A/N: This is an Alternate Universe Harry Potterverse story. It's a "Redeemed Draco" fic, and those who like their junior Malfoys nasty had best read elsewhere. "Metamorphosis" is the ever-growing plot bunny that came out of the journal-story "Letter to No One."
A/N UPDATE (Jan 2006): This story is being re-edited to clean up minor plotline glitches, punctuation and grammar errors prior to the posting of a new chapter. "Metamorphosis" does not take OOTP and HBP into account, although the author reserves the right to borrow various bits of background and minor characters to use for cosmetic purposes.Metamorphosis: Chapter Seven
by RowanRhys
Monday, 23 December 1996
When the house elf came to fetch away Draco's breakfast tray, Draco looked up from his History of Magic holiday essay and casually remarked, "I'm going to Diagon Alley to pick up Mother's present. I don't know if I'll be back for lunch or not. Where is my mother now, anyway?"
"Mrs. Malfoy is taking coffee at the house of Mrs. Fudge," the timid elf informed him.
"And my father?" He laid his quill by the inkwell and carefully powdered the wet red ink of the final paragraph, pretending not to notice how the house elf's trembling increased.
"The Master is at the Ministry of Magic for Christmas luncheon, Master Draco."
Draco waved a dismissal and neatly stacked his homework with the books that had come from his school trunk. Ten minutes later, dressed for the winter weather in cloak, House scarf and black leather gloves, he was pushing the heavy door to the dungeon open, having managed to avoid sight of any of the house staff. A tin of Floo Powder was in his pocket along with the pouch of galleons to purchase his mother's Christmas present. And his wand. He grimaced, remembering the lecture he'd received from Lucius when he'd come down from his bedroom the first day of the hols without it. '
Although the dungeon was the oldest remaining part of the Manor, Lucius had updated it somewhat from its late Norman origins. Instead of solid wooden doors banded in iron, the stone cells were sealed with modern steel bars, allowing an immediate view of each prisoner from the center of the main room. From his position just inside the main door, next to the huge hearth that could accommodate a mass Flooing when Lucius decided to have a dark revel, Draco could easily see into the first cell on his left. The older woman was limp and still on the cot within, and he wondered if she were still alive as he quietly placed his wand against the lock. He whispered "Alohamora" and smiled when it clicked open. She was just a Muggle and it was just like his father's cronies not to feel the need to magically seal her in.
He knew that Granger was in the furthest chamber in the opposite side of the dungeon because he could see a tray with the remains of a sparse meal in front of the barred door. And even from where he was, he could feel the magical wards that kept the door sure against any inadvertent wandless magic by the prisoner. It was simple to keep out of Granger's line of sight as long as he stayed close to the entry door and the fireplace.
Being sure to move as quietly as possible, since he didn't want Hermione to be able to identify who had removed her mother from the place in case Lucius or someone else unexpectedly came into the dungeon, he entered the little chamber and awkwardly heaved the middle-aged woman over his shoulder in a carry he'd once seen Professor Snape use when one of the Sixth year Hufflepuffs had managed to not only blow up her cauldron, but knocked herself out while poisoning the air of the Potions classroom. He immediately wished he'd used Mobilicorpus, but the less magic he used in this place the better.
Fortunately, the house elves had lit a fire in the great hearth, to give Lucius warmth in which to work later, he supposed bitterly. With a minimal amount of shuffling and a quick check that his Glamourie spell was still intact, he pulled a pinch of Floo Powder from the container in his pocket and tossed it into the flames. Stepping forward, tugging his hood up over his head, he softly, but urgently, said, "St. Mungo's," and abruptly found himself shooting through the Floo network, the strobe-like effect of the passing hearths making him somewhat dizzy as he burst out into the receiving area of the hospital's casualty unit.
As white-clad mediwizards converged on him, he shook his head to get the accumulated soot from his eyes. "I was talking with her on my front step; she'd stopped to ask directions to Chipping Camden, when she collapsed. Wasn't sure what to do," he told them as they conjured up a hovering stretcher. "She's got a bracelet that says 'Diabetic' on it."
One of the mediwitches drew him aside, while keeping her eyes on Mrs. Granger. "She's a Muggle."
"Well, I don't know where one of their hospitals is. Should I have just left her there? There wasn't anyone else about." He made his voice surly and defensive.
"Oh, it's all right. We can Obliviate her, if necessary, before we turn her over to the Muggle side. Do you know her name?"
Draco thought fast, "Not sure, she said it pretty quick--Stranger, Brainger--Something like that, I think."
"Did she have a purse or hand bag?"
"I don't remember. When she fell, I just grabbed her and brought her through the Floo from my place. I could go check."
"Do that. The Muggle authorities will want identification of some sort."
Draco nodded and quickly went back to the cheerfully burning hearth, while the nurse followed the stretcher into a treatment room. "Diagon Alley," he ordered, once he was sure she was out of earshot.
Diagon Alley's public Floo was seasonally decorated with garlands of evergreen and large bows that changed colors randomly. He grimaced at them as he brushed the soot from himself and set off through the holiday crowd towardKien and Tols, Limited . He'd ordered a jeweled hairclip for his mother's present by Owl Post during exam week at school. "It had better be ready," he muttered to himself. Or my cover story is blown already.
The elderly Mr. Kien was disgustingly obsequious when Draco appeared in the doorway. You'd think I was my father, he thought as he demanded his mother's gift in a petulant tone.
"Of course, Master Malfoy. Here it is; just as you required. White gold with diamonds and emeralds of the highest quality--."
Tuning out the sycophantic babble, Draco barely glanced at the jeweled butterfly hairclip nestled in the deep blue velvet. It wasn't as if it were anything his mother would actually wear; it was simply that she and her guests would expect such an elaborate and expensive present from her only son. Draco turned over the galleons and snatched up the leather-covered box, stuffing it in his robe pocket as he strode from the shop, back into the noisy crowds of Diagon Alley.
He got caught up in a swirl of young people; most of them, like himself, wearing their House scarves, hoods pulled up against the cold, rosy cheeks and noses barely visible beneath the wool folds. Harry Potter himself could have been at his elbow and he wouldn't have recognized his sometime enemy. Reluctant to rush back home, Draco impulsively let himself be carried along with the flow and found himself pushed through the wide flung doors of a shop. The horde dispersed as they moved deeper between the aisles and he found himself staring at an array of wands on a display stand in the rear of the store. The ornate blazon across the packaging announced "Weasley Wizard Wheezes, plc" with flashing red and green "Wacky Wands" scrolling around the plastic wrapping.
A squeal from the next aisle startled him, but the cry was followed by a burst of laughter and a rather large yellow bird flapped madly between dangling holiday decorations. He found himself smiling at the trick and began to look more seriously at the merchandise. "Weasel's sibs actuallyhave made something of their stupid gags," he muttered to himself. "This is far better than Zonko's!" Draco ducked around a giggling set of girls who were too young for Hogwarts and turned his attention to the other end of the Wacky Wands display. A dark shaft that was a virtual likeness for his own Olivander's wand caught his eye. He reached for the package to examine it when a voice from the counter behind him caught his attention.
"They're still missing, Fred. Mr. Granger is distraught and those Aurors are bloody useless."
He turned his head to see George Weasley unloading a box of Kiss-Inducing Mistletoe. "They just want to Obliviate him so they don't need to worry about finding an inconvenient Muggle, the way they're talking."
Draco turned toward them and saw Fred appear from a curtained doorway with another box in his arms, which he sat down next to the one George Weasley was emptying. With a dark expression on his face, he put in, "If the Headmaster weren't keeping on them, they probably would! Here's the last of the Kiss-letoe. Next year we'd better make more. Most of this has already been pre-ordered." He looked away and swallowed hard. "I wish I'd gone ahead and gone with them yesterday like I wanted to--"
Draco dropped the trick wand and moved to lean on the counter, face to face with the larger, stockier young men. "Mrs. Granger's at St. Mungo's." He pushed his hood back, revealing his face. "I took her there, about two hours ago--"
"--You damned Slytherin!" George dropped a be-ribboned bag of greenery and grabbed Draco by the collar, dragging him half across the counter. "How dare you!--"
"It's true," Draco gasped. "I swear--"
Fred rounded the end of the counter and grabbed the Slytherin Sixth year, twisting his arms up behind his back. "You're coming into the office and you're going to spill everything," he hissed, rage clear in his eyes and lowered voice. "And I mean everything, if we have to brew up an illegal Veritasserum batch to get it."
TBC