Lucius ought to keep better track of his household. Would he really make them iron their ears?”
“Dobby stated that Lucius lets the elves see to their own discipline; they came up with that themselves. No sense of proportion whatsoever.”
Evening came, and with it a tin of soup pushed through the cat flap newly added to his door. Out of boredom he read the label on the tin; it was a quality brand. He chuckled. Once he was sure the Dursleys were asleep, he went to Hedwig’s padlocked cage, and pulled the pin from the door’s hinge to let her out. The bars on his window were a bit tricky, but Hedwig pressed all her feathers flat to pass through, and then perched on the uppermost bar to preen.
“Have a good hunt while I decide who to write,” Harry told her.
“Prekk.”
Harry sank into his mindscape to sort through the silver cords that connected Thomas to his marked followers. He lifted two from the bundle. Severus: both capable and trustworthy, but also under scrutiny from all sides. To act in Harry’s aid would put all their secrets at risk. “A minion should be willing to risk everthing for his Lord, ” Thomas murmured.
“All the more reason to be careful of him, then. I haven’t got many minions to spare.” And the other was Peter: free to act, since no one knew he was alive, but limited in resources by the same. He would call to them both, and trust in their skills. Three pulses, repeated three times should get the message across.
He settled in to wait, and sorted through the mail which Dobby had returned to him. A few each from Hermione and Ron, one from Neville and to his surprise, one sealed with the initials NF. He opened the letter.
“Dear Harry,
Your letter was most unexpected. Not just any person can cause a reaction from the object you wrote of, for Alchemy depends as much on the state of the Alchemist as on the materials. I have put much effort into cultivating my own character.”
“That sounds much like the Mind Arts, Master Harry. ”
So it did. Harry read on: “I commend your observations on said object. Such curiosity and respect will serve you well in your exploration of the deep magics. I can confirm your guess that the liquid produced by the object will act as a general healing draught. Guard it well. I wish you good fortune in your studies of Alchemy. – Nicholas Flamel.”
There was that phrase again – deep magic. What did it actually mean?
***
The next morning started with literal bread and water, which had Thomas cackling in between rants about the Dursleys’ disrespect for their betters. “They shall rue the day! I ought to turn them into swine and barbecue them! Boil the blood in their veins! ”
“I’m sure we can come up with a more sophisticated vengeance than that, Thomas.” The Veles Consanguinus was worth the trouble, for the moment. Harry kept his senses on Wormtail’s mark, and felt him nearby just as a car pulled up in front of #4. However, when Petunia answered the door, what he heard was:
“Good morning, Madam. Arthur Weasley, MI7; may I come in?” What? The visitor continued, “I’m here to collect Mr Potter and his possessions.”
“You’re not one of those people, are you?” sneered Petunia.
“Hardly, madam. You don’t think Her Majesty’s government would let such a community operate without oversight, do you?”
Petunia muttered something snide, but started up the stairs. Harry backed away from the door while she undid the locks. “Gather your things, boy, you’re someone else’s problem now.” She glared at the empty owl cage, but since Harry was leaving, she didn’t bother to say anything.
The man waiting downstairs certainly looked like Arthur Weasley, if he were dressed in an impeccable muggle suit. His magic felt like Arthur’s, too. He couldn’t have crossed the wards if he intended harm. And Wormtail did live with the Weasleys; there was a chance that he was the real thing. “I don’t know what’s happening, and I do not like it,” Thomas muttered.
Harry was cautiously polite as he dragged his trunk to the official-looking black car at the curb and loaded it into the boot – until he got into the back seat, where he found Peter in human form, beaming like this was all a grand prank.
Arthur sat in the driver’s seat and leaned his head on the wheel. “I despise playing into people’s prejudices.”
“But you do it so well,” said Peter. He was wearing a knitted Weaslet jumper. “All right there, Harry?”
“I’m a little confused.” When he’d met Ron on the train, the other boy had shown no sign of knowing who the rat was.
*** ***
“I’ve got Charlie’s old wand and Percy’s old rat.” Ron scratched the sleek brown rat which was perched on his shoulder.
“Now that’s unexpected, ” mused Thomas. “Our spy has done well for himself. ”
Ron continued, “Scabbers was in a bad way when Dad found him, but he’s right lively now. He’s a clever little bloke too.”
“He sounds like a good friend.” Harry offered the rat a cockroach cluster out of his pile of sweets.
*** ***
“Peter tells me he introduced himself to you last year,” Arthur said. “It’s lucky you could reach out to someone for help.”
“Yeah …” Harry looked Peter in the eye to form a light mental link. “You didn’t tell him about Thomas?”
“Not mine to tell, is it, my Lord?” That was a relief. Peter clearly trusted Arthur with his life, and Harry’s, but Thomas was another matter; both Arthur and Molly had lost kin to the Death Eaters.
“Does your whole family know about Peter?” Harry asked aloud.
“Just me, Molly, William and Charlie. While the children are in school … well.” As the car turned off Privet Drive onto Magnolia Avenue, it shimmered and changed into a blue Ford Anglia. Arthur pressed his lapel pin, and his suit transformed into robes.
Harry said, “Don’t you worry about getting caught impersonating a government agent?”
Arthur winked at him through the rearview mirror. “That’s classified, Harry.”
“If you say so, Mr Bond.” Arthur laughed and pressed a rune on the car’s ceiling.
“Notice-me-not charm is on, let’s make the drive more fun.” The Ford Anglia soared into the sky.