Part the Fourth—
“Adversity is the First Path to Truth.”
—Lord Byron
Octavian breathed in heavily as he came out of the floo. “Mother!” he called desperately, knowing that he could seek solace from Dionysia. Why wouldn’t it ever be over? “Mother, where are you?”
He came out of the formal parlor that was only ever used for the floo and into one of the drafty corridors of the house. Wolf Hall sat on the Northern English Moors and one could always hear the wind whistling from whatever room one happened to be in in the house. He peeked into several rooms before he found Dionysia in her private sitting room at tea with her friend Mrs. Maple.
“Oh, sorry, Mother,” he apologized. “There was just something. Is Father around?”
“He’s in the library,” Dionysia answered kindly, “I don’t think he’s busy. How was your trip, dear?”
Octavian thought back to the trip, to how he had picked out several costumes in black for Harry all the while trying to avoid Lady Malfoy’s gaze. He offered an insincere smile. “Fine, thanks. Henri Jacques looks quite the pureblood. I made him promise to burn his other clothes.”
“Your father will be happy to hear it,” Dionysia said kindly, before turning back to her friend.
Octavian sighed. He really didn’t want to find his father but he had to tell someone about what happened. He turned toward the library. His father was sitting among several books, glasses perched on his nose, his black eyes shining in intellectual curiosity. Octavian had seen him in such a pose before and it had often calmed him when he was younger. It made him feel like everything was right with the world.
“Henri Jacques has quite the wardrobe,” he said by way of greeting. “He looks quite the godson of Lord Black. I’ve made him promise to burn his hideous rags that he calls clothing and just wear what I got for him.”
Troy grunted. “Aye, that’s something. It’s still not going to make me look on his demmed petition any more favorably.”
“If you don’t agree, I may end up dating him,” Octavian threatened, “and I know how much you’d hate that.”
“Would you really, Octavian Nür, just to spite me? You’re my son and heir, and you’re only thirteen.”
“Then write to him and tell him you’ll consider it when I’m fourteen,” Octavian suggested. “There’s no harm in that.”
“Yes, well, maybe this problem with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will be solved by then.”
“You do realize that it was Dumbledore who was quoted in the Daily Prophet, supposedly reporting what Harry Potter said.” Octavian remembered the article. Harry had only been mentioned in it by association. There was, however, a large photograph of him with the Triwizard Cup, collapsed on the ground with his arm bleeding profusely.
“There were witnesses, Octavian Nür, you among them. Let’s not forget that.”
“But shock can confuse the system,” Octavian argued. “They found remnants of the Cruciatus Curse. Surely that can confuse any fourteen year old boy.”
“Would you have been confused?”
“I’ve never been under that particular curse,” Octavian reasoned. “Now. There’s a problem. Possibly.”
“What is it?”
“Did I ever tell you about how I met Draco Malfoy?”
“Aye, on the train to Hogwarts. He took you under his wing.” Troy looked at him over his spectacles.
“Well, he first asked me if my mother or my grandmother had been a Malfoy. Once we’d gotten over that, he seemed to accept the fact that we just happened to look like each other.” Octavian sighed. “However, I met his mother today.”
“Lady Malfoy?”
“She was struck so dumb that she ignored introductions completely and tried to touch my face. When she finally seemed to come out of it, she wouldn’t stop staring at me. I didn’t know what to do! I just pretended that nothing was happening, but even Henri Jacques asked me about it. I said that I presumed she was having a side effect to some potion! It was the only way I could explain it away!”
Troy Prince sighed. “We knew this was going to be a problem, eventually, when Dionysia and I decided to raise you. Granted, Evan Rosier had no family so we thought that we would have little problem, but that day in Diagon Alley we realized that there could be potential… complications. You worry about that Dark Arts essay I know you haven’t started. I’ll worry about the Malfoys.”
“And Henri Jacques?”
“I’ll pay a visit this afternoon—and, no, you may not come.” Troy looked at Octavian sternly. “You are my heir but some things are better left to adults.”
He shooed Octavian out of the library. Now, what to do? Clearly he had to address this situation with Lord Malfoy. It could not go on.
Flooing to Malfoy Manor, he was astounded by the sheer wealth of it. Wolf Hall was comfortable and well furnished, but it was nothing compared to the manor. He followed a house elf up to a well-appointed study and was offered a tumbler of whiskey and soda. He gladly took it.
“Forgive me,” Lord Malfoy said, coming in a few minutes later. “I was watching my son out on the pitch. It takes a few minutes to make it back to the manor and there’s no apparition within the wards.”
“Of course,” Troy said, thinking of his own son Octavian Romulus and how he used to watch him proudly. “I come to you with a rather delicate matter, Lord Malfoy, wizard to wizard.”
Lord Malfoy looked the spitting image of Octavian. It was haunting. If it weren’t for his cropped platinum blond hair and his blue eyes, he would have sworn he was looking at an adult copy of his son. However, he reminded himself, this was the seducer of his daughter.
“I have a son, Octavian Nür. You might have heard of him. He’s your son Draco’s protégé in Slytherin House.”
“Yes, Lord Prince,” Lucius agreed. “Draco speaks well of Octavian. We had an entire discussion this year about whether or not Draco was a little young to take on Octavian, given how close they are in age, but I thought that Draco had a unique perspective, given that he is both a popular and successful Slytherin and the son of a Lord.”
“I quite agree,” Troy stated, although he secretly wished the Malfoy family would stay as far away from the Princes as possible. “However, do you know of the likeness between the two boys?”
“Draco mentioned something,” Lucius admitted. “Asked if we were related in any way, though I looked over the family tree and strangely we’re not. It’s so unusual for purebloods to not have some connection.” He had poured himself a whiskey and soda at this point and was now sitting in his chair, sipping it.
“Well, our sons were both at Fairy Woven Silks this afternoon and your wife seemed—stunned—by the resemblance. She quite unsettled Octavian to the point where he immediately sought me out when he returned home. I mean no disrespect to Lady Malfoy, quite the reverse, however, you must understand that as a father, my first priority is to my son.”
Lucius nodded. “I can understand the problem, and I certainly would not wish your son discomfort. I will speak to my wife, and may I formally apologize on behalf of the House of Malfoy to your son for this disquieting interlude.”
Troy nodded. “And may I compliment Lady Malfoy on the excellent house that she keeps? I have seen little of it, but it is certainly impressive.”
Lucius smiled. “I will pass your compliments on,” he said, rising. He offered his hand. “Lord Prince, perhaps you and your wife will consent to coming to dinner once the boys are back in school? I know that usually the lady of the house offers such invitations, but given the closeness of our sons, it would not be unwelcome for our families to show some familiarity.”
“Have your wife send mine a date,” Troy instructed. “I must admit that I leave all this to the ladies.” Frankly, he wanted to stay as far away from Lucius Malfoy as humanly possible, but appearances must be kept up. He foresaw an argument with Dionysia over the entire matter.
“Excellent, I’ll show you out myself.”
Troy abandoned his whiskey and floo’ed out to Grimmauld Place where he found the most hilarious situation.
Dobby showed him into the drawing room, where Lord Black was sitting with a beautiful young lady in a corner. A stout woman about Lord Black’s age was sitting at a respectful distance doing some embroidery and Harry Potter was sitting in a window seat trying not to laugh.
“Ah, I’m afraid I’ve interrupted something,” he began and everyone turned toward him.
“Lord Prince,” Harry greeted, closing his book. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is Octavian also here?”
“No, he’s at Wolf Hall with his mother,” Troy answered shortly. He took in Harry Potter. He was wearing tailored black slacks, black shoes, a long sleeved black top and an intricate sweater vest that zipped up diagonally and had several buttons and flaps. Octavian Nür had done well. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I was wondering if I might briefly speak to Lord Black and Mr. Potter alone.”
Lord Black turned back to the beauty. “I’ll be right back.” He stood fluidly and motioned for Troy to precede him out the door. “Will the library do? I’m afraid I don’t much use the study.”
“Aye, the library will do just fine,” Troy answered. When they were fully ensconced with the door closed, he took a deep breath, looking between the two wizards. “I am not refusing your petition,” he began. “Much as I would hate to see Octavian play second fiddle to anyone, I wish my son to be happy.” Mr. Potter made to say something but he held up his hand. “However, he is young. I ask that we revisit this matter when he is fourteen or perhaps fifteen and when this question of You-Know-Who has been sorted. I will not have my son bonded to a public disgrace.”
“Now see here—“ Lord Black began, but Troy just shouted.
“You cannot deny it! Potter’s anathema in wizarding society. I want better for my only son. And he plays Quidditch! What if he were to die!”
“Lord Prince,” Lord Black began cautiously. “I would never allow something dangerous to happen to Harry. I would risk my own life before he should risk his own.”
“That’s what all parents think, but when it comes down to it, it’s the luck of the draw,” he said sadly. “If You-Know-Who is really back, you know Mr. Potter will be in the line of fire. I will need assurances that Octavian Nür would be safe.”
“And I would give you those assurances,” Sirius replied solemnly. “However, fortunately, that time has not come yet.”
“No, I suppose it hasn’t.”
After Lord Prince had left, Harry turned to Sirius. “I thought you hated the idea of me being with Octavian!”
“Well, he drew the line in the sand, and I wasn’t going to let him get away with it. You’re too important to me, Harry. Just remember that.”
“Narcissa!” Lucius called as he entered her private sitting room. It was done up in violets and blues and utterly suited her. She was sitting in a corner, in a chair that was rarely used, staring at nothing. “Where are the girls?”
“Iolanthe is at Miranda Enshelard’s, Lacerta is making up a list of suitable husbands or something in her room. She’s too young for such behavior. She thinks Octavian Prince is the best suitable match. She’s twelve!”
“She’s a Malfoy. She knows what she wants.”
“However, she can’t marry him. It’s impossible! The family connection is too close!” Narcissa was standing now, coming up to her husband and searching his eyes. “I know, when I told you after Io was born that I could have no more children, you related to me that night of passion you had the night the Dark Lord fell. About the madness of it all and the unknown pureblood witch you took to the cottage. But don’t you see—Octavian is the right age and he looks just like you! It’s uncanny!”
Lucius stared at her. “Be that as it may, Lord Prince came to see me. It appears that Octavian was disquieted by your behavior. It would not do to alienate the Princes, Narcissa: you know this. And you know that Octavian Prince is Lord Prince’s son. Everything was done properly. There was the announcement in the Prophet, remember how much it startled you? Their daughter came home from Hogwarts to help with the difficult birth since her mother was so advanced in years, getting a tutor. Everything was perfectly normal. Octavian Prince is exactly who he says he is: Octavian Prince.”
“However, if you could have seen him. His face isn’t as pointed as Draco’s, that’s true, but everything else is a match, apart from his honey blond hair and his dark eyes. Lucius, I’m telling you, you have a son, and his name is Octavian.”
“Yes, I have a son, but his name is Draco, Narcissa. Let sleeping dragons lie.”
“Well, I’m not letting Lacerta marry Octavian Prince without a full hereditary potion,” she stated stubbornly.
“Unless I see this Octavian Prince and agree with you, you will allow this fabrication of a marriage to take place. As it is, I’ve invited Lord and Lady Prince to dinner. You’ll send Lady Prince your card.”
“But you’ve only met Lord Prince once.”
“Yes, well, Draco is Octavian’s mentor. It would do well for the families to know each other, plus we should placate the Princes for this afternoon’s interlude, hmm?” He looked at Narcissa.
“The daughter coming home from Hogwarts to ‘help with the pregnancy’ could have been a cover up for her own pregnancy.”
Lucius sighed. “It could have, yes. But we are not going to suppose anything. We are going to have a nice meal with the Princes, and hopefully forget that this ever happened.”
He left the room before his wife could answer.
Lucius found Draco next. He was in his room, ordering a house elf around about how to properly hang his new clothes. Lucius stood in the doorway and studied his son. They had the same hair, the same pointed nose, only the eyes were different really. Draco had his mother’s eyes—the eyes of a Black.
“Draco,” he murmured, finally entering. “I need you to tell me about this afternoon—with Octavian Prince.”
His son looked startled. “Hadn’t you better ask Mother?”
“Well, I’ve spoken to Lord Prince,” at this Draco was clearly surprised, “and your mother. I want your take on the situation.”
“To be honest, he looks like my younger brother. The four of us—me, Octavian, Lacy, and Io—would make the perfect family portrait. It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to mentor him so badly. I mean, he is a Charms prodigy and unusually gifted in divination, it’s uncanny really, and the son of a Lord, but he just feels like he’s the missing piece of the puzzle. Are you certain he’s not a cousin?”
Lucius shook his head. “No, he decidedly is not.”
“It’s strange. If I didn’t know any better, I would say pixies stole him away at birth. Then again, I was too young to remember a birth at that time.”
Sighing, Lucius ran a hand over his face. It was seeming more and more likely that this Octavian Prince was the product of that one night of passion between him and that young witch. Could she have been a Prince and Lord Prince had taken in the child? It was plausible, as Narcissa said. However, he had never seen the boy for himself. He simply had to contrive a reason, he realized.
“Well, your mother never had another child,” he assured Draco. “It was just the three of you.”
“I can’t believe Io is going to Hogwarts next year. It will be truly amazing if we all end up in Slytherin.”
“Io’s certainly mischievous enough. I’m afraid, though, that Lacy has set her sights on Octavian as her future husband.” He sighed. “She’s far too young for this sort of thing.”
“Well, it won’t help,” Draco stated emphatically. “Octavian didn’t give me the details, but some wizard wishes to court him, and he’s not unopposed to the idea. Of course, his parents have to approve, but he may be taken.”
Lucius’s eyebrows shot up. “Another wizard? That’s certainly intriguing. A lord has never taken a consort.”
“No,” Draco agreed, directing the house elf toward a drawer. “I also think I know who it is.”
Lucius looked at him expectantly.
“Harry Potter.”
That was certainly a surprise.
“They’ve been friends since before Hogwarts. I’ve tried to dissuade the association, but that only seems to make it worse. That’s how we saw Octavian today. He was with Potter picking out a new pureblood wardrobe. I never thought I’d see the day, but somehow Octavian convinced him to do it. It’s not like his godfather, who’s a total renegade from what Mother says, would ever bring him up properly.”
“No,” Lucius agreed slowly. He didn’t like the sound of any of this. “Well, I’ll leave you to your unpacking. Thank you, Draco.”
He couldn’t get out of that room fast enough, needing to be alone with his thoughts.
Harry was turning heads on the platform. He wasn’t quite certain if this was a good thing. He was used to getting attention, just not for his clothes.
They had created quite the sensation with the Order. Snape had sneered at him and told him in the most sarcastic way possible that his father would be proud. Tonks had ruffled his hair and said he looked dapper. Dumbledore had looked at him over his half-moon spectacles and said nothing at all.
He still wasn’t talking to Harry or really looking at him. Dumbledore would look in his general direction, but that was as close as it would come.
Now Harry was turning heads. Sirius and Flo were with him, of course. Flo was impeccably dressed in blue and green robes and Sirius was wearing a corduroy suit with cravat under a brown robe.
“This is your first public appearance,” Harry realized. “Things must be getting serious.”
Florence blushed.
“Who knows,” Sirius said, “wedding bells may call by the next time you’re home.”
“And you really want to share your house with the Order?” Harry asked Florence in consternation. “I mean, they kind of overrun the place.”
“It won’t be forever,” she reasoned. “And if it is, I’ll just insist they meet somewhere else.”
Sirius took her gloved hand and kissed it. “Let’s name our first child Leo. It’s a constellation, per Black tradition, but gives new life into it.”
“It also happens to be the mascot of your old house,” she reasoned, smiling. She looked over at Harry. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s a great name,” he decided. “Better than Draco, at any rate.”
“Too true,” Sirius responded, ruffling his hair, which had been cut much shorter. “Now, on the train with you. I’m sure Flo will write you letters.”
Harry grinned at the two of them before engulfing them in a double hug. Florence laughed and grabbed her hat, which was falling off and Sirius just hugged him tighter.
“Now get on the train, Harry. You have prefect duty.”
Right. Prefect. Somehow Harry had made Prefect earlier that summer and his mind was still blown over it. Ron had been mad when he and Hermione had both made it and he hadn’t, but in the end it had all worked out. Sort of.
“Harry,” Hermione greeted him in complete shock. “You look…”
“Like the godson of Lord Black,” Draco answered as he came into the Prefect compartment. “My protégé has excellent taste in clothes.” It was the closest that Draco had ever given Harry a compliment. “What do Lord and Lady Prince have to say about the whole,” he rolled the next word on his tongue, “transformation?”
“If they have anything to say, they’re keeping it private,” Harry answered truthfully.
Draco hummed.
“But Harry, you—you look—Ron will be displeased.”
“Well, Ron will have to wait until the weekend to see me in them as I have to get changed before rounds,” Harry added companionably. “Well, he will see my new pajamas.”
Hermione clunked her head. “Pajamas?”
“Yes,” Harry answered. “Octavian was rather insistent. They’re silk. Apparently I just had to have a pair.”
Draco was laughing at this now. “Only Octavian would get you to get pureblood pajamas,” he chortled. “Did he make you get underwear, too?”
Harry flushed. “Well, yes. But I wasn’t going to mention it.”
Draco was now in stitches. “Oh, this is perfect! Perfect! Only Octavian would be audacious enough! He really is trying to show you off to your best advantage.”
“What does that mean?” Hermione asked, whipping her face toward him. “What does Malfoy mean?”
“Nothing. It’s private.”
“Because you know how much I dislike Prince,” Hermione insisted. “I still can’t believe you spend time with him outside of school, let alone while at Hogwarts. He’s a Slytherin, Harry! He’s up to no good!”
“I’m sitting right here,” Draco reminded her. “Just because we’re in Slytherin doesn’t make us evil. We don’t like Gryffindors very much, but there you have it.—So, Potter. You do realize you’d have to change your name.”
Harry looked up startled.
“Yes, your godfather didn’t explain this to you, did he?” he scowled. “You’d basically be arm candy.”
“Are you saying your mother is arm candy?”
“My mother is a refined woman and hostess with several skills. You are merely a celebrity who somehow made Prefect for no discernible reason. Your only talent lies on the Quidditch pitch.—as I said, arm candy material.”
“I assume you’ve told Octavian all of this?”
“Numerous times,” Draco drawled.
A girl named Lavinia something stepped in. She was the other Slytherin Prefect. “Draco,” she greeted. “I’m thinking of taking your sister under my wing. Any objections?”
“You have a sister?” Hermione gasped from her seat.
Draco turned to her. “Two,” he informed snidely. He turned back to Lavinia. “No, no objections whatsoever. You can tell her I give the match my blessing. And please,” he leaned in, “try to keep her from deciding on who would be the most suitable husband. She might land on Potter next.” They shared a knowing look.
“I’m missing something,” Hermione put in.
“You miss a lot, Granger,” Draco replied, sitting down with an easy grace. “There are some traditions in Slytherin House that you just don’t have in Gryffindor.”
“Anyway,” Harry said. “Sirius is seeing someone. I don’t know what they’re doing exactly. It’s not dating. I’m not certain if it’s courting. But she’s brilliant. Really brilliant.”
“I’m going to regret this, but tell me what Lord Black is doing. I’ll tell you what it’s called in pureblood society. She is a pureblood, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Apparently she’s old or something. She’s only twenty.”
Draco snorted. “Witches are usually married by the time they graduate Hogwarts. It’s highly unusual that they’re not married by the time they’re nineteen. Usually they have at least one child by the time they are twenty, my mother being the notable exception, of course.”
“Of course,” Hermione said primly, although clearly both she and Harry had no idea what he meant when he was talking about his mother.
“Well,” Harry explained. “They met accidentally.”
“How accidentally? At a party? In a shop?”
“Er—in my parents’ graveyard.”
Silence descended over the cabin. By this time Ernie MacMillan and Susan Bones had entered the cabin along with Latisha Randie.
“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Hermione said. “Then what happened?”
“Well, she was upset, she was visiting a grave, so Sirius took her to the pub for a glass of wine, and they started talking. Next thing I know, he started calling on her at her house. When I heard about her, I insisted we have her round for dinner; she took me shopping for clothes; she visited a few times with her mother, and she came to the train station. She and Sirius were even talking about baby names!”
Hermione looked flabbergasted. “I never took Sirius for the paternal type. What’s her name?”
“Florence.”
“No, Potter,” Draco said in an exasperated tone. “What’s her full name?”
“Is it really any of your business?”
“She was that witch at Fairy Woven Silks. All I have to do is make enquiries. Everyone saw her on the platform. They’re hardly keeping it a secret.” He was lounging on the bench, his hand resting against the back of the seat, and his penetrating gray eyes were on Harry.
“Oh, do you mean Florence Sweetings?” Latisha Randie asked. “Her family lives near mine. I was surprised to see her on the platform.”
Draco whistled. “Well, she’s from a very good family. Old. No money, though, not that Lord Black needs it. Third daughter, right?” He looked at Latisha and she nodded. “Technically the advantage is entirely on her side.”
Harry puffed up in rage. “Flo is the sweetest witch and genuinely cares for Sirius and is like the aunt I’ve never had.”
Looking at him for a second, Draco sighed. “I’m sure she is. Anyway, to answer your question, Lord Black is courting her. It’s a more leisurely and casual form of courting, but it’s still courting. If they’re talking baby names, I would expect an announcement soon.”
“It’s strange to think of it all,” Harry admitted. “It’s been just me and Sirius for over a year.”
“Things change, Harry,” Hermione tried. “You’ll just have more people to love you.”
“I am looking forward to having nieces and nephews,” he said, smiling. “I realize that’s more than a year away, but I’ve always loved babies. I used to fuss over them in prams when Aunt Petunia left me outside of shops.”
Hermione’s lips thinned.
The first package arrived from Flo the next day. Harry was just about to open his copy of the Daily Prophet, when a pitch black owl swooped in with a basket. Harry grabbed it, and set it down on his lap.
“What is it, Harry?” Ron asked.
“I don’t know.” He looked for the latch, and then opened the basket and laughed. Inside was a coat he had forgotten and about a pound of fudge. Picking up the note inside, he smiled. “She made me fudge.”
“Who made you fudge?” Ron asked stupidly.
“My guess,” Hermione stated, “would be Miss Florence Sweetings.” She gave Harry a pointed look. “It seems like she intends to mother you.”
“Brilliant!” Harry exclaimed. “I’ve only had Mrs. Weasley for that and, well, she’s Ron’s mother.”
Hermione looked at him perceptively. “I understand.”
“Who’s Florence Sweetings?” Ron looked gob-smacked.
“The woman Sirius Black is paying court to,” Hermione informed him. “What does she look like?”
“You didn’t see her on the platform?”
“No,” Ron answered for the both of them. “Spill, Harry.”
“Well, she’s rather tall. She has chestnut brown hair that she likes to wear in a ponytail for some reason. Blue eyes. Quite pretty. She’s always smiling.”
“Sounds lovely,” Hermione said when they both noticed that Ron was struck dumb for some reason. “I look forward to meeting her this summer if she’s been around Headquarters.”
“We’re assuming that Sirius doesn’t do something stupid, though. This is the prankster of all pranksters we’re talking about.”
“I’m sure Azkaban has sobered him up,” Hermione decided. She nodded her head. “No, I’m sure this only means good things.”
Excentryke's Musings 