A Stranger Garden

Chapter 5.

2028

Sighing, Harry walked the last few hundred metres to the front doors of Malfoy Manor. He felt like he'd spent the last week or so sighing. Teddy had flown back for Andromeda's funeral, as pale and wan as he'd ever seen him. Victoire had been worried about him, confiding to Harry that Teddy was becoming even more involved as an activist, taking it upon himself to stalk people suspected of hunting werewolves in New York.

"Aren't legal means working?" Harry had asked.

"Not fast enough for him. It took several years for anything to be done here in Britain and he thinks they should just take a leaf out of our book and adopt the same legislation."

"I take it that won't wash over there?" Harry had never really followed the political machinations of the American equivalent of the Ministry of Magic, so the obstacles had no meaning.

"Well, it would, that's the thing that frustrates him so much. The laws will fit in with their current laws on magical beings, but they're a stubborn lot and they don't take being 'told' things very well."

"Ah, yes, I do remember that about them." Several years earlier, Harry had been trying to negotiate a reciprocal arrangement whereby he loaned the New York Magical Museum their Voldemort collection, in return for the Salem Historical section. It had appeared to Harry that it was a good swap as long as certain security requirements were adhered to. The Americans didn't understand how vital it was to preserve the artifacts behind the wards and refused to acknowledge that Harry knew what security was needed for his own items. Needless to say, Harry was not going to trust those particular artifacts to anyone else...just in case...and so the swap never happened.

He'd tried to speak to Teddy about Victoire's worries after the funeral, but he'd allowed himself to be reassured that Teddy would be all right. He reminded Harry that his father had been a werewolf and had spent most of his life reviled and rejected by wizarding society, only to have died a few measly years before new reforms came in that allowed werewolves the basic freedoms everyone else enjoyed.

"My dad fought for something, Harry. He devoted his life to trying to be the best he could be and when Voldemort returned, to fighting evil for the good of all wizardkind. How can I spend my life sitting on my arse when people who should know better are still discriminating against something that is part of my heritage? This is my fight and I want to devote my life to it."

He'd spoken with such passion that Harry was swayed. Remus would have been so proud of him. His passion kindled the thought that Teddy wasn't coming back to England any time soon.

"What will you do with your grandmother's house and Malfoy Manor?"

Teddy had shrugged. "Sell them, I suppose."

"Your grandmother's, too?" He'd been shocked. He'd have thought Teddy would at least keep the home he'd grown up in.

"I'm not coming back, Harry. My life is in the States now and the money will come in handy for the rights movement."

"Wow." Part of Harry had still seen Teddy's time overseas as his 'adventure' and that he'd be home sooner or later to begin his 'real' life.

"We'll still come back for visits, but we won't be living here again." Teddy had become a very serious, passionate man. Which Harry already knew, of course, but he'd not realised just how dedicated Teddy was.

He had given Teddy a small smile. "We'll all miss you, you know?"

Teddy had grinned. "I've been gone for five years, Harry. Either people have already been missing me or they haven't."

"It seems like this time when you leave it will be permanent, though," Harry had amended.

"It's always been permanent," Teddy had replied, giving Harry a steady look with his serious dark brown eyes.

Nodding, Harry had hugged him and wished him all the best.

"You can gut the Manor for anything you'd like for the museum, Harry," Teddy had added. "I took whatever I wanted from Draco's place when he died. I'm sure that there must be hundreds of things secreted away in that place that have historical significance."

"Thanks, Teddy," Harry had replied, grateful he'd been given first option. "I'll pay market price for anything I take though."

"No, you won't." Teddy was dismissive. "With the sale of both properties I'll have more money than I could ever spend; I have no need for it."

"I can afford it." Over the years he had risen through the ranks at the museum to be the director, earning a ridiculously high salary that was more than he could possibly want to spend. Alongside the estates his parents and Sirius had left him, Harry was an extremely wealthy man. The Ministry had decided to privatise the museum three years ago and naturally had offered the whole thing, lock, stock and barrel, for what Harry considered to be a very reasonable price. So, he'd purchased it, being more than happy with his career path.

"I know. Consider it my contribution to history. Malfoy's manor and money never meant all that much to me, it was more about the person who lived there. I still miss him."

"You still have his broom?"

Teddy had nodded. "I still fly it, too, when I get all nostalgic."

They'd spent some time reminiscing about Malfoy and about Andromeda and speaking about what a wonderful person she was and how well she'd looked after and raised Teddy. It suddenly occurred to Harry that Teddy was really an orphan now. There were no Blacks or, by association, Malfoys left alive and Ted had had no relatives either, so Teddy was left without blood family.

Hence the sighing. Harry worried about him. He had Victoire and he was thirty years old, a man in anyone's language, Harry knew that, but Teddy was Harry's godson and as it was with his own children, Harry worried.

And now seeing the Manor looking almost exactly as it had done twenty years ago, he wished there was some way to go back in time and do things differently, do things again just to have had more time with Andromeda, make his peace with Ginny instead of just letting things drift away, experience his children's childhoods all over again.

It was likely that this Manor was going to be a solid imposing structure for countless generations. Much like Hogwarts, it seemed indestructible, free from the confines and destructive nature of time. People were born, grew up and died, but these places of bricks and mortar and not a little magic seemed to be eternal. No matter what hideous, vile acts had been committed in this place - and Harry was sure there were hundreds of them in its history - there had been people living in the house. They'd had lives and families and children and careers and a story.

Suddenly nostalgic, he wanted to gather his children around him and ask them about their stories, their childhoods. Had they been happy? Did they have milestones in their lives that they marked time with? Harry had two. The war and his divorce. Up until he and Ginny divorced, everything in his history was before or after the war. It was a timestamp in history for everyone, not just Harry's personal one. With Ginny, it was family matters. They were time stamped with before or after the divorce. Discovering he might be bisexual was after the divorce. Finding out the hard way that Al was gay - read accidentally opening Al's bedroom door at just the wrong moment - was before the divorce.

Did his children appreciate Hogwarts like he had? Was it something to be borne, leaving home and heading to boarding school for most of the year, or was it an adventure that they couldn't wait to have? Hogwarts had meant rescue and home to Harry, though he assumed, hoped, that it had only meant school for his children and that he'd given them their haven and home with him. Had they missed him?

He didn't see them much now; they had their own lives to live, though they did stay in contact as much as they could. But they were all busy working hard at their chosen careers.

He wondered why he was feeling so melancholy and reminiscing about the past so much. Perhaps it was Andromeda's mortality that reminded him that he'd passed out of that youthful phase of his life and into the middle years. Though wizards tended to live longer lives than Muggles; they didn't always, and Harry often felt the encroachment of age related health issues arising from his early years of being severely malnourished. They had taken their toll on his body and, while he had recovered, he was fairly certain that there would have been damage he would be paying for at the end of his life.

One of the house-elves opened the door as he approached it. As far as Harry could see it was the same one as twenty years ago.

"Mr. Harry Potter, sir. Master Teddy is telling us to let you in and you is removing things from the Manor."

"Yes, er...I'm sorry, I don't know your name," Harry said, stepping inside.

"I is Tilly, sir," Tilly squeaked and bowed. Tilly was male, then. Sometimes it was the only way Harry could tell as the females curtsied rather than bowed.

"Tilly, pleasure to meet you," Harry said, smiling.

"Mr. Harry Potter is too kind," Tilly said, flustered.

"Did Master Teddy give you any other instructions?"

Tilly nodded. "Master Teddy is telling Tilly and the other house-elves that we is to be giving you whatever you is wanting and then we is to keep the place looking nice until it is sold." Tilly wore a frown on his face.

Harry was about to ask what was wrong, when he realised what it must be. "Tilly, what will happen to you all when the Manor is sold?"

"Tilly has no idea, sir," Tilly replied, only just managing not to wail.

"I'm sure Master Teddy or the solicitor will know," Harry said kindly, patting the small elf on his shoulder. He had no idea what happened to house-elves when their masters sold the house and moved to a different country.

The small elf lifted a corner of the clean tea towel he was wearing and wiped at his eyes, before disappearing.

Harry spent the next few hours searching through all the rooms, hoping he didn't get lost in the sheer size of the manor. He tagged several pieces that he thought had historical significance to come back for later on. There were also a few Dark objects Harry debated over tagging, deciding in the end that these objects were better off in a museum where people could only look, rather than being on the open market for anyone to purchase and misuse.

On occasion he thought he heard music coming from somewhere in the Manor. It brought back memories of when he'd been here last - a harp in the library, Teddy had said. Harry had seen the harp in the library and tagged it for keeping, as it appeared to be a pre-Christian Persian instrument. But this time he didn't think the noise came from the library; it seemed to be in the wrong direction for that.

Following his ears he found himself in a much grander entrance hall than where he'd entered the Manor. From the windows either side of the massive doors, he could see a huge circular driveway - something he'd missed last time he'd been here. Perhaps this area was used for formal functions.

Two doors stood closed at the end of the hall opposite the front doors and the music seemed to be coming from within. He reached out to open them but they wouldn't budge. He retrieved his wand and used every unlocking spell he knew on the doors, but they remained shut. After thinking what else he could do to open the doors without destroying them, he kicked himself and realised that he should have checked for wards. He just hadn't thought that wards were needed inside a house.

A wave of his wand showed the intricate swirls of the spells surrounding the door. They weren't that difficult to unravel. Harry was used to unraveling wards from around magical items that were located in the strangest places and protected by all sort of amateur wards. Years ago, back when he first began working for WHAM, he'd employed the services of Bill Weasley, curse breaker, to assist him in working his way through wards. These days he needed no help.

The music had stopped and Harry wondered what lay behind the doors. Quite probably it was just an empty room that was inhabited by a ghost, which was why it had been warded shut. But if there was music, then it sounded like there might be another harp in there.

When he opened the doors wide, it was almost an anti climax. Almost, because the room was at least the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall. It was obviously a ballroom, as the floors were polished wood and there was several huge chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. On one side there was a raised section for an orchestra and the dance floor had been sectioned off by a different pattern of flooring. Elegant columns rose from the floor to the ceiling, which was charmed to show an inky blue night sky full of stars.

A voice startled him out of his awed study of the room.

"Oh, bloody fucking hell, I might have known it would be you!"

.o0o.

Draco had heard the racket from outside before the doors had finally been opened, so at least he'd been prepared and wasn't caught in his bath or wanking on his bed or worse, sucking on Potter's cock.

He wasn't actually prepared for it to be Potter, though he really should have known. Potter always seemed to be around; Potter always seemed to be able to get one up on Draco. Always.

"Can't leave me alone even after I'm dead, can you, Potter?" he carried on seeing as Potter was standing there looking like a stunned flobberworm.

"Malfoy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Still as eloquent as ever, I see, though you have greyed considerably."

"Oh, shut up. Just because you'll always look like a pointy albino lizard doesn't make you any better off than me. People tell me it's distinguished."

"Distinguished doesn't make up for those glasses you insist on wearing. Why you never had your eyes corrected is beyond me. One would think you were ashamed of being a wizard."

"I am not ashamed of being a wizard." Harry frowned. Why was he standing here listening to portrait Malfoy spouting off, looking and sounding the same as he had last time he'd seen him?

"You're a disgrace, Potter." Draco stood in his library, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Potter with as much disgust in his look as he could manage - hiding that he was actually rather grateful for the company, not that he'd ever admit that.

"Right, well there's nothing here that I want, so I'll be off now. I imagine there'll be someone along to remove all the portraits to some storage facility, soon."

Wait...Potter wasn't going? He'd only just arrived! And what was this about being moved?

"Potter, what are you talking about?"

"Oh, you might not be aware. Andromeda died last week and Teddy's selling the manor. I'm here to remove anything of historical significance for the museum before the rest is all catalogued and sold."

"Andromeda?" Draco's face dropped and he fell down into a chair.

"Yes," Potter said, nodding. "She died of a heart attack about a week ago."

"How's Teddy?" Draco knew on one level that as it had been twenty years since he'd seen them both, it meant that they'd aged and lived their lives without him, but it had never really hit home that they'd lived their lives without him. They'd moved on. And here he was, dead, stuck in a portrait and not had any involvement with them for twenty years.

"Grieving, of course. She was the only mother he ever knew."

Draco nodded. It was such a shock, though. He'd always thought that he'd be happy to speak to the first person to make it through the wards. It was conflicting that the first person to come through was Potter with bad news, because he wanted more news, wanted to know everything that had happened in the last twenty years, but he didn't want to hear it from Potter! He'd have thought Teddy or Andromeda, not Potter and now it looked like Teddy wasn't even going to come here anyway. Never. His heart did a flip as those words sank in. It meant that he'd have to bite down his hatred and ask Potter.

"Tell me about Teddy. What's he been doing all these years?"

"You remember everything from before you died?"

Draco nodded. That was another question he'd have to ask Potter. Who had killed him? And why?

Potter ran a hand through his greying hair. At least that was one thing Draco would never have to worry about, he thought, grasping on to something that made him feel normal.

"Well, he grew up well. Went to Hogwarts, studied with several noted solicitors and obtained his qualifications. He's married to Victoire, Bill and Fleur Weasley's eldest."

Draco looked up, scandalised. "He married a Weasley?"

"No need to look down your nose, Malfoy. You ought to be grateful that particular Weasley survived you letting Greyback into Hogwarts or you'd have been with your parents in Azkaban."

"What difference would that make, Potter?" Draco sneered. "I'm still dead."

Potter backed off at that and Draco took a moment to feel the satisfaction at seeing the bloody wonderful Dick Who Lived feeling awkward. It left him grinning smugly at his sarcasm, knowing it could still cut the prat.

He pushed away the memory of the awful sickening feeling he'd had when he realised that Greyback had come through the Vanishing Cabinet and into Hogwarts. Weasley had obviously recovered sufficiently to marry the beautiful Veela and sire children. Which was more than he'd been able to do, Draco thought sadly, his grin deflated by his past.

"So, is Teddy here? I'd really love to see him after all this time. I didn't expect it to take so long for someone to break through the wards." Draco thought a subject change might help the atmosphere a little.

"He's in London, sorting out Andromeda's final wishes."

"Tell him to come and see me when he's finished, I'd like to pay my respects to him about Andromeda. I'm sorry he lost her."

"I'll pass it on to him."

Draco couldn't wait to see Teddy again. He couldn't take him flying or fishing in the lake or even hug him, but they could spend time together now that the wards were down. As soon as he thought that, he stopped, frowning. If Teddy was selling then he'd be moved to different quarters.

He didn't even think about the portrait of Potter chained up in the dungeons; the one that Potter obviously hadn't spotted yet.

"Why is Teddy selling? I'd have thought that after twenty years the manor would have felt like home," Draco asked.

"Oh, he's never lived here," Potter replied, shaking Draco to the core. "No one's lived here since you died. Teddy lives in America now with Victoire, campaigning for werewolf rights. He's selling everything and returning to the States."

No! Draco's brain was screaming out. How could he sell Malfoy manor? There'd be people, other people, not Malfoys, running this place and they'd probably be half bloods or mudbloods getting their dirty, sticky fingers over everything he held dear, everything that had ever meant anything to him. How could Teddy do this? The betrayal sat heavily in his chest and he felt like he couldn't breathe, like he was going to pass out. There were black spots in front of his eyes and he blinked hard trying to clear them away. The manor was supposed to be kept in the family. Andromeda was a Black, the closest family he had, and Teddy was her grandchild. Also family. It was tradition; the house stayed in the family no matter what.

"You look a little shocked, Malfoy."

"He can't sell the Manor, Potter, he can't."

"I think you'll find he can do what he likes, Malfoy." Potter was scowling, and had Draco felt less like screaming, he might have laughed at the way Potter's eyebrows almost met in the middle of his face when he scowled.

"You don't understand," Draco retorted. "Malfoy Manor has always been in family hands. It's traditionally only been owned by family. Countless generations have lived here, grown up, married, had children and died here. It's one long line of history, a continuance of a line that dates back to Merlin. You couldn't possibly understand that, Potter."

"But Teddy isn't a Malfoy. He has Black blood in him, but no Malfoy blood."

"It doesn't matter. There have been ancestors of mine living here before that weren't Malfoys. But they were still related directly through marriage. They adopt the Malfoy name to keep the line unbroken."

Potter snorted and if Draco could have jumped through the portrait to punch him in the nose, then he would have. He couldn't expect an imbecile like Potter to understand anything about the importance of an ancestral line. "You put way too much importance on a family name, Malfoy, you always did and look where it got you."

"And you put too little importance on the value of a name, Potter. If I remember correctly it was because of your refusal to pay respect to the Dark Lord's name that you got yourself captured and your... Granger tortured by my aunt."

The silence rang loudly in the Ballroom as Draco's voice echoed away. For several seconds it dragged on, becoming heavier and heavier to bear, until Draco thought he might scream from the pressure.

Eventually, Potter took a deep breath and broke the silence. "Be that as it may, I have no influence when it comes to Teddy. I can't make him not sell the Manor."

"Will you at least try? What will happen to me if he does? What will happen to the rest of the things in the Manor? Most of them are centuries old."

"I own the Wizarding Historical Archive and Museum and I've tagged several pieces we're interested in. I'll be buying them from Teddy. The rest, as I said before, will be catalogued and sold. I have no idea what will happen to you if no one buys you."

Draco hung his head in his hands. He'd gone through ten years of bitter loneliness, broken only by the bright highlights of Teddy's visits, and pinned at the seams by this burning need for revenge. Then he'd suffered twenty years of utter aloneness. Now it seemed like all of his plans had been dashed upon the rocks of Teddy's betrayal.

He didn't see Potter peering closer to the paintings.

"Malfoy! Why is there a painting of me chained up in the dungeons?"