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Bard of Morning's Hope	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9573 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making any money from this story.

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Chapter Four—Visitors
            Harry came downstairs, rolling his shoulders. He had carried the Malfoys’ baggage slowly up the stairs, because he had wanted them to have time to themselves, or time to stop talking about him—if that was what they were doing. But that had meant doing it without a helpful charm, and that meant strained shoulders.
            Worse, it didn’t seem to have worked. The Malfoys had stopped and stared at him with almost identical expressions when he carried the trunks in, and Harry had been left feeling as if this wasn’t his home. Going downstairs to get tea had seemed like a genius idea, even when both Malfoy and his mum refused tea. At least Harry would get something warm in his stomach and down his throat, and he would have at least a few moments of privacy.
            He hadn’t even reached for his cup, though, before the fireplace whooshed. Harry turned around in surprise, but he had to smile when he saw Molly Weasley’s face in the flames.
            “Harry.” Molly smiled back at him. “How are you? Do you still want me to bring that dinner I promised through?”
            “Please,” Harry said, and he thought it was the fervent tone in his voice that made Molly laugh. A second later, she clucked her tongue.
            “You look as if you’ve had a tiring day, dear,” she said, and began to reach off to the sides, where Harry knew she would have the dishes standing ready with the dinner. Molly said she couldn’t get used to cooking for less than nine people, even though most of her children didn’t live in the Burrow now, so there were always leftovers Harry was more than happy to take off her hands.
            Especially since he knew that she was more than capable of cooking exactly as much food as she wanted, and that Ron tended to drop in more than once a week, and sometimes Ginny and George were there for dinner, too. Harry just liked seeing how much Molly cared for him, even now.
            “Well, there’s been that latest murder in the Bard case,” Harry said, listening with appreciation to the clattering of the dishes. “Lucius Malfoy, this time. And I want to catch the bastard, so I’m housing the remaining Malfoys with me.”
            Molly paused. Harry expected some kind of negative reaction, but instead, her eyes lit up. “Good. I’ll bring over some of my new recipes, then.”
            “You want to feed them?” Harry blinked. Even knowing how incredibly generous Molly was, this was the family that the Weasleys had had a blood feud with for a long time.
            “I want to use them as test subjects,” Molly said, with a faint smile. More dishes clattered. “I made a cake last night that multiplied itself, somehow, and neither George nor Ginny would touch it. Ginny’s talking about keeping her weight down as a Seeker, and George said that he can’t afford to have the magic in the cake mingling with his and causing havoc in the shop.” Molly clucked her tongue again. “So I thought I would get rid of both extra food and magical food.”
            Harry had to grin, and he went on making the cup of tea. That was one of the few things that Molly didn’t try to bring through the Floo. Even the supernatural feats of balance that made her able to carry dishes apparently wouldn’t let her carry liquids with that kind of ease.
            A few minutes later, Molly slid through the fireplace with steaming plates on both arms, her shoulders, and her head, and more floating behind her. Harry hurried to take them from her, enchanting the ones she was carrying so they flew. He knew that she liked to carry them herself to test the temperature and because she could make sure that the vulnerable food was more securely carried than it would be in a bobbing dish, but Harry preferred food to land on the table and not the floor.
            Even if it’s colder that way, he thought, and exchanged smiles with Molly as he got the last plate settled. “Let me call the Malfoys, then,” he said, and paused to stare at a large platter loaded with several dozen small cakes, all of them covered with black icing. “That’s the cake that duplicated itself?”
            “Yes, and a terrible time I had shrinking it, too,” Molly said, and sniffed. “And this morning, Arthur refused to eat them. As though he hadn’t eaten plenty of magic, what with how often I use it to cook!”
            “I’ll be the brave one,” Harry said, and ignored Molly’s mock glare as he reached for one of the cakes and brought it to his mouth.
            He felt the sweet sting of the icing along his tongue, and for a moment wondered what the fuss was about. It tasted pretty normal to him, although it did seem as though there was a thickness to the icing, as though it was really smeared around the back of the cake instead of in the front or something—
            A second later, he choked, and staggered. Yes, there was a lot of magic in that cake, and the various spells were all bursting in his mouth like fireworks. Harry thought about spitting out the cake, but he couldn’t do that. It would hurt Molly. He rode through the miniature pains that the spells offered him in silence.
            And after another few seconds, it wasn’t that bad. The spell effects faded away into nothing more than the pop and snap of spice, and the sweetness came back. It was more startling than anything else. Harry moved his tongue around his mouth and cautiously swallowed.
            “Now, was that so bad?” Molly spread her hands imploringly. “I ask you.”
            “I’ll eat them,” said Harry, and carefully set the plate aside. “Because they’re good. But I’m not sure that I should give any to the Malfoys. They might think I’m the one trying to assassinate them.”
            “What was that, Potter?”
            Harry started. Malfoy had come down the stairs and into the kitchen so quietly that Harry hadn’t heard him, and now he was standing turning his head back and forth from Harry to Molly, going redder and redder in the cheeks.
            “I brought food for you,” said Molly, acting as though Draco was—was Percy, Harry realized with a start. Percy had alternated since the war between acting abjectly sorry and acting as though he thought certain things he’d done, like his devotion to the Ministry, were still right. Molly had countered that by adopting an attitude of unwavering calm. “I thought you must be hungry. But Harry doesn’t think you or your mother ought to eat the cakes. They’re too full of magic, and they sparked in his mouth.”
            “Ow,” Harry added, and traced his tongue back and forth behind his teeth, which he thought must be blackened from the cake’s internal fire.
            Malfoy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Harry looked away and attended to his tea so he wouldn’t say anything. On the one hand, he knew how hard it must be for Malfoy, whose emotions would be swinging back and forth. Merlin knew that Harry had felt that way when Sirius died, and he hadn’t had Sirius for nearly as long as Malfoy had had his father.
            On the other hand, he could stop behaving as if Harry and anyone else who came into the house was the Bard of Morning’s Hope. It was more than a little annoying.
            “Fine,” said Malfoy, and turned back to Molly. “I’d like some of the food to take up to my mother. She’s feeling too weak to come down the stairs right now.”
            Harry started to ask, “What—” A few of the Bard’s victims had died of poisoning, and there was the chance that the Bard could have spread some silent poison before he left the house. Narcissa had looked perfectly competent to climb the stairs earlier.
            He shut his mouth as Molly stepped on his foot. Molly was nodding and piling the small sandwiches of cucumbers and pickles up in the middle of a tray. “Of course. Here you are.” She held out the plate to Malfoy. Harry watched appreciatively. Molly really was acting the way she did with Percy, minus the “dear” that she usually attached to sentences addressed to Percy.
            Give her time, and she might even be able to do that, Harry thought. He knew Molly got along with those that appreciated her cooking.
            Malfoy took the tray slowly, and let his eyes travel over the mounds of food. “You cooked this?” he said.
            “That’s right,” said Molly in a neutral voice.
            Malfoy’s hands tightened on the tray, and for a second, Harry thought he might reject the whole meal. Which was the point where Harry stepped in, because enough was enough.
            “And it’s a good thing she did, because I need to add some more strength to the wards, and that always leaves me too exhausted to cook,” he added blandly, and drained his teacup. “We won’t want for food while we have this.” He smiled at Molly and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thanks.”
            “I thought your house-elf—”
            He probably had told Malfoy that, fool that he was. Harry shrugged, pretending unconcern. “Well, he does make me food, and I do eat it. But this is better than you’re going to get from Kreacher. He has some peculiar tastes sometimes.” He winked at Malfoy and Molly, and threw his cloak over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
            Malfoy stiffened up and moved out of the kitchen with his platter. Molly shook her head at Harry. “That wasn’t nice, dear.”
            “I couldn’t bear him standing there and treating you like shit,” Harry hissed back. “He can eat it or not eat it, but he’s not going to haul that old blood feud in here and make it about that when it should be gone.”
            Molly looked at him thoughtfully. “I agree, dear, but I don’t know if Ron or the others will, when they visit.”
            “There’s a difference, though,” said Harry, and opened the outer door. “I can sit on Ron.”
            “I’m going to go home and cook some more,” said Molly, and cast a Preservation and Warming Charm on the food, then came over to kiss him on the cheek again. “It looks as though Mrs. Malfoy might need some delicacies.”
            Harry smiled. “She might appreciate them, if she ever comes down the stairs.”
            He hugged Molly back, and then stepped out and aimed his wand at the wards. What he had told Malfoy about strengthening them with astronomical magic was perfectly true, but he also needed to think about what other defenses might stand against the will of the Bard.
            After a second of hesitation, he decided. I know perfectly well what I’m going to do. Why don’t I go ahead and do it?
            And then he began to cast the crackling, sparkling silvery magic that he knew the Bard wouldn’t suspect, because Harry, technically, wasn’t supposed to have it.
*
            “The food is from Molly Weasley,” Draco said, and didn’t slam the tray down on the edge of the table near the two beds only because he knew his mother wouldn’t appreciate the noise and the mess flying everywhere. She could tell how angry he was from his voice, and didn’t need a further demonstration.
            Narcissa took a moment to study his face, then looked back at the food and said, “It doesn’t look poisoned.”
            “Yes, but who can tell what the Weasleys might do?” Draco sat down and raked his hand through his hair. Truth be told, he didn’t know why he was so angry, why the suffocating waves of rage were rushing through him, and he didn’t know how to suppress them, either.
            All right, so it’s probably a reaction to Father’s death.
            But knowing that didn’t help. And Draco didn’t want to alienate Potter, who was their only protection, but he didn’t want to put up with Weasleys dropping in to gape or taunt them, either.
            Narcissa quietly cast a few detection spells on the food, which consisted of sandwiches and a bowl of soup with multiple spoons, and then nodded. “Too much pepper in the soup. I’ll have to avoid it. Other than that, it looks fine.”
            Draco grudgingly picked up one of the sandwiches. He bit into it, and it tasted fresh and good. That only increased his resentment.
            “Draco.”
            He looked up. His mother had a sandwich on her lap, on top of a napkin that she must have Transfigured from one of the handkerchiefs she frequently carried, and she had a restraining hand stretched out to him as well.
            “I know what you are feeling,” said Narcissa, and for just a moment her eyes closed. “But we need to retain cool heads and neutrality towards Potter and his friends as much as we can. It was none of them who killed Lucius.”
            “How sure can you be?” Draco asked bitterly, and tore open his sandwich to pick at the cucumbers. “After all, Granger might be smart enough to figure out a way past our wards, and the Weasleys have hated us for a long time. They had—well, George Weasley and his brother created that swamp in Hogwarts that it took the professors forever to get rid of. The remaining one might be able to imitate the Bard’s magical effects.” He finally looked his mother in the eye and spoke what he was most afraid of. “What if Father wasn’t a victim of the Bard, but a personal enemy? Someone who took the chance to kill him and just make it look like the Bard?”
            “If that was the case, then I think we would have found more traces.” His mother’s smile was hard and bitter, and didn’t touch her eyes. “The Bard is the only one who can break through wards so untraceably, and kill a wizard as powerful as your father—was in such a short amount of time. If there were two wizards, someone would have more of an idea of how he did it.”
            Draco found himself unwilling to let go of the idea. “And if this person was a friend of Potter’s, and he recognized their handiwork when he arrived, but didn’t let on?” He shoved the cucumbers around on the bread for a moment. “How can we trust anything Potter says?”
            His mother leaned across and touched his hand gently. “You mustn’t let yourself take on so, Draco,” she said, and her smile was kind but compelling. “I know this is hard. I know it. But the chances are vanishingly small, and in our quest for vengeance, we must look for real possibilities.”
            “Chances and coincidences pile up where Potter’s concerned,” Draco muttered darkly.
            His mother held his gaze for a moment. “And do you believe that he would be so eager to sacrifice his Auror career and everything else for the sake of protecting a murderous friend?”
            About to say that Potter would do anything to protect a friend, Draco hesitated. It was also true that Potter was annoyingly pure about his cause of good, or had become so since the war. He arrested Muggleborn criminals right along with pure-blood ones, and didn’t seem to care that some of the people who had lost their reputations when he investigated them were ones he’d helped during the war.
            “I don’t know,” he muttered.
            “Look for chances and coincidences closer to home,” Narcissa told him softly, and picked up her own sandwich again. “Do what you must to find revenge for Lucius, but don’t search far afield until you have to.”
            Draco reluctantly admitted there was something to that, and went back to his lunch. The sandwich being absolutely delicious didn’t actually soothe his feelings.
*
            “Auror Potter.”
            Harry stopped, glad that he was at a point in the tracing of his wards where that wouldn’t be fatal. And he was more than surprised to see who stood in front of him, staring at him somberly from beyond the edge of the property.
            “How are you, Dennis?” Harry watched Dennis Creevey carefully. It was true that the Aurors wouldn’t move on the evidence Harry had handed them about Dennis being linked to the smuggling case, but Dennis might have known Harry was the one urging the Aurors to do so. And that meant it was a good idea to beware of him.
            “I’m fine.” Dennis hesitated, then paused and tossed his long blond hair out of his eyes. He had grown into a tall man who apparently was strong enough to hold his own in wrestling competitions the Muggleborn Legion sponsored and win, although he was a bit stoop-shouldered for Harry’s taste. “I just—I just want you to know—”
            “Yes?” Harry prompted.
            “One of our members, Tatyana Kingston, is missing,” said Dennis in a rush. He turned away from Harry. “She left last night saying that she was going to a Muggle pub where we meet sometimes, and then she didn’t return, and the ones who were there to meet her said she hadn’t come, either. And I realized—I looked up some other dates, and—” Dennis licked his lips and turned back. “She’s been out of our headquarters on the nights of at least two Bard murders. And I heard the rumors that there’s been another one.”
            Harry looked carefully at Dennis’s sweaty forehead and trembling hands. Dennis seemed to realize they were trembling a second later, and locked them behind his back with a shaky smile.
            “We’ll look into it,” Harry said. He privately doubted there was much in it, but they did have to investigate every lead they came across.
            “Thank you,” said Dennis. “You can imagine how disastrous this would be for my organization, if she was seen as its face.”
            He turned away again and walked off towards an Apparating point. Harry leaned against the wards and watched him go.

*
snape_lust: The use of the title “Bard” and no confirming evidence one way or the other about gender until this point made most people certain it was a man. But maybe not…
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Bard of Morning's Hope