Chapter Four
Pure & Proud
Chapter Four: Draco Malfoy
The Long and Winding Road Home
Story by Desslok
They forced me to ride the Muggle train from Dover, to ride the Underground, and then enter the Ministry on foot, like a commoner. They offered one last indignity to mark the end of my exile, just to remind me of my place.
I really have nothing against Muggles. When I was a child, my father met with Crabbe and Goyle. We children were dispatched out onto the grounds of the manor. While exploring, we encountered a large anthill. For some time, we watched the ants go about their business, collecting food, working on the anthill, marching in line like mindless drones in response to the pheromones secreted by their queen. Goyle had brought a magnifying glass, and the two of them took great joy in incinerating the society of ants. I could not be bothered to participate. Why would I waste my time doing such a thing when clearly there was nothing to be gained by it? The ants had their world, and I had mine. I had no reason to interfere in theirs as long as they kept to themselves. So it is with the Muggles. Normally, I avoid them, but the Ministry in its infinite infantilism decided that I should consort with them. I understood that they had what I wanted, so I did as I was told.
The Ministry itself has changed little since I last visited; they are still mindless drones marching about in response to the memos secreted by the Minister. One of the most mindless of the lot had been assigned to my case. Truly, is there any Weasley in existence who has not been placed on this earth for the sole purpose of tormenting me? Even the so-called 'black sheep' of the brood, Percy, now used his position to make my life difficult. I am convinced that he invented new forms for me to sign when it became apparent that my hand still functioned after signing the first hundred or so. Forms to acknowledge my return to England, forms to document the official end of my exile, forms to certify the statement I had submitted previously, forms to describe where I planned to stay, forms to substantiate the fact that I was indeed the last available Malfoy, forms to place control of the Malfoy estate into my hands, oh yes, hundreds of forms but only the last did I sign with pleasure. Hours later, even Weasley had run out of new forms of bureaucratic torture.
With one last stop, my Kafkaesque* journey would be at an end, and I could return home at long last. The Ministry required me to register my wand, so that it could be identified if any crimes were committed with it. As I had no intention of committing any crimes, I had no issue with this. That accomplished, I made my way to the Apparition zone. As I prepared to Apparate to Malfoy Manor, one of those sanctimonious Aurors walked past. He looked at me and chuckled cruelly.
“You won’t be able to Apparate home, Malfoy,” he sneered. “Your bastard Death Eater father made it Unplottable and somehow, I bet he forgot to give you the location.” He laughed and walked away.
As a child or a student, I would have flown into a rage, perhaps even hexed the man for his impudence. Standing alone in a bar in a distant land where you don’t speak the language and everyone around you would like nothing more than an excuse to beat the snot out of any foreigner, teaches one a measure of tact, however. Instead, I came here to Diagon Alley and found this room.
It is difficult being home. At first, I found a great deal of joy in the simple pleasures offered by London. For one thing, I had underestimated the comfort that comes from understanding the language being spoken around you. The sight, the smells, all of it brings back finally the sense that I have come home.
My choice of flat is tolerable. From my corner window, I can see down both Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. Each day, when I leave my new home, I can choose my path. So far, my requirements have led me primarily to Diagon Alley for the necessities of life. My initial plan had been to spend my first months back home sorting out my affairs at Malfoy Manor. I have no doubt my father has left behind many 'trinkets' that would get me into much trouble if they were found, not to mention the fact that he probably has set various traps throughout the place. Even without such nuisances, the simple task of airing out that mausoleum and letting some light into it will undoubtedly take weeks. There will also be house elves to interview, since obviously none of the previous regime can be trusted.
Rather than get started on all that 'fun', however, I instead face the onerous task of trying to locate the damned place. This will likely require me to do something I’d hoped to avoid: track down my old Hogwarts cronies. Unlikely as it may be, it is possible that Crabbe, Goyle, or another of their ilk might know the secret to finding the Manor. I shall not look forward to any of these meetings, but Malfoy Manor is mine, and I shall have it. Merlin knows I’ve earned it.
*Yes, I have read the works of the Muggle author, Kafka. A witch I spent time with in Prague recommended him and, at the time, there was little I would refuse her. That was another time and place, however, and no longer germane to my tale.
Chapter Five: Pansy Parkinson ~ A Beautiful Witch Needed