Part the Ninth—
“Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication.”
—Lord Byron
Troy Prince sat with a tumbler in his hand, looking over at Sirius Black. They couldn’t be more different. Troy was dressed in black trousers and a wizard coat, while Black was in a corduroy suit, barely wizard, practically Muggle.
Still, this meeting had to happen. There was no ‘if,’ ‘and,’ or ‘but’ about it.
“I think it would be better if Mr. Potter were here,” Troy said into the silence. The clock on the mantle struck six. He hadn’t seen his son yet, not since he learned the news, but he had to contain the problem—offer something to Octavian before he could see him.
“Right,” Sirius said. He strode to the door and called out “Harry!” There were the thump of many footsteps and then finally, dressed all in pureblood black, Harry Potter appeared in the doorway. “Lord Prince has something to say to us.”
“Well, there’s no beating about the bush,” Troy said. “About three or four weeks ago, Octavian was slipped the Gnascum Potion and then raped.” There were looks about the room. “Aye, he’s pregnant.”
Harry instantly stood, it seemed he had taken a seat while Troy wasn’t looking, anger flashing in his green eyes. “I’ll kill him! I knew something was wrong that day that Octavian was going on about Voldemort!”
“You think the demmed Dark Lord did this?” Troy asked in surprise.
“I know Voldemort did this,” Harry responded. “It all makes perfect sense now. How did I not see?” He clenched his fists. “I’m going to kill him. I swear I’m going to kill him!”
“That aside,” Troy began. “You’re an orphan, Mr. Potter. You can marry this year legally. Octavian, being pregnant, can marry you at any age. If we claim you are the demmed sire, then you could be married before the Hogwarts Express leaves for Scotland.”
“See here!” Sirius exclaimed. “I will not have my godson raising You-Know-Who’s child! Why don’t you just get rid of it?”
“Because every pureblood child is sacred,” Harry answered into the deadened silence of the room. “Isn’t that right, Lord Prince?”
Troy tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I will not stop Octavian if that is what he chooses, but I would like to give him another option. I’d like to give him you since it’s you he so desperately wants. The child is a girl so she won’t upset the line of succession, if that at all matters. She will, however, be Miss Prince Royale, and far above her sisters in position. Well, boy, what do you say?”
Harry looked over to Sirius, who looked resigned. Finally, Harry nodded. “I’ll do it. But I want to see Octavian first.”
“Aye, I was afraid of that,” Troy responded. “However, it is your right. Come round tomorrow, say tea time, and I’ll make sure he’s up and about.—I don’t want a word about this to anyone. I’ll get the betrothal ring out of the vault and they can be married the day after tomorrow.”
Harry nodded. There was nothing more to be said.
Octavian was dressed in nothing more than a house robe when Harry went to see him. He smiled sadly at Harry and whispered, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to do this,” Harry countered. “I love you and I want you. I want this child, Octavian. She will be beautiful because she is yours.”
“But will you be her other father? I won’t do this if you’re some stepfather figure who doesn’t care. I won’t do that to her. She deserves more than the hell he would bring upon her life and more than a loveless parent.”
Harry sank down, kneeling in front of where Octavian was sitting in the window. “She’s ours,” Harry stated firmly. “We’ve made love so many times, how can she not be ours? Lavinia Rose, just like we decided.”
“Lavinia Rose Prince. You know that as soon as I slip the betrothal ring on your finger, you will cease to be a Potter? Are you ready for that?”
“I’m ready,” Harry answered solemnly, and he was. He had never been more ready. Here, in front of him, was a strong wizard who hadn’t let rape and pregnancy break him.
“You’ll have to live here, or we could go live at Prince’s Pride, if you like. I’ll be here anyway for second term. I’ll be too large with my pregnancy, and Mother and Father will help me.”
“Do you have a Healer?”
“Yes, a very good one. She’s the one who diagnosed me yesterday, when I didn’t even know I could get pregnant. By the old gods, this is actually happening. Everyone is going to say that I bent to your fame and that’s why I’m carrying the child, that I don’t have enough respect for the House of Prince”—he was hyperventilating now.
Harry quickly took his hands. “Let them talk. What matters is that we’re getting married and having a baby together. And if it helps any, Tom Riddle was very handsome in his youth.”
“Tom Riddle?”
“Voldemort.” Octavian looked shocked at the name. “His name was Tom Marvolo Riddle.”
“Well, I’m glad we’re not using any of those names for our little Princess,” Octavian said self-assuredly. “That would be just dreadful to have to start again with a Latin book of names.” Tears were now falling from his soulful black eyes. The lullaby seemed to cling to each drop and Harry brushed them away.
“Hush, Octavian. We’ll try to make this better.”
“It’s just—she’ll be born out of wedlock and Lavinia—“
“Will not be,” Harry said firmly. “She will have two fathers who love her very much, and fortunately I look a bit like Tom Riddle so people are less likely to notice anything out of the ordinary.”
“That’s a blessing. I don’t suppose there’s a picture anywhere?”
“Not that I know of,” Harry said. “I saw a memory of him—almost like a ghost back in second year. If I find one, I’ll be sure to give it to you.”
“Good, because he looks horrible now.” He laughed lightly. “I suppose that’s an odd thing to be worried about. How horrible he looks.”
“You want our little girl to be as beautiful as possible,” Harry murmured. “It is only natural.” He hesitated. “May I feel her?” He looked into Octavian’s eyes. “Please?”
Hesitantly, Octavian drew away his robe to reveal his black shirt. Harry, looking into Octavian’s eyes, pushed his hand underneath it to feel warm skin. “When will I feel her?”
“Five months? Six months? I don’t know,” Octavian said. “Father is trying to order every book on the subject so that we can be informed of pregnancies in general and specifically male ones. He’s trying to pass it off as various people asking to create anonymity.”
“That makes sense,” Harry murmured.
“But, Henri Jacques,” Octavian said seriously. “What do we have? A friendship, yes, but a sporadic one over the years. Then there were the time under the fireflies but that was about wanting, and then this summer was about—“
“Hush,” Harry whispered as he pressed two fingers against Octavian’s lips. “I know that we don’t have the greatest track record, but we’ll make one. I will court you, Octavian, during the time we’re both at Hogwarts. I’ll be gallant, I’ll be sweet, there will be misunderstandings, but all we’ll have to do is go back to the fireflies and remind each other why we care about each other so much. And I do love you. I know you may not yet love me, but I swear our child will be born in love, Octavian. I swear it.” He leaned up and kissed Octavian gently. Octavian’s lips were chapped from the summer heat, but he tasted of honey and fresh milk.
A throat cleared. It appeared the adults had entered the room.
“I want to do this in private,” Octavian said, standing. He held out his hand and Troy Prince set a box into it. He nodded to Sirius and Florence. “I’ll have him back to you soon so as not to inconvenience you.”
Sirius was wearing a stony expression, but he just sighed. “This is an important moment. Take all the time you need.”
Octavian took Harry’s hand and lifted him to his feet. Octavian had a bit of a growth spurt and his eyes now reached Harry’s nose. He turned and led Harry through several hallways until they came to a door that led to what Harry might have called a garden under other circumstances. There were stone walkways and gorse bushes and lavender along the path. Octavian led him to a stone bench and sat down.
Harry sat down next to him. Then Octavian was kneeling and opening the box.
Inside was a ring like Harry had never seen. It was pale rose gold in color, the sides with flowers imprinted into raised metal. Then, at the top, there were two pieces of gold coming up to form a peak, each impressed with hearts.
“Henri Jacques,” Octavian began carefully. “I realize that it is you who are saving me. However, will you be my equal in life and my consort when I become Lord Prince? Will you bear my children, apart from our Lavinia, and form a household with me?”
Harry never thought he’d be proposed to. It was all terribly surreal. He was surprised when tears caught in his eyelashes.
“Is that a ‘yes’?” Octavian questioned, and Harry nodded.
The ring was slipped onto his left ring finger and then he was being held in strong arms. He was kissing Octavian sloppily, happily, pushing his hands into his golden hair. He may not be in love with Octavian and felt only an adolescent version of it, but he knew his soul called out to the other boy, and he was never going to let him out of his grasp.
When they finally emerged from the garden, Flo had a camera and was taking photographs of them. She then shoved it at a still disgruntled Sirius, and admired Harry’s ring. “Tudor, right?” she asked Octavian and Troy. “Yes, I can see it. It’s still a beautiful piece. And to be betrothed! Such an honor, Harry! Has a piece been sent to the Prophet?” She looked to Troy and Dionysia now.
It was Dionysia who answered. “We thought, given the situation, that we shouldn’t warn anyone about the wedding until it’s complete. With your permission, we’ll have the wedding tomorrow morning and the betrothal and wedding will be announced in the Evening Edition of the Prophet.”
Sirius growled. “Harry’s friends must be here.”
“No,” Harry countered. “Octavian can’t invite Draco Malfoy. I won’t have him under represented.”
“I can invite Jamie Urquhart,” Octavian offered quietly. “We’ve grown apart since Draco began to mentor me, but he was always a good friend. I was also childhood friends with Caspar Summers. He’s in Hufflepuff, but I’m sure he’ll make it. I’ll just write them tonight and ask them to be here at ten in dress robes.”
“I won’t tell Hermione and Ron then why they should be here, either. They’re at Grimmauld Place already so I’ll just have them get ready and we can floo over at—“ He looked over at Florence “—9:30?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Is that an appropriate guest list? Harry and Octavian’s four friends and the four of us? Can a house elf have a cake prepared in time?” she asked worriedly. “I would want Harry to have a cake.”
“Aye, Trixie is already making one,” Troy offered. “She even has the top part for a year from the ceremony. It seems almost demmed fitting, that they’re bonding exactly three years after they met.”
“Yes, it is nice,” Dionysia agreed, looking reproachfully at her husband. He was clearly unhappy about the entire situation as was Sirius. The women were the ones who seemed to be making the best of things.
“Well, Harry, I think Flo wants to go through your wardrobe,” Sirius said. “I’m sure we’ve taken enough of Lord and Lady Prince’s time.”
“One more thing,” Lady Prince said. “I’m assuming Harry will be spending his wedding night here or at a cottage we’re preparing for the boys. If he could have his trunks packed, we would much appreciate it, unless you would rather meet us at the station with them to say your goodbyes, which is perfectly understandable.”
Flo and Sirius shared a look.
“We’ll bring them to the station,” Flo offered. “Ten-thirty?”
“Aye,” Troy huffed. “Tomorrow, then.”
“May I, just, I—“
“Henri Jacques,” Octavian sighed, reaching up and kissing him softly on the lips. “Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” Harry agreed, smiling, resting his hand on Octavian’s stomach. He tried not to look back as they floo’d away, but he couldn’t help it. Octavian was standing with his parents, looking masculine and handsome and utterly fuckable.
He just had to wait one more night.
“Let me just tell Hermione and Ron,” he told Flo, “and then we can go through my robes and start packing.” He was, of course, dressed all in black, which rather brought out the green in his eyes, at least according to Octavian.
“Hurry,” she said, “I need to do my mother’s duty by you and we have much to do.” She smiled at him sweetly.
Sirius just rolled his eyes and left for the kitchen where he claimed he wanted a stiff whiskey.
“Ignore him,” Flo whispered, “he’s just angry that the situation happened and forced your hand.”
“My hand wasn’t forced.”
“You know that; I know that—but he’s a pureblood. He knows how desperate it is for a bastard to be born. You are their saving grace and he wishes you didn’t have to be.”
Harry nodded and then headed up the stairs. He found Ginny, Ron, and Hermione in the drawing room.
“Right,” he said, closing the door behind them. “I’m really sorry, Ginny, but I have to talk to Ron and Hermione.”
She looked up at him hurt.
“I’m sure anything you say to us, you can say to her,” Hermione offered and he just glared at her.
“Actually, I can’t. If you’d rather I come back later, that’s fine, but I have to meet Flo.”
Ginny threw in her cards. She’d been playing exploding snap with Ron. “I know when I’m not wanted,” she stated angrily, and then flounced out of the room.
Three pairs of eyes watched her go.
“So, what is this about, mate?” Ron asked, putting down his own cards. “It must be important. Does it have to do with You-Know-Who?”
“No,” Harry answered. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to be ready at 9:30 tomorrow in dress robes. I really want you guys to be somewhere.” He held his breath.
Hermione looked at his hand. “You’re wearing a ring.” She sighed. “Is this some formal engagement ceremony? Because you know how we feel about him. He’s a nasty Slytherin who’s friends with Malfoy.”
“Oh, shut it, Hermione,” Harry snapped. “I’m asking you to something really important to me, and I expect you to be happy. If you don’t want to come, then just say it, and you don’t have to. But I want my two best friends there. Is that too much to ask?”
“I’ll go,” Ron said quickly. “I only have those horrible robes from the Yule Ball but I’ll see if I can borrow a pair off of Fred and George and I’ll be at the floo on time. ‘Mione?”
She huffed and looked between the two of them. “Fine, fine. I wouldn’t miss something important to you, Harry, but I’m going under duress.”
“Thank you,” Harry breathed out. “Just, not a word to anyone. This is private. I don’t want it getting out until the Daily Prophet prints it tomorrow night.”
“I don’t like it,” Hermione stated. “Sirius knows?”
Harry nodded.
“Well, he’s your guardian, so I suppose he knows what he’s doing.”
With those words, Harry left the room to find Ginny listening in on the door. From experience, Harry knew you couldn’t hear a thing through it. It was like it had been built with a permanent silencing charm on it.
Florence was sitting in his reading chair, her feet up as they had begun to get a bit swollen although she was only three months pregnant. “Did they agree?”
“Begrudgingly.” He walked to his closet and opened it. He lived in Sirius’s childhood room and Sirius had a walk in closet. On one side were his wizard clothes of black shirts, various jackets, and trousers, and on the other side were robes. In the back were the single pair of jeans he owned and the four long-sleeved t-shirts. He hadn’t been able to part with everything Muggle.
“Right,” Florence said, getting up. She made for his robes. They were, naturally, separated into formal, informal, and house robes.
Harry only had three formal pairs. One had been from the Yule Ball.
She took out a gray pair. “These are the newest.” She put them up against Harry. They were charcoal gray with long sleeves that formed a v until they touched the ground, and a small ornamental hood. They were lined with shimmering brocade cord but otherwise unadorned. They came with a shirt of shimmering gray fabric with cord in a crisscross pattern. They were to be worn with black trousers.
“I think simple is a good idea,” she stated. “These are elegant.” She looked at his other pair. They were a dark sky blue and were embroidered with unicorns. “No, these first ones, definitely.” She set them out on the bed and then attacked his trousers. After choosing a pair she picked out his best shoes and a pair of socks.
“Kreacher!” she called.
The elf appeared with a pop.
“I want you to pack Mr. Potter’s things. Leave his silk pajamas and the clothes on the bed. Hedwig can also stay out of her cage.”
The house elf started going to work, and Harry watched as his life was packed up. It didn’t take more than twenty minutes and then Harry’s clothes were hung back up and a satchel was left out for Harry’s things for his night away from Grimmauld Place. He’d be wearing the outfit he was wearing now to the Hogwarts Express.
Florence led him to the bed and sat next to him. She took his left hand and admired the ring. “Sirius and I were never betrothed,” she stated. “It’s rather archaic, but it means that you can be married without a bondler. It also means you can adhere to the old laws, such as the fact that you can be married now and Octavian can marry you because he is bearing your child, or so the world believes.” She sighed. “Octavian has experienced great trauma. I would not expect him to be affectionate in your marriage bed for quite some time. It might even be after the child is born.”
“I know,” Harry whispered. “I could kill Voldemort for what he did.”
Florence looked surprised. “It was the Dark Lord?”
Harry nodded.
“Then you should be extra careful. While he is the son of a Lord, he is vulnerable right now. It is your job to protect him.” She looked him directly in the eyes. “This is now directly tied to protecting the wizarding world, unfortunately. Normally, I would tell you to forget about the latter because you are still a child, but if it was indeed the Dark Lord, then you must protect Octavian from him. He marked Octavian. He impregnated him on purpose. He’ll want that child for whatever reason. No one, especially not the Dark Lord, must suspect that the child is not yours.
“I know some herbalists. They will delay the birthing of the child while it is still healthy. I think a month will do. That way the dates won’t match.”
“You’ll have to ask Lord Prince—“
“I’ll speak with Lady Prince. This is woman’s work.” She sighed. “While I am not an expert myself, do you know what happens between a wizard and a wizard?”
“I—“ Harry’s mouth dried up. “Octavian and I—we—“
Florence slapped him playfully. “I won’t chide you because it is the eve of your wedding, but I would have expected better of you.”
“He came to me,” Harry tried to explain, “as soon as he went to the Malfoys and met him. He was probably being pursued and needed to feel in control.”
“Yes, that’s understandable. Still, it should not have happened.” She paused. “Were you receiving?—because after all this, I doubt he’ll allow himself to be put in a position of potential weakness.”
Harry blushed again. “Yes, I always was.”
“Then you know what to expect.” She sighed. “You’re so young.” She pushed his hair from his forehead. “I know I’m barely older than you, but I do view you like an aunt, Harry.”
“My aunt didn’t much care for me,” he answered honestly. He thought back to Aunt Petunia. He wondered, idly, what she would say to all this. If she would be at all surprised if she could get over the fact that wizards could have children with other wizards.
“Well, neither did mine,” she confessed. “But we’re different, the two of us. I know Sirius views you like he does a son, although he does sometimes call you ‘James.’ I’m sorry about that. Know that it’s noticed, but there’s nothing I can seem to do about it.”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m disappointing him.”
“No, you’re not,” she answered emphatically. “He loves you. He just gets confused. Azkaban touched his mind. Sometimes he looks at me like he doesn’t know who I am, which is a little disconcerting since I am his wife.” She sighed again. “You should go to him. He feels like he’s losing you too soon.”
“Thanks, Flo,” he said, giving her a hug.
She laughed into the embrace. “Go!”
Harry found Sirius on his gods-knew-what-number drink in the kitchen, Kingsley Shacklebolt serving as his drinking buddy.
“Sirius, Kingsley.”
“Harry!” Sirius shouted out. “You’re nearly a grown man! Have some firewhiskey!”
“No, I think I’ll pass,” he answered, taking a sniff of the strong liquid. “You need to be sober for tomorrow, Sirius.”
“There are sobering potions,” he quipped.
“Sirius,” he gritted his teeth. “I thought we could go out tonight. But if you’re drunk…” He wanted some time alone with Sirius and this was his bachelor party. Maybe they could sneak into a club and Harry could go dancing for the first time since the Yule Ball. That would be fun. He wished he could dance with Octavian, but that would have to wait until later.
“No!” Sirius declared, scraping his chair against the floor as he stood. “I’ll just get the potion, Harry. We can go wherever you want!”
“Thanks,” Harry said, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Troy asked Octavian. “It’s not too late to back out.”
“I’m betrothed, Father.” He took the bottle of butterbeer that was offered to him. It reminded him of reading for the Dark Lord, but he pushed that thought from his mind. “There is no backing out.”
“You could wait years,” Troy argued. “We could send you to France where you can have the child quietly. Have it adopted by a nice magical family. Then, when you’re ready, you can either marry Harry Potter or ask for the ring back.”
“Did you offer the same choice to Lucrece? Either stay here and pretend to be helping Mother with her pregnancy while she was the one actually with child, or go to France where it could all be hushed up?” His black eyes shone sadly at his father, who clapped him on the shoulder.
“It was a demmed difficult decision for her to make,” he said, agreeing. “But she chose to give you to me and your dame.”
“Why didn’t Lucrece marry Evan Rosier?” he asked in confusion. “Surely he would have helped cover it up. From what I’ve heard, he loved her more than anything.” He sighed and took a sip of his butterbeer.
“Aye, he would have, I think. However, he was dead within a month of the Dark Lord’s defeat. There wasn’t time. We didn’t know Lucrece was pregnant with you until after his death. There was always the option of a quick engagement and marriage, but Lucrece didn’t have any inclination toward any wizard apart from Lucius demmed Malfoy, and all we knew was he was some blond haired wizard with a wife.”
“No option then, really,” Octavian mused. “You or France.—Harry or France. I hate the Dark Lord. I always have since he first walked into Lucius Malfoy’s office and asked for a reading. However, I can’t give up my little girl. She’s mine. She’s not his. Never his. I won’t let him bully me into hiding her in France. She is a Prince. She will be treated as such.”
“I think Lucrece felt the same way. You were always a Prince. She spoke once of going away to France with you and living with you there, but then you would have been labeled a ‘bastard’ and you know how unkind our society is to bastards.”
“Yes,” Octavian whispered.
They fell into silence.
“Henri Jacques will love me, Father. I know he will. And he’s promised to love Lavinia Rose.”
“Your Mother and I have readied Prince’s Pride for you and Harry for tomorrow night. I thought you might want your own establishment, especially as next summer Potter will be turning seventeen. Trixie will go with you. Firefly jars have already been placed in the Master Bedroom.”
“Thank you, Father,” Octavian whispered. “It’s a wonderful wedding gift.”
“The house is yours by right from when you turn seventeen,” Troy reasoned. “It’s demmed three years too early, that’s all.”
Octavian placed his hand on his father’s arm. “Please, just try to be happy for me.”
“How can I?” he asked, looking over to Octavian. “I hardly wanted to allow this Potter boy to court you, and now he’s marrying you! This is a sad day indeed. Ever since you were born, I never wanted you to play second fiddle. Your dame and I would have taken you if Octavian Romulus was alive—we would have insisted on another name, of course, but I realized when I held you, so small and perfect, that I was glad you were my heir. You deserved it. And now, with the pregnancy, you’ll be seen as second fiddle to the Great Harry Potter, even more than you would have before. You’ve subjugated yourself to him—or at least according to the world. It’s not what I would have wanted.”
Octavian smiled softly at him, touched by his speech. “Know that I am happy,” he whispered. “This is the best outcome for a horrible situation.”
“Aye, perhaps you are right,” Troy growled. “Perhaps you’re demmed right.”
Excentryke's Musings 