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WIZENGAMOT SCRAPS THE MALFOY SEAT! MALFOY FORTUNE SEIZED BY THE DMLE!
IS THIS THE END OF A GREAT HOUSE?
Right below it, on the bottom half of the page in equally bold headlines…
HARRY POTTER RISES AS LORDS POTTER AND BLACK!
AMELIA BONES TAKES OVER AS THE NEW POTTER REGENT! EMMELINE VANCE BECOMES THE NEW BLACK REGENT! DOES THE BONES-POTTER-BLACK ALLIANCE SIGNAL A NEW FACTION AT THE WIZENGAMOT?
For reading about the meteoric rise of the Boy-Who-Lived, kindly check Page 3.
"BASTARDS!" yelled Draco, hurling the Daily Prophet across the room in a burst of impotent rage. Raising his wand, he sent a flurry of blasting hexes at the paper and the floor it had fallen on, creating multiple tiny craters on the wall. An interesting feat, Narcissa observed, since the floors were enchanted against such brute force damage. Her boy was at his most dangerous when angered, true to his name.
"Can you believe them?" he growled. "Potter stole the Black lordship from me and they let him!"
In the aftermath of the Wizengamot session, Amelia Bones had ended the Martial Law and returned power to Cornelius's Ministry, but not before extracting the Wizengamot's permission to seize the Malfoy Vaults, but only after leaving a sizable fortune twice of Draco's initial trust fund, and Narcissa claiming her forty-five percent of the liquid assets. Clause 9 of her charter allowed her more, but she didn't want to tickle the proverbial dragon and decided to accept whatever wins she could take.
She knew that the madness had only just begun, but right now,she had the biggest hurdle of them all to face.
Her son. Her rage-addled, father-worshipping idiot of a son.
Narcissa thanked whatever powers were looking after her, that the newspaper article hadn't contained the role she had supposedly played in bringing Lucius down. Or her filing for divorce and rejoining the Black household for that matter. Or if the papers had printed them, it was likely on some other page and her son hadn't seen it yet. A fortunate thing, or else that overpowered blasting curse could've been aimed at her.
Not that it would change anything when she herself revealed those details.
"Where have you been? Have you seen the papers?" Draco yelled. "They— they're saying Father — Father is a fugitive! That he's run away! That's he's —he's —"
"Draco…" Narcissa began hesitantly, before pausing again. The day had come. She had known it would from the moment she had asked Potter to do the needful. She had tried to prepare for it, but there was no way to anticipate just how or when it would come.
She needed to come clean with Draco about how things were going to change.
She had already lost a husband. The Malfoy name. The authority she wielded as Lady Malfoy, both in and out of the British Ministry. She could do without losing her son too.
At least, she told herself, Draco wouldn't be magically compelled to hate me until Lucius is proven dead.
"Draco," she tried again. "Son, there are things I need to talk to you about. Things you need to understand."
Her words were supposed to calm him down. Instead, panic flashed on his features.
"Where were you?"
"I — I was detained in the DMLE, and put under solitary confinement until the Wizengamot session was complete. They let me out barely an hour ago, and got me to sign documents, after which I came here."
"WHY?" Draco bellowed. "What is going on? Why are the newspapers saying all that rubbish about Father?"
There was a tightness in her chest that she just barely recognized. It was similar to the one she'd get every single time she had been in the Dark Lord's presence, courtesy to her husband back in the last war. It hadn't happened for many years now, but she still remembered it, having felt it just a few days ago, just before Harry Potter killed her husband in front of her own eyes.
It was dread. Draco didn't just adore his father, he idolised the man. Witches and wizards didn't believe in God, but if there was a God that Draco believed in, he'd probably look like Lucius Malfoy.
"Those… those papers speak the truth, son. The massacre that happened at the Quidditch World Cup, that explosion that killed hundreds of people and crippled the nation, it was your father's doing. I was there at the DMLE when they interrogated the prisoners under the truth serum, and every single one of their confessions linked it all to your father. He…. He is a fugitive, because if he was captured, the Ministry would subject him to the dementor's kiss."
"What?" Draco whispered. "That couldn't possibly be true!" Narcissa didn't need legilimency to feel him screaming in denial over and over inside his head. His father was Lucius Malfoy! The man that ruled the Wizengamot and had the ear of the Minister, a pureblood of the highest standing, and the leader of the Dark Alliance. Every single person he had met in his entire life was scared shit of his father. The Ministry couldn't possibly have ordered his father to be put to death.
"Draco," Narcissa began again. "Believe me! The things he has done, nobody could possibly speak in his favour. If you ever knew —"
"I don't care what he's done!" yelled Draco. "I'm sure he had his reasons. I've read the papers, Mother. Most of those dead were blood traitors and mudbloods. Animals," he sneered. "I'm sure I'd have done the same had I been in his place!"
And that, Narcissa reasoned, was why she'd eventually fail to protect her son from Harry. While he had promised not to come after him, he would certainly retaliate if Draco came after him after this, and he sure would. Her son would ensure that things ended in the worst possible way.
For himself.
"But Mother — why are you trying to defend these bastards?" asked Draco, nonplussed. His thoughts were easy to ascertain. Why was she being so callous about his father's current state? Where was the anger, the rage? How could his father's allies — the Notts, the Parkinson's, the Greengrasses, the Mulcibers — how could any of them have let this happen? Had they all betrayed him?
Truly, the best and worst thing she could do now was to give him the truth. Plain and simple. It was best that he heard it from her and not through someone else. That way she'd have a chance to manipulate the information to suit her purposes.
"Draco, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Ever since this summer, your father has been acting strangely. He — He was working to ensure the Dark Lord's return. I know you adore your father, but you don't know how things were during the last war. The Dark Lord killed just as many purebloods as he did the mudbloods —"
"Traitors," Draco growled.
"Traitors or not, they were of magical blood. Of families just as ancient as ours if not more. The objective was to fight to secure pureblood supremacy, instead it became a tool to ensure the Dark Lord's eventual conquest of Britain, no matter who lived and who died."
"And that is the way things should be!" snapped her son. "When the Dark Lord returns, I'll be at his service. You'll see. When he takes over, Father will return to us. We will do whatever we want."
"No, son," said Narcissa. "We will do what the Dark Lord wants. It has never been about us."
"Why are you —" Draco paused, and met her eyes accusingly. "You… you are actually siding with the blasted Ministry, aren't you? You want Father to be punished!"
Yes, thought Narcissa. Lucius got off far easier than she intended. And while Potter had ensured that his final move would be ineffective, it was up to her to ensure that things stayed that way.
"I — I can't believe you, Mother. You… you're betraying Father! You are betraying the Dark Lord!"
"The Dark Lord doesn't have my allegiance!" snapped Narcissa, the beginnings of annoyance slipping into her tone. "Now listen to what I say so that you might actually know what's happening instead of making another foolish mistake and landing up in Azkaban. Trust me, son, all they need is one excuse to take you in."
That stopped her son in his tracks. "What… what do you mean?"
Narcissa closed her eyes, and gathered her words. When she opened them, they no longer had the look of the concerned mother. Instead, there was the cold pragmatic woman that had plotted with Harry Potter to murder her husband.
"Your father is an international fugitive. Not just the British Ministry, but the Irish, the Bulgarian and the French Ministries are after him. I wouldn't be surprised if the ICW declares a circular to arrest him on sight. But before he left, he did something vital. Something you must know about."
She reached out and grasped his shoulders., bringing him from his murderous thoughts and forcing him to look her in the eyes. "Your father knew that the Ministry would be coming to seize the Malfoy Family Vaults, so he did something… shocking. He — he transferred everything in the entire Malfoy Vaults directly to yours —"
Draco's eyes went wide.
" —and then he cast you out of the Malfoy family, by blood, by oath, by magic. You will receive a summon from Gringotts Bank, where you would have to choose a new family name for yourself. I was thinking… I was thinking you could take up the Black —"
"PREPOSTEROUS!" thundered her son. "Harry Potter stole my inheritance and fooled the Wizengamot into giving him the Black lordship! He — he tricked me. Tricked us! Just like he tricked me at Diagon Alley! Daphne was right! That bastard has been after the Black Lordship from the very beginning. And you want me to take up the Black name and be subservient to that halfblood bastard?" He spat. "It's a good thing you're my Mother, or else, I'd have cruciated you to an inch of your life."
Narcissa stepped back at his sudden viciousness.
"Draco…"
"No!" snarled her son. "And I can't believe you're betraying Father by even considering becoming a Black. How could you?"
"Your father —"
"Father did what was necessary," said Draco, his eyes shining with conviction. "He knew that the mudblood-lovers and blood traitors would come for our gold, so he cut them off. He sent it all to me. To his son. Draco Malfoy."
"Aren't you listening?" Narcissa yelled. "You're not a Malfoy anymore."
"I don't care!" he spat. "I'm still my father's son. And I see it. I know exactly what he's doing. He cut me off to keep the Ministry from our gold, so that I can fund him when he needs it. And when the Dark Lord returns —"
His head snapped to one side as she slapped him hard, a red handprint visible on his cheek.
"You — you hit me?" He whispered. "How dare—"
SLAP!
SLAP!
SLAP!
"Listen to me, you stupid fool! Stop this madness at once! You think you're so smart? Then listen! The entire Malfoy clan is reduced to dust. You can't even call yourself a Malfoy anymore! And that gold you're so confident about, the Ministry got its hands on that gold anyway. They claimed that your father's actions were a financial fraud, and negated his orders for the fortune transfer."
Disbelief again.
"They - they can't do that! It's our gold!"
"They can, and they have," snapped Narcissa. "All you have is the Trust vault, along with whatever you had gotten from the Black family. The only reason the Ministry couldn't claim the rest was because I had the presence of mind to make it look like I have been acting against your father, so that they'd let me claim forty-five percent of the wealth for myself."
"You…." Pause. "...What?"
"I," said Narcissa slowly, puncturing every word. "Made it look like I was against your father. That I wanted out of this marriage. Why do you think Potter let go of the unforgivable charges against you? He's a noble Gryffindor," she sneered. "Dumbledore's golden boy."
Draco still looked downright hostile, but at least he was listening.
Narcissa sniffed disdainfully. "You should've seen him. All it took was some documents showing some irregularities in your father's businesses, and he was ready to believe I was willing to reform. That I wanted to step into the light and do the right thing."
Her lips rose into a cruel smile. "As if those documents would've gotten anywhere. Parkinson would never have let it pass through to the Wizengamot, assuming Potter even had enough pull to bypass Fudge. And even if it did, your father owned the Wizengamot. But Potter's a simpleton. He just took me at my word, and let go of the unforgivable charge that would've landed you in Azkaban."
Her eyes flashed with anger. "But things have changed. Parkinson is facing a lot of flak. There is international pressure for your father's capture, and Fudge won't do anything that makes him look bad. The only thing I could do was use Potter to prove that I was innocent. That I wanted no part in whatever madness Lucius was planning. And look, I have forty-five percent of the wealth. For us."
She pulled out a folder from her robes and pushed it to the other end of the table where her son stood.
"It's a contract. With Harry Potter. I'm not sure how, but he found a way to elevate himself to gain the Black Family Magic, making him the Black Lord."
"Preposterous!" whispered Draco. "I am the Black heir."
"Only because there's no one closer to the main line that isn't dead or cast-off from the family," Narcissa scolded. "And it doesn't matter. Potter gained access to… the Black townhouse…"
Damn it. She couldn't even speak of its location now.
"... Sirius Black left him the townhouse in his will. Potter went there, studied from the Black library, and found a way to please the spirits of our ancestors, and gain their blessings. His magic is as close to the original Blacks as possible. Purer than yours or mine. Purer than even Sirius himself."
"Toujours Pur," murmured Draco softly, his eyes downcast, thinking.
Narcissa nodded. "But what's done is done, son. Listen to your Slytherin instincts, your self-preservation, your cunning. It's what has kept the Malfoys going on. I've already signed that document. Potter wants me to advise him on political matters and strengthen the Black fortune. He's even willing to let bygones be bygones, and welcome you as a Black. You can have it all. The Noble title of the Blacks. A new trust Vault to add to yours, and with the gold I got out of the divorce, we can start afresh. I can register you to Durmstrang. I'm certain I could convince Potter to give away the manor in Bulgaria if you just took the Black name and—"
"BOMBARDA!"
Narcissa stared in shock, her breath taken away as Draco's pulverising curse detonated the entire table, alongwith the document.
Especially the document.
"Take the Noble title of the Blacks?" Draco frothed. "What was already mine before Potter stole it from me? And now…. Now you want me to go crawling to him and beg him from scraps? Me? I'm Draco MALFOY!"
"NOT ANY LONGER!" Narcissa screamed. "Why can't you just —"
She paused, the rest of her words dying in her mouth, as she found her in a position she had never expected before.
Her son's wand pointed right between her eyes, shining a malevolent crimson.
The cruciatus curse.
Her son… her son was about to… had almost… cruciated her.
Her heart ran a marathon in a split second, her stomach feeling heavy, as if it had turned to lead.
Why? Oh why couldn't she convince him? She was Narcissa Mal… Black. Even without her experiments with veela blood, she could charm any man off his feet. So why was she failing so horribly before her own son? Why?
Draco moved towards her, and Narcissa stepped backwards.
"Draco… I'm just acting for our self-preservation. I—"
Another step.
"You can call it whatever you like. Take a bucket of piss and call it Granny's peach tea. Betray Father and call it self-preservation. I won't agree with it."
Another step.
"Go live with that halfblood swine if you want. Maybe make him lick you like the half bloods at Twilfit. I'll stay back here, waiting for Father's return. For the day when he comes to the British shores with the Dark Lord, kills Potter and makes me the Lord Black as is my birthright."
Another.
"Draco —"
"You have made your choice, Mother. This is me making mine."
"Foolish! You're being foolish! If you stick to this, you'll have nothing left. Nothing."
"Good. At least I won't have to whore myself out to some halfblood bastard."
"DRA—"
SLAM!
The doors of Malfoy Manor shut on her face, hard, and Narcissa stepped back, nearly slipping. She stared in abject shock at what had just happened. Part of her knew that there was always a chance of Draco choosing the wrong side — her son always was a little too impulsive and rash for his own good, letting his emotions dictate his actions. In a way, he embodied the worst of Gryffindor traits, and used them to fuel that ruthlessness that sorted him into Slytherin House.
Glancing at the Malfoy entrance door for one last time, Narcissa sighed, and apparated away.
Barely a minute later, the doorbell rang, and an infuriated Draco opened it, his wand pointed angrily, burning a dreadful crimson at the tip. "I TOLD YOU! I AM NOT BETRAYING FATHER AND THE DARK —"
Draco paused right then, recognizing that it wasn't exactly his mother standing outside. It wasn't even a single person, but six of them. With a seventh standing right in front of him, his eyes narrowed and staring at the wand tip meeting his face.
"I'd appreciate it if you remove that wand away, Mr. Draco," said the red-haired man that Draco knew his father loathed. A man whose family were mudblood lovers and blood-traitors of the highest order.
"My name is Arthur Weasley, and I'm the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office. And this," he pointed at the mousy-haired blonde next to him, "is James Williamson, Auror. Behind us are members of my office and hit-wizards. I understand you must be in confusion, but it's for the best if you put that wand away and cooperate. We have a warrant to check the manor and see if Lucius Malfoy is hiding inside."
"Fat— Father is not here," said Draco angrily. "Now get lost."
"Unfortunately," said Williamson, steel in his voice. "We don't work for you, little boy. So this is how things will happen. You can either claim that you are not a Malfoy anymore, and walk out of this manor, and we can be free to conduct whatever investigation we deem fit inside. You will be allowed entrance once the investigation is complete. Be wary that it might take from hours to days, so if you choose to do so, you might want to get your Gringotts key and some clothes before you leave."
If glares could kill, the man would be a mound of ash right now.
"Option two," said the Auror. "We recognize that this manor is officially donated to you by your fugitive criminal father, even if the decision is tied up in litigation. You will be allowed to stay inside the mansion, and make use of all its faculties, so long as you do not pose an obstacle to the ongoing investigation. Be advised that by choosing to stay inside, you will be barred from communicating with anyone from the outside world through any means, or leaving this residence until the raid is complete. If you have an elf, you can use it for serving your food and other basic needs."
And then Arthur Weasley spoke again. "So, Mr. Draco, what will you choose?"
Hestia Jones had truly imagined that she had seen the worst of wizarding politics when she was being ousted from her job.
Boy was she dead wrong.
The morning had brought a metaphorical firestorm of epic proportions to the British shores, especially because for once, things were beyond the Ministry's ability to sweep things under the rug — Cornelius Fudge's usual administrative policy for nearly everything that went sideways. Hestia had watched the Wizengamot being played like amateurs as a smiling Harry Potter trotted out curveballs, exceptions and sub-clauses, throwing them into circular arguments that lead to nowhere but his eventual win.
That he was being supported by the DMLE Director, who apart from being his newly appointed Regent of House Potter, also held the real power under Martial Law only made things more entertaining. That Harry Potter also donated a hundred thousand galleons to be offered as compensation to the families that had lost members at the World Cup only solidified his image in front of the press.
As soon as the session had ended, they had found themselves hounded by reporters and paparazzi. The fools had come in expecting to twist the statements of a boy that had found himself in an alien, political stage, and were fended off by a veteran. Hestia had gritted her teeth when Rita Skeeter suggested a fictional amorous relationship between him and Narcissa, but Harry had mentioned something about beetles and bugs, and Skeeter had stiffened right then. Hestia didn't know what it was. Knowing Harry, it was just another piece of future trivia.
"You know you might swallow a mosquito at that rate."
Harry's voice broke through her mental meanderings, and Hestia helped herself to her tea.
"Something the matter?"
She shook her head. "Just wondering. You murdered Lucius Malfoy, crippled the majority of the Death Eater forces, thinned the rogue werewolf populace, and came out of the entire thing smelling like roses. All in a week's time." She tiredly rubbed her head, pushing her hair off her forehead as she did so.
"Well, technically it was just one day, and I had a lot of things going in my favour."
"That's just a load of hippogriff dung and you know that. You told me of the future, Harry Potter. You were expecting nothing except a ragtag group of drunk morons throwing fire and playing Death Eater. All that happened, and you still managed to pull things off like this…"
"We haven't won, you know."
"Potato, Po-tah-to! You might as well have," Hestia argued. "Haven't you looked at the papers?"
She swept a copy of the Daily Prophet and showed him the second page.
FRANCE AND BULGARIA AGREES TO ALLOW BRITAIN TO HOST THE LEGENDARY TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT, THANKS TO BOY-WHO-LIVED'S INTERVENTION!
MINISTER OF MAGIC CORNELIUS FUDGE NOMINATES HARRY POTTER FOR ORDER OF MERLIN, FIRST CLASS!
"Wow," he said, amused. "Didn't expect that coming. Happy coincidence there!"
Hestia growled. Of all the things that matched the Harry Potter she knew with the Order dossier, why did it have to be his inability to accept praise? Especially when he knew perfectly what he had accomplished?
She had read the papers. Sebastian Delacour had very vocally acknowledged the life-debt that Harry held over them. He had given an interview to the international press, how Harry Potter had not just gallantly saved his and his daughter from certain death several times over, but he had also performed exceptionally well at healing him after Lucius had cursed him heavily.
The Bulgarian Minister on the other hand, wanted the basilisk sales deal badly. With France reconsidering its stance to deny Britain the chance to host the legendary Triwizard Tournament, the Bulgarian Minister didn't want to lose face and gave many pro-Britain interviews to sweeten the deal, making sure to highlight Harry's role in salvaging the entire situation. Fudge had gone from total shock and despair at losing his advisor and political supporter, to exhilaration when he learned that he could gain a new power bloc's support by supporting Harry. For a Hufflepuff, the man had strong Slytherin instincts.
And then there were tabloids like the Magical Mirror and the Witch Weekly, which chose to focus on Harry being Wizarding Britain's richest and most eligible bachelor.
And what was said 'Most Eligible Bachelor' doing at this moment? Gathering an assortment of artefacts and magical products on the table. He'd occasionally pause and ponder, before summoning something else and putting it on the table, replacing something else.
Invisibility Cloak. Three daggers imbued with necromantic energy. Multiple pouches of Instant Darkness Powder. Extra wands. A strange medallion engraved with runes.
"Err… what are those for?"
"The next mission."
"Which is?"
Harry said nothing. Which was weird. Hestia narrowed her eyes at his rather obvious attempt to dodge the question. That was so not-Harry. She was his Lilim, and perfectly loyal to him.
Still, she'd humour him. For now.
"Are we still having the Harem Carnival tomorrow night?"
Harry threw his head back and groaned. "Did you really have to call it that?"
'Hermione came up with that name," said Hestia, having no issues throwing the younger girl under the bus. "I just didn't argue with her about it. Werewolves are scary, you know. Especially those with freakish necromancy powers."
Harry sighed. "So long as you aren't printing matching tops, I imagine we could call it that."
"Too late," she sang, and flicked her wand, switching her top with a bright magenta top with HAREM CARNIVAL GIRL#2 printed in bright neon colours and looking absolutely gaudy. "Tracey Davis tailored it. It's a bit snug across the chest, don't you think?" She asked with faux innocence, jutting out her breasts to emphasise the effect.
Harry rolled his eyes, and pinched her left nipple, making her 'ouch' in mock surprise.
'I thought I'd be Girl#1, what with being your first Lilim and all, but then Hermione's the first girl in your harem, so…"
"Technically that'd be Ginny. I mean as far as anchors go…"
"Harry, the Weaslette doesn't count, and you know it."
He didn't argue.
"Harry…" she tried again. "Just what's going on?"
"Just taking care of some loose ends, that's all," he said absently, pausing again, his eyes flickering in deep thought. He spotted the Auror's Weekly next to her and his eyes widened.
"Any suspicious activity going on?"
"Nothing big," she said. "They're running a full page article describing the destruction caused by the Death Eaters in the last war, the similarities between the carnage during the last war and the World Cup holocaust. Most of it is filled with complaints from people that have suffered because of Malfoy."
Harry muttered something noncommittally. Hestia frowned.
Whatever had him worried after all this had to be big. This wasn't the first time she was seeing him planning something dangerous but for him to be this thoughtful and cautious, it had to be really big. Or really dangerous. Or both.
"Harry, whatever you are planning. I hope you're not doing it alone. You have me. You have all of us."
"I'm not doing this alone. I can't afford to."
Hestia frowned. "Then…"
"I have Amelia joining me shortly. And Emmeline. I'm still on the fence about asking Narcissa to join in as well. But she would bring her share of risks, and I'm not sure if it's worth it."
Damn. All ego aside, Amelia Bones and Emmeline Vance were pretty much the most skilled wands in their little group. And while she wouldn't trust Narcissa Malfoy…Black as far as she could throw her, she had to grudgingly accept her prowess with a wand. If nothing else, her knowledge in the Dark Arts was far superior to the others.
Aside from maybe… Harry himself. What with his freaking necromancy powers.
But the most troubling thing about this composition was…
"Harry, what you did to the DMLE Director…"
"She isn't an inferi," he said, waving her concern away. "She's perfectly alive. And healthy. And normal."
"Harry, she died, and —"
"And I brought her back to life."
"But that's impossible."
"The difference between impossible and possible is skill, knowledge and a fuck ton of luck. I had the right skill, the right knowledge and the right set of conditions to pull it off. Honestly, I am surprised that things worked as well as they did."
"But won't dying and… um, being reborn affect her?"
He shrugged. "I don't have all the answers, Hestia. It was a unique set of extraordinary circumstances and something equally extraordinary came out of it. Maybe you can even ask her when she shows up."
"A wait and see approach is then," said Hestia. "Are you sure I can't join in?"
"No. Things might turn ugly in this one."
"I imperiused my old teacher and Order colleague for you, and then cast it again, and saw you necromance your way to resurrect the DMLE Director, and fought my best friend to protect you. I can handle ugly."
He met her deadpan stare levelly. "Look, not every bad thing has to do with terrible magic. Sometimes, good people ought to do bad things to stop bad people from doing worse things. This… is just one of them."
Hestia searched his face. "Fine. But can you at least tell me what you're about to do? I promise I won't intervene or try to stop you."
Harry considered that, and sighed. "Fine," he said, meeting her eyes, as his eyes hardened to steel.
"I'm going out Voldemort-hunting tonight."