Burning Beloved

Pain flourished like a red rose on a spring morning. It blossomed over his body, scarlet blood pooled over his tanned skin and soaked into the floorboards.

He was dying.

He could hear the Dursleys' TV blaring sitcoms. They went about their day as if nothing had happened.

Coppery blood bubbled in his mouth. As it slid down his oesophagus, it congealed in the back of his throat and warmed his stomach. He used his tongue to push the blood out of the corners of his mouth, to tired to spit.

Of all the ways he could have died, this was it.

A cough splattered red across the floor. He couldn’t keep up with this. Not for long.

Fire coursed through his chest. His heart fluttered slowly, followed by abnormal stutters. The boy took a final gasp of air.

_______

Bleach. Or something similar. Maybe "sterile" was the right word.

Whatever it was, it was all he could smell. It clogged his lungs like humidity and made him cough wetly.

There was an odd tingle to his limbs. Pressure, but numb. Like he should have been feeling something but wasn’t.

He slowly cracked open his eyes.

Whiteness blinded him. He whimpered at the stabbing pain in his brain that broke into a cluster of headaches. Even with his eyes closed, the brightness still danced around his vision.

Shadows flickered in the corner of his vision. He tried to speak, but something was keeping his mouth from moving. His jaw strained, but it wouldn’t open. His muscles were much the same.

A paralysis spell, maybe?

But it was different than the others. He could still clench his muscles and move his eyes in their sockets.

“Mr Potter?” A voice called from his side. It sounded like they were underwater.

“Mhh?” He managed to make a sound.

“Do you remember what happened to you? Squeeze my hand once for no and twice for yes.” He felt a hand slide into his own, the bandages around his hand warming.

Terror made his stomach drop. Did they know? Is that why he was restrained?

To keep it safe, he squeezed a no.

A heavy sigh sounded. “Mr Potter, I do not mean to alarm you, but an accident occurred at your residence. An explosion and a fire started. My condolences, Mr Potter, but your family did not make it. You yourself barely made it, and you have sustained injuries to 30% of your body, most of that being burns.”

“You are currently under a potion sedation so you do not harm your healing process. In two days, we will reduce your dosage. Then, you will be able to talk and eat on your own. We project your release in two weeks. Luckily, your magic has healed most of your internal injuries.”

So they don’t know.

Harry squeezed her hand twice to signal he understood.

“Good. Now, you may be in a lot of pain when the nerve-blocking potion passes through your system. If there be no healer around, please squeeze this. It’s very pressure-senstive, so you will be able to call for help. Try it out.”

The hand was replaced with a stuffed leather pouch. He concentrated hard and, with all his might, focused on flexing his muscles. There was a chime in his room.

“There, it worked.” Harry felt exhausted from that simple movement. “Call if you need help. I’ll be administering a sleep-aid, you will be sleeping a lot in the coming weeks.”

There was a stir in Harry’s stomach. Wet, and cold as well. Had she just spelled the potion into him? The thought was disturbing.

And that was the last thought he’d have before plunging into darkness.

_______

The two weeks passed by slowly. He had visitors. Remus and Dumbledore, then later Hermione and Ron. The other Weasleys visited on and off, but they all seemed to be very occupied with something.

He’d stay in gauze for the next three months. Parts of his muscles had burned off, and most traditional potions and salves wouldn’t work for him. The harm done to him, the explosion, and the fire all combined into a perfect storm that made it close to impossible to completely heal him.

The scars would never fade completely.

Splotches of red covered his legs, dotted his hips, covered his entire left arm, and ran up his neck and into his cheek. The burns. The rest were peppered all over his body. 30% felt like an underestimate.

But he found his days marred with dread. He was fifteen. Two years away from seventeen. Death Eater attacks were on the rise, and he was completely orphaned with no home. You couldn’t claim any ancestral properties as a minor.

So where would he stay?

As much as he loved the Weasleys, the house was just too hectic. Fred and George were testing their newest pranks on everyone; Percy had become cold and distant; Ron always had something to complain about; Ginny had been following him more recently; Molly fretted; and Arthur would interrogate him on muggle technology.

Maybe Hermione would be better.

Sure, he’d be hounded for his study habits, and her parents would be on him about his diet and dental health, but they were stable people. Yes, he’d have to ask Hermione to take him in. He could certainly pay for it.

“Mr Potter, you are to visit here every other day to get your bandages changed. Do not get them wet, and stay out of anything messy. If anything feels uncomfortable, please at least be here to fix it.” The man shook his head and handed him a stack of papers, saying, “This is everything you need to know.”

“Okay,” His voice was still scarred, rough from his screaming, and hoarse from the smoke inhalation.

Dumbldedore apparated him to the Order's headquarters. When he arrived, the entire Weasley family (minus Percy), Sirius, Nymphodora Tonks, Alastor Moody, Hermione, Remus, and a few other order members were sitting in the lounge room.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbldore patted him on his bad shoulder, “We must talk about serious matters.”

Harry seated himself on the one spare chair that had its back to the fireplace. All eyes were on him, staring almost guiltily.

“Now, Harry is underaged,” Dumbledore address everyone, “because of that, the ministry will want to assign him new guardians. Wizengamont is stacked with dark followers, and they will hand him over to a dark family. And with that, hand him over to Voldemort.”

People shivered at the name. Harry rolled his eyes.

“And the only other way to avoid this is for him to get married.”

What?

Molly was nodding along with Dumbldore.

He wasn’t going to get married. He was fifteen! And he knew how magical marriage contracts worked —once you signed them, they there for life. Breaking a marriage contract could have devastating effects.

And to who?

“I would recommend Ginny Weasley to take the place of bride.” Ah, that’s who.

Harry felt slimy. Ginny was his sister in all but blood. Her crush on him made him ill at times, but he was sure it would all just pass eventually. She’d eventually go back to Dean Thomas or that one Ravenclaw and forget all about him.

But the way she was eagerly shaking her head made his stomach drop.

“Molly, Arthur, and I have been working on a contract for them. It needs to be signed before he has new guardians. I have brought you here today to review the documents.” Dumbledore pulled out a long scroll that landed on the floor, containing all of the specific requirements.

From a distance, he could see a few words.

Groom will swear a vow of fidelity.

Groom will give Bride at least 200 galleons a month to spend on non-necessities.

A child will be conceived within one year of marriage.

The list made him ill. He’d seen a few of them before, some Slytherins bemoaning their bethrothal contracts, and Neville had allowed him to look at his with Hannah Abott. It wasn't restrictive by wizarding standards, but he was judging them by muggle standards.

“I’m sick of playing pawn.” Harry said quietly as Dumbledore and Molly were enthralled in the details of the marriage contract.

“Pardon?” Remus asked.

The room went silent.

“I’m sick of playing pawn.” Harry said it again. This time, he was heard.

“Harry, this is something that must happen. With so many Dark in Wizengamont, you'd be paired with one of them.” Dumbledore tried to grab his shoulder, but Harry shied away from the touch.

“No,” He was done with this.

“We’re only doing what is in your best interest.” Molly tapped the paper. “Without this, who knows where you’ll end up?”

“But has anyone, ever, asked what is in my interest?” Harry burned holes in the ground with his eyes.

Silence.

"These are trying times, my boy; we only do this to protect — " Dumbledore finally looked at him.

“I'm sick of being protected. I don’t even know what I’m being protected from. Death Eaters? What else? What else would I need to be protected from that I don’t even know?” His tone was deathly still.

“You are far too young—“ Molly started.

“Far too young for what? Face Death Eaters? Already happened. Face Dementors? Already happened. Face Voldemort?Oh,h wait, it already happened. There is no good reason other than your delusional thoughts that I am still an innocent little child.” Harry spat.He waved his wand and his hospital bag levitated to him..

“You are still so young for all of this.” Sirius insisted, a frown crossing her face. “We’re trying to put as little as possible on your shoulders.”

“Funny, Death Eaters really don’t care if my knowledge is restricted.” Harry slung his bag over his shoulder.

“Harry, please.” Hermione pleaded with him, nodding back to Dumbledore.

“I’m not your toy anymore,” Harry breathed, his hand clutching his breaking heart. “I’m not.”

"Harry," Remus tried to approach him, but a barrier blocked his path.

“No, no. Don’t Harry me. I don’t care what happens—if I’m sold to the highest bidder or whatever happens in adoptions. I want out. I’m choosing to opt out of this.”

“My boy - “

“You’ve had years to include me. Now you’re surprised I’m sick of having my fate decided for me? No, you had your chance and you left it to rot.”

Harry marched over to the fireplace and sifted through the floo powder.

“The Leaky Cauldron,” Harry said as quietly as possible.

Green flames enveloped him, leaving the rest of the Order of the Phoenix in silence.

_______

Harry paced in his hotel room. Today was the day. Wizengamont would assign him a guardian.

Normally, this would be reserved for the family court, but when had the law ever done anything right? They labelled him as a “high-risk” placement to justify the mass-trial.

Hopefully, he'll be placed with someone suitable. Scratch that, anyone but Dolorus Umbridge. She wouldn’t dare take him, but a small scrap of him knew that if she could torture him more, she would.

Who were the influential Death-Eaters in Wizengamont?

He didn't even know who was there. There was the obvious: the Malfoys, Greengrasses, and the Notts. But many more had taken their seats or married into neutral to light lines and converted them to the dark.

Auror Gallin escorted him from the Leaky Cauldron to the courtroom. It was different from the one he had his underage magic trial in—larger and more grand.

There were arches in the ceiling, and the half-circle room was filled with people packed in like sardines. Figures, it was published in the papers for the past week. Even the visitor’s stand—the ones reserved for the press, children, and spouses of the Wizengamont members—was full.

Harry sat in a chair in the centre of the half-circle. The eyes of every single member were on him, watching like vultures.

“Will the minor in question please confirm their name and date of birth?” Cornelius Fudge looked down at him expectantly.

“Harry James Potter. July 31st, 1980.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“The case will now begin. Today, we gather to assign a guardian for one Harry James Potter. This case is called into question because of Mr Potter’s history of misuse of magic, outbursts towards authority, assaulting professors, running away, general disrespectfulness, rule breaking, and multiple incidents of attacking other students, among other transgressions.”

And he’d do it again.

There were some gasps from people around the room. Harry didn’t quite care if they painted him in a bad light. His reputation was already tarnished, and it wouldn’t be the worst thing that they’d smear him for.

“We are seeking a guardian who would be able to bear the weight of this high-risk case along with the patience and means to afford rehabilitation so Mr Potter may be a productive member of society.”

Harry would not budge. It wasn’t his fault that everyone around him had it out for him.

“Currently, three people have made verifiable claims to become Mr Potter’s guardian.” Fudge plucked the first paper from the pile.

“Ted Tonks, a muggle, and Andromeda Tonks, nee Black, have petitioned for custody. They are a middle-class family with one adult auor daughter, Nymphodora Tonks. Their claim to guardianship is through Sirius Black, Mr Potter’s godfather. Andromeda Tonks is Sirius Black’s disowned first cousin. They have offered muggle counselling and time with Nymphodora Tonks as a method of rehabilitation.

He put the file down and picked up another one.

“Minvera McGonnagall has petitioned for custody. She is a single, middle-class woman with no extended family. Her claim is due to her being his Head of Gryffindor House, which allows her a level of medical decision-making for muggle-raised students. She has offered counselling as a method of rehabilitation.

The last file was picked up.

“Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, have petitioned for custody. They are an affluent family with one son, Draco Malfoy, who is the same age as Mr Potter. Their claim to guardianship is through Sirius Black. Narcissa Malfoy is a first cousin to Sirius Black”

“They have offered intensive mind-healing sessions twice a week, ettque training through tutors, and fencing lessons as an outlet for anger problems. It is also noted in this file that Narcissa Malfoy is a registered healer who would be able to care for Mr Potter’s injuries sustained during his accident.”

What are they playing at?

Harry would bet his entire life savings that Wizengamont would vote for the Malfoys.

Not only did they seem to have a structured plan, but they were also outstanding members of society. Rich, outstanding members of society. Able to afford how many therapy sessions and tutors until he acted like the perfect pureblood.

He did have to admit that it would be nice not to have to travel to the hospital every day to get his bandages changed. Wixen healed much faster than muggles and needed constant check-ups to make sure their fast healing wasn’t going wrong.

But why did they ask for custody? Everyone would know it was them if he went missing the moment he stepped foot in their house. They would also be under more scrutiny to “reform” him.

“Wizengamont will now vote on custody. Raise your wands if the most capable cannadite is Andromeda and Ted Tonks.”

A few wands were raised in the air. He recognised two aurors and one who was in the Order of the Phoenix.

“Twelve votes for the Tonks family. Raise your wands if the most capable cannadite is Minvera McGonagall.”

More wands were raised this time. They were more diverse, some older, some younger, and some even in the Dark section of the room. All of the more Light-sided members voted.

“Sixty-five votes for Minerca McGonagall. Raise your wands if the most capable cannadites are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

Harry could see how far the Dark outnumbered them now. In an instant, more than half of the court had their wands in the air. The majority of the neturals had voted for them as well, with the exception of two on the Light who supported the Malfoys.

“One hundred twenty-six votes for Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. The majority of Wizengamont believes the Malfoys are the best guardians for Mr. Potter.

A piece of paper floated down to Harry. There was some writing, with Luscius and Narcissa’s names filled in on the underlines and his at the end.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Hold up your right hand and recite the lines as they are written. This is to confirm, in the eyes of magic, that you accept your new guardians.” Fudge seemed to glare at him, like he was trying and failing to intimidate him.

Harry read over the lines twice.

“I, Harry James Potter, hereby accept Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, as my magical guardians. "I hereby relinquish to Lucius Mafloy and Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, all rights from my previous guardians until I reach the age of majority." He recited slowly.

There was a hum of magic around his hand and a snap.

“Court adjourned. May Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Harry Potter stay behind for brief paperwork.” Fudge banged his gavel against the stand.

This was it.

No going back.

The paperwork was short. The Malfoys mostly signed off on most of the paperwork, although he had to sign something to enable Narcissa to treat him.

They wouldn’t be able to touch his family vaults (why would they even want to? ), but they would be able to monitor and deposit, but not withdraw, from his personal and trust account (he had a trust?). Investments were to be managed by the goblins, and properties were to be locked unless he was with one of them.

There wasn’t much else besides that. He didn’t have many rights as a minor, and the only rights he did have were centred around his heir status. Unfortunately, the eight Wizengamont seats he inherited would have Narcissa as a proxy.

Harry actually learned more about his inheritance in that half-hour than he had in his entire life.

Neither of them cared to look at him while they were working.

Good.

He hoped they’d just avoid him. Place him in a distant wing and abandon him until he was seventeen. But if they were honest about his “rehabilitation," then he wouldn’t have a lonely summer.

No, he’d be spending all his hours with expensive tutors and mind healers.

“Come, Potter, we are apparating to the manor.” Lucius’s tone was bordering on polite, but he could still hear the distaste underneath it.

"Okay," Harry said, grabbing his outstretched hand.

The world swirled around him. His stomach dropped, and his head spun.

His face collided with a cold marble floor. Harry groaned; he didn’t even have the grace to land on his ass. Lucius, meanwhile, speed-walked off into some other part of the manor.

“Welcome home, Potter,” Narcissa said. She offered her arm and helped him stand. "Travelling does not do your wounds any good. I will change your bandages after a short tour.”

Her hand lingered, but she still withdrew.

Mafloy Manor was opulent. Every brick was meticulously carved, and the ceilings either had stretching archways or detailed paintings. It reminded him more of a Gothic church than anything else.

But no, they flaunted their wealth too much for it to be a church. Everything was coated with silver, gold, and expensive-looking fabric. Entire rooms were dedicated to fine china cabinets with sitting-room sofas. And fireplaces. So many fireplaces

Duelling rooms, a potions lab, an observatory tower, ball rooms, a vast garden—everything the manor could have, they had. He could spend days trying to use each room, and he still wouldn’t have gone through them all.

They had just stopped to tour the quidditch pitch when Draco landed next to him, the new Firebolt 2.0 swishing against the ground. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Potter? Why are you here?” Draco was visibly perplexed.

“Your parents were the highest bidder.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Narcissa cleared her throat. “Wizengamont awarded us custody.”

Draco sneered. He looked Harry up and down, analzing his bandaged arms to the thick salve that covered a little less than half his face.

“What happened to you?” Draco asked. He threw his broom to the ground and stalked closer. He had gotten much taller over break. However, he was thinner too.

“Fire. Burnt the Dursley’s up, and me. I’ll be gone in two years. I don’t plan on staying a moment more than legally required.” Harry glared at Draco. Draco tilted his head, but then shook it.

“Whatever. I don’t want to see you around. And don’t you even think about entering my wing.” He spat.

Oh, yes, Draco had an entire wing to himself.

“Why would I want to be around you anymore than I have to?” Harry was going to move closer, but he knew better. His mother was there, and he was far too weak to take anything, not even a punch.

"Tch," Draco said as he hopped back onto his broom, his hair almost glittering white in the sun. He flew away, green quidditch robes billowing behind him.

Narcissa led him to “his” room. He had to admit that it was nice. The room was large but minimal. His bed was circular, plush, with grey sheets and plenty of pillows, and there was a tall window that let in the pink rays of the sun. An empty bookshelf lined the back wall, and there was a door to a bathroom beside it.

But there wasn’t any decoration.

“Would you rather have your bandages changed in the morning or at night?” Narcissa asked.

“Um, night.” A blush rose on his cheek. There was enough on his hips that he’d have to get naked to change them.

He never imagined he'd let Narcissa Malfoy see him naked.

She worked quickly to change his bandages. A few of his burns opened up; they had fused with the gauze and broke when it was removed. But she simply dabbed a wet cloth on them and moved on.

He forgot that she’d have to apply the salve as well.

Harry was certain she would ask him to do so, but she didn’t. Luckily, she applied it with a sponge, pressing it against his wounds and lifting up. It made it slightly less awkward.

In no time, he was wrapped up again.

“Come, it is time for dinner."

Great.