A Conversation at 27 Ivy Crescent

"I usually get my stuff from people who promised somebody else that they would keep it a secret." (Walter Winchell)

"Look Mommy!" cried a small, insistent voice and Eleanor turned from talking to Libby to look at her daughter who smiled up at her from the living room floor where she had arranged a rather large pile of colorful wooden building blocks into a tall, teetering tower. The witch smiled and crouched down.

"That is very pretty, my little owl," she said admiringly.

"It's Morgana's tower," explained Lavinia proudly. "From Daddy's story."

Eleanor compressed her lips. Of course it had been too much to expect that her little girl would already snap out of her homesickness or her demands for her father, and predictably the next question hit the mark.

"Mommy, when are we going home? I want Daddy to tell me about Morgana!"

Before the witch could think of a reply, however, the distinct crack of an apparition out in the hallway distracted her. Instinct made her reach for her wand, while at the same time her heart leapt in a wild, crazy lurch.

'Lucius!' flashed through her mind in a brief instant of breathless expectation, but the black-clad shape that appeared seconds later in the frame of the living-room door had her hiss in anger as she sprang up ready to fight. At her feet little Lavinia shrunk back in alarm.

"She hurt me!" she cried.

"Maleficia!" the witch snapped, not bothering to keep the fury out of her voice. "I told you if you ever came near her again…"

As a response the woman merely held up her empty hands. She looked older than Eleanor remembered her, less dignified and formidable and somewhat defeated and diminished.

"Curse me if you will," she said tiredly. "I have not come to defy you. I have come to help if you'll let me, if you'll listen to me."

She stood there quietly, a strange patience in her posture, as if she was truly ready to accept what her former mistress decided to do. Eleanor felt her initial anger drain from her as she regarded her visitor. She had been around pureblood ideology long enough by now to know its pressures and the sway it held over the minds of its adherents.

With hindsight the nanny had accurately predicted Lucius' eventual reaction that had come as such a shock to her. She was not ready to forgive Maleficia, she didn't know if she ever could, but she might be able to listen to her. After all, things could hardly get any worse. She considered and finally lowered her wand.

"Give me a minute," she said gruffly, crouching down again and picking up her daughter. Libby followed her as she carried the girl from the living-room and left her in the garden in the care of the elf.

When she returned she found Maleficia sitting upright and straight-backed in one of the reading chairs, regarding her gravely.

"You didn't obliviate her to make her forget the pain, did you?" The nanny shook her head. "What kind of a mother are you?"

Eleanor paused deliberately as she cautiously sat down facing her visitor. She tried to keep her anger from getting the better of her.

"Ashamed of what you did?" she eventually challenged Maleficia. "Upset that you can't hide it any more and that Lavinia now recognizes you as her sadistic tormentor? Well, too bad! I hope she never forgets! I hope she will be smart enough in her life to always recognize you and your ilk for what you are."

The older witch compressed her lips, but decided to pursue another topic.

"You know I had no other choice," she said quietly. "You know yourself now how the master feels about Lavinia. What did he suggest? That you kill her? Or did he want to make her a changeling? Most times the Malfoys just used to kill their squibs. Safer that way, no danger of word getting out, of a squib coming back years later making embarrassing claims."

Eleanor swallowed and nodded. "Changeling," she said softly, not trusting her voice. "How did you know? What is your history with my husband?"

She realized how little she really knew about the nanny.

Maleficia seemed to relax a little.

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about. The master has a secret, a terrible secret that the family has tried to keep quiet for years, but a few of us know. I want you to know, too, because I think it's rightful that the master acknowledges his part in all this. You think I want to harm your daughter, but I want to help her. Don't you know that a healer sometimes has to hurt someone in order to save them?"

Eleanor glared at the witch.

"Spare me your rationalizations! If you want any of my time and attention, I suggest you try to stop reminding me of what you did to my daughter."

She ran her hand across her face.

"So what's so awful in Lucius' past? I already know he was a Death Eater, I've spent years trying to ignore the fact that he tortured and killed numerous muggles and muggle-borns. I can hardly see it getting any worse than that."

Maleficia shook her head in disapproval.

"But mistress," she objected. "The master did the right thing, just like his father before him. He tried to protect us all, who we are, our way of life. It was a crying shame he was arrested and punished for his beliefs, and that the Dark Lord abandoned him after that. Look where we are today! Overrun by mudblood scum!"

"Right," said Eleanor rubbing her temples. She should have known. Of course Maleficia would be a sympathizer of Lord Voldemort. Otherwise one hardly remained in the employ of the Malfoys for so many years.

"Never mind," she conceded tiredly. "What did you want to tell me?"

The nanny cleared her throat.

"I was ten years old when my mother was employed by Master Octavian to take care of the young master. His mother had died during his birth, and Mr. Malfoy needed a witch to look after the baby. We moved into the manor, and I was brought up with the Malfoy girls. Master Octavian graciously consented that I was included in their lessons and as I grew older I helped my mother look after the young master."

The older witch smiled at the reminiscences.

"It was a great honor to live with the family. They made us feel more like relatives than like servants. And I will always be loyal and grateful to them for what they did for my mother and me. Of course I gladly came back when Draco was born, and then Lavinia. I would do anything for the family."

She paused for a moment.

"I never met Mistress Lavinia, Lucius' mother, but a portrait of her hung in Master Octavian's study. She was beautiful as a Veela: piercing blue eyes, long blond hair, just like the young master's and a voice that would stop you dead in your tracks with amazement when she spoke. In the first few months at the house we thought the old master would go mad with grief at her passing. He would lock himself in his study with her picture for days, and the elves had to beg and plead with him to lift the ward spells and accept their food. Sometimes we heard him cry out in the night with such anguish – it was terrifying, more like the howl of a beast than the voice of man.

I think it was her portrait that eventually kept him alive, that persuaded him to remain for the sake of his son. But the other servants said he was a changed man when he finally emerged from his rooms: cold and cruel and dead inside. He never forgave the young master for taking the life of his wife. He was very harsh and strict with young Lucius. We sometimes took the boy to his father's rooms so the portrait of his mother could see him and speak with him.

And then one day, when Lucius was about four years old the master came home in the company of a cloaked and hooded wizard and he was horrible to behold. We all cowered out of his sight, and I believe he would have killed anyone who had dared to stand in his way. The visitor talked with him for an hour, then he left. For two days the master locked himself in his study. Then he had the elves light a large fire at the back of the house, and he himself carried down the portrait of his dead wife and he burned it without ever saying a word. I still remember how she shrieked when the flames consumed her."

Maleficia paused and Eleanor found herself sitting on the edge of her seat. She had heard anecdotes from her husband that had indicated that his childhood had not exactly been a happy one and that his father had treated him cruelly. She also knew that his mother had performed a secret spell to give the family a male heir, a spell that had claimed her own life, but Eleanor had not known that Octavian had blamed Lucius for the death of his mother. A lot of Octavian's heartless behavior towards his son made sense in a rather twisted sort of way now. But if he had loved his wife so madly, why had he burned her image a mere four years after her death?

The nanny regarded her gravely.

"I believe the master would have killed me if he'd known that I heard him talk to the cloaked and hooded wizard. I followed them, because I was fourteen, and I was stupid, and I thought I had a right to know. I've regretted my rashness ever since. In the years after I've learned that sometimes ignorance is a gift.

The visitor was Lord Voldemort, and he was in the process of performing spells on all his followers to guarantee the purity of their bloodlines before he marked them as his, and through his powerful incantations he had found out a secret Mistress Lavinia had carefully kept from her husband all her life. We all knew she was of the noble house of Woodcroft, the old Scottish line of the founders of Hogsmeade that had ancient links to the Veela even, but Lavinia had not been an only child as everyone had always assumed. Her mother had given birth to two girls: Lavinia had inherited her mother's witching abilities, but the other girl – a nameless one who got killed when she was a little over two years old – had been a squib.

When I heard the two men talk I understood that if Mistress Lavinia had told the Master the truth he would not have married her. He would not have taken the risk that a Malfoy might inherit the flaw and be born a squib. He felt betrayed by her. She had lied to him, and his fury was horrible. That's why he burned her picture."

Eleanor shook her head in disbelief.

"That's demented! She was already pureblood. She died to give him an heir! What more could you want? Squibs happen randomly. It shouldn't have made a difference. I can't believe…"

The older witch cut her off with a malicious smile playing round her thin lips.

"Yes, what they want you to believe. The morons at the Ministry! Randomly!" she gave a short, derisive laugh. "Rubbish. Anyone with a head on their shoulders knows that it's in the blood. See, that is why it's jumped a generation. Lucius and his sisters all have magical abilities, but his offspring… I still recall watching young Draco like a hawk. I remember that morning he had a screaming fit, because one of the house elves had tidied away a toy and he made a vase fly half across the room and hit the creature over the head. I was so happy! We had escaped disaster!"

Eleanor considered arguing the point for a moment but then realized it would not get her anywhere.

"Does Lucius know? Did his father tell him eventually?"

Maleficia nodded.

"Yes, he told him when he came of age, because I remember Master Lucius talking to my mother about it. He would confide in her sometimes – things that really upset him. After all she was the closest thing to a mother he'd ever had. I don't think his father had been very gentle about telling him. He was always expressing his disappointment in him, and this was just one more thing where he felt his son had let him down."

"That's rather unfair, don't you think?" said Eleanor.

The nanny shrugged her shoulders.

"The old master and the young master never were on very good terms," she explained. "Still, I believe that's why the master wouldn't believe the truth about little Lavinia's condition. He would have to admit that his father's words were true. He was a failure; he had let the family down. He's let you down, too. Lavinia's lack of magical abilities is not your fault. She has it from the Malfoy side, because of Master Octavian's choice in a wife."

The younger witch felt her ears ring. She couldn't even begin to object to all the things that were wrong with this statement. Eventually she decided against a fruitless argument and concentrated on something else.

"Why are you telling me that? I thought your loyalty lay with the Malfoys. And while you are not exactly a designated secret-keeper for them, shouldn't you protect sensitive information like that?"

Maleficia licked her lips. She looked uncomfortable for a moment.

"Forgive me, I know this is not my place. And I know that it is not the right thing to do, the proper thing to do, but I wish this would not break the family apart. I was not lying when I told you I love Lavinia. I - …" she swallowed nervously, "I think the master should acknowledge her. He is responsible for the way she is.

I – I've always believed in what they told us, that it is better for squibs to die, or to become muggles than to try and survive among magical folk, but I remember when I was waiting for Draco to show himself a wizard, it was the worst three months of my life. Then I watched Lavinia. I wished so badly she would be all right. I think she should have a father. She has done nothing wrong. She is a good girl. She is innocent."

Eleanor barely kept herself from staring at her former employee with her mouth hanging open. She had expected a lot of sentiments from the old, proud woman who sat across from her. Pity for a mere squib was not one of them. But Maleficia had said it. The younger witch took a deep breath.

"Wishing it doesn't make it so," she stated coldly, refusing to give in to her own deepest desires, to rekindle her own hopes. "I think after what you've told me it's even more unlikely that Lucius will accept his child. He's always been preaching about the Malfoys being and deserving the best. If he takes her back, he will have to admit to the exact opposite. He will have to concede that he is flawed, that is family is flawed – in his eyes at least. I honestly don't think that he can do that. It's not in his nature."

The nanny leaned back: "Someone has to reason with him. Someone he might listen to."

Eleanor snorted in mirthless amusement.

"Yeah, and who might that be?" she challenged her visitor. "If any wizard keeps his own council, especially in matters like this it's Lucius. Anyone foolish enough to try and sway him will most likely find themselves on the receiving end of his wand. Will you try and speak to him, after he almost put you under the cruciatus already?"

Maleficia shook her head.

"Draco," she said.

The younger witch lifted a brow. That was a name she had not expected.

"Draco?" she asked in amazement. "Does he know about his dead squib great-aunt?"

"Draco has always been very curious, a very bright boy," said the nanny proudly. "He found out when he snooped around his father's papers."

"Hecate!" breathed Eleanor. "He wasn't about twelve years old at the time, was he?"

Maleficia tilted her head for a moment.

"That sounds about right," she said. "Why?"

The younger witch waved the question away. "Never mind," she said. "Why would Draco argue for Lavinia, for a mere squib, to his father."

The nanny gave Eleanor an appraising and somewhat unfriendly look.

"You don't know your stepson very well," she challenged her. "Do you think just because he is not your flesh and blood he does not care very much about his little sister?"

It was amazing how easily the old woman could put her on the defensive. Her upbringing with the Malfoy clan had given her a distinct advantage.

"Of course not," Eleanor explained. "But he would not risk falling out with his father, whom he fears and respects, over a squib. He would be an ineffective and half-hearted advocate at best."

Maleficia pursed her lips and suddenly looked quite pleased with herself.

"Not when his lover has a very similar situation in her family. If he ever thinks of marrying Miss Pucey, he will have to convince the master of precisely the same thing. Old Mrs. Pucey's brother is a squib."

"That is positively Machiavellian," breathed the red-haired witch. "You do think like a Malfoy."

The nanny gave her a smirk and a small bow.

"Thank you," she said quite seriously and stood up. "I'll owl him, then, shall I?"