Well, this is my third story for the Harry Potter series. Readers who recognize my author name will remember my previous stories, “The Forgiveness of Sins” and “Of Darkness and Light.” This one may have some elements from ODAL, but is mainly different. Basically, books 6 and 7 in particular are not going to be incorporated into this story; no Horcruxes and no Deathly Hallows, and certainly no Half-Blood Prince. Sorry if that’s what you expected, but it won’t happen. I might change my mind about Horcruxes, though. Oh, and we will be going through all seven years in this story. I might make a cut-off point for a second part of this in a new story if it gets too big, though. Anyway, thank you for your patience, and I hope you will contribute your thoughts to this new story, “Shades of Grey.”

A/N: The following will be typed in Italics: letters, thoughts, Parseltongue, spells, and flashbacks. There won’t be much Parseltongue until later on in the story. There will be very few letters and flashbacks.

Disclaimer: Any characters or spells that aren’t canonical or in the original series are mine; the rest are Rowling’s. This fanfic author takes no credit for original work, only work that is completely made up on the spot. Readers will know it when they see it.

So, without further ado, let the first chapter begin!

Chapter 1: Of Muggles and Malfoys

It could be said that the Boy Who Lived, he who defeated the strongest Dark Lord in over a century at the age of one, he who saved the wizarding world from crisis, had lived a nice, happy life. It could also be said, though without conviction, that said boy, now eleven years old, was well on his way into gaining even greater power, power that would multiply into higher and higher quantities throughout his years at the magical academy, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Whoever says this in front of Harry Potter would be a lying, no-good toerag with no brains at all to match his speculations.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had lived the life of an animal. Ever since he had been dumped unceremoniously onto his relatives’ doorstep at the age of fifteen months old, he had been treated, literally, like crap. His only source of comfort was that he was not dead; this had been so for ten long years. Actually, he wouldn’t have minded if he could die, for anything would be better than being smacked around non-stop by Vernon Dursley, his uncle, or being forced to cook and burn himself endlessly for his aunt, Petunia Dursley, and his cousin, Dudley.

He especially hated this: his cousin was immensely fat, immensely spoiled, and ate about four times a normal eleven year old boy’s amount of food, per meal. It was a wonder that he could walk around anymore. Of course, he got away with doing so, for ever move he made seemed to have reason to torment and torture his little cousin, Harry. The young boy, with his mop of jet-black hair all over his head, his blood-red scar shaped like lightning on his forehead, and his broken glasses, would be subject to whatever temper tantrum befitted the bigger, more spoiled child. Harry often wondered what he had done to deserve this life, but knew better than to ask out loud: one rule was to never ask questions, and he was sure he didn’t want answers from someone like Uncle Vernon anyway.

Vernon Dursley. The man who was responsible for making sure Harry had a rotten, miserable life. The man, who, whenever possible, saw fit to belittle Harry’s parents, both of whom had apparently died in a car crash a long time ago, when he had been a year old. The man, who wanted Harry to grow up knowing nothing but misery. It was because of him that Harry had no friends, slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and couldn’t succeed in school.

Thank the heavens that Rubeus Hagrid showed up when he did.

Rubeus, who was the keeper of the keys and grounds at Hogwarts, had appeared before Harry and the Dursleys on the morning of Harry’s birthday. Actually... he had appeared the second Harry had turned eleven. Harry was still unsure how Rubeus had known he was eleven on that day, let alone that second, but knew better than to ask: it was undoubtedly something to do with magic. The man had informed him that he was indeed a wizard, had been accepted at Hogwarts, the most prestigious wizarding school in the world in the eyes of many, and that he would be allowed to leave his relatives’ for the school year, which was from the beginning of September until the end of June. Harry was only too happy to hear this. Before they left, Rubeus told Harry to call him by his first name, because while he liked being referred to by his last name, he considered Harry to be someone very close to him and would prefer it this way. Harry was fine with this; he didn’t really want to be called ‘Potter’ by this man when he barely knew him anyway.

--

Rubeus had brought Harry to London, into a bar where everyone had demanded to shake hands with “the famous Harry Potter” at least once and through it to a high stone wall, which Rubeus tapped three times with an old umbrella. Diagon Alley was what was revealed from this. It was a magical community, like a Muggle strip-mall, with everything magical from candy to appliances for schooling. There was also a bank: this was what caught Harry’s interest the most. His interest dimmed slightly, however, when he was told that it wasn’t run by humans.

No, the bank, known as Gringotts, was run by goblins.

The goblins were not a bad bunch, and certainly not evil, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t unfriendly. Indeed, they were similarly cold and withdrawn to all of their clients. This did not change in the slightest for Harry and Rubeus. The giant man informed the goblin that Harry needed to make a withdrawal, and that they would then like to go to another vault, “on Dumbledore’s orders”. Harry recognized the name as one on the letter that Rubeus had given him; he was apparently the headmaster of the school, a man who Rubeus greatly respected. He idly wondered what Dumbledore was like.

After receiving the shock of his eleven-year life from seeing his vault at Gringotts, which was filled with gold and silver, and after Rubeus collected the small package for Dumbledore, they were on their way to collect other things for Harry for school. One thing he needed was robes, and so he went they were off to Madam Malkin’s for just that.

“Can I help you, my dear?” asked the lady who was there, who Harry assumed was Madam Malkin herself.

“Yes,” he replied, a little hesitantly. “I need to get robes for, er, Hogwarts.”

She smiled. “Ah, a new student to the school, are you? Well, there’s another newcomer in the back right now. I’ll set you up to be fitted right away.”

Harry thanked her and went to the back to wait. Another employee came to help him almost immediately, and stepped up for his fitting. A blond-haired boy was standing beside him, supposedly halfway through his fitting.

“Hello,” said the boy. “Hogwarts, too?”

“Yeah,” replied Harry distractedly.

The blond boy smiled. “My father’s up the street looking at broomsticks, and my mother is checking for Potions material. Maybe I’ll try and smuggle a broomstick in to try out for Quidditch in the fall, if they let me. Course, they probably will...”

“Quidditch?” asked Harry, a little confusedly.

The boy beside him frowned a little.

“Are you a Muggle-born?” he asked. “Are your parents Muggles?”

“No,” said Harry, shaking his head. “Rubeus told me that my father was a pure-blood, and my mother was either a half-blood or a Muggle-born; he wasn’t sure which it was. So I’m a half-blood either way. I was raised by Muggles, though.” He gave a small sniff of disgust as he said it, assuring the other boy that he disliked them with a passion.

The boy nodded wisely at Harry’s disgust. “Yes, Muggles tend to be like that.”

“You have no idea,” Harry assured him. “They’re horrible people, the Dursleys. They treated me like dirt, making me do about ninety-five percent of any work around the house, and my cousin made sure I never had friends in school. The only reason I couldn’t do anything about it is because I didn’t know I was a wizard until around midnight this morning.”

The boy looked at Harry a little funnily, his earlier pompous attitude dropped slightly.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What’s your surname, I mean?”

“Oh,” said Harry, a little flustered; every time a human had heard who he was, they had acted a little crazy around him. He hoped that this boy was an exception. “I’m Harry Potter.”

The boy turned towards him fully at this, causing a slight stretch in his robes, but he hardly cared. He stared into Harry’s emerald green eyes, and only the tiniest flick towards Harry’s scar was seen by Harry.

He seemed to be sizing Harry up, as though he were wondering if he should still be talking to him. Harry was a little nervous under the scrutiny; the results in his old school were never good. However, seemingly content with what he saw, the boy stuck out his hand to Harry in a respectful gesture. “It’s good to finally meet you, Potter. I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

“I’ve heard of your family,” said Harry, taking Draco Malfoy’s hand and shaking it. “I think Rubeus mentioned them. He said that your whole lot was in Slytherin for generations.”

“Never been sorted anywhere else, as far as I know,” said Malfoy, his eyes never leaving Harry’s, though he turned around again to continue his fitting. “I think one of the Malfoys of the 1800s was in Ravenclaw, but that doesn’t matter. We’re not against that house as much as the others.”

“What are the other houses, anyway?” asked Harry, turning his eyes back to the woman in front of him, who was wrapping a measuring tape around his waist.

“Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,” Malfoy replied. “Basically, Slytherin is for those who are ambitious and crave power in heaps and bounds. Ravenclaw is for the bookworms and those who value intelligence. Gryffindor is for those brave people who show courage and whatnot, even though most of them act before they think. And Hufflepuff... well, they’re whatever’s left over. Loyalty, I suppose, as well.”

“So you don’t like Gryffindor and Hufflepuff?” asked Harry.

“Nah,” replied the blond boy carelessly. “Gryffindor is all action and no thinking, while Hufflepuff is all amateurs who can’t contribute anything but loyalty.”

Harry didn’t really care to hear any of this, but he didn’t press the point. Malfoy seemed to be willing to listen to Harry, so it was hardly Harry’s place to belittle the blond boy about his beliefs. Besides, they were only beliefs and nothing more. Who was Harry to go against opinion?

“I suppose you’ve made your point,” he said slowly, and Malfoy nodded. “As far as courage goes, I doubt I’m suited for Gryffindor, and I’ve never had anyone to show loyalty to, so I doubt I’m suited for Hufflepuff. I doubt I’ll get into Ravenclaw – I lost the desire to do well academically a long time ago – so that leaves Slytherin. I don’t see anything against me getting into Slytherin. I have wished retribution against my uncle using whatever means necessary for a long time now.”

Malfoy smirked at this, to Harry’s slight confusion. “What are you smirking at?” he asked, a little incredulously.

“Oh, I can just see it now,” said the grinning Malfoy. “‘Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, in Slytherin House!’ The Daily Prophet would have a field day.”

Harry laughed as well. Now that Malfoy mentioned it, it did seem funny after all. “I suppose you’re right. The Daily Prophet is some sort of publisher, I suppose?”

“Yeah, they’re the wizarding world’s newspaper company,” said Malfoy indifferently. “Half the stuff they write is worthless anyway, so if they ever write anything of interest to you try not to take it at face value – it might be worthless and false.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that,” said Harry.

“Good. Now that we’ve got that settled, let’s go see Father. I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet you,” said Malfoy gleefully.

Harry was confused. “Don’t the Malfoys hate non-purebloods in general?” he asked slowly.

“Bah!” Malfoy laughed, dismissing the issue. “Father has wanted to meet you for a long time now, Potter; he doesn’t care about your blood status. He’s just never been able to find you. Wherever you were, you must have been hidden well. Besides, for all we know, you might not be a half-blood. You could be pureblood. Somehow I don’t think this Rubeus fellow knows anything about it, to be honest, if he’s only met you this morning.”

“All right, then,” said Harry, feeling a lot calmer now.

The two of them paid for their robes (both had selected black and silver robes; they both shared the same color preference) and left the shop, but not before changing into their robes. Harry was not overly fond of wearing Muggle clothing at the moment, and Malfoy, who possessed no Muggle clothing, wanted to wear his new robes. Malfoy led Harry up the street, looking around for his father.

“I’m sure he was around here somewhere, but where?” he muttered to himself, looking around the Quidditch shop. He turned his eyes to the bookstore beside it. “Ah, there he is!”

Malfoy’s father was standing beside a shelf containing books about the Unforgivable Curses and their properties, showing idle interest. He looked exactly like Draco, right down to the hair and eyes. Both had cold, grey eyes and bright blond hair, though his father had longer hair, coming down just past his shoulders. He was clutching a staff which seemed to gleam on one spot of it. Harry wondered idly if the man had a knife concealed in the staff.

The man looked up when he heard Malfoy’s voice. He smiled.

“Ah, there you are, Draco.”

Malfoy smiled and walked up to his father, his cold eyes widening with glee at the sight of his father. Harry followed, a little intimidated. The man seemed to radiate a command for respect and authority in his figure.

“Hello, father,” said Malfoy slightly happily. “I’d like to introduce you to Harry Potter. I met him when I was getting fitted for my school robes.”

Malfoy’s father looked at Harry, scrutinizing him a little, before taking a glance at the scar, which Harry revealed with a small flop of his long bangs. He then smiled.

“It is an honor to meet you, Mr Potter,” said the man respectfully. He offered his hand, his smile never wavering. “I am Lucius Malfoy, young Draco’s father.”

“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” said Harry with equal respect in his voice, taking Lucius Malfoy’s hand and shaking it. He also smiled, feeling less intimidated now.

Mr Malfoy lowered his hand, looking back over at Draco. “You said you met him at Madam Malkin’s? Who was he with, Draco?”

“He was with a man named Rubeus, from what Potter told me,” replied Draco obediently. “But the man wasn’t there at the time. We’re not sure where he is. He didn’t come back afterwards, so he’s probably around Diagon Alley somewhere.”

“Rubeus, you say? Do you mean Rubeus Hagrid?” asked Mr Malfoy with a bit of a scoff in his voice.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s him,” said Draco. “I’m not too sure, myself.”

“It was Hagrid,” confirmed Harry, a little dejectedly. He had recognized the scoff in Mr Malfoy’s voice; his uncle had used it all too much in Harry’s lifetime.

“Tell me, Mr Potter, why is it that Hagrid was the one to lead you around to collect your school possessions?” asked Mr Malfoy. “Why was it not someone else, someone, ah, more competent?”

Harry was a little shaken at the words, but did not speak his uncertainties. He was, after all, in the presence of a man who apparently had high authority in the wizarding world. He did not want to make a bad impression, and he had only known Rubeus Hagrid for a little bit of time anyway; who was he to say Hagrid was a truly good man?

“He said that Dumbledore sent him,” said Harry. Mr Malfoy’s eyebrows rose a little at the mention of Dumbledore’s name, but he otherwise said nothing. “I’m assuming Dumbledore knew about my predicament of the time, from what was written on top of the letter.”

“Predicament?” said Mr Malfoy, a little suspiciously.

“Sir, I was left almost for dead when I was abandoned by whoever left me on the doorstep of my Muggle relatives, the Dursleys,” said Harry slightly angrily; he was positively shaking. “They treated me like trash. They made me do all of the manual labor, they gave me scraps as meals, and while my cousin, Dudley, got two decent-sized bedrooms, they gave me the cupboard under the stairs.”

Mr Malfoy’s eyes were narrowing angrily from beneath his long blond hair. Above all things, he did not approve of child abuse or neglect. House elves were different, but children should not have to go through such things. He immediately vowed retribution against those filthy Muggles.

“When the first letter from Hogwarts came, they destroyed it,” Harry continued, noticing that Mr Malfoy was not going to interrupt. “They destroyed the ones that followed as well. I think they doubled every time they were sent. Eventually, the house was flooded with so many letters that they decided to carry us halfway across the country to an isolated shack near the coastline. It was Rubeus Hagrid who found me and gave me the letter at last. I don’t know what happened to the Dursleys, but I hope they’re still stranded out there. I’ll never go back to Privet Drive. Never,” he spat the final word.

Mr Malfoy did not look pleased. He was staring at Harry with a lot more respect than he had shown before. It was unbelievable to him.

What was that old fool thinking? He left young Potter in the household of monstrosities! Mr Malfoy was positively fuming inside his head. Did I not warn people that Muggles are horrible beings? Did I not warn Dumbledore himself that something like this would happen, if a wizarding child was left with a misunderstanding Muggle? And of course, he did not listen to me. Of course, Mr Potter is half alive, and the only wizard he has met, besides Draco and I, is that half-breed oaf, Hagrid.

As one of the twelve council members, Mr Malfoy was going to make sure that Dumbledore suffered the consequences. He did have a lot to thank Harry Potter for, after all. He may as well start repaying his debt now; without young Mr Potter, the Dark Lord would still be active and torturing him and the rest of the followers he had. Well, my dear sister-in-law would deserve it, he thought snidely. But now that I think of it, I must look into the case of that other prisoner as well ... Yes... It is high time that Narcissa’s cousin is freed from custody for the murders he did not commit...

“Mr Potter,” he said suddenly, causing Harry to look up and immediately look with respect; he knew how much authority Mr Malfoy had. “I will be looking into this case personally.” He paused, stroking his chin idly. “Mr Potter, did you say that you were left on the doorstep of the Muggles?”

“Yes, sir,” he said. “It was the same night I- er, the same night my parents died.”

“I see ...” said Mr Malfoy, a little coldly now. “I am guessing that he did not have your consent, given that you were a year old, but you were not old enough to give it ... Hmm, I wonder ...”

He looked up the street, towards a dark alley off from Gringotts, but turned away at once.

“Mr Potter, did Mr Rubeus Hagrid explain why he was the one to bring you to Diagon Alley, and not a properly trained wizard?” he asked when he turned back to Harry.

“I- no, sir, he did not,” said Harry, looking a little suspicious now, but not at Mr Malfoy. “As I said, Dumbledore sent him, and that’s all I know about it.”

“Did he undergo any other business while you were with him?” asked Mr Malfoy, his voice full of coldness now. He looked towards Gringotts this time. “Did he do anything that did not have to do with obtaining your items for Hogwarts?”

Harry followed Mr Malfoy’s gaze, looking right over at the marble white building. His eyes narrowed a bit as he stared.

“Yes,” he said after a while, “now that you mention it. He took a small package out of vault seven hundred thirteen. He said it was Hogwarts business, and very secret.”

Yes, Dumbledore did always clutch his secrets to his chest, thought Mr Malfoy to himself.

“Very well,” he said, offering a look to Harry that Harry did not often see. It seemed to be a mixed look of pride and regret. Vernon Dursley had certainly never looked at Harry with either such looks in Harry’s ten years at Privet Drive. “I will be looking into the matter with the Dursleys. Until then, I have another matter to deal with – two, actually. One is the household you will be staying at for the rest of the summer, and whom with; I am sure you do not want to go back to the Muggles” – Harry nodded vigorously, his features darkening with disgust at their mention – “and you should not have had to in the first place, but we cannot change the past. The other is what I will do about Albus Dumbledore.”

“Sir?” asked Harry, a little curiously.

“Surely you do not think I will let Dumbledore get away with leaving you to mistreatment for almost a decade, do you, Mr Potter?”

“But-but are you saying it was him who left me there, Mr Malfoy?” asked Harry.

“Yes, Mr Potter, I am,” said Mr Malfoy. “Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has always been a man who thinks what he is doing is for a greater good, even back in the days when the Dark Lord was taking over, but the means he uses to achieve an ends are not always respectable. I believe he was trying to force you into living a rotten life, in order for you to see him as a grandfatherly figure you could turn to in your time of need.”

“He wanted me to go to him, for comfort from what he did to me?” Harry shouted.

“Yes, I am sure that this was what he was aiming to achieve,” was the cold reply. “I am not sure why he would need you to go to him, but there is more than likely a reason, no doubt a reason that refers all to well to the greater good.”

Harry was nearly heartbroken at these words. Hagrid had described Dumbledore as an incredible person, one who could be trusted beyond a doubt, one who had helped many in times of need. I bet Hagrid is one of his trusted lackeys, and one of the ones who made me go to the Dursleys in the first place, Harry thought angrily. As if I could trust Hagrid now.

“I’m betting that Dumbledore would have sent me back to the Dursleys during the summer breaks from Hogwarts,” muttered Harry to himself, not bothering to keep his thoughts inside his head now. “I bet he would have left me there in summer so I’d go willingly to him come new term.”

“There is no doubt in my mind that this was his intention,” said Mr Malfoy, who had heard the mutterings.

Draco Malfoy was staring at the two, shock covering his usually expressionless face. He had been taught growing up that it was ideal to stay away from Albus Dumbledore, and Harry had just told him about his half-life with the Muggles, but he had not know that it was Dumbledore himself who had made Harry live the life of a house elf. No, Draco corrected himself. I think the house elves have the better deal. Even ours aren’t treated that badly.

“Mr Potter, I will look into the issue of giving you into a wizarding family’s custody immediately,” said Mr Malfoy. “However, I must first find someone who will take you into custody. This will require a few weeks, but if all goes well, I think I know just the person.”

He smiled at Harry. It was a genuine smile this time.

“Come, Mr Potter. Let me treat you to lunch before you obtain the rest of your school possessions.”

As they were walking down Diagon Alley, Mr Malfoy chuckled to himself. Looking down at Harry and Draco, he added, “As for your uncle, he’s in for quite the surprise in a few days from now.” Chuckling at Harry’s expression of confusion, he turned his eyes back to the alley ahead of him and continued walking along his way.

--

Lucius Malfoy walked along the corridors of Azkaban, looking at the different people he passed by along the way who had been thrown in because of their services to Lord Voldemort. I’m glad I abandoned that pseudo-lord, he thought to himself. He recognized Antonin Dolohov, who glared at him with bared teeth through his greasy hair, and Algernon Rookwood, who merely nodded at him indifferently without looking up. As he came up to the room he had been looking for, another prisoner caught his eye. He smiled ruefully, looking down upon the woman he hated so much.

“Hello, Bellatrix,” he said, looking at her with a certain gleam in his eye.

The long black haired woman before him looked up, and Bellatrix Lestrange’s pale, sullen face was revealed. She had more than likely been beautiful in one lifetime, but after ten years in Azkaban, that beauty was long gone. She looked utterly mad, much like her former master.

“Lucius Malfoy,” drawled Bellatrix, looking at him as though he were filth beneath her dirtied robes. “How ... invigorating to see you here, where you belong anyway.”

“I daresay I do not belong here, Bellatrix,” said Mr Malfoy evenly, clutching his staff tightly as he spoke. It would not do to kill a prisoner, even if he loathed her as much as he did, while in the prison itself. Not after all he had done to escape prison. “I did repent for my services, and survivals, with the Dark Lord.”

“Oh, did you?” she screeched, snarling at Mr Malfoy but unable to move towards him due to the lengths of chains holding her arms and legs to the wall behind her. They held her bound quite well. “Do not bother trying to hide from the truth, Malfoy. You know what you did. You should be in here with us, awaiting the Dark Lord’s return.”

“Sorry, dear sister-in-law,” said Mr Malfoy. “I do not intend to waste away in here for things I did under the Imperius Curse, and I do not intend to wait for him to, ah, return when I know he is gone.”

“He will be back, Malfoy,” she snarled, lunging forward against the chains as Mr Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her in amusement. She thrashed against the chains, adding to her insanity, to no avail. “The Dark Lord will return, and he will kill you for your betrayal. He’ll kill you, your wife, and your filthy son. He will retrieve all of us who wasted away in Azkaban for him, and we will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams, filthy blood traitor!”

Mr Malfoy merely sneered, pulling his wand from his staff. He pointed it at Bellatrix, who was silenced immediately. Smiling, he put it back into its place in his staff.

“I am a Malfoy, Bellatrix,” he said with an air of superiority, as she glared at him, unable to speak. “I do not need the praise of a pseudo-lord. Now, I must be off. I do hope you enjoy your life-long stay here.”

Bellatrix made the silent equivalent of a curse word and turned away, limping against her chains. Mr Malfoy merely smirked and walked away, moving towards the true reason why he had come. Walking up a set of stairs at the end of the hallway, he came up to the highest level room for security. There was only one person being held in this room. Only one captive being held prisoner to Azkaban’s worst.

He’ll be of much help to me.

Mr Malfoy walked up to the security door, tapped the handle with his staff, and turned the handle down to push open the door.

He’ll be the ideal guardian for Mr Potter, not to mention the one who was meant to be guardian to Mr Potter in the first place.

Mr Malfoy walked into the room. It was dark, lit by only two torches on opposite sides of the room, casting it into shadow. In the middle of the room was a large cell, holding a long haired man chained to its wall. Two Dementors flanked it, but Mr Malfoy used all of his willpower, as well as a silent Patronus, to keep their affects at bay. Aside from the cell, there was a table with two chairs. One of the chairs had chains on its arms and legs, and Mr Malfoy knew that those chains were charmed to hold down the prisoners who sat on them.

He won’t be here for much longer.

He walked up to the cell’s bars, dismissing the Dementors as he did with a wave of his staff.

The long haired man lying chained next to the wall seemed to notice the lack of cold misery in the room now, for he stirred in his sleep. Making stiff noises, he stood up, the chains hanging from his wrists and ankles. His long black hair hung off of his head, ending at his upper arms and back while framing his face. He turned around, and Mr Malfoy saw the sunken eyes that looked as though they had given up on all hope of freedom. The dark, sunken eyes widened at the person before them, as though in shock. Mr Malfoy smiled at the man.

“Hello, Sirius,” he said warmly. “I have come to set you free.”

--

The winds were blowing fiercely. It had been a long time since it had been this windy, and considering that it was mid-summer, it was a surprise to everyone. Yet here it was, in early August, with blowing winds so fierce that it nearly blew off trees and fences in the area. The Muggles were not pleased with Privet Drive right now, especially not Vernon Dursley and his family.

Their nephew, Harry Potter, the one who they would not name out loud when he wasn’t around for fear of contamination, had disappeared with a rather large man a week or so ago. The man, who Vernon thought was named Robert Hagrid or something, had taken Harry with him for his school supplies, and they had not seen the boy since then. It made Vernon Dursley very angry. The boy’s cooking was much better than Petunia’s had ever been, and the chores were all done on time and to the hour. Life was much easier with the boy living with them, whether they liked him or not. And they didn’t like him, either – they hated him.

It was rather confusing. Vernon knew that they’d jump at the opportunity to kick the little Potter boy out of the house, but they would also struggle to keep him, for he was their servant of sorts. To think that, at the age of four, he had asked for Dudley’s second bedroom. It was pathetic, really.

Vernon walked into the kitchen, clutching a rolled up newspaper in his large hand, and sat down. Petunia was making omelets for breakfast. Vernon happened to like this particular choice of eating, but he also knew that it would more than likely taste like saran wrap when made by Petunia. Still, she was the only source of home-cooked food they had, and Vernon was hardly going to take up cooking. He had a busy life with his work for Grunnings, a company that made drills, and he was only home in the mornings and evenings. He didn’t have time to take on the job of a house-sitter on top of that.

Irritably, he sat down and awaited his omelet. Dudley came down soon after, wobbling into the room as usual. He looked as though he had eaten five minutes ago, but Vernon dismissed the thought; he refused to think of Dudley in any sort of bad way. He was well aware that years of having to consort with the likes of Harry had made Dudley the way he was today, and Vernon was proud of Dudley for standing up for himself for so long. Now that Harry was gone, maybe Dudley could shine more radiance on the family again. The thought made Vernon happier than he had been for a couple of days now.

When Vernon had waited nearly fifteen minutes for his omelet, and had lost a significant amount of patience from the holdup, he decided to intervene.

“Petunia, what’s the holdup? I have to get going soon, and I need to eat!”

“Hold on, will you?” she snapped back.

This did not bode well with Vernon, who was about to throw a comment back at her in argument to her attitude, but he stopped himself quite suddenly. Was something happening to Petunia? Something he had not foreseen?

Ughh, please don’t tell me it’s that, he thought unhappily. I don’t have the time and energy to deal with that womanhood problem. Not now and hopefully not ever.

He waited impatiently for ten more minutes before Petunia walked into the room carrying two plates. On both were servings of omelets with strips of bacon. She set them both down in front of Dudley and Vernon quite forcefully and walked back into the kitchen.

Mental that one, Vernon thought to himself with a small snort.

Finishing his meal, he stood up and walked over to the door, briefcase in hand. He adorned his hat and walked out the door. Throwing his briefcase into the car, he got in, backed out of the driveway, and went on his way to work.

Along the way, he noticed that a jet-black owl was following his car. After seeing all of the owls that had plagued his house the week before with those damned letters, he did not let it bother him much. However, when he arrived at the building for Grunnings a half hour later, the owl came to a rest in a tree near the car, looking at him oddly. Grunting about the uselessness of birds, he walked into his office.

He had been there three minutes when his manager walked into the room.

“Mr Vernon Dursley,” he said in a voice that rang with authority. Vernon looked up from his coffee and nodded to him, taking another sip. The manager continued. “You are fired.”

The coffee left Vernon’s mouth in an angry burst. He threw himself to his feet, staring aghast at the man before him. He clutched the mug of coffee so tightly that it exploded in his hand, but he hardly noticed.

“What do you mean, fired?” he roared. “Under what causes, pray tell?”

“The higher authorities of Grunnings have decided that you have not been working to your promised standings,” said the manager dismissively, still in his tone of authority. “They have terminated your membership of Grunnings henceforth.”

Vernon’s eyes were blood red with rage now.

“How dare they do this?” he snarled. “I have worked for this company for almost fifteen years! They cannot do this to me without giving me a proper reason! I’ll-”

“Mr Dursley, cease at once!” snapped the manager. “You can take this maturely and leave with your belongings at once, or you can be charged for loitering. It is your choice.”

Vernon took one last look at the man, whose eyes had oddly turned hazel, and then he stormed out of the room without a second glance. He roared in displeasure as he stormed out of the building. As he marched towards his car, he noticed that the jet-black owl was still sitting in the tree, staring at him.

“WHAT?” he screamed at it, not drawing a single move from the owl except a slight turn of the head. “WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME? STOP STARING AT ME RIGHT NOW, OR I’LL THROW A ROCK AT YOU!”

The owl continued staring at him as though unfazed by his screeches. He disdainfully remembered that owls could not understand humans. Snapping with anger, he picked up a rock and chucked it, as hard as he could, at the owl.

What followed had to be the most bizarre event that Vernon had ever witnessed. The rock was inches from the spot he had thrown it at when it stopped, unnaturally, in midair, right in front of the owl.

Only there was no longer an owl sitting there and staring at Vernon. It was now a man.

The man looked as though he lived paycheck to paycheck. He had shoulder-length black hair that was flecked with bits of what looked like splinters of wood, and dark, cold eyes. He was sitting on the branch, staring at Vernon, with a long black cloak of some kind hanging from his shoulders. He had a long wand out, pointed directly at the rock, which was still floating in midair. He flicked it a bit, and it flew back the way it came, knocking Vernon in the stomach. Vernon immediately doubled over in pain.

The man stood up in the tree, keeping his wand pointed in Vernon’s direction. He waved it a bit around Vernon as well, sending different jets of clear light from it.

“W-What are you doing?” stuttered Vernon.

The man laughed. “I am making sure we are not overheard. We are now entrapped by a barrier that none can enter into... or out of.”

He leapt from the tree, coming into a standing position directly in front of Vernon.

“So you’re the Muggle uncle of Harry Potter,” he rasped, his voice quite scratchy and vulgar. He looked as though he had not eaten or bathed in years, yet he seemed so humane. “You’re the one who brutalized our hero.”

“Excuse me?” snarled Vernon, who was still winded by the hit with the rebounding rock.

“You heard me, Muggle!” snapped the black-haired man. “You tortured Potter, making him live the life of a slave. Am I right?”

“I have no idea what you’re ta-”

“Don’t try to lie, Muggle. I can see the truth in your pathetic mind. I can see your thoughts on the boy as we speak. You’re even wishing you could still have him as your personal cook and house cleaner right at this moment. It’s so truly, utterly pathetic of you, Muggle, and yet so typical, to wish such a thing of an eleven year old boy, and a relative at that.”

“I do not believe it is in your rights to tell me how to raise my nephew,” Vernon snarled, clenching his hand into a fist. “And furthermore, you do not wish to anger me further.”

“Oh, really?” the man sneered, his face less humane now. “You do know that with the barrier keeping us hidden from prying Muggle eyes that may stray towards us, I could kill you right now without suspicion, don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Vernon venomously.

“Try me,” said the man, raising his wand higher.

“Don’t bother with that thing, I ain’t frightened of it,” said Vernon loudly, taking a step forward towards the man, who smiled a little while raising his wand to level with Vernon’s face. “I won’t be intimidated by a man who has to hide behind a freak wand to solve his problems. If you can’t take it like a man, you can’t take it at all.” He puffed out his chest arrogantly.

“You fool,” sneered the man before him. “Is this a game to you? You have lost your little nephew, and now all you can do is defend your precious Muggle honor? Ha! You really are as unintelligent as you look, Muggle.”

Before Vernon could retaliate, the man had disappeared with a pop. He reappeared in the tree, and waved his wand again. The barriers around Vernon vanished.

“I hope you don’t expect to see your nephew again, Dursley,” he said, and Vernon stared back, shocked that the man knew his name. “He’s with us now. One day he’ll be back, and he’ll kill you for what you did to him. Until then, I bid thee farewell, stupid Muggle!”

He threw something to the ground, and it exploded, throwing a cloud of smoke everywhere. As the smoke cleared, Vernon noticed that the man had vanished.

--

Sirius Black did not know what to think. For ten years, his life had been a mix of misery and despair, pain and burden, as the Dementors flanked his cell around the clock. He was a mere ghost of what he once was, and therefore, the visit of Lucius Malfoy, his cousin-in-law, greatly surprised him.

“W-What are you d-doing here, L-Lucius?” asked Black with a very raspy voice, as though he had not used it since before his imprisonment. It was not unkind.

Lucius Malfoy looked across the table at Black, considering him. He did not know himself why he was going at such odds to help Harry Potter. He only knew that if he did not get Sirius Black out of prison, Lucius would have to raise the boy himself, and he did not have the skills to raise a second child; Draco was challenge enough. He decided that it was because he could relate to young Harry. After all, Imperiused or not, he had suffered under Lord Voldemort’s rule, and he had experienced torture. The boy had grown up knowing nothing but torture. Mr Malfoy looked at Harry and saw a younger Lucius in there. That was why he was willing to risk a lot in saving Harry from the Muggles. As a matter of fact, he already had. Ever since they had met, Harry had been living at Malfoy Manor, which was Unplottable, meaning the Ministry and especially Dumbledore could not find him there.

Dumbledore, he thought with an inward sneer. The man had seen to Harry’s suffering. He had, indirectly, seen to it that Harry lead a life of misery and injustice. He no doubt expected Harry to go to Hogwarts in September to turn to him to console him.

There is no damn way in the sacred name of Morgana that I will let that happen.

“Sirius,” he said, and his voice was mixed with sorrow for Black’s position and authority for the topic at hand, “I’m here to set you free. I am aware that you did not commit the crimes you were convicted of, and I am aware that you did not get as much as a trial when you were unceremoniously thrown into Azkaban. I am here to rectify all of this. I am going to get you a trial, and we are going to get you out of here. Then we are going to get the man who did this to you thrown into Azkaban himself. I believe it was Bartemius Crouch Senior? I heard his son got sent here and died here. How pitiful his father will share the same fate.”

Sirius Black looked at Mr Malfoy, all of his surprise evident. The man was risking everything, as far as Black was concerned. How could he be so calm that he could overturn a sentence that had been carried out almost ten years ago?

“You’re really going to help me, Lucius?” he gasped, looking shocked. The rasp in his voice was leaving a little. “I thought you hated my kind. Aren’t you with Voldemort?”

Mr Malfoy stiffened, and he looked down so that Black would not see the anger in his eyes. Noticing his mistake, Black backtracked. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, Mr Black, it is not your fault. Suffice it to say that I am certainly not with He Who Must Not Be Named,” said Mr Malfoy. “He placed me under the Imperius Curse and used me for my authority in the wizarding world. I may hold a few of his beliefs – and I do mean a few – but I do not support his take on the world.”

“You speak as though he were still in this world,” said Black dully. “He’s dead. He got killed trying to go after the Potters. I went after Pettigrew a day later; he as good as confirmed it.” He looked mutinous at the mention of his old friend, Peter Pettigrew. He looked down at his shackled hands, wondering if escaping was really worth it. James Potter was dead, Peter Pettigrew was a traitor, and Remus Lupin would never want anything to do with him now that he was a supposed mass murderer. Unless...

“Lucius, are you breaking me out of Azkaban because of Harry?”

Mr Malfoy froze. So Black knew. Well, that was one task of explanation out of the way now, so perhaps it was for the better. And now that this was in the open, Mr Malfoy could get right down to business.

“Yes, Sirius, I am helping you out of Azkaban because of young Mr Potter,” said Mr Malfoy briskly, though it sounded more like desperation. “He needs someone to care for him, and you are his godfather. Plus, Draco would have a friend to be with him. Lastly, he would grow up away from Dumbledore’s prying hands. It is the perfect deal. You, of course, will be protected should you desire to be.”

Black snorted.

“I’d like nothing more than to take Dumbledore’s already broken nose and break it further for what he condemned me to,” he barked. “I really would. All the same, we must help Harry. I know that he went to Muggles, the relatives from his mother’s side. If they so much as touched him...”

“They did worse than that, Sirius,” said Mr Malfoy. “Mr Potter lived like a slave under their care. They were assigned by Dumbledore to be his legal guardians, but I fear that the Dark Lord himself could not do so much lasting damage to the boy.”

He sighed; here came the actual explanation.

“I suppose the reason I wanted to help young Harry was because I saw myself in him.” Sirius looked up, surprised at this. “Just like I had during the days of the Dark Lord, he has lived the life of a dog – forgive the pun to your Animagus form – from day one since he started there in the Muggle world. Since he has been able to reach the top of the stove, he had been serving their meals. Because his cousin is so vastly unintelligent, he was forced to fail and do horrible in all of his courses in Muggle school. And because he is more or less skin and bones, he is very unhealthy right now.”

Black looked mutinous again.

“They’re going to suffer for this,” he spat.

“And we will see to it that the Muggles suffer,” Mr Malfoy agreed, patting his staff. “However, we cannot kill them now. Not only will it get us both thrown in here, but it will arouse Dumbledore’s suspicions, and we do not need that right now, especially when Harry gets to Hogwarts and is around the man around the clock.”

“Understandable,” said Sirius, getting to his feet. “But seriously, I’d love to get out of here as soon as possible. How long will I have to wait?”

“Hopefully no time at all,” Mr Malfoy replied. Sirius looked at him, curiosity clouding his vision. “You see, I took the liberty of going to my good friend, Mr Fudge, myself. He’s going to see to it that you get a fair trial, or he’s going to find himself in the world of unemployment.”

“Never again will I question your sneakiness,” muttered Sirius under his breath in a joking matter, and Mr Malfoy smirked.

“You will only be here for two more days, at most,” said Mr Malfoy. “I will see to it that Dementors are not placed in here, since you are now awaiting trial. As for the fool who threw you into Azkaban, I am going to see to him tomorrow. He will be in Azkaban, if I don’t kill him myself, by the end of the week.”

“It was good to see you again, cousin,” said Sirius, holding out a shackled hand, and Mr Malfoy took it, grime forgotten. They shook briefly, locking eyes with one another. Cold grey looked at dull black.

“I will get you out of here, Sirius. Don’t worry about that.” Without another word, Mr Malfoy left the room, shutting the door behind him.

--

“I have a godfather?!” asked Harry incredulously.

Harry had been at Malfoy Manor for well over a week now. He had enjoyed his time here immensely. He had no friends back in Surrey, and Malfoy was only too proud to be Harry’s friend and connection to the wizarding world. Malfoy’s mother, Narcissa Malfoy, had welcomed Harry graciously, and had seen to it that he had everything he needed; ten years of being denied proper care had finally caught up with Harry not long ago. He had been weakened, and each breath he had taken seemed to catch in his throat. If it weren’t for the Malfoys, he would have wished death upon himself.

A house elf, ironically, had nursed him into a better health. Dobby the house elf had taken an interest in him, and had seen to it that he got better. He was on the way to recovery, but he had a long way to go. Fortunately, a long way with magic only incorporated three or four days at most.

At the moment, Mrs Malfoy was explaining to Harry what Mr Malfoy was trying to do, and who he was doing it for. Harry had not even known the existence of his godfather, much less the fact that he had been thrown into prison – Azkaban, he thought it was called – for crimes he didn’t commit.

“Yes, you have a godfather, Harry,” said Narcissa Malfoy softly; she had taken a liking to the boy who sat across from her. She almost couldn’t believe that he wasn’t a pureblood. “Your godfather’s name is Sirius Black, and he was good friends with your parents. In fact, himself and your father were inseparable, from what Lucius told me, throughout their time at Hogwarts and afterwards.”

She paused for a moment, as though not wanting to speak any further. Harry noticed at once; his senses had picked up after he had begun healing.

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” asked Harry quietly. “There’s more to what happened between them, isn’t there, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Please, Harry, call me Narcissa,” she said in equally quiet tones. “And yes, there is more, but I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear it. It is a very dark thing that happened to Sirius...”

“I’m willing to hear it,” Harry pleaded, looking stricken. “Please, Narcissa, please tell me.”

Narcissa saw the pleading look in his eyes and knew he truly wanted to know the story. She just wasn’t sure if she was the right person to tell him. She hadn’t been close with her cousin, Sirius Black, at the time when he had been friends with James Potter, and she had not been close with him at all before or after, either. Now, however, she was willing to put their differences aside, if Sirius was as well. No, she thought, it can’t be me to tell him. I’m just not the right person. I will set things right when Sirius is freed, but until then, I do not have the right to tell his story to his godson. It is his story to tell.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I can’t tell you,” said Narcissa sadly. She noticed Harry’s disappointment, and explained further. “It’s just not my story to tell. When Sirius is freed, he will tell you this story, but until then, you will have to wait.”

Harry nodded. “All right, I understand.” He looked a little happier now.

Narcissa smiled and dismissed the two boys, letting them have their fun. With that done, she walked out of the main family room and into the kitchens. She really, really needed something to drink; her throat had dried up when she had seen Harry’s look of somber disappointment.

She entered the kitchens only to see her husband standing there waiting for her.

“Lucius!” she said in a surprised tone. “I thought you were at Azkaban to talk to Sirius.”

“That matter has already been dealt with,” replied Lucius Malfoy with a grim smile, leaning a bit on his staff. “He will be standing trial this Thursday, and hopefully freed come the weekend. It’ll be good to see him free.”

“Yes, it certainly will,” said Narcissa, calling over a house elf to bring her a Firewhisky. She sat down at one of the tables, and Lucius moved towards her, choosing to continue standing. “Lucius, why are we doing this for Sirius? We never liked him back in the old days, and we certainly didn’t get along with him before then. He and I fought all the time when we were growing up. So why are we helping him, and why now? I’m not complaining,” she added, noticing Lucius’s stern look, “I’m just curious right now.”

Lucius sighed, leaning down on his staff again; had it not been charmed to never break, it might have snapped clean in two with all the weight he was putting on it. He stood there, contemplating his answer.

“It’s because of young Mr Potter, that much is certain,” began Lucius, shaking his long hair out of his face. His grey eyes were narrowed, and his aristocratic posture seemed to have slipped a bit, though Narcissa hardly cared right now. “The moment I saw him in Diagon Alley, alongside our son, I knew something must have happened to him, perhaps a lot of the time in his life for all we know. Surely anyone who had seen him must have known. He had been out of the eyes of the wizarding world for almost ten years, since the night the Dark Lord was vanquished; how could the situation not be suspicious? Narcissa, the boy was a shadow of himself. He looked as though he had eaten two decent meals in his entire lifetime, maybe not even that! He was short, thin, and while he was wearing decent robes from Madam Malkin's, it didn't take much to see that he had most likely been wearing what looked like his cousin's hand-me-down rags for most of his life..”

He leaned further onto his staff, his frustration with the situation evident. Narcissa recoiled only slightly in her chair.

“He said that at midnight on the 31st, the day Draco and I first met him, a man named Rubeus came to retrieve him. There are not many men in this world named Rubeus, Narcissa. It had to have been that enormous gamekeeper, Hagrid. Harry admitted to this, and I revealed to him my thoughts on the matter: that the reason why he was to be introduced to the wizarding world by Hagrid was because of Albus Dumbledore.”

“The Headmaster?” asked Narcissa skeptically. “Why would he want to do something like that?”

“Dumbledore is the reason why Harry Potter went to live with Muggles,” said Lucius darkly. “I remember clearly. The Ministry seemed to be fine with it, but it went against the Potters’ last will and testament. When I go to Gringotts next, I might check that. I do not think it was ever executed, which would certainly explain why the Ministry never intervened with the placing of Mr Potter’s guardianship.”

He pinched his nose for a moment, drawing in a breath.

“If I had known at the time what Dumbledore was up to, I might have stopped him myself. I certainly had the legal authority to do so. As it is, he knew that Sirius was not the Potters’ Secret-Keeper, and he let Sirius get thrown in Azkaban anyway. It was no doubt to prevent Harry from going to him. I do not agree with this injustice, and now that I have seen Mr Potter for myself, I am going to see to it that he never goes back to those filthy Muggles.”

He finally sat down, looking a little weary. Narcissa noticed this immediately and, without hesitating, called over a house elf to bring him a cup of tea. He smiled his thanks to her and took the cup, sipping it immediately.

“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the Muggles. It would be very easy to kill them off now, but it would be too suspicious, and I do not want to risk being thrown into Azkaban after my narrow escape from it a decade ago. So I had the Muggle uncle fired from that company he worked for, Grumblings or something.”

Narcissa nearly spit out some of her Firewhisky as she burst out laughing.

“You got him sacked? Lucius, that is brilliant,” she exclaimed.

Lucius smirked. “Yes,” he said, “and they wouldn’t even know it was me, they only know it to be the decision of a high-ranked individual at the company. Put short, a Confounding Charm. I didn’t want to risk the Imperius Curse, as nice as it would be to use it again, because of the illegality of the action.”

“Understandable,” remarked Narcissa. “But I sense that there is more to this than what you are telling me. Is it just because of Harry that you are helping Sirius?”

Lucius hesitated. This was the part of the conversation that he did not want to come to. He didn’t want to explain to his wife that he saw the connection between himself and Harry, but he knew that he must.

“I suppose it was because I saw a little of myself in young Potter,” said Lucius a little reluctantly. Narcissa’s eyebrows rose a bit; Lucius noticed this and backtracked in his explanation. “What I mean is, when Harry came up to me in Diagon Alley with our son, he looked little more than a shadow of what he should have been. He was malnourished, he was weakened, and he had no confidence at all for himself. I could see all of this in his mind for myself. I didn’t even need Legilimency to see it, Narcissa. It was all over the boy’s face. He looked as though he had actually welcomed the idea of death before he met us. Whatever the Muggles put him through, it was torture to him. When I saw all of this, and please don’t take this horribly, I saw myself when I was under the Dark Lord’s reign. He treated his followers almost as badly as he treated his enemies, Narcissa. He treated us like common animals. When we failed, he tortured us, and when we succeeded, he offered no praise. Some of us wondered if what we were doing was truly the right way, but we could not say anything. I could not anyway, as I was under an Imperius Curse. It was not strong, but it was strong enough to force me to carry out his will. I had no control over what I did, Narcissa. I couldn’t even say anything about it. He’d kill us if we even dreamed of leaving his service. You remember Regulus Black, I’m assuming? He was almost killed by the Dark Lord, but he managed to escape. He was the only one. A man named Mulciber was killed when he tried to back out, within a few days. I couldn’t leave for fear of death.”

He sighed a little, wishing he could stop there.

“The same can be said for Mr Potter, as far as I’m concerned. If he had tried to leave the Muggles without the wizard guard who was sent to get him, he would have been killed. He knew this, too. I saw so much of myself in him, and I knew then that I would not allow him to go through any more of it. Not like how I did,” he finished.

Narcissa’s eyes were filled with tears, but she did not speak. Lucius had long since stopped looking at her, choosing instead to cover his face with his hands. I’m a Malfoy! I should not be reacting with this much emotion! I should not be reacting with any emotion!

“Lucius, we will help him,” said Narcissa with a strained voice. “We’ll help both of them. When we get Sirius out of prison, we’ll give Harry to him to be raised by him. He can adopt Harry or something. That way, Harry will be something like a family to us.”

Lucius looked up, his eyes red. He smiled at Narcissa.

“That’s the plan,” he said. “We’re going to make Harry a part of the Black family, and in a way, the Malfoy family. And this time, no lord of any shape or form is going to interfere with our lives. This time, we do things our own way.”

He stood up, picking up his staff from the table. Narcissa stood as well, staring at Lucius.

“I must go now to the Ministry,” said Lucius. “I have a feeling that Dumbledore is going to find a way to interfere with all of this; knowing him, he has found out about what I am planning by now. Harry has, after all, not been at the place Dumbledore put him in for a week now. I’m going straight to Cornelius, and I’m going to see to it that the old man can’t interfere. He’s interfered enough with our lives.”

With a brisk nod, he walked away, leaving Narcissa to stare in awe after him.

--

Author’s Note:

So, what do you think so far? Yes, as you can see, this will be a Manipulative Dumbledore story, but he won’t be downright evil like he was in my other story. Actually, he won’t have nearly as big a role anyway.

You’re probably wondering about my previous story and the fact that I haven’t updated it in a little while. For now, consider it on hold. I’ve run into a dead end with it, and I’m currently trying to figure a way out of it. Until I do, I’m putting my efforts into this story, so don’t expect updates for ODAL. Sorry ‘bout that.

Anyway, you know the deal, Read and Review! I appreciate feedback. I don’t care what kind of feedback it is, I still appreciate it.