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The Daring Win	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 8178 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Twelve—A Joust
“He is a remarkable child, Dolores. You are to be congratulated.”
Narcissa Malfoy’s voice was soft and cool and unforced. She was peeling grapes with the perfect speed, a speed that Dolores had sometimes seen in other houses, and knew was probably the preferred pure-blood way to do it.
They sat in the drawing room where Harry and Draco tended to play together. Today, the boys were whispering together over a set of blocks. Regularly, Pardus bounded through them and knocked them down. Draco had looked indignant the first time that happened, but Harry had only laughed and reached out to pet the kitten.
Dolores would have to make sure that he did not become too fond of the beast, of course. This close, she could see how it was helping Harry to connect to Draco, and was not inclined to interfere.
Narcissa was watching the boys, too. There was a faint line between her brows. Dolores suspected she knew exactly what it was about. The Malfoys would have trained their son to be a leader, and here he was, falling as if naturally into the role of follower.
Then again, they never trained their son for the possibility of encountering this kind of Boy-Who-Lived.
Dolores interrupted before Narcissa could gather too many of her thoughts. “Thank you. But your husband is the one who helped ensure that I had the chance to raise this remarkable child.”
Narcissa’s face relaxed, and she made a small toast to Dolores with her cup. “Yes, that was well-done of him, was it not? He does so enjoy it when he has a chance to make a fool of Dumbledore in the Wizengamot.”
“How soon is Dumbledore likely to regain power?” Dolores didn’t bother peeling the grapes. She didn’t know the right method—although she was watching Narcissa to learn it—and she didn’t want to make a fool of herself. Besides, it would make Narcissa a little more relaxed, a little more contemptuous, if she had something to look down on Dolores for.
And then, when she is relaxed enough, I can begin to walk circles around her the way Harry already is around Draco.
“It will be some time.” Narcissa had a shark’s smile when she wanted to use it, complete with teeth. “He will have to convince some of his followers that he is worth something, after the way they saw him completely humiliated.”
Before Dolores could ask another question, Narcissa added, “I looked forward to seeing my cousin Sirius, and introducing Draco to him.”
“Sirius is out researching the best way to make one of his ancestral homes livable,” Dolores said, which was true. Or half-true. It had certainly been the reason he gave her as to why he couldn’t attend the afternoon tea with Narcissa.
The other half was that he had told her, concisely, “I never want to see Cissy again. Not after some of the things she said to me when I was in Azkaban.”
That had made Dolores curious, because she couldn’t imagine a woman of Narcissa’s elegance visiting Azkaban, but she also had years with Sirius as she had years with Harry, she imagined. She would find out the truth in time.
Narcissa gave a low chuckle. Dolores focused on her, wondering if she’d figured out that Sirius was avoiding her, but Narcissa only shook her head and said, “And that doesn’t worry you?”
“I assume that even Sirius Black can get in limited trouble on a trip to London.”
“You don’t see what he’s doing.” Narcissa lowered her head a little in a gesture that reminded Dolores of a dog protecting her throat, and glanced once at Harry and Draco. They were absorbed in a game that was made of blocks and Pardus and a small ball. “You don’t see that he’s going to take Potter away from you the moment he has somewhere suitable for him to live.”
“I doubt he would do that. The Wizengamot gave custody to me—”
“But he is Harry’s godfather, and a Black. And if he hid behind the wards our ancestors put up, you would never get in.”
Dolores nibbled a biscuit and sighed a little. “He spent the last seven years in Azkaban. I doubt he even wants to chance going back.”
Narcissa gave a harsh little laugh like a crow coughing. “They wouldn’t put him in Azkaban for something like that. They would take custody away from you after hemming and hawing for a few days, and decide that Potter’s better off in the hands of his pure-blood godfather than he ever could be in the hands of a woman whose mother was a Muggle.”
It has come, then. Dolores had expected the challenge, but not so soon. She had thought the Malfoys would try to wriggle themselves further into Harry’s life so they could claim custody of him and stand a chance of having it believed.
But of course, Narcissa thought she could prevail on Sirius to do it, and then use the cousin connection to continue visiting Harry and influencing him however she wished.
Dolores folded her face into an expression of deep mourning, and sighed, and didn’t speak for a few minutes. Narcissa stared at her more and more narrowly, and one slippered foot tapped under the hem of her gown.
“And I thought that I was entrusting Harry’s training to some of the most intelligent and vibrant people in the wizarding world,” Dolores said softly. “People who would help him build alliances, and introduce him to the old traditions, and teach him that power is the most important thing. Power, and how it moves people. I didn’t realize that I was simply exposing him to more prejudice.”
“Do you deny your parentage?”
“No more than you deny yours. The difference between us is that I don’t mistake my parentage for the source of my power.”
Narcissa’s nostrils flared, and for a second, Dolores thought she might actually make her shout. Then she shot a glance at the little boys and curved her neck downwards again. “Harry would be upset if I were to take Draco away.”
“And you still misunderstand power. You should be thinking more about Draco being upset if he no longer has access to his friend.”
Narcissa’s hand tightened on a biscuit so hard that it crumbled. She was fighting to control her tongue, and Dolores watched in interest. When Sirius had told her about Narcissa saying those things to him, she had thought it was strange, out of character for the poised woman.
But now she thought she could see the real Narcissa. Not such a poised woman after all, but one who lived so high in the embrace of power that normally she encountered nothing that could ruffle her. That only made her self-control all the weaker when she came face to face with a stronger opponent.
Dolores sipped her tea, and smiled.
Narcissa finally looked up and spoke in a grinding voice, as if she had gears locked in her throat. “There will be people who take him away from you. When he goes to Hogwarts. When he finds friends who will teach him to despise Muggles.”
“He already does that,” said Dolores comfortably. “What you’re talking about is teaching him to despise half-bloods. And forgetting that he’s a half-blood himself, and loves his mother.”
Narcissa jumped as if Dolores had stabbed her with a knitting needle. “You—you can’t be sure that he sees you as his mother, not yet,” she said, and stumbled over the words, even though it never turned into a stammer.
“I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about his Muggleborn mother, Lily Potter, who died to save him.”
Narcissa stared at her with shadowed eyes, perplexed. Dolores sipped some more of the tea and watched her. Was she really this weak? Dolores had spent so many weeks admiring the strength of the Malfoys, how Lucius delighted in outmaneuvering Dumbledore, how Narcissa was so graceful and cool, how Draco was politer than Harry without ever seeming to try.
But…if Narcissa had reminded her of porcelain, well, porcelain was beautiful and pure. It was also easily breakable.
“You cannot be teaching him that.”
“It’s history.”
“I didn’t mean—” Narcissa stopped. There was no good way to put what she was trying to say into words, Dolores thought, still watching her, because it was nothing good.
Narcissa finally managed to rest her hands on her lap and release some of the air that had collected in her lungs. “I only meant,” she said, “that his mother is dead, and you are alive.”
“I’m his guardian. I know that I can’t take the place of his parents, and I’m not going to try.” Dolores wondered if Narcissa had noticed that Harry was petting Pardus, his face ducked, but that he had his head turned so a single bright green eye peeked out at them.
“But Sirius could. And what are you going to do when he tries to take Harry away from you?”
Choose my allies more carefully next time. “We’ll have to wait and see if it actually happens.”
“How could he choose to stay in a house with someone like you?”
“He chose to associate with James Potter after he married his wife. And he was friends with half-bloods as well, from what I remember.” Dolores shrugged a little. “I don’t think he holds to the same Black family standards that you do.”
Narcissa’s eyes had an ugly glint in them. Dolores wondered for a moment whether she was so emotional that she was no longer bothering to conceal what she really thought, or whether she simply thought Dolores was a weak opponent, so she could show those feelings to her.
She is not as strong as I thought. Dolores blew across the surface of her tea, although it had long since cooled. “Surely you don’t think that pure-bloods alone are worthy of your attention,” she added lightly. “Or should be worthy of Harry’s.”
“I know what you are.”
“A half-blood, with a Muggle mother?” For the first time, Dolores didn’t wince to herself as she spoke those words. They were true, and more than that—she was discovering they could be a source of power, something she had never suspected. “That is true.”
“I didn’t mean that. I know what you want. And you won’t get it. A Black should raise him. If not me, then Sirius.”
So she always intended to take custody away from me. And probably soon, much sooner than I thought she would move. Dolores turned her head to look up at Narcissa, who had risen to her feet. “Maybe you should think about this. About what you really want, and whether you can get it like this.”
Narcissa’s eyes were little grey slits. Dolores thought of a colleague at work who was a half-blood, and whom she had always despised because he would react like this, flailing around and making it so clear, with no subtlety, what he wanted and who he blamed when he didn’t get it.
Dolores had always thought that came from the fact that his pure-blooded mother had walked out on his Muggle father when he was young, and hadn’t been there to teach him the proper etiquette of how one remained calm and smug in the face of obstacles. Now she thought, in wonder, that it might have nothing to do with blood at all.
“Mother?”
That was Draco. Narcissa seemed to come to a sense of what she owed her family and her position, and drew herself up until her hair threatened to topple out of the neat net she’d woven it into. “Come, Draco. We are leaving.”
“But Harry was going to teach me how to throw the ball so Pardus would fetch it,” Draco whined.
Dolores glanced at him. He was pouting, and he didn’t seem to pale or otherwise know why he should shut up as his mother turned to him and glared. Perhaps, in the end, there were some things stronger than the Malfoys’ family bonds.
“Get your toys, Draco. We are leaving.”
Draco blinked at her, then folded his arms and said, “I didn’t bring any toys. These are all Harry’s. And I want to stay.”
Narcissa swept towards him and bent down, saying something Dolores dearly wished she could hear. It didn’t change Harry’s expression, but it did Draco’s. He got up with his head hanging, and stood there for a moment as his mother swept out of the room and into another to use the Floo there, even though they’d come in by this one.
“I don’t want to go,” Draco whined under his breath to Harry.
“I think you have to do what your mum says,” said Harry, his eyes calm. “That’s the way mums are.” He looked at Dolores, and then stood up and shook Draco’s hand. “I’m sure that I’ll see you again, though.”
“How, if my Mum won’t bring me here?” Draco looked even more depressed. Dolores swallowed more tea and wondered if the Malfoys knew what a perfect little follower they were raising. At least, a follower for Harry Potter, if not other wizards without his name and reputation.
Harry leaned in and whispered, but Dolores had cast a charm that let her hear every word. “My godfather. Sirius will take me anywhere I ask, and you can sneak out and meet us, okay? We can do that.”
Dolores raised her eyes to the ceiling and hoped that she would manage to hold her calm, as Narcissa had not, when Sirius inevitably suggested that. He might think he was the one who had come up with the plan, but she had the clearest proof now about who was in charge.
“Okay, Harry!” As Narcissa called for him in a voice like sleet, Draco hugged Harry and then ran into the other drawing room. Harry blinked and looked at his robes as if he was trying to make sure that Draco hadn’t messed them up.
“You did well,” said Dolores.
Harry turned to her, his eyes solemn. He was still petting Pardus with one hand. The kitten was almost asleep, lying in his lap with his tail on the floor and his paws batting the air. Now and then he caught the edge of Harry’s robe, but Harry always moved before his claws could tear it.
When the fire whooshed and then subsided, Harry took a deep breath and asked, “Is that what mothers are always like?”
“Not always,” said Dolores. “Some mothers raise their children properly.”
Harry nodded. He was sitting with his hand in Pardus’s fur, but the kitten was completely asleep now. He seemed distressed, and Dolores sat up and waited until he looked towards her with a wince that suggested he was still thinking.
“I don’t know if I want a mother, if she would be like Mrs. Malfoy.”
Dolores buried the impulse to cackle in triumph, and only said, “Well, your mother would have been very different from Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Because she was Muggleborn?”
“No. Because she would have raised you properly. She wouldn’t have let you be raised by Muggles, but she also wouldn’t have let you think that you are a member of the only powerful family in the world.”
Harry blinked twice. His hand had gone still in its stroking of his kitten. “Do you think Draco thinks that? He’s never said it.”
“Not to you, perhaps. But you are the Boy-Who-Lived, and that means you have your own power. I suspect that the Malfoys are very different around Draco’s other friends. Perhaps that is why he wanted to stay with you so badly,” Dolores added delicately, guiding the conversation in the direction she wanted it to go. “Because he can talk to you in a way that he cannot to his other friends. He can have a more equal relationship with you.”
Never truly equal. But that’s not something Harry needs to know all the nuances of, not when he and Draco are falling into their roles so naturally.
“Miss Dolores?”
“Yes?”
Harry looked up at her, his eyes blazing with a determination that she had only seen before when he was confronting the Wizengamot. “I want to know how to use my power. But I never want to be like Mrs. Malfoy. I never want to think that my power is the only kind that matters.”
“I think there’s very little chance of you being like Mrs. Malfoy, Harry,” Dolores said softly, and reached out to touch his hair. It was softer than the fur of Pardus, whom she had only touched once in any case. “I’m not a pure-blood who could teach you all the correct terminology and laws, anyway.”
“But I don’t want to be like her.”
“Who do you want to be like?”
“Myself.”
Dolores blinked a little, because she’d been hoping—anticipating—that he would say, “You,” but this was certainly an acceptable substitute. At least it would mean that he was unlikely to let Sirius or Dumbledore or anyone else influence him, once he was out of her control and at Hogwarts.
“Then we can teach you to be like that,” she said. “There are tutors I was avoiding because very few respectable pure-blood families would hire them, but…”
“I want them. I want to be myself.”
And that is a protection I did not count on, Dolores thought, as she watched Harry sitting up taller and straighter. A sense of self so rarely fully developed in a child.
Yes, taking him away from the Muggles has been one of my best decisions.
*
Biigoh: Yes, she is. Although of the cat, not of Harry. :)
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The Daring Win