Disclaimer: Still not mine.
ooOOoo
Chapter 50: Revolution!
Rumour had it that the Comrades of the Republic of Slytherin stopped outside the Infirmary doors. When a seventh year protested that Millicent Bulstrode didn't speak for all of them in her desire for a peaceful overthrow of the corrupt regime and they should start hexing people to show how serious they were, she countered his objection with a cunning argument consisting of an uppercut to demonstrate the unfairness of brute force. Over the unconscious body of the seventh year, all comrades hastily exhorted the benefits of a pacifistic philosophy. So the doors of the Infirmary were certainly not stormed, as one particularly excitable Ravenclaw second year claimed, nor were they set fire to, painted green and silver, graffiti'd or spelled into an alternate dimension.
It was said that the Comrades of the Republic of Slytherin set up a rotation of members to keep vigil by the doors, where they waved petitions at anyone who tried to enter or exit. The first student who tried to exit without signing suddenly found himself re-entering the Infirmary, despite the pacifist philosophy of the Republic of Slytherin, in spontaneous need of something to take away boils.
The petition to free Comrade Malfoy garnered signatures much faster after that.
This was what Harry heard in the corridors between morning classes – but the rumours were getting preposterous. He was almost certain Millicent Bulstrode hadn't redesigned the Hogwarts coat of arms to put the snake of Slytherin central, replacing it in its former quadrant with a black horse rampant. It was also fairly unlikely Crabbe and Goyle had written fiery poems from the soul to exult the Glorious Revolution – mainly because they could barely write. If a sudden explosion of poems along the lines of:
See
Comrade.
See Comrade run.
Run, Comrade! Run!happened,
well, Harry could believe Crabbe and Goyle capable of at least that.
If someone held their crayons for them. However, he wouldn't
believe they'd come up with a poem in iambic pentameter, let alone
a haiku using the changing colours of autumn leaves to represent the
sorrows of Slytherins in a World Gone Mad.
What Harry knew for a fact – he'd seen it with his own eyes when he passed through a corridor on the floor beneath the Infirmary – was the picket on the lawn the Infirmary looked down upon. He'd heard an approximation of singing – something about how the Slytherins would overcome, and how they were very concerned over the present whereabouts of some flowers – flowers that had gone a long time ago.
(He was pretty sure they intended to overcome Lupin and Pomfrey's isolation of Draco, but what did flowers have to do with it?)
And the singing really was awful, although it picked up when Bulstrode, Goyle and Zabini sang together – Goyle had an unexpectedly marvellous tenor and Bulstrode and Zabini sang in counterpoint quite beautifully. Trudi – sweet firstie that she was in so many other ways – couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, and was seen by Hermione wandering around the corridors with one of the older Slytherins, each wearing a sandwich-board reading The end of the oppression is nigh.
Harry believed Hermione.
He also believed Ginny when he passed her on the way to lunch: she reported that Tamara Willacey, one of the Slytherin girls in her Charms class, had, when timorously asked by Professor Flitwick why she hadn't handed in her homework, stood up and proclaimed: "You can take our points, but you can't take our freedom!"
(To which Flitwick had replied, "Er… you've not got any points left for me to take. I can give you a detention…" and was interrupted by the mass walkout of the Slytherins, shouting, "You'll not send Comrade Willacey to your Filch Gulag! Free-eee-dom! Free-eee-dom! Free-eee-dom!"
Charms class had gone much more quietly with half the class gone and Flitwick gently fanning himself with Ginny's essay. They'd copied notes from the text and crept out as soon as the bell went, not wanting to send Flitwick, who was well-liked, into a nervous breakdown.)
Harry himself passed the morning in relative quiet. He had Transfigurations with an unusually terse McGonagall, followed by DADA with Lupin, who was even less fun than McGonagall and took a point off Hermione for whispering to Harry about Trudi wearing a sandwich-board, and took points off Seamus, who set the note he was passing to Finch-Fletchley on fire rather than let Lupin read it. Lupin's interesting lessons about Boggarts and Hinkypunks were a thing of the past – perhaps it was merely that collecting specimens was so much more difficult, but Harry suspected Lupin's early enthusiasm had been ground down by the long Blockade.
Being the major contributing factor to the revolt of a quarter of the school couldn't have cheered him up much, Harry considered.
Lavender's observation that class should be easier without the Slytherins didn't garner her any points from Professor Lupin – Lupin merely scowled and told them to open their books to page one hundred and seventeen.
Harry bowed his head over his book, trying to make sense of the breeding habits of Kappas – just as nasty as their hunting methods – and considered telling Sirius to drop a word to Lupin about the way he was turning into Snape.
He escaped after class into the warm sunshine, grabbing a roll for himself and an apple for Simon from the Hall before he left, and strolled outside whistling through his teeth. For some reason Harry was oddly happy – he wasn't sure why; he hadn't seen Luna since the hand-squeeze this morning and he still hadn't liberated Comrade Malfoy. Maybe it was the realisation that things were finally moving again – now Hermione had the necessary components for the potion to break the barrier – well, barring the mistletoe, and Neville knew where they could find some – and they were even planning on making some more Mendeleev gloves, so it felt like a long stagnant period had ended. Tossing the apple up and down, he rounded the corner of the castle – remembering only too late that was where the Republic of Slytherin was making its stand – and got a surprise.
A black horse was giving pony rides.
Luna had beat him out to the paddock. And she'd returned with Simon in tow. Simon's head was a little lower than usual, which could have been because he was being patient with the young first years crowding around him or because he was still exhausted from last evening.
Or maybe it was a bit of both.
"He seems to have recovered from his run last night," said a soft voice next to Harry. Harry jumped, and turned to see Dumbledore. "Note how gentle he's being with those noisy children," Dumbledore continued. "He seems so different these days."
"Sir?"
"From that wild animal you found in the forest," Dumbledore explained. He smiled at Harry, but his eyes lacked their usual twinkle as he turned back to the horse.
Harry frowned. "Luna wouldn't have him out of the paddock if he didn't think he was up to it," he said. "And if he's different these days… isn't it a good thing? He's happy."
"Yes. I suppose he is." Dumbledore smiled sadly again as he watched the Slytherins crowding around a horse they seemed to trust more than the headmaster these days. "Well, I had better get back to my office… things seem to be proceeding better without my interference. I expect to see Comrade Malfoy at dinner this evening, but I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone I said that."
"You don't want him to stay in the Infirmary?" Harry was puzzled. Why wasn't Dumbledore supporting Remus? It seemed very underhanded. Why didn't Dumbledore simply say he wanted Draco out and be done with it? It would make Draco and the other Slytherins much happier with Dumbledore…
Would they see Dumbledore as having engineered their trust, or did Dumbledore simply not want it?
Or was it both?
"Do you want Draco to find that third option?" Harry thought – tiredness making him say it aloud before he mentally kicked himself.
Dumbledore appeared not to have heard. He straightened his robes. "Enjoy the afternoon, Harry. It looks like being terrible weather this evening, although tomorrow night looks promising."
And he strolled away as Harry wondered why anyone would comment on the weather for tomorrow night when it was only lunchtime.
He was considering going after Dumbledore and asking, when Simon saw Harry and put his head up and whinnied, which made the students around him turn to see what the horse was looking at.
Their expressions varied from barely-veiled mistrust on most to reserved friendliness from Trudi as Harry strolled towards them.
"How's it going, Bulstrode?" Harry asked, ignoring Pansy's sneer. He wondered fleetingly if ignoring her would make her worse or better – Draco didn't seem to care, but if Pansy felt like she'd completely lost her standing she might do something nasty. Nastiness wasn't beyond her, and a woman scorned, et cetera…
Millicent shrugged. "We haven't been oppressed too much this morning."
It was impossible to tell if she said that seriously or not.
"I heard you'd redesigned the school shield."
"No, but thanks for the idea." Her mouth did creak marginally into a smile at that.
"Any word on when Malfoy will be out?"
She shook her heavy head. "No, but I'm hoping –"
"Look," said Luna, who had been helping Theodore Nott off Simon's back. Nott stumbled a bit and grabbed at the stirrup before he fell, then grinned at Trudi as she steadied him. Harry recalled a breakfast two decades ago, and another Nott reading a paper… would that one have had the ability to laugh at himself? Or would –
Simon was looking up at the Infirmary window. The horse pricked its ears and whinnied loudly.
"Malfoy's up," said Harry unnecessarily.
Because there was Draco, leaning on the sill as he surveyed the crowd on the lawn below. The Slytherins cheered and waved their placards until Simon snorted and jumped, making those closest run away from the Muggle monster. Draco waved back. Harry thought he looked more puzzled than pleased, although even from this distance the pale, pointed face could be seen to warm slightly as Simon shook his mane and whinnied again.
The horse was obviously confused by this shift of Draco from normal ground level to several stories up. If might be a good idea to reread The Horse Mutterer to see if Mr Python had mentioned anything about horse logic or the lack of such – Simon seemed to be unable to connect reaching Draco with the front doors of Hogwarts, and was now pawing the ground with frustration.
(On reflection, this was probably a good thing. Filch was still moaning about the effort of getting the hoofmarks off the floor in the corridor outside Charms.)
Draco turned his head, apparently in response to someone else in the Infirmary, and disappeared from the window. Harry patted Simon's shoulder as the horse pawed the ground again.
"He's fine," Harry murmured. "You got him back safely." To Luna, he said, "How is he feeling today?"
"He's a bit stiff. And if Malfoy wasn't already in the Infirmary he'd be seeing Pomfrey anyway… Simon's got bruises on his gums and I'd like to know why."
Harry frowned and ran his hands down the sides of Simon's muzzle. Pleased at the attention, Simon nosed at Harry's pocket and nudged at his hip when he didn't find peppermints or apples.
"Hagrid gave me a salve," Luna said. "Simon hasn't grown scales or flown away, so I guess it's fine for horses."
Harry scrubbed Simon's forehead with his knuckles. Simon yawned. "Seems pretty relaxed today."
"I think he likes the company. I thought it would be good for him to see that Draco's not hurt."
Yet, Harry heard unspoken. "You're not going to hit him again, are you?"
"I just want to find out why Simon's mouth is sore. If Malfoy's going to be ham-fisted with the reins, he shan't be allowed to use them."
"What's he going to steer with? Simon's ears?"
Luna boggled at him, then burst out laughing. Simon woke up and looked around. Seeing it was just Luna, he dozed off again, one hind foot resting on its tip.
"No. But let's tell him that," Luna said. She sobered as the Slytherins began to give them funny looks but only, Harry suspected, because she'd finished laughing for now. That was one of the things he loved about her: she didn't give a fig about what other people thought… or, if she did, not to the degree she'd let them influence her into acting contrary to her nature. When it was time to laugh, Luna would laugh.
No wonder she was in Ravenclaw. Luna was the smartest person Harry knew. Except Hermione, perhaps, but Hermione was smart in a different way, and…
… And he was getting distracted again.
"Are you feeling all right? You keep drifting away."
"I'm fine. It's not a blubberknuckle dazing me or anything." Harry grinned. Then winced. Hopefully she wouldn't think he was mocking her or anything.
Luna nodded solemnly. "No. It's too early in the season for blubberknuckles." Then she winked and turned to the horse. "Wakey, wakey, Comrade Simon. I thought he could give pony rides to… um… to show solidarity," she added to Harry. "But now he's starting to get a bit grumpy, I think. Comrade Millicent, I'll take him back now."
"It's lunch time anyway," Millicent said. She was showing some third-years how to hold their signs properly instead of using them to bash each other "… That's what wands are for," she scolded them. Distractedly, she called over to Luna, "Thanks for bringing Comrade Simon along. You okay for getting him back to the paddock?"
Luna swung up onto the horse without bothering with the stirrups. "Sure. See you at lunch, Harry." She punched her fist into the air. "Solidarity, Comrade Millicent."
"Solidarity, Comrade Luna."
Comrade Simon sprang off into a canter, only slowing as they reached the bottom of Squirrel Hill (Luna said it was bad form to get a horse into the habit of racing back to its stable).
Harry came out of his private reverie of watching the way the sun shone on her hair and turned it to silk to see the Slytherins staring at him.
"Coming in for lunch, Potter?" asked Millicent, obviously trying hard to be friendly, although she didn't call him comrade.
He nodded. "Sure."
Solidarity, comrades.
ooOOoo
Professor running-werewolf-of-the-oppressors Remus Lupin must have found time that afternoon – Harry suspected he used his lunch hour at the very least to check if Draco had been sent back booby-trapped or not. And the first-year Potions class he was meant to be taking was taught instead by Hooch, who swore she knew nothing about Potions, didn't want to know anything about Potions, and took the class out to play hide and seek.
It was agreed unanimously by the first-year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to be the best Potions lesson ever, and the students begged Hooch to continue as their teacher.
Harry went to Divinations out of morbid curiosity, and was pleased to find he was due to be eaten by vampires at the next full moon.
That meant he was free to tromp through the Forest searching for mistletoe to his heart's content.
Ron wanted to know why he kept laughing.
Trelawney told him off for not taking his imminent death seriously. Harry decided not to court a detention by telling her it was fairly un-imminent as his standard of death went, but only because tonight he was planning on being too busy earning a detention to serve one.
He snoozed through History (after travelling back to the seventies, Harry was even less interested in history), and found he had a good appetite for dinner.
He'd just sat down and was bravely ladling himself a bowl of the unnamed-meat stew (although with a sudden supply of fresh flour, the yeasty rolls made his mouth water as soon as they arrived on the table) when the side door into the Hall opened.
It revealed Remus Lupin, wearing a neutral expression that showed little beyond tiredness dragging at the lines of his face. Next to him stood Draco Malfoy, holding a sack and looking slightly uncomfortable as everyone stared at him. There was dead silence.
Then, as Draco shrugged and walked in, ignoring Lupin, who went to his seat at the High Table, thunderous applause and whoops broke out from the Slytherin table. Even Pansy was clapping, although her enthusiasm looked forced.
Politeness or politics?
Harry made a mental note of any other Slytherins who looked politically polite.
Draco dropped the sack as he sprang up onto the table and bowed.
There was probably some rule or unwritten protocol regarding walking on the tables – if Snape had been al- there, Harry expected even he wouldn't have turned a blind eye to Malfoy as he strutted down the table to Millicent, grabbing her by the hand and hauling her up to stand next to him for a hug (politics again?) and more applause that rocked the clouds scudding pink across the enchanted ceiling, and a blush on Bulstrode's cheeks matching the rosy clouds. Shaking her head and covering her smile with one hand, she climbed back down, leaving Draco centre stage, as it were.
That was lucky, because Draco hadn't finished his fifteen minutes of fame. He retraced his steps up the table, stepping neatly around the fruit bowls (suddenly full for the first time in weeks, as if the house elves were celebrating something) and over the plates, up towards the High Table and the sack he'd dropped there, while McGonagall's lips pursed and Hagrid's beard twitched with a suppressed smile.
Draco pulled up the sack and, as the room went silent, opened the flap and pulled out a thin rectangle, holding it up.
There was a small gasp from the students who guessed. An excited whisper broke out through the Hall.
"If I may have your attention a moment…" Draco paused until there was silence again. He spoke quietly but clearly.
"In case there are any who haven't heard, I made it through the barrier and back last night. Not something I recommend or plan doing again any time soon. But I took the opportunity to go to Hogsmeade and drop off the letters many of you wrote. As luck would have it, there were many letters waiting there for us. And here they are. I don't know if there is one here for each of you, I'm sorry; I hope so, but I can't guarantee it. Another thing – these letters don't represent all those sent to Hogwarts, only those the parents chose to have held in Hogsmeade on the off-chance a way through the Blockade would be found for them. If you don't get a letter, it may mean your family didn't want to risk private information being intercepted by, for example, Death Eaters…" And Harry wondered if he was the only one who had just realised that there might be some parents who didn't want personal information intercepted by Aurors. But Draco was still talking, so Harry turned his attention back to the Slytherin table. "…Or your families may be trying some other way to communicate with you. I do know that if you choose not to receive your letters in public, I'm happy to see you afterwards to give you your mail. If you don't want to get a letter now, or don't want to face the risk of not getting one, please stand up and let me know now."
He waited for the space of half a dozen heartbeats.
No student stood. Or left the room. Harry doubted it was because the stew was particularly delicious. All eyes were fixed on the white rectangle. Harry heard someone breathe "…Please let it be from my dad…"
Draco nodded slightly as it became obvious no-one was going to leave, a faint line appearing between his eyes. He took a deep breath and read the name on the envelope.
"Hannah Abbot?"
At the Hufflepuff table, a blonde girl squeaked and sat up straighter as her pink cheeks flushed pinker.
"Oh, right, there you are," said Draco as he jumped down from the table. "Mail for you."
Hannah put her hand to her mouth. "Who from?" she whispered, but the entire Hall heard her
"Well, it's private mail, so I guess you'll just have to find out by opening it," Draco said.
Hannah took the letter in shaking hands, as if expecting it to shatter. Someone passed her a butterknife, and she slit it open and unfolded the paper inside. "It's from Mum and Dad," she said, and her voice broke on the last word. She sagged and wiped at her eyes. "They're… they say they're fine, and hope I'm fine, too… One of my cousins is getting married and the daffodils are particularly fine this year… Dad's kneazle Pik-Pik won Best in Show… then lost it when he attacked the judge, who turned out to be embezzling funds from the Kneazle Society…" Tears were flowing down her face and Draco seemed torn between empathy and embarrassment at the show of emotion.
He took refuge in another letter from the sack.
"Winston Collins?"
A Ravenclaw stood, face pale and set somewhere between hope and dread. He took the letter as voices started up again, a murmur becoming a torrent…
"Is there anything from –" "Did –" "– for me?" "Can you –" "My aunty should have wri–" "Hey, Malfoy, is there – "
Paler than usual, Draco moved quickly through the crowd, shoulders stiffening briefly when it looked like he would be mobbed, but then it was Remus Lupin who was there, standing next to him, asking people to sit and wait for their names to be called… And then Draco moved through the Hall with Lupin shadowing him to stop any trouble, moving from name to name, handing out letters to friends and allies, unaligned and unknown, enemies and antagonists alike, giving some students one letter and some several (Ron got three and was almost beside himself reading aloud to Harry Molly's admonitions to make sure he remembered to clean his teeth and keep wearing clean underwear).
He only paused three times, when three particular students got a letter apiece along with puzzled looks from Draco, who turned and called out happily to Harry, "Hey, Potter! They're doing just fine!"
Harry was a little bewildered – had Remus missed a hex Draco had carried back? – when he realised, firstly, that the three were the ones who'd hurt Luna, and, secondly, Draco was only pretending to be pleased by their good health.
Determined not to show he didn't have the faintest idea what Malfoy was on about, Harry raised his goblet and called back, "Excellent work, then, Malfoy!"
And Draco nodded with a malevolent glitter in his grey eyes.
And the three students suddenly looked very, very frightened.
And Harry had an inkling where Draco was going with this.
He could lipread enough to know Remus was asking Draco what he'd done, and Draco's grey eyes went wide and innocent as he shrugged and replied Nothing, Professor.
Harry smiled to himself.
"What?" asked Hermione, who had been rereading the letter from her parents. She folded it lovingly and tucked it into a pocket.
He shook his head and shrugged. "Revenge. A dish best served cold."
She nodded sagely. "Those ancient Klingons really knew what they were talking about."
"They did, didn't they?"
"Oh yes."
Harry, thinking he detected a trace of sarcasm, turned to her just as she turned to Ron. He was probably only imagining she was laughing at him…
Not everyone got a letter. Harry felt a little disgusted that a stamp had been wasted on him by the Dursleys when some of the other students were obviously fighting back tears of disappointment and jealousy. All the Dursleys had to say was that if he didn't write back within a month of receiving the letter, they would consider him dead. The letter was dated as of Easter. While Harry couldn't say he was upset about being completely cut off from the Dursleys, it was unfair of life to tell him he had nominally kicked the bucket where his last blood relatives were concerned while leaving other students wondering if their families considered them, too, dead or, worse, were themselves deceased.
Had Draco taken that into account when he started passing out letters? That must have been why he'd given that little speech at the beginning. But by the faint line still sitting between the Slytherin's eyes, Draco still wasn't entirely immune to the feelings of the letterless in the room, either out of empathy (did Draco have any letters, and, if so, from whom… or You-Know-Whom?) or self-preservation.
Pausing at the teachers' table after giving a letter to Vector, Draco's cold grey gaze flickered from one professor to the next, lingering on Hagrid who had tears running into his beard as he read the letter which had come in an envelope bearing the seal of Beauxbatons, then moving on almost dismissively past McGonagall and Dumbledore who each had two letters. He leaned forward a little towards Professor Sprout as she exclaimed over the letter Sinistra was reading to her (had Sprout received anything? Harry couldn't remember seeing her get a letter). She turned, her jovial face becoming solemn as she nodded at what Draco was saying.
She stood.
"All those who, like me, did not receive mail will remain after dinner for a short discussion on how we might in future send and receive messages."
"How's that going to happen?" Ron said.
"Malfoy might have noticed something about passing things through the barrier," Hermione said. "He might have remembered something after he saw Harry last night. Besides, it's a jolly good idea for everyone who didn't get a message to do something positive towards getting one in the future."
Harry agreed – already some of the tearier-eyed students were talking among themselves as to how they could do this. But he had other things on his mind right now… "I want to go after the you-know-what tonight," he said quietly.
"But what about planning it…?"
Harry cut Hermione off with a shake of his head. "What's to plan? Go out, hack some off a tree, come back."
"Go out, hack off an acromantula or a vampire which, in turn, hacks off your head, don't come back," Ron said as he polished an apple on his sleeve. He bit into it with relish. "Mm. Malfoy can go do the shopping any time he likes."
Harry sighed. "Well, okay, maybe not that simple… we need to get Neville to show us where it is and Malfoy insists on bringing Simon because he reckons horses have great night vision – not what Mr Python says, he says their vision's not that great, it's their hearing you can depend on – so that means we have to tell Luna or she'll deck me as well as Malfoy… we can talk about it this evening up at Squirrel Hill after dinner and go out after curfew for the you-know-what."
"We can talk about it after dinner and go from there," Hermione said firmly. "No running away with crazy plans again… not until we've worked out which parts of them are crazy. Er, isn't Luna having a detention tonight?"
"I'll tell Sprout Simon's feeling a bit dodgy and needs Luna's expertise," Harry said, shrugging, hoping it was just coincidence that had Hermione's train of thought running direct from crazy plans to Luna.
ooOOoo
While dinner was still finishing in the Hall, down in the Republic of Slytherin one person had retired after losing his appetite.
Draco might have been feeling better after the sleep-in that morning (and having Remus Lupin backed into a corner and forced to release Draco after a series of diagnostic spells that revealed Draco to be, despite the werewolf's obvious expectations, magically the same when he came back as when he'd left Hogwarts had tickled his sense of humour… although the memory of Lupin being the only one to stand up and give some protection when the other students had threatened to mob Draco for the letters soured the satisfaction of having bested the werewolf), but the tension in the Hall had left him drained and a little queasy.
And now it looked like he'd be going out tonight in search of mistletoe, back into that bloody forest, and although he knew he shouldn't be inviting more stress into his life and his stomach lurched with dread at what he was about to do and find out in the next few seconds, he was going to go ahead with it anyway, poor, sad Comrade Masochist that he was…
He pulled the curtains around his bed and cast a basic silencing spell for privacy. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out the envelope with his name on – typed and granting the sender anonymity… meaning it could be from his mother, his father, a house elf or the Dark Lord – then cracked the green wax seal and opened the letter.
He smiled in relief as he recognised the elegant copperplate hand, full of long sentences peppered by parentheses, elongated g's and sweeping strokes to the f's. The tidy script was personification of his mother, although anyone who hadn't seen Narcissa in a temper might have been surprised by her favouring of exclamation marks. She rarely used them in formal letters, but this was private for Draco alone. He smiled, holding it close enough that he could smell the light perfume of freesias and for a moment was home again…
My
Dearest Draco
Although I have been told by a certain authority
figure not to write to you, I cannot let a chance go by to tell you
that I am always thinking of you, I am always wondering what you are
doing, and I am always, always missing you, my darling son. A
certain person fears I might give away some vital information by
writing to you (and many of your friends may suffer from having more
obedient parents than you with your defiant mother!), but the only
information I care to give away is that I am well, as is your father,
and both of us hope you are keeping yourself safe there at Hogwarts.
Oh! what I would give to have sent you to Durmstrang instead!
But perhaps it is better for you to be where you are and away from
the war – yes, it is a war now, Draco, and one I do not wish you to
be involved in, no matter what your father and his associates might
say. Perhaps these things work out for the best.
Aside from
that, life goes on in the usual way. The Ministry tries to involve
itself in our affairs, even sending that ghastly Weasley man and his
cronies in to search the grounds around the folly for some reason.
Of course they didn't find anything. Lucius threw my favourite
house elf (do you remember Miffy?) out the window after she let the
Aurors in the front door rather than the serviceman's entrance.
Miffy will recover soon, but it irks that her replacement is so
clumsy. What else? Your third cousin Bertram (the one who thinks he
is the reincarnation of King Tut and built a pyramid in his room to –
as he put it- 'keep the moon people from ageing him' after he
started getting grey hair) will be married in August, only a few
weeks after your birthday. I do so hope all this horrible mess will
be sorted out to our advantage before the end of July. It would
grieve me to think of you having your coming of age birthday away
from the Manor. Although I expect you would be less than delighted
by going to a wedding, I think it may be rather interesting (or
interesting in the same way watching someone splinch themselves is
interesting, that is) and educational (see previous analogy!) to
attend. The blushing bride is a young witch (and I never told you
her teeth would put a beaver to shame!) from Romania and believes
herself to be the reincarnation of the witch-queen Agathis. There is
much lively debate and some placing of bets as to what the theme of
the wedding will be. I have bet a bottle of cognac against your
father's wager of a new shrubbery behind the west wing – I say
the wedding will be Egyptian with miniature sphinxes, while Lucius
opines there will be a definite Anatolian motif, with guests arriving
on flying carpets (the ban has just been lifted, can you believe?)
and everybody wearing white robes. I do hope it won't be boring
after all the speculation by the guests!
One of my great aunts
wrote recently, and passed on her regards to you. She has a house in
Spain and has offered it for…Draco
read and reread and in his mind he was home until Goyle rapped on the
post of his bed and, as politely as Goyle was capable of (for Goyle
was being very wary of post-blindness Draco), informed him Harry
Potter was asking if Comrade Malfoy would mind seeing him…?
"All right, Comrade. I'll see him now."
Draco sighed, folded the letter carefully along the creases, and thought yet again how home was something you had to work for.
ooOOoo
