The time between Boxing Day and New Year's turned out to be rather dull for Harry. His slowly dwindling supply of money served as a good motivation to go job hunting, but as he was now painfully aware, very few places were in the mood to go through the process of hiring someone new over the holidays. There had been one offer, made by the manager of Eyelop's Owl Emporium, but Harry had decided that cleaning out pet cages wasn't really something he wanted to be doing for the foreseeable future. It did make him realize, however, that he probably should be figuring out what kind of job exactly he was looking for, rather than aimlessly replying to every ad in the Prophet .
After thinking about it for a few days and mulling over his qualifications-or lack thereof, Harry came to the inescapable conclusion that he was well and truly screwed. His education at Hogwarts had been thorough, that was true, but he found that other than DADA, he hadn't really enjoyed any other subject enough to develop more than a passing familiarity with it. He also didn't really want to be a teacher, not at Hogwarts, at least. He was sure Dumbledore was already curious, and he was on Moody's radar. There was no need to announce himself by waltzing into the castle and asking for a position as the next DADA teacher. Private tutoring might have been an option, but that idea died a swift death when he remembered that the semester would be starting in a few days, and therefore deprive him of his clientele until the summer.
Before the war had gotten too bad, he'd aspired to become an auror-but that was also out of the question. He would rather not test out his forged documentation by having them scrutinized by the Ministry in detail. Besides, that move would likely also draw attention from people he really didn't need any from at this point. So, it was either wait and see, or keep hunting in the hopes that something that he wouldn't mind doing for the next few months cropped up.
He almost didn't want to head over to the forger's place to pick up his license, knowing full well that he would have to drop his remaining two thousand galleons owed for the apparition license there, but after nearly a week, he couldn't put it off anymore. He would need that license eventually, even if the pile of gold he kept separate from the two thousand kept getting smaller with every meal he ate and every night he spent at the Leaky Cauldron.
Harry stood in front of the door. By now it was cold enough that his breath was visible in the frigid air, and he was glad for the warming charm that kept him and his clothes at a cozy temperature. It certainly explained why wizards only ever wore the same robes no matter what the weather was like. He opened the door without bothering to knock, and walked all the way into the back of the building to the shop. It was empty, but Sabine soon stepped out from the back room, she having been alerted to Harry's presence by the creaking of the front door.
"Harry!" she greeted him warmly. "It's good to see you."
"Good to see you, too," Harry replied politely, though not as warmly as she might have expected. Harry had initially found her personality quite attractive, but in the past weeks, he had realized that encouraging anything more than an acquaintance with the forger's daughter was unwise and perhaps even unfair.
"You've come at just the right time," she told him eagerly. "We just got word from our contact at the Ministry that your license has been registered. It's as real as real can be, and you didn't even have to take the test! When your renewal is due, go in on a busy day, pay the fee, and you'll be bona fide."
"That's great," Harry replied, though not with nearly as much excitement.
"You do know how to apparate, right?" she asked him teasingly.
"Of course." It was the truth. He'd just never gotten around to getting his license in his time, and by the end, there hadn't been anyone around to care that he didn't have one.
"Good. Unless you splinch yourself and let everyone know that you couldn't have passed the test in the first place, no one should be able to tell that it's illegal."
"Unless you tell them," Harry commented, his voice dry enough to convey humor instead of offense.
"Of course not! It wouldn't be good to sell out our own customers, would it?" she replied seriously. There was a slight hesitation and she spoke again."Look, why don't you stay the evening and have dinner with me and my father?"
Harry weighed his options for a moment and then spoke resignedly. "Things could go sour," he told her quietly, bending the truth a little bit. "I'm afraid it might be best for you and your father if we didn't see too much of each other too soon." He almost relented at the brief expression of hurt that flitted across her pretty face, but it vanished almost instantly.
"Of course," she told him neutrally and sadly, though Harry thought he detected a note of understanding in her voice.
"I'm sorry, really I am…" Harry began, only to be interrupted by a nonchalant wave of her hand.
"It's perfectly all right. Let me just get your license."
Harry sighed and nodded as she disappeared through the door again. Sabine returned a minute later, handing him a rolled-up piece of parchment. "There you go. Does that look real enough to you?"
"Sure." Harry glanced down at the item in his hands, not really caring that he couldn't tell if it was a fake or genuine because he'd never seen a real reached into his robes and withdrew a sack of gold.
The forger's daughter took it forlornly, stowing the money underneath the counter. They stood looking at each other, Harry trying to think of something to say to soften the hurt she must be feeling.
"Did your other papers pass muster?" she asked after a few moments of awkward silence.
"Sorry?"
"When all the aurors showed up after you beat that group of snots into a pulp," she reminded him. "If old Moody was there like the paper said he was, I bet you had to show him every document you had on you to avoid getting arrested."
"I got away with showing only the passport," he replied. "Why the curiosity?"
"It's good to know that our work has passed the real test."
"The real test?" Harry asked. It seemed to him that the folks who would order forged documents the most often were the sort that would have run-ins with the law on a regular basis, hence the need for clean forged documents.
Sabine smirked. "It does no good to make an alternate identity for yourself if everyone already knows who you are. Thus, our products aren't really put to the test because it's so obvious that they can't be genuine."
"I guess so," Harry admitted slowly.
Sabine arched an eyebrow. "If there are wanted posters of you all over the place, even the best forged documentation is not going to convince anyone looking at your face that you're someone else."
"Right." Harry suppressed a shudder. By the end there had been wanted posters of him all over Britain. Voldemort had wanted him, really wanted him dead. Even more so than Dumbledore, which was saying something. The Order had thought to create an alternate identity for him at one point, but nothing had come out of it. Harry idly wondered if they would have gone to Sabine and her father for the false documents had they ever had decided to go forward with that plan.
She noticed his brief hesitation. "Are there wanted posters of you posted somewhere?" she asked him suspiciously.
His lack of response caused her to narrow her eyes at him. "Harry?" she asked, a little more harshly than before.
"Oh," he said, doing his best to act startled, wondering for a brief moment if he should tell her to scare her off his trail. He decided against it, in the end, it would likely cause more trouble than it would be worth. "No, I'm not wanted anywhere for anything."
"I see," she said, not quite believing him. And he could tell. He could almost see the doubt in her eyes, and realized that most of her other clients probably were the sort that were wanted somewhere, or maybe even everywhere. She glanced up at him. He didn't strike her as the evil sort, though there was something about him that told her not to cross him. "Why are you on the run, then?" she asked.
"Who said I'm on the run?" Harry replied with a smile. "All I needed was an identity."
"What happened to the real one?"
"I lost it." There was no humor in his tone. The words struck a chord with him, because they were the truth, as far as he could tell. It would be a long time, if ever, before he would be able to reclaim his real name. He might never be able to go back to being Harry Potter, son of James Potter and Lily Evans-Potter, godson of Sirius Black, and adoptive godson of Remus Lupin-the bane of Severus Snape's life and classes. Even if he managed to survive his encounter with Voldemort and somehow succeeded in killing the dark wizard, and then returned to his time, would his life still exist? He didn't know. And it was a long shot, anyway. He wasn't entirely sure that he would survive Voldemort.
The awkward silence grew, until Harry decided that he'd had enough. "I think I had better go." He stood up and started for the front door. Once he reached the door, he paused, his hand on the knob. "I don't know if I'll run into you again, but… thank you for everything."
"Come back if you ever need more help," she called half-heartedly, not sure herself if she wanted to see him again. Though she did have to admit, Harry Ashworth struck her as being the good sort.
The next morning began just the same as every other morning he had spent in the past with the exception of the horrid experience resultant of being woken by Bellatrix Black. He rolled out of bed at the extremely early hour of nine and trudged to the bathroom. This day, though, he realized with a start that his personal habits had gone down the drain ever since his capture and subsequent travel to the past. Whether it had been brought on by the musings on the last few years of his life the day before, or something else, he didn't know, but he couldn't help but realize that taking up residence in a time of relative peace was causing him to pick up habits that would have gotten him killed in his own time. Waking up late was no good. Then worse, sleeping heavily-which led to being disoriented for a few critical seconds after waking up. Moody would have had his head, if he knew of Harry's negligence.
Resolving to do better in the future, Harry completed his morning routine and wandered downstairs to pick up breakfast, though he quickly realized that today wouldn't be quite the same as usual, for sitting at his table and flipping through a copy of the Daily Prophet was the object of his nightmares - Bellatrix Black. He hadn't seen her since the gathering at No. 12 Grimmauld Place, and he had really hoped not to see her again for at least several weeks.
As he crept closer to his usual table, he could see empty plates stacked up in front of her, as if she'd helped herself to breakfast while waiting for him. He ducked his head down and started to turn around, but she glanced up from the paper and spotted him before he could move away. "I bet your mother enjoyed having to haul you out of bed every morning in order for you to ever get anything done," she drawled acerbically.
"I wouldn't know," Harry muttered angrily before he could stop himself.
Bellatrix arched her eyebrows and was formulating a question just as Harry was trying to come up with an excuse to disappear from the Leaky Cauldron until she was gone. He briefly entertained the thought of just apparating away - it was frightfully rude, but he didn't feel too much compunction against it. The pub, though, wasn't particularly empty at this time, and it would probably draw unwanted attention. Neither of them got the chance to finish their thoughts because they were interrpupted by Tom's arrival, bearing Harry's usual breakfast plates.
Not wanting to waste the food he had already paid for with his rapidly dwindling supply of galleons, Harry opted to sit down and eat, doing his best to ignore the young woman at the table. After a few moments of poorly disguised attempts at prodding him for information, which he roundaboutly ignored in favor of shovelling the food into his mouth, the young Black witch realized that prodding him for information at this point would likely prove fruitless. She resolved to settle back and file the slip-up for later use and questioning - right now, there were things to discuss, things that she'd come to the pub for.
"So," she finally began after watching him stuff his face for a while. "Do you eat like a pig on purpose in the hopes of scaring me off with your despicable display of table manners, or are you just in that much of a hurry?"
Harry merely grunted an unintelligible reply, causing Bellatrix to smirk. "Because I know you aren't that uncultured. You did just fine at the feast the other night. So you can cut the act, Ashworth. You're not fooling anyone."
Harry finally pulled his face from his food. "Don't you ever shut up? Do you enjoy nagging just for the sake of it? Why in Merlin's name are you even here in the first place?" He couldn't help it, despite his best efforts to keep things to himself, he kept slipping up, and he was starting to get irritated at himself for it. He knew that the more he let slip, by accident or on purpose, the more she would be intrigued, and the more she would be after him for further information. It could be a useful tool… but it could also be his undoing. He didn't know how much knowledge of the future would change the future, and, much like with Sabine, he didn't want to chance changing too much. The irritation that crept into his voice must have been obvious, because Bellatrix narrowed her eyes dangerously.
"Watch it, Ashworth. I promised my help, but only if it benefits me. Keep snapping at me like that, and I'll take my chances with the other side."
Harry snorted. Right, he thought sarcastically, because that got you so far the last time around . He carefully kept that comment silent, however. Having his mouth full of food also helped the fact that he couldn't say anything in reply.
Bellatrix seemed content without interruption, because the angry look in her eyes faded after a brief moment. "For your information, I've been keeping an eye on the classifieds in the Prophet for potential job openings."
"I can do that, myself, you know. That's not exactly much help," he told her curtly. If that was why she'd come seeking him out today, she was wasting her time. He didn't want to spend longer with her than he absolutely had to, and that included his job hunt. So far, it didn't seem like she had anything important for him to go off on, which meant that rude or not, he would be taking his leave after he finished eating.
The young witch seemed a bit irritated with his nonchalant brush-off of her offer, but she pressed on. "They don't seem to have anything respectable. An all-mighty time traveler such as you probably shouldn't pick up a career as a dishwasher at a pub."
"They've got magic for that," Harry grunted in reply between two mouthfuls, idly recalling the times he had visited the Burrow and watched Ron's mother work her magic in the kitchen - literally. He glared at her as he fully digested what she'd said. "And would you mind saying that a little louder? I don't think the rest of Diagon Alley heard you yet."
She glared right back, not backing down from his stare, though he caught a brief flicker of uncertainty in her eyes that vanished so quickly he wasn't sure if he'd imagined it. "Ashworth," she said very slowly, almost dangerously, "I could stand on the table and loudly declare all day to anyone who'd listen that you're a time traveler, and no one would believe me."
"Don't be so sure about that," Harry growled, thinking of Dumbledore, and Moody, and Voldemort, and all the attention that he really did not need to attract right now.
Bellatrix ignored his comment, tucked a strand of her long black hair behind her ear, and flipped open the copy of the Prophet she had been reading. "Nothing in here, but you can have a look if you want." She watched as Harry picked up the paper and made a grand show of hiding himself behind it, deliberately shutting her out. Her irritation carried over into her tone. "I've been asking around, though, and there are a few places that might at least take a look at you. I was thinking," she hissed, finally annoyed enough to yank the paper out of his hands, "I was thinking that we might be able to visit some of them today. If you keep acting like this, however…"
Harry sighed, grabbed her hand, and un-twisted the pages from between her fingers. He folded the page over with exaggerated care, and then presented her his find. "The Knight Bus needs a conductor," he told her. It wasn't anything grand, but it was the first offer he felt comfortable with accepting. Maybe he would even get to meet Ernie again. He remembered the driver fondly, from his first - and thus far, only - trip with the Knight Bus. He supposed that Stan Shunpike would be too young, or perhaps not even born yet, for having a job.
"Are you kidding me?" Bellatrix disagreed with a sneer. "That job is for slugs. Aspiring young morons like yourself ought to aim higher."
He arched an eyebrow at her coolly. "I thought I told you to stop calling me that." After a short moment he determined that he wouldn't blow his lid at her namecalling again. She likely just did it to get a rise out of him, and it had worked, for the most part, and caused him to reveal things in his heated responses that he hadn't wanted her to know. It had taken him a while to realize that, and once he had, he did, indeed, feel like an utter idiot for missing such a simple concept.
"You told me to, but that doesn't mean I have to listen to you, Ashworth." Harry got the distinct feeling her snappish reply referred to more than just him telling her to stop calling him an idiot.
He decided not to grace that with a reply, and steered the conversation back on topic. "What exactly is your problem with it? I could just ride the bus all night and see the comings and goings of people I'm interested in."
"Were you fighting a war or managing the magical accident ward at St. Mungo's in the future, Ashworth? Think. Who uses the Knight Bus?"
"I've used it before," he replied defensively. Once, he added silently.
"Yeah? And did you use it because you preferred it over apparating, flooing, or using a portkey? I bet you had no choice. Did you meet anyone noteworthy on the bus?" Not waiting for a reply, she continued, "Ashworth, the only people who use the Knight Bus are squibs, people who have splinched themselves one too many times, or who've crashed their brooms into the ground. Further, they're likely to spend the entire trip sleeping. Way to keep an eye on someone and figure out what they're doing if they're bloody sleeping . You want to keep an eye on people of consequence, get yourself a better job."
"There are people of consequence, and then there's people I'm interested in," Harry argued. Though, in the confines of his own mind, he had to agree with her assessment. Most of the people who were the major players, or would become the major players, were wizards or witches of notable power - not the sort of people who were likely to crash a broom or splinch themselves.
"And do the people you're interested in ride the Knight Bus on a regular basis?" she asked smugly, already secure in her knowledge of the answer.
Harry ground his teeth together, hating to have to admit defeat to her. "No."
"Great. Now that we've established the fact that you need a job where you may associate with the folks whom you have an interest in, we can get somewhere and narrow down the list I have taken the liberty to daw up. Now, where are the majority of the people you're interestd in located at?"
"Probably Hogwarts," Harry admitted slowly, trying to think of everyone he might want to watch out for. Oddly, it seemed that everyone he knew or wanted to know was either at Hogwarts, or somehow associated with Hogwarts, the Board of Governors, or the students at Hogwarts. Some, like Orion and Cygnus Black, weren't affiliated with the school, of course, but he was already connected via Bellatrix, and they knew of him now. Voldemort's future recruits were students at Hogwarts right now. Everyone who would be fighting Voldemort was either attending Hogwarts, teaching at Hogwarts, or affiliated with someone who taught at Hogwarts. In fact, now that he thought about it, pretty much everyone and everything with the exception of Voldemort revolved around Hogwarts. It struck him as odd - surely everything that happened in Britain didn't happen at Hogwarts… right? I think I need to get a social life, Harry concluded. He had spent so much time at Hogwarts that it sure seemed like the world revolved around the ancient castle.
"Well, you're out of luck there," Bellatrix told him. "It's the middle of the term and they're not missing any professors, staff, groundskeepers, or house elves."
Harry nodded quietly, ignoring her implication that Harry might take up a house elf's duties, and considered his options associated with Hogwarts. At first glance, it seemed like an incredibly stupid idea. He had resolved to keep a low profile, changing as little as possible with the exception of ridding the world of Voldemort, but going to Hogwarts for a job would catapult him straight into the spotlight, especially after his encounters with Moody and Dumbledore. He wasn't sure he was on their watch list yet, but he didn't want to risk it.
Of course, that could work both ways. If he was at Hogwarts, he could keep a close eye on everyone there, subtly direct things to his liking while under the guise of… of what, exactly? A teacher? A groundskeeper, like Hagrid? If he could convince Dumbledore to hire him and that there wasn't anything suspicious about him, Harry could potentially even nudge and orchestrate the war on Voldemort before the dark wizard ever rose to power in the first place. Besides, Harry thought, the best place to hide something is in plain sight, right?
"I don't suppose you have any idea how much freedom the staff officially has," Harry asked, trying to appear as casual as possible. "I mean, if I were to work at Hogwarts, do you think I'd be free to run errands and leave the castle grounds in the evenings or on the weekends?"
"I already told you, there's no openings," she reminded him acidly.
"Just answer the question." That earned him a harsh glare and a suspicious look from her, which he ignored.
"Fine," she growled after a second. "The staff, as far as I know, is free to leave and do whatever they want as long as they're not teaching a class, though if you're going to take to disappearing at odd hours without being discreet about it, people are going to find it rather strange." She arched an eyebrow. "I'm curious. You know a lot about everything else, including the rest of the school. I thought you went there?"
Harry fought down the urge to shoot back the first reply that came to his mind. Of course he'd gone to Hogwarts, he wanted to shout back, but he realized that was exactly what she was after. She was still prodding him for information. "You didn't mention caretakers," he said, carefully ignoring her question. "Does Hogwarts have a caretaker?" Perhaps Filch had not been hired yet.
"Filch," she practically spat. "I suppose you could tie him up and lock him in a dungeon somewhere and use Polyjuice if you were desperate - but that would involve ingesting his hair. And you didn't answer my question."
Harry grimaced. "I think I just threw up in my mouth," he said, trying to rid himself of the thought of drinking Polyjuice with anything of Filch's in it, all the while deliberately ignoring her barb.
Bellatrix frowned at him, but decided to drop it. "Someone ought to sneak my cousin and that Potter brat a dose of that," she told him, changing the subject, herself. "They'd never be able to look at Polyjuice the same way again."
She eyed him curiously. In the few days since she'd seen him he had clammed up - whether it was because something significant had happened, or because he'd simply wizened up, it didn't matter, but she realized that pushing him for more information before he was ready to give it up would merely alienate him. No, the way to extract information from this enigmatic young man was through subterfuge and reading between the lines. She did keep up her questioning, although with a lot less luster than before, just in case. This was too valuable an opportunity to be wasted by careless planning or sloppy execution, traits that were not acceptable for any Black.
"Well, if there aren't any openings at Hogwarts, what about close around? Some place in Hogsmeade?"
Bellatrix eyed him curiously. He had seemed reluctant to draw attention to himself earlier, so the sudden change caught her by surprise. "There are a few potential listings there. As soon as you're finished we can go."
Harry smirked; he just couldn't help it at the eager tone she was trying - and failing - to hide. Despite her vehement declarations to the contrary and threats to walk away, he now knew he had her hooked, at least for a while. She was interested, and her upbringing to always seek out the best advantage for herself would keep her interested at least until she had more informtion on what he had to offer. She wouldn't walk away or jeopardize her chances with him until she knew what she was throwing away. Of course she would probably try to double-cross him later on, or maybe even play both sides of the conflict, but for now he wasn't going to worry about that. With any luck, there wouldn't be another side in this conflict.
Although he really didn't want her around for now, it would probably be a good opportunity to find out more about the way business was done by the pureblood families, before Voldemort's xenophobia had transformed them into a group of self-absorbed, egocentrical rich bastards. He glanced down at his now cold food.
"I think I'm done."
Romulus Malfoy was the patriarch of the Malfoy family, father of Lucius Malfoy, and heir to one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain. The Malfoy family had been one of many who had seen a radical decline of their wealth and power in the aftermath of two world wars that had left much of the wizarding world in ruins. Years of frittering away their family fortune had left them ill prepared for the toll the reconstruction would take on their coffers - but Romulus Malfoy prided himself on having almost single-handedly re-established the Malfoys as one of the leading families of the wizarding world in Britain, both financially and politically. Much of that was due to his personal connections, and his innate brilliance in using those connections. By all rights, he was a man who knew an opportunity when it came his way. He knew how and when to take it to maximize its benefit to himself, and how to come off clean afterwards.
That kind of finesse and aptitude was what had earned him the attention of a family even older, nobler, and wealthier than his own - the Blacks. Unlike the Malfoys, the Blacks hadn't been as badly affected by the cost of the reconstruction, so much so that it had actually resurrected rumors that they were in possession of a version of the philosopher's stone - the ancient, fabled dream of alchemists that would turn lead into gold. Their seemingly bottomless coffers certainly seemed to support that rumor.
In an ironic turn of events, though, the man who was destined to be Draco Malfoy's grandfather was an avid admirer of Muggles. That wasn't born of any tolerance or kind feelings on his part, though, nor was it due to any sympathies he held for Muggleborn witches and wizards. Like most purebloods, Romulus Malfoy believed himself to be something better than the average wizard and certainly of more value than a mere Muggle - he was just better at hiding it his feelings, because, unlike most of the youth Harry would encounter in his time, he had mastered this simple thing called "tact." No, his admiration for Muggles had an entirely different reason, one he wasn't afraid to admit: their capacity for inventing tools of destruction despite the absence of any magic whatsoever.
As he walked through the lobby of Gringotts, negligently returning the greetings of various acquaintances and goblins he passed, he took a little time to admire the architecture and lavish design of the goblin bank. It was pristine now, as it had been for hundreds of years before, and it was hard to imagine now that, only some thirty years before, the place had been in shambles, littered with debris and bodies of dead goblins and wizards - an unfortunate side-effect of a German bomb that had hit the heart of London. Being invisible hadn't done much for Diagon Alley.
Malfoy loved money and power. The bank and the Malfoy fortune represented the wealth he wanted for himself, but the power… he had to give that to the Muggles, however grudgingly. Despite any feelings of superiority, the effects of World War II, which he'd witnessed as a younger man, had left him with the sober realization that Muggles were in the very real position of being able to wipe out the wizarding world. In fact, the Muggles by now were very much capable of wiping themselves off the face of the planet, with the wizarding world an unfortunate piece of collateral damage.
Walking past the lobby filled with goblin tellers and wizards and witches conducting their business, he made his way into a sideroom that was kept in a separate part of the bank for the convenience of the more important customers. Malfoy was no stranger to the conference rooms, but today was the first time he had been summoned to this special lounge for a private meeting with the Black patriarch.
Upon stepping into the lounge, he discovered it to be crowded, much more so than he was accustomed to. A man was seated behind a newspaper in a chair that had been wedged into a corner, while a mother - he suspected she might be one of those lousy Parkinsons - was busy distributing little bottles of pumpkin juice provided by the bank to each of her children. Malfoy cringed. This was a less than ideal setting for the private meeting he supposed Orion Black had in mind. Trying to avoid looking suspicious, he coolly walked over to a rack of magazines, grabbed the first one he could find, and sat down, hoping that the commotion would be over soon.
It didn't take long, but it seemed to him like an eternity until the mother had left, taking her gaggle of chilren with her. Carefully eyeing the room over the top of his magazine, Malfoy glanced at the man in the corner who steadfastly refused to leave. When the room was quiet, leaving the two of them alone, the door clanged shut, and Malfoy could hear the clicks and whirrs of the locks as they snapped into place. Then the man in the corner lowered the newspaper he had been reading.
It was Orion Black.
"The price of discretion can be rather high sometimes," the old man commented, a twisted smile on his lips.
Malfoy was content to nod and return a similar smile. The Black patriarch had always been nearly impossible for him to read, probably the produce of decades of experience playing the games of politics, intrigue, and war. He did like to think, though, that his friendship with the older man went deeply enough that he knew what Orion Black was thinking about current affairs, but deep down he always held himself back. Playing the games of the old families was not something to be taken lightly, but at the very least he was secure in the knowledge that, unlike most others in his position, Orion Black was, above all, an honest man. He was honorable, and Malfoy respected that.
"It would appear that, yet again, a group of our own youth has been involved in another disturbance," the ancient Black family head commented, with a note of resignation in his tone. He passed over the paper he had been reading. "I am not pleased, but most especially, I am worried about their defense of their actions."
Malfoy nodded and skimmed through the copy of the Daily Prophet of two days ago. The front page held a brief article about a fight that had broken out at a wizarding pub in Cardiff. Apparently, a group of young pureblood wizards and witches, mostly fresh out of Hogwarts, had engaged a group of Muggleborn in a fight that had some semi-serious results-a few of the combatants ending up in the hospital. It reeked of people getting drunk and stupid, Malfoy thought to himself, and he voiced that thought.
"On the surface," Orion agreed, reclaiming his newspaper. "Yet this is not the first, nor will it be the last of this sort of occurrence. There is something brewing, and I do not like it. It does not bode well for us."
Malfoy knew that the elder wizard was taking the matter very seriously. Though he couldn't quite put his finger on what was causing the head of one of the most powerful family in the British wizarding world so much concern, he ventured a guess anyway. "You mentioned you don't like their excuses. Are they blaming Muggleborn again?"
Orion Black nodded gravely. "They are," he confirmed.
"That's not the only thing that's concerning you, though," Malfoy noted. "This is only a series of small disturbances. Nothing dramatic about it."
"Except that all of the youth who were apprehended said nearly the exact same thing in their defense."
So that was the sticking point. Malfoy picked up on it as soon as the words had left Black's mouth. "You think someone is organizing them? What would be the point?"
The elder wizard's mouth twisted in a wry smile. "Matters are escalating. It was fine as long as they feared the Muggleborn. That fear turned to anger, and someone has managed to turn that anger into hate."
"So… what do you think is happening? I can't see someone inciting a riot against Muggles and Muggleborn at this time, not so soon after what happened thirty years ago." Malfoy shuddered at the memories. Back then, the general wizarding populace had no concept of airplanes and bombs and missiles and guns, so when the sky had thundered with the roar of engines overhead, when the heavens had lit up with fire from duelling air forces, when it had begun raining explosive shells, they hadn't known what to do. And they had paid a bitter price for that ignorance.
"Youngsters forget… especially those things they have never experienced, themselves," Black said gravely. "There have been incidents not reported in the paper. Of violence against Muggles."
Malfoy knew that the Black family had its sources, and by now he knew to trust those sources. "The Ministry covered them up?"
Black nodded slowly. "There have been a small number of deaths linked to a group of wizards that have thus far remained anonymous. None have been caught."
"You're afraid of a war between Muggles and the wizarding world," Malfoy deducted, appalled at himself for not making the connection sooner. His counterpart's silence confirmed his suspicions. "What would be the point?"
"Is there ever a point in hatred?" Orion Black asked in return. "The youth who have not seen the horrors of war, and only known the discomfort of their own lives, they have always been quick to place the blame on someone else. Something is feeding on it."
"I see. And if they continue, if tensions between us and Muggleborn and Muggles escalate…"
"It could lead to the destruction of our world," Black finished for him.
And it truly could, Malfoy knew that the Black patriarch wasn't exaggerating. After the war, the wizarding world had begun investing a lot more time in catching up with what went on in the Muggle world, and they had come to a sobering conclusion: Muggle weapons were potentially far more powerful than they had believed could ever be made, so powerful that some of their weapons could not be guarded against with spells. When the Ministry had first been introduced to guns after the war by their liaison with the British government, the aurors had scoffed at the thought of something so small and light being a threat to them.
That had lasted only until they found out that no one could react fast enough to put up a defensive spell to protect themselves from a bullet flying at them at several thousand feet a second. And even if they could, the speed of the bullet was such that the energy behind it was much more than they had ever anticipated. It all boiled down to basic physics: the kinetic energy a shield had to absorb to protect a wizard scaled with the square of the velocity, something Muggle arms made great use of.
It became even worse then it came to the bombs that had laid waste to much of the wizarding world, without the Germans ever knowing about it. A single five-hundred pound bomb, it was calculated, could deliver a million times the energy a simple Protego shield had the ability to absorb. If they wanted to protect a circle just twenty yards in diameter, the required shield spell would need to be ninety-four million times more powerful than the shield spell taught at Hogwarts - something that was beyond the capability of any wizard, even Merlin himself.
And the worst thing? It didn't stop there. Muggles were always advancing this wondrous thing they called technology, that allowed them to devise bigger bombs that caused yet more destruction. Missiles, that could deliver those bombs from hundreds of miles away, at speeds that no wizard could react to. But the most frightening thing had been when it was revealed that Muggles had mastered the power of the atom, creating radiation that no shield spell known to the wizarding world could protect against.
Right now, Muggles held the ultimate weapons. And while he didn't particularly like them, Romulus Malfoy was a smart enough man to realize when the other party held the trump card - and he gave the Muggles his grudging respect for that.
"We are blind," Black said suddenly. "We can see the symptoms, but finding and understanding the source of this unpleasantness is beyond us. We need someone who can jump into the water and navigate the currents for us. We need someone to watch our youth and tell us what is wrong.
"I see," Malfoy hummed to himself as he thought it over. "Someone young… someone the children would respond to, talk to. Maybe even someone this… other force would try to approach, try to recruit."
"We would have to be absolutely sure of his loyalty, intelligence, and prowess," Black said, adding qualifications.
Malfoy arched an eyebrow. "You already seem to have someone in mind. Someone we could turn to."
Orion Black merely arched an eyebrow, gesturing for his friend to continue speaking.
"Are you sure Ashworth is a good choice?" Malfoy asked. "He's an unknown. Do you think he can be trusted?"
"What do you think about him?"
"He's an intriguing young man and he's made it clear that he's looking for opportunity," Malfoy admitted, "but it all seems a little convenient. He appears right as tensions start to break, and he displays great knowledge of current events with insights that go far beyond those of most people his age."
The Black patriarch nodded slowly. "That is surprising, though not entirely unusual. Not all of our youth are uneducated brutes that resort to violence first."
"Do you think he might be the one who's behind all of this? He certainly appears intelligent enough for it. He's also unusually skilled for someone his age, if what our children say is to be believed."
"No." The confidence in Orion Black's voice caught Malfoy by surprise. He was used to the fact that the head of the Black family had his sources, and often had utter confidence in whatever he was saying, but he couldn't be this sure about Ashworth's intentions this soon after meeting him, could he?
"I've had him followed off and on," Black continued matter-of-factly. "He has just barely arrived in this country, and seems genuine about his intentions to find employment. He has no one and knows no one. For all intents and purposes, with the exception of my niece, he is alone in this world. He needs what we could provide for him far more than we actually need him."
"If he's nobody's man, then he is potentially everybody's man," Malfoy observed cautiously.
"All the more reason for us to be the first ones to reach out to him, is it not?"
"I suppose so. Still…" Malfoy was surprised his colleague was so eager to recruit this young newcomer into their midst. "You seem to think he can be trusted. Are you sure you're willing to let an unknown variable like him be this close to us… and your niece?"
Orion Black scoffed, "I'm not afraid of Harry Ashworth and Bellatrix is perfectly capable of handling herself," Black declared easily. "Though I do not know why she is so determined to associate with a random young man she met in Diagon Alley."
"Perhaps she knows something she's not telling you."
The elder wizard rubbed his chin in thought. He knew that his friend had brought up a good point. With the way the Blacks were raised, to do anything to benefit themselves and the family, sometimes at the cost of others -and in that order - that was a distinct possibility. "Perhaps, but I have yet to see or hear of any sign that he's remotely interested in her."
"He may not be interested in her," Malfoy commented with a barely restrained smirk, "but she might be after him."
That caused the Black patriarch to chuckle, the sound coming out as a rasp from his ancient throat. "Bellatrix?" he asked, almost incredulously. "Fall in love? I doubt it. There are very few things that can touch her heart."
"You mean he's not her type, as they say?"
Black's lips quirked and formed an odd smile. "You might say that no one is her type. However, if she is showing some interest in young Ashworth, calculated or otherwise, then her friends might, too."
"So that's why you want to use him. He's already got one person who's following him around, so others will take an interest in him, as well?" Malfoy leaned back in thought. "That can't be the only reason, though. He has given no reason to be trusted. It's a big chance you'd be taking there, bringing him into our confidence, entrusting him with our interests. Especially since we're not sure that he doesn't have any loyalties to someone else out there."
"I already expressed my confidence that he has no one," Orion stated firmly, "But if you're right, better an enemy unknown next to my niece, than an enemy unknown on his own."
"You're using your niece as bait?" Malfoy smirked; he should have expected something like that from his older colleague. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, indeed, he thought to himself. Given the girl's interest in the young wizard, Malfoy mused, she would most likely be quick to pick up on any changes in his routine that might indicate when something had changed, or when he was up to something. And at the same time, they could make use of Ashworth's services to keep them informed of whatever he could find about what was going on with the pureblood movement. A smile began to spread across Malfoy's face.
"Ashworth is looking for opportunities," Black began. "We ought to consider providing him with some."
"Yes," Malfoy agreed. "If he wants a job, then by all means, let's see to it that he gets a job."
A pleased smile crossed Black's face as he folded up his newspaper and slipped into his robes. "Can you see to it that he is advantageously placed?"
Malfoy quickly reviewed all of the possibilities he knew of and even the possibilities that might be created through the use of his well-placed contacts and resources. After a moment, an idea came to him. It was rather underhanded, but he thought he might be able to arrange it without causing too much suspicion to fall on Ashworth or himself. At least, no one would ever be able to prove anything.
Malfoy shot Black a feral smile. "Leave it to me. Ashworth will be employed within a week, and he'll know who to thank."
"That's the first step," Orion commented, standing up and preparing to leave. "Let me know when you've taken care of that. We can then start to make further arrangements."
The Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾ belching a huge cloud of white smoke as those students and their parents who had arrived at the station early said their farewells. Bellatrix was just turning around and picking up her trunk when her father called out to her from near the platform entrance.
"Bellatrix."
She paused and turned her head. "Yes?"
Cygnus Black strode to her, leaned in close to his daughter, and placed his hand on her shoulder-not in an unaffectionate manner. "Keep out of trouble, dear."
"Of course, father."
He smiled weakly at her expectant look. The idea of his coming all the way to the platform to say farewell wasn't fooling her, he knew that, and part of him was proud to have a daughter who was so very perceptive and intelligent. "Your uncle is concerned-things aren't right in the world. Do take care of yourself."
"Always."
Thinking that her father had delivered the message that had brought him to King's Cross, Bellatrix flipped her long black hair over her shoulder and made to turn around again, but was stopped by his hand on her shoulder.
Cygnus spoke quietly. Indeed, his voice was so low that she could barely hear him over the roar of the crowd around them. "Also… we'd appreciate it very much if you could keep an eye on that Ashworth fellow."
"Father?"
The mention of Harry's name surprised her. She was still a little disappointed that they hadn't managed to find him a job in Hogsmeade or anywhere close to Hogwarts - in fact, he was still unemployed - and she had been spending the last few days plotting how to smuggle him into the castle, though he had protested that he had no intention of going there if he had no business there. She was thoroughly intrigued by him, and there was no way she was going to let him out of her sight now, except for the fact that she would be going to school, and he would be free to roam about without a job, out of her sight and reach. He could wreak havoc with the timeline, for all she knew, and she wouldn't be able to do anything about it.
"We want to make sure that he doesn't associate with the wrong sort," Cygnus explained nebulously. "I would appreciate it if you would keep me updated on his doings."
Bellatrix sighed in frustration. "I'll be at school, father. I'd love to help, but I've got no idea what he'll be doing, especially since he got rejected for that job at Zonko's." Her eyes narrowed as she began putting the pieces together. Harry's interview with the Zonko's joke shop in Hogsmeade had been rather promising, until he had gotten a letter two days later that announced that they couldn't hire him based on his lack of qualifications. Exactly what qualifications those were, had never been mentioned.
"Don't worry, it's been taken care of," her father told her, which only heightened her suspicions. It was one thing for her father and uncle to request regular information about Harry. It was quite another to take care of things .
"Father, what are you saying?"
"Nothing," his gaze turned vacant for a moment, which she knew meant that he was hiding something, though she could guess what it probably was. Uncle Orion must've arranged something for Harry in Hogsmeade or Hogwarts, she realized, but why would he do that? And why does he want me to keep an eye on him?
Her father came back to the present a moment later, giving her a brief hug before she could formulate a reply. "Be careful, Bellatrix."
And he walked away before she could sort out all the questions she wanted to ask.