"As you may have guessed, my family hails from Scandinavia - Norway, Sweden and Denmark in the main. The Greengrasses were a respected family, stretching back hundreds of years. Harsh at times, but that was the norm. That area of the world is a harsh one, little sympathy for weakness. We were nobles, and rumours suggested that our magical origin came from the offspring of a Norse lord and a Valkryie who fell in love with the mortal man. We were mostly purebloods, though that was more the working of chance than design.
"My family had never seen itself in terms of 'Light' or 'Dark'. Sure, they knew some 'Dark' curses, and taught them to their children, but they were no Death Eaters. It was more a case of 'Know them, and don't need them' than anything. It also helped keep more... hostile individuals away.
"Things began to fall apart in my Great Grandfathers time, just after the turn of the century. He had three sons. The eldest is my Grandfather, and was his fathers favourite. The youngest was the dreamer, and gave up the Greengrass name to marry the muggleborn daughter of a local lord that he'd fallen for. It was a happy marriage, from what I heard.
"It was the middle son that caused... everything. He grew bitter and twisted, envious of his older brother because of how their father favoured him. He eventually met a pureblood witch when they both joined a growing Magical Supremacist movement that was gaining support in central Europe.
"Their leader was Grindelwald."
Susan gasped, and even Harry started. He knew of that name all right: it was listed on Dumbledore's chocolate frog card, and had been mentioned in a few history textbooks. In many ways, he'd been Voldemorts predecessor. Dumbledore had finally stopped him in the late nineteen-forty's, but his movement had wrought havoc on the continental magical world. Even after his defeat, his followers continue to pillage, torture and kill for years. Three times they had tried to break their leader out of prison, but each time they had been repulsed, though with great loss of life. It was only when the nineteen-fifties drew to a close that they disappeared.
What had made Harry sit up and take notice was that Grindelwald's followers had used muggle weapons as well as their magic. The History of Magic text book didn't go into details, only saying the weapons were 'crude and dishonourable muggle weapons', but he remembered what such weapons were like back from his pre-Hogwarts muggle history courses, as well as other books and fragments of movies he'd glimpsed on TV. 'Crude' was so wrong it wasn't funny.
"What most of the magical world ignores is that Grindelwald was not totally anti-muggle." Daphne continued, seemingly oblivious to their reactions. "He formed an alliance with one. One that even we hear about. An Austrian by the name of Adolf Hitler." That got a strong reaction from her listeners. Harry and Hermione shared a worried look.
"From what my grandfather learned, Grindelwalds men used Hitler's SS as cover, and merged the Nazi's world view with their own. As the muggle army swept the land, so did Grindelwalds sweep the magical. At times they used the muggle troops as extra muscle or cannon fodder. When they started moving north, my grandfather moved to England, his new Danish bride leaving with him. My great-grandfather remained in the ancestral home, though he did have some of the family heirlooms moved to England. Even in his youth we had holding here in England, a legacy from the Viking days.
"Shortly afterwards, my great-uncle returned to the home he'd stormed out of. By the few accounts I've seen, he turned up resplendent in his Magical SS uniform. His father told him he was not welcome in his home. Great-uncle Bearson just laughed, and told him that it was no longer his house.
"Then he killed him."
Hermione gasped. "He killed his own father?"
"It gets worse." Daphne half whispered. "After killing, murdering, his father, Bearson used Fiendfyre to destroy the manor. The manor had been the Greengrasses home for over fourteen centuries. Decades of history, irreplaceable documents, manuscripts and works of art. The living portraits of our ancestors stretching back to the dawn of Living Portraits. Destroyed in minutes."
Harry felt sick. He, more than most, understood what it was like to be cut off from one's history. He could not fathom anyone willing to destroy it all.
"My Grandfather, on his fathers death, became the new Lord Greengrass. He vowed to bring his brother to justice, as his actions dishonoured the family name, a stain on our honour. He also urged his youngest brother to get his family out and to safety. Sadly... he didn't heed the message until it was too late.
"When he learned that his youngest brother and his family had been taken prisoner by Bearson, my Grandfather returned to Denmark to find them, his son - my father Erickson - besides him, barely out of school but eager to avenge the Family Name. It took nearly two years to locate them, but... by then..." Daphne broke into a sob, but pulled herself back together.
"He'd killed his nephew, brutally. His brother was being tortured, and his sister-in-law and elder niece were the... playthings, for his brother's men. In the ensuring firefight, they got most of Bearson's men, but they lost so many. His brother, my other great-uncle, was dying from poison, while his wife was killed. Half of the men who went in with my grandfather died, as did the one who led them to the hideout.
"She was Bearson's daughter, who had been abused by him and rejected everything he stood for. Bearson killed her himself. Used a 'Burning Blood' curse on her. Burned her alive from within."
Hermione looked sick. "He killed... his own daughter?"
Daphne nodded. "Great-uncle Bearson escaped, but not unhurt. He lost an arm, as well as his own wife, who made Bellatrix LeStrange look sane and gentle. But they also took the eldest daughter of the youngest brother with them.
"In the aftermath, the youngest daughter fled to the States, wanting the world between her and her uncle. My Grandfather returned home, where he watched my father recover from the war, and meet my mother. Bearson meanwhile disappeared into the wilderness, along with the rest of his men. But the legacy of his unit lingers, tainting our name across the continent.
"You have to understand, Bearson Greengrass is a monster, and anyone related to him - however distantly - is treated with mistrust and anger. What he did..." She trailed off for a minute, before shivering. "I don't even want to think about it."
The other three closed in around her, providing comfort with their presence. It was obvious that Daphne was struggling to keep calm and collected as she had told them this dark history. Although he was struggling to see how this all related to her implied statement that she could never marry someone traditionally, Harry was willing to giver her the chance to explain. He also noted something about what she'd said...
"He's still around, isn't he?" He asked quietly.
Daphne sniffed again, clearly fighting back tears. "Yes. His body has never been found, no-one's ever brought him to justice. Those who have tried... returned in pieces. His 'unit' has become the bogey men in northern Europe." She started to shiver, prompting the others to enfold her in their arms.
Daphne was silent for a long moment, though her shivering stopped as she soaked in the warmth and support they offered freely. After a minute she was able to begin the final part.
"And... he contacted my family, shortly before my parents married..."
*Greengrass Manor, England, January 12th 1978*
Lord Henerick Greengrass smiled fondly as his son kissed his intended on the cheek. Eleanor Hofferson was a delightful young woman, smart as a whip and not at all snobbish. Despite the dark times they were living in, with the threat that was the new Dark Lord and his minions, she retained a bright, cheerful air. She was noticeably younger than Erikson, but that was a blessing it itself: she had not been touched by the darkness that had swept the continent... one that had ravaged his own soul and that of his son. Her laughter and high spirits were the tonic they both needed.
He'd also noted that under the long robes she'd been wearing to ward off the chill air outside, she was dressed in fashionable muggle attire... a potentially dangerous habit, given the anti-muggle sentiments of the Death Eaters. And, if he was honest, most of his peers in the Wizengamot.
Pushing that dreary thought to one side, he refocused his attention on his son. At long last they could ensure that his twisted, depraved, evil bastard of a brother would never have control of the family wealth...
A flutter of wings snapped his attention to the hall, just before a brown, tired looking owl flew in. It circled the room before landing before his son. All three of them looked at the clearly weary owl as it looked at Erikson for a moment before lifting a leg, tied to which was a letter.
Frowning in confusion, Erikson gently removed the letter, but instead of opening it placed it on the coffee table as he reached for his wand. Once in hand, he cast several detection spells on it. After no reactions, he shrugged.
"Who's it from son?"
"No idea..." Erikson answered his father, picking the letter up once more. "There's no writing on the front. But there's no spells or charms on it..." Shrugging once more he open the letter carefully.
Nothing happened as he eased the parchment out of the envelope, and Henerik began to relax...
When his son unfolded the parchment however, a jet of liquid sprayed all over him.
"Erik!" Eleanor cried, but managed to refrain from reaching for him.
After the spray ceased Erikson looked okay, if rather confused. The liquid appeared to be harmless.
"A prank." Henerick begun.
"No father." Erickson said quietly. His eyes when he met his fathers were haunted, fearful. "You need to read this."
Feeling a surge of worry, he took the letter from his son. Instantly a chunk of Icelandic ice settled in his gut at sight of the writing within; he recognised the handwriting.
'To my brother and his whelp,
Circumstances prevent me from visiting you two in person, so I am forced to use this means to deal with you two... blood traitors. You may have ruined me, but I will win the war. I am willing to wait for what is mine.
By now you are wondering what the potion that was inflicted on your son was my brother. It is an old remedy, one that works surprisingly well. Oh, don't panic my brother, your son will live a long & healthy life... assuming he doesn't mess up.
No, all the potion will do is ensure one thing; your son will only ever have daughters.'
Henerick frowned. He knew that'd he'd love and care for any grandchildren of his, regardless of their gender or magical strength. Yes, only having daughters would be a small problem, but not a major, insurmountable one...
Then he read the next section.
'I have already invoked with the ICW the Line of Succession Ruling of 1654. Enjoy the time you have left, my brother.'
Susan blanched white. "He didn't!"
Daphne nodded sadly. "He did."
Harry was confused. Obviously something was special about that rule.
"What is the rule?" Hermione asked, clearly just as confused.
"The International Line of Succession Rule of 1654 came into being when a major magical family, who also held the throne of Spain, had only daughters to carry on the line. Their uncle insisted that as they could not continue the line, it defaulted to him. The Rule was drawn up to give the girls a chance to continue the line." Daphne explained, her tone defeated.
"Basically, it boils down to this: Each daughter has until she turns eighteen to find a suitable wizard husband - or a family willing to take on a consort - to continue the family. This was when daughters were often married off in their early to mid teens. Those days it was only royalty who had the money and means to support consorts though. These days very few people even know about it: I know only because of my grand-uncle's statement. But it's still on the books, still legal. If I or my sisters fail to find a willing wizard - willing to abide by the terms of a Consort Contract, the rule does not recognise 'bastard' son's - by the time we all reach eighteen, the entire family fortune and name goes to him. He'll be the new Head of the Family. I've got just over a year to..." She trailed off, her voice breaking.
Acting on instinct Harry gently pulled her around to face him before drawing her close. His last sight of her face was of tears running down her cheeks from her closed eyes before she burrowed her face into his neck. A sob shook her slender frame as Hermione and Susan moved to enfold her between them, much like how the three of them had hugged Harry that first night.
As they comforted her and allowed Daphne to get her composure back, Harry allowed his thoughts to wander. It was easy now to see why Daphne was that bit more withdrawn, bit more reserved, than Hermione or Susan. She'd had this hanging over her for her whole life. It struck a cord within him, as he too knew what it felt like to have such a burden hanging over you. It also helped explain why she'd ended up in Slytherin, rather than Ravenclaw, which, he felt, was an equally valid House. If the Sorting Hat also factored in family legacies and public opinions - which the students in question would likely be aware of - then Daphne's families 'Dark' history would have meant that she was expected to go into Slytherin. She knew it, and half expected it herself. Even Harry had heard of the idea of a 'Self fulfilling Prophecy'.
In the last fortnight Harry had come to know the formerly reclusive and aloof blond, the Slytherin 'Ice Princess'. He had witnessed her smart wit and wry sense of humour, seen her relax, smile and laugh. She'd opened up, let him see past the mask that she wore at Hogwarts, and in doing so revealed at least a part of her true self. What she had just told them was likely her deepest, darkest secret. It was clear even to him that she'd been aware of this fate for most of her life, always there in the back of her mind. He'd been privy to some of her fears, the ghosts that haunted her dreams, just like he'd learned of those of Susan and Hermione... and they had drawn a few from him. It had been agonising, yet he'd somehow felt better afterwards, lighter.
And yet he had learned of yet another aspect of the Magical World that he didn't care for. He still remembered how he felt when he had first met Hagrid: freedom, a chance to final find somewhere where he belonged. A home, friends. And for a while he had.
But as the years past, that rosy vision had faded. The Magical World was stuck in the past, while the muggle world, the world he'd been raised - however badly - in, had past them by centuries ago. Corruption was rife, with the power held by those with the most gold. Knowledge and talent were ignored, except in exceptional cases, while the bulk of the people were fickle sheep, believing whatever someone in authority said.
It was easy to see how and why Tom Riddle had become Voldemort.
Pushing that thought aside with a shiver, Harry returned his attention to the blond in his arms. It was clear that what she had just told them was eating away at her, had been since she was little. He could recognise that she was determined to deal with this problem herself, to spare her sisters. He respected her all the more for that.
Feeling that she'd regained most of her composure, Harry eased back a little. "So... Potter or Black?"
She looked up at him, eyes wide. "What?" Her voice was small, but hopeful.
Harry allowed a smile to crease his face as Hermione and Susan looked at him as well. "Which family would you like to Consort with? Susan you should decide as well." He added glancing at the redhead in question. His eyes then tracked to Hermione. "All assuming that the future Mrs Potter approves..."
The next he knew, Harry was flat on his back with an overjoyed Hermione straddling him, her lips seemingly fused to his. The ache in his backside and the back of his head, not to mention the ringing of his ears, was forgotten as Hermione continued to express just how happy she was. Not to be outdone, Susan and Daphne were almost instantly laying besides him, showering kisses on his cheeks and forehead, pretty much wherever they could reach him around Hermione.
After several long, glorious minutes Hermione lifted her head to smile down at with puffy lips and shining eyes. "That's a yes Harry. To everything."
"Although..." Daphne mused, the humour clear in her voice. "...you should have addressed her as 'Lady' Potter, at that will be her formal title. Ours would be Madam." She then tightened her hold on him, kissing him softly. "Thank you Harry." Sincere feeling was in her tone.
Harry blushed a little, but wrapped an arm around her to hold her close. "You deserve better. Just remember: you're all going to have to help me find a 'Lady Black'. I refuse to allow Draco to get hold of Sirius's legacy!"
The three witches nodded in agreement. "He never will Harry." Hermione reassured him. A small frown creased her forehead. "Though I wonder if the Black Family have conditions on who can be married into the line. You saw their motto." Harry nodded, remembering the Black Family Tree.
"Always Pure." He muttered.
Suddenly Hermione got a devious look... one that Harry hadn't seen before. "Although... we could alter the meaning of the motto..."
The others burst out laughing as her meaning came clear. But in the back of her mind, Daphne was already considering a possible candidate...
At that same time Voldemort was sat in his throne at one end of the grand hall in Malfoy Manor. To each side his Death Eaters stood in two rows, forming a pair of wings that framed an empty area before him. Behind him were the family members of his Inner Circle who were not Death Eaters, not yet at least. If it hadn't been for whatever that Potter brat did they would all be bond to him now. But his magic was still below strength, his homunculus body unstable. Much of his power he had to use to stabilise it, along with taking specially made potions from Severus. Until then, he was weakened.
Which was why he was here now. A little over three weeks ago he'd been contacted by another wizard. The Black Eagle which had delivered the missive had glared balefully at him, as if daring him to try and kill it. It had been his first inclination, but he had recalled the tales of these rare magical eagles... that had only served Grindelwald's forces. For someone to have one, they had to have been in the service of Grindelwald before his defeat.
Staying his wand and allowing the Black Eagle to leave required a lot of will, but he'd succeeded. It was said the owners of such birds were very... protective, of them. The missive itself was short and to the point. The sender wished for a face-to-face meeting to discuss the possibility of an alliance. Voldemort had at first been going to turn him down, as he doubted that an older man would be of much use to him... but before he could send a reply Potter had finally gotten the hint and departed for the Department of Mysteries. The aftermath of that had him focused inwards, restoring himself and his magic.
Then came That Night, when it felt like his soul was being torn apart within the heart of a blast furnace. He didn't know what happened or what caused it, but he did know that Potter was involved somehow. He also could no longer sense the boy through the mental link they had shared. Severus had provided some clues as to what Potter had done, but it still made no sense. Young Draco had been punished for his role in things, as it was his cursing of Potter that caused those three young witches to rally around him and resulted in them doing... whatever they did.
It was why he had moved up his plan against Amelia Bones. He'd already marked her for death, as she was one of the few competent, honest people in the Ministry who were in a position to oppose him. As it had been her niece who'd been part of whatever they did for Potter, killing her aunt and last remaining relative would have been a suitable punishment... for the moment. Lucius was all set to swoop in and offer to become the orphaned Miss Bones new Guardian for the short time she still needed one. And once she arrived here...
But things had not gone right. Yes, Bones Manor was in ruins, but Amelia Bones still lived. And his Death Eaters had not performed well at all. Voldemort had thought over the fight outside of the manor; who'd have thought that such a 'Light' family would make use of necromancy, possibly the Darkest magic around? But the fight had highlighted a problem he had not considered before.
His Death Eaters were terrorists, scare-mongers and thugs. They excelled at terrifying their victims and spreading fear. But against determined or fearless opposition, they faltered and came up short. A halfway decent Auror or Hit-Wizard force would tear them apart.
That was the main reason he had decided to grant this man an audience. If he had served under Grindelwald and survived the hunts afterwards, then he had to be at least competent in a fight.
The other was the name. He was curious how someone from the same family as someone who supported Potter would wish to speak with him.
Out in the hall, Draco stood by the front door, fuming near silently. "This is demeaning! Answering the door! This is a servants job!" He muttered angrily. Just because he had the balls to curse Potty...
He jumped when the door beside him rattled as it was rapped on heavily. The sound echoed through the hall as he tried to get his pulse under control. Summoning every shred of his pride, poise and charm, he opened the door.
And promptly started quivering in abject fear.
It was only because he'd had to skip lunch that he avoided shitting himself.
Back in the grand hall Voldemort had heard the rapping on the front door, and was preparing himself for anything. His wand lay close to hand, and his Death Eaters numbered almost eighty strong, an overwhelming display of power.
Behind him, Narcissa Malfoy listened to the sounds of the approaching boots with dread. If she'd had any choice she'd have been cowering under the covers of her bed right now. She was terrified that the Dark Lord would pluck her dissent and desire to flee right out of her mind. What would happen to her then... She didn't even think about it, but those thought inhabited her nightmares.
But this... the rhythmic thumping of boots chilled her blood. Whoever they were meeting was to bring an escort, but it sounded like he brought a small army...
Just then Draco hurried through the door, looking like all the hounds of Hell were snapping at his heels. His face was ghoulish in its paleness as he hurried over to take his place behind his father's right elbow. Narcissa was about to berate him for his lack of decor and grace, but then three men stepped through the archway... and she barely choked off a scream. From around her there were startled - and terrified - intakes of breath.
Stood in the centre was a tall man, his face lined with age but still razor sharp and ruthless. A nasty set of scars marred his cheek, but they just made him seem more powerful. The eyes were clearly even from this distance ice blue, cold and ruthless. The man just seemed to project a cold, merciless nature.
But the real shock - and cause for the fear - was his dress.
Head to toe, he was clad in black. Black knee length boots, black trousers, tunic, and peaked cap. Silver buttons and white trim gave him shape and form. At his throat was a stylish cross in silver and black. A black peaked cap was perched on his head, and from his shoulders hung a long black cape. His left arm was half missing, the lower half of the sleeve pinned up on the shoulder, while the right hand was encased in a black leather glove.
And right in the centre of that peaked cap, was a symbol that sent fear pouring through her very veins.
An eagle with outstretched wings, over which was laid a triangle with a circle within. And filling the space within that circle was a crooked cross.
The gun and wand holster worn across his torso on the belt just reinforced the image.
This was no average wizard.
This man was a surviving member of the Magische Schutzstaffel.
The Magical SS, Grindelwald's private force, the Agents of Death. And from the insignia, a high ranked one.
'Merlin help us...'
The men that walked either side took a step to the side, perfectly in step, placing themselves each side of the entrance. Two more men seamlessly filled the spaces left, flanking the leader. All four were also clearly Magi-SS. Their tunics were charcoal black, while the helmets and metal parts of their uniforms were a very dark grey. All four were heavily armed, holding guns that any muggle or muggleborn would instantly recognise. They also had wand and pistol holsters on one hip, a large knife - almost a sword really - on the other, and a number of what looked like cans on sticks hanging from their belts.
But it was the facemasks that showed that these were the elite Storm Wizards, rather than regulars. Each had a mask that projected down from under the rim of their helmets, completely covering their faces. The masks were slightly mirrored, brighter than the helmets themselves, and were almost completely featureless. Only two darker triangles where the eyes would be.
From his seat Voldemort watched the officer look over his Death Eaters before looking right at him. While on the outside he was reaction-less, inside he was both elated and worried. If he could get this man and his men under his control, then what power he would control! He could destroy the Ministry and Dumbledore in days!
But if they took offence... He remembered the stories. Four Storm Wizards against eighty normal witches and wizards? They'd cut through them without pause or loss.
The officer stepped forwards. "You are the Dark Lord Voldemort?" He asked with a Baltic accent.
"That I am. And you are?"
"Major Bearson Greengrass, Waffen-Magische Schutzstaffel." The major then lazily drew his wand and waved it before him. Voldemort noted the length and thickness of the wand; it was more like a baton than a wand. It also had a long leather tail attached to one end, making it a whip as well as a wand. A hard backed, austere chair appeared, into which the major sat himself after holstering his wand. His two guards stood just over each shoulder.
"Well, shall we begin?"
With only a small creak a door opened slowly, the young woman pushing it wincing as she did. It was late, gone one at the earliest, and she really, really didn't want her father to know about her going out. What made it worse was that she went clubbing with muggles. Her father was no Death Eater, but he certainly agreed with the sentiment that Magicals and Muggles should not mix, ever.
Easing the front door closed, she tiptoed as best she could towards the stairs. Now if she could just make it upstairs...
Light suddenly shone from a doorway. "Tracy?"
Tracy Davis jumped, her hand fumbling for her wand even as she spun to face the voice, a shriek half escaping before she restrained it. The light from the gas lamp fell across his face, stilling her hand.
"Damn it Roger, stop doing that!" She snapped irritably. "You trying to give me a heart attack!?!"
Roger Davies looked at his half-sister with ill humour, arms folded across his chest. The two had never seen eye-to-eye, even when younger. While he'd never said it he'd always felt, deep down, that she didn't belong in this house, this family. Her being sorted into Slytherin just widened the gap between them.
He couldn't help but look over her attire... and sigh in dismay. Tracy was most certainly not properly dressed. Her skirt was way too short, her top too tight... her stomach was showing for Merlin's sake! Her clothing was in black or dark colours, and he could just see that she'd put purple highlights into her hair. Why was she so interested in muggles, in particular their 'Goth' sub-culture? What the hell was a 'Goth' anyway? Shaking his head, his pushed those thoughts to one side.
"Father wants a word with you."
Tracy tried to ignore the lump of ice that dropped into her stomach at his words. "That all? Why didn't he wait till morn..."
"Now, Tracy." Roger cut her off. Tracy's jaw fell even as her face drained.
"Y... you mean, right now?" That shriek was coming back. He just nodded. Trembling, Tracy followed him, a nest of snakes churning in her belly.
Stepping into her father's office, Tracy couldn't help but be reminded of who he really loved. Photos of Abraxis Davies and his first wife - Roger's mother - were everywhere, with a large 'glamour' photo of her sat pride of place on his desk beaming at him. In contrast, the only photo of her mother was a small, business card sized one tucked away in a corner, half hidden by other things. The two desk lamps were alight, but the rest of the room was in darkness. The combination made Abraxis appear to loom out of the shadows, his scowl made all the darker by them. The scowl on his face deepened when he saw her state of dress.
"Sit down Tracy." He stated firmly. Hearing the tone of his voice, she sat down without a witty comeback or a hint of rebellion. Roger moved to lean against the wall over his fathers shoulder, almost disappearing in the darkness.
After she had sat, Tracy forced herself to keep quiet. Her father could at times be rather volatile. The problem was he was also a control freak, and Tracy found his actions to control her life very aggregating. It was part of the reason she rebelled so much. It helped that the Muggle world was so varied, so rich! She'd drifted for a bit before coming across the Goth group, and discovered a number of like-minded individuals, seeking escape from domineering parents.
But now, sat before him in her muggle clothing, she could practically feel his disapproving gaze raking over her. After a long few moments he sighed.
"I told you not to associate with muggles Tracy. Why do you continue to defy me?"
"Dad..."
"Be quiet! I don't want another excuse. Merlin, you cavort with some of the most disreputable sorts of muggles around! Why? To embarrass me? Whoring yourself out like you are?"
Tracy shot to her feet, anger surging through her. "I am NOT a WHORE!"
"DON'T YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME, YOUNG WOMAN! You dress like one, then you are one! Merlin, you are too much like your mother..."
"You loved her..."
"SILENCE! That bitch took advantage of my broken heart, and then left me for some muggle-born bastard! And I was stuck with you!" Abraxis Davies was now standing, fists planted on his desk. Terrified, Tracy sunk back onto her chair. After a few seconds, her father sighed himself and sat back down, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
"Why the Hades do you continue to cavort with muggles, Tracy? Do you realise what that does? You've painted a target on yourself and us!" Tracy paled as he continued. "The Dark Lord is back Tracy, witnessed by the Minister and over half the Ministry! We don't have the means nor the funds to fend him off if he comes after us; our only chance is to not draw his ire.
"Why couldn't you be more like Diane?" He asked almost softly, looking fondly at the large photo on the desk, which winked before blowing a kiss. "She knew and understood a woman's place in society..."
Tracy lost it; she snorted. "Yeah. Shackled to the kitchen crapping out kids..."
*SMACK*
She jumped as his fist slammed down on his desk as he rose to his feet, towering over her. Anger blazed from his eyes.
"Don't. You. Dare. Demean. Her." Abraxis intoned quiet, threateningly. Eye's wide, she could only nod in reply, too stunned to speak. After a few seconds her father exhaled, sinking back down into his chair. Both hands came up and rubbed over his face. In that moment, Tracy saw how old her father looked, how tired. He was a hard man, but had carved his little niche in the world with the sweat off his own back. Unlike most of the other students at Hogwarts, The Davies Family were not Noble or Ancient. Nor were they gifted Muggle-borns. They were a Working-Class family, whose father had earned his fortune through hard work.
"You are to have no more contact with the Muggle world Tracy. I forbid it! You are to study those books on etiquette that I got you three years ago. You'll need them, when you meet your betrothed."
Tracy's voice came back at full volume. "BETROTHED?"
Abraxis leaned back, a tired expression on his face. "Yes. The Nott family's put in a good offer for a contract between you and their son Theodore. It's a good match..." His tone was resigned.
Tracy felt her heart race. "Dad, the Nott's are DEATH EATERS! Theo's part of Malfoy's gang at Hogwarts! The group that tried to rape me, several times over the last year!"
Abraxis frowned. "Nonsense. I know Nott senior quite well. He's no more a Death Eater than I am. And Lucius Malfoy's an upstanding citizen: would a Death Eater really help fund St. Mungos?" His eyes narrowed. "And I don't care that in the Muggle World girls can get an honest guy lynched just by yelling 'rape'. We do things properly, with evidence!"
Distraught, Tracy turned to her older half-brother. "Back me up here Roger! You know what Malfoy and his lot are like! It was all over the school!"
Roger Davies frowned. "I did hear rumours floating about, but that's all they were, rumours and hearsay. I saw no evidence to substantiate them."
Tracy felt her jaw drop. How could he be so blind?
"This is for the best Tracy." Abraxis cut in as softly as he could. "The Bride price is enough to set us for life, and allow Roger to pick his future wife without worrying over her price." He leaned back in his seat wearily.
Tracy felt devastated and betrayed. "So that's all I am to you? A way to make money? What about what I want?" not waiting for a reply she rapidly stood and turned to the door.
Behind her Abraxis sighed. "Marriage has always been, and always shall be, politically and financially managed. Love is fleeting, and only the lucky find it. You have to accept it."
Tracy paused at the door, one hand resting on the handle. "Just one thing." She paused, voice breaking. "If someone comes along with a better offer, would you accept them over the Notts?"
Abraxis considered that for moment. "Yes, I believe so. But they'd have to come forward soon, as the Nott's are awaiting my answer." Seeing the way her shoulders slumped, Abraxis felt compelled to say something. Despite everything she had done, every painful thing she reminded him of, he did care for her. "Tracy... I'm sorry it has to be this way. If I had other options... but Hogwart's hasn't opened the door's I hoped for." Regret laced his tone.
Tracy nodded, understanding. Hogwarts was The Magical School for Britain, but it was expensive. She knew how he'd scraped and saved to put both Roger and herself through Hogwarts... when he had every right to send her to the 'local' school and save himself a fortune. If Malfoy knew that she was almost as poor as the Weasleys... it didn't bear thinking about.
"I'll delay them as long as I can Tracy, to give you time to find another suitor with a better offer... one you want to be with. Just... work fast." Her father's tone was unsure, concern filtering through. It sent a small wave of warmth through her.
"Thanks dad."