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Lucius Malfoy was not a man who appreciated surprises. Nor did he very much enjoy lies. He loved his wife and son. He rather liked power, fine elf wines, clothes, and law. And in the evenings, he thought, there was nothing more satisfying than listening to the wizarding wireless on the patio with his son.
Of course Draco was now a full time student, which cut down the amount of time they had together. Given that it was the second week after Draco’s fourth year and that the Dark Lord had just gotten his body back, there had been even less time. Thus it was with great satisfaction that Lucius settled in with his son and some sparkling wine on a fine evening in early July over looking the Yorkshire moors and listening to the ending tune of Fair’s Faire.
The next show was one of their mutual favorites, Wordsworth’s Weekday Update, one of the more trustworthy sources of news and international events.
“What cheer, my lovely listeners, peerless patrons, exacting examiners of Wordsworth Weekday Update. As always my name is Wallace Wordsworth and I’ll be giving you a taste of the world today. We’ve got a packed program for you, including the Cannon’s managerial woes, The Daily Prophet; fact or fiction, and as always, muggle politics: the Pensions Act and what’s in it for the old. But all that will wait for the second half because I have in the studio with me a guest who needs no introduction, he’s the recent winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the up and coming Gryffindor Seeker, and as we all know, the so called Boy-Who-Lived, please help me in welcoming Mr Harry James Potter!”
Clapping and yelling and whistles drowned the sound of the introduction jingle.
Lucius and Draco shared a stunned look, “Get your mother, quick!”
The noise was only barely settling down when a flustered Draco returned with Narcissa.
“Yes, yes, alright quiet down, you fervent folks. Mr Potter, please let me extend many warm welcomes from myself and my rather feverish fellows here in the studio.”
Scattered laughter.
“Thank you, Mr Wordsworth, and thank you all for listening.”
“Mr Potter it’s an honor to have you here. Now you’ve just won the Tri-Wizard Tournament, 1000 galleons, that’s no small change, how does it feel to be the most formidable youth of your generation?”
“Honestly, I’m just glad it’s over. The upshot is that now I’m legally an adult. I’ve been taking a bit of a crash course in estate management and I’ve already invested my winnings in a venture that I have full confidence in.”
“I—an adult? Really? Tell us more.”
“Well you see, I think no one planned for what would happen after they put my name in the Goblet of Fire. One of my best friends is a…zealous reader and lent me a book about wizarding law over the summer. Imagine my surprise when two chapters in and only just passing Liverpool, I found out that due to the nature of the contract I was forced into for the Tournament, I could legally emancipate myself.”
“Well, there’s a lot in that answer, but may I begin by asking what book lead to this daring discovery?”
“Yes—I absolutely recommend it—A Modern Wizard’s Guide to Law: the Word and the Spirit. It’s fascinating, intuitively written, and unbiased. I owe much to the authors and if you’re listening, I’d love to invite you to tea, there’s so much we can learn that hasn’t been taught at Hogwarts in decades.”
Lucius and Narcissa were wooden with shock. Lucius was the Master Barrister and Narcissa the Arithmancy Master and together they made the authors of the book.
“Well, I hope the bookbinders are ready, because I smell a bestseller in the making after that endorsement. Now, Mr. Potter I must be the first to admit that you are not what we expected.”
“Thank you, I think.”
Scattered laughter.
“Before we return to the Tournament, I do have a question that’s being pushed against the glass of the studio, yes, thank you Theo. I’m sure you’re aware of the slander being spread by the Daily Prophet. What can you tell us about that?”
“Yes, actually, I had noticed. I’m currently in the process of suing them and the Ministry for libel. The disrespect of my privacy and my honor is the reason I agreed to your invitation. If you are amenable, I’m willing to take a truth potion, and let the wizarding world hear for themselves the answers to their questions. My lawyer apparated me here today and can facilitate it.”
There were gasps and murmurs in the audience.
The Malfoy’s were glued to their chairs in anticipation. Whatever Lucius had been expecting when he finally got his time of relaxation, it had not been this.
There was the sound of a door opening and a muffled greeting before Harry greeted the newcomer, “Excellent, Mr Terwilliger. Do you have the Verumsorbitium?” A muffled affirmative. “And is there anyone here who could verify the draught?”
More murmuring and a voice, muffled but audible spoke, “I can, I’ve a potions mastery.”
Wordsworth, finally catching his groove, spoke, “Come on down to the recording bubble, precious potioneer, and what is your name?”
“Max, Max Marvel, of Marvelous Max Marvel’s Concoctions in Diagon Alley.”
“Ah, yes! I get my hair potions from you, far less oily than Sleakeazey’s—you heard that from Wallace Wordsworth, folks.”
“Here give me that potion. Now as I’m sure you all know from your third-year Hogwarts curriculum, it should be a viscous, pearlescent aquamarine and smell like—mmm, yes—crab apples and saltwater.”
“And will this indeed act as a truth potion, while retaining legality?”
“Yes, the law requires written acknowledgement of consumption. The Verumsorbitium itself is less powerful than Veritaserum, and lets the consumer retain lucidity, allowing reliable intervention by a third party to silence any testimony.”
“Excellent, Mr Marvel, thank you very much!”
Scattered applause.
“He’s really going to do it, father, is he mad?”
“I believe the term is brilliant, Draco. Oh Merlin and Morgana, I wonder if the Dark Lord is listening.”
“Surely not!”
“Just think what this could reveal. Tiberius Terwilliger is grey at lightest, he works on Venee Alley, just off Knockturn Alley. Imagine if we could get Harry Potter out of the Light’s grasp!”
“Harry James Potter.”
“And what kind of dragon did you face in the Triwizard Tournament?”
“A female Hungarian Horntail.”
“Perfect! Now, I hate to jump into the deep end, but my first question is this: Is You-Know-Who back from the dead?”
“No, he was never dead.”
Gasps and exclamations.
“I—Well, is You-Know-Who risen from wherever he has been for fourteen years?”
“Yes.”
Exclamations and a few screams.
“How?”
“A potion made of his fathers bone, my blood, and Peter Pettigrew’s hand.”
“Peter Pettigrew is alive?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s helping He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”
“Yes. He has been a Death Eater since before I was born.”
“So does that mean Sirius Black is innocent?”
“Yes. He lives at—”
“Silencio! Sorry, that’s the Fidelius trigger.”
“Very well. Do you fear You-Know-Who?”
“Of course, the man has been trying to kill me since I was one, I just want to live my life in peace.”
“You don’t want to fight him?”
“Of course not! He’s like 70 and in prime duelling condition, I’m only 14 and I am known for casting Expelliarmus, what makes you think a fourteen year old can take on a seventy year old and win? Well aside from pushing over old people or something.”
“But you’re the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived.”
“Sure, because my mum cast some sort of protection over me. I was raised as a muggle house-elf and—”
“Silencio! Harry, let’s stay on topic.”
“I want to hear this!”
“Mr Wordsworth, I shall keep my client under this spell until you agree to refrain from asking personal questions about his youth.”
“Alright, alright. Apologies Mr Potter, Mr Terwilliger. So, Mr Potter, if not you, then who should take on You-Know-Who?”
“Literally any adult. We have aurors who are trained, we have Grindelwald’s defeater, hell, send Lockhart after him for all I care. I want nothing to do with it. I’ve already met him three times since starting Hogwarts, and until that man gets a proper nose, I don’t want to see his face again. Though young Tom Riddle was a decent friend, while it lasted.”
“Tom Riddle?”
“You didn’t know? I figured everyone knew that Tom Riddle grew up to be Voldemort. His name is even an anagram.”
“Anagram?” Mr Wordsworth sounded nearly faint.
“Tom Marvolo Riddle becomes I am Lord Voldemort. Young Tom got a little megalomaniacal at the end there.”
“Megalomaniacal.” Mr Wordsworth definitely seemed lost for words, but the Malfoy’s and the wizarding world at large were hardly in any better shape.
“Well until you can tell me that he had any political aim aside from terrorism, I’ll call him megalomaniacal. It’s like Orwell wrote—“
Harry was cut off by the popping of apparition and minor feedback from the resulting surge of magic.
“My boy, Hermione mentioned you were going to speak on the wireless and tell the world the truth.”
Lucius mouthed, ‘Dumbledore?’ at his son who nodded wordlessly.
“Yes.”
“Mr Dumbledore! You can’t just apparate willy-nilly when we have such delicate charms running!”
“Harry, my boy, I must insist that you do not do anything of the sort.”
“It’s rather too late for that, Headmaster.”
“What?”
“I’ve already taken it.”
“Why, Harry, why would you do this without consulting me?”
“Well you’re hardly trustworthy, and I knew you’d try and make me stay with the Dursleys.”
“Silencio! Muffliato!”
“Protego! How dare you try to curse a minor?”
“He is my lawyer, Headmaster, it is his duty to keep me from revealing more than I’d like.”
“Mr Dumbledore, I insist you remove your person and magic from my client!”
“I am his guardian—“
“No you’re not.”
“My boy, please tell me what this is about.”
“Silencio! Silencium Magnus!”
The sound of deflected spellfire.
“You’re not my guardian anymore. I emancipated myself last week. And I don’t trust you, you let the world believe that Sirius was guilty even though you are Chief Warlock. You left me and Tom Riddle and who knows how many more children in abusive situations, you never checked on me as a child, and you let Barty Crouch take me when I got back from the graveyard. I thought Moody was your friend, how did you not notice he was being impersonated? For a year!” Potter’s voice had risen into near hysteria, he sounded like he might cry.
“I—my boy—I can explain—”
“Unhand my client! Mr Wordsworth, do something!”
“I’m not your boy, Professor. Why did you let me enter the Tournament? You could have stopped it, as my magical guardian you could have—“
“Silencio.” Wallace Wordsworth’s deep voice rung out. “Protego Recanto. Theo, the wards, quickly and call the aurors.”
“Wards? What? Apparate!”
“You’ll not be apparating here Mr Dumbledore. Mr Terwilliger, I think it might be best that you give Mr Potter the antidote. Theo will show you to the break room.”
“I’ll take Mr Potter—”
“No, Dumbledore, I don’t think you shall.”
“My lovely listeners, we’ll have an investigative recap later this week on this interview, but in the mean time, I’m going to hand you over to my international news correspondent, Fionnuala Forner, to take you through the news today.”
There was the soft sound of recording bubbles switching and the familiar brogue chimed in, “Thank you, Mr Wordsworth. Fáilte agus dia dhaoibh! We’ll begin with my usual segment on international news and muggle politics. As I’m sure some of you have heard, despite the possible economic downturn, a new muggle pension scheme is being written and approved through both Houses—”
The Malfoy’s had stopped listening.
“Father, what’s happening?”
“My dragon, I think a great opportunity has landed in our laps.”