Draco Verdant

Harry's summer holidays had proved worse than ever. The Dursleys had rented him out to a house-cleaning service, writing on his application that he "especially enjoyed cleaning toilets." Naturally, the agency had been eager for a member who would do this part of the job gleefully. Harry pushed his glasses up, sighing, as he bent down to scrub the putrid toilet, wrenching his nose with the stink.

It didn't get any better when he returned to the house. Since this would be his fifth year, he was allowed to perform a few select spells over the summer, which only exacerbated the tension between him and the Dursleys. The spells did not include any curses, so they gave him no advantage, but the atmosphere shifted nervously with tenuous relations. At least the Dursleys couldn't lock him in again, for alohomora was one of the charms allowed.

The situation finally erupted over breakfast one morning. Last night Uncle Vernon had warned Harry about using magic again in this house. Now he was staring at Harry carefully, watching for any signs of "abnormality", as he called it. Harry gulped a little; he had never seen Uncle Vernon quite so tense. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were watching nervously.

Aunt Petunia tenuously struck up a conversation, providing a slight distraction. Harry quickly put an Engorgement Charm on his grapefruit- the diet remained another bane of Harry's existence- but Uncle Vernon noticed, and leaped to his feet in a purple madness.

"THIS IS IT!" he thundered, making even Dudley shrink under his rage. "I will not live in a house with this freak of nature! Respectable people should not be subjugated to this unnatural, hideous THING! And if you are legally responsible for keeping the boy in your house, Petunia, then I suggest you find a different house to live in, because I cannot stand him here for another minute!"

Aunt Petunia stood up shakily, filled with pallor. "Vernon," she said, and then she fainted and fell to the floor. Harry felt like doing the same. Of all the things he might have expected to result from the house's tension, this was not one of them. I should have learned never to be surprised, he thought, as Dudley stormed from the room, the floor trembling with every step.

Petunia Dursley was, beneath it all, a very tough woman. When Vernon had- made his statement, she had been shocked, of course. But she had recovered quickly and acquitted herself in the most businesslike way. Her active personality had hidden in gossip and hatred of Harry all these years, and now she hungered to prove herself. She had contacted her lawyer first, naturally, and tomorrow the entire family would be appearing in court. But the second thing she had done had been to call her sister, Rose, the third sister of her family, a Muggle like herself, though not as bitter toward Lily as she had been. Rose had always been a bit loose, and Petunia was counting on her to be able to find a man at short notice. The conversation had gone something like this.

"Rose?" Petunia had asked.

"Oh, Petunia, darling! My baby sister! Oh, you haven't talked to me in ages, dearie. It must be something dreadfully important."

"It is," she replied simply. "I am getting a divorce from Vernon. And I want to be over him immediately. I want to find another man, now. I don't even care who he is at all. Just find him for me."

"Well, dearie," Rose had said conspiratorially, "I don't mind telling you that there's an extremely handsome man hanging around the bars here. His wife just died violently, and he seems terribly distraught. I would be cheering him up myself, but I'm in a serious relationship now, can you believe it? Oh, you'd look lovely with him. That is, if you can manage to look lovely." None of the sisters had ever really liked each other.

Rose had gotten in touch with the man, and he had agreed to pick Petunia up tonight. They were going to a pub, whose name she couldn't remember, something about a pot, and Petunia, much as she would have hated to admit it, was secretly thrilled. She had put on her salmon-pink cocktail dress and perfume. For the first time in ages, she was going on a date. She put all thoughts of magic and marriages from her mind, and descended the stairs. At the same time, a limo pulled up outside. She fairly skipped to meet it.

Arthur Weasley sighed and rubbed his forehead. After the disaster in the Malfoy Manor raid last week, he had been swamped with forms. He had put his signature to over a hundred documents to ensure that no Ministry officials need be fired. He had written letters of apology to the heads of several departments and other various officials, including Percy, his own son. He just didn't understand why all the work always fell to him, when so many times he had refused promotion to lead a simpler life, with more time for family.

When a team of Aurors, acting without direct request from Fudge, had stormed Malfoy Manor and turned the place inside out with searching spells, the Malfoys had blocked their way repeatedly. Finally, in desperation, Narcissa Malfoy had set off some alarm the Aurors could not even detect. It had unleashed a Slicing Curse that had killed two Aurors and Narcissa herself. In the absence of finding any truly damning evidence against the Malfoys, Fudge had demanded that the team be held accountable. And now it fell to Arthur to hold the secret and endangered Order of the Phoenix together in the Ministry. Damn these forms.

Lucius had gone into a semblance of grieving after Narcissa's death. Truth be told, Arthur suspected he felt nothing more than satisfaction at the death of two Aurors, indeed, the well-known Harper couple. The Malfoy boy, though, had responded with utter shock. Arthur recalled with a shudder having encountered him in Malfoy Manor.

"Go away, you Muggle-lover," said the boy. Arthur realised he must be severally distraught, for Malfoys tended to be more subtle. "I don't need the Ministry's official comfort. I can pull down a curse just as strong on your head even now."

"I'm only trying to help," Arthur replied, somewhat angrily, knowing how clichéd he sounded. "We want to be ensured that everyone is safe."

The boy had drawn his wand. "Out, Weasley." Arthur reacted quickly, using the Full Body-Bind, and leaving the house-elves to care for the boy. He felt terrible.

Arthur shook his head. It was no good; there was nothing to be done. The forms were waiting.

"Hello," said Petunia, sliding as gracefully as she could into the passenger's seat. Despite his utter wealth, the man was driving his own car. She appreciated it. "I'm Petunia."

"My name is Lucius," the blond man replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Lucius. The name seemed odd to her. Tantalizing, she told herself. Yet she couldn't shake a feeling that something was off.

"Where did you say we were going?" she asked, trying to keep a light and bantering tone.

"It's called the Leaky Cauldron. You won't have heard of it. It's in London, but we'll get there soon. This car is fairly fast." He seemed as if he were trying to talk in a style utterly alien to him. It must have been because his wife had died.

"I'm sorry about your wife," she said.

"No, you aren't," he replied. "Because if she were alive, you wouldn't be here, would you?" She had nothing to say. He was right.

If only Harry could have gone to the Burrow during the trial, he might have been able to think. However, his presence was required. He would have to speak during the part about custody, even though he and Dudley were sure to go to Aunt Petunia. Utterly bored, he watched as Petunia made her statement. He frowned. She seemed rather out of it, like the site manager at the Quidditch World Cup after his memory had been modified too many times.

He yawned and glanced over at Dudley. Dudley was furtively attempting to pickpocket the dozing man next to him, who had a pocket full of candies. Whenever the man shifted, Dudley would jerk back in alarm, only to verify that the man slept on, and he had not been spotted.

Harry tried to do his summer transfiguration homework under the bench. They were beginning to learn the Animagus procedure for fifth year, although the whole process could not be revealed to them in case they decided to attempt it illegally. Harry imagined that the real number of Animagi was twice or three times the registered one. He thought, vaguely, about trying it himself. Hermione would surely be able to patch the whole procedure together.

He thought about it seriously then. Why not? His father had been an Animagus. He wanted to be as close to his parents as possible, to know all their secrets. If he could follow in his father's footsteps- maybe even try and become the same animal, a stag-

His thoughts were interrupted by the decision of the court. He and Dudley would live with Aunt Petunia. As they left the court and met up with the now sole guardian of the boys, she announced in an out-of-it voice that they would be moving to another town. She was getting married. Dudley goggled, and looked as though he were about to respond brattily, but then dived for the candies falling from his pocket. It was Harry who responded first.

"What, right off?" said he in a shocked voice.

"I don't see where it's any of your business," she replied in a far more normal, condescending tone. "I am acting as an adult and it's an entirely reasonable decision. The wedding is tomorrow and we'll be moving in the day after."

"To who?" said Harry. "Where?"

"Lucius Malfoy of Malfoy Manor," she replied in a satisfied voice. "And don't ask questions." Harry stopped dead in his tracks. It was impossible.

That evening Harry sat down to owl all his friends. Shock still gripped him. His mind was filled with the voice of Aunt Petunia babbling on about the luxurious manor Lucius had told her all about. Why would Lucius Malfoy marry a Muggle? And it wasn't as if Petunia had any particular beauty or grace. He shook his head and started to write to Ron.

Dear Ron,

I'm not going to be able to visit you this summer. I'm moving. No, Sirius's name wasn't cleared. My aunt and uncle got divorced and- you'll never believe this- she's getting married to Lucius Malfoy. I know he hates Muggles, he wouldn't marry one. So either he's not really going to marry her and it's a trap or he is really going to marry her and it's a trap. Either way it doesn't look good. I'm worried. Does your dad know anything about what's happened? All I know is Malfoy's wife died. My aunt doesn't know he's a wizard yet, I don't think, or she wouldn't want to marry him, either. This is all just too strange. Owl me if you know anything.

Harry

He started to attach the letter to Hedwig's leg, looking out the window into the darkness, but then he saw something- a little round ball bouncing through the air. He went to the window and stared. Soon he could see Pigwidgeon whipping around in the barely moving air currents. Harry had never understood how an animal could be so small and perfectly spherical and yet manage to deliver mail. Pig was carrying a letter rapidly slipping from his grasp. He managed to land on Harry's windowsill before a real breeze carried him off.

Harry took the letter from the tiny bird and it squiggled joyfully. He opened it and glanced at the signature- Ron's, as he had expected. The letter, though, seemed more ominous than Ron's usually were.

Harry,

Something weird is happening. Dad says there have been strange patterns of Muggle deaths and mysterious something-or-others. Don't leave your house and don't send Hedwig to me. I'd keep Pig there, too. We're ready to go into hiding at any minute and an owl could ruin it. I reckon Hogwarts will be safe, though. Hermione's here in case of an attack and she says Hogwarts is more heavily warded than anywhere else in the world. Just don't do anything until you're at Hogwarts. Not even the charms they're letting us use this year.

Sorry,

Ron

The impact of the letter hit Harry suddenly. Ron had never been so worried, and if the Weasleys went into hiding, well, something was up. Harry wanted now more than ever to owl Ron and tell him what was happening, but Ron had said not to write back. And to keep Pig- Ron would never let Pig stay away if it weren't an emergency. Harry sat down on the bed suddenly, crumpled up his letter to Ron, and threw it in the trash.

That night he dreamed again, like he had at the beginning of last year. This time he was standing outside a castle. It wasn't Hogwarts, although it was just as large and complicated. Two men in long robes and masks- two Death Eaters- were walking towards him.

"Never before has a plan been so much to my disliking," said the taller Death Eater. Harry thought it might be Lucius Malfoy, but he couldn't be sure. "I think our Master may have become a little too obsessed with the Potter boy. He jeopardizes our very principles with this mission."

"Indeed," said the other Death Eater, one with a mocking voice that Harry didn't recognize, "I have often wondered whether our Master is, indeed, the best one to be our Master. He is a Mudblood, just as despicable as the ones he proclaims to hate. Is there strength in such a man? I think not."

"We may talk freely?" asked Malfoy.

"Quite," replied the man.

"Then I will say that there is strength in you, my friend," said Malfoy. "Perhaps between you and myself, we could manage our band, now grown strong again in numbers, much more efficiently. Perhaps, I may say, more efficiently for ourselves."

"Exactly what I meant," said the other. They had passed Harry now, and he was walking behind them to hear their conversation. "Why be ambitious if always you are thwarted by a Lord, or one who calls himself a Lord? He is of less noble blood than we. No, my friend, I think our ambition deserves its reward."

"For each of us, one no more than the other."

"Precisely," hissed the man. "I do hope, for your sake, that your ambition is not greater than my own."

"Indeed," said Lucius. They were now entering a great circle. There seemed to be a bonfire in the middle. Harry strained to see- it was a burning pentagram, surrounded by what were surely thousands of Death Eaters. And there he could see Voldemort, shouting something- and a body cast into the flames...

When Harry awoke he was on the floor. He blinked. It was morning. Morning did not seem appropriate following that dream. Someone was banging on his door.

"Get up, boy!" he heard Aunt Petunia's voice say. "You know we have to be there by eleven o'clock!" Harry sat up. He couldn't go. He couldn't walk into a trap, couldn't go live with that awful man he had seen in his dream, and his son, who had been Harry's archenemy for as long as he had known him. He didn't understand, he could barely even remember the dream, but a feeling of a shadow of evil was creeping up on him. And Ron, who never worried, had told Harry not to go anywhere...

But there was nothing else Harry could do. If he ran away, he would be in as great a danger. He couldn't go to the Weasleys'; he didn't know if they were even still at the Burrow. And if he stayed with Aunt Petunia, who was his relative, he might have some protection- hadn't Dumbledore cast a spell to keep him safe in the presence of his relations? He didn't fancy having to follow Aunt Petunia around all the time, but he didn't fancy dying, either. He found some decentish-looking clothes and put them on. Let the following of Aunt Petunia commence.

The Muggle church swelled majestically at the top of an emerald-green hill. Roses swirled and clomb the columns of the pavilion that had to be passed through to commence up the winding path. Looking up at the church, the visitors glimpsed the whimsy of architects who had aspired for their tower to stretch the highest to the heavens, each in the style of their period, crammed with art and carvings of heavenly personages, creating, all in all, a rather sickening effect. It resembled a cotton-candy fantasy land, complete with requisite fairy song and dancing bunnies. Harry felt terrible.

The gravel chomped under his feet. He simply couldn't believe he had to be here, pretending to rejoice in a blessed event, while he wondered exactly when he was going to be killed. The Goyles were walking next to Harry. Dudley had got along with the thuggish boy immediately, though Harry rather thought Goyle was doing a bad job of acting, pretending to like a Muggle, and Harry was supposed to be "great friends with our Gregory," according to Mrs. Goyle, who drooled.

Harry had been shocked to find out that Aunt Petunia knew the Malfoys were wizards. She didn't seem at all unhappy. Whenever Harry mentioned something about the oddness of the situation, her eyes seemed to glaze over, and a perfect happiness entered her voice as she explained, vacantly, how much sense it all made. She didn't seem to be under the Imperius Curse, from what Harry knew, but it might be a Confundus Charm- he didn't know much about them.

Goyle and Dudley were comparing methods of beating up and intimidating people. Each seemed to be enjoying describing their thuggish qualities. Harry worried that they might come around to practicing on him, while their mothers looked on with rapture. He fell behind a little so as not to be caught.

"Harry Potter, sir!" The shrill voice came from a clump of lilacs near the walk. Harry glanced at the others, making sure they were deep in conversation, and fell to his knees beside the bush.

"Dobby? What are you doing?" he asked.

"Dumbledore is giving Dobby an important mission, Harry Potter!" squeaked the house-elf. "Dobby has come to give you this!" He held out a bottle fuming with potion.

"Er- what is it?" asked Harry. He remembered all of Dobby's previous attempts to help him.

"The Diplomat's Aide, sir!" Dobby trilled. "It will help Harry Potter understand the secret motives of bad wizards! Dumbledore is sending Dobby with it to protect Harry Potter. It will make him aware of plots on his life today. Dumbledore thinks if Harry Potter is not attacked today, they will be waiting until he is inside Hogwarts, where he is safe with Dumbledore!"

"There's got to be a catch," said Harry. "That's too perfect."

"Dumbledore is saying it is only very temporary, sir," said Dobby. "Harry Potter will get confused after a while, and if Harry Potter is continuing to take it, he will go insane!"

"Thanks, Dobby," muttered Harry. "You didn't brew this yourself or anything, did you?"

"Professor Snape is brewing it, sir," he replied. "Professor Snape is making excellent potions."

"Right," Harry said, but he took the potion. He trusted Snape more than the Malfoys, which was saying a bit. "Thanks, Dobby. See you at Hogwarts."

"Goodbye, Harry Potter, sir!" the elf managed before he had to duck out of sight. Harry ran to catch up with the others.

The potion gave the effect of Harry's having stepped back from the world in order to observe it. He notice the trite talk as fraught with hidden insults, and delighted in playing with his own words to the Death Eaters he was introduced to, insulting them under what seemed a friendly speech.

He had to shake hands with Lucius Malfoy. A cold chill zoomed up to his scar, as did the freezing eyes of his enemy. Draco, Harry noticed, was not present.

"Where's Draco?" he asked. Mr. Malfoy, horrifyingly, looked back into Harry's eyes.

"He was ill and could not be here today," spat Lucius through clenched teeth.

"Oh, sorry," said Harry, not meaning it at all.

He didn't notice any plots to kill him. What he did notice was a barely veiled hatred for him amongst all the Death Eaters. Those that he did not know as Death Eaters were still not friends of his. They did not share the utmost animosity of the others, but seemed not as appreciative of Harry as he was used to. It didn't mind; it just felt quite different. He also noticed, with some surprise, that Fudge was there. What was Fudge doing at an event otherwise filled with Voldemort supporters- or at least people who didn't mind Death Eaters?

Fudge noticed Harry, too, and started rushing over, but then stopped. Harry guessed he had remembered the events of last year. Now Fudge had stopped to talk to one of the reporters covering the event- surely not Rita Skeeter? Harry wondered when Hermione had released her. At least she couldn't say anything nasty about Harry if she didn't want to be turned in. Fudge might already know, though. It seemed like he could be involved in illegal activities himself.

He wandered over to the refreshments table, but didn't take anything. The punch was exploding, occasionally showering nearby guests, and there seemed to be bats' wings in some of the cookies. Harry started looking at people's sleeves, seeing if he could glimpse the Dark Mark etched on their skin. With a lot of them, he could. They appeared to feel safe wearing shorter sleeves than usual. Fudge had no mark, though. So he might be safe there.

Finally the ceremony began. It was utterly boring. Harry ignored it, except for the vows, which had, in addition to the Muggle words, "even if our children are Squibs." Lucius Malfoy whispered something to the officiator, and he declared that they didn't have to say that part. Harry shifted nervously. From the potion, he knew no plots were being plotted, but he also sensed more strongly the antipathy of the wizards present towards Petunia, and his own nervous fear ringing in his mind. Finally, the ceremony ended. Dancing began, but Harry amused himself with the knowledge that soon he would be able to leave- but then he remembered where he would be going. He slumped down in his chair. Pansy Parkinson came over and asked him to dance, probably since Draco wasn't there. Damn, he hated dancing.

Not until midnight did Lucius pronounce the festivities over. Harry almost didn't mind having to "go home" to Malfoy Manor just to be away from the wedding. He took a pinch of Floo powder and stepped into the fire after Lucius, pronouncing clearly "Malfoy Manor" and happily catching a sight of Dudley's face as he took a fistful of the magic transportation. The next face he saw, however, wiped out his delight. Draco Malfoy was scowling at him.