II.
Neville held the handle of his black leather medical bag firmly in his hand as he stood next to Hermione in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. He focused his dismay and nervousness into holding that bag and tried not to show it on his face. Trying to focus on the immediate, Neville found that even dressed in heavy winter cloaks, it felt as cold inside the Manor as it was outside. An elf offered to take their cloaks and Hermione replied, kindly, that she would be more comfortable with her dark red fur lined cloak on. Neville knew how badly the cold made her feel, and smirked when the elf seemed slightly offended.
Neville let his hand over the small of Hermione's back, a familiar gesture that he hoped she did not mind. He did it often when they were in strange places, a sort of protective gesture that carried over from Tibet.
The foyer of Malfoy Manor was dark except for a few candles in a candelabrum near the terminus of a sweeping staircase. The dark travertine floors and wainscoting were dusty, the dim light of the foyer unable to hide the hold of decay. From the dust under his feet, and several other footprints to and from the Floos, it seemed Malfoy Manor had not enjoyed many guests for some time.
Neville barely recognized Narcissa Malfoy when she descended the stairs, seeming to glide effortlessly, her stiff black taffeta dress whispering as she moved. She paused to bow politely at the bottom of the staircase before coming closer.
"Doctor Longbottom, Doctor Granger, welcome to Wiltshire," Narcissa Malfoy said in almost a whisper.
She had aged since that last time Neville saw her, deeper lines adorning her face around her mouth and brilliant amethyst eyes. There was even silver in her blonde hair, pulled up in pins from her face.
"If you would follow me, I'll show you to a much warmer parlor."
Narcissa Malfoy led them to a room off the foyer, and as Neville's hand lingered over the small of Hermione's back, he felt her sigh in what appeared to be relief. Compared to the foyer, the parlor was brighter, warmer, and far cleaner. It was papered in soft green velvet with dark mahogany fixtures and two large windows over looking the magicked green lawn and white peacocks. A fire roared in a large fireplace of green marble and over the mantle was an ancient bronze mirror.
Sitting in a leather armchair next to the fire was Lucius Malfoy, who rose as they entered the room and bowed curtly. He too looked older to Neville, not as substantial as he remembered, but dressed in a fine costume of a black velvet coat, green cravat and smartly cut trousers and boots.
"Doctor Neville Longbottom and Doctor Hermione Granger, dear," Narcissa announced as way of formal introduction.
Lucius' pale eyes moved from Neville to Hermione, and then he nodded and sat down again without a word. Mrs. Malfoy showed Hermione to the couch facing the fire and Neville to the adjacent armchair. Narcissa Malfoy did not sit, however, but stood behind the couch, hovering nervously.
Neville set his bag next to his chair and regarded Lucius for a moment before glancing to Hermione.
"We are not exactly sure how to begin, Doctor Longbottom, so forgive us if we plow into the matter directly," Lucius said finally, his voice much deeper than Neville recalled. "Our son, Draco, has been unresponsive to the treatment of the family's Healer for four months, and only in the last two months did we decide to contact you.
It seems you were otherwise engaged…"
"For that we apologize, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said, her eyes glimmering almost gold in the firelight where they were otherwise a light brown. "And I apologize again for interrupting, but before you continue, I must tell you that we will do whatever we can for the younger Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius turned his head slowly at the sound of Hermione's voice, and Neville sighed internally, as it appeared Lucius Malfoy had intended on ignoring her all together.
"There are certain questions we will have to ask you both, and for the sake of giving Mr. Draco Malfoy the best of our efforts, please answer truthfully," Hermione continued, not about to give Lucius Malfoy time to pontificate and possibly insult either of them.
Narcissa Malfoy seemed torn between standing attentively, and sitting next to Hermione. When she finally made up her mind, it was to sit very close to Hermione's left side.
"We will do whatever we can, Doctor Granger," Narcissa said, again, in almost a whisper.
The longer Neville studied the woman, the sooner he came to realize that the woman was prematurely aged. There was a lingering illness about her; a slow wasting that had begun recently. He wondered if the woman knew.
"Can you tell us what you know about the cause of son's condition?"
Lucius shifted, his eyes narrowing on Hermione's face. "My son…" he began archly, but Narcissa Malfoy continued, glaring out of the corner of her eye at her husband.
Neville found the glance interesting.
"Draco has been working with experimental Charms. It started after the War and with his departure from Britain. He studied with an American wizard who specialized in new spells used by the MACUSA's Auror division. Draco created a new type of Stunning Hex—more humane and less damaging to the person's mind. He came back to Britain a few years later, and continued his work here at the Manor. He was offered a position in the Ministry, but he turned it down."
Neville was surprised, as was Hermione, whose gentle smirk told him how pleased she was indeed.
"And this experimentation led to his current state?" Hermione asked.
"We have every indication in believing so," Lucius interjected. "We found him in his workshop."
Neville cocked his head and regarded Lucius. "Workshop?"
"Yes, it is part of Draco's rooms, set a story below. I can show you whenever you like," Narcissa whispered, her eyes fixed on her lap.
Hermione nodded. "Any idea as to what spell he was working with?"
"None. Draco was very secretive, and only when he met with success did he ever speak of his work. He did keep a journal, but we have not had any luck deciphering it," Narcissa sighed.
Neville inhaled deeply, meeting Hermione's eyes again.
"And the Healer? What were his observations?" Neville asked, adding his voice again to the conversation.
"Besides handing over the records, we know only so much, Doctor Longbottom. Draco seems, by all diagnostics, to be in perfect health. The Healer has ordered potions to maintain his health, vitamins, and food supplements. When we found Draco, he was physically unscathed, and we initially thought he was unconscious. He did not wake, no matter what we did…"
There was airiness in Narcissa Malfoy's voice that concealed tears.
"What is it that you need, Doctors?" Lucius asked, leaning forward in his chair, his palms pressed together.
Again, a meeting of eyes.
"I will have to examine your son first, there are some diagnostic spells that most Healers do not use, but are necessary for us to categorize the nature of the damage. Doctor Granger will need access to Mr. Malfoy's workshop and his rooms. After we do some precursory investigation, we will be able to know how to proceed from that point…"
"Will you need rooms here?"
Neville blinked at Narcissa's words. "It is too early to say, Mrs. Malfoy. If we start our investigation today, we can possibly have a conclusion by morning…"
"Rooms then," Narcissa Malfoy uttered, more to herself than to either Neville or Hermione. "Lucius, show Doctor Longbottom to Draco, I'll take Doctor Granger to Draco's workshop…"
Neville had come to one conclusion as he followed Lucius Malfoy up into the Manor proper. There was some sort of running argument between husband and wife, and he wondered if it would have any bearing on their investigation. However, Neville cleared his mind of suspicions as Lucius Malfoy showed him into a large white room with sunlit windows. Draco Malfoy lay on an oversized four-poster bed, and Neville stifled a smirk, thinking how much like 'Sleeping Beauty' his old schoolmate seemed.
Draco Malfoy, Neville had to concede, was far more handsome than he. The sharpness of his features Neville remembered in his mental caricature of the man was replaced with healthy fullness. Malfoy's hair was as long as his father's, though the shade of blond was more white or ash than Lucius' silver.
As Neville approached the bed, his medical bag still in his hand, he could see by the length of the body laying under white sheets that Malfoy was over six feet tall, and that he was no longer gawky or a teenager. Quickly figuring in his head, he assumed Draco Malfoy was also twenty-eight years old. Lucius Malfoy lingered at the door, seemingly distracted and gazing toward the windows. Neville paid the patriarch little mind as he set the medical bag on the left side of the bed and opened it.
Extracting a notebook and a Dicto-quill, he activated the Charm as he produced his wand from his sleeve and began performing basic diagnostic spells. Heart rate, blood pressure, everything he said aloud for the quill. As the Malfoys had said, everything was a healthy norm. Neville sighed, moving on to the more complicated diagnostics, all the while wondering why there was no mention of Malfoy's wife.
Dreams had been important to Hermione for years, beginning with Harry's connection with Voldemort before the onslaught of true War. The connection between the wizards, of course, had been the fact that Harry's scar had been a Horcrux. But still, Hermione wondered if it were possible to connect two minds without the use of Dark Magic.
She studied Legilimency, astral walking, dream weaving, and other obscure magicks used around the world. It all came to one thing, manipulation. Hermione was not interested in manipulating minds, but observing and traveling inside the mind. Hypnagogic Insertion let her move through the subconscious mind like a tourist, and as a tourist, she could meet the hidden selves. One's perceptions had much to do with dreams.
In her dreams, Neville was much more than her companion and colleague; he was very much the hero. And very much more...
Hermione found Narcissa Malfoy to be very polite, not asking questions as to why Hermione had ascended the grand staircase so slowly. Even when Narcissa Malfoy glanced to the boot on her left foot, there was no judgment in her eyes. The only question asked was to whether Hermione were too cold in the Manor.
Draco Malfoy's rooms were at the far end of the western wing, and by the look of the corridors, it seemed to Hermione that no one else lived in the wing. She was shown first into Malfoy's private parlor, and Narcissa moved ahead of her to light a fire in the grate, quickly warming the small room.
"If there is anything you need, please call for Nyx, she is Draco's personal elf. The bedroom is beyond the parlor, and the stairs down to the workshop can be found behind the green dragon tapestry.
If you will excuse me, I will see to your rooms."
And within a few seconds, Hermione found herself quite alone. With a wince, she shifted her hips, the socket of the prosthetic squeezing her left thigh too tightly. Pressing her lips together, she took a step into the room, finding it to be more of a small library than a parlor, a room appearing to have been lived in.
Below the casement windows was a cluttered desk, and Hermione began there. There were file folders, books, balled up pieces of parchment and quills. Picking up one file folder, Hermione flipped it open. Inside were divorce papers, dated three years previous. Hermione blinked as she read the top parchment. Draco Scorpius Malfoy v. Astoria Nemonia Greengrass. It was records of a settlement of the divorce, but Hermione would not let herself delve too deeply into the legalese. From what she could gather, it was a divorce on the basis of adultery on the side of the wife.
With a frown, Hermione closed the file and moved to pick up one of the balls of parchment. Smoothing it out, she found it was a hastily penned letter to a solicitor, and the handwriting, for the most part, was illegible. In fact, whatever she found in Draco Malfoy's hand was more like code than written English. Hermione could only pick out a few words here and there.
The books on the desk were mostly of one subject, Charms.
The other books on the shelves about the room were on various subjects, all the spines broken, the leather covers worn. Hermione limped toward the bookshelf closest to the only other door in the parlor, leading to the bedroom. There were knickknacks on the shelf, but as she came nearer, she found it was more a collection of curiosities. At eye level was a tiny snow globe with a skull of some rodent-like creature inside. There were clippings in small frames of printed pictures of astronomical bodies, galaxies and supernovas. There were foreign coins, most of which Hermione knew. A damaged snitch rested on a pedestal, a hippogriff claw next to the snitch, and a tarnished Inquisitorial Squad badge next to the claw. Hermione found it odd, wondering what sentiments it brought when Draco Malfoy to look at the items.
Hermione found that the bedroom was only slightly bigger than the parlor. She had expected a grand room with a large bed, but found that there was a small twin bed set against the far wall under the only window in the dark wood paneled room. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry of a green dragon eating harmless animals in the woven landscape hanged next to the door to a minuscule lavatory. The only remarkable piece of furniture in the room was the ancient armoire set against the wall next to where she stood in the doorway. Hermione limped to face the armoire, impressed by the intricate carving of a medieval castle set above a forest with tall, pillar like trees. Grasping the bronze handles, Hermione opened the doors to find it full of plain black clothing, and nothing much of interest. In the mirror on the back of the door, she looked at the tapestry against the wall, and then to her own face.
Her hair was combed neatly into a bun at the back of her head, and loose curls fell into her face, obscuring the scar on her temple. With her dark red cloak, she had hidden the prosthetic well with the full black skirt and high boot. She licked her lips and closed the doors.
Pulling aside the tapestry, Hermione found a handle to the door, and stepping back to draw her wand from the sash of her skirt, she lit it. The spiraling stairs down were dark and steep, and Hermione sighed, as she had to nearly sit on the steps to gently descend. Ascending again would be a problem.
The workshop the Malfoys had mentioned was larger than the rooms above combined. High grated windows lit the room while the hanging lamps from exposed beams overhead were unlit. Standing on the stone floor, Hermione narrowed her eyes to begin cataloguing what was before her.
There were several easels set in a wide circle in the middle of the room, and stepping into the middle of the circle, Hermione found she was faced with large oil paintings. Some were completed, and some were not. Some paintings moved, while others did not. The subject matter ranged from abstract to realistic, and the painting that interested Hermione the most was of a masked figure sitting on a throne in a dark chamber surrounded by candles, alone. The male figure was bare from the waist up, and in his hands were two wicked daggers crossed before him, reminiscent of statuary of Egyptian pharaohs. The only thing that moved was the flame of the candles and not the obviously male figure. The mask was some representation of a rodent type animal, and as Hermione narrowed her eyes further, she realized it was a ferret.
"Ferret…ferret…" she mumbled, remembering all too well what Barty Crouch Jr. had done to Malfoy in their Fourth Year.
The painting was unsettling, though Hermione could not pin down the exact reason. It was expertly executed, and Hermione noted that Draco Malfoy had immense artistic talent. It may be an important detail, she thought.
Beyond the circle of easels, further into the long hall of the workshop, Hermione saw a makeshift laboratory of sorts. Passing by a very detailed painting of a nude male with another mask obscured face and long blond hair, Hermione lumbered into what she believed to be Draco Malfoy's main workspace.
The first thing Hermione noticed was the charred and blackened patch in the middle of the stone floor. There was a strange scent, she found, as she lumbered to stand just at the perimeter—a sweet scent of scalded sugar. Was this where Malfoy was found?
"Nyx?"
Her voice was barely a whisper, and clearing her throat, she called again.
"Yes, Madam?" a voice sounded behind her, very deep, and very old.
Hermione was startled by the voice, and turned too quickly, her left boot dragging as she turned. Righting herself quickly, she regarded an elf, the smallest she had ever seen, which was gazing passively up at her face with hooded, bulbous russet colored eyes. Even the skin was a reddish color though the thick silver hair on its head acted almost as clothing, obscuring what appeared to be an old, yellowed pillow case.
Clearing her throat again, and letting her insides wriggle uncomfortably from the elf's gaze, Hermione asked: "Is this where your master was found?"
Her hand motioned to the blackened spot behind her and slowly the elf nodded.
"Yes, Madam, Nyx finds her Master there, like sleeping."
"And do you know what sort of work he was doing just before you found him?"
The elf's eyes slid closed and the tiny body shrugged a mournful sigh. "No, Madam. Nyx was not allowed to enter when Master was working magicks… Master was afraid Nyx would be hurt, or killed."
Hermione licked her lips, her eyes moving to the rest of the room and the three worktables against the walls.
"How long was it, you think, between the time he fell unconscious and you finding him, Nyx?"
The strange eyes opened again and a weak, wobbling chin lifted to regard Hermione coolly again. "Not long, Nyx thinks. There was a noise, Madam, and Nyx came quickly. Nyx called for the Mother Malfoy and Father to come."
Nodding, Hermione moved to her right, to the first worktable, her eyes scanning the filthy surface. Most of what she saw on the table was related to Potions work, and at the far end, there was a crusty cauldron. She mentally catalogued ingredients, moving with a hand on the edge of the table until she peeked into the cauldron.
Felix Felicis.
"Was he successful in brewing the potion?" she asked more to herself than to the elf that seemed to hop nearer as if to keep an eye on Hermione lest she disturb something.
"Aye, Master was very good with Potions," the elf answered, again, startling Hermione.
"And he had been using it?"
Nyx's mien turned mournful again. "Yes… Master needed luck with his spell craft, Madam…"
Hermione felt her expression darken. Consuming large quantities could be lethal, and overuse broke down the essential mental qualities that comprised caution, logic, and moderation. Overuse was very much like an alcoholic's lack of inhibition.
The next table, against the far wall, was loaded down with stacks of books, many open to particular pages, and of varying subjects. Hermione's fingers moved over colored illustrations of the human brain, illustrations of Lewis Carroll's 'Alice in Wonderland,' an illustration from Sade's 'Justine,' and illustrations from Garrigue's English version of 'Iconographic encyclopedia of sciences, literature, and art.' Hermione mentally catalogued names—Baum, Brothers Grimm, Moorcock, Wolfe, Casanova, etc. The only connection Hermione could see was the element of fantasy.
"Those are Master's favorite books, Madame," Nyx commented as Hermione came upon the last book at the end of the table, Ripa's 'Iconographie,' an original edition, she assumed.
Beside the end of the table was an ornate mahogany lectern with a large tome open on the angled top. The journal, the Malfoys had mentioned, Hermione saw as she scanned the open page. All she could read was the date at the top, penned sloppily. August…
'Close to breakthrough…essence of self…id…controlling factor…soon able to use for…application…'
Those were the only words Hermione could read clearly and as she flipped back to previous pages, the illegibility was consistent. Tucked between the pages were clipped pictures, again of distant galaxy clusters, and other oddities. There were pictures of lobotomy procedures, banned in the modern age, and erotic postcards from the Eighteenth and early Nineteenth Century, all illustrations.
Perhaps if she had months to devote to deciphering Malfoy's handwriting, Hermione would know something more about the spells he was trying to create. As it was, she could not spend months trying to read one book…
The last table was loaded down with small cages and tanks, all empty.
"Was your master experimenting with animals?" Hermione asked, glancing down to the elf that had moved quite close to her left leg, quietly weeping.
"Y-Yes, Madam. Rats, snakes, frogs, but Master never killed them… Nyx was asked to release them when Master fell ill."
Hermione sucked her lower lip between her teeth, glancing back to the thick journal and to the books on the table. The images danced behind her eyes, but still she was not seeing an immediate conclusion as to what Draco Malfoy had done to himself, inadvertently or not.
Her subconscious mind was always filled with images of places. Besides Hermione's veracious reading from age three and into her adulthood, she enjoyed gazing at images in books as much as she enjoyed reading the text. It was these sorts of images that fueled her imaginary, interior life, a life, sadly, that she dwelt in more often than not.
In her dreams, she had walked along white sand beaches of the South Pacific, flown over the Alps in a Montgolfier balloon, floated upon the dense waters of the Dead Sea, and explored the depths of Krubera-Voronya cave in Abkhazia—the deepest known cave on earth. Hermione's mind was filled with colors, sounds, feelings, and tastes.
The images Draco Malfoy kept in his books were just as spectacular, and Hermione found the images familiar. She wondered why he looked at them, what did they inspire in his mind? There were more Muggle books than Wizarding…
Hermione came to the quick conclusion that she did not know Draco Malfoy at all.
