Not in the Hands of Boys

"By the way, Andy, Lucius agreed to look into the question you asked me last time."

Mrs Malfoy's remark sounded harmless enough, but it wasn't lost on Harry how Mrs Tonks suddenly sat up straighter.

"Yes, and?"

Narcissa reached towards Teddy, who was dozing off in Draco's lap, and gently ran her hand through his hair that was still way too blond for Harry's taste. "He tells me that so far, he hasn't found a single documented case of inherited lycanthropy. All the books he has consulted agree that the condition can only be transmitted through a werewolf bite; the possibility of passing it on to a child isn't ever mentioned."

"That's something." Mrs Tonks' relief was obvious. "It's still possible that there aren't any mentions because it's so rare, of course."

"That's true, but I've already told you that I don't think you need to worry. If the condition could be inherited, Teddy would already have begun to show signs of it. Or did you notice any changes around the full moon?" When her sister merely shook her head, Mrs Malfoy continued, "Lucius promised to keep researching the matter. We've lost a good part of our library thanks to the Ministry raids," - Harry gave her a sharp look, but she kept her expression neutral - "but it's still quite extensive, and if there's anything on the subject, I'm sure Lucius will find it. I'll let you know immediately, of course."

"Thank you, Cissy." Mrs Tonks hesitated for a moment, but then pressed on. "I imagine your husband isn't particularly happy about this task."

Narcissa shrugged. "He didn't say, and I didn't ask him. He knows that my family is important to me, and I'm sure he doesn't want me to worry about the boy."

"Excuse me." Harry knew that he should keep his mouth shut, but he just couldn't remain quiet any more. "Would you care to tell me what's going on here? Why on earth would you take an interest in Teddy? He's the son of a half-blood and a werewolf, and Bellatrix already proved how much your kind cares about such relatives!"

He realised a second too late how incredibly tactless it had been to point out in front of Mrs Tonks that her sister had killed her daughter. Harry saw Draco give him an incredulous look and felt a blush creep up his cheeks; he didn't dare to meet Mrs Tonks' eyes, so he kept staring defiantly at Narcissa Malfoy, who hadn't even blinked at his words.

"As you could have noticed by now, Mr Potter, I am not Bellatrix. Her devotion to the Dark Lord went so far that she cared about no one and nothing but him. I, however, have always placed my family's well-being above every other concern."

"Oh, really? Sirius Black was your cousin, wasn't he?" The question came out sounding like a challenge, but Harry was past caring; there was only so much he was able to take even for Teddy's sake.

"Yes, he was." For a second, the calm mask Narcissa was wearing slipped a bit. "He had forsaken his family for good, though - not just left it behind like Andy, but decided to stand against it. I owed him no more loyalty than he would have shown me if our positions had been reversed. I still wouldn't have wanted him to get killed, and it seems to me that it wouldn't have happened if it hadn't been for you."

"Don't you dare blame me for his death!" It cost Harry some effort to keep himself from yelling at her; his words came out as an angry hiss instead. He was still convinced deep down that Sirius' death had at least partly been his fault, but Narcissa Malfoy was the last person on earth who had the right to talk about it.

Her eyebrows rose slightly. "I'm not blaming anyone for anything, Mr Potter, I'm merely trying to answer your question. I'm aware that not every member of my family shared my conviction, but that doesn't change the way I feel about it. Teddy is not only my grand-nephew, he's also the last heir to the Black family. I don't particularly care whether any of our ancestors would turn in their graves if they knew -"

"Oh, they definitely would," Mrs Tonks interjected with a grim smile. "If Mother had known in advance, she'd probably have killed me instead of just disinheriting me when I told her I was going to marry Ted."

"Not Father, though," Mrs Malfoy said quietly.

Mrs Tonks paled slightly. "No, I suppose not."

The room went very silent for a moment. Harry had no idea what the exchange had been about, but it had obviously brought back painful memories for both of the sisters. He made a mental note to read up on the question of inherited lycanthropy himself when he was back at Hogwarts - he didn't trust Lucius Malfoy to put any effort into research for the benefit of a child with Teddy's background. Even if Narcissa's concern was genuine (which he doubted), Lucius had probably just told her a pleasant lie to get her out of his hair.

He would ask Hermione, and perhaps Luna, to help him; if Snape ever spoke to him again, he might even bring himself to ask him, since Snape was bound to know a lot about werewolves thanks to his history with Remus Lupin.

Harry was extremely relieved when Mrs Tonks eventually asked him to take Teddy, who was now fast asleep in Draco's lap, up to his room. She had probably noticed how close Harry was to losing his temper and thought it better to provide him with a way to make his escape without insulting her guests. Not that Harry had any qualms about insulting either of them, but he didn't want to risk getting kicked out of Mrs Tonks' house. Besides, he would have plenty of opportunities to insult Draco if he felt like it once they were back at school.

Only when he tucked Teddy's blanket in around the sleeping child did he remember Mrs Malfoy's curious remark about Teddy being the last heir to the Black family. It didn't make sense - not only did she have a son herself, but he was pureblood on top of that, so Harry would have expected her to count on Draco, not Teddy, to keep the family line going. Perhaps she had just meant that Teddy was the youngest Black heir at the moment, until Draco had children of his own. Still, Harry reckoned that it might be worth seeing the reaction of Mrs Black's portrait at Grimmauld Place if she ever heard about this.

He stayed in Teddy's room until it was getting close to lunchtime; when he finally came downstairs again, he was glad to see that the Malfoys had already left. He managed to swallow his pride and apologise to Mrs Tonks for snapping at her sister - he wasn't sorry that he'd done it, of course, but he was going to spend most of the Christmas holidays at her house, so it was probably better to get that out of the way.

Mrs Tonks seemed a bit surprised by his apology. "It's quite all right, Harry; I know this was difficult for you." She gave him a little smile that had a hint of chagrin to it. "To be honest, I hadn't planned for you to meet them - I had expected you to be out flying all morning once you'd got your broom back. I hadn't considered that it must be much too cold to keep flying for hours... some Slytherin I am, it seems."

Despite a bit of lingering indignation, Harry had to grin at this. "Warn me in advance next time, and I promise I'll keep flying until I'm frozen to my broomstick."

"I'll keep it in mind." For the second time today, Mrs Tonks placed her hand on his shoulder, and Harry found that he didn't mind at all. "And now come and have lunch."

* * *

Overall, Harry's Christmas holidays at Mrs Tonks' house were a rather relaxed affair. He spent most of his time with Teddy; when the little boy was asleep, he took his schoolbooks to the armchair in front of the fireplace to study for his NEWTs. The weather was mostly clear, so he went flying a few more times; even if it wasn't the same as it had once been (and Harry began to doubt that he'd ever enjoy flying the way he'd done before the war), it was still nice to be out in the open for a while.

Yet as the new year approached, he was beginning to get a little bored. He had already told Mrs Tonks that he would go back to school a few days before the end of the holidays, because there was only so much studying he could get done without the library at his disposal, and he was honestly looking forward to it. He missed Ron and Hermione, and sometimes, when he had trouble falling asleep at night, he couldn't wait to have Luna curled up against him in bed again.

Harry considered it a good sign that he could now face the prospect of returning to Hogwarts with anticipation instead of the dread he'd felt before the beginning of the school year. Still, he knew that the battle against the shadows of the past was far from over. During the peaceful days of Christmas, his thoughts had more than once strayed back to the scene he'd seen in the Pensieve and to Dumbledore's attempt at explaining what had happened. The knowledge that his parents had wanted him to live felt like a warm, protective blanket that he wore wrapped around him at all times; it kept him safe from the nightmares and the paralysing fear they brought with them. Yet he found himself thinking of Dumbledore more and more often; the conversation with his dead mentor in McGonagall's office kept replaying itself in his mind, and it led to questions that Harry had tried not to ask himself ever since the day of the final battle.

Everything Dumbledore had told him in that strange, dreamlike place that had looked like King's Cross Station had made perfect sense back then. Now Harry felt it slowly come apart in his mind like a piece of cloth that was beginning to fray at the edges, the threads of wisdom and care unravelling and reforming into shapes he didn't want to contemplate. His thoughts took him back to all the talks he'd had with Dumbledore over the years, from the first time he'd been to the Headmaster's office to the last words he'd spoken to him during the night he'd been killed; he remembered the twinkling blue eyes that he had, over time, found comforting, annoying, or utterly infuriating, and wished that he'd had the presence of mind to ask the right questions while there still had been a chance to get them answered by the man himself, not just by the shadow of his life that was everything a portrait could ever capture.

There was a small part of him, however, that kept wondering whether Dumbledore would have given him an honest answer even if Harry had ever managed to ask those questions.

* * *

"How was the babysitting holiday?"

Harry, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed with Homini Lupus - Werewolves, Lycanthropes, and Other Dark Creatures to Avoid During the Full Moon balanced on his knees, looked up from the huge tome in surprise.

"Ron! I thought you wouldn't be back before tomorrow evening!"

Ron dropped his travelling bag on his bed and sat down next to it. "Hermione will, because her parents are taking her to London the Muggle way, but I decided I'd drop by at the Burrow to say hello and get my presents since Mum didn't want to send owls to the Grangers. They all send their greetings, by the way."

"Thanks," Harry murmured, avoiding Ron's gaze. "How did it go with Hermione's parents?"

Ron shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. They were very nice to me, but I think they're still angry with Hermione. It was a bit awkward sometimes, but it was okay overall. They gave me a bit of Muggle stuff for Dad, it will keep him happy for weeks."

Harry grinned. "I still have a hard time imagining you living in a Muggle house."

Ron made a face. "It was strange, I'm telling you. The things you have to put up with when you can't do magic - although that telly thing of theirs is rather entertaining. Still, it was a relief when I was back at the Burrow today and could use my wand again. Oh, before I forget, I brought you your Christmas present."

Harry watched, completely stunned, as Ron began to rummage through his bag. "I'm sure I had it somewhere in here - Mum says she's sorry that it's late, but she didn't get it finished until Christmas Day, and she didn't think the owl would make it to Mrs Tonks' house in time... here it is!"

Ron triumphantly pulled a large, soft parcel out of his bag and handed it to Harry. "Belated happy Christmas, mate."

Harry put the book aside and took the parcel from him, but didn't answer; he found that he suddenly had a lump in his throat that made it impossible to speak. He only noticed how his fingers trembled when it took him three attempts until he was able to rip the wrapping paper. A curious feeling of warmth spread in his chest at the familiar sight of an emerald green Weasley jumper with a large blue "H" on the front; it felt a bit like coming home after a long, exhausting journey.

He coughed a few times until he was sure that his voice would be firm again. "I - thanks, Ron. I mean, really, this - it means a lot to me."

Ron made a dismissive gesture. "You haven't even opened it properly yet."

There was something in his tone that gave Harry pause, but Ron's gaze gave nothing away when he shot him a curious look. With a shrug, he pulled the jumper out of the torn wrapping; only now did he notice there was something made of blue wool underneath. Frowning, Harry put the jumper aside and reached for the second item; had Molly made him two jumpers this year?

When he took it out and unfolded it, he realised that it was indeed another, bright blue jumper. It was slightly smaller than the first one and had an emerald green "L" on the front.

Harry had to turn his head away; he didn't want Ron to see the tears he felt burning in his eyes. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance, but so was the warm, bubbling feeling of happiness in his chest. He was used to fate granting him only a small share of what he'd been hoping for; he didn't know how to deal with suddenly getting more than he'd ever have dared to wish for.

It took a long time and a lot of furious blinking until he felt ready to face Ron again. Ron seemed remarkably unembarrassed by Harry's reaction; he was grinning.

"Do you finally get it now that you don't have to marry Ginny to be a part of the family, you great git?"

Harry nodded mutely, his hands clenched around Luna's jumper as if he needed to make sure that it wouldn't dissolve into thin air.

Ron pointed at the jumper. "When's she coming back, by the way?"

"Next Sunday." Harry's voice was still a bit wobbly, but it had stopped bothering him. "I'm sure she'll love it."

Ron's grin widened. "It should go nicely with that crazy necklace you gave her for Christmas. I don't even dare to ask what she gave you."

At this, Harry finally had to grin too; he'd given Luna her Christmas present before she had left for Sweden, and she had been enthusiastic about the necklace made from gilded Muggle paperclips. The jeweller at Diagon Alley whom Harry had firecalled to order it had given him a very strange look, but Luna's face when she unwrapped her present had been worth it.

"If you must know, she gave me a Fwooper quill. I only hope she doesn't expect me to use it in public."

Ron almost choked with laughter. "A Fwooper quill? That's more than just a little bit poofy, mate. Is she trying to tell you something?"

Harry threw his pillow at him. "Shut it, or I'll start asking whether Hermione is finally done with reading up on the theory."

Ron caught the pillow and flung it back, his expression smug. "Ask all you want, if you must."

Harry felt his eyes go wide. "At her parents' house? Have you no shame at all, Ron Weasley?"

"Says the bloke who spends half his nights in the Head Girl's room. And it was her idea, if you absolutely need to know." Ron was still grinning, although his cheeks had turned an interesting shade of scarlet.

It was strange, Harry thought, to realise that this revelation would have bothered him a lot a few months ago. Now he felt mostly amused by the mental image of Ron sneaking into Hermione's bedroom at the Grangers' house. He dug his fingers into Luna's jumper again and found himself looking forward to the moment when it would smell of peppermint and patchouli like the rest of her clothes.

"Speaking of the Grangers' house, there was something I wanted to tell you." Despite his smugness, Ron seemed eager to change the topic. "Your cousin called while I was there. You know, on the telephone." He looked quite proud at pulling off the pronunciation, but Harry barely noticed it.

"Dudley? Why on earth would he call Hermione's parents? How did he even get their number?"

Ron gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Search me. Perhaps he heard from his guards that her parents were Muggles? While he was in hiding last year, I mean."

"What did he want?"

"To know how you were, basically." Ron noticed Harry's doubtful expression and added, "That's what he said, anyway. He heard from his guards that we won the war and that you survived it, but then they sent him and his parents back home, it seems. He said he didn't have your address or anything, otherwise he would have written you."

"A Christmas card, I suppose?" Harry grimaced at the thought. "I think Duddydums needs to look up the meaning of 'too little, too late'."

"That's what I said too, but Hermione went all teary-eyed and said that she hopes you'll write him a letter."

Harry snorted, remembering years filled with taunts, punches, broken toys, stolen food, and constant threats of telling and getting him punished. Trust Dudley to think that one awkward handshake would make up for all that. "When hell freezes over."

Ron nodded, his expression grim. "Good for you, mate. After..." He fell silent, and Harry noticed how Ron's eyes suddenly weren't focused on him anymore; he was staring past Harry at the broomstick in the corner. "Is that your Firebolt over there? I thought you'd lost it!"

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Harry did some quick thinking; Ron probably didn't need to know how exactly the broom had been returned to him. "Turns out I lost it not far from Mrs Tonks' house, and she had it repaired for me. I already tried it, it's as good as new."

"Brilliant indeed." Ron shot the Firebolt a longing look, and Harry suddenly had an idea.

"You can use it for Quidditch, if you want; it's not as if I still need it for training."

Ron's mouth fell open. "You'll lend me your Firebolt? Are you serious?"

"Course I am," Harry answered nonchalantly, although he was strangely touched by the way Ron's face lit up. If the Firebolt could no longer bring him the same amount of happiness it once had, it was good to know that it would at least make Ron happy instead. "You've got a Quidditch cup to win for Gryffindor, after all."