Chapter 7
Spring was his favourite time of year, Harry decided as he pushed Teddy’s pram leisurely past Claremont Square Garden and down Pentonville Road. Wondering if there were any consequences of mixing caffeine with Pepper Up, Harry popped into a café and ordered a large double black for himself, and, after a moment’s hesitation, a milky tea with a teaspoon of honey for Malfoy – the way the blond had made it yesterday.
Balancing the cardboard drinks holder on the bar of the pram with one hand, Harry windlessly cast a stasis charm over the drinks so that they wouldn’t get cold. As he walked, he appreciated being out and about without too many strange looks. There were still a few – after all, a seventeen-year-old boy with a pram wasn’t a very common sight in the streets of Pentonville – but Harry revelled in his relative anonymity.
As Harry turned onto Islington High Street, he couldn’t help but gasp when he spotted Malfoy walking from the station. In all the seven years Harry had known him, he couldn’t recall a single time Malfoy had worn muggle clothing. Yet, here he was, strolling towards Harry with the same confidence he’d always had, but dressed in black skinny jeans, a white t-shirt and a khaki and white plaid over shirt, long hair in a messy bun.
Schooling his expression into one less of shock and one (hopefully) more cool and nonchalant, Harry greeted Malfoy with a nod, handing over his tea.
Malfoy blinked, accepting it hesitantly. “Oh. Um. Thanks,” he said in mild shock.
Harry shrugged. “Do you know if you can drink caffeine if you’ve had Pepper Up?” he asked suddenly, remembering Malfoy’s talent for potions.
“Depends on how much Pepper Up you drank,” Malfoy said, frowning. “You don’t want to get too reliant on it, Potter. It’s addictive.”
Harry rolled his shoulders, thinking that Malfoy probably wouldn’t like to hear that he downed two whole bottles ten minutes earlier. Instead he took a sip of his coffee, and said wryly, “I do have a two-month old.”
Malfoy smirked. “My cousin keeping you up at night then, Potter?”
“More than Voldemort ever did,” Harry grumbled. Not wanting to dwell on those unpleasant thoughts, he pulled out the small piece of parchment that had his address on it. “Read this,” he said, allowing Malfoy’s eyes to scan it before pulling out his muggle lighter and setting it on fire.
Malfoy looked amused. “What use could you possibly have for a muggle lighter?” he asked as they headed for Harry’s house.
“I found it in Sirius’ old stuff. I gather Remus, Sirius and my dad smoked a lot when they were teenagers,” Harry explained, feeling a touch of grief. “Sirius had loads of old muggle stuff – I think it was to impress Remus.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Why would Lupin be impressed with muggle stuff?”
Harry shrugged. “Remus’ mum was a muggle,” he explained. “Sirius was a pureblood. I guess he wanted to show that he was interested in Remus’ lifestyle.”
“I’m sure he was,” Malfoy said wryly, cocking an eyebrow.
Harry frowned, worried Malfoy was about to say something disparaging about his godfather.
Seeing his expression, Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Relax, Potter, I’m not about to criticise your dead family members for being gay,” he drawled. “Besides, it’d be awfully hypocritical of me,” he added as an afterthought.
Harry was glad he had already finished his coffee, because he was sure he would have dropped it. “I’m sorry?”
Malfoy shrugged. “I’m into blokes. The wizarding world isn’t too fussed by that sort of thing, you know. Not like the muggles, at least.”
Harry hadn’t known. He frowned, “but what about Parkinson?”
“Pansy?” Malfoy laughed. “She wouldn’t touch my dick with a 10-foot pole even if I wanted her to.”
Harry smiled slightly. Malfoy’s laugh was deep and musical, and Harry didn’t think he’d ever heard it before. He shrugged. “She was always hanging over you at Hogwarts.”
Malfoy nodded. “We’re betrothed,” he said by way of explanation. At Harry’s blank face, he rolled his eyes. “For heirs,” he said, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
Harry frowned. “So, even though you don’t like each other, you still have to get married?”
“No, Potter. We’re betrothed. One day, when I find the person I actually want to be with, we’ll get black out drunk and have sex. Then, while Pansy’s pregnant, I’ll get married to my person. When the baby is born, it’ll be technically illegitimate, but I will recognise it officially as my heir,” Malfoy explained.
Harry frowned. It all sounded so clinical. “What does Pansy get out of it?”
“Thinking like a Slytherin, Potter. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Malfoy smirked. “She gets to live off my incredible wealth until she gets married,” he explained. “Obviously it’s not such a great deal for her anymore, but she’s still keen to do it. It’s her duty as a pureblood daughter, anyhow.”
Harry nodded but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know how he felt about that particular pure-blood custom.
When they got back to Grimmauld Place, Ron was playing piano. Hermione was spending the morning at Hogwarts, helping with the rebuilding effort.
“Why does Weasley sound like he’s stomping on the keys?” Malfoy asked, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to Kreacher, who was standing at attention.
Harry frowned. Kreacher had certainly never done that for him before. Glancing at Malfoy, he realised that it was the first time he had seen Malfoy’s left arm since that night on the Astronomy Tower. His dark mark was gone.
Seeing where Harry was staring, Malfoy sighed and quietly mumbled, “Glamour.” Coughing, he cast a tempus. “Excellent, Madame Malkin and her assistants should be here any second,” he drawled, glancing Harry up and down. “They’ve got their work cut out for them.”
Passing off a now wide-awake Teddy into the eager arms of Ron, Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously. A ding chimed from the living room, and Harry reluctantly went to accept the floo visitors.
“Lord Potter,” Madam Malkin greeted, shaking his hand. Harry blanched at the title but attempted to retain his composure and resisted asking her to just call him ‘Harry’, earning himself an approving nod from Malfoy. “Lord Malfoy has informed me that you will be hosting a Pledge as well as a ball for Midsomer.”
Harry nodded in confirmation but frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure he wanted the public to find out about all of this just yet. The dressmaker reassured him. “Lord Potter, we have dressed and fitted the Heads of the most Ancient and Nobel Houses of Britain for centuries. We pride ourselves on our integrity and discretion. If you so wish, however, we can make an Oath that no one outside these four walls will hear of this meeting.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Harry said quickly, but Malfoy frowned. “Let’s get started, yes?” he asked, trying to muster some enthusiasm for being pinned and prodded for the next thirty minutes.
It turned out that Harry had been ambitious thinking the fitting would only take half an hour. After all of his measurements had been taken – some seeming utterly unnecessary (why on earth would anyone need to know the distance between his nostrils?) – he had been sentenced to death by a dreadfully long discussion of fabrics and patterns. As soon as it became clear that Harry had absolutely no idea what the difference between a dark grey and black was, however, Malfoy took the lead, leaving Harry to drink his tea sullenly.
Finally, the dressmaker and her assistants made for the floo and informed Harry that he’d have five plain casual robes, seven lounge formal robes, and two black-tie robes by the end of the month. He didn’t want to think of how much it would all cost, but Malfoy had pointed out that if he were to have money, he may as well spend it.
After a quick lunch, Harry had been hoping that he would be allowed the rest of the day off to go and play with Teddy, but Malfoy had other plans.
“The representative from Gringotts will be here any moment now,” Malfoy told him. “I imagine we’ll spend the rest of the afternoon after that visiting your estates.”
Harry perked up at that. “You really think I have any?” he asked eagerly.
Malfoy nodded. “I know of at least one Potter property in Wiltshire. It’s under a stasis spell, and several extremely powerful protective and secretive wards, but the Dark Lord was briefly convinced that’s where you were when you disappeared. It drove him insane thinking you were just under his nose.” He swirled his tea. “The Blacks definitely have several properties, but you’ll need Curse Breakers to go through them first. Same with the Gaunt households, if there are any. The Peverell’s were an incredibly wealthy family, but their properties were probably sold off when the line was presumed extant. You’d definitely have the legal rights to displace several families, if you so wished.” At Harry’s face, he smiled softly. “I didn’t think so.”
When Hermione arrived back from Hogwarts, she was out of breath. Gratefully accepting a cup of tea from her boyfriend, she groaned. “That was horrible.”
“What happened?” Harry and Ron asked, immediately reaching for their wands.
Hermione smiled tiredly. “Nothing bad. Just reporters wanting me to answer some questions. A few had ‘volunteered’ with McGonagall to help with the rebuilding, but really they just wanted an excuse to get closer.”
“I’ll have a word with the Prophet,” Harry promised. “Although I doubt they’ll actually listen to me. How many times have I told them to fuck off?”
Malfoy frowned, thinking. “Actually, they might this time.”
“I’m sorry? Have you met the Prophet reporters?” Harry asked sarcastically.
Malfoy nodded. “I have. The only way you’ll get them off your case is if you threaten them.”
Harry blanched. “No.”
“Not with brute force, Potter,” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Think like a Slytherin, not a Gryffindor for once. Offer a significant donation to the paper on the condition that they’ll conduct an internal review and start acting with integrity,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Give them money?” Harry asked, unsure. “Won’t they just keep doing it so that I pay them more?”
Malfoy scoffed. “Of course not. That’s when you threaten physical repercussions.” At Harry’s look, he amended. “Not bad ones. And not overtly. Just do that thing that you sometimes do when you make it thunder or whatever.”
Harry frowned. “I can’t do that on purpose,” he admitted. “It’s accidental magic.”
“Merlin’s beared, Potter,” Malfoy said. “Accidental magic at your age?” he asked, but it wasn’t in a condescending way. He let out a low whistle. “That’s pretty impressive. What wand are you using?”
Harry blinked, taken aback. “My normal wand?”
Malfoy looked at him in dismay. “Potter, you are the master of the Elder Wand. You can’t channel that much power through the wand you had when you were eleven!”
“But I like my wand,” Harry objected. “And the Elder Wand gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“Gives you the heebie-jeebies,” Malfoy muttered under his breath. “Potter, I don’t care if holding the Elder Wand makes you feel like your body is on fire – you need to start using it. The occasional thunderstorm when you’re angry is one thing, but the more power you try to push through that stick, the more dangerous your outbursts will get. Someone could get hurt.” Malfoy rounded on Hermione. “Granger, how could you let this happen? You know more about wandlore than I do.”
“I tried to tell him,” Hermione shrugged, but looked properly admonished. “I had bigger issues to fight with him about.”
“Merlin give me strength,” Harry heard Malfoy mutter under his breath. The fireplace chimed, and Malfoy snatched Harry’s wand from his pocket. “Go and get the proper one. I’ll greet the goblin. Be quick about it,” he ordered, and paced off to the living room angrily.
Harry looked at Hermione and Ron nervously. “I could have hurt somebody?” he asked quietly.
“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed. “It’s okay. You didn’t. But Malfoy is right. In any case, you shouldn’t be keeping the most powerful wand in existence in your sock drawer.”
Harry felt incredibly guilty as he made his way quickly up the stairs. He hadn’t mean to put people in danger. And a part of him, a bigger part of him that he cared to admit, was feeling guilty for disappointing Malfoy. Shaking off that unpleasant thought, he groped around in his drawer and quickly found the wand.
A sudden wave of magic rushed up his arm, sending pricks of tingles throughout his body. Holding it carefully in his wand hand, he took a deep breath and cast.
“Lumos,” he said quietly. A ball of light lit up the dark room at the tip of the wand, but it was a much bigger light than he’d ever made before.
Frowning, he tried another. “Nox.” The light went out as normal. Turning to a locked chest of drawers next to his bed that held his pictures of his parents, he cast, “Alohamora.” The drawer shot open so fast, it hit he knee.
Glancing down at the wand thrumming in his hand, he sighed. This was certainly going to take getting used to, he thought.