An End And A Beginning

12: A Masked Dance To The Wrong Music

'Your solicitors have contacted me,' said Harry as he appeared at the front door.

'Oh?' said Draco, re-tying his hair that had loosened during the morning.

'They suggested you might want to hear the codicil ahead of tomorrow.'

'Oh,' said Draco, rather surprised and also slightly nervously. This might be the news that he'd been cut off. And even though it seemed unlikely since they'd met Etienne, it was still a possibility.

'Come on. Let's do this and then we'll come back and bake. I want to do some prep work for tomorrow too. I'll teach you how to make pastry. Also, did you want to go to the Chapel of Rest today. Hadn't you organised that with Cressiders?'

'Yes. I need to put father's amulet in the coffin.'

'We'll do that after. Have you got it on you?'

'It's by the front door. I'll gather it up on the way out.' The thought made Draco feel surprisingly wobbly, he wasn't really so sure that he wanted to see his father again but there was a bit of a morbid fascination in seeing his body, in seeing whether he looked more like himself in his clothes rather than with the hospital sheet pulled up to his chin.

As they reached the gates and Harry rattled his handcuffs with a sheepish smile, Draco couldn't help being relieved that Harry had taken the stance of ignoring the previous evening.

Mr Ainsley was very welcoming and that immediately put Draco at ease as they were ushered into a traditional wood panelled office. When Harry went to undo the handcuffs, Draco gripped his hand firmly and the movement made Harry stop and they caught eyes. Draco gave a brief shake of his head. Harry nodded in response and that was all they needed to understand one another. Draco needed the contact because his nerves were getting the better of him. He wondered what had happened to the cocksure little shit from school and then nearly snorted to himself. A Dark Lord and war happened, everything he'd ever believed in had been ripped apart, then there was his house arrest, and all topped off by the massive uncertainty in the reality of his world. It was no small wonder he was screwed over by it all. The strange thing was, after all this time and after all their troubles, Draco felt he could face anything with Harry by his side. He wondered if that's how Ron and Hermione had felt at school, if that's how his Auror team felt at work.

Harry absentmindedly enlarged the chair Mr Ainsley indicated towards so they sat together on a small sofa, arms once more pressed up against each other as they faced the solicitor across the imposing desk. Mr Ainsley was like a caricature lawyer from the nineteenth-century with thin white wiry hair, a clean-shaven face, half-moon glasses, and neatly-pressed three-piece robes. He exuded sharp and spritely reliability and neutrality and Draco could understand why his father liked him. He had also always handled the affairs of the Malfoy family, probably since William the Conqueror had bequeathed Armand Malfoy with his titles and the land upon which the manor was built.

'Mr Malfoy, your father added a rather unusual codicil to his Last Will and Testament just before the war and I rather thought I should forewarn you...'

'Yes,' said Draco quietly, his hand slipping into Harry's so he could ground himself.

'The London house—'

'What London house?' Draco interrupted, quite astonished by the news that there was even a house in London.

'Ahhh. It is as I suspected. Your father was rather astute when it came to his financial assets, investments, and arrangements but he also tended not to share any of the details and kept much hidden, including the exact value of his wealth. There is a London house and, potentially, you could challenge the Will if you desired to keep it. Currently, the codicil for the Will reads that the London house of 127 Chester Street, Belgravia, is donated to the Isolt Institute, formally Wool's Orphanage of Southwark. The children are already in residence there and have been for some time.'