This story is not a nice one, obviously...none of my stories are, really.
It will take into account all the books, except for the last chapter of DH, that "19 years later" part.
The characters will not prance about in a sunny field of flowers, neither will they wallow in a smouldering pit of pathetic angst. I've seen to many good stories ruined by these extremes and I won't sabotage myself like that. There will be happiness, there will be pain, in equal, healthy rations.
Hermione will not struggle unreasonably to get under Lucius's skin even after he pushes her away… literally. That is silly and unrealistic. Why would she cling to him without any justification except the writer's yearning to push them as fast as posible in each other's arms?
This is a story about prejudice from both parts.
This is a story about seeing further and thinking differently, about removing that thick veil from one's eyes. And here I'm not referring only to the veil over Lucius's eyes...
Don't expect light hearted humour.
Don't expect a happy ending.
Don't expect a sad ending either.
Don't expect an evil Malfoy changed by love.
Don't expect a righteous Harry that understands and accepts anything that involves love.
Don't expect a moronic Ron and an uncommonly bright Hermione. We are all intelligent and retarded in our own ways.
Don't expect the Light's triumph over the Darkness.
Or the Darkness over the Light.
Don't expect anything.
Don't assume anything.
If you still are interested, if you still find this compelling enough, I welcome you in.
I open the doors for you to things unknown and feelings unthought-of.
I will take the heavy coat of prejudice off your tired shoulders and only when you are done and want to leave this place you may take it back… If you still want it of course.
"When dealing with people, remember you are not dealing with creatures of logic, but with creatures of emotion, creatures bristling with prejudice, and motivated by pride and vanity" Dale Carnegie
"Hypocrisy - prejudice with a halo." Ambrose Bierce
"Truth - an ingenious compound of desirability and appearance."
Under the Cool Shade of Virtue
Prologue
The winding dirt and rock road held nothing impressive to most people. It was just the classical English country side road flanked by trees and wide naked fields with thorny hedges marking their borders. No one could have even imagined that between those plain, unimpressive fields, just beyond that spindly grove and behind that uninviting thicket over there, to the left, stood a town.
The milkman completely ignored the place, the thought that there were any milk drinkers there being outlandish to him, the local rural policeman thought that perhaps the only neighbour altercations that took place in those bushes were between badgers and foxes and those were most definitely not under his authority. There was of course the occasional passing householder that would wrinkle his nose in disgust at the weeds disrupting the otherwise geometrically divided land.
The postman passed this little entrance through the hedges without even giving it a second look not because there was no post to be delivered there, on contrary a lot of post was being sent to that unkempt, repulsive piece of land, just like a lot of milk and neighbour altercations were being consumed, but this postman didn't know that if he were to be born in that small town he would not have to earn his living by trudging through mud and rocks to reach a godforsaken cottage to deliver a godforsaken electricity bill.
He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He was in the middle of a rather steep climb on the road and he now had to return the services to his bicycle, taking its place and dragging it up the small hill. He checked his watch and exhaled contently when he saw that he had plenty of time to catch his breath and have a smoke. He pulled the bike up just a few metres more, to the top of the hill, propped it on the side of the road and sat himself in the grass.
It was a beautiful summer day but unnaturally hot for this country and he was very annoyed by the sweat that trickled down his forehead. He blew smoke rings glaring at his bike, cursing his boss for being so environmentally conscious and making them deliver the post by bike. Then again he could understand the man's motivations; what with all the climate change that took place lately he probably wanted his conscious clean, especially since he had a family. He thought about his life, how at thirty-five he was unmarried and unlikely to get married as he had nothing to offer, no house of his own, no uncommonly developed intellect, no unknown dead rich uncle, he didn't even own a pet.
He looked down at his bent legs and grimaced at how scrawny they looked clad in his black uniform trousers. Not even that easy on the eye…he thought to himself dourly. He was very tall, very pale and very stringy; his uniform looked more like it was wrapped around a clothes hanger than on a human being. He found some consolation when he thought about his drinking nights with his mates and the occasional tavern wench he would find solace with. A wide grin spread the thin skin on his face.
His peace was suddenly disrupted though and he jumped slightly at the sound of loud voices all talking at once. He stood up and craned his neck down the hill to see what the reason for this entire racket was. It took a while for the owners of the voices to make themselves visible from behind the hedge that he ignored just moments before, but when they did they painted the most peculiar of pictures.
There were perhaps twelve or fifteen of them; he had no time to count them all, and each one odder then the other. Just at head of the crowd, apparently leading the others strode a tall, thin woman with a stern grimace on her face and a pointy hat on her head, walking beside her was a another woman, this one tiny, round and wearing some kind of brown burlap sack with high boots and a large hat, just behind her, chatting animatedly with the two women, walked a very portly and jolly looking man clad in…green silk? His eyes widened, was that really a long, green, silk…dress he was wearing?
Behind these three an actual midget dressed in turquoise was trying to keep up with the more long legged people screeching in a very aggravated manner after them, "Horace if you don't want to be forced into carrying me I suggest you slow down! And that goes for the ladies in front as well!"
He watched as a whole band of people of all ages and sizes appeared after the first four. They were a very loud bunch, all talking at the same time. One of the men was older and seemed to hold some authority over the ones following him; he was tall and dark skinned and the postman noticed in fascination that he was wearing traditional African clothes complete with a purple, round fez. Two of the men following him were wearing red costumes, with capes and tall boots. The next two men looked related, both had bright ginger hair, were tall and rather gangly but yet very different in clothing and demeanour, one was wearing a very formal business suit while the other was sporting shaggy hair and sneakers. The only that broke the pattern were a brown, curly haired young woman and a scruffy, bearded old man. The later was being pushed around with an actual twig by another of those cape-wearing fellows.
He just stood there open mouthed unable to think, not because of their unusual outfits or strange mannerisms, he was aware that in his country and in his time people were allowed and actually encouraged to be unique – even if he did not entirely agree to this trend – rather he was baffled by the way these people materialized out of thin air. He could swear that there was only a wide naked field beyond that hedge from where they appeared and he could swear that there was no one there moments ago.
The ginger haired young men seemed to be arguing over something while the wiry haired young woman waved her arms in exasperation and admonished them. She was wearing a very put out expression on her face and she was throwing side glances at the bearded man behind her.
The older people in front stopped suddenly and the postman, for a reason or another, felt the unexplainable urge to hide. He woke up from his bemused trance and scrambled to some nearby bushes, just off the road. He felt like slapping himself when he looked to the right and there, propped on its support, mocking him stood his bike. He dismissed his unexplainable dread by rationalizing that there was no logical reason for his fear of those people, therefore the bike was perfect where it was, if it would attract their unwanted attention he would drive them away saying he is relieving himself in the bushes, they were a bunch of freaks but they couldn't want to see him answering the call of nature. With that thought in mind and with his heart in his throat he slowly lifted a thin branch from his line of sight, being a little closer to them now he could hear and see them perfectly.
"'Mione, let me be, the git started it!" The younger red head said to the girl.
"I will ask you to cease using that foul language when mentioning me!" The arrogant older one said in a high pitched drawl. They were definitely related, brothers perhaps.
"Ms McGonagall this is hell. Why did everyone need to come? It's not like we need all the head of houses and the minister to manage him. I mean look at him…" The younger one addressed the stern, older woman in front. He waved a hand in the general direction of the dirty and pathetic looking old man who answered with a sharp glare his way. The young woman rolled her eyes.
"Yes Ron, keep up your delusions…" she replied in a bored but rather vicious tone.
"Hermione, please this is not the time or the place." The young man half pleaded.
"Yeah, it never is." She retorted clenching her fists by her side. These two showed signs of being married, the postman mussed.
The tall, elderly woman in front was still frozen to the spot scrutinizing the surroundings sharply. She looked increasingly annoyed and lifting a hand towards the bickering lot she whispered, "Shush! There is someone else here!"
All stopped in an instant as if they were expecting the poor hiding man to jump at them from behind the bushes with an axe in his hand. He could not understand what was wrong with those people and their fear was starting to rub off on him. He looked behind him, actually believing that there was some kind of unknown threat coming from somewhere, not even thinking that the reason for their defensive reaction was indeed him.
The heat of the summer day combined with the increase in his blood pressure were producing actual rivulets of sweat on his back, the shirt gluing to his skin, he had to stand still and ignore the clammy fabric as maddening as it was.
He watched in puzzlement as – at the stern woman's signal –all (with the exception of the elderly man) produced from their sleeves, pockets or purses, long thin…sticks and lifted them up menacingly as if wielding some mighty swords. They must have escaped from the mental asylum, he decided.
"It could be a muggle…" The brown haired young woman whispered.
"It could even be a fox but it could also be a Death Eater so we can never be too careful." Said the one called Ron.
"Shhhh!" the stern woman admonished in obvious aggravation. "I think Miss Granger might be right Mister Weasley, there is one of those muggle travelling devices on the side of the road" she said craning her neck to get a better look at his bicycle.
Munglle, Death Eater? Definitely a bunch of loons, he thought with certainty.
They were all coming from the field, closer to the road, crowding to see the said device.
"That's a bicycle, a postman's bicycle from the look of it." The brown haired girl said. All the faces turned to her in admiration as the postman was starting to remember how his mother always warned him to stay away from lunatics.
They all stilled for a few seconds, the postman starring bemusedly at them while they were still waiting for the danger to show itself. The only one oblivious to the situation was the older man, who had a distinctively bored expression on his face.
"Please come out! We will not hurt you in any way." The tall woman announced in a grave voice.
"We didn't exactly perform any…thing…out of the ordinary in front of him or her, did we? I mean, why do we need to do this?" said Ron in a reluctant voice.
"Mister Weasley, if you were a muggle you wouldn't call popping out of nowhere in the middle of a barren field ordinary." said in amusement the portly man. Ron shrugged and straightened the stick in his hand mumbling something that sounded like "Whatever…"
"And how would you know he saw us coming Horace?" spoke the tiny man lifting an inquisitive brow at his larger companion.
"That contraption must have been there for quite some time Fillius, muggles haven't yet discovered how to summon things out of thin air from what I know. So I only suspect that the owner left it there and went about his business, or saw us and hid somewhere in the thicket."
The poor man hiding in the bushes was now fighting a great urge to hop on his bike and make a run for it. He wasn't afraid of their stupid twigs; he was afraid of madmen, he has always been and these were the worse sort and were many of them too. His fingers trembled slightly and the branch in his hand slipped from his grip which caused the said branch to recoil and hit him over the face. He gave a surprised yelp at the pain that crossed his cheek and nose.
All the people turned to him pointing their sticks to the place he was hiding in. Even if they still could not see him he knew that he gave himself away because of that stupid twig.
"Please come out, we will not hurt you!" said the tall woman again and the postman widened his eyes when she started to approach him. The others walked behind, forming a half circle around her. The only ones not moving from their spot were the old man together with his companion that still held his own stick deeply planted in the geezers' back.
"Minerva, let me deal with this, please. It's dangerous." Spoke for the first time the African man.
"Kingsley, honestly, the only danger here is standing right behind you. After everything, this is piece of cake." The tall woman spoke with an edge to her voice but continued making small steps towards him.
She stopped a few metres away from him and even if she could not see him he had an odd feeling she could somehow feel his thoughts.
She lifted that stick in the air, closed her eyes and swished it randomly a few times towards him. A strange wind cooled his skin and a hazy glow erupted from the woman…or from that stick she was holding? He was staring at the glow in amazement as it actually started to somehow part the bushes that only moments ago protected him. The leaves rustled and more wind blew on him and into the vegetation as he was slowly being revealed to those abnormal people. He was starting to have doubts about his own sanity now and almost laughed at the sheer irony of the realisation. Only moments ago he thought about how much he despised freaks and loonies only to realise that now he was one of them.
The image that the people were met with was not unfamiliar to them, a muggle looking at them with a mixture of befuddlement and amusement on his face. The perplexity left from his earlier reaction at their eccentricity and the amusement due to the present deduction that he was the one loosing his marbles.
The older, thin woman shook her head and inhaled deeply scrutinizing him from head to toe.
"Sir, whatever were you doing here?" she asked him with what sounded like relief in her voice. He wanted to give her a silly, nonsensical answer like, "Picking raspberries", but he could only smile dumbly at her and mumble another nonsensical answer, "I need a vacation…"
They all seemed to stare at him with compassion and he wondered why even his hallucinations pitied him. He decided that this was a very sad realisation.
"Miss Granger, Mister Weasley, you know the procedure, I suggest one of you does what must be done, after all you are officially entitled to. Of course, that is if Kingsley gives permission…" Said the woman named Minerva to the youngest of the people in the group while eyeing the dark man.
"Sure, sure, go right ahead. Consider this your first field mission." Answered the man named Kingsley with a serious voice.
The two nodded and approached him slowly with their sticks raised.
"Some mission this is…" mumbled the red haired boy.
"You want me to do it Ron? You might want to take care of him." the brown haired harshly asked her ginger boyfriend while pointing to the old man in the back that seemed to be considered the source of all evils. The postman couldn't understand the reason of all this antagonism towards such a wizened and wretched looking old man.
"No 'Mione, I'll do it, do you think I'm not capable or you just want me to spend more time with him?" the red haired glared at his girlfriend and he too pointed over his shoulder at the infamous geezer, she frowned looking positively murderous. "Anyway," he continued turning back to look at the postman and ignoring his fuming girlfriend. "the muggle might get a bit of paranoia afterwards so it's safer if I do it."
"Yeah, whatever Ron! You always do what strikes your fancy…" she looked between the postman and her boyfriend and lifting her chin in the air turned on her heels and stomped away.
The man was feeling like a rabbit in the headlights, he wasn't particularly afraid, just very shocked and couldn't even find the urge to run. The young man approached him with a trained expression of reassurance on his face.
"Alright now mate, I will not hurt you, 'twill be fine, fast and you won't know a thing." He said wanting to soothe him.
"You are not even real…what the hell do you want from me…get away." He mumbled actually trying to panic, trying to find the way to react normally to such a strange situation.
"Yeah pal, I'm not real, just think of that and you'll be fine." the boy said with slight amusement in his blue eyes. He wanted to punch that freckled face of his.
"We'll go then Ron. It won't take long for you here right? We'll be at the mansion, alright?" said one of the cape wearing men in the back.
"Yeah Smith you all go right ahead. I'll be there in five minutes." answered the boy without looking back.
"Be careful Ronald, alright?" said the man named Kingsley with concern in his voice.
"Yea, I'll be fine sir don't worry, it's just an obliviation spell; done it plenty of times in training." He said again a little breathlessly but this time he turned around and gazed at all of them for a moment.
A blaze of white blinded the postman as Ron wiped out a handkerchief from his jeans and patted his forehead lightly before turning back to face him.
"I need to see a doctor…" he mumbled to himself.
The young man ignored him and pointed the stick at his forehead. The postman started laughing like a madman.
"What ye gonna do? Hit me over the head with that twig…this is the most stup…" But before he could finish his sentence two things happened in the same time, the people in the back disappeared into thin air with a thundering bang and the young man looked sharply in his eyes and yelled something he could not understand very well.
"Obliviate!" a bright white light came from the stick and entered his eyes and then everything went dark.
A moment of confusion and dizziness and then someone was hoisting him up by his arms and he couldn't understand why. He opened his eyes and looked into a green, sunny clearing just beside the road he climbed a minute earlier. He was just beside the bike a minute ago, he could not understand why he was now sitting between the bushes.
"You alright mate?" a voice said from his left. He presumed the voice belonged to whoever was helping him on his feet earlier so he turned around to look into two smiling blue eyes.
"You ok?" the young man insisted. He had shoulder length red hair with a side parting, a discoloured blue t-shirt and worn out jeans with knees. The confused teenager appearance and bearing contrasted with the face that looked older. He seemed very familiar for some reason.
"Yeah I'm fine. What happened?" he asked bleary-eyed.
"I was talking to you and you fainted. Just like that, blacked out! I gathered you off the ground just before you almost went head first into that puddle there", the man was talking enthusiastically, mimicking the way he almost dived into mud. "Here, take this, you are sweating like a troll!" A large handkerchief was pushed into his hand. For some unknown reason the image of some sort of white sheet being waved under a blinding light came into his mind. He ignored his strange mussing and the offensive remark about his sweating and thankfully took the handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
"Yeah thanks…"
"It must be this heat, really getting to you, you know," he shook his head before continuing with even more verve. "Heard of so many people that fainted on the streets of London this summer because of it…" He trailed off looking down the road at the scorching pavement.
"Maybe it is the heat." he agreed.
"Yep, definitely the heat, dangerous thing I tell you!" the young man ranted again.
"So…err…what are you doing here…?" he asked awkwardly, not really understanding who this man was and why was he so familiar.
"Oh yeah, I was walking down this road 'cause my cad…err, car broke down and I needed to find the nearest town. I found you and asked you where it could be and then you fell." The young man was speaking very fast as if he was in a huge hurry. The postman decided that he must have been in a hurry to get somewhere when bad luck stroked and his car left him in the road. He was a helpful man and he felt sorry for the poor soul, out of repaying the services of being helped when he fainted if not for anything else, he decided to give a hand. Even if he couldn't remember the young man asking him anything before he fell he blamed it all on the scorching heat.
"Where is that car of yours, I could help you with it you know, I have some experience with mechanics." He announced trying to sound dignified, banishing the lingering weakness in his voice.
"No, no, no! That will be fine; really, I don't want to bother you. My destination was the nearest town anyway, so I'll just go there…my brother lives there and we'll come later and pick up the car." He answered speaking very fast.
There was a moment of silence when only the low humming of hay grasshoppers was heard before the postman asked puzzled.
"There, where?"
"What do you mean?" asked the young man with equal confusion.
"The town where your brother lives, you just said it's close by…What town is it?" The postman looked at his odd companion while he opened his mouth slightly as if he had no idea where this brother of his lived.
"Ah…yes that! It was something along the lines of B-B-B...", he propped one finger on his lower lip musingly while chanting the letter like a toddler learning to talk; the postman was getting more aggravated by the minute. "Ah yes I think it was Barn – something…Barnstable perhaps?" He asked the postman looking completely lost.
The postman didn't know whether to turn around and leave or laugh in the young man's face. He decided that at his age he wasn't very good at geography either so he could at least help the poor sod.
"You mean Barnstaple not Barnstable, right?" he asked thinning his lips in an effort to control his amusement. Well now, the Barn Stable, the stable that is also a barn, that must truly be a practical invention, he had to give the young man that. In his career as a postman he discovered lots of funny town names and now he thought he found the answer to how they came into existence.
"Yeah, yeah, that's the name!" The young man exhaled looking suddenly happy.
"Well that's a long way to go. Barnstaple is almost forty kilometres away from here", he said pointing with his hand along the road to emphasise the distance. "I don't think you can walk there, unless you have the whole day to waste. Why don't you give him a phone call? Don't you have a cell phone? 'Cause if you don't I can lend you mine," he offered in a moment of generosity before coming back to his senses, "with the condition you let it ring once and he calls you back afterwards."
"No 'tis alright, I won't fon him", he seemed to be struggling to pronounce that word. "I was going to surprise him anyway…", the red-haired added quickly. "Maybe I'm mistaking, he just moved there a little while ago and I don't remember the name of the town. It was something starting with B though, I just know it."
"Well, the only town at a walking distance from here and starting with a B is Bodmin…but it doesn't sound anything like Barnstaple..." the man looked down the road again and turned back at the wide eyed young man in front of him.
"I don't want to give you wrong directions." he added.
"No, no that was it, now that I think of it. Bodmin, you said?"
"Yes, Bodmin, 15 minutes walk from here." The man said with certainty coating his words.
"Hey, I should trust you, right? You are the post…guy after all." said the red-haired grinning and scratching the back of his head awkwardly.
The postman looked attentively at the young man's pupils to see if they are dilated and then lowered his eyes down the pale forearms searching for needle marks. To his surprise everything looked fine.
"Right, I'm the guy with the post, I know everything." The man said with a perplexed smirk.
"Ha, yeah, everything…" the red haired trailed off before taking a deep breath and extending his right hand to the other man. "Well I'll be off then, don't want to keep you from flying in the mail, right?" He stood there with his hand in the air and a lopsided grin on his face. The postman pondered on his thoughts for a while before scanning the other one's scruffy appearance one more time and finally deciding to take his chance.
"Ah, yes flying in my mail. I have plenty of time to fly it in, don't worry about that", he said with mock laughter, the postman looked around like he was about to deliver the biggest secret known to humanity and then leaned in closer to the young man whispering. "I know this is a little bit in your face. or so to say, but I was wondering whether you have any, you know, stuff on you now? I would really need some and I have plenty of money…" He remembered he had a few pounds to give to one of his drinking mates and thought that perhaps he could pay him back in more illegal ways.
The young man dropped his proffered hand and frowned at him in confusion.
"What stuff? I don't know what you are talking about and I really must be off if you don't mind…" he seemed anxious to leave and the postman was even more certain that the little red git was lying.
"Stuff, grass, greenies, hash-brownies…you know…" he whispered again, this time even lower than before.
The younger man still starred at him wide eyed and scrunched his face in perplexity.
"I really, honestly don't know what you're on about…"
"How old are you?"
"Err, twenty-three. Why?" he asked in exasperation. He was sweating and seemed very anxious for some reason that the postman could not understand. Of course he blamed it on an addiction or another.
"Oh for God's sake mate, you must know what grass means… He whispered sounding a little amused. At the young man's bewildered expression the postman pressed on. "Marijuana?"
"Are you looking for some Spanish chick named Mary Juana? I really don't know who she is alright and I have to go", he said rubbing his hands slightly and backing off with small steps. "It might be this heat again…So if you feel better and think you are not going to faint again I'll be off." he said with a decisive nod that made his hair fall all over his eyes.
"Don't play stupid with me! You know I'm not looking for some wench!" He breathed in sharply to calm himself. "I won't tell anyone alright? Just give me a gram and that'll be it." He didn't want to loose his chance with the young man because he knew that London, the best source for illegal substances, was a long and expensive distance away and the little towns that he was making his deliveries to were closing even their liquor stores at seven.
"Listen, this is stupid! Are you daft, or what? I have no idea what you are on about! You want me to spell it to you? I. Do. Not. Know. Alright?" The red haired was fuming and he was almost half-way to the street, prepared to leave.
"Got a temper do ya'? Alright, piss off then you barmy moron!" He yelled after him.
"You're bloody mental, that's what you are!" Retorted the young man upon reaching the long street, he glared at the postman one last time before turning his back and stomping down the hill and out of his sight.
"Insane kids! Looks like a junkie, acts like a junkie…talks like junkie; it is a junkie and has grass! And wants to sell it too…" The man grumbled clenching his fists angrily. He hated insolence, especially coming from young brats like that one. He turned to his bicycle and groaned at the thought of the hot, burning saddle that was waiting for him.
"Or maybe he was just out of the funny farm…" he mussed out-loud.
A low thunder banged somewhere, not far from where he was and the man thought with relief that some good old English rain was going to cool down this melting pavement. He stopped and sniffed the dusty, summer air; the thought of thunder came with a strange feeling of déjà vu.
He came out of his reverie when he felt he was clenching something in his right fist, a sort of fabric.
He looked down to see a crushed, white piece of cotton in his hand. The brat's handkerchief. He turned back from his bicycle and walked to the edge of the hill and looked down the road. He wanted to give him back the small object, he should be right here, he couldn't have got far in one minute and he said the car was just there, down the hill.
The road was going down abruptly but it was straight, with only a few stray trees on its sides. You could see for kilometres away as there were no sudden turns, just a straight street. The problem he had with the high road he was eyeing right now was not the lack of tall vegetation or even turns but the lack of red haired oddballs walking along it.
He frowned and stood there with his mouth slightly opened and the handkerchief hanging in his limp hand for a moment. He was chanting like a mantra, continuously, "There was nowhere he could hide!" He was looking around, just expecting for the young man to pop out of some bushes saying that he was smoking something, playing hide and seek or even digging for truffles for God's sake. He would have taken any explanation for truth at this point. Anything to prove he wasn't going mad.
He gripped the light fabric in is hand tighter. He had a proof, the boy was with him moments ago and helped him off the ground when he fainted, gave him the handkerchief to wipe the sweat of his face afterwards.
He lifted his hand and analyzed the object in his fist. It was a plain cotton handkerchief that probably used to be white once but now was rather old and yellowed with time. It looked very familiar and he strived to remember where he saw it. He had the frustrating feeling he had a memory gap, like a word he knew all his life and even if it nagged at the back of his mind he couldn't bring himself to remember it.
He inspected it on both sides and found, in one of the corners, a carefully hand sown inscription, two flourished initials in red and gold, "RW".
RW, RW, the brat's initials.
Proof, this is proof…