Toil and Trouble Chapter 7 : Preludes and Preparations - Part 3 (A Harry Potter fanfiction)

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(Due to the length of this chapter it has been divided into three parts. Here's Part 3.)

July 5, 1993. Grimauld Place

The drawing room of 12 Grimmauld Place glowed softly under the amber light of enchanted lanterns. The old house, once steeped in the gloom of Black family pride, had grown much warmer these past few years. The heavy curtains were pulled back, a charmed fire burned steady and bright in the hearth, and a hum of laughter floated through the air.

A small gathering had convened that evening to celebrate a milestone. Nymphadora Tonks, recent Hogwarts graduate, had been officially accepted into the Auror Training Program.

Sirius had insisted on hosting. “First Black in three generations to earn her way into the Aurors,” he had declared earlier that afternoon. “That deserves a proper celebration."

Now, platters of roasted chicken, buttered bread, and firewhisky bottles littered the long dining table. The Weasleys were there as well. Arthur and Molly at one end of the enormous dining table, next to them sat four of their seven children - Fred, George, Ron and Ginny. Percy had decided to give the dinner party a miss.

Across from them sat Ted and Andromeda Tonks, proud yet quietly emotional. Tonks herself sat next to her mother. Bright haired and brimming with energy. Next to Tonks sat Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, Head of the Dark Arts Division of the DMLE; and Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody - ex Auror, Head of the Defence Against the Dark Arts department at Hogwarts, as well as the seventh year DADA professor. In addition to his duties at Hogwarts, Moody also served as a part-time dueling instructor for trainee Aurors.

Both men had faught alongside Remus and Sirius under the Order of the Phoenix during the first wizarding war. Though Harry had met them a few times, neither of them, particularly Mad Eye, grew any less intimidating.

Harry sat between Ron and Sirius, and both boys had a ton of questions for Tonks.

“So, how long’s the Auror training program, exactly?” Harry asked “And what do they teach you first? Is it like duelling or investigation?”

Tonks replied, brushing a strand of pink hair from her eyes. “A bit of both, actually. The program runs for three years. “Four if you blow up a classroom in your first month.”

“Which she will,” said Fred matter-of-factly from the sofa.

George nodded sagely. “Maybe twice.”

Tonks looked at them, turning her nose into a pig's snout, “You little prats are just jealous because you’d fail the background check.”

“Unfair,” said Fred. “We’d charm the background check.”

“Charm it into catching fire, maybe,” Ginny said, chuckling along, “They’d expel you from the program before you even found the cloakroom.”

Tonks laughed, before addressing Harry and Ron again.

"Year one’s all about discipline and endurance. Morning drills, mental focus, concealment charms, disguise theory, all that. Plus you undergo training in Occlumency and Legilimancy. They make sure you can duel half a dozen baddies, and have a steady mind before you ever touch a case file.”

“Sounds tough,” Ron said, his eyes bright with interest.

“It is,” Tonks said cheerfully. “But worth it. You learn to think on your feet, and survive on instinct.”

Sirius raised his glass. “You’ll do fine, Tonks. You’ve got the foolhardiness of a badger, and just the right amount of the Black madness. Lethal combination, if you ask me."

Tonks grinned at him. "Oh you'd know, cousin!"

Sirius grinned back.

“You’ll need the energy, rookie.", Shacklebolt said to Tonks, "First week’s no joke. They’ll test you to breaking point.”

Tonks’s grin faded into a firm, calm resolve. “I’m ready for everything, sir."

“You always were among the more tenacious one of my students at Hogwarts, Tonks.” said Moody, sipping his wine, “You’ll need all of that tenacity. Half of Auror training’s about learning how you fall, and how to get up again.”

Tonks nodded.

"A proud day for your family, Ted and Andromeda", Kingsley said, a smile gracing his hardened features.

“Our girl's been chasing danger since she could walk.”, said Ted.

“She’ll fit right in then", Kingsley said with a quiet laugh.

"Just don’t think your fancy metamorphmagus tricks will get you through everything, Tonks” Moody said, cutting into his roast beef.

Tonks tilted her chin. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“Good,” Moody said. “You’ll learn quick that flashy magic doesn’t save you in the field. Awareness does. And control. You lose focus for half a second, and you’ll end up stunned, hexed, or worse.”

He glanced toward Harry and Ron, his non-magical eye sharp. “And that goes for anyone hoping to make it into the program one day.”

Harry swallowed, straightening unconsciously. “Yes, sir.”

"We'll remember, sir", said Ron, equally nervous.

Molly spoke from the other end of the table, “Don’t scare him too early, Alastor. They've got to get through Hogwarts first."

“Never too early to learn vigilance,” Moody growled, though there was a note of approval beneath the gravel as he glanced at his favourite student.

Remus, seated quietly, finally spoke. “He’s not wrong, Harry. Constant vigilance kept most of us alive the first time around.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I know. I won't forget that."

Moody turned toward Remus then, his expression softening just slightly. “Speaking of which,” he said, “Dumbledore has all but convinced the Board of Governors. Your application’s moving forward, Lupin. You’ll get your formal letter in a few days.”

Remus brightened, "They've agreed?"

Moody nodded. “Pending the standard Ministry oversight, which will be cleared by the end of the week. But yes.... Dumbledore pushed hard. Kingsley and I vouched for you. Even though Malfoy tried to create obstacles at every step, we were able to convince the Board. Come September, you’ll be teaching DADA to third and fourth years."

The room went still for a moment. Sirius broke into a wide grin. “Remus! This is brilliant!”

Molly smiled delightedly, “Finally, some sense out of the Board. Congratulations Remus!"

"You’ll be issued a wand under instructional authority.", Moody told Lupin, "It’ll be kept in the Headmaster’s office at the end of each day, standard policy for lycanthrope educators.”

Remus nodded slowly, absorbing the words. “That’s… fair.”

“Bloody overdue, if you ask me,” Sirius said fiercely. “About time they trusted your skills with the respect they deserve."

Moody gave a grunt that might’ve been agreement. “They’re finally learning that experience outweighs prejudice. Hogwarts needs real Defence instructors. I can't think of anyone better than an Order member who's actually been through combat."

Remus laughed softly, shaking his head. “High praise, coming from you, Moody.”

“Well you’ll have your work cut out for you. The fourth years are getting complacent, and the third years think learning a Shield Charm solves everything.”

Harry grinned. “That sounds like Ron.”

"HEY!!", Ron exclaimed. His indignation causing the twins to grin and raise a toast to Harry’s wit.

Arthur raised his glass Remus, “To Professor Lupin, then — and to future Auror Tonks.”

“Here, here!” shouted Sirius, lifting his glass.

Andromeda smiled warmly at Remus. “You’ll be marvellous, Remus. The students will adore you, I'm sure."

Remus’s eyes softened. “Thank you, Andi.”

Long after the guests had left, and Harry had gone to sleep, Sirius and Remus lay naked in bed together. Sirius was buried deep inside his lover - a declaration of passion no words could ever match. Remus's eyes glazed over with pleasure as Sirius moved inside him with an almost torturous deliberation, making him feel.... everything. His mouth sinfully traced the contours of Remus’s jaw, causing a fresh wave of shivers.

Remus knew he was utterly done for when Sirius reached down between them and grabbed him, without ever breaking the rhythm of his thrusts.

The orgasm was all consuming, leaving both men in a state of exhausted bliss. Sirius, who had collapsed on top of Remus, slid off him just enough to let him see his face.

"I don't know what I'm going to do when you go off to Hogwarts, Moony", he finally said after catching his breath.

"I'll come home every weekend, Padfoot. You know that", Remus told him, as he buried his fingers in Sirius’s lush raven hair, "Maybe, if the schedule allows it, I'll even visit during the weekdays".

"That still means I'll be tormented by an empty house, and an empty bed, five days a week."

"Padfoot!", Remus rebuked him affectionately, while planting soft kisses on his neck.

Sirius laughed softly, offering more of his neck for Remus’s mouth.

"I'm just messing with you, Moony."

Cradling Moony's face in his hands, he said, "I'm glad you're going, love. I know this is something you've always wanted to do. Plus, this way, at least one of us will always stay close to Harry."

"True", Remus replied, "But you need to know that I'm going to miss you too. And I will visit every weekend. Both Harry and I will."

Sirius groaned as he made himself more comfortable in Moony's arms.

"I wouldn't expect Harry to visit every single weekend. He might want to go to the Burrow, to the houses of any other friends he might make... I want him to have fun, Moony. Get into trouble..."

"Not too much trouble", Remus interrupted with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Surius rolled his eyes.

"No professor, not too much trouble. And chase girls when he's older."

"Or blokes", said Moony.

"Or blokes", Padfoot releated with a laugh.

---

July 31, 1993. Olivander's

The bell above Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. chimed softly as Harry Potter stepped inside, flanked by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

It was cooler in here than on the cobbled street outside. The air smelled faintly of varnish, ash, and something older. Like the inside of a tree that had never seen sunlight.

Harry felt oddly small beneath the quiet weight of the place.

“Ah Mr. Potter!", said the old wandmaker as he approached the boy and the two men. "I had wondered when I’d be seeing you.”

Harry smiled, "Hello, Mr Olivander. It's an honour to me you."

"Oh the honour is all mine.", said Olivander as Harry firmly shook his hand, "The Boy Who Lived. The one who vanquished the Dark Lord is in my shop to get his first wand."

Harry blushed and looked at his shoes.

“Your parents bought their wands here,” Ollivander said. “I remember it as if it were yesterday when James and Lily came to get their wands.” His gaze flickered briefly to Sirius and Remus. “Same as these two gentlemen.” Then he looked back at Harry. “Now… let us find yours.”

With a smooth wand movement, hw summoned about a dozen boxes.

“No, no… not ash… not chestnut… perhaps holly?"

Harry swallowed, feeling the weight of Sirius’s encouraging hand at his back.

Ollivander placed a slim wand into Harry’s palm. “Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Try it.”

Harry raised the wand uncertainly. The air stirred, and a bunch of boxes jumped out of the shelves.

“No, no,” said Ollivander briskly, taking it back. “Definitely not.”

He handed Harry another. “Ash, unicorn hair. Ten inches.”

Harry tried to cast a Lumos, but the wand felt dead in his hands.

“No...,” Ollivander murmured, shaking its head, "not this one either."

Harry tried several more — oak, willow, ebony. Each one responding weakly or violently.

Ollivander smiled encouragingly, "there’s always one, Mr Potter.”

He turned back toward the shelves, his long fingers brushing boxes as though listening for a whisper. Finally, he drew out a slender, unmarked box from the highest tier and placed it gently on the counter.

“Try this one,” the wandmaker said with a glint in his eye, “Holly and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Supple.”

Harry hesitated, then reached out. The moment his fingers closed around the wand, warmth rushed across his frame. Not heat, but something alive, pulsing faintly, steady as a heartbeat.

A golden light shimmered briefly along the wand’s length. The air in the shop seemed to still. The dust hung suspended mid-fall.

Sirius exhaled softly. “That looks… right.”

Remus nodded. “It does.”

"It feels right", said Harry, examining the wand with great interest.

Ollivander’s expression was unreadable - a mixture of awe and something else. “Curious,” he murmured. “Very curious indeed.”

Harry looked up, uneasy. “What’s curious, sir?”

Ollivander stepped closer, his eyes distant as though peering into memory. “The phoenix whose tail feather resides in your wand… gave just one other feather. It is curious that you should be destined for its brother.”

Harry frowned. “Its… brother?”

Ollivander nodded slowly. “The other feather lies within the wand that gave you that scar.”

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt. The words sank through him like stones through water. He felt his scar prickle faintly, phantom pain flickering there like a warning.

“My wand… and Voldemort’s?” he said quietly.

“Twin cores. Exceedingly rare.” Ollivander said, almost reverently. “Linked in ways we may never fully understand. Strange how fate weaves its threads, isn’t it?”

Harry’s hand trembled. He stared at the wand, suddenly unsure whether to keep holding it. “So… I’m connected to him?”

Ollivander mused. “All I can tell you Mr. Potter, is that the wand chooses the wizard. Always it has been this way.”

They stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. The street noise seemed too bright, too loud after the hush of the shop. Harry walked between Sirius and Remus in silence, his thoughts knotted tight.

At the corner, Sirius stopped and crouched slightly to meet Harry’s eyes. “Hey. You look like you’ve just swallowed a doxie. Talk to me.”

Harry hesitated. “It’s just… that wand. The twin cores. When I hold it, it feels so right in my hands. But.... he has it's brother. What does that say about me."

Remus’s voice was calm, gentle. “It says nothing about your character, Harry. The phoenix’s feather doesn’t make you him. It only makes you....you. The wand chose you because it recognised something — courage. Heart.”

Harry frowned. “But what if that means something else? Something bad?”

Sirius put an arm around him. “Harry, listen to me. You’re not him. You’re James’s son. Lily’s son. And I’ve seen enough of you to know there’s not a shred of cruelty in you.”

Remus smiled faintly. “Fate sometimes plays strange games with us, Harry. But in the end, it is our own decisions we make that make us who we are. And I know that our Harry will always choose the path of light."

These words soothed Harry heart, and put his worries at ease. He took out his wand and held it again. It felt like an old friend.

It had chosen him. That was all that mattered.

---

August 17, 1993. Malfoy Manor

The afternoon light fell through the high windows of Malfoy Manor, silvering the marble floors. Draco sat cross legged on the floor of his mother’s meditation hall.

Across from him, Narcissa Malfoy sat elegantly. Her posture a portrait of composure and grace. Her gaze, however, was sharp. The same gaze that had undone more than one Ministry official in polite conversation.

“Clear your mind,” Narcissa said softly. Her voice was low but carried the weight of command. “Not silence, Draco, stillness. The difference matters.”

He inhaled slowly, exhaled slower. Thoughts flickered and died like sparks in water. Half-formed memories, brief anxieties, the sharp taste of frustration. He tried to let them go, one by one, until the noise in his mind dimmed to a faint hum.

Narcissa’s tone remained even. “Good. Now, maintain that emptiness. No words, no images. Thought is a doorway, and Legilimency looks for doors.”

He could feel it then - the faintest brush against his consciousness, cool and delicate, like the ripple of a fingertip across water. His mother’s mind. Not invasive, not forceful. Merely testing.

He tensed instinctively.

“Do not fight,” she murmured. “Resistance is noise. Quiet your emotions. Stillness is your defence.”

Draco tried. He imagined lowering a veil, not a wall. Not something that would crack under pressure, but a curtain of mist. Soft, light, impenetrable.

Narcissa’s presence pressed again. He felt it like pressure in his head, a gentle probing seeking entry through his surface thoughts.

Blankness, he told himself. Be blank.

He focused on the rhythm of his breathing. On the stillness of the air. On the faint, distant ticking.

The pressure faded — not gone, but dulled, unable to find a seam.

When he opened his eyes, Narcissa was watching him closely. “Better. But not good enough."

Draco exhaled shakily. “I thought nothing. I felt nothing.”

“You thought about thinking nothing,” she said. “That’s why I still caught a trace.”

He frowned. “What did you see?”

“Only that you were annoyed at failing,” she said, with the faintest hint of amusement. “Your emotions betray you Draco. You must learn to rein them in. Occlumency is not force, Draco. It is detachment. The Legilimens cannot pierce what does not engage. Emotion invites intrusion. Indifference denies it.”

He considered this. “So I have to feel nothing?”

“Not all the time" She said, eyes like polished ice, “Only when you must protect yourself. You may feel after. Never during.”

Draco felt tired.

“May I stop for today?”, he asked hopefully.

Narcissa inclined her head. “You may. Your duelling lesson starts in an hour. Take this time to get some rest. Calm yourself."

Draco’s duelling lessons had begun only a few months earlier. Lucius would have started them much earlier, had Narcissa not insisted that it would be too soon.

The lessons took place in the Manor's casting hall. An enormous room warded against any underage magic being detected by the Ministry.

Draco stood inside their shimmer, wand raised, the scent of ozone sharp in the air. His tutor, Corwin Vale, a Pureblood of lower station than the Malfoys but respectable enough, circled him like a calm predator.

“Again,” says Vale. “No hesitation.”

Draco inhaled, centred himself.

His instructor cast an Expelliarmus.

Draco made a valiant attempt to shield himself. The spell left his wand like a flash of light. Protego - steady and contained. But Vale's disarming spell proved too powerful and in a second, Draco’s Hawthorn wand was pulled out of his hand and went flying half way across the room.

“A little better that yesterday, young Malfoy” says Vale. “You see? Thought must translate into power. Let it flow before you name it.”

Draco nodded once. Sweat had begun to gather at his temple, but he kept his posture perfect.

Another round. Expelliarmus, Protego, Rictusempra.

The air hums with energy, charged but clean. He finds the rhythm now — spell, counter, breath, silence.

"No wasted motion Draco", Vale reminds him, "Just will and precision."

Draco nodded again, the words sinking deep. Discipline. Control. He repeated them inwardly as he left the dueling hall and walked down the cold corridor towards his chambers. He'd have just enough time to change and take some refreshments before his potions instructor arrived.

The Malfoy potions lab was always kept a few degrees too cold. Brass fixtures would glint in the low light, glass jars lined the shelves.

Master Crayle waited for the Malfoy heir beside a simmering cauldron, his tone mild but precise. “Today, Mr. Malfoy, we shall try the Restorative Draught again. Consistency is mastery.”

Draco rolled up his sleeves, tied the apron. He knew the recipe by heart now - aconite, powdered moonstone, a single clockwise stir after each counter-turn.

He measured by instinct, his motions elegant. The spoon traced its slow spiral through the potion. The colour shifted from clouded grey to luminous green. It was exactly as it should have been.

“Very good, Mr Malfoy," Crayle said encouragingly. “The potion listens to you now. Remember that. Magic responds to steadiness, not noise.”

Draco keeps his gaze on the cauldron, but a flicker of pride warms him. He won’t show it. Not yet. “Yes, sir.”

The tutor watches him another moment, then extinguishes the flame with a flick of his wand. “You may bottle it. That will do.”

Draco labels the vial neatly in his own handwriting.

When Crayle leaves, the boy stays behind for a moment, studying the faint ripples on the potion’s surface. It brings a rare, genuine smile to his face.

Draco was supposed to he enthusiastic about all his lessons. But, only he and his mother knew, that Potions was his favourite.

---

Wednesday, September 1, 1993

Draco stood before his mirror, fastening the silver clasp on his blazer, his platinum blonde hair brushed to perfection.

Everything was in order — trunk packed, robes pressed. And yet, beneath the smooth veneer, something tugged faintly at him. The conversation from the night before would not leave his mind.

He remembered his father’s voice — measured, unyielding. “You carry the Malfoy name now, Draco. You must understand what that means. Conduct, association, discipline — they define you more than even ability."

And his mother’s, gentler but no less firm.
“Choose your company wisely. Though House Slytherin doesn't admit undesirables, you must remember your exalted stature even among half bloods and other Purebloods. Be polite to all, but close only to a select few. You are not like them, Draco. Never forget that.”

Draco had nodded, because his parents were right. He was above everyone else. A Malfoy and a Black.

He brushed a speck of lint from his sleeve and turned toward the window. The grounds were drenched in dew; the carriage was already being prepared. In less than an hour, he would leave his home.

A knock came at the door.

Draco turned, surprised. “Come in.”

The door opened hesitantly, and a boy stepped through. Dark-haired, slightly shorter, dressed as immaculately as Draco, but lacking that innate confidence. Theodore Nott.

“Theo,” Draco said, genuine surprise, “What are you doing here?”

Theo offered a small, awkward smile. “My father said I could come by. Thought I’d… say goodbye.”

Draco blinked. It had been months since they’d properly spoken. Since Ostara, to be exact. They had grown up together. Childhood summers spent flying their toy brooms through the gardens, chasing toy snitches, late-night whispered duels with toy wands. But somewhere between lessons and expectations, they had drifted apart.

Though only four months younger than Draco Theo would attend Hogwarts the following year, as he had been born in the month of October, 1980.

Theo, always quiet, always observant, had started pulling away when Draco began echoing Lucius’s superiority with too much pride. Draco hadn’t noticed at first. Or hadn’t wanted to.

“Oh,” Draco said finally. “Right. Well.... it’s good of you to come.”

Theo nodded, his hands in his pockets. “You’re leaving today.”

“In an hour.”

There was a brief silence, filled only by the faint rustle of curtains.

Theo looked around the room — the immaculate desk, the gleaming wardrobe, the books lined like soldiers. “Your room hasn’t changed.”

“No,” Draco said. “Mother likes things orderly.”

Theo smiled, small and genuine. “Well... I just wanted to wish you luck.”

“Luck?” Draco sneered, “Malfoys don’t need luck.”

Theo deflated just a little bit, before deciding it was time to leave.

"Well... goodbye.", the boy said, before quietly walking out.

Draco went back to smoothing out his clothes, and imperiously instructing the elves to get his trunk into the carriage.

He pointedly ignored the feeling that the room felt emptier now.

The Malfoy carriages drew little attention — sleek black vehicles that moved without horses, their silver studded wheels whispering over the ground. They shimmered faintly under layers of subtle enchantment, the kind old families used when they wished to be seen and unseen at once.

When they stopped, the door opened on its own. A faint pulse of air followed — ancient wards responding to the Malfoy crest carved into the carriage door.

Lucius stepped out first, tall and composed, his cane tapping once on the pavement, before offering his habd to his wife. Narcissa followed, regal as ever, her eyes sweeping the station with quiet disdain. Draco stepped out last.

They moved together, a tableau of wealth and elegance. Around them walked three combat-trained wizards — the Malfoy family guards. They were clad in discreet grey, wands visible, expressions unreadable. They didn’t intrude, only matched the family’s pace, keeping a respectful distance. Their job was to keep the lowly commoners from breathing the same air as the aristocrats.

The Crabbes and the Goyles had arrived in near identical fashion — carriages, guards, trunks piled high. Unlike Draco however, Vincent and Gregory's greetings were loud, their laughter coarse.

“Morning, Draco!” boomed Vincent Crabbe, his grin wide and thoughtless.

“Ready for school?” Gregory Goyle added, his words slightly slurred by excitement.

Draco gave a polite nod, suppressing the urge to sigh. “Clearly,” he said.

The two boys laughed as if he’d said something clever.

A movement near the far end of the platform caught Draco’s eye. Blaise Zabini, tall even for his age, standing beside his mother. She was elegant, draped in deep emerald silk, her expression cool and knowing. Draco inclined his head slightly in a formal acknowledgment, not too familiar. Blaise returned the gesture in kind.

No words were needed.

The air on the platform grew charged, a hum rising through the crowd. Then, from somewhere beyond the barrier, came the faint, rhythmic churning of wheels and smoke. Moments later, the scarlet steam engine emerged, as though from the fabric of another reality.

Narcissa adjusted Draco’s collar, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Remember who you are,” she said softly.

Lucius’s gaze followed the train. “And who you represent.”

“I will,” Draco said. He meant it.

The train came to a halt, and he stepped forward.

With determination, and the first flicker of anticipation for the glories that awaited him, Draco Malfoy boarded the Hogwarts Express.