Chapter 24: And Pale Was He

            "I need to send a letter to a friend of mine in Mildenstowe" Draco said, pushing the sealed envelope over the counter to Crunther.

            "Mary Ludlow? Ne'er heard o' her." said Crunther, reading the address. He shrugged, "The mail coach is leavin' tomorrow at six in t'mornin' I'll see yer letter gets on it. Takes a couple o' days, countin' stops, to get to Mildenstowe."

            "Thank ye"

            "And how's your lady this morning?"

            "She's…"

            "…very well, thank you Crunther" said Hermione, appearing behind Draco and smiling at the innkeeper.

            "G'mornin, Mistress Malfoy. Where're ye two off to t'day? 'Tis your last day here at these lodgings."

            "Actually, we were going to go up to the old Morwyn place."

            Crunther shook his head, "I tell ye there be nothing there. Ye are wastin' yer time. 'Tis best ye steer clear of that place, people say it's ill luck."

            "Mother Morwyn was a friend of my mother's," Hermione said quietly. "I promised her I'd stop by if I ever came through Aldeburgh."

            "Aye, well then ye be careful. I still say ye are wastin' yer time. 'Tisn't more than a burnt ruin that place. Much better for two young people to spend the time in the fields or by t'rivers. I could pack you a lunch."

            Draco and Hermione exchanged glances. "Why don't ye pack it for us anyway, Crunther?" said Draco. "We'd be very grateful."
            "Surely. I'll just get Mother Crunther to get something together. Ye just wait here." He lumbered off to the kitchen and left Draco and Hermione alone.

            "Did you give him the letter yet?"

            "Yes. The mail coach leaves tomorrow. It makes several stops along the way but it will reach Mildenstowe in two days."

            Hermione nodded and squeezed Draco's arm. "I hope she gets it and nothing goes wrong."

            "Nothing more can go wrong" Draco said cheerfully. "I have a feeling we've been through the worst of it…think about it Hermione! In two weeks, we'll be home!"

            Hermione smiled, "I wonder if they missed us?"

            "Weasel's probably pining away for you. Didn't you two have a 'thing' back in the Sixth?"

            "We did not have a "thing". Anyway, that's all in the past…or the future…oh, whatever. And anyway, may I remind you, Mr Malfoy, that you are going to have to explain to the Zabinis this whole situation. Even if Blaise doesn't flip her wig over it, I'm sure Mr Zabini will have a lot to say about it."

            "That pompous toad doesn't scare me."

            "Draco, what are the consequences of breaking a wizard engagement? You never told me."

            "Oh! Well…"

            "Here ye are" said Crunther, emerging from the kitchen with a covered basket. "There's cheese and bread and a flagon of ale in there."

            "Thank you" said Draco, taking it from the innkeeper.

            "Take my advice and don't picnic up at the old Morwyn place. 'Tis a wretched ruin now…go to the stream or the fields."

            "Yes, thanks."

            Offering his arm to his wife and feeling her take it, Draco set off for the old Morwyn place. They had picked up enough information from the townsfolk to be pretty certain of its surroundings, both felt just the slightest bit nervous at what they would find there.

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            Time and time again, on their many dates since the time he had given the brooch before the Wizengamot hearing, Ron had tried to broach the subject of Blaise's engagement to Draco. But Blaise had always managed to change the subject and cut him off. On this day, he was determined not to let her do so again. No, it was much too near Samhain for this kind of fuddling about.

            "You've got to talk to her Ron" he heard Harry's voice echo in his memory. "You guys are getting pretty serious…"

            "Two weeks to Samhain" said Ron, as he and Blaise sat picnicking in one of the parks in Ottery St Catchpole. Near them, several wizard children were playing on toy brooms.

            "Please don't remind me" Blaise said, taking a bite out of a hard-boiled egg.

            "Aw Blaise, you can't keep telling yourself that Malfoy won't come back…the problem won't go away simply coz you want it to, you know."

            "What problem? Hey look at those kids messing around with the broom…" Blaise said, turning away.

            Ron reddened. "You know what problem. Y-Your engagement to Malfoy…and the wedding in December."

            "I'd rather not think about it" Blaise said, stubbornly.

            "You CAN'T not think about it! Samhain is in two weeks! Malfoy could be back anytime after that!"

            "I said I don't want to talk about it!" Blaise said, putting down her half-eaten egg and sniffing.

            "How can you live like this?! It's like you think the whole problem will disappear without you doing anything!"

            "Maybe it will!"

            "Grow up, Blaise…"

            "Grow up!? You're asking me to grow up? Who's the one who's going to be married by the end of the year? Who's the one going to be in charge of running estate accounts?..."

            "Malfoy estate accounts! Come on Blaise, is that what you really want?"

            Blaise shook her head. "You know it's not, Ron. B-But I really don't want to think about it right now."

            "So you let your father do all the thinking for you! Why can't you just break the whole damn thing off?!"

            "I've already told you, Ron…I can't!"

            "N-Not even if I…if we…"

            "No!"

            Blaise began to cry in earnest. Ron felt his heart sink to his feet.

            "Don't cry" he said at last, putting his arm around Blaise. Blaise rubbed her eyes and sniffed.

            "You don't know how hard it is to defy your parents when you know they love you, and mean to do what they believe is right for you."

            "Yeah…I do know actually" said Ron, with a lopsided grin. "Mom wanted me to re-take my NEWTS after I got that awful result…but I refused. What's NEWTS got to do with being an ace Quidditch player anyway? Anyway, you knew that I had a huge row with her, and there were tears and emotional blackmail and all that…"

            Blaise nodded and put her head on Ron's shoulder. "Yes…it's like that but ten times worse."

            "If you don't want to talk about now, we won't." Ron conceded, reluctantly. "Though I feel terrible about leaving it hanging, I can't bear seeing you so upset. Here, have one of mum's chocolate chip cookies."

            "Ronald Weasley, you are the nicest wizard I know" said Blaise softly, as she munched on the cookie he offered her. "And I'm truly sorry I haven't the guts to deal with that problem right now."

            "When Malfoy's back and you're forced onto the arm of the pompous prat, I'm sure you'll get the nerve" said Ron.

            Blaise smiled. "We'll see. Maybe you're right. Perhaps Hermione will have taught Draco a lesson or two in humility."

            "If I know Hermione, she'll have had as little to do with Malfoy as possible. I'd be surprised if she hasn't killed him by now."

            Blaise looked shocked, "She'd do that?"

            "Naah, not literally. I mean, Hermione's pretty scary sometimes, when she gets it into her mind to do something, nothing in the world can stop her…but I don't think she'll kill Ferret Boy…worse luck for us." Ron chewed thoughtfully on his cookie. "Imzermyavlly"

            "What?" Blaise giggled. "Ron, you have the worst habit of talking with your mouth full."

            "I miss Hermione awfully" said Ron, swallowing. "You and her- you're so different it's almost funny."

            "Oh? In what way?"

            "Well, Hermione wouldn't care at all what her parents thought, I'm sure. She doesn't hold with all of that family honour stuff- s'far as I've known, she just does what she feels is right. Not that your way is bad, but she really doesn't understand all that stuff. And she's so smart and tough all the time, doesn't really need anyone…and you're so, er…sweet and soft, like a Floffle…"

            "A Floffle- you mean those magical furry creatures that live in dandelion buds?"

            "Yeah."

            "Hmm…a Floffle. No one's called me that before" Blaise put her arms around Ron. "I like it. But I can be tough too you know!"

            Ron smiled sadly, "If only."

            Blaise looked at Ron's comical, sad face. Thoughts of all the great times she'd had with Ron flashed through her mind- the musical box he'd given her, how he'd helped her out of that Wizengamot case, how he'd flown straight across to her all the way across the pitch after winning his match against the Chudley Cannons…He really was the nicest wizard she knew. "We'll see, Ron. We'll see."

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            "Crunther wasn't joking" Draco muttered, as he kicked at a blacked pile of rock and ruin. "This place is a wreck."

            Hermione walked slowly around the perimeter of the burnt cottage. "I expected it to be like that. They always razed the houses of witches after they were burnt."

            "Well, we won't learn anything much" said Draco. "This place is a dump."

            Hermione was staring intently at the ground as she circled the place. Suddenly, she stopped and signaled for Draco to come over.

            "What is it?"

            "Look here…what can you see?"

            Draco looked at the ground. It was overgrown with weeds but struggling through the tangled mess of dandelions and cow grass were the very distinctive leaves of…

            "Herbs! This used to be a herb garden!"

            "I'll bet Mary Culdon used to keep a herb garden here and do some simple potion brewing."

            Hermione and Draco both fell to their knees, their fingers raking through the tangled weeds, searching for something.

            "Basil…Mint…those are the only two survived in these awful conditions…" said Draco, crushing the leaves in his hands and sniffing them.

            "No heather…"

"Or mullein…"

"Or patchouli or sage …" said Hermione gloomily.

"So that's what you hoped to find here." Draco straightened up and helped Hermione to stand.

"It was just a shot in the dark" said Hermione. "I'm not totally comfortable with us communicating with the Granger Estate again…I have a feeling something will go wrong."

Draco shook his head. "No…we're too near the end now. Everything that has gone wrong, has gone wrong already."

"Knock on wood!" said Hermione, tapping on the trunk of a tree.

"Goodness, you are superstitious!"

"When in Rome…"

"It shouldn't be hard for Mary to get all those herbs for us on Samhain. I remember all of them in the garden when I worked there. Though it really was a pity that Mary Culdon couldn't help us after all."

"Let's get out of here" Hermione said, looking at the blackened ruins of the cottage and shivering.

Wordlessly, Draco took her hand and the two of them started walking across the field and back towards the main centre of Mildenstowe.

"Why don't we try that way for our picnic?" said Draco, suddenly breaking away from the path. "There does seem to be another path leading this way."

Hermione peered at the ground. Draco was right. The grass had been flattened along a narrow path leading off the main one. It was clearly a path, but seldom used.

"All right."

It was not long before they found themselves at the edge of a wood. The path seemed to lead inside but Hermione was reluctant to follow it in.

"Why don't we stop for lunch here? It's er…dark…in there."

"Ok." Draco didn't much like the look of the wood himself. "How about here?" Where the field met the wood was a soft bank of wild grass and flowers. Hermione sat down to show her approval and Draco followed her example.

"Do you know any other wizard rhymes for children?" asked Hermione casually, as she munched on a piece of cheese.

Draco rolled onto his back as he chewed a piece of straw – a habit he had picked up from the other boys on the Granger estate.

"Oh yes. Want to hear another?"

"Yes, please."

"I heard a horseman

Ride over the hill;

The moon shone clear,

The night was still;

His helm was silver,

And pale was he;

And the horse he rode

Was of ivory."

"Who was he?"

"Who?"

"The horseman in the rhyme."

Draco closed his eyes. "Funny question. I've never thought of that before."

Hermione rapidly committed the rhyme to memory.

"Another one."

"Lady Rowan with berries in her hair…"

There was a rustling behind them, and Draco and Hermione both froze in alarm.

"What was that!?"

"Willow maid and Holly fair! Well met again, Draco and Hermione."  Spoke a voice from behind them. An old woman stood in the shadows at the edge of the forest.

"Who are you? And how do you know our names?" Draco tried to keep his voice steady but he knew that he sounded shrill.

"You're the old woman at the fair!" Hermione cried. "The ribbon lady!"

Slowly, the old woman moved out of the shadows. Draco could see that Hermione was right. Indeed, it was the old ribbon seller.

"Aye, and I see my ribbon is still in your hair – where it looks right fair!"

Hermione's hands automatically went up to touch Drac's gift in her hair and Draco found himself also staring at the ribbon. Memories of the day at the fair came rushing back to him.

"How do you know our names?" he asked, more calmly this time.

The old woman hobbled over to him and Draco had to fight back the urge to take a few steps back. She looked harmless enough, but there was an uncanny gleam in her eye.

"I would know you anywhere – my little young sapling" she went right up to him and Draco flinched as she touched his cheek with one bony finger. "Don't you remember your old grandmother?"

"You're his grandmother?" Hermione said curiously. "B-But how…"

"He knows me as such. I brought him up from a wee baby – after his mother left him for dead at the inn where she gave birth. A sweet, foreign lady…and her husband a fine, grand man. Both clearly wealthy beyond measure- but Death treats rich and poor alike. like the baby they left behind. I remember- the man's hair and skin was pale as the moon."

Draco's already pale face turned even whiter. Hermione couldn't help but glance at his white-blonde hair shining in the October sunlight.

"Why did they leave me behind?" he said, tensely.

"You were dead, or as good as dead. Your father rode away over the hill, and I could swear he and his wife vanished into the wind. I knew not their business…I was only the midwife to that unfortunate lady. When I came to wrap you in the shroud, lo! You were alive, and I knew it could not be by the grace of God for I had only moments before felt your heart stop beating. And I thought I heard laughter, and smelled strange smells and to my amazement I saw your hands had little shoots and leaves! A changeling! I thought, and would have hurled you into the fire right then had not something stopped me…"

"What stopped you?" whispered Hermione, slipping her hand into Draco's and drawing close to him.

"A midsummer's dream I had a year before I was called to your mother's bed" the old woman narrowed her eyes and looked from Hermione to Draco and back again. "It was a night of magik, and I dreamed that I should find a little boy to save, and save him I must, or great misfortune would befall me and a fair maid he was destined for. And I dreamed of your name lassie- Hermione. And I dreamed of your name lad- Draco."

Hermione and Draco stood rooted to the spot, their eyes wide with surprise.

"So you know our names" said Draco. "Now tell us yours."

The old woman smiled. "I have heard from the townsfolk that the two of you have been searching for my old friend Mary Culdon, bless her soul. I am glad I have found you because I know what you need and will help you…You see, I am Ruth Brenthurst."

 "I thought so." Hermione said softly.

Draco looked confused "Do you know this lady?" he said, turning to his wife.

Hermione nodded "Eighteen years ago, on Feill-Sheathain… Mary Ludlow, Mary Culdon and Ruth Brenthurst saw the fay, but Hester Abagnale…."

"…could not. Hester always was a stupid girl." chuckled the old woman. "Now, why don't we all sit down and share your picnic while you tell old Ruth Brenthurst what in the blessed world you two are doing in Aldeburgh."