Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

How To Train Your Auror 2: Family Ties	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7990 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
OMG WE ARE HERE! The bigger reveals! So excited. Can't wait. Many feelz. LOL
Are you ready to delve into Lucius's head? Are you ready to see what Dark-Draco and Devious-Diggle are up to? XD
Special thank you to waymay for editing this chapter and listening to me ramble on and on. XD YOU DA BEST.
On to the show!
~A.
This is how I show my love
I made it in my mind because
Blame it on my ADD baby
This is how an angel dies
Blame it on my own sick pride
Blame it on my ADD baby
Sail, sail
Sail, sail, sail
"Sail" by Awolnation
Hermione stared down at the floor, trying to comprehend Harry's words. She was a smart witch. It never took her this long to process such simple statements, and yet… this was different. This was about… "Are you sure?"
"I just came back from a visit with the sod, so… yeah. I'm sure." Harry rubbed his tired eyes, pushing his fingers under his glasses to pinch his nose as he shut his eyes tight. "Attacked Diggle in his cell..."
Her eyes flickered up. "He what?" She stomped her foot and balled her fists. "That self-centered… obnoxious… twat!" Hermione's patience wiped clean like a dry erase board. "Harry, you might need to hold me back, because I'm half tempted to attack him in his cell." She made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a screech as she ran her fingers through her hair. "I want to see him."
She took a step towards the back offices, where the Portkey Room resided, but Harry sideswept her and blocked her path. "Sorry," he said. He, indeed, looked apologetic. "The entire department's under lock and key until we can ascertain the location of the kitten."
"You're going to stop me from seeing him?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips and shooting him a disbelieving scowl.
"Hermione, believe me. You'll do more harm than good."
"I'm his fianceé."
"Are you, though?" Jameson piped in, and, upon Hermione's curse-filled eyes, he soberingly added, "I do not believe Auror Malfoy is in his right mind at the moment. Perhaps give him some time to dwell on his actions, yes?"
"Theodore's right," Harry said. "And, besides. You know where he is. It's not like he's going anywhere."
"Where exactly are we going?" asked Diggle, calling back to Draco as they stepped out of the disgusting display of toilets in Whitehall. They'd left Dean some ways back in the Ministry, Imperiusing him to retrieve two banana nut muffins, two blueberry muffins, and an apple cinnamon raisin bagel. Needless to say, he'd be busy a while.
As soon as Diggle was out of the toilets, he shifted his appearance back to normal, along with his dark brown hair and forest green eyes. Though, now, he appeared clean shaven and more the Diggle everyone knew, down to the dastardly glint in his eye. Although…
Draco snorted a laugh. "Nice dress."
Diggle's eyes trailed down to his frame where the dress held loosely around his body -he was much thinner than he'd been two years ago. Of course, sitting in a prison could do that to someone. Or, maybe, it was all a ruse. Draco didn't put anything past Diggle. Sympathy card, perhaps?
Greg perched an eyebrow and gestured towards the dress. "Well? Any bloody moment would be wonderful for you to transfigure me out of this and into something more… appropriate."
"I thought you felt pretty?" The blond chuckled, and with a wave of his wand transfigured the dress into a shirt and pants combo. "There, that should do it. As much as I detest the idea," he said, watching Diggle check himself out in the mirror, "We'll have to take the muggle transit to get to Diagon. If we Apparate from here on out, we can be tracked by the Ministry."
"Given this a lot of thought, have you?" Diggle raised a precocious eyebrow and waggled a finger at Draco's attire. "You won't do in those."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"A bit formal… here." He offered his hand out. "Lend me your wand."
"I will not," Draco said, a warning in his tone, "Do you think I'm daft? You'll not be getting my wand or any wand for that matter." He waved his wand and transfigured himself a grey long sleeve and black slacks. "See?"
"Still… too dressed up." Diggle shook his head. "You'll stick out like a snobby sore thumb in London."
"Like I care…" Draco rolled his eyes. "Come on. We best be getting on. We have an appointment this afternoon."
"Ooh? With your sinister grandfather?" Diggle drawled. "Oh, goody."
Draco smirked, stowing his away. Oh, if Diggle only knew what lay ahead.
"If I'm not to see Draco," Hermione huffed, "And I'm not allowed to leave for the time being, what am I to do?"
Harry's eyes were narrowed as he scanned the room. "Where's Dean?" His eyes rested on the far corner. "And where's that reporter? Shit -Jameson-"
"I'm on it, Sir," Jameson said with a curt nod, stepping off to leave but catching himself and, with a swing of his body, turned back around to face his superior. "While I have you here, Sir, I wonder if I might make a request…"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "From you? I think this would be the first. What is it?" He crossed his arms and waited.
Jameson brushed a nervous hand down the side of his robes and cleared his throat. "I was wondering, Sir, if I might leave Astoria and Scorpius in your possession so that I might… what I mean to say is... " he sighed. "I'd like to visit Auror Bolt, if it's alright with you, Sir. Pay my respects."
Green eyes softened, and Harry reached out, placing a hand on Theodore's shoulder. "I forget you and Bolt attended school together. How are you handling this, Theodore?"
Jameson shrugged, eyes pensive. "I didn't know her very well, so it isn't my place to grieve. However, I know she was a valuable asset to the Division, and-"
"-Theodore," said Harry kindly, "You don't need to give me an excuse. If you'd like to visit her, I'll be glad to take over your duties for an hour. It's the least I can do."
Jameson's eyes drifted up to his superior's, and he nodded once. "Thank you, Auror Potter. Truly. Has anyone informed Bolt's family?"
"They're out in Scotland for the time being. I've sent an owl to ask them to come here in person. Never like giving this kind of news in a letter."
"Indeed." Jameson blinked -it was his way of showing support, even when he couldn't express it on his face. "If I'm here when they arrive, I'd like to be the one to inform them, Sir, if it's all the same."
"You would?"
"Yes. Is that not all right?" Theodore's eyebrows scrunched together in concern.
"No, it's perfectly alright. I just... " Harry sighed with a mixture of relief and sadness. "Normally, no one volunteers for these types of things." He smiled genuinely. "Thank you, Theodore. I'm very glad to have you as part of this team."
With another nod, Jameson confirmed his thanks and bowed before walking back, no doubt to talk things over with Astoria and the rest of the family, leaving Hermione and Harry to themselves.
"Where do you think Dean's run off to?" Hermione asked. "There was a reporter here?"
"Said she was from the Daily," answered Harry, placing his hands on his waist while thinking. "I think she was lying." Rubbing his hands over his face, he cleared his throat and looked to Hermione. "I think it's time we have a look at Malfoy's memories, don't you?"
*(*)*
"Mummy, I don't want to go to Finnick's today," says a small boy seated at a large dining table, far too big for the three patrons gathered. The boy fidgets nervously with the wool collar of his shirt, grey eyes darting between his mother, who is busy spreading jam on toast, and his father, who is reading a copy of the Daily Prophet with great interest. Neither of them bother to help the boy as he extends his hand for a glass of orange juice at the center of the table just out of reach for his short arms. "Mummy, are you listening? Finnick is mean. He says mean things about me."
His mother's face, painted much like a china doll, turns in his direction, finally, and she sets the bit of toast onto his plate. "Lucius, darling. Finnick Nott is a nice young man. And you're to play with him, even if he isn't."
"But why?" The boy whines, bouncing up and down in his chair. "He never lets me play with his toys, and he pulls my hair and pushes me-"
His father's silver eyes flicker upwards in his direction as he sets the paper down with crisp movements. "-Malfoys do not let others push them around, Lucius." He raises a condescending eyebrow, and the boy's face flushes with embarrassment. "I did not raise you to be second in command to a Nott."
The boy's eyes fall to the table, all appetite lost. "Yes, Father."
"Yes, Sir," his father snaps.
The boy's face wilters into further humiliation. "Yes.. Sir."
"Good lad." His father nods in approval. Like a candle flickering to life, a smirk finds its way up the boy's lips. He's pleased he has done something right. "And your mother is correct. You must be seen with this Nott boy. But that does not mean to be compliant to his demands. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Wonderful."
"Abraxas, dear," says the boy's mother. "Did you order me that chiffon scarf for Druella Black's tea party this weekend?"
Abraxas grins. "Of course, Winifred. It should be arriving today."
"Thank you. Oh, you spoil me so." She smiles back, patting him on the arm. There, in this moment, Lucius's parents look happy. Proud. Accomplished. It's written all over the twinkle in the boy's eyes; he wants this one day, too. To be happy the way they appear to be.
"Come along, Lucius, dear," says Winifred, her slick, black hair shimmering like a waterfall down her back as she escorts her son down the streets of Diagon Alley. On her right is Abraxas, walking with a slender cane with a brass bulb on the top. His slender fingers grasp the handle as he glances down towards his son on the other side of his wife. Lucius is staring inquisitively back at a seated gentleman with scruff on his chin and battered robes.
"Why does that man look so dirty?" he asks. His voice is slightly more filled than before -he appears about two years older. His hair no longer holds that boyish frame around his face. It is slicked back, like his father's, attempting to uphold traditions.
"He is homeless," Abraxas explains, leaning against his walking cane for half a moment. He moves a hand up, and his wife and son cease their walking to allow him time to rub his knee.
"People can be homeless?" Lucius asks.
"Of course they can," says Winifred, checking her reflection in a shop window.
The blond boy turns his head back around in the direction of the scruffy looking man and frowns. "Should we give him some money?"
His mother's eyes widen, and she scowls in disapproval. "Certainly not."
"We don't give money to his kind," his father explains, not caring to keep his voice quiet. He straightens his posture and then relaxes, smirking down at Lucius.
"His kind, Sir?"
"Muggleborn."
Lucius's eyebrows knit together, and he shifts his pity for the man nearly instantly. His lips curl up in a sneer as he says, "Oh. How can you tell?"
"We went to school with him," Winifred explains. "Now, gentlemen, can we please keep moving? I'll be late to my hair appointment if we don't get a move on right this instant."
"Of course, Winny," Abraxas says with a calm smile and ushers a hand out, ready to follow at her request.
Lucius still doesn't appear convinced, and he fishes around in his pockets, pulling out his coin purse. It's small, and he doesn't carry much, but he releases his mother's hand long enough to scrounge out a few galleons and toss them near the man's feet. The wizard glances up, a mixture of confusion, thankfulness, and horror written across his eyes as he realizes who has gifted him with such a marvelous donation. "Th-Thank you kindly, Mr. Malfoy…" he mutters, reaching for the coins.
The boy closes his eyes, already feeling his father's wandering glare set in the back of his head. He knows he'll pay for this. So, to save his family's honor, he sneers out, "Don't thank me. I simply do not wish to see your presence here, dirtying up the streets ever again. Do you understand?"
Happiness flickers out of the man's eyes, replaced with a sad sense of understanding. "Yes… of course…"
Turning on his heels, Lucius gathers up his strength and looks up to his father, who stares at him with a hardened expression. The family says not a word as they make their way down the cobblestone path -not until they make it to Winifred's hairdresser. As she enters, Abraxas holds Lucius back by a firm hand on the shoulder and whispers in his ear, "That was a bold choice, my son. You reek of compassion."
Lucius swallows hard and nods once. "I'm sorry, Sir."
"Walk with me."
The two Malfoys excuse themselves from the salon and start a path down the streets, facing the opposite direction of the beggar. Lucius is relieved. He doesn't want to go that way again, to face the shame he's placed on his family's honor. Quietly, he walks beside his father, arms folded behind his back, chin up and out. He's been bred to appear confident, even when he isn't. Engrained since birth to encompass everything a wizard should stand for: poise, structure, well-groomed and well-versed in magic. And, above all else: Pureblooded. His father has made it very clear; it is a disgrace to be anything less than a Malfoy.
"What you did back there," says Abraxas, his feet clicking in opposing time to his cane, "Do you feel any pride in it? Giving that mudblood money?"
Lucius is torn in his feelings as he replies, "No, Sir. Not at all."
Abraxas nods. "Then why did you do it?"
"I don't know, Sir."
"I do." The elder Malfoy stops, mid-stride, and places his hand on his son's shoulder again. "It is because you are gentle. Like your mother. A trait that is both admirable and foolish."
The blond boy looks inquisitive as he turns his head towards his father. "How can something be both?"
"The same way a pine tree can thrive in both frigid and sweltering temperatures, I imagine. -But it is not the how that concerns me. A gentle heart means vulnerability. Do you understand that word, Lucius?"
"Yes."
"What does it mean?"
"It means one is weak."
"Are Malfoys weak?"
"No, Sir."
"Right. So you musn't be, either. -Weakness will get you hurt. Killed. Thrown under the dragon and without a broomstick. It is something no Malfoy must live with. You must not risk it all for some mudblood filth. They are beneath you. Beneath us. Do you understand?"
Lucius nods. He doesn't want to displease his father in any way. He won't flub it up again.
The years are kind to Lucius. He stands in an onyx robe ensemble, staring out at the vast amount of Pureblood socialites for the annual St. Mungo's charity function his parents hold every year. The Minister of Magic stands by Abraxas, laughing as if they're old chums. Winifred Malfoy twirls in her glitzy cocktail dress robes in front of a tittering group of women slightly younger than her. It's obvious to everyone in the room she enjoys the attention.
Finnick Nott approaches, a tumbler glass of aged scotch tucked in his left hand. He grins as he catches eyes with Lucius and says, "Hello, Malfoy. Pleasant evening we're having."
The blond snorts a laugh and trains his eyes across the room on a beautiful raven-haired witch who is chatting up Victor Crabbe. Though she's a year behind the fifth year Slytherins, Irma Abbott holds her own as Crabbe attempts to peek down her dress. She swats him on the arm and giggles. Lucius is unimpressed.
"Are you always this shy when it comes to women?" Nott joshes, nudging Lucius in the side. The Malfoy sends Finnick a withering stare worthy of his father, and his friend falls silent. Over the years, a pecking order has been established, and Nott has been put in his rightful place -a few rungs down below Lucius, who sits at the tippy top.
A Malfoy is never second best.
He stalks across the ballroom with poise that could only be inherited from his mother as he gathers up two glasses of champagne (uncaring if they're underage) and walks directly up to the giggling pair.
"Irma," he says, giving a graceful bow, "You look ravishing this evening."
The black-haired beauty smiles genuinely and flashes a set of pearly white teeth. "Lucius." She curtsies. "Your parents certainly know how to throw an affair worthy of the Queen."
"Mmm, yes. The Queen wishes she could receive an invitation," Lucius smirks, offering out one of the glasses. Irma takes it with a blush on her cheeks, and Crabbe doesn't look impressed. "So glad you could make it this evening."
"Are you?" she bats her eyelashes.
"Yes." He leans in further. "I am." He sips idly on his champagne for a moment, and so does she, and when the tension has built, Lucius carefully takes both glasses and shoves them into Victor Crabbe's pudgy hands. "Crabbe, why don't you run along and make yourself useful?"
Crabbe's face turns red, but he's no Sacred Twenty-Eight descendent, and he knows his place. Lucius has seen to that. So, with a red, blotchy face he mutters under his breath and stalks away towards the kitchens.
"Care to dance?" Lucius asks, offering out his hand.
And they do. He guides Irma around the dance floor like she is a sugar plum fairy. The room dulls in comparison to their shy smiles and idle chatter. Lucius has never looked so at ease. One dance turns into two, which turns into three, and soon the evening is dwindling down to the twilight hours. He escorts her out to the gardens, and, tentatively, kisses her.
Irma smiles.
There is a tint to Lucius's cheeks.
A cough comes from the side.
"Miss Abbott," says Abraxas Malfoy, eyeing the two with a superior expression. "Your family is looking for you. They wish to go home."
"Oh." Irma stands immediately. "Thank you, Mister Malfoy." She does a quick curtsy, glancing over to Lucius. "Thank you… for the dance." She dares another soft smile. "See you in school?"
Lucius nods, and Irma disappears through the foliage, back to the Malfoy Manor.
Abraxas's smile drops instantly, and he gives his son a stern glare, though he says not a word. Eventually, Lucius stands, tucking his hands behind his back. He begins to fidget with the cuticles of his nail beds- a nervous habit he's picked up. He swallows hard, but keeps his cool.
"Something the matter, Sir?"
Abraxas blinks, turning his eyes back the way Irma retreated. "She's beneath you."
Lucius's eyebrows work together, and his lips purse. "Beneath me? She's a Pureblood. How can she be beneath me? She's-"
"-A muggle sympathizer." His father tsks. "At least, her father is. And we all know an apple doesn't fall far from the tree."
There's a spark in Lucius's eye; the fifteen year old untucks his arms, and his hands ball into fists. "She's wonderful." He steps forward. "Irma is beautiful, and intelligent-"
"And entirely beneath you," Abraxas insists again. All softness from his face retires, and in its place sits a cold, scrutinizing glower. "Why can't you see that, my son?"
"I do not see what's wrong with her."
"Then you look at the world through rose-colored lenses." The elder Malfoy's voice rises in volume as his eyes narrow. "You've done so well for yourself, Lucius! Do not muck it up by fraternising with lower classes!"
"Crabbe is lower class than us! You seem to have no problem with our friendship!"
"Crabbe is not a potential life partner for my son, either! Do not think for one second I do not see the way you follow her around like a stray puppy!"
The Malfoy men glare at each other, mirror images of one another but for the generation they stem from.
"You cannot force her out of my life. I love-" Smack!

Lucius stares down at his father's hand, reddened by its assault to the teen's face. There is a tension so thick between the two that if a pin were to drop, it would echo in the garden. Abraxas's eyes glimmer with reproach, and, as a Malfoy, he doesn't apologize. "You are never to speak to that girl again, Lucius. Do you understand? You are better than this. Better than her!" He places a rough hand on his son's shoulder and shakes him lightly. "I will not tolerate you to besmirch our family name with tainted blood. Even if she is a Sacred Twenty-Eight, she is just as bad as a Weasley." His voice lowers, and with a firm growl, he adds, "Never again. Do I make myself clear, Lucius?"
The blond boy's face grows solemn, and it's obvious he is torn. He doesn't want to disappoint his father again -but he simply cannot turn his back on the girl he loves -can he? He reaches up, rubbing his stinging cheek, and mulls it over. A Malfoy is not weak. A Malfoy doesn't allow anyone else to control him. Did he really follow Irma around like a puppy? His eyes search the ground, down to his dress shoes, and he wonders when he's become so weak. Weak enough for his father to strike him. -Was it her? Muggle sympathizer? Was she really? Disgusting. He nearly disgraced the family name, hadn't he?
"Yes, Sir," he whispers, drawing his gaze back up to his father's. "I understand."
*(*)*
"I never thought I could feel bad for Lucius," said Harry, drawing his face out of the pensieve. Hermione followed suit, concern tracing the lines in her face.
"Irma Abbott…" She touched her finger to her chin. "Irma… why does that name sound so familiar?"
The streets were littered with muggles, and, to Draco's detestment, he had knocked elbows with at least twenty on his way through the city. Diggle convinced him, half way through, to confound a trolleybus driver into taking them to their destination free of charge. It was all very unnerving how comfortable Diggle seemed to be with being on the run. Of course, Diggle was in his home territory, wasn't he? Muggles, muggles, everywhere! When Draco was young, he'd been raised to seem them as hairless monkeys -but, as he stepped off the trolleybus and onto Charing Cross Road, he couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship of the muggle machinery. Impressive how they made things move without a drop of magic in their bones.
"We might need to change your appearance from here on," said Draco as his eyes caught the fountain a ways off -that fountain was where it all began, really. With Hermione. With the rest of his life. Cane. The Leaky sat across the street, rebuilt. It all seemed like such a distant memory. "Can hardly tell you left your mark here," he mused.
Diggle raised an eyebrow, looking out down the street. "I didn't do it to make a mark. I did it to make a point. To you." His eyes danced dangerously over to Draco's, and he grinned. Truly, this man could double for the Devil. "I think I made it very clear, don't you? Even if you did go and muck it up by disabling the Pandora Box."
"A lot of people died because of you," Draco replied coldly. "If I had any other choice at the moment, you'd still be rotting where you belong." They walked as they conversed, strolling in the direction of the Leaky.
"Yes," Diggle sing-songed, "but you do need me, so here we are. Isn't it grand? Cane and Malfoy, together again. Should we brand a name? I'm thinking 'Cane Industries, Malfoy Incorporated'."
"I will gladly hex your testicles if you don't shut the Hell up."
Diggle shrugged. "So, who should I be today? Aren't you worried that someone will spot you, oh so famous Auror-turned-criminal?"
A smirk crossed Draco's lips, and he relished in the uneasiness that settled over Diggle's face. "You leave that little bit to me. -Just figure out how you're going to look before we get to Diagon."
A wry smile crossed Diggle's lips, despite his previous unrest, and, as they separated to walk between a lamppost, he shifted. One moment, he was Gregory Diggle, brown hair, green eyes, strong jaw and plump lips -the next, he wore silver-white hair that rivaled Draco's in brightness, midnight black eyes with just a hint of brown around the pupils, and faint amount of scruff along his chin. "Miss me?"
Draco stared into the cold, calculating eyes of Bastian Cane. A horror rested in his stomach, and he instinctively reached for his wand, but caught himself last moment. No. He needed to remember that this was Diggle. Had been the entire time. He wasn't sure why this version sent a chill down his spine and the want to piss himself. But he simply shrugged in response, as if seeing his once evil counterpart didn't make him want to vomit. "Does wanting to stab you in the eye count as missing you?"
Bastian Cane laughed. His voice was higher than Diggle's -colder, too. How was that possible? "Oh, how I've missed that glare. It just eats you up inside, doesn't it? This form?"
"Any form you take, Diggle, is disgusting. You're like a mosquito -you're no good to this world alive."
They stepped into a side alley near the Leaky Cauldron, and Draco pulled open a trash can to reveal two sets of normal, onyx robes. Cane - er, Diggle - looked impressed as he shrugged on the robes and wiggled his fingers through the sleeves. "Ahhh… you have connections."
"I do."
"Care to share your source?"
Draco smirked. "In good time."
"So," Cane rubbed his hands together, "On to Gringotts, then?"
"Patience, young padawan," said Daco.
Black eyes blinked back at him. "Did…. did you just make a Star Wars reference?" Cane threw his arms around Draco and squeezed him. "I'm so proud of you."
"GET. OFF. ME. RIGHT. NOW!"
*(*)*
"What is this?" Abraxas stares down at Lucius's left forearm, mouth agape. There is silence in the Parlor Room of the Malfoy Manor, but grown Lucius shows no hint of worry on his face. He steps forward, unabashed, excited in his exposure.
"I've taken The Dark Mark," Lucius explains, thrusting his arm out further for his father to see. His father steps back. "The Dark Lord -he sees muggles the same as we do. As worthless vermin beneath our feet." Lucius's eyebrows draw together. "You don't look pleased."
"Pleased." Abraxas repeats his words back to him. "The Dark Lord. Dark Mark." He scoffs, turning his back to his son. "And I suppose he offers this muggle-free world with but a small price -submission. Am I correct?"
Lucius stares down at his arm, confused. "I've been promised supremacy."
"You've been promised to be a lap-dog," Abraxas sneers. "Malfoys do not submit to anyone, Lucius. Have I taught you nothing?"
"But this is what we've been striving for -for centuries. Lord Voldemort offers peaceful pureblood supremacy! Imagine it, Father! A world where the muggles worship the ground we walk on! Imagine the possibilities!"
"You have always been a vain one," says his father quietly, leaning against his cane. His back stays turned, refusing to show an ounce of give. "You worry more about feeding your own ego and positions of power than your own family name."
"That isn't true!" Lucius shouts, sighing as he runs disgruntled fingers through his hair. "I've done this for us! For our family! The Malfoys will stand at the top of the ladder for centuries-"
"-Wrong." Abraxas finally snaps back around to face him, fire burning in his eyes. "You have been deceived. Do you not think this a fruitless affair? This, too, shall fail. And all while you bow your head to someone less worthy than us. Are you aware this wizard -this 'Lord Voldemort' is a half-blood? A half-blood, Lucius! You would follow blindly behind a mixed disgrace in the name of -what? Possible victory?"
"I've already taken the mark," Lucius replies coldly. "It is done."
"So be it." Abraxas shakes his head. "But you are no son of mine while you take up this worthless cause. You are no better than the rest of your Death Eater brethren."
"Father-" There's desperation in Lucius's voice as he strains to reason. "I will make this family proud. You will see."
Abraxas stands in silence for quite a long time, inhaling deeply. He is struggling between his love for his son and the absolute discord he feels at Lucius's betrayal. "If there is nothing else…"
"There is." Lucius takes a step forward. "I… I would ask your permission to court Narcissa Black."
"Druella's girl?" Though there is still resentment on his face, Abraxas is intrigued. "Yes. Narcissa is a fine example of pureblood ideology." He gestures down to the Mark. "Is Miss Black aware?"
"Yes."
"And she is comfortable with the idea?"
"Hardly. But…" Lucius swallows a hard lump in his throat and folds his hands behind his back, picking at his cuticles again. "I care about her. She is… strong. Resilient. And, as you say, a perfect Pureblood woman, in every way."
Abraxas nods. "This relationship, indeed, has my approval. -The Black family will be a wonderful lineage to intertwine with ours. Perhaps… you haven't entirely ruined the Malfoy name."
The younger Malfoy gives a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Father."
*(*)*
Hermione pulled herself first out of the pensieve, eyes widening. Harry came up shortly after, fixing his glasses as they dangled off the tip of his nose.
"Harry," Hermione looked serious. "Harry, I think I understand what Abraxas is doing."
"Well?" Harry gestured to Hermione when she didn't continue. "On with it! What'd you get out of that?"
"The Sacred Twenty-Eight." She waited, and when he didn't catch on, she sighed. "The foxes. I thought it meant the attackers were targeting the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But… what if it's the other way around? What if Abraxas is using the Sacred Twenty-Eight? To take out the Death Eaters. Think about it. Lucius nearly 'ruined' the family honor by associating with anyone of half-blood or who were muggleborn. -What if Abraxas is recruiting pureblood, Sacred Twenty-Eight descendents?"
Harry rubbed his chin, taking in every word. "But why? What's he accomplishing by taking out the Death Eaters now? So he wants to make a point with the descendents. Fine. But what's the point?"
"Honor." Hermione slammed her hand down on the table. "He's trying to restore his family's honor. We might be able to pinpoint who he's using through researching family trees. It would have to be pureblood descents only. They might have different last names…"
Harry grinned. "Hermione. That's brilliant." He reached over and hugged her. "Brightest witch of our generation? More like the whole, damn planet!" He glanced over at the clock on the wall. "Shit. We're late."
"Late?" Hermione frowned. "Late for what?"
"I…" His green eyes searched over her face. "I have a lead I need to follow. -Come with me."
She frowned. "But what about our lead? Here? Shouldn't we start researching-?"
"Hermione. I'm the Lead Auror of the Auror Division. I have an entire department at my disposal. -It'll be quicker to give this off to the appropriate channels."
"But -I have the Malfoys…"
"Kingston will watch them." Harry reached over and took her hand. "I think it's time you found out."
"Found out? Found out what, Harry?"
He said not a word to her as he gathered up Lucius's memories and sifted them back in the vial before stowing them away in his robes. Quickly, he made his way out of the room, out into the Auror bullpen, and flagged down Kingston, Hermione on his heels. "Any luck finding Dean?"
"He was down in the cafeteria," said Kingston. "Jameson found him confounded -searching for pastries, if you can believe it."
Harry's eyes flickered over to the corner bench, and he sighed. "I knew it."
"Knew what?" asked Hermione.
"Where's Jameson now?" Harry asked, ignoring Hermione's question.
"The… um… the morgue, Sir."
"I see... " Harry clapped a hand on Kingston's shoulder. "Babysitting time." And then he pointed to the Malfoys, along with Astoria and Scorpius. "They stay here until I return, got it? They don't leave this room. Send food up. I don't care what it takes, but they stay here, understood?"
"Sir." Kingston nodded, bewildered. "But… but where are you going, Sir?"
"I'm also going to need you to send me a list of every pureblood descendent associated with the Sacred Twenty-Eight. By yesterday."
"Erm, yes, of course, but that will take time."
"Make it work." Harry waved a hand and ushered Hermione to follow him, calling back to Kingston, "While I'm gone, Kingston, you're in charge! Think you can handle that?"
It began to snow when Draco and Diggle, now Cane, entered The White Wyvern pub, located in the corner of Knockturn Alley. Draco shook out his robes to rid himself of snowflakes while Cane crooked his head, taking in the dimly lit bar.
"What are we doing here?"
"What's the matter, Digs? This place mirror too close to your icy, disgusting soul?"
"Do you see the tables? They've got three layers of dust. When was the last time someone cleaned in here? Azkaban is cleaner than this…"
Rolling his eyes, Draco guided Diggle to a back corner table and ordered them four pints of butterbeer, two shots of firewhiskey, and a round of chips.
"Planning on getting sloshed before you commit high treason?" sneered Cane, nursing his butterbeer as it arrived at the table by a frightening, elderly witch with a literal wart on her nose. As she walked away, he muttered, "I'm going to call her.. Wartz. That sound good to you?"
Draco ignored him, staring at the door.
Cane snapped his fingers. "Woohoo. Earth to Malfoy. You alright there? Dementors gone and sucked out your soul or something?" He glanced about the pub. "This place should be called the Black Dementor. There's no soul in this place…"
The bell above the door jingled as new guests entered, sweeping a gust of icy wind through the bar. Two figures in hoods stood in the doorway. One was taller with square shoulders. The other was wispy, feminine.
Draco's heart began to stammer wildly in his chest as the two approached the table, directly towards them. The smaller figure stopped half way across the establishment. She couldn't seem to move from her spot. With shaky limbs, Draco climbed out of his chair, nodded to the first cloaked figure, and swallowed a lump in his throat. Carefully, like a man approaching a timid dear, he stepped forward, palms out, forgetting how to breathe.
The feminine figure removed her hood, brown curls flying every which way as she stared in disbelief. Her chocolate eyes held tears, and with quivering arms, she reached out and grabbed him by the scruff of his robes, yanking him forward. "Draco?"
A thin smirk curled at the corners of Draco Malfoy's lips as he reached out and caressed Hermione's cheek. "Hey there, beautiful. Miss me?"
EEEEEEEEEE! (claps) Well? XD I can't wait to see your reactions.
~A.
- 19
- 20
- 21
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

How To Train Your Auror 2: Family Ties