Title: Dungeons and Dormice
Synopsis: Over his objections, Draco is given the knut tour of 12 Grimmauld Place and discovers something startling...
Author's Quick Note: I blame school *___*. This chapter took far too long to get out and I'm terribly sorry *___*. The scenes are shorter, but no more Tube-sickness I promise... for this chapter anyway ^.^;;
---
The house of his Black ancestors was certainly an interesting diversion from the mystery of his mother's disappearance. Every thing his eyes touched held a resonance within him, a sense of history he had never felt at Malfoy Manor. Although 12 Grimmauld Place was certainly as cold and unwelcoming as Malfoy Manor could be, Grimmauld Place held a sense of mystery, of things to be discovered.
The Manor only held a sense of doom-- be it a certain death if you touched the wrong book in the Library or if you ventured out in the darkness to be eaten alive by the strange creatures his father employed... had employed to keep the grounds safe.
The question was, safe from whom. Draco wondered distantly, his eyes catching sight of a black square hanging to the wall. He paused in his step, leaning closer to the square when he realized it wasn't just a black square-- it was in fact a portrait of some sort, a portrait of a depthless abyss. It fit his feelings of the house-- cold, but with a certain charm lacking in the aloof Manor.
A mumble at his side was punctuated by a heavy tap on his shoulder.
"What?" Draco tore his eyes away from the fathomless picture on the wall to glare at his cousin. "What did you say?"
His cousin's hair actually twitched-- from an unfelt wind or one of her metamorphmagus tricks, Draco wasn't sure. "I asked you, what do you want?"
He blinked, slowly comprehending what she was asking him. "Want... oh, to eat. A sandwich?" He trailed off, not sure if he could stomach food at that moment-- something about the portrait on the wall had drawn his focus off the necessary task of obtaining food. But not knowing when food would be offered again, Draco shrugged and left the question open ended.
Maybe his cousin would think of something more satisfying.
"I think I can manage that." Nymphadora-- Tonks-- said with an easy grin and pushed her way into what Draco could safely assume to be the Dinning Room.
"Manage?" He realized then that he was suck, for an unknown amount of time, with someone who wasn't sure if they could manage to make a sandwich... and what was worse, didn't appear to have any House elves.
This is going to be a long day. He thought as he followed suit, the door shutting sharply behind his shin.
He looked around the room, a jumbled and spectacularly messy room if he'd ever seen one, and frowned. He didn't have much experience with Kitchens-- and that was what this room appeared to be, with the sink and various cooking devices he couldn't identify. He had only been in the Manor Kitchen once in his entire life, and he had been quickly shooed away by one of the Kitchen Elves-- a hefty task considering the Elf had been smacking it's head on some kind of a board while herding his inquisitive five year old self out.
"Hallo again Draco," A low voice called out to the side. Draco controlled his urge to jump and turned towards the darkness, where two men were sitting at a large table he hadn't noticed in his first look around.
It was Remus Lupin and some man Draco had never seen before. Not sure if he should act nice to the man... werewolf, Draco just stared at the shadows. He had no opinion of the dark man yet and intended to keep it that way... he'd done entirely too much thinking for his first day of summer holiday as it was.
"Did you find out about your mum?" Lupin tried to engage Draco again, a jovial note in his voice completely at odds with the hardened look on his face.
"No, Aunt Narcissa still eludes us," Nymphadora called out from the sink area. "I'm afraid Draco might have to stay the night."
"I... what?!" Draco turned towards his cousin, shocked. "But I thought-"
"I can't very well have you left to your own devices at the Manor, especially with the Ministry Officials certain to burst over there at any moment. Although you are certainly old enough to look out for yourself, long term care is still required by a parent or guardian. And as your closest relative, at least by blood, you'll have to stick with me for a while yet."
"I... I guess so." He heard his voice drop into a sulk but didn't care. He didn't want to be stuck here, especially with these kinds of people! He wanted to be at home in the monotony of the Manor... didn't he?
"One night shouldn't be too difficult for you, Draco. It's the day to day living at Grimmauld Place that grows more troublesome." There was a great tension in Lupin's voice, a harsh note that caused a shudder down Draco's spine. He's in pain. Draco astutely realized, uncomfortable with the thickness of grief openly displayed in the werewolf's gray eyes.
He heard a sharp sniffle and turned back to see Tonks busying herself with something in the sink, a shimmer of liquid rolling unheeded down her cheek and a most miserable look on her face. She's sad too. He thought, even more at loss as to what to say, what to do. It's about that Black, Sirius Black I bet. Mum always said he was no good... but this... must have been his house, up till his death.
These are his friends. Draco realized, wishing he could just run away from the scene. He had never experienced true grief before, and to see people trying to put it behind them but to have the wounds tear open in the most domestic of scenes was painful to bare-- and he wasn't even experiencing it, just observing.
I hope I never feel as strongly for someone as to cry over a sink for them.
The unknown man cleared his voice and stood, melting out of the shadows. His skin was very dark, which explained why he had hidden in the shadows of the Kitchen so well, and Draco was relieved that his face was devoid of grief, instead just the regular type of sternness one would see in any sort of a Ministry official-- and Draco had seen many in his years as Lucius Malfoy's son and only heir.
"I've got to catch Lucy Roboros before she leaves." The dark man said quickly, nodding to both Lupin and Tonks and firmly ignoring Draco as he brushed past.
I'd bet anything that man was an Auror. Draco sniffed, not liking the way the man had ignored him, as if he wasn't even there! Wasn't even worth a bloody nod to satisfy the laws of acknowledgement, of social worth!
"Don't worry about him," To-Nymphadora said clearly, her face still wet but her voice stead. "He still thinks children should be seen, not heard."
"Didn't bloody well see me," Draco grumbled to himself, feeling immensely awkward. He didn't want to sit by the werewolf, and there was no seats by Tonks, so he stood where he was.
As of noticing the inner awkwardness Draco was feeling, Lupin picked up a newspaper and opened it, sparing him a brief glance. "How was Diagon Alley?"
The voice was low and noncommittal, but Draco knew it was a quiet opening for Draco to take a seat by the werewolf. His aching feet decided the matter for him by walking towards the chair the rude man had vacated only a few moments ago, his feet moving on their own accord. He himself had nothing to do with it, of course.
"It was hot," He bit off the sir that had been on the tip of his tongue and slouched into the seat, trying to keep the relief off his face. His feet were simply not used to all the walking and standing...
"Yes, it's been a concern for how abnormally hot it has been for Diagon Alley lately. Something wrong with the weather charms, I gather-- nothing too serious..." Lupin swallowed before continuing. "Nothing that can't be avoided."
"Yeah, by avoiding Diagon Alley in the first place." Tonks called from the sink.
Does she realize what a sandwich is? Draco wondered, crossing his arms over his chest. Even I know you don't have things that need washing to go between the slices of bread!
"Or by dressing in a more appropriate manner for the weather," Lupin added with a crinkle of the newspaper. "Nymphadora, what on earth are you doing to the sink?"
"Making sandwiches."
Draco was startled to hear the werewolf groan loudly before strolling to the sink. "Honestly Nymphadora, if you wanted me to make sandwiches you only had to ask."
"I don't bloody want you to make sandwiches! I told the boy I'd make them and I damned will!" Tonks raised the butcher knife she'd been holding and waved it pointedly in the werewolf's direction.
Draco held his breath.
"Nymphadora, please have the sense to put the knife down before one of your notorious accidents occurs again. I doubt I can afford another bill for another hole mended from one of my shirts."
Instead of growing angry and waving the knife around as Draco half expected his cousin to do, Tonks dropped the knife into the sink and merely glared at the tall man. "I've half a mind to make the sandwiches anyway," Tonks warned before sauntering over to the table.
---
Satiated by the towering stacks of sandwiches Remus made and the half jar of bitter lemonade he'd gulfed down afterwards, Draco was eager to return to exploring the house. Tonks, however, was still upset and wandered off to some section of the house for a nap, leaving Draco alone with the werewolf.
The air in the Kitchen crackled with an undercurrent of too tight collars, shifting feet, and the rustle of a nervous set of eyes moving from man to clock, clock to man. It was too quiet-- the shuffling of the newspaper was sharp and -- Draco began to understand what Madame Pince felt like, every noise amplified by the departure of silence far beyond sound, but of words that should be said but refused to come out. In all honesty, Draco couldn't remember a handful of times more uncomfortable than sitting at a strange table with his old DADA teacher, trying to perch comfortably on a chair and ignore the world as he was supposed to.
But being self contained was never Draco's strong suit, much to the disappointment of his father. He had always been curious, too curious for his own good. His father always said having his mother raise him had softened him, lead him to weakness no Malfoy man could afford to have in such precarious times. He could almost hear the acid disapproval heavy in his father's voice. A proper pure-blood wizard is to be raised by House-elves or not at all. Narcissa you coddle the boy too much-- look at his insufferable marks! No son of mine would have such dismal performance against a MUGGLE...
He shifted in his seat, eager to do something beyond sit here and think, sit here and brood about things he didn't want to think of in the first place. This was worse than a Divination lesson with that-
"Were the sandwiches satisfactory?" Lupin's voice was loud, booming in Draco's ears, louder than the churn of his blood rushing to his face.
"Yes," Draco answered shortly, trying to quell the impulse to swing his legs. The chair was so tall his feet barely touched the ground-- obviously another defect for his father to complain about. No child of mind could be so short! Or even worse He must be a throw back to your side, Narcissa-- look at the lack of intellect or beauty in his face. And lacking all forms of grace!
As if a Wizard was supposed to be graceful. Draco thought grimly, rebelliously swinging his legs. I just wish father... father would stop. He thought back to the crazy woman in the portrait from earlier-- she had called his mother an adulterer...
Why would I believe a portrait over my own sense! My mother is a wonderful person-- she'd never DO something like that. A churning sensation began in his stomach, a cold tendril of uncertainty he did his best to ignore. Mum gave up so much for me...
"I say, you must be mightily bored Draco," Lupin remarked suddenly, folding the paper and setting it carelessly on the table. "How about a quick tour of the old place? Nymphadora mentioned something about giving one before she departed."
"Sure," Draco said noncommittally, his shoulders automatically giving a pathetic shrug even though his mind was screaming with joy. No more boring thoughts! No more doubts! He could *finally* embark on an adventure-- even if it was as small or potentially dull as a tour of a house. Anything was better than being in this Kitchen.
Lupin opened his mouth like he was about to say something else but shut it quickly as he stood, looking about the room. Draco took that moment to slide down from the chair, feeling incredibly childish and young as he did. The chair was ridiculously high!
"That's young Ginny's favorite chair," Lupin confided, holding the door open. "She visited last summer-"
"Wait, Ginny WEASLEY?" Draco began hotly, imagining the whole brood of red haired monsters swarming the cool house, tainting the wonder with their loud stupid ways. He didn't know a lot about the youngest one beyond the fact she was a tomboy and, he admitted grudgingly to himself, a fair Seeker. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone of course, much less himself giving normal circumstances.
"Yes, the Weasley brood, full of life and simple joys-- well, except for the twins, but you can't have everything in a family," Lupin smirked and shook his head, appearing much younger than he usually did.
"I... They..." Draco opened his mouth but couldn't find the right words. He wanted to insult the family, but without them here, what was the point? It was a waste of good ammunition. Besides, he wanted a tour of the house and to risk it on insulting the Weasley's when he could do that everyday was not on his list of things to do.
Granted it was only two things right now-- 1) Find Mum and 2) Explore House. He mentally added a third option, Keep Ny-Tonks away from Kitchen when he stomach began to growl again. Lupin, on the other hand, could stay in the Kitchens as long as he wanted, making all the sandwiches Draco could stuff into his face.
Draco nodded as they passed where his trunk remained in the center of the entryway to the house. "I trust my trunk did not prove difficult to haul from the Train Station?"
Lupin smiled, an expression of borderline mirth Draco was unused to. Complete mirth, yes; malicious joy, even more so-- but a mixture of humor and happiness? Hardly! "No problems to be spoken of, beyond the one drop in front of the Weasleys. They proved quite entertaining as they searched your belongings for potential bribes."
He looked at the man, aghast. The thought of freckled, greasy hands on his under things suddenly made him feel queasy. He began to sputter in a most inelegant fashion, nearly tripping over a raised piece of carpet in his horror.
He missed Lupin raising an eyebrow at his appearance, but there was no mistaking the soft mockery in his tone. "I was joking, Draco."
"Oh. Oh, yes of course," Draco added haste-fully, his eyes quickly looking to the right and left to make sure no one had heard or seen his folly.
---
They descended down the stairs of the dungeon, Draco eagerly following close to Lupin's heels. He had worn Lupin down with his incessant pleas to see the dungeon-- Malfoy Manor's had long been off limits to the youth and he was insanely curious to see what this one looked like.
One flicker of Lupin's bright wand lowered whatever curiosity he had held for the room-- it was nothing more than the cold feel of the dungeons at Hogwarts-- dark, dreary, and covered with a lot of nasty dust.
"No one comes down here anymore. Except for me," Lupin said quietly, using his wand to light the torches along the four stone walls. The room took an eerie, yellow-green tint-- Draco shivered, not entirely comfortable in this space. For some reason the room was giving him a case of the creeps something fierce.
"Is this... where you-"
"Yes, once a month this is where I come to change into-"
"Oh," Draco interrupted, the room taking on a new measure of interest. He noted the hollowness of the room-- there was a lone wooden bench by one wall but that was it. "Do you need a lot of room to be a werewolf?"
"Actually Draco, the more appropriate term for the disease is lycanthropy, or in the form you were using a lycanthrope. But yes, this is where I manifest the worst of the lycanthropy symptoms; changing into a wolf of sorts."
Draco looked at Lupin uneasily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Disease?"
"Yes, Lycanthropy is in fact an illness-- I'm not naturally a monster, unlike some whole wizards I could name who lack the defense of a health problem for their behavior." Lupin's features were stern and harsh, and for the first time Draco felt real fear standing close to the man-- not because he was, as he put it a monster-- but because he was a powerful wizard. The waves of anger, controlled as they were, ebbed from in in a strength not even his own father contained.
If there was ever a reason to be afraid of Lupin, this was it. The power inside of him was honed from years of suffering-- and unnatural suffering he hadn't asked for. He'd never thought about what made a werewolf a werewolf before, excluding the essay Snape had the DADA class write in his third year. He knew his knowledge about what Lupin was couldn't fit an empty Chocolate Frog box, and he felt the edges of curiosity building inside.
"Does silver kill... lycanthropes?" Draco asked shortly, almost biting his tongue when Lupin turned his attention back onto him.
"Wh-no, normal silver doesn't. Magically imbued silver, however, could have a devastating effect, although thankfully I haven't been the end of any of Severus Snape's experiments."
"Snape... has been experimenting-"
Lupin nodded curtly, taking a seat on the wooded bench, rubbing at his graying temple. "Ever since your third year, in fact. There are many things to be said about your Head of House-- many more things better left unsaid-- but there is no denying his abilities with brewing potions and conducting experiments of a superior nature. He has been brewing a very complicated potion since that year to counteract the worst symptoms of my change-"
"Does it hurt? To change?"
Lupin looked pained for a moment, his eyes distant. "Yes, very much so," he finally said softly.
Draco turned and followed the man's gaze to see deep claw marks on the walls. He knew instinctually that Lupin's.... alternate form had done those. Even under one of Snape's potions? "Have you ever ... ever made another-"
"No, I have never bitten anyone-- well, that isn't true. I've never transferred my lycanthropy to another person though I did occasionally nibble on my schoolmates, a group of close friends, who learned how to become animagi to comfort me during those lonely nights. It... was a great help."
"And Sirius Black was one of them?" He asked quickly.
"Along with Harry's father, yes. We were... similar to Harry, Hermione, and Ron, in fact; intent on mayhem wherever we went. Either that or it seemed to follow us regardless of what we did."
"A trio?" Draco said, more than a hint of disgust in his voice.
"No, there was another." Something in Lupin's voice halted Draco's rapid line of questions. A deep chasm of anguish so great, so overpowering it silenced Draco completely. He recognized the betrayal on Lupin's voice-- it was more than just in the tone, but shimmering through his essence, a dark stain of shame.
Draco took a deep breath, finding it hard to breathe suddenly. It felt like a budger had struck his chest, knocking the air out of him. It ached, deep inside-- an alien feeling to him. What was going on?
It hit him suddenly-- He felt sorry for Lupin. Somehow, he saw the man really as a man, not as a monster-- the man who had taken him on a tour of a house that wasn't even his, a man who had made him some of the best sandwiches he'd ever had before and hadn't asked for a thank you in return. A man who knew more about suffering then anyone Draco had ever met.
He felt sick to his stomach, his breath in short gasps. "The air is really stale down here," he offered lamely, climbing the stairs to get away from the dungeon, away from the man-- away from those awful feelings.
---
Draco was tired of waiting in his room. He had been up here for two hours, ever since an odd assortment of people had arrived and he had found himself ushered into this ... cabinet, not room. It was hot, his trunk was still downstairs, and he was too tired to yell out his frustration and get someone to alleviate the air temperature with a spell. Summer Holidays were horrid when you had to watch your spell work, Draco thought nastily, glaring at the wall as if it was to blame for all his troubles.
It was, after all, a faded paisley pattern which had no business being on a wall of a room, much less a BOYS bedroom.
He sighed loudly, but of course no one would hear. Everyone was downstairs in the rundown mess of a Kitchen, meeting about SOMETHING. He had a suspicion it was something his father would want him to spy about, but he oddly felt a fatigue, a heavy weight on his shoulders at the thought. Besides, they were probably discussing what to do with HIM, not anything important.
... Not that he shouldn't be the most important thing on everyone's minds.
He eyed the paisley pattern for the sixtieth time and felt a surge of anger. Why was he stuck in this forsaken place? Why did he have to be stuck in this HORRID room when he could have a whole Manor to himself/ Why didn't his mother pick him up? Why did his cousin feel she had to take him in?! Why Why Why, he thought to himself with a roll of his eyes, That's all I ever do, all I ever ask. But I never get any answers!
He jumped off the high bed, his mind made up. To the Kitchen! He thought to himself, feeling a smirk tug at his lips. He had more than enough experience with sneaking around to avoid 'capture,' and the thought of doing something made his blood pump faster and his lips widen into a grin. This was as close to Quidditch as he could get on the ground-- the roar of his heart pounding in his ears, the uncertainty of capture, the thrill of success--
He winced as his foot stepped on a creaky step. His body tensed, his breathing froze-- but there was no sign he had been found out and he began to slowly scale his way down the stairs.
There were no further setbacks, and soon he was at the Kitchen door, his ear delicately pressed to the wood. Although he knew there had to be at least twenty people behind the door he could only hear a faint murmur-- the room had been spelled.
Not a complete success then, He thought in disappointment and slowly dropped to the ground, leaning his back against the wall. A great yawn stretched across his face-- it was terribly hot downstairs, despite the open windows... maybe he could close his eyes for just a second...
---
Tonks slowly opened the kitchen door and peeked her head outside-- sure enough, Draco was next to the door, but his eyes were closed and his breathing was even. "Poor thing," She whispered, a half smile on her face.
"Poor thing? I don't think I've heard anyone call M... Draco a poor thing." Remus snorted in his soft manner from behind her. "He's much too pinched faced for such sentiments anyway."
Tonks rolled her eyes and nodded at the boy at her feet. "How did you know he was out there?"
"Simple," Remus paused long enough to push her through the door. "This is where I would be if I was in his place. Any boy of his age would naturally be drawn to the one place denied to him in the new territory-- especially if he is of the opinion that people are discussing him inside that territory."
"Which we were," Tonks smirked, shaking her head as she looked down at her cousin. He hardly looked his age, curled up beside the door, his head tilted in such a fashion that it caused the light to smooth his face to a less angular vision. He looked young-- but not quite innocent, the curl of his lips betraying the boy even in his restful slumber. I wonder what dreams he has-- mutilating poor rabbits I'd bet. She thought without rancor, not recognizing herself in his smirk. "Do you think bringing him here was a bad idea, then?"
Remus carefully closed the door behind him-- miraculously Draco appeared to still slumber on, ignorant of the two adults above him. "This was the first meeting here since... since the attack, so any business won't be affected by his being here, we'll simply have to meet elsewhere. You couldn't very well leave him at the Station."
"Oh, I'm sure between now and when we hand him over to Aunt Narcissa I'll be regretting picking him up." Tonks rolled her eyes and hunkered down beside the sleeping Draco.
"What are you-"
"I can't very well have him sleep outside the Kitchen door-- Merlin knows the kink he's got in his neck already from falling asleep like that, poor thing."
"Let me, Nymphadora." Remus crouched down and slung the boy over his shoulder, showing no strain or struggle with the burden of the thin sixteen year old beyond a reddened face.
"You could have just used a spell on him," Tonks grumbled at Remus' show of masculine strength. With a quick motion she lit her wand and was leading the way to the guest quarters on the second level. "And don't call me Nymphadora."
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Author's Note: The good news is I finished this chapter before April was finished-- the bad news is that I did it pretty much at the last minute. I had the beginning and ending of the chapter set way back in March, but school projects and my birthday (21! Yay!) this week kept me from getting any quality writing time in. Originally this chapter was going to happen later on, but I decided to cut the original idea of chapter 3-- having a full on tour of the house-- and instead move up Lupin!bonding time. Or whatever you want to call their Dungeon discussion. Also, Tonks is scary with a knife ^.^;;
As for the Weasley Clan... they are coming, but not for another 2-3 chapters.
Also, I gave a lot of thought to having Remus actually being able to pick up and carry Draco-- I made Draco shorter for the fic, true, but with Remus as sickly as he is I wasn't sure if it was believable him being able to carry such a weight. So, I've decided to make this a plot point ^.^;;.
As for next chapter-- where the heck is Narcissa? Will we find out? Maybe! Or maybe instead Draco will have to *gasp* do manual labor!