Author's Notes: Well, this fic is drawing to a close. Maybe two more chapters after this? Hopefully just two. And hopefully it won't take me a year to write them.
At any rate, this new format at is just fabulous. It's much easier to go back and edit one's work now. I've already altered Chapters 2 and 3. It's been a long time since I first published those, and my ideas of what love ought to be like have changed since then. I've tried to make it less crappy, but maybe it's beyond repair. Alas.
Chapter XIII: The Orpheus Curse
by Jenni
Ron arrived at the office that morning in a good mood. He whistled to himself as he walked over the threshold of the office with the confidence of a man who has just accomplished something grand. What he discovered upon entry was the dismal sight of his friends pacing the floor by the entryway, with puffy eyes and disheveled clothing. Hermione's nose and eyes were red, indicating that she had been crying. The huge I've-just-had-good-sex grin vanished as soon as he set foot in the doorway.
"Christ," he exclaimed. "You two look like Hell." Then, remembering that Harry did not know of his and Hermione's investigation, he hid the suspicious blue folder he held in his hands behind his back. "And you, mate," he said, trying to cover his nervousness. "What are you doing here anyway?"
Harry just reached out his hand. "Did you get the information?"
From the corner Hermione held up one slender arm, palm upward to urge him to hand over the folder. "It's ok. I told him last night about Malfoy."
Ron still did not surrender the folder, clutching to his chest like his favorite puppy. "You can't just take it without a proper greeting. I worked pretty hard to get this."
Harry eyed him with no visible expression. "You had sex with an Auror to get that."
Ron smiled. "And it was pretty hard!" he exclaimed with a relish. But at last he relinquished claim over the folder. "Or at least the breaking in part was. Getting to her apartment was only good for getting a copy of her keys. I hate to wake up early so Ginny could let me in the office, and let me tell you they've got these watch dogs that don't like strangers…"
Harry just took the folder and opened it. Hermione rushed to his side and peered over his shoulder.
Ron tried not to feel miffed at the poor reception of his work, but he couldn't help but add a pointed, "You're welcome."
Harry looked up over his spectacles without moving his head. "Thank you, Ron," he said with sincerity.
Ron moved beside Hermione, who was finding it difficult to read over Harry's shoulder. Her eyes were noticeably bloodshot, and she was squinting from the strain of trying to read. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "Maybe I shouldn't have sent you home last night."
Hermione shrugged it off. "I don't want to talk about it right now."
Then they both turned back to the folder and forgot about whatever had happened the night before.
Harry was tracing the lines of the report with his finger. "Here," he indicated, pointing at a particular spot. "Is this what you were telling me about last night?" he asked Hermione.
"You stayed with Harry last night?" asked Ron with some surprise. Hermione didn't answer him, but he saw the muscles of her jaw clench. She really didn't want to talk about it.
Harry began to read from the report:
"Wand readings register male wizard. Auror magic level A and Death Eater level A. Readings were spread across the back lot and on several trees at a distance of twenty feet, indicating the curses were cast by two men standing opposite each other."
"Why does the report only say 'male wizard?'" Hermione interrupted. "It mentions two down here."
Ron seized the report from Harry and turned the page, then thrust it back in his friend's hands. "Look at that and tell me what you think," he said.
Harry continued reading, "Although the readings note two separate kinds of magic and curses coming from two different directions, both readings are from the same wand."
"The same wand?" gasped Hermione. She stepped away from the other two, although Harry kept on reading. Ron followed her with his eyes, noting the panicked nature of her pacing and the grief that had come over her face.
"What is it?" he asked her.
She glanced up at him, biting her fingernails. "He's insane. That's all I can think of. He just went insane obsessing over that book Mrs. Malfoy mentioned to Harry."
"What book?" said Ron, realizing he had missed a great deal while he was out doing his own work. Yet Hermione kept rambling without bothering to explain.
"He stole the Blossom Gem to get the book. Then he just went insane. Maybe he hears voices; maybe he sees things that aren't there. He must have just snapped. He got to the inn and started imagining someone else and then he cast a curse…"
"Or maybe he went nutters before," offered Ron, "and that's why he didn't come back for you after the war."
Harry sighed and pulled his spectacles off so he could wipe his tired eyes. "It must have been whatever happened in Romania," he mumbled with great bitterness.
"How do we know he's mad anyway?" asked Ron, "Maybe there was a scuffle between Malfoy and an unarmed person, who picked up his wand and starting casting curses with it."
"Death Eater curses?" asked Harry with skepticism. "All the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, and we know of absolutely no one who escaped. The only person still out who could practice Death Eater magic is Draco Malfoy."
"No…" Hermione shook her head, suddenly brightening. "Draco was never a Death Eater. It couldn't have been him. Ron must be right; there was a scuffle." But Ron watched her smile fade. "But that doesn't explain his behavior. He doesn't act the same. I suppose it's possible that he learned Death Eater curses somewhere along the way."
Harry nodded. "Do you know, he never showed up to his scheduled debriefing after Romania? He was insubordinate, and they court-martialed him."
"We'll need to interrogate him," said Ron. "I could have Ginny arrange an official interrogation so it'd go on the trial record."
"We can't," said Hermione. "Not without an arrest warrant. We'll have to find the Logoi Ergon first so we can pin him to the theft."
"And for that, we'll have to go to Malfoy Manor, which is what I wanted to do before" said Harry with a sigh. "Let's go."
"The Logoi Erg what?" Ron tried again, following the others as they scrambled for their coats. "Wait up! Someone's got to explain this to me."
They arrived at Malfoy Manor just before tea time and were all quickly shuffled into the drawing room to await the mistress. Hermione found the room cozy, comfortable even. There were no portraits adorning the wall, meaning no ancestors to glare at them or curse them. There was a roaring fire and comfortable, yet tasteful, furniture and a roaring hearth. The colors of the room were an inviting pale green and gold, which eased themselves over the wallpaper on a blanket of swirling fleurs-de-lis. Hermione would never have expected Draco's home to be so welcoming.
Here was not the home of a madman.
It did not fail to occur to her than in all her years of loving Draco, she had not once seen his home. Not in pictures or paintings, and certainly not in any mental image painted by his loving descriptions. He had never spoken of his home.
She had thought it would be a dark and forbidding place, and was both pleased and saddened to find it was not so. She found herself unable to reconcile this house with the Draco she had left stupefied on her floor.
Not too many minutes passed after they were seated before a maid entered with a tray arrayed for high tea. A plate of delicate finger sandwiches was set before them, followed by a set of ornate porcelain tea-cups and saucers, and finally by the pot itself.
"The mistress will be with you shortly," she informed them before leaving.
Ron picked up a sandwich and munched on it. Harry kept his hands resolutely by his sides, staring like a statute into the fire.
"These are pretty good," said Ron, motioning for his friends to try an egg and cress. "You should have one."
"I left Draco sprawled on my kitchen floor," said Hermione in response. "I feel silly sitting here eating his finger sandwiches."
"I wish she'd just get down here so we can get on with it," muttered Harry.
"What are you planning to say?" asked Ron. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. We're here to find conclusive evidence that your son is a bloody crook."
"I'd leave out the 'bloody,'" answered Harry without blinking.
Hermione wished she had gone back to the flat first. Maybe if Draco had known how close they were to discovering his crime, he would answer her questions. She was trying to construct the timeline once more, but this time without her emotions clouding her judgment. It was difficult.
He had left her to go to Romania. The war had ended…he must have come back and started looking for that book. She had discovered about his presence in England while reading the paper. He found the book. He stole the gem and pawned it for the book…then what? He came to find her? He went insane. Or he continued to be insane…or…
Mrs. Malfoy chose that particular moment to enter the drawing room. "Good day," she said, civilly.
"Good day," they answered in unison like they were greeting one of their Professors at the start of class.
Narcissa took in Harry's brooding posture, Ron's carefree air and Hermione's angst-ridden features and shut the door behind her. Going to the fire, she picked up a poker and stoked it even though there was no reason. Hermione felt the woman just wanted something to cover up her nervousness.
A long silence ensued before Narcissa spoke, "My friends at the Ministry told me you'd been given a case to look for the Blossom Gem."
"That's correct," said Harry without revealing anything. "Did you know anything about its disappearance?"
Narcissa turned to face them with lips pursed. Without answering, she jumped straight to the point. "Is my son in a great deal of trouble?" she asked.
"He may be charged with theft, if that's what you mean," replied Harry.
"Is my son dead?"
Hermione's head shot up. Draco dead? She hadn't realized it, but ever since Ron had brought her that Auror report, she had reconciled the old Draco with the new. She hadn't wondered whether he was lying anymore, but only whether he still had his sanity.
"No, he's alive. He's at my flat, actually," supplied Hermione.
Narcissa faced her with eyes flashing. "I told you; that's not Draco. You of all people ought to see that." Then she motioned for Hermione to come closer. "Come with me, Ms. Granger."
With some hesitation, all three of the investigators got up from the couch.
"No!" Narcissa stopped them. "Just Ms. Granger."
Harry cast her a questioning look, to which Hermione responded by placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'll go."
"Take detailed notes!" Ron called after her, stuffing a buttered crumpet into his mouth; but Hermione had a feeling he was watching her closely as she followed Narcissa through the door.
Narcissa led Hermione outside the drawing room and down one long, vaulted hallway flanked every five feet by a pair of marble busts, presumably of long-dead Malfoys, that moved their eyes as she passed by. Some faces seemed inquisitive, and others angry. The figures in the portraits followed her as well, and some of the smaller characters leaped from frame to frame in order to get a closer look at her. Some hollered, "There's a mudblood in here!"
And others shouted, "Do not disrespect the future mistress of these halls!"
Hermione blushed when she heard that one.
Narcissa grabbed a torch when the hall met another, and led her down the darker corridor. There was no sunlight here, and barely any torchlight. Unlike the drawing room, this place was frightening, intimidating, mysterious. This was more what Hermione had expected.
"Ignore the paintings, please," Narcissa said, as one of the characters in the portraits made some polite remark to Hermione about her impending nuptials. It seemed that the further down the corridor they went the more deferential the paintings became. "You'll obviously not be mistress of these halls if you can't find my son."
"But I have…" Hermione protested.
Narcissa laughed a bitter laugh. "Have you never had a single doubt about that creature you so generously house in your flat? Surely you must have. If you haven't then you must not have known my son at all."
Hermione bit back a retort. "Yes, he is different," she admitted. "But you must have known that when he came back from the war. If he were the same man I knew, he would never have taken that gem."
Narcissa halted immediately and faced Hermione, and both women stared at each other with all the resentment they could muster. Narcissa's icy blue eyes bored into Hermione's. Then she motioned towards an oddly-placed little nob on a pedestal to Hermione's right.
"My son was a good man," she said, firmly. "He took that gem for you. Now press the button."
When Hermione hesitated, Narcissa pressed it for her. A secret door slid open before her, revealing a dark stairwell that wound upwards in a spiral to a place she could not see. The crumbling steps had been repaired with plaster and cement, but that was no guarantee as to their safety.
"Where does it lead?" asked Hermione.
"To my son's study," answered Narcissa, sharply. "The password is 'Exculpa.' I assume you have your wand."
"Yes, but why?
Narcissa pushed her into the stairwell and showed her a little button on the inside of the stonework. "When you're ready to come out, just press this little knob on the inside of the wall."
Then she departed, and the door slid shut, separating Hermione from the light outside. Cursing Mrs. Malfoy, she fumbled for her wand. "Lumos!" she cried when she had found it. She sighed as she surveyed the ancient stonework. There was nothing to do but go up and look.
To say she was not curious would have been a lie. Hermione was dying of curiosity. But she was also worried about stumbling. She went up slowly, and found that the stairwell was actually quiet short. It didn't take her to any corridors or dungeons, but directly to the study itself.
A wooden door was all that kept her from the answers she had wanted for so long. The reality of it frightened her. "Exculpa!" she commanded, and the door creaked open.
The room was lit by charmed candles that never burned out or ran out of wax. And like the drawing room, it had warm and pleasant hue. It looked like someone lived here.
The study was strewn with papers and parchment. Ink bottles, both empty and full littered the room. The shavings from where Draco had stopped to sharpen his quill were still unswept on the floor. It seemed that not even the house elves were allowed in.
Hermione entered, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. She took note of the green and silver scarf, carefully folded over the chair by the desk. How often had he worn this? He was so rich, and yet he had never gotten a new one. He must have worn it all through school and beyond. And he loved it enough to keep it here. In places it was almost threadbare.
She touched the wool with loving fingers, like she might touch the favorite possession of a husband dead and gone. Picking it up and holding it to her face, she breathed in Draco's scent for the first time since Romania.
The new Draco never smelled this way: like spice and cologne and security. Don't cry, she begged herself. You'll ruin the smell. She forced herself to put it down.
The leather of the chair was also worn, making her wonder what it must be like to see him bent over the desk just like she had watched him at Hogwarts. She hadn't loved him then, but even that boy seemed more innocent by far than the Draco who had confronted her of late. A smile touched her mouth as she pictured him pouring over these papers. His hair would have fallen in his eyes, but he would have been too busy to push it away.
Just imagining him this way made her feel closer to him than she had since his abrupt departure. It made her sad that he was so different now. It was like losing him all over again.
Her eyes inevitably drifted to the desk, remembering that her primary task was not to indulge in some fanciful request of Narcissa's, but to look for the Logoi Ergon.
The desk, which was huddled against the wall and between two great bookcases, was large. A pile of oversized books sat piled in one corner, and there was plenty of workspace remaining. Or at least there would have been, had it not been for the enormous book lying open in the middle.
Hermione took one glance and knew what it was. The Logoi Ergon.
The text was ancient Greek, and the book had been opened to particular page containing technical illustrations. Hermione didn't know Greek, and she knew that Draco wasn't fluent despite his classical education. He would have had to write a translation down somewhere.
She shuffled through the papers on his desk, no longer trying to be careful.
One paper was completely scratched out with frustrated notations at the scribbled at the bottom saying, "No! No! Not right!" Another paper was simply scratched out in certain places.
She began to read:
"The cure for the Orpheus Curse, terrible to suffer, is detailed further. Many men have tried and failed to fight the curse. Others have denied its existence, only to face a terrible fate, more wicked than any other in the world…"Hermione stifled a smile at Draco's awkward translation. But after all, he had only a rudimentary, school-boy's knowledge of Greek. She read on, finding what appeared to be a list of ingredients for the cure the book was talking about. When she came to the next scratch mark she found it notated, "Not right! Didn't work."
Suddenly Hermione realized that this 'cure' was something Draco had tried to make.
She shuffled through other papers, and found similar scratch marks, all lists of ingredients that were usually violently scratched out and notated, "No!"
An hour of leafing over the desk and she all she found was the same list of ingredients, noted or scratched out, but always for the same thing. Why was he so interested in finding this cure? What was the Orpheus Curse?
When she opened the top desk drawer, she found a different copy of the list. This time it was pristine with no scratch marks. The translation was perfect.
Hermione exhaled as understanding came to her:
Draco must have done it. He must have accomplished whatever this cure was. All she had now was to find out what it was a counter-curse for.
It wasn't in any of the books piled on his desk, so she tried the shelves. Yet book after book yielded nothing. She began to get angry at her failure to find anything of use, completely forgetting that she had come just to find the Logoi.
She found a bunch of muggle maps of London, further proof that Draco had gone there to pawn off the Blossom Gem. Stupid boy, she thought. He didn't need to steal to get the book! The shop keeper most likely would have given it to him for a couple galleons.
But Draco didn't know anything about muggles. He probably hadn't thought the man would accept anything less than what the book was actually worth.
She cast the maps onto the floor, suddenly very angry with Draco. Why couldn't he have told her about this curse instead of trying to work on the counter in secret? They had wasted years of their lives apart, and now he was ruined. He was a thief, and worse…he was deranged.
"What were you thinking, Draco?" she said outloud.
"May I suggest the blue book over on the other shelf?" called a voice matter-of-factly from somewhere in the corner.
"Where did that come from?" asked Hermione, picking up her wand. She hadn't seen any portraits or photographs when she entered. Who was talking? And why did it sound like her voice?
"I'm over here, on the chair."
Hermione looked down at the desk chair, but all she saw was the scarf and a bunch of discarded papers.
"No no, the other chair."
Hermione glanced up to see another chair in the far corner of the room, hidden under a bundle of dirty robes. And on top of those robes sat an open locket that Hermione had not noticed before.
She drew closer and picked it up.
"Hello," it said.
Hermione found herself face to face with her graduation picture from Hogwarts, cut out with meticulous care and set in this locket. She was moved by the gesture, knowing that Draco hadn't had this during the war. He could only have made it afterwards.
"Hello," she answered, tearfully. "Thank you. I will try the blue book."
She closed the locket before her younger self could answer and set it in the pocket of her trousers. Then she walked over to the shelf and opened to the index, which pointed her to the proper page.
She had read no more than a dozen lines when she began to weep, emitting great wracking sobs of relief. He still loves me, she thought with wonder. He's always loved me.
On page 871, the history of the Orpheus Curse was laid out for her perusal:
"The Orpheus Curse:
Named after the Greek mythical hero who descended into the underworld to retrieve his wife, only to lose her again.
First used circa 1200 BC by a Greek wizard who was betrayed by one of his followers. Legend has it, he cursed the man so he could never return home without causing great pain to his family and loved ones. The man never returned, and no one knows what became of him.
The government banned it in 1789 because political leaders often abused its use by threatening their followers with the Orpheus Curse in the event of their betrayal.
It is said that a man or woman affected by the curse will cause his or her lover to burn from the inside out whenever he touches them. When a more powerful wizard casts the spell, the curse has been known to cause death whenever the affected party tries to speak or send word to his lover by direct or indirect means.
Most of those affected do not attempt to return home. In several cases wizards have tried to break the spell, but have never been successful. Only one cure is known, but the book was lost forever in the fire of Alexandria. A copy of the cure supposedly exists in the Logoi Ergon, but that book disappeared from the Louvre during the 1789 Reign of Terror."
Hermione clutched the book to her chest like it was a long lost treasure. She had solved the mystery at last. She remembered Draco's words much earlier. He had told her the truth. He had been cursed! Whatever he had done in Romania, Voldemort must have found him. He had been cursed for his defection to the Order, and he had spent all this time trying to find the counter curse.
She didn't know why he hadn't told her the truth instantly, but it suddenly didn't matter anymore. But what about the Blossom Gem? she thought. Draco was still a thief. Hermione bit her lip as she concocted the lie she would tell Harry. She would tell him that she hadn't found the Logoi…that Draco hadn't stolen anything.
But she discarded that plan. Hermione knew she could never lie to Harry. Rather, she would insist that they not turn him in, and Harry would listen. And then she would return to Draco, as fast as she could, and shower him with kisses. All doubt had fled her now that she understood. It didn't matter that he had tried to attack her, or that he looked ten years older than what he ought to be, or that he had concealed the truth for no apparent reason. Hermione was beyond reason. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to surrender completely to the depth of feeling she had cast aside after Draco's departure.
She rushed from the room and down the darkened stairwell with reckless zeal. All she wanted now was him.