"O, my sweet sir, news fitting to the night, Black, fearful, comfortless, and horrible." (William Shakespeare: The Life and Death of King John V, vi)
Lucius Malfoy woke from the insistent howling of a car alarm. He sat up in bed with a curse, not for the first time wishing for his wand so he could vanish both the muggle vehicle and the confounded racket it produced, and found it was already broad daylight outside. Perched on the foot of the bed, Hermes, his eagle-owl hooted angrily. "I know," Lucius growled.
Hermes had arrived three days into his residence at 27 Ivy Crescent bearing a letter from Draco, which now lay carefully folded on the nightstand. Lucius had been glad to find that his son had moved out of the Manor and was spending the summer at Hogwarts under the protection of Professor Snape. Draco did not support his mother's decision to revoke the handfasting, and part of his return to school had been in protest at her shameful behavior.
Of course Lucius could not write back, as he would have caused problems for his son for maintaining contact with him, and so he had kept the owl. By now he was glad for the company. At least he could pretend he was talking to his familiar instead of talking to himself.
He stretched under the sheets trying to block out the noise and cast a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Half past nine. Then he remembered, it was Friday: Mr. Oswald, Eleanor's muggle acquaintance would come by later with food for the next week.
Mr. Oswald was the first muggle with whom Lucius ever had a polite conversation. The first visit had been rather awkward, but he had found out that the elderly man was actually descended from wizards, from a Glasgow branch of the Hufflepuff family, to be precise. However, they had produced nothing but squibs for several generations and now the family lived among muggles with most descendents not even aware of their magical ancestry.
Still, Lucius had found it a bit easier after that to accept Mr. Oswald, and now he looked forward to the regular Friday visits. Eleanor's friend would usually help him stock the pantry, then stay to smoke a pipe, and talk for a little. He had worked very closely with Wilhelm Sartorius, Eleanor's father, and Lucius discovered quite a bit about his lover's childhood and family. When he got back to the wizarding world, he would of course deny that he ever had any kind of contact with a muggle, but for now Mr. Oswald was a welcome diversion.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and made his way to the bathroom. All in all, he had settled in quite well over the last few weeks. And he found that life on the whole was bearable, albeit terribly unexciting. He certainly hadn't managed to kill himself yet, even though some of the scenarios described in Eleanor's book were rather hair-raising. The only muggle invention he had eventually unplugged and sworn never to use again was the television, as "Live Like a Muggle" called it.
He had tried it during the first week, and had found that after ten hours he had accomplished nothing more than four trips to the bathroom and three excursions to the kitchen to make himself sandwiches. The device had to be some dark arts time eater. After all, nothing that he'd seen had been terribly exciting or been of any real concern to him. Most of the time he had been urged to buy muggle crap no one in their right mind would want, and half of it he couldn't even remember afterwards, yet he had sat rooted to his spot on the sofa like one spellbound.
There had been some excerpts from games, similar somewhat to quiddich. Of course the pathetic muggles, who could not ride brooms, had to run after the ball, again wearing cut-off pants. What was it with muggle men being so insistent upon showing off their legs? Some other presentations had involved car chases and people shooting at each other. Actually, a lot of muggles had got killed during that day. Perhaps Voldemort's plans would come to fruition after all.
He also remembered watching some activities based at a muggle hospital. That had been somewhat entertaining, because muggle medicine seemed very different from magical healing. As a matter of fact, some of it appeared to be related to torture practices rather than to helping people. Muggle doctors did a lot of cutting and sewing, but they always knocked their victims out beforehand, so causing them discomfort obviously was not a priority for them. Lucius, who knew a bit about inflicting pain himself, had studied their proceedings with interest.
For some reason the television had also shown a lot about the healers' love-lives, and Lucius had been somewhat surprised that muggles would allow other muggles to see what happened in their bedrooms, especially since some of the couples were quite clearly cheating. Then again, perhaps that was the reason why so many muggles ran around with guns shooting each other. Jealousy could be quite motivating. That of course had made him think of Narcissa and Advocatus Greenleaf. All in all not using the television again had seemed like a good idea.
Fortunately Eleanor had a decent collection of books, and he had enjoyed having the time to read up on some arcane fields of magical practice, such as empathicura and demon conjuration. He even had to admit that some of the muggle authors were quite readable. He found he liked Shakespeare, who had done quite a decent job depicting the wizard Prospero in "The Tempest", even though the old fool had eventually allowed his daughter to marry a muggle.
The three witches in "Macbeth" however he had found a bit overdone. Occasionally you'd find a washed-up hag like that in Knockturn Alley hawking dried frogs' eyes. But the types who had second sight and could prophesy were generally better paid and in better shape.
The wizard returned from the bathroom and paused before the bedroom wardrobe. On the first evening he had tried to get into some of the muggle pants that Eleanor had sent him. They had looked washed-out and ugly with their seams exposed and some areas reinforced with metal rivets. Perhaps Eleanor had picked the wrong size. In any case he could not recall ever having worn something as uncomfortable and tight. Talk about having your balls in a vise. This was worse than riding a broom! He had been certain then that he would not concern himself further with muggle clothes, even if it meant confinement to the house and garden.
A little later Lucius sat outside on the patio behind the living room eating breakfast. It still irked him that he was expected to prepare his own food, but he had at least got the hang of it. Eleanor's book had helped a lot. Tea water could be boiled using an electric kettle. A lighter in the kitchen drawer under the sink started a fire on the gas stove.
Lucius made himself think about the proceedings in terms of alchemistical experiments rather than house-elf chores, that way it was at least possible to bear the shame. Still it had taken him two weeks to finally make up his mind and wash the dishes. By then the pile of crockery teetering in the sink had been such an olfactory insult to him that the necessity to get his hands dirty had seemed the lesser of two evils.
Now he stretched his legs under the table, sipped his tea and enjoyed the dappled sunlight under the old trees of the garden. Hermes perched on the back of the chair opposite him and blinked his large yellow eyes at him. Moments later the owl seemed to have picked up a noise from inside the house, because he spread out his broad wings and flew back into the living room, only to emerge a little later with the post in his claws. He dropped two letters on the table and hopped back on his seat.
Lucius had the distinct impression that his bird felt personally insulted by the fact that he got his correspondence through the muggle post these days. He picked up his butter knife, wiped it on a paper serviette and slit the two envelopes. As usual the larger one contained a copy of the previous day's Daily Prophet. The smaller held a letter from Eleanor. Lucius laid the newspaper aside and unfolded the parchment of the letter.
"Dear Lucius,
Thank you for your amusing letter which Mr. Oswald posted to me last Friday. I am sorry the car alarm keeps waking you, but there is very little you can do. You could try talking to the owner (without your cane!), phone the local police station and lodge a complaint, or you could convince a muggle to come and actually steal the car. (Ignore the last suggestion, please, I'm only kidding!) At least it seems you are keeping in good spirits, despite the many aggravations of muggle existence.
In the interim I have some news. Tethering and I have finally made some progress with the Ministry, and it seems they will hold a hearing on your behalf. Luckily for us they have made some grave procedural errors in administering your sentence, for example they did not provide you with the means to survive in the muggle world for a week as the law prescribes. Of course your outburst and attempt to inflict terminal damage on Mr. Greenleaf rushed them a bit at the end. Still, they owe you a review, and they are slowly coming around to our point of view. Of course your trusty little black book is helping, too.
Tethering and Belisarius are not the most honorable company one could keep, but they are extremely competent and knowledgeable. Last Monday I found that Desdemona had tried to use some of the information in your book for her own ends. Fortunately Belisarius saw my point of view and threatened to fumigate the office with garlic if she attempted something like it again. She still fondly remembers you as the meal that got away and seems rather jealous of me.
If only she knew… She sees more action in one evening than I have since the end of May. I find myself spoilt by your attentions and not very good at protracted celibacy and fervently hope we can put this whole tedious episode behind us soon. Still, I am not trying to sound ungrateful. We were very lucky. Yesterday was the last Death Eater trial. The whole lot has been sentenced to life in Azkaban without parole. The public interrogator has been much better prepared than in your case, and Tethering could not run circles around him any more even though he ended up defending quite a few of them. The advocati must be rolling in galleons…
Draco is doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. I stopped off at Hogwarts earlier this week on my way north after a meeting in London. He was relieved to be able to talk to someone who is on his father's side. Actually being at school seems to be good for him. Severus has given him some excellent Defense against the Dark Arts projects as their teacher last year seems to have been a bit of a flake. It keeps his mind off the media circus surrounding your trial and Narcissa's divorce, which has upset him quite a bit.
She did an interview with 'Witch Weekly' about her experience, and they are celebrating her as a heroine: 'a shining example that emancipation is no longer a foreign concept among the stuffy rules of the old pureblood houses. Narcissa Black is a modern, intelligent witch who has learned to stand up for herself. Her bold move is to be commended.'
She of course had to go out of her way and mention sexually depraved me, which put a bunch on reporters on my trail, among them a horrid woman named Mrs. Skeeter. So now I've gained me some dubious fame as the 'unprincipled adventuress who seduced Lucius Malfoy, the notorious Death Eater'. At least she refrained from telling them any tall tales about your other activities.
'The Quibbler' decided that as Narcissa got a divorce, obviously you were not in love with each other, so there was no pressure on your side to join Voldemort. They drew the razor-sharp conclusion that you must have been a Death Eater voluntarily and that your family is of no concern to you. Really! Some people are such cynics! Then again, fortunately nobody takes that paper seriously anyway. At least, as you probably saw, 'The Prophet' slammed Narcissa for kicking you when you were down. 'Unsporting,' they called it.
I am looking forward to your weekly letter. Let's hope the wait will be over soon. I promise you, when I have you back I will lock myself up in my bedroom with you and a bottle of vorax potion and won't let you out for the next two months. We'll prove 'Witch Weekly' wrong about the 'stuffy rules of the old pureblood houses'!
Your unprincipled adventuress, who wishes she could right now seduce Lucius Malfoy, the notorious Death Eater…"
Lucius lowered the parchment and a small smile played around the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what she was talking about. In his opinion two months and a bottle of aphrodisiac potion wouldn't even begin to scratch his itch. He also realized that the fact that she was now associated with him in public gave him a certain measure of satisfaction, as if he had somehow staked a claim.
Of course it was also another nail in the coffin of the Malfoy reputation, and old Octavian Malfoy was probably turning in his grave, but after his son had been sentenced as a Death Eater and forced to live as a muggle, few things were left with which he could really do any additional damage. It felt liberating in a way.
Lucius poured himself another cup of tea and reached for the copy of the "Daily Prophet." As he unfurled the paper, however, he was in for a harsh shock. "Mass Breakout at Azkaban Prison!" declared the headline on the front page. The photo beneath showed the central courtyard with the lifeless bodies of at least fifteen to twenty aurors strewn about. "By Azrael," breathed the wizard. His life had just all of a sudden become much more interesting. Voldemort was back in control of a fighting force. And now he would find out very soon if the Dark Lord had any plans for him. He felt fairly certain, that whatever they were, he would not like them much.
For a moment he idly wondered whether Tonks was among the dead aurors in the picture. He found he didn't much care either way. Relative or no, she belonged to Narcissa's traitorous house, and she was an insolent mudblood to boot. However, he did wish the Death Eaters had killed the little snot who had dared to dye his hair blue on the day of the trail. He hoped he had been made to suffer.
Still numbed by the news Lucius read the article and considered his next steps. There was little he could do. No one in their right mind would help him. Not only would they incur the full severity of the law, but also risk the wrath of the most feared dark wizard to have ever existed. No one would face those stakes for his sake. To run would merely put him into unfamiliar muggle territory, where he would have to watch out not only for Death Eaters, but also for enemies and dangers with which he was largely unfamiliar.
He slammed down the newspaper. "Damn it! Hermes, we are a sitting duck and a sitting owl, and if you know what's good for you you'll fly your feathery behind out of here. Fast!" The eagle-owl regarded him gravely and began to calmly clean his breast feathers. "Noble of you, but stupid," growled Lucius. He wondered idly whether Mr. Oswald might be persuaded to bring him one of those muggle guns. They seemed to be crude but effective weapons.
Just then he felt a sharp pain lance through his left arm. The teacup shattered on the slate pavement of the patio as he clamped his right hand down over the dark mark in surprise. The skull and snake hadn't bothered him at all since his arrest, and he had almost forgotten he still bore Voldemort's brand. There was no way he could respond to the summons, and he was sure the Dark Lord knew that. His mark had been activated not to call him, but to locate him. They knew where he was now, and they would come for him.
Lucius had been in the service of the Dark Lord long enough to know what awaited him. He prided himself on his self-possession and his discipline and had always thought that even while he preferred cunning to false bravado, he was at heart a fearless man.
Now he had to admit to himself that he was truly terrified. "I will stay here. I will die here on my feet as a Malfoy," he quietly told Hermes. "I will not beg, and I will not debase myself." But even as he spoke those words, his memories were filled with the images of wizards and witches as powerful and as proud as himself under torture, groveling before his master pleading for death and being cruelly denied.
Eleanor finally lost her self-control. She reached over the desk and grabbed Marcellus Tethering by his drab, grey robes. "I think you are not hearing me!" she shouted at him. "They will kill him! We need to get help. We need to get him into protective custody – something – anything!"
She was back in London at the advocatus' office in Knockturn Alley, having read about the prison breakout a little over 24 hours before Lucius Malfoy. Tethering stayed maddeningly calm as he put his hand over hers. "I would advise you to let go of me," he said coolly. "So far our partnership has been very profitable to all concerned, and I would like to keep it that way, but I will not tolerate physical threats."
She released the lawyer with a sigh of frustration. "Fine, sorry. But as I am trying to point out, our partnership currently is not very profitable to your client Mr. Malfoy, who will shortly be tortured to death without our intervention. Which does not make our partnership very profitable to me. So what are you going to do about it?"
Tethering straightened his robes. "Professor, I am always thinking first and foremost about my own interests and those of this firm. You can hardly fault me for that. I have no intention of jumping into heroics, meddling in the affairs of the Dark Lord and getting myself locked up in Azkaban for a year. Not to mention that they will most likely revoke my advocatus license. No client is worth that much to me. As I have told you already, without the official review of the sentence we can do absolutely nothing. I am afraid my hands are tied. If that makes you unhappy with our services, I am sorry."
Eleanor was getting ready for a reply when she heard a cough behind her. Desdemona had quietly entered the office, and as the witch looked around, the vampire held out a large eagle owl to her, which pecked impatiently at her owling glove. "This came for you a few minutes ago. The message says it's urgent." She placed the owl on the table, raised an eyebrow and left as noiselessly as she had come.
"Excuse me." Eleanor turned away from the advocatus and removed a rolled up piece of lined muggle notepaper from the owl's foot. It hadn't taken her more than a second to recognize the owl as Lucius own bird Hermes. The note, however, was not written in Lucius' hand, but in a hurried spidery script she couldn't place.
"Eleanor, I'm writing this while Lucius is outside helping me unpack the car. He didn't want me to contact you, but I don't see any other way. He found out this morning that the Death Eaters have escaped. Voldemort has 'activated his mark' – hope that means more to you than to me – and they are coming after him. I've told him I'll stay with him and help him to defend himself. But we could surely do with your help, you being the only one of us who can work defensive magic. Marvin Oswald."
"Well?" said Tethering, when she had stopped reading. Eleanor looked up. "There is a muggle out there with more guts and gumption than you. He's staying behind to help Lucius against the Death Eaters. Of course he is a stupid fool." She ran her hand through her hair. "Gods, I have to tell him to get out of there. Do you have a quill and some parchment, please?"
The advocatus reached behind him and wordlessly pushed some writing materials towards her. Eleanor cast a long look at Hermes, who was regarding her intently, then smoothed down the paper and began to write.
"Marvin, got your note. Get out of there, now! I mean it! Your willingness to stick by Lucius is very noble, but I don't want to explain your heroics to your wife Patsy, when they show her your mangled body. There is absolutely nothing you can do, and staying at my house is a certain death sentence. These people will swat you like a fly, and then they will do with Lucius as they please anyway. Your death will serve absolutely no purpose. I'm coming out here myself as soon as possible, and I will make my stand with him. Leave now, while you still can! Eleanor."
She fixed the scroll to Hermes' leg and then held out her arm to the eagle owl. "Fly back as fast as you can and deliver the message, and if the muggle doesn't want to leave, you have my permission to harass him. Just don't hurt him permanently." The owl hooted, and she opened the office door to release the bird into the main hall where Desdemona could set him free.
"I need to go," she told Tethering, turning back. The advocatus shrugged his shoulders. "I thought as much," he said. Eleanor sighed. "Look, can you at least get an anonymous message to Professor Snape at Hogwarts and to either Narcissa or Mr. Greenleaf and warn them?" The advocatus considered for a moment. "That I am prepared to do," he said.
"Well, if you don't hear from me by tomorrow evening, send in the aurors, they can scrape up what's left of us," she told him. Tethering gave her an appraising look. "Well, professor, it's been a pleasure doing business with you," he said with a deadpan expression. Eleanor opened the door to leave. "Well, yeah, but your customer service leaves something to be desired," she replied. "It was interesting knowing you."
Back out in Knockturn Alley, she saw it was already early evening. Death Eaters always attacked at night. For a moment she stood rooted to the spot assessing her options. Up the narrow street in front of the shop-window of Borgin and Burke's lurked the small figure of Marygold Brannock, the auror who had escorted her on the day of her visit to Azkaban, and who had shadowed her religiously ever since the trial. She wore a pointed hat pulled deeply into her face, an eye-patch and an old tattered cloak, blending in quite well with the seedy environment. Still, Eleanor recognized her former student quite easily.
For a moment she considered striding up to the woman and telling her about the situation, enlisting the help of the aurors to fight the Death Eaters. It would increase her immediate chances to get Lucius and herself out of the situation alive. However, it would also eliminate once and for all her chances of ever rehabilitating her lover. Lucius would be turned out of her house, as that qualified as help, and she would be sent to prison. She was certain the pureblood wizard would not survive by himself for the year it would take her to serve her sentence.
If she simply apparated at her house now, Brannock would be able to follow her. All aurors had apparition detectors, and floo activities were monitored as a matter of routine. Using a broom would take longer, but she might be able to shake her shadow. It would be harder to confront Voldemort's servants by herself. However, she was no longer the young and inexperienced witch who had stood in the path of a Death Eater raid six years ago.
By now she had even learned to dodge unforgivables. There was still a chance she could win. She gathered her robes and sped past the auror and up the steps to Diagon Alley. With only a few minutes to spare she needed to get to Quality Quiddich Supplies before they closed at 8:00 PM.
The young shop assistant regarded her with interest, as she burst into the store catching her breath. "I need the fastest broom you have," she gasped. The wizard stepped out from behind the counter. "Well, if it's speed you want, I'd recommend the Firebolt. Fastest model around these days. Of course it's a quiddich broom, really, and not cheap, because it has so many additional features."
He walked over to a display and reverently pulled down a sleek, reddish, silver-trimmed broom. "Notice the streamlined handle made of diamond-polished ash. Every broom is hand-numbered with its own registration number. We will register yours under your name upon purchase. The Firebolt has an unsurpassed acceleration from 1 to 150 mph in 10 seconds…" Eleanor laid her hand on the man's sleeve. "Did you say this thing does 150 miles?" The wizard nodded. "Sold," she exclaimed. "That's all I need to know!"
"But madam," objected the assistant. Eleanor tapped her foot. This was taking too long. She decided to play the situation for all it was worth. The store was empty this late, and she hoped she could fool the young wizard. She leaned in on him with an air of conspiracy. "You need to help me," she whispered, managing to look frightened. "My name is Athena Lestrange. I'm related to the Lestranges – yes, the Death Eaters. But my mother was a muggle. Now my relatives are after me."
She pulled the broom salesman to the front of the store and made them both duck behind the counter. Then she pointed out Auror Brannock, who was hanging around next door at a small stationary shop looking at the displays. "Do you see the woman outside, over there? She's one of them. She's been following me all day. I need to get out of here, before she kills me. Please help me!" The young man had grown deathly pale at her words. "Of course! We need to call the aurors!"
She took the salesman by the shoulders for emphasis. "Not enough time. I need to go," she said. "Why don't you sell me the Firebolt? I have enough money. Do you have a back-entrance to the store?" The wizard nodded. "Great, you can let me out there. I can disappear. Then you should lock the store and call the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Don't confront her yourself or go near her. She is a murderess. She could kill you!"
The young man swallowed. "Okay, that's 256 galleons, and I'll fill out the registration papers for you later. Athena Lestrange you said? Here, I'll walk you through storage, we pick out a broom, and then I'll show you the delivery entrance." He led the way down a narrow corridor and into a dark vaulted room stacked with broom boxes.
Eleanor watched him open a package and pull the wrapping paper from the tail twigs of a brand-new Firebolt. She rooted in her belt-purse and handed him the money. The wizard took it without counting and unlocked a heavily bolted wooden door that lead to a small back-yard that the store shared with the apothecary next door. Eleanor saw no one except a few rats that were fighting over a dead, withered mandrake root.
She smiled at the broom salesman. "Thank you so much. I'll never forget you. You're my life-saver!" The wizard blushed, and she realized she hadn't even lied to him just then. Quickly she mounted her new broom, spoke an invisibility spell and lifted above the rooftops of Diagon Alley into the evening sky. A moment later she had tilted the Firebolt forwards for acceleration and almost lost her grip and fell off her mount halfway along Oxford Street.
With a curse she clung on with her hands and legs bending low over the broom. She decided that style and riding finesse would have to wait. All she needed to do was get to North Finchley without breaking her neck first. She hoped Hermes had already delivered her message, and that she could outrun Voldemort's revenge long enough to get to Lucius while he was still alive.