Harry was struck dumb for an instant. Everything seemed to freeze in place-- the house became strangely quiet, and it seemed to him that even time stopped. Only the noises created by the children in the backyard indicated that the world wasn’t completely still. He could hear voices floating in from the open window:
“Hard to believe the summer holiday’s nearly over, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but actually, I don’t mind it that much--going back to school, I mean.”
“What? The Honourable Harriet-Lily Potter doesn’t mind going back to school? It’s a sign of the apocalypse!”
“She’s right, though. I’m actually looking forward to going back…well, except for Potions with Zabini. This is going to be the best year ever.”
“Agreed.”
In the next room, one of the eight-month-old twins began to cry, and the sound caused Harry to snap back to reality. He looked back down again at the crumpled paper in his hand, the paper that had caused his shock.
Slowly, he turned toward Ron and Hermione Weasley, who stood behind him wearing grim expressions identical to his own.“How are we going to tell the kids?” he breathed.
* * * * *
Number Seven, Griffin Circle of Godric’s Hollow was a remarkable house-- a mansion, really, judging by its size and grandeur. Slightly cluttered and scattered with photographs, haphazardly placed schoolbooks and athletic equipment, it gave off an aura of warmth and hominess. It had been Harry Potter’s home for the first year of his life until it was reduced to ashes along with his parents. But at the age of 23, his friends had rebuilt the place for him as a birthday surprise, and he’d now been living there with his family for the last fifteen years. An added bonus was that Ron and Hermione Weasley, his best friends, lived next door.
Although the house was very large, it nearly always seemed crowded. Very rarely was there a time when only Harry’s immediate family (he, his wife Ginny, and their two sets of twins at fourteen years and eight months old respectively) was there.
The Weasleys from next door were usually around, accompanied by their daughter Emma; as were the Lupins from down the street, with their son Ted. (The Lupins’ two older children, John and Christina, no longer spent much time at Number Seven, as they had graduated from Hogwarts and had lives of their own.) And then there was Ivy, who practically lived with the Potters during the summer months… Ivy Malfoy.
Today, Haley and Jordan Potter, Emma, Ted, and Ivy, friends as close as five peas in a pod, were sprawled in the backyard of Number Seven. They weren’t doing much, simply discussing various things and eating various sweets, enjoying their last few lazy summer days.
“There’s a cloud over there that look like an octopus strangling a walrus,” Ted commented, pointing overhead.
His voice cracked on the word ‘walrus,’ as it was wont to do of late. Like his voice, Ted himself had begun changing rather awkwardly in the last few months. Somewhat resembling a younger and healthier version of his father with his shaggy light-brown hair and wide blue eyes, he had shot up like a sunflower plant. In terms of personality, he was the same as ever: kind, mellow and easygoing, and possessing a light sense of humour. It was impossible to dislike Ted Lupin; he was simply that kind of a person.
Ivy coiled her long, white-blonde braid absentmindedly around her finger. “What shall we do now?” she asked, and the others chorused, “Nothing!”
Ivy bore all the physical signs of being a Malfoy with her pale complexion, angular and pointed features, and narrow slate-grey eyes. But unlike her sixth-year brother, Ophidias, she was not at all interested in the Dark Arts. She was a rather shy, studious girl who nevertheless had a bit of a mischievous streak, and a weakness for worrying too much about other people. Needless to say, she didn’t fit in too well with her family, and spent a good deal of time at Number Seven. Mr. Potter often said that he understood how she felt, and let her stay as often as she wanted.
Nobody asked Ivy to detail exactly what her life was like at the Malfoys’ house, which was probably for the best, as she most likely never would anyway. She may have been shy, but she was stubborn, too.
Suddenly, music filled the air. A high, clear voice was singing, “Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy, warty Hogwarts, teach us something pur-leez!” at the top of its lungs. Everyone turned to look at Haley (short for Harriet-Lily, but call her that and risk revenge) Potter, who grinned and continued singing.
Haley always seemed younger than she was-- it might have been because she was so hyperactive, simply bursting with energy. She loved to sing in public places, she enjoyed sugar, and was every inch the girly girl. She could also be a little bit too cheerful at times and adored getting on her twin brother’s nerves. But perhaps the misconception that she was younger than fourteen was caused by her appearance-- after all, she was smaller and skinnier than most people her age, with shiny black hair that fell to her shoulders and flipped up at the ends. She also had her father’s bright green eyes, but her features and freckles were pure Weasley.
“Haley, kindly do us all a favor and shut up before we all have to take a blood-replenishing draught for our burst eardrums,” instructed a low, flat voice. It was Jordan Potter, Haley’s twin brother (or ‘baby brother’ as she liked to call him, though she was only older by two minutes and sixteen seconds), speaking as he usually did.
Jordan rather resembled a male version of Haley, with his father’s untidy mop of hair. He mended his hereditary Potter male myopia with contact lenses rather than with glasses, and often groused about the fact that no known spell or potion could cure eyesight. He could be very moody at times, and his prodigious intelligence and anal-retentive mind regularly made him appear an insufferable know-it-all. But he was the top wizard in his year, and the best Gryffindor Seeker since his father, even if Quidditch only ranked third on Jordan’s list of hobbies. (First was schoolwork, and second was attempting to pretend that he was not, in fact, related to Haley or his father.)
Emma rolled over onto her stomach. “Toss me a chocolate frog, will you?” she requested lazily, and Haley obliged.
Unlike her best friend, Emma looked older than fourteen. She was tall and was widely considered quite beautiful, especially by a certain Tyrone Thomas. Her hair fell down her back in thick waves of reddish brown, and she had dark eyes and lovely teeth, which were more often than not displayed in a wicked grin. But if anything, her pretty face was misleading. Possessing quick wits and a quick temper (Indeed, Emma was well-known for being as high-strung than the average tightrope), she was skilled at her position as a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and was a formidable opponent when it came to dueling.
She and Haley, assisted by their considerably more restrained companion Ivy, were the mistresses of mischief and mayhem at Hogwarts, a job she rather enjoyed. She was very serious about rarely being serious, and made it her business to try and recreate the Marauders’ golden age of mischief. (As Haley had inherited her father’s invisibility cloak and the Marauders’ Map, this was very possible.)
Emma unwrapped the chocolate frog and checked the trading card. “Blimey, I keep getting your dad, Haley,” she laughed, and lay the card down next to her. It read:
“Harry Potter.
Known as ‘The Boy Who Lived,’ ‘The Chosen One,’ and occasionally ‘The One Who Triumphed,’ he defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort twice, once at the age of one and again at the age of 17, and fought him several times. Today, he and his wife Ginny live in Godric’s Hollow with their four children. Mr. Potter, age 38, is the Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic and the head of the Order of the Phoenix, as well as the recipient of an Order of Merlin, First Class. He was assisted in his second and final defeat of Voldemort by seven friends, known as the legendary ’Potter’s Eight,’ or simply, ‘The Eight.’”
The drowsy summer reverie was broken by Emma’s mother’s voice, calling from the back window of the Potters’ house. “Emma! Haley, Jordan, Ted… and Ivy, too! Come inside! We have to show you something.” Her tone was not light and casual-- it sounded anxious, urgent, even scared. Emma had never heard her mother sound that way before, and although she liked to think of herself as largely fearless, it frightened her.
* * * * *
The headline of the newspaper screamed, “DRACO MALFOY ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN!” After dropping the paper in shock, one could read the rest of the article:
“DRACO MALFOY ESCAPED FROM AZKABAN!
Draco Malfoy, the ex-Death Eater best known for causing the deaths of hundreds when he reduced St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries to rubble ten years ago, has escaped from prison. He is armed and dangerous, having somehow procured his old wand, and the Ministry advises that children only be allowed outside when absolutely necessary.
Unfortunately, it already seems as though Malfoy will be the new Lord Voldemort of the 21st century. Rumoured to be calling himself the “Dark Master”, it is said that he has already found a number of followers through correspondence while imprisoned. The dementors of Azkaban also seem to have joined Malfoy’s ranks, though his wife, Pansy Malfoy, and two friends named Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were arrested today for assisting in Malfoy’s escape. The Ministry is keeping details of the breakout confidential.
‘Malfoy is a very skilled dark wizard, and most likely unhinged,’ warned Minister of Magic Percival Weasley. “We are doing our best to keep the wizarding world safe and hope to apprehend him quickly.’
The Prophet will be publishing updates every day, and anyone who believes they have any leads are urged to owl the Ministry at once.”
The five children stood in silence just as Harry had. Ivy’s father-- whom she hadn’t seen since the age of four-- was on the loose. Her mother was in prison. Their lives were in danger. Nothing would be the same. And the most terrifying part was the array of grave and frightened expressions on the adults’ faces.
Ivy, who was usually rather reserved, burst into tears and hugged Ginny as she sobbed into her shoulder. Mrs. Potter stroked the girl’s blonde hair and held her like a little girl, whispering, “It’s all right, it’s all right.”
“But it isn’t all right,” Jordan blurted, his face unnaturally pale. “And it isn’t going to be!” He sounded as though trying his very best to keep himself from running around yelling and throwing very expensive and breakable objects.
“Everything’s changed,” Emma said bitterly, fighting back tears herself. “Everything’s changed, just like that.”
* * * * *
It was two in the morning, but Harry couldn’t sleep. Malfoy’s escape from Azkaban had shaken him more than he dared let on in front of the kids. It wasn’t himself about whom he was worried-- with Ivy growing up to be a Gryffindor and befriending Potters and the Weasleys, Malfoy would obviously go after her first.
Plus, he, Harry, had always been Malfoy’s nemesis as a boy, and Malfoy was smart; he knew that Harry would suffer more from watching those he loved undergo torture than he would from being tortured himself. Then there was Ron, too-- he had killed Lucius Malfoy in self-defence ten years before, and Draco had wanted revenge ever since.
In fact, Ron had broken his collarbone in an accident in the Auror office and had to go to St. Mungo’s one a month after killing Lucius-- that was why Draco had blown it up, he was going after Ron. But luckily (for Ron, not Draco), Ron had left the hospital less than twenty minutes before the attack and he survived, though he’d always felt a bit guilty about it ever since. Harry could see it on his friend’s face every time someone mentioned all of the deaths that had occurred that night.
Harry rolled over onto his side. He couldn’t see how Ginny could possibly be sleeping, and yet she was. Couldn’t she see that this would be like the days of Voldemort all over again?
He had called a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix earlier that day (he had become the head, which was quite a daunting responsibility) for the first time in over twenty years, and a surprising number of new members had shown up. Many of them, like Romilda Vane, seemed to have come just to get a glimpse of the so-called ‘Potter’s Eight,’-- Harry and Ginny Potter, Ron and Hermione Weasley, Remus and Nymphadora Tonks, and Neville and Luna Longbottom.
At the meeting, Remus had announced that although Fenrir Greyback had died several years back, Malfoy was likely to try and recruit more werewolves to join his ranks. As a result of this, he, Remus, was going to go back to live in a werewolfe settlement as he had twenty-two years before, which left the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post open for the first time since Voldemort’s defeat.
And Harry had offered to take it. He didn’t know what had come over him-- as Head Auror, Malfoy’s escape meant that he’d have plenty of work to do at the Ministry. But a part of him knew that the students of Hogwarts were in danger, and that a bit of extra Auror protection would be useful. In a week, he’d be at Hogwarts, Professor Potter. The title sounded strange to him, even more so than ‘The Chosen One.’
For possibly the millionth time that day, he thought about Malfoy. He must have been wrong about him-- wrong to think that he wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, that he’d been pushed into joining the Death Eaters because it was the only future he knew of with his sheltered and brainwashed upbringing. Even at Hogwarts, when Malfoy had been only second to Voldemort (and occasionally third to Snape) as Harry’s least-favourite person in the universe, Harry would have laughed if someone had informed him that Malfoy would grow up to be a Dark Lord who struck fear into the hearts of hundreds.
And he thought, for possibly the thousandth time that day, that maybe none of this would have happened if Ron hadn’t killed Lucius Malfoy, that it was Ron who gave Malfoy the nerve to truly go to the Dark Side. Surely the murder of his parents, Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, and Hagrid had caused Harry to seek revenge against Voldemort, gave him the strength to fight him. It was an uncomfortable thought, and he tried to push it out of his mind.
He focused instead on Ivy. He saw Malfoy’s young face every time he looked at her, and yet she was so unlike her father. What would “The Dark Master” do to this sweet, shy teenage girl? Would he try to kill her for betraying the family name? Or even worse, would he force her to join the Dark Side? In any case, she wasn’t safe. And she had no parents now, as her mother, Pansy, was in prison, and Draco was hardly a fit parent. Now Ivy couldn’t keep revisiting her home for the first few days of every summer holiday. (She did this in order to keep up with current dark affairs, in case anything was going on in the way of evil schemes of which Harry and the other Aurors should be informed, though her mother and brother didn’t know about that.) Her brother, Ophidias, would be of age in October and could get himself his own house, but Ivy was only fourteen and had no home.
Then Harry knew what he would do. He and Ginny would adopt Ivy, be the parents to her that they had acted like for the last three years. And after all, he reflected, he’d always wanted a big family after spending so much time with the Weasleys. Five children sounded like a good number. He only wondered what Ivy would think of all of this.
Potter's Pentagon: The Five (Book One) by Schmerg_The_Impaler
Chapter Notes: (This story starts off slow, but I think it's rather enjoyable, even if it's a really old piece of writing. Haley and Jordan are Harry and Ginny's fourteen-year-old twins, and the Potters also have a younger set of twins-- this is to clear up confusion about the twins in the family. )