Chariots Await
The room was cavernous: large and circular, high ceilings, the walls a polished black stone. Despite no apparent light source, the room was well-lit. There were no shadows. Henry and Arcturus stood in the center of the chamber, surrounded three tiers of pews against the walls, filled with purple-robed wixen. Behind them stood a towering podium with a panel of judges, before them a high backed chair, a prisoner in chains. Lucius Malfoy.
Henry knew from his background reading that Lucius had only been in Azkaban a few weeks before his trial, but it was clear that even a short stay had exacted a high toll. He looked ghastly: his eyes were bloodshot and haunted, his skin sallow and unnaturally taut against bone. Even seated and chained in place, his body periodically shook with involuntary convulsions. The contrast with the man he had seen a few days before was stark. Only his rigidly upright posture and alert gaze resembled the man he met in the ministry atrium.
Henry had not been given a full transcript. The excerpts he had been given were enough for him to recognize that the crimes that Lord Malfoy had been accused of–some of which he freely admitted to have committed–were terrible. Appalling. Horrific. As he took in the tenor of the room, he felt begrudgingly thankful that Lord Black had chosen to redact most of the details from his reading. They truly weren’t necessary, and what little he had read had been enough to make him feel tainted.
Honestly, the whole thing made Henry feel sick. This was the condition of a prisoner before judgment? What condition had Sirius been in after ten years in Azkaban? How is Sirius sane? Henry shot a glance at his grandfather beside him, who remained perfectly composed. He suddenly was relieved that Sirius had shown no interest in accompanying them into the pensieve. Observing the thunderous hatred of the man administering the veritaserum, the spiteful glee and morbid fascination of the panel of examiners, the twitching wreck of the proud man before him: he felt disgusting. He could not condone this. What the fuck is wrong with this society?
Lord Malfoy’s eyes rolled backwards, the veritaserum evidently taking effect. The man administering the potion ran his wand around the prisoner, confirming the efficacy of the potion with a diagnostic charm.
“Name?”
“Lucius Gwilherm Malfoy.” His voice was expressionless.
“Do you bear the Dark Mark?”
“I do.” Henry noted that there must be a silencing ward between the gallery and the center of the room; the audience visibly reacted to this admission but nothing could be heard.
“When did you gain the Mark?”
“Imbolc, 1976.”
An angular woman behind the podium spoke up. From the excerpt he had read earlier, Henry recognized her as Matilda Baldwin, one of the examiners appointed by the defense.
“Did you take the Mark voluntarily, Lord Malfoy?”
“I did not.”
The majority of the panel was clearly unprepared for this exchange. Several judges shot out questions simultaneously, causing Lucius to rattle under the chains, under strain from the conflicting demands of the veritaserum.
“My stepmother,” he gritted out, “cast the imperius curse, compelling me to accept the Dark Lord’s invitation, and undergo the rites of initiation.”
“Did she act alone?”
“No. She and others held me under the imperius curse repeatedly between 1975 and 1981. Most frequently, my father.”
“Why do you think they compelled you to take the mark?”
“They were fervent supporters of the Dark Lord.” Lucius appeared to struggle a moment, as if trying to hold something back. “I suspect that they were attempting to safeguard familial secrets. By forcing me to take the mark against my own volition, certain familial protections would remain intact even under the influence of the mark.”
The memory stopped here. Henry found himself back in the Steward’s office with his grandfather, leaning stiffly forward over the pensieve, his fists clenched. What was his grandfather’s motivation in sharing this memory? Had he been trying to make a point about what was lost in translation between a transcript and the visceral experience of the courtroom? The difficulty of resisting veritaserum? Was he trying to underscore the fact that Lord Malfoy had been compelled?
He blinked a few times, while his grandfather watched him expectantly. He realized there must be a reason why the memory had stopped here. The excerpt from this part of the trial had gone on quite a bit longer.
“What,” Henry asked slowly, “can you tell me about the familial secrets and protections that Lord Malfoy was referring to.”
There was a flash of something in Lord Black’s eyes, something that Henry was getting better at detecting. Approval, maybe. “There are many ways a secret may be protected. Vows or oaths to prevent communication. Tongue locking and babbling curses. Concealment charms and illusions. Memory modification or obliviation.” He carefully picked up his wand, muttering an incantation accompanied by sharp strokes. A small leather-bound book appeared on the desk.
“Henry, I ask that you do not discuss this book with anyone outside myself or this household. The book should not leave the house.” He paused, meeting Henry’s eyes. “Please do not misunderstand my motivation in sharing this with you. Most of the content of this book is far too advanced for you to safely practice, and I have obscured the practical descriptions themselves. Please do not attempt to reveal them or use this information to seek out alternative references.”
Henry wasn’t pleased to be asked not to seek out further information, but acquiesced. “As you wish, Grandfather.”
“Good.” He slid the book over to Henry. “I’m sharing this with you because it is important that you do not accidentally accept an oath or vow, and because your… upbringing has not given you the opportunity to be acquainted with the various ways that things might be concealed. There is a lot of theoretical discussion in this book which is not necessary for you to understand, but if you are interested, you are welcome to ask one of us.” He tapped his wand on the desk and the book opened. “You also have my permission to cast the spells I have not obscured here in chapters two and five; they will likely be too advanced for you for some time yet, but they are part of the Hogwarts curriculum, so learning them will not in itself cause trouble.”
He looked seriously at Henry once more. “In addition, it is potentially useful for you to recognize the traces of spellsign that are left when things are hidden. I cannot ask that you avoid seeking out secrets: Hogwarts is known for hidden passages and the like that are intended to be discovered. But please be cautious. The recent conflict with the Dark Lord has left many with secrets that they will conceal with deadly force, and even in more peaceful times Hogwarts upperclassmen have been known to layer dangerous curses under more banal protections in order to safeguard their privacy and property.”
Henry suspected that Lord Black had been one such upperclassmen.
“Circling back to Lord Malfoy. His testimony suggests that there is an oath at play here that would not allow him to reveal certain familial secrets unless under his own free will.”
“Would taking the mark normally reveal these secrets, but because it was involuntary, his secrets were safe?”
“Possibly more than that. The spellcraft of the initiation and the mark are not publicly known, but it appears they bound his followers quite tightly. If the bindings were sufficiently restrictive regarding secrets, it is possible that there would not have been a situation in which he would have had sufficient free will to provide the information at all.”
Arcturus smiled grimly. “But regardless, his testimony offers a plausible explanation for the use of the imperius curse, and suggests that his family’s secrets were protected. Tell me, Henry, do you know what distinguishes Noble, Ancient, and Honorable Houses?”
Henry frowned. “Noble Houses have a guaranteed seat at the Wizengamot, whereas the heads of Honorable families are among those eligible to be elected.”
“Do you know why Noble families are granted this privilege?”
Henry shook his head, embarrassed. He had assumed that it was merely historical–that the most powerful families had insisted on it during the formation of Wizengamot–but there was noticeable heat to Arcturus’s question which made him suspect he was missing something important. “I’m not certain, Grandfather.”
Lord Black took a steadying breath, and summoned a set of 17 pendants bearing various emblems. “The government of the Muggles–the United Kingdom–is a unitary state, meaning that the central government is the supreme authority. Magical Britain is not part of the United Kingdom but a Crown Dependency, and it is a federalized state. One with an increasingly centralized government, to be certain, but the territories retain some degree of independence. It comprises the territories of the remaining Noble Houses,” he tapped the associated emblems, “Hogwarts Castle, and the districts directly administered by the Ministry, such as Diagon Alley and Godric’s Hollow. The seat of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is centered on the Sable Sea: the Blackmoor coastline and Ravenswood.”
Henry feels a slight chill as a memory emerges, unbidden. He is entering the floo room Midsummer morning, on his way to the Ministry. He remembers glancing at the lonely seascapes that adorn the walls, to check the weather forecast, only to be startled to discover that several paintings had changed. Seascapes, once empty, suddenly featured the island he had visited the evening before. He hadn’t had much time to consider the change then, but upon returning that afternoon he had examined the paintings more closely. He had wanted to compare the depictions of the island with one another and the view from his bedroom. He studied the outlines of the island, the colors of the woods and Hall, the position of the stone circle and the darkness of the tower… Had the paintings always featured the island, but I had been unable to see it? Or had something triggered a change in the paintings that was visible to everyone? The shift in seasons, perhaps? The ritual?
Henry found himself blinking once more, under the piercing grey-blue of his great-grandfather’s gaze. They were both silent for a moment. When Lord Black spoke again, his voice was soft. “Do you know what distinguishes the Most Ancient Houses?”
They both knew that he did not. “I had thought it merely reflected their long lineage.”
“No. There are other long-lived families, but only Noble ones can bear the title of Most Ancient. It reflects the… old protections of those lands. Secrets that those Lords are oath-bound to safeguard.”
This was not the discussion that Henry had been expecting. Going into this meeting, he had wondered whether Lord Black would go over the finer points of the proceedings, perhaps to explain (the disasters of) magical law, or to help him decipher what could be concluded about what Malfoy had or had not done. To understand what kind of man he had been. Which he supposed he was, in a way, but Lord Black’s objective seemed to be more about instructing a future heir.
Arcturus sighed. “I do not know the specifics of the Lordship oaths of the House of Malfoy, nor do I know Lord Malfoy well. But I know the covenants of the House of Black, and Lucius’s father Abraxas was close to my son Orion’s age, and his grandfather Domitius and I were… friendly. I know that Lucius would have been raised to be loyal to his House and his lands above all else. Whatever failings he has, nothing I have seen leads me to believe his loyalty is otherwise. To understand him, you must understand what this means first.”
* * *
The Crystal Palace Aeroclub, once part of the original 1851 Crystal Palace exhibition, was suspended a few hundred meters above Hyde Park in a dirigible constructed of crystal and iron. The effect was similar to a giant floating greenhouse, albeit a greenhouse that featured fine dining and wixen buzzing around it on brooms.
Henry was joined by the three Blacks: Arcturus, Cassiopeia, and Sirius. The adult Blacks wore modern wizarding robes in black and silver. Sirius’s volatility posed a risk, but his presence and the matching robes sent a clear message of a united front. Henry wore tighter-fitting attire optimized for flying, likely purchased for this gathering specifically. Narcissa could appreciate the outfit’s good taste: the green shade of the tunic brought out his eyes nicely, while the field of embroidered amber stars provided a subtle nod to both of his magical houses. Noting the matching pattern of silver stars on Sirius’s clothes, she suspected he had a hand in it. Sirius was always a clothes horse, for all that he loved to pretend that wizarding fashion was too pretentious. Narcissa was glad to see evidence that her cousin had regained at least some of his interests following his imprisonment.
Lucius, as the instigator of the gathering, was the first to greet the Blacks. A predictable ping-pong of courtesy followed, formal yet reasonably amicable. The only deviations were the unsurprising wariness between Sirius and Lucius, and her own exchange with Henry, which came last (since Lucius went first).
Narcissa looked at the small boy in front of her. Although the resemblance to Cousin James was uncanny, she was more struck by how many features he shared with her Grandfather Arcturus. The shape of his chin, his eyebrows, his ears. Similarities he shared with her . She was simultaneously surprised and not surprised by how much those similarities mattered.
“Merry Meet, Lady Malfoy.”
Narcissa noted tension behind his perfect phrasing and gestures. The way he held himself more stiffly than protocol demanded, the way his brilliant green eyes blazed but never made contact. He seemed more anxious than would be typical for an educated scion, but not perhaps, for a muggle-raised boy meeting with a family that had stood on the opposing side in the wizarding war.
“A pleasure, Heir Potter-Black. I do hope that in casual company such as this, you will feel comfortable calling me Lady Narcissa.”
As she had hoped, Henry visibly relaxed in response. A poorly educated young man (a Weasley, perhaps) might have found the invitation condescending, but he seemed to take comfort in a gesture that was meant to convey a certain degree of warmth while conforming to the expectations of the setting. An expression of goodwill that was too small to have any strings attached.
“Thank you, Lady Narcissa. In such settings, I would be pleased if you called me Henry.” A completely reciprocal invitation would have had her call him the slightly more formal Cousin Henry. Judging by his command of etiquette with the others, Henry knew this but wished to match her gesture of goodwill with one of his own.
Narcissa and Sirius ushered the boy to the staging area, while the remaining adults retreated to seats beside the northeastern windows where they would have a fine view of the children without looking into the sun. Draco and Astoria stood beside a golden thestral-led chariot, while Daphne waited impatiently beside her own. It was clear enough that while Draco had won the battle of what they were going to play first, it had been at the cost of who would get to be partnered with Henry.
“Knew I wouldn’t win this one,” Draco murmured to her as she knelt down to help him adjust his helmet and shield. He was experienced enough to make the adjustments himself, but she knew he liked the attention. “Daphne and Astoria are too experienced playing on the same team, and it wouldn’t be fair to pair the two least experienced players.”
“Daphne knew it too,” he sighed as she tightened the final strap. “But was generous enough to let me choose the first game to save face.”
Henry, helmet in place, was staring in wonderment at reins and bridle in front of his chariot. “Thestrals?” he asked, voice eerily calm. Narcissa and Sirius, having witnessed death during the war, saw the skeletal beasts in all their glorious horror. The winged horses were invisible to the magically-raised children of course, but Narcissa innerly winced in recognition that Henry’s life might not have been quite as sheltered.
“Yes,” Sirius responded. “Can you see them?”
Henry shook his head, reaching out slowly towards the creature. “I don’t remember it,” he said. He sounded slightly hoarse. “I imagine that’s why.”
“Thestrals,” Draco interjected, marching over, “are really the best for this game. They are calm under pressure. They’ll defend themselves if they are in danger, but otherwise never attack. Much better than Hippogriffs.” He joined Henry’s side, his fingers brushing against Henry’s as they both stroked the animal’s mane. “Wylies and tulpars are prettier, I suppose, but they have a hard time pulling chariots because they aren’t as strong.”
“Not to mention the restrictions in importing them,” Sirius hummed, faintly amused despite himself.
“What about pegasi? Uh, Pegasuses?”
Draco looked up, puzzled. “Pegasi?”
Narcissa cleared her throat. “I think he’s referring to abraxan.”
“Oh those,” Draco waved off. “They’re great too, of course. But we have loads at the manor, so it wouldn’t be as interesting.” He patted the thestral absently. “Shall we go ahead and run a few laps around the club so you can get used to driving before we start?”
* * *
They were more evenly matched than they probably should have been. Henry did his best, but his inexperience showed. Had Draco and Astoria been able to overcome their squabbling, they would have easily won.
Nevertheless, when the four returned to the dining room thirsty and flushed, they were in high spirits. Draco and Astoria crowed over their victory, while Henry (and more reluctantly, Draco) complimented Daphne’s aim and focus. Everyone agreed that Henry hadn’t done too badly for someone who had never even seen a flying chariot before, let alone drive one. After some freshening charms and drink orders, the children drifted a bit away from the adults where they could converse somewhat privately and have a better view of an aerial dance team.
“So, Henry,” Astoria blurted out. “Mother and Father say that you were raised by muggles.”
“Tori–” Daphne scolded.
Henry shrugged. “It’s fine. It means that I’m behind in understanding the magical world, but I’m not ashamed of it.”
“I suppose,” Daphne offered noncommittally.
Draco cleared his throat a bit awkwardly. “Father said we should overlook mistakes you may make since it isn’t your fault that you weren’t… raised properly, and that we could be good examples of how to behave. Take you under our wings, so to speak.”
Henry suppressed a grimace. So much for supposed Slytherin subtlety. He supposed that Draco was coming from a good place, but it was hard not to be insulted. “Uh, thank you, Cousin Draco. I certainly wouldn’t want to misstep out of ignorance. And as I said, I know I have a lot to learn.”
“Of course, Cousin,” Draco preened.
“So what was living with Muggles like,” the nine-year-old girl demanded, undeterred.
Henry chuckled half-heartedly. “You’ll have to be more specific than that. Muggles are people too: there are a lot of them and they’re not all the same. Though there are definitely a lot of cultural differences between Muggle and Magical Britain.”
“Well, what were the Muggles you lived with like?”
Henry froze. I guess I walked right into that question. “Ah. Well, most recently I was living in a children’s home, which is kinda like an orphanage,” he added in response to their blank faces. “It was a bit… institutional, but not too bad, really.” He scrambled to think of how to change the subject, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“An orphanage? It’s bad enough you were with muggles, but Merlin’s knees, Henry. Why weren’t you placed with your magical family,” Malfoy protested. “I’m sure you could have lived with us.”
Henry blushed. “I don’t really know, Draco,” he offered quietly, unsure whether he wanted to bring Dumbledore into the interrogation, but certain he’d prefer not to explain the Dursleys. “Maybe they thought it would be safer?”
“Safer? But-but you’re family!”
“Draco, he said he doesn’t know,” Daphne stated firmly.
There was a beat of silence. “Is it true that most muggles can’t read or write?” Astoria asked brightly.
“What? No, and in England–”
“But I thought they couldn’t use quills,” she persisted.
“They use pens–”
“And I suppose they wouldn’t have orphanages if they ate children,” she mused.
“Wha-what?” Henry sputtered.
“What about rubber ducks? Is it true that they are kept as familiars?”
“No! Where are you getting this information?”
“Aunt Rose, Gregory Goyle, and Arthur Weasley.”
Henry facepalmed. “Jesus wept.”
“Who?”