Beautiful, the Dark Heir (bdh13)

Chapter Thirteen

Fic Adopted from Bittersweet Alias

a violation or revelation: A violation of trust or confidence, a revelation or divulging of something which is desirable to keep secret

Betrayal

Micah Montague hated alarms: magical, Muggle, loud, annoyingly soft, he despised them with the very core of his being.  He didn’t have time for them.  They were worthless and gave him headaches. 

What he did discover their first morning at Hogwarts, though, was just how pleasant an alarm his little mate could be.

“That should be fucking illegal,” Micah sighed, turning his head to face his husband, who was softly blowing against his cheek.

“What? Breathing?” Harry teased before softly kissing Micah’s scowling lips. “Come on, Romeo, we can’t miss the Owl Post.”

Micah opened his eyes to see Harry waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  “Damned Prophet,” he groused, although they both knew he was getting up.  Seeing everyone’s reactions in the Great Hall was just too good to even think of missing.  “Five Galleons that it’s not in there.”

“One massage that it is,” Harry countered.

Micah sat up and stared at his husband.  “Are you sore? Does your back ache?” he belligerently questioned, grasping Harry’s shoulders and looking him over.

Harry laughed.  “No, not yet.  That won’t happen for several months, I think.”

Micah eyed him warily.  “If you want a massage, just tell me and I’ll give you one.”  He got out of the white and purple bed and made his way to his trunk, which he had dragged in the night before. Stupid house-elves, they couldn’t do anything right.

After a languid shower together, which may or may not have needed to be quite that long or vocal, Micah and Harry headed down to the Prefect Common Room – only to see the other Slytherins waiting for them.

“The pool’s currently twenty Galleons,” Draco greeted them casually, “just for us.”

Harry laughed and pulled his cousin up until he was standing. “Hmm, well I don’t think anyone initially thought it would take them this long to report it.”

Adrian snorted.  “No, that’s not what we’re betting on.”

“What then?”

“What the latest theory will be as to your identity.”

“My theory is that you’re a Muggle–born who’s a prince of a Muggle royal family,” Blaise added, smirking at the Dark Heir.

Micah growled at the thought.

“Well, I honestly wouldn’t put it past them,” Draco added.

A soft clearing of a throat drew their attention, and Harry rolled his eyes when he saw Hermione Granger glaring at them.  “It’s against school rules to gamble,” she stated haughtily.

Blaise smirked at her.  “Who said we were gambling?  We’re just guessing the latest theory the Prophet comes up with.”

“My guess is that I’m the long lost half-brother or adopted brother of Viktor Krum,” Harry decided, making eye contact with Draco so he knew to put him in for the starting five Galleons.  His blood cousin slipped a little book out of his pocket and appeared to jot it down with a pencil.  Harry briefly wondered what sort of code he was using, just in case someone like Hermione did get her hands on the betting book.  “Micah?”

His husband’s arm snaked back around his waist, and Micah was pointedly ignoring Hermione.  “A Peverell descendent, carrying the name and everything.”

“I think that wins for originality alone,” a pretty Ravenclaw chimed in.  “Can I get in?” She looked at Draco, just as Harry had done. “American multi-millionaire, or heir to a multi-millionaire, as long as he’s American.”

Draco looked her over as if he’d never seen her before, but then smirked as he took in her long chestnut curls.  “You’re on the Quidditch team,” he drawled.

The prefect blushed.  “Y-yes.  Maeve Bradley.  I’m a year ahead of you.”

“Maeve!” Hermione chastised, clearly knowing the Ravenclaw.  “You can’t gamble!”

“Just making a guess, Granger.”

Draco looked at her pointedly.  “Draco Malfoy,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand, which she promptly took.

“A pleasure.”

Hermione sniffed, but with one glare from Micah, she quickly disappeared out the portrait hole.

Harry noticed that Maeve and Draco were still eyeing each other and sighed.  Now he knew his cousin swung both ways.

“Breakfast?” Harry chirped.

Draco nodded.  “Sit with us? I’m sure your husband won’t want to let you out of his sight.”

Harry laughed.  “As long as Luna and Neville are welcome.”

“They’re purebloods,” Adrian said, as if that settled it.  Of course, to everyone listening, it obviously did.

“Maeve?” Draco inquired, the question unspoken.

She blushed.  “I’m an orphan.  I couldn’t tell you who my parents were, let alone if they were magical.”

He eyed her speculatively.

“I can solve this, I think!” Harry said as he forcefully unwrapped himself from Micah’s arm.  “Maeve, sit with us and I’ll catch up with you. And I’ll get ten Galleons,” he tacked on to Draco.

The Slytherins looked after him, confused, but headed out, Maeve trailing behind them.  Micah just stood in his place, arms crossed as he stared after his husband.  What was the tease up to this time?

A few moments later, a blur of black and red sped past him, and he quickly ran after it to catch up.

“Hadrian?” he inquired as they reached their group, who weren’t yet halfway to the Great Hall.

He didn’t respond.  Instead, he said, “There were a lot of magical orphans around the time we were born on both sides – because of the war.”

Maeve nodded, but didn’t say anything. 

“Anyway, I’ve been pouring over this thing for months—” He indicated the thick tome in his hands, which was none other than Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Dynasties in Magical Britain, 706-Present. “—and I’m pretty sure Bradley was in here.  It’s self–updating, so even if you’re an orphan, you should appear if you’re one of the Irish Bradleys.”

Before he could open it, however, Draco pulled it from his grasp.  “Mother’s talked about this old relic.  She said Great Aunt Walburga was never seen without it in the house.”  He quickly wrenched it open and started thumbing through it, trusting the others to make sure he didn’t walk into anything on his quest.

“Her portrait shrieks whenever my godfather comes into the room.  She can’t seem to accept that he’s no longer a ‘blood traitor.’  Likes me, though.” He smiled, thinking of the half insane portrait he occasionally saw whenever he went to consult the Black family library.  “Especially after I bonded with Micah.”

The Head Boy pulled him closer, burying his nose in Harry’s black mane.

“Aha!” Draco finally exclaimed, just as they were entering the Great Hall.  “Eamonn Farthright Bradley, born 1941, died 1980, married Elinora Belby, born 1963, died 1980. Daughter, Maeve Elinora Bradley, born 1979,” he quoted before looking up at her.  “Eamonn was the last of the line and, if I remember correctly, Elinora was from a small offshoot branch of the Belbys.  Both pureblood lines, obviously.”  He snapped the book shut and then tossed it back at his cousin. 

Micah quickly caught it, and shoved it in his bag, staring at his former ‘plaything’ in disgust.  If Draco weren’t Hadrian’s cousin, he would throw a very dark curse at him, even if there were witnesses.

“Miss Bradley,” Draco drawled, “welcome to your pureblood heritage.  Hadrian, we simply have to adopt her and teach her everything we know.  A Black never lets down a fair maiden in need.”

Harry choked at Draco’s bizarre behavior.  “Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?” he inquired, taking a seat at the Slytherin table.

“I think you’ll find, Montague,” Adrian answered, “that you’ve never seen Draco among his blood equals before.”

Harry’s eyes widened before he gave an unresponsive Draco the ten Galleons for their bets.  He seemed to only have eyes for Maeve.

“Is he flirting?” he asked Blaise in horror.

Blaise casually glanced at Draco and Maeve.  “I think he’s courting.  You may have competition for being the Couple of the Century by the time Draco graduates.  Malfoys never give up when they’ve chosen a bride.”

Daphne Greengrass snorted, having just sat down.  “That’s an understatement.  At The Glass Slipper, we keep records of certain notable families.  Malfoy Sr. picked out an engagement ring for his bride when she was thirteen.”

“How old was Uncle Lucius at the time?”

Draco smirked and turned.  “Nineteen.  When he was Head Boy, he saw Mother cast a particular nasty curse at a third–year who had tried to touch her hair.  By the time other students started to notice her, he decided to put a stop to it as he intended to bond with her himself.”

Harry laughed.  “Nothing says love like a thirteen year old with an engagement ring.  I suppose you’re not much better, Micah, as I’m only two years older.”  He stuck out his tongue playfully.

Micah growled but Harry had spotted the first of the Post Owls flying into the Hall.  He briefly waved at Luna and Neville who were sitting at the Ravenclaw table, looking rather engrossed with each other.  He only smiled softly to himself.

A few copies of theDaily Prophet dropped onto their breakfasts, and there was a scramble as they opened them up.

Boy-Who-Lived Illicitly Blood Adopted and Bonded to Montague Heir

By: Rita Skeeter

Harry groaned.  “Illicitly Blood Adopted? Why is it illicit?  It’s perfectly legal –”

“You were Blood Adopted by an escaped convict,” Draco supplied dryly.

Maeve gasped softly, but otherwise remained silent.

On 31 December of last year, our reporter learned that none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, who we all thought was named Harry James Potter, bonded with Graham Micah Montague in what this reporter believes was a private family ceremony.

According to the Book of Bondings at the Ministry of Magic, the Bertilac Ritual was employed to complete the ceremony.  The Bertilac Ritual, which fell out of disuse over a century ago, requires only that the participants are sincere in their vows.  No witnesses are required and a wizard is unneeded to officiate.

The Bertilac Ritual has generally been regarded as a Dark Ceremony. The bonded couple merge their blood, call on Morgan’s Earth Magic, which is viewed by many historians as the forefather of current Dark Spells, and then swear upon Dark Magic as well as Light.

Unlike other magical bondings, the Bertilac Ritual is unbreakable, even in death.  It has disastrous consequences; if either participant commits any form of infidelity willingly, their own magic will react against them and kill them.

What then does this mean for our Golden Couple?

Has Harry Potter gone dark, or is this a case of true love?

Narcissa Malfoy, who was present at the ceremony, insisted in a private interview that it was the latter.  “Hadrian” – read further to see the details of the Boy Who Lived’s Blood Adoption – “and Micah Montague are devoted to one another.  It’s plain to the eye, even if you don’t know either of them.  Just looking at the photograph from last month’s Prophet, tells you everything you need to know.”

Sadly there have been no sightings of the couple as of yet, as they returned to their fifth and seventh years at Hogwarts just last night.

However, what perhaps is more shocking is Potter’s much changed appearance.  He looked so different that he was unrecognizable in Diagon Alley when he and his then-fiancé Montague purchased bonding rings at the exclusive Glass Slipper before being spotted by one of our very own photographers.

After closely examining the Book of Bondings, which records all legal marriages and magical bondings (For more on pureblood bonding customs, see page 5) in Wizarding Great Britain, this reporter found out something even more shocking.  The Boy Who Lived’s legal name isn’t even Harry James Potter, as has long been thought by the wizarding world.  In fact, it is Hadrian James Potter-Black, courtesy of a Blood Adoption that occurred last summer.

“Yes, he is a Black,” Mrs. Malfoy confirmed, “and as such my husband and I consider him a close family member.” (For full Black family tree, see page 3.)  “He and Draco have even become great friends over Yule.”

Who then is the elusive Black parent that caused such a radical physical transformation of our savior?

The only surviving Black who carries the name is none other than Sirius Black, who escaped Azkaban over two years ago.

Is he Harry Potter’s father by Blood Adoption?  And, if so, what does that mean?  Did the Ministry get it wrong when they sent Black to prison without trial fourteen years ago?  What does Potter-Black know to make him accept the wizard accused of murdering twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew?

Whatever the case, the Ministry of Magic certainly needs to investigate the matter further.

However, Mr. Black appears to only be a piece of this rather intricate puzzle.  Although Caelius Montague, Micah’s father, refused requests for an interview himself, he did send this statement to us at theDaily Prophet.

“Last week my son bonded with Hadrian Potter-Black in a private ceremony at a family property.  Only my son-in-law’s guardians, my wife and myself, and Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy were present for the celebration afterward.  While Hadrian’s surname reflects his biological heritage as well as his Blood Adoption by the Black Family, it does not reflect the entirety of his Blood Adoption – as he was Blood Adopted by two notable pureblood families, and thus is a pureblood himself.  He no longer possesses any biological or magical links to Lily Evans and James Potter.  For proof of such, all you have to do is look at his eyes, which were once the emerald of his mother, and his face, which no longer resembles the Potters in any way.”

Micah’s jaw clenched.  “That does not sound like anything my father would write to any paper, let alone the Prophet.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed and his eyes skimmed over the words.  “No.  But it sounds like something my father would do.”  He smirked slightly.  “He may not be able to claim me publicly, as of yet, but he’s letting the wizarding world know that there’s someone behind the scenes.”  He paused, reflecting, before his eyes flashed toward Blaise.  “He’s threatening Dumbledore,” he whispered.

Draco startled beside him, where he was sharing a paper with Maeve.  “Your father is threatening Dumbledore?”  His voice held awe in it, his eyes widening slightly.

Maeve looked up and studied the cousins, trying to piece together what she didn’t know.

Harry only nodded, before turning back to the last few lines of the article.

Who, then, is Mr. Potter-Black’s other Blood Adopted parent?  Why doesn’t his surname reflect it?

When this reporter question Lucius Malfoy on the subject at the Ministry, he only smiled.  “I daresay it will all come out in time.  And my nephew does deserve a modicum of privacy in his life.”

The entire staff, including this reporter, would like to offer its best wishes to the Montagues.

“No one won, then,” Maeve commented mournfully.

“Do you live in an orphanage?” Harry asked quietly, knowing that as an orphan, she was most likely living on very little.  She probably had scraped together the few Galleons she had, wishing to be viewed as not poor and so wasting her few hard saved Galleons on a chance to fit in.

She nodded distractedly.

“Draco, both Micah and I want our bets to go to Maeve as, apart from Micah, she had the most original idea.”

Blaise made to protest, but Harry only cast him a glare.

Micah looked up at him, startled. “Wha –“

But Harry was rather expecting such a reaction, and shut him up with a rather public kiss, causing the entire hall to snap their heads toward them, the paper forgotten for those minutes.  Slipping his tongue between Micah’s lips, Harry mewled as he lifted himself into his husband’s arms and moaned into his mouth. 

He was bonded, he reminded himself mentally, losing himself to the sensations. And in that moment, when the Great Hall no longer existed, he felt a sensation of pure contentment.  “Romeo,” he breathed, pulling away, only to feel himself being pulled back toward Micah’s waiting lips.

“Don’t fucking think about it,” Micah growled, causing Harry to giggle before running his fingers through Micah’s golden hair. 

“I thought I was a tease,” he laughed against Micah’s lips before Micah claimed his mouth fully once again.

“Mr. Potter-Black!” an irate sounding McGonagall called through Harry’s hazy lust-filled thoughts.  “I expect better from a Gryffindor Prefect! Five points from Gryffindor.”

Micah pulled away and Harry softly whined in protest before the sight of his enraged Head of House caught his attention. 

“Explain yourself,” she demanded, and Harry looked at her, a bit confused, before Maeve grabbed a copy of the Prophet and presented it to her.

“I think they were briefly celebrating the announcement of their bonding, professor,” she said quietly.

Professor McGonagall looked startled and she quickly took the paper, scanning the article, before looking at the couple.  “May I see your rings?” she inquired, wanting to see physical proof.

Harry blushed and held out his hand.  Micah flatly refused, and instead kept his arms wrapped around his bonded.

“Well,” she said tersely, “I return the five points from Gryffindor and will overlook the matter for now.  However, I don’t want to see such public displays in the future, even if this does appear to be your honeymoon.  Congratulations, gentlemen.”  She then turned and briskly walked away, the copy of the Daily Prophet still clasped in her hand, Harry staring after her.

“No more kissing in the Great Hall?” he half whined, leaning his head up against Micah’s shoulder in protest.

“No,” Micah responded gruffly.

“Then what’s the point of even coming here?”

“The food?” Adrian offered helpfully. Harry only scrunched up his nose, though he dutifully returned to his eggy bread.

Draco was still conversing quietly with Maeve and Harry couldn’t help but pay attention slightly, interested in how his cousin would go about wooing a potential bride. 

At the thought alone, he tried not to choke on his morning pumpkin juice.

“Well, I’ll owl my father later today about this.  He will be able to find your closest relative and begin proceedings so you won’t have to return to the Muggle world this summer,” Draco drawled importantly.  Harry noticed that Maeve was blushing.  “I doubt it would take more than a few months to have everything settled.  And there’s always Marcus Belby in Ravenclaw.”

Gathering up his books, Harry sighed when he felt Micah’s warm arm come around him.

“What’s your first class?” he asked into Harry’s ear as he escorted him out of the Great Hall.  He had slipped his copy of the Daily Prophet carefully in his bag.  He was beginning to think, what with the growing number of copies that occupied his trunk, that he might have to do something domestic and create a scrapbook, just so he could keep track of them all.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry sighed, before he caught sight of Neville and waved him over.

Micah’s eyes narrowed at the thought of Bill Weasley being anywhere near his husband.

“Hadrian!” Neville called happily, as he walked over.  “Nice article in the Prophet.  Very Slytherin of the Thestral, as Luna would say.”

Harry beamed at him.  “Thank you.  I’m sorry we couldn’t invite you to the Bonding –” he began, but Neville waved him off.

“I understand.  So the Malfoys, huh?”

The trio made their way up a moving staircase as they headed to the fourth floor.

Harry grimaced slightly before his features softened.  “Yes.  Aunt Cissa wanted to heal the breach in the Black family when she first met me at platform nine and three-quarters.  She honestly didn’t know who I was.”

Neville laughed.  “Not surprising.  Not even Granger and Weasley recognized you back in September.”

Harry only shook his head.

When Harry and Neville entered the classroom, they immediately sat at a table close to the front, and Micah leaned casually against the door, waiting for Weasley to notice him.  Students rushed past him and their eyes widened when they realized that the frightening Head Boy was glaring daggers toward the front of the room.

Bill, whose back had been turned as he wrote something on the black board, was surprised at the uneasy tension in the room, and turned to meet Micah’s glaring golden orbs.  He swallowed reflexively.  “I do not believe you are a fifth–year, Mr. Montague.”  His voice was formal and cold, not betraying any of the unease he felt. 

“No.”  Micah’s response was icy and dangerous.  “But my husband is.”  The words were neutral, but everyone in the room could hear the threat in them, although the purpose of it was still a mystery.

Harry remained completely still, his eyes flitting across the room as he took in everyone‘s reactions.  Ron‘s jaw was clenched, his mind clearly working to understand what wasn‘t being said, and then realization dawned on his features.

Granger had paled, Harry noticed, as soon as she glanced at Ron, some light freckles on her nose becoming glaringly obvious.  Her small frame began to shiver and she gripped thedesk in front of her, taking several deep breaths to calm herself.

It didn‘t work.

“You’re a professor,” she accused, her words cutting through the silence.

Bill’s eyes narrowed at her.  “Miss Granger –“

But she didn’t listen.  Her eyes had already gone bright with a new noble cause and her breathing quickened.  She looked up at her professor with resolve and, for the first (and second to last) time in her life, defied authority.  “He is your student, professor, and you tried to seduce him.  How disgusting are you?”

Ron groaned into his hand and refused to meet anyone’s eyes.

“You’re an authority figure, and he’s a child – a married child, but a child.”  Her hands released the desk and in their still deathly paleness, they swung about her face as she accentuated each point.  She had never been terribly demonstrative, preferring words to actions, but in her anger she seemed to have almost lost control of all rational thought and movement.  “How long has this been going on,” she demanded, “and what exactly have you done to Harry?”

None of the purebloods in the room sought to correct her on the term ‘married’ in their shock.  Professor Weasley tried to seduce Harry Potter?  When?  How?  And Harry had never mentioned it?  No wonder Montague was angry and making veiled threats against him.

Hermione was now out of her seat, her bushy hair flying all around her.

Bill looked at her with alarm.  “Miss Granger, if you will kindly take your seat.”

She didn’t listen.  “Our parents trust us with you, and you do this to one of us?  And you’re practically engaged to Fleur.  Don’t you care about her?”  She pointed at him accusingly.  “She‘s beautiful.  Stunning.  Part veela.  What more could you possibly want?“

Harry glanced over to Draco and he saw that the answer to that question—cock—had occurred to him as well.  Clearly, Granger just couldn‘t think outside of the box and come up with the answer herself.

Harry almost wished that someone would just answer the question and break the tension that was rolling through the room, which was almost fizzling now with uncontrolled magic. 

“Don‘t you care about your family’s reputation, Bill?” She was pleading now, her hands pressed flat against her desk and barely holding up her body, which now theatrically looked as if Granger—and Granger alone—carried the weight of the world on her small shoulders. 

Harry snorted at the very thought and half of the room turned to look at him.  The other half continued to stare, amazed, at either Granger or Bill Weasley.

Granger took a deep, belabored breath.  “About the school’s reputation?  About Dumbledore?”

Harry, who had been watching her in slight awe at certain parts of her tirade, sighed in resignation.  For a moment he thought she had cared enough about him, albeit as one of her causes against injustice, but those words just proved how emotionally removed they had become.  Our parents, she said, leaving him out of the group with two words.  She cared about Fleur, a girl she never liked, as well as the Weasleys, Hogwarts, and Dumbledore of all people.

He glanced up at Micah who looked shocked at Granger’s outburst, but his eyes were firmly fixed on Harry, making certain he was all right.

“Just go,” Neville whispered into his ear.  “You have every right to and they can’t do anything to you because of – well – this.”

Harry glanced at him and smiled slightly.  “You’ll be okay?”

“Course I will.  And someone has to tell you what happens.”  His watery eyes gleamed at Harry in excitement.

“Thanks, Neville,” he whispered, before sliding his bag onto his shoulder.

He quietly got up, not really hearing Granger’s latest accusations or the yells that were now erupting all around him, and walked calmly toward his husband, the one person he trusted to keep him safe.