Chapter Five of TCH
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THE CROOKED HEART
“If you want to make peace, you don’t talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies.” - Moshe Dayan
Chapter Five: An Unlikely Ally
Lucius Malfoy made no attempt to hide his lack of surprise. He looked up at the young man with an arrogant, knowing smirk. Immature perhaps, but after all these years, Lucius could not help but be Lucius. Besides which, it was important that he remain in control and not reveal that Harry Potter, was in fact the one with nearly all the power.
Lucius watched Potter pull the hood off his robes and put the breakfast tray - with hard, stale bread and a side serving of cold porridge - on the little, rickety table in the corner of the cell.
Potter looked around the little habitat, a disgusted look on his face as his eyes travelled over the rusty bars, the dirty floor and bed, the cold stone walls, and maybe even Lucius’ appearance. But really, it was prison, what did Potter expect? Actually, Lucius imagined he would like quite well in comparison to the way he was a year ago, when the Dementors were still here haunting the inmates.
Potter looked different to what Lucius remembered. In Lucius’ mind he had always bore the striking resemblance of his father, James - haughty and sure in appearance, but vulnerable underneath. But now, on closer inspection - and perhaps a different outlook - Lucius saw more of that Mudblood, Lily. She had been meek at first glance, but if you really looked; you could see the magic and the mind bubbling away under the surface. Potter stood tall and proud, leaking power. He’d found his balance. If Lucius hadn’t been so blindly desperate, he might’ve been intimidated.
Lucius gestured freely to the only chair in the tiny cell for Potter to sit on. Potter pulled the grimy, wooden chair over to himself and sat down in front of Lucius, his eyes wide and daring. Daring Lucius to make the first move. This suited him just fine. Lucius began a slow prowl around the cell. He walked back and forth, looking down at Potter menacingly and making it clear who was in charge.
“What a nice surprise,” Lucius drawled out easily. Quite an accomplishment as Lucius had not spoken a word since Fudge had come in a few days ago and had given Lucius a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Potter tilted his head contemptuously. “The first thing out of your mouth is a lie,” he said carefully. “This isn’t going to go well. You are clearly not surprised to see me here, and it is most definitely not nice.”
Lucius was impressed, but he was careful not to show it. The brat had gotten a bit of bite into him since they’d last met. And the boy was, possibly, as perceptive as him. “Very well,” Lucius smirked, not finished with the games just yet. “But before we get to the particulars, I’m curious as to how you got in here, Potter. Because honestly, if it were that easy people would certainly do it more often.”
Potter looked away for a moment, clearly reluctant to answer. Lucius stood over him like a teacher telling off a petulant child. Potter didn’t want to give too much away and he definitely didn’t want to be too co-operative. But he had to. Potter was just as aware as he was of how this was going to work. Tit for tat.
He met Lucius’ disdainful gaze and said resignedly, “It’s not that hard to get in here now that the Dementors are gone. Invisibility Cloaks and certain spells will do it. It’s getting on the island that’s the hard part.” Lucius began to prowl again and waved his hand for him to continue. Potter rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed but he went to continue. This pleased Lucius immensely. Clearly Potter hadn’t yet realised that this little meeting meant as much to Lucius as it did to himself.
“Its location is known only to those who work here and senior members of the Ministry. And even when you know where it is, it’s not exactly easy to get on here.” Potter scratched his chin and continued. “There is a magical barrier circling the whole island, not to mention the Sea Monster that guards the place.”
“So what did the great hero do?” Lucius asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Meaning?”
“I attracted the Sea Monster to the boundary,” Potter said, no emotion or pride in his achievement, “and enticed it to break through the ward. The barrier collapsed, temporarily, and the monster died. Nearly all the guards have left the island to get the ward back up before someone notices. They don’t seem to have guessed anything other than the monster suddenly came down with suicidal urges.”
Lucius tsked sardonically. “It is a hard life.”
Potter frowned and crossed his arms. “I have another twenty minutes - tops - until they get that ward back up and then I’m stuck in here so if you’re quite done …?”
“Would you care if I said I was impressed?” he said, his sarcasm still obvious.
“No,” snorted Potter, truthfully.
Lucius laughed at him. “Fine then. What do you want, Potter?”
“You know what I want,” said Potter. “Information. The question is, what do you want in return?”
“Clever boy,” said Lucius quietly, dropping the façade a little. Potter’s green eyes shone brightly in the murky cell, studying Lucius in a very insidious manner. “I want freedom, Potter.”
Potter’s face changed suddenly and Lucius recognised that look and was extremely put out. Potter pitied him. If Lucius didn’t need him so badly, he would’ve killed the little twat right then. Instead, he smothered his anger as much as was possible.
“I can’t get you out of here, Malfoy. You know that,” said Potter, in a small voice.
Lucius let out a strangled chuckle, still peeved and trying not to show it. “Yes, I know that. But freedom is the bargain.” Potter made to interrupt, looking frustrated, but Lucius silenced him with a wave and said, “I never said I wanted my freedom.”
Potter’s eyebrows furrowed and Lucius could see the boy’s mind working it over. Lucius perceived the exact moment when it hit him. Potter’s eyes’ got a sudden shine to them and his mouth formed a shocked smile.
“You want me to save your son.”
Lucius smiled, true and sad. “I want you to save my son.”
(())
Hermione stayed hunched on the red, floating buoy, snuggling herself into Ron who put his arm around her. It was deathly cold. She wanted to use a heating spell, but was worried it might be detected by the prison guards that surrounded the sea. Besides which, then she wouldn’t have an excuse to cosy up to Ron.
“I dunno,” said an Azkaban correctional officer in the distance. Hermione listened carefully, making sure they didn’t come to the conclusion that someone had broken into the prison. It had not been easy. They’d had to apparate to a nearby island and then transfigure rocks into these red, floating buoys. They’d then had to try and stay balanced as they floated around the then standing barrier, transfiguring more rocks into humungous tuna - a feat that only Hermione could accomplish - to attract the sea monster. They then proceeded to aggravate it with random hexes until it became so enraged that it made to lunge for them and broke down the barrier. This had caused the water to break into massive waves that had sent Hermione into the sea. Ron had - very heroically, in Hermione’s opinion - fished her out.
“Never seen nuffink like it. Maybe it got sleepy or somefink?”
“Very unlikely,” the prison warden replied.
“Whyzzat?” asked the officer.
“Caves …” Hermione whispered quietly. Ron looked at her questioningly.
“Because sea octopi sleep in ocean caves,” said the warden, a little impatiently. Ron smiled down at Hermione and she suddenly felt much warmer. “Something’s happened. I want you to check on the prisoners. Make sure everyone’s accounted for. They’ll have the barrier back up in a few minutes.”
Hermione’s feeling of warmth went quickly. If they searched the cells, they’d find Lucius Malfoy was not alone. She looked up at Ron. “We have to do something, stall them a bit,” she whispered. He nodded his head.
They regrettably untangled themselves from each other and slowly turned around to look beyond the buoy at the warden and correctional officer. The two men stood on a portable pier. It was like a barge with railings that glided smoothly over the ocean’s surface. The Sea Monster, roughly the size of a football ground, lay around them, its many legs off in different directions. It had terrible, rank smell and a tough, botchy, purplish hide.
Hermione saw the bald warden and the chubby officer looking down at the monster a little nervously. She racked her brain trying to find something to do to delay them.
“Come then, Quiggins, lets get going. That thing is giving me the … the-”
“The wiggins, sir?”
The warden gave a choking noise. “Um, yes, well. Let’s get out of here.”
Hermione smirked as an idea came to her. She aimed her wand at one of the gargantuan legs of the sea monsters’. “Wingardium Leviosa!” she whispered. The leg sluggishly raised itself from the ocean, disturbing the calm surface and splashing water everywhere. The chubby man called Quiggins screeched loudly.
“It’s alive! It’s bloody alive!”
The warden had gone a horrible shade of grey and Hermione raised her wand high and quickly brought it back down again. The leg imitated her actions and slammed into the barge, breaking it clean in half.
The warden and the officer went flying into the drink, flailing their limbs about and sending red sparks in the air for the officers on the other portable piers around them to see.
“Help us!” the warden cried to a distant barge that began gliding towards them. “Get the veterinarian or something! It’s still alive!”
Ron chuckled and Hermione smiled proudly. “Let’s get back to the wharf.” She tapped her wand at the back of the buoy and a little propeller appeared. They began to slowly float back to the dock at the closest island to Azkaban, Krazbavan.
She’d bought Harry a little bit more time. Hopefully it was enough.
(())
“What makes you think your son wants saving?” Harry said darkly. “The last time I saw him, he seemed pleased enough with the direction his life was taking.”
This was not entirely true, but Harry needed to know Lucius’ motivations and his reasoning. One did not simply kidnap a Death Eater and tell them their father doesn’t approve so maybe they should try a career in expressive arts? Harry was no fool.
“Perhaps this is true,” Lucius replied easily. “But I know my son. I raised him. What he lets people see and what he feels are often quite different.” Lucius had stopped pacing and was sitting on the bed.
Harry had always thought this true of Draco Malfoy, and so did not bother arguing. Instead, he decided to get straight to the point. “How am I meant to do this? How do you know where he’ll be? What am I meant to say? And, most importantly, will you make it worth my while?”
“You will take him from the Manor. He will be there because it is my birthday tomorrow, August twenty-fifth. You will tell him nothing. And I, unquestionably, will make it worth your while.” Lucius’ tone was very business-like. “You will bring him here, to me. Once I can ascertain that you have been successful, and I have spoken to him, you will have the liberty of asking me anything you like and if I know the answer, I will give it.”
“And then what? You’ll escape from here together? I can’t let that happen.” Harry shook his head.
“Don’t be stupid, Potter. The law might think I deserve to be here, but in helping me and letting me go, you will save many more,” Lucius patronized. “You might actually have a chance with the information I can provide. In war Potter, you have to do what’s necessary to survive.”
Harry didn’t like it. He didn’t trust Lucius and he didn’t like his chances of being able to get back into Azkaban undetected, let alone get a hold of his son. There was something that Lucius wasn’t telling him.
“I don’t trust you,” said Harry, darkly. He kicked the dirt up off the floor.
“I’d think you a fool if you did,” drawled Lucius. “But whatever underhandedness I might reveal - or not reveal - during our exchanges, I’m sure will be equally matched by your own. Don’t act so righteous,” Lucius lectured. “You have your own hidden agenda too. And remember, I have much more to lose in this than you.”
“That’s why I don’t trust you!” Harry retaliated quickly. “You would never negotiate unless you were sure you had complete control.”
Lucius looked truly impatient for the first time that morning. “Fine, let’s try this from a different angle. Do you think Draco deserves what he’s gone through? And don’t play games with me Potter, you now perfectly well why he stays with them. Everyone does.”
For you and your wife, thought Harry. Draco Malfoy was being held into service via blackmail. But this didn’t change the facts. “I think he has no one but himself, and maybe you, to blame for his fortunes.”
“True. But does he deserve it?”
Harry looked away.
“Answer the question Potter!” Lucius snapped.
“You already know the answer so why ask it?” Harry rose from his chair, his hands clenched. “Do you think I’d even be entertaining the idea if I didn’t feel at least a little bit of fucking sympathy for him? But it doesn’t change the fact that you are both Death Eaters, that you have done despicable things, and that you will continue to - whether as Voldemort’s puppets or some other means - if I let you just walk out of here!”
Lucius sat quietly. He looked slightly humbled, but Harry thought he was probably putting it on. The never-fading look of smugness was still there too. He knew what Harry was going to say. The information that Lucius could offer was too valuable not to attempt the man’s request. Besides which, was Harry’s very inconvenient hero-complex. And he had not forgotten that dream he’d had a few days ago. It almost seemed like his subconscious had foreshadowed their meeting. Harry couldn’t escape the feeling he’d had for some time now, that Draco Malfoy still had a part to play in this war. He supposed it was time for it to come out.
“How do I get into the Manor?” Harry asked quietly, sitting back in the chair, his resignation obvious.
Lucius smirked happily. “Excellent.”
(())
Hermione sat hunched under the main wharf, the damp sand stuck in her shoes. She was snuggled into Ron who had his eyes pierced on the ocean, hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry’s own little buoy.
“How long has he been?” Ron asked, his voice full of concern. Hermione loved Ron and Harry’s boundless devotion to each other; it made them seem more vulnerable to her and therefore, more real. It was lesson to her as well - to everyone - of what true friendship was.
She smiled reassuringly up at him. “He’ll be fine. You know he will.”
Ron shook his head, melodramatically. “How can you be so calm about everything? I seriously feel like joining the sea monster in the drink just to stop the endless stress. I’m sure this is going to have shocking affects on my social abilities later in life.”
Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. He smiled back at her and kissed her softly on the forehead. Her breath immediately caught in her throat and like she’d mjust had a hot coffee, her tummy became warm and full. It was a short lived feeling though as Ron suddenly began crawling away. “There’s the floaty-thingy!”
“It’s called a ‘buoy’,” said Hermione, disappointed as every time she ever got a moment alone with Ron, something interrupted them.
“Whatever, Harry’s alright!” said Ron, his relief evident.
As Harry washed up on the shore Ron waved him over to them under the wharf. Harry gave a little wave of acknowledgement and then pushed the buoy back into the ocean. They would apparate off Krazbavan.
Harry was doing a fabulous impersonation of a drowned rat so Hermione quickly performed a drying charm.
Harry then collapsed rather inelegantly on the sand at their feet. “Thanks Hermione,” he said, still exhausted but at least dry.
“Did you have trouble getting out?” Hermione asked.
Harry nodded his head and choked out, “I only just made it. The barrier was going up and I think one of the guards might’ve seen me, but they couldn’t do anything about it ‘cause they were trying to hold the barrier up.”
“Shit.” Ron ran his hand through his hair, nervously. “You aren’t exactly unrecognizable, this might mean trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.” Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a bit of frayed parchment. “They won’t know what I was doing there, just that I was there.”
“I guess. So then,” Ron asked, his face full of anticipation. “How was it? What was he like?”
“Worryingly unchanged,” said Harry forebodingly.
“That sounds dubious. What did he tell you?” asked Hermione.
Harry sighed tiredly and rubbed his forehead. “Nothing.”
“Oh no,” said Hermione, sympathetically.
“Bastard,” Ron hissed. “So what are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to Malfoy Manor,” said Harry, avoiding their eyes and reading the parchment.
“But …” Hermione shook her head confusedly. “Why? And what’s that you’ve got?”
“They’re directions. And we’re going to Malfoy Manor because Lucius won’t tell us anything unless we do something for him,” Harry said quietly, still not looking them in the eye.
“Like what?” Ron asked, the horror evident in his eyes.
Harry finally looked up at them and shook his head in amazement. “You are not going to believe this.”
(())
Draco stood in front of his bathroom mirror. He couldn’t look into his own eyes, scared of what he’d see - or rather what he wouldn’t see. Nothingness. So instead his gaze ran over the reflection of the fading bruises littering his arms and chest - the remaining vestiges of the Cruciatius Curse. As Draco studied the purple and yellow patterns on his body, he wished he could crawl back into bed. He hadn’t left it since the first culling, despite his mother’s attempts to get him out. He had been planning his death. How he was going to do it. He had tried to perform the Avada Kedavra Curse on himself, but his wand hadn’t worked. In fact no spell he tried worked. It was like his magic-battery had run out.
Draco knew what was happening. He’d read about it before. Severe depression often led to a loss of magic in wizards. This information, for Draco, only provided an excuse. An excuse for the lack of effort. For the lack of life.
But today, and just for today, Draco decided to put the effort in one last time. Today was his father’s forty-sixth birthday. No matter what else he felt for his father - anger and betrayal being the most prominent feelings - he could not help but care.
The feeling reminded him of something Theodore Knott had once said to him about Pansy Parkinson’s brother being killed in sixth year. Draco mentally rolled his eyes. It seemed that any sort of reflection he had had lately usually involved something Theodore had said to him. He remembered the conversation clearly.
“We should do something for Pansy,” Theodore had said.
Draco snorted. “Why? Craven knew what he was getting into - we all do. We’re just not all that stupid.” This comment caused malicious laughter around the Slytherin table.
Craven was killed by an Auror trying to steal muggle children from an orphanage. He was not the only one involved, but he was convinced by Bellatrix to take the blame when the Aurors had appeared. The others apparated away and the mess was left to him. When the Aurors told him he would be sent to Azkaban, he had tried to put up a fight. He came off second best.
Theodore stood suddenly, an angry scowl on his face. Everyone stopped laughing and looked at him intently. Theodore spoke to Draco quietly so that the others could not hear. “I do not know what’s happened to you. I never thought that you would be …” He shook his head, not finishing his sentence. He made to leave but Draco grabbed his arm.
“You didn’t even know Craven, why do you care?” Draco asked scornfully.
“I cannot help it. It’s called being human.”
That was the last time Theodore spoke to Draco. After that conversation, he refused to even acknowledge him and two weeks later he had disappeared, several other Slytherins in tow.
And today, finally, Draco understood Theodore’s words. So Draco got out of bed and he had a shower and he washed his hair and he put some clothes on and he walked down those lifeless corridors of the Manor.
He stood outside the dining room’s doors, making sure his disdainful mask was secure before entering. He let out a small gasp of surprise. His mother was not alone. There, in his father’s usual chair, sat his Aunt Fiona. Draco smiled and enormous wave of relief and grief suddenly washed over him and he felt like crying. But of course, he did not. He was glad though, that he would get to see her one last time.
Fiona Malfoy, fifteen years her brother’s junior, had not been to Malfoy Manor since Draco’s fifteenth birthday over two years ago. She had changed very little in appearance since that time. She had the trademark straight, pale blonde hair of a Malfoy and the same wide grey eyes. She looked much like her brother, but she did not sport a traditional Malfoy smirk, or even an elegant smile, but more of small goofy grin. It lightened her whole face.
Fiona was the black sheep of the family. She was considered far too … neutral … to be altogether accepted. Lucius tolerated her only because she was a Malfoy and was yet to marry, so she could not be disowned for that. She was also a senior member of the French Ministry of Magic, made possible as Lucius and Fiona’s mother was French. Draco’s mother particularly despised her. Draco adored her.
“Well don’t just stand there Drake, give us a hug.” Aunt Fiona stood up and held her arms out. Draco nearly tripped over himself as he ran into her embrace.
“You’ve gotten so tall,” she commented as Draco squeezed her tight, breathing in her familiar smell. She’d worn the same perfume for as long as Draco could remember - a smooth, vanilla scent.
“Does the extensive hugging mean you missed me, Drake?” Draco smiled into her neck. She was the only one who had ever given him a nickname, and in truth, if anyone else had tried to call him ‘Drake’, he’d probably hex them. But he loved the affection behind it.
“Well,” Narcissa interrupted. “Let’s have breakfast then.” Her lips were pursed and she had an obvious crease in her brow.
Narcissa had forever been jealous of Fiona’s easy way with Draco. They got on extremely well and Draco would tell her things he wouldn’t even think about in front of his mother. It was the main reason behind Narcissa’s hatefulness towards Fiona. But Draco wished his mother understood, that at the end of the day, despite everything else, she was still his mother and he loved her and nothing could change that. After all, he was only human. He could not help it.
Draco stepped away and sat in his normal chair opposite his mother, sporting a little smile.
Aunt Fiona immediately began piling her plate full of bacon and eggs, ignoring anything that could be remotely good for her.
“So you are still on a mission to block your arteries then?” observed Narcissa, rather coldly Draco thought.
“Yes. Hence why I had more money put into Clemenceau Memorial instead of the French Quidditch League,” Fiona gave her goofy grin to Draco. “They’ll have a cure or something soon enough.”
Narcissa seethed like she always did when Aunt Fiona brought up her status in the French Ministry. “Ah yes, your promotion to Treasurer,” Narcissa drawled nastily, sipping her pumpkin juice like it was a fine wine. “And who did you have to copulate with to get that job.”
“Mother!” Draco shot her a disgusted look. Aunt Fiona looked not the least bit deterred, “Vice Minister, Jean Pierre-Vitaire,” she replied easily, and then for good measure, “he was fabulous.”
Draco held back a snort and Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “So you are involved with this man then?”
Aunt Fiona sniffed. “He’s a fascist. He’s trying to cut us off from England. Thinks we’ll be the Dark Lord’s next stop when he’s done here.”
“We can only hope,” said Narcissa carefully, “that he would see fit to right the wrongs in France after curing Britain. Right, Draco?”
“Yes,” he said, robotically. “We can only hope.”
Aunt Fiona rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Have you gone to see Lucius?”
“They won’t let us,” answered Draco. “Because they know that … well that I …”
“That you’re in with the Big Bad?” Aunt Fiona said nonchalantly. Draco nodded his head. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. I’ll see if I can pull some strings for you.”
“And where do you stand Fiona, in this difficult time?” asked Narcissa, her frown returning and ignoring the offer. “You were never clear about it.”
“Where do I stand? Why right here next to Drake, right darling?” Aunt Fiona grinned at Draco and he smiled back.
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed to slits at this answer. “I am looking after Draco just fine thank you. I’m sure the Dark Lord could use your assistance in other ways, why do you not offer to help?”
This was a common train of conversation when Aunt Fiona was present. She was an extremely talented witch with many connections. Her service would not be shunned by the Dark Lord, should it be offered.
Draco never had understood why Fiona denied the Dark Lord. Draco knew that she had no sympathy for Mudbloods and muggles. Besides which, she detested stupid people - which more than eighty percent of the population was, in her opinion. It made no sense to him.
“He’s got plenty of people helping Narcissa, I assure you,” answered Aunt Fiona, the first sign of annoyance showing. She took a large swig of her orange juice.
Narcissa put her hands either side of her plate. She slowly clenched the table cloth. “Perhaps,” she began, her anger evident, “you are still suffering from the influence of that traitor, Regulus Black? Lucius has told me many times how absolutely crushed you were at his death.”
“Are you going to bring him up every time I come here or just on special occasions?” said Aunt Fiona. Her words were flippant but there was an unmistakable warning in her voice.
Draco wished his mother would leave her alone. Despite Narcissa’s earlier heckling, Fiona was not the Treasurer of the French Ministry for nothing.
“This is stressful time for us-” Narcissa started.
“That is why I am here,” interrupted Fiona with some authority. “And I would appreciate you leaving the personal attacks for a more suitable time.”
“I’m not scared of you,” announced Narcissa.
Fiona tilted her head wearing an expression that clearly said, ‘you should be’. Fiona turned away from Narcissa. “I heard about what happened at Hogwarts,” she said, staring down Draco. He did not meet her eyes and the sudden lightness he’d felt at her arrival instantly vanished. This was not something he wanted to discuss. “They told me you were meant to kill Dumbledore, but you couldn’t do it.”
“Leave him alone!” Narcissa rose from the table, irate. “It was a child’s weakness, he will not fail again! I wish you would all leave him alone!”
Fiona raised her eyebrows and Narcissa stalked out of the dining hall, so angry that it looked as though she might cry. She slammed the door loudly behind her. Draco quickly rose to leave the table too, afraid of being alone with his aunt, afraid of what she’d ask him.
As Draco reached the door, Fiona called his name. He turned, still not looking her in the eye.
“She is wrong, your mother.”
“What?” Draco asked, confused and a little scared.
“She is wrong about you,” said Aunt Fiona, softly. “It is not weakness. It is not weakness to value life.” Draco finally looked her in the eyes. “Especially a life other than your own.”
Draco leaned against the door. “No. She is right, I was just scared. I was shit scared.”
Fiona shook her head. “Everyone is capable of killing another, given the right circumstances. But you can never be scared of the act, just the consequences. What would be worse? You and your parents dying, but that old man going on to live and save many lives? Or you killing him, saving yourself and your parents, but no one else?”
“I was scared,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “I have no idea what you are crapping on about.”
“No, there’s more to it. I know it. I know you.”
“Do you?” asked Draco, his voice full of spite.
“Yes, I do.” She looked at him with patient eyes, trying to make him understand. “Let’s try this from a different angle then. Tell me, what are you more afraid of? Losing your parents and being alone, or killing an old man?”
Draco crossed his arms, trying very hard to keep his composure. He began tapping his fists against the door, a pained frown on his face. “The former, I guess.”
“So then why didn’t you kill Dumbledore? You knew what the consequences would be. That was what you were scared of, right?”
Draco froze up and looked down at his feet. He could not and would not answer that. Not after what Bellatrix had done.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Draco. The only side I am on is yours.”
Draco started. She had said this to him before. When he was six years old and he broke his father’s prized racing broomstick that was signed by Thea Gill, the greatest seeker to ever come out of England. He had refused to admit his guilt to anyone. Fiona had been staying with them at the time. She had convinced him to come forward and swore she would stand by him as he told his father, “The only side I am on is yours”, she’d said.
Then when he was nine and he stole three wands from Ollivander’s because his father refused to give him one until he was ready to go to Hogwarts. Then when he was eleven and he had stomped up and down the halls for days, screaming and breaking things because his father was going to send him to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, even though Narcissa hadn’t wanted him too. Aunt Fiona had come and convinced Lucius to let Draco go to Hogwarts. “The only side I am on is Draco’s”, she had told his father as Draco listened through the study door.
But could she really help him now? He didn’t even know what he wanted. Just that he didn’t want this. But then, he resolved, I am ending it all very soon. So what does it matter?
He looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. “Because I don’t want to be a murderer. It isn’t right.”
She smiled at him. “No, it isn’t, is it?” She rose from her seat. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m not leaving here until everything is sorted out. We’ll just take it one day at a time, alright?”
Draco slowly nodded, refusing to lose his composure. Then suddenly, something occurred to him. “Are you with the Order of the Phoenix,” he asked suspiciously.
Aunt Fiona snorted. “Absolutely not.”
“Then why … why are you …?”
“Not in with the Big Bad?”
Draco nodded his head. “Yeah, I mean, they’ve been trying since he came back. Trying to get you to join. Mother told me.”
“Just because I don’t agree with Dumbledore, doesn’t mean I agree with the Dark Lord.” Fiona walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “It’s okay to feel like that.”
Draco nodded his head again and suddenly, a bit of that dread that had been crushing him lifted off him just a little bit. Just enough to let the hope back in.
“Come here, I have something for you.” Aunt Fiona led him out of the dining room and into the main entrance where her luggage stood. She rummaged through it, swearing and throwing shirts and robes and knickers out as she searched. “Oh, here we go.”
She pulled out a scrunched up beach towel and handed it to him.
“Erm, thanks?” Draco said uncertainly.
Fiona scrunched her face up. “Unwrap the towel, you idiot.”
“Oh, right.” Draco pulled the towel apart and let it fall to the ground. In his hands lay a gleaming, golden horse. It was as long as his hand, from index finger to wrist, and proportionally thick. It looked magnificent.
“Thanks, Aunty Fee!” Draco said, holding it up to get a better look. “Where did you get this?”
“An old friend,” she replied. “Well, I better take my luggage up, but you come see me soon so we can have a chat, alright?”
Draco nodded his head as he walked down the hall towards the stairs. He held the golden horse in both hands, looking at it in amazement. He loved horses, but this seemed to be even more than that. Once again he felt a wave of gratitude at Aunt Fiona’s timely appearance.
Draco reached the foot of the stairs when he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps. More than one set. He slipped the horse into his large robe pocket and listened carefully, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling up. There was no sound for a moment and Draco began to calm down, deciding it must be noisy house-elf when he heard the unmistakable sound of a male’s voice. Draco breath caught in his throat and he instinctively pulled out his wand, forgetting that it was most likely no good to him.
He slowly walked into the adjacent hall to the stairs. Again he heard the voice, and this time he could make out some of the words.
“… freaking huge … it’s not natural, a place like this … ew, look at that-”
And then another voice, “Shut up, you idiot!”
Draco peeped his head around the corner, but he could see no one. He entered the hall, peering up and down, nothing was there and the voices had stopped. Draco shook his head, about to decide he really must be losing his mind when suddenly a wand popped out of then air.
“Stupefy!” Draco had a moment to think that the voice seemed vaguely familiar until he fell to the ground, unconscious.
... to be continued.
(())
Author’s Note: Thanks, once again, to my fantabulous beta, Kristin (a.k.a. AbundantFear).
raining_slash
Next Chapter
THE CROOKED HEART
“If you want to make peace, you don’t talk to your friends. You talk to your enemies.” - Moshe Dayan
Chapter Five: An Unlikely Ally
Lucius Malfoy made no attempt to hide his lack of surprise. He looked up at the young man with an arrogant, knowing smirk. Immature perhaps, but after all these years, Lucius could not help but be Lucius. Besides which, it was important that he remain in control and not reveal that Harry Potter, was in fact the one with nearly all the power.
Lucius watched Potter pull the hood off his robes and put the breakfast tray - with hard, stale bread and a side serving of cold porridge - on the little, rickety table in the corner of the cell.
Potter looked around the little habitat, a disgusted look on his face as his eyes travelled over the rusty bars, the dirty floor and bed, the cold stone walls, and maybe even Lucius’ appearance. But really, it was prison, what did Potter expect? Actually, Lucius imagined he would like quite well in comparison to the way he was a year ago, when the Dementors were still here haunting the inmates.
Potter looked different to what Lucius remembered. In Lucius’ mind he had always bore the striking resemblance of his father, James - haughty and sure in appearance, but vulnerable underneath. But now, on closer inspection - and perhaps a different outlook - Lucius saw more of that Mudblood, Lily. She had been meek at first glance, but if you really looked; you could see the magic and the mind bubbling away under the surface. Potter stood tall and proud, leaking power. He’d found his balance. If Lucius hadn’t been so blindly desperate, he might’ve been intimidated.
Lucius gestured freely to the only chair in the tiny cell for Potter to sit on. Potter pulled the grimy, wooden chair over to himself and sat down in front of Lucius, his eyes wide and daring. Daring Lucius to make the first move. This suited him just fine. Lucius began a slow prowl around the cell. He walked back and forth, looking down at Potter menacingly and making it clear who was in charge.
“What a nice surprise,” Lucius drawled out easily. Quite an accomplishment as Lucius had not spoken a word since Fudge had come in a few days ago and had given Lucius a copy of the Daily Prophet.
Potter tilted his head contemptuously. “The first thing out of your mouth is a lie,” he said carefully. “This isn’t going to go well. You are clearly not surprised to see me here, and it is most definitely not nice.”
Lucius was impressed, but he was careful not to show it. The brat had gotten a bit of bite into him since they’d last met. And the boy was, possibly, as perceptive as him. “Very well,” Lucius smirked, not finished with the games just yet. “But before we get to the particulars, I’m curious as to how you got in here, Potter. Because honestly, if it were that easy people would certainly do it more often.”
Potter looked away for a moment, clearly reluctant to answer. Lucius stood over him like a teacher telling off a petulant child. Potter didn’t want to give too much away and he definitely didn’t want to be too co-operative. But he had to. Potter was just as aware as he was of how this was going to work. Tit for tat.
He met Lucius’ disdainful gaze and said resignedly, “It’s not that hard to get in here now that the Dementors are gone. Invisibility Cloaks and certain spells will do it. It’s getting on the island that’s the hard part.” Lucius began to prowl again and waved his hand for him to continue. Potter rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed but he went to continue. This pleased Lucius immensely. Clearly Potter hadn’t yet realised that this little meeting meant as much to Lucius as it did to himself.
“Its location is known only to those who work here and senior members of the Ministry. And even when you know where it is, it’s not exactly easy to get on here.” Potter scratched his chin and continued. “There is a magical barrier circling the whole island, not to mention the Sea Monster that guards the place.”
“So what did the great hero do?” Lucius asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“I killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“Meaning?”
“I attracted the Sea Monster to the boundary,” Potter said, no emotion or pride in his achievement, “and enticed it to break through the ward. The barrier collapsed, temporarily, and the monster died. Nearly all the guards have left the island to get the ward back up before someone notices. They don’t seem to have guessed anything other than the monster suddenly came down with suicidal urges.”
Lucius tsked sardonically. “It is a hard life.”
Potter frowned and crossed his arms. “I have another twenty minutes - tops - until they get that ward back up and then I’m stuck in here so if you’re quite done …?”
“Would you care if I said I was impressed?” he said, his sarcasm still obvious.
“No,” snorted Potter, truthfully.
Lucius laughed at him. “Fine then. What do you want, Potter?”
“You know what I want,” said Potter. “Information. The question is, what do you want in return?”
“Clever boy,” said Lucius quietly, dropping the façade a little. Potter’s green eyes shone brightly in the murky cell, studying Lucius in a very insidious manner. “I want freedom, Potter.”
Potter’s face changed suddenly and Lucius recognised that look and was extremely put out. Potter pitied him. If Lucius didn’t need him so badly, he would’ve killed the little twat right then. Instead, he smothered his anger as much as was possible.
“I can’t get you out of here, Malfoy. You know that,” said Potter, in a small voice.
Lucius let out a strangled chuckle, still peeved and trying not to show it. “Yes, I know that. But freedom is the bargain.” Potter made to interrupt, looking frustrated, but Lucius silenced him with a wave and said, “I never said I wanted my freedom.”
Potter’s eyebrows furrowed and Lucius could see the boy’s mind working it over. Lucius perceived the exact moment when it hit him. Potter’s eyes’ got a sudden shine to them and his mouth formed a shocked smile.
“You want me to save your son.”
Lucius smiled, true and sad. “I want you to save my son.”
(())
Hermione stayed hunched on the red, floating buoy, snuggling herself into Ron who put his arm around her. It was deathly cold. She wanted to use a heating spell, but was worried it might be detected by the prison guards that surrounded the sea. Besides which, then she wouldn’t have an excuse to cosy up to Ron.
“I dunno,” said an Azkaban correctional officer in the distance. Hermione listened carefully, making sure they didn’t come to the conclusion that someone had broken into the prison. It had not been easy. They’d had to apparate to a nearby island and then transfigure rocks into these red, floating buoys. They’d then had to try and stay balanced as they floated around the then standing barrier, transfiguring more rocks into humungous tuna - a feat that only Hermione could accomplish - to attract the sea monster. They then proceeded to aggravate it with random hexes until it became so enraged that it made to lunge for them and broke down the barrier. This had caused the water to break into massive waves that had sent Hermione into the sea. Ron had - very heroically, in Hermione’s opinion - fished her out.
“Never seen nuffink like it. Maybe it got sleepy or somefink?”
“Very unlikely,” the prison warden replied.
“Whyzzat?” asked the officer.
“Caves …” Hermione whispered quietly. Ron looked at her questioningly.
“Because sea octopi sleep in ocean caves,” said the warden, a little impatiently. Ron smiled down at Hermione and she suddenly felt much warmer. “Something’s happened. I want you to check on the prisoners. Make sure everyone’s accounted for. They’ll have the barrier back up in a few minutes.”
Hermione’s feeling of warmth went quickly. If they searched the cells, they’d find Lucius Malfoy was not alone. She looked up at Ron. “We have to do something, stall them a bit,” she whispered. He nodded his head.
They regrettably untangled themselves from each other and slowly turned around to look beyond the buoy at the warden and correctional officer. The two men stood on a portable pier. It was like a barge with railings that glided smoothly over the ocean’s surface. The Sea Monster, roughly the size of a football ground, lay around them, its many legs off in different directions. It had terrible, rank smell and a tough, botchy, purplish hide.
Hermione saw the bald warden and the chubby officer looking down at the monster a little nervously. She racked her brain trying to find something to do to delay them.
“Come then, Quiggins, lets get going. That thing is giving me the … the-”
“The wiggins, sir?”
The warden gave a choking noise. “Um, yes, well. Let’s get out of here.”
Hermione smirked as an idea came to her. She aimed her wand at one of the gargantuan legs of the sea monsters’. “Wingardium Leviosa!” she whispered. The leg sluggishly raised itself from the ocean, disturbing the calm surface and splashing water everywhere. The chubby man called Quiggins screeched loudly.
“It’s alive! It’s bloody alive!”
The warden had gone a horrible shade of grey and Hermione raised her wand high and quickly brought it back down again. The leg imitated her actions and slammed into the barge, breaking it clean in half.
The warden and the officer went flying into the drink, flailing their limbs about and sending red sparks in the air for the officers on the other portable piers around them to see.
“Help us!” the warden cried to a distant barge that began gliding towards them. “Get the veterinarian or something! It’s still alive!”
Ron chuckled and Hermione smiled proudly. “Let’s get back to the wharf.” She tapped her wand at the back of the buoy and a little propeller appeared. They began to slowly float back to the dock at the closest island to Azkaban, Krazbavan.
She’d bought Harry a little bit more time. Hopefully it was enough.
(())
“What makes you think your son wants saving?” Harry said darkly. “The last time I saw him, he seemed pleased enough with the direction his life was taking.”
This was not entirely true, but Harry needed to know Lucius’ motivations and his reasoning. One did not simply kidnap a Death Eater and tell them their father doesn’t approve so maybe they should try a career in expressive arts? Harry was no fool.
“Perhaps this is true,” Lucius replied easily. “But I know my son. I raised him. What he lets people see and what he feels are often quite different.” Lucius had stopped pacing and was sitting on the bed.
Harry had always thought this true of Draco Malfoy, and so did not bother arguing. Instead, he decided to get straight to the point. “How am I meant to do this? How do you know where he’ll be? What am I meant to say? And, most importantly, will you make it worth my while?”
“You will take him from the Manor. He will be there because it is my birthday tomorrow, August twenty-fifth. You will tell him nothing. And I, unquestionably, will make it worth your while.” Lucius’ tone was very business-like. “You will bring him here, to me. Once I can ascertain that you have been successful, and I have spoken to him, you will have the liberty of asking me anything you like and if I know the answer, I will give it.”
“And then what? You’ll escape from here together? I can’t let that happen.” Harry shook his head.
“Don’t be stupid, Potter. The law might think I deserve to be here, but in helping me and letting me go, you will save many more,” Lucius patronized. “You might actually have a chance with the information I can provide. In war Potter, you have to do what’s necessary to survive.”
Harry didn’t like it. He didn’t trust Lucius and he didn’t like his chances of being able to get back into Azkaban undetected, let alone get a hold of his son. There was something that Lucius wasn’t telling him.
“I don’t trust you,” said Harry, darkly. He kicked the dirt up off the floor.
“I’d think you a fool if you did,” drawled Lucius. “But whatever underhandedness I might reveal - or not reveal - during our exchanges, I’m sure will be equally matched by your own. Don’t act so righteous,” Lucius lectured. “You have your own hidden agenda too. And remember, I have much more to lose in this than you.”
“That’s why I don’t trust you!” Harry retaliated quickly. “You would never negotiate unless you were sure you had complete control.”
Lucius looked truly impatient for the first time that morning. “Fine, let’s try this from a different angle. Do you think Draco deserves what he’s gone through? And don’t play games with me Potter, you now perfectly well why he stays with them. Everyone does.”
For you and your wife, thought Harry. Draco Malfoy was being held into service via blackmail. But this didn’t change the facts. “I think he has no one but himself, and maybe you, to blame for his fortunes.”
“True. But does he deserve it?”
Harry looked away.
“Answer the question Potter!” Lucius snapped.
“You already know the answer so why ask it?” Harry rose from his chair, his hands clenched. “Do you think I’d even be entertaining the idea if I didn’t feel at least a little bit of fucking sympathy for him? But it doesn’t change the fact that you are both Death Eaters, that you have done despicable things, and that you will continue to - whether as Voldemort’s puppets or some other means - if I let you just walk out of here!”
Lucius sat quietly. He looked slightly humbled, but Harry thought he was probably putting it on. The never-fading look of smugness was still there too. He knew what Harry was going to say. The information that Lucius could offer was too valuable not to attempt the man’s request. Besides which, was Harry’s very inconvenient hero-complex. And he had not forgotten that dream he’d had a few days ago. It almost seemed like his subconscious had foreshadowed their meeting. Harry couldn’t escape the feeling he’d had for some time now, that Draco Malfoy still had a part to play in this war. He supposed it was time for it to come out.
“How do I get into the Manor?” Harry asked quietly, sitting back in the chair, his resignation obvious.
Lucius smirked happily. “Excellent.”
(())
Hermione sat hunched under the main wharf, the damp sand stuck in her shoes. She was snuggled into Ron who had his eyes pierced on the ocean, hoping to catch a glimpse of Harry’s own little buoy.
“How long has he been?” Ron asked, his voice full of concern. Hermione loved Ron and Harry’s boundless devotion to each other; it made them seem more vulnerable to her and therefore, more real. It was lesson to her as well - to everyone - of what true friendship was.
She smiled reassuringly up at him. “He’ll be fine. You know he will.”
Ron shook his head, melodramatically. “How can you be so calm about everything? I seriously feel like joining the sea monster in the drink just to stop the endless stress. I’m sure this is going to have shocking affects on my social abilities later in life.”
Hermione couldn’t help but giggle. He smiled back at her and kissed her softly on the forehead. Her breath immediately caught in her throat and like she’d mjust had a hot coffee, her tummy became warm and full. It was a short lived feeling though as Ron suddenly began crawling away. “There’s the floaty-thingy!”
“It’s called a ‘buoy’,” said Hermione, disappointed as every time she ever got a moment alone with Ron, something interrupted them.
“Whatever, Harry’s alright!” said Ron, his relief evident.
As Harry washed up on the shore Ron waved him over to them under the wharf. Harry gave a little wave of acknowledgement and then pushed the buoy back into the ocean. They would apparate off Krazbavan.
Harry was doing a fabulous impersonation of a drowned rat so Hermione quickly performed a drying charm.
Harry then collapsed rather inelegantly on the sand at their feet. “Thanks Hermione,” he said, still exhausted but at least dry.
“Did you have trouble getting out?” Hermione asked.
Harry nodded his head and choked out, “I only just made it. The barrier was going up and I think one of the guards might’ve seen me, but they couldn’t do anything about it ‘cause they were trying to hold the barrier up.”
“Shit.” Ron ran his hand through his hair, nervously. “You aren’t exactly unrecognizable, this might mean trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it, it doesn’t matter.” Harry reached into his robes and pulled out a bit of frayed parchment. “They won’t know what I was doing there, just that I was there.”
“I guess. So then,” Ron asked, his face full of anticipation. “How was it? What was he like?”
“Worryingly unchanged,” said Harry forebodingly.
“That sounds dubious. What did he tell you?” asked Hermione.
Harry sighed tiredly and rubbed his forehead. “Nothing.”
“Oh no,” said Hermione, sympathetically.
“Bastard,” Ron hissed. “So what are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to Malfoy Manor,” said Harry, avoiding their eyes and reading the parchment.
“But …” Hermione shook her head confusedly. “Why? And what’s that you’ve got?”
“They’re directions. And we’re going to Malfoy Manor because Lucius won’t tell us anything unless we do something for him,” Harry said quietly, still not looking them in the eye.
“Like what?” Ron asked, the horror evident in his eyes.
Harry finally looked up at them and shook his head in amazement. “You are not going to believe this.”
(())
Draco stood in front of his bathroom mirror. He couldn’t look into his own eyes, scared of what he’d see - or rather what he wouldn’t see. Nothingness. So instead his gaze ran over the reflection of the fading bruises littering his arms and chest - the remaining vestiges of the Cruciatius Curse. As Draco studied the purple and yellow patterns on his body, he wished he could crawl back into bed. He hadn’t left it since the first culling, despite his mother’s attempts to get him out. He had been planning his death. How he was going to do it. He had tried to perform the Avada Kedavra Curse on himself, but his wand hadn’t worked. In fact no spell he tried worked. It was like his magic-battery had run out.
Draco knew what was happening. He’d read about it before. Severe depression often led to a loss of magic in wizards. This information, for Draco, only provided an excuse. An excuse for the lack of effort. For the lack of life.
But today, and just for today, Draco decided to put the effort in one last time. Today was his father’s forty-sixth birthday. No matter what else he felt for his father - anger and betrayal being the most prominent feelings - he could not help but care.
The feeling reminded him of something Theodore Knott had once said to him about Pansy Parkinson’s brother being killed in sixth year. Draco mentally rolled his eyes. It seemed that any sort of reflection he had had lately usually involved something Theodore had said to him. He remembered the conversation clearly.
“We should do something for Pansy,” Theodore had said.
Draco snorted. “Why? Craven knew what he was getting into - we all do. We’re just not all that stupid.” This comment caused malicious laughter around the Slytherin table.
Craven was killed by an Auror trying to steal muggle children from an orphanage. He was not the only one involved, but he was convinced by Bellatrix to take the blame when the Aurors had appeared. The others apparated away and the mess was left to him. When the Aurors told him he would be sent to Azkaban, he had tried to put up a fight. He came off second best.
Theodore stood suddenly, an angry scowl on his face. Everyone stopped laughing and looked at him intently. Theodore spoke to Draco quietly so that the others could not hear. “I do not know what’s happened to you. I never thought that you would be …” He shook his head, not finishing his sentence. He made to leave but Draco grabbed his arm.
“You didn’t even know Craven, why do you care?” Draco asked scornfully.
“I cannot help it. It’s called being human.”
That was the last time Theodore spoke to Draco. After that conversation, he refused to even acknowledge him and two weeks later he had disappeared, several other Slytherins in tow.
And today, finally, Draco understood Theodore’s words. So Draco got out of bed and he had a shower and he washed his hair and he put some clothes on and he walked down those lifeless corridors of the Manor.
He stood outside the dining room’s doors, making sure his disdainful mask was secure before entering. He let out a small gasp of surprise. His mother was not alone. There, in his father’s usual chair, sat his Aunt Fiona. Draco smiled and enormous wave of relief and grief suddenly washed over him and he felt like crying. But of course, he did not. He was glad though, that he would get to see her one last time.
Fiona Malfoy, fifteen years her brother’s junior, had not been to Malfoy Manor since Draco’s fifteenth birthday over two years ago. She had changed very little in appearance since that time. She had the trademark straight, pale blonde hair of a Malfoy and the same wide grey eyes. She looked much like her brother, but she did not sport a traditional Malfoy smirk, or even an elegant smile, but more of small goofy grin. It lightened her whole face.
Fiona was the black sheep of the family. She was considered far too … neutral … to be altogether accepted. Lucius tolerated her only because she was a Malfoy and was yet to marry, so she could not be disowned for that. She was also a senior member of the French Ministry of Magic, made possible as Lucius and Fiona’s mother was French. Draco’s mother particularly despised her. Draco adored her.
“Well don’t just stand there Drake, give us a hug.” Aunt Fiona stood up and held her arms out. Draco nearly tripped over himself as he ran into her embrace.
“You’ve gotten so tall,” she commented as Draco squeezed her tight, breathing in her familiar smell. She’d worn the same perfume for as long as Draco could remember - a smooth, vanilla scent.
“Does the extensive hugging mean you missed me, Drake?” Draco smiled into her neck. She was the only one who had ever given him a nickname, and in truth, if anyone else had tried to call him ‘Drake’, he’d probably hex them. But he loved the affection behind it.
“Well,” Narcissa interrupted. “Let’s have breakfast then.” Her lips were pursed and she had an obvious crease in her brow.
Narcissa had forever been jealous of Fiona’s easy way with Draco. They got on extremely well and Draco would tell her things he wouldn’t even think about in front of his mother. It was the main reason behind Narcissa’s hatefulness towards Fiona. But Draco wished his mother understood, that at the end of the day, despite everything else, she was still his mother and he loved her and nothing could change that. After all, he was only human. He could not help it.
Draco stepped away and sat in his normal chair opposite his mother, sporting a little smile.
Aunt Fiona immediately began piling her plate full of bacon and eggs, ignoring anything that could be remotely good for her.
“So you are still on a mission to block your arteries then?” observed Narcissa, rather coldly Draco thought.
“Yes. Hence why I had more money put into Clemenceau Memorial instead of the French Quidditch League,” Fiona gave her goofy grin to Draco. “They’ll have a cure or something soon enough.”
Narcissa seethed like she always did when Aunt Fiona brought up her status in the French Ministry. “Ah yes, your promotion to Treasurer,” Narcissa drawled nastily, sipping her pumpkin juice like it was a fine wine. “And who did you have to copulate with to get that job.”
“Mother!” Draco shot her a disgusted look. Aunt Fiona looked not the least bit deterred, “Vice Minister, Jean Pierre-Vitaire,” she replied easily, and then for good measure, “he was fabulous.”
Draco held back a snort and Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “So you are involved with this man then?”
Aunt Fiona sniffed. “He’s a fascist. He’s trying to cut us off from England. Thinks we’ll be the Dark Lord’s next stop when he’s done here.”
“We can only hope,” said Narcissa carefully, “that he would see fit to right the wrongs in France after curing Britain. Right, Draco?”
“Yes,” he said, robotically. “We can only hope.”
Aunt Fiona rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Have you gone to see Lucius?”
“They won’t let us,” answered Draco. “Because they know that … well that I …”
“That you’re in with the Big Bad?” Aunt Fiona said nonchalantly. Draco nodded his head. “Well, I suppose that’s to be expected. I’ll see if I can pull some strings for you.”
“And where do you stand Fiona, in this difficult time?” asked Narcissa, her frown returning and ignoring the offer. “You were never clear about it.”
“Where do I stand? Why right here next to Drake, right darling?” Aunt Fiona grinned at Draco and he smiled back.
Narcissa’s eyes narrowed to slits at this answer. “I am looking after Draco just fine thank you. I’m sure the Dark Lord could use your assistance in other ways, why do you not offer to help?”
This was a common train of conversation when Aunt Fiona was present. She was an extremely talented witch with many connections. Her service would not be shunned by the Dark Lord, should it be offered.
Draco never had understood why Fiona denied the Dark Lord. Draco knew that she had no sympathy for Mudbloods and muggles. Besides which, she detested stupid people - which more than eighty percent of the population was, in her opinion. It made no sense to him.
“He’s got plenty of people helping Narcissa, I assure you,” answered Aunt Fiona, the first sign of annoyance showing. She took a large swig of her orange juice.
Narcissa put her hands either side of her plate. She slowly clenched the table cloth. “Perhaps,” she began, her anger evident, “you are still suffering from the influence of that traitor, Regulus Black? Lucius has told me many times how absolutely crushed you were at his death.”
“Are you going to bring him up every time I come here or just on special occasions?” said Aunt Fiona. Her words were flippant but there was an unmistakable warning in her voice.
Draco wished his mother would leave her alone. Despite Narcissa’s earlier heckling, Fiona was not the Treasurer of the French Ministry for nothing.
“This is stressful time for us-” Narcissa started.
“That is why I am here,” interrupted Fiona with some authority. “And I would appreciate you leaving the personal attacks for a more suitable time.”
“I’m not scared of you,” announced Narcissa.
Fiona tilted her head wearing an expression that clearly said, ‘you should be’. Fiona turned away from Narcissa. “I heard about what happened at Hogwarts,” she said, staring down Draco. He did not meet her eyes and the sudden lightness he’d felt at her arrival instantly vanished. This was not something he wanted to discuss. “They told me you were meant to kill Dumbledore, but you couldn’t do it.”
“Leave him alone!” Narcissa rose from the table, irate. “It was a child’s weakness, he will not fail again! I wish you would all leave him alone!”
Fiona raised her eyebrows and Narcissa stalked out of the dining hall, so angry that it looked as though she might cry. She slammed the door loudly behind her. Draco quickly rose to leave the table too, afraid of being alone with his aunt, afraid of what she’d ask him.
As Draco reached the door, Fiona called his name. He turned, still not looking her in the eye.
“She is wrong, your mother.”
“What?” Draco asked, confused and a little scared.
“She is wrong about you,” said Aunt Fiona, softly. “It is not weakness. It is not weakness to value life.” Draco finally looked her in the eyes. “Especially a life other than your own.”
Draco leaned against the door. “No. She is right, I was just scared. I was shit scared.”
Fiona shook her head. “Everyone is capable of killing another, given the right circumstances. But you can never be scared of the act, just the consequences. What would be worse? You and your parents dying, but that old man going on to live and save many lives? Or you killing him, saving yourself and your parents, but no one else?”
“I was scared,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “I have no idea what you are crapping on about.”
“No, there’s more to it. I know it. I know you.”
“Do you?” asked Draco, his voice full of spite.
“Yes, I do.” She looked at him with patient eyes, trying to make him understand. “Let’s try this from a different angle then. Tell me, what are you more afraid of? Losing your parents and being alone, or killing an old man?”
Draco crossed his arms, trying very hard to keep his composure. He began tapping his fists against the door, a pained frown on his face. “The former, I guess.”
“So then why didn’t you kill Dumbledore? You knew what the consequences would be. That was what you were scared of, right?”
Draco froze up and looked down at his feet. He could not and would not answer that. Not after what Bellatrix had done.
“You have nothing to fear from me, Draco. The only side I am on is yours.”
Draco started. She had said this to him before. When he was six years old and he broke his father’s prized racing broomstick that was signed by Thea Gill, the greatest seeker to ever come out of England. He had refused to admit his guilt to anyone. Fiona had been staying with them at the time. She had convinced him to come forward and swore she would stand by him as he told his father, “The only side I am on is yours”, she’d said.
Then when he was nine and he stole three wands from Ollivander’s because his father refused to give him one until he was ready to go to Hogwarts. Then when he was eleven and he had stomped up and down the halls for days, screaming and breaking things because his father was going to send him to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts, even though Narcissa hadn’t wanted him too. Aunt Fiona had come and convinced Lucius to let Draco go to Hogwarts. “The only side I am on is Draco’s”, she had told his father as Draco listened through the study door.
But could she really help him now? He didn’t even know what he wanted. Just that he didn’t want this. But then, he resolved, I am ending it all very soon. So what does it matter?
He looked up at her, his eyes full of tears. “Because I don’t want to be a murderer. It isn’t right.”
She smiled at him. “No, it isn’t, is it?” She rose from her seat. “You don’t have to worry anymore. I’m not leaving here until everything is sorted out. We’ll just take it one day at a time, alright?”
Draco slowly nodded, refusing to lose his composure. Then suddenly, something occurred to him. “Are you with the Order of the Phoenix,” he asked suspiciously.
Aunt Fiona snorted. “Absolutely not.”
“Then why … why are you …?”
“Not in with the Big Bad?”
Draco nodded his head. “Yeah, I mean, they’ve been trying since he came back. Trying to get you to join. Mother told me.”
“Just because I don’t agree with Dumbledore, doesn’t mean I agree with the Dark Lord.” Fiona walked over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “It’s okay to feel like that.”
Draco nodded his head again and suddenly, a bit of that dread that had been crushing him lifted off him just a little bit. Just enough to let the hope back in.
“Come here, I have something for you.” Aunt Fiona led him out of the dining room and into the main entrance where her luggage stood. She rummaged through it, swearing and throwing shirts and robes and knickers out as she searched. “Oh, here we go.”
She pulled out a scrunched up beach towel and handed it to him.
“Erm, thanks?” Draco said uncertainly.
Fiona scrunched her face up. “Unwrap the towel, you idiot.”
“Oh, right.” Draco pulled the towel apart and let it fall to the ground. In his hands lay a gleaming, golden horse. It was as long as his hand, from index finger to wrist, and proportionally thick. It looked magnificent.
“Thanks, Aunty Fee!” Draco said, holding it up to get a better look. “Where did you get this?”
“An old friend,” she replied. “Well, I better take my luggage up, but you come see me soon so we can have a chat, alright?”
Draco nodded his head as he walked down the hall towards the stairs. He held the golden horse in both hands, looking at it in amazement. He loved horses, but this seemed to be even more than that. Once again he felt a wave of gratitude at Aunt Fiona’s timely appearance.
Draco reached the foot of the stairs when he suddenly heard the sound of footsteps. More than one set. He slipped the horse into his large robe pocket and listened carefully, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling up. There was no sound for a moment and Draco began to calm down, deciding it must be noisy house-elf when he heard the unmistakable sound of a male’s voice. Draco breath caught in his throat and he instinctively pulled out his wand, forgetting that it was most likely no good to him.
He slowly walked into the adjacent hall to the stairs. Again he heard the voice, and this time he could make out some of the words.
“… freaking huge … it’s not natural, a place like this … ew, look at that-”
And then another voice, “Shut up, you idiot!”
Draco peeped his head around the corner, but he could see no one. He entered the hall, peering up and down, nothing was there and the voices had stopped. Draco shook his head, about to decide he really must be losing his mind when suddenly a wand popped out of then air.
“Stupefy!” Draco had a moment to think that the voice seemed vaguely familiar until he fell to the ground, unconscious.
... to be continued.
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Author’s Note: Thanks, once again, to my fantabulous beta, Kristin (a.k.a. AbundantFear).
raining_slash
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