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Who Do You Think You Are?	By : sharinganswirl Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 4710 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and make no money from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
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- 2
- 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor am I making any money from writing this story.

A/N: And here’s chapter 2. I’m aiming for a chapter a week… maybe more frequent as the story grows. I’m just giving myself some time to keep writing. :)

Please review! I’d love to know your thoughts!

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Chapter 2

Draco slammed his current book closed and expelled a rather long and frustrated breath. It was very un-Malfoy-like behavior, but he was so fed up he didn’t much care at the moment.

Genealogy was frustrating, boring, irritating, and a damn nuisance. He had been trying his hand at it for the last couple of weeks, but he still couldn’t wrap his brain around what to look for, where to look for it, and what it all meant. It was rare, extremely rare, when Draco found something he didn’t understand and pick up immediately. Draco usually avoided those subjects.

He had toyed with the idea of hiring a muggle, explaining about wizards and the like, but it would be such a headache to train the muggle and then to have to Obliviate them after the whole mess was said and done.

Deciding he’d rather be drinking some tea in the garden, Draco stood and cast a wicked look to the desk piled high with books and papers. He strode from the room, grateful to leave the mess behind.

He found his mother in the garden, soaking up the sun. She was as beautiful as ever, pale and blond, slender but not as delicate as she looked. She had survived the War while married to a Death Eater and managed to come out unscathed. She was reading The Daily Prophet, which hadn’t changed much since the War; Still bigoted, still articles about the elusive Harry Potter, still boring in its predictability. Draco usually liked to complete the crossword puzzles on the back of them rather than read any of the articles.

“Hello, Mother. Might I join you?”

Narcissa glanced up, her dark eyes warming at the sight of her son, and set her paper down slightly. He looked stressed and disheveled, a very unbecoming look for him, she decided. “Of course, Draco. You look a fright. What is causing this?”

Draco sighed dramatically and settled into one of the white wicker chairs. His mother occupied its mate and their tea sat upon the matching table between them. He took a moment to inhale, enjoying the scent of the roses that were laid out before them, and closed his eyes, tilting his head toward the sun. He’d been in that damn library too long, he mused.

“It’s this genealogy mess, Mother. I don’t understand it. Every time I pick up a new book on the subject, there are more processes I don’t know or care to understand. I don’t ever think I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Draco opened his eyes and began to pour himself some tea. “I want to hire somebody.”

Narcissa pursed her lips. She knew what that would entail.

“Before you disagree with me, hear me out. I know it would look bad for a Malfoy to hire a genealogist to compose our family tree, but we haven’t thought about ways to prevent the sure scandal. Maybe we could set an Unbreakable Vow for them to not divulge any secrets they find, or I would prefer a simple Obliviate on the poor fellow. I just can’t do this by myself.” Draco sipped his tea and enjoyed the hot path down his throat. It seemed to soothe away every frustrating moment of the day.

“I know, dear. Those thoughts occurred to me, too. It’s still too risky! We can’t chance…”

“We also can’t chance anybody finding out that the Malfoy’s don’t have a family tree!” Draco interrupted rudely.

Narcissa nodded. “But who would find out unless we tell them? It’s not as if many people look around for those things much nowadays.” She lifted a dismissive hand. Draco was beginning to think all of the women in his life did that.

‘Must be a pureblood thing,’ he thought.

“Well,” Draco hesitated. “I may have told Pansy and Blaise that I’d show them my lineage, so I could prove to them that we’re descendents from royalty of sorts.” Draco hastily gulped more tea.

“You did what?” Narcissa hissed in an unladylike manner. “Oh, Draco…”

“Yes, Mother. I know now that I was wrong to do so. Please don’t tell Father,” Draco pleaded.

“Of course I won’t tell your father. He’d keel over.” Narcissa’s eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you just make up the family tree?”

“It’d be harder to make up a family tree and try to guess at everything than to actually do the research,” Draco explained. “Plus, it may be a good resource for my children and my children’s children to have. You know, if they’re anything like me.” Draco winked.

Narcissa always had the biggest soft spot for her son. She would serve the world to him on a silver platter if she could.

“Alright, dear. Do your research thoroughly before hiring somebody. I expect to know exactly who will be delving into our family’s history. Now, pass me that scone.” They enjoyed their afternoon tea and Draco put the thought of genealogy right out of his mind. It could wait another day.

*******************

“Draco, dear!”

Draco almost let loose an animalistic growl at being interrupted. Almost.

As it was, he set down the letter he had been reading and glanced toward the door, where his mother’s voice was drifting from the hall.

“Yes, Mother. In here.”

His mother arrived in his personal study area, clutching that morning’s Daily Prophet.

“There you are. Here, take a look at this.” She set the newspaper down in front of him, pointing to a section.

Genealogist for Hire

Curious about your family history?

Want to know where you came from?

Hire Henry Pickering to research

your family history!

Please owl The Daily Prophet for

more information.

Draco’s gaze flew up to meet his mothers. She had a glint in her eye.

“I know you’ve been having trouble finding a wizard, this may be the man you’re looking for.” She smiled encouragingly.

It was true. It was almost two weeks since he asked his mother if he could hire somebody. He hadn’t been able to find out anything about anybody being a genealogist. He could only ask so many questions to so many people before rumors started to fly. This advertisement seemed to be the answer to all of Draco’s maladies on the subject.

“Excellent! I shall write The Prophet at once.” Draco reached for his quill and a fresh sheet of parchment.

*******************

Shockingly for Harry, numerous owls showed up from The Daily Prophet bearing letters from wizards all over the country, asking for Henry Pickering. Hermione just cast him a knowing glance when she stopped by for a minute, dropping off lunch.

“Don’t even say it,” Harry warned.

Hermione just smiled and left without a word.

Harry was having a hard time trying to choose which ones to take on first, having finished the Parker family just last week. All of the letters seemed to be of the same caliber, just expressing a curiosity to know their families origins. He really didn’t expect anything different.

Until he saw one letter that stood out from all the rest.

The writing was small, but neat, obviously from a gentleman of excellent education. That caused Harry some pause. Maybe a pureblood?

‘That would certainly be interesting,’ Harry mused.

The letter read:

Dear Mr. Pickering,

I’m writing to you based on the information provided to me by The Daily Prophet. I’m assuming they’re accurate in their information of you having performed genealogy work for the past four years since the War, and therefore, have extensive knowledge on the subject. Please correct me if this information is inaccurate.

I am in great need of your services. However, there are circumstances that prevent me from relating to you exactly who I am and what I would like you to explore. I will require the very best of professionalism you have to offer and the utmost secrecy while conducting the research of my family.

If you believe you can fulfill these requirements and are interested in working for me, please send your reply to The Daily Prophet.

Best Regards,

Anonymous Seeker

Harry snorted to himself. ‘Definitely a pureblood.’

His attention and curiosity was caught, though. This family must be well known if they want to keep their identity a secret. It was common knowledge that pureblood families know everything there is to know about their families. If one pureblood family was lacking that vital information, it could lead to questions as to the state of their blood.

Harry knew that he could keep the best of secrets. Often when dealing with family affairs there were things that were found out that nobody would want to have made public knowledge, or even family knowledge.

Also, odds were that whoever this pureblood family was, they would know who he was. They may also have been supporters of Voldemort in the War. He knew it would be entirely possible to conduct his research and never have to see the family, but Harry liked to be personable with the family. He never planned on sticking to his alias name while conducting the research, he just expected his clients to keep quiet about him. Now, he was thinking that it may just be a wiser idea to keep his identity a secret, as much as he loathed it.

‘Or,’ he thought, ‘it might just be a way to ensure my secret keeping abilities if they also had leverage to keep my secret.’

Making up his mind, Harry reached for his quill.

********************

Dear Mr. Seeker,

Your letter has intrigued me. I can assure you that I’m able to keep my mouth shut when absolutely necessary, which seems to be the case here.

To prove I’m a trustworthy source, let me tell you that the name Henry Pickering is actually an alias. I will explain who I really am and why I have an alias, and you may keep my own secret. In exchange, I won’t tell anybody your secrets.

If this seems to be a fair transaction to you, please meet me at The Witch’s Brew at 5PM, this Friday. There will be plenty of people there, of course, all hopefully wrapped up in their own business to be curious about us.

I will await your presence. I will be the gentleman reading a book about genealogy. If you do not show, I will take that as a negative response.

Thank you for this opportunity,

Mr. Pickering.

“Mother!” Draco practically shouted. Malfoy’s never shouted. Thinking better of it, and getting a handle on his excitement, Draco snapped his fingers. The quiet pop of a house elf was the immediate response and Draco ordered it to reveal the location of his mother.

“She’s in the library, Mr. Draco, sir,” the elf squeaked.

Nodding, Draco stood from his desk, grabbing the letter he had just finished reading. He strode out of the room to the opposite side of the house, where the library was.

‘You never know just how big this house is until you have to walk from one end to the other,’ Draco thought sardonically.

Finding his mother in the library, Draco asked his mother to read the letter.

“Well, of course you must go, Draco. This is a perfect situation. You can ensure his secrecy. It’s almost worthy of Slytherin house.” A small smile graced her features.

“I thought so as well, Mother. I will let you know what I find out after meeting this… Mr. Pickering, for lack of a better name.” Kissing his mother’s cheek, Draco made a hasty exit. Now that that was settled, he had other business to attend to.

*******************

Harry was hunched over his caramel macchiato, savoring the smells and the heat that radiated from his mug, seeping into his bones. It was unseasonably cold that evening and pouring rain and his coffee was definitely doing its job of chasing away the aches.

‘Another reason to love coffee,’ he thought to himself.

He had favored The Witch’s Brew for quite a few years now. They always had the best espresso, the best service, and the friendliest people, all of whom were coffee lovers and quick to suggest a new drink. While Harry may have been conspicuously absent from most of the wizarding world, Harry frequently haunted The Witch’s Brew whenever he needed to get away from his current project or needed a good cup of coffee.

It’s true that Englishmen were known for their favor in tea, but Harry far preferred coffee. He had a feeling that if modern coffee mediums had been available way back when, tea probably wouldn’t have steeped so long in England’s history. Now, it was only propriety that kept tea in the English household. Or so Harry liked to think.

Harry wasn’t quite sure why he suggested The Witch’s Brew to “Mr. Seeker”, but he would guess some of the top reasons would be because it was a comfortable atmosphere, people didn’t butt into other people’s business in the café and, of course, great coffee. Since the odds of “Mr. Seeker” being a pureblood were very high, and therefore, their steeped history of tea, Harry thought it would be amusing to see how they behaved in a coffee shop. Harry studied people in all forms; their history, their behaviors, their psyche. He found it all very interesting.

With the espresso warming his belly, Harry’s attention was drawn to the other inhabitants of the coffee shop. There was Mrs. White, a plump elderly woman who frequently stopped in for an afternoon cup, more to catch up on the latest gossip than to enjoy the coffee. She was an odd one, Harry mused. She would cock her head slightly, listening in quite obviously to a nearby conversation and then relay the story to an acquaintance later on as the afternoon rolled by. Harry suspected that she invited more friends over to her home occasionally for tea, just to keep up the English tradition.

Then there was Mr. Wilson. He was Mrs. White’s opposite in almost every way physically. Tall, gangly, and stiff shouldered, he always had to duck when entering the shop. He was known for his fedora, which always topped his head come rain or shine, and his green bowling bag, which served as his briefcase. From what Harry could tell, Mr. Wilson must have been a professor of some kind, he was always grading papers or reading something while in the café. Harry was willing to bet he was probably a professor of Music or Theater, with his eccentric flare.

There were plenty of characters that turned up at the café, some veterans and some rookies, which made Harry’s latest game of “guess who’s coming for coffee” a little more challenging that he thought it would be.

He wondered about the person he was meeting. Who was he? Or her, even? Their story, their history, their life. What was their genetic make-up? That was Harry’s job and he loved to find the answer to that question. Often it wasn’t what a person thought it would have been, due to last names being carried down. One of his clients found out she was more Irish than German, but because her family carried down a very Germanic last name, the Irish blood history was almost forgotten.

One thing Harry prided himself in was his ability to get along with practically everybody. When digging into somebody’s personal family history, it was essential that he be trusted and he found that if he had a good relationship with the family he was researching, that trust was more easily founded. He hoped he could continue that streak with his next client.

Until Draco Malfoy entered The Witch’s Brew.

***************************

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