Questions and Answers

little_bird

Story Summary:
What happens when the past collides with the present and threatens to cast the Potters' and Weasleys' lives into disarray...

Chapter 66 - Book of Secrets

Posted:
05/24/2011
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1,317


Lavinia sat at her small kitchen table and waved her wand at the lamp in the middle of it. Lamplight was asking for trouble in San Francisco, even though the entire building - and every other building in the magical neighborhood - had been charmed to a fare-thee-well to resist earthquakes. But like her preference for tea, lamplight was something from her former life she hadn't been able to give up.

The envelope Harry had pushed into her hands that morning sat in the middle of the table, glimmering palely in the warm glow of the light. She pulled it toward her and turned it over, running her thumb under the flap, breaking the seal. Several photographs spilled out, along with a thick sheet of paper. Lavinia thumbed it open, unsurprised at the note scrawled on it.

20 March 2020

It isn't my place to say, because I'm supposed to stay "neutral". I suppose I shouldn't have taken this, or discreetly asked one of my Aurors to take over, once it was obvious a member of my own family, no matter how long he's been gone, was involved. But what's done is done, and since I've already broken more than a few rules, I don't suppose one more will make a difference. I've never been one for rules, really, and I don't think you are, either.

Whether you'd ever want to return to England, even if it's just for a visit, is entirely up to you. But I'm being rather selfish in asking that you at least give Benjamin that option. My wife - Ginny Weasley - is his cousin. I don't think Molly or Arthur would deny him a place within their family. They've been mine since I was twelve. And they've always managed to find room for one more. All their children and their spouses, their grandchildren. Even my godson and his grandmother, who just happens to be Narcissa's older sister, Andromeda. It also includes your nephew Draco's son. He's my younger son's best friend at school. It's a somewhat tangled family tree, but it works all the same.

If you'd like to write to Narcissa, you can send the letter to me at the British Ministry of Magic. I'm the Head of the Auror Department. Or, you can send them directly to Narcissa. She lives in Nice most of the time. Maison d'Heron. In case you were wondering.

It was signed with a simple HP with no extraneous flourishes. Lavinia briefly wondered about Harry's ability to play poker. In the few hours she'd spent in his company, he didn't give much away. Even when he stoically attempted to return what he felt belonged to Benjamin, only a slight lowering of his shoulders betrayed how extraordinarily difficult he found it to be and how relieved he'd been to be able to keep it.

Lavinia lowered the paper and spread out the photographs, feeling somewhat detached. The topmost one was the most recent, according to the date written on the back. It was that past Christmas. Lavinia recognized Molly and Arthur right away. They hadn't changed much, even as they'd aged. She squinted a little, and was able to pick out their children from her dim memories of the days Fabian had shown her photographs of them. The oldest three were easily recognizable. She could still see the lines of their childhood faces under the planes of the adult visages she now examined. The youngest was easy to pick out. She had been the only girl, and she had eyes just like Fabian and Gideon had. Frowning, Lavinia counted the redheaded adults. There should have been nine, counting Arthur and Molly. She glared at the photograph for a moment, and realized what should have been a set of twins was only one man. Lavinia wondered what had happened to the other twin. Down at the bottom of the photograph was a boy who obviously didn't resemble the others. But he did somewhat resemble her father. That must be Draco's child. It seemed to be a raucous occasion. If there had been sound, it might have blown out the window. Lavinia set it aside and slid the other photographs toward her. The back of each one listed a date and a short description of the event. Weddings, birthdays, anniversaries. Lavinia swallowed past the lump in her throat. It was what Benjamin ought to have had.

How could she tell him now? Even if she had felt entirely justified in keeping it all from him, to try and shield him from the taint of her family or the rejection of Fabian's, it didn't detract that for over thirty years, she'd lied to her son.

*****

Harry stuck a hand blindly out of the shower curtain, groping for a towel. Travelling by Portkey internationally was almost no better than using a Muggle aeroplane, like they'd done the summer before James had started school when they had taken a trip to California. They'd tried to have a normal, Muggle family holiday, but Silencing charms were brilliant for irate children, not to mention Shield charms to keep them separated in the backseat of a car. Both methods of travel left him feeling woozy and disoriented for a day or two. He and Ginny had made their way across America to New York, then took a Portkey that would bring them to the western edge of Wales. From there, it was a matter of Apparating back to Godric's Hollow. He and Ginny had just dumped their bags in the scullery and trudged up the stairs. Harry offered her the shower first, and it was a sign of how exhausted she was that she didn't slyly amend the offer to the two of them showering together. He managed to tug his boxers into place over still-damp skin and stumble into bed.

Ginny was curled on her side, blinking owlishly at his pillow. 'I was thinking,' she murmured, as he slid under the quilt. 'You wouldn't really be lying to Narcissa if you told her you weren't able to trace Lavinia past Italy...'

Harry frowned at her. 'But I did find her...' he objected, yawning.

'No... You found someone else.' Ginny slid her hand over his chest, feeling the steady bump of his heartbeat. Harry had told her the salient points of Lavinia's story while they were in San Francisco. 'The woman you talked to wasn't Lavinia Malfoy, was she?'

'Technically...'

'Technically my arse,' Ginny snorted, burrowing into her pillow. 'It wasn't. That woman started completely over. New name, new history, new home.' Ginny paused, and her voice cracked just a little. 'New family...' She shifted a little, curving herself into Harry's body. 'Do you think she'll tell him?'

Harry shrugged. 'I hope so...'

*****

Parker felt something tug on the back of his robes. He twisted, keeping a steadying hand on his overstuffed school bag and barely avoided smacking the small first year girl who clutched a handful of fabric in her hand. He swung the bag to the floor, knowing he'd fall over if he tried to crouch to her level, and stooped so he could look the girl in the eye. 'You could have just said something, Cecily,' he told the Hufflepuff first-year.

'I tried,' she insisted, her voice squeaking a little in the crowded corridor. 'I've been calling and calling. You didn't hear me!' She held up a small rolled-up scroll. 'It's from Professor Moreno.'

'Thanks.' Parker ruffled the girl's hair and stood, frowning slightly at the scroll. He hefted the bag to his shoulder and continued to his Charms class, scanning the note as he walked, adroitly avoiding the other students. He sighed and changed directions, heading for Rafael's office. He knew what it was about, but had dreaded the actual appointment, considering there were things he hadn't told his own father. Parker's feet dragged a little, like a reluctant child. Percy would have expected him to follow a carefully plotted course they'd created after his fifth year when his O.W.L. scores came back. Percy had been so proud. And so had Molly. Eight O.W.L.s taken. Eight Outstandings. It made Parker's pulse beat faster to think about disappointing his father, but he knew he no longer fit that particular course in life. Just the thought of doing International Magical Law made him yawn with boredom. But Parker was one of those people who was not only eager to please, but hated to cause other people any sort of distress. He was almost grateful the Easter holiday was still nearly a month away. He could write to his father, let the inevitable ire burn out, and Penelope could talk sense into Percy, all before he came home for the holiday.

Even knowing all that didn't make the roiling of his stomach ease or lessen. Parker knocked on Rafael's open door, almost timidly. 'Great, you're early!' Rafael exclaimed. 'Come in, come in...' He waved his wand at the door, and it closed partially. Another jab at the door cast a well-placed Muffliato spell over it. Parker grimaced slightly. He knew Rafael did it for his own protection. More than one governor was squeamish about the idea of an openly gay man teaching children. They wrote countless letters to the Prophet, denying any sort of prejudice, yet at the same time, wondering, oh-so-subtly, if was a good idea to allow such a man - men, really, including the Minister's brother - to have access to all those young, impressionable children. If they could only have chaste, barren lives, the letters said, it would make it all so much more palatable... It was enough to make Parker nauseated. All that phony "it's in the best interest of the children" nonsense. 'Is there something wrong, Parker?' Rafael asked, searching Parker's face in concern.

Parker shook his head. It was useless to say anything. Besides, it wasn't something he hadn't already said before. 'No, sir.' He glanced at the open door and sighed.

Rafael caught the look and grinned deprecatingly. 'It's better than it was when I was your age,' he commented lightly. 'Change gets measured in inches, not miles.' He shrugged. 'No matter.' Shuffling a few papers on the desk, Rafael scanned Parker's thick file. 'Now, then, we need to arrange where you'll study for the next few years,' he began. 'International law is only behind being a Healer or an Auror for the level of training you'll have to do when you finish here.' He set a piece of parchment with a map on it between them and tapped it with his wand. Several countries glowed with pale violet light. 'You'll spend an average of three to six months in each foreign Ministry for the next three years. Then you'll return to Britain for a year as an assistant and then receive a post here or abroad.' He indicated the map. 'You do get to pick where you want to study.'

Parker studied the map and felt nothing. No excitement, no anticipation. They were all places he wanted to visit - Nairobi, Japan, India, Tibet, New Zealand, Brazil, Argentina, Cote d' Ivoire, Egypt, even America. He found himself opening his mouth to say where he wanted to go, but instead said, 'I don't want to do this,' he muttered miserably.

Rafael sat back in his chair. 'I wondered when you were going to say something.'

'You knew?' Parker asked weakly.

Rafael shook his head. 'Kids these days. Think I fell off my broom last week.' He muttered something in Spanish that Parker didn't quite catch, but Rafael said it with a gentle smile. 'You took the very last appointment on the sign-up sheet. Normally, you're first. And the first to sign it. You were the last one. You're also always fifteen minutes early, and I had to chase you down for this one.' He shoved the welter of paper and parchment aside. 'So, then. Be honest with me. What do you really want to do? Even if it's silly.'

Parker shifted uneasily in the chair. 'Promise you won't laugh?'

'Promise.'

'Well, I'd like to go to... Wait... I ought to go back... Last Christmas hols, Iz asked Aunt Ginny what she would have done if she hadn't played Quidditch...'

'A reasonable question...'

'And Aunt Ginny said she might have considered going in to set curses at Gringotts. Said she knew more what she didn't want to do than she did. Then Iz asked her what she would have done if the Prophethadn't offered her a job when she retired from the Harpies, and she told Iz she really didn't know. I guess when you did what they did you don't think too much about what you're going to do in five years... At any rate, I don't really know, Professor...'

'Parker,' Rafael said gently. 'You don't have to decide right now what you want to do with yourself.' He pulled open a desk drawer and took out a tin of biscuits, prying off the lid. 'Here...' He pushed the tin across the desk and Parker took a handful of chocolate biscuits. 'I'm surprised you haven't burned out sooner. Take some time off. Go backpacking through the Mediterranean coast. Spend a year or two tutoring magical kiddos whose parents don't have them attend a Muggle school before coming here. Either way, your N.E.W.T. results will still be there when you get things figured out.'

'My dad's going to be furious,' Parker sighed.

Rafael smothered a grin in the act of shoving a biscuit into his mouth. He'd known Percy for years, and had never seen anything ruffle the man's efficient demeanor. 'Are you waiting to tell him during the Easter break?'

'No... Thought I'd write him after I spoke to you.'

'Be honest with him. Tell him things have changed since you took your O.W.L.s and you need some time to figure out exactly what it is that you want to do with yourself. He'll understand.'

'That's not it.' Parker shifted in the hard chair, resisting the urge to pull his knees into his chest and wrap his arms around them. 'I know Dad will understand. He's always understood.' Parker's dark eyes filled and blurred. He looked down at his tightly folded hands, resting in his lap and blinked several times. 'I just don't want to let him down... He's so looked forward to this.'

Rafael bit his lip and busied himself with shuffling papers around his desk for a moment, tactfully giving the boy some time to collect himself. Like the other teachers, he sometimes forgot for a moment that Parker was only seventeen years old. He was usually self-assured beyond his years. 'I'll write you a pass back to class,' he murmured. Parker nodded mutely and accepted the small scrap of parchment Rafael handed to him. 'Or, you can sit in the classroom until it's time for your next class. I'll explain to Flitwick later.'

'I'd like to stay in the classroom, if you don't mind,' Parker mumbled. He lurched from the chair and stumbled into the empty classroom, dropping into the closest desk. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached into his bag and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill, before digging out a bottle of ink. He stared at the blank parchment for a moment before dipping his quill slowly into the ink with a long sigh.

25 March 2020

Dear Mum...

*****

Draco rubbed his eyes and swung his feet to the floor. He hated the month of March. It wasn't cold enough to be winter, but not yet warm enough to be spring. And the weather was atrocious. Cold and damp. The only thing he could say to recommend it was that it fit his mood. His mother hadn't spoken to him beyond the bare minimum of decency, which limited her to stiff, polite conversation at meals. He reached for the dressing gown draped over the foot of the enormous bed and pushed his feet into scuffed slippers. Yawning, he pulled the shabby, but comfortable dressing gown over his arms and shuffled down the stairs, hoping to persuade Perri into giving him a cup of hot chocolate before breakfast.

His nose twitched at the scent of burning wood coming from the sitting room. Curiously, he peered through the open door, surprised to see Narcissa sitting in front of the fire, bundled into her own dressing gown, hair loose upon her shoulders, sipping tea.

Draco leaned against the doorframe and studied his mother for a moment. She looked nothing like she had when he was a child. He didn't think age had necessarily softened her, but little by little over the last several years - even before Scorpius started school - she had abandoned the strict formality of his earliest memories. 'I don't expect you to forgive me,' Draco said softly.

Narcissa continued to stare into the dancing flames, but one shoulder hitched.

'I just thought you should know...'

'Draco.' Narcissa turned slightly. 'When I think of what we went through... All those years...' Her breath caught. 'Angry does not even begin to describe what I feel. Disappointment that you didn't have the courage to...' She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

Draco smiled mirthlessly. 'Nothing I don't feel every day, then,' he told her matter-of-factly, then strode down the corridor to the kitchen.

*****

Harry wiped his clammy palms over the knees of his trousers. Narcissa was sitting expectantly in one of the chairs across from his desk. 'I really am sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. I could only trace her as far as Naples.' He took a deep breath, and silently begged Lavinia to forgive him. 'They made arrangements for her to leave the country, but I don't know where she went.' It was a half-lie, but a lie all the same. 'And she probably left under an assumed name, but all the records from that time regarding the system to smuggle people out of Britain have been destroyed.'

'So it's possible she's still alive...?'

'Yes.'

Narcissa slowly exhaled, her eyes narrowed. She was too well acquainted with reading subtle bodily expressions to be fooled. Harry might not give anything away willingly, but there were tiny hints, namely how the skin around his eyes tightened. Some habits died hard, and some were simply immortal. Reading seemingly impassive facial expressions had been a survival technique she'd perfected as a child at her mother's breast. 'You're not telling me everything, are you?'

Harry raised a brow. 'I'm telling you everything I'm able to say ethically,' he finally stated.

'She doesn't want to be found, does she?' Narcissa guessed. Harry just gazed at her dispassionately. 'You are certainly man of your convictions, Mr. Potter,' she said coolly. 'If nothing else, then I must respect you for that.'

'Mrs. Malfoy...?' Harry ventured. 'If people want to remain hidden, they will do so, to the best of their abilities and desires, resisting the best efforts of the best people out there to find them. And sometimes, they hide in plain sight. But either way, they all have one thing in common: who they were before is not who they are now. And they don't want to return to who they were.'

Narcissa nodded shortly. 'I see.' She rose smoothly to her feet and held out a hand to Harry, who took it, surprised. 'I thank you for giving this your full attention, Mr. Potter. You were able to do far more than I had expected.'

'I wish it could have been more, Mrs. Malfoy. Truly, I do.' Harry shook Narcissa's hand, then escorted her to the lifts.

*****

Benjamin Prewett let himself into the back door of his mother's shop and bounded up the stairs. 'Mom? Leo left his math book in the kitchen!' he called, as he took the stairs two at a time. 'Although April could have come and gotten it herself,' he grumbled, annoyed a little at being sent on this errand by his wife. He tested the door to the flat, and found it had been left unlocked, but it wasn't uncommon for Lavinia to leave the flat unlocked, if the shop itself was locked. 'Mom? Are you home?' There was no answer and Benjamin merely shrugged. His mother was a grown woman, and if she wanted to carouse around San Francisco, then she had every right to do so. He headed for the kitchen, spotting his son's math textbook in the middle of the table. 'Great. I swear, that boy's head would fall off if it wasn't attached to his body,' Benjamin muttered, carelessly snatching the book from the table. Photographs spilled across the table from under the book. Sighing, Benjamin dropped the textbook into one of the chairs around the table and began to scoop up the photographs.

Idly, he glanced down at the one on top. Benjamin didn't recognize the laughing couple. They seemed to be roughly his mother's age. He turned the photograph over curiously. Molly and Arthur, 24 June 2015. Benjamin searched his memory, but didn't recall an Arthur, nor a Molly among his mother's few close friends. Frowning, he set the photo down on the table, and examined the next one. Christmas 2019. There were the mysterious Molly and Arthur once again, but this time surrounded by a large group of people. 'Must be their family,' he murmured, setting it aside. The next one in the pile had a tall, lanky redheaded man and a smaller woman with curly brown hair. It was obviously their wedding, and Benjamin flipped the photo over. Sure enough, the back said in an angular scrawl: Ron and Hermione's wedding, 27 September 2003. Benjamin turned the photograph back over and stared at the man who must have been Ron. He traced over the slope of Ron's nose, then dashed to the stairs and ran up them to the small bathroom.

Benjamin faced the mirror and held the photograph up to his face, staring intently at the reflection. One hand rose to his own face and the tip of a blunt finger ran down his nose, eyes darting back and forth between the photograph and his face. What is my nose doing on his face? he wondered wildly. He opened a drawer and blindly scrabbled for a hand mirror. He stumbled back to the kitchen and dropped into a chair, fanning the photographs over the table. One photo stood out in particular. 'I've seen him before...' Benjamin breathed. He knew he'd seen an older version of the man with the messy black hair and oblong-framed glasses. Taking a deep breath, he turned the photo over. Harry and Ginny's wedding, 22 August 2000. Benjamin had vaguely recognized the man when he'd been in the shop last week, but couldn't place him. He still couldn't. But he could hear how his mother's British lilt became more pronounced in his company. He examined the photograph, carefully looking at his features in the mirror, then comparing them with the people in the photos.

Shaking, Benjamin set the mirror down, tidied the pile of photographs, then sat back to wait. Lavinia had to return eventually.

He was still in that pose when she did stroll through the door nearly an hour later. 'Ben, what are...' Her voice died when she saw the look on his face. She was taken aback to see the look of cold fury she'd only seen on Fabian's face a handful of times plastered on her son's. Her gaze fell on the neat stack of photographs and she felt the blood drain from her face. Lavinia numbly took the few steps necessary to close the distance to the kitchen table and stiffly perched on the edge of one of the chairs.

'Mom, who are these people?' Ben asked harshly. 'Who is Molly? And Ron? And why does he have my nose?' he demanded.

'Molly...' Lavinia licked parched lips and stared at the scuffed surface of the table. 'Molly was - is - your father's sister,' she admitted. She swept the photographs across the table and pointed to Arthur. 'That is her husband, Arthur. And all those redheaded adults in this picture...' Her hand hovered over the Christmas photograph. 'Are their children.'

'But, I thought Dad didn't have a family,' Ben blurted.

Lavinia shook her head. 'That's what I've let you believe,' she told him. 'When you were old enough to understand, and I told you that Fabian had been killed before you were born, you seemed to assume that Fabian and I had been alone with no family. And I never talked about them, so you never really asked. The only time you ever asked about any family we had, you asked about your grandparents, and by that time, they were, in fact, dead.'

Benjamin jabbed a finger at the bottom of the Christmas photograph. 'Who is that?' he asked. 'He looks a bit like you.'

Lavinia closed her eyes. 'His name is Scorpius. He's my nephew's child.'

Benjamin's lip curled slightly at the name. 'Was your nephew high when he picked that name?' he snorted.

'I don't believe so. My nephew's name is Draco. Perhaps he was hoping misery really would love company,' she added lightly, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. It fell flat.

Benjamin's mouth crimped and he rubbed the side of his hand under his nose. 'Why... Why didn't you tell me any of this?'

'How well do you remember your history?' Lavinia inquired, as if she were helping him with his homework.

'What does history have to do with this?'

'Oh, a great deal, indeed, Ben... Do you remember it?'

'I guess.'

'The last wizarding war in Britain?'

'Volde-something and Death... Death Beaters?'

'Voldemort and Death Eaters,' Lavinia corrected quietly. 'I had a brother, Lucius. He was one of those Death Eaters. Believed in the purity of blood. Believed that Muggle-born witches and wizards ought to have been driven out of Britain. Believed Muggles were a lesser being than magic folk.'

'Sounds like a nice guy,' Benjamin said dryly.

'He was aces,' Lavinia retorted, equally dry. 'He discovered, somehow, that I was involved with your father. And he hated Fabian and Fabian's family, because they didn't hold the same beliefs about blood purity. More than hate... More than loathe... More than even despise. He had Fabian killed along with his twin brother, Gideon.

'But he's dead now. Died an old, lonely, bitter man.' Her face hardened briefly. 'It was less than he deserved.' She slid the photographs together. 'He disowned me after... After Fabian... And I... I ran away. The person I was when I ended up in San Francisco was not who I was when I left England. I didn't want to be associated with them any longer, and when I found out I was carrying you, I vowed you'd be able to live without all of that hanging over your head. I don't have any family,' Lavinia maintained firmly, although her voice cracked. 'Other than you, April, Leo, and Marissa. I don't have any family,' she repeated.

Benjamin looked down at the photographs. 'Yeah?' he asked coolly. 'Well, it seems I do.' He stood up, pushing his chair back. When he made as if to pick up Leo's math textbook, the book flew across the room and slammed into the wall. The binding broke and pages fluttered all over the wooden floor. 'Oh, for the love of...' Benjamin huffed, jabbing his wand impatiently at the book. The pieces zoomed into his hands and he stormed from the flat, slamming the door behind him so hard, the framed photograph of Fabian sitting on the mantle of the fireplace rattled and crashed to the floor, its glass shattering into tiny pieces.

Lavinia's eyes drifted shut and the tears she'd held at bay slid down her cheeks.