The Dark Lord’s Daughter
Part the Seventeenth
Harry stormed out of the Cottage at Godric’s Hollow and realized he couldn’t Apparate yet. He was taking classes at Hogwarts with Magnolia and Draco, but he wasn’t confident enough to Apparate to Paris. He needed a floo, and he had just left the floo access.
Fortunately, Godric’s Hollow was a partial wizarding enclave. He went over two streets and down three houses and knocked on the door. A house elf answered.
“Hi,” Harry greeted. “I’m Harrogate Potter. I live at Number 7, Honeysuckle Lane—”
“What you be doing here then?” the small house elf asked, clearly irritated at being disturbed.
“I was wondering if your mistress was in. My floo’s out and I was wondering if I could borrow hers.”
The small house elf looked at him with his big tennis ball eyes before letting him in. “Mistress is out,” he said, “but floos be this way. Mistress would want Uggsy to shows hospitality.”
“Thank you,” Harry murmured, coming up the fireplace and taking some floo powder. “Thank Mrs.—”
But Uggsy had already wandered away. Strange little house elf. They didn’t have one at the cottage at Godric’s Hollow. Harry had never questioned why. He always supposed their cottage was too small or something.
Taking a pinch of floo powder, he stepped into the flames and appeared in an apartment overlooking the Seine in Paris. A baby grand piano dominated the room, and Harry questioned for at least the fourth time that day whether or not this was a good idea.
“Harrogate.”
Harry turned and saw Lord Roman Malfoy coming up to him in crimson robes, his platinum blond hair pulled back from his face and tucked behind his ears. He certainly looked the elegant pureblood in his clothing, Harry thought as he took his suitor in.
Putting up his hands, he murmured, “Just don’t make love to me. I’ve had a day.”
A crease appeared between Roman’s eyebrows as he came up and took Harry by the shoulders. “What happened?”
“I think my dad’s hiding Jonathan.”
“Your father is a stupid man,” Roman told him simply. “It’s obvious in his marriage to Lily Evans. I think his divorce is the only intelligent thing he’s done in the past twenty years.”
Harry gave him a lopsided smile. “You wouldn’t count me as ‘something intelligent’?”
Roman’s face visibly softened and he carefully lifted a hand into Harry’s messy black hair. “Running away with the Dark Lord’s niece was a suicidal move. He’s lucky he’s not dead.”
“You think?” Harry asked.
“Oh, certainly,” Roman agreed. “I vaguely remember Lady Maia disappearing around the time I went to Hogwarts. I remember asking Aloysia about it, but she told me I’d understand when I was older.” He got this far off look on his face. “Now I know the answer.”
Harry stepped out of his grasp and walked up to the piano, noticing it was a Steinway. He sat down and placed his right hand in a basic C-chord.
“You know how to play?” Roman asked, clearly pleased.
Harry smiled, self-deprecating. “Barely.” He placed his left hand on the piano. “I can do the scale.” He reached down with his right hand and started the scale, his hand going under and then up into the middle register. He stopped and then looked up. “See, that’s it.”
“They should really teach music at Hogwarts. There’s a whole branch of magic that’s unlocked by music.”
“I think I noticed when we got the piano to play ‘Dawn,’” Harry murmured. “I felt light—and loved.”
“You were meant to,” Roman murmured as he came and sat beside Harry.
Harry hit a high C. “I don’t suppose I can ask you to go back to Godric’s Hollow and spy on Jonathan. Maybe put him in a body-bind and hand him into the D.M.L.E. I’m afraid he’s going to rape Magnolia or kill me.—or both.”
Roman put his hands on the piano and began to play an A-flat over and over again until the notes began to tumble into ‘Dawn.’ “I certainly want neither to happen. Magnolia is, after all, my sister’s only child.”
“I thought you don’t like children,” Harry teased.
“I don’t,” Roman agreed, looking over at him with his intense violet eyes. “I’d like to raise your children.”
Harry’s breath caught. “How is that not making love to me?” he asked.
“It’s on the line,” he agreed with a smirk. “Do you want to become a Gaunt? Or was it really all Magnolia’s idea?” His fingers flew over the keys, mesmerizing Harry and engulfing him in music. “Does she rule you like the Dark Lord rules my sister?”
“I’ve barely seen Uncle Marvolo and Aunt Aloysia together,” Harry admitted.
“Do you doubt that his will completely overrides hers?” Roman asked, aghast. “She’s the mistress of his house, the mother to his child, and his public face. She has no ideas of her own.”
“I have ideas of my own,” Harry argued back.
“Do you?”
“I go and see my mother when I like,” he argued.
“But how dangerous is that?” Roman asked. “She’s a Gaunt and she’s in seclusion. You’re dropping your name. You’re dropping your father. I bet you do what Magnolia says in Slytherin. She lets you have Quidditch, at least. If she could have, however, she would have told you what electives to take—”
Harry glared at Roman.
“—I see that I’m right.” He breathed into the next few notes and transitioned into another piece. “Has she ever let you see her hair down?”
Harry glanced at him. “We’re not married—”
“But you’re engaged to be married.” He played on but leaned toward Harry. “It’s because you can’t.”
Harry looked up at him. “The glamour, you mean.”
“You know about the glamour?”
“I saw something flicker on her cheek. She said it was nothing—”
“But it wasn’t,” Roman agreed. “As far as I can tell, even since she was a small child, her hair always stayed perfectly the same even when she was playing. Not a hair out of place. It was unnatural.”
Harry blinked. “She takes after the Dark Lord then.”
“That’s your supposition,” Roman told him. “It could be anything.” He looked over at Harry earnestly. “I’d hate for you to find out after the wedding.”
“Of course you would,” Harry managed. “It would only benefit you if I learned the truth before the marriage.”
“Of course, it would only benefit me. That doesn’t mean I also don’t wish to see you hurt. Marriage is a very big decision. We wizards tend to make it young and we live long lives. You’re to marry when you’re eighteen or thereabouts. So young. How old was your father?”
“Seventeen.”
“And look how that turned out,” Roman argued. “Of course, Lucius was twenty-three. He’s perfectly contented with Narcissa. Aloysia was just eighteen when she married the Dark Lord. As far as I know she’s had no cause to regret it.” He leaned into the piano and transitioned into a third piece of music. This one was more melancholic and wrapped Harry in what felt like a blanket of sound.
“You never married.”
“No,” Roman agreed. “I’ve also never had a lover, in case you’re wondering.” The sunlight through the window shone off of his middle finger, where his vined ring of gold and rubies twisted up his third finger up to just beneath the nail. Seeing where Harry was looking, Roman picked up his left hand and held it out. “You can touch it, if you want.”
“I don’t understand the loophole Mother explained.”
“Wizards sometimes love other wizards,” Roman explained, “and so the rings take that into account. Of course, society calls them friendships, but we know the truth.”
“I cannot believe you fell in love with me through Jonathan’s memories,” Harry stated with some bravado, looking Roman directly in the eye. “All Jonathan did was curse me and chase me.”
“He also studied you a great deal,” Roman confessed as he put his hands back on the piano and began to play a waltz, gold sparks erupting from the keys and dancing around them. “Your horrible brother, for his myriad of faults, was a wise predator. You proved to be the smarter prey.” He looked up and smiled. “I admire that in you.”
“Being smart prey?”
“Most people don’t have that skill set.”
Harry hummed in the back of his throat. The gold sparks curled around his face, jumping between him and Roman, and Roman laughed.
“They want me to kiss you.”
“I told you not to make love to me.”
“We left that far behind when I began to play the piano.” He reached out and touched the ends of Harry’s hair. “Do you ever cut it?”
“I don’t need to cut it. I just think about it and it’s the way I want it,” he admitted.
Roman looked surprised. “A metamorphmagus,” he murmured. “Do you have any Black blood?”
“Not to my knowledge. Mother has no Black heritage and my grandmother Euphemia Potter was a Flint.”
“Hmm,” Roman sighed, leaning forward and settling his forehead against Harry’s in a pureblood sign of affection. His hand slipped from Harry’s hair, down his neck, and to his shoulder, where he was wearing a dragonhide jacket. “You are so fashionable, Harrogate Potter,” he teased.
“Shh,” he murmured. “Don’t tell Lily Evans. She wouldn’t approve.”
Roman laughed slightly. “You didn’t tell me. Do you want to be a Gaunt, Harrogate?”
Harry considered for a long moment. “I want to be my mother’s son.” And that was all the answer he need give.
They sat there on the piano bench until the sparks fizzed out and Roman led him to a small dining room with a view overlooking Paris. He had the French windows open, but he whispered, “Don’t worry. The Muggles can’t see us.”
They dined on red wine, cheese and bread, and Harry hadn’t eaten so well in months. Roman happily sat in his chair, not looking out at Paris, but instead taking Harry in. When the sun finally began to set, he led Harry back to the fireplace, and Harry flooed back to the Hogshead where he could make his way back up to Hogwarts.
On his way up, he spotted Cormac McLaggen escorting a blushing Violet. Everything seemed to be in order, then.
Walking past the Dementors was terrifying. He could feel horror dripping down his spine and Harry could hear his mother’s screams, but he pushed on and he entered the Great Hall although he wasn’t hungry.
“How was your father?” Draco asked with a knowing glint in his eyes.
“I’m not inviting him to the wedding,” Harry stated darkly, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice.
Magnolia looked over, confused. “What do you mean you’re not inviting him to our wedding?”
He’d said the—the wedding. Not their wedding. Suddenly there was a distinction in his mind. “Just that. He’s not invited.”
Magnolia and Draco shared a look, and then Draco nodded. “I never liked that he was an Auror anyway.”
“No one liked that he was an Auror,” Magnolia agreed, looking over Harry. “Aren’t you hungry, Harrogate?”
“Lost my appetite,” he lied. “Dad will do that to me sometimes.”
Magnolia grimaced and Genevieve looked worriedly at Draco. He made a shushing motion.
“Did everyone enjoy Hogsmeade?” he asked, trying to sound interested.
“Oh, yes,” Genevieve agreed. “Draco and I went to Madam Puddifoot’s. It was absolutely dreadful. Never take Magnolia.”
Harry looked between Genevieve and Draco. “Really?” he inquired.
“There was heart confetti coming down from the ceiling,” Draco complained. “I think I got it all off me.” He looked over his left shoulder as if checking. “Pretty sure I did.”
“Well,” Harry said awkwardly as he cleared his throat, thinking of the—not quite romantic—afternoon he spent with Roman Malfoy, “now I know.” Of course, Magnolia hadn’t said a word about Madam Puddifoot’s and they’d been going for over a year, so Harry was pretty sure she didn’t want to go, but you never knew. Witches’ minds could change.
He inhaled a bit of pumpkin juice. It made him feel overfull. He’d had a bit too much wine. Fortunately, Roman had given him a sobriety potion before he had left by floo.
Harry looked out over Slytherin table and realized how small everything seemed. When did it get this way? He had a maniacal rapist out for his head and now he had a wizard angling for his hand—and he had no idea what to do with it. The more he questioned Magnolia, the more he found himself considering Roman even though he couldn’t even picture what Roman was offering.
When he was walking back to the Slytherin Dungeons, he rounded a corner and accidentally caught Zabini snogging the Weaslette. He quickly turned Magnolia away so she wouldn’t see, and Draco was doing the same with Genevieve.
“All right there?” Draco asked companionably, and Zabini and the Weaslette separated with a squeak.
“Oh, Potter, Malfoy, ladies,” Zabini greeted. “Sorry to be blocking your path.”
“Well, as the path is blocked,” Draco asserted.
Zabini took the Weaslette’s hand and pulled her to the side. “We’ll find somewhere else.”
“Yes, this is a thoroughfare,” Magnolia pointed out as Harry escorted her past. “Nice to see interhouse cooperation.”
Harry had to hold back a laugh.
The Dementors stayed on campus the rest of term and even escorted the Hogwarts Express back to Platform 9¾. Harry knew he wouldn’t see his dad at the platform, but he did see Professor Snape with a witch—a witch with auburn hair and green eyes. “Well, that’s new,” Magnolia said upon getting off the train and seeing Violet hesitantly go toward both her father.
Lady Aloysia came up to them and looked over with them. “According to your Uncle Lucius, Magnolia, there may be wedding bells.”
“Who is she?” she asked in utter shock.
“Febriona Carne,” Lady Aloysia told them, “a formal pupil of his. She is from the right sort of family. Young enough to have children but old enough to be an authority figure to Vesper.”
“She’s turning seventeen in August,” Harry pointed out. “Vesper is almost an adult. She doesn’t need a mother.”
“Every witch needs a mother,” Lady Aloysia murmured, “though I don’t think there will be any wedding bells for your parents, Harrogate.”
“No,” Harry agreed. “I’m completely against it, and I’ve made my wishes known to Mother. Dad doesn’t deserve her.”
“No, he certainly doesn’t,” Magnolia agreed as Violet was now carefully offering her hand to Febriona. “Dr. Evans certainly didn’t deserve Professor Snape either. Hopefully, Febriona does.”
Harry bit his lip. He wanted Violet to be happy. If this made her happy, then he was all for it. A new mother was a little difficult, but Violet had already dealt with a new father. When Violet’s gaze flicked up the platform, Harry quickly looked away and turned to Lady Aloysia who was charming their trunks to follow them.
They were once again in the 1930s motor, Harry up front, driving to Yorkshire, although Harry would be moving into Grimmauld Place on the first of August. There was the usual Death Eater activity, and Harry absently wondered when the war was ever going to be over and which, if either, side was going to outright win.
His first day there, he went up to the turret room and saw his mother. He was surprised to see Madam Apricot Crouch already there.
“Ah, Harrogate,” his mother greeted, and he went over and kissed her unscarred cheek. “You know Apricot.”
“Madam Crouch,” Harry greeted. “It’s good to see you under pleasanter circumstances.”
“Yes, the last time was certainly strained,” Madam Crouch agreed with a small smile. “I understand you are in residence here until your seventeenth birthday.”
“Yes,” he said, taking a biscuit. “I’m trying to convince Mother to come to Grimmauld Place with me.”
“Oh, Maia, you simply must,” Madam Crouch cried out. “How simply wonderful, to live with your son! It will be absolutely perfect.”
“But I have everything set for me here—” his mother argued.
“But you’ll set up everything the way you like it at Grimmauld Place. You’ll have your own set of rooms. Surely Aurora will have a garden. You can preside over table until Harrogate gets married next year. You can watch your grandchildren grow up. What more can you possibly want?”
“I’m not—”
Harry leaned forward. “We won’t press you, Mother. But you will come and see the house with me next week, at least.”
“Of course, Harrogate,” she agreed with a smile, half of her face scarred with black veins. “Nothing would make me happier.”
Harry took Aurora out into the garden for some exercise so his mother could have some time with her friend, when he received an owl from Roman. At first, he wasn’t sure he was going to open it, but then he decided to get it over with.
Unfortunately, it was about his brother Jonathan.
I believe your father is hiding him in an abandoned cottage off of Willowbrook Lane. I’m afraid James Potter goes there every night with a satchel. I haven’t been able to get through the wards but with your information and James Potter’s behavior, it is with every certainty that I can say Jonathan Potter is within that property. RM
Harry crumpled up the parchment and had to control his temper. He breathed in through his nose and went back to playing with Aurora with her favorite ball.
“What is it?” Magnolia asked Harry over dinner.
Sighing, he took the crumpled note out of pocket.
She read it and her eyebrows arched. “Who is ‘RM’?”
“Uncle Roman,” Harry answered. “Draco employed him with the initial Jonathan baiting last year.”
“Hmm,” she hummed. “I wouldn’t think Uncle Roman would bother with us.” She turned over the back to see the direction and then slipped it back to Harry. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Do you think we should tell the Aurors?”
“Do you trust the Aurors?” she asked in response, her opinion clear in her tone. “They’ll just put him in Azkaban and he’ll just escape again.”
“Yes,” Harry murmured. “I wonder how he did that.”
“Ask your father,” Magnolia suggested. “He might know.”
It was with heavy heart that Harry went back to Godric’s Hollow just as James was preparing to go out with a satchel. “I know you’re hiding him off of Willowbrook Lane. I haven’t told anyone. What I want to know is how did Jonathan get out of Azkaban?”
James looked stricken.
Harry inwardly cursed himself. “You do know,” he seethed. “I didn’t want to believe Magnolia when she said you did. I thought she was being paranoid—but you know. How did he get out of Azkaban?”
Looking guilty, James signaled that Harry should follow him into the den. They sat down and James took a deep breath. “I meant to start teaching you your fifth year, like I did Jonathan. That’s the age I learnt. But you went off to stay with the Riddles—”
“Teach me what?” Harry asked dangerously.
James took a deep breath. “The animagus transformation.”
Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re an animagus?”
“All of us were. Padfoot, Wormtail, Moony was a werewolf—”
“Those nicknames mean something?”
“Yes, Sirius Black was a big black dog—padfoot. Peter Pettigrew was a rat, a wormtail. I was a stag—”
“Prongs,” Harry added. “So you taught Jonathan?”
“Yes, he’s a vulture.”
Harry rolled his eyes and sat back. “Of course he is. He wouldn’t be a noble animal if it hit him in the face.”
“That’s no way to talk about your broth—
“—A rapist?” Harry finished for him. “So, he what? Flew out of Azkaban?”
James shrugged.
“By Mother Magic herself,” Harry realized. “You’re all unregistered. The Ministry has no idea.—At the first opportunity he flew out of prison and he flew back to Godric’s Hollow. He could fly past the wards in Little Hangleton and he could—he could—” Harry was hyperventilating now.
“He would never—”
“You say that,” Harry said cruelly. “But he’s the one who threatened to cut off Magnolia’s middle finger.”
“It was said in the heat of the moment—” James tried to reason, but Harry just stared at the man that was his father.
“I can’t believe you. You disgust me.” He stood up and threw the bag of supplies at James. “Go on, feed a criminal. I won’t stop you. Oh, and just so you know, Professor Snape might be getting married. He’s going to be a happy family with Violet.” He threw the last in to be as cruel as possible.
James looked like he had been hit by an Unforgivable Curse. “You can’t be serious.”
“I saw them on Platform 9¾ together. Aunt Aloysia told me herself, and Professor Snape and Uncle Lucius are apparently very close associates. I would trust her word on this.” He stood and brushed invisible lint off his pureblood black. “Magnolia is expecting me for dinner.”
James immediately stood. “I didn’t say anything before because your mother is a Gaunt and ‘Gaunts marry other Gaunts’—but don’t marry that girl. Please. If it’s the one kindness you do me, please don’t marry her.”
Harry looked over at him with his ocean blue eyes, not willing to give an inch, even if it aligned with his own feelings. “Whyever not?”
“She’s You-Know-Who’s daughter. Stay neutral in this conflict. Don’t declare. Whatever you do, don’t declare.”
“You honestly think you’ll win?”
“Do you honestly think you won’t lose?” James shot back. “You’re You-Know-Who’s great-nephew but you were brought up away from the family. You’ll be safe. Give up this nonsense about taking the Gaunt name, and stay neutral, for me, Harry—”
“Harrogate,” Harry corrected.
“What?”
“My name is ‘Harrogate,’” Harry said firmly. “It’s what you named me. Harry is a common Muggle name.”
James looked like had been slapped. “Harry—Harrogate—heed my words.”
“I can’t believe you. After everything’s that’s happened—you just—” He screamed in frustration. “I just can’t be here anymore.” He walked toward the fireplace and took a pinch of floo powder and threw it into the fireplace, the flames turning green. They cast a glow over the room, making it magic-filled.
“Harry, please.”
“Goodbye. This time I really mean it.”
And with that, he was gone.
If he hadn’t been set on marrying Magnolia before, now he was dead certain just out of spite.
He petitioned the Wizengamot on 31 July, his seventeenth birthday. He had to register at the Ministry and then file his claim. All claims had to be filed by ten in the morning, and then he sat around until three o’clock to see if his claim had been heard and voted on. At one o’clock, Lord Malfoy came and took him out to lunch at The White Witch, where he had acromantula eggs and champagne.
“I understand my brother is back in England,” Lord Malfoy said carefully.
“He’s spying on my relatives,” Harry told him. “We think Jonathan’s in Godric’s Hollow.”
“Why haven’t you informed the Ministry?” he asked.
“I’m not sure whether or not Jonathan won’t try to kill his way out of a tight spot,” Harry admitted. “It also turns out he’s an unregistered animagus. However, I have no proof.”
Lord Malfoy carefully took a sip of champagne. “I’ll send my brother a high exposure camera. If you tell him what animal, he may be able to catch the transformation on film.”
Harry nodded and took another bite of his acramantula eggs.
At ten minutes past three, Harry received approval for his position along with a patent of letters for his name, Harrogate Maximilian Gaunt, Head of the House of Gaunt. Smiling widely, he walked toward the public floo, but he saw Lord Roman waiting by the side, his violet eyes staring at him.
Confused, Harry walked over and Roman congratulated him with a shake of hands, the moment caught on camera by a photographer for The Daily Prophet. The photo would make it into the morning’s paper. Lord Roman was shown as smiling slightly, his lilac eyes looking directly into Harry’s. Harry, likewise, was grinning widely, his ocean blue eyes glinting behind his rectangular glasses, his messy black hair falling about his cheekbones.
The headline, underneath, read, “Is New Lord Gaunt to take Male Lover in the Form of Lord Roman Malfoy?”
Harry read the headline over Magnolia’s shoulder and grated his teeth. “Wonder where they got that idea?” he asked her, hoping he could skip over it and not somehow be punished for it.
“Uncle Roman is a notorious bachelor,” she answered. “It’s wishful thinking.” She took a sip of her tea. Good, she was ignoring the headline. “Strange that Uncle Roman was at the Ministry. Do you know why he was there?”
“Absolutely no idea,” Harry lied through his teeth. “I would have asked him, but he was too busy congratulating me.”
“Strange,” Magnolia murmured, looking back at The Daily Prophet. “Very strange.”
