Chapter Two – Salvation Comes in Scratches
The guards had purposefully starved him the first few days of his imprisonment, and by the time the door was opened, Harry was so disoriented, that he could not tell. Harry could tell now that the daily meal was brought at sporadic times, possibly to disorient him more.
The prison was unusually silent in the early hours of the… morning? Afternoon? Evening? Night? Was it even early? Since his birthday whipping, Harry enjoyed counting the time with how long the stinging lasted in his wounds from the last time he moved.
He liked to count in seconds. And sometimes, if he had enough energy, he turned the seconds to minutes with scratches on the wall. Sometimes he even counted the scratches to pass the time.
"522 scratches, plus one equals 523 scratches." He sat back to admire his handiwork. "Did you know," he addressed the scratches, "that there are only 403 stones in the walls of this cell? And there are… was 1,186 seconds since my back started stinging, but…" He began laughing. "But… hear this! I… I lost count!"
He threw his head back and laughed. His laughter broke the temporary quiet of the prison. Harry found this immensely funny.
"I mean, I just stopped counting!"
The laughter ringing in his ears drowned out the screaming. It also drowned out the sound of his door opening. He hardly noticed when a man flipped him onto his back, but the stinging started again.
Harry gasped as the stone cut into his healing back. Then, he laughed. "I stopped counting!" he cried. "But it doesn't matter!"
"Shh, Harry," soothed a voice.
"ONE!" The sound echoed. "TWO!"
"Harry, calm down."
Even as he yelled 'three!' he looked up. He thought he might recognise the amber eyes. "FOUR!"
"I'm sorry. (FIVE!) Stupefy!"
And then everything went black.
He could not see anything. There was no light and no colour, and it startled him. He sat up with a gasp and opened his eyes. Suddenly, a bedroom materialized around him. There was a small window in front of him with a dusty, mustard coloured curtain dimming the bright sunlight streaming into the room.
The pain was almost gone from his body, he noted, as he stumbled from bed. There were only minor aches in his back and head as he frantically pushed the curtain open.
The sight that met his eyes startled another gasp from him and he stepped back. The floor creaked beneath him.
"A forest," he murmured disbelievingly.
"Oh!" It was a surprised sound. "And a stream."
It suddenly became imperative for him to go outside. Because, surely if the prison had allowed him this rare glimpse of such beauty, they would certainly allow him outside to touch and smell it.
There were tears in his eyes when the door opened. "It's so beautiful," he whispered reverently, watching as a fox drank from the stream. "Such freedom."
"You have your freedom now, Harry."
Harry whipped around towards the voice. He let out a breath. "Remus?"
Remus smiled slightly. "Yes, it's me. We heard you moving around up here, so Sirius thought you might like some food. Merlin knows you need it."
Harry was confused. "I… food? Sirius? I… where am I?" He felt his mind working harder than it had in so long. "I… am I free? Was I proven innocent?"
Pain stabbed behind his eyes and he let out a cry of agony. He did not know he had fallen to the ground until Remus picked him up again.
"Don't strain yourself, Harry. You're still healing."
Harry felt a cool hand against his forehead. "You're burning up. Lie down again."
Events were a blur after that. Harry remembered light touches to his flushed cheeks and forehead. He remembered cool water being poured down his parched throat, and forks full of food being fed to him.
It was night the next time he woke. Harry could clearly hear the murmur of two voices downstairs as he carefully climbed from bed and walked from the room.
He vaguely remembered this house as though from a memory of a past life. It was Remus's house, he recalled, and it was set deep in the forest of Wales. Harry's dad used to come here for a few days every month, but Harry never understood why until he was nine.
"Remus, I didn't know that you're a werewolf," Harry had said.
Remus, Sirius and James choked on their tea. "Now where would you get an idea like that, Harry?" his father asked.
"I was reading, dad," Harry rolled his eyes. "I can put two and two together. How come nobody ever told me?" Harry remembered being upset as he watched Remus stand up and begin pacing the room nervously.
"It's not for a young boy like yourself to know," Remus said quickly. "It's a burden for your father, Sirius, and Peter… well, before he ran off to Merlin knows where." Remus shook his head. "You shouldn't know this, Harry," he looked at Harry then. Harry remembered the worry furrowing his brow and the despair settling into his eyes. Harry wondered what could be so bad as to cause that. "Even your mum wishes she had never figured it out. She would put a memory charm on herself if she knew she wouldn't figure it out again. It's… it's a burden."
Harry folded his arms across his chest petulantly as only a nine year old boy could. He sniffed. "I don't care, Remus. You're like a second godfather to me, or even like an uncle. I always wondered why you weren't an Animagus as well. But, now I know."
"Harry, you have to promise not to say anything," Sirius began. "Above all, you have to stop Flooing here when it's the full moon."
Harry turned angrily to Sirius. "You come here during the full moon! Dad comes here for the full moon!"
"That's different, Harry," James said.
"How so?"
"We're both an Animagus. Remus can't hurt us when we're in animal form."
"Then teach me how to become one! I want to help him!"
"No, Harry. That's absolutely out of the question. Your mother would never allow it. It's too dangerous running around outside with a werewolf. Besides that, the Animagus transformation is being outlawed."
"Utter rubbish, that," Sirius muttered under his breath. Harry glared at James as James shot Sirius a look.
"I. Don't. Care. I want to help Remus, Dad."
"Harry, for the last time, I said no."
Harry remembered clenching his fists at his sides and his heart rate speeding up. He felt the hair on the top of his head stand on end and the air around them crackle with energy. James stood up and approached Harry cautiously. "Harry, get it under control. I know you're angry, but it's no reason to let your magic get out of control like this. Remember what mum and I taught you?"
"I don't care!" Harry screamed. "I just want to help Remus! It's not so much to ask of, father!"
The teacups the adults had been sipping from minutes before rose into the air and began swirling. Harry remembered being too busy staring down James to notice. "Harry, put the cups down," Sirius ordered, staring at the wayward china.
"I won't!" As soon as Harry's voice rose in volume, Remus and Sirius ducked, but James was too late. The teacups burst apart and shards of the china flew at him with alarming speed. Harry remembered his father's cry of pain as they cut into his face and hands with a pang in his heart. As soon as the blood began to flow, Harry realised what he had done, and the shards dropped to the carpet.
"Dad," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry, dad."
James looked up with pure fury on his bloody face. "Your mother and I have been teaching you to control your magic since you were five, Harry James. We've always known you are the makings of an extraordinary wizard, and we've been preparing you for that. I know you can do better than that. You're very lucky you did no further damage than what you just did."
"Come on, James, lighten up," Sirius said quietly. "Children are allowed to lose their temper once in a while. Come on, I'll heal those cuts in the kitchen."
Harry watched as Sirius led James from the room. James turned back as he was leaving through the door. "Sit down and calm yourself before you do anything. And do not under any circumstances bother Remus about the Animagus matter. It's a closed topic. Understand?"
Resentful, Harry nodded.
"Good."
"Sit, Harry," Remus ordered when James and Sirius had left. Harry sat heavily with a sigh. "I know it's frustrating for you. When James, Sirius, and Peter first found out about me, it was hard on them too. They wanted to help me just as badly as you do. They wouldn't take no for an answer. There was a way for them to help me and they found it. But, Harry, you have to understand that the consequences for becoming an Animagus are much more severe than they were sixteen or so years ago when they learned how to."
"I know," Harry pouted. "I only wanted to help. I didn't mean to lose my temper like that."
Remus sighed and kneeled in front of him. Harry remembered thinking how he finally understood why Remus looked so much older than his dad and Sirius. "I think that James overreacted a bit to that. But, he is your father and he's extremely proud of you, Harry. He wants you to be the best that you can be. I hope you understand that. I have no doubt that Sirius is in there pounding some sense into him. It's a bit easier to see sense when you're not the biological father." Remus smiled slightly and ruffled Harry's hair. "Although I'll have to admit to being a little blind sighted myself when it comes to you. Sirius is the same. If it were possible, I'd let you do whatever you wanted, including learning to be an Animagus. But, it's not. Do you understand why we can't let this happen, Harry?"
"Yes. But, I'm not happy about it."
"All right, then. That's a good start, I think. Now, why don't you go into the kitchen and apologise to your dad? Throw in some puppy eyes while you're at it, and he'll crack like melting ice."
Harry felt himself grin. "Okay, I'll try my best." But, it seemed important to hug Remus before he left, so he did. "I'm sorry you're a werewolf, Remus."
Remus laughed quietly. "So am I, Harry. Believe me, so am I."
Sirius and James were speaking quietly when Harry gently pushed the swinging door open. James was leaning against the sink and Sirius was dabbing his blood soaked face with a cloth. "He called me father, Sirius," James said quietly.
"Yes, he certainly did," Sirius agreed. "And we all know that means he currently hates you."
Harry moved his body back through the door, but peered through a crack so as to see them as they spoke. He knew this would not bode well with his dad if he were caught, but what was a boy to do?
"Yeah thanks, mate."
"It's the truth, James. Sometimes I'm surprised when he calls you 'dad'. It's been 'daddy' for as far as I can remember."
"Oh, it's been 'dad' more often than not now. He's growing up. In less than two years, he'll be off to Hogwarts. He can't go around calling his father 'daddy' in front of his friends. That Ron Weasley already teased him for it a few months ago."
"See? There's your problem. He'd still be calling you 'daddy' if it weren't for that."
Harry watched as Sirius pulled out his wand and began healing the cuts. They were silent as he worked, and Harry heard Remus turning a page of the newspaper in the room behind him.
"There, good as new," Sirius announced quietly. Harry turned his attention back to them. A different kind of quiet had filled the kitchen. It was tense and Harry was scared to even breathe. Sirius had a hand on James's cheek and they were closer than Harry thought they should be. "No scars… nothing." His thumb ran lightly against his cheek.
"Sirius, stop it."
Harry wondered why his dad did not pull away from the touch.
"Stop what?"
"You know what I'm talking about. We've gone over this before, Padfoot. I love Lily."
"I have never denied that you do. It just seems suspicious to me."
"What does?"
"That you don't deny me this. That you don't pull away when I touch you."
Sirius was taller than James, Harry noticed then. He had to bend down to kiss his father's forehead. He had to pull his chin up in order to kiss his lips. And his father had to do nothing, but stand there and moan.
Harry closed the door quietly and went back into the living room. Remus folded his paper and smiled at him. "Did you tell them you were sorry, then?"
The boy shook his head. "They were busy," he said and sat down to draw.
When James and Sirius came back into the living room with swollen lips, nobody said anything. But, Harry knew their secret, and he thought that Remus might know something too.
Presently, Harry found himself standing in the doorway to that very same living room, looking at the place where he had been drawing on the couch some fifteen years ago. The room was empty now, and seemed just a little bit colder without the fire burning. Nothing had changed in its set-up. There were still two couches next to each other in the same corner. There was still one chair, and two small tables, and a fireplace. There was one picture on the wall, and it was of Remus's parents. It was a plain, small room, but Harry liked it all the same.
He continued down the narrow hall to the swinging kitchen door and tried opening it quietly, but it squeaked from lack of lubrication. The lone occupant of the kitchen turned on his heel and smiled brightly upon Harry's entrance.
"Harry!" Sirius exclaimed happily. "Merlin, lad, you had me worried. You've been here two weeks and only awake for an hour out of it all. Remus will be glad to see you're awake. You just missed him though. Said he was going shopping for groceries. Should be back soon, though." Sirius studied Harry. Harry hardly noticed Sirius's words or what the object of his intense stare was. Harry was concentrating on how Sirius was leaning against the same spot on the sink that his father had done so many years ago. "You still look peaky, Harry. Do you feel all right?"
"I saw you," he said.
"Saw me where?"
"In here - in the kitchen with my father."
Sirius looked concerned. "When?"
Harry looked out the window, seemingly unconcerned. It was a starry night out and the moon was at a waxing crescent. An owl hooted off in the distance and Harry could hear a slight wind rustling through the leaves. He smiled slightly. It was such a nice sound.
"When, Harry?" Sirius repeated. "When did you see James and me in here?"
"When I was nine. It was when I found out what Remus was. You two had come in here to heal dad's face. Remus had a bit of a talk with me and told me to come apologise, so I did. You two were talking about me, so I slipped out, but watched you. When you kissed dad, I left."
"Oh. I… well, it wasn't what it seemed, Harry. Why did you wait so long to say something?"
"I more or less forgot about it until I was fifteen, but I thought about it on occasion. I was confused about why you would want to kiss another man," Harry said, ignoring Sirius. "But, I was going to talk to Professor Flitwick about an essay that was due one day, and I came across Draco Malfoy kissing some Ravenclaw boy in the Charms corridor. I found out later that they were boyfriends. Then, I came to remember that incident with you and dad, and I came to the realisation then, that it must have been some sort of love. And I thought that it must have been amazing, and it was. It was amazing to realise that love doesn't know boundaries. Love could be me loving a giantess… or a giant. Love is you loving dad. Love could be Draco Malfoy loving that Ravenclaw boy. Hell, love could be me loving a hag. And love can be dad loving mum, and mum loving dad."
Harry felt himself smile weirdly. "Did you love my dad?"
Sirius shook his head. "Where is this coming from, Harry?"
"I was just remembering that day, and so I told you. Did you love dad?"
Sirius sighed and looked out the window. When he spoke, it was quietly. "I do love your dad, Harry. I do."
"You mean you did."
"No. I mean that I do love him."
Harry hummed in acknowledgement and sat at the kitchen table. There was a large window and he contented himself with looking out it. The view showed a quaint, but well kept garden with lilies, narcissi, pansies, and daffodils. It was a nice garden, Harry thought, but he wished that he could have helped plant it. He had not had the simple joy of hard earned dirt beneath his fingernails in such a long time.
He brought his hand to his face and squinted down at it. His glasses had long since been broken, but he had become used to the blurry lines and shapes his eyesight provided him. And he could clearly see that somebody had bathed his hands in the very least, but there was still dirt beneath his nails. It was not the kind of dirt he liked having beneath them. It was dirt from sitting in a gritty cell for far too long. It was dirt from digging out rocks to carve useless scratches on the walls to pass the time.
Harry wanted the dirt to be from playing Quidditch, or digging a garden, or from building or restoring a house.
He put his hand down in aggravation and pushed the thoughts aside by looking out the window. Sirius's reflection was in the window, and Harry could see that he was busy making a sandwich and taking backwards glances at Harry. It felt nice but foreign to be in the same room as Sirius, let alone another living person.
Suddenly, Sirius was walking towards him and placing a plate with a thick sandwich on top in front of Harry. Harry stared down at it as Sirius sat beside him. The food looked good, but he was not sure he could stomach something with so much in it. "I haven't had good bread for… I don't even remember how long, Sirius. How long was I in there?"
"Four years you were locked up."
"What's the date today?"
"August twenty-fifth, 2004."
"So… that means I'm… I turned twenty-four last month?"
"Yes, it does mean that, though I can hardly believe it."
"Me either," Harry murmured. "They told me I was twenty-three last month. So… I just lost a year of my life."
"Wrong. You lost four years of your life, Harry, for something you're innocent of."
"Yes, but I thought I was younger."
"Don't think on it, Harry. You'll get your life back."
Sirius was still speaking, Harry knew, but he suddenly did not want to speak on this subject anymore. He wanted to speak of something that was not painful for himself.
"It will be harder in the long run if you keep speaking of my dad in the present tense, you know, Sirius," Harry interrupted.
Sirius stopped, startled. "What?"
Harry wondered if Sirius had let go of James yet. "He's dead, Sirius." Harry smiled bitterly. "My father is dead and according to the wider world, I killed him."
"I don't think that you killed him."
"It's nice of you to have so much faith in me, Sirius. Really. But, how do you know that I didn't kill him? That I didn't kill mum as well?"
"Because I saw it in your eyes when they took you away, Harry, I saw it. You hadn't even been informed of what had happened yet, and I could see the confusion. And I made sure to be there when they accused you of killing James and Lily, and I saw your eyes again. You were so heart-broken. You were being accused of their murder when you hadn't even known they were dead yet. It didn't seem fair, so I fought. Remus and I fought for you, but nobody would listen."
"How do you know I'm not a good actor?"
The door creaked open and Remus walked in, a brown bag of food in his arms. He did not spare a glance at the kitchen table. "We've known you since you were fifteen minutes old, Harry," Remus said. "We know that you would never do anything that brutal to your parents. You've always had a good relationship with them."
Sirius stood and helped Remus put things away. "Besides that, Harry, James and Lily aren't actually dead, so yes, I will speak of James in the present tense." He tossed a block of cheese into the air before putting it into the Muggle refrigerator. "You were right, Remus," he said over his shoulder, "Harry did see James and I kissing in here that day Harry found out you're a werewolf."
"I told you," Remus muttered. "I've been telling you for nearly twenty years that he saw that."
"Wait!" Harry yelled, standing from the table. "I don't care that you and dad kissed. You just bloody well said that mum and dad are still alive! Am I going to get some answers here?"
"Yes, of course, Harry. You will get answers. It's the least you deserve, I believe," Remus acquiesced. "Sit back down, Harry. You sit too, Sirius."
Harry looked from Remus to Sirius. His heart was beating an irregular rhythm against his ribcage, and he thought that it might just jump out. Outside, the sky was slowly being covered with clouds, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Harry hoped it would rain. He hoped that he would be able to go out and run in it. He wished for the story to be told in time for the rain to start. Under the table, his leg fidgeted nervously.
Remus looked to Sirius and it seemed that the first to speak would be Remus. "Where do you want me to begin, Harry?" he asked.
Harry swallowed. "At the beginning – when I was arrested. I want to know everything you know."
It was as though he was having an out of body experience and his projection's destination was the past. He could see himself bent over the desk in his office, his past self's hand running through the dishevelled blond hair.
Past-Draco was reading through paperwork, and Draco thought he remembered what it was. He floated next to his past-self and looked over his shoulder. It was a list of expenses coming up and normally, Draco would not have worried about anything to do with money, but now he had none. Past-Draco suddenly sat up straight with a large intake of breath and Draco suddenly felt himself being sucked inside his past-self.
He blinked, looking around the room. It was the study Lucius Malfoy had so often used until recently. The calendar on the desk said it was June twenty-seventh, 2001. Draco remembered this day. It was the day the manor had been raided, ransacked, and Draco had been kicked out.
As if on cue, the door to the study banged open and Aurors streamed in. Draco shot up from his chair and rounded his desk. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"The Minister of Magic has given you an ultimatum, Mr. Malfoy, and you have failed to act appropriately," a tall, black Auror said unsympathetically. "The Malfoy estate is being confiscated by the Ministry of Magic until you have decided to comply."
Draco was sure he felt steam coming from his ears. He stormed to the Auror with murder on his face. "The Ministry has already frozen the Malfoy accounts! Is this how the government sympathizes with wizards who have just lost their entire family? Is this how Lucius Malfoy's son is treated? My father was the best Minister this country has seen in one hundred years, and this is how you repay me after his death?"
"I've already told you, Mr. Malfoy that you have failed to comply with the ultimatum set for you. You will come with us quietly. Your house elves are already packing your things."
"Now see here, I will not be leaving my home. You will drag me kicking and screaming. I have put up with my accounts being frozen, but you will not take the last of my possessions from me. I will not stand for it."
"Very well," the Auror complied. He snapped his fingers and two more Aurors hurried behind Draco and restrained his arms behind his back. Draco struggled fruitlessly. "Take him to the entrance hall."
"What is your name?" Draco demanded.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt, sir."
The Aurors holding Draco began leading him from the room. Draco struggled and kicked, but they held firm. "Let me go, or you'll regret it!" he screamed at them. They continued through the door. "I'll have your job for this, Shacklebolt!"
"I am just a messenger, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt called back.
"If they wanted to send a messenger, they should have sent an owl! The Ministry will regret this!"
In the entrance hall, Draco was met by even more Aurors. He had calmed halfway there, but his mind was spinning. He had to think a way out of this. There was nowhere for him and Aida to go…. "Aida!" he screamed suddenly. "Where is my daughter? Get me my daughter!" He began struggling again and very nearly got away. He stumbled to his knees and began to crawl away. The Aurors grabbed him once more and placed him in a binding charm. "Get me Aida or I swear I'll blow off all your bloody heads!" he swore at them.
Suddenly, Draco heard a loud cry coming from the sitting room. It tore into him and he struggled to move, but he fell to his side. "Daddy!"
"Aida! I'm here, baby. Come here!" he yelled.
"Daddy! Can't!"
Eye twitching, Draco turned up to the nearest Auror. "Get me my daughter this instant."
"Mr. Malfoy –"
"Get me my daughter and I will go quietly."
A whisper moved along the group of Aurors and within a minute, Draco could hear small footsteps running. "Daddy! Daddy!"
"Aida, I'm in the entrance hall. Come here, baby."
He felt the binding spell lift just as he caught sight of his daughter. She was a small girl of two years. She had wispy dark hair that curled at the ends and large grey eyes. Draco thought she looked much like the Malfoys, but some said she looked like her mother. It was the hair that did it, he had decided.
"Daddy!" she cried and flung herself into his arms.
Draco felt warmth fill him as he comforted her. She cried into his shoulder and reached up to twirl his hair around her finger. "I want mummy," she sniffled in her small childish voice. Her words were not fully formed, but Draco could understand what she wanted.
"It's just you and me now, Aida," he whispered. "Remember what I told you about your mummy?" Aida nodded and sniffled some more. Draco felt a sick hope that Aida would not remember her mother in a few years. It would be better that way.
"Time to go, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt was back.
Draco nodded and a sudden emptiness filled him as he left the manor. He wondered when he would be back. As he and Aida were taken outside, he thought it ironic that the sky was clear and the sun was happily shining.
Draco was out of body again and flying somewhere fast. He could not have said how long he had been flying when he finally came to a stop. The stop was so abrupt it knocked the breath out of himself and of the self that he had chosen to inhabit.
He looked around and decided that he was in the room Pansy had provided him. He was sitting in the middle of a bed which could comfortably sleep ten people. There were pictures spread around him and he had one in particular in his hand. Draco remembered that it had been taken just four days previous. It was of Aida and him. Aida was in a silly mood and Draco was cranky. He wanted nothing more than to burrow himself in the bed Pansy was about to offer. But, somewhere along the way, his daughter's infectious smile and tiny giggle and encouraged him into an equally chipper mood.
Draco chased Aida around Pansy's ancestral home and ended up in the library where Pansy was sitting. Draco finally caught Aida there and he tickled her until she started hiccupping. In the picture, both Malfoys' cheeks were flushed pink with exertion and happiness. Draco was holding Aida tightly and gave her a kiss on the crown of her head. Picture-Draco murmured, 'I love you,' into her ear and she giggled. The picture started over.
Draco turned the picture over and began writing on the back.
July 2001
Aida,
You are the only thing I have in the world, and I could not ask for more. I love you and always will. You're my special little girl. I hope you will understand someday why I am leaving you with Pansy. She will love and care for you. Please heed her and Vincent. This is the only choice I have, but believe me, it's the most difficult decision I've ever made.
If you ever need me, don't be afraid to owl me. I will answer. Always remember until the day I come back for you that your daddy loves his little girl. Until then.
Your loving father,
Draco Malfoy
A knock sounded at the door. It was a dull sound in the large room, and he looked up. Pansy entered with a sleeping Aida in her arms. She awkwardly closed the door with her foot and crawled onto the massive bed on her knees and carefully set down her load.
"She woke from her nap screaming for you," Pansy murmured, pushing back the dark hair on the girl's forehead. "I told her I'd bring her to you and she immediately fell back to sleep. I hope it's okay."
"Of course," Draco replied. With a swish of his wand, all the pictures, except the one he had written on were swept to the desk across the room. He stretched out beside his daughter and pulled a small blanket over her. "She wasn't having night terrors again, was she? She's had them at least three times a night since… well, since her mother died."
"No, I think it might have just been a bad dream."
Draco and Pansy sat in silence for a few moments. A crack of lightning sounded throughout the house and lit up the room. It was dark outside, even though it was the afternoon, and the room only had a fire lit.
"I want you to give her this picture. Make sure she can never lose or destroy it."
Pansy's eyes filled with tears as she took the picture. "You don't have to do this, Draco. It's not necessary."
"Yes, it most certainly is necessary, Pansy. The Ministry wants me, but I'm not going to them. I have to find a way around this."
"Yes, the Ministry does want you, Draco, but you're not some common criminal!" Pansy insisted, wiping her wet cheeks. "They don't have any proof that you've gone mad."
"That's their point. They don't want me to pull a stunt like my mother did. I have to go, Pansy, and I can't take her with me. I'll barely be able to provide for myself, let alone a small child."
"Let me help you."
"No. I have to do this on my own, Pansy."
Pansy climbed from the bed. She pressed her knees against the edge. "Fine, but I think you're making a big mistake, Draco Malfoy. You're lucky Vincent loves children. He can pretend with Aida while you're away."
"I'll never be able to thank you enough, Pansy."
"Don't thank me. You would do the same for me."
Pansy made to leave. "But don't think I won't hunt you down and kill you if you don't come back for that girl. She adores you."
"I promise on my parents' grave."
Pansy nodded, happy with the answer and left. Draco was left to curl up beside Aida. She was breathing softly and her long black eyelashes were brushing her cheeks. "I promise," he whispered, and he closed his eyes to join her in sleep.
The bed he had found in a dumpster was drenched in his sweat, and he writhed among the dirty sheets. "I promise. I promise," he murmured in his sleep, his brow furrowed sadly. "Aida…"
Behind his eyelids, Aida was waving to him as he was carried away in a carriage. As Draco watched her, a man and a woman stepped up behind her and took her away. Draco screamed for Aida, but the driver of the carriage yelled for him to be quiet.
"Mr. Malfoy! Stop yelling!"
Draco jerked awake with a gasp. He was being shaken and the bed beneath him was creaking angrily. The room was dark, but a ray of sunlight was shining through the closed window. He looked around blinking. A portly man was standing over him, a frown on his face.
"Good God, Malfoy, it stinks in here. Do you never wash your things?"
"Joseph!" Draco rasped out and sat up. "I can't afford to wash my laundry. I do the best I can with spells."
"You're living in squalor. Your father would surely be appalled."
"It can't be helped. You know what the Ministry is doing to me."
"Yes, I do know. It's absolutely appalling what the Ministry here in England has come to. I say… when I bought you this place, I never thought you would let it go to complete ruins like this."
"It was already in ruins when I arrived here," Draco muttered.
"A man in my position cannot go about practicing philanthropy with people who are wanted by the Ministry. It would have been inappropriate for me to buy you anything more."
Draco grimaced as he stood. His muscles felt wiry and were in need of exercise. He stretched out his tense muscles. "I know that, Joseph. I know you're trying to keep the Italian Ministry on good terms with the U.K. Have you heard anything on Aida?"
"No, I haven't." Joseph approached Draco with a kind smile. "Draco, trust that I am doing everything I can to find out where the Ministry placed her. She is my granddaughter and I would like to find her just as much as you. She is all I have left of my daughter."
"She's all I have," Draco murmured. "I haven't seen her in so long, Joseph. I need to see her."
"In good time, Draco, in good time, believe me."
"I do believe you."
"Good, good." Joseph's thick eyebrows drew together. "And now, I'll tell you that I brought you a few more candlesticks. I see you've had yours down to the wick. There's also a picnic lunch my elf prepared for you. And…" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small pouch. "Here are ten galleons to last you the two weeks until our next meeting." He threw them onto the sagging bed. "I must tell you that this is getting quite tiresome for me, Draco. My generosity may only be stretched so far. Are you any further along in getting your life straightened out?"
"I know you're getting tired of this, Joseph. I am too. I appreciate all the help you've given me. One day, I'll pay you back for your charity, but at the moment… things have been put on hold. With Harry Potter on the loose again, the Ministry is more concerned with him, than what sort of problems they have with me."
Joseph turned on his foot. "Yes, Potter is causing everybody a headache. I thought his escape might be hindering your progress. So, Draco, I've come to the conclusion that you need to find a job."
"But, I have a job."
"A real job, Malfoy," Joseph snapped. "Writing is not a respectable career choice, especially when your first book sold a grand total of ten."
"It sold more than that," Draco muttered.
"You cannot tell me that it was anything more impressive than that. You will get a job and hold it, or my generosity ends. You might just have to face that things will never get back to normal. It's time you start building a life for yourself here."
"No, I won't settle for that. The Ministry has taken my entire life away and I won't stand for it. I'm taking my life back from them, whether they like it or not."
The two men stared each other down. "Suit yourself. Either way, Malfoy, get a job or my generous charity to you will end before you can say 'I want Aida back'."
Draco jumped as Joseph Disapparated with a loud crack. He sunk back down to his bed, feeling his body begin to protest against the small movement. In the kitchen, the Muggle refrigerator began whirring reminding him that there was nothing in it to cool. He thought of the picnic lunch Joseph brought and suddenly wanted to throw up the meagre contents of his stomach.
Draco dropped his head in his hands. "What am I going to do?"