A/N - Woohoo! I'm on a roll! The idea for this chapter has been revolving in my mind for some time, but it took a very concrete shape yesterday and then I just had to write it all down. Actually it's not so much this chapter as the next, but I have to put this one in between. I've got a really neat idea for the title of the next chapter and I'm pretty pleased with it. (smug expression)
Now, I know I'm probably in no position to say this since I'm such an irregular writer, but I do wish you all would review! It gives me so much more encouragement to write and I really need your feedback. So, please, if I've been naughty about updating, forgive me and say you love me again!
Elfin Maiden, if you don't review soon, I swear I'm going to wring your neck. Don't say I didn't warn you. And I am DEAD SERIOUS.
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Chapter 20 – Waves Of The Past
The five made their way to Harry's house after leaving the site of the doomed engagement. Silence oppressed the company, save when Harry asked Laetitia if she was cold. Everybody's thoughts were the same, but nobody had the courage to broach the subject. It could wait till they were all snug at Harry's apartment.
Harry opened the front door with a careless wave of his wand and another flick turned on the lights. For a few minutes, everybody was busy getting settled, taking off coats, washing hands and faces. Finally, they all settled down on the bright, comfy sofas in the living room and geared up to discuss the major concern that was weighing on all their minds.
It was Draco who commenced the discussion. "Things have been building up for a long time. They were bound to overflow one of these days. Don't feel sorry for me."
"But Draco, they're your family," began Hermione.
"Hermione, just because you share the same genes with someone doesn't mean they're your family; your family is those people who stand by you when you need them, those who truly care about you," he said. "They were never my family."
"I know your father is somewhat…indifferent, but your mother? Surely she cares about you?"
"She does, but she cares more for tradition and image and the bloodline of the Malfoys," he spoke the last phrase with bitter emphasis. "Maybe some day I will go to her and tell her why I did the things I have done, but for now, I don't want to have anything to do with any of them."
"I know what you mean," said Harry. "About family…"
"And you know they're still supporters of the Dark Side," continued Draco. "They'll do anything for power and for the preservation of pure blood."
"But don't you feel the same?" asked Ron.
"I did," he replied, his face hardening. "Until I saw how ruthless and cruel it was."
The trio looked at each other, wondering what this was about. Laetitia said unexpectedly, "I know, Draco."
He shot her a piercing look, and then his face relaxed.
"Draco, is there something you're not telling us?" asked Hermione anxiously.
He held her hand in his and replied, "I will tell you, when the time is right."
She smiled and relaxed.
"I think we should go to Professor Dumbledore," said Harry. "We're supposed to give him all the information we collected tonight."
"What information did you collect?" asked Draco.
"Well, we know that there's going to be an attack on a famous wizarding church in Scotland," replied Harry slowly. "And we know that one of the Death Eaters ran away."
"That was Jordan Weir," he said. "He ran away about a fortnight ago and hasn't been seen or heard from since. They think he might have left the country and gone towards the east. They're still looking for him. He knows too much to be left wandering the world."
"And what about this attack on a church?" asked Ron.
"It's going to take place next Sunday," replied Draco. "They're planning to walk in during the Sunday school sermon."
"Sunday School?" cried Hermione. "With all the little children?"
"They don't care about them."
"This must be stopped!" exclaimed Laetitia, with uncharacteristic vehemence. She got up and turned towards the rest. "I don't know about all of you, but I'm going to find Professor Dumbledore right now."
"We're all going," said Harry, also getting up. "This is very urgent."
They all gathered together and held hands. With a crack they apparated and appeared in front of the door to the headmaster's study.
Evidently, the professor had company, for voices could be heard; but it appeared that Dumbledore was just dismissing his guests. Harry knocked on the door softly and a weary voice called, "Come in."
The five walked into Dumbledore's office; still familiar after all these years, with its strange, fascinating instruments and the wise, wrinkled face of the professor seated at his plush leather chair. He looked over them thoughtfully as they entered, without surprise. His gaze lingered on Draco and he lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. "Well, Draco?"
Draco stammered a little in front of that piercing gaze and replied, "I-I've decided to formally join the Order."
"That is, indeed, a wonderful thing. I always knew you had greatness in you," said Dumbledore gently. He lifted a black, scarred hand that served as a reminder to all present of the days right before the Battle and those days during which they had believed Dumbledore dead. But he had returned, stronger than ever, not advertising his presence, but guiding Harry into finding his own strength.
"I know you always have, Professor, and I'm sorry if I ever…let you down." Draco cast his head down, ashamed.
"My boy, until you let go of all the goodness within you, until you let go of the power to love, you can never let me down," replied the professor. Hermione felt that, for a tiny moment, he looked at her, but she wasn't sure whether she had imagined it.
"I know, Professor, and I'm determined never to let that happen," said Draco.
"That is very reassuring," replied Dumbledore. "But right now you must tell me all you know about these attacks in Scotland and all that you four have learnt at the engagement tonight. By the by," he added. "Am I to offer you my felicitations, Draco?"
"N-no, sir," Draco blushed. "I-I found that my, er, affections were engaged elsewhere."
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but he replied gravely, "Yes, it often happens so. However, we will discuss this subject at great length at a more appropriate time. For now, tell me what you know."
Draco and the rest told the professor everything and he nodded. "It is just as I feared. We must dispatch for Scotland immediately. From our information, the Death Eaters are currently situated near a place called Inverness. It would be best for us to prevent them from reaching the church at all."
"But, sir, the prophecy that Tubble told us about…what of that?" asked Harry.
"Well, if the prophecy is, indeed, real and correct, it shall be fulfilled regardless of anything we all do," replied Dumbledore.
"But, sir," persisted Harry. "Why were we not told about it?"
"Many reasons, Harry; many reasons," he sighed. "When the time is right, all is revealed. You are not the only one to suffer from this reality."
"I don't understand…"
"Well, there are other people in this room from whom certain facts have been concealed that they would have considered very important, indeed," Dumbledore looked at Draco, who appeared perplexed. "But before I reveal those facts, I believe Draco must reveal what he has concealed from you all."
"Sir?" frowned Draco.
"There was a certain letter you found two years ago," said Dumbledore, toying with something suspiciously like a snow globe. "I know it will be painful for you to relate, but as you shall presently find out, it is necessary for all present here to be in possession of the full facts."
Draco's face had hardened and fury mingled with sorrow was writ in his eyes.
"I know that you did not wish to ever speak of it again," said the professor gently. "But you must, Draco. Nobody outside this room need ever know."
Draco straightened up and took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for the ordeal. "I do not see of what use it is now, but they are my friends and they have a right to know," he said. His voice was dispassionate, as if he had numbed himself to the pain. "Two years ago, a letter addressed to 'Mr Malfoy' came into my hands. The handwriting was unfamiliar and slightly disoriented, so the servants delivered it to me, believing it to be from one of my friends. It wasn't," here, his voice hardened and a bitter edge sounded in every syllable. "It was from a lady who addressed herself as Amira Zaara Sharaazi. It was the last letter she wrote before dying and it was meant for my father."
The four listened in silence.
"I was about to deliver it to my father, when I caught site of the words 'our daughter'," continued Draco in the same bitter voice. "I couldn't put it down then. The princess, for that is what she was, wrote to my father to censure him for the pain he had caused her, the despair, the agony…she wrote that she was ill and was going to die, but she had already died the day my father took away her child from her and sent it to its end. It was a very passionate letter and I later found out that the princess was not quite in her senses when she wrote it, but I did not know it then. I went to my father and demanded an explanation of him."
The silence was now that of the single held breath of four people. Dumbledore was still fiddling with the snow globe and regarding it thoughtfully.
"I got an explanation, but it would have been better if I hadn't," Draco laughed a cold, mirthless laugh. "The princess was the mother of my half-sister. My father did not know when he met her that she was a muggle or that she was an escaped Arabian princess. She knew magic and she captivated him with her beauty and charm. But after their daughter was born, she revealed her true identity to him. Horrified to realize that he had fathered a half-muggle child, my father confessed his sins to Lord Voldemort. Voldemort ordered the destruction of the child as penance for my father. He complied."
All four were looking at him with horrified expressions, their eyes wide open. Hermione squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers gratefully.
"That is about all," he finished. "The child was killed and the princess went hysterical with grief. As I said before, she died very soon after writing that letter."
Dumbledore put the globe down and looked at Draco. "That is the version of the story that you know, Draco."
"It is the truth," said Draco harshly. "There is no other version. My father's character cannot be redeemed."
"That is true; it cannot," replied the professor. "But perhaps all hope is not lost."
The five looked at him, perplexed. A clock stuck midnight.
"Ah," said Dumbledore, getting up. "It is time."
He walked to a bookcase and tapped it with his wand. The bookcase lifted a little out of the wand and slid to the side, revealing an empty space. To the astonishment of all, a tall, veiled figure appeared in that empty space and walked out gracefully into the office.
"Welcome," bowed Dumbledore. He turned to the astonished five. "I present to you Her Royal Highness Amira Shahrazad Sharaazi-Malfoy."
The veil dropped and a dark, beautiful face looked out at the incredulous five. She found Draco and her great big eyes rested on his face.
"My brother," she smiled. "I have been waiting to meet you."