Neville felt the familiar tug on his navel as he landed with a loud thump in the back alley of a small street in England. He dusted off his clothes and brushed off his head, throwing the tacky bowler hat over a nearby fence. Pulling a long piece of willow out of his pocket he conjured up a pair of piercing black robes, allowing them to billow about him as he tied the strings into a knot beneath his chin. Breathing deeply he moved out into the summer sun of the small street, looking around for the tell tale red phone booth. He found it with ease and looking the most normal he could he made his way into it, cramming himself into the small space. It wasn't long before he was inside the Ministry of Magic, headquarters of the Minister of Magic and the different departments of wizarding causes around the world. He smiled lopsidedly at the woman behind the main desk as he handed her his wand. She blew a small bubble with a piece of bubblegum and popped it loudly as she handed his checked wand back to him, smiling curtly over a copy of Witch Weekly. Neville moved along the bustling corridors, passing the different training rooms for the Aurors and the Department of Mysteries as he made his way towards the Department of Magical Transportation, smiling brightly and waving every few moments when a person he knew passed him.
Entering the small office, he closed the door behind him and slumped into the nearest swiveling desk chair. A woman sat in the desk in front of him, her auburn colored head bowed over a mountain of paper work and her eyes, which could barely be seen, were shining a dull russet color from hours of late work. He coughed purposely and laughed as she looked up, her hair flipped up and matted against her forehead. She let out a small giggle as she swiveled to look at him, her eyes studying him profusely.
"What brings you to my domain at this hour Mr. Longbottom?" She asked, far too professionally. He smirked at her and shrugged his shoulders, looking at her work on her desk with confusion.
"Why do you need adoption papers Hermione?" He asked curiously, eyeing the material.
"Ron and I want to adopt Michael." She replied shortly, looking back up at Neville with tired eyes, "It's so hard for Ron you know, he was named godfather when Michael was born and when the boy was only two Fred and Angelina disappeared. He wasn't planning on being a father anytime soon. But now, now he thinks it's right…Michael needs a father, and Ron needs the support too." She huffed, turning back towards the papers, "I didn't know it would be so difficult to adopt his godson. He has legal rights over him; I don't see why it has to be this time consuming."
"Can't Arthur do anything about it?" Neville asked.
"Even the Minister of Magic has his limitations." She stated, looking away again, "Just sometimes it's hard. Ron and I have already given up so much for everyone. He took up his new job only a few months ago, he's having a horrid time adjusting to desk work, and of course trying to find Mel a job isn't working to well either."
"How is Mel?"
"As good as she could be I suppose." Hermione replied, standing up and smoothing out her skirt, which was black and clung to her long legs from sitting for so long, "It has to be hard I assume, living for nine years with an M.I.A. husband and a daughter who isn't even known to be in existence." She stopped, looking over Neville for a second, as if something amazingly dawned on her, "Oh I've been so foolish Neville! Rambling on like this, I haven't even taken you into consideration! There has to be a reason why you're here! Please, have a cup of coffee, we can talk."
"I really don't have the time Hermione. I just needed to give you this; I know you will see Albus before I do." He responded, pushing the letter towards her. She paused and flipped it over, running her finger along the familiar loopy print before gasping just slightly, holding the letter against her chest.
"Neville this…"
"Is a surprise?" When she nodded he extended a hand to her and stood, pulling her into a light hug, "It was a surprise to me when she informed me of her whereabouts. I couldn't even begin to imagine what Marcy and Julian would look like, but I've been seeing them a lot Hermione; those kids haven't changed a bit. Julian looks like a typical Weasley but Marcy looks just like her father."
"Why are you giving this to me?" She asked, clearly confused.
"Ginny doesn't want Marcy to go."
"Surely the girl can't go to any of the other wizarding schools around here; they all produce loads of Dark Magic! No, no I will send this back to Ginny immediately and demand that she send Marcy to Hogwarts. It's only proper…it's the only good school!"
"Hermione…it isn't about Hogwarts. It's Marcy…she…she doesn't know. She doesn't know any of it, not about you or Ron or the rest of the Weasleys or her father. This place…all of it (he spoke, while swishing his arms around him and indicating the small office room) doesn't exist in her mind. She doesn't know she's a witch."
Marcy awoke on her birthday, the 11th of July, when the sun was shining brightly in the pastel blue sky in at her from her open bedroom window. She stretched liberally and yawned loudly, shaking herself from her bedclothes and moving to allow her toes to escape to the coolness of the floor. She smiled to herself, she was 11, and even though she couldn't feel any difference she knew that her 11th birthday would be different than any other. Her mother hadn't done her usual bout of hinting about parties and gifts, Julian had been unusually quiet, and Mr. Lovegood hadn't stopped by unexpected and unwelcome. In fact, as she brushed her hair back into two long pigtails, she realized her birthday seemed to have arrived unannounced.
After dressing in a simple cardigan and a pair of shorts, Marcy descended the stairs, surprised to find her mother still in her dressing gown sipping on a large mug of coffee.
"Did you have a long night at the hospital mum?" Marcy asked tentatively, pouring herself a bowl of cereal from the box that laid half opened on the table.
"Yes, then I had to bring your brother to a friend's house this morning."
"What about my birthday?" Marcy demanded angrily. Her spoon was twirling about her cereal and mashing it to bits underneath the milk but it didn't seem to matter as she stared at mother with such intensity that it seemed to make her cobalt eyes even brighter.
"I thought we could spend the day together." Her mother offered, pushing a tendril of her hair from her eye, "Just us." Marcy seemed to contemplate that situation for a moment before nodding, finishing the rest of her mashed cereal. She placed her dish in the sink before sitting again, resting her chin between her fingertips and tapping them lightly. Her mother finished the last sip of her coffee before smacking her lips and staring back at her, a small smile playing across them, "What would you like to do today Marcy?"
"Could we go to the library?" She asked tentatively, waiting for her mother to approve. Her mother had never seemed like the bookish type, always opting for a trip to the local cinema or a night of games rather than heading to the library, but she seemed to force a smile and nod, causing Marcy's veins to burst with joy.
Marcy crashed upon her bed, bouncing lightly as the mattress bowed under her weight. It could have also been the liberal stack of books in her arms that had to weigh a couple of ounces each, and each tome was a good amount of pages. The stack tilted under strain and beckoned to fall, catching Marcy's eyes as she scattered the books about her bed in a heaping pile.
The trip to the library had been oddly entertaining and peaceful, and Marcy took to note that her mother and she hadn't argued at all. In fact, her mother had disappeared into the uppermost section of the Non-Fiction section while Marcy had attended to the Ancient History department. The books scattered about her bed contained the most detailed of stories on the Ancient Egyptians, the Roman Empire, and the Medieval Period. Her mother had originally seemed skeptical to allow her to borrow them from the library, but when a handsome boy who towered over her in height informed her mother of the educational qualities of the tomes, Ms. Drummond had willingly agreed.
Marcy picked up one of the larger books and scanned the cover with her eyes, lingering just slightly on the enlarged picture of a fire-breathing dragon. Its' scales were iridescent in color and flickered as the falling sun from her window fell upon the cover. The dragon's eyes were pearl colored and flickered as well, the pupil-less orbs shining with the reflection of the fire spitting from its snout. A knight, or what Marcy presumed to be one, was standing with his sword raised in the corner of the cover, his metallic armor colored darkly and a noticeable contrast to the dragon. Marcy smiled as she opened the book and began to read. Medieval stories of England in the middle ages had always fascinated her, and she became engrossed in a story of King Arthur and his greatest knights.
A door slamming downstairs alerted her to her mother's leave, which wasn't anything uncommon at 6 o'clock on her birthday. No matter how much she protested, her mother had always insisted upon cooking her a "grand" dinner each year. It was a supposed tradition, even though Marcy usually ended up retreating to her room with a grumbling and angry stomach after the meal was finished. It wasn't that her mother was a terrible cook; it was possibly the fact that her mother had never learned how to cook, because she had problems with the simplest tasks. Boiling water for rice was a chore and using the oven (which Marcy was sure had never completed a hitch-free meal) was off limits. Julian was a better cook than her mother and could whip up a mighty good peanut butter and jelly sandwich if he tried, Marcy thought, as she listened for the quietness that usually followed her mother's outings. Making up her mind and shoving the King Arthur book aside, Marcy made her way to the kitchen.
A pot of what Marcy assumed was supposed to be tomato sauce was bubbling wickedly on the stove top, eerie bubbles of putrid blood red goop spitting all over the place. A simple note lay on the counter.
Marcy,
I am running out to retrieve a new bottle of spices. It seems that the holes seem to grow bigger each time I open that Garlic Powder, and this sauce has officially devoured my final bottle.
Your mum
Marcy couldn't help but laugh at the empty bottle of Garlic Powder that sat next to the letter. The holes in the top of the bottle, which weren't supposed to be larger than a pin head, had somehow become the size of small buttons. She shook her head as she moved to the sauce and attempted to fix her mother's damage with a wooden spoon, taking deliberately slow stirs as she tasted it for imperfections. She winced from the overbearing taste as a small tapping could be heard from the window by the bathroom. Placing the wooden spoon down on the stove top, Marcy moved to the window and opened it wide, almost taken aback when a large bird flew through and landed with a thump on top of the cupboard.
"What are you?" She asked, cautiously taking a step towards the bird. It was the color of beach sand, a light pastel of colors floating throughout its wings. Its head seemed to swivel back and forth as it stared at her, its large yellow eyes studying her face. It let out a soft hoot as it extended one of its talons.
Not only was Marcy amazed to see a bird, no an owl in her kitchen, it baffled her beyond all extreme to see a small piece of decrepit yellowing paper tied with a piece of twine to the owl's talon. She reached out a finger to stroke the owl's wing but made no attempt to grab the paper, which seemed to confuse the owl as it nipped at her finger pointedly. With no one around to tell her otherwise, Marcy let her trembling fingers remove the twine as the letter fell to the floor. The owl hooted appreciatively and made to flying out the window, leaving Marcy alone in her kitchen.
Marcy's mind was racing with a million thoughts as she trembled to pick up the article on the floor. It was addressed to a Virginia Malfoy, which (had the last name been different) Marcy would have sworn to be her mother. Part of her wanted to read the contents of the paper and see who could possibly be contacting her mother in a way that wasn't the British post office. The rest of Marcy was scared to her bones, for despite the fact that she was only 11 she was quite sure owls were not supposed to be delivering mail.
Going with her more courageous side, Marcy flipped open the paper and stared blankly at the scrawled ink handwriting, taking in its contents.
Dear Ms. Virginia Malfoy,
As I am sure you are aware, 9 years have passed since the disappearance of your husband, Mr. Draco Malfoy, upon a mission for the Ministry of Magic. As you are also aware, his mother's hefty estate was bequeathed onto him, and now it is available for your inheritance. While Mr. Draco Malfoy has not been pronounced as a casualty yet (usually the only circumstances allowing the forwarding of a will to in-laws) the Ministry has taken into consideration your predicament.
On my own personal note, wish your daughter a happy birthday for me Virginia, and hopefully I will see her on the train September first.
Regards,
Blaise Zambini
Chairperson
Department of Internal Affairs
Marcy dropped the letter to the floor, her cobalt blue eyes sinking into the back of her head as her mind floated on twenty different clouds. She had never heard of this "Ministry of Magic" nor this Draco Malfoy man, but it seemed as if her mother (the person she had deducted to be Virginia Malfoy) knew him plenty. If she was reading correctly, this Draco Malfoy was her father, and he had gone away 9 years ago. She would have been only two…
The opening of the door to her right summoned her eyes to the forefront, her skin tingling in anger as her mother entered cheerily. She smiled brightly as she set her bag of groceries on the counter, running her hand across her brow to erase sweat from the trip outside.
"Is something wrong Marcy dear? You look a bit flushed." She said exuberantly, wrapping a finger in her tousled hair.
"W-Who is Blaise Zambini?" Marcy stuttered, staring at her mother. Her eyes seemed to flash with what Marcy thought was fear for a brief second and then it was gone, replaced by what seemed to be a very fake shield of confusion.
"I've never heard of that name before." Her mother replied, staring hard at her groceries as she moved about to put them away instead of looking back at Marcy.
"Why must you lie to me?" Marcy sniffled through tears of anger that ebbed at her eyes and nostrils, "He sent you a letter!" She said a little more forcefully, picking up the discarded paper and thrusting it into her mothers face, "Read it for yourself if you don't believe me!"
Her mother began to read slowly, her cocoa eyes scanning the paper quickly and her slightly offset smile becoming a straight line as her face began to glow in a crimson blush. Her fingers began to shake and she stared back up at Marcy, her jaw set in an edgy stance.
"Marcy…" She started, moving towards her daughter.
"So…it's true then? This Blaise person…he knows you and he knows dad?" She shouted angrily. Her mother blanched as she the word "dad". It had become common knowledge in the Drummond household that her mother didn't like to talk about the man that shared half of Marcy's DNA. In fact, any time someone brought up the man whom Marcy couldn't remember (besides his smile) her mother would retreat to her bedroom in tears and not come out for a few mornings, causing life to momentarily stop at the Drummond home near the Highland Developing Community. But as Marcy thought of this, she realized that she had no idea who she was. Drummond, if that was anyone's name at all, certainly wasn't hers since her mother was going by the name of Malfoy in the letter she received. Who was she? Was there really a Marcy Drummond? And if not…if Marcy Drummond was just some sort of pseudonym to keep her away from everyone…why was her mother hiding her in Manchester of all places?
If her mother had been talking, the blinding rage growing in Marcy's head and abdomen was blocking out all of her words. It was white hot and heavy in her brain as Marcy attempted to shield it, attempted to keep it under control. Tears were streaming from her eyes regardless of her attempts to keep them at bay and her fingers were clenching into her palm, causing small nail prints to seep blood across her usually flawless skin. Out of the corner of her mind she heard her mother gasp and a bright light fill the kitchen, followed by the stench of burning skin.
Looking at her mother, Marcy was surprised to see the letter was now nothing more than a ball of flames. The flames lapped at her mother's fingers as the woman yelped and attempted to drop the paper, but much to Marcy's astonishment it continued to burn even as she went and grabbed a glass of water to pour over it. Gritting her teeth in pain, her mother was finally able to let the letter slip to the floor as it disintegrated to nothing but ash. Marcy could feel her jaw, wide in shock; almost bounce on the floor as her mother shoved her blistering fingers underneath the water spicket, moaning loudly.
"What am I?" She said out loud, her mind searching for answers. Only 20 minutes ago an owl had flown in through an open window with a letter attached to its talon, then there had been the discussions of people like Draco Malfoy and Departments of Internal Affairs at the Ministry of Magic, and now her mother was sitting with blistered fingers because her anger had somehow made a piece of paper she wasn't even touching burst into flames. Her mind was spinning as she closed her eyes and attempted to sit down and regain her balance, her stomach tugging forward in a way she had never felt as the emotions of really being what Oliver Puddley had called her, a freak, finally set in.
The sound of her mother's moaning and the water running slid from her ears as she landed against the stool in the kitchen. However, it didn't feel anything like a stool, for it seemed softer than usual and she could have sworn it literally groaned under her weight as she fell into it. The sounds of her kitchen had been replaced with the chirping of crickets and the pounding of something foreign.
Marcy forced her eyes to open and she could have gasped if she had found her voice. She was sitting in a very tiny living room, a living room that had extremely ratty couches and a large clock with many different hands. A table could be seen just out of the corner of her eye that held enough seats for up to ten people and a large staircase swung up in a spiral in the center of the room. The stool, or what she had thought was a stool, groaned underneath her and the mysterious pounding she had heard before developed into a heartbeat.
Looking down, she realized she was sitting on the legs of a boy, maybe only a few years older than her, with skin the color of freshly whipped peanut butter and hair the color of mud. He was staring up at her with midnight eyes and smirking just slightly, his fingers smashed against the arm rest of the chair he was sitting in.
"UNCLE RON UNCLE RON MICHAEL HAS A GIRL ON HIS LAP!" A little girl from the stairs shrieked, running crazily about Marcy and the boy she assumed to be Michael in a tight circle. Marcy's head began to spin fearfully as she realized she was no longer in her own home, but in someone else's, and the boy whose lap she was sitting on had to catch her as her body gave way beneath her and she slumped into darkness.
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Hopefully that didn't cause too much confusion!
Someone did ask me where I got Marcy's name from. Actually, the name Marcy (if you noticed) came to me back when I was writing A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes. The name Drummond, however, comes from the ever popular American TV Land show, Different Strokes, which I grew up watching as a kid. I thought it was catchy.
Everything involving Marcy will be explained within the next few chapters, as well as Michael's circumstances, how Melinda (which if you didn't catch was referred to as 'Mel' in this chapter) is doing, who the annoying little girl is, how practically EVERYONE in the Weasley household is surviving since the prequel left off, and what exactly happened or will become of Draco and Harry [yes I promise you, they are in this story!]
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