CHAPTER SEVEN: RETURNING HOME


"What are you doing?" a soft voice asked.

"I'm sitting here," Francis said as he looked up to see a Native American girl his age. He would have seen an Eskimo girl but he was learning to be politically correct.

"That was an informative answer. Why?"

"I'm being paid to. Ralph told me that I needed to have a life changing experience, and to sit here until it happens."

The girl laughed. "You're Uncle Renakka's new gopher."

Francis looked offended. "He told me his name was Ralph."

The girl laughed again. "And he told you he grew up in Los Angeles."

"No," Francis said carefully. "Brooklyn. And that his father was rich."

"Uncle Renakka definitely found a gullible boy this time."

"Not any more," Francis said, "I quit."

"And what are you going to do now," The girl smirked as she looked Francis in the eye.

"You're beautiful," Francis said as he took her hand into his.

"I'm happy that you think so," the girl said as she squeezed his hand warmly.

"I know we just met but will you marry me?"

"That's a smooth line," the girl commented, then paused. "Sure."

As they ran to the chapel, Francis asked, "By the way, what's your name?"

*

"Are you Malcolm?" the young lady asked.

"I didn't do it."

"Didn't do what?"

[Oops.]

"Nothing. Do you want something?"

"I'm covering the Academic Olympics for my newspaper." She showed Malcolm her credentials. "I was looking for a human interest story and your name came up."

"Why are you covering this? We had the National Finals in Washington, DC. Nobody bothered to cover that."

The reporter nodded. "You are smart to pick up on that. The editor's niece is on the British team, and he promised her she would see her name in print."

"Oh, so this really is a human interest story, and I'm the human you're interested in."

"You are right on your first try."

"And why me? You're British. Shouldn't you have picked a British kid."

"I should, but you are much more interesting."

[This doesn't sound good.]

"How do you mean that?"

"Well, I made a few phone calls, and I found out that your house exploded near the end of May."

"Nobody was home at the time, and the police said it was a gas line."

"Actually, they said probably a gas line. To quote one officer, 'in view of the family's history we cannot rule out other possibilities'."

"I was at school, lady," Malcolm said angrily. "You can't accuse me."

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I wanted to point out why you seemed an interesting person to interview. The police have a rather extensive file on your family."

"That's confidential information."

"Yes, it is, and several of them can't help but talk about it. Did you know that there is a web site on the internet about your family. I think it's run by a local church. They have newspaper stories dating back years. Last year, your neighbor's house caught fire under suspicious circumstances. There have been numerous public reports of loud explosions and other unexplained noises. There was another fire the previous year, and a car fire the year before that. Would you like to hear my personal favorite?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Eight years ago, another neighbor's garage exploded. Traces of chemicals were found. Two boys, one estimated as ten and the other as five, were spotted in the vicinity. Would that have been your missing brother Francis, and you?"

"Francis isn't missing. He had himself emancipated and he went off to live on his own."

"What did you use to make the bomb?"

"It wasn't a bomb. It was a chemical conversion device. It was supposed to contain the reaction. It's not my fault it ruptured."

[I know what you're thinking but it's past the statute of limitations. I always check on these things.]

Malcolm and the reporter grinned at each other. The reporter made a notation in her pad. "This will be a wonderful story, Malcolm. A lost child who found his way out of darkness and redeemed himself in the eyes of his neighbors and friends."

"Ask whatever you want. I promise to be completely honest, even if the answer is 'I can't tell you for legal reasons'."

The reporter laughed again. "Thank you, Malcolm. Please tell me, where does your family live, now that your old house has been destroyed? One of your friends said it was near the beach south of here, but he seemed confused when I asked him to be more specific."

[That would be Lloyd.]

"Right now, we are living in England, near Ottery St. Catchpole . . ."

"Excuse me," A voice said from behind them. "I'm Harold Hinkle, one of the judges in this contest. Did you say that you live in England?"

"It's only until I finish school here. You see, our house . . ."

"No, I don't see. When did you move here?"

"I guess the end of June, just over a month ago."

"And you did read our requirements to participate? For example, the section that states that you must be an active resident of the school district that you represent."

"Uh, No."

"Excuse me," the reporter said. "They should still own the property. That would count as an active residence until they legally declare otherwise."

[Hey, I really like this lady.]

"It does, Madam," Hinkle replied. "But the boy clearly stated that he goes to school here. That means he does not attend the Krelboyne school."

"And that means?" the reporter asked while Malcolm looked on.

"Disqualification. The American team is no longer competing. I will inform the other judges."

"I'm sorry, Malcolm," The reporter said as the judge walked away.

"You're sorry? I've been trying to figure out how to get out of this thing for the past month."

[Do you believe that. I finally found a legitimate way out of all this on the last day.]

"It should still be a good story," Malcolm offered. "Bad kid proves he hasn't learned."

"Only for the crime report," the reporter said. "You were right. I should have picked one of the British children."

"Hey," Malcolm called as the reporter started to leave. "The editor's niece. How wit and wisdom pops up close to home."

"I'll use the word sprout instead of pops up, but it is a good idea. Good luck at school."

Malcolm walked back to the waiting group of Krelboynes and David Winter."

"Thank you, Malcolm," Mr. Winter said. "This was all for nothing."

"We had fun," Malcolm offered.

"Fun?" Dabney screamed, "You had my mother deported . . ."

"She'll be home when you get there," Malcolm explained. "Don't sweat it."

" . . . to Argentina," Dabney concluded.

[Okay, I went a little overboard on that one. At least Mr. Herkabe went with her.]

"I am surprised," David Winter commented. "As smart as all of you are supposed to be, not one of you noticed that Malcolm was not eligible to participate."

"It was . . . a . . . calculated . . . risk."

*

"Thanks . . . for letting . . . me visit," Stevie said.

"You'll like this place," Malcolm explained. "It's a lot bigger than our old house. It has three floors as well as a basement. Plus we live right next door to Ginny's family."

"She was the one who was arrested the last time she visited you," David Winter commented.

"Yeah, but it didn't go on her record."

"How's . . . Draco?"

"He's probably half crazy by now. Mom says that he's still at our house pretending to be me."

David shook his head. "Malcolm, Draco Malfoy looks nothing like you."

Malcolm shrugged his shoulders. "Mom said that nobody noticed."

The Knight Bus screeched to a halt as the driver called out the stop.

"This is it," David announced. "I do hope your mother has some coffee made."

*

Draco sat at the edge of the road, looking at nothing in particular. Malcolm would be home sometime today.

[I've had a wonderful time but I would really like to be me again.]

"Ah, Malcolm," a familiar voice said from the shadows.

[That's . . . Father?]

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"Please don't be frightened. I mean you no harm, dear boy. I simply wanted to assure you that you were safe."

"You came here to tell me I was safe? How did you even find me?"

"I asked a friend in high places. But there is a reason why I wanted to talk to you, in private."

"Go ahead," Draco said carefully.

"The Master realizes his mistake and wants to make it up to you, but I told him there was no possible way he could do that, after how much he had hurt you. He wants to admit his error and told me that you need never fear his wrath again. He was wrong and wishes to compensate you." Lucius smiled. "I made a suggestion which he accepted, and I think will make all of us happy."

[I'm going to hate this.]

"Remember when I told you that you would be sponsored as long as you attended those seminars? The Master is willing to continue to sponsor your education, no strings attached. Isn't that good news?"

"What's the catch?"

"Catch? Do you mean what is gained by this. I'll go down the list. The Dark Lord has time to present his position to you in a reasonable manner, and hopefully downplay his actions from when he was freshly restored, and not completely in control of himself. I have the pleasure of looking good in his eyes, and helping your family avoid the stigma of poverty that the Weasleys have. And you get what you want the most. Money."

"Does this mean that I can still be friends with Draco?"

Lucius Malfoy widened his grin. "Of course. Isn't that obvious."

[He never even thought of that.]

"Well . . ." Draco said thoughtfully.

[On the other hand, I can still be friends with Malcolm. I mean, openly. After all, I'm the one who's getting him the money. It's not like he's agreeing to this himself. Everybody only thinks he is. That makes it okay. Right?]

". . . I'll consider it but, you should know that I know things, Malfoy family things, like St. Mungo's, and my knowledge is up to date."

"And you want?"

"Forgive Draco, and put it all behind you."

"You know where he is?"

"He's close. He told you he went to the beach."

Malfoy gave a look of surprise, then of humor as he understood where his son had gone. "Very well, Master Malcolm. I will forgive him his indiscretions, and I will bury the thoughts. Do we have a deal?"

"One more thing."

"And what is it?"

"Buy him a back-to-school gift. It doesn't have to be expensive or anything, but it has to be something that you honestly think he will like."

"That is an odd request, but I will agree, as long as there are no more conditions."

"That's it."

"Then it is agreed. You will find an account in your name with the modest sum of one thousand galleons. That should more than see you through the school year. If you need additional funds, tell Draco, and also give him a very good reason."

Draco and Lucius Malfoy shook hands, and Lucius disapparated.

[I know what I did sounds stupid but I am curious what father will get me.]

Draco looked up at a sudden noise as the Knight bus appeared.

Malcolm stepped off the bus to look himself in the eye. "Draco?"

"Welcome back. Nobody missed you, thanks to me. Mom's waiting for us. Hi, Stevie. Hey, Mr. Winter."

"You . . . look . . . different."

"You do look exactly like Malcolm," David commented as they walked and rolled across the unkempt lawn. Malcolm gave him a confused look.

[What's he talking about? Draco looks nothing like me. My nose isn't that big. And his eyes look all goofy. At least his hair color is close.]

As they approached the front door, Dewey opened it and let them in.

"Hi, Malcolm."

"Hi, Dewey. What happened to you? You must be at least three inches taller from when I saw you last."

"Really," Dewey said angrily, "Do you really think I grew three inches in only a month? Or maybe I did it over a year? Do you think you might have something to do with it?"

"What are you talking about you little creep. I just got home. I didn't do anything to you."

"You will," Dewey fumed.

"Good, you're back," Lois said, "Go upstairs and unpack. Throw your dirty clothes in the laundry, and take a bath."

[It's good to see you, too, Mom.]

Lois nodded to David Winter. "Thanks for taking care of him, Dave. I do appreciate it. I have some coffee in the kitchen. Hi, Stevie. How's your family."

"Fine . . . Dad misses . . . Hal . . . for poker."

"And we have more money because of it," Lois laughed.

[That's great. I'm home two minutes and it's Malcolm do this, Malcolm do that. Everybody else gets to relax. I don't know why I was in such a hurry to get back.]

[Look at him, the lucky stiff. He's home two minutes and he slips right back into a routine, like he never left.]

"Uh, Mom."

Lois looked down. "David, could you cancel a spell for us. Nob had one of his accidents, and Draco has been stuck playing Malcolm for too long."

"Nob?" David laughed. "I shouldn't be surprised. Where is the young elf."

"Hal took him and Dewey to the beach. They don't know about Draco. Well, Nob does, but he's only five."

"Mom," Malcolm pointed out, "Dewey is right here."

"Not that me, the ten year old me," Dewey sneered. "And it's your fault."

"There was an accident," Lois explained. "Dewey is also eleven." Then she smiled. "That means he'll be going to school with you this year. He already got his letter."

[But that's what I liked about school. My family was never around. Well, hardly ever.]

"Mom, you're joking."

"No, I'm not. You're going to school with Dewey in September. You're taking a bath in the next ten minutes. And Dave?"

"Yes," said a surprised David Winter who glanced down at a thoroughly amused Stevie Kenarben. He turned to Draco and pulled out his wand. "Finite Incantatum."

The figure of Malcolm shimmered briefly, and Draco Malfoy appeared as himself. "I'm me again," he shouted happily. "Thank you, Aunt Lois. I mean that. Thank you for everything."

[Aunt Lois?]

Draco turned around angrily. "Malcolm, I will never offer to do you a favor again, you worthless git. Do you know what I went through? Puberty."

"So did I," Malcolm said defensively.

"This was my SECOND time. I did NOT appreciate that."

"Malcolm. Bath." Lois turned to Dewey. "Are you packed?"

"Yes," Dewey pouted.

Malcolm stopped climbing the stairs. "Where's Dewey going?"

"St. Mungo's," Lois answered. "They want to do some tests on him."

[Hey, being home isn't so bad, after all.]

*

Malcolm was sitting at the kitchen table with the entire family plus David Winter, Stevie and Draco. David Winter kept glancing at Nob, curious as to how the house elf transformed himself into a human boy, and wondering why he picked Malcolm as his role model.

"So . . . Draco . . . How is it . . . that you . . . and Malcolm . . . are cousins?"

"It seems we have a common grandfather."

"But we still don't get any money," Reese said.

"I like having rich relatives," Dewey said. "Tell your dad that he missed my birthday."

"I'll tell him," Draco grinned. "But don't hold your breath."

"We can work on him," Reese said with authority. "He'll come around."

As everyone finished eating, there was a hesitant knock at the door.

"Reese, get the door," Hal said.

"Malcolm," Reese said as he hit him in the arm, "get the door."

"You get it," Malcolm said hitting him back.

"NO FIGHTING AT THE TABLE," Lois shouted calmly. "Forget it. I'll get the door." She got up and walked to the front door and opened it.

"I . . . I was hoping Draco was here," a nervous but confidant Lucius Malfoy said.

Lois smiled as she realized there was still one person that she hadn't told about her new relatives.

"Come in, Lucius," Lois said in as friendly a voice as she could. Malfoy failed to notice the signal that he should become very afraid. Then Lois called out, "Draco, could you come here, please.?" With pleasure she watched Lucius's expression when Draco returned the now standard reply, "Coming, Aunt Lois."

Lucius Malfoy, to his credit, remained calm despite every drop of blood leaving his face. After several minutes, during which Hal checked to make sure he was still breathing, Lucius softly asked, "Father?" and cringed when Lois nodded.

After Lucius regained his composure, he called Draco to him, conscious that everyone, including three people he had never seen before, where watching.

"Draco, Son, I've forgiven you any and all of your past . . . indiscretions, and," he added, hoping it would make him look good, "I am asking you to forgive mine. Let all of that be in the past."

"They are all forgotten, Father," Draco said hopefully.

Lucius smiled, making it a point to smile at everyone, including the black boy in the wheelchair, and the strange little boy who looked like a miniature Malcolm. "And I brought you a small gift. Something to take with you when you return to Hogwarts." Lucius held out a foot-long box about three inches wide and one inch deep. Draco opened the box and pulled out a writing quill, the feathers on which immediately turned a bright pink.

"It's a Mood Quill," Lucius explained. "It changes color according to whatever mood you are in at the moment. Pink means that you are surprised. Pleasantly, I hope."

"I am," Draco said as he stared at the completely stupid gift. He gingerly put it back in the box. "Thank you, Father. I will always think of you when I use this."

Lucius beamed at the compliment. He turned to Lois and said, "I don't wish to overstay my welcome. I know you do not appreciate my being here, after what happened."

"Do you mean kidnaping their son and almost killing him? Or blowing up their house?" David Winter smiled as Malfoy paled slightly.

"I didn't have anything to do with either of those things," Lucius said strongly. "And Malcolm was supposed to have been invited, not kidnaped. Malcolm will tell you that I did try to correct the situation as soon as I found out, and what happened after that was . . . unexpected."

"Then why are you here?" David asked.

"I simply wanted to remind . . . my sister . . . that we had an agreement concerning his education, Malcolm and I, and that I have kept my part." He gave Malcolm a knowing look.

[What was that for?]

"Malcolm will find sufficient funds in his account at Gringotts to cover all of his expenses. All I require is that he continues his education. After all, I am a man of my word, regardless of what other people think." The last line was said with a determined look at David Winter.

"Uncle Lucius?" Nob said in the ensuing silence. "My birthday is on Hallowe'en. I'd like a broom, please."

Dewey hit Nob in the arm. "I was going to ask for a broom."