magnolia04

The Dark Lord’s Daughter

Part the Fourth

Lord Malfoy, one of the four most politically powerful wizards in England and Wales, insisted that Harry call him “Uncle Lucius.”  It was true that he was Harry’s Great-Uncle Marvolo’s brother-in-law, but the connection was tenuous. 

Harry and Magnolia had come over for a day with the Malfoys, and Magnolia was walking on his arm as she usually did.  Harry was most likely slightly gaping at Lord Malfoy—Uncle Lucius.  Magnolia rubbed her hand up and down his arm.  It still annoyed Harry.  He wondered if there was some way to get Magnolia to stop.

“Of course,” he agreed, a second too late.  “Thanks for having us.”

“I’m sure Draco will take you Abraxan riding,” Lord Malfoy mused as he took in the school aged children.

Lord Malfoy was tall and looked very much like his sister, Lady Aloysia, and his children.  He had platinum blond hair cut at his ears in the Roman style and ice blue eyes.  Draco was likewise tall, his hair a little longer, but his eyes were a dusty grey.  Lacerta, who was in third year below the rest of them, had the ice blue Malfoy eyes and the same platinum blonde hair.

Harry wondered how the Dark Lord, who was old enough to have raised his mother, had married the much younger sister of one of the Twenty-Eight Lords of Britain.  There was probably a story there.

“Io’s too young,” Lacerta suggested, referencing a Malfoy child who was not in the room.

“Io?” Harry asked as Draco began to lead Harry and Magnolia away from the floo. 

“My youngest sister,” Draco explained.  “Iolanthe.  She starts Hogwarts next year.  There’s some worry she might be a Hufflepuff instead of a Slytherin.”

“Surely not,” Magnolia contradicted.  “I know she’s sweet—”

“Dad said Mother was the sweetest witch he ever met, and she was in Slytherin,” Harry put in as they came to a stairway and started to climb it.

Malfoy looked over his shoulder and glanced between Harry and Magnolia.  “It’s difficult to imagine a relative of the Dark Lord as sweet,” he admitted before turning around and continuing on his way up the stairs.  “Lacy’s not sweet.”

Lacerta, who was taking up the rear, chose not to answer.

Magnolia did not come to her defense.  Harry barely knew her so he said nothing.

They came up to a large entryway that was made of marble and filled with light.  It was truly beautiful, and Harry paused to take it all in.  Magnolia halted in her step and looked over at him with a small smile on her face.  “Come on, Harrogate.”  He gave her a strained smile and then picked up the pace to follow Draco Malfoy who was accepting his cloak from a house elf so they could go outside.

Harry was glad that his cloak was lined with wolf fur and his gloves were nice and warm. 

“Has it snowed here?” he asked as Lacerta went up to the house elf and also received her cloak and gloves.  “We have piles of snow in Yorkshire.”

“A bit of a dusting,” Draco informed them, “but we do have a bracing wind.  It will be worse up in the clouds.”

“I—I should probably mention I’ve never been on a horse or—pegasus before.”

“You’ll ride with me then,” Magnolia soothed as she squeezed his arm.  Harry found it more forbearing than comforting.  “Besides, I’ve seen you on a broom.  You’re a wonder on the Slytherin Quidditch team.”

Draco scoffed.  “I had to wait until Fourth Year to become a Chaser because this one,” and he made a motion toward Harry, “became the youngest Seeker in a Century.”

“We had to stop our losing streak against Gryffindor and Charlie Weasley,” Harry argued back.  “It’s our luck he graduated the year before we matriculated.”

“You could have taken him,” Draco complimented wryly.  “Those Weasley twins are something else, though.”

Harry rolled his eyes.  Fred Weasley was certainly equally good at cursing him as sending a bludger his way.

Lacerta finished putting on her gloves and Draco looked at the four of them that were settled. 

“All ready?” he checked and then he threw open the side door that led to the stables.

Abraxan riding was freeing.  Harry sat behind Magnolia and clung close to her, tucking his chin over her shoulder and letting the wind ruffle through his hair.  Magnolia and Draco chased each other across the skies, clearly a tradition between the cousins, swooping back and forth between the clouds.

They only came in when sparks were sent up and they rolled into the Manor, a bundle of laughs and cold breath.

They went into the kitchen for warmed cider and cookies, and that’s when Lacerta noticed their vined rings.

“Oh, Magnolia, it’s so beautiful!” she complimented.  “No one will have anything like it!”

She smirked and held out her hand.  “Well, Harrogate will.  His ring was the inspiration for mine.”

Lacerta looked expectantly at Harry, so he held out his left hand, which she took and carefully inspected.  “Very masculine.”  She gave him a wide smile, which he couldn’t help but return.

“I feel completely left out,” Draco complained, taking Magnolia’s hand in his own and admiring her vined ring.  “Father says I can go this June and pick mine out.”

“We can go out to The Wicked Stepmother to celebrate,” Magnolia suggested.  “You’ll have your card by then.”

“Let me guess,” Draco griped.  “You both have your cards.”

Harry quickly lay a hand on Magnolia’s arm so she wouldn’t give anything away.

She looked at her archly, but fortunately didn’t give anything away.  “We had to prove our lineage to The Pumpkin Carriage,” she confirmed.  “Father wanted us to get our rings since we’re engaged.  We’ll have an engagement picture in The Daily Prophet at the beginning of summer.”

Draco locked eyes with her before turning to Harry.  “How does Auror Potter take it?”

“He fully supports our engagement,” he answered somewhat truthfully.  “He, after all, planned to marry a Gaunt.  He knows our ways.”

Draco nodded after a long moment.  “That reminds me.”  He snapped his finger and a little house elf with big snowball eyes appeared.  “Dobby, fetch the letter by the side of my bed.”

The little creature pulled at its ear but quickly disappeared with a crack, reappearing with a letter before disappearing again.  It really did look pathetic.

Draco picked it up and brandished it.  “This is from Marcus Flint.  He’s been terrorizing Jonathan Potter during the holidays along with Uncle Roman.”

Magnolia immediately sat up straighter.  “Did they snap Potter’s wand?”

“Of course he did,” Draco replied indulgently.  “There’s something about a Muggle he was sweet on—” He opened the letter and began scanning it.  “Cheryl.”

“Cheryl Jones,” Harry agreed.  “Jonathan always comes home and snogs her and then goes back to Hogwarts and snogs whoever is available.”  He shook his head in resignation.  “Dad sees it, I know he does, but Lily just turns a blind eye.  Her Golden Boy can do no wrong.”

“Cheryl suffered a personality change and is now in St. Mungo’s,” Draco informed them dramatically.

Harry looked up in confusion.  “What kind of personality change?”

“The kind that comes with an unforgivable curse, such as the Imperius—”  Draco left his words hanging.

“How marvelous!” Magnolia cried, reaching for the letter.  “Oh this is wonderful.  She started snogging all these Muggle boys in front of him, then she started to insult him and his manhood, then—” She looked up at Lacerta, paled, and went back to the letter.  It must have been bad then.

“How was Jonathan’s wand broken?” Harry asked casually, taking a sip of his cider.

“Oh,” Draco drawled.  “He might have tripped over air and landed funny—during a fight for Cheryl’s hand with Uncle Roman of all people.”  “Uncle Roman.”  He couldn’t be a Gaunt uncle so he must be a Malfoy uncle.  Harry would have to look into that.

Harry sniggered, just imagining Jonathan tripping.  He had a habit of tripping Harry up.  It was nice to think of him getting a bit of his own back.  Hopefully, his dad wouldn’t trace all of this tomfoolery back to Harry.

“Flint and Uncle Roman haven’t got caught?” Harry checked.

“No,” Draco promised, taking back the letter.  “I’m sure there might be suspicions that Potter has been targeted, though we really targeted Cheryl.  Flint knows better than to leave a trace.—Uncle Roman never even shows his face, so no one will be able to trace anything back to him.  I hope this meets with your approval, Magnolia.”

“More than,” she agreed, linking her arm with Harry’s.  “No one touches what belongs to a Gaunt.”

“Nice to know I’m an object,” Harry laughed, not really thinking it was a joke.  He felt like an object to Magnolia, and it was rather a horrible feeling.

She squeezed his arm and rested her chin on his shoulder.  “Not an object, darling.  Never that.”

Frankly, Harry didn’t believe her.

The cousins parted amicably just before dinner and Harry and Magnolia flooed out back to Riddle House.  The house was full of Death Eaters per usual.  Lady Aloysia fussed over them a little before sending them to the kitchens.  Harry had divined that the Death Eaters dined informally.  Whether Lady Aloysia kept a table for the Dark Lord was anyone’s guess.

That night he waited at the window with his linens at the ready and he watched the light come down from the North Tower and into the back garden.  When the clock read one-thirty, he dropped the linens out the window and climbed down.  He had managed to sneak his spare pair of boots into his room and had purchased a second pair of gloves in Diagon Alley.  He had an Autumn jacket that could not keep out the chill, but it was enough.

Trudging through the snow, he followed the light until it was just in front of him and he could see the outline of a cloak.

“Mother,” he breathed and she turned around, her dirty blonde hair falling down her back.

“Harrogate,” she smiled, the left side of her face a horrible network of black veins.  “Are you still on holiday?”

“We go back to Hogwarts the day after tomorrow,” he told her carefully.  “We went Abraxan riding today.”

She nodded, reaching out and putting her hand on the breadth of his back, leading him toward the door where they had gone before.  “Aloysia’s father keeps Abraxans.”

Harry looked at her in confusion.  “Her brother Lord Malfoy—Uncle Lucius—keeps Abraxans.”

She turned to him with sadness in her eyes.  “Uncle Abraxas must have died then.  I remember Lucius well.  I danced with him at Uncle Marvolo’s wedding.  He was so charming.  I remember his wedding to Narcissa Black.  Does he have children?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed.  “Draco Malfoy is in my year, Lacerta is a third year, and Iolanthe is starting next year.  Magnolia and Draco are great friends.”

“I have no doubt,” she agreed, as he opened the door for them.  “Aloysia and Lucius were always close.  Abraxas and Uncle Marvolo were also the best of friends.  Their children would naturally have grown up together.”  His mother sighed as they sat down on the bench and she blew on the light on the end of her wand.  “I do not want you to get into trouble by coming to find me.”

“You don’t think I can talk my way out of it?”

“I still don’t know how you do it.”

He leaned toward her and smiled.  “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Her ocean blue eyes lit up in amusement.  “I shan’t say another word, Harrogate.”

They settled into a brief silence.  “Tell me that Aunt Aloysia at least comes and visits you.  That you still have a dog.  That you’re not alone in this tower.”

“Aloysia comes every day,” she promised, reaching out and touching the back of his hand with her unblemished right one.  “Uncle Marvolo tries to come at least once a week.  Apricot comes when she’s allowed.”

Harry looked at her in confusion.

“I had three great friends when I was at Hogwarts.  Barty Crouch, Jr., Apricot Selwyn—now Madam Crouch, and Regulus Black.  Barty cannot see me because he is a wizard and Regulus is dead.  Apricot is a true friend.—and I have a dog.”  She smiled.  “A bulldog.  Uncle Marvolo hates her, but he lets me keep her.”

“Will Aunt Aloysia give me a picture of you if I ask?  I have a drawing,” he questioned, looking up at his mother.  “Dad never gave me one.”

“Your father had to protect his marriage for the stability of his family,” she reasoned.  “I would not ask Aloysia for more than what she has given you.  I would ask Barty.  He is one of my uncle’s Death Eaters.”

Harry would have to have Magnolia point him out, then, which shouldn’t be too difficult.

“Why have you never written back to me?” he asked carefully.

She sighed and looked away.  “It’s the nature of the vined ring.  I can hold a wand, but I cannot hold a pen and write.  I do not possess the dexterity anymore and I’m left-handed.  I have been unable to sufficiently learn with my right hand.—All I can do is sign my magical signature.”

Harry stared at her.  “There are quills that can take dictation.”

“Are there?” she asked in wonder.  “Not when I was at Hogwarts.”

“I’ll send one to you,” he promised.  He turned further toward his mother.  “We’ll be able to write to each other.”

She reached out and touched his cheek.  “You should not get overly excited until we know it works, darling.  Let’s see if the magic takes.  The vined ring might prevent it.”

Harry reached out and clasped her hand.  “We will make it work, Mother,” he swore.  “I’ll improve it if it doesn’t work.  Professor Flitwick is always saying I’m clever.  The hat said I was ambitious.  I’m so ambitious I agreed to marry Magnolia Riddle at the age of fifteen.  If I’m not ambitious for my own family, then what’s the point?”

“Dear heart,” she sighed, leaning forward and touching her forehead to his. 

They just sat like that until the bell tolled the hour and she had to whisper up the stair and Harry watched her go.

At breakfast the next day, Harry made his request to Magnolia.  “I need to talk to Barty Crouch, Jr.”

“Oh?” she asked.  She didn’t sound particularly pleased.

“He might have something I want.”  That certainly didn’t come out right, Harry thought as he took a sip of his tea.  “He might have a picture of Mother from Hogwarts.  Father never gave me a photograph.”

She looked up and her face smoothed out to perfect blankness.  “Of course.  Only natural.  Do you have any photographs beside your bed?”

“Whose photo would I have aside from yours?” he asked her in all seriousness. 

A thoughtful look came over her face.

“No, I need to speak to Barty Crouch, Jr.”

She nodded and went back to her copy of The Daily Prophet.

It was after luncheon that she grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him down the hall and into a side room that, naturally, had a fireplace and paintings of various locations in England, including Stone Henge.  There was a portrait of a handsome young man in Hogwarts robes with ocean blue eyes and chestnut hair above the mantel and Harry stared at him in confusion.

“Father when he was our age,” Magnolia whispered in his ear before she dragged him forward to two men who were in the middle of a discussion.

One man was short with feathery hair, a bit of a belly, squinty eyes, a bulbous nose, and in maroon robes.  The second man was much better looking.  Quite a bit taller, he had sandy blond hair and what Harry now knew were the grey eyes of a Black.

“Barty,” Magnolia greeted and the second man looked over and smiled. 

“Lady Magnolia,” he greeted, picking up her hand and letting it hover two inches beneath his lips before releasing it.  “I’ll speak with you later, Jameson.”  The little man nodded, gulped, and quickly disappeared off.  “How may I help you?”

“You know my intended by sight of course—Harrogate Gaunt Potter?”

“Ah, yes,” Crouch intoned, offering his hand in a gentleman’s handshake.  “I knew your mother in Hogwarts.”

“It’s his mother we want to talk to you about,” Magnolia stated outright.

“Lady Maia?” he questioned her, his grey eyes wide.

“Yes,” Harry took up.  “Dad never gave me a photograph of her.  I would never dream of asking Uncle Marvolo—”

“The Dark Lord, no,” Crouch agreed, clearly in thought.  “You would like a photograph of Lady Maia, then?  How old are you now, Mr. Potter?  Fourteen?  Fifteen?”

“Fifteen,” he answered.  “I’m starting my second term of fifth year.”

“So long to not know what your mother even looks like,” Crouch agreed, pondering.  He looked at him hard.  “You have her eyes.—You both do.”

Harry waited.

Crouch considered for a few more moments.  “I’m not certain I have any photographs of Lady Maia on her own.  I have an excellent photograph of the four of us after we successfully went Muggle baiting just before my sixth year—her seventh year.  We were all dressed as Muggles with robes, but we were all happy and carefree.  My wife quite likes the photograph and has a copy on our mantel at home.”

“You, Apricot, Regulus Black, and Mother?” Harry checked.

Crouch looked completely surprised.  “Yes.  How did you know?”

“Dad mentioned,” he lied.

Seeming to accept the answer, Crouch nodded.  “It was the summer before Lady Maia met your father.  She would be as he knew her.  That might be some comfort.  Shall I owl you a copy tonight or the next day?”

“Yes, thank you.  I go to Hogwarts tomorrow.”

“I’ll wait a few days,” he then said, “so you’ll get it there.—Lady Maia was a truly beautiful person, Mr. Potter.  You should be proud to bear her name.”

Magnolia slid her hand into the crook of his arm, making Harry self-conscious and uncomfortable.  “We’re taking her name—the family name of Gaunt—to be our name upon our marriage,” she informed Crouch. 

He looked between them.  “Good,” he decided.  “I didn’t like that the name died out.—And we all know the Dark Lord is a Gaunt.”  He bowed.  “If there’s nothing else.”

“No,” Harry told him.  “Thank you, Mr. Crouch.”

“Barty,” he insisted.  “Your mother was one of my closest friends.  I’m Barty.”  He bowed and then left them. 

Magnolia ran her hand up and down his arm to soothe him and Harry breathed out through his nose in frustration at her.  “That was easier than I thought it would be,” he admitted, trying to keep his mind focused on what they had just accomplished.

“I told you Barty was a brick,” she teased.  “Now we just have to survive our fathers meeting each other for the first time in sixteen years.”

“With my mother tucked away somewhere in the house,” Harry amended.  “It will certainly get interesting.”

By quarter to seven, they were in the pub in Little Hangleton, waiting for James Potter to appear. 

“The light was my mother in the garden,” Harry told his intended carefully, judging her reaction.  “Her vined ring has scarred her for her—indiscretion with my dad.”

“Oh, Harrogate,” she sighed, reaching out over the table until he gave her his hand grudgingly.  “Has she been getting your letters?”

“Yes,” Harry told her.  “Every single one.  She has a dog, Aurora.  I haven’t been up the tower so I haven’t seen her.”

She nodded.  “I shall start writing her, too, then,” Magnolia decided.  “She is my cousin, and my future mother-in-law.  It is only right that I should know her.”

They held on to each other, looking into (and away from, in Harry’s case) each other’s ocean blue eyes, until the pub door opened and James Potter walked in.  Harry instantly stood and gave his father a long hug before slipping in next to Magnolia.

“Lady Magnolia,” James greeted as he slid into the booth.  “I hope you’ve had a relaxing holiday.”

“I have, thank you, Auror Potter.”

“James,” he insisted.  “I am to be your father-in-law,” he reasoned, a little uncomfortably.  Giving her a slightly strained smile, he looked between them.  “You do look quite the couple.”

“What will it feel like if your second son gets married before your eldest?” Magnolia asked a little slyly, Harry turning to her in shock at the question.

“I don’t expect Jonathan to ever get married,” James laughed, though there was a tinge of wariness to it.  “He’s for the ladies, but he’s not one for commitment.”

“He’s not best liked in Slytherin House,” Magnolia told him.

“Most Gryffindors aren’t,” James explained away. 

Magnolia gave him a hard look, but Harry took her hand underneath the table if only to control the conversation.  She glanced over at him and then took out the notecard from her pocket and slid it across the table.

James picked it up, read it, and gave it back.

Magnolia put it away.  “Shall we?”

The three of them walked against the wind up to the house and through the main doors.  For once the hallway was free of people and the house elves took their cloaks and gloves.  Lady Aloysia approached and greeted James before leading them all to the formal dining hall, which was the first time Harry had seen it.

The Dark Lord sat at table with them, at the Head, even carving the lamb, which Harry thought was the oddest sight he had ever seen.

He was seated next to Magnolia on one side of the table, opposite James who was midway on the other side of the table between the Dark Lord at the head and Lady Aloysia at the foot.  Magnolia took his hand in between the courses and Harry even contributed a little to the conversation on society.

“Harrogate has a black card,” the Dark Lord informed the table.  “The maître d’ of The Wicked Stepmother wrote to me about it.”

James’s utensils clattered as he dropped them.  “You went to The Wicked Stepmother, Harry?”

“Magnolia and I both did.  We had to prove our lineage to get our vined rings.  Mother financed me.”  He held up his left hand, but James wasn’t looking at his hand, he was looking directly into Harry’s ocean blue eyes. 

“You saw Maia?”

“He has not,” the Dark Lord informed him (although this was untrue).  “I asked Maia if she would like to finance the project as she has henceforth made no decisions regarding Harrogate’s life, and she wanted to contribute.”

James’s neck snapped to stare at the Dark Lord.  He swallowed.  “That was very kind of Maia.  It would have been very difficult to explained where several hundred galleons had gone to Lily.  She wouldn’t understand.” He turned back to Harry.  “I do wish you had waited until you were sixteen—if not seventeen.  You’re so young.”

“Only a couple of months away,” Harry argued, “Magnolia is also just a few months younger than I am.”

James grimaced, clearly not agreeing.  “Well, I wish your sister could have one,” he said referencing Violet.  “I think she would benefit from one.—Your brother is beyond the idea of honor and fidelity.”

Violet hero worshiped their brother Jonathan to the extreme.  She didn’t quite pick on Harry like Jonathan, she certainly wasn’t strong enough to beat on him, but she did send the occasional stinging hex his way.  She also came crying to Harry whenever something was wrong, which confused Harry to no end.

Lady Aloysia, however, slightly turned the conversation.  “Why did you marry your wife?”

James paused in his eating. 

Magnolia looked up in interest and Harry completely stilled.

“She ignored me,” he answered.

Harry went back to his food, having heard this story before.

Lady Aloysia prompted, “She ignored you?”

“She ignored me on the Hogwarts Express our first year and I became obsessed with getting her to notice me.  It was misguided, but once I had her attention, I convinced myself that I actually wanted it, even though I didn’t.”

Magnolia broke the silence.  “That is most unfortunate.  Cousin Maia was clearly the superior choice.”

“Yes,” James agreed quietly.  “It’s my greatest regret that we were unable to run away together.”

Harry looked out of the corner of his eye at the Dark Lord, who in turn was coolly regarding James Potter. 

The rest of dinner was mainly silent, with every catching glances at one another.  Lady Aloysia moved Harry and Magnolia to the room with Merope Gaunt’s portrait while the Dark Lord took James to his private study. 

Looking at Merope’s portrait, Harry realized how much his mother looked like her great aunt Merope although she was so much more vibrant, so much more alive.  He looked over at Magnolia and confirmed that she looked nothing like her grandmother, apart from the eyes.  He wished he could see a picture of T. Riddle Sr.  He wondered how much alike Magnolia looked like him.

After about an hour, James came out of the study, holding a rolled up piece of parchment.  He came into the drawing room and said his goodbyes to Lady Aloysia and Magnolia.  Finally, he took Harry and walked toward the entryway. 

“Let me see that ring,” James requested. 

Harry held up his left hand, and turned it side to side in the light.

“It is certainly original,” he complimented.  “You should take a photograph and send it to your mother.”

Harry smiled, thinking that she had already seen it and approved.  “I wish you had one, Dad,” he whispered.  “Life might have been different.”

“In hindsight I should have known to wait for your mother,” he agreed, “but providence was not kind to any of us.”  James leaned forward and tussled Harry’s hair.  “Of all my children, you’re the only one that looks like me.”

“Did you get the Gaunt genealogy?”

“Yes, and this will be going straight into the study.  You have my assurances that Lily, Jonathan and Violet—unless you somehow miraculously change your mind—will be nowhere near your Death Eater wedding.—I see you have the Gaunt’s Lord ring.”

“I do.—but Aunt Aloysia is a Malfoy.  This wedding will be a society event,” he argued with a laugh.

James crooked a smile and with that he was out the door and into the snowy cold.

Tomorrow Harry would be back at Hogwarts and away from the enchanted Riddle House and all the secrets that it held.