Part I: The Yellow Rose
Today-- 18 August, 2003-- it is five years since my best friend became a murderer. It is five years since my mentor Remus Lupin avenged James and Sirius and killed Peter Pettigrew. It is five years today since the death of that mysterious young man who left me this strange house full of shadows and photographs.
And we are celebrating.
I wondered what it must have been like for Draco, to grow up in this house. This sort of thing must have been a regular occurrence. How strange a childhood. I was raised by dentists. Middle class-- they did well enough to send me to a private school until I was summoned to Hogwarts.
I had thought I would be excited, but some of me was just too heavy. I could care less that Seamus is getting divorced yet again. My guests in the gardens laughed and smiled. The air was heavy with the scent of hot roses. There were somber pauses when the name of one of the Fallen was mentioned. One would think I would be talking books with Lupin or Snape, but neither were there, but each for very different reasons. But I made the rounds as mistress of Malfoy Manor, and I shook hands and I smiled, and I nodded and. . . it was enough to me sick.
I wandered into a deeper garden when Harry stood up to make a speech. He'd practiced it on me earlier that day, and I'd corrected a split infinitive or two and we'd laughed like we were students again-- McGonagall always abhorred improper grammar in our essays.
I hadn't put candles in every of the pathway sconces, so as I walked farther in, it became darker. "Lumos," I muttered.
And then I found it. A gate I'd never seen before, in all the years I'd lived here. In twisted verdigris copper, there was the Malfoy crest. I pushed at it, but it was locked. "Allohamora," I said. The gate did not budge.
"Oh come on," I said, perhaps to myself. "I want to know what's in there, but I've got to get back and be the lady of this house." I thought I heard something laughing, but it was a mechanical jack-in-the-box of a laugh. "Oh, bugger off," I muttered and shone the light of my wand around. The stone walls on either side of the gate were encrusted with ivy. And yet, there was an edge of bronze shining from one side. I peeled away the foliage and discovered a plaque: Camille Malfoy, 1866-1888. "That's all?" I asked it indignantly. "Well, Camille Malfoy, I'll be back." I returned the way I had come, and arrived out in the lights again.
The area, however, was empty save one figure standing in the center of the mosaic courtyard. It was Harry, waiting for me. I walked toward him slowly, uneasy of what had happened. "I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye," he said quietly. "Everyone else has left."
"What?" I said, frantically looking around. "What time is it?"
"After four-- we all got a bit worried. Where were you?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "After four. . . what the hell happened?"
"To you, I don't know," he said. "Out here, not much. Formal. Terrifying, perhaps."
"I'm sorry. I know tonight was probably hard for you."
"A bit," he admitted. "Ironic that we celebrate here of all places."
"I know," I said. "I visited Draco's grave this morning. And Ron's."
"Ah," said Harry, but nothing more. We were silent. Harry and I were many things: best friends, partners-in-crime, and briefly lovers. The last of these was hardly longer than three months-- but the press loved it. We didn't.
That night, as I stood there in velvet again for the first time since before Riddle's fall, I looked in Harry's eyes. Absinthe green. I could tell exactly why we didn't work: we knew each other too well. We both wanted mystery, and that was something neither of us had. "Well, err, you have work-- class-- tomorrow don't you?" he said awkwardly.
"I don't work on Tuesdays," I reminded him. There was that silence again. I embraced Harry and wished I could be 'his sister or something' again. Over his shoulder, I could see that intriguing path. I was drawn to it; it was magnetic and I was iron. Harry seemed, for a moment, in the way of what I needed to do. It was a burden: to get inside. And I wondered if once inside, I would still have that feeling. If the creak of hinges would be true satisfaction. I stepped back, let go of Harry, and felt wretched to feel he was in the way of my mission. "Sorry," I said.
"Good night, Hermione," he answered.
"Good night," I nodded. He Apperated away-- to wherever he lived at that point; he moved often-- and I started to head back towards the copper gate.
How long had I been standing there in front of the walls? It took me longer this time to find it again, and when I tried sticking my lighted wand through the gate to see what was behind it, but it was just darkness.
I examined the plaque again-- and then an idea came to me. I stripped away the ivy on the other side, to reveal a matching plaque. At first glance it was gibberish. However, I knew the Malfoy nature well enough to guess that it was a code. I conjured a paper and pencil and carefully copied it down: "Ymvad mdomzm-- qustf ue ymvad mdomzm-- eujfqqz rad ymvad mdomzm-- rahd. Bmsq ar bqzfmoxqe ixx ruzp zuzq as fqz ar eidps ur etq ue ymvad mdomza-- lqda-- qp nk ruhq ar imzpe. Wbustf ar ogbe nduzse zuzq ar imzpe. Ymvad mdomzm-- qusthqqz mzp daeqe imuf rad kag. Iqxoayq. O. Ymxrak."
That was all I could take. I know what becomes of curiosity and certain felines, so I gave in to my tiredness and went back into the Manor and slept-- uneasily, though. I dreamed of the gate in the dark garden. I dreamed of Draco wandering a labyrinth; Draco laughing at time and leading an army; Draco crucified with rose thorns.
I didn't remember it fully, but when I woke, my pillow was wet with tears.
Today-- 18 August, 2003-- it is five years since my best friend became a murderer. It is five years since my mentor Remus Lupin avenged James and Sirius and killed Peter Pettigrew. It is five years today since the death of that mysterious young man who left me this strange house full of shadows and photographs.
And we are celebrating.
I wondered what it must have been like for Draco, to grow up in this house. This sort of thing must have been a regular occurrence. How strange a childhood. I was raised by dentists. Middle class-- they did well enough to send me to a private school until I was summoned to Hogwarts.
I had thought I would be excited, but some of me was just too heavy. I could care less that Seamus is getting divorced yet again. My guests in the gardens laughed and smiled. The air was heavy with the scent of hot roses. There were somber pauses when the name of one of the Fallen was mentioned. One would think I would be talking books with Lupin or Snape, but neither were there, but each for very different reasons. But I made the rounds as mistress of Malfoy Manor, and I shook hands and I smiled, and I nodded and. . . it was enough to me sick.
I wandered into a deeper garden when Harry stood up to make a speech. He'd practiced it on me earlier that day, and I'd corrected a split infinitive or two and we'd laughed like we were students again-- McGonagall always abhorred improper grammar in our essays.
I hadn't put candles in every of the pathway sconces, so as I walked farther in, it became darker. "Lumos," I muttered.
And then I found it. A gate I'd never seen before, in all the years I'd lived here. In twisted verdigris copper, there was the Malfoy crest. I pushed at it, but it was locked. "Allohamora," I said. The gate did not budge.
"Oh come on," I said, perhaps to myself. "I want to know what's in there, but I've got to get back and be the lady of this house." I thought I heard something laughing, but it was a mechanical jack-in-the-box of a laugh. "Oh, bugger off," I muttered and shone the light of my wand around. The stone walls on either side of the gate were encrusted with ivy. And yet, there was an edge of bronze shining from one side. I peeled away the foliage and discovered a plaque: Camille Malfoy, 1866-1888. "That's all?" I asked it indignantly. "Well, Camille Malfoy, I'll be back." I returned the way I had come, and arrived out in the lights again.
The area, however, was empty save one figure standing in the center of the mosaic courtyard. It was Harry, waiting for me. I walked toward him slowly, uneasy of what had happened. "I wasn't going to leave without saying goodbye," he said quietly. "Everyone else has left."
"What?" I said, frantically looking around. "What time is it?"
"After four-- we all got a bit worried. Where were you?" Harry asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "After four. . . what the hell happened?"
"To you, I don't know," he said. "Out here, not much. Formal. Terrifying, perhaps."
"I'm sorry. I know tonight was probably hard for you."
"A bit," he admitted. "Ironic that we celebrate here of all places."
"I know," I said. "I visited Draco's grave this morning. And Ron's."
"Ah," said Harry, but nothing more. We were silent. Harry and I were many things: best friends, partners-in-crime, and briefly lovers. The last of these was hardly longer than three months-- but the press loved it. We didn't.
That night, as I stood there in velvet again for the first time since before Riddle's fall, I looked in Harry's eyes. Absinthe green. I could tell exactly why we didn't work: we knew each other too well. We both wanted mystery, and that was something neither of us had. "Well, err, you have work-- class-- tomorrow don't you?" he said awkwardly.
"I don't work on Tuesdays," I reminded him. There was that silence again. I embraced Harry and wished I could be 'his sister or something' again. Over his shoulder, I could see that intriguing path. I was drawn to it; it was magnetic and I was iron. Harry seemed, for a moment, in the way of what I needed to do. It was a burden: to get inside. And I wondered if once inside, I would still have that feeling. If the creak of hinges would be true satisfaction. I stepped back, let go of Harry, and felt wretched to feel he was in the way of my mission. "Sorry," I said.
"Good night, Hermione," he answered.
"Good night," I nodded. He Apperated away-- to wherever he lived at that point; he moved often-- and I started to head back towards the copper gate.
How long had I been standing there in front of the walls? It took me longer this time to find it again, and when I tried sticking my lighted wand through the gate to see what was behind it, but it was just darkness.
I examined the plaque again-- and then an idea came to me. I stripped away the ivy on the other side, to reveal a matching plaque. At first glance it was gibberish. However, I knew the Malfoy nature well enough to guess that it was a code. I conjured a paper and pencil and carefully copied it down: "Ymvad mdomzm-- qustf ue ymvad mdomzm-- eujfqqz rad ymvad mdomzm-- rahd. Bmsq ar bqzfmoxqe ixx ruzp zuzq as fqz ar eidps ur etq ue ymvad mdomza-- lqda-- qp nk ruhq ar imzpe. Wbustf ar ogbe nduzse zuzq ar imzpe. Ymvad mdomzm-- qusthqqz mzp daeqe imuf rad kag. Iqxoayq. O. Ymxrak."
That was all I could take. I know what becomes of curiosity and certain felines, so I gave in to my tiredness and went back into the Manor and slept-- uneasily, though. I dreamed of the gate in the dark garden. I dreamed of Draco wandering a labyrinth; Draco laughing at time and leading an army; Draco crucified with rose thorns.
I didn't remember it fully, but when I woke, my pillow was wet with tears.