Midsummer at the Ministry
Henry perched at the window seat in his bedroom, arms hugging his knees. He tried to center himself on the warmth of the late morning sun hitting his arms. He was a bit dazed from the late night and having slept in well past breakfast, and felt a deep heaviness in his bones. He wished he could spend the rest of the day rooted to this spot, doing nothing more than alternating his gaze between the sparkling specks of dust spiraling through the air beside him and the view of the waves crashing against the docked ships below.
Beyond the exhaustion, Henry felt unbalanced and uncertain. Over the past few weeks he had grown attached to the Blacks, even Sirius–no, perhaps especially Sirius, despite an initial wariness born from Sirius’s post-Azkaban instability and what he remembered reading about the Marauders bullying Snape. Last night, swept up in celebration and ceremony, it had been easy to let himself relax into the thick coating of the Black family magick that surrounded him at Ravenswood. He recognized that, after months of being vulnerable and alone, it was only natural for him to have latched on to adults who expressed fondness and concern for his well-being. Yet in the morning light, he found himself wondering about the significance of Sirius calling him his son, about the island that he could now clearly see from his bedroom window, about the tower that–
A soft rap on his door interrupted his thoughts. Mopsy, the house-elf attached to the Harbourhouse, entered, bearing a pitcher and a pair of glasses. Convincing the elf to knock before entering his room had been a challenge, and he doubted that he would ever get her to wait for his acknowledgement before entering. “Master Henry is needings to get ready for the day.” Henry suppressed a groan. He didn’t want to go anywhere today, but the prospect of being paraded before ministry officials this afternoon was particularly galling. He reluctantly helped himself to a glass of thick, clear fluid–resisting would accomplish nothing except prolong his interaction with the elf.
(Although he did his best to conceal his unease, he was uncomfortable with the power dynamics between wizards and elves. He felt a flush of shame at his acquiescence. It didn’t help that at a more primal level he was creeped out by house elves and their bulbous, unblinking eyes. It made him want to avoid the elf whenever possible. I am eleven years old and have been in the magical world for a matter of weeks. It is not my responsibility to fix all that is wrong in the wizarding world. For now, I will learn what I can, and treat house elves with respect.)
“Thank you, Mopsy.” Henry swished a large sip in his mouth, and delicately spat into the second glass. The exiting fluid was golden with a purple sheen, and (apparently) indicated which combination of potions Mopsy should add to her Master’s bath. The resulting bathwater smelled of sage and blackcurrant; the heated towels of vanilla and cedar.
(Towels, Henry had learned, were the providence of squibs and prepubescent children–drying charms were among the earliest self-care spells pureblood children learned on the path to independence after gaining a wand. Henry’s occasional experiments with wandless drying charms, while far from flawless, were coming along much faster than the summoning and cooling charms he had been struggling with over the past few months. Given that he rather enjoyed the kaleidoscope of scents and the feel of plush fabric against his skin, he wished that he could choose which spells he would readily master. He wondered yet again how much smoother things would be if he asked for instruction on wandless magic, or at least had wider access to the Black family library–but he found himself, even now, reluctant to reveal the full extent of his magical interests and abilities. Better to keep a few tricks up my sleeve. At least things should become significantly easier once he acquired his wand next month.)
Upon returning to his room, Henry spotted a set of formal attire carefully laid across a freshly-made bed. He slipped on a pair of pale yellow ochre slacks and a matching tunic of homespun linen. The simplicity of the inner garments reminded him of the robe he had worn at the naming ceremony the night before, and struck a stark contrast with the accompanying outer layer, an elaborate silken robe in a vivid wash of shimmering amber shades. The lapels were embroidered with delicate oak leaves in a deep red ochre and were further accented with garnet cufflinks and clasps fashioned into the shape of acorns. From his lessons, Henry could divine a bit of the message the outfit sent: he knew that it was traditional to wear sun colors in celebration of the year’s longest day, and the specific earthen shades and oak symbolism were a clear nod to his Potter heritage. He suspected that Aunt Cassiopeia had made the selection, likely with the aim to reaffirm his connection to his birth family after an evening strengthening his ties to the Blacks, but he wasn’t sure if the reassurance was primarily directed to the ministry or to Henry himself.
* * *
Lucius swept into the northeast flower room, where Narcissa was arranging the flowers the family had collected together the previous evening. While the house elves could craft competent bouquets, Narcissa preferred to bestow her personal touch and hoped to share her appreciation of the subtleties of the art with their son. Draco, for his part, sat on the divan behind her, his attention divided between the floral illustrations in Whitcomb’s Messages of Midsummer and a squad of quidditch figurines buzzing beside him. Noting his father’s arrival, Draco rose and motioned for the figurines to still. Lucius took his lady wife’s hand, his lips lightly brushing the ungloved knuckles. “Narcissa. Draco. Mes étoiles.”
Narcissa responded with a quiet smile. With a flick of her wand, she summoned a freshly braided crown of fern flowers, baby’s breath, white and yellow orchids, daffodils, and yellow poppies. Lucius allowed himself a moment to appreciate the arrangement and the layers of meaning it conveyed. His eyes flicked to the book on his son’s lap. Did Draco contribute to the selection? The crown is truly lovely.
“I depart for the ministerial ceremonies. I bid you both farewell, and ask that you send my regards to Severus.”
“Go well, Father.”
Lucius felt a pang of pride at his son’s nearly perfectly schooled features; if he weren’t Draco’s father he would be unable to detect the concealed disappointment. Even more remarkable, my son recognizes that this is not a battle he can win. He is growing up.
Lucius placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. I wish I could stay with you instead of pandering to ministry officials. But I wish for many things and must protect what is precious to me. He swallowed, suppressing any sign of bitterness. “Enjoy your time collecting with Severus. I intend to return in time to join you for tea.”
Narcissa and Draco tilted their heads in acknowledgement, no doubt noticing that he intended to return for tea, rather than promising he would return. While it was unlikely that he would be held up unexpectedly on a holiday (especially one whose public facets had been so extensively neutered), he and Narcissa were careful to model precise speech to their son. Language was powerful, and it was better to avoid unintended bindings.
* * *
Lucius closed his eyes a moment upon his arrival at the ministerial atrium. Not sacred oak, nor circle of stone, nor burning hill. The earth thirsts for blood, the Oak King his council, the Horned Ram his revel. Will our other offerings be enough? We must not be diminished.
“Lucius!” a familiar voice called out above the din of the rabble, accompanied by a beckoning wave from the ever-insistent man in a bowler hat. Although seeing and being seen was his principle purpose for attending this mockery of magic, Lucius had hoped to catch Fudge alone. Not to mention that propriety demands that I make my offerings first.
“Cornelius.” He released a partial smile and clasped hands in the modern fashion the minister preferred. “A pleasure as always. May the sun bless you and your house on this year’s longest day.”
“To you as well, but no need to be so formal, Lucius!” Cornelius shook his hand enthusiastically. “You know Arcturus, of course. And I assume you’ve met Harry Potter?”
In his peripheral vision, Lucius detected slight flinches from the Black and Potter heirs. Is Cornelius intentionally snubbing Sirius? “I’ve not had the pleasure.” He released the handshake to face the small child, noting the uncannily green eyes. Inherited magic from both sides, then. “Heir Potter. May all of our encounters be blessed by the warmth of the full summer sun.” Nothing to be gained from not being friendly.
Potter’s bow was a bit sloppy, but passable, especially given the child’s clear exhaustion. He wondered if the boy had been kept up all night, and how many hours the Blacks had drilled the heir for this specific gathering.
“Lord Malfoy.” The child paused for a fraction of a moment, considering his reply. Ah, the Blacks had not anticipated this encounter. “May all of our endeavors be blessed by the strength of the unconquered sun.”
Lucius felt his eyebrow raise at the response. Is it really possible that the child is suggesting that our houses could work together towards common aims? He took in the Black heir’s uncensored scowl and Lord Black’s openly thoughtful expression. Cornelius, of course, remained unreadable behind his gregarious mask. Sirius wants nothing to do with this–he doubtless continues to loathe me and everything I represent. Lord Black did not plant the suggestion of an alliance with Potter, but is willing to consider one.
“Lord Black, Heir Black,” he drawled, giving himself a moment to consider the options this opening presented. “I would not dream to impose on a day of private family gatherings–” though my wife and son are Black by blood, “–but could I tempt you to a small gathering, perhaps the Sunday after next? Lord and Lady Greengrass and their daughters regularly join my family at the Crystal Palace Aeroclub for refreshments and sport, and if Heir Potter joined, the children could finally play doubles.” Lucius was pleased to produce an airtight invitation on the spot; the offer provided no clear opening for Cornelius to invite himself, and the Blacks could have no legitimate reason to rebuff to a standing invitation to an event chaperoned by a politically grey family on neutral soil.
Lord Arcturus inclined his head before Sirius could object. “A generous offer. Henry has not yet had the opportunity to meet many of his peers, nor has he been instructed in the aerial arts. If the Greengrasses express no objection, I cannot think of a better opportunity for him to learn.” The Greengrasses are non-negotiable, but Lord Black will encourage his heir to permit this association.
Potter studied Lord Arcturus for a moment before returning his attention to Lucius. Inexperienced, but wise enough to seek direction from his betters. “Thank you for the opportunity, Lord Malfoy. I look forward to meeting the Greengrasses and your wife and son.”
Cornelius stepped in, stirring the pot further. “So polite! It’s hard to believe he was in the muggle world not two months ago.”
“Indeed.” Lucius was certain to make eye contact with Potter and the two Blacks, pointedly ignoring Sirius’s increasingly ferocious expression. “Your efforts are to be commended.”
“Indeed, Henry has proved most diligent in his studies. As for us, well–” Lord Black feigned a self-effacing chuckle that fooled no one. “I like to think that we would have invested strongly in any child in our care, but I certainly will stop at nothing for the sake of my heir’s heir.”
Lucius felt a momentary chill; it was uncommon for him to be taken off-guard so publicly. Even as he felt himself reeling, somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized that Lord Black had done him a favor by quickly correcting his misunderstanding of the situation. The message and warning were clear enough: the Lordship would pass to the halfblood rather than his son, and no interference would be tolerated. He shot a glance at Cornelius, who looked at the four of them with amusement. Damn that man. He intentionally misintroduced us!
A gentle chime accompanied by sparks at the fountain spared them any further awkwardness. Lucius gestured to a flask and small bundles of vervain and laurel cuttings affixed to his waist. “If you will excuse my sudden departure, I must present the offerings of my house before the noontide observance begins in earnest.”
Lord Black offered a respectful nod. “We look forward to next Sunday, Lord Malfoy.”
* * *
The minister excused himself moments later, joining a group of officials on the center stage. The Blacks drifted a bit from the crowd before Sirius addressed Henry in a low voice. “Pup, I don’t know what you’ve been told about the Malfoys, but–”
“Lord Malfoy is a wealthy and influential politician–”
Arcturus waved his hand, silencing them both. The obsidian ring on the Black Lord’s hand flashed silver as it raised a privacy ward. Henry felt a cold wave wash across him, the sounds of the crowd around him distant and distorted as if he were now underwater.
“We’ve discussed this before, Sirius. Lord Malfoy is many things: a hypocritical egoist, a slippery sycophant, an incorrigible palm greaser–”
“A bigotted berk,” Sirius muttered.
“–but I was present at his trial, Sirius.” You were not. “Veritaserum is difficult to evade, even for the likes of Lucius Malfoy, and his enemies wanted nothing more than to rake him over the coals. He is far from innocent, but despite the persistent rumors to the contrary, all the evidence indicates that he was imperiused into taking the dark mark.” And we need more allies. Or at least fewer enemies.
“I still don’t trust him.”
“Naturally. We are Blacks,” Arcturus offered with more patience than he felt. “Caution should be self-evident. But it would be foolish to reject this gesture of friendship outright. He has positioned himself well since the war, and his heir is Henry’s age.” And of Black blood. “A gathering at the aeroclub presents little risk, and Henry will benefit from the introduction to potential allies before he starts at Hogwarts.”
“An introduction to slimy Slytherins.”
“We are giving him options. Unless, of course, you think he would be better served meeting all his peers at once in Hogwarts, under Dumbledore’s tender supervision.”
Sirius grunted in exasperation. “Yes, yes. You’re right as always. Forgive me for not trusting our heir to the machination of the Malfoys during his debut to society. It’s not as if there aren’t other families we can introduce–”
A second series of sparks from the fountain signaled that the ceremony was about to start. Lord Black raised his ring hand again, canceling the ward. The sounds around the trio were restored, but were quickly hushed as the minister began to speak.
Arcturus tuned out the proceedings as the minister complimented various dignitaries and uttered empty phrases of unity and solemnity. He took the moment to study the newest Black heir. Despite his arguments with Sirius, he hadn’t planned to introduce Henry to the Malfoys anytime soon. Indeed, it was only after he had observed how well the child had handled the public scrutiny of the previous day’s festivities that he had felt it beneficial to reassure the ministry of the child’s welfare with a brief public appearance. He had hoped that the child’s attendance might quell some of the more absurd gossip, and perhaps delay the inevitable official visitation a little longer. And now here I am, entertaining overtures from the Malfoys. He allowed himself a small smirk and joined the crowd in polite applause as the minister introduced the first officiants. The child had shown unexpected initiative, and he was curious to let it play out.
“They are the Flamen Apollonius and the Flamenica Dianalis,” he murmured. The child’s deficiencies in Latin will prevent him from following the ceremonial narration. “They are leaders of the British College of Augurs.”
“Don’t augurs read the future from birds,” Henry questioned in a low whisper, his eyes drawn to the twinned officials as they spun around columns of purple flame.
“The rites and offices of the College have evolved since Roman times and been adapted for the ministry’s needs,” Arcturus explained. “While ornithomancy is still practiced, other forms of divination became more prevalent following the Rites and Rituals act of 1734, when the ministry absorbed the College and relocated it to London.”
“Not a lot of raptors in central London,” Sirius quipped.
“Pyromancy is better suited for the summer solstice in any event,” Arcturus offered agreeably. The trio fell silent, mesmerized as the Flamen pulled wisps of fire from the columns, releasing the strands of flame on an altar of vervain. Thin curls of smoke began to wind upwards–
A blinding flash of fire was accompanied by an achingly beautiful trill. A tall wizard with a long white beard and a garish purple robe had appeared onstage. On his shoulder blazed a bird the size of a swan, wings outstretched. He carried a branch a bit bigger than a baseball bat.
“Dumbledore,” Sirius huffed. “Never could resist a flashy entrance.”
Dumbledore wordlessly and wandlessly levitated the branch to the altar, setting it alight. “The Wizengamot has carved a question on the bough of briar the Chief Warlock brought,” Arcturus explained. “The final votes on the wording came through in yesterday morning’s closed session.” He shook his head at the question forming on the child’s lips. “Divination is a tricky art. Every mind linked to the question influences the answer, so it’s best to wait until after the process has finished. Unless the records are sealed, the College’s interpretation should appear in The Prophet in the next few days.”
* * *
The remaining period at the ministry was, at least to the Lord Black’s eyes, fairly routine. During the reception following the ceremony, he deftly steered the younger Blacks towards politically unimportant figures and away from former Death Eaters. After enduring several bland conversations and increasingly blatant fawning over The-Boy-Who-Lived , he judged that Henry had been seen long enough. Fortunately, Sirius had spotted a pair of former classmates, and Arcturus took advantage of the moment to extricate himself and the weary child. Avoiding the queue for the floo, he brought Henry to the Blackmoor apparition point at the edge of the village green.
It was a short walk along the high street to the Harborhouse, and the weather was fair, if hot. Had he been raised outside a privileged magical household, Lord Black might have noticed the midday heat and appreciated the cooling charms woven into his robes. Instead, he was rather preoccupied, drawing on the ambient magic of his ancestral lands to restore the not insignificant power he had just spent on long-haul apparition. They were nearly halfway to the Harbourhouse before Henry broke the silence.
“Grandfather? Did I misstep with Lord Malfoy? I know he might be dangerous…” Henry bit his lip, hesitant.
Arcturus returned to the present and looked at his heir with fondness. “Not at all, Henry. You did well.” For all of the child’s maturity and intelligence, he does not have experience navigating the political arena. He is afraid. He stopped a moment and placed a hand on the child’s shoulder. “It’s true that Lord Malfoy is a dangerous man to cross. But being who you are, you cannot avoid him altogether. Given your histories, I do not know whether a friendship or even an alliance is possible, but Lucius is an opportunistic man. By suggesting a willingness to work with him in the future, you provide incentive for him to view you… if not as an ally, then at least not as an enemy. There is protection in that.”
The pair resumed their walk, passing the apothecary and the owl post office. The shops on the street were closed for the holiday, leaving the street to be unusually quiet. I need to give him something constructive to do rather than permitting him to brood. “There is also opportunity. What endeavors do you think our houses might be able to work on in the future?”
“Well… there are the usual fundraising efforts that most people would support. A joint gala to fund orphans from both sides of the war would probably have the sort of optics that he would appreciate …although he would probably benefit from that association more than we would.” Henry pursed his lips, considering. “Our houses are united in a desire to preserve magical traditions and history. I wonder whether Lord Malfoy would support efforts to provide more opportunities for muggleborns to learn about our culture. A wizarding traditions class at Hogwarts, perhaps? Or maybe a summer program before the first year?”
“Not a bad start. For Tuesday, please write twelve to eighteen inches outlining potential points of alignment. Be as wide-ranging and specific as possible. I’ll send up a copy of his voting records and a selection of his political speeches to your room tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
“I’ll also ask Cassiopeia to instruct you on the recent history of the Malfoy and Greengrass families.” He absently quickened his pace. “Sirius can probably be relied on to give you a bit of the basics on the aerial sports you’re likely to see at the club.”
Henry swallowed. “Would you provide me with Lord Malfoy’s trial transcripts?”
Arcturus stopped mid-stride and turned back to meet his great-grandson’s eyes. “Henry…”
Henry stood firm. “I need to know what happened and what he was accused of. It is context that everyone else will have, and without it I will be at a disadvantage. I might miss a warning or accidentally offend out of ignorance.”
Arcturus closed his eyes for a moment and took a long breath. “It’s heavy reading for an eleven year old. But, you are correct that you need to be informed. I’ll discuss the particulars with Sirius.”
“Thank you.” Henry swallowed again. We’ll have to train him out of that tell. “Can you also provide the details of my custody agreement?”
Rather out of the blue. Perhaps he has been working up the courage to ask this for a while, and has been emboldened by my willingness to share information about Lucius? He raised an eyebrow. “Anything in particular?”
“I just…” Henry clenched his fists. “I know that there are several parties who would want to use me, influence me. It would be helpful to know the arrangement, so I can avoid unwittingly giving them more power over me. Over us.” He took a deep breath, before letting the rest spill out in a rush. “Also, so that we can work together to weaken their hold. For instance, I know that the agreement says that I must attend Hogwarts. But does it specify for how long? Would a term satisfy the agreement, or is it until I graduate, reach a certain age, or I’ve passed a set of examinations? What happens if I fail my classes or do something that warrants expulsion?”
“You are worried about attending Hogwarts? Because of Dumbledore?”
“No! I mean, yes, I am worried about Dumbledore, and attending classes with the children of Death Eaters, and being gawked at for the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing. But I understand your point that it’s probably better to face all that now since I probably can’t avoid it forever. And I am excited about getting my magical education.” He carded his hand through his hair. “It’s more about wanting to understand my situation and my options. I mean, what if I wanted to transfer to Beauxbatons to get a NEWT in enchanting, or Durmstrang for warding? What if Dumbledore–”
“What if the situation becomes intolerable, for some reason?” Arcturus interrupted gently.
Henry sighed. “Yes.”
Lord Black placed his hand on Henry’s shoulder again. It had been a long time since he had tried to express paternal affection, but he recognized that the child needed reassurance. “Henry, I won’t deny that your unique position means that you will face challenges here in Britain that you would not elsewhere. But as you point out, you are unlikely to be able to completely avoid them. And leaving would cause you to pass up on opportunities that would strengthen your position considerably.” He sighed. “But our family has considerable influence, and Blacks protect their own. If, for some reason, you are unsafe or need to be elsewhere, we will find a way.” Though the cost may be high. “In the meantime, I will have Blackthorn walk you through the legal documents.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.”
* * *
Lucius returned to the manor with a flush of satisfaction. His coin purse was several hundred galleons lighter than when he had left, he had endured countless inane conversations, and had even had to shake hands with his inferiors. Most of them weren’t even wearing gloves! He shuddered, peeling off his own acromantula silk gloves and let them slip from his fingers. They disappeared, whisked away by invisible elves before they could hit the floor.
Yet despite the disagreeableness of the outing, it had been productive. He was confident that had managed to block the re-introduction of Dumbledore’s “Muggle Protection Bill”, had secured a meeting with an important business contact, and had even somehow managed to ingratiate himself to Lord Black and his ward, The-Boy-Who-Lived. No longer just his ward, he reminded himself. Now formally a Black heir.
He paused for a moment, locating his wife and son through the wards. Ah good, Severus is still with them. A few strides later, he once again reached the northeastern flower room. For a moment, Lucius’s entrance went unnoticed. It was almost as if he hadn’t left: Narcissa was arranging flowers, Draco on the divan behind her. Yet this time, Severus sat beside him, demonstrating rudimentary preservation charms. Draco held his new Hawthorn wand, eagerly mimicking the movements.
“Lucius, you’ve returned!” Narcissa placed her tools down on the workbench, and strode over to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Someone is in a good mood.
“Narcissa,” he murmured before turning to acknowledge Severus. “Severus. I’m pleased you are still here. Tea? Or perhaps something stronger?”
He sensed Narcissa still slightly. Severus, ever observant, declined. “I should be going.” He stood to leave, leaving a slightly frowning Draco in his wake.
“Nonsense, Severus. You’ve been so helpful today, showing us the best spots for collecting. And we would be poor hosts if we let you leave without providing refreshment.” It’s not the drink she objects to, Lucius realized suddenly. It’s the political talk that accompanies it. She would prefer tonight to simply be a holiday.
Severus, for all his self-proclaimed reclusivity, never had to be asked twice. “Very well. Tea, then.”
They relocated to an adjacent parlor. An ordinary spread (oysters, crab croquettes, pissaladière, white and green asparagus, scones, gougères, and fromage blanc with peaches) already awaited them. Having eaten during the reception, Lucius partook very little, but the other three had evidently worked up an appetite bushwhacking through the countryside. Lucius let himself relax as Draco prattled on about their outing, occasionally interrupted with gentle corrections when he veered towards exaggeration.
Eventually, Severus shifted the conversation. “How was the ministry?”
“Tedious, but productive.” Seeing that Severus would not be deterred, he added, “I ran into Lord and Heir Black, and their charge, Henry Potter-Black.”
“Potter-Black? ” a petulant Draco objected. Narcissa placed a consoling hand on his arm. “We knew this was a possibility since the trials occurred, my little dragon. Semper avarus eget[*].” Despite her words, Lucius knew that confirmation of the loss of the Lordship stung.
“What was your impression of him?” The words were given lightly, but Lucius knew Severus well enough to detect the intensity behind his friend’s black eyes.
“We interacted only briefly.” Lucius swirled the tea in his cup as if it were wine. “Polite. Astute. Or possibly just eager to please. He actually suggested that we could work together for a common cause.” He allowed himself to smirk in response to Narcissa’s and Severus’s open expressions of surprise.
“Did he really?”
“Yes. I invited them to our next outing at the Aeroclub.” Draco visibly brightened at the news; Narcissa looked thoughtful.
“I don’t imagine the mutt thought much of that.”
Apparently Lord Black keeps him on a tight leash. “Oh yes, Cousin Sirius was positively delighted. Lord Black and Heir Potter accepted, however.”