FIC: Aftermaths, Part 70

[geri_chan]

Title: Aftermaths, Part 70
Rating: NC-17 overall, but most chapters are closer to PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Lupin, Theodore/Blaise, and a few other minor pairings
Word count: ~10,710
Warning: AU; written pre-HBP
Author's notes: {} Indicates character's unspoken thoughts
Disclaimer: No money is being made off this story; consider it a little wish fulfillment on my part.
Sequel to: Always, Summer Vacation, For Old Time's Sake, Three's a Crowd, Return of the Raven, Phoenix Reborn, Phoenix Rising
Summary: Aric argues with his family about the marriage alliance, and later, the Dietrich family gets an invitation to the party at Snape Manor.

Part 69 (Previous chapters can be found under the aftermaths tag.)

***

After completing their detention at the clinic, Snape sentenced Draco and Aric to gathering potion ingredients for him in the Forbidden Forest, under the somewhat dubious protection and supervision of Hagrid and Fang. Aric had a sneaking suspicion that Hagrid still held him partially responsible for the death of the Porvora in the exploding Christmas present prank, or at least associated Aric with the death of his little pet even if he hadn't really been responsible for it. He had heard from some of the other students that the Care of Magical Creatures instructor still mourned the loss of the little furball. So he wouldn't have been surprised if Hagrid was half-hoping that he would get eaten by some monster in the forest; actually, it wouldn't surprise him if that had been Snape's intention all along. Snape had been dying to get rid of him ever since he'd started at Hogwarts, and since he'd failed to get Aric expelled, perhaps he was resorting to more drastic measures. Then again, maybe not, because Draco was something of a teacher's pet, unless Snape had gotten fed up with all Malfoy's whining.

Aric was almost disappointed when nothing ate them, after all. At least it would have put him out of his misery. Instead, they suffered nothing more serious than the discomfort of slogging through the slush and mud (winter was only slowly and grudgingly giving way to spring) to gather the herbs and roots that Snape wanted. Draco, of course, complained loudly during their detention, but Aric was grateful that he didn't have to face Takeshi anymore.

Before long, his detention was over and school was letting out for the Easter break, but Aric was not happy, because he knew that he would have to meet his future fiancee and in-laws. However, when he returned home, he received a pleasant surprise.

"Edward was sent on a diplomatic mission to France, and his family went with him," Alison Dietrich sighed. "Unfortunately, that means that the betrothal negotiations will have to wait until he comes back. On the other hand, such an important assignment means that the Minister of Magic holds Edward in high esteem, which bodes well for your future, my son. It's a pity that you didn't get to meet Miranda, though."

Aric was filled with such a profound sense of relief that he nearly fainted. He suddenly wondered if this was a coincidence, or if Lupin had come through for him and pulled some strings on his behalf at the Ministry as he had promised.

His relief must have shown on his face, because his father gave him a wry smile. "I can see how disappointed you are not to meet your bride-to-be," Karl Dietrich said.

Aric grinned sheepishly, and his parents laughed good-naturedly. Buoyed by his reprieve and his parents' good mood, Aric gathered up the courage to make one last appeal to them.

"Listen, Mum, Dad--about the betrothal, nothing's settled yet, right?"

"Not yet," Karl said, giving his son a wary, measuring look. "But the talks have gone well, so far."

Aric took a deep breath, then exhaled and said, "I know I should have talked it over with you before, but I didn't know that you were going to arrange a marriage for me this soon." He tried to keep his voice calm and reasonable; he wanted to sound mature, not like a whining child.

"It was rather unexpected for all of us," Alison said sympathetically. "But the opportunity arose, and we had to take advantage of it right away or risk losing it."

"You see," Aric explained, fighting to keep his voice steady although his heart was pounding with nervousness, "I really want to become a mediwizard." His mother opened her mouth to speak, and Aric quickly continued, "I know you heard about it from Yvonne's mother, and you should have heard it from me first. I'm sorry. I want you to know that this isn't a whim; I've thought long and hard about it. I've got good grades in Potions and Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts--all the required courses for a mediwizard. I got tested by a Healer at St. Mungo's, and he said that I have the Healing Gift, like Rafe. It's a rare gift, and it would be a shame to waste it. The Healer says that I'm guaranteed a job there as long as I do well on my N.E.W.T.s, and that there's plenty of room for advancement--" That last was a bit of an exaggeration, but he needed to throw in something to appease his parents' sense of ambition.

Karl held up a hand, as if to stem his tide of words. "I'm sorry, son," he said quietly. "I did indeed think it was a whim. I didn't realize how badly you wanted to become a mediwizard."

"Then you'll reconsider?" Aric asked hopefully. "About the betrothal and the Ministry position, I mean?"

But his hopes were dashed when Karl shook his head. "I truly am sorry, Aric, but an opportunity like this comes along only once in a lifetime."

"But Father--" Aric cried in a pleading tone, forgetting his resolve to sound mature.

"If you turn down this position," Karl said, "it will likely offend Edward Tierney, and you will never get another chance at a Ministry job."

"But I don't WANT a Ministry job!" Aric pointed out.

Karl glared at his son, his sympathy vanishing. "Depending on how much Tierney's influence grows, not just you, but the entire Dietrich family could be shut out of the Ministry, perhaps for generations. Even if you don't want a Ministry position, maybe someday your sister or your cousins or even your children might want to apply there, and they will find the way barred because you offended a high-ranking official!"

"But surely we could find a way to turn him down without offending him," Aric begged. "Nothing's been finalized yet, you said. Tell him that I had already signed a contract with St. Mungo's before he offered the betrothal, and you didn't know about it. Or--I don't know, surely there must be some excuse you can come up with!"

"Any excuse I could come up with would sound exactly like what it is--an excuse," Karl said impatiently. "No pureblood in his right mind would turn down such an offer, and Edward knows it. And I don't intend to turn it down, even if I could manage to do it without offending him. You must think not just of yourself, my son, but of your family. This alliance is very important to us. We have fallen in status, thanks to our feud with the Notts. Lucius Malfoy shut us out of any position of importance in the British wizarding world. But now that the Death Eaters have fallen, we have a chance to regain what is ours--and more. This alliance is our first step in rebuilding our power, and we need to do it now, before someone else fills the vacuum that Malfoy and his cronies have left behind. If we don't seize this chance now, we might well languish in obscurity, watching our power and wealth gradually diminish until we become like the Zabinis, with nothing left to them but their blood and their name. This is very important, Aric. You are ensuring the future of this family for generations to come."

Aric's first thought, although he did not speak it aloud, was, "Why do I have to sacrifice myself for the generations to come?" And the second was that if their decline in status was due to their feud with the Notts, then maybe his family shouldn't have married Aunt Marta to Thaddeus in the first place. He sulked for a moment, wondering why he should have to pay for his grandparents' error in judgment, when it suddenly occurred to him that if his grandparents were at fault for marrying Marta to Thaddeus, then they were also indirectly responsible for Rafe's death. Which would mean that it wasn't Theo's fault, or at least, not entirely his fault.

That was too staggering a concept for his mind to wrap itself around right now, and he shoved that traitorous thought to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later. He frantically tried to come up with something that would change his father's mind. "Uncle Rafe was a mediwizard," he said, knowing that he was grasping at straws.

"Rafe was the youngest son, not the heir of the family," Karl said sternly. "He did not have the same responsibilities that you and I do." He sighed sadly. "And my parents spoiled him--we all did. We indulged him much more than we should have, let him fill his head with Gryffindor notions of idealism and nobility..."

"Please, Father," Aric said desperately. "Please let me carry on Uncle Rafe's work; I know it would make him happy--" Appealing to a Slytherin's sentimentality was sheer desperation indeed, but there was the slightest chance that it might actually work, if he could invoke Rafe's name and appeal to the soft spot that his father had always had for his younger brother.

But Karl just shook his head, and Alison said soothingly, "There are other ways of honoring your uncle, dear. You know that the Ministry provides some funding and research grants for St. Mungo's. If you work hard, then maybe one day you will be in charge of such funding, and can do far more good at the hospital than you could as a mediwizard. In fact, perhaps you could have them name a wing after Rafe!"

Aric smiled bitterly; that was exactly the response he had expected from his parents, although it was not the one he had hoped for. His mother continued chattering in a bright voice, seemingly oblivious to--or perhaps just ignoring--the expression on his face.

"We could make a donation to St. Mungo's to celebrate your betrothal, once it's finalized. Of course, I don't think that we can afford an entire wing just yet, but we could add a plaque to the wall of donors. A gold plaque, one that says, 'In Memory of Rafe Dietrich'--wouldn't that be nice, dear?"

There was a large display on one wall of the reception area of St. Mungo's to honor the people who made large donations to the hospital, made up of plaques engraved with the names of the donors--or the names of loved ones in whose memory the donations were made. The display was divided up into three sections, as the plaques were made of copper, silver, or gold, depending on the size of the donation. A gold plaque was quite costly, but still, Aric couldn't believe that they were trying to buy him off with a plaque, the way that one might try to pacify a child with a toy or a sweet.

"You don't understand!" Aric shouted in frustration. "This is important to me! I want to actually be able to heal people, not just stick a plaque on a wall!"

"I understand that we made a mistake by spoiling Rafe as a child," a cold voice said.

Aric looked up, startled, and saw that his grandfather had entered the room unnoticed.

"As Karl says," Roderick Dietrich continued, "we indulged Rafe more than we should have, because he was so charming, and the baby of the family. I regret that now, for I see that he has been a bad influence on the younger generation."

"How can you say that?" Aric demanded indignantly. "There's nothing wrong with being a mediwizard; it's an honorable profession!"

"There is nothing wrong with it in and of itself," Roderick said calmly. "But Rafe's choice of it was an unfortunate extension of the Gryffindor altruism he picked up at Hogwarts." He grimaced. "It's my fault. If I had been stricter with him as a child, he would have gone into Slytherin as he should have, and he would not have picked up all those ridiculous Gryffindor ideals--and he would not have done something so monumentally foolish as to confront a Death Eater face-to-face."

Aric stared at his grandfather in shock; Roderick had never openly criticized Rafe before, although he had occasionally sighed and rolled his eyes over his youngest son's Gryffindor ways. But it sounded like he was saying that it was Rafe's own fault that he had been killed, and that was wrong...wasn't it?

"Healing is a respectable profession, yes," Roderick said. "But it does not confer as much honor upon oneself and one's family as a position in the Ministry of Magic would."

"This is my life you're talking about!" Aric exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Don't I have any say in it?"

"No, you do not!" Roderick snapped, his eyes cold and hard. He was no longer the kindly, indulgent grandfather that Aric was familiar with, but the Lord of the Dietrich family. "Being a member of a pureblood family comes with obligations as well as privileges, Aric. I think you have forgotten that. You live in a fine mansion, where everything you need is provided for you: food, clothing, that expensive broomstick you wanted when you joined the Durmstrang Quidditch team, not to mention those fencing lessons that you just had to have." Roderick shook his head slightly. "Another sign of Rafe's influence on you. I should have nipped that in the bud before it started."

"But Grandfather--"

"You lived in comfort, never having to work a day in your life," Roderick continued inexorably, "while there are others in the wizarding world who live in squalor, scrambling to make ends meet. You accepted the wealth, power, and privilege that come with being a Dietrich, and never asked the price. I doubt that it ever occurred to you that there was a price to pay, but I am telling you now that there is, and the price is this: as your family has cared for and provided for you, so in turn will you provide for your family. I loved Rafe, too, but I will not allow you to jeopardize the future of this family on a sentimental whim. You will do your duty to this family. You will marry the Tierney girl and take the Ministry position that her father is offering, or by Merlin, I will disown you, and you will never set foot in this house again!"

Aric stared at his grandfather in shock. He had known, intellectually, that his family would probably disown him if he refused to go through with the marriage alliance, but deep down, he had not truly believed that they would actually do it. He suddenly remembered something that Lupin had said once, when they had been arguing about Theo: "You speak with the self-assurance of someone who has always been loved and protected by his family, Aric." He had always been certain of his family's love; so certain that he had never really thought about it, and had simply taken it for granted. For the first time he realized that maybe they didn't love him quite as much as he--and Lupin--had thought they did.

Alison gasped in shock and dismay, and Karl said tentatively, "Father, surely that's going a little too far--"

"Silence!" Roderick roared, and Aric's parents fell silent. They looked unhappy, but did not try to argue further. Aric knew, with a sickening sense of certainty, that his grandfather was not bluffing, and that his parents would not try to stop him if he followed through on his threat to disown Aric. "I will not coddle or spoil the boy any further!" Roderick turned to glare at Aric. "You are no longer a boy, but a man now, Aric. It is time to step up and do a man's duty." He smiled grimly. "And if you refuse, you will grow up soon enough, because I will throw you out on the street with nothing more than the clothes on your back, and you will learn what it is like to actually have to work for a living. Do you understand me, Aric?"

"Yes, sir," Aric whispered, and fled the room; no one tried to stop him. He ran to his room, slammed the door behind him, and flung himself down on the bed. He curled up in a ball, hugging his knees to his chest, shaking with fear and anger and misery. He couldn't stand the thought of working at the Ministry, spending all his time sucking up to the people in power rather than working real magic. He couldn't stand the thought of spending the rest of his life with Miranda Tierney; he already loathed the sight of her face, and he hadn't even met her yet. Unbidden, an image sprang into his mind, not of a girl, but of a young man clad in the lime-green robes that were the uniform of a St. Mungo's worker, with black hair tied back in a long braid that nearly reached his waist. He pictured a face with a cheerful smile and almond-shaped brown eyes framed by gold wire-rimmed glasses.

Aric groaned in despair, unable to deny it any longer. It wasn't just the prospect of a Ministry job that bothered him, and he didn't really hate Miranda. If it hadn't been for Takeshi, he would have tried to make the best of the situation, maybe even tried to befriend his future bride. Aric was no stranger to mischief himself, and at one time, he might have found Miranda's wild reputation a little appealing. But now, he could not imagine his life without the young mediwizard in it, which was strange. They had known each other for several months, and corresponded regularly through letters, but when you added up the time that they had actually spent together in person, it came out to less than three weeks. Surely three weeks was not enough time to fall in love with someone. Surely three weeks was not enough time for someone to get under your skin so deeply that the thought of losing them turned your life upside-down.

But maybe it was not so surprising, after all, Aric admitted to himself after he thought about it for a little while. Takeshi was the only friend he had who truly liked Aric for himself, and not because of his family and his wealth. There was genuine affection between himself and his Durmstrang friends, but Aric knew that they would never have given him the time of day if he had not been a pureblood of a wealthy family. They had first gathered together because their families were of similar rank and political aspirations; friendship had followed later.

But Takeshi didn't care about rank or blood purity or politics. He liked Aric for himself, although only Merlin knew why. He put with Aric in spite of his arrogance and bad moods, for no reason that Aric could see other than friendship. Takeshi owed no obligation to the Dietrich family, and unlike Lupin or Diggory, he had no reason to look after Aric out of a sense of duty and responsibility towards a student. No, Takeshi's friendship was unconditional--a very rare thing in the world of the pureblood nobility. As Aric had just discovered, even the love of his family came with strings attached.

He couldn't bear to lose Takeshi, and he somehow knew without anyone needing to tell him, that he could never ask the mediwizard to become his mistress, or whatever the male equivalent of a mistress was called. He doubted that his friend would ever accept such a role, and besides, he deserved better. He deserved to have a lover that he didn't have to share with a wife. He deserved someone who truly loved him, who wasn't ashamed to be with him in public.

But the thought of Takeshi being with someone else filled him with a jealousy so intense that it physically hurt--a literal ache in his heart, and a pain in his gut, as if someone were tying his intestines into knots. If this was what love was like, Aric wanted no part of it. He had never been in love before. Although he had dallied with both boys and girls at Durmstrang, he had taken care never to get attached to any of them, precisely because he knew that he might be called upon to make a marriage alliance someday. But he had never thought to guard himself against Takeshi, because he had not seemed like a danger. It hadn't been like the poets said; there had been no feelings of sparks or fireworks, no sense of being struck with love at first sight. The mediwizard had quietly wormed his way into Aric's heart, without Aric ever being aware of it until it was too late. He clenched his fists and thought to himself desperately that he did not want to be in love with a boy, someone who was a totally inappropriate romantic partner. He didn't want to be in love with a girl, either, even if he could have magically made himself fall in love with his fiancee. He didn't want to fall in love with anyone if it hurt as badly as this.

But the feelings would not go away, no matter how much he willed them to.

Although Aric could not imagine life without Takeshi, he couldn't imagine life without his family either, to never see his parents and grandparents and sister again, except perhaps to receive a pitying or contemptuous look from them if they chanced to pass each other on the street. He wondered what Erika would think; would she be angry at him, like Grandfather was, or would she be happy if he was disowned, because she would inherit the title with him out of the way? And Grandfather was right; he had relied on his family all his life. Could he really survive and make a living on his own, without help from anyone?

{You would have Takeshi,} he told himself, but maybe he was assuming too much. A brief look of longing and despair had passed between them, but there had been no words spoken, no promises made. What if Takeshi didn't want a permanent lover, didn't want to be saddled with an outcast, disgraced former pureblood heir without a penny to his name? Even if Takeshi really did want him, what if Aric turned out to be totally useless without his family's wealth and name to back him up? What if he became a burden to his lover, and Takeshi got tired of him? Then Aric would have nothing. No--Takeshi was too kind to simply throw him out on the street, but to kept around out of pity, as a charity case, was a fate worse than death.

{I am a coward,} Aric thought miserably. Maybe he wasn't fit to be the Dietrich heir if he didn't have the strength to either resolve to do his duty or make the sacrifices necessary in order to be with the one he loved.

But it wasn't just fear of actually having to work for a living, or at least, not solely fear. He loved his family and he didn't want to lose them. But he didn't want to lose his dearest friend, either, the only person who cared about him simply for himself, and not for what Aric might be able to do for him.

He just didn't know what to do, and he had never felt so alone in all his life. There was no one he could turn to for advice; the person he would have felt most comfortable confiding in--Takeshi--was out for obvious reasons. And just as obviously, he couldn't confide in his family, either. He had no friends at Hogwarts, and his friends at Durmstrang wouldn't understand; they would regard him with disbelief or disgust if they knew that he was even contemplating giving up a Ministry position, not to mention his entire inheritance, for a male lover. Then he remembered that Lupin had often tried to befriend him, but the werewolf was not a pureblood or a Slytherin. He had been a pauper before Dumbledore had given him a job at Hogwarts, and he wouldn't understand what it was like to be torn between love and duty, to risk losing not just your family, but your name, rank, and inheritance.

Then it occurred to Aric that there were two people at Hogwarts who had been faced with the same choice and probably knew exactly what he was going through: Snape and Theo. Snape had already been disowned once, and had defied the entire wizarding world by taking Lupin openly as his lover. And Theo had risked disgrace by kissing Blaise in front of everyone at the Yule Ball in order to prove his love for the other boy.

He wanted to ask Snape what it had been like to lose his family and rank and inheritance, everything that made a pureblood noble what he was. He wanted to ask Snape how he had survived alone and in disgrace, for nearly two decades. He wanted to ask Theo why he had given up the Nott name and inheritance to become a Snape; he no longer thought it was because of greed and ambition, as he had first assumed. He wanted to ask Theo if he had been afraid of being disowned when he had kissed Blaise at the Ball. He wanted to ask Snape and Theo how they had kept Lady Selima from repudiating both of them when she found out. He wanted to ask them how they managed to bear the insults and snide jokes and malicious gossip. He wanted to know how they found the courage to be open about whom they loved.

But why should his cousin help him, after the way Aric had treated him? Aric flushed with shame, remembering how he had sneered at Theo and called him a queer. He had lashed out at his cousin, he now realized, because he had seen something in Theo that he had recognized in himself. He hadn't wanted to admit to himself that he might want something more serious than "fun" from another guy. He hadn't wanted to admit to himself that he might be attracted to Takeshi, specifically. Because Takeshi was not the kind of person you could use for a night's pleasure and then forget about, like the boys he had fooled around with at Durmstrang.

Aric didn't hate or despise Theo because he was gay; he was jealous because Theo wasn't afraid to admit to everyone what he was. He had hated Theo for causing Rafe's death, but now he was no longer sure that it was really Theo's fault. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He wished, for the first time, that he and Theo had not been enemies, so that he could have had at least one friend to confide in.

Aric laughed bitterly at himself; how typically Slytherin of him, to want to befriend someone only when that person had something that he wanted. He probably deserved Theo's contempt. And even if Aric hadn't already been in trouble with the Potions Master over getting caught drinking on the Astronomy Tower, Snape wouldn't want to help him after Aric had repeatedly insulted his son, not to mention called Snape himself a "Death Eater pervert."

Aric lay on his bed, weeping softly, feeling utterly miserable. He didn't know how long he lay there crying, but it must have been hours, because eventually he noticed that his eyes and throat were sore, and the sunlight outside the window was fading to dusk. A short time later his mother came and knocked lightly on the door, saying, "Dinnertime, Aric." When Aric didn't respond, she said in a worried voice, "Please, dear, you must come and eat something."

Aric just lay there silently on the bed, and he heard his father say in a gruff but not unkind voice, "Let the boy be, dear. Missing one meal won't kill him."

"But he's a growing boy," Alison protested, her voice and her footsteps fading away down the hall. Eventually, Aric drifted off into an uneasy sleep haunted by restless dreams. He dreamed of himself and Erika and Theo playing together as children, and of Rafe, gently scolding them for fighting with each other. He dreamed that he was standing on the street with his family, and they all turned their backs on him and walked away as he begged them to stop. He dreamed that he was standing at the altar with Miranda, about to be wed. He turned and looked back down the aisle, and saw Takeshi standing there, smiling at him sadly. "I wish you joy in your life, Aric," he said, then turned and walked away, ignoring the hand that Aric stretched out towards him.

"No, don't go!" Aric cried, then he woke suddenly and sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. He cast a cleaning spell on his pajamas to dry them out, then paced around the room, trying to settle his nerves before he went back to sleep; he did not want any more dreams like the ones he'd just had. As he paced, he suddenly noticed that someone had left a plate of sandwiches just inside the bedroom door; either his father or his mother must have brought it while he was sleeping. Aric had been a mischievous child, and had been sent to bed without his supper many times as punishment for some prank he'd pulled, or for fighting with one of his playmates. But one of his parents would usually relent and secretly bring him a snack late at night. Once, both his mother and his father had brought him food--at different times, unbeknownst to the other. Aric stared at the plate and burst into tears at that simple sign of affection, at that reminder of happier times during his childhood, when he had been absolutely certain of his place in the world.

***

Draco returned home for the Easter break, feeling a little uncomfortable about knowing his mother's secret. But Narcissa obviously didn't suspect anything, because she greeted him at the train station with a big hug and kiss as usual. And as usual, he squirmed and protested, "Mum, please don't embarrass me in public," but he didn't really mind, and in fact, he secretly liked it. Snape was right; even if he didn't have a father, he still had a mother who loved him. Now that the werewolf was out of their lives, everything would be fine and go back to the way it was supposed to be.

But Draco found that a few changes had taken place in his absence; changes that had nothing to do with the werewolf. When they returned home to Malfoy Manor, Narcissa presented him with a plate of sugar cookies, saying proudly, "I baked them myself this morning!"

"You...baked them?" Draco asked incredulously. "Yourself?"

"Yes," Narcissa said cheerfully. "Aileen's been teaching me how to cook." Draco just sat there with his mouth hanging open in shock, and his mother frowned at him anxiously. "Oh dear, are they burnt? I'm still getting the hang of this cooking thing..."

Draco quickly stuffed a cookie in his mouth and assured his mother that they tasted delicious. Half of the cookies were a dark brown, overcooked but at least not burnt black; the rest were pale and slightly underdone. But even if they had been raw or burnt to a crisp, Draco would still have eaten them all rather than hurt his mother's feelings. As it was, even if they weren't perfect, they were still edible, and keeping his mouth busy chewing gave him an excuse to remain silent and collect his thoughts while Narcissa explained what she had been up to while he was at school.

After they had lost their house-elf servant, Dobby, the Malfoys had relied on a combination of human servants and magical cleaning spells to maintain the mansion. However, after Lucius's arrest, it had been difficult to find people who wanted to work for the Malfoys, and besides, it had not been safe to allow strangers inside the Manor--strangers who might see things that they shouldn't and report them to the Aurors. So Narcissa had closed up most of the mansion and looked after the remaining rooms herself. Lucius had promised that it would only be temporary, until the Dark Lord took his place as the ruler of the wizarding world--and Lucius took his place as the Dark Lord's favored servant and right-hand man. Then Narcissa could have as many slaves as she liked to take care of the mansion. Lucius had laughed and said that perhaps he wouldn't kill Harry Potter's little friends; maybe he would spare their lives and keep them around to scrub the floors and clean the toilets.

But the Dark Lord had fallen, and people no longer just avoided the Malfoys, they outwardly sneered at, and in some cases, even spat at them. Even the lowliest maidservants had turned their noses up at the idea of working for a Death Eater. So Narcissa had left the majority of the mansion closed up and continued as she had been doing. She had drawn the line at cooking, though, and instead purchased already-prepared meals, hoping that the cooks wouldn't realize that they were cooking for a pardoned Death Eater and spit in the food.

Aileen Pierce had taken pity on Narcissa and found a housekeeping service that would come in to clean and cook for the Malfoys. They were polite and efficient, but also cool and distant, and it was clear that they had only taken the job as a favor to Aileen. (The owner of the service was the sister of one of Liam Pierce's cauldron factory workers.) Narcissa explained to Draco that the housekeepers' attitudes made her uncomfortable, so she had dismissed them and taken over the chores herself.

Draco choked and coughed, spraying cookie crumbs from his mouth. "You...cleaning? The entire mansion?" he demanded, aghast at the thought of his aristocratic mother slaving away like a common servant.

"Well, not the entire mansion," Narcissa said with a smile. "I've left about half of it closed; the two of us don't really need that much space, and most of the time it's just me here while you're at school. And I don't need to do most of the actual cleaning myself; I've spent some time developing permanent automated cleaning spells. Of course, it was bit tricky getting the charms exactly right; you have to be very specific, or the spells have a tendency to knock over objects or sweep out things they're not supposed to. Getting the timing right was also a delicate matter, so that the spells go off at the same time every day. And invoking permanency takes a great deal of magical power, but eventually I got everything right."

She smiled proudly, and Draco said weakly, "That's great, Mum. But that must have been a lot of work."

Narcissa shrugged and said casually, "Well, I had a lot of time on my hands. It helped me keep busy."

And then Draco realized that his mother had not really developed a sudden fascination for cooking and cleaning. She had no job, no real social life, and she was living in this huge empty house all alone while Draco was at Hogwarts. She must be bored out of her wits.

"Mum?" he asked hesitantly. "Are people still shunning you? I thought things got a little better after Lord Severin's funeral."

"Lady Selima's acceptance has helped," Narcissa said. "And the fact that Arthur Weasley was friendly to me in public." She blushed, looking a little ashamed of herself. "Though I'm not sure why he was, after all the nasty things that Lucius and I said about the Weasleys in the past. Most people don't openly insult me anymore, but they still talk about me behind my back. They're polite to my face, but I can see them smirking, I can see the smug superiority in their eyes. I can't stomach the idea of having tea with people like that, knowing that they're secretly laughing at how far the Malfoys have fallen."

"Mum..." Draco said.

Narcissa must have seen the worry in his eyes, because she laughed gaily and said, "Oh, don't worry about me, Draco! I'm doing fine. I've been keeping busy with the cleaning spells, and I have tea two or three times a week with Aileen, and sometimes I have dinner with Sirius and Professor Blackmore. I also stop by Hogsmeade every now and then to visit Delia. I was the tiniest bit bored, so Aileen's been teaching me how to cook. It's much more practical than buying cooked meals, and I don't have worry that some cook or kitchen maid might decide to poison the food because they have a grudge against the Death Eaters. It's not so bad; it's sort of the same process and principle as brewing a potion, don't you think, dear? Of course, I wasn't that talented a Potions student in school, at least in comparison to Severus. But then, few people were." She smiled brightly at Draco. "Anyway, Aileen said I should start off with a few simple dishes, so I'm making a stew for dinner tonight."

Draco noticed that Narcissa's good cheer seemed a little forced, but he played along. "That sounds great, Mum. I can't wait to try it." Narcissa beamed at him, and he added, "Er...do you want some help? You said cooking is like making a potion, and I'm a good Potions student." In the past, Draco would never have demeaned himself by doing a servant's task, but he wanted to help his mother, partly out of filial affection, and partly out of self-preservation. He knew that his mother had received mediocre Potions grades in school, and he wanted dinner to be edible.

"Oh no, dear," Narcissa protested. "You just got back from school; I want you to relax. Besides, you're the Lord of the Manor now, and it's not appropriate for you to be working in the kitchen." She kissed him on the cheek. "You go and get settled in, and I'll take care of everything."

Draco didn't think that it was appropriate for the Lady of the Manor to be slaving away in the kitchen, either, but he didn't argue with his mother. And dinner was edible, if a little bland.

Narcissa frowned. "It doesn't taste quite the way Aileen's stew does. Maybe I should have added more salt, or a few more bay leaves."

"It's great, Mum, really," Draco assured her. In his mind, too little salt was better than too much. A little salt and pepper could be added to a plate of bland food, but it was impossible to take the salt out of food that was too salty.

"I'll get it right next time," Narcissa promised, and passed the salt shaker to Draco. Dessert, thank Merlin, was a store-bought cake.

Narcissa's cooking experiments continued over the break, and most of them were edible. A few of them got burnt, but usually the burnt part could be cut away or scraped off. But the burnt food did not disturb Draco nearly so much as his mother's behavior did. On the surface, she seemed cheerful, bustling about the kitchen or checking on the mansion's cleaning spells, although it was decidedly weird to see his mother acting like Molly Weasley.

But beneath the surface, she seemed a little frantic, as if she were trying very hard to keep busy and keep up a good front for Draco's sake, much as she had tried to hide her worry from Draco while Lucius was imprisoned. He saw her sitting alone in the drawing room one night when she didn't realize that he was watching. There was a book open on her lap, but she wasn't reading it. Instead she just sat there staring at nothing in particular, looking tired and unhappy. That expression seemed familiar somehow, and Draco realized that he had often seen it on Diggory's face of late, ever since Draco had forced him to break up with Narcissa.

Narcissa informed Draco that they had received an invitation to a party at Snape Manor that weekend. She seemed excited about it, and Draco was happy, because he thought it would be good for his mother to get out of the house for a change. Such invitations were once commonplace for the Malfoys, but this was the first time that they'd been invited to an important party since Lucius's death. Narcissa was a little worried about how people would treat them, but Draco assured her that Professor Snape wouldn't let any of the guests be rude to her.

But Narcissa returned from tea at Aileen Pierce's house a few days later, looking pale and very upset. "We will not be attending the party at Snape Manor," she said tersely.

"Why not?" Draco asked, feeling puzzled. Had Lady Selima rescinded the invitation? But surely Snape wouldn't let her snub them that way.

"I have found out the reason behind the party," Narcissa said, her voice sounding odd--flat and hollow. "Ostensibly it is a party to celebrate the coming of spring, but its true purpose is to introduce Cyril Diggory, alias Lukas Bleddri, into society."

"What?!" Draco shouted.

"Lady Selima is throwing her full support behind the werewolf," Narcissa said. "No one really understands why she's so determined to help him, except that he's the son of one of her old friends, but still, it's very out of character for her." Her voice was starting to grow a bit shrill, and she paused to draw a deep breath. "In any case, I do not feel that it is appropriate for us to attend."

"I understand, Mother," Draco said, trying to keep his voice calm and indifferent. "Our reputation is damaged enough as it is. We should not be seen supporting a werewolf's claim to a pureblood title."

Narcissa looked surprised. "I thought that you liked Master Diggory. At least, you liked his Physical Defense classes well enough to ask me to buy you a sword."

Draco shrugged. "I like the classes well enough, but I don't especially like him. He's gotten rather full of himself lately, as if he's already won the title." Narcissa gave him a strange look, and Draco realized that he might have said too much. Draco smiled carelessly, as if none of this really concerned him. "I think it would be prudent to withhold our support until we see how things fall out. And besides, I don't really care to spend my free time associating with my teachers. Snape and Diggory will both be there, and probably Blackmore as well, and they're the strictest teachers in the school. It's like a Hogwarts student's worst nightmare!"

Draco laughed, and so did Narcissa, and they dropped the subject. But later that night, Draco was having trouble sleeping, and decided to go to the library to look for a book to read. He passed by his mother's bedroom along the way, and heard Narcissa weeping softly. He stood there paralyzed for a couple of minutes, then quietly tiptoed back to his own room. He lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling profoundly shaken. Could it be that his mother missed the werewolf? Could it be that she had actually cared about him...maybe even loved him? No, that couldn't be! His very proper pureblood mother could not possibly be in love with a beast! Except that she wasn't as proper as he had thought she was, or he wouldn't have seen her meeting Diggory at the lake in the first place.

Maybe she wasn't crying over the werewolf, Draco tried to tell himself. Maybe she was crying over her lost social status; maybe she was even crying because she missed his father. But Draco didn't really believe it. He tried to cover up his confusion with anger, telling himself that he'd kill the werewolf for making his mother cry.

Except...it was really Draco's fault that she was crying, wasn't it? Because he was the one who had forced Diggory to leave her. Draco tried to soothe his conscience, telling himself that it was good that he had interfered before things had gone any farther. The werewolf didn't care about her, after all; he would have ended up breaking her heart sooner or later.

But for some reason, Narcissa's weeping made him think of the lonely, mournful howls that he had heard on the night of the full moon. The howling--was that Diggory's way of weeping? Draco told himself not to be ridiculous; Diggory had been baying at the moon like a wolf because he was one. Because he was a beast. He didn't care about Narcissa.

But Draco's pesky conscience--which had been dormant for most of his life up until now; what a fine time for it to awaken--kept nagging at him. If Diggory didn't care about Narcissa, then why had he insisted that Draco not tell her that he knew about them? The proud werewolf leader had actually begged Draco not to say anything to her. He had taken all the blame upon himself, and had seemed quite anxious about sparing Narcissa's feelings. For the first time, Draco wondered why Diggory should care whether or not Narcissa's feelings were hurt if he had just been using her. At the time, Draco had been so furious that he hadn't stopped to think about why Diggory had chosen Narcissa as his conquest. In the back of his mind, he had vaguely assumed that Diggory, who despised most of the pureblood elite, had taken pleasure in seducing and despoiling a pureblood woman. But if that were the case, wouldn't Diggory want to expose Narcissa's secret and humiliate her rather than protect her? Could it be that he had made a mistake by breaking them up?

But Draco couldn't picture the werewolf being a part of their life, living in the mansion with them, sitting in his father's chair, sleeping in his father's bed... Draco shuddered a little at that thought, and the image it conjured up, of Narcissa and Diggory together in bed. And what the hell would Narcissa do during the full moon? Could she handle seeing Diggory in his animal form? Would he just lock himself away for one night every month? Lupin might be willing to wag his tail and be scratched behind the ears like a tame dog every full moon, but Draco couldn't picture Diggory behaving that way. Diggory was fierce, not gentle like Lupin. Draco tried not to think too much about the battle that had taken place on the school grounds last summer, but he did remember seeing a large blond wolf leading a pack of werewolves into the fray, remembered seeing that wolf with the blood of a slain Death Eater dripping from its jaws. Although he had not known it at the time, that wolf, of course, had been Diggory.

But...Diggory had been gentle with the children at the clinic. Well, maybe "gentle" was not exactly the right word, considering the way he had been tossing them into the air, but he had caught them every time, with what looked like a secure yet gentle grip. Certainly the children hadn't seemed to fear falling, and even their guardian, despite her protests, had not really looked worried. He had laughed and played with the children, hugging them unselfconsciously, and the children had treated him as if he were their father, or at the very least, a favorite uncle.

Draco wondered, a bit wistfully, what it would have been like to have a father like that. Then he came to his senses and recoiled in horror, feeling like he had somehow betrayed his father. Which was stupid, because his father had already betrayed him; he owed nothing to Lucius Malfoy. But still, he could not bear to let anyone take his father's place in either his mother's life or his own.

Filled with a mixture of anger and guilt, Draco suddenly remembered his drunken pledge to challenge the werewolf to a duel. He heaved a sigh; it would certainly simplify things if he could get rid of Diggory permanently. But now that he was sober, he knew that it was a stupid idea. He knew that he could never win against the werewolf's lightning-quick reflexes. No, if he wanted to kill Diggory, it would have to be an assassination, an ambush when he wasn't expecting it, and Draco wasn't willing to sink that low. For one thing, it was the kind of thing that the Death Eaters would have done, and Draco no longer wanted to emulate them. For another, it was risky, again because of the werewolf's inhuman reflexes; if he didn't kill Diggory immediately, there would be no second chance, because the werewolf would probably kill him.

And finally, deep down, Draco didn't really want to kill the werewolf. What he really wanted was for his family to be whole again, and that was impossible. But he profoundly wished that Diggory hadn't complicated all their lives by getting involved with Narcissa.

***

Aric moped around the house while everyone avoided mentioning the Tierneys or the marriage contract. His family seemed to think that he would be fine once he had some time to "get used to the idea." Or, as his grandfather had put it, unaware that Aric had been eavesdropping, "Eventually he'll get tired of sulking and accept reality."

Which only made him sulk all the more. He was sprawled across the couch one morning doing just that, ignoring his father's suggestion that he go out for a ride on his broomstick since it was such a nice day, when a great horned owl arrived with a letter.

Alison opened the envelope and said in surprise, "It's a party invitation from the Snapes!"

"What?" Aric and Karl exclaimed simultaneously. Aric abruptly stopped sulking and sat up on the couch. He felt a sudden flicker of hope; was Lupin up to something? Professor Snape would never willingly invite Aric and his family to a party, so surely this must be Lupin's doing!

"What is the party for?" Karl asked suspiciously.

"The invitation says it is a party to celebrate the coming of spring," Alison replied. "However, I've heard gossip that Lady Selima is using this party to build support for that werewolf." She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Aric's teacher, the one who claims that he is Cynric Diggory's son."

Karl shook his head. "I can't understand why Selima Snape has suddenly developed a fondness for werewolves. I hear that she lets Snape's lover, Lupin, visit the house as if he were family."

"Well, Severus is the last living Snape," Alison said reasonably. "I'm sure she doesn't want to risk losing her heir and having the Snape line die out." She smiled cynically. "Because if the Snape line dies out, so does her influence. I'm not sure why she's so intent on championing this other werewolf, but I've heard that Anya and Cynric Diggory were childhood friends of hers. She must believe that this werewolf really is their long-lost son."

"Selima Snape was never the sentimental type," Karl said dubiously. "Perhaps she means to gain control of the Diggory estate through the werewolf. She was a Bashir before she married, you know, and they have always been very shrewd in their business dealings."

While his parents dissected Selima Snape's possible motives, it suddenly occurred to Aric that there was one more person who knew what it was like to be cast out of the pureblood world: Master Diggory. He had lost everything--home, family, and inheritance--and had been cast out on the street, as Aric's grandfather had threatened to do to him. He would know what it was like to live on his own. Diggory didn't like to talk about his past very much, but maybe he would be willing to talk to Aric, if he asked very nicely. Thinking back over his classes and his detentions at the clinic, as well as the occasional sparring session outside of class, Aric realized that the werewolf had been kind to him, in a very gruff way. Yes, maybe Diggory would talk to him, help him decide what to do...

"We must go to the party!" Aric said emphatically, and his parents turned to stare at him in surprise. He couldn't tell them the real reason that he wanted to go, of course, so he quickly made up a logical excuse. "Like it or not, the Snapes are a very influential family, and they have powerful allies. I've heard that Professor Snape is friends with the Minister of Magic."

Alison looked thoughtful. "Yes, I heard that Arthur Weasley made a point of showing up at Lord Severin's funeral. It might not be wise to snub the Snapes, if they are close to the Minister. But I wonder why Lady Selima invited us? It isn't as if we are friendly with the Snapes; in fact, we are very close to being enemies..."

Aric didn't want to bring up this particular subject, but he needed to persuade his family to attend the party. "Word has already begun to leak about the betrothal negotiations at school. And before you ask, I wasn't the one who leaked it. But Lady Selima is very good at gathering information, so I hear. Perhaps she decided to invite us because we are allied with an important Ministry official."

"Quite likely," Karl agreed. "A good observation, Aric. I'm glad to see that you are thinking as a pureblood heir should." But he was regarding his son with a bemused, almost suspicious look.

Aric smiled slyly; he knew better than to affect an air of innocence, because that would only make his father even more suspicious. "I'm bored," he said casually, "and a party sounds like fun. Besides, it will be interesting to see how the werewolf fares, don't you think?" Actually, he thought that Master Diggory would fare just fine, and if anything went wrong, he would be more worried about the other guests than his teacher; it was like turning a wolf loose among a bunch of pampered lapdogs. But he knew that his parents would enjoy the idea of seeing the werewolf--and by extension, the Snapes--humiliated.

Alison tittered, a malicious gleam in her eyes, and Aric was struck by how catty she looked and sounded. "We'll see if Selima has been able to teach her pet werewolf proper table manners."

Karl laughed, "It's a waste of time. Putting a gold collar on a mongrel won't turn it into a pureblood."

Aric laughed along with his parents, although he found himself growing angry at their offhand insults. For Merlin's sake, they had never even met Master Diggory!

"I suppose we should go," Karl continued, oblivious to Aric's true feelings. "If only to see what the Snapes are up to. They're a sneaky lot, all of them, and I wouldn't put it past them to have some sort of hidden agenda."

His parents continued talking politics, and Aric went to his room, afraid that he might lose his temper if he stayed any longer. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering when his parents had become so shallow and spiteful. Then he realized that he was the one who had changed, not them. Before he came to Hogwarts, he too would have laughed at the idea of a werewolf trying to become accepted into pureblood society. He reached into his pocket and touched the good-luck charm that he always carried, the small wolf carving that Takeshi had given to him for his birthday. He ran his fingers over the smooth, cool stone, finding it both comforting and disturbing. Everything would be so much simpler if he had never met the werewolves or the mediwizard, and yet...his life would also be emptier, and deep inside, he didn't really wish that he had never met them.

***

Lukas was dancing in the Snapes' drawing room with Branwen as her husband and Lady Selima watched with a critical eye from the couch. Snape lounged in an armchair in the corner of the room, looking mildly amused, while Lupin perched on the armrest next to him, not even trying to hide his grin. A sullen Bane perched on Snape's shoulder, glaring at the man dancing with his mistress. Theo and Dylan had made themselves scarce as soon as they had seen the expression on the werewolf's face when he arrived at the mansion. Like most Slytherins, they had a very good sense of self-preservation, and decided that it was probably safer not to be party to what their teacher considered a humiliating experience. They were reasonably certain that Snape would be able to prevent the werewolf from killing them, but they would still have to take Physical Defense classes from an irate werewolf. Besides, they reasoned, they could always watch him dance at the party--from a discreet distance, of course.

Lupin had thoughtfully allowed them to borrow his music box for the dancing lessons, and Branwen called out instructions to Lukas as they waltzed around the room. "Step, step, turn--yes, I think you've got it. You'll do fine at the party, Lukas."

"Do you have to hold my wife that close?" Sirius complained in a voice that was only half-joking.

Lukas scowled at him, although he did not stop and break the pattern of the dance. "Are you sure that you're not part wolf, Black? I'm a little tired of dealing with jealous alpha males who seem to think that I have designs upon their mates, which I do not." That little barb was obviously directed at Snape, who scowled back at him.

"I'm part dog," Sirius said. "I suppose that's close enough."

"Wolves mate for life, and dogs don't," Lukas said. "We tend to be more possessive."

"This is one dog who will never stray, if you'll pardon the pun," Sirius said with a grin.

"Especially if he doesn't want to be 'fixed,'" Branwen said with a positively demonic smile. "If you'll pardon the pun."

Snape smirked and Sirius winced. "She's all yours," Lukas assured him.

Lukas moved smoothly and gracefully through the steps of the dance, but Selima was frowning. "The dancing is fine, Cyril, but don't scowl. Remember to smile."

He smiled, but it looked more menacing than inviting, with his lips pulling back to expose his sharp canine teeth.

"With less teeth, please," Selima said dryly. "You'll send the guests running in terror."

"That's the point," Lukas muttered under his breath, but smiled again, with his mouth closed.

"That's a little better, but it still looks more like a grimace," Selima said. A low, rumbling noise started to form in Lukas's throat, and Selima snapped, "And no growling!" Lukas subsided, looking sulky. Selima looked annoyed, then thoughtful, and after a moment's silence, said, "Pretend that you are your father. Imagine how he would react at a party like this one. Imagine that you are not annoyed, but amused by all these people, because you are superior to all of them, these petty backstabbing, gossiping little social climbers."

And instantly, Lukas's face seemed to transform, his lips curving slightly in a smile of amused condescension. He turned his head, carelessly tossing back his long, golden hair, and a lazy, arrogant, yet charming grin slowly spread across his face. Lucius Malfoy could not have done it better.

Branwen's eyes widened, and she actually stumbled and came to a halt. "Oh my, you certainly can turn on the charm when you wish!"

Sirius glared at the werewolf, and Selima smiled. "You look just like your father, Cyril. All the girls used to swoon over him when he did that. It's a combination of the smile and the hair, I think; we used to joke that he had hair prettier than any of the girls'. But of course he only had eyes for your mother."

Lukas smiled, a genuine smile this time. "I used to watch my parents entertain company sometimes. I had to stay hidden in my room, since we were keeping up the fiction that I was sickly and bedridden, but my father enspelled a set of mirrors for me so that I could watch what was going on downstairs."

Lukas was smiling nostalgically, but the image of a young boy sitting alone his room watching a party going on downstairs through his mirror made Lupin feel a little sad. He knew what it was like to feel lonely and isolated, to not be allowed contact with the outside world. And the more time that Lupin spent around Lukas and his pack, the more he realized that he was actually one of the lucky ones, who had at least been able to attend school and lead a semi-normal life.

"My father was amused by all the scheming for power that went on amongst his peers," Lukas said. "He was a Slytherin, so he knew how to play the game, but he considered himself above it. Or maybe that was part of the game, to act as though he didn't care. The truly powerful can remain indifferent, while those of the middle and lower ranks exude an air of desperation, a frantic need to move up the social ladder. At least, that is what my father used to say. But the Diggorys were much more powerful then than they are now." Lukas frowned. "And I don't think it's solely because my father spent so much of the family wealth."

"No, it isn't," Selima told him. "Your grandfather was not the ambitious type, and while Amos did have a certain amount of ambition, he didn't have the skill necessary to follow through on it. Which is how he came to be stuck in a mid-level position at the Ministry. A respectable job, obtained through your family's contacts before their decline, but I doubt that he will ever rise any higher." She smiled at him reassuringly, an expression that looked very strange and unfamiliar on Lady Snape's normally cold face. "I'm sure you'll do fine at the party, Cyril. Your parents would be proud of you."

Everyone stared at her in shock, except for Lupin, who grinned happily. Selima flushed, then gave Lukas an icy glare and said in a more threatening tone, "You will do fine at the party, Cyril--or you will answer to me."

"Merlin have mercy on us," Lukas muttered under his breath. "I'd rather face Voldemort."

"I heard that!" Selima snapped, then relented and gave him a very small and dry smile. "You inherited your father's sarcastic sense of humor as well as his looks, I see."

Lukas just grinned at her wolfishly, and Lupin shouted, "No teeth!" and everyone laughed. Even Selima smiled a little.

"I just wish the party were over and done with," Lukas sighed.

"It has the potential for disaster," Sirius observed, although he looked more pleased than disturbed by that idea. "Mixing together a bunch of stuck-up purebloods, two werewolves, a Muggle-loving Minister of Magic, the half-blood hero of the wizarding world, not to mention the Gryffindor black sheep of a Slytherin family..." Sirius grinned at that obvious reference to himself. "It's actually starting to sound like fun!"

"I'm sure that the party will be a great success," Branwen said, giving her husband a reproving look.

"Of course it will," Selima said, sounding a little miffed. "All my parties are."

"Well," Lupin said with a smile, "we certainly can't argue with that." Snape gave him a sour look but wisely chose to remain silent.

Part 71