Part the Seventh—
“Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.”
—Lord Byron
Florence tapped her belly. “Now, Harry, you must promise to keep it a secret, even from Octavian. I’m only about a month along.”
“But a month is brilliant!” Harry said enthusiastically. “I didn’t—I just—“ He turned to Sirius. “How could you go to the Ministry with a baby on the way?”
Sirius looked a little cowed. He seemed utterly at home, however. He was sitting in the drawing room, with a beautiful bride, and a godson whom he loved dearly. He had everything a man could possibly want and now, it seemed, there was a little Black on the way.
“I couldn’t leave you helpless,” Sirius defended. He set down his cup of tea on the window sill. “Plus, I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix. We are committed to fighting Voldemort and Death Eaters. Flo knew the risk when marrying me.”
“Flo might know the risks, but the baby doesn’t!” Harry defended adamantly. “I couldn’t bear if it were to grow up without a father. I know what that’s like.”
“Harry,” Flo said, taking his hand. “It would not be the same, I assure you. We have many provisions in place so that the child will be with loving parents no matter what outcome this war may have.”
Sirius scoffed. “She even convinced me to put in a provision that if the Dark Lord won the war and we died, the child was to go to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, my cousins. The whole thing is ridiculous.”
“I hate to think of Octavian there,” Harry stated sadly. “It’s like they’re holding him prisoner.”
“No, they’re not actually,” Sirius declared with a flourish, taking out a piece of parchment. “Lord Malfoy desires to know if Octavian may come and spend Sunday afternoon with us and even stay for dinner. I of course told him ‘yes’.”
“That’s brilliant,” Harry beamed. He had no idea he’d even be allowed to see Octavian, let alone so soon. “I only wish he weren’t there to begin with.”
“These mentorships are taken very seriously,” Sirius explained. “My parents were horrified to learn that Gryffindors did not mentor one another. It was one of the nastier rows.” He shivered. “Still,” he placed his hand on Flo’s stomach. “This little sprout won’t be in Slytherin, Jamesie.”
Harry’s face fell. “Harry,” he corrected. “My name is Harry.”
“Of course it is,” Flo said, squeezing his hand.
A letter arrived by owl the next day. Harry wasn’t exactly certain who Daphne Greengrass was. He just stared at the short note and looked over to Flo. “What do you make of this?”
She glanced over it. “Expensive parchment. Elegant penmanship. Clearly from a young lady.” She looked at the signature. “And a Greengrass. She’s from one of the higher houses. It says she wants to meet you. As the godson of Lord Black, it would be unchivalrous not to heed such a request, especially in such a public place.”
“I’ve never been to the Sleeping Dragon.” Harry took back the note pensively. “I always thought I’d be barred because of my blood status.”
“Lucky for you, Sirius happens to be your godfather. You have a carte blanche in society.” She paused and then nodded. “I’ll have him arrange a table for the two of you for the time she specified. Write back an affirmative.”
“But what could she possibly want?”
“What does any woman want?” Flo answered back with a laugh. “She’s probably heard of your courtship with Octavian Prince and it has something to do with that. I wouldn’t read much more into it. She’s in Slytherin?”
“Yes. However, she’s not his mentor. No, but they might be friends. What do you know of this Draco Malfoy and his circle?” Sirius questioned.
“Nothing really, to be honest. There just always seems to be one or two of them when we get into a scuffle.”
She tutted. “Those scuffles will have to stop now that you’re involved with Octavian. It would show disunity if his mentor and his courted are not seen to be of one mind. It could prove damaging for him socially.”
“What house were you in?” Harry asked perceptively.
“Never you mind,” was her answer with a blush, and they went back to their afternoon tea.
Harry did meet Daphne Greengrass at the Sleeping Dragon the next day. She was a stately beauty with high cheekbones, blue eyes, and strawberry blonde curls. He had a few minutes to wait for her, having gotten there fifteen minutes early out of nervousness, but he just had to sweat it out. Hopefully she wouldn’t give him a cursed object.
At least the meeting was known to Sirius and Flo. He’d even mentioned it to Octavian in a letter.
“Ah, Potter,” Daphne greeted, taking off her gloves. She was, of course, dressed entirely in black, in a dress of eyelit material that poofed out from her waist to her knees. It had little cap sleeves and the gloves, naturally, matched.
She was carrying a rather heavy looking parcel.
“I’m glad you decided to join me.” She sat down and immediately a house elf appeared with their tea. Daphne set the package down and daintily took a scone. “Now. To business. The Greengrass family has an interest in the House of Malfoy—“
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It means that a match may or may not be made. It’s still undecided. I, however, have decided to act as though that relationship were in place. You are courting Octavian Prince, protégé of Draco Malfoy, and frankly you need all the help you can get.” She pushed the package forward. “Compliments of the House of Greengrass. I can, of course, make more suggestions if necessary, but this should give you the basics.”
Harry looked at her in astonishment and then carefully unwrapped the parcel. On top was a large book entitled Spungen’s Guide to Pureblood Dynasties, c. 1500-present.
“You’ll find yourself in there. Twice. I’ve already looked. You’re under the Potters, of course, an ancient and respected line despite recent developments”—Harry supposed this was how she meant to refer to his mother—“and then again with the Blacks. You’re designated as Heir Presumptive although I should warn you, there’s already a thin line forming down from Lord and Lady Black, showing that she is expecting.”
“Yes, Flo told me,” Harry confided. “I couldn’t be happier.”
She looked at him oddly. “You’re certainly unlike most purebloods I know.”
The second book was strange. It was a manual on how to court a pureblood wizard of higher social standing.
“This is, of course, from a witch’s point of view, but it might be helpful. You never know,” Daphne explained. “It took me a few days to track down—it’s out of print, you see—but it should prove useful.”
The final book was a guide to pureblood etiquette. “You’ve made a good start with your clothes but kissing Prince on the train was rather lower class of you.” She held up her hand when Harry made to speak. “I don’t care for explanations. I am merely giving you some tools to succeed.”
“I—Thank you, Greengrass, for the kind thought. I will study these diligently.”
“See that you do.” She now picked up her tea and smelled it. “Oh, Earl Grey. How I love this blend.”
They settled in for an awkward tea where one of them would ask a question and the other would answer it with only a few words.
“You have a sister in Ravenclaw?”
“Yes.”
“How’s she getting on?”
“Quite well.”
Or, “Lady Black is having a baby, isn’t she? They’ve been married for the prerequisite amount of time. Have they chosen any names yet?”
Harry lied, “No.”
“Pity. It would be so interesting to see what star or constellation they next chose.”
Harry left the Sleeping Dragon with the parcel under his arm and a quirk to his lips at the strange experience he had just had.
When he made it back to Grimmauld Place, Florence was looking over the books and commenting on each one. “Very thought out,” she decided, “and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it. It’s my duty to help you in your endeavor, Harry. You may not be my son, but you are as dear to Sirius as one. I am, of course, quite fond of you myself,” she teased. “No, we must sweep your Octavian off his feet so he’s begging his parents for a betrothal before the year is out.”
“Don’t you think he’d be a little young? He’s only going into his fourth year!”
“Yes, well, wizards like these sorts of things settled early. Your godfather and I are a rather unusual case.” She looked at him a bit sadly. “I wish that I had known him a few years earlier, although of course that was impossible, just so my dormmates didn’t tease me so much for not have a beau of any kind. It would have made Hogwarts a lot easier to bear.”
Harry came up from behind her and touched her arm. She placed her hand on his and looked over her shoulder.
“Think of it, though. You’re a Lady—they can’t possibly hope to be. They’re all probably green with envy.”
She laughed happily. “Yes, well, don’t tell Sirius I gain enjoyment from such things. He quite hates the title as it is.”
“I must admit,” Harry said wistfully, “that though I don’t understand it all, I wish I had a title. It might make Lord Prince notice me more and not think of me as ‘just a celebrity.’ I’ve never been ashamed of my mother, but I wish to God that I were a pureblood in all of this.”
“You should say ‘by the old gods,’ Harry. I’ll start teaching you the old ways. Sirius hates them, of course, but I’ll make him come round. He can’t bear to disappoint me.”
“Got him wrapped around your little finger, do you?”
“Isn’t that what a wife is for?” she answered back cheekily.
Octavian turned up just after lunch that Sunday. The Order was still present and he greeted everyone amiably, though he looked a little confused when he saw Professor Snape. Perhaps he hadn’t seen him all last summer.
“Wotcher, Octavian!” Tonks greeted. “Harry told us you read his fortune for him once and I was wondering about mine.”
“Mr. Prince is not a circus act,” Snape said snidely. “You cannot command him at will.”
Harry took Octavian’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m afraid he’s all mine today, Tonks. Courtship rituals and the like.” He led them to the library where they each took a seat by the fire. In the crackling of the logs he could hear the lullaby and he thought about what Octavian had said. Looking at him, he did truly believe he was looking at the only person he would ever love.
“You know, I wouldn’t have minded, reading her fortune. I read the Dark Lord’s fortune for him,” he admitted quietly.
Harry stilled completely. “You what?”
“He is desirous of my gift,” he shrugged, “and so he engineers situations where he may have use of it. I’m scared. I’m not on any side of the war, but the Dark Lord is terrifying. I’m not sure what to do.”
“We must tell someone. Sirius would blow up but Flo is more clear headed. She’ll know what to do.”
Octavian shook his head. “No. This is my cross to bear. There is an accord, which allows me to be in the Dark Lord’s presence as long as I am accompanied. There is nothing anyone can do about it, not with that kind of magic in place.”
“Those bloody Malfoys!” Harry exclaimed. “They’re supposed to take care of you.”
“And they are, in their way. They are making certain that I am not in an unfavorable position with the Dark Lord. They don’t want him to see me as his enemy, Henri Jacques. It’s no secret that I’m courting you, his worst enemy.”
Harry reached out and combed his hand through Octavian’s hair. “Will you read my fortune?” The lullaby played softly in the background, and Harry leaned into the familiar sound.
“Yours but not anyone in the Order’s,” he stated decidedly, taking out his deck. He shuffled it a few times. Three cards were lain out on the table. Past. Present. Future.
“The Fool,” Octavian read. “Unmolded potential. It’s pure and innocent and neither good nor bad.” He looked at Harry. “You know something now though which has made this irrelevant. What I could not say, but I think from the look in your eyes, you know.”
“Octavian, if I could tell you—“
“I keep the Dark Lord’s secrets. I do not expect to keep yours as well,” he said a little sadly.
He turned over the next card. The Ace of Cups. “The potential of a true and lasting relationship. This does not promise a happy ending, but it does promise the foundation for one.”
They looked at each other for several long moments and then Octavian turned back to the cards. The next card was the Ace of Wands and Octavian inhaled deeply.
“What is it?” Harry asked quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Octavian answered, tears in his eyes. “It is only—it is just—a child. Your child.”
“My child.”
“Yes. Within the next year or so it will be conceived. It is too early to tell if it will be a boy or a girl, I am sorry, my powers do not extend—“
However, at that moment Octavian was brought forward into a searing kiss. Harry wanted this child, desperately. They were young, but he wanted to share his entire life with Octavian, free from Dark Lords and Orders and Malfoys. “We’re going to have a baby,” Harry whispered against his lips. “A baby that’s just ours.”
“We’re so young,” Octavian whispered desperately. “And just courting. How can we possibly?”
“When the time is right I’m sure we’ll find a way,” Harry said, wiping the tears from Octavian’s face. “I’ve already ordered the Gnascum Potion. It will be here by the end of the month.”
“Names,” Octavian said quickly, standing up and leaving Harry in his chair. “There must be a book…”
“Dobby!” Harry called and the house elf appeared. “We need a book on names.”
“Roman names?” the elf qualified and Harry nodded. The elf shot into the stacks and came back with an old, beaten up book. Dobby clicked his fingers and all the dust and grime disappeared from the volume.
“Thank you,” Harry said, taking the book. It looked slightly imposing. He turned to Octavian. “Now, what were you thinking? I’m assuming you wanted Roman names.”
“Yes, we all have them,” Octavian answered. “Except for the Nür in my name. That’s Arabic.”
“Why were you named Nür?”
“After the color of my hair,” Octavian answered simply. “It’s strange, but it’s the truth. I needed to be distinguished from Octavian Romulus.”
Harry flipped the book open.
“Hadrianus, I think, for a boy. No, Hadrian,” Octavian decided, “for you.”
“My name is ‘Harry’ not ‘Hadrian,’” Harry laughed.
“That might be true but we can pretend,” Octavian stated. “Now there were two names for girls I had considered, but I think I have decided against one. I am tired of people being named after my dead brother.” He shivered.
“What’s the other name?”
“Lavinia.”
Harry flipped open the book. “It’s of Etruscan origin. Wife of Aeneas, the town Lavinium was named after her. Apparently she blushed.”
“It’s very maidenly,” Octavian noted. “Do these names meet with your approval?”
“Hadrian Nür?” Harry asked.
Octavian nodded. “And Lavinia Flora, I think.”
“It rhymes.”
“It’s Latin. It’s bound to.”
“I want a different middle name,” Harry hedged. “Lavinia Lily.”
“Absolutely not. They both begin with an ‘L’.”
“It’s better than rhyming!” Harry huffed with a bit of a smile. “Fine. Lavinia Rose. It’s what Sirius said I would have been named if I were a girl.”
Octavian thought for a few moments before nodding in agreement. “Purebloods are named after flowers. I can live with that.”
“It’s decided then. How in the old gods’ names am I going to fight Voldemort if I am pregnant?” His fear heated up within him, but the music soothed, reminding him he was with Octavian, that he was safe.
“Well,” Octavian said, leaning down for a kiss, “you better kill him before you get pregnant or very early on.” And then lips met lips and everything else was forgotten.
They sat around the dinner table and Octavian just stared at everyone. At the head of the table was Voldemort and across from him was Narcissa Malfoy. Lucius took up a position directly to the right of the Dark Lord where Draco would normally sit and the children all fell into line. Octavian was placed in the position of younger son, showing his inclusion into the Malfoy family.
Octavian decided to be the one to break the ice. “A member of the Order wanted me to do a reading for her yesterday,” he began conversationally. “I didn’t, or rather Cousin Severus decided I wasn’t going to before I could refuse.”
“Ah, yes, Severus,” Voldemort said, “he is not well received by Lord Prince, is he?”
“No, Father disagrees with his mother’s marriage.”
“As well he should. But we shouldn’t always punish the children for the sins of the parents. Their bloodlines may not be pure, but they can still be valuable assets to the cause, like you are, Octavian, though your blood is undisputed.” The Dark Lord’s eyes flashed red, showing his intelligence, sending a shiver down Octavian’s spine.
“Can you do my reading?” Draco asked suddenly. “You never have and I have rather a pressing question.”
“This doesn’t have to do with Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass?” Lacerta asked loftily. “I’m certain Octavian has better things to do with his time.”
“I would be happy to,” Octavian said, ignoring Lacerta, “after dinner—However, Malfoys are blond.”
“We are,” Lucius agreed. “You’re wondering on Miss Parkinson and her—dark—coloring. Her father has access to a diamond mine that would not be unfortuitous for us to claim. There are newer magics that may ensure the child is blond.”
Octavian was rather horrified. Draco just looked resigned.
The Dark Lord naturally watched as well as the rest of the family. Octavian sat, cross-legged, on the floor while Draco did the same. He looked at Draco expectantly.
“I need to know how many and the gender of the children I will have with either Pansy Parkinson or Astoria Greengrass.”
Octavian was startled. “You don’t want to know if you’ll be happy?” He knew there was talk of diamond mines, but surely happiness came into this somehow.
“I’m not happy with either of them,” Draco said, “but that can be remedied later. I need to know about the children, Octavian.”
“Very well,” Octavian sighed, putting down a Celtic Cross. He turned over the third card. “A Knight of Pentacles.” He took a deep breath. “You will have to assume responsibility but you will have a son. One son. I cannot say about any daughters.”
“With?” Iolanthe asked, inquisitive.
“Astoria Greengrass,” Octavian answered. He turned over a few more cards and studied them. Then he turned over the Star. “There will be no children with Pansy Parkinson, just faith that there will be. I assume that means that you will try and probably for years, but you will be unsuccessful in conceiving. I don’t know why. I can’t tell if she’s barren or not as clearly you can conceive with Miss Greengrass.”
“Astoria Greengrass then. She may not have a diamond mine but she’s blonde and her family is in international banking. More than respectable.” Narcissa looked at her husband and then the Dark Lord. “Forgive me, my lord, but how accurate have Octavian’s predictions proven in the past?”
“His last reading proved fruitful. It led me to a source of knowledge which told me exactly what I wanted to know.” He tipped his head to Octavian. “I thank you.”
Octavian nodded back, as was customary.
“I’ll write to the Greengrasses tonight and accept their courtship offer,” Lucius said into the silence. “It would not do for my heir to have none of his own.”
“How well do you know Astoria Greengrass?” Octavian questioned as he put his cards away.
“Very,” Draco admitted. “She’s in Ravenclaw, in your year. You’ve probably had her in classes. She’s an old childhood friend.”
“But there is no magic between the two of you,” Octavian surmised, remembering the haunting lullaby.
“Just right. It’s not that I don’t hold her dear, I do, I just feel nothing beyond friendship for her. I can’t quite imagine her being the mother of my children. It seems a little fantastical to me.”
“I think the idea of having children hasn’t fully hit me yet,” Octavian confided, although the Dark Lord was listening. “Henri Jacques is taking the Gnascum Potion this summer, per our courtship agreement, but it’s all very surreal. It’s difficult to imagine him full with my child.”
Draco laughed. “Sorry, I’m just imagining him with swollen feet! The entire thing is hilarious!”
“Octavian,” the Dark Lord said suddenly, “come to the study with me.”
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look. “I’ll accompany him,” Lucius said, getting to his feet.
“Nonsense,” the Dark Lord said. “I shall not hurt him.”
“I’m afraid that my accord with Lord Prince—“
“—has nothing to do with me. I need not follow it. Am I not Lord Voldemort?” He gestured to Octavian. “Come, young one. I want your opinion.”
This study was a little different. It was richly furnished with books on the wall but it seemed unused. There were no pictures on the wall and the decanters of alcohol were empty. The prophecy ball was swirling in the corner.
“Tell me, Octavian, what do you know of prophecies?”
Octavian looked at him warily. He then took a deep breath. “They only come true if they are set into motion. Before they are, they are completely useless. Thus is the changing nature of prophecies.”
“Then tell me, has this one been set into motion?” He picked up the globe and waved a hand over it. A shadowy voice emanated from it and Octavian listened carefully.
“The one is about Harry Potter?”
“Yesss,” the Dark Lord hissed.
“Well, it’s already fulfilled,” he stated. “You marked him with your scar, he vanquished you, and now the prophecy is over. What happens, only the future can decide. The question is—whether the other side has this prophecy.”
“They do,” the Dark Lord answered. “It was given to Albus Dumbledore, but let’s not talk about him.”
“All right,” Octavian began uneasily, but then he felt lips pressing against his lips and he reached up, startled, his hand landing at the Dark Lord’s face.
“I know who you are,” the Dark Lord whispered, as if he hadn’t just kissed Octavian. “The son of Lucrece Prince and Lucius Malfoy. You were conceived on the night of my defeat.”
“I am the son—“
“Yes, I know. Lord and Lady Prince, and yet they still allow you here, among my Death Eaters, all to avoid a scandal and the way it could ruin your life. However, do not pretend with me, Octavian. Never pretend with me.” It was a command, authoritative, and it frightened Octavian.
“I am their son in every way that matters,” Octavian answered carefully. “You may use me because you see me as the son of one of your Death Eaters, and I may comply because I am frightened of you, but know that I will one day be Lord Prince and I will be someone who you will have to keep happy if you run wizarding England.”
“And my kiss, did it make you happy?”
Octavian stared at him balefully.
The Dark Lord chuckled. “There are many of my followers who would kill for a kiss such as the one I have just gifted you. I shall perhaps wait for you, though. You do not yet know your own mind or recognize the importance of power when you see it.”
“And what is it exactly that you are offering me?” Octavian queried carefully. His natural Slytherin cunning came to the fore, and he breathed in deeply, trying to keep ahold of himself.
“You can read the stars, can you not?” the Dark Lord asked instead.
Octavian only nodded. “Then I offer you the role of my chief astrologer. I will not brand you with the Dark Mark as I believe that you will need to move within society freely. I understand, also, that I will be one of your clientele. You do not serve me, you allow yourself to be of use for small amounts of time. I understand the difference.”
“And the rest of it?”
“A place in my bed, something which I have not offered since my days in Hogwarts. This, of course, comes with the position of standing by my side when the war is finally won. I don’t want a servant. I want a man with his own mind.”
“And the Gnascum Potion?” Octavian asked carefully, not wanting to upset this volatile man.
“You would take it if we decided you needed heirs,” the Dark Lord said. “But that is only if we decided.”
A shiver ran down Octavian’s spine. He felt trapped, his throat closing. However, he could only nod. The Dark Lord was holding his wand between his fingers. Octavian refused to be placed under the Cruciatus Curse. He’d heard tales. He was not going to become one of them.
Octavian floo’d in at one in the morning. He knew it was risky, but he simply had to find Harry. He creaked up the stairs, listening in at bedroom doors, before he found one with the radio on. This must be it.
Harry was sitting at his desk in nothing more than his pajama bottoms and the lullaby swirled eerily around him. Carefully, Octavian came up to him and, twisting Harry around the shoulders, kissed him hard. Harry was, at first, a little confused, his eyes dazed when he stared at Octavian, but he leaned forward and kissed Octavian again.
“What’s wrong?” he asked finally, his voice almost singing to that strange tune although it came out in a simple low tenor.
“Nothing. Get on the bed,” he growled, half-terrified at what the Dark Lord said, and Harry led him to it.
Octavian fell on top of Harry and pulled down the sleep trousers, pulling at Harry’s member. He was kissing Harry, scraping his teeth against his collar bone, wanting to make a mark there that Harry would have for the next few days once he was gone. “I have no idea how to do this,” he confessed.
“Don’t worry,” Harry gasped, pushing Octavian’s shirt up so that he could kiss up a column up the chest. “I’ve read a book.”
And they fell on top of one another, the lullaby reassuring them, throwing clothes to the floor, hands running everywhere, into hair, over planes of back and arms, and Harry’s breath caught when Octavian finally entered him.
As Octavian lay in Harry’s arms, falling asleep, he noticed the empty potions bottle on Harry’s bedside table.
Lavinia, he thought, the music playing, and then he was asleep in Harry’s arms.
Excentryke's Musings 