A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 29

There’s Nothing I Can Say

Harry cursed himself for the umpteenth time that day. He pushed his fingertips against his tightly shut eyes, skewing his glasses, as he tried to manually bore out the images and thoughts that had been swirling around in his head. He needed to focus now. He needed to pay attention to his work, to his research in order to work the case. He needed to decipher the mysterious letters and discover something useable about this letter writer. He needed to find Aurora Malfoy and apprehend the person terrorizing Draco and his family.

He needed to not daydream about Draco’s smooth chest, or the curve of his arse, or how his body hardened under Harry’s hissing in Parseltongue.

Draco was a married man whose wife had disappeared only days earlier. Harry needed to remind himself of that fact several thousand times a day.

Some small, traitorous part of Harry –the one perhaps dubbed Vain Hope -told him that Draco wouldn’t mind Harry thinking about him all the time. In fact, this same part of Harry informed him that Draco would probably love to find out that Harry’s mind was riddled with flashes of pale skin and low-slung cotton trousers.

After all, he clearly doesn’t mind the company of other blokes if that article with Wood was anything to go by.

A ravenous beast roared its head inside Harry’s chest at the thought of the article. He had surreptitiously picked up the copy of Witch Weekly that he had seen in the spa and read the article on his own time. Draco had mentioned rumours flying around about him several times and Harry decided it was about time he found out what they were.

He almost wished he hadn’t done it because he had found out a number of things that swirled constantly in his head and lingered dangerously behind his every thought. The article had not-so-subtly suggested that Draco was physically involved with Oliver Wood, however casually. While the knowledge that Draco was unhappy in his marriage for other reasons than Aurora’s insanity did something to placate Harry’s wayward thoughts, the idea of Draco writhing under Wood was very troubling.

He shouldn’t be involved with Wood! Oliver was so rugged and raw and plenty more things that were no good for Draco. Draco was smooth and clean and refined. He should be with someone who could cater to him, who knew him and wanted him with all his flaws included.

Are you suggesting that that person could be you? That you know Draco better than Oliver does? That you are refined enough for him?

Harry cursed himself, again, and tore at his hair. Who was he kidding? He was even less refined than Oliver Wood was. He was rough and unruly and....

”You don’t know me at all, Potter.

Draco’s words echoed in Harry’s mind and he shook himself violently, hoping to dislodge the thoughts and send them careening around the room.

“You’re a fucking fool, Potter,” Harry told himself harshly. “And since when do you fancy blokes?”

Harry wished he could laugh it off and turn his thoughts to a beautiful woman to distract himself. But he knew it was too late for that. He knew that he had always looked at blokes just as much as girls. Perhaps more.

He had noticed how attractive Bill Weasley was right away, without even thinking about it or considering it. He had seen how attractive Cedric Diggory was, though he had never wanted him. He had even noticed Oliver’s wildly attractive presence.

But none of those men have ever made you so hard you thought you’d explode.

Harry grimaced as he remembered the repercussions of looking at that magazine. While the beast in his chest had reared its ugly head, the jealousy and anger that flowed through him only served to increase his arousal. He stared for long minutes at those half-naked pictures of Draco, steamy and glistening and positively leering out at him. He had wanked himself raw that night, staring into Draco’s eyes and wishing that the real thing were with him.

But Draco had not been with him and never would. Even if Aurora were not in the picture (and Harry reminded himself that, at the moment, she wasn’t because he was supposed to be finding her), Draco would probably run off with Wood. That’s what the article had suggested, anyway.

But when has Rita Skeeter ever been known to tell the truth?

So it was possible that Draco and Wood were not, in fact, involved in any way. It was also possible, of course, that Draco was not at all into blokes but Harry cleverly chose to ignore that fact. If Draco was not with Wood, then perhaps Harry had a shot…

NO.

NO.

Stop it! Stop it stop it stop it! No good can come of thinking that way. You have a job to do now DO IT.

But a little voice in his head, the one that would have landed him in Slytherin back in first year, Harry suspected, told him that if he didn’t do his job, then he would have a good chance of being with Draco.

“Shut up! Shut up, shut up, damn it!” Harry snapped, banging his fist against his own head.

“Hearing voices again, Harry?” Harry swung around wildly in his chair to find the source of the voice. His eyes were wide and wild as he turned. He calmed down slightly when he realized that it had been Hermione who had overheard him. But only slightly.

“Hermione don’t do that!” He told her desperately. “It’s dangerous to sneak up on an Auror. There’s no telling what I might have been doing.” Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes, seating herself down next to him.

“Worse than talking to yourself and boxing your own ears in?” she scoffed and Harry coloured.

“I’ve just been having trouble concentrating,” he told her in a form of honesty. “That’s all.”

“So you’ve resorted to beating your psyche into submission?” she asked skeptically. “Clever. Next time perhaps you should just let me know and I could give you one of my techniques for concentrating. It would save you the brain damage.”

“Er, right,” Harry said, turning back to his papers with his cheeks still flaming. “Well, anyway, have you found anything at all?”

Hermione gave him a strange look before dropping a book down on the desk and turning to him. Her hair was bushier than usual which was a good indication that she had not only been researching thoroughly but had a hard time of it.

“Not much, Harry,” Hermione said , rather sadly. She huffed and blew a lock of hair from her face. “There is virtually nothing about Malfoy’s wife in all the records I’ve been through.” She flipped open the book. “The first real mention of her is actually for the marriage license between her and Malfoy, which is interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?” Harry asked, peering down at the page. The book was a collection of marriage licenses from the year 2005.

“Well, because their license wasn’t the traditional one,” Hermione admitted, pointing to various part of the page. It was all written in Latin. “There were are a lot of specific stipulations attached to the bonding.”

“Like what?” Harry asked. He was only vaguely aware of what was involved in a traditional ceremony. His own experience remained a rather painful blur in his memory. He remembered saying ‘I do’ and that was about all.

“Well, “ Hermione began, clearly excited at being able to explain it all. She seemed ready to burst with the information. “First off, all marriages in the wizarding world have to be entered into willingly. That’s rather obvious. But this marriage license states very carefully that both participants have entered into the agreement willfully and in full knowledge of the consequences of their actions. There’s even a stipulation that if, at any time, evidence is put forth that the union was unwilling, the marriage should be dissolved.” Hermione paused and nibbled on her finger. “It’s like Malfoy –or more likely his solicitors –were very intent on proving that the wedding was completely voluntary. I don’t know why.” Harry felt his stomach drop and he nodded listlessly. “And then there are the details about her changing her name to take his, legally and magically.”

“What does that mean?” Harry leaned back in his chair, aware that staring at the page would yield nothing to him. He did not read Latin. “I’ve never heard of someone changing their name magically.”

“It’s rather rare,” Hermione answered. “It means that the very magical signature of a person’s soul has changed to become part of the new family. No one bothers to do it anymore because it’s difficult and doesn’t offer many positive returns. But it says here something about an old Malfoy ritual. I imagine that it has something to do with his pureblood lineage.” The ghost of a grimace flashed on her face before it was gone. Harry found that he didn’t care as much as he used to. A person’s blood status meant nothing to him. If being pureblooded was still important to the Malfoys –and Harry was quite sure that it was more Lucius than Draco who would have cared –then he didn’t mind anymore. They weren’t spouting off the evils of muggleborns anymore. They were still allowed to value their traditions, however archaic they might be. “And then it goes on to list details about the estate. From then on it sounds a lot like the wizarding version of Muggle pre-nuptial agreements. It states that if Aurora elects to leave the marriage, she has no claim to anything of the Malfoy estate.”

Harry stared into nothingness for a moment, thinking over the information. He didn’t think it was particularly helpful to him, but it was interesting. Why was Draco so determined to make it clear that the marriage was willing? And, if it was so willing, why include the details about protecting his estate if she tried to leave him? Something seemed contradictory there.

“That’s not really useful, unfortunately,” Harry admitted after a while. Hermione nodded.

“No, I didn’t think so,” she conceded. “Other than that, however, there are only a number of legal documents regarding Malfoy’s contracts with the British and Irish Quidditch League, as well as with the Caerphilly Catapults. She’s listed as his manager and signed to legalize the changes to his contract. Most of them are logical improvements. She had his salary increased dramatically over the past several years. She improved his standing in the team, made him part owner of the team, got him special privileges to show up to practice as his leisure,” she began to list off as she flipped through some other sheaves of parchment that Harry had not noticed before. “She even got him a cut in all publications with his name or likeness, no matter the subject.” Hermione’s mouth pulled into a very small, almost imperceptible smile. She seemed somewhat impressed with Aurora Malfoy. “The only one that doesn’t make sense is rather striking.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, turning back to his own stack of parchment. He had not accomplished nearly as much research as she had. He flipped idly through the pages, searching out her name.

“Well, she added one stipulation to his contract,” she said slowly, rereading the lines. “That states that should he fail to catch the Snitch in one match, he can be immediately replaced with the reserve Seeker, Astoria Greengrass.” Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand why she would do that. That means he makes one mistake and they can get rid of him without any repercussions. He has to be perfect to keep his job.” Harry stopped and stared at the wall in front of him. “Is he really that arrogant?”

Harry’s mouth turned down in a frown and he glared at the wall. He knew that Aurora must have made that change during one of her more deprecating moments. She had put so much pressure on Draco to be perfect that it had become key to his livelihood. He shook his head.

“No, he’s not,” Harry answered quietly. “She’s just that demanding.”

Harry looked back at the files and continued to flip through them.

“That’s… completely ridiculous,” Hermione said, the shock evident in her words. “Why would he allow that?”

Harry would have answered her, but his eyes suddenly fell on something of interest. He scanned the page quickly and then blinked a number of times. He reread it several times before he could even form a coherent thought.

“This can’t be right…”

+++++

“Alright, team, that’s it for today!” Wood’s voice rang out through the air, calling all the players back to the ground. Draco trailed lazily through the air before dropping back towards the ground. He was testing out his new Firebolt. It had been handpicked by Wood and tested by a number of dummy doppelgangers to ensure that it wouldn’t explode at any given movement.

Draco might have declined to use another Firebolt, but really, what choice did he have? He was a professional Quidditch player and needed the best broom available. And what was better than a Firebolt?

He floated smoothly to the ground and landed beside Wood who, as usual, had hung back to speak with him privately. The rest of the team had wandered into the showers. Wood’s face was a mask of concern and Draco rolled his eyes.

“How are you, Draco?” Wood asked quietly. Draco gave him his best winning smile, ignoring the fact that the ground had started pulling on him the moment his feet touched it.

“Right as rain,” he drawled, shouldering his broomstick. “Why do you ask?” Wood gave him a meaningful look.

“Draco, you’ve been through hell,” Oliver informed him. Draco let his smile fade and let his face turn expressionless. “What with the attack and now Aurora…” Wood grasped the back of his own neck and tilted his head from side to side. “You can’t pretend that it wouldn’t… affect you.”

Draco sensed the threat and his eyes flashed a sharp silver. He narrowed his lids and took a step back from Oliver.

“Are you questioning my ability?” he snapped. The world shifted. Wood looked up at him with wide eyes.

“No, no!” he answered quickly. “Merlin, no, Draco. We both know you’re the best in the league on a bad day. I just,” Wood made a desperate noise and threw his head back. “Fuck, I’m just worried about you, mate.”

Draco softened slightly and took a deep breath. Even after years of knowing Oliver, years of playing with him and coming to be friends with him, Draco was unaccustomed to people worrying about him. People other than his mother, anyway.

“I’m alright, Oliver,” Draco said quietly, stepping forward again. He faltered slightly as the ground shifted and Wood reached out to help him. Draco steadied himself and shook it off.

“Are you really, Draco?” Oliver said more than asked. He stepped closer still and brushed a lock of Draco’s hair from his face.

“Yes, Oliver,” the blond answered quietly. “I can take care of myself.” Draco suddenly felt the ground open up and his entire body tingle. He glanced toward the showers and saw Potter striding steadily toward them his eyes fixed on Oliver and a look of utter loathing on his face. Draco quirked a brow and pulled back. “Besides, I’ve got Potter here as my own personal bodyguard.” A smirk drew itself on his face as Oliver looked around, somewhat shocked as Potter approached.

“Malfoy,” Potter said curtly, the edge in his voice barely restrained. He nodded once to Wood. “Oliver. Have a good practice, did you?”

Wood tensed under Potter’s look before relaxing slightly. Draco wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he understood Potter better than Draco did. Draco frowned.

“Yeah, great,” he answered smirking back at Draco. “I’ve no doubt we’re going to crush the Harpies.” Draco let his tongue lave over his teeth and stared hungrily at Potter. The Auror’s eyes flashed momentarily before he nodded. “I hope Ginny’s ready, Harry. This match is going to be a rough one.”

Draco studied Potter carefully to gauge his reaction to the words. Potter shrugged and a muscle in his jaw tightened.

“I’m sure she’s looking forward to it,” Potter said noncommittally. He turned back to Draco and his gaze intensified. Draco found himself meeting it. Wood glanced between them. It might have looked as though they were both trying to consume the other with their eyes. Wood shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, what brings you here, Harry?” Oliver coughed, apparently trying to break the palpable silence between them all.

“I came to escort Draco back home,” he responded stiffly. Draco cocked an eyebrow.

“I could have Flooed there myself, Potter,” he responded. Apparition had been made impossible on and around the practice pitch for Draco’s ‘safety’. A Floo had been set up with only players and Potter allowed use. “I have done it once or twice before.” A wry grin was on his lips but Potter glared at him. His cheeks, however, betrayed him when they turned slightly pink.

“Don’t be smart,” he shot back. Draco’s grin grew.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how not to,” Draco responded bemusedly. He started walking back to the showers, Potter following behind. Potter mumbled something incoherent and Wood laughed as they made their way to the changing rooms.

Wood immediately stripped down and wandered off to the showers, bidding both Draco and Potter goodbye. Draco watched him go, if only to try and figure out what was up Potter’s arse today, before changing into his usual robes.

Draco felt Potter’s eyes on his back and he turned around to look at Potter as he dressed. The Auror’s face was tinged with red again and he looked away. Then blinked and glanced back at Draco.

“Aren’t you going to shower?” he asked abruptly. Draco’s eyebrows rose and he smirked.

“Do I smell foul?” he asked. Potter pulled a confused face.

“No.”

“Then why should I shower here,” he went on. “When I have a perfectly good bath back at the house?”

“I, er…” Potter stammered, apparently unable to response. Draco licked his lips and stepped closer to Potter, leaning in to whisper to his ear.

“If you wanted to watch me bathe, Potter,” he hissed silkily. “Then you need only have said so.”

Potter blushed furiously and Draco turned back to pick up his things. He made his way over to the temporary Floo and turned back to see Potter glaring and muttering something to himself. Draco nearly laughed, but the ground shifted and he lurched forward slightly. Potter lurched similarly and they glanced at each other for a moment before looking away. Draco no longer felt quite like laughing.

Potter walked over to him and handed him some Floo powder. Draco threw it into the flames and stepped in.

“Star’s Fall!” he cried out into the emerald flames. The world went spinning around him in a strangely familiar but foreign way before he landed in his own fireplace and stepped out into his study. He coughed slightly at the dust from the experience and dropped his bag against the wall before walking over to pour himself a drink.

Potter appeared moments later and Draco held out a glass for him as well. The Auror said nothing but, for once, took the glass and downed it.

Draco blinked and downed his own before dropping into his chair. The world had briefly stopped shifting.

Potter dropped heavily into his own chair as well and they sat in silence for a moment. Draco hated the knowledge he had of the otherworld. He hated knowing about Death and having it dog him. He hated that, of all the things he could have shared with Potter, Death was what Fate had given him.

“I spent the day looking through all the documents the Ministry has on Aurora,” Potter said suddenly. There was something strange in his tone. Draco looked up, wondering if he had found something useful that would help them find his wife. Something jerked in his stomach. “It didn’t take long, really. There wasn’t much about her. Almost nothing except the marriage certificate and one other important legal document.” Potter turned to him with an almost accusing expression. “Why didn’t you tell me? It would have saved me a lot of time.”

Draco stared at him and wondered if Potter could hear himself speak. Surely not, otherwise he wouldn’t sound so bloody dense.

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked. “Tell you what?”

“That Aurora changed her name,” Potter said as though it was obvious. Draco blinked several times and thought carefully.

“Of course she changed her name, Potter,” Draco said, staring at the Auror as though he had sprouted a literal third eye. “It was part of the marriage contract. Surely the Weasley girl changed her name as well when you married. And Granger must be a Weasley now, too. Why is this so shocking to you?”

Potter furrowed his brows and his entire face darkened. He tilted his head.

“No, not that,” he explained. “Before that. She changed her name before you were married.”

Draco froze. The room felt cold around him and everything went silent.

“What?” he breathed, staring with wide and hard eyes at Potter.

“She changed her name to Aurora North,” Potter explained, losing confidence with every word. He shook his head slightly. “You didn’t know?”

Draco’s blood ran cold through him and his mind was reeling. She changed her name? That couldn’t be. Why would she do that? Why wouldn’t she tell him?

But no… it must have been a mistake.

“No, it can’t be,” Draco said quietly, his eyes shifting back and forth across the room. “Why… it doesn’t make any sense.” Draco got to his feet and began to pace. He looked back at Potter with fury in his eyes. “Where did you get that information?”

Potter’s eyes and face were a mask of confusion. He ran his fingers through his hair and then raised his hand to try and calm Draco.

“It was a Ministry form,” he explained. “Roughly two years before you married her she changed her name from Ophelia Knox to Aurora North. It doesn’t say why.” Potter paused and Draco searched his mind.

Knox. Knox…. What was Knox?

His pacing became more erratic and rushed. He felt his heart beat faster. Did this change anything? What did it mean? Why would she change her name that way? Was Knox… it could be… it still could be.

Ohh, but he should have known. Aurora North. Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights. It was too good to be true. Forget that North was an ancient wizarding surname. He should have seen it.

“Well, even if you didn’t know,” Potter said, apparently trying to soothe him. His tone was quiet but rather warm. Draco turned sharply to stare at him. “I’m still rather impressed.”

“About what?” Draco hissed, wondering if Potter was being obtuse on purpose or not. Potter smiled at him.

“I was sure you would refuse to marry anyone with less than ‘pure blood’,” Potter said cryptically. Draco’s eyes widened and he gritted his teeth. He turned on Potter and felt himself shaking.

“Aurora is a pureblood,” he said dangerously. Potter blinked and adjusted his glasses as though it might help him understand what was going on between them.

“No,” he said. “Her father was a wizard but Ophelia Knox was born of a Muggle woman.”

Draco felt the breath catch in his chest and the entire world began to collapse around him. The walls shook and the ground vibrated and everything soon began to spin. He stumble backward and shook his head.

“NO!” he cried out. “No no no no no! You’re lying!!” He was bellowing now, but couldn’t hear his own voice for the heartbeat in his ears. “You’re lying! Take it back!! Take it back!!” Draco was shaking from his fear and his fury. He grasped at his hair and pressed his palms to his temples, trying to stop the world from falling.

Potter was on his feet now, his face suspicious and dark. Draco was still chanting ‘no’ to himself, under his breath, in an effort to drive away the truth.

“Draco, relax,” Potter said sharply. “I mean… I thought you knew, but… this is ridiculous.” He laughed humourlessly. “I thought you’d grown up enough to know that Half-bloods and Muggleborns were equal to Purebloods. They’re just as powerful in their magic. I mean, it’s hardly a big deal. Sure, she lied to you…but what difference does it make, really?”

Draco’s eyes flashed and he pushed himself off the wall and snarled at Potter. He didn’t understand and he never really would. No big deal?

“You have no fucking clue, Potter,” Draco nearly barked. The walls and windows rang from the power of his voice. “This isn’t a matter of fucking blood politics or new age beliefs. This is a huge fucking deal. More than just lying to me.” Draco shook his head, wanting to cry and scream and laugh hysterically all in one go. “The Malfoy estate, everything I own from the heirlooms to the money I made to the fucking Manor is bound by ancient magic, Potter. This is ancient pureblood magic.” He pressed his fingers to his temples and stared at the floor. “The ownership of all of this is predicated on the purity of Malfoy blood. To inherit the estate you must be both a Malfoy in name as well as in blood.” He shut his eyes tightly before looking up at Potter, fighting back tears he had not shed for twenty years.

“So?” Potter asked, completely daft. Draco fought very hard not to punch him.

“So,” Draco breathed roughly. “If Aurora is a Half-blood, then as far as the magic is concerned, there is no heir.” He paused and gritted his teeth. “And Scorpius is not my son.”

-----
A/N: I hope you liked those chapters. O_o They were strange to write. But anyway, yeah. Been trying to plug on through with this, but it's giving me problems. *shakes fist at story* Bah. Oh well. Anyway. Also... if you want to see some sketches I did of Draco in this... you can go here: http://daftfear.livejournal.com/15221.html#cutid1

The first is a sketch of the picture of Draco from chapter 1 (the one the girls ask him to sign); the second is just a picture of him on his broom. The third is from the photoshoot with him and Oliver Wood. The last... is from another fic entirely, lol. Ignore that one. XD

But yeah, I'll colour them, but it takes time. Sketches for now. :)

Reviews = LOVE. Also, cupcakes. :D *love to you all*