Against the Tide

"Ron, where are we going to go?" Harry asked. Leaving the Burrow with Ron had been his choice. He could have stayed and finished Christmas dinner, celebrated with the Weasley's, attended Percy's wedding, and gone with Ginny and her parents to a New Year's party. But Ron was his best and first friend. He didn't know why Ron had done and said what he had, but it didn't matter. Even if it was temporary insanity or finally refusing to put up with Percy a moment longer, Harry was going to back him up. It was an unspoken promise, a matter of loyalty, which Ron had more than earned through the years.

"I'm not really sure. Not Aunt Imelda's, certainly. She's an old bag, just waiting for the chance to lecture me on why I'm just like my father," Ron replied, folding his cloak closer to his body. It was frigid out, the stars overhead stunningly clear, the air terribly crisp.

"What's wrong with being like your father? I'd think that would be a compliment," Harry observed.

"From anyone but Aunt Imelda, it would be high praise. But Aunt Imelda thinks Dad's brought shame onto the family by marrying Mum and having so many children. She's a very proper woman, you know."

"What's wrong with your mother?" Harry demanded, horrified that anyone could find fault in Mrs. Weasley.

"At the moment, or in general?" Ron asked sarcastically. "Come on, Harry, we've more important things to think about. How about Hermione's?"

"We can't just drop by unannounced, even if you have been kicked out. Besides, if you're trying to avoid a lecture, you should definitely avoid Hermione."

"True. Neville's, then?" Ron asked. "No, forget I even suggested that. His grandmother's wretched."

"The Leaky Cauldron?" Harry suggested. "I'll pay."

"No. I started this, so you won't be paying. What about Grimmauld Place? It's yours now, isn't it?"

"No. Phinneas Nigellus will run and tell Dumbledore we're there."

"So? Harry, we aren't doing anything wrong. We don't have to hide."

"Oh. Right, I forgot. Just used to keeping things quiet," Harry said. Which reminded him of why they should hurry up and get somewhere safe. "Ron, maybe we should just go somewhere, now, and figure this out. We shouldn't be out here, alone, in the dark. Anything could happen."

Ron glanced over at him. "I'm such an idiot!" Ron groaned. "You're right. This isn't safe for you. Likely the house is being watched, anyway. Let's go."

"Where?" Harry asked. Ron shrugged helpfully. "Okay. I don't want to do this, but do you feel up to a quick visit to Privet Drive?"

"Merlin, help us," Ron said, drawing his wand.

A split second later, Ron and Harry were standing on the Dursley's doorstep. The lights from the lawns of every home on the street provided a cryptic reminder of Harry's hellish childhood. Screwing up his courage, Harry knocked on the front door.

"What are you doing here, boy?" Uncle Vernon demanded when the door opened.

"Uncle Vernon, you've lost weight!" Harry said cheerfully as he barged his way in. They'd shrunk their trunks and brooms, and Hedwig had been released to hunt, so it was very easy to push into the hall. "We've just come to wish you a Happy Christmas, and maybe look around my old room, see if I forgot anything."

"Your room has been turned into an exercise room," Vernon announced. "We've guests, so you can't stay."

"Vernon, who's there?" Aunt Petunia's voice carried from the parlour. "More guests?"

"Oh, do show them in," came another, more polished voice.

Not waiting, Harry entered the parlour, followed closely by Ron. "Hello, Aunt Petunia. Happy Christmas," he said, bending down and kissing his aunt's cheek, like an adoring nephew would. He gestured at Ron. "You remember my friend, Ron Weasley?"

Aunt Petunia glanced at Ron, and then swept to the electric fireplace. "Yes, of course. We weren't expecting you," she said, trying to sound cheerful.

"We just decided to visit. Quite spur of the moment, Mrs. Dursley," Ron said, eyeing some squares on a side table. "Hello, everyone."

For the first time, Harry glanced around the room. Beyond Dudley, he recognized no one. They all looked festive and merry, quite unlike those one would assume would celebrate with the Dursley's.

"Er- everyone, this is my nephew, Harry, and his friend from school, Ron," Aunt Petunia said, with mock enthusiasm. "Quite kind of them to remember us tonight. Harry, these are associates of your Uncle Vernon."

"Hello. Aunt Petunia, do you mind if Ron and I have some tea in the kitchen?" Harry asked.

"Oh, do!" Aunt Petunia cried, with relief and real enthusiasm.

Once Harry and Ron had entered the kitchen, Harry magicked some tea. "So? Where should we go? We can't stay here."

"What about Dean? He lives in London," Ron said.

"Visiting Seamus until the New Year. Maybe we should just go back to Hogwarts," Harry said, resignedly.

"Not yet! That would prove Mum right. Let's just go to Grimmauld Place and be done with it."

"Alright. I can't think of anywhere else. Don't suppose you'd mind sleeping in a public toilet?"

"Sorry, mate," Ron said. "Go kiss your Auntie goodbye."

Harry glared at Ron as he re-entered the parlour and made his excuses about the next house on their journey. Outside, they began walking towards the playground, and Ron tried to cheer Harry up.

"We've been in worse places, after all. The Chamber of Secrets wasn't a very nice place. It won't be too bad, and we'll be able to do what we want. I want to go to the Ministry tomorrow."

"I thought the Ministry would be closed during Christmas. At least, not allowing public."

"No, its open. I want to go to the Birth Charts Room. They've the astrology chart of every witch and wizard in there. I want to look at Voldemort's."

"Why?" Harry asked. Ron had never mentioned it before.

"Irregularities in his actions. I want to know why."

Suddenly, Harry had a bad feeling. "Ron, what are you planning?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You've planned this, haven't you? You've something up your sleeve, and your taking me along, aren't you?"

"Harry, not now. We've got to find a place to stay."

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

"Harry, I won't have to. You'll figure it out soon enough."

Harry felt his anger mounting. If Ron knew something important, he should say something. There was no time for secrets. "Ron, I want to know what's going on!"

"Not now, Harry. I said you'd figure it out on your own."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Can't you trust me, Harry?" Ron asked peevishly. "I'm sorry that I manipulated things like this, but this is important enough for me not to care."

"Sometimes, I can't believe you Ron! You get yourself kicked out just so you could drag me to the Ministry tomorrow, when we should be at your brothers wedding? Wouldn't the day after be good enough?"

"I couldn't create a scene at Percy's wedding. That would have been inexcusable."

Harry looked at Ron as if he were losing his mind. "Ron, why didn't you just ask me to come to the Ministry? We could have gone days ago."

"This has the added benefit of not attending Percy's wedding," Ron said as if that was all there was to explain.

"Selfish!" Harry shouted suddenly. "That's what you are, you're selfish! We've been friends this long, and you'd do something like this without telling me? What were you thinking? Why would you lie to get me to the Birth Charts Room at the Ministry? Why wouldn't I be happy to go with you, anyway?"

Ron was quiet and Harry suddenly understood. "Oh, no. No. I won't go down there. I refuse," Harry announced. When Ron only sighed, he continued. "How would we get down to the Veil Room, anyway? Security has to be a hundred times more stringent than last time."

"Not so stringent that a Death Eater couldn't get through," Ron said, speaking of the recent break-in. "Harry, it's important."

"So? Tell Dumbledore, tell your father, tell fucking Percy. I will not do this," Harry shouted, pushing Ron off the kerb and swinging a fist at his face. Ron ducked, but only just in time.

"Harry! Listen to me. This is important! Would I do this if it weren't? I knew you wouldn't want to, that's why I lied. This is absolutely necessary! Would I play with this if there weren't consequences for doing nothing? Dumbledore won't do anything without you. My father can't do anything. Harry, you need to do it."

"Do what?" Harry demanded. Ron began pacing on the road. "Do what?" Ron pulled a hand through his hair and faced Harry. "Do what?"

Ron sighed. "Speak to Sirius."

"Sirius is dead," Harry said, wincing at the frenzied excitement the thought of speaking again to Sirius brought. "He can't speak to me."

"Yes, he can, Harry," Ron insisted. "He can do more than speak to you. He can come back across the veil."

This time, Ron did not duck in time.

**

Briar shut the Passat's door with a vengeance. It wouldn't do her any good, any longer. The Forbidden Forest stood in front of her, large and looming in its darkness, snow reaching her shins, and more falling from the branches and the sky above. Wrapping her cloak closer around her for warmth, she pushed into the forest.

She was exhausted, felt listless. She'd been driving since early that morning, breaking only to use the washroom and to take short walks when the pains got bad. She couldn't deny it any longer; she was having baby Bronwen soon.

She'd approached Hogwarts from the east, but backtracked to the south, because the walk would be shorter by miles. Though she'd heard rumours that a Ford Anglia lived in the forest, she wasn't about to trundle through the woods in a car, jarring on roots and dodging trees. The fact that it was a Full Moon didn't even bother her- any Werewolf stupid enough to attack a pregnant witch was stupid enough to kill without pity. She just wanted to get to the castle.

Thanking Canadian winters, when she'd traveled hours to ski or snowshoe, she made her way through the thick snow as expertly as she could. Constantly, she had to lean against a tree, clenching her teeth and moaning in pain, when a contraction hit. Her progress was slow, and her shoes and pants and cloak were soon soaked clear to her thighs. She stumbled over roots buried deep in the snow and scraped her hands on rocks when she placed them in front of her to find footing up steep hills. The night was dark, the moon which would have guided her hidden by clouds, from which snow felt in thick, silent blankets. The extra effort to move through the wild winter night drained any energy she had left.

As she pushed herself up another rocky hill, she realized that the forest seemed incredibly serene. There it was, doing nothing extraordinary to impede her, simply existing, and yet, it was the deadliest thing she'd ever encountered. Werewolves, Vampires, and Death Eaters were nothing in comparison to four long miles of deep snow, trees, and hills.

Stumbling again, she twisted her wrist badly and fell to the ground crying in frustration. Up! She told herself angrily. Get your inflated ass up! Before her body could follow the advice, a fresh contraction ripped through her body and she collapsed on to her back, straining against the pain. Hugging her stomach, she waited for the pain to pass and struggled to get up.

"One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. That's it, come on, Briar. Be a Gryffindor..." she egged herself on, slowly making her way through the forest. "Keep, ugh! Keep moving. Arg-" Bracing her back against a tree, she let out her first, fully-fledged scream, the noise ripping through the murderous silence.

She knew she was finished; even if she got up this hill, and got to the school, there was no way she'd live. The pain was worse then the Cruciatus Curse, which meant something had to be wrong. But, if she could make it up this hill, and got to the school, maybe Bronwen would live.

That was all the motivation she needed. Painfully slow, Briar crawled her way up the hill, her hands raw and numb, not even bleeding because of the frost. Her body was soaked through and stiff, her belly almost reaching the snow, tears she was unable to stop streaming down her face. When she reached the top of the hill, she rolled onto her back, and let the contraction come.

Screaming for all she was worth, she didn't register the resulting howl she evoked. Gaining her feet again, she stumbled through the snow and underbrush, crashing in the direction she prayed would take her to the castle. She tripped over something hidden in the snow and shoved her shoulder into a tree, crying even harder in defeat.

No. Not now- not yet. Keep going, keep going. Miles to go before we sleep. The voice faded into a rhythm, until she no longer heard the words but only the rhythm. Her feet moved to its slow pace, pausing only when the unmerciful pain of the contractions forced her to. Finally, she crested a hill, on all fours, and saw salvation.

There, at the bottom of the hill, was Hagrid's cabin, its chimney spewing out a thick stream of smoke. Not caring who was living in the cabin since Hagrid's death, Briar began to slip and stumble towards the cabin, only a hundred meters away. She couldn't feel much below her shoulders, so cold it was, but the relief she felt spurred her on down the hill.

Before reaching the bottom, another contraction hit and Briar went down, heavily, on one knee. Crying out again, more in terror and exhaustion than in pain, she finally heard the answering howl that had accompanied her agony the last mile and a half. And she recognized the accompanying admonishment.

"Fang! Shut up!" Charlie's voice rang out in the night.

Charlie! Briar tried to call out, but her voice was too raw, her breath too shallow to summon the words, her body to exhausted to obey. She pulled herself up and managed, with the last of her energy, to get to the stairs of the cabin.

"Charlie!" she called in the loudest voice she could managed. Hardly more than a croak, it set Fang barking again. "Charlie!"

"Fang, its three in the morning! You can't possibly-" the door to the cabin swung open, and Fang launched himself down the stairs to Briar, just as she cried out again. "Briar?"

Well, finally! Briar thought as she passed out.

**

Draco had loved Christmas as a child. Looking back, he could see why. His family had been real when he had been young. There hadn't been the obvious lies, hatred, and subdued panic that he could see clearly now that he was older. Life in the Malfoy family was never pretty, but the pettiness got out of hand when the New Year came close. All the family thought about was themselves, individually, not the family as a whole.

Draco didn't know why he felt so much responsibility toward the family. The things he was willing to do for them amazed him; Hermione had only just broke up with him, and he was agreeing to marry someone else, for money. Though a time-honoured tradition in Pureblood society, it wasn't an institution he had expected to face.

"Mr. Zabini, are you sure?" Draco had to ask, nearly hoping that this was all a joke. It wouldn't be the first time this week he had hoped that; Hermione sending Potter's owl to break up with him; Voldemort dressed as Father Christmas; Narcissa's lovely Christmas morning drunken theatrical 'breakdown'. No, the holiday had certainly been melodramatic enough to assume Mr. Zabini was kidding.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, you are young. You do not understand. I want the best for my daughter. I do not want Blaise to ever worry about money or position in society. Her stupid brother, Paulo, will inherit the money; there is nothing I can do about that. But what does Blaise do?" Mr. Zabini asked Draco. "She accepts a position in a publishing company. A publishing company! She'll have to work everyday, all day, just to live!"

"Sir, that's what she wants. Blaise doesn't mind," Draco assured the irate father.

"She doesn't mind, no. But I do! I will not have my daughter scrimp for food or a pretty dress," the older man said with feeling. "I was too soft, I realize. That Cornfoot boy, I let that continue too long. I'd only just realized this autumn that Blaise would soon marry. I could not think of such a boy for my daughter."

"We all had trouble seeing Blaise happy with Stephen. She's much happier without him," Draco admitted.

"But soon, I will die. Very soon, Draco, though Blaise does not know. And Paulo will ruin the family. I will not have Blaise live in squalor because her brother is an idiot," Mr. Zabini said with passion. "So, I get rid of Cornfoot, and what happens? Blaise, she does not get over it. She thinks I had something to do with it!"

"You did, sir. You just said so."

"She accuses her father of interfering in her life. Ungrateful, truly. So I come to you, Draco, who've been her friend for long time. There is no one else for her, no boy in her heart. So, I give you the money you need to stay in business, and you marry my daughter."

"Have you talked to Blaise about this?" Draco asked warily. He didn't have trouble seeing Blaise agree to this- it was, after all tradition, and she followed traditions. But, they hardly got along, and only then when Morag forced them too.

"What does she know about the world, about life? She thought herself in love with the Cornfoot boy," Mr. Zabini said with a shrug. Draco had to give him points there; a love for Stephen Cornfoot definitely showed a skewed image of the world. "I want to be sure, before I die, that she will be respected. You will respect her, because, for the money, you will agree to make her a silent partner in your company."

Draco's eyes narrowed. Shrewd bugger, really. Marriage, and a partnership? With the Ice Princess. Draco almost shivered.

"Sir, you should talk to Blaise about this, before we agree to anything. There could be someone she wishes to marry." Draco nearly choked on the words, since they gave Zabini a way out of giving him the money. He needed that damned gold. "After all, sir, we're only seventeen."

"Soon to be eighteen, and fully qualified adults. In Italy, the marriage of a daughter would be arranged long before now. Here, in England, we wait. Wait too long, and Blaise will have to work too hard to have time to find a husband. Besides, there is no other young man who wants her, and I will not give her to an old man, like your Uncle Polonius. He's asked for her."

"That's disgusting, and not surprising," Draco sneered. His Uncle Polonius was trying to raise the funds to rescue the business so he could wrestle it away from Draco.

"It was him who made me think of you," Zabini said. "Your young, smart, and a good boy. I can see that by your words, when you write in the paper. You're not like the rest of your family. And, since there is no other young, smart, good boy who wants Blaise, she is yours."

Draco wiped his hand across his face. Dear Merlin, he'd forgotten about Weasley. Weasley most definitely wanted Blaise, probably in a sickening 'forever' kind of way. But, Draco needed the money to revamp the business, to produce goods for the war effort, to win the war against Voldemort.

Which he was going to end by killing Potter, and by saving the rest of the students at Hogwarts. There wasn't any purpose in saving the company if Voldemort won. He'd forgotten that the only reason he'd joined the 'Light Side' was to jumpstart the economy in a capitalist mode. To waste all the time, money and effort to get this far, only to kill Potter and ensure the Dark Lord won would be stupid. But against the lives of students at Hogwarts, that seemed selfish.

But then, who was Draco to make that decision. If some students died, as opposed to millions who would die if the Dark Lord was victorious, it was probably an acceptable deal. After all, those who died would at least be able to attempt a defense. Thousands of Muggles would die every day, without knowing how to defend themselves. Lambs to the slaughter.

But beyond that, he didn't want to kill Potter, to see Hermione's face when her best friend died (no doubt she'd feel obliged to forgive Draco, the way he'd forgiven her for killing his father). He didn't want to be a murderer. He didn't want to see what happened next, when the Dark Lord won the war, as surely he would without Potter, and descended his reign on the world, all the while knowing he might have changed things. With this one decision.

Marry Blaise, get the money, rebuild the industries, reenergize the war effort, and somehow not cast the Comadra Curse. That was all. Well, he'd also have to survive Voldemort's minions long enough to fight in whatever battle there would be, and hopefully survive that. And then survive marriage with the Ice Princess.

"Mr. Zabini, I'd like to speak to Blaise," Draco said on a sigh.