Harry's last bit of business before the break arrived with a three-tap knock on his office door.
"Come in," Harry said quietly.
He was heard all the same, and the door was hauled back. For a moment he made eye contact with Severus Snape. Soon enough Snape was shutting the door, having admitted the one he brought with him.
Harry stared at Draco Malfoy, a head shorter than he remembered and hiding his unease behind a nasty little smirk.
"Sit." A chair was prepared by Harry's desk, the same one usually reserved for students of his class.
Draco took a seat in the drawn-out manner of someone that wanted to show rebellion, but wasn't willing to outright disobey.
Harry tapped the point of a dry quill against the surface of his desk. His wand lay there, a few inches from his hand. Draco tilted his chin.
"What is this about? I was packing."
"I imagine you were. This shouldn't take very long." Harry stopped with the quill, laying it on his desk. "There was an attack recently. I imagine you've heard about it? It happened on a field trip that I organized."
"What of it?" Draco asked. He looked bored, but Harry caught a twitch of his lips.
"Well, all of it began with a nasty little curse. Professor Sinistra was robbed of her free will— she's still recovering. There were subtle signs, looking back, and they only showed on the morning-of. Either that morning or the night before, someone used an Unforgivable on her. That means it was done by someone within Hogwarts."
"Maybe the Death Eaters have already gotten inside," Draco said. He wore a small smirk now, enjoying the idea.
"They have, but not in the way you're implying," Harry said. "Corban Yaxley or Lucius Malfoy—" Draco shifted at the name. "—are hardly crawling around in secret passages. Instead, their children are walking in the hallways with their heads high."
"I deny any involvement. You have no proof I've done anything."
"Absolutely none," Harry said. "That's why we're having a conversation. I wanted to talk to you— I don't think we've spoken before. I'm Professor Potter. You'll find that I do things differently than Dumbledore. Albus was a kind man who favored rehabilitation at all times. I have nothing but respect for that, because it makes him a better man than I am." Harry leaned on the desk, his glasses slipping partway down his nose, green eyes bearing down on Draco. "If I catch you acting on Voldemort's behalf within the school, putting the lives of your fellow students in jeopardy, I'll kill you."
Draco didn't answer. His lips were parted and his brow was furrowed. He searched Harry's face and found none of what he was hoping for.
"You can't do that," he said.
"You'll find I can do it quite easily."
When Harry stood up, Draco flinched. But all he did was slip around the table and tap the boy on the shoulder, his wand left behind on the desk.
"I hope it wasn't you," Harry said. "Beyond that, I truly hope you'll make the right choice. You haven't misstepped yet, Draco, but you deserved to know. We're past the time for second chances."
Those had been sealed away in a fancy stone tomb.
He escorted Draco to the door, sending the boy out. When he reached the hallway, Draco bolted. Harry watched him go.
Snape slipped out from around the corner a moment later, standing at Harry's side.
"While discipline is important, it isn't wise to make threats you won't follow through on."
"I know," Harry said. He was still looking in the direction where Draco disappeared.
Snape squinted at him. Harry could almost see his desire to crack into Harry's head and read the thoughts that lay there, but for all his faults, Severus Snape didn't make mistakes twice. Whatever he saw in Harry's face was sufficient to get an incredulous laugh from him. The sound had no humor in it, except maybe a very ironic kind.
"As long as you know," Snape said dryly.
O-O-O
Harry counted the addresses along Balstram Way going up, walking in search of 513. He stepped aside to let a woman walking her dog pass, sharing a smile with her. Crossing the edge of a park, a child's weathered football rolled up to him, and Harry toe-punted it back, earning a shout of, "Thanks!"
This would be a difficult place for a wizard to blend into. That might have been the point.
Harry soon found himself in front of a row of brick houses with conjoined walls. He approached one of the many, acknowledging he was in the right place when he felt a hint of magical wards. It was similar to a faint electrical charge.
There was a knocker so he went to make use of it. As soon as his fingers made contact, the knocker did its job without his input, striking the door thrice with a good amount of force. He was certainly in the right place.
There was a lag between the knock and the door opening. Harry remained standing, smiling his best smile and looking generally unperturbed. After a span of time, the door finally opened.
Anastasia Greengrass looked past him, casting her eyes about the road outside. "Come in," she said. As soon as he was past her, she shut the door.
In complete silence Anastasia took him to a quaint sitting room full of bookshelves with dust on their contents. She offered Harry a chair beneath a mounted Nogtail head, taking the one across from him for herself. Harry couldn't fight a smile as he noticed the familiar umbrella leaning against the side of Anastasia's seat.
Harry was unsure exactly where this would go, so he let Anastasia speak first. It didn't take particularly long.
"What do you know of the Greengrass family?"
"You're purebloods," Harry offered. "Good breeding, for the fools who care about that kind of thing. Rich?"
This part was a guess, but beyond outliers like the Gaunts it was a fairly safe assumption, proven when Anastasia nodded.
"There is something else we are famous for. The inability to make up our mind." If Anastasia had delivered the line in any other tone of voice, it might've sounded like a quip. As it was she couldn't have been more serious.
"When wizards chose to hide themselves from Muggles, our ancestors were some of the last to do business with Muggle kings and merchants. Meanwhile, they sold in the fledgling magical markets of the time. It took intervention from other families to force them into cutting contact with Muggles. Hundreds of years later, when Grindelwald rose in Europe, my husband's grandfather found some of the wizard's ideas sympathetic. When the British Ministry called for public support, the Greengrasses were noticeably absent from the muster. He toyed with the idea of traveling to Germany to offer his services. But he never did, choosing instead to support the war effort conspicuously late. Whispers about that slow response followed the family for decades."
Harry waited patiently while Anastasia collected her thoughts, finding the right place to continue her story.
"It was the same in the First Wizarding War. I was a young woman then, having married a man with the same cautious temperament as his father and grandfather before him. I will not lie to you, we offered aid to the Dark Lord's cause. Our home was opened to his supporters and we funded the things they might need. The Greengrass family grew more magical plants than anyone else, bringing in a fortune and propping up national potion supply on their whims."
"It's the first time I'm hearing of that," Harry said.
He'd seen the Auror Department's ledgers once or twice in his time, including the sources they purchased potions from. Or rather, why they didn't have to purchase anything. The Ministry supplied everything in-house, from ingredients to the brews themselves.
Anastasia smiled, a small and wry expression. "It's been some time since we filled that role. Roughly fifteen years."
"The war, then."
"Yes. While we offered our gold freely, we never took the mark. We bought our freedom, you could say, much to the scorn of those who gave themselves to the Dark Lord in body and soul."
"I'm surprised that was allowed."
"Time was running out," Anastasia admitted. "I was pregnant with Daphne at the time. I feared that taking the mark would have unintended effects. They say it marks your very soul… And my husband turned his nose up at being subservient to anyone. At least, that is what he said. I believe he would've taken the mark in a day once he was sure the Dark Lord would win. He was scared to choose a side, and I did not complain, because we were in agreement, even if our motives differed."
"He was right to wait. You-Know-Who lost." Harry didn't know if the Taboo was active again, but it didn't hurt to be safe by avoiding his name here.
"Perhaps. But when you leave yourself in the middle, you're likely to lose no matter who wins," Anastasia said. "Many of the old families who had died out or been locked away in Azkaban were our largest buyers. Things became worse when the Ministry began to circle. They sensed blood, and they were tired of paying our steep prices. No size of bribe would sway them as they claimed our lands as assets of the war, leaving nothing but our vault and our mansion."
"And this?" Harry asked, lifting his eyebrows at the Muggle family home where they were meeting.
"A recent development, tailored to fit my current needs. We required a way of making our fortune lucrative. With the aid of Gringotts, we got into real estate. The Muggle variety."
Harry squinted at her. Sensing his scrutiny, Anastasia lifted her hands to ask for his patience. Harry's eyes flickered toward her fingers and his face cleared, going suspiciously blank, even as Anastasia explained. "There was no enchanting, charming, or any kind of Muggle-Baiting involved," she said. "Our gold was converted into pounds and used to purchase land and homes. Gringotts handles the details eagerly for the healthy conversion fee and a commission on top of that. On a financial front, it has been a grand success for all involved. Socially, we have faced certain repercussions."
"You're handling Muggle money," Harry said. "Dirty money to families like the Malfoys."
"Rumors have spread," Anastasia said apathetically. "It was not a large problem until the climate in our country underwent an abrupt shift."
'The Dark Lord is back, and you're out of his good graces without ever having been fully inside of them. You think you're a target," Harry said. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his green eyes intense. "What are you asking me to do, Anastasia Greengrass?"
Anastasia's eyes flickered, avoiding Harry's gaze. She squeezed the long skirt that she was beneath her robes. All of this took less than three seconds; a barely noticeable pause in the flow of the conversation.
"It isn't about what you can do," Anastasia said. "It's about what my husband has chosen. Aquinas is determined not to choose late this time. He has had the goblins pen marriage contracts for our daughters. If accepted, Astoria will become the next Lady Malfoy. Daphne will marry the second son of Corban Yaxley, a man named—"
"Virgil Yaxley."
Anastasia shifted in her chair when Harry said his name before she could. She opened her mouth — likely to confirm that he was right — before she noticed the look on his face. Anastasia turned her head, developing a fascination with the wall on her right. Her fingers trembled.
"There are rumors about him," Anastasia said. "He has lost one wife already. They say she did not die a happy woman."
"Anastasia." Harry's voice was gentle enough that she looked back at him. "Daphne cannot marry him."
"I… I can't stop it," Anastasia said. "I tried."
"Is that why your hands look like that?"
She flinched. Her hand shot up as she held her fingers in the light, looking for what Harry had seen. Confusion blossomed as she found nothing.
"The bumps," Harry said. "You have them on three fingers. "Skele-Gro Potions cause slight swelling for three days after use. I've seen the effects often enough to recognize them."
"It— That isn't why I called you," Anastasia said.
"Fair enough." If he had been talking to his Ron and Hermione, friends who had known him for decades, they would have caught that his tone was what they called 'forced casual'. In Hermione's own words, it was a voice reserved for when Harry was about to do something dangerous— dangerous for himself, or for someone else. "If the marriage is what's important, I'll stop it."
"How?" Anastasia asked. "What will you do?"
Harry checked his watch. "First, I'll ask politely. After that, I may have to get more extreme. Did you know that the Hogwarts Express is on its way toward Platform Nine and Three-Quarters as we speak?"
Anastacia shifted in her chair. "Yes? My husband and I will be there to pick up our daughters. He sees it as a chance to approach Lucius Malfoy."
"Perfect. I'm glad he'll be in the mood to talk. Things might have gotten ugly otherwise."
Anastasia furrowed her brow. "You don't mean to—"
"I'm not going to duel him on the train platform. That wouldn't solve anything," Harry said. "I just mean to have a nice and friendly chat."
O-O-O
"I hear that you're selling your daughters off like cattle."
Aquinas Greengrass turned stiffly, his mouth open and his eyebrows drawn together. Lucius Malfoy was close to him, accompanied by his wife Narcissa. Neither had been paying Aquinas more than passing attention. They watched this new distraction with more interest.
Anastasia Greengrass was behind her husband, but Harry's eyes never went toward her, treating her as a stranger. It would be another ten minutes before the train arrived, so the platform was sparsely crowded with parents, primarily the ones who had an interest in arriving early. Such as Aquinas with his presumptuous socializing.
"Excuse me?" Aquinas asked. "You, a stranger, speaks to me about—"
"We've met," Harry said. "Madam Malkin's, before the school year. I'm Professor Potter. I believe you told me to stop using my title."
Harry smiled like it was an old in-joke between the two of them. Aquinas was so unbalanced by having the conversation sprung on him that he was more incredulous than angry. At least for now.
"And that gives you the right to tell me how I'm supposed to run my family?" Aquinas asked. "Begone. Bathe your hands in grease or roll about in the mud, whatever it is a Muggle-studying fool spends his time doing."
When he tried to turn back to Lucius, Harry stepped between them, forcing Aquinas to keep looking at him. The man growled. His wife's eyes were growing rounder with each action Harry took. Maybe he should have explained what he planned to do a bit more accurately that morning. But then he wouldn't have gotten to see her gape at him in such an adorable way, so this was probably the better choice.
"A family isn't something you run," Harry said. "It's supposed to be something you nurture. Parents shouldn't look at what kids can get them. You're supposed to be the one providing. So I'm telling you now, don't sell your daughters off. It's a mistake as a father, as the lord of your house, and as a man."
Harry's pupils shot to the corner of his eye as soon as Aquinas' shoulder tensed. He stayed complete still as the blow came across his body, catching him on the cheek. There was a throbbing feeling. Someone on the platform screeched. Blood dripped along Harry's chin, from the corner of his mouth down to the end of his jaw. Strangely, it was Aquinas Greengrass who hissed in pain, cradling his right hand. Harry glanced at it.
"Not used to throwing punches?"
"Anastasia, you'll collect the girls."
Aquinas turned and marched away. Anastasia silently stared at Harry, trying to understand why he had done that. She gleaned no clues from his face.
Harry looked to the side, eyeing Lucius from head to toe. He received a similar look in return.
"Hard at work protecting Hogwarts, I see," Lucius said.
Harry smiled. "You could say that."
He turned and left in a different direction than Aquinas. Instead of heading for the Apparition Point, he crossed the intangible barrier into the Muggle portion of King's Cross. Soon after, he stopped, extending his tongue. Despite having blood on his face, his lip wasn't split at all. Harry reached up, plucking a fingernail off the surface of his tongue.
It wasn't a clipping, either. He held the entire nail, torn free from its usual place with a burst of magic. Aquinas Greengrass was fortunate no one noticed the blood dripping off his hand before he fled. Not that Harry cared one way or the other.
He produced a small ziplock bag from one of his coat's many pockets, tucked the nail away inside, then stowed the baggie back in the pocket it came from. He whistled to himself as he walked off, pondering which fireplace would be the best one to make a call from.
O-O-O
A day later, on the twenty second of December, Harry's head appeared from the hearth in Tonks' cozy apartment, catching the girl in the middle of breakfast.
He had to say her name three times before she jumped to her feet, leaving behind half-eaten cereal. The groggy look she was wearing vanished. Her hands found her crinkled Auror robes, patting down creases.
"Do you always eat in those?" Harry asked. It was a quarter-till ten in the morning. A bit late for breakfast.
"All-nighter," Tonks grunted. "Someone bashed in the window of Knockturn's biggest potion seller, stole all the stock that they had. Scrimgeour has the whole department on it because he thinks it's a cover. Stage a robbery so they can pretend they didn't sell to Death Eaters— But I'm fine!" She said this suspiciously loud, with one eyelid twitching from lack of sleep. "What did you need? Is it Order business?"
"Not yet," Harry said. "I had a quick favor to ask this afternoon."
"This afternoon?"
"You'll have time for a nap," Harry promised. He'd been in her shoes enough times to know what she wanted to hear. "There's a staff meeting this afternoon. It's nothing important, but attendance is mandatory, and I was really hoping to go see the opening of this exhibit at the British Museum. It's all about kitchen innovations over the last hundred years, and I can't stand the thought of missing it.
"Right…" Tonks said.
"Could you fill in for me at the staff meeting? You wouldn't need to say anything. Just sit there wearing my face.
"I don't know," Tonks said. "I might get called into the office later. It's a bit difficult—"
"I'll owe you a favor."
Suddenly, she didn't look sleepy. "What kind of favor?"
"Anything." He trusted Tonks not to ask him to do something heinous, so he was comfortable being open-ended. "Just ask, and I'll do it—"
She didn't give him a chance to finish. "What time is this meeting?"
O-O-O
Daphne looked around the room. She was wearing nicer robes than she ever had in her life. They were new, and had been awaiting her on her bed when she arrived home from school. Now, as the sun set on the first full day of break, she was wearing them along with a heavy layer of makeup. Her father had told her to prepare "As if for a ball." He hadn't said what, instead of a ball, she was getting ready for.
He was wearing nice robes as well. The entire family was too well-dressed for a night at home, though her sister and mother's outfits didn't come close to the luxury Daphne was exuding. She spared a thought for the unfinished sketch of a bird in flight that she'd been forced to stow in her desk when her father came searching for her.
"What are we waiting for?" Daphne asked.
Aquinas was leaning against the wall. His arms were crossed and his foot was tapping. "Your husband."
"My…" For once, Daphne was at a loss. "I'm not engaged."
Her father barely spared her a look. When he did it was calculative, judging her face. "You are now."
Daphne turned quickly to the rest of her family. It had been odd that her father split them apart. He insisted on Daphne sitting alone on the couch when he gathered them all here. Astoria and Anastasia were in chairs across from her. Daphne's younger sister was looking almost as surprised as Daphne felt. A silent plea to Astoria to speak up was rejected when Astoria averted her gaze.
"Who?" Daphne turned back to her father. "Blaise?"
The derisive laugh answered that quickly. Daphne tried again. "Draco?"
"That will be your sister's match, once Lucius agrees."
Astoria's wide-eyed expression confirmed this was the first she heard of that. Daphne latched onto a bit of hope.
"Once it's agreed? So our marriages are not confirmed—"
"Hers isn't. Yours is," said Aquinas. "He's a suitable partner. I've heard he makes a tidy sum working for his father. He's being groomed to take over the department in the future."
Daphne's mouth was dry. "He's out of school?"
Her father's fierce look told her it was a ridiculous question. Ultimately, he did not even answer it.
"Tonight will be your first meeting," he said. "His name is Virgil Yaxley. You will make a good impression, Daphne. I'll accept nothing less."
"He's coming here." Daphne's voice was a whisper.
"Any moment now," said her father.
Daphne looked again at her sister, though she knew Astoria was as helpless as she was. It was no use anyway. Her little sister's head was awash with fantasies of a wedding to Draco Malfoy, who for all his faults was handsome enough and close to her age. If not for her fine motor control, Daphne's fingers would have been trembling. The timing of this worried her as much as the mention of his age. The Yaxleys were a Death Eater family. This was her father's way of picking them a side, and she was the offering.
She turned to her mother. Daphne's eyes were pleading. Anastasia didn't avoid her the way that Astoria had. She looked straight back at Daphne, which somehow made it worse.
Because Daphne realized that her Mom was as helpless as she and Astoria were. Anastasia couldn't stop this. She had married a man who would not take her 'no' as an answer, especially on the matter of marrying their daughter to another man like him. Daphne forgot to breathe, then breathed very fast. The family house elf, Minny, appeared in the doorway, leaning her head in.
"There be guests here," she said softly.
Aquinas smiled.
"Come, Daphne. It's time."
He did not notice that the elf spoke in plural.
Daphne followed him. Their manor had never felt so big, but when the front door came into view she wished they could walk forever.
She looked at the carpet as her father opened the door, smiling. "Welcome— who are you?"
Daphne might've worried the fifty year old man on their front step was her planned match, if not for his red Auror robes and the badge fixed to his chest. Behind him were four more Aurors. He cleared his throat, making a thick moustache on his top lip bristle.
"Aquinas Greengrass?" he asked.
"I asked who you are! What are you doing on my property?"
"I'm Auror Savage," said the man. Daphne noticed that the moment her father raised his voice, Savage had subtly drawn his wand from a hidden holster beneath his sleeve. "I'll ask one more time. Are you Aquinas Greengrass?"
"Of course I am—"
Savage didn't let him finish.
"You're under arrest for the murder of Virgil Yaxley. For the sake of your health and the mental state of your family, I advise you to come quietly."