Chapter 1: On Beginnings
Chapter Text
“And I keep telling you there is nothing to do here,” Severus grumbled, making his way through the weed-covered path to the front door, twined all over with ivy and creepers.
“And I have told you and still do that you are wrong,” Lucius retorted. “It’s a gorgeous place. A strong one. I can feel it even now, even though the blood magic is dormant.”
Severus cringed, but did not say anything.
The modest Prince estate, consisting of an unremarkable Georgian house on the outskirts of Brushford, Somerset, with a tiny park and even tinier pond, did not ever become a home for him, even though he rather liked the place itself. Some quite unhappy memories were associated with it, however, and after his grandfather’s death and the execution of the old man’s bequest Severus never visited his new property. He diligently paid taxes that consumed a sizeable portion of his professor salary, but it has been the only thing connecting the descendant of the prodigal daughter Eileen Prince with this family seat for a long time. And now Lucius, who started preparing for the inevitable war in earnest, seeking all possible resources, stirred Severus up and forced him to return to his grandfather’s house — despite his reluctance.
The path to the front door was overgrown with dandelions and goosefoot; prickly thistle was rearing its head here and there; roses grew above human height; hedge was so overgrown with blackberry that it was impossible to make out what that hedge originally consisted of, privet or hawthorn. Lucius shook his head.
“My house elves will jinx you,” he commented. “How could you let the property be reduced to such a state? I can only imagine what’s inside.”
Severus looked at him in surprise.
“What do your elves have to do with anything? I have my own.”
Lucius cast a tell-tale eye around the exuberant underbrush.
“Ah, that.” Severus waved a hand. “Just ignore it. Last time I was here I… overreacted a little. I expressly forbade them to change anything in the garden and to bother me with idiotic questions.”
“I hope you didn’t forbid them to tend to the house. Will we have to urgently repair the roof?”
“I don’t think so.”
Severus’s cloak caught on yet another huge thistle bush, he swore, took out his wand and obliterated the vicious plant, then determinately headed for the front door of the house. Lucius snorted and followed him, trying to evade the lushest burrs.
The heavy door was made of oak, its carved panels depicting four village festivals corresponding with different seasons. A Samhain bonfire was burning on the top right panel; Severus put the palm of his hand to it, intending to whisper a ritual phrase that allowed him to enter the house. He tried very hard to keep his face unreadable, but it seemed Lucius noticed something in his expression because he immediately asked, “Actually, I have been meaning to ask... Why aren’t you a Prince?”
Severus winced and did not reply. His pushy friend refused to be ignored, however.
“You did get your inheritance, didn’t you? Did your grandfather refuse to give you the full rights?”
“Do you really have to know?” Severus sighed.
Lucius looked at him long and hard.
“Of course not. It’d be helpful, though. For many reasons, not the least of them being the fact that we are contemplating to use your estate as a temporary hiding place. The bequest has a special clause. Am I correct?”
Severus looked away.
“Let’s assume it does. It does not matter. I have no idea how I could fulfil that clause anyway.”
“It only means you don’t have enough imagination, that’s all,” Lucius replied mischievously. “I will know everything about it anyway. Copies of such documents are kept in the Ministry archives. Trust me, I have ways of acquiring information I need when I put my mind to it. So, spill it.”
“It’s really nothing.” Severus sighed again. Long time ago, when his grandfather showed him the bequest, he was livid, taking it as mockery. Later, after 1981, his anger turned to grief, and wallowing in it, he had no wish even to talk to his grandfather till the latter’s death. And then it was too late to change anything.
“And yet?” Lucius suddenly narrowed his eyes. “The clause concerns your marriage, doesn’t it?”
Severus nodded.
“The clause is actually quite common.” He shrugged. “To be reinstated as a Prince, I must marry a girl from a pureblood family in at least five generations. If I fulfil the terms yet refuse to return to the Prince family, I have the right to introduce my heir into it.”
“I see.” Lucius’ face showed compassion, but he, thank Merlin, tactfully restrained himself from further questions.
“It doesn’t change much,” Severus continued. “I can’t return to the family, I can’t use some family artefacts, I can’t activate or tweak the blood magic defences in this estate, but considering that I don’t have any living relatives, it doesn’t really matter.”
“Hmm,” Lucius eyed him musingly. “What artefacts are those?”
Severus allowed himself a smirk.
“You know, cutting mistletoe exclusively with a sacred ritual sickle of the Princes is not that much of a pleasure to make me willing to marry any random pureblood girl. Apart from that, there is absolutely nothing of interest.”
Lucius laughed.
“Can we enter then?”
Severus nodded, covered the panel with his palm again and whispered, “Severus Septimius Snape, the son of Eileen, daughter of the Princes, is returning home.”
The door opened without a sound, turning smoothly on well-oiled hinges.
“Welcome home, Severus,” he muttered under his breath, feeling Lucius’ wry stare on the back of his neck (Lucius, fortunately, refrained from comments). “You can enter, too.”
* * *
Since the first days of July, Draco has been going through the Malfoy manor with a proverbial fine-toothed comb, unsuccessfully searching for the Philosopher’s Stone.
After some careful watching his parents and godfather and some skilful eavesdropping he quickly arrived to the conclusion that Nicolas Flamel had returned the Stone that was sent to him, and then the adults decided to keep him and Harry out of the loop, of course. Draco did not blame them; he would have probably done the same. Just as quickly he concluded that trying to discuss the situation was not worth it. After all, as long as no one knew he was searching for something no one could forbid him anything.
He did not tell Harry anything either, and it was a much harder decision to make. He did not like to hide anything from his brother, but Harry would have probably sided with their parents, so Draco decided to confront him with the fact when he would find the Stone. If he would find it.
It was difficult to search the house without attracting attention, and he did not have much free time for his explorations, too. After the Midsummer celebrations they had to pay respects to Petunia Evans on the occasion of Dudley’s birthday. The poor Muggle cousin of Harry’s was facing the prospect of transferring to a French college of St. Samson, and the only thing he could think and talk about was his impending exams and the daunting prospect of studying in Brittany. In a word, it was a terribly tedious visit, Draco almost dislocated his jaw, trying to stifle his yawns.
Then Lucius took it upon himself to teach them some combat magic which delighted Draco very much, of course. However, these lessons, Quidditch practice, horseback riding and trips to the seashore when the weather allowed that made it almost impossible to be alone for any extended periods of time. Finally, in the beginning of August the circumstances changed in his favour: cousin Constance arrived to Malfoy Manor.
Constance turned seventeen that winter, and now, being of age, she could explore Britain by herself, if not for one slight hitch: being a squib, she often needed a wizard’s help navigating the Wizarding world. On the other hand, she was interested in Muggle sightseeing attractions as well as in Wizarding ones. Of the entire household, Severus was declared the one with the most experience with Muggle London, so he reluctantly took up the role of the guide, and started escorting the French cousin of the Malfoys through Muggle museums, art galleries and other boring non-Wizarding places. Harry went with them often, Narcissa — almost always, and sometimes even Lucius was not against accompanying them. No one pressured anyone into anything, so Draco got enough opportunities to stay at the manor alone (not counting the house elves, of course, but who pays attention to them anyway? — and Archer who was never known to pry into affairs of others).
The first several raids turned out fruitless. Draco could not open main secret places of the house, of course (the big vault under the drawing room, for example, or their father’s strongbox in his study). He was absolutely sure, though, that the Stone was not there. Aurors could politely ‘ask’ to open the strongbox at any moment if any new ‘misunderstanding’ occurred, like that incident when Severus and Headmaster Dumbledore were called to London. Opening the vault was a tedious and tiring process, and the Stone should be kept in a place with easy access. Maybe even a non-magical one. That was why Draco divided the house into quadrants and explored them one by one, trying not to think that Lucius could, for example, bury the Stone somewhere in the garden or hide it somewhere else, away from the Malfoy estate. Such a boring explanation did not deserve attention until it turned out to be the only possibility left, after all.
Another chance came up when Narcissa and Harry decided to show Constance the Hanging Stones of Amesbury while Lucius and Severus left on some mysterious business they had said nothing about. Any other time, Draco would have burst with curiosity, but now he had enough secrets of his own. He got almost the entire day to himself, and he chose the library as his new search site.
It was huge, of course, but fortunately, Draco had enough time to explore a significant part of it even before going to Hogwarts. He naturally could not boast that he had read all the books, but he had seen many of them and remembered well which ones were where. Also, logic suggested that no reasonable man would hide anything on shelves he and Harry explored regularly.
Besides that, he reckoned that the locked bookcase with the most dubious books, carefully spelled against curious children, could be excluded, too. It contained not quite politically approved, but not forbidden books covering the Dark Arts, dangerous substances and potions, and other restricted subjects. Should the Ministry want to ask Lucius any questions, the Aurors would rummage that one first. So, only a complete fool would hide anything there.
Therefore, one should inspect the bookcases with the most boring or simply outdated books, newspaper files and catalogues dating from the 18th century, and other similar rubbish. Draco sighed and set to work.
Three hours later, he sat on the floor in the ‘card-playing corner’ and heaved a disappointed sigh. The Stone was nowhere to be seen; he had meticulously gone through all the unfamiliar shelves, taking out the contents, feeling and tapping the back of every bookcase — what if there was a hiding place? Alas, all was for naught.
Scratching his head, Draco began to ponder over the situation. Would it be reasonable to check ‘familiar’ bookcases too? Was he just doing it wrong? Trying to save time, he did not leaf through every book, concentrating on finding something between or behind them — for example, a box disguised to look like a book, or something like that. The Stone was not a parchment, after all, so it could not be hidden inside a book. Or could it?
Draco frowned.
He vaguely recalled Granger once saying something peculiar when she tried to explain why Muggles loved books about fictional crimes, during one of her ever-going lectures. Characters in those crime-stories were Muggles, of course, and not wizards, but that was the idea. Lucius, unlike many other pureblood wizards, did not have an aversion to Muggle fiction. He could invent a hiding place that no wizard even thought to look for…
Draco tried to remember the size of the Stone, made some quick calculations in his mind, sighed, and then determinately started checking all the books thick enough to cut a hole of appropriate size where the Stone could fit.
In an hour, he found the notebook.
It was rather small, like a pocket diary, it had a black leather cover and completely blank pages. Overall, it looked very Muggle.
If not for the fact that it was hidden on purpose, Draco would have probably paid no attention to it. However, Lucius would have not hidden anything for no reason, that’s for one thing. For another, after looking at it closely, Draco realized that the cover of this strange thing seemed to be new, even though it also looked rather old-fashioned, compared to, say, Dudley Dursley’s notebooks. New as if it had just been brought from a stationary shop and stuck into The Vocabulary of Alchemical Terms by Hieronymus the Hibernian who Passed at the St. Mary Bethlehem Hospital in the Year of 1673 A.D. (the book was so decrepit that only careful handling and special Library Charms kept it in one piece).
Years later, recalling this incident (only with his closest friends and family who already knew more about him than he was comfortable with), Draco liked to say that he had been ensnared from the start, blaming the deadly pull of the Dark Magic. He said that as soon as he picked up the notebook, he almost immediately lost the ability to assess his actions and their consequences intelligently — and so, that was why he behaved like a complete fool. The actual truth, though, was much more complicated and much worse.
In fact, Draco was completely aware that he was doing something rather stupid and quite dangerous. That, alas, increased the temptation. Granger later loved to call such mood of his ‘the imp of the perverse’ — it was a stupid Muggle phrase because any wizard knew that imps did not exist, unlike pixies, for example.
The truth was Draco was fed up with looking for the Stone yet refused to admit even to himself that he was sick of this fruitless search. Also, his vexation and annoyance at his parents and godfather, as well as oh-so-sensible Harry, prompted Draco to do something outrageous.
That was why he decided to study the notebook instead of returning it to its place. He returned to his room — after carefully putting all the books back and taking the Natural History of Snakes and Dragons by Ulisse Aldrovandi, in case anyone got interested in his long presence in the library.
* * *
Lucius followed Severus into a spacious, but gloomy hall and looked around, intrigued. He had pretty much no expectations, and he was not disappointed. Walls were covered by oak panels; pictures with scenes from lives of Merlin and Morgause hung on the walls between false columns shaped like pillars entwined with vine. The dim light of the magical lamps, throwing faint shadows on the flagstones, made the room resemble a cave. However, the wood of the panels was well-polished, and the floor looked like it was regularly cleaned. Even the most demanding visitor would not find a single speck of dust anywhere. Distracted by this examination of the interior, Lucius missed the moment when a new character appeared noiselessly in the hall.
“Master Severus has not been home for a long time,” said a cracked disapproving voice. Lucius turned and stared curiously at its owner.
It was a rather elderly house elf who carried himself with indescribable dignity. He was dressed in a white tea tower with a green hem wearing this non-garment like a Roman toga. That, combined with grim expression on the creature’s wrinkled face, made him look almost menacing.
“Not that long,” Severus grumbled. “Seven years at most.”
“Eight,” the house elf corrected him dryly. “One day, Master could have found poor Bartholomew dead and buried.”
“Poor Bartholomew will outlive my grandchildren if there are ever any,” Severus retorted. Lucius watched this strange exchange with increasing amazement.
“I doubt it,” the house elf croaked. “Master does not know what…”
Severus cut him short.
“Bartholomew, would you kindly refrain from listing all of your misfortunes and ailments of the members of the household till another time. I want…”
“Members of your household have no ailments!” the house elf flared.
“And stop interrupting me!” Severus snapped. Bartholomew finally kept his mouth shut and simply stared at his master. “For your information, I am here on business, and we do not have much time. Now, remember: this is Lucius Malfoy.” Severus waved a hand at his guest, and suddenly Lucius ended up on the receiving end of a hard and detached stare of poor Bartholomew. The house elf examined him as if speculating whether he should allow this visitor into the rooms or throw him out right now.
“I remember,” he said at last.
“He can come and leave the house as he wishes and give you orders — inasmuch as it does not contradict my own instructions. Later, I shall bring here other family members. Do you have any questions?”
Bartholomew pondered.
“No,” he said after a pause. “I think not. I would like, though…”
“…to consult me on certain financial and business affairs,” Severus finished impatiently. (“Now I know,” Lucius thought with a smirk, “where that house elf picked up the habit of interrupting”.) “I’m sorry, but today I have no time for it. Then again, from now on, I plan to come here often. I promise that in the nearest couple of weeks I shall come here for the sole purpose of listening to everything you have to say. Will that suffice?”
Bartholomew made a wry face but nodded.
“I will be waiting… sir.”
“And now serve us some brandy in the drawing room and do not bother me today anymore,” Severus ordered.
The house elf made a small movement that with some imagination could be taken for a bow and disappeared without a sound.
Lucius turned to his friend.
“What is this wonder of nature, may I ask?” he inquired.
Severus’s lips curled up.
“Oh, it is one of the Princes’ heirlooms in a manner of speaking. Our house elves are unlike any other, no matter how many I have encountered. Even Hogwarts elves, who have been serving not a family, but a school for centuries, are not that independent. According to a family legend, Gwenhilde Prince, one of the first witches in the family, had a great deal of talent for magic and was very passionate about alchemy, but, alas, was also completely mad. She did not have any scruples about experimenting on living beings, starting with her own kin and ending with house elves. Fortunately for her descendants, she tested any potions meant for humans on herself first, and that was why when at last she made a deadly mistake in a new formula, she poisoned herself and not someone else. It must be said, however, that for years after that many strange creatures roamed our country estate, and to this day, the Princes’ house elves are notable for their admirable longevity, extraordinary intelligence and ill temper.”
“What about the toga?” Lucius asked.
“Oh, that is the work of Gwenhilde’s grandson, Eugene. He turned out to be so conceited that the combination of his first and last name made him go mad, and he taught his house elves to wrap tea towels in the manner of Romans. They liked it so much that have not been willing to wear tunics made of napkins or sweaters made of kettle warmers ever since.” Severus waved a hand, inviting Lucius to follow him. “Let’s go. Bartholomew has probably served us brandy. By the way, when you give him orders later, do not even think about shortening his name. No Barts or, Merlin forbid, Barties. Otherwise, he will still follow your order to the letter, of course, but in such a way that you would regret ever giving it. Were he not a butler, he would have made a decent solicitor, I swear.”
Lucius wanted to make a quip but did not have time for it, because they finally left the hall and entered the drawing room. Its appearance astounded him so much that he forgot any jokes entirely.
This spacious, but dimly lit room reminded him of a bazaar, Ali Baba’s den, Al Rasheed’s harem and a palace of some sybaritic Indian rajah at the same time; there were huge soft sofas of unbelievable colours, plush curtains and draperies with tassels and a small Eastern-style lacquered table. Along the walls, there were glass cabinets full of small bright boxes, gaudy tin cans and bottles of all forms and sizes, decorated with fake jewels and golden leaf. A huge chandelier with coloured glass pendants was hanging from the ceiling… Startled, Lucius looked closer at the vibrant-coloured thing and thought with amazement that maybe it was not glass. The centrepiece of all this flashy splendour was a huge gilded cobra that stood four feet high with its hood billowing in the middle of a florid oriental carpet. The head of this monster was topped with a crown adorned with a gigantic ruby, unbelievably fake by the looks of it. In addition to all this, the room smelt of rose and clove oil, cinnamon, ginger, vanilla and… chocolate?
Stunned, Lucius stared at Severus who was unabashedly making fun of him without saying a word.
“Merlin gracious… What is this place?”
“Do you not recognize it?” Severus squinted. “Look closer.”
Puzzled, Lucius looked one more time at the gilded monster in the middle of the carpet. He examined the room again, glancing over numerous boxes and bottles. Now they did seem vaguely familiar. He looked even closer and gasped.
Every box, every tin can and glass cabinet — and even some draperies — had the same symbol on them, the same rising cobra with a billowing hood and a shiny ruby over its head. Only now it dawned on him what he was seeing.
“Are you saying that The King Cobra are the Princes?!”
* * *
The small black notebook turned out to be a terribly strange thing.
Everything written in it quickly faded and disappeared as if oozing through the pages to a place unknown. Seized by an investigative ardour, Draco tried in turns using quill and ink, then magical colouring pencils and even oil paint. The damned notebook absorbed all of it better than any sponge.
He tried writing letters, tried spells revealing secrets, and in the end even tried to do sums on the empty pages, with the same results.
Finally, when he got tired of inventing ways to make the notebook give up its secrets, Draco started absentmindedly writing patterns and watching it all disappear.
Hello, he wrote at some point, adding a pretty flourish to the H.
Now the word did not fade.
Draco watched, frozen with horror, as below his line new letters appeared, one after another.
H… E… L… L… O.
* * *
“It took you long enough,” Severus chuckled, offering his friend a tumbler of brandy. They sat on the least soft sofa that allowed one to keep more or less vertical position instead of languishing on pillows.
“Oh, I say! I was not expecting that,” Lucius acknowledged, looking over this den of an insane confectioner-sybarite again. In the days of his childhood, The King Cobra sold the best chocolate in the Wizarding Britain, and then, suddenly, in the beginning of the Dark Lord’s first rise, the famous shop closed overnight. “There was so much talk about who was the owner! The Prophet, I think, even tried to announce a contest, but they got nowhere with it, as it was impossible to name the winner because the owner of the business wished to preserve their incognito. It was your grandfather, wasn’t it? But why… Wait, everyone assumed that the owners of The King Cobra, whoever they were, died! That they were killed in one the raids.” Suddenly he became slightly embarrassed. “I almost quarrelled with my father because of it, you know. Those were my favourite chocolates!”
It was Severus’s turn to be astonished.
“You were ready to quarrel with your father because of sweets? With Abraxas Malfoy? One of the Knights of Walpurgis?”
“I was just fifteen at the time,” Lucius’s lips twisted haughtily, then he gave up and snorted, awkward and still a little embarrassed. “And I had a terrible sweet tooth. Father assured me, though, that the Dark Lord had nothing to do with it and that the owners of the Cobra were probably pureblood foreigners who closed their business in this horrible country, infested by Muggle lovers. With that, I could not argue, if you know what I mean…” He looked the room over again. “And it had been your grandfather all along…”
Severus shrugged.
“I barely knew him. Come to think of it, I was born because of these chocolates.”
Lucius raised his eyebrows. Severus smiled crookedly.
“My grandfather was a typical thick-skulled conservative squire, and as such, he bitterly regretted not having a son who could inherit his precious enterprise. Alas, he and grandmother had only a daughter… That was why grandfather set his sights on marrying her off to an heir of some Indian confectioner, chef or some such. Long story short, he dug up a younger son of some pureblood parents who was ready to change his last name to Prince and take charge of the family business. However, my mommy dearest had her own plans, as she eloped. You see, she detested sweets.”
“Who did she elope with?”
“With the first available artist who came here to sketch.” Severus made a face. “With a Muggle, as you are well aware. My father, as far as I remember, ‘had a promising future’ till his very death, but, alas, ‘the despicable British public of narrow-minded shopkeepers’ showed no appreciation for his unique talent. His pathetic daubery earned him no money, and my mother was too proud to return to her parents’ house even when her married life went sour. Who knows, though,” he shook his head pensively, “maybe they liked it. At least, when I was a child, I always had the impression that father and she yelled at each other with earnest sincere pleasure. One way or another, if things were different, I could have been a pureblood offspring of a mild-mannered pushover. I would have been raised in this house, would have had unlimited access to chocolate and would have probably hated it before starting Hogwarts. Or, on the contrary, I could have grown up to be good-natured butterball like Longbottom and to my grandfather’s horror would have ended up in Hufflepuff.”
“It is a good thing it did not happen.”
“How so?” Severus snorted.
“Where would have I found a friend with such a foul temper otherwise?” Lucius asked in the most flippant tone and changed the topic before Severus could even blink. “So, where are we going to hide it?”
“Hide what?” his friend asked absentmindedly. It seemed that memories of his bleak childhood suddenly made him sentimental. Go figure.
“It,” Lucius replied dryly.
“Ah,” Severus answered, still looking distracted. “Right here. Why do you think I brought you to this house?”
“I understand that,” Lucius said impatiently. “But where exactly?”
“Anywhere,” Severus snorted. “Look around. Just look.”
Lucius did.
“Where does a wise man hide a leaf?” he murmured.
“Exactly. By the way, they are real if you have wondered.”
“Who?” Now, Lucius completely lost the track of the conversation.
“Well, the boxes and the tin cans are adorned with magical illusions, of course. Only a complete idiot would have glued something solid there. Grandfather went, of course, totally mad about all this false Eastern bling, but he was still sensible in business matters. Children put everything into their mouths — whether they are three or thirteen. So, nothing that could be accidentally choked on. The interior of this room, though… it verges on a literal madness, of course, but everything is genuine here.”
Lucius stared at the monstrous ruby on the cobra’s head and blinked.
“Is this one genuine, too?” he asked hesitantly. “Why then are you…”
“Why then I what?” Severus looked at him quizzically.
“Why are you…” Lucius faltered, glancing sideways on decent, but surely not top quality and rather worn robes of his friend. He did not know if there was a polite way of asking, ‘Then why are you so poor?’
Severus looked at him oddly for several seconds, then burst into laughter, sliding down into the welcoming embrace of the sofa.
“No,” he managed to say between fits of laughter. “These are not jewels, Luc… You are unbelievable. These are candies.”
* * *
There was a pause. Three new words appeared after the first one.
‘W… H… O… A… R… E… Y… O… U?’
Draco watched the horrible message appear as if hypnotized, quietly hoping that it was the product of his imagination and the letters would disappear right now like everything he had wrote, scribbled and drew before in the mysterious notebook.
Was the blasted thing somehow… alive?
No, of course not, what an idiotic thought. After all, any decent wizard could charm a magical object so that it would react in a certain way to certain actions. If one could charm a kettle so it stopped heating when one shouted at it or charm a child’s broom to obey to basic commands, then charming a notebook to answer simple questions was easier than cutting flobberworms.
The question was, whatever for one would do that.
Also, why would someone in the Malfoy household hide this thing so elaborately and purposely without using magic, too. Was it Lucius? Or, maybe, even Abraxas?
Draco felt even more uneasy at the thought. Judging by his father’s curt comments and careful lectures on family history, his grandfather was quite an unpleasant and definitely not a kind man. It was unlikely that he had hid in the manor something cute and entertaining on a lark.
Draco stared again at his suspicious find. What should he do now? Should he confess everything to his parents, making a complete fool out of himself? No, it was the last resort. If there was no other choice left, he would confess, of course, but he was going to try his best to avoid it. The most sensible thing to do was to return the notebook to its hiding hole in that old book, and later to ‘find’ it again, preferably with witnesses, in order to puzzle it out. He realized, though, looking at the clock, that it now was pointless to try it: if Narcissa, Harry and Constance would not return any minute, then Lucius and Severus would. It meant that the notebook should be hidden somewhere else. Where to put it?
Quashing panic, he looked around, searching for a place that no one would use at least for several days. It would be better, of course, to hide it in the similar fashion… There!
Suppressing the wish to run to the laboratory and fetch dragon skin gloves, Draco gritted his teeth, bravely picked up the horrendous artifact, snapped it shut and with a deliberate carelessness shoved it into the stack of Muggle books on the very top shelf. The ones that cousin Dudley gave Harry and him as Christmas presents. It was unlikely that Harry would need them any time soon: he finished reading them again only a month ago. A Muggle-looking notebook would fit right in among Muggle books.
After disposing of the evidence, Draco took his broom and went outside, whistling. He was ready to unwind a little and wanted to be able to answer truthfully what he was doing on such a sunny day if anyone asked. So, he did not only spend his time in the library, but also flew to his heart’s content.
____________________
Ulisse Aldrovandi (or Aldrovandus, 1522—1605) — an Italian Renaissance-era scientist, humanist, doctor, natural scientist, botanist, entomologist and zoologist. He founded the botanical gardens in Bologna — one of the earliest in Europe. His Natural History of Snakes and Dragons (Serpentum, et draconum historiae) was published in Bologna in 1640.
Author’s note: yes, I know that the description of the Tom Riddle’s diary is not quite consistent with what Harry and Ron saw in the HP&CS when they found the diary in the Moaning Myrtle’s toilet. That’s not a mistake. Just wait and see!
Chapter 2: On new elements
Chapter Text
Standing in the middle of her alchemic lab, Narcissa frowned pensively, eyeing the chaos of her own creation. The large table in the corner was cluttered with two burners, a big bain-marie, a copper alembic and a whole pile of caldrons in dire need of cleaning. She put two boxes on the smaller table: one for glass and ceramic vessels that had to be cleaned by hand, the other for vessels that could be entrusted to house elves. There was a huge coffer in the corner for everything that had to be destroyed. It was charmed so that reactions between different components were neutralized.
Narcissa tied her hair up in a heavy bun, sighed, rolled up her sleeves and put on her work gloves. Everything that could be done with magic was already done. Only the most tedious part was left: cleaning out the cabinets with ingredients and utensils that could not be handled using magic.
Her lab has been standing unused for nearly ten years. And before that… when she became pregnant soon after the wedding (to Madame Honoria’s profound delight) she gave up on experiments out of concern for the baby. Then Draco was born, but the war was at its height – during long uneasy nights Narcissa was either caring for the newborn or worrying whether Lucius would return in the morning or… Anyway, she had neither time nor energy for Potions or Alchemy. And when everything had ended… she was just glad that the three of them were miraculously spared any terrible disaster. Lucius’ parents were killed, one of Narcissa’s cousins died, another ended up in Azkaban along with her sister and brother-in-law… Narcissa winced. She could not stand the Lestranges and always blamed them for Bella going crazy about the Dark Lord. Had Bella not married that scoundrel, she maybe would not… Even at fifteen, Narcissa shuddered inside in disgust at the sight of Rodolphus. She had a lot of opinions about him, but no one asked for them, unfortunately. She was the youngest of the family, ‘the little princess’, doted on by everyone – and she, to be honest, took it all for granted. At the time, she was much more invested in her own pleasures and passions than someone else’s problems.
Shaking her head, Narcissa tried to gather her thoughts.
She carefully dusted a small green vial and held it up to the light to check the contents, comparing it to the tag. Illusive flower scarab (antennae), Nov. 1978. These ones were of no use. She got rid of the antennae, put the vial into the ‘to clean’ box and picked the next one. Oh! The gold dust. No expiration date for that one, good.
Sorting through vials, jugs and boxes, Narcissa reminisced. When Draco was two or three, she attempted to return to the lab, but alas, she never had time – or maybe patience – for anything serious. Draco claimed as much attention as she could give; and there was also the big manor that needed constant management and social obligations that should not have been abandoned, considering their precarious position in the society. In short, her half-hearted attempts at Alchemy fizzled out rather soon.
Then Harry came into their life, and everything changed again.
Straightening, she blew a strand of hair away from her face and sneezed. I should have maintained at least a semblance of order here – purely out of principle. It is a good thing that Severus doesn’t know what this place looks like. He would have exploded of indignation, she thought with a chuckle.
There had been another occasion when she had almost returned to her hobby. The boys had less than a year left before Hogwarts then, and Narcissa started meditating on what she would do when the manor became quiet and empty nine months out of twelve. She almost made up her mind to return to the lab and only postponed it until the annual Samhain hassle was over. Then, on November 4th, she read about the tragic and untimely demise of Mrs. Pandora Lovegood, nee Strange, in The Prophet. Xenophilius returned her letter of condolences unopened, and she never wrote to him again.
Pandora Strange was her closest – and secret – school friend. Closest because Pandora always supported her in everything and fearlessly did many things Narcissa dearly wished to, but lacked courage for. Secret because they became fast friends before the Sorting, and then Pandora went to Ravenclaw, of course, and Narcissa ended up in Slytherin. Considering Bella’s and her cronies’ scrutiny, Narcissa could not openly befriend someone from another House: at first, she had no desire to make a point and trigger a fuss, and later, when it became clear that messing with the Lestranges was not only unpleasant, but outright dangerous, she was afraid for her friend. So they met rarely and in secret right up to the graduation.
Soon after they left Hogwarts, the war began in earnest, and both girls hurried to get married, as many people did at the time, scared of not living long enough to have a life, and the children were born, and then suddenly the unexpected peace came, like a miracle… Through the following years, they met several times once in a blue moon, usually for a short chat in a cafe somewhere or over an afternoon tea, mostly preoccupied with their children’s current joys and sorrows. It seemed that life was very long, and they would have enough time to catch up later. The fate did not give Pandora any ‘later’, though. And Narcissa got scared. She was under the impression that it was a sign: there was no sense in changing the path, it was better to leave everything as it was. One can never enter the same river twice.
In June, however, when Draco and Harry brought the Philosopher’s Stone home, the strangest thing happened. Holding this unique trophy in her hand, Narcissa suddenly felt a light prickling, a touch of a long forgotten feeling: something very important and incredible was about to happen. She did not miss a beat and did not tell anyone about it. They sent the Stone to Flamel. Then she got it back with that extraordinary letter. Kissing your talented hands, indeed. At that moment Lucius looked at her thoughtfully, but said nothing, only discreetly kissed her temple. Luc always had a talent for eloquent silence. And he remembered about Pandora, of course.
Since that day, the strange feeling has been returning more and more often, each time stronger than before. So finally, Narcissa made up her mind. She went down to the basement and started cleaning out her abandoned lab. She would straighten it up and face whatever comes later.
It looked like she would have to sort out not only dirty pots and vials, but her memories too. Narcissa sighed again, deliberately opened the doors of another cabinet, froze for a moment and grimaced… Then as deliberately she started cleaning out cobwebs from the lower shelves with a duster.
“Tante Narcissa?”
She straightened and turned around: Constance was standing in the half-opened door. She had a strange look on her face: half-embarrassed, half-perplexed.
“May I come in? Am I disturbing you?”
“Of course not,” Narcissa replied. “Spiders can most definitely wait. Do come in, please.”
Constance entered and carefully closed the door. Curious, Narcissa thought. The girl has secrets now. Does she want to share them with me?
“Take a seat, please,” she said aloud, waving the duster in the direction of the huge worktable in the middle of the room. It was the only still uncluttered piece of furniture. “It is still clean. Do you want tea or something?”
“N-no, thank you,” Constance looked flustered. “That is, if you would like to…”
“It’s quite all right, we’ll do without, then,” Narcissa said. She took off the gloves and put down the duster (In case the girl, Merlin forbid, thinks that I am eager to get rid of her!) and sat across from her unexpected guest. “Now, just tell me what happened.”
“As a matter of fact, nothing happened,” Constance replied. “I just need to talk to somebody. Well, not to somebody, but to you, Tante Narcissa.”
“I will be happy to help you if I can. Please, call me Cissy, though,” Narcissa smiled. “So, what is going on?”
Constance shook her head.
“Nothing. I just… I dearly need some advice. From someone who is not expecting much from me. The thing is… I haven’t spent so much time in the Wizarding world in a long while!” she confessed suddenly. “Of course, Papa does everything for my life to be nice and comfortable at home, but I mostly study among Muggles. That is a good thing too; I now know and do a lot of things that Wizards have no idea about. But… You see, I like Potions very much.”
Narcissa suppressed a smile with great effort. Even three years ago the girl already talked Severus’ ears off about her hobby… not that she was hiding it much this time around.
“I know,” she nodded. “And?”
“I am thinking of a career in the field!” Constance said with passion.
“What is the difficulty then?” Narcissa asked.
“The thing is, Maman and Papa discourage me from it! They are afraid that I… that it will be difficult for me… that I would not be able to achieve much because I…” she stumbled again, but Narcissa did not help her this time. The girl must say it herself. “Because I am a Squib,” Constance finished. “They say I will not be able to achieve much because I do not have magic, which means it is not worth gambling on.”
“What do you think about it?” Narcissa asked calmly.
“I think it is not important. Well, no, of course, it is, but what I want is not simply brewing potions that are already known and tried. I want to understand how everything works.”
This time Narcissa did not have to feign interest.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to understand the nature of interaction between magical components. Just like Muggles understand the nature of interaction between regular, non-magical components. Like acids and alkali, for example. All of it works under certain laws that can be described with mathematical precision. I am sure that magical components work the same way. Everything can be calculated! And if we will know for certain what lies behind magical interaction, we can create new potions and charms with more ease. I am so surprised that no one tackled this matter before!”
Narcissa stared at Constance, stunned by her vigour and at the same time fascinated by this view of the matter. Many things in magic – especially in Potions and Alchemy – could be calculated, indeed; many patterns of ingredient combinations, for example, could be described with formulas, and a concoction’s efficiency could be varied through ratio of the components. These fields of magical knowledge were probably the closest to Muggle science. Wizards, however, always encouraged a more practical approach. If you already know the ratio and the sequence of mixing certain elements to get a certain result, what does it matter how exactly they interact to get there? Very few were interested in knowledge for the sake of the knowledge about nature itself. Albus Dumbledore, for one. Or Pandora Strange. Or Severus.
“It is a very ambitious goal,” Narcissa said at last. “That demands a lot of work and will probably find few supporters among your future colleagues, at least at the beginning. You will need to work twice, thrice as hard to earn respect and some sort of acknowledgement if you forego the traditional way from the start. In a manner of speaking, you will have to run twice as fast to remain where you are.”
Constance sighed.
“I understand. So, you are discouraging me from it too?”
Narcissa shook her head.
“No. It is hard, but I think you have some advantages that a common witch does not. If I understand the matter correctly, you have a decent grasp of Muggle sciences concerning elements and their interaction. What are they called? Chemics?”
It seemed only her superb upbringing helped Constance to keep a straight face.
“Chemistry. And physics,” she answered earnestly. “Yes, we study that, and I try to do a lot of extracurricular reading when I have time.”
Narcissa nodded.
“So you do have a good start,” she said. “I think you are old enough to see the difference between a spur-of-the-moment whim and serious intentions. I also think that you have already made up your mind. You just want…”
“…to hear a confirmation of my own thoughts from someone else,” Constance finished. “Stupid, isn’t it?”
“It is a completely natural desire,” Narcissa shook her head and smiled softly. “Everyone needs that from time to time.”
“Even you?”
“Of course. Even Lucius. Or Severus. Or, it is safe to say, Albus Dumbledore.”
Constance’s eyes went wide.
“Do you mean to say that Albus Dumbledore himself asked for your advice?”
At this, Narcissa allowed herself a laugh.
“Certainly not. I think for something like that to happen half of Hogwarts should crumble. And even then it will be unlikely. He regularly voices his doubts to Severus, though, so trust me: even the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards sometimes needs a confirmation of his hunches.”
Constance laughed too, and Narcissa thought, “And I will not draw attention to the fact that he confides in Sev and not just ‘someone else’. Whatever you grandmother says, you will manage your life on your own.”
* * *
Severus was standing in front of a bookcase deep in thought, examining the packed shelves. Where were Isabelle Fromond’s Alchemical Studies he had promised to Cissy? He could not even remember when he opened that book the last time and he did not want to summon it: books, if torn from the shelves with magical force, deteriorated much faster. Only a complete fool would do that to a rare manuscript, even if not an original, but quite a decent hand-written 17th century copy.
He wondered what Cissy was up to. During the last few weeks, he occasionally noticed that something was on her mind whether they discussed Pre-Raphaelites at the Tate gallery, debated on Celtic Wizarding practices in Amesbury or chatted at Fortescue’s. Some alchemical project, maybe? Well, she would be on her own. Severus would not have a minute to spare for something like that in the next few years. His hands were already full with looking after his restless godsons, classes, Slytherin politics, the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore, not to mention maintaining intellectual conversations with Constance Malefoi about rudiments of atomism in magical theory. Any attempts to reproduce the Elixir of Life on the side would be the death of him. So no, thanks, he would pass. Even though some Miss Malefoi’s ideas need to be pondered upon…
Realizing he was getting foolishly side-tracked and running late because of that, Severus snapped his fingers and mumbled a memory-clearing spell. As a rule, he avoided using it: first, indulging in one’s laziness like that might probably lead to dementia, secondly, the spell left a thick acid aftertaste in one’s mind somewhat like peppermint, but more obtrusive. Severus loathed the feeling. Right now, however, he could not be delayed more.
His memory revived by the spell, Severus picked the book off the shelf and hurried to the main doors of the castle.
On the ground floor he almost ran into the headmaster. Something made Severus stop despite his hurry. Albus looked nor exactly glum, but definitely preoccupied.
“Something happened?” Severus asked softly.
“Something did not happen, actually,” Albus replied. “You seem to be in a hurry, however?”
Severus waved the comment away.
“If over the last ten years Lucius has not become used to something happening here all the time, that is his problem. He will wait. So, what did not happen?”
“Our DADA professor did not happen to arrive, unfortunately,” the headmaster said sombrely. “One of my old… acquaintances, who tentatively agreed to come here for a year in June, suddenly changed his plans and declined the offer. Something happened to one of his numerous… relatives, and Sanguini was forced to deal with family matters. Frankly speaking, I have no idea what to do now.”
Severus, who was listening to these explanations rather absentmindedly, suddenly startled.
“What was the name you mentioned? The name of this acquaintance of yours?”
A slightly guilty expression appeared and almost instantly faded from Albus’ face. It was replaced by remarkably insincere geniality, usually reserved for the Ministry employees. Admittedly, it disappeared too, changing into good-natured patience – that could have even been sincere. Maybe.
“Sanguini,” he repeated, smiling demurely.
Severus stared at him.
“So, my ears did not deceive me. And I did not make a mistake,” he said slowly. “Did you really intend to hire a vampire to teach DADA?”
“I suppose I did,” Albus said. “But it does not matter now. He declined the offer. And now we need to find someone else, given that we are to dispatch the annual students’ letters with all the requirements for the year before this Wednesday. We have three days.”
“But a vampire, Albus!” Severus still could not collect himself. “A vampire, teaching at a school! Were you really ready to entrust the children to him?!”
As soon as he finished the sentence, it occurred to him that in Albus’ place, Lucius surely would have remarked something like, “Well, I seem to entrust them to you, don’t I?”, and that would not have been entirely wrong. Severus suddenly had an urge to straighten his left sleeve, but he forced himself to refrain from that tick. It did not even occur to Albus to joke about it, though.
“Why not?” the old wizard countered gently. “You know as well as I do that old vampires of the Italian clans never harm children. They are unbelievably family-oriented. If anything, he should have been apprehensive of the senior girls’ unwanted attentions.”
At that, Severus shuddered, remembering his first year at Hogwarts: anonymous Christmas cards with weird compliments from the most extravagant girls, heaps of pink valentines and other horrors that often waylay young unexperienced teachers. And he was never even slightly good-looking, let alone handsome.
“You are right in that regard,” he said at last. “But still, a vampire… it is a little too much, don’t you think? Could you not find another candidate?”
Albus stared at him.
“Like?”
“Me, for instance,” Severus looked him straight in the eye. “Slughorn could be persuaded to take up Potions again temporarily, for a year, while we look for a permanent solution for the DADA problem. I could have gotten through a school year, I think.”
Albus’ face darkened.
“No,” he said firmly. “Not for the world. And please, never ask this of me again, my boy. Please.”
Severus opened his mouth to object, but suddenly remembered Lucius once mentioning that, according to rumours, the position of the DADA professor was cursed. Did that mean that Albus knew about the curse – or at least suspected it existed? That was certainly curious.
“Alright,” Severus said. “I will not. Three days, though… What do we do now?”
“I will have to resort to plan B,” Albus replied grimly. “Although, I confess I have no confidence in it. No confidence at all.”
* * *
Casting the Notice-Me-Not spell, Lucius leisurely walked down the street, where due to his efforts Petunia now lived, and contemplated the upcoming conversation. He did not regret the decision he made a year ago: they had achieved what they wanted. And even the family gatherings were not as burdensome as they could have been – at least not worse than the communication with some of his other relatives back in the day. However, in haste – if not in downright panic – he missed a lot of details at the time, and now unforeseen consequences were piling up like a snow ball. All of it had to be settled before anything hardly amendable happened.
He reached the gate of the house he was looking for, quietly opened it with a spell and closed it without a sound before proceeding to the house. A huge blooming garden looked immaculate, and Lucius nodded in appreciation: it seemed Petunia was simply created by nature to fulfil the role of a perfect country estate mistress.
He rang the bell and waited. The sound of steps came soon, and a cautious voice asked, “Who is it?”
“Petunia, it is me. Please open the door.”
The lock clicked, and Petunia’s anxious face appeared in the doorway.
“What happened?”
“Everything is fine,” Lucius assured her. “I just need to discuss with you some family matters, preferably without interruptions. Is Dudley home?”
“Yes, but he planned to go out with his friends, then to have dinner at their place,” she replied, opening the door wider and inviting him in. “They are very decent people, living two streets over. Llyr… that is, Mr. Lewis, made some discreet inquiries about them on my behalf…”
Llyr, is it now? Curious, Lucius noted silently.
“Very good,” he said aloud. “No one will interrupt us then.”
Petunia led him to the sitting room and, excusing herself, asked him to wait while she would inform Dudley of his visit and make some tea. Several minutes later, footsteps were heard again, and Petunia’s son entered the room.
“Good day, sir.” The boy looked awkward but was polite enough. “Mom told me you came. I wanted to thank you for the holydays in Italy. That was just awesome, sir.”
“I am glad you liked it,” Lucius nodded. “You deserved it.”
After six months of rigorous drilling, Dudley not only finished the school year with excellent marks, but learned to behave himself too. Lucius was so impressed with his results that he presented Petunia with a trip for two to Sicily for Dudley’s birthday.
“Will you need me here for the talk?” Dudley asked. “Can I go to see my friends? If I’m needed, I can call and…”
“No need,” Lucius shook his head. “It is nothing worth cancelling arrangements for. You can go.”
Dudley nodded, said his good-byes and left. Soon Lucius heard him informing his mother (apparently in the kitchen) that he was leaving. The front door clicked closed. A little while later, Petunia entered with a tea tray and started fussing by the table.
“So, what’s going on?” she asked when the tea was finally ready.
“Nothing. At least, nothing out of the ordinary is. However, when we met the last time we did not have the chance to settle a few nuances.”
“Par example?..”
“Par example, I meant to ask if anyone bothered you here. Weird neighbours, for instance? Pushy random Mu… erm, that is, visitors making strange inquiries? Journalists, perhaps?”
Petunia smirked.
“You can say Muggles, Lucius. It will not shock me. No, no one bothered me. The neighbours are very nice, thank you. No new people appeared in the neighbourhood in the last six months. Trust me, I would have known otherwise. Our gardening society is a very advantageous source of information.”
Lucius smiled.
“Very well. I am glad that you are settling in. And what about other familiar faces?” He emphasized the word familiar.
This time Petunia frowned.
“Do you mean… from your boys’ school?” She slightly twisted her lips. “No.”
“Wonderful.”
“What is the matter exactly? What is the reason for these questions?”
“The situation we discussed last summer continues to evolve. The one who killed your sister has indeed returned, but in the beginning of June Harry managed to best him again.” Lucius chose his words carefully and watched Petunia’s expression. “Partly because of what you agreed to do, you see.”
She nodded.
“Do continue.”
“Naturally, only few people know what actually happened, but that is enough for someone to become interested in you.”
“The headmaster of the school, maybe?” Petunia stared at him.
“It is possible,” Lucius agreed.
“No,” she shook her head. “The headmaster did not come here, write letters or send anyone. Yet. Would you like to give me advice in case that happens?”
Petunia grimaced slightly before saying ‘advice’, and it was not hard to deduct that she chose the word to avoid saying ‘instructions’ that she most certainly found insulting. For the umpteenth time, Lucius thought that were she not a Muggle, she would have been right at home in Slytherin.
“If you are open to suggestions,” he replied with pointed good grace.
“I will be most grateful.” Her smile was cool and perfectly polite.
“Actually, you can speak more or less openly with the headmaster if it occurs to him to visit you. He has general understanding of the situation. On the other hand, I do not think he will come here to ask you for details. He has a lot on his mind already. If other people start bothering you, I think, you are more than able to get rid of them without disclosing anything. I would like you to inform me about that, though, as soon as it is possible.”
“Of course, but… how?” Petunia frowned. “I seem to remember Lily once told me about your mail system. I do not think it is a custom in Asher to take owls as pets. This is not Notting Hill.”
“True,” Lucius agreed, having no idea what the difference was, but getting the general idea of some social standing contrast.
“I gather you do not have a phone in your manor, do you?” she asked.
“Unfortunately, this useful Muggle invention deteriorates in close proximity to constant magical field. Mr. Lewis probably has one, does he not?”
To Lucius’ utter surprise, Petunia’s cheeks suddenly turned pink.
“Yes, of course,” she mumbled. “I have phoned him several times…”
“Wonderful. So, you will be able to find me easily in situations of low priority. Now we need to decide what you can do in case of emergency when you need to act quickly. Or, for example, if Mr. Lewis is out of town.”
Petunia frowned.
“I think,” she said with some doubt, “there is a special street for your kind in London or at least there was one when I was a child… It has a lot of shops, I think? Can I get there by myself or do I need escort?”
Lucius pondered the question. Needless to say, Muggles could enter The Leaky Cauldron if a Wizard was with them. Parents of Muggleborn students usually entered the alley that way. Was it possible for a Muggle to see the bar without assistance, though?
“I do not know,” he finally admitted. “I will have to do some research, and then we shall test the findings together – if you do not mind, of course.”
Petunia nodded.
“In any case,” Lucius continued, “that is also a plan for circumstances of no hurry. Diagon Alley is simply a shopping street where one can buy something, exchange money or send a letter via the public owl service, but one cannot get urgent help there.”
“Do you think such a situation is possible?” Petunia became a shade paler, but remained as composed as before.
“Anything is possible. I hope it does not happen in the nearest future, but sooner or later it will. I would like to offer a strategy for such circumstances.”
Petunia nodded, and Lucius started explaining.
* * *
After they said their goodbyes, Petunia closed the door, but did not lock it – Lucius did not hear the click. He walked down the pathway and stopped suddenly, seeing the gate opening. Mr. Lewis, aka Llyr Lloyd, calmly entered the garden, unlocking the gate with his own key – and stopped abruptly upon seeing Lucius.
“Good day,” the lawyer said pleasantly, but he was obviously embarrassed at being caught coming here.
“Good day,” Lucius agreed. “And what a curious day it is, isn’t it? Petunia never mentioned your visit. Did something happen?”
“No.” Lloyd had composed himself already; his expression was as welcoming and nonchalant as ever. “It is very fortunate that we crossed paths today, Mr. Malfoy. I need to talk to you and was just about to contact you.”
“What a coincidence,” Lucius replied not without irony. “I intended to contact you as well because I wanted to talk.”
They stared at each other, assessing the situation.
“Let me start, please,” Lloyd said decisively. “I have two pieces of information, and I am afraid both might seem rather upsetting to you.”
“Alright,” Lucius nodded. “Shall we return to the house? It is ridiculous to just stand out here. Not to mention hot.”
“There is a gazebo underneath those cherries. We can talk there, and no one will disturb us,” Lloyd offered and started walking in that direction without waiting for a reply.
Someone feels quite at home here, Lucius thought with slight annoyance and some mischief at the same time.
There was indeed a vine-covered gazebo among the cherry trees, it was shady and cool inside. As soon as both were seated and Lucius applied the muffling charm, Lloyd grasped the nettle.
“First of all, Mr. Malfoy,” he said. “I must apologize. I am afraid my long-term communications with Mrs. Evans have resulted in a conflict of interests. I have to admit that it might better for you to find another lawyer who will deal with any legal affairs between you and Mrs. Evans.”
Lucius smiled.
“Indeed? When is the wedding?” he asked impishly.
Lloyd stared at him darkly.
“Mr. Malfoy, I acknowledge that I deserve your rebuke, but that is my private business.”
Lucius smiled even wider.
“Alas, Mr. Lloyd, I am afraid you still do not fully grasp what you are getting yourself into. Mrs. Evans is not simply a distant relative of my foster son. She is now part of the Malfoy family. Ergo, everything that has to do with her is my business.”
“What does that mean?” Lloyd asked stiffly.
“It means,” Lucius replied, “that regardless of your readiness to deal with any legal affairs between me and Mrs. Evans you will have to deal with me on regular basis. If you are planning to continue any... communications with her in the future, of course.”
Lloyd neither wasted his breath in declarations of friendship, nor pretended to be outraged or offended.
“I understand. Can I assume that you do not see a conflict of interests in this case?”
Lucius shrugged.
“In theory, there can be one,” he agreed. “In reality, I might see one even between me today and me tomorrow if the situation starts changing at a fast pace. Were Mrs. Evans a stranger whose well-being I could disregard, maybe your… intentions – if you will allow me such plain wording – could become a nuisance. In current circumstances, though, it will probably be an advantage. The question is – pardon my frankness – whether you are willing to be dragged into unpleasant or potentially dangerous situations because of family obligations.”
Lloyd’s face became expressionless, and he replied even more dryly, “If I were apprehensive of such things, I would have chosen a different field of work. And I would have definitely chosen not to work for you, Mr. Malfoy.”
Lucius smirked.
“I have no idea how such a model citizen as myself gained such a reputation. And I apologize if my comment made you uncomfortable. So, if the possibilities I outlined do not bother you…”
“They do not.”
“…we can get down to business. What exactly did you want to tell me apart from the fact that our business cooperation might become a family affair?”
Lloyd’s face darkened.
“Liam asked me to pass on to you some information of such sensitive nature that he did not dare to convey it in writing. I presume you have already heard about the latest Ministry raids.”
Lucius slightly raised his eyebrows.
“Naturally, but not in any detail. There are a lot of rumours, though. Apparently, some artefacts harmful to Muggles have been found, is that so? A deplorable affair, certainly, but what does it have to do with me?”
“It would have none if not for one circumstance,” Lloyd continued, pursing his lips. “These raids became possible due to several very detailed tips that came from an anonymous source. There was a lot of information, and it was true in each individual case.”
“It is very curious,” Lucius noted. “But I still do not understand what I have to do with all of it.”
Lloyd lowered his voice despite the muffling charm.
“Liam asked to advise you that someone is secretly undermining you, as he put it. It is done so expertly that even he could not work out who started it and from where exactly it originated.”
Lucius sat straight.
“And what are the ramifications,” he made a face, “of these unexpected efforts?”
“Nothing extraordinary so far: strange rumours, unpleasant quiet gossip and such. As far as I understand, someone is raking over coals, and they are doing it so skilfully that a blatant anonymous accusation similar to the previous ones can be enough. Even Madame Bones will not be able to find rational arguments to spare you a visit from unwanted guests.”
“I see,” Lucius nodded. “It is unpleasant, but not dangerous. For now, at least. Please tell Liam I am grateful. For a long time already, I have not had in my home anything that any guests, wanted or unwanted, might find objectionable, but this sudden interest in my humble persona clearly deserves an investigation. Forewarned is forearmed…” He drummed his fingers absentmindedly on the bench he was sitting on.
“May I give you a piece of advice?” Lloyd said suddenly.
Lucius stared at him in surprise.
“Of course you may. In a sense, it is your duty.”
“As your lawyer?”
“As my future – or at least potential – relation,” Lucius chuckled. “So, you have my undivided attention.”
“Let them find something. Something that is not dangerous, of course, and not too scandalous, as we would not want anyone to question your qualification as a foster parent to Mr. Potter. Yet, it should be something forbidden – at least in theory – or not approved of.” He pondered for a moment. “Let’s say, a charmed ring that forces a Muggle to tell the truth or something of that sort. A harmless trinket that they can happily confiscate.”
Now Lucius looked at him with interest.
“I think that can be arranged,” he said slowly. “So, you think that…”
Lloyd nodded.
“Yes. If they find nothing at all, it will draw attention to you, and this business will not end with this one visit. The public will just assume that either the Aurors were not doing their job meticulously enough or you somehow managed to hide your Dark Arts artefacts in a different location. I hate to say it, but even Albus Dumbledore is not idealistic enough to believe in you as a paragon of Light.”
Lucius snorted.
“The ‘even’ part wounds me. He knows more than most about my affairs so he should have faith in me. I hear you, though. Thank you. I think it is great advice, and I will certainly follow it.”
* * *
Lucius spoke little during the Saturday family dinner. He answered the boys’ remarks and exchanged some knowing or mocking glances with Narcissa, of course. But mostly he stayed silent because he watched Severus and young Constance with great interest. He watched and pondered.
He liked Constance. He liked her not in a sense in which people usually “like” children of their relatives, friends or acquaintances (Oh, even in her tender age your daughter is already so charming, Madame Parkinson!). He liked her not in the way some men of his age and standing can like young pretty girls (Brrr! Merlin forbid! Firstly, she was still a child; secondly, Lucius loved his wife very much, thank you). No, he liked Constance per se, as a person, as one does when someone’s words, actions and manners are genuinely attractive.
She was level-headed, but not opinionated; sociable, but not too talkative; confident, but not presumptuous. She was cheerful, cordial and smart, and she made him regret a little that Narcissa and he did not have a daughter.
At the same time, Constance constantly perplexed him.
First of all, she wore trousers. Lucius was not old-fashioned enough to consider this garment indecent, but still thought that pureblood Wizards and especially Witches should wear a robe on top of it. Constance preferred pantsuits – elegant, but still Muggle – to any other clothes, though. She wore robes on very rare occasions (for example, in Diagon Alley, so as not to attract unnecessary attention). Admittedly, the constant magical field around her clothes suggested that everything was not as it seemed. Nevertheless, Lucius could not shake off the feeling that he was being tested. Also, it sometimes seemed to him that this ridiculous discomfort of his pleased Narcissa immensely.
Secondly, Lucius was used to thinking that Squibs… were disadvantaged, let’s put it this way. In a sense, their fate was even more unpleasant than that of Muggles. The latter, after all, have no idea they are handicapped in terms of magic. While Squibs, who chose not to leave the Wizarding world, were always forced to look at magic like a hungry man looks at a piece of someone else’s pie. All Squibs he met before in the Wizarding world were unhappy, even though they tried to hide it one way or another.
Constance was not unhappy and showed avid interest in magic and its nature – not envy, peppered with regret. However, she apparently had a real talent for Potions which was rare even among Wizards.
Mostly, though, she absolutely refused to consider herself deprived in any way and did not allow anyone to feel so. Every time she needed help in anything Wizarding that she could not do any other way or ask a house elf for, she simply and calmly asked for assistance from anyone who was close by and could do her a favour. Just as calmly she helped others in Muggle places when there was a need to quickly convert galleons to pounds, use an elevator or call for a taxi. As a girl of perfect breeding, she had enough decorum not to make it plain to Lucius that she noticed his discomfort in such situations; but he was bright enough to know his young relative watched him and would later relate to Cousin Gérard whether the good old England was truly embarked on the new course as it had been declared some time ago.
Suddenly Lucius caught Narcissa’s eye: smiling a little, she pointed with her eyes at Severus. The man was absorbed in some alchemic discussion with Constance to which Draco or Harry sometimes added a point. It looked disgustingly touching, but Lucius still frowned slightly: he had not thought to warn the boys not to share the details of the Stone incident with their French cousin. What if they decided that since it was a family business it was not worth hiding it from Constance? He could only hope that Severus could turn the conversation to safer subjects if it became necessary.
Listening closer, he realized that the discussion did touch upon the Philosopher’s Stone, but in a different way.
“…Gamp’s Transfiguration Law,” Constance finished her sentence.
“What does it have to do with anything?” Draco was taken aback. “We were talking about the transfiguration of metals. I still don’t understand why a match can be turned into a needle, but copper can’t be turned into gold.”
“It is a matter of power,” Narcissa noted.
“I would say it is a matter of energy,” Constance replied. “I do not know why, but Wizards rarely use this explanation, even though magic at its core is just a unique way of using energy.”
“Like electricity?” Harry asked tentatively, frowning.
“Not quite. It more like… No, I do not know how to explain it,” Constance frowned a little too. “They do not teach physics in Wizarding schools. I am afraid I will only confuse you. I meant to say that sometimes a transformation would change the original object so much that the energy needed for the process would be beyond measure. It would actually be more energy than an average Wizard can spare.”
“Have you ever thought why a lot of really complicated tasks and goals require potions and not spells?” Severus interjected, and Lucius thought that his friend looked suspiciously pleased.
“It’s because magical ingredients are the source of the magic power, isn’t it?” Draco guessed. “Yes, that’s obvious. Still, why nothing can be turned into gold, though?”
“The changes that need to be done to any other substance are too great,” Constance replied. “No Wizard, no matter how mighty, has enough energy for that. Or enough power, the wording is not important.”
“There are a lot of such substances, gold is simply the most known of them,” Narcissa said. “Many precious metals cannot be transfigured from something else. As well as ordinary food.”
“What about the Philosopher’s Stone, then?” Draco could not let go. “Does it exist?”
“It does,” Constance nodded. “And judging by what we know about it, it is an immense source of magical energy. No one knows, though, how it was created. Nicolas Flamel never revealed his secret, and no Wizard, not to mention Muggle, managed to repeat his success.”
“Everything that is done by one man can be repeated by another,” said Harry, who up to this point was silent and listened.
“The question is in the amount of effort needed,” Severus noted.
“But…” Draco started and suddenly stopped short, changing the subject. “So, something can’t be transfigured into gold because there’s not enough magical power. And that’s the Gamp’s Law, right?”
The later discussion touched upon various exceptions from Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, and Lucius stopped listening, preferring to watch its participants instead. He could have sworn that Harry had kicked his brother under the table just now to make him stop talking. It was not something extraordinary, but still worth noting.
If it was not one thing it was another, apparently. He wondered what the boys were up to this time.
* * *
Later that evening, during those blessed hours that adults prefer to spend without children, Harry was sprawled in his bedroom, trying to read The Moonstone that Hermione had sent him as a birthday present, in the light of a magical flashlight – simply because it was more fun that way.
“Hey, are you asleep?” Draco peeked through the half-opened door.
“Not yet. Why?”
“Get up, I’ll show you something. It’s unbelievable.”
Intrigued, Harry put down the book (that turned out to be unbelievably boring) and followed his brother to their shared study room. After making sure no adults were around, Draco retrieved a small leather-bound notebook from the depths of the bookcase. He laid it flat on the table, quickly wrote something on the first page and turned it to Harry with a dramatic gesture, “Just look at it.”
There was a word ‘Hello’ written in the book. Harry was about to ask what the deal was when new letters appeared without any assistance from the boys.
HELLO. WHO ARE YOU?
Harry stared at the page for several long moments in amazement, then looked at Draco.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it in the library. It was very well hidden, and I… well…” Draco looked away. “I was curious.”
“I see. And what were you looking for when you found this?” Harry asked, even though he suspected he already had the idea.
“Well…”
“I see,” Harry sighed. “Listen, you should have told me about your search. And I would have told you it was not in the manor.”
“What?” It was Draco’s turn to be surprised. “How so? And where did you get that information?”
Harry shrugged.
“I’ve overheard some bits and pieces. Got just lucky two or three times… Dad hid the Stone somewhere with Severus – maybe at Hogwarts, maybe in a different place – back in June. Then they’ve changed the location again. I have no clue about that second one, they were speaking in riddles by that point and noticed me soon after, so they changed the topic.”
Draco’s face fell, and Harry tried to console him.
“That’s a cool thing you’ve got here, isn’t it? Hey! What’s up with you?”
There was a reason to be scared: Draco who was upset before now turned pale.
“Do you have any idea what that… thing is?” he managed to say, pointing at the notebook.
“No,” Harry admitted. “Do you?”
“Me neither,” Draco snapped. “Think of it, though. Would Dad or, Merlin forbid, Grandfather hide any magical object just for the fun of it?”
Harry frowned.
“Do you think this thing is Dark?”
“It’s not a toy, that’s for sure.” Draco winced. “I’ve made quite a fool out of myself. I should have just left it where it was, but now I have no idea how to return it discreetly. Constance will leave in a few days, and we’ll be going back to school soon after. There are always people in the house these last summer days until the start of the term.”
Harry looked doubtfully at the notebook, not knowing what to do. New words appeared under the previous ones as if in reply to his stare.
WHY ARE YOU SO QUIET? WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
Both brothers stared at the notebook. Before Draco had a chance to interfere Harry took the quill decisively and wrote:
WHAT’S YOURS?
After a small pause new words appeared.
YOU GO FIRST.
The boys looked at each other. Draco shrugged. Harry hesitated a little before writing:
I’M DICK. WHO ARE YOU?
Another delay. Then someone replied:
I AM TOM.
The boys looked at each other again and almost spluttered with laughter. Draco made up his mind, took another quill and wrote:
AND I’M HARRY. DICK, TOM AND HARRY ARE AN EXCELLENT BUNCH!
Weirdly enough, this unknown Tom person did not appear to agree because the letters started fading away. Soon the page was just as pristine as it was in the beginning of their experiment. Harry and Draco stared at each other in astonishment. What had just happened? Did the magic fail? Was it really a silly joke? Trying to make this strange notebook talk again, Harry wrote:
HEY, TOM, WHERE ARE YOU?
The words soon disappeared, though, and there was no answer to the question.
“Interesting,” Draco said thoughtfully. “What ticked him off?”
Harry shrugged.
“Who knows. Maybe the one who charmed the notebook didn’t come up with what to say next.”
“Yeah, that’s why it was so well-hidden,” Draco deadpanned. “So no one could ridicule the author for the lack of imagination.”
No one can say how long this debate would have been, but it was stopped by a house elf popping quietly into the room. Both boys jumped like scalded cats and stared at him.
“What do you want?” Draco grumbled impolitely.
“Dobby is seeing if Master Harry and Master Draco need something,” the house elf said with reproach in his voice. “Dobby comes to ask if you want some cocoa. Dobby…” Then he saw the opened notebook, and his whole demeanour changed completely. His eyes became even larger and filled with terror, and he nervously grabbed both his ears with his hands, tagging and twisting them. “That’s a bad, nasty thing!” he shrieked. “You can’t take it, Master Draco! Master Lucius will be very displeased when he learns of this!”
Draco visibly paled; Harry scrambled for a way to fix the situation. It would be too much if the frightened house elf would tell on them. He had to forbid Dobby to tell Lucius anything, but how to do that? Harry had never given orders like that before; his communication with the elves was limited to requests for this or that trifle or messages for members of the immediate family. Then it dawned on him.
“Listen, Dobby,” he said quickly. “Do you remember Dad told you to obey me?”
Dobby nodded vigorously.
“So, this is my order: do not tell anyone that we found this thing. Do you understand?”
Dobby’s face crumbled. It looked like he was about to cry.
“Dobby hears, Master Harry. But it’s a bad thing. A very, very bad thing. It’s dangerous!”
“We gathered as much,” Draco grumbled.
“We won’t use it or anything,” Harry promised. “Don’t be afraid, Dobby. We’ll put it back where it was as soon as we get a chance, do you understand?” Then an idea came to his mind. “Listen, can you do that, Dobby? Just put it back where it was hidden.”
Dobby shook his head forcefully.
“The master forbade it, Master Harry. Dobby not to touch. But it’s bad. Master Harry must tell the Master.”
The boys looked at each other again.
“He’ll turn us in,” Draco said quietly. “Even if he doesn’t mean to. Look how scared he is. I don’t know what that awful thing is to scare a house elf so much, but we must do something. I won’t write anything in it again, that’s for sure, but we can’t return it right away. He can’t tell Dad anything!”
Harry nodded and looked at the elf again. The creature waited, twitching his ears nervously and gawking.
“Dobby,” Harry began. “Listen to me. I forbid you to tell Lucius Malfoy or anyone else that Draco found the notebook and where it is now. You should not communicate about it: verbally, in writing or with gestures. Do you understand, Dobby?”
Dobby’s eyes filled with tears.
“Dobby understands. Dobby won’t tell. But it’s a nasty thing. A bad thing.”
“Here he goes again,” Draco groaned.
“Don’t be afraid, Dobby,” Harry added. “We will put it back and won’t use it. Do you understand? Look.” He closed the notebook and hid it again among the Muggle books. “That’s it. It will just stay there for now.”
The house elf grabbed his ears again and twisted them.
“A bad thing. Very, very dangerous. Must tell the Master. Can’t keep it here. Master Harry must tell the Master himself.”
“Stop!” Draco erupted. “We got that. Stop repeating the same things over and over. And let go of your stupid ears. Harry, tell him to stop.”
Harry sighed and squatted down, looking into the house elf’s terrified eyes.
“Don’t be afraid, Dobby. We understand everything and will try to fix it. And you won’t tell anything to anyone. And don’t talk to us about it too. Are we clear?”
Dobby nodded dully.
“You can go.”
Dobby looked at them reproachfully for the last time and disappeared. Only then the boys realized that they did not answer the question the elf had come to ask them. They did not want any cocoa anymore, though.
* * *
Monday morning, Severus came down to the Great Hall, not suspecting in the slightest what lied in wait for him there. The day before, he returned from the Malfoy manor rather late and went straight to bed without meeting any of his colleagues on his way to the dungeons. That is why he almost froze solid upon entering the Great Hall. Only his old habit of hiding his feelings (especially surprise) helped him to move forward without stumbling (even though he was very close to it).
Right at the staff table, among the other Heads of House and those teachers who had already returned from their summer vacations, there was a monster.
No, it was not one of Hagrid’s creatures – everyone was already accustomed to them, and Albus forbade letting the most dangerous ones into the castle, anyway.
It was not a vampire.
It was not even Lupin.
Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting next to Minerva (at Severus’ usual place, no less!), smiling radiantly. The splendour of his light-blue satin robes, stitched with silver thread, outshone even the apparel of the headmaster who never liked dull colours.
So, this was Albus’ ‘plan B’. A radiant self-centred psychopath, who had once sent eight hundred valentines to himself. The star of Witch Weekly and the recipient of the Order of Merlin of whatever degree. Even self-assured Sirius Black would look reasonable in comparison with this beau – at least Black never had a brilliant idea to spell his own name on the Quidditch field in twenty-foot-tall letters.
All of this flashed through Severus’ mind in those few moments that he needed to reach the staff table, but he managed to come to a decision about his further action in that short amount of time.
Severus chose an empty chair next to Hagrid, sat down, wished his colleagues a good morning, not addressing anyone in particular, and broke his fast. The entertainment was not long in coming, even though Lockhart did not catch on right away, as the main person who caught attention of the man was always the man himself.
“Oh, Severus Snape!” he exclaimed. “It is astonishing, old boy! I forgot you work here! What a coincidence! It is so amusing! I hope you have not forgotten me.”
Someone – Sprout, probably – had a sudden fit of coughing. Minerva snorted.
Considering that Lockhart’s seventh year was Severus’ first year of teaching, their encounters were hard to forget. Despite the Halloween tragedy and the dark despair that followed it, Severus still shuddered, remembering his first classes and first blunders – and some students. Lockhart shone among those like a well-scrubbed pot of Leprechaun’s gold. When his year passed all exams, and the beau finally left the school the Hogwarts staff as one celebrated the departure of such a distinguished alumnus, displaying as much delight as one could without it becoming inappropriate.
“Of course not,” Severus replied calmly, disregarding the overfamiliarity. “You are just as unforgettable as you were before.”
“Yes, that is me!” Lockhart lighted up. “I think now, when I am here, Hogwarts is guaranteed to have a bright future! This will be the end of leading a wretched existence and suffering in obscurity!”
“Definitely,” Severus agreed, painstakingly cutting scrambled eggs into regular small squares. “Suffering in obscurity is our main problem. We were in dire need of press attention, especially last year, weren’t we, Minerva?”
She almost choked on a scone, but immediately joined the game.
“You are absolutely right, Severus. Regular visits of Witch Weekly employees will break the dull monotony of our lives.”
“Personally, I am much more concerned about leading a wretched existence,” Sprout remarked. “I do not know about your part of the dungeons, Severus, but as soon as winter comes, the existence in Hufflepuff becomes so wretched that the children are constantly shivering and sneezing. There’s been talking about installing a central heating system in the castle for years…”
“Centuries, Pomona, centuries!” Flitwick added. “And what is the result? The Board of Governors lacks funds for such major renovations,” he mocked.
“The Board of Governors lacks funds even for standard quills and parchments, if they are to be believed,” Sprout grumbled.
“I am wondering if Mr. Malfoy could do something about this situation,” Hooch said, eyeing Severus slyly.
Severus snorted.
“Mr. Malfoy would sooner propose to build a new school in a warmer climate,” he replied. “It will be easier and more practical.”
“And much cheaper,” Minerva chuckled.
Gilderoy Lockhart looked a little overwhelmed by such an outpouring of new information, but he was not about to be discouraged.
“I was referring to a different kind of wretched existence!” he announced. “We should not be just thankful for small favours! Hogwarts needs innovation, openness, attention of the crowds! Now, when I am here, everything will change, I will bet my head on it!”
“Bet your what?” Hooch mumbled under her breath – low, but distinctly.
It was Aurora Sinistra’s turn to almost choke now, and Lockhart started urging her to try his new potion, stunningly effective in curing problems with throat and voice.
Poor Sinistra made several attempts to evade his boisterous advice before mumbling that “Only Professor Snape attends to potions at Hogwarts”, and Lockhart returned his attention to him.
“Indeed, Severus, you dabbled in potions a little! So you will surely have no problem grasping my ingenious recipe! Several lessons with me, and…”
Severus noticed Sinistra’s paled face, even though he was not paying much attention to Lockhart’s ramblings. She looked frightened, probably scared of being blamed for instigating this overdressed idiot. Sinistra came to Hogwarts as a teacher not that much later than Severus, so they have been colleagues for about seven years or so, but she was still inexplicably afraid of him, for all that he could swear he had never said anything harsh to her. Truth be told, he spoke to her only a handful of times. Severus cast a side glance at his other colleagues, finding that they were eagerly waiting to see how things would unfold. There was, however, not an ounce of trepidation in their eyes, just hungry curiosity or even hidden enthusiasm.
“…And I know one amazing potion for that!” Lockhart kept prattling.
“I know one too,” Severus said calmly.
Lockhart startled and stopped short.
“What?”
“I know. A potion.”
“My potion? I have not said anything about its wonderful properties yet!”
“It does not really matter,” Severus graced him with a smile of a happy ogre. “I know another potion.”
Minerva, choking on laughter, started coughing loudly and quickly covered her face with a handkerchief. Even Hagrid, who was usually rather slow in his naivety, guffawed.
They could have probably continued with these skits for a long time if not for Albus’ interference (Severus wondered if the twinges of guilt or the sense of self-preservation were to blame). The headmaster started querying Lockhart about any possible changes to the DADA curriculum, about the books the students would need and other details of the sort. The staff members could finally finish their breakfast in peace.
Minerva caught up to Severus at the doors of the Great Hall, and they exited the castle together – to make a walk a bit and discuss the circumstances in private.
“Frankly speaking, I was afraid you would kill him then and there,” Minerva confessed.
Severus raised an eyebrow.
“When have I ever been so indiscreet and careless?” he asked. “I would have waited at least until dinner. There are subtle poisons, you know…”
Minerva snorted.
“Anyone else could have believed you. I have seen, however, that you were not even really angry. You were magnificent!”
Severus bowed mockingly.
“Thank you. I have no idea how long I will last, though,” he added with unexpected frankness. “It is quite pleasant to lead this fool on a pretty dance, being in a good mood. In the middle of the term, though, with all the little menaces here…” he grimaced.
Minerva nodded in agreement.
“Yes. Now all of us had enough sleep, rest, and everyone is content with their lives. Some Thursday morning in November after a recent set of detentions and grading of atrociously bad essays his rubbish can become the last drop. I am afraid I might have a strong desire to turn him into a mop then. You know what… I propose a bet.”
“Yes?” Severus perked.
“Let’s wager… fifteen galleons that you will not stick it out till the end of the term and lash out at the dearest Mr. Lockhart.” Minerva looked at him archly.
“The same for you?”
She contemplated.
“No, that will not do. If both of us will stick it out or both lose we will gain nothing. What if…” Minerva squinted. “If you lash out, that is, raise your voice, insult him openly or use any harmful spells against him, you will wear a red-and-gold robe for a week.”
Severus snorted.
“You, Gryffindors, are mad about the colour red. Alright. The desire not to look like a scarecrow is motivation enough to play it cool. And you… If you do any of the things mentioned before, you will forgive my Slytherins three violations of discipline. Of my choosing.”
Minerva pursed her lips for a moment, then gave up and laughed.
“And you, Slytherins, are mad about violations of rules. Alright, I agree. So be it.”
They shook hands and walked on, discussing more trivial details of preparations for the upcoming school year.
* * *
The thoughts in his head were darting and colliding, raving and jumping, trembling in rage while he was sitting motionless in his jail, staring at a wall.
Since THAT ONE brought him that newspaper he tied himself in knots. Fury filled him, but deep inside beyond the wall of frothing anger his mind stayed cold and persistent. He will find a way out. Sooner or later he will. He believed it for so many years and will continue to do so, otherwise existing was not worth it.
He must get out. He must punish the traitor.
Chapter Text
On the same evening, Severus used the latitude of summer vacation to dine with the Malfoys without ceremonies — to pour his heart out and to minimize the interaction with Lockhart. After all, it would be foolish to lose the bet with Minerva before the school year even started, and by lunchtime, the new DADA professor had already seemed more annoying than entertaining.
Constance had left for France, and the three adults were able to retire to the library to talk without any issues. However, Severus’ news did not make much of an impression on the Malfoys at first.
“I’d wager this idiot couldn't teach anyone to use a spoon let alone to defend oneself from anything. I have no idea what to do with the children.”
“Do not worry about the boys,” Lucius shrugged. “They have mustered the core DADA spells for this year by the beginning of August. Theory will come with time.”
“What a relief,” Severus scowled. “Now I can exclude as many as two students out of four dozen whose education is my priority.”
“Is it really that bad?” Narcissa asked. “This Lockhart fellow seems to be quite popular if the number of his pictures in Witch Weekly is any indication. Did he really have such low grades at school?”
“Do you remember nothing of him?” Severus was surprised. “Ah, right, you two had already graduated when he enrolled in Hogwarts. Well, I cannot say that he had low grades. They were above average, I suppose. That does not mean a thing, though. He would be no teacher, even if he truly wanted to be one and not just to gain new listeners to impress. He is so self-centred and crass at the same time that in comparison to him Quirrell might be considered a pedagogical genius.”
“I still fail to see why you should be doing anything about it,” Lucius remarked. “Ultimately, these are Dumbledore’s problems, not yours. Most Slytherins get decent schooling at home and will cope with him somehow. If you have got talented half-bloods who need help in your care, you can organize additional classes for them.”
Severus narrowed his eyes unkindly.
“When exactly would I do that? At night? I have my hands already full with basic Potions, not to mention advanced Potions for senior students, and with looking after our young adventurers the rest of the time. As it is, I usually start dreaming about a time-turner by November…”
“Would you like me to get you one?” Lucius asked innocently.
“I can manage,” Severus replied dryly. “Let’s save it as a last resort.”
“Even if Lockhart is as bad as you fear, the children will at least be able to read textbooks,” Narcissa interjected.
Severus smirked. He already managed to vent some of his frustration, and sarcasm was getting upper hand over aggravation.
“Oh! Talking of textbooks. Here, please, have a look.”
He produced a piece of parchment from his robe pocket and handed it to Narcissa. Lucius started reading over her shoulder. His eyebrows rose.
“What is this?” he asked. “Was a literary fiction course finally added to Hogwarts syllabus?”
“This,” Severus said impishly, “is the list of recommended ‘reading’ for DADA.”
Narcissa and Lucius looked at each other.
“I think now I can better understand your anxiety,” Lucius sighed. “This is but a jaw-dropping joke. If you had any hopes I could use my influence in the Board of Governors in order to demand the Ministry’s intervention, though…”
Severus waved the idea away.
“Merlin forbid! Unlike Lockhart, I do not want to draw the attention of the public, let alone of the Ministry, to Hogwarts. Albus definitely does not want it either. And I suspect it will not benefit us at all, don’t you think?”
“Not at all,” Lucius nodded. “That is precisely why I propose we deal with problems as they appear, not in advance. Let the whole thing run its course. If the parents will be terribly displeased, we shall discuss the matter during the next Board’s meeting. Let’s say after Samhain. Meanwhile, you can deal with your affairs. And please try not to actually kill anyone.”
“It might be useful to make a list of worthwhile textbooks and guides. You could just post it up in the Slytherin common room,” Narcissa said. “Other Houses can make use of the suggestions too if they wish so.”
“That is actually a good idea,” Severus agreed. “I am afraid neither Albus nor Minerva will sanction its official release, though. Otherwise, it would be too obvious what we all think about this specimen. And publicly undermining the Headmaster’s own hired staff is not good. Unofficially, though, we are free to do as we please. No one can forbid recommending extracurricular literature to students, after all.” He frowned a little, remembering something. “You know, Luc, Albus refused me in no uncertain terms when I offered to temporarily pass the Potions to Slughorn and take up the DADA myself. He forbade me to even think about it. He even said ‘please’. And when Albus says ‘please’ in such a tone it is basically an order.”
“I told you the same thing,” Lucius shook his head. “The rumours about this position being cursed were not for nothing. And if even Dumbledore refused your request, it must be true. Stay out of it, Severus. I can say ‘please’ too, and with some force if needed. Do we have a deal?”
“Alright,” Severus sighed. “I will stay out of it.”
“Is it really your dream to teach DADA?” Narcissa asked. “Why didn’t you change schools in this case? I could understand your hesitation before, right after the war, but later you could have easily found a teaching position in a small private school. We would have provided you with stellar recommendations at least.”
Severus looked at her in surprise. Leaving Hogwarts? Somehow this idea never occurred to him.
“No, thanks,” he said decisively. “Why would I? I am content there.”
Lucius laughed.
“DADA has nothing to do with anything, Cissy. Severus is simply allergic to fools. As well as to pompous morons and pesky meddlers.”
“Allergic is too mild a word,” Severus grumbled. “If the position is cursed, however, it makes sense for Albus to choose such fine specimens of idiot for it, time after time.”
“Well, at least there is a new one each year,” Narcissa said philosophically. “It is an entertainment in and of itself.”
The idea that close contacts with Lockhart cannot last more than ten months gave Severus peace of mind. It would not be really that long, he could tough it out. And the bet with Minerva was a good way to lift his mood.
“Meanwhile we have more entertainment on the way,” Lucius spoke again. “Hear my news.”
He described the strange information relayed by Llyr Lloyd as well as his recommendations.
“Curious advice,” Severus said pensively. “And I think a good one. Do you plan to follow it?”
“I definitely do.”
“Hmm. So, what harmless, yet restricted item are you going to plant here for them to find?”
Lucius shrugged.
“That is the question I wanted to ask you both. Cissy, have you got anything along those lines?”
“Of course,” she replied very sombrely. “I’ve got a ring that allows reading male thoughts, and a magic mirror that allows one to see anyone in the world wherever they are and whatever they do. You, for example.”
Lucius stared at her, not quite believing his ears.
“Do you?” he asked at last.
Silence filled the room for a moment, and then Narcissa laughed.
“Of course not! Why would I need such nonsensical things? I am not even sure they can be created. The mirror, I mean, let alone the ring. I had no heart to disappoint you so I had to make something up on the go.”
“It would be great if you could make up something that could be actually created,” Lucius grumbled.
“Are you suggesting we create several artefacts and hide them around the house?” Narcissa asked enthusiastically.
Lucius shrugged.
“We certainly can’t buy them at Borgin & Burkes.”
“Not for the world,” Severus interrupted. “Albus will eat me alive after that. Let’s deal with it ourselves.”
“The funnier it is the better,” Lucius concluded. “I’ve owed Shacklebolt for a long time for that wondrous complaint about the illegal dragon trafficking. Let’s let the man have some fun too.”
* * *
Cousin Constance left for France the second day after that incident with Dobby and the mysterious black notebook, and it became impossible to return anything to the library. Either Lucius or Narcissa were constantly there and were obviously searching for something: books, Transfiguration magazines, Charms manuscripts were spread everywhere, parchments with notes and citations littering the table. Harry and Draco were burning with curiosity, but when they tried to ask their parents about it, Lucius said only, “You are better off not knowing right now. If everything works out I will tell you later.” The boys had to accept that answer for now, and the black notebook stayed tucked into the Muggle book, almost forgotten. Admittedly, there was a lot to do in the Malfoy manor especially right before the new school year.
Harry was writing to Neville Longbottom, the only one of their friends who stayed with his grandmother the whole summer and did not travel at all, when owls brought in the mail. There were the Hogwarts letters with the list of required books and a reply letter from Hermione. Here is what she wrote.
Hello Harry! (Draco, are you poking your nose again into someone else’s letters over their shoulder? Shame on you! All right, I’m joking. Hello to you, too!)
I absolutely knew that we chose the wrong time to go mountain hiking. It turns out you have relatives in the non-Wizarding world! Imagine I could have met you in London, visit a museum… Maybe we’ll get another chance, won’t we?
We are back from Wales now, and I’m studying as much as I can. I can’t use magic, of course, but theory is important too, don’t you agree? You must be studying at home, too. I envy you terribly. Can you ask Mr. Malfoy if I can have a special permit to use magic, too?
We’ll be in London in a week to buy books and other things. Can we maybe meet in Diagon Alley?
Please write to me as soon as you know your plans.
Hermione
“The only thing we needed to crown this bizarre summer is Granger,” Draco grumbled who was indeed shamelessly reading the letter over Harry’s shoulder.
Harry laughed.
“Come on, you’ve spent half of summer at home doing as you please. I’ll go and ask dad if we have plans to visit Diagon Alley.”
“Are you seriously considering meeting up with her?” Draco made a face.
Harry stared at him in puzzlement.
“What got your knickers in a twist? Why shouldn’t we meet with her?”
“I don’t know. Of course, if you insist…”
“No, but…”
“What are you talking about?” Lucius asked, peeking into Harry’s room.
“Granger wants to meet us at Diagon Alley,” Draco grumbled.
“And you do not want to go, I gather?” Lucius asked and approached Harry’s table. He absentmindedly offered his father Hermione’s letter.
“It’s not that,” now, Draco was embarrassed. “It’s still three weeks till the end of the vacation, and I hoped to spend it without her boring lectures. It’s enough that I have to tolerate her the whole school year.”
“Correct me if I am wrong, but this is the same girl who went after the philosopher’s stone with you, did she not?” Lucius said curiously.
“Yeah,” Harry replied. “And she’s not a bore. Well, not as much as Draco implies. She’s just terribly nervous about getting good grades at school.”
“Which is understandable, considering the fact she’s a Muggleborn,” Lucius nodded. “She is probably ambitious, is she not? And talented?”
“Well… yes,” Draco admitted.
“In other words, she is not unlike someone we both know, but has no privileges.” Lucius smirked a little, and Draco blushed. “Don’t be upset, I am simply teasing you. However, if you consider the reasons for her to be so touchy about her achievements and learn from it, it will do everyone a lot of good. I do not think she aggravates you on purpose.”
He returned to Harry’s letter.
“I think you should meet with your friend,” he continued. “You can write to her and set up the time and date. Gringotts will probably be the most convenient place for meeting them, but The Leaky Cauldron will also do. The permit she mentions is not a simple thing, though, because she lives among Muggles. It is possible something can be arranged with the help of Hogwarts staff. We can discuss the details when we meet in person.”
The boys stared at their father: Harry was simply amazed, Draco looked rather intrigued.
“Sorry, Dad, but I have hard time believing that you plan to help her because she’s a talented Muggleborn witch, and you have too much free time on your hands,” Draco said at last.
“I have very little free time,” Lucius nodded. “Yes, I have very good reasons for doing it, but some of them you do not have to know, and the ones that are advantageous for you so you should figure out yourselves. She is your friend, after all.”
He turned to the door when Harry suddenly remembered something.
“Hey, dad. Why did you come here in the first place? Did you want something?”
“Strangely enough, to arrange a visit to Diagon Alley. Did you get the book lists?”
“Yeah.” Harry side-eyed his copy. “There’re a lot of books by some Lockhart fellow.”
“Who is he, anyway?” Draco asked. “The titles look like something Archer would read when he has nothing to do at the stables.”
Lucius smiled enigmatically.
“Better ask Severus about it.”
Then he left.
The boys looked at each other. Harry stared at the list.
“Judging by the way he said it, asking Severus about these books is a bad idea.”
* * *
Harry arranged to meet the Grangers in the Gringotts hall around 11 a.m. Lucius and Narcissa Apparated with the boys as well as Pansy, who got her parents’ permission to come along. They got to the Diagon Alley a little early, and so had a chance to wander around a bit, chatting, window-shopping and sometimes greeting acquaintances.
“Do you need to go to the bank, Pansy?” Narcissa asked.
The girl shook her head.
“No, thank you. Mom gave me enough money. And if a need comes, I can leave a note of hand. I am far from fourteen, of course, but we are well-known in this part of town,” she said a little too proudly.
“No notes,” Lucius intervened. “If you will not have enough money for something, I will take care of it. Within reasonable limit, of course.”
“What a pity,” Pansy sighed dramatically. “Diamonds and race brooms will have to wait, then.” She turned serious and added politely, “Thank you, but I don’t think it will be needed. I have enough to buy the books and supplies, pet food and treats for Milady, an ice-cream and maybe some trinkets.”
“Good,” Narcissa nodded. “That means we will only have to help the Grangers exchange the Muggle money and can spare ourselves the trip to the vaults.”
Unlike Pansy, Harry did not sigh, even though he liked travelling to the vaults. With some luck, one could see a real dragon on the way. They were already close to the bank entrance, though, and saw a crowd, so Harry had to stop daydreaming and concentrate on pushing through without stepping on toes or losing the sight of his party.
They saw the Grangers almost at once. Hermione was fidgeting impatiently, trying to see familiar faces. A man and a woman close by were discreetly looking around. It seemed like Gringotts looked weird to them. I wonder what Muggle banks look like, Harry thought. Are they completely different or not? They don’t have goblins, that’s for sure. Hermione in turn noticed the Malfoys and waved enthusiastically, almost jumping in excitement.
Mrs. Granger had the same curly dark hair as Hermione and a pretty smile; Mr. Granger was efficient and energetic.
“Mr. Malfoy, I presume?” he asked, holding out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I can’t express how grateful we are for your offer of help. Hermione explained a lot to us, but truth be told, half of what she said or what we’ve read in those books is very hard to believe. Seeing everything is a completely different matter.”
Mutual introductions followed. It turned out Mr. and Mrs. Granger were actually Sebastian and Violet (upon hearing that Harry noticed that Lucius and Narcissa looked at each other as if exchanging an inside joke, but it was completely impossible to ask for details at that moment). Pansy and Hermione hugged (well, Hermione hugged Pansy who took it for granted — to Draco’s utter amazement).
“I brought you a souvenir from the seaside,” Pansy remarked. “It’s nothing, but I hope you like it.”
“Oh, I brought you something too!” Hermione replied. “Snowdonia is no French Riviera, of course…”
The girls started whispering.
Draco sighed.
“Can you help us with that, Lucius?” Mr. Granger nodded at the desk behind which a lot of goblins sat. There was a long line to it. “Last year Professor McGonagall, who came over to fill us in, took care of all this fuss, saying that it was faster that way. It was probably true, but I would have preferred to make out tails and heads of this business myself. The professor is a very energetic woman, but it is rather difficult to argue with her.”
Harry imagined an attempt to argue with McGonagall and shivered despite himself. Judging by expressions on Draco’s and Pansy’s faces, they were ill at ease, too. Even Hermione made a face.
Lucius nodded.
“Yes, professor McGonagall is known for her resoluteness,” he remarked. “As for the lines, we do not have to deal with them today. My family has a resident assistant so everything gets done faster.”
He motioned to one of the goblin junior clerks running around. The young goblin stopped, listened to their request to exchange money and offered to follow him to the VIP clients’ stall.
“If you will allow me to give you a piece of advice,” Lucius said to Hermione’s father. “Come back here in a less busy time. August is always a rush here. Everything quiets down after the school year starts. Then you will be able to discuss deposit terms, exchange rates, buy some Galleons for emergency, etc.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Granger replied. “As far as I understand, though, I need… erm… Wizard’s assistance of sorts, don’t I?”
“It can be arranged,” Lucius replied. “Just keep that in mind.”
“You are very kind,” Mrs. Granger also smiled. “Thank you.”
While Lucius and Mr. Granger settled the affairs with the help of the Malfoys’ solicitor (a short, fat and rather spiteful goblin by the name of Ragnok), Narcissa was quietly talking to Mrs. Granger. Draco, Pansy and Hermione were hotly debating the summer essay on Potions. Bored, Harry was gazing around idly and thus noticed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley enter the bank along with Percy, the twins, Ronald and Ginny. They were probably heading to the vaults because they joined a queue for the trolleys and waited.
This was the first time Harry saw Mr. Weasley since their conversation at the Ministry several years ago; now, among his family, the man made a more favourable impression. His robes looked just as shabby as before, but for the first time Harry thought that it must be difficult to support such a large family if all one had was the Ministry salary. Mrs. Weasley fussed and hurried her children like a hen with a clutch of chickens. The twins were apparently teasing everyone, judging by Mrs. Weasley’s vexation and Percival’s pursed mouth. Mr. Weasley finally leaned forward and said something to the twins, and they calmed down at last, still making Very Serious faces. At that exact moment, Ronald looked at Harry, grimaced a little, but nodded in lieu of greeting. The gesture caught attention of the twins, and soon enough the whole Weasley family was staring at him. Harry saw Mr. Weasley’s eyebrows disappear in his hair line when the man realized who accompanied the Malfoys to Gringotts today. Mr. Weasley even made a step their way as if intending to come closer and talk, but Mrs. Weasley caught his sleeve and said something to him with a stern face. The expression on her husband’s face turned to guilt, and he stopped. Meanwhile Mrs. Weasley waved at Harry, firmly took her husband by the arm and dragged all of them towards a trolley that had just been vacated. Little Ginny was walking last. She turned around, looked straight at Harry, blushed and looked away.
“Hey, did you fall asleep or something?” Draco asked impatiently. “We are done here. Let’s move it, we want ice-cream.”
Harry snapped out of it and followed everyone to the bank’s exit.
* * *
Nearly an hour later they were approaching Flourish and Blotts where a small crowd gathered, mostly there were middle-aged witches. The customers were impatiently peering through windows, while a dishevelled wizard was urging them not to rush and wait in line.
“I wonder what is happening here,” Violet said.
“I think we got lucky and are about to meet our children’s new professor,” Narcissa replied. “Do you see that?” She nodded at a sign in the shop window with words ‘GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing the copies of his autobiography Magical Me today from 12.30 p.m. to 4.30 p.m.’.
“Is he a celebrity?” Violet asked, surprised.
“At least, he considers himself to be one,” Lucius said and addressed the harassed wizard at the door. “If you please?”
After several desperate attempts, the man managed to persuade the crowd to vacate the doorway. When the party entered, it became clear what the commotion was about. The enormous winding queue ofpeople who wanted to have their books signed took almost all the space inside, and the ones outside wanted in to have their chance, too.
Four sets of books recommended by Severus were quickly assembled, and they stepped into the line to the counter than was slightly smaller than the one to Lockhart’s signing table.
“Are you going to?..” Violet asked Narcissa, nodding at the crowd of autograph chasers.
“Only if you want to,” Narcissa replied. “I do not see much point in wasting time this way. If the boys want to have their books signed by this gentleman they can ask him for this favour at school.”
Violet laughed.
“I did not think of it this way. Hermione, dear, while we wait here, you can take your time in the shop. Maybe you will find something interesting.”
That was Hermione’s sole desire, of course. She grabbed both boys by the elbows and steered them toward the History of Magic and Magical Culture section. Draco rolled his eyes at that, and Harry just smiled, but it did not even occur to either of them to object. Pansy followed the trio with the air of majestic dignity.
“Hermione has always been like that,” Sebastian noted, not even trying to hide his pride. “Sometimes I think she would feed on knowledge if she could.”
“She did not have any friends before,” Violet added with a hint of worry. “You know, Narcissa, I am so grateful for your boys. Hermione told us in her letters how they protected her and introduced her to their friends. It was such a great help because she did not know anyone in your… in this world, and it will do her a lot of good. And Pansy is so sweet, always sending such detailed letters. She even wrote to us in Wales all the way from the French Riviera.”
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a glance: Lucius smirked a little, Narcissa smiled. Did the Parkinsons even know about this correspondence?
“Indeed, Pansy is a nice, considerate and well-mannered girl,” Narcissa agreed. “She lacks a little in the love of knowledge, so I can assure you, this friendship can be beneficial for both of them. Not to mention that on occasion girls need someone to talk about things that do not concern sports and books.”
“Oh yes!” Violet nodded knowingly.
Almost identical expressions of ironic doubt appeared on Lucius’ and Sebastian’s faces, and all four of them laughed.
* * *
Hermione started browsing the shelves in the History of Magic section, excitedly discussing her finds with Pansy. Draco, whose arm was taken by Pansy as soon as Hermione let him go, was forced to participate. Harry, who was overall not very interested in history, decided to visit the Magical Zoology section instead.
“I’ll be right back, ok?” he said.
Turning twice around the book stacks, he stumbled into the Weasley twins who were examining a fat well-worn book and arguing. Both looked annoyed. Glancing at the book cover, Harry made out the words How to Blow Up Anything: the How to Guide for Magical Fireworks Lovers.
“Hi!” he said.
The twins jumped in unison as if Harry caught them doing something illegal.
“Oh! Hello Harry!” both of them replied.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, nothing really,” one of the twins sighed gloomily. “Freddy found something that could be useful, but…”
“We can’t afford it,” Fred finished the sentence ruefully. “Even if it’s used.”
Harry felt uneasy. He had pocket money, and he always knew he could ask for more if the need arose. He glanced at the price of the book in question — well, he could probably afford it without going completely broke.
“Maybe…” he said hesitantly.
“Don’t even think about it,” George cut him short. “We can’t just take your money.”
Fred sighed sadly, but nodded.
Harry thought for a moment.
“What about… What if this is a service payment?”
“What service?” Fred frowned.
“We-ell…” Harry was frantically trying to think of something. “When you are going to Hogsmeade you’ll bring sweets from Honeydukes Sweetshop for me and my friends. We’re not allowed to come there yet.”
The twins looked at each other.
“Harry, you could have always asked about that for free.”
“Yes, but...” Then a new idea occurred to him. “Wait. Let’s try this one. I’m offering you a deal. I’ll give you the sum you need on the following conditions. First, you will buy us sweets in Honeydukes Sweetshop, second, you will share the results of your experiments if they are successful. So, this is not a present, but an investment.”
“Brilliant!” Fred was delighted.
“Oh, wait, I have another condition,” Harry added.
“What is it?” George asked.
“You won’t be blowing anything up during Professor Snape’s classes.”
“That’s redundant, we’re not that mad,” Fred snorted.
“Who knows. Well, do we have a deal?”
“Yes, we do!”
They shook hands, and Harry handed over the required Sickles.
“Fred! George! Where are you?” Mrs. Weasley was calling out. “It’s almost our turn!”
Both twins winced.
“Mom has gone crazy about this Lockhart fellow. It’s like she’s in love, or something,” Fred grumbled.
“Stop talking nonsense,” George made a face. “She’s just bored.”
They went back to the counter. It turned out Lucius, Narcissa and the Grangers had already paid for their purchases, and the Weasleys were about to pay: there was only one customer in front of them. As soon as Harry saw them, he became worried. He really did not like the way his father and Arthur Weasley were eyeing each other. He remembered the accusations from the Weasleys and knew they were not exactly unfounded; he also remembered the disdain Lucius felt towards this man even if he did not understand the reasons for it. That was not important right now, and what mattered was avoiding a scene in front of Hermione’s parents, by any means necessary. If Weasley decided to insult Lucius the latter would return the favour, and that would be a nightmare… So, what could Harry do?
“We’ll think of something,” one of the twins whispered into his ear. For the umpteenth time Harry was glad he had such allies.
It turned out nothing had to be done, though. A short man with a huge camera stepped on Ronald’s foot while fussing around in the crowd surrounding the Lockhart’s table. Upon seeing who stood in his way, the short man snapped at Ronald for being in the way. Lockhart, hearing the commotion, stopped signing the books and looked in their direction.
His eyes met Harry’s, and something unexpected happened.
Lockhart jumped to his feet and exclaimed, “This can’t be! Isn’t it Harry Potter?”
The crowd of fans swayed, whispered, and then parted. Lockhart approached Harry, still exclaiming, “Harry Potter! What a pleasure! Mr. Potter, you came to this shop today with a purpose, did you not?”
Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw his father stepping forward with a clear intention to intervene and subtly waved him away. Lucius stopped.
Meanwhile Lockhart made it to Harry and tried to take his hand, but Harry swiftly maneuvered out of his reach, giving him a formal bow, fit for a Ministry function. Lockhart was forced to do the same.
“Good day, I am glad to meet you, Professor Lockhart,” Harry said in his ‘sophisticated voice’. “I hope I do not disclose any secrets in addressing you like this, sir, do I?”
Lockhart seemed stunned for a moment, but then he smiled widely, showing off his snow-white teeth.
“Of course not, Mr. Potter! Indeed, I have the right to that title, for very soon as the professor of Defence against the Dark Arts, I will be bringing the light of knowledge to young minds that unfortunately lacked it until recently!”
Harry heard muffled noises behind his back. At least one of the twins was barely holding in laughter, and Draco was snickering too. It took an effort not to look back: Harry was not sure he would be able to keep a straight face if he actually saw them laugh.
Mind you, Lockhart was not at all flustered. Seeing that Harry would not be dragged anywhere, Lockhart simply draped his arm around Harry’s shoulders, puffed out his chest and used his other hand to call over the short man with the camera.
“Hey, come here! Smile, Mr. Potter, we will make the front page! Admit it, it have been a long time since you graced your admirers with a new picture — and with a celebrity like me!”
“I can swear, Professor Lockhart,” Harry replied with all the politeness he could muster, smiling composedly into the camera. “I have never been photographed in the company of such an unrivalled media star. I don’t think anyone has got as many admirers as you do.”
That comment made Lockhart beam with pleasure. Now there was actual gurgling, accompanied by giggling, behind Harry’s back. It seemed like the girls could not contain their mirth too. Harry would have given anything to join them, but he had to keep a straight face. It would be a disaster if the front page of The Prophet featured the picture of Harry Potter outright laughing at the new Hogwarts professor. Neither his father nor Severus would forgive him for such an outrageous stunt.
Finally the short man took the last picture, covering half of the store in nasty smoke. Harry bowed a little to Lockhart and, deciding that the performance was over, wanted to walk away, but it was not to be. The man waved his hand and announced that in honour of such a special occasion he would gift Harry all his books signed. The crowd applauded.
The twins were snickering even louder, and Harry was now seriously worried that the reputation of Lockhart’s pet student would hang over him for the rest of the school year. Another question was what he should do with another set of blasted books. Then an idea came to him. Faking a delighted smile, Harry grabbed Lockhart’s sleeve and said, “I am very grateful, Professor, but can I ask you for a small favour?”
Lockhart froze before reaching the table with his books and stared quizzically at Harry.
“You see, a sister of my friends enters Hogwarts this year. I am sure she will be ecstatic if you gift her the books meant for me. She has been dreaming about your autograph for years!”
Lockhart’s stony face clearly said he was not happy with the idea, but the man was cornered: the crowd applauded, expecting a romantic scene.
The twins, putting two and two together, pushed Ginny forward, and Harry gallantly introduced her to Lockhart. The man already got the hold of himself and made a long speech on his popularity among the new generation of magical Britain and the amount of knowledge he was about to bring them. Several minutes passed before he stopped prattling and signed the books.
“Th-thank you!” Ginny squeaked, taking a bundle of books signed, To a shy young admirer from the best DADA professor.
The fat man with the camera was clicking his photoflash again.
“Well, Harry, now you must marry her,” one of the twins whispered loudly and laughed.
“Close your stupid mouth, George!” Ginny flared and tried to hit him with a Lockhart book over the head. It looked like her shyness quickly disappeared when she was interacting with her brothers.
“Fred, George, stop it right now!” demanded Mrs. Weasley, who finally managed to push her way through the crowd. “Dear professor Lockhart, you are so generous! We are so grateful!”
She tried to shake his hand, but apparently, after getting his picture with Harry the man completely lost any interest in them. He smiled dully, backed out of conversation with Mrs. Weasley and returned to his table and his admirers.
Mrs. Weasley was visibly upset, but turned to Harry with a warm smile.
“Hello, Harry. This was so wonderful of you! Thank you very much, my dear.”
He smiled in return.
“Hello, Mrs. Weasley. Don’t mention it. It was a pleasure.”
Only now Harry had a chance to look around and see what the others were doing while he was forced to socialize with Lockhart.
Lucius was standing by the shop’s door and was engrossed in the discussion with Mr. Granger, paying no attention to the Weasleys; Narcissa, Mrs. Granger and Draco were apparently waiting for everyone outside, as they were nowhere to be seen. Hermione and Pansy came closer to him the moment Lockhart retreated.
“It was so nice of you, Harry,” Hermione said. Then she turned to Ginny and put out her hand. “Hello! I’m Hermione Granger, and this is my friend Pansy Parkinson.”
“I am Ginevra,” Ginny introduced herself, trying to balance her huge stack of books with one hand. “Lovely to meet you. I have six brothers, and sometimes it’s fun, but sometimes…” She glared at one of the twins who was trying to put something into her pocket. “…it’s not. Cut it out, Fred!”
He made a feigned puzzled expression, made a helpless gesture and stepped away.
Pansy smiled too, if a little haughtily, and remarked, “It will be a pleasure to meet you at Hogwarts. Fortunately, I do not have any brothers.”
“Your loss!” George grinned.
Pansy looked down her nose at him, but it was obvious she was holding back a laugh.
“Hermione! It is time for us to go!” Mr. Granger called from the door.
They hurriedly said their goodbyes and went outside. Harry looked back from the door one more time: Mrs. Weasley was fussing near the counter, paying for all the purchases, Percival was helping her, while Ronald and the twins were examining Ginny’s new books. Only Arthur Weasley, who towered over his family, was looking pensively over the departing party. He met Harry’s eyes, suddenly smiled awkwardly and looked away.
* * *
Parting with the Grangers at the doors of Leaky Cauldron, Lucius and Narcissa stepped aside with the children and were ready to Apparate to the Malfoy manor when they were hailed from the pub doors.
“Aunt Cissy! Aunt Cissy!”
Narcissa froze: for a moment she thought this clear child’s voice must belong to her niece, Andromeda’s daughter. Then she realized that Dora should be much older — she must have graduated from Hogwarts by now — and the voice belonged to a child not older than twelve. Narcissa turned around: a blonde girl in silvery robes, stitched with fantastical birds and tropical flowers, was running to her from the Cauldron doors.
“Luna, stop! Wait!”
The girl’s father exited the pub, running after his daughter. Narcissa recognized him first, and then connected the girl. It was Pandora’s daughter whom Narcissa had last seen when she was seven or eight.
“Aunt Cissy!”
The girl slowed down, but did not stop or turn to her father. There was no time to think, and Narcissa greeted her.
“Hello, Luna.”
“Hello, Aunt Cissy.”
Luna’s smile was luminous. Upon reaching them she stopped and stared at them with her very pale protuberant eyes. Lucius, Pansy and the boys waited with curiosity for the events to unfold. Draco and Harry had met Luna only once: that last time when Pandora and her daughter came to the Malfoy manor several years ago.
“I am very glad to see you, my dear,” Narcissa said. “Do you remember the boys? This is Harry, and this is Draco.”
Luna nodded.
“Of course I do. I don’t ever forget anything. I remember everything, Aunt Cissy. I will be going to Hogwarts this year too.”
“Congratulations,” Narcissa smiled. “And this is Pansy Parkinson.”
The girls eyed each other with interest, but Narcissa paid no attention to it: out of the corner of her eye she saw Xenophilius Lovegood approach them. He did not look pleased.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy,” he greeted her formally, barely nodding to Lucius. He paid little attention to the children, as well, looking for half a second longer at Harry’s face, and then turned to his daughter, visibly displeased. “You should not run away like that, Luna. I told you to stop.”
Luna did not bat an eye.
“I was not running away, I only wanted to greet Aunt Cissy. I’m not a little girl anymore, Daddy. I’m going to Hogwarts. Anyway, we’re in London, in Diagon Alley. What can happen to us here? Don’t you remember, I managed on my own in New York just fine?”
Xenophilius winced.
“Maybe you managed,” he grumbled. “But I didn’t. I’ve spent three hours looking for you in the tunnels of Muggle metropolitan.”
“But I left you a message that I would be at the museum!” Luna laughed.
Her father only sighed.
“Excuse us for the interruption, Mrs. Malfoy…”
“No worries, Xenophilius,” Narcissa said quickly. “I am very, very glad to see Luna. I hope she and the boys will have a lot of mutual friends at Hogwarts.”
Xenophilius frowned and looked doubtfully at Draco, then at Harry.
“Ginny Weasley is a first-year too,” Harry remarked. “So we surely will.”
Luna’s father raised his eyebrows.
“You… keep in touch with Arthur Weasley’s family, Mr. Potter?” he asked, still addressing only Harry.
Narcissa noted that her husband’s fingers turned white on his cane, but fortunately, Lucius did not say a word.
“I’m acquainted with all Mr. Weasley’s sons who are studying at Hogwarts now, and I’m friends with some of them,” Harry replied, narrowing his eyes a little. “I’m also acquainted with Mrs. Weasley and Ginny. What about it?”
Xenophilius shook his head, but Narcissa noticed that his shoulders became slightly less tense, and a crease on his forehead almost disappeared.
“Just curious,” he replied. “Maybe I had been worrying about things that were not worth it.”
“Daddy often worries about things that are not worth it,” Luna remarked. “I’m terribly glad I met you. I’ve missed you, Aunt Cissy.”
“Lucius,” Narcissa turned to her husband. “Can you return home with the boys? Pansy and I will stay for a little while. No more than ten minutes.”
“Of course.”
Thank Merlin, Lucius always understood what she wanted. He nodded formally to Xenophilius, took the boys by their hands — they barely had a chance to wave at Luna — and the three of them disappeared.
Narcissa turned to Pansy.
“Dearest, I am so sorry for being impolite, but Mr. Lovegood and I have some things to discuss. Can you entertain Luna for a while?”
Pansy took Luna’s arm and stepped aside, asking the younger girl some questions. In turn, Luna showed no surprise and eagerly participated in the conversation. Narcissa turned to Xenophilius.
“I understand that this is not the best moment, but… can we talk?”
He frowned.
“I think you have already arranged everything without asking my opinion. Well, let’s have it your way. What did you want to ask me?”
“I wanted to ask about…” Narcissa looked sideways at the girls. “About Pandora.”
“Ah.” A deep crease appeared on his forehead again. “I’m listening.”
“First of all, let me express my condolences,” Narcissa said quietly. “It is a terrible loss.”
For the first time Xenophilius looked straight at her. His dark eyes were very tired.
“I assume it was what you wrote to me about,” he remarked, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I was probably wrong not answering you as was expected. I hope you will forgive me my impoliteness, all things considered. Thank you for your condolences. Anything else?”
Narcissa looked sideways at Luna who was attentively listening to Pansy’s stories, and said something she did not plan to.
“Can I help? Maybe I can do something for Luna.”
Xenophilius looked at his daughter, who was engrossed in the conversation with her new acquaintance, and his face finally softened.
“You already did,” he said quietly. “She… is very lonely. A widower, crushed by his loss, is not the best company for a little girl.”
“Do not say that,” Narcissa shook her head. “She loves you very much and always did. There is no doubt about it.”
“She still needs company. She…” Xenophilius looked down. Narcissa saw him clench his fists, and then relax. “She changed a lot since she saw… Pandora’s death.”
Narcissa silently gasped.
“She saw?..”
Xenophilius nodded.
“Yes. Now is not the place or time to discuss it.”
“Of course.”
“If your offer of help is not an empty courtesy, I might take advantage of it and write to you.”
“Please do. In turn, I hope that even if you do not wish to visit us at the Malfoy manor,” Narcissa chose her words carefully, “you still will allow me to invite Luna for a visit.”
Xenophilius stared at her perceptively despite his slight strabismus.
“Is that a condition?”
“No,” Narcissa replied very evenly, refusing to feel either annoyed or guilty about anything. “It is an invitation.”
“In that case, thank you. I will think about it. And I will write to you.”
“Wonderful.”
Without spending any more time on courtesy, Xenophilius turned to Luna and Pansy.
“Luna! I am very sorry to interrupt, but we need to go, and Mrs. Malfoy and Ms. Parkinson need to return home. I think you will meet soon.”
The girls hastily said their goodbyes, and the Lovegoods left in the direction of Ollivander’s workshop. Narcissa and Pansy followed them with their eyes.
“She’s interesting,” Pansy mused. “Was her mother a Ravenclaw? Did you know her?”
“Yes. Pandora was my friend,” Narcissa replied. “Luna looks much like her. Please give me your hand, Pansy. We are a bit late.”
Notes:
I am sincerely sorry for the long wait, dear friends.
For some reason, I’ve been struggling with this part much more than with the previous one, and I keep rewriting the new parts so that they could make more sense. I plan to go farther from canon than before, and the characters keep doing what they want, and suddenly I have to decide what of the canon adventures are to keep at all. Because, well, with the HP&CS the key to all of the intrigue is that muggle-raised kids like Harry and Hermione haven’t heard of basilisks before (facepalm), and Ron does not read anything if not forced. So, there’s no way Harry and Draco can’t solve the puzzle by the New Year, and this just does not work. So, I suddenly have too much of different ideas to try and puzzle out the whole thing.
Thank you so much for bearing with me, and for reading, stay in touch. ^_^
With love,
Merry
Chapter 4: On permutation of elements
Chapter Text
The day after the visit to Diagon Alley, owls brought in two letters; one was for Narcissa, the other was for Harry. As soon as breakfast was over, the boys darted to the gardens with the letter, grabbing some apples just in case. Narcissa opened hers right away.
Good day, Mrs. Malfoy,
Thank you for your kind offer to write to you. I must admit, our meeting the previous day caught me by surprise; I have never understood Pandora’s relationship with you and had no desire to cultivate the acquaintance. I hope I do not have to explain my reasons for it. Nonetheless, our brief conversation yesterday made me think that maybe I do not have enough information to make such a decision.
If despite my previous disregard of courtesy you will find it possible to spare the time to talk, I will be glad to have the honour of extending my hospitality to you and your sons next Saturday.
With all due respect,
Xenophilius Lovegood
Lucius looked at her curiously while she was reading. Narcissa perused the letter twice and handed it to her husband.
“I am not invited,” he mused.
Narcissa sighed.
“It is partly understandable, Luc. It is a blatant breach of etiquette, though.”
“I do not think that the editor of The Quibbler attaches any value to etiquette,” Lucius chuckled. “Will this visit be useful, in your opinion?”
“I do not know,” Narcissa shook her head. “But I must try. For Pandora’s sake… and for Luna’s. I will write back that we accept the invitation.”
Nodding in understanding, Lucius pressed his lips to her temple.
“Of course.”
“Besides,” Narcissa smiled slyly, “It is always a good idea to be on good terms with an editor of the oppositional press.”
“The Quibbler is the oppositional press now?” Lucius grinned.
“Well, the opposition is as good as the press,” Narcissa remarked. She sighed and looked through Xenophilius’s letter again; the missive reminded her of her other plans that had been on hold for too long. “You know… I think there is another letter that I should have written long time ago.” She stared deeply into her husband’s eyes. “You know which one.”
This time Lucius frowned, contemplating the consequences of such a decision.
“Do you think now is the right time? Considering what we are waiting for any day now?”
“I think,” she said, “it is a reason to hurry. I regret not doing it earlier, even though… Then again, you already know all my thoughts on the matter. And I am worried it might be too late.”
“In that case, we will not lose more than we already have. However, I sincerely hope that you will succeed. The wider the set of… the interested people, the better.”
“You do realise,” Narcissa hesitated, “that it is not the crux of the matter.”
“Of course.” He looked at her gravely. “However, one will not work without the other. The Dark Lord used blood ties right and left in the past, and he was the only one who benefitted from it. We cannot let it happen again.”
“Yes. Of course. But still… I am afraid, politics is the last thing on my mind now.”
Lucius gently drew her closer into his embrace.
“Everything will be fine. I am absolutely sure of it. You are an extraordinary witch, and you always get what you want.” He smiled slyly. “And you do not have to read anyone’s thoughts to do it.”
Narcissa laughed.
“In any case, I do not need a magical ring to read yours.” She kissed his cheek. “I am off to write my letters.”
“And I might as well check the basement. What if we forgot something?”
~ * ~
As soon as they stepped out under the soft morning rays of the August sun, Harry opened the twins’ letter and read it on the move, dying of curiosity. Draco munched on an apple and read it over his shoulder unceremoniously.
Greetings, our dearest benefactor!
We write to you to express our inexpressible gratitude. Yesterday evening we succeeded in conducting two successful experiments and an unsuccessful one.
[You’re laying it just right, Dreddy.]
[Did I ever, Forgie!]
Anyway, everything went splendidly. The last time we went overboard a little, and the ghoul in the attic went so mad that it looks like we’ll have to stop our experiments at least till the end of August. As soon as it sees us now, it not just growls, but throws old leaky cauldrons at us. We had to lock the attic.
See you at Hogwarts!
F&G
“Benefactor?” Draco asked suspiciously. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”
Harry shrugged his shoulders and put the letter into his robe’s pocket.
“I gave them several Sickles to buy a handy book,” he replied. “They didn’t want to take the money, so I suggested they share their inventions with us as compensation. I think it might be good. They’re really smart.”
“If you say so,” Draco said doubtfully. “I don’t know what will come out of it, but they might do something useful. What was the book about?”
“Explosions. How to Blow up Anything, or something like that.”
They were right around the corner of the stables, but Draco stopped so suddenly that Harry almost ran into him.
“What?”
“It was about explosions.”
Draco stared at him.
“Harry. You bought the Weasley twins a book about blowing things up?”
“Well, yes. Why?”
“You’re mad. Severus will kill you.”
“They promised not to blow anything up in his classroom.”
“Oh yeah? What about other places?!”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well… The Great Hall, for example.”
Harry frowned.
“Hmm. I have not thought about that. All right, I will talk to them. Anyway, that’s McGonagall’s problem. They won’t tell on me, the rest will be on her.” He took out an apple from the other pocket and munched on it. “Come on, let’s go to the stables. The summer is ending, and there are no horses at Hogwarts. The thestrals are not suitable for riding. They are too raw-boned.”
“First of all, they’re invisible,” Draco snorted. “Imagine how you’d look riding them!”
Harry did and spluttered with laughter, almost choking on his apple.
“I’ll pass, I think!”
~ * ~
The cool summer night enveloped the Malfoy manor; crickets were chirping with all their might. The boys were long asleep, but Lucius and Narcissa were not settling down yet, talking quietly at the library. Narcissa was not expecting a return letter that same day, but Lucius knew that waiting was wrenching for his wife and tried entertaining her by sharing his thoughts on the latest novel he borrowed from Petunia during his last visit. A strange title on a brightly coloured book cover left in the sitting room attracted his attention, and he could not resist the temptation to ask Petunia about her changing tastes in books. The woman blushed a little and admitted that it was a recommendation of Mr. Lloyd and that she found it very strange, but not without certain charm. I cannot say I am enraptured, but there is something about it, she acknowledged grudgingly, pursing her lips.
“It truly is the strangest Muggle book I’ve ever encountered,” Lucius grinned. “If this is the way they imagine witches and witchcraft, it is no wonder they fear us and do not believe we exist at the same time. However, I suspect that from Petunia’s point of view the most attractive feature of this wild story is the fact that the main villainess is named Lily, and she desperately tries to inflict good on everyone she sees. Even Dumbledore does not try that hard.”
Narcissa took the book and leafed through it. At first, the expression on her face became perplexed astonishment, then it turned into keen interest, and soon Lucius knew he had accomplished his goal: Narcissa was fully immersed in the book. Smiling to himself, he Accioed a book of Shakespeare’s tragedies and delved into Macbeth, which was his go-to book when waiting for developments that could not be hastened.
Some time passed, and Lucius was beginning to think about going to bed when he felt the taut shiver of the manor’s protective wards. Uninvited, but long awaited guests had just Apparated to the gates.
“Cissy,” he said quietly.
“Yes?” she looked up from the book, distracted. A blonde lock of hair fell out of her updo and fell over her face. Narcissa blew on it impatiently and looked questioningly at her husband.
“They are here.”
“Are they?” A sly smile appeared on her lips. “It’s time to entertain ourselves, it seems. The trick is to project the combination of surprise, righteous indignation and strained courtesy in the right proportions.”
Lucius chuckled.
“And stir nine times counter clockwise?”
“Then bring to the boil and wait patiently for about four hours until it’s done.”
“Do you think it will stopper their wish to stick their noses where they do not belong?”
“I doubt it. It may curb their enthusiasm, though. Will you go and greet them? I will probably stay here as I see no point in running to the bedroom and pretending I was asleep. I will just read some more.”
“Of course.” Lucius tenderly glanced at his wife. She looked as innocent and endearing as possible at that moment in her light-blue home robes, with her blonde hair flowing down her shoulders, absorbed in a popular Muggle book. If it were possible to fall in love with her even deeper Lucius would have — especially knowing what intelligence, shrewdness, determination and sense of humour were hidden under this mask of sweet naiveté.
Suppressing his desire to dilly-dally and annoy the unwelcome guests by making them wait, Lucius walked toward the manor gates at a moderately fast pace.
There were four of them: first of all, Arthur Weasley came to check out the report on the Malfoys in person. The second was Alastor Moody, whose magical eye was turning like a Sneakoscope either out of suspiciousness or in response to the manor’s protective wards. The third one was a grim haughty man whom Lucius remembered from the time when he was interrogated after the disappearance of the Dark Lord. His name was Dawlish. He was a scrupulous formalist, completely devoid of imagination – a perfect target for a good prank. Provided, of course, that the punch line was simple enough. The last one was a rather young woman – almost a girl – with bright green hair who gave off an air of being vaguely familiar.
The four of them stood just outside the gates and waited for the owner of the house to come out. Arthur was shifting from foot to foot as if he was uncomfortable; Moody was muttering something under his breath; the girl was looking around curiously. Only Dawlish was patiently waiting to be let in.
“Good evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucius asked, addressing no one in particular.
“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” Dawlish replied dryly. “Due to the fact that some… new information had been uncovered recently, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement needs to make sure that all the laws and regulations on the use of Muggle artefacts are upheld within the premises of your estate.”
After delivering this message, he looked sideways at Arthur Weasley as if expecting approval or further instructions, which led Lucius to conclude that the latter was actually in command while Dawlish performed the duties of either a secretary or a negotiator. Lucius wondered whether Arthur did not want to take over the talking himself because the man felt utterly disgusted with him. Or was he ashamed? If yes, what of?
“In other words, you came here for a search,” Lucius said.
“If it pleases you to call it that,” Dawlish nodded.
“Is it so urgent? It is rather late,” Lucius remarked. “The children are obviously long asleep. Can’t the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office wait until morning?”
“The children can tough it out,” Moody grunted. “Your gremlins are not babies anyway, they’ll survive.”
“Oh, the boys will love it, I assure you.” Lucius smiled coldly. “They will be happy to have stories to tell at school. I hope you do have all the necessary paperwork, don’t you?”
The paperwork was in order, including the order to inspect the manor signed by the Amelia Bones. Lucius studied all the documents, ignoring Arthur’s and Moody’s impatience, and asked in a cordial voice, “Are you planning to inspect the whole premises? The estate is rather large. It is also usually dark in the gardens at night. Will you need lanterns? Should I wake the house elves?”
“We’ll see. Will you let us in or should we use force?” Moody asked sharply.
Lucius smiled again.
“You will not get anywhere with force. Did your colleagues not warn you? Even Voldemort cannot enter this place unless I invite him in.”
It was still not easy to say the name out loud, but it was worth it: Arthur flinched, and Dawlish shuddered. Moody stared at Lucius, his artificial eye turning fiercely. On the bright side, the girl’s face shone with interest.
“Still,” Lucius continued, “I will let you in. I have nothing to hide. I must know, however, how long you are planning to stay.”
“Why?” Arthur asked, perplexed.
“Because I do not ever grant unrestricted access, and a temporary visit demands a set duration. How many hours will I have the pleasure of having you around the house?”
The four of them looked at each other.
“Four?” Arthur suggested tentatively.
“Twelve,” Dawlish guessed.
Moody glanced over the house in the distance, then over Lucius’ face and curled his lip.
“Six hours will be more than enough,” Moody grumbled. “And I have a gut feeling that each and every of them will be redundant.”
“Of course it will,” Lucius agreed. “I can assure you. But since you are the victims of circumstance as much as I am, let’s get down to business. Give me your hand.”
Moody reluctantly offered his hand; Lucius touched it with the tip of his wand and started reciting the spell in his head, temporarily adding the guest to the list of accepted visitors. It was a curious and rather intimate witchcraft, utilising the other person’s own magic which made it a unique experience every time. The caster served as a medium, connecting a visitor with the protective wards of the manor, so Lucius felt the shadow of their power. It was similar to hearing music playing in a farthest room perceiving more the echo of the melody rather than the melody itself, yet it was possible to form an opinion about each guest.
Moody’s magic resembled iron – the cold iron that fairies fear and cannot stand. It was steady, hard, relentless, and at the same time very simple and straightforward. Upon receiving the permission to enter, the old Auror moved behind Lucius’ back almost immediately, and Lucius had hard time concealing his instinctive reaction to such an intrusion.
Dawlish’s magic turned out to be flabby, pliant and somewhat acetous like a potion gone sour. It was almost physically unpleasant to be in contact with it, and Lucius hurried to end the contact as soon as possible.
It was Arthur’s turn to offer his hand, and they both froze for a moment because he held it out as if for a handshake before turning it palm up. Lucius forced himself to touch it with his wand, staring straight at his guest’s face. The other man did not look away, and the look in his eyes was a little guilty, but still resolute. Lucius grit his teeth, cast the spell and felt the magic of his old rival. Arthur’s magic was similar to Arthur himself; it was bright, unruly and hot like a Midsummer bonfire. For some reason, the expression on Arthur’s face became surprised as if he had seen or felt something unexpected. Fortunately, the contact ended soon, Arthur passed through the defence barrier, and the green-haired girl stepped forward. The last one.
She stared right at Lucius’ face with open curiosity and held out her palm without hesitation. Lucius touched it with his wand and barely held back the exclamation of astonishment. Her magic was familiar too, and he experienced something similar only with Cissy: it gave a cool and fresh feeling, like clear water. The only difference was that Cissy’s magic reminded him of a strong and gentle river, and the cheerful magic of his young guest was splashing eagerly and splattered like a spring brook. Then it dawned on Lucius: he suddenly knew why the girl’s face seemed familiar and where he had heard the last name mentioned in their papers.
“Ah,” he said, smiling slightly. “Welcome to the manor.”
The green-haired girl smiled back and winked at him.
“Thank you,” she replied, stepping through the barrier, and immediately tripped, so Lucius had to hold her elbow. “Ouch, I’m so terribly clumsy.”
“That cannot be true,” Lucius replied gallantly. “A clumsy Auror? I do not believe it. Shall we?” He offered her his arm.
The three men watched the exchange with varying degrees of embarrassment. Moody frowned with displeasure, and Arthur shook his head.
“Nymphadora!” Dawlish hissed. “Stop fraternising with the suspect!”
“Am I the suspect now?” Lucius asked. “How rapidly things change.”
“I knew it,” Moody grumbled. “We haven’t even started the search yet, and the circus is already performing.”
The best is yet to come, Lucius thought sardonically, showing all of them the way to the house.
~ * ~
Harry had been sleeping for a while when Dobby suddenly appeared in his bedroom and shook his shoulder, lamenting in a half-whisper, “Master Harry, no sleeping, guests here! Bad guests! Looking for bad things! Master Harry!”
Being only half-awake, Harry could not make heads or tails of it.
“What guests, Dobby?” he asked in a daze. “It’s the dead of the night. What’s going on?”
“Bad guests!” Dobby wailed. “They find it, and it’s bad! Dobby say, Master Harry not listen, Master Draco not listen! Forbid to say! Bad!” He started wringing his long ears in obvious desperation, but Harry, who had occasionally looked through The Prophet, connected all the dots at last, and his heart sank. If a weird black notebook were found during a search in the house of a former Death Eater, all of them would be in deep trouble.
“Ssh, Dobby, stop fussing. Can you leave the manor undetected?”
For a moment Dobby left his ears be and nodded enthusiastically.
“Cool. Then I will give you that thing, and you will hide it...”
Dobby’s eyes filled with tears.
“Master forbid, don’t touch.”
“Then…” Suddenly, Harry had an idea. “Let’s go. They’re not here yet, are they?”
“Master letting in,” Dobby whispered. “They come soon, not yet.”
“Let’s hurry, then. And be quiet.”
Harry stealthily slipped out into the corridor, crept into their study and first found the mysterious charmed notebook hidden behind the other books by feel in the darkness, then The Moonstone. There was no time to make a real hiding place, so Harry just ripped out some pages from the middle of the book and shoved the notebook in there. Then he gave both the book and the torn pages to Dobby.
“Now, listen to me, Dobby,” he said. “This is a terribly boring Muggle book. I’m very fed up with it. Hide it...” He leaned in and whispered into Dobby’s ear. “Can you do that? Make sure no one sees you.”
Dobby clenched the book in his hands and disappeared.
Harry stood there for a minute, contemplating if going to bed was worth it when he heard footsteps and voices on the ground floor. It looked like the unwelcome guests had arrived. They were talking loudly, not even trying to hide their presence. Harry decided that in the circumstances he had the right to be curious without explaining why he was wandering around the house at night. Anyway, why should he explain to anyone why he was not asleep? The school year had not begun!
He walked noiselessly thanks to the carpet, sneaked up to the staircase and carefully looked down into the hall. He recognized Arthur Weasley and Alastor Moody right away, but the other two, he did not know; there were an older Auror and a girl with bright green hair. Lucius was telling the visitors where everything was in the house in a bored voice when the girl looked up and noticed Harry. She grinned at him and waved her hand. There was no point in hiding anymore, of course, so Harry walked down the stairs as nonchalantly as possible, studying the newcomers with open curiosity.
“Hello,” he said politely before looking inquiringly at his father.
Lucius shrugged.
“I think a friend of yours gave you a taste for detective stories, did she not?” he asked with a slight smirk. “Well, now you have a chance to see for yourself how a search is conducted.”
Interested, Harry stared at Mr. Weasley.
“A search? Really?” he asked. “What are you looking for?”
The man was visibly embarrassed.
“Ah… Good evening, Harry. This is not a search, only an inspection. An ordinary, routine inspection.”
“Is that so?” Harry diligently feigned surprise. “Do you always conduct inspections at night? It must be hard to work like that.”
“Stop fooling around, young man,” Moody interfered. His magical eye was turning so furiously that it was impossible to know what he was looking at and whether he was angry or not. “Whatever it is called, we are just doing our job. The less time we beat around the bush,” now he clearly scowled at Lucius, “the sooner we all will go to bed.”
“I have no objections,” Lucius replied dryly, but Harry saw that he was not outraged at this strange visit at all; on the contrary, he seemed satisfied. Harry immediately got even more curious: what was his father plotting?
“What’s going on? What’s happening?” a voice drifted down from the first floor, as Draco (in his pyjamas and rather dishevelled) joined the crowd. “Good… er… evening,” he added, eyeing the guests suspiciously.
“Hello,” the green-haired girl replied merrily. “My name is Tonks, and you’re Draco, right? It’s really nice to meet you.”
The long face of the third Auror, a sturdy blond man with grey eyes, became even longer.
“Nymphadora,” he said, displeased. “We did not come here for entertainment.”
“Well, I don’t know, Dawlish,” the girl replied just as merrily and winked at Harry. “I think we’re doing a great job of entertaining the hosts.”
Harry decided that he liked her.
“I believe,” Dawlish turned to Lucius in an apparent attempt to regain control of the situation, “your wife should be in the house as well. Where is she?”
“In the library,” Lucius replied serenely.
“Is that everyone who is present at the manor?” Moody interfered. “Is there anyone else?”
“Are you interested only in humans?” Lucius specified. “In this case, that is all. Since our groom married and moved out to live off the property, only my family lives here.”
Moody narrowed his eyes.
“Humans? What a curious elaboration. Whom are you hiding here, Malfoy? Vampires? Werewolves?”
“If they were here I would have classified them as humans,” Lucius retorted icily. “No, I merely meant house elves. Are they of any interest to you?”
“Ah, those…” Moody waved his hand. “Not really. For formalities’ sake, how many of them are here?”
“Forty eight. Ah, excuse me, there are forty nine already.”
Harry stared at his father, surprised: he had never thought before how many elves lived at the manor. He had no idea there were so many. It looked like he was not the only one surprised, though.
“What?” Mr. Weasley gasped. “But why—” He fell silent as if realising that the question was impolite and not really related to the case.
Lucius, though, looked him over and elaborated, “This is one of the oldest estates in magical Britain. House elves have been living on the grounds for a long time. It is no wonder there are a lot of them. As far as I can tell, they like it here, and I have no intention of getting rid of them. And now, if you don’t mind, let’s finally get down to business. I have to remind you that your time is limited. If you do not leave the manor before it is up, unpleasant sensations are guaranteed. What exactly and in which order do you wish to… inspect?”
Mr. Weasley and Moody shared a weird glance (Harry could not figure out who was in charge), and Mr. Weasley said, “I think we will work faster if we split up. And I suppose,” he looked sideways at Harry, and seemed to feel guilty, “the boys’ rooms are a priority so they can… er… go back to bed?”
“And get out of our hair,” Moody grumbled. “I would put Dawlish and Tonks in charge of that, so that Arthur and I could get to real business. But I suppose, you, Malfoy, will demand to be present during all that fuss?”
“Why would I?” Lucius glanced briefly at the green-haired girl, and a strange smile appeared on his lips. “I am sure that I can rely on the expertise of Mr. Dawlish and Ms. Tonks.”
Wow! Now Harry was bursting at the seams with curiosity. Why would their father decline to oversee a search in their rooms? Aurors would not find anything there, of course, but it was a matter of principle. What was Lucius up to? Was this Tonks girl somehow involved?
Unfortunately, it was obvious that he would not get answers any time soon. Lucius summoned Dobby and ordered him to walk the boys with Dawlish and Tonks to their study room and later, when everything was over, to report that all was well.
Dobby, twisting the tips of his ears, led the four of them up to the first floor. When they passed the library, Narcissa appeared at the door with a book in her hands.
“Good evening,” she said pleasantly, giving the visitors a shrewd look-over. “How can I help you?”
“Hurry downstairs,” Dawlish grumbled. “Your husband said we could do without… supervision.” He made a face.
“Don’t worry,” Tonks added. “We aren’t going to eat them. Just nibble on them a bit, that’s all.”
“Who is going to nibble on whom, that is the question,” Draco whispered into Harry’s ear, but he was not paying attention. He was looking straight at his mother and noticed that Tonks’ words wounded her. Maybe it was not the words, but Tonks herself? An outsider would have missed it in the dimly lit corridor, but Narcissa’s eyes widened a little, and her welcoming smile fell for a moment. She immediately collected herself, though.
“Leave something for us,” she quipped. “And for Albus Dumbledore. The summer has almost ended.”
Dawlish grunted quietly, or maybe growled (either out of irritation or annoyance), but the comment about Albus Dumbledore seemed to make a difference, because he nodded and ordered, “Let’s go.”
They went down the corridor to their study and bedrooms. The search was more boring than in Hermione’s books, but they did see Aurors at work. Unlike Muggle detectives, they did not ransack the dressers and shelves and did not tap the floor, using special spells instead that seemed to uncover different kinds of magic. Only Tonks was actually doing it while Dawlish watched her from the door with his arms crossed at his chest. He nodded appreciatively from time to time or sometimes shook his head. Harry wondered why.
She probably noticed Harry’s interest because after yet another spell that made all objects that were charmed in any way light up, she smiled and said, “I’m not an Auror yet, just an apprentice. But my boss thinks that I’m doing a great job!”
“Nymphadora!” Dawlish snapped. “This is outrageous! Stop talking to…” He stopped, looked sideways at the boys and rephrased, “Stop talking. We need to finish with these rooms so Mr. Potter can finally go to sleep.”
“I will stay here too,” Draco announced.
“As you wish,” Dawlish replied dryly. “For us, it will be even easier. You will have to stay here until you are allowed to leave, though. I warn you, I will put a ward on the door that will dissolve only after we leave.”
Draco shrugged without replying.
A quarter of an hour later, Tonks was done with the search. While at it, she had recovered a gobstone from under the dresser, a crup whistle and a neon Dicto-Quill from under the ottoman below the window.
“At least some good came out of it.” She winked at Harry, handing him the finds. “Here. It was a pleasure to meet you. Sorry for the intrusion.”
This time, Dawlish only rolled his eyes. He was apparently tired of scolding his charge and just wanted to get out of there.
“Are you sure, Mr. Malfoy, that you want to stay here?” he enquired again with the same displeased and formal expression on his face. “Since we have already seen your room, you can go there if you wish.”
“Thank you, I prefer to stay here,” Draco said. “Good evening.”
He yawned pointedly, took a pillow off the ottoman and a coverlet and went to bed. Harry was left to bid farewell to the intruders. Dawlish pursed his lips and nodded curtly before exiting, and Nymphadora smiled and winked, barely avoiding a collision with the door frame.
At last the door closed, and they were left alone. Draco opened his mouth, intending to ask something, but Harry shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Then he took his wand and carefully circled the room with it and pointed a finger at the door. Even though this Tonks girl was nice, they did not know what sort of spells the Aurors had used. Let them leave the house first.
Draco nodded in understanding.
Harry thought a little more and decided that if someone was listening in, they would find it suspicious to hear only silence.
“Pity we can’t see what they are looking for and how they are going to search the house,” he said, getting into the bed. “It must be interesting.”
“Yeah,” Draco replied, taking a hint. “I don’t know about you, but I am going to sleep. There’s nothing else to do, anyway.”
Harry thought that he would be turning and tossing for a long time, but both quickly fell asleep.
~ * ~
When the boys went upstairs, accompanied by Tonks and Dawlish, Moody and Arthur finally got down to business. Or rather, Moody did: he prowled around the sitting room, using detection charms and looking into every nook with his artificial eye. Arthur just looked around intrigued, as, unlike the old Auror, he was there for the first time. Lucius settled in his favourite chair and watched them, doing his best not to reveal how much the whole affair amused him.
This was not a real search, of course. He survived many of those after the disappearance of the Dark Lord. And they were quite unpleasant. Now, without any doubt, everything was held in check by Kingsley Shacklebolt’s masterful hand. Arthur Weasley was the head of the office involved, even if the office was tiny and insignificant, and the man came in person to oversee the whole thing. If his idle curiosity could be called overseeing, of course. This Gryffindor was known for his unfailing honesty and was Dumbledore’s man through and through. Alastor Moody was a more unpleasant visitor. He was suspicious and vindictive, and considered it unnecessary to ‘go easy’ on anyone he thought to be the enemy. Still, he was also Dumbledore’s man and would hardly take liberties in the house where Harry Potter was brought up. The cold fish Dawlish was basically a guarantee that everything would be done strictly by the book. And finally, Nymphadora Tonks… Lucius smirked in his head. No doubt, Kingsley knew who she was and arranged their meeting on purpose… and in violation of many rules, to that. Was she already on Shacklebolt’s side? Or on Dumbledore’s one? Or was she only on the brink of making that decision? The latter seemed to be closer to the truth, and Kingsley, apparently, hoped that participation in this adventure would nudge the girl in the right direction. Well, three can play that game. They will have to wait and see.
Narcissa came down from the first floor, taking her book with her; she greeted the visitors absentmindedly and sat down on the wide and solid armrest of Lucius’s armchair. Her expression was strained, and her smile looked reserved. Lucius caught her eye and nodded, then covered her hand with his and slightly squeezed.
“Everything will be fine,” he said quietly, taking advantage of the fact that Moody and Arthur were on the other side of the room. “Do not worry. We shall discuss everything tomorrow, and today we are simply…”
“Entertaining guests?” Narcissa straightened and smiled a little more cheerfully.
“Precisely, my darling.”
At this moment three loud shrieks came from the place where Moody was standing.
“What is it?!” Arthur exclaimed, turning to the Auror.
A strange motley head appeared from the inside of the glass door of the antique grandfather clock and wailed, “By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes!”
Then it disappeared.
Moody and Arthur stared at the clock in stupor.
“What was that?” Arthur asked again in bewilderment. “Is it dangerous?”
“No, but it is very, very bad,” Moody said darkly. Then he turned to Lucius. “Malfoy, get that thing out of the clock.”
“Please,” Arthur added with slight reproach.
“Gladly.” With a smirk, Lucius recovered a tabby ragged toy cat in a witch’s hat and handed it to Weasley. “Do you like it? You can take it if you wish. My boys do not find it amusing anymore.”
“What was it doing inside the clock?” Arthur mused.
“I have no idea,” Lucius shrugged his shoulders serenely. “Were I to make a guess, I’d say it lived there.”
“Cut out your dumb jokes,” Moody snapped. “We came here to do a job.”
“And I am not interfering with your job in any way,” Lucius replied calmly. “Help yourself.”
Arthur warily fiddled with the toy and carefully put it on the table. The toy cat laid there for a while before wailing again, “Double, double, toil and trouble! Fire burn and cauldron bubble!” Arthur jumped again and stared at the thing.
“Can’t you… placate the animal?” Moody asked in irritation. “Or will we have to endure this unmusical background?”
“Well, if you do not appreciate the classics…” With a disappointed sigh, Lucius waved his wand and deactivated the spell. It was a pity: the cat had much more quotations in store.
Over the next three hours the following items were uncovered: a pack of clothespins under the sitting room sofa that were singing about four and twenty blackbirds and flew away when anyone attempted to grab them; a charmed powder box that gave beauty advice to the owner; a toaster that snapped its springs angrily at everyone from under the dining table and spat out a burned sock right in Dawlish’s face when the man leaned in to see it better; a self-adjusting black knitted hat with huge mouse ears and a plush nose on the forehead bundled with a scarf of the same colour which attempted to attach itself to any neck available, mumbling, “Because I said so”; a plastic Muggle ring with a huge pink heart-shaped rhinestone with a Notice-Me-Not charm (Narcissa offered it to Tonks as a present, but Dawlish objected violently and confiscated this dubious piece of ornament); an elegant leather briefcase of Muggle make with a carefully charmed secret compartment that occasionally consumed documents put in there; a cashmere shawl that changed colour according to the owner’s mood, and many other small objects of Muggle origin, each with more or less harmless, but, in most cases, not very appropriate charms.
Tonks was having a lot of fun, testing everything she found on herself when Dawlish was not quick enough to stop her. Arthur Weasley was, by contrast, frowning a little; it was possible he found the mocking to be too blatant, and Lucius wondered with some anxiety whether they had gone a bit too far. Then again, Alastor Moody almost completely stopped his grumbling and now just smirked at every new discovery.
The last item they found was a weird box with an inscription Nintendo GAME BOY, that lay ‘forgotten’ on a small table in the library. Upon seeing it, Arthur almost jumped.
“What is it?” he inquired.
“Illegal goods,” Moody smirked.
“Far from it,” Lucius objected. “It is an official European release.”
“European what?” Arthur became confused.
“Edition,” Lucius clarified. “It does not matter. It is a completely legal gadget bought in London. A children’s toy.”
“Well, Muggle illegal goods, then,” Moody retorted.
“Am I hearing what I think I am hearing? Anti-Muggle sentiments at the Ministry?” Lucius ‘gaped’. “The very idea!”
Moody stared at him, and this time, even his magical eye stopped spinning. Instead, orange sparks appeared in its depth. At last, he sighed deeply.
“Malfoy,” he said darkly. “Stop it. You’ve had enough fun. I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you, but someone certainly feeds you the right information when needed. Now the Ministry will spin a tale of you being an enthusiastic liberal to your heart’s content. You did not try so hard for nothing. It was very nice of you to save a toaster for Dawlish. Thank you, we appreciate your generous hospitality. Now, would you be so kind as to show us your dungeons? Preferably the one with the entrance from the sitting room.”
It was an inevitable part of the search, of course. Lucius had had no doubt from the very beginning that the basement would be a part of it, but it did not mean that the impending excursion gave him joy.
“If you find it necessary…” Narcissa said dubiously.
“I am afraid we do,” Arthur replied firmly.
“Well, let’s go,” Lucius shrugged. “But keep in mind, Arthur, it is unlikely you will find it entertaining. There are no toasters down there, after all.”
All of them went back down to the ground floor, and Lucius silently disabled the concealing charms on the door hidden behind one of the tapestries. The door opened with an ominous creak.
Tonks snorted.
“Is it a special feature to scare the captives?” she asked merrily.
“It is a special feature to make sure the children keep their noses clean,” Lucius retorted.
“And what do you keep there that the children do not need to know about?” Arthur asked suspiciously.
“Wait a moment, and you will see for yourself.”
Lucius led the way down to the basement. The huge underground floor underneath the manor has been used for different purposes over the centuries. The part that could be reached through a regular door from the left of the two side-wing staircases contained a lab and storage for unused magical items, back then and now. Naturally, over the past seven years Lucius either got rid of all the dubious artefacts or moved them into his Gringotts vault, so now only some needlework of a female ancestor, or a decrepit foul-tempered mirror, or other things of the similar nature could be found there. The part that could be reached from the right-wing staircase had once served as a dungeon, but even Abraxas Malfoy loathed using it due to its pitiful condition. After his father’s death, Lucius entered the place exactly twice while renewing the manor’s protective wards and hoped he would never have to visit it again. The central part, with the secret entrance from the living room, had been constructed as a sort of hiding place in case of an emergency and a vault. It had not been used in either capacity in a long while, but some things were still kept there. The small hall in the middle of this part and the adjoined rooms were lit. Old furniture was strewn about: several armchairs, a table, a few chairs. There were portraits on the walls. As soon as their painted inhabitants saw Lucius, all of them started talking to each other.
“What do you have here?” Tonks asked, looking around in astonishment. “An art gallery?”
“Of a kind,” Lucius replied curtly.
“Are you hiding your illustrious family history from your heir, then?” Moody sneered. “I did not expect that from you.”
Lucius was itching to put the old bastard in his place, but he knew perfectly well that doing that would hurt his case. So he only shrugged a little and answered as calmly as he was able, “As far as I remember, Moody, you have had the pleasure of meeting my father. Do you really think his portrait would be a worthy companion for children?”
“Especially for Harry Potter,” Arthur mumbled pensively.
“Anyway,” Lucius continued, “I am not hiding anything. The boys can enter this place only in my presence, however. They have seen the portraits and are familiar with the family history. Do you have any other questions?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tonks open her mouth to ask something, but she seemed to have changed her mind at the last moment. Good. It was not the right time to discuss family ties and other confidential matters.
“We’ll pass,” Moody grunted and started inspecting the rooms, using magic from time to time to check this or that place in particular. Tonks tried to help him, but she was yawning so widely by this time that the old Auror ordered her to sit down and rest. “Dawlish and I will deal with it.”
“What is it? Is that you, Lucius? What is going on?” A displeased voice came from one of the side rooms.
“Excuse me,” Lucius said dryly to Arthur and the others. He went away swiftly and approached the portrait. “Yes, it is I. We have guests whom I cannot refuse a short walking tour.”
“Cannot or do not want to?”
“The latter,” Lucius snapped. “So be so kind as to behave yourself.”
“How dare you speak to your father in such a way, boy!” the painted Abraxas flared. “When will you remember your duties and return me to my rightful place?”
“You are not my father,” Lucius replied coldly. “You are his portrait. Your purpose is to serve the master of the manor and his heirs. Until you agree to that, your place is here. Do you want to tell me anything else? No? A pity then.”
He Silenced the portrait just in case and returned to the Aurors. He wanted nothing more than to ask when they were going to leave, but there was still almost an hour left of their time, and he did not wish to give Moody or Dawlish satisfaction by showing his vexation. So he sat down in one of the worn armchairs, crossed his legs and waited in silence.
“Coffee?” Narcissa offered with perfect courtesy, closing her book and putting it on the table. It looked like she had just finished it. “I can have it made.”
Judging by Tonks’ brightened face, she was about to agree, but Dawlish beat her to it.
“Sorry, ma’am, it’s not allowed.”
“Well,” Narcissa replied, looking straight at Tonks. “Another time, perhaps.”
Tonks smiled, giving a barely visible nod.
“I think we’ll be done soon,” Arthur announced. He looked tired and a little awkward as if he felt he had outstayed his welcome, but could not find a reason to leave immediately. “Alastor, have you uncovered anything?”
“Of course we haven’t,” Moody grumbled. “Everything they had in stock for us, we have already found, and anything else wasn’t even here. At least, today.” He gave Lucius a glare. “Thank you for a lovely evening. If you ever go bankrupt, you can always make a fortune as a miracle-monger at country fairs. Parlour tricks and scam seem to be your vocation.”
“Scam?” Lucius quipped. “There would be no scam. Magic is real. The fact that most Muggles do not believe it exists is not my problem.”
Tonks giggled.
“What a terrific idea! I think I might be a decent clown if I tried.”
Meanwhile Dawlish came to the table and offhandedly picked up the book left by Narcissa.
“What is that? A bodice ripper or a travel guide?” He made a face seeing the title. “Is it Muggle? It doesn’t matter, though. Looks like rubbish, anyway.”
Intrigued, Tonks came closer to see the book in question.
“Oh!” she exclaimed in pure delight. “I haven’t read it yet, only the previous one in the series!” She looked questioningly at Narcissa as if asking to borrow the book, but realised it would lead to another rebuke from Dawlish and refrained, looking embarrassed.
“This, Mr. Dawlish, is called a fantasy book,” Narcissa answered, not offended at all. “It is a rather popular genre of contemporary literature.”
“There’s an awesome story about the City Watch by the same author! I love it!” Tonks chimed in. “Have you read it?” She turned to Arthur, who only shrugged in return.
The only type of books he is probably interested in is manuals to Muggle household appliances, Lucius smirked inside his head. If he knows about their existence, that is.
“With you, one doesn’t even need a fair,” Moody grumbled. “You’re enough of a circus as it is. Let’s go, Arthur. You can have the toaster if you like it. And take the briefcase; it might be useful in the office to destroy secret papers. I remember the rest of your dungeons, Malfoy. Are there any changes?”
Lucius shrugged.
“Very little. The lab may be a bit less of a mess than before. Do you want to see it?”
Moody winced as if he had enough of the Malfoy household in general and their dungeons in particular.
“I do not,” he replied darkly. “But I must. Show me the lab, and for Merlin’s sake no more of your pranks.”
They went back up to the sitting room and visited both the right and the left parts of the basement one after another. Moody did not even enter the dungeon part, silently casting several powerful spells to check the cells from outside (“Even spiders don’t survive in your basement, Malfoy!”). He barely glanced inside the storage area, grunting something like, “I’ve seen it all before”, and went straight to Narcissa’s lab.
“Feel free to inspect anything you want,” she said courteously.
Moody looked at her, looked over the spacious room, opened a couple of cabinets, approached the table and stared at the notes strewn there.
“Alchemy?” he drawled slowly. “It is an interesting hobby.”
Narcissa shrugged.
“One needs something to keep oneself busy while the children are at Hogwarts. Why not this?”
“Indeed,” he chuckled. “Why not? Alright, I think we’re done here.”
He looked questioningly at Arthur.
“Of course,” he agreed hastily. “We already took up too much of your time.”
It was unclear who he had in mind: the Malfoys or his colleagues. As soon as they returned to the main hall, Arthur turned to Lucius.
“Again, I apologise for such a late night visit,” he said calmly, looking him in the eye. It was clear there was no remorse, only some awkwardness at the comical results of their endeavour. “Thank you for your patience.”
Lucius had to admit that his old adversary could lose with dignity. Either that or he in his innocence did not even realise that his position allowed him to be petty.
“Thank you for the visit,” he smirked in return. “I hope you are not too tired.”
“Your hopes are in vain,” Moody grumbled. “Arthur, Dawlish, let’s go before we’re thrown out. I have no wish to experience the family protective wards in action.”
“You have another ten minutes,” Narcissa prompted, smiling at Tonks.
The girl winked in reply, waved her hand once and ran after her colleagues who were already heading towards the gates.
Since there was no need to show them the way out, Lucius stayed at the doorstep, keeping an eye on their retreating visitors. The day was already dawning, birds were chirping in the park, as once again the Malfoy manor unobtrusively, but efficiently got rid of the unwanted guests and was ready to face another long sunny day – one of the few left of this summer.
“How much of this did Arthur Weasley understand?” Narcissa mused.
Lucius looked at his wife in surprise.
“Arthur? Why are you interested in him? I thought you would ask about Tonks. By the way, what do you think of her? Her magic is very similar to yours.”
Narcissa smiled tenderly.
“Such a wonderful girl. A true Black. She is not a Tonks, last name notwithstanding. I hope we will see a lot more of her, whatever Andy’s answer will be. And I am sure she understood everything right. As well as Moody did.”
Lucius nodded.
“He did not even hide it. And Dawlish did not care about the outcome. Arthur… I do not know. I could never understand this man’s way of thinking.” He made a slight grimace because it was unpleasant to admit that.
“That is because you are a chess player,” Narcissa observed sombrely. “It is very difficult to play chess when your opponent keeps playing gobstones or exploding snap.”
Lucius laughed, but his laughter was suddenly interrupted by a very real yawn.
“Sorry,” he said. “I think I really am tired.”
Narcissa hooked her arm through his, and they finally went to bed.
What is that? A bodice ripper or a travel guide? – The book Petunia loaned to Lucius is Witches Abroad. This novel by Sir Terry Pratchett was first published at the end of 1991. Guard! Guard! that Tonks refers to was published in 1989.
Chapter Text
Lockhart’s presence at the school soon became one of the factors that needed to be constantly taken into account. This golden-haired idiot apparently did not trouble himself with preparations for the fast-approaching start of the school year, thus the man aimlessly wandered around the castle, jumping on the staff members from around corners like jack-in-the-box at the most inopportune moments. He lectured Sprout on transplanting dittany, tried to explain the correct way of turning into a cat to Minerva, and advised Flitwick on finer points of the duelling etiquette. He badgered Sinistra with a proposition to create a horoscope for her (for some reason, he was under the impression that it was the subject of Astronomy), mixing up zodiacal constellations and seasons terribly. The rubbish he spewed about children’s diseases made Madame Pomfrey’s eye twitch. Hagrid, despite all his good nature, stopped eating dinner at the Great Hall altogether. Even Trelawney, who often made her own predictions on the fly, gave him a wide berth in the corridors when he started reflecting on the influence of coffee ground types on Divination accuracy. Vector was the only one to patiently endure his attempts at conversation, most probably because for the last three days she had been reading a new big study on the calculation methods of magical expectation value for certain delta-unstable variables and did not hear a word of the pseudo-Arithmancy gibberish this drone spread around.
After two days of suffering, Severus simply jinxed the entrance to the Slytherin part of the dungeons in such a way that the newly-appointed DADA professor could not go further than the first hall: as soon as Lockhart made a dozen steps down the main corridor, he suddenly experienced headache, nausea and breathlessness urging him to retreat as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, Severus could not spend all his days in the dungeons, but this way he made sure he could work uninterrupted, as well as have breakfast and dinner in the safety of his own rooms.
However, on Friday, August 21st, he received a sudden invitation from Albus to dine and talk in the Headmaster’s study. It would not occur to him to decline anyway, and after several days of reclusion in the evenings the chance to talk with a sane companion during dinner seemed in fact rather appealing. On top of that, Albus’s eyes twinkled hard, promising something very, very interesting.
Having finished their lamb with peas and berry pudding, they moved on to tea. The merry twinkle in the old wizard’s eyes had almost reached the intensity of the Bonfire Night fireworks, so Severus decided to indulge Albus and displayed due impatience.
“Well?” he said, sitting back in his armchair and raising his eyebrow for greater effect.
“Well what?”
“Albus,” Severus said reproachfully. “You are going to burst right now. Please do tell what happened to you, I am all ears.”
“Not to me, but to you,” Albus replied, quite pleased with himself.
“To me?” Severus was astonished.
“Almost. To Lucius, to be precise.”
“It cannot be,” Severus declared categorically, knowing full well that if anything serious happened to Lucius he would have known about it already. “Lucius is fine.”
“I did not state the opposite,” Albus retorted.
They stared at each other for a while. At last Severus decided that he held out long enough for the surrender not to look like a defeat. And it was ridiculous to drag it out further.
“Alright, I give up,” he said. “What exactly happened to Lucius?”
“A search happened. Yesterday night,” Albus announced, staring at Severus.
“A search?” Severus tried as best as he could to look genuinely amazed. “Why?”
Albus shrugged his shoulders.
“It seems someone wrote another anonymous report to the authorities. It looked conclusive enough so the Ministry could not ignore it. What I do not understand is how you knew about it beforehand.”
“Albus, please, stop speaking in riddles,” Severus sighed. “Who knew about what? I am at a loss.”
The Headmaster looked at him merrily.
“Surely you can drop your act with,” he said. “Arthur and Alastor visited me in the morning today, and Alastor even left me his memories in the Pensieve. I have not laughed so heartily quite in a while. Do you wish to see for yourself?”
“Maybe I do,” Severus said carefully. “Is it a long memory?”
“I cannot say it is a short one,” Albus chuckled. “Lucius harassed them for almost six hours in a row, so I did not look through all of it. I think your friend might show everything to you himself if you ask. I might as well show you the way Alastor told me about it.”
The Headmaster took out a heavy stone Pensieve from a low cabinet and put it on the table. He touched his temple with his wand and extracted several long silver threads that landed gently at the bottom of the chalice.
“Please.” He waved his hand in an invitation. “Enjoy.”
“Do you not want to see it too?” Severus was surprised.
“I am sorry, my boy, but I cannot laugh that much.” His ’eyes twinkled again. “This pleasure is all yours.”
Severus sighed, bent down and sank into his ’memories.
The Headmaster’s study, where he ended up, was lit by the morning sun. Judging by the shadows, it was early, but Albus was already sitting at his table, drinking tea and studying some notes on several parchments when the fireplace flared green, and Alastor Moody entered the room, followed by Arthur Weasley. Both looked visibly worn-out.
“I will never forgive you for this, Albus,” Alastor grumbled, sitting down across from Albus and shoving away a stack of parchments in irritation. “Why did you send me there? I have not spent time so pointlessly in a long while. And the only result we have achieved is predictable: I did not get enough sleep, and thus will not be able to work efficiently for another twenty four hours at least. There is nothing worse than imitating frenzied activity for several hours in a row, and all this Malfoy family magic gives me a terrible headache, to boot. And what they had prepared for us! I have no words. Children’s toys, a talking scarf and a toaster, spewing socks! I have not been a butt of such a joke for a very long time. So, tell me, Albus, did you really have to do this and whatever for?!”
Arthur, who reached an armchair at the beginning of this tirade and sank into it with a sigh (he looked completely drained, too), now sat straighter in surprise and stared at them perplexed.
“What do you mean, Alastor?” he asked, frowning.
“Pfft,” he grumbled. “It was obvious from the start that there would be nothing there to find. Arthur, you know it too: Shacklebolt comes and goes there like he lives in that house. Well, maybe not like that, but he shows up there from time to time often enough. No one sane would keep anything even slightly suspicious, apart from the books on the Dark Arts List carefully sanctioned by the Ministry, in the house where Harry Potter lives. The most questionable items they surely keep in their Gringotts vaults where we cannot go, of course. Not to put a fine point on it, but I must admit that I do not keep questionable items at my place either,” he snorted and took a cup of tea from the Headmaster’s hand. “Thank you, Albus. Anyway, it was a waste of time. You could have sent someone else there, much less careful or competent. They could have accidentally smashed a couple of antique vases. That would have been profit, at least.”
Now Arthur stared at Albus.
“Now you have definitely lost me,” he admitted. “I did not expect to find much, but all the previous, erm, alerts were reasonably accurate. And if you knew beforehand… No, wait, this is a wrong question.” He rubbed his forehead wearily. “Why is Alastor saying that it was you who sent him there? I thought that was the Aurors’ case, wasn’t it?”
Severus wanted to know that too. He wanted to know even more what happened to Alastor Moody’s well-known manner of looking around suspiciously, turning his magical eye left and right and using other ways of displaying pathological distrust of the whole world.
“I am sorry, Arthur,” Albus said. “I am afraid I have used the situation to my advantage a little in order to… push it in the right direction. You see, there has been a lot of talk about the Malfoys at the Ministry lately. A lot of unpleasant talk, even if in a whisper.”
“I know,” Arthur replied, still frowning. “But why is Alastor so sure that these rumours are baseless? And what exactly did you want to achieve?”
Albus sighed a little. Severus understood him perfectly well: he, too, terribly disliked explaining his actions and disclosing information without it being strictly necessary. Just on principle. Right now, though, it was not the time for keeping secrets. Moreover, now he understood why Albus offered him to see these memories: the Headmaster simply did not want to repeat himself.
“Arthur,” Albus said at last in a very serious manner. “I have regularly communicated with Lucius Malfoy over the past year, and I strongly believe that an attempt to discredit him as Harry Potter’s guardian will lead to catastrophic consequences. Catastrophic for us, first and foremost. Someone unknown is working towards it right now, spreading strange rumours about the Malfoys. Alastor is right: everyone in the know has no doubt that the Malfoys are not entangled in any anti-Muggle activities. The general public needs to be convinced of that, though. That is why as soon as I realized where things were heading I immediately asked Amelia and Kingsley to arrange everything in such a way that in case of a report on Lucius (I had no doubt it would come) the results of the search were impeccable. The Ministry knows what Alastor and you think about him. You two cannot be suspected of having tender feelings for the tradition-bound families.”
“And Dawlish can be trusted to arrest his own grandmother if anything suspicious was found on her,” Alastor chuckled. “That’s right, we were a perfect team of honest fools… that is, crime crusaders, sorry. And yet, couldn’t you save us from becoming their laughing stock?”
Albus made a helpless gesture, even though the expression of his face was anything but apologetic.
“I am sorry,” he said contritely. “Honest to heart, I had no idea about the toaster.”
Alastor gave up and guffawed. Albus laughed too, and even Severus had a hard time keeping a straight face. He made a note to himself about asking Lucius if not for the memories, then at least for a detailed account of all the shenanigans.
“But if they really knew in advance, such a leak could be detrimental…” Poor Arthur objected half-heartedly, but it was obvious that he did not believe it himself.
“Come on,” Alastor said. “Obviously Malfoy has handy contacts in the Ministry. Among the Aurors, too, and I do not mean Shacklebolt. Some sympathiser told him about the rumours, and from that it was easy to figure out what would come next. Alright, Albus, let’s agree you owe me a small favour after all that inconvenience.” He emptied his cup and put it on the table. “It would be even better if you managed to convince Mrs. Malfoy to render us small magical services from time to time. Judging by the things they showcased last night, she is exceptionally talented in Charms, apart from everything else. I have seen some truly amazing spellwork that was obviously her doing. Lucius is a warlock; such intricacies are not his strongest suit. Anyway, you owe me, and I am off to get some sleep. See you later, Arthur.”
And he disappeared in the fireplace. Severus shook his head puzzled: it looked like Alastor’s infamous paranoia, at least partially, was a result of a regularly scheduled performance. That was a very valuable and clearly well-kept secret. It was curious that Albus decided to share it. Why now?
Meanwhile, Arthur finished his tea, too, but did not put it away. He pensively stared at the tea leaves at the bottom of his cup.
“This is a very interesting story,” he said slowly to Albus. “In short, I, too, wanted to tell you that I changed my opinion on Lucius after last night. Or… let’s say, I am ready to change it. I am afraid this has very little logic and a lot of personal impressions under it, though.”
“Arthur,” Albus turned very serious again. “You know how much I value your personal impressions. Unlike me, you rarely make mistakes in such matters.”
“You see,” Arthur Weasley said, “there are many things Lucius dislikes that he will still do in order to reach his goal if said goal is important enough for him. It can include tolerating the company of Muggles and a Muggle-born witch if it improves his image and increases Harry’s trust. Even if that seems almost impossible already. But the Lucius I remember would have never spent his time on such silly things as jinxing toasters to have a good laugh out of it.”
“I see,” Albus nodded, smiling.
“Moreover, it would have never occurred to him.” Arthur continued. “And last night I saw a man who sincerely enjoyed shoving flying clothespins and talking toys in our faces purely out of fun. I think he will still spring an unpleasant surprise on us more than once because Lucius will always secure advantages for himself and his closest circle. But if You Know Who returns I doubt Lucius will support him.”
Well, well! Severus thought sarcastically that he did not even know what amazed him more: flying clothespins (whose idea was that? Not his, that’s for sure) or Arthur Weasley’s unexpected insight. Personally, he would not have put much credit into the theoretical link between Luc’s shenanigans and his political preferences. Luc’s sense of humour has always been excellent. However, as they spent the most part of the First War frightened out of their minds for one reason or another, they had no time for flying clothespins whatsoever.
Arthur and Albus said their goodbyes, and Severus was about to leave the memory when he noticed a parchment left on the table by the Headmaster. A strange symbol on the margins caught his eye: a triangle with a circle inside, divided in half by a straight line. He wanted to lean in closer and see it more clearly, but the memory ended, and he was again in the company of Albus Dumbledore.
“Well, did you like it?” he asked merrily.
“You have no idea,” Severus replied. “Thank you for the entertainment.”
“You are welcome,” Albus said and grinned. “In all fairness, Lucius is to thank, though. He has put so much effort for everyone to have fun, it is mind-boggling. You know, something occurred to me.”
“What?” Severus asked suspiciously.
“If not for… some technical difficulties he would have become a perfect DADA professor.”
“Maybe,” Severus replied doubtfully. “I think the school routine would have bored him soon, and he would have tried to make our life an unforgettable adventure.”
“Wouldn’t that have been wonderful?”
Severus looked at the Headmaster’s smiling face and just shrugged, deciding not to argue. Just in case.
* * *
After the Friday night search, the Malfoy manor was quiet and peaceful until about noon. Fortunately, the boys had enough tact not to bother their parents over trifles, so, with some help from the house elves, they found food and entertainment on their own. By the time when Lucius and Narcissa finally got enough sleep and went down to the dining room, the house elves informed them, ‘Master Draco and Master Harry left for the oak grove for a ride and to gather some mistletoe, took lunch with them and will be back in time for dinner’.
“Well, at least they are not worshiping Cernunnos,” Lucius chuckled. “And to think, Sev says his family’s heirloom sickle is of no use! Yet, he seems to have secretly nurtured his disciples. Are they trying to bribe him or to poison someone, I wonder?”
“What sickle?” Narcissa was surprised. “You have never told me anything about it. The moon is in the third quarter now, so the mistletoe is most appropriate for making poison. I hope they did not forget their gloves. By the way, maybe it is Severus who dreams of poisoning someone, don’t you think?”
“They would not have survived a full year of Potions under his capable guidance without learning to work in gloves,” Lucius remarked. “I would not worry about that too much. I will tell you about the sickle right now.”
And he did share details — with some delicate censorship — about Severus’ grandfather’s terms on his return to the family.
“Actually,” he concluded thoughtfully, “if Great Aunt Cassandra is as good as Cousin Gerard says, Sev has a decent chance.”
Narcissa shook her head mildly.
“You might be quite right. I have my own premonitions sometimes, you know, and now I have a feeling that it is better to allow the situation to develop naturally. A piece of advice, darling: do not interfere.”
“When was the last time I interfered into someone else’s private life? Indeed!” Lucius said indignantly. “I have enough to worry about without it. Match-making is not an activity I partake in. It does not mean, however, that I must deny myself the pleasure of taunting Severus if an opportunity presents itself. Whatever the younger family members are for, otherwise?”
“As the youngest of three I beg to differ, you know,” Narcissa retorted, but her eyes were laughing.
They enjoyed the banter for some time, and Narcissa even managed to forget her worries for a while when closer to their late breakfast an unfamiliar barn owl appeared with a short note. Narcissa hastily opened and read it quickly. Then she read it again and sighed, seized by relief and excitement at the same time.
“Luc,” she said.
“Yes?”
“I have a date today.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Bet you will not guess where it is.”
“Indeed?”
“At the feet of the boy raised by fairies.”
Lucius stared at his wife.
“If it is an allusion I do not recognize it. I hope you do not have to urgently search for the lost grave of Thomas the Rhymer. His adventures could not be considered an upbringing, though.”
Narcissa laughed.
“Of course not. It is Peter Pan, Luc.”
“Pan?” Lucius frowned. “He is hardly a boy.”
“Peter Pan. He is a character in a children’s book, Luc. Quite a contemporary one. At least, it is less than a hundred years old.”
“A Muggle book?” he finally connected the dots.
“Yes. Andy learned about it from her friends and persuaded me to read it, too. It was one of our secrets.”
“Ah. And where are these feet?”
“In a famous London park,” Narcissa smiled. “It is a monument. We passed it once during one of our walks with Constance, but I do not remember if you were there.”
Lucius shook his head.
“Andromeda is testing you.”
“No wonder. She has a right to.”
“Maybe,” he said doubtfully. “But I do not want you to try to please her too much.”
“Not too much, Luc. Just enough.”
* * *
Ten minutes before five, Narcissa walked briskly along the Serpentine, trying to stay calm. The last thing she needed was scaring Muggles (mainly young moms or nannies with small children and gaping tourists) walking through the Kensington Gardens with her appearance. Not for the first time, she thanked her fate for the fact that Lucius had reconnected with his French cousin, and that Constance had become a part of their lives as a result. After so many long walks of this summer, Narcissa did not have to invent a new outfit that would not draw the attention of passers-by now. If her long light-blue dress and her sun hat drew any attention it was only of the mildly flattering kind.
As soon as the monument appeared in sight, Narcissa noticed her sister: a tall slim dark-haired figure standing still a little apart from a group of Asian tourists was hard to miss. She saw Narcissa too and immediately started walking towards her.
Narcissa’s heart leaped, but she forced herself not to run, not to quicken her pace. Andromeda disliked public scenes of any kind. They will meet and talk like civilized people. And then, one could hope, all will be well.
Andromeda was walking briskly too, her brown hair flying, her long legs in casual Muggle jeans were quickly reducing the distance between them. They finally met and stopped right in the middle of the pathway and stared each other in the eye. Both froze for a moment, and Narcissa opened her mouth to greet her sister when Andromeda stepped forward and hugged her tightly.
“I have missed you so much, Cissy!” she said simply. “I am so glad you wrote me. And so glad you have come.”
“I could not stay away anymore,” Narcissa replied quietly. “I simply had to write to you. I… I was terribly afraid that you would not reply.”
And Andromeda — her Andy, her wonderful and ever brave sister — just hugged her tighter, exactly like she did long ago when a little Narcissa was scared of something whether t was a horror story or their Mother’s wraith.
“Have you gone mad?” she snorted. “I am so glad you cannot even imagine. I was right about to do something about it myself, but Ted persuaded me to wait for a while more. I am sorry to say he is still quite angry with you. No matter how much I explained that Lucius and you were not the same person and that the circumstances were unfavourable…” Andromeda shook her head. The sisters finally parted, took each other’s hands and walked slowly along the Serpentine towards the Italian Gardens.
“He is right,” Narcissa sighed. “I should have written to you at least a year ago. If not seven years ago. Maybe even before that. However… You see, Luc… He is…”
“Yes?” Andromeda asked curiously.
“He has changed a lot in the last year. As have I. We… we are tired of being afraid, maybe. We cannot afford that luxury now.”
Andromeda chuckled.
“Welcome to the club. Better late than never, little sister,” she teased. “By the way, Dora is thrilled to bits with you all.”
Narcissa laughed.
“We adore her too. And hope to get to know her better in less… extraordinary circumstances.”
A minute or two they walked in silence before Andromeda said quietly, “Harry Potter, eh? And… more than that. I have seen the pictures in The Prophet. There was a lot of shameless promotion of that Lockhart fellow, but I noticed a bunch of Weasleys, Luc and you… in the company of some Muggles in the background. Was I wrong?”
“No, you were not.”
“Ah. How curious,” Andromeda noted dryly.
“Andy?” Narcissa asked cautiously. “Are you… very upset?”
Andromeda chuckled again.
“It is such a foolish word,” she clipped. “I do not care for it. But I care for you. And if you want to clear the air, we can discuss everything in great detail later. We can fight a plenty, and then cry and hug to our hearts’ content like we did as children. Here and now, it’s not the place or the time for it, I think. Don’t you agree?”
“I guess I do.”
Narcissa realized in surprise that during the years of separation she had forgotten how Andy could be this determined, straightforward and downright blunt — not because she could not behave differently, but because she chose not to. Experience and age made this trait of hers even more pronounced. How will she get along with Luc? Was that even possible?
“Back to business, Cissy.” Her sister’s voice awoke her from her reverie. “So, Harry Potter. And Muggles. Is Lucius aiming for the Minister for Magic?” she asked with an obvious curiosity and a slight sarcasm. “I remember that he did not like half-measures, but if my memory serves me right he used to prefer more straightforward methods.”
“He still does,” Narcissa replied. “What you saw in The Prophet is… let’s say, a side effect.”
“How curious,” Andromeda repeated. “And is that thing you did last Halloween also a side effect? Or was it something more important?”
Narcissa almost tripped, caught unaware.
“Did you… feel it?” she asked in amazed half-whisper.
“Of course I did. It would be really hard not to. What are you up to, Cissy? I assume as a Black I have a right to know. Or is it a terrible secret?”
“Of course, it is a terrible secret,” Narcissa retorted, getting some control of herself at last. “But you have the right to know, absolutely. Just not right this minute. Actually, you do not simply have a right to know, you must learn certain things. However, it might be better for you to come to the manor in about two weeks after the boys have left for Hogwarts, so we could discuss everything without interruptions.”
“Is it only me you are inviting?” Andromeda asked. “Or Ted and me both?”
“I do not know,” Narcissa admitted. “It probably depends on Ted.”
“And on Lucius,” her sister added shrewdly.
“Luc thinks — and I quote — that the wider the circle of the stakeholders, the better.”
“And what exactly are we supposed to have a stake in?” Andromeda raised her eyebrow. “You do realize that without that information I have nothing to tell Ted.”
“We probably need to talk first, just the two of us,” Narcissa sighed. “It’s not that easy to explain. But you can definitely tell Ted that… we cannot turn back.”
“Because of Harry?” Andromeda asked. “It is… that serious?”
Narcissa blushed scarlet.
“What do you take me for, Andy? He is my son.”
Andromeda stopped and hugged her tight.
“Sorry, Cissy,” she whispered. “Maybe I am still angrier than I thought. Sorry. Of course you would never choose differently. I do not doubt you.”
“When you see Luc and talk to him you will stop doubting him too,” Narcissa said with conviction. “He… has changed a lot. Even if he does not think so.”
“Men,” Andromeda snorted. “Alright, I understand. Maybe it is better for me to come alone first. Ted will understand. Now, enough serious talk. Tell me, Cissy, do you still love ice cream? Let’s go then, there is a nice little place nearby.”
And she dragged Narcissa to a fancy Muggle cafe with the same determined energy.
Later that night after telling everything to her husband, Narcissa mused, “Sometimes it seems we can return to the past, but it is an illusion, isn’t it?”
“Mmm. We can only resurrect for a short while the way everything was before. To feel the way we did then. It is also an illusion, though. Which is a good thing, I think.”
“Why?”
“Because one would hope that with time we get wiser, not the other way around.”
“Well, I do not know about that,” Narcissa drawled. “Your toaster idea was not the brightest.”
“It was a genius idea!” Lucius was indignant. “Just remember Arthur’s face! And Dawlish? I finally feel vindicated!”
Narcissa laughed.
“Does that mean you are happy?”
“Of course I am.”
“You need very little to be happy.”
Lucius looked her in the eye very seriously.
“Quite the opposite. I need a lot to be happy, but I have all of it already.”
And for the rest of that night, they did not talk anymore.
* * *
Narcissa rarely had a chance to visit Ottery St. Catchpole, and her last visit had happened a long time ago, but she still vividly remembered the place. Saturday morning, equipped with a basket of treats (Remember, darlings, if you are not invited to a lunch or dinner party, visiting someone empty-handed is quite impolite!), she told the boys to dress for a good country-walk.
“I am sure Luna will have a whole lot of curious things to show you,” she remarked. “That part of the country is very interesting.”
After saying goodbye to Luc, she took her sons’ hands, closed her eyes for a moment, recollecting the image of the Lovegood tower’s surroundings, and Apparated the three of them to the top of a small hill close to the one where Xenophilius’ house was located.
“Wow,” Harry said with a tinge of envy.
Narcissa smiled. When one is twelve, the reconstructed ruins of a once proud tower dating back to the Hundred Years’ War made a greater impression than one’s own manor, even with a thousand-year history.
“Yes, they have an extraordinary house,” she agreed. “It is even more obvious inside. I hope you will be impeccably polite,” she looked pointedly at Draco.
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t ever criticize your acquaintances, Mom, I’m not that dumb,” he replied, looking slightly hurt.
“You are not dumb at all, darling,” Narcissa amended. “Quite the opposite. But sometimes, I am sorry to say, you can be a little indiscreet. Let’s go.”
They went down the hill to the road; Narcissa took the pathway, walking with dignity befitting a well-bred witch keen on making a good impression, while Draco and Harry tumbled down the grass as was fitting twelve-year-old boys. Narcissa thought with some regret that soon they would probably stop behaving so childishly or at least would be shy to show it in front of adults.
The fence around the tower was made of stone and looked old. The stonework, overgrown with creeping thyme, was crumbling in places, and the wrought iron gate was rusted and askew. A handmade sign said, X. Lovegood, the editor of The Quibbler. A winding pathway led up the hill to the front door through the overgrown garden. Narcissa thought sadly that it was probably Pandora’s, and now there was no one to tend to it.
The door opened, and Xenophilius appeared on the doorstep. He looked a little more cordial than in Diagon Alley, but his clothes were even more peculiar: he wore a light-yellow housecoat, thrown over old dark-blue velvet robes, canvas slippers with pointed toes and a weird cap, decorated with stitched figures of strange animals. It was so threadbare it was impossible to tell if the animals were real or imaginary ones.
“Erm, good morning,” he said somewhat absent-mindedly, as if he was not sure what to do next. Narcissa would not have been surprised if it turned out that he did not only forget about their arrangement, but also did not remember the day of the week. “I… erm… I think I have lost the track of time. You see, I am in the middle of preparing the next issue for release. Please, come in.”
He turned around and went inside.
Draco and Harry looked questioningly at Narcissa, and she nodded, “Follow me, please.”
They ended up in the kitchen that took up the greater part of the ground floor, apart from several closets and cupboards. Narcissa vividly remembered how tidy everything had been before and barely restrained herself from shaking her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw boys staring in wonder at the round room full of knacks. Bright pictures of exotic animals, birds and plants were placed here and there on the whitewashed walls, some of them were quite new, and a couple were still unfinished. Narcissa thought it was probably Luna’s handywork.
Xenophilius stopped in the middle of the room by the cast-iron staircase running from top to bottom of the house and looked at his own kitchen as though he saw it for the first time.
“I… erm…” he said slowly. “I probably should offer you something to eat. I think I am not a very good host,” he concluded helplessly.
“Please do not worry,” Narcissa assured him. “If you do not find it rude on my part to offer, I have brought something. Small treats, nothing fancy, but if you permit, I can play the housewife for a while here.”
Now Xenophilius stared at her as if not believing what he was hearing. Then he looked at the boys, who tried not to stare at the surroundings too much.
“You are very kind, indeed,” he finally said as if waking up. “I will be very much obliged, Mrs. Malfoy. Do whatever you think necessary. Meanwhile, I can show the boys my study and Luna’s room upstairs. They might find it interesting. And after that, they could…” he fell silent again as if he was not sure what the guests could entertain themselves with in his house.
“After that, we could drink some tea, and then maybe the children can go for a walk. I seem to recall the surrounding countryside is very picturesque.”
“Yes, of course,” Xenophilius agreed. “Please, follow me, boys.”
He led Draco and Harry upstairs, and Narcissa put her basket down on a chair, took out her wand and got to business. She was itching to clean the whole place up, but taking such a liberty would the height of bad manners, of course. So, she just put the kettle on, cleared the big round table enough for a tea party of five and found dinnerware in a cabinet. While the water was heating, she laid out the treats she had brought: cucumber sandwiches and egg and cress ones, scones, strawberry jam and a treacle tart. She found the tin with the tea leaves and made tea, and put the cups on the table…
The children came downstairs herded by their host. For a moment, Luna assessed the kitchen with a quick glance of a housewife surprised by unexpected guest, but seemed to relax as soon as she saw that everything had been taken care of.
“Good morning, Aunt Cissy!” she smiled. “Ah, you brought so many nice things!”
Xenophilius stared at the table in silent wonder, and looked at Narcissa as if expecting her to perform another parlour trick, for example, spreading wings and flying.
“Do not even think of complimenting me,” she laughed. “I am no Molly Weasley. All of this is the result of our house elves’ hard work. I am capable of making sandwiches, of course, but they would not look nearly so nice.”
It seemed she chose the right tone because Xenophilius finally smiled.
“Thank Merlin, I almost decided that I do not understand people at all. Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”
“Just Narcissa,” she corrected mildly.
He nodded and said with awkward ceremony, “In such a case, I will consider it an honour if you also call me by my first name.”
It was a very formal and weird lunch. Xenophilius gradually grew more animated and told stories of finer points and difficulties of releasing a magazine issue, of his correspondence with a Canadian colleague who had informed him about sightings of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack in the Toronto area, and similar topics. It looked like he got carried away and had forgotten who he was talking to. Narcissa nodded, poured more tea and listened. Luna examined the guests quietly. She seemed to prefer listening and thinking to talking. The boys were quiet, too. At last, everyone was full, Draco and Harry gave signs of feeling restless, and Narcissa once again offered them to go for a walk.
“If you do not object, Luna.”
“Of course not, Aunt Cissy. I love good walks. Have a good time, Dad!”
The children left without further ado, and the adults were left alone. Xenophilius’ liveliness dissipated at once, as if Luna took his high spirits with her. He looked at Narcissa gloomily, but his eyes stopped wondering, becoming sharp and focussed.
“You wanted to talk about Pandora, didn’t you?” he asked.
“Yes. If you are willing.”
He frowned.
“Can I ask you some questions first?”
Narcissa did not pretend that she did not understand what that was about or that it was simply a matter of politeness.
“I cannot promise to disclose family secrets, but I can give you the word of a Black that you will not hear a lie.”
Xenophilius smiled wryly.
“You definitely do not like to waste time and have a certain way of articulating your promises. Well, it is more than I expected. I will not beat about the bush, then. What is the current relationship between Lucius Malfoy and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”
Narcissa wanted to smile, but refrained from it, feeling that her companion was not in the mood for jokes. Flippancy could ruin everything now.
“There is no relationship between them at the moment since Voldemort is disembodied. Lucius has no intention of renewing contact in the future, whatever it may bring,” she replied calmly. Noticing Xenophilius’ make a warding off evil gesture, she added, “I am sorry, but I did not want my words to be misinterpreted.”
“Any words can be misinterpreted, take it from a magazine editor,” Xenophilius chuckled. It seemed his moods changed faster than the weather at the coast of the North Sea. “I appreciate your frankness, though. Can I also ask what caused such a change? Or is it too personal a question?”
“Of course it is too personal. But we met today to discuss some personal matters, didn’t we?”
Xenophilius slowly nodded.
“Yes.”
“In this case, I am glad to inform you that there are a lot of reasons for it. I think you as a father can understand many of them. No parent worth a Knut wants their children to grow up in a world ruled by that madman.”
“Is he a madman?” Xenophilius asked, raising his eyebrow.
“He is mad, maybe not in the literal sense, even though I have doubts about it, too. It may be more appropriate to say he is possessed. He is possessed by fear of death and by hatred toward those who refuse to serve him.” After a pause, Narcissa added reluctantly, “I saw him with my own eyes only several times, and it was many years ago. Even then, I got the impression that he hates Wizards almost as much as he hates Muggles. Now, that I know he is a half-blood…”
“What?” Xenophilius exclaimed.
“He is a half-blood. He was an orphan, raised in the Muggle London during the latest World War,” Narcissa explained. “Of course, he hates Muggles because they were the source of his fears and suffering for a long time, but I think he also hates Wizards who could have saved him and chose not to.”
“How do you know that?” Xenophilius asked quickly.
It was Narcissa’s turn to raise her eyebrow.
“I have reliable sources.”
Xenophilius sighed and frowned.
“During the World War? Wait. Albus Dumbledore was Deputy Headmaster at that time, as far as I know…” A shadow crossed his face. It was obvious he already connected the dots. “It explains a lot.”
“Unfortunately. Regardless, it leads us to the second reason. This man’s intention — if he can still be called that — to change our world to suit his tastes will lead to disaster because he does not understand us. His ideas are no less destructive than ideas of those who wish Wizards to unite with Muggles.”
Xenophilius looked at her with interest.
“I have heard that you are close friends with some of them.”
“Information from reliable sources?” Narcissa smiled politely.
Xenophilius laughed.
“Precisely.”
“Neighbourly relationships with individual Muggles, as well as the fine skills of using the telephone or the Underground, do not change the fact that too close and irresponsible contacts with their world can be dangerous for ours. I do not even mean the direct threat of our world being discovered by their public, even though it does exist. Wizards who blindly borrow Muggle inventions become lazy. How many new spells were invented in the last few years? How many breakthrough potions were created if one does not count the latest attempt to restrain the werewolves?” Narcissa shook her head. “No, peaceful parallel existence and keeping our own cultural development is a better way.”
“Well, you do have a point. Thank you, you gave me a lot of food for thought. Now,” he sighed, “you would want to ask me about Pandora.”
“I would only like to hear what you are willing to tell me,” Narcissa said gently.
“It is difficult to talk about,” Xenophilius said slowly. “But I suppose you have a right to know. Pandora’s family… Did she tell you anything about them?”
Narcissa nodded pensively.
“Yes, a little. Mainly because Strange is a last name unusual enough for a Wizarding family. Some of her ancestors had weird abilities even by Wizarding standards. As far as I understand, a family legend claims that they have some Fay blood, whatever it is supposed to mean.”
“Exactly. Pandora was fascinated by this part of the family history. She dreamed of reviving some of those weird abilities.”
“Did she? What… was she interested in?”
Xenophilius’ face darkened.
“According to some sources, the Stranges could wield some power over time. Pandora thought this ability was a complicated combination of the Metamorphmagus magic and Apparition. Allegedly, if a Metamorphmagus restructures their body on material level, and Apparition implies moving the body in space, sort of deconstructing it in one place and putting it back together almost immediately in a different location, then the descendants of the Fay Folk can stay in that in-between state and travel to the future.”
“I see,” Narcissa said slowly. “So, what happened?”
“She was searching for a spell,” Xenophilius said sombrely. “She tested different combinations on objects without much success, but… as you can guess, she thought that the blood of the Stranges was the crucial ingredient. In a nutshell, the day came when Pandora decided to experiment on herself.” His face became chalk-pale. “Luna saw her… disembody herself. I was not at home, and I can only repeat what I have heard later from Luna. She says Pandora… shone very brightly and started fading, becoming more transparent until…” his breath caught. “Until she disappeared.” He covered his face with his hands.
Narcissa stayed silent, giving him an opportunity to gather himself. When he finally lowered his hands Narcissa filled his cup without saying a word. He drank all of it, nodded gratefully and continued, staring at the pattern of the tablecloth, “Thank you. I think you understand how hard it is for me to remember all that, but still… I probably needed someone to listen. You… You know, the worst thing is that Luna does not quite believe that Pandora is dead. I did not, too, at first. We knew what she was trying to achieve and for the first few weeks just waited for her to reappear. We hoped that she just made some mistake in her calculations. It gradually became clear, though, that it was not the case.”
“I understand. Can I help you somehow? You and Luna?”
Xenophilius looked up and stared at Narcissa. She met his eyes with quiet sympathy. It would be the height of faux pas to act terrified and distressed when this man was trying his best to preserve his dignity.
“You are already helping,” he replied just as composedly. “If your boys will become her friends, if you will invite her to your home, it is already a lot. I… regret that I avoided you earlier.”
“I am grateful for your trust,” Narcissa said gently. “And I regret that I did not offer help earlier.”
“I would have probably refused it,” Xenophilius admitted. “That’s just the way the things were. Now, while the children are out, do you want to see the proofs of the latest issue? There is a very interesting piece on encounters with unidentified creatures in Southeast Asia. Luna has even made the illustrations to do with it. She draws really well, you know…”
Narcissa smiled and nodded, getting ready to bravely meet another share of Snorkacks and their mates.
* * *
After leaving the tower, Harry sighed with relief. Even though Luna’s house was terribly interesting, Mr. Lovegood did not exactly inspire the wish to know him better. Apart from that, he felt that Narcissa wanted to talk to the man about something she deemed unsuitable for children — or, at least, for Luna.
For a minute, the three of them just stood on the path in the overgrown garden. Harry could not figure out what to talk about. Draco, judging by his tense pose, could not either. Luna cocked her blonde head to the side and just studied them unabashedly. At last she said, “Where shall we go? I could have shown you Dad’s printing press or our collection of Wizarding curiosities, but my Dad and your Mom clearly want to talk about my Mom. They think it is better to do it without us. Well, at least, without me. So, I’d like to go to the hills. Or to the grove that is up the brook. There’re Bowtruckles there.”
The boys looked at each other. Draco shrugged.
“Let’s go somewhere. Wherever you want.”
Luna nodded and led them through the back gate that was even more crooked than the front one to the path running down the hill to the brook at the bottom. The banks were covered with tall hard grasses cut apart by the path. It was like walking through a green labyrinth, as the grass was taller than them. A little later the path led them back to the edge of water: the brook spilled over there, forming a tiny narrow sandy beach.
“We can walk barefoot in there!” Luna said. “I often play here. If we’re lucky we can find a shell in the water. Would you like to?”
Without waiting for an answer, she took off her shoes and waded in the water, inspecting the brook bed. After a little hesitation, Harry got rid of his socks and shoes too, rolled up his pants and followed her. The water was rather warm, especially for the end of August, the bed felt nice to walk on, even if a bit silty.
“Hey, look,” Luna bent down and plucked out something light-coloured out of the silt, cleaned it in the water and stretched her hand to him to show her find. “It’s a Rockbreaker’s egg. You can take it if you want. I have one already.”
It looked like a greenish grey roundish stone vaguely resembling an egg. Harry cautiously rolled it in his hands.
“What’s a Rockbreaker?” Draco asked, approaching them. After some hesitation, he took his shoes and socks off too, but did not go into water, standing on the sand near the water edge.
“It’s a creature,” Luna replied confidently. “It’s somewhat like a shrew, but smaller. It gnaws through stone and builds a nest in there.”
“Is it real?” Draco obviously questioned the idea but still tried to be polite. “It should have a lot of teeth. And do animals even lay eggs? Well, apart from echidnas and such.”
“Ordinary animals probably don’t, but Rockbreakers do. Anyway, Doxies are oviparous, too.”
“Well, they are like insects,” Draco objected.
“Magical creatures are often built with no logic,” Luna stated very seriously. “This often points to their artificial origins.”
“Well, maybe,” Draco drawled doubtfully.
“Thank you, Luna!” Harry said, putting ‘the egg’ into his pocket. He could not tell if Luna truly believed in Rockbreakers, pretended to or just fooled around a bit, but he liked the girl and did not want to hurt her feelings. Besides, she could know something they did not.
“You’re welcome!” she smiled and suddenly got a small glass jar out of her skirt pocket. “Let’s go, Harry, you’ll help me to catch some woodlice. Otherwise the Bowtruckles will be angry if I come without treats.”
Hearing the word ‘woodlice’, Draco hastily retreated onto the upper bank and put on his shoes back for good measure.
“My feet are freezing!” he shouted from there. “I’ll wait for you up here!”
Harry snorted, but did not call him out for a lie and valiantly started gathering woodlice. Luna had clearly done it many times before, as she knew where to look. Harry obediently plashed through the water to a big half-submerged rock, then to a log lying just at the edge of the brook, then to a rotten tree stub… Soon the jar was half full. Luna skilfully grabbed the repugnant insects with her bare hands without a reel or a stagger.
“You’ll probably be awesome at Potions,” Harry noted. “You’re really brave.”
Luna stared at him.
“What do Potions have to do with it?”
“There’re a lot of things needed for making Potions. Sometimes it’s something not really pleasant, like slugs. If you don’t like touching nasty things, it might become difficult.”
“And you don’t like it, do you?”
“My… our godfather is a Potions Master,” Harry laughed. “I’m used to it.”
“Sounds fun,” Luna said. “Dad and I sometimes travel in search of amazing creatures, and he writes about them in his magazine.”
“Have you found any?”
Luna shrugged.
“Some. It’s too early to talk about it. Let’s go back to shore, your brother’s waiting.”
They reached the grass, Harry brushed sand and water off his feet, put on his socks and shoes, and they walked on. Luna did not talk, walking confidently along the path, and the boys followed her. Soon the shore became higher; the path turned away from the brook and went up the side of a small hill, covered by trees. There was sparse forest on the right with other hills visible in the middle. Their grass-covered tops appeared here and there over the trees.
“It used to be a dangerous place,” Luna said, noticing Harry’s curious look. “But now most of them are gone.”
“Them?” Draco asked. “Who are they?”
“The hill dwellers. The Fay Folk,” Luna replied. “There were a lot of them here in ancient times, and only mighty Wizards dared to walk here even during the day, never mind at night.”
“That’s bedtime stories,” Draco waved it away. “Muggle ones, at that. Muggles have seen enough of pixies and other small faeries and created their own fairies and elves.”
“The Fay Folk and the Sidhe are not bedtime stories,” Luna retorted. “But they, of course, are not related to the ordinary faerie. Some think the Fay Folk are related to the Veelas, others are of the opinion they are actually ancient Wizarding clans who possessed special secrets.”
“Where did they go to, then?” Draco went on.
“They mixed with humans, mostly,” Luna shrugged. “Some stayed, so I think that either can be the truth. Some say that there are places in Scotland and Ireland where the Sidhe live even now, staying away from us like we stay away from Muggles. But those of the Fay Folk, who lived here, became really wild. There are only a handful of them now, but it’s still dangerous to wander in the hills at night.” They have almost reached the top of the hill, and the path dove between two large boulders. “Dad told me that at the place where our tower stands now there used to be a Roman one. And it supposedly stood on the border between the land of the humans and the domain of the hill dwellers.”
After that Luna disappeared between the boulders. Harry looked at them doubtfully. They resembled hanging stones too much for his taste, and two hanging stones could be easily cursed or otherwise spelled. Still, after a moment of hesitation, he decided that Luna would not lead them to a really dangerous place and followed her. Draco was the last to step between the stones, carefully keeping his hands in his pockets.
On the top of the hill, there was a hazel grove, surrounded by gorse thickets. It seemed to Harry, though, that he saw more large stones here and there, half-hidden by leaves and blossoms. It looked like long ago there had really been a stone circle surrounding the top of the hill where the path led. There was a glade in the middle of the grove neighboured by several very old hazel trees. Luna sat down under one of them and took her jar out of her pocket.
“Hi there!” she said, looking up at the tree. “It’s me.”
There was movement among the leaves; several hazel nuts fell on her head.
“Thank you!” Luna laughed. “Come here, I want to give you a treat.” She looked back at Harry and Draco who stood frozen in the middle of the glade, and added, “Don’t be afraid, they’re my friends.”
It was unclear who she was talking to and whom she meant, but the boys came closer and sat down, trying not to make too much noise. Luna looked up again.
“Don’t be afraid!” she repeated. “Look what I’ve brought!” And she waved her jar in the air above her head.
Something moved between the leaves, and a twig-like creature climbed down the thin tree trunk. It cautiously looked over the boys, then over Luna, and apparently decided that they were no threat. The creature moved to the grass, and Luna started unscrewing the top of the jar.
The Bowtruckle carefully took the treat and screeched quietly. Soon two more creatures climbed down the hazel tree, and Luna started feeding them. Draco and Harry stared, but decided not to participate. Just in case.
When Luna’s woodlice was gone, the Bowtruckles stayed for a while, but realizing that there would be no more treats and their precious trees were in no danger slipped back up into the leaves.
“Wow,” Harry said. “Thanks, Luna.”
“What for?” she raised her eyebrow.
“For everything. It’s a good place,” Draco replied suddenly. He was sitting in the grass, leaning against a thick overgrown hazel tree and staring dreamily into the leaves above. At that moment, he looked a little like the Fay Folk as they are described in Muggle books.
“Yes,” Luna agreed. “It is. We should not stay here for too long, though. It’s an ancient place, full of ancient magic. It draws not only humans. Let’s go back, shall we?”
She rose, and the boys followed.
“There is one thing… Could you go ahead on your own?” she asked. “Wait for me on the other side, alright?”
“On the other side of what?” Draco asked, frowning.
“Of the stones. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.”
Harry and Draco looked at each other and obediently went back along the path. They passed the two large stones and stopped.
“This is weird. If we were in a Muggle fairy tale it would have turned out to be a door to another world,” Harry said. “And Luna would have actually been a daughter of some faerie king.”
“If this is a fairy tale than it’s not a really old one,” Draco chuckled. “In a really ancient story, we would have been dragged into the hills and eaten already.”
Harry shivered.
“I suspect Luna believes in both possibilities. And, you know, I have no wish to find out which one is true.”
Draco looked sideways at the top of the hill and the grove there.
“You know,” he admitted quietly, “I have none either.”
At that moment Luna nonchalantly slipped through the ‘guarding’ stones and joined them.
“Thank you for waiting. Let’s go.”
The three of them went back down to the brook.
* * *
“What do you think of the Fay Folk, Mom?” Draco asked when the three of them were slowly walking down the hill where the Lovegood Tower stood.
Narcissa winced.
“Why are you asking?”
Draco frowned a little as if trying to find the right words.
“Luna seems to really believe in them. I’d have thought she’s just, well… little, but, you know… she showed us that weird place on the top of a hill. And at one moment, she asked us to leave her alone up there.”
Narcissa raised her eyebrow a little, but decided not to remind her sons that there was a simpler and more rational explanation for it than a desire to communicate with faeries.
“There are a lot of places in the world where the ancient magic can still be felt,” she remarked. “The existence of the Fay Folk is not a requirement for that, though. I hope you realize that one should be very careful when dealing with such matters. If you wish to know whether I believe in the Fay Folk, however…”
“Yes?”
“...then I must confess that I know too little about them to have an opinion. And what is more, even if the Fay Folk exists, their lives are not our business. I would not pry into it without great need. On the other hand, I would like to know what you think about Luna herself.”
The boys looked at each other, and Draco shrugged his shoulders.
“She’s tranquil. And discreet. I think she’s used to being alone. She’s a little weird, but considering everything you’ve told us about her mother… there’s nothing to it.”
“She’s no coward,” Harry added. “She does what she thinks is necessary. She’s absentminded, but not like Neville, more like Severus when he ponders over a new potion. Why?”
Narcissa sighed.
“As you have probably guessed, Xenophilius wants you and your friends to look after her. Judging by your impressions, though, she will not end up in Slytherin or even in Gryffindor where Miss Granger could take care of her.”
“One of the Patil twins from our year is in Ravenclaw,” Harry said. “As is Lisa Turpin.”
“We could ask Pansy, and she’ll make it work,” Draco added. “These girls know everything about each other and always stick by each other as if glued together.”
“Yes,” Narcissa laughed. “We, girls, are exactly like that.”
And she Side-Apparated both her sons home.
Notes:
So, this chapter definitely had a lot of girl power vibes, methinks. What do you think of that? While I am not going to add more POVs to the main story (except for the 'mysterious' additions in italics, similar to the canon ones, I'm planning to stick to our main 5 characters), I'm contemplating adding small side stories now and then. I'd especially like to give voices to those characters who almost never have them. Like Dudley. Or Petunia. Or Andy. Any ideas? Suggestions? :)
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