Chapter 17
A Tale of Three Houses
The Manor was absolutely beautiful. Harry hated it.
The hedges stood sixteen feet tall, cut into elaborate shapes. There were goblins, mermaids, a centaur, and more. Harry found it ironic, considering the owner of the yard would sooner spit on those creatures than engage one of them in conversation, but that was probably beside the point. These shapes looked majestic, and that was all Yaxley cared about.
There wasn't a knocker. When Harry approached the door, it opened in front of him. An aged, particularly wrinkled house-elf bowed its head, both ears flopping down. Harry walked inside.
The carpet was gray velvet. The house-elf shut the door behind Harry, disappearing as soon as his job was finished. Harry was left in a waiting room with one purpose: to make you feel small.
The chandelier overhead was large enough to crush a troll should it fall. It was bedecked with dozens of sparkling diamonds, each one glistening with its own internal light. The set of curving stairs leading to the second floor had gilded hand-rails, looking too expensive to risk touching. Along the walls were portraits, all men, with faces remarkably similar to Corban Yaxley. The portraits all looked at the air above Harry's head, as unmoving as Muggle paintings. The message was clear. Harry — and anyone else who happened to grace these halls — was beneath their notice.
"Can I help you?"
The question didn't come from a house elf. A man had appeared at the top of the stairs. While expensive, his robes were that of a servant. Harry had seen the type before.
"I'm here to speak to Corban Yaxley," Harry said softly.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Do I need an appointment?"
The wizard sighed. He ran a hand through his slicked-back black hair. As he did, his sleeve cuff pulled down, showing off the black skull tattoo underneath.
"Yaxley is an influential Ministry official. In addition to his Wizengamot duties, he performs many crucial functions. His time is too valuable to be tossed to anyone who comes knocking."
Harry considered pointing out that he did not knock. Hadn't even been given the chance to, in fact.
Instead, he limped forward.
"You misunderstand me," Harry said. "I was asking if I need an appointment."
"That you do not."
The new voice heralded the arrival of the man of the house. Corban Yaxley appeared, his middle-aged features as regal as ever. He laid a hand on his servant's shoulder.
"It's alright, Jugson," he said. "This one is special."
Harry stood and waited as Yaxley descended the stairs. The man took his time, smiling the entire way.
"I wondered if I would have to come to you," Yaxley said.
"I think rumors about me have been exaggerated," Harry said. "I keep to myself because I choose to. But when a meeting becomes necessary, I don't run from it."
"Apparently not!"
Yaxley was still smiling as he came to a stop in front of Harry. His servant followed him halfway down the stairs, drawing his wand in what he thought was a covert manner. Harry stared at him for five seconds before setting his eyes on Yaxley.
"What brings you here, Harry?" Yaxley asked.
He knew the answer already, and they were both aware of that. But he was giving Harry the first move. He wanted to play this reactively, not proactively. That was alright with Harry.
"Peter Pettigrew is dead."
Yaxley clicked his tongue. "So that's where he got off to! I'd been wondering. Tell me, Harry. Did you go after him? Or did he come to you?"
"Peter Pettigrew entered my home," Harry said. "He tried to touch what was mine."
"Well, there you have it." Yaxley sighed. "I tried to warn him. I guess a fool is a fool, no matter what clothes you try to dress him in. There's just one question left. What did you come here for, Harry?"
Harry reached into his pocket.
He stopped, not moving a muscle. Jugson's wand had snapped up. Meanwhile, the portraits that refused to look at him when he entered were now glaring, wands of their own raised… that stuck out of the frames. Glamors faded, strangers replacing Yaxley's ancestors.
"No wonder you wanted to meet me in this room," Harry said, pulling his hand out of his pocket, holding a ring instead of a wand. "What a clever defense."
"It pays to play things safe," Yaxley said, eyeing Harry's ring. "That's a beautiful thing you've got there, Harry. What do you plan to do with it?"
Harry looked at the ring, a band of cold platinum with a coat of arms engraved on the head. Slowly, he lowered his head.
"Even if Pettigrew went too far, I'm not guiltless in this," Harry said softly. "You were clear about wanting him alive. I could have treated him better. If I had, perhaps things would've been different."
"I don't hold it against you," Yaxley said, raising his hands.
"Even so, I'd like to make it up to you." Harry looked up. "You wanted my vote, did you not?"
As everyone watched, Harry plucked the Potter Signet Ring out of his palm, sliding it onto his finger. Yaxley's smile grew more pronounced. Harry decided this was the first honest expression he'd shown since this conversation began.
"You're wise for your age, Harry."
"I'm just trying to pick my friends," Harry said. "I wouldn't want bad business to come between us."
Yaxley slipped his arm around Harry's shoulder, turning to lead him up the stairs.
"That's what I mean," he said. "So often, youths think they can take on the world. It's such a waste of energy. Why fight the system when you can bend it to your advantage?"
When they passed him, Jugson turned and followed a good distance behind them. The wizards that posed as portraits soon appeared behind him. All of them were armed. They wore the same stern expression. Well-trained, Harry decided.
As Yaxley led him through the manor, Harry noticed that the man adjusted his pace, matching Harry's speed. The arm over Harry's shoulder was firm enough to be noticed, but soft enough to be friendly. The man was good at this.
"Did Lucius tell you about our predicament?"
"A bit," Harry said.
"It's been frustrating," Yaxley confessed. "Wizengamot isn't running properly. The numbers are down since the war. There are three types of seats, see. Some are appointed by the Ministry. Some are voted on. And the rest we gave to any of the Sacred Twenty-Eight still left."
Those were the last remaining Pureblood families. Originally, there had been more than twenty-eight of them, with families like the Potters and Boneses excluded over feuds with the purebloods who created the list. But then the list kept dwindling throughout the war, and suddenly the bad apples were good enough to be included again. The Sacred Twenty-Eight were an almost religious symbol to blood purists. It was all that was left of the heritage they prided themselves on.
"We messed up," Yaxley confessed.
"How so?" Harry asked.
They reached an office, turning into it. Instead of wood, the desk was made of pure gold. Lavish chairs piled with green cushions sat on both sides. The entire room was lit by torches, with windows looking out over the elaborate garden. Yaxley walked to the far side of the desk and sat, gesturing at the chair facing him. Harry paused, looking behind the desk, where identical Indian witches stood side by side in chains. Eventually, Harry sat.
"Care for a drink?" Yaxley asked.
Harry shook his head, so the man poured a glass of Firewhiskey just for himself, stowing the bottle beneath the desk when he was done.
Yaxley sipped the drink, sighing with satisfaction. "Where were we? You were asking why it was a mistake to give the old families power, right? It's just that Lucius and I overlooked something. We control the Ministry. Pius Thicknesse is nothing but my puppet, and all his department heads understand who they truly report to. In Wizengamot, all the appointed seats are filled with my men."
Yaxley sipped from his drink again, and this time he drank longer, draining half the glass.
"The elected seats were a problem, but not a large one. There are only two of them. Crouch's people filled those. For some reason, the man is considered charismatic. I can't understand it myself… But here we are."
"That leaves the Sacred Twenty-Eight. We have six of them on our side. Other than the Crouch seat and the Carrow seat, we thought those were all that were left. With a few exceptions," he amended, nodding at Harry himself. "However, there was something I overlooked. The blood traitors."
"I thought they were killed off," Harry said.
"Wouldn't that be nice." Yaxley sighed. "Unfortunately, we just don't have a large enough breeding pool for that kind of luxury. Many died, yes, but we spared the ones we could with the understanding that they wouldn't act up anymore. After a few generations, who's to say the Weasleys couldn't become upstanding members of society? Of course, we don't need so many of them running around, so we trimmed the numbers a little. I'm sure you get the picture."
Yaxley sipped his drink, still smiling pleasantly. "The bite in this bottle is absolutely sublime. You're sure you don't want any?"
"I'm fine," Harry said. "You mentioned your position being frustrating. Why?"
"Because Crouch was a step ahead." Getting these words out were enough to make Yaxley wince. "I hate to give it to him, but he's always had a talent for exploiting the weak. He got to the remaining blood traitors first. I don't know what he threatened them with, but they've been at every Wizengamot session, always voting his way. We're one vote away, Harry. One vote! If we can get that, we can push through the most sweeping act since the war. In on move, we'll bring Muggle-borns back into our society, now reduced to their proper place!"
As he spoke, Yaxley had continued leaning forward, until he was hunched over his desk. Now, he leaned back.
"You were supposed to be the last one we needed," he said. "With you, we'd have a two-thirds majority. However… Selwyn's gone off to do something or other."
"One of your men disappeared?" Harry asked. "Aren't you worried?"
"Crouch knows better than to touch us directly," Yaxley said. "For all his faults, he doesn't hunt purebloods. And Selwyn's always been an odd one. He disappeared once for two months, and came back trying to marry a Spanish witch. That was when he was young, decades ago, but he's only grown up so much. I'm sure he's off somewhere enjoying himself."
"I didn't know he was so wild," Harry said.
A lie. He knew exactly what Selwyn's track record was. A cruel man, lacking discipline and spending his family's fortune with abandon. Other than his service to Voldemort, the man had never taken anything seriously in his whole life. It was perfectly in character for him to disappear.
Yaxley sighed again.
"For an act this sweeping in scale, a two-thirds majority is needed to pass it. However, if it receives support from half or more of the body, it can be voted on again, but only up to three times. So far, the Muggle-born Education Act has failed by one vote on two separate occasions. We cannot afford to fail again."
"And without Selwyn, my addition means nothing. Is that right?"
"Unfortunately so. But he'll turn up again. It's just a matter of waiting."
"I think you're forgetting something," Harry said.
"That being?"
Harry pulled a second ring out of his pocket. He didn't put this one on, but he planted it on the table, its insignia facing Yaxley. The man's breath caught.
"Two votes…!" he breathed.
Smiling, Harry slid the ring away, pocketing it again.
"When do we do this?" he asked.
To his credit, Yaxley adjusted quickly. He lifted his glass, now containing only trace amounts of amber liquid, and lifted as if toasting Harry.
"This has waited long enough," he said. "Wizengamot convenes this weekend. We'll fix this world of ours, Harry. You, Lucius and I, doing what has to be done. And when the dust settles, we will be sharing a drink."
Harry smiled at him, rising as Yaxley lifted the Firewhiskey bottle again.
"It's a deal then," he said.
Yaxley nodded. Harry began to leave, only to hear chains rattle behind him.
Next to the door, Harry looked back, watching as Yaxley yanked the Indian witches toward him with chains that bound them. They sank beneath the desk, all while Yaxley poured himself a fresh drink. Harry's hand was on the door. He kept looking back…
"Was there something else you needed?" Yaxley asked.
Harry had turned to the door, hiding the way his smile had disappeared.
"Not right now," Harry said.
He was speaking to himself as much as Yaxley.
Harry left, but it wasn't until he reached the lawn that he allowed himself to clench his hands into fists.
"Not right now," he repeated, looking back at the manor. "But soon…"
He Apparated away.
O-O-O
What stood in front of Harry couldn't be classified as a manor. It was as big as one, but it lacked the elegance and architecture high society purebloods prided themselves on. It was more like a warehouse. But it was certainly big, with its square shape and darkened windows. Harry walked forward, toward a door guarded by two wizards dressed in full Death Eater garb. They didn't stop him as he limped inside.
It was immediately apparent that a silencing charm had been placed on the entire building. After one step inside, Harry's ears were assaulted by screams. Some were deep, others were high in their pitch, but all of them were desperate. There was a nasty scent in the air, one of flesh gone bad. As Harry walked through the dim interior, he realized that this wasn't a warehouse at all. It was an old hanger repurposed into a little slice of hell.
There were candles floating in the air, but they failed to illuminate the shadowy corners of the room. That was probably by design. From the flickering glimpses Harry got, men, women, and even children were strapped against the walls and on tables. Wizards and witches in Death Eater garb prowled around, laughing as they tossed their nastiest spells at the captives.
The only victim Harry could get a good look at was the one closest to him. It was a boy roughly his age, covered in cuts. He was probably a Muggle, based on the tattered scraps that used to be his clothes. Three Death Eaters stood around him, seeing which of them had the strongest Crucio. They were trying to gauge this based on his screams, but were having difficulty, because the boy kept biting his own tongue to stifle his cries.
To anyone else's eyes, Harry's arm remained at his side, his wand held loosely between his fingers. Yet a spell slipped out seemingly from nowhere, and a small hole was bored between the captured boy's eyes. He slumped forward, smiling with relief in his final moment as the pain disappeared.
The Death Eaters began accusing each other of ruining their fun, while in the background, Harry slipped past.
The deeper he walked the brighter it became. Soon, he was standing in front of what could be called a throne.
It reminded Harry of the statue inside the Ministry Atrium, where a wizard and witch sat upon a grotesque pile of squirming Muggles. But that was only stone, no matter what it represented. The seat in front of him was built with actual body parts. They'd been charmed together in the shape of a chair. That the blood and gore had been cleaned off did nothing to lessen its horror. Harry's eyes flickered from the seat to the man sitting on it.
"Would you look who it is!" Crouch said. His chin was propped on his fist, which was braced on one fleshy armrest. "I told you he'd come, Alecto!"
Two siblings stood on either side of him, positioned like bodyguards. They were Death Eater robes, but were missing the masks, revealing pug noses and ugly features.
"We don't need him!" said Alecto Carrow. "He's not like us! He hasn't proven himself!"
"Nothing to his name," said her brother, Amycus. "How many towns has he raided? How many kills does he have?"
"Killing Muggles, you mean?" Harry said. "That's all you do after all. Too much of a coward to face a real wizard or witch. Imagine if you'd been at Bones Manor. You'd have been a smear on the ground in seconds against Amelia Bones!"
Crouch raised his hand, stopping the Carrows from drawing their wands. Reluctantly, the twins listened.
"C'mon Harry!" Crouch said. "You don't have to provoke them. We've all got their specialties, and the Carrows are very good at what they do. I'm more curious about you. Why have you come?"
"The Muggle-born Education Act," Harry said.
Crouch's smile faded. The Carrows hissed like vampires coming into contact with garlic.
"I'd rather you didn't bring that up here," Crouch said softly.
"Even if I told you that you could be rid of it for good?"
"That would change things. Provided you can follow through."
"You know me, Crouch. I don't talk idly." Harry stepped forward, meeting Crouch's eyes directly. "I've just come from Yaxley's manor. At the next Wizengamot meeting, he's going to bring his precious act up for vote again. He believes that my vote will bring his law into existence. It's going to come as a horrible surprise when I vote against it."
Crouch's smile came back, and it kept growing.
"Devious," he said.
"Thank you."
"But you could do that by yourself. If you're here, you want something in return. What is it? Protection from Yaxley?"
"I'm capable of protecting myself. I just had a suggestion, really. I don't only have the Potter vote. The Bones vote is under my control, and I can sway the Greengrass vote to my side. That would give you ten votes. It's not two-thirds, but it is half."
Crouch stroked his chin.
"You're saying I could put my own bill forward, and Yaxley couldn't defeat it. We'd be able to take it to a second vote. Perhaps some of his supporters will lose faith…"
Suddenly, Crouch started to laugh. His chortling mixed with the screams in the darkened room, which only seemed to add to his mirth. Suddenly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"There's no going back after this, Harry," he said. "I hope you're aware."
"I'm well aware," Harry said.
"In that case, Lord Potter… It's a pleasure to be working with you."
Harry gave him a stiff nod. Even the Carrows had relaxed slightly, the look in their eyes changing. There was a lull in the conversation until Harry asked, "Are you confident you can keep the Weasleys and their allies under your thumb?"
"Absolutely," Crouch said.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because they know what we stand for," he said. "Yaxley and Malfoy will never wipe out one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight unless there's no other choice. But us? No amount of good breeding can keep me from going easy on a Muggle lover the instant they aren't useful. They've already lost their families, so they know exactly what we're capable of. It's quite handy, really!"
Handy indeed. A sword to someone's throat might be good motivation, but it could be removed just as easily. All you had to do was pull the victim out of the sword's range… Or chop off the villain's arm.
"I'll see you this weekend," Harry said, sweeping around and leaving the same way he arrived.
"I'll be bringing a photographer, just to snap a photo of Yaxley's face during the grand reveal!" Crouch shouted after him. "Let me know if you want a copy!"
The last thing Harry heard as he walked away was Crouch turning to the Carrows.
"Let's schedule a raid for after the voting. There's no better celebration than a good hunt."
Harry was grateful for the darkened room so that no one could see his lips twitch.
They would certainly be in some kind of mood this weekend, but Harry couldn't imagine it being a celebratory one.
O-O-O
It was late afternoon by the time Harry Apparated to his final destination. He paused for a second, shutting his eyes and enjoying the sounds of nature around him, a cool breeze caressing his skin. The branches of nearby trees swayed, while grass brushed his ankles. There were no screams, no slaves in chains, just a sun that was low on the horizon, and a slanting house in the distance.
He walked forward and was soon greeted by none other than Fleur Delacour. Fleur was carrying a box in her hands, but she still leaned forward to peck Harry on the lips, which improved his mood further.
"Did you wait long?" he asked.
"Not very," she said. "You were quite punctual."
"I didn't want to spend a minute longer than I had to in those places," he admitted.
Fleur acknowledged this with a nod. Together, they walked toward the house on the horizon.
"I know it is not much to look at, but it is not all bad," Fleur said.
Harry eyed the structure. It appeared to be a cottage that had expanded straight up instead of out, with a tower atop its shingled roof, badly supported by thin wooden beams and (likely) a copious amount of magic.
"After the places I've been today, I'm not in the mood to criticize," Harry said.
When they reached the door Fleur handed him the box she was carrying. Instead of walking side by side like equals, Fleur trailed him like a servant, retainer, or slave. It wouldn't be necessary if things went well, but it didn't hurt to keep up appearances for now.
Harry knocked on the door, which did not open automatically and had no guards standing beside it. A male voice inside shouted, "Come in!"
Harry pulled open the door and entered a room that was a combined kitchen and dining room. A long table stood in the middle with nine mismatched chairs spread around it, most empty. Three people awaited them. Two, a brown-haired man and a stocky blond woman, were standing behind the head of the table, where the third person sat.
She was one year younger than Harry according to Fleur. She had fiery red hair and freckles. Her face was beautiful, but it was difficult to see with the large patch covering her left eye. She wore a scowl to go with the nicest robes she owned, which were threadbare compared to even the servants' at Yaxley manor.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Harry said.
"Likewise," said the man behind her in a guarded voice.
"You'd be the Longbottom heir?" Harry asked.
"Call me Neville."
"I'm Hannah," said the woman beside him. "Hannah Longbottom."
Despite her last name, Harry could see the Abbott Signet Ring shining on her finger.
"Excellent," Harry said. "I'm pleased you took the time to meet me out of your busy schedules."
Neville snorted at this, but Hannah smacked her husband's arm, firing a quick glare. Ignoring this byplay, Harry settled into a seat at the far end of the table. He crossed his arms on top of the box he'd brought, smiling.
"I suppose we should get down to business—"
"Why'd you bring her?"
This was the redhead. The Weasley heir— Ginny Weasley, the youngest and last-surviving member of what was once the most populous set of purebloods in the nation. Of course Harry knew them. Not only were they key members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix, they were the family Fleur married into… However brief that marriage may have been.
"Am I not allowed to?" Harry asked. "I thought you might appreciate a familiar face."
Ginny scowled. "I don't want to see her like this. Send her out."
"But I do not wish to leave."
Fleur stepped forward. Her emotionless expression melted into a smile. She sat down next to Harry.
"Hello, Ginerva," Fleur said. "It has been a while."
"You're not under the Imperius?" Ginny said, her visible eye widening. "Impossible. This is a trick."
"I thought so too," Fleur said. "I kept on looking for how he was tricking me for an entire month. Then I realized he's just a fool."
Hannah gasped, while Neville jumped back. Even Ginny showed sudden nerves. All of them looked at Harry, waiting for his reaction. But he just cocked his head.
"That's not very nice," he said.
Fleur gave him a gorgeous smile that it was impossible to stay mad at. "I am only speaking the truth as I see it."
"...fair enough," Harry said.
"You aren't what I expected," Neville said.
"Apologies," Harry said. "I'm usually quite good at meeting expectations."
Neville laughed nervously. "That's alright! I'm not complaining. Pretty happy about it, to tell the truth."
"Oh. In that case, you're welcome."
"Did you come here just to play with us?"
He looked back at Ginny, finding her glaring at him once more.
"Of course not," Harry said. "I came to ask you a question."
"Trying to get us to swear fealty to your master again? Or to marry me off to some Slytherin pureblood? Shove it."
Harry looked at Fleur. "How has she lived this long?"
"I have heard a lot of families are interested in the Weasley women's high fertility rates," Fleur said solemnly. "It gives her more leeway for dissent."
Before Ginny could snap at him again, Harry answered her questions, even if they had been rhetorical.
"I do not care a bit about your hatred for my master," he said. "And it's certainly no business of mine who you marry. There's only one answer I care about. Are you angry?"
For a moment, none of the three across from him had an answer. Harry waited, then went on.
"Hannah Abbott!" he said, making the woman flinch at his raised voice, Neville placing a protective hand across her chest. "Your mother was killed in the crossfire after Death Eaters ambushed Ministry Aurors outside Diagon Alley. Your father lost his job, protested at the Ministry, and was sent to Azkaban for it. Neville Longbottom!"
It was Neville's turn to jump.
"Your grandmother passed after the war because she was refused service at St. Mungos for being a blood traitor. A treatable disease claimed her life, while mediwizards averted their eyes. You were there at the final battle, where hope was crushed and Voldemort fulfilled his dream. You watched the fall of Albus Dumbledore with your own eyes."
Neville's face turned toward the floor. "Listen here—!" Ginny began.
"Ginnerva Weasley," Harry said, his voice only a whisper this time. "The youngest of the Weasleys. The last of the Weasleys. You were at the final battle as well. Edward Selwyn captured you, tore out your eye as penance, and spared your life for no purpose other than to produce more foul purebloods to propagate their hateful ideas."
"How could you know that?" Ginny asked.
"I do my research." Harry slid the box under his arms across the table. "And I come prepared."
Despite her strong personality, Ginny's fingers were shaking as she pried open the box, removing the lid. Peeking over her shoulder, Hannah gasped. The lid slipped from Ginny's hands.
Inside the box was a man's head. It had rather handsome features, but the mouth was stretched open in a final silent scream. Nothing else stood out… except for the gaping socket where his left eye had been.
"Selwyn!" Ginny breathed, her head shooting up to look at Harry.
"Don't worry," Harry said, nodding at the missing eye. "I got the order right."
They had no answer for that, so Harry leaned over the table.
"Let me ask again," he said. "Aren't you angry? Or better yet, don't you want a chance to fight?"
Neville and Hannah hesitated, not trusting their tongues. But Ginny stood up. She swiped away the box, sending Selwyn's head bouncing across her kitchen to plant her hand on the table where it had been.
She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to for her point to come across. Harry smiled.
"It seems I've come to the right place."