Pet

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TWENTY-SIX
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The “Daily Prophet” photographer stood at the ready, waiting for the immediate family to approach the gothic style Malfoy family chapel. He snapped several photographs as the impassive blonds strode up the path, elegant in their mourning robes. At a proper distance behind them, the Malfoy servants followed, all draped in black, even the house elves.

This was the social event of the season; anyone who was anyone in Voldemort’s New Society had turned out for the funeral of Narcissa Black Malfoy. The photographer discretely took photographs of the important mourners as well as a few foreign dignitaries. Draco Malfoy’s Swiss fiancée and her father had arrived to pay their respects.

The “Daily Prophet” society reporter was taking detailed notes, careful not to draw attention to herself. The editors had long debated which reporter they should send to cover the tragedy and finally decided that the society reporter was the only staff member with the delicate touch necessary to cover the suicide death of the wife of the current Minister of Magic.

All eyes were on Lucius and Draco as they entered the chapel where Lady Malfoy lay in state. Lucius paused halfway to the casket and Harry slipped from the shadows to join him, Rosamond in his arms.

The mourners watched as the three wizards and the baby approached the casket. Narcissa was exquisite, even in death. For a moment, Lucius stood, gazing at the corpse, flanked by his son and his concubine. His arm casually reached out and rested on Harry’s hip as he leaned in and placed a kiss to the top of Rose’s head. After a few softly spoken words, Harry bowed his head in acknowledgement and gracefully retreated down the center aisle.

Sunlight refracting through the ornate stained glass windows bathed the slight figure in light. Although common knowledge in Death Eater circles, the public at large had not been aware that Harry Potter was still alive. With his hair neatly back into the ponytail, there was nothing concealing the scar on his forehead, the trademark green eyes, the choke chain at his throat, the heavy gold control bands and the heirloom jewel glittering in the light.

The light caught Rosamond’s white blonde curls and her brilliant green eyes. A quiet murmur broke out among the society mavens. There was no mistaking the parentage of that child.

The photographer jerked his head toward the small retreating figure, but the reporter shook her head. As tantalizing as a photo spread of them would be, it was a story for another day. Harry disappeared into a quiet corner, two massive Death Eater guards flanking him, both for security reasons and to keep the curious at bay.

Draco stepped away from his mother’s body, leaving his father time for his private farewell. His fiancée gave him a hug of condolence and he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead before leading her to the family pew, her father in tow.

Lucius stood quietly beside his wife’s body for several minutes before he leaned into the casket and placed a kiss on her lips.

Severus, in his ceremonial Potion Master robes, stepped out of the shadows and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder as he lead his childhood friend away.

The photographer smiled and gave the reporter thumbs up. He had gotten their front-page shot.

~*~*~*~
Mark paused just outside the hidden doorway to The Leaky Cauldron. He hated stepping back into the magical life genetics had denied him, but he needed to pick up “The Daily Prophet”, in the hopes he might find out what had happened to Em and Rosie.

The customers gave him the briefest of glances as he entered the pub before returning to their conversations. The pub was louder and more crowded than it normally was this time of day. Mark usually stopped by in the early afternoon, after the lunch crowd and before the day shoppers stopped for a quick bite before returning home. Tom waved him over to a stool in the corner and pulled out a roll of newspapers tied with a bit of twine.

Sending a tankard of ale his way, Tom went about his business, watching the large man out of the corner of his eye. He had sensed an undercurrent of fear in the Muggleized Squib from the first time the man had entered the pub months before. Something important forced the man to return to a culture that did not want him. Tom just wondered what it might be.

Mark sipped the ale and glanced through the back issues of the newspaper. A loud conversation between several tables full of witches caught his attention. He glanced over to the group and noticed several were gesturing toward a “Daily Prophet” article.

“As much as it saddens me to see a family line die out…I say good riddance to the lot of them. There hasn’t been a Black in centuries that wasn’t a bit insane.” An elderly witch said, pausing to drink from a steaming goblet. “And this last bunch…That Sirius Black killing thirteen Muggles and a wizard…”

“They say he may have been innocent, Dor,” another witch interjected, but the first witch continued.

“Well, even if he was, which I doubt, he sure wasn’t sane after eleven odd years in Azkaban and his cousin Bellatrix…she was crazy before she went to Azkaban and even crazier after she escaped. Of her sisters…I always thought Narcissa Malfoy was the only sane one of the bunch and look at what she’s done.”

Mark’s head jerked at the mention of “Malfoy”; the motion was not lost on Tom.

“Well, she’s dead now. And I can’t think if a more fitting way than a rebounded spell…Imagine…torturing that defenseless little boy and trying to kill his baby…”

The color drained from Mark’s face. He rapidly sorted thought the stack of newsprint trying to find the article they were discussing. Tom reached into the pile and placed that day’s “Daily Prophet” before him.

“I think you need to step into a private room, my young friend.” Tom took Mark’s unresisting arm and led him into a small side room. Mark spread the newspaper out onto the table before him, the various photographs moving. His eyes stopped on a picture of Harry and Rosamond taken at Lady Malfoy’s funeral, above it screamed a headline: “Her Intended Victims – Safe at Last?”

Tom re-appeared with two bowls of a thick, dark stew and two tankards of ale. A plate of crusty bread and butter appeared on the table. The old barkeep cast a privacy charm and settled into a chair.

“So…how do you know my friend Harry?”

~*~*~*~*
Tom disappeared into his tiny office behind the bar. He poured himself a tall glass of firewhiskey and emptied the glass in two gulps. He felt the firewhiskey burn its way down and attempted to push aside his guilt.

Simply oblivating Mark Rosier would have been the proper solution. The Squib would be better off with no memory of Harry, The Leaky Cauldron, or the magical world, but it was obvious that Mark cared a great deal about Harry and that Harry returned the friendship. Altering the man’s memories was a little more difficult to achieve. It was simple to erase memories of magic and the location of the pub, but creating the illusion of a happy future for Harry and his daughter in the Muggle world would give the bouncer closure and prevent him from searching for additional news.

Harry’s Muggle life sounded positively horrible to the old barkeep and he was quite certain Mark had even tried to gloss over some of the more unpleasant aspects of it. Tom created a safe and secure fantasy future for Harry and his child.

The former savior and his daughter would be much better off in the cold but possessive hands of Lucius Malfoy.

Tom poured himself another glass of firewhiskey and tried to convince himself it was all for the best.

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