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Starfall	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32486 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Eleven—A Desperate Choice
            Harry slapped the stack of applications down on Kingsley’s desk, and leaned back in his chair with his arms folded. “I expect you to send me better-written essays next time.”
            “Very good, Harry,” said Kingsley, seeming determined to ignore the larger pile of rejected applications in favor of looking at the much smaller pile of trainees Harry had approved to join the class. “You got through these much faster than Auror Weasley did when I appointed him to comb through them.”
            “You got Ron involved?” Harry shuddered a little at the vision of all the different dangers the applications would have encountered in Ron’s house, from Rose throwing up on them to being shuffled into and lost among Hermione’s legal papers. “I can see why you were so eager for a different Auror to take them up.”
            “Since you got through them so fast,” Kingsley said, still serene, “here’s the next lot.” And he handed over another pile of parchment that he continued to hold in the air when Harry just sat there with his arms folded, in betrayal, and refused to take them.
            “You’ve got to be kidding,” said Harry, finally flipping through to one of the essays and staring at the blotted, straggling words in silent horror. “There should be a rule that you at least have to write legibly.”
            “Oh, you can reject any that you can’t read,” Kingsley informed him, and then waved towards the door of the office. “Off you go. I expect those back in a few days at the latest, based on your record with the first group.”
            Harry groaned and stood up. He thought about limping from the room, but his leg really was fully-healed, and the last thing he wanted was for Kingsley to think that he needed to keep Harry on desk duty even longer.
            He did allow some of his mutters to be audible as he walked out of the office, but Kingsley only laughed.
            Because he was so busy juggling the applications, Harry didn’t really watch where he was going. Someone told him to, in a voice so icy that Harry instinctively grabbed at all the paper and took a step back.
            Draco Malfoy stared at him. Harry felt his insides chill the way they had on the first day that passed without a letter replying to Ethan.
            For a second, he thought for sure Malfoy had come to question him about Ethan, and his heart stuttered anxiously to life. If there was a single chance that Malfoy had connected Harry to Ethan, then Harry would have to get him alone and use a Memory Charm on him, and that was always risky, especially for someone like Harry who wasn’t good at performing them under pressure—
            “Out of my way, Potter.”
            Then Harry noticed the frowning woman in the off-white robes of the Ministry Records office waiting down the corridor, and made the connection. Malfoy wasn’t here to see him at all. He had come to look into the Records for some obscure reason.
            “Sorry, right,” Harry said. Ron would have been ashamed of him for responding to Malfoy so abjectly, he knew, but Ron wasn’t here, and he didn’t know the chaos of thoughts and feelings whirling through Harry’s head. Harry just stepped aside and watched in silence as Malfoy sneered at him and walked on after the Records officer.
            Malfoy walked as though he had a stick up his arse, but Harry thought he had always done that. More significant was the fact that he glared around more or less impartially, and practically stalked, bending forwards as though the only thing that mattered was getting to the Records division.
            What does he want there? Harry thought, shaking his head. He would have believed that all the Malfoys’ genealogical records were under the Malfoys’ direct control. If they needed to look up some record of a genetic disease or a birth to make sure it wasn’t a bastard one—the purposes that brought the people who did come to the Records division there—then they wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to know they were doing it.
            Unless he’s not looking up things on Malfoys…
            Harry felt the grip of the ice on his chest again. He did walk normally back to his office, and put the pile of applications down on his desk and made sure they wouldn’t tip. Then he sank back into his chair, and trembled.
            Malfoy would find no Ethan Starfall in the Records Division, of course. But what if he looked up names like Lily and James? What if he was smart enough to research connections between them other than those of siblings?
            Once he started down that route, surely it wouldn’t take him long to remember Lily and James Potter.
            Stop it, Harry knew Hermione would say if she could see him now. You have no idea what he’ll find or even what he’s here for. It could be something entirely different. And if he does find out, so what? You haven’t stolen anything from him or tricked him into doing something illegal. He would have no case against you.
            Harry knew that his panic over Ethan wasn’t rational, any more than writhing about Ethan’s life in the first place was. But he had lost his ability to have children, and Ethan’s imagined children were what he had instead. It was the reason he’d never told his friends about his journal. Maybe they would have understood eventually, but the flash of pity in their eyes when he first talked about it would have been intolerable. And God knew what Ginny’s expression would have been when she heard.
            The knowledge of Ethan in Malfoy’s hands could hurt him more than that. At least none of his friends would actually go to the papers.
            Harry bowed his head and clutched his hair with two hands. Right now, he would get nowhere by sitting there and letting his brain whirl along without any checks on it. It would only panic him. He had to think about this the way he would an Auror case, and come up with strategies that would let him tackle it.
            What knowledge had he had given Malfoy about Ethan? The names of his imaginary children, his imaginary wife, his imaginary family. The information that Ethan didn’t care for the pure-blood ways and hadn’t fought in the war. Sympathy for both Malfoy and Scorpius.
            Except for the fact that Ethan wasn’t pure-blood, and maybe the names of James and Lily, there was nothing there that Ethan had in common with Harry Potter. Malfoy was probably not going to look in the ranks of prominent war heroes for him. And his wife was imaginary, and Malfoy knew well enough that Harry Potter wasn’t sympathetic to him.
            Harry’s breathing slowed. All right, he could do this. He didn’t think Malfoy would come close to him, and if he did, then he had a plan to handle it. All he had to do was deny that he was Ethan Starfall. It wasn’t like Malfoy could break into his house and find the journals and prove him wrong that way.
            All the same, strengthening my wards might not be a bad idea.
*
            “You haven’t found anything?”
            Draco started with irritation at the voice of the Ministry Records worker; he had to struggle to remember her name for a moment. Jessamyn, that was it. Jessamyn Honeyglide.
            “No,” he said abruptly. He didn’t care what he looked like. She had seen that he was deep in research, and interrupted him anyway. “I haven’t found anything, but I’d like another hour to look, at least.” He knew it was hours until the Records Division closed.
            That got him a long, careful glance from Honeyglide that he didn’t like at all, but she bowed calmly and turned away. Draco cursed and looked back at the books in front of him, but the rhythm was broken. He had thought he was drawing near some knowledge of Starfall. Some pattern to the (undeniably false) name was starting to blossom in front of him, and now—
            Nothing.
            With a growl, Draco picked up the one piece of paper he had found that contained the name Starfall. Apparently a thief of some renown had been active when Draco was a child. He’d actually walked away with half the Galleons that the Ministry intended to give their employees in broad daylight. He’d finally been caught, but he would only call himself Starfall, and no one else could find out anything else on him.
            Muggleborn, of course. That fit “Ethan’s” presumed background.
            Starfall had gone to Azkaban, and died after a few years there. The notes on his case said that was to be expected; he had seemed particularly sensitive to Dementors, and had broken down only when he heard what his sentence would be.
            Draco strained again after the elusive thought. Then he glanced down at the parchment that was lying under the Starfall one, and remembered.
            One of the apothecaries who had bought stolen Potions ingredients from Starfall was named Ethan Summerfield.
            Together, they didn’t make much. But Draco knew that he didn’t need much. He had already determined that there was no wizard named Starfall except that dead thief. Simple search spells that the Records Division apparently used all the time had determined that much.
            So. No other person using the alias Starfall. No Muggleborn who had decided to change that to his name so he would sound more wizardly and better able to fit into their society. No forgotten pure-blood family that had lasted only a few generations.
            Draco knew that the name Starfall was the greatest clue he had, and this was too great to a coincidence, especially since Ethan Summerfield was one of the few people who’d traded with Starfall that they’d been able to catch. The person who had written to him must have known about those people and put their names together. It was like Moonstar had said. The false names that people chose would reveal a great deal about their true origins.
            But if Starfall had no relatives, what origins would those be?
            Draco shook his head dismissively. Moonstar had harped on the false names concealing real names, but Moonstar was something of a fool, in the way that most practicing warlocks were. It didn’t mean that the person who had picked this name was related to Starfall, or even Summerfield, although that was a connection Draco would certainly check. It would mean only that it was someone who had access to the trial records, and had probably been intimately involved in the trial from beginning to end.
            That meant one thing, to Draco.
            An Auror.
            It would be like an Auror to seek out Draco Malfoy, even when he had done nothing Dark in years, and decide that he needed to humiliate the Malfoy family for the good of wizarding society. Draco didn’t know exactly how the Auror would justify that, but he didn’t know how the Aurors had ever justified the raids they made on his house, either. They would find some way. Whoever this was had probably still got Draco’s letter by chance, but what a chance for vengeance it was.
            Draco was convinced of his theory. Everything fit. Everything made sense.
            He didn’t know how soon he would be able to repeat his trip to the Records Division, however, and it sounded as though they were already getting impatient with him. So he decided to look up the other names he had. Anne was perhaps too common to reveal much, and so was James—as both a first and last name—and there were far too many children named Albus in the wake of the war to count.
            But…
            “Expleo Lily.”
            For a second, books and papers ruffled across the room, and then they came flying towards him. Draco raised the modified Shield Charm that Honeyglide had taught him, and they stopped short of hitting him. They settled obediently onto the edge of the desk, and Draco leaned forwards, panting a little with the thrill of the hunt.
            Yes. As he’d thought. There were few witches named Lily, and the references were small enough to be manageable.
            He began to thumb through the books, quickly looking through and discarding the references to witches named Lily (and the occasional family with Lily as part of their name) that he knew were related to him. Those generations of Blacks, Malfoy's, even one Weasley, had been dead for years. In the more recent books, he began to slow down and spend more time looking.
            There was still a small mountain of references to sort through, though, mostly in newspapers. Draco frowned, curious, and turned one over.
            His breath caught in his throat, and he leaned over to look at the photograph of Lily Potter staring up at him from a belated birth announcement. The paper hadn't reported on the birth of Harry Potter at the time he was actually born, the story explained, because his parents were living in hiding. But now they were eager to repair the gap and talk all about the parents of their "newest hero."
            Draco swallowed and splayed out his hand so he could see just the name, without the picture distracting him. James. And Lily.
            That had been the nagging sense of familiarity he had thought of and couldn't name when he was reading Starfall's letters. What were the odds that one person in the wizarding world would have two children named after members of Harry Potter's family?
            Draco considered, for a second, whether this expressed some intricate code where the two names interacted with the names of the criminals he'd already discovered. But he discarded the notion almost at once. It seemed likelier that his first theory was correct: "Ethan" was an Auror, with access to the criminal records and with Harry Potter constantly before his eyes, and from that he had constructed his identity.
            Draco rose gracefully to his feet and sent the records concerning people named Lily back to their shelves with a flick of his wand.
            None of that meant he wouldn't talk to Potter. Potter might know which Auror was crazy enough to do this. And the more information he had on Starfall, the better.

*
            Harry thought he did very well when Malfoy suddenly appeared in his office doorway. He had no plan more advanced than staring, because he had convinced himself it would be foolish for Malfoy to come to him when he had simply bumped into Harry on his way through the corridors to the Records Division.
            On the other hand, maybe he’s come about that. Careful, now. Harry laid his hands open on the desk, and tried to make his face as friendly as possible. “Is something wrong?”
            “Wrong? No. Not exactly.” Malfoy eased into the office, looking around as if searching for the contamination of Ron’s presence. Harry found it an effort to maintain his friendly mask. In person, Malfoy was a lot different from the desperate father who had written to Harry begging for help. “I want to know what you know about someone using the names of your parents as false names. And what you know about Starfall and Ethan Summerfield.”
            Harry blinked and shook his head. Again, he was proud of himself. “Using the names of my parents as false names? Have there been crimes committed in the names of James and Lily Potter?” He wouldn’t touch the names Starfall or Ethan Summerfield—not that he knew who that was—unless he had no choice.
            Malfoy snapped his head around, glaring. “Of course you would assume that I was involved in a crime,” he muttered, sounding disgusted. “Of course.”
            “You mentioned false names,” said Harry, and shoved his chair back from his desk in case he needed to move quickly. “I assumed you were talking about crime because it’s natural to do so. What are you muttering about?”
            Malfoy stood straight. “Someone has been writing to me, calling himself Ethan Starfall,” he said crisply. “He lied to me, and nearly tricked me into doing something that I might have regretted for the rest of my life. He said that he had children named James and Lily. It seems rather a coincidence to me that someone would pick both those names accidentally. Do you know who this is?”
            Such a swirl of thoughts conflicted and collided in Harry that he thought he might blurt something out he didn’t mean to.
            I never tried to trick you. Arse. I should have known better than to try and help you, should have known you wouldn’t change and you would always take someone trying to help you in the worst light possible.
            Who’s Starfall? He found someone named Starfall? Did I condemn them to suffering from him?
            I shouldn’t have used the names James and Lily for my children, either. What a fool I was.
            Harry banished the last thought—they were the names of Ethan’s children, and not his—subdued the impulse to speak the first one, and found an acceptable way of voicing the second. “I don’t know the name Ethan Starfall. You mentioned that he was connected to Ethan Summerfield? I might be able to research that and find out who he is.”
            Malfoy made an impatient gesture and leaned forwards to put his hands on Harry’s desk. “I already did the research for you. One of your trial records says that Starfall is a thief who died in Azkaban, and Ethan Summerfield is one of the people who bought his stolen goods. You can’t tell me that that’s a coincidence.”
            Harry shook his head. “That case was before my time. You should talk to one of the Aurors who investigated it and see what they say.”
            “I came to you in the first place because they were also using the names of your parents. I thought you would be more interested in that.” Malfoy spoke as slowly as though Harry was an idiot.
            Well, maybe I am, to think that there was any way I could have helped him.
            Harry simply bit his lip and waved a hand that he hoped made him seem a little curious—not enough for Malfoy to pursue. “It’s strange. But you haven’t uncovered any evidence of a plot striking at me, right?”
            Malfoy tensed as though he was going to spring like a cat. “You’re selfish enough to make everything about yourself,” he whispered. “I just clearly told you that this was a plot directed at me.”
            Harry wanted to whang his head against the edge of the desk. Yes, it really had been a mistake for them to get involved with each other.
            “I have no idea who it is.” Harry sighed. “I have no idea why someone would want to use the names of my parents as the names of false children, and I have no idea what it would accomplish, anyway. You say these names were used in private correspondence to you?”
            Malfoy nodded, still tense and deadly motionless other than the small movement of his head.
            “Then that makes it even stranger,” Harry said. “This person isn’t marching through the street proclaiming that they tricked you.” As if Ethan would. “They aren’t trying to hunt you down. Why would they think that using private letters was a means to damage you at all?”
            “He lied to me,” Malfoy repeated. “He nearly tricked me into doing something I regretted.” He was watching Harry as if he assumed that those words were unfamiliar to him.
            Harry folded his arms. “What was the thing? What were the lies? Maybe I could help you more if I knew that.”
            Malfoy snapped himself upright. Harry had seen a dragon do that right before it breathed fire, once. “I don’t want to tell you that.”
            “Fine,” said Harry. With an effort, he made his voice not snap. “But it’s going to be hard to tell what’s going on with this person using the names of my parents, I’ll tell you that. They’re doing it in private correspondence with you, someone I haven’t talked to since the war, and you won’t even tell me what the bloody goal was.”
            “Is,” said Malfoy, and his face looked like a skull. “I have reason to think that they’re trying to trick me still, and this is an ongoing struggle, the outcome of which is still in doubt.”
            Does he listen to himself? But given that Malfoy had spoken all that load of bollocks with a straight face, Harry decided the answer was probably “no.”
            “Fine,” Harry repeated. “If you don’t want to give me more details, then I can’t help you. That’s how Aurors investigate, is use of details,” he added, when Malfoy looked at him as if he was going to explode. “I can’t do that in the absence of them. Good day. I hope you find out who’s doing this to you.”
            And strangely, Harry thought as he faced his desk again, that part’s even sincere. I know who’s doing it to him. His own strange and paranoid brain.
            He hadn’t realized how caught up in his delusions Malfoy was. He had thought Malfoy probably sat alone in his house all day, brooding on pure-blood traditions and the right way to raise his son, but he hadn’t realized before now that that kind of brooding would, of course, drive a person insane.
            “I thought you would care more, Potter.” Malfoy’s voice sounded like gurgling in the back of his throat.
            “You’ve undermined my ability to care,” Harry replied, still not looking up from the report in front of him. “I don’t see how this thing or person is a danger to me. I wish you luck in finding him and getting rid of the fear. That’s all I can really say.”
            Malfoy slammed the door on his way out of the office. Harry shook his head. He could imagine lots of ways that things could be worse, which hadn’t been true when Malfoy had first shown up. Ron could have been there. Malfoy could have leaped immediately to the conclusion that Ethan was Harry because no one else would have reason to use those names.
            Harry could have gone on writing to Malfoy as Ethan, convinced that he could help him, and not knowing that he was speaking into the ears of a madman.
            Maybe I ought to tell the Mind-Healers about him, Harry thought idly. But it stayed an idle thought. Malfoy could probably be perfectly sane in front of other people, except when he was rabbiting on about Ethan, or he would have been locked up before now.
            Not my problem.
            Harry felt light, cleansed. Maybe now, he could reclaim Ethan’s voice, and start writing in his journal as him again. He didn’t have the weight of or responsibility for Malfoy hanging on his shoulders anymore. He still felt sorry for Scorpius, but he had no legal right to intervene and take the child away. Maybe the best he could do was a cryptic letter to Malfoy’s parents, warning them to watch out for their grandson. They probably would anyway.
            Yes, I’m well out of that.
*
            Draco leaned against the wall of the corridor outside Potter’s office, his breath coming in quick pants and his eyes stinging. No one passed by, and so Draco didn’t have to dash the threatening tears away or straighten up or any of that nonsense.
            Potter knows something. He must. The way he looked away from me and got angry when I wouldn’t tell him the details was too suspicious.
            Draco straightened. He would find some way to get the details. Not all three of the warlocks he had met needed to focus on Ethan, surely? He could send one of them after Potter and get the details that way.
            He went home, meditating on whether to choose Velvetmask or Shadowskill for that particular offer, only to find a letter from Moonstar waiting for him on his desk. He picked it up with shaking hands and turned it over.
            I hate Ethan. I hate him for reducing me to this. If this obsession is gone, if I just know…then maybe I can go back to my normal life and being a good dad to Scorpius.
            He tore open the letter.
*
moodysavage: He’s in for a severe shock. But I don’t think that anything other than tracking “Ethan” down will wake him up.
SP777: He really doesn’t. But he thinks he does.
Jester: Draco is going to try his best to make them into a problem.
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Starfall