Notes: We will be seeing more of Lucius later, and he will be much more in character than he is here. One can assume being in Azkaban screws with your head. ...Not that Lucius is a particularly nice person to begin with, but still.

Chapter 7: Grim Origins

The muggle library was an even more surreal experience than the tea shop. Draco pretended he would rather light himself on fire than be there, but he was actually fascinated by muggle science. Some of it seemed so advanced, it might as well be magic. He'd been brought up assuming that muggles were stupid and barbaric, but the material in the library taught him the exact opposite. He was supposed to be helping Potter find relevant books in the metaphysical section, but he'd gotten distracted by the medical reference texts in the aisle next to it. He was completely obvious to Hermione watching him with a dumb grin on her face as he flipped through a book about treatments for trauma related injuries - devouring everything he read with interest. Most of it would be obsolete and useless to a proper mediwizard, but some insights – like how the body reacted to, and compensated for trauma were intriguing.

"I'm glad you've found something, but unless that thing gores one of us again we won't need that," Hermione said, pointing in the direction of the next aisle over.

"We won't need that anyway. Why sew a wound shut when you can just heal it?" Draco mumbled and roughly shoved the book back onto the shelf as if it had offended him. Once she'd left, he took it back and shoved it inside the messenger bag he'd brought that was full of various supplies they might need if they found any sort of counter-ritual. Stealing Muggle books from a muggle library... Who had he become and where the hell was Draco Malfoy? He checked his surroundings and pilfered another book about anatomy.

In the next aisle, he set to work properly. Most of it was utter trash. He pulled a few books from the shelves, though. One that was a sort of encyclopedia of local urban myths, another about cleansing your home of evil spirits, and a particularly ridiculous looking history of tribal black magic. Deciding what he had was sufficient, Draco returned to the table where Potter and Hermione were seated.

"Think these will help?" He asked, sitting next to Potter.

"Dunno, this is all rubbish so far," Harry replied, sounding bored out of his wits.

Hermione only grunted in reply, not even looking up from the book she was engrossed in. Draco sighed and flipped open the one about repelling evil spirits. It was garbage, as he realized a few pages in. Maybe some of the methods would work for something significantly less malevolent than their pursuer, but Draco sincerely doubted burning a bunch of sage would actually get rid of it. He snapped the book shut and picked up the one about urban legends. It was even more ridiculous than the first one. Uncertain where to look next, he flipped through the pages, skimming over stories of bottomless lakes and fairies that kidnap children. Something caught his eye, however. Frantically, he flipped through the pages until he saw it again – an illustration of a hellish looking black dog with glowing eyes, wreathed in smoke. He was actually sort of glad the muggle artwork didn't move.

"Black Shuck," He read aloud, and skimmed over the article. "...Is but one of the more famous 'Black Dog' apparitions in British Folklore."

Hermione looked up from her book, eyes wide.

"Wait, I've heard of Black Shuck. Is that the dog ghost that killed those people in a church?" Harry said, curiously. "I remember reading something about that in history class when I was a kid, and still went to muggle school."

"Yes, he's a Black Dog – a type of really nasty ghost that's been around for ages here in England. There's all sorts of them. All of them are supposed death omens, or signs of ill luck," Hermione replied. "Why didn't I think of that? Maybe it's not a Grim at all. I always thought Black Dogs and Grims were the same thing and all nonsense stories, but... maybe they're not."

"Maybe Black Dogs are ghosts of Grims?" Harry suggested.

"It says here that they are exclusively nocturnal and that their steps are silent, but it attacked us in broad daylight and I have definitely heard it pacing in the manor," Draco replied. "What was that about a church, Potter? I had a dream about that bloody thing in a ruined church on my manor grounds."

"Black Shuck haunts Suffolk, I think." Hermione said, tapping her fingers on the table. "Your manor is in Wiltshire. It's probably not the same spirit, but like I said - there's tons of different ones."

"Yeah, there's a whole list of different ones, Black Shuck was just the first on here," Draco confirmed "And... Ugh, that's just savage. According this, it was tradition to bury a black dog alive under the cornerstone of a new church being built, something about it guarding the place from evil – particularly witches and wizards. Their spirit would appear and ring the church bell at midnight, and a death would occur the day afterward. Get this, they were called Church Grims. So a Grim and a Black Dog are probably the same thing. But, if this is accurate, Grims aren't living magical creatures – just vengeful spirits."

"It would also make sense that witches and wizards fear them and don't know the distinction, if their purpose was to keep us away. Muggles weren't always oblivious to us, and with what I've read about magical history, it sounds like we actually went into hiding to escape persecution by them. ...As much as modern wizards would like to say the opposite," Hermione said, thoughtfully.

"You know, I had a dream about that thing with a church, too," Harry commented. "It was a little stone church in the middle of the woods, and... Well, they were burning a witch outside. I thought I'd be safe inside, but it followed me."

"Who was the witch?" Draco asked, and they made uneasy eye contact.

"I thought it looked like Hermione," Harry whispered.

"She did, but it wasn't me," she confirmed. "I had that dream, actually it was a horrific nightmare, last night after I summoned that thing."

"If it helps," Draco suggested, "I know exactly where that church is. I don't know how safe it would be to go there, though. With what I know about dark magic, and assuming that all Grims are actually spirits, these bones aren't doing any good. They'd probably only make us invisible to the specific one whose body they were taken from. This thing is obviously smart. It lured us into a false sense of security, making us think it couldn't attack during the day and it knew that if it cornered me in the drawing room I would lose my shit. ...I just don't think it knew it couldn't get in there. It might just be biding its time again, waiting for us to let our guard down."

"All right, so we know what we're dealing with. Now, we need to figure out how was it summoned, and who it was that did it. Considering we've all had a dream about a church on the Malfoy estate, and it's probably the spirit that was meant to protect that place, we can assume the summoner knows and has a grudge against the Malfoys," Hermione said confidently." I still think the death omen bit is nonsense, but I don't doubt that it could kill someone itself."

"Fair enough, but that doesn't explain the dead man in the mansion, or the random muggles that have been killed," Potter replied.

"It's possible that the spell to summon it was placed on multiple objects to make sure one of them fell into my hands, and given to muggles to cause enough of a stir that Aurors would investigate it. Not too much chaos, though, because they wanted it to be low enough priority that a low-ranking Auror would be sent. Maybe the poor sod that was cursed got in the way or something?" Draco suggested. "Unless it's not about me."

"Not to be a prat, Draco, but I think it might be. No offense, but there are a lot of people out there with a grudge against your family – that's just a reality. Right now, that's not important. We need to banish this thing somehow, and find out why it's attacking random muggles," Potter said, looking out the window. "I say we go to this church, dig the bastard up and take some of it's bones to be safe. If it comes after us again, we can just disapparate back to Grimmauld place."

"Well, that's the problem. We can't apparate there. It's close enough to the manor that it's still inside the wards," Draco said glumly. "We can apparate to the end of the road that leads up the manor or take the floo to the drawing room, but we'd have to hoof it from there. It's at least half a day's walk to get there. ...Actually, if it already existed within the wards before they were put up – buried beneath that church – that's probably why they can't keep it out. The church is at least as old as the manor. The manor has some of the most advanced defensive barriers outside of the ministry and a Fidelius charm that's been in place for hundreds of years. But, if it was already trapped inside..."

"Bollocks," Harry grumbled.

"What if your mother went there?" Hermione suggested. "You said it's left her alone so far."

"No. I am not risking that thing attacking her," Draco replied defensively.

"You know, I probably should have thought of this before, but maybe a patronus could keep it off us. I mean, it's not that different from a dementor. It's evil, made of dark magic, and I don't know about you two, but when it's near me I just feel this sort of dread. It's like a sort of hopelessness, not quite like a dementor where it sucks the joy away, but not that different," Harry suggested.

Draco got up and paced around their table, ignoring the odd looks from the muggles surrounding them. "It's less like dread, and more like acceptance of the inevitable – Like when you're sure you're going to die, and can't escape. You feel cold inside, and know that it's over. ...It was how it felt when I stood in front of Voldemort after I betrayed three death eaters to save the Aurors that were after us, knowing that he knew what I did because I sucked at occlumency."

"Why didn't he kill you?" Harry asked, curiously. Hermione gave him a warning glance, but he ignored it.

"I don't know, Potter. Probably thought my father would kick him out of his house, or didn't want to risk losing his loyalty somehow. Not that my father gave a damn about me anymore at that point. He cursed the living shit out of me, though. It's a wonder I didn't end up drooling in the closed ward like Longbottom's parents when he was done with me. Who knows, that might even have been better than living to remember it," Draco snapped, absently scratching at his arm where the dark mark was – always carefully concealed beneath long sleeves. "Are we done here? I don't think there's anything else we can learn from stupid muggle superstitions."

"Well, stupid muggle superstitions created the Grim. So, I'm assuming that will help us find a weak point. I don't think there's anything here that will help. We'll need to try something more specific. Maybe a local witch coven would know something. You know, the muggles that think they're witches," Hermione suggested.

"Ugh. Can I sit that one out?" Draco moaned, leaning against the table next to Potter's chair. "I might hex them all out of sheer disgust."

"Absolutely not," Hermione said, a little too cheerfully. "But, I think Harry's right about the patronus being able to protect us temporarily. Let's keep that in mind."

Draco stared at the floor and cursed under his breath. "I can't cast that spell."

"Don't be dramatic, Malfoy. You have to have some happy memories," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "...Like that time you got turned into a ferret."

"Shut up, Potter."

"Harry, don't antagonize him. You're being an arsehole."

It was decided that they would wait until the next day to try and figure out where the muggle nutters hung out. Hermione had returned to the ministry to drop off Harry and Draco's signed contracts acknowledging their 'resignation' and suspension. That left Draco alone with Harry in the the kitchen the following morning. He was reading the Prophet, but not actually comprehending it. Really, he was just blankly staring at the front page. "Malfoy Resigns", it read, with a horrible photo of him that must have been been taken weeks ago, the last time he visited Diagon Alley. Even the Draco in the photo had a look on his face that quite plainly said he's had it with everyone's shit. The article itself wasn't that bad, it just explained that he 'suddenly decided that being an Auror simply wasn't the right career for him'. Of course, there was a line near the end about his 'relations' with Blaise that suggested he isn't entirely of sound mind. Draco finally averted his eyes from the bloody thing and tore it to shreds.

"How bad is it?" Potter asked, stirring his tea.

"Could be worse," Draco conceded and resisted the urge to stab the table with his fork. At least the Grim had left them alone last night. Well, mostly. They could still hear it howling, but there hadn't been any nightmares.

Not that fate ever showed Draco any mercy. Just as he was thinking that it had been nice to get a proper night's sleep, a tawny owl swooped in through the open window – and dropped a bright red envelope on the table in front of Draco, on top of his half-eaten flapjack. It went back out the way it came in, without a moment's hesitation.

"Oh fuck me," Draco groaned and snatched the envelope, about to make a run for the second floor so Potter might not be able to hear Lucius' all too familiar ranting about how much of a disappointment he was. Only, he didn't make it to the kitchen door before it fluttered out of his hands. "Shit! Shit!" He swore trying to snatch it as it flew out of his reach and began smoking at the corners. Potter just watched with mild interest as it burst open, his smirk turning into open-mouth disbelief as the howler started spewing its message.

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY, YOU ARE AN ABSOLUTE DISGRACE! YOU ARE AN INSULT TO EVERYTHING I TAUGHT YOU, AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR ANCESTORS!" Draco covered his ears and tried to hex the damn thing, anything to stop Lucius' disembodied voice from scolding him in the middle of Potter's kitchen. It had no effect, other than singing the table cloth when the hex missed entirely. This was the last thing he needed right now. The look of pity on Potter's face made Draco wish he could literally die.

"IT'S BAD ENOUGH YOU BECAME A BLOODY AUROR, BUT NOW YOUR WORKING WITH POTTER? THE NEXT THING I HEAR WILL BE THAT HE'S SHAGGING YOU LIKE ZABINI! YOU ALWAYS WERE OBSESSED WITH HIM!" Draco moaned and sat back down, laying his head on the table. Maybe if he stopped looking at it, it would go away.

"YOU DON'T DESERVE TO BEAR THE MALFOY NAME! I SUPPOSE BEING A BLOOD TRAITOR WASN'T ENOUGH, YOU HAD TO BE A QUEER, TOO!" Finally, the howler erupted into flames and left a thin trail of ash on the tablecloth. Wordlessly, and wandlessly, Draco vanished the remains.

"Fuck," Harry mumbled.

Draco got up from the table and grabbed a handful of floo powder. "Malfoy manor, drawing room," He said, as calmly as he could manage. When he'd left the manor the last time, he'd connected a few of the hearths to the floo network to make traveling back and forth easier. It was definitely worth it now when he desperately needed to be out of that kitchen and away from Potter.

"Malfoy, wait -"

He ignored Potter and stepped into the flames, almost stumbling face-first into the manor drawing room in his haste to get the hell away from Grimmauld place. He wasn't sure which was worse, Potter witnessing his bi-weekly howler from hell, or his mother looking at him with raised eyebrows as he nearly fell on his arse when he hopped out of the fireplace, covered in soot. Dejectedly, he took the seat opposite his mother at the table without saying a word.

"I see it hasn't killed you yet," Narcissa said, in an unamused tone. "You didn't even tell me you had left."

"No, it hasn't. But father's howlers might," Draco replied, trying to wipe soot off of his face.

"He's still sending those? I thought he would have calmed down by now," Narcissa replied, sounding bored. "Your father is a product of his upbringing, and isn't likely to change. You should visit him sometime. I know he isn't being rational, but he does love you, Draco – even if he isn't exactly the best at expressing it."

Draco might have shut his mouth if he'd seen Potter climb out of the floo a few moments behind him, but it was too late by the time he'd noticed. "Because THAT'S how you show someone you love them!" Draco cried, kicking the leg of the chair next to him. "You send them howlers, TELLING THEM THAT THEY'RE FILTH! Who the actual fuck even lets prisoners send fucking howlers from Azkaban!?"

"Good morning, Potter," Narcissa said cordially, nodding her head in the direction of the hearth. "Mind your tongue, Draco. I raised you to have tact, not to squawk like an angry pea-hen."

"Oh just fucking kill me. I don't need or want your pity, Potter, so piss off," Draco spat. "Sorry, mother," He added sheepishly.

"Damn it Malfoy, I was worried about you," Harry said, vanishing the trail of soot they'd left on the clean floor with a flick of his wand. "...Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy."

Narcissa picked up a small silver bell and rang it. A young-looking female house elf dressed in a flowery purple apron apparated beside her and bowed respectfully. "Sit, Potter. Wingle, bring some more tea, please." The elf nodded and vanished through the open drawing room doors. Harry awkwardly sat beside Draco. It was obvious he hadn't been expecting anyone else to be there.

"So, uh, Hermione heard that, too. She'd just come in the door," Harry said with a wince. "She's off to take care of our plans for today by herself, figured you'd rather not deal with it after that."

"She's afraid I'll do something stupid, then?" Draco grumbled. "You should have gone with her in case it attacks her."

"Yeah, well, we're going to do something else – something stupid," Harry said. "We're going to that church."

"Are you trying to get us killed, imbecile?"

"I have a plan."

"Oh, Potty has a plan."

"Boys, if you are quite done behaving like children, I would like to show you something," Narcissa interjected and rose from her chair. Harry looked to Draco who just shrugged. Hell if he knew what she was on about. "I was going to owl you about it, Draco, but you're here now, so... I found this last night when I decided to finish patching the wards in places we skipped over the other day," Narcissa explained, retrieving a small leather bound journal from inside a cabinet near the fireplace. She handed it to Draco who opened it carefully, as the leather was cracking and the pages were so brittle he was afraid they might turn to dust as he touched them.

"What in – Where did you find this?" Draco asked curiously. The front page was dated 1352, and read 'Property of Lady Spica Malfoy (Nee Abbott)'. "It's practically ancient."

"It would seem," Narcissa said, "That the Malfoys aren't pure-bloods after all. Or, at least, they haven't been since 1363. Which is fascinating, however, it is the last two entries that truly caught my attention. They may be relevant to your current predicament."

Frowning, Draco flipped to the first entry in the journal with Harry looking over his shoulder as he read.