Chapter 2 - The Malfoy Ghost


Her gaze lifted from the book for only a second before returning. She never really looked at him — more like through him — at least not since he'd gotten her to the safety of the library.

"Stay out of trouble, mudblood," he had snarled back then to keep his facade in case one of the Death Eaters came across them.

She'd looked at him, right in the eyes with fury, which was terrifying in spectral form.

He'd continued speaking, in a whisper after that. "You must stop this game of hide-and-seek with my aunt." Granger had done nothing but follow Bella around, at least as far as she could go. "If you stop being amusing, she'll exorcise you. To a ghost, it's supposed to be more painful than a crucio as there is nothing to prevent magic from penetrating your very soul. Follow me. I'll show you the library and how to make use of the books."

At the time, she'd been a relatively new ghost with no ability like a poltergeist. Thus, he'd invented several spells. One that allowed a podium to follow her while in the library. Another so she could dictate a book by name and author and the podium could summon it while it was on the shelves. She could also wave a hand and have it flip pages for her.

Time had given her strength, she no longer had the need for the podium. At two years, she'd asked him to stop it from tailing her — he'd removed the spells.

"Any luck?" Draco asked, like he always did as he moved further into the room and closer to her.

"No," she replied, not looking up from her book.

He took a deep breath and forced his face to be as neutral as possible, preparing himself for the next part of their 'conversation' if one could call it that. He calmed himself by reading the cover of her current book through her transparent hands. Portkeys, How and Why They Work by Melinda Flint. This morning it had been Egyptian Crypt Guards, The Cursed Ghosts of the Pyramids. She never stopped researching for a way to leave the manor.

"Is there anything you need?" Draco asked. She was, in some strange sense, a guest — although a prisoner would be a better word. The golden duo tried to move her after the war. The two aurors had worked tirelessly for three months, with no luck. She could not enter parts of the manor in the east or north wing, nor leave the manor in the south and west. The aurors visited her, twice a month now-and-days, sometimes they'd attempt something new — involving Draco only to modify the wards.

"No," she replied, this time her eyes left the book and stayed on him, looking through him like he was the one transparent.

The empty look sent chills up his spine, but he held his gaze anyways.

The look gave his first theory of why she was still here merit, although he had several.

His first theory was she didn't really want to leave. He'd never met a Gryffindor quite like her. His mother reported Umbridge still screamed about Granger and centaurs from her cell in Azkaban. He wouldn't put it past Granger attempting to haunt him until the day he died. Torturing him with long stares and silence that screamed 'You did this to me!' was better than saying such words allowed. It conflicted with the research she did, but if she was internally wanting vindication, it might be enough to keep her lingering.

The second theory, wherever they were attempting to move her, did not have as much magic as the manor. From what he'd gathered, it was the Black home and the Burrow. The Burrow had multiple magical entities, but it lacked ground power. The Black manor had been vacant for many years, it lacked magical wizardry entities. The Malfoy manor had never been emptied for more than five months at a time. He could feel the manor in his bones, his blood tied to the location he'd been born in — that many generations of his family had been born in and died in. Unlike every other pureblood home Draco had ever visited which had a graveyard. The bones of Malfoy ancestors rested in the carved stone of the catacombs in the bowels of the manor. Judging by what he now knew the carved stone and wood was likely a form of intellectual animation. He suspected Hogwarts was too, although there was nothing in his family's writings that suggested they had anything to do with the castle. Hogwarts, now if they attempted to move her there, they might succeed.

He would have given his second theory to anyone who asked it, thus the only one who'd even heard it was Greg. No one else asked his opinion, regardless that he was the best in class, top scores in every single NEWT he took. The words 'Death Eater' clung in the air around him. He never even got an interview for the hundreds of mastery and job applications he turned in, regardless of his grades.

He blinked, by now, she normally would have averted her gaze back to the book. It spooked him that this time she continued her stare. Only his intense training in etiquette kept his back straight and allowed the words to flow from his mouth. "Should you have any need, for anything, please- "

"Let your house elves know?" she answered casually for him. Her left brow raised.

His lips twisted into a bitter smile remembering that it took two full days to console Porridge after having interacted with the ghost. He could hear in his mind Porridge's pitiful cries of 'She wants me to be a free-elf. Porridge will never leave young master, please don't send Porridge away. Porridge promises to be good.'

He never asked Porridge to dust the library again.

Etiquette didn't quite apply to rude house guests. "Let me know," He corrected her. "Do not call upon my house-elves. I think you've tortured them enough."

The ghost's hair sprung alive like devil's snare thrashing a helpless rabbit into a wall. All books on her side of the library flew from the shelves in all directions. The book she was holding fell through her transparent hands.

"Torture, you think I've tortured them?" her voice hissed out. The ghost didn't even seem to see what had happened; her eyes still fixated on staring through him.

A Malfoy didn't back down, even though Draco wanted to draw his wand. In hindsight, it had been a bad choice of words, but a Malfoy didn't admit mistakes. "They've been through enough already, serving the Dark Lord. Don't take out your anger on them."

The words seemed to squelch the anger from a cauldron boiling over to a simmer. Her hair tamed, slightly; she looked away. Finally, her eyes roamed the shelves, realizing the damage she'd caused.

Draco drew his wand then, and without speaking floated the books back in order. He floated the book she'd been reading back up to her. "If you ask for me out loud, the elves have been instructed to let me know. I also take dinner in the east parlor, the green room, you may also find me there." He doubted she'd take the offer. She hadn't left the library in five years - at least according to Jiffy.

She took the book, not acknowledging him. She found her place and began reading.

He gave one last look at the ghost before leaving. He'd long since given up the pretense of taking a book just to check up on her. He left the room and softly closed the door behind him. His gaze followed the flickering candles of the hallway, but he didn't follow them. No doubt, should he, they'd lead to his room. He turned his back to the light and walked along the shadowed hallway. He'd only have to flick his wrist to light the candles, but he resisted. He resisted the desire to run, just as he resisted fleeing the war when the mark had been raised against his skin. But he'd carved that mark off with a chisel, it was nothing but several scars now. Some from attempting to scratch it off with his nails, and one from the magic it had taken to remove.

Like the mark though, the monsters were gone. He would not be terrified of his own home. He'd be damned to cower now.

He stepped into the ballroom, the natural moonlight lighting his passage through it. When he'd been a child, he'd played amongst the room, jumping from white marble to black marble. That marble had soaked the sacrifices of muggle, muggle-born, half-blood and pure. Regardless of purification, it would always retain the essence of those who'd been killed. His first year back home, he ripped out the flooring, smashed apart the staircase and chandelier, stripped the walls to bare bones — anything to get rid of the taint that followed him.

He'd polled his family's documents on the craft, and for an entire year refurbished the room. The wood flooring glistened in the moonlight. The pale birch diamonds illuminated against the cedar. On the underside of some panels, he'd carved runes of cushioning for dancing and parties. On others, he'd carved some for defense. If any innocent ever became overpowered by oppression again, the figures would aid the innocent.

The staircase and chandelier took the longest. He'd carved miniature dragons, making his first intellectual animations, and littered them amongst the railings and hangings in a mixture of cedar and birch. They had the ability to detach themselves and come to the aid of innocents too. However, they had a more practical purpose, lighting candles for one.

None of them had, however, lit candles tonight. They moved in the moonlight, making bird-like croons to one another and playing games. They took on new colors after animation, thus bright reds, yellows, greens, purples, and silvers flickered against the soft wood tones of the room. When they noticed him, several took flight to awkwardly land on his shoulder and outstretched arm. They were child-like, they tended to flutter about and cause trouble. Jiffy wasn't a fan.

One accidently aimed incorrectly and fell right off Draco's shoulder as it was attempting to land on him, smacking him with a wing on the way down. Several others flew to the creature to both scold and play a new game until only one remained upon Draco. A little birch dragon, which turned a dark green when animated, crooned at him before pressing its head to Draco's face.

"Hello Solstice." Draco scratched its neck; it made no move to leave and instead Draco could feel the tiny claws grabbing at his robes to cling on so that it wouldn't fall off when he moved.

Some were more intelligent than others.

Draco walked across the room to another door. He opened it to reveal an even darker hallway than the one he'd been in.

The dragon gave a chirp before launching from his shoulder. It scrambled upon the iron that held the candle to the wall, before opening its mouth to alight the candle. Draco slowed his walking pace, such that the dragon had time to fly to each one.

"Here Solstice," Draco said as he came to a stop outside of his current restoration project, Bella's bedroom. His woodworking bench sat to one side of the hallway outside the door, the silver chisels shining in the candlelight.

The dragon's silver eyes glittered in the flame as it lit one more candle before it flew back the way it came.

Draco got to work. He carved runes of peace and protection into the hawthorn wood panel before ducking into the room to quickly insert the flooring. Inside the room, there was nothing; he'd burned the bed and other furniture, the aurors had long ago taken anything dark away. Doing this for five years now, he'd long lost the fear of ruining the manor. Unlike the ballroom, where the marble had been created by a Malfoy craftsman, the outer rooms were extensions and rarely showed signs of playing a larger role with the wards. He'd been confident in stripping the room bare.

Out of the room he went after the panel was laid. While the hawthorn made him feel more at ease, he still felt unnerved and sickened spending any amount of time in the room — which was why his workstation was set up in the hallway.

He continued creating panels until soft padding alerted him to another creature. While the little dragons had intelligence and were interesting to watch learn, this one he'd gifted with speech — ready to try the next level of the craft after four years of study.

The hawthorn tiger brushed against his leg and Draco paused in his work to scratch the beast. It had taken a very long time to get the fur right. To simulate wood such that it felt soft had been excruciatingly difficult. Wood was not a soft medium. However, he'd been able to adapt the technique of one of his great-grandmother's notes on simulating human hair.

The tiger leaned more upon him, applying ample weight until Draco was forced to put down the chisel he had in his other hand and devote his full attention to the creature.

"I thought I told you not to come back here without me," the tiger said, its deep voice echoing in the empty hallway. The flames of the candles flickered

Draco gave a gentle laugh at the concern and wrapped his arms around the being, before giving it a shake. "I don't need you to take care of me, Antares."

The amber eyes stared into his. Its ears tilted back in offense. "You need me to take care of you."

Draco petted the top of its head at the child-like behavior. "Will you keep me company as I finish up these last several boards?"

The tiger sniffed at the heap of wood shavings and then laid in it. When Draco finished, they both rose and walked along the outskirt hallways until they reached Draco's room. It wasn't his childhood room, no, as soon as he'd come back after the battle he'd moved to a different place. He migrated. First to his parents' bedroom. Then to the guest quarters near the kitchens. Then to a study near the ballroom. Finally, he'd settled here.

The room had been a sitting room at one point. It opened to one of the two best guarded Malfoy secrets - indoor atriums. Draco had renovated the sitting room, merging the atrium and room into one. Grass grew between wood planks until finally becoming a lawn with a centerpiece of an ancient willow tree.

Draco walked into the sitting room area and stole a book from the many shelves. He sat upon the chaise in front of the fireplace, took off his shoes and kicked up his feet. Antares jumped up and laid upon his legs, hanging half off with his tail sweeping the floor.

A clashing noise drew Draco's gaze to the desk in the room. His gaze locked onto the human sized dragon, Vega. From documents, after initial experience with animations it was recommended to make a guard. Thus, after making the smaller dragons, Draco created Vega. The guard animation, the most powerful any crafter could make, studied the chess board. Its brown eyes watched the chess pieces clobber the opposing color with intensity. Its eyes flicked to Draco; aware he'd entered. Guards always knew where the crafter who made them was.

It picked up a pawn with a sharp black talon and set it down. The tail swung about in delight, almost knocking over a stack of papers, as the golem knight drew its blades and cleaved an opposing bishop in half. The larger dragon roared in triumph. Checkmate.

Draco smiled.

A crafter could make only one guard animation in their entire life. The type of magic and binding could only happen once. Vega was his, the closest thing he'd ever have to a familiar. It could not 'sleep' like Antares or the little dragons, it would stay in constant animation until the day Draco died — when it would forever lie still as well.

Antares, on the other hand, would outlive Draco. Several of his great-great-great grandfather's creations were in the dungeons… and had been very displeased with having been woken by a curious young adult.

"Again," Antares groaned at Vega. "Don't you get bored?" the tiger asked and then made a face. "Those things can't even think for themselves."

No intellectual animation liked golems. Well. Strangely enough. Vega didn't seem to mind… at least not when they battled one another.

Vega, however, did not acknowledge Antares, instead it put the chess pieces back into the box and then tucked the box under its armpit. It moved with more grace than the tiger, having more years of experience in a body, and glided upon its feet until it came in front of Draco.

Vega could not speak. When Draco had created him, he'd not been that far along in his study - the best he'd managed had been vocalization of sounds like birds. He could now. When he'd asked Vega if he'd like a voice, when Antares had teased the other animation for lack of, Vega had turned him down and then blew smoke right into Antares's face.

"Did you learn a new move?" Draco asked, "Think you can beat me with it?"

The answer was yes, to both, but Vega had no need to vocalize its answers. Unlike with Antares and the other dragons, Draco's magic had never disconnected with Vega. Vega seemed to prefer to communicate through that stream between them, magic, especially when they were close.

The game began. By the end, Draco smiled, the dragon was truly becoming competition — but it hadn't quite bested him yet. "You had me on my toes the entire game."

The dragon gave a happy snort and boxed up its game to take back to the table. Once it got there, it began replaying several of the moves in the match to find a better opening.

Draco took to reading then, with his spare hand idling scratching at the cat that began creeping towards his chest for better rubs. Eventually, his eyes grew heavy, and the room grew so dark that he put the book down upon the floor. He watched the fireplace's embers burn low. When he'd been a child, he'd never seen such. If a human was present, it was expected the fireplace would be lit and burning brightly by unseen house-elves.

Now Jiffy used it as a tool to force him to bed.

With a yawn, Draco pushed at the heavy cat until he was able to get up. He bid Vega goodnight, and then he and Antares went into the atrium. He sat upon the blankets and leaned back against the pillows beneath the weeping willow. After the war, he had many troubles sleeping, especially in bed. At first, he'd moved to armchairs and couches, but being in contact with earth and the tree stopped the nightmares. So that is where he rested, curled beside the roots with Antares at his feet. The dreams beneath the willow he barely remembered, but they left him with a sense of peace and imagery that Antares and he wandered the Malfoy Forest. The cat slept first, going from orange of a tiger to golden hawthorn, the color of life to wood. Draco gave one last yawn before closing his eyes.