Sunday, 1 September 1991
Narcissa Malfoy nee Black was having a decidedly odd day. Ever since they'd gone to Diagon Alley for school supplies her son Draco had been acting … strange. Muttering under his breath about grandfathers and Lords and lightning in a manner oddly reminiscent of Kreacher, her birth family's prehistoric house elf. Now, Draco was standing in front of the floo entirely packed and ready to go at 9:30.
Draco had never been ready to go anywhere more than five minutes in advance, let alone an entire hour.
She wasn't sure if she should question the behaviour or just let it play out.
One would be better parenting, the other would be much more entertaining and while she often strived to be a good parent, her life was sorely lacking entertainment.
"Draco, dear," she said, trying to keep her tone even and her voice impassive. "What time were you hoping to leave for the train?"
"When does the platform open?"
"Technically ten o'clock but very few people get there until half ten."
"But we could get there at ten?"
"Certainly, though would you humour your mother by having a cup of tea before we depart? I won't see you until Yule break and here you are itching to flee."
Draco thought it over as if he actually had a choice other than obeying a Daughter of the House of Black before letting out a rather dramatic sigh and throwing himself onto the nearby couch with a huff, "we can have tea."
"Thank you, darling," Narcissa said, turning all the way away to hide the breath of laughter she was unable to keep in. Today seemed to only be getting more odd.
* * *
"Harrison!" Arcturus yelled down the hall, a move so undignified he could feel several generations of ancestors turning in their graves. "Are you ready to go? I'd like to get there before the masses!"
"Just a minute!" Harry yelled back, equally undignified and equally distressing for the Blacks that had come before. "I can't find my jumper!"
Arcturus just knew, knew it in his bones, that Harry was not talking about one of the several very nice jumpers they'd purchased in Paris but, rather, was talking about the ratty old quidditch sweater that he'd scarcely parted with since finding it at Potter Manor. What's worse, Arcturus wasn't planning to correct him. He could almost hear his father's wails about how far the House had fallen that the Heir was about to tumble onto the Hogwarts Express wearing jeans and a hoodie only to be sorted Gryffindor at the other end. The mere thought made Arcturus grin.
"Is it possible that you're not actually the grandfather I grew up with but, instead, are some body double and the original Arcturus Black was snatched by aliens?" Sirius asked, observing his grandfather's slightly mad smile with some mixture of apprehension and humour.
"You just weren't as adorable as Harrison," Arcturus shrugged, a teasing glint in his steel grey eyes. "He keeps me young, you made me go grey."
"Charming."
"I try."
"You're aware that if Cissa sees you smiling like that on the platform she'll ask if you've been possessed, right?"
"I think my darling Narcissa will find my change in continence refreshing."
"I think my mother is going to come back from the dead to kill us all if every remaining Black starts flitting about smiling and cavorting with Gryffindors."
"Are you sure you haven't been possessed?" Arcturus asked, raising a greying eyebrow at his grandson.
Sirius paused for a minute before shaking his head rather like a wet dog and scrunching his nose up in disgust, "I just sounded like Walburga. Someone kill me. Please. Put me out of my misery, I beg of you."
"Anyone ever told you you're dramatic, Papa?" Harry asked, strolling into the room in the exact outfit Arcturus had assumed he'd be wearing; (blessedly, properly fitting) light wash jeans, white converse high tops that were somehow already beat up even though they'd been purchased a mere two weeks prior, what appeared to be a plain t-shirt but was more than likely one of Sirius' infernal band t-shirts, and James Potter's quidditch hoodie that was at least two sizes too big with the sleeves rolled up just enough that they weren't covering his hands.
He had a dark brown leather satchel over one shoulder which hopefully contained his school robes, shrunken trunk, and owl cage (they'd sent Hedwig on ahead so she wouldn't have to spend nine hours cooped up on the Express) along with the veritable feast of snacks that Kreacher had prepared the night before. Arcturus was glad to spot the flash of leather around Harry's right wrist that indicated he was using a wand holster rather than stuffing his wand in his back pocket like an idiot. He also noticed the glint of silver attached to Harry's belt indicating he had a hidden sheath with the Black Family dagger Sirius had gifted him for his 9th birthday.
"How many daggers do you currently have on your person?" Sirius asked instead of deigning his son with a real response.
"Only two," Harry said.
"Two?" Arcturus found himself asking, not entirely sure he actually wanted the answer.
"Black," Harry said, patting his hip and confirming Arcturus' earlier assumption, "and Peverell," he added, pulling up his right pant leg and revealing a classic ankle holster where a rather ornate ritual dagger was sheathed.
"Why do you need a ritual dagger at a school that famously doesn't teach rituals?" Sirius asked, looking more amused than anything.
"Death told me to bring it and I sort of live by the philosophy that one shouldn't go around questioning deities that stroll about with massive, very sharp scythes."
"That's a respectable philosophy."
"Thank you, I sure think so."
"Enough, you two," Remus cut in, wrapping his arm around Sirius' shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Is everyone ready to go?"
"I'm ready," Harry said, turning to walk toward the chamber where Merlin had finally connected a floo after refusing to do so for the last several centuries.
"I think he's planning to leave without us," Remus laughed, dragging Sirius along as he followed Harry out of the room.
"Forgetting someone?" Arcturus asked, raising his voice slightly so they could hear him as they walked down the hall.
"MERLIN!" Harry yelled at the top of his lungs, causing Remus and Sirius to recoil slightly from the sheer volume, "WE'RE LEAVING!"
"COMING!" Merlin yelled back, showing everyone where, exactly, Harry had picked up that behaviour.
* * *
Narcissa had been right.
This day was only getting odder.
She was currently standing on Platform 9 ¾ a full hour early because her son, who has never been early for anything in his entire life, all but launched himself through the floo head first as soon as the clock struck 10.
That wasn't the oddest bit, though.
No, what was really throwing her for a loop was the sight of her grandfather, the esteemed Arcturus Black, looking at a child she'd never seen before like he hung the moon and stars.
She'd never, in her 36 years of life, seen her grandfather so much as smile, let alone look that tender. Especially in public.
She looked around the platform carefully like it'd give her some sign that she'd been dropped into a parallel universe but no such sign appeared.
"Cissa, darling!" Arcturus said, almost yelling as he grinned and waved from down the platform.
Because there was no other response, she waved back, certain that her confusion was clear on her face.
It only got weirder when her grandfather let out a jovial laugh before beckoning her over, "I'd like to introduce you to your uncle and my heir."
That's when she caught sight of the man standing slightly behind her grandfather and immediately realized that the news about her cousin's death in Azkaban had been greatly exaggerated.
It took all her training and every ounce of her rather formidable willpower to not outwardly react.
"Of course," she said evenly, "come, Draco, let's go speak to your grandfather."
When she got no response, she looked over her shoulder and found her son staring at the boy stood next to Arcturus, muttering once again about lords and lightning. She was starting to think he'd suffered a head injury.
"Heir Malfoy," the boy said, a kind smile on his face and a distinct lilt to his voice that she couldn't quite place, "it's lovely to see you again."
In the moment it took Draco to respond, Narcissa analysed the child standing before her. She was rather sure he was a first year otherwise she'd have heard about her grandfather dropping some strange child off at the Express. He was quite tall for his age, at least a couple inches taller than Draco. He had light brown hair that appeared to be slightly sun bleached, an assumption that his tanned skin and smattering of summer freckles corroborated. His hair was messy in an oddly familiar way but it was the grin on his face that finally allowed her to place who this was.
How the fuck did Arcturus Black end up associated with Harry Potter?
The only answer to that question was Sirius.
She'd learned long ago that when inexplicable hijinks were afoot, the most likely culprit was her darling cousin. And it appeared the Potter proclivity for joining in on Sirius' more insane schemes was hereditary.
"Lord Potter," Draco greeted. "Good to see you as well."
Suddenly, everything made sense. Draco had grown up, like every wizarding child had, hearing stories about Harry Potter. No one knew where he'd been hidden following Halloween 1981 but the story the Ministry told only its most trusted advisors was that he'd been spirited away to the Muggle world to be raised by Lily's family. That answer had been rather distressing for the old families; worried about the young heir to a powerful family being left uninformed.
Turns out no one had to worry because he'd apparently been raised by the patriarch of the Black Family.
Her son had somehow learned this information and said information had proceeded to fry his brain.
Wonderful.
"Lady Malfoy," Harry said, turning toward her and pulling her out of her spiralling thoughts, "I'm Harrison Potter-Black, Lord Potter, Heir Black, well met."
"Well met, Lord Potter," she greeted in return. "It's wonderful to finally meet my family's heir."
Up close, she could observe him more closely. The famous lightning bolt scar was true lightning across the right side of his face, much different than the descriptions she'd heard through the grape vine of a small scar at the centre of his forehead. His right eye was almost golden amongst the darker blues and greens while his left eye was more Lily Evans' green with a ring of blue around the outside of the iris. He held himself like a properly trained heir but was dressed like a Muggle child, a rather strange dichotomy, but one that seemed to suit him. She noticed far more than just the Potter and Black rings adorning his fingers and was itching to ask but heard Walburga screeching in the back of her mind that it'd be improper.
She could see pieces of James and Lily in his face but there was also something else entirely. The light coloured hair and the blue eyes didn't come from either of his parents, nor did his accent.
His satchel was stamped in gold with the initials "HP," no middle initial though she was certain his middle name was James. Odd, but not necessarily concerning. Possibly a question for later.
"You mentioned an uncle?" she asked, turning her attention back to her grandfather and raising an eyebrow that told him she didn't believe the cover for a second.
"Yes," Arcturus said, still grinning which was becoming increasingly disconcerting. "Meet my son Arcturus Ares Black, we call him Archer."
"Lovely to meet you," Narcissa said, knowing that the mischievous glint in her cousin's eyes was mirrored in her own. "Fitting, to have one son named for the archer of legend and the younger nicknamed as such."
"Now why'd you have to go and point that out?" Sirius said, nose wrinkled in disgust.
"Two for two," Arcturus laughed, reaching out a hand toward Harry for a high five.
"Did grandfather just laugh?" she asked, knowing she sounded almost distressed as she turned toward her cousin. "And then high five someone?"
"You get used to it," he shrugged. "It really is good to see you again."
"Considering you're here with young Harrison I'm assuming the rumours of your betrayal were as exaggerated as those of your death?" she asked, voice hardly above a whisper but she knew Sirius' keen hearing would pick it up.
"You assume correctly," he responded.
"Then it's really good to see you as well," she said, a fond smile on her face. She'd never been able to buy into the conclusion that Sirius had betrayed the Potters. He was unfailingly loyal to those he saw as family. His parents, sadly, weren't given that distinction. But she knew he'd loved Regulus until the end, very likely still loved him just as fiercely, even though they'd been on separate sides. They were the same in that way; loving siblings they'd been forced to abandon.
She watched as Harry seamlessly pulled Draco into a conversation with her grandfather, watching him out of the corner of his eye as if making sure he felt included. She'd known the child all of five minutes and could tell that he was his mother's son; uniquely kind and deeply loyal. And, if the way Draco was grinning and adding a third bright laugh to the joyous harmony was any indication, he had a sense of humour to rival his father.
But it was more than that, more than those surface level qualities. There was just something about him that made you want to pay attention, something that drew you in. It wasn't a show of power like the Dark Lord and it wasn't promises of peace like Dumbledore, it was something genuine. Something visceral and real and she couldn't wait to see the wizard he'd become.