Excentryke's Musings

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Lost Boy

Part the Sixth

Harry lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.  Today was the day he was going to The Wicked Stepmother with Lucius Malfoy, and he would begin his campaign for Lucius’s hand in marriage.

It had all started so quickly, but he frankly didn’t care.  He knew what he wanted, and he wanted Lucius. 

He hoped his dad would be proud of him, that his dad would support him.

He knew exactly what his mother would think, but that didn’t bear considering.

Getting up, he went to his closet.  He had choices to make.  Euphemia was the final say, and she agreed that the mauve and green cloak was the correct choice.  She thought it offset his hair beautifully.

He flooed into The Wicked Stepmother directly as the clock chimed two and presented himself to the maître d’ with his card.  “Ah, Mr. Potter,” the little wizard greeted him.  “Mr. Malfoy is already here.”

A flash of green sparks led him down a hallway and to his table, where Lucius was waiting for him in blue robes.  Their eyes connected and Lucius pulled out his seat for him.

“Mr. Potter.”  Lucius was smiling.

Harry gave him a small smile in return.  “Surely you can call me ‘Hartwig.’”

“Hartwig, then,” Lucius agreed.  “I looked it up.  Hartwig.  Hart—brave.  Wig—battle.  Old German.”

“Whereas ‘Lucius’ means ‘light.’”

“I should always like to take you into battle with me,” Lucius told him, “though part of me should like to always keep you safe.”

“I think you’re going to have to balance both urges,” Harry told him as he took the menu.  “You can’t have one without forfeiting the other.”

“No, I don’t suppose I can,” Lucius agreed.  “I should always like to be your equal, whatever is the case.”  He hadn’t taken his own menu and Harry looked at him in confusion.  “Today is about what you want.  You choose.”

“But I’ve never been here before!”

“Then it is your treat.”

Harry looked at him a little suspiciously before choosing his favorite, Victorian Earl Grey, and lemon and strawberry sandwiches.

“It is such a treat not to be forced to drink some floral blend,” Lucius complimented as he ordered. 

“Are you comparing me favorably to witches of your acquaintance?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Lucius definitely agreed.  “I must say, I hate Rose tea.  I’ve had too much of it this past year.  It positively disgusts me.”

“Well then,” Harry decided.  “I shall certainly never order it then.  However, the Potter household always drinks Earl Grey and I find I like nothing better.”

Lucius looked at him adoringly.  “I can just imagine you sitting at your window seat, with a cup of earl grey and some cookies that a house elf has brought to you.  What do you care for?  Oatmeal and raisin?  Something homier?”

“Maybe you’ll have to come over to fly and find out.”

Lucius was certainly pleased.  “Lux doesn’t care to fly.  Neither does Aloysia.  Roman begins Hogwarts next year.  I hope to get him his own broom for Second Year.  He’s not half bad.”

“James liked to fly,” Harry admitted carefully.  “I didn’t know him, of course, but he has a broom in his room.”

“The Potter boy?” Lucius asked softly.  “Your cousin?”

“Yes.  When—when I arrived at Potter Abbey—”  He stopped himself.  The story wouldn’t make any sense.  He was a metamorphmagus.  He turned and looked out the window and caught his reflection.  His eyes were still green, though much darker, but his hair was a deep aurburn with a curl down his shoulders.  He didn’t have any freckles, which was unusual for a gingertop. 

(Lily Evans had freckles.)

He turned back to Lucius who was waiting patiently.

“When I arrived at Potter Abbey, Euphemia was so startled that there was a young boy in the house, she ran to check that James was still sleeping in his bed.”  He shrugged.  “James was still there.—I sometimes sneak in and tell him about what’s going on in my life.”

“Of course you do,” Lucius agreed.  “He’s the closest thing you have to an elder brother.  What year would he be now?”

“Seventh.”  Harry shrugged again.  “Sometimes I wonder if he’d be Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor.”  (Lucius smiled.)  “If he would be Head Boy or Prefect with me.  If he would have kept Sirius Black from pranking me so badly my first few years.”

Lucius’s eyebrows furrowed.  “Sirius Black pranked you?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry answered off-handedly.  “I was James’s little cousin, but I was a nasty Slytherin.  Even worse, I was friends with Regulus.”

“He’s another Black?”

“Yes, Sirius’s younger brother.  We’re in Slytherin together.  Sirius hates the fact that all Blacks—except, unsurprisingly, for him—have always been in Slytherin, and he hates that,” and now he leaned forward and quieted his voice, “they favor the Dark Lord.”

“Hmm,” Lucius contemplated.  “This is Orion Black’s heir.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed. 

“He doesn’t prank you anymore?”

“Not since Burke became Beater and started lobbing bludgers at him during Quidditch and threatened him quite loudly in the Great Hall.”  Harry gave a lopsided smile.  “That’s when Death Eater activity really picked up in Slytherin.—I send Burke chocolates every Christmas even though it’s been two years now.  I never forget a good turn.  He’s a seventh year now.  Quidditch Captain.”

The teapot had whistled long past and Lucius tapped it.  It lifted up and poured them each a cup.  Harry tapped the milk (even though he knew that one should never drink Earl Grey with milk, only with lemon or maybe honey), and the milk poured into his cup and a spoon mixed it together the way he liked it.  Lucius, he noticed, took it with honey.  He’d have to get some for his room if they were going to be sitting in the window seat with each other.

“The houses were contentious when I was there.  There was Death Eater activity, of course, but the Slytherins and Gryffindors have never liked each other.”

“Aunt Euphemia was in Slytherin.  She mentioned something of the same and she is in her hundred and seventies.”

Lucius looked impressed.

“Uncle Fleamont was a Ravenclaw.”

“Everything but Hufflepuff for the Potters.”

“I’m sure we can find one in our family tree,” Harry teased.  “I’m sixth generation, after all.  Plenty of wizards to choose from.”

Lucius looked like he wanted to kiss him.  Harry had half a mind to let him even though they had a table between them (and they were in public, come to think of it).

Harry flicked his eyes violet on purpose to compliment his mauve robes. 

Lucius started.

“My mother was a Black,” Harry reminded him.  He flicked his eyes back to dark green.  “When I arrived at Potter Abbey, Aunt Euphemia thought I was James.”  He flicked his eyes hazel.

Leaning forward, Lucius asked, “Who knows?”

“Aunt Euphemia, Uncle Fleamont, Lady Maia Gaunt.  I will tell the Dark Lord when I ask him for a favor.  He’ll expect me to do a favor for him in return.  I can be anyone.”

“I don’t want you to be anyone else,” Lucius told him firmly.

“You don’t want me to be blond?” Harry asked him carefully, looking down at his tea.  “I considered it when I found out Narcissa was blonde.”

Lucius reached out and touched his hand.  Harry’s eyes flicked up.  “No,” Lucius affirmed.  “I want you to be exactly as you are.”

Harry searched his gaze carefully and switched his eyes back to an earthy green.  “Aunt Euphemia is creating a potion so I can conceive.—I want you to marry me and not Narcissa.”

Lucius looked at him sadly.  “You know I can’t marry you even if I wanted to.  A wizard can only marry—”

“I’m going to ask the Dark Lord to change that.  I’m going to ask for it to be changed to a ‘witch or wombed person.’”

Lucius swore under his breath.  “And the Dark Lord will agree because he wants your abilities.  Who is he getting to push it through?”

“Orion Black.”

This caused Lucius to chuckle.  “He’s going to get Orion Black to cancel his own niece’s wedding.  How ironic.”  He took a sip of tea.  “I’d like to speak to Madam Potter.”

“Of course, Lucius,” Harry agreed readily.  “It’s our future.  You should know as much as you need to.”  He tangled his fingers with Lucius’s.  Taking a sip of his own tea, he held Lucius’s gaze.  “I don’t think I’ll be able to control our children’s hair or eye color like I can mine, so I cannot say if they’re blond, but we’ll be able to create them.”

“I hope this is not a fantasy,” Lucius murmured.  “The idea is a beautiful one, but I do not wish for it to be an idea of only your imagining.”

Harry squeezed Lucius’s hand.  “I hope I would not be cruel.”

“I do not want to marry Narcissa.”  Lucius’s voice was careful.

“No, of course you do not.  Just like I do not want the attentions of Lily Evans—or any other witch, for that matter.”  He grimaced at the thought.  “Lily Evans disturbs me.”

“She’s a Mudblood.”

“That’s not the reason.”

“Will you tell me?” Lucius asked.

“One day perhaps,” Harry promised.  “It’s terribly complicated.”—He took a deep breath through his nose and picked up his teacup again with one hand and lifted it toward the pot so that it could be refilled.  The milk quickly followed. 

“I should like to take you out for the Unforgivables before your Winter Holiday is finished,” Lucius broached carefully.  “You have a couple days left, if I’m not mistaken.  Not quite a weekend.  Can you sneak out?”

“We go back on Saturday,” Harry agreed.  “Thursday?” he suggested.  Today was Monday.

“That would be acceptable.  I would like to take you to Leeds.”

“Leeds,” Harry repeated.  “How will we get there?”

“Well, if your floo is not locked, you can floo to Malfoy Manor, and I will take you from there.”

“No, it’s not locked in case of emergencies,” Harry told him.  “One in the morning?”

“It is agreed,” Lucius determined.  “Would you like just murderers?  Should I include any other crimes?”

“I don’t want to look at anyone pathetic.  I don’t want to feel sorry for whoever it is.”

“All right,” Lucius agreed.  “No one pathetic.  A non-pathetic murderer.  He will probably beg.  They usually do.”

“I expect that.”  Harry set down his cup and picked up a sandwich.  He wasn’t going to let go of Lucius’s hand.  “He’ll become pathetic, but as long as he doesn’t start out sniveling.”  He took a bite. 

“I’ll choose wisely,” Lucius promised.  He gave Harry a small smile.

Harry smiled back.

They walked out arm in arm for anyone to see.  Harry noticed that Lucius met several wizards’ and witches’ eyes, and Harry held his head high.  He was the first one to take the floo back out to Potter Abbey.  He twirled on the spot and skipped back up to his room where he got changed out of his good robes.

Harry went down to the Potions lab to see Aunt Euphemia.

“He wants to speak to me?”

“I’m certain he’ll apply directly to you, Aunt.”

Aunt Euphemia was slicing salamander eyes.  “Well, I can certainly give him a progress report.  We’re doing quite nicely.  I expect we’ll be done by the time you graduate Hogwarts.”

“Two, three years then.”

“About that,” she agreed.  “When is he getting married?”

“August.”

She looked up with her hazel eyes.  “Well, he’d have to wait for you anyway to be of age.  If he wants you, he’ll wait for you.”  She reached up and patted his cheek.  “You’re well worth the effort.”

“Thank you, Grandmother.”  He rarely called Euphemia that.  They had always suspected that Euphemia was his grandmother and Fleamont his grandfather, but since they hadn’t had confirmation for over four years, they settled into the ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ relationship. 

Euphemia looked up at him fondly.  “If only you could know Alphard Black.”

“Little hope of that,” Harry told her.

“Yes, I know, darling.  Now, off with you.”

Lucius slipped in through the window that night. 

“Do you fly from Wiltshire?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“A little, yes.”

Lucius kissed him sweetly.  “I want to go flying with you sometime.  We must get enough people together to get a pick up game together.”

“Six people,” Harry suggested.  “A keeper and two chasers.”

“Not as fun without bludgers,” Lucius chided. 

“Perhaps not,” Harry agreed, “and certainly not as fun without a snitch.”

Lucius kissed him for his trouble.

Once again, Lucius slipped off into the early morning light.

Harry went to go see the Dark Lord the next day.  He couldn’t just go see the Dark Lord.  He was an important wizard.  He had to go see Maia.

“You want to talk to Uncle Marvolo?  Now?  Don’t you think it’s better to wait?”  Maia was definitely worried.

“Please.”

“Why?  Is it—?”

“Yes, I need to ask him that favor.”  He shifted uncomfortably.

Maia looked up at him with her ocean blue eyes.  “You don’t want to owe him a favor.  Really, Hartwig.  You don’t want to.  In the least.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“Maia,” he said sharply.  “I’ve thought this through.  Very thoroughly.  Please.  I need to talk to the Dark Lord.  I’ll get in to see him if I have to ask one of the Death Eaters in Slytherin.  I prefer to ask you.”

She looked at him for a long moment and then deflated.

“All right,” she agreed, “but if you get in over your head, I may not be able to help you.”

“I know, Maia,” he agreed.  He took a deep breath.  “Thank you.”

They walked downstairs and toward the Dark Lord’s study.  There were several Death Eaters mulling about and Harry felt nervous, but he reminded himself exactly how important this was.  He took a deep breath.

When they reached the study, Maia told him to wait.  She knocked and went in.

She was inside for several long minutes before several Death Eaters, including Lucius Malfoy, left the study.  Harry’s dark green eyes connected with Lucius’s silver gaze, and Lucius reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand as if to ask, “now?”

Harry nodded.

Maia popped her head out and noticed the two of them.  “Come, Hartwig,” she urged.

Harry glanced at Lucius one last time before entering.

Maia closed the door behind them and stood in the corner.

Harry looked at her pointedly.  She stared back and didn’t move.  “I already know what you’re going to say.”

That was only the truth.

“Well, Hartwig,” the Dark Lord asked, and Harry turned his attention to him.  “You have a favor to ask me.”

“Yes,” Harry answered, taking a deep breath.  “I need a law changed.”

“You need a—law—changed?”

“Yes,” Harry pressed on.  “Currently a wizard can only marry a witch.  I need that to be changed to a witch or a ‘wombed person.’”

The Dark Lord looked at him before turning his attention to Maia who was standing in a corner.  Looking back at Harry, he asked, “How will this help you?”

Harry took a deep breath.  He turned his hair black, shortened it to a shaggy mess about his ears.  He flicked his eyes a grassy green and lowered his cheekbones, softening his jaw, and placing a couple of freckles on his nose.  Finally, a jagged scar appeared on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt.  He decided not to change his vision as that would make it more difficult to see.  His shoulders hunched a little and his form became slightly more slender and underfed, his clothes hanging off his frame.

He looked at the Dark Lord.  “A wombed person,” he repeated.

Harry changed back.

The Dark Lord didn’t look at all surprised.

“I’m willing to offer you—favors with my ability as long as it does not become common knowledge among the Death Eaters and as long as you do not mark me.”

The Dark Lord raised his wand and pointed it at Maia.  “Obliviate!” he whispered. 

Harry turned to her in shock and saw her blinking.  She looked at both of them and asked them, “Pardon?”

“Thank you for bringing me Hartwig, dear,” the Dark Lord told her as kindly as he probably could.  “That will be all.”

Maia glanced between them and nodded.  She left the room and closed the door behind her.

“There,” the Dark Lord said.  “Not even Maia knows now.  Who else knows?”

“My aunt and uncle.  My intended.  No one else.”

“And whom do you intend to marry?” the Dark Lord asked in curiosity.

“Lucius Malfoy.  Currently he intends for me to be the Companion of his Future Life.”

The Dark Lord didn’t look surprised at this information.  “But you intend to marry him instead and bear your lines’ children.”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.

“You said your mother was Stephegenia Black.  I’ve done some research.  The only Stephegenia Black is a Lost Boy who is seventeen years old.”

Harry was uncomfortable.

“We have an accord, Hartwig Potter, but I would hope for honesty on this point.  Where is your mother?”

“I think she is living as the Muggleborn Lily Evans at Hogwarts.  Potter magic brought me to 1973 when I got my Hogwarts letter.”

“Strong magic indeed.  Who is your father?”

“James Potter.  Fleamont and Euphemia’s son.  He has the plague and suffers from Living Death.”

The Dark Lord looked at him carefully.  “Then you shall never be born.”

“No.  Probably not.”  Harry shifted uncomfortably. 

“You truly are a Lost Boy, then.”  The Dark Lord looked over him carefully.  “The Potter line must continue in you.  As I said, we have an accord.  I will do this for you.”  He opened his mouth to speak, but then the fire roared green and the maître d’ from The Wicked Stepmother and Lily Evans stepped out.

“Black Card!” the maître d’ declared as they stepped through.  “This young Lost Boy is a black card!”

Evans looked around her in confusion, taking in the Dark Lord who was surely a strange sight to her.  “Hartwig?”

“Evans,” Harry answered carefully, glancing at the Dark Lord given their recent conversation.

“This is Lily Evans?” the Dark Lord asked him.

“Yes.”  He was now extremely uncomfortable.

“I see the problem.”

Harry hoped he did, especially since Evans had just proved she was six generations, like Harry had suspected she was.

The Dark Lord stood smoothly and took Evans’s left hand and lifted it to just beneath his lips and let it hover before releasing it.  “Miss Evans, you are most welcome.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, careful not to stare at him too closely.  “Hartwig, I’m six generations.”

“I’m afraid,” the Dark Lord told her surprisingly gently, “that Mr. Potter’s affections are engaged elsewhere.”  Ah, so he had caught the gist of how thing stood.

Evans looked struck.  “Hartwig.”

“Hartwig,” the Dark Lord commanded.

Harry came to himself.  He wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.  Not knowing what would happen, but knowing he could not change it, Harry bowed and left the room. 

He went down to the kitchens.  Barty and Regulus were already there.

“What is this I hear?  You and Malfoy?” Regulus asked.

“How did you hear that?” Harry asked as he accepted a plate of salmon from a house elf.

“Well,” he said in an exaggerated tone, “how do we hear anything?” Barty asked.  “You were seen at The Wicked Stepmother with each other yesterday and then you were staring into each other’s eyes half an hour ago just upstairs!” 

Harry blinked.  Then he smiled. 

They continued to eat and banter until they heard someone coming down the stairs.  Harry thought it might have been Maia and Apricot, who according to Barty were upstairs, but it was Evans and Rabastan Lestrange, who seemed to be escorting her.

They immediately quieted.

“You-Know-Who said I could have lunch,” Evans explained into the silence.  Well, that didn’t tell them anything.

Immediately there was the budging of chairs and the elves had placed a seat for her.  It seemed like they were going to have to be polite.  Lestrange was certainly glaring at them.

Barty noticed her eating the salmon.  “Great, isn’t it?  The Dark Lord keeps the best kitchen.”

“I love it when I get to have dinner here,” Regulus agreed, taking a long sip of his elven wine.  “Mother doesn’t keep a table like the Dark Lord.”

“I will never say anything against Aunt Euphemia,” Harry protested with a laugh when Regulus ribbed him.

Lestrange took a chair and poured himself a glass of ale the house elves brought him.

“All’s good, ‘Bastan?” Harry asked, decidedly not looking at Evans.

“I can’t complain.”  He smacked his lips playfully.  “What is this I hear about?  You’re trying to steal my sister-in-law’s sister’s fiancé.”

Harry blushed red.  Evans looked at him closely.  “I make no comment!”

Regulus laughed into his fish.  “He’s doing it to my own cousin!  My best friend!”

Lestrange turned to Evans.  “There are no secrets at Riddle House.  Not of the gossiping nature.  We can keep a grudge or a raid as secret as a ghostless grave, but a good romantic triangle, never!”  He cheered to Harry.  “I never liked Narcissa.”

Harry took a bite of his salmon.  “No comment.”

The friends dissolved into laughter and Evans just watched on in confusion.  She’d be gone soon enough.

When Evans was finished with her salmon, she tried to get Hartwig alone, but Regulus fortunately hauled him away. 

“Don’t owl him,” Regulus warned her.  “I know all your little Mudblood heart lives for is owling Hartwig, but you need to stop.  Just because you got in and out of Headquarters without being hexed, doesn’t give you permission to indiscriminately continue to owl our friend.  He’s a sixth generation.”

“I’m a sixth—”

“Keep dreaming!” Barty told her, pushing Harry and Regulus forward.  “You’re a sixth generation nothing.”

She huffed.

The friends laughed and left the kitchen.  Harry was just glad to leave Evans behind.  At least she still seemed to be alive after speaking to the Dark Lord.  He didn’t want to be an actual orphan, after being a figurative orphan all his life.

He flooed home before dinner and collapsed into bed.  He raised his hands above his head and stretched like a cat.  Boleyn hooted from where she perched near the window and he looked over.  She didn’t have any letters.

He fell asleep sometime around sunset.

He woke up to the feel of Lucius’s fingers in his hair. 

“Hello, sleepyhead.”  Lucius touched the tip of his nose.

“Lucius,” Harry breathed as he reached up for a sleep-filled kiss.

Lucius was sweet like moonlight. 

When they pulled apart, Lucius looked into his dark green eyes.  “Did you ask the Dark Lord?”

“He agreed.  He wanted to know who my parents were.”

“And you told him.”  Lucius’s gaze shone silver like the moon.

“I had to.  He wanted to know how I was a metamorphmagus.”

Lucius’s fingers continued to comb through his hair.  It no longer fell only to his shoulders, but was much longer, falling halfway down his back.  Euphemia wanted him to cut it, but Harry usually kept it pulled back in a ribbon.  “Your mother or grandmother must have been a Black.”

“My mother,” Harry agreed.  “She was a Lost Boy like me.”

“Another Lost Boy,” Lucius sighed, leaning in for another kiss.  “Your family is drenched in tragedy.”

“I haven’t even told you about my father,” Harry admitted.  Before Lucius could ask, Harry pulled Lucius under him and kissed him full on the mouth, breathing in his taste.  He would miss this when he went back to Hogwarts in a few days.  He doubted Lucius would be able to fly up to Scotland every night.  Harry would have to content himself with letters and Hogsmeade weekends and the thought saddened him a little.

The night, however, was still young and Harry didn’t need to let go—and he had no intention of doing that.