In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious foreign exchange student from Ilvermorny comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. Nobody knows why she came from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts, especially after the Triwizard Tournament's events and Cedric Diggory's death. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
A/N - There's not a lemon in this chapter, but there's definitely some gross and explicit stuff. Either sorry or you're welcome.
Draco 20
Ella threw a spectacular party. Plumfield was an ideal setting for a celebration - it was far more festive than any home had any right to be. Draco found himself happy to be there and with her. It was the first evening of June, the day before Ginny Weasley's wedding to Harry Potter. He, too, was meant to get married tomorrow. He didn't know where Astoria was or if she was happy. He only knew that instead of being at home, his mother was in Azkaban, and he was there, in the garden of his lover's ancestral home, surrounded by scented gardenias and champagne and canapes, and all of her friends and friends of friends and extended family. It was nearing midnight and he was trying not to feel like an outcast. He sipped his champagne as he watched everyone drink and laugh and talk; the party was nearing its end, and some of the guests were thinning and going upstairs to sleep. How Ella convinced Molly Weasley to have the night before the wedding at her house and not at the Burrow was beyond Draco. One could only presume it was because the actual wedding was to be at the Burrow and preparations must be made beforehand, so it was easier to have guests out of the way. Either way, all seemed merry and all seemed well.
Loony Lovegood, who had seemingly lost one of her shoes, appeared before him, her eyes wide; she smiled. "Hello, Draco. Are you enjoying yourself?"
He was truthfully a hair surprised she'd spoken to him so casually, as if the war hadn't happened, and as if he hadn't been on the losing side. "Yes, thank you. And you?"
"Oh, yes, thank you. Those trees over there are chock-full of bowtruckles. Ella has such good taste. It's good to see you two getting along again."
Draco blinked in shock. "Oh. Erm, well. Thank you. Thank you, that's very kind of you."
"Oh dear, you didn't know that you were getting along, did you? I can see were shocked to learn it."
Am I? "I suppose you could say that I am," he admitted, wearing the most-charming smile he could muster.
"Ella's asked the other night for me to be Maid of Honor at your wedding." Alright. That is a shock. "That means she loves you, very much. I know she won't admit it, but she does truly love you. I've known for awhile, of course, but I don't know if she knows." Draco blinked in surprise. "I'm not really supposed to tell you, but I thought I would so that you wouldn't be so surprised when it happened. If I were you, I wouldn't want any more surprises for awhile."
Draco gulped. "I..." He hadn't expected to be the recipient of so much kindness that night. "Thank you. That's kind of you." A beat. "I can see why Ella considers you to be such a dear friend."
Loony smiled. "I like her very much. I painted her portrait once when she slept over at my house. She let me paint flowers in her hair, too, and a bird's nest."
He inwardly snickered, recalling the papier-mache lion's head she'd once worn to a quidditch match. "I do recall you having a flair for the arts."
"Will you let me paint you sometime?" Draco hadn't ever previously minded sitting still for portraits; it was an easy enough to retreat into your mind. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to be alone with his thoughts just then. "Not tonight, of course. Sometime during the day when the sun is up, light is better. Maybe on a Thursday. Have you noticed that light seems to be better on Thursdays?"
"I...can't say that I have–"
A tap came on his shoulder. He turned around to see none other than Hermione Granger, cleaning up surprisingly well in a blush-colored cocktail dress. She wasn't smiling at him, but looking rather distressed. He half-wondered if he was about to get a well-deserved earful for all the Hell he'd caused her during their schooldays. Draco cleared this throat and prepared to apologize to her, something he'd promised Ella that he would do.
"Sorry, Luna," said Granger, frowning. "May I...?"
"Yes, of course! There's a jelly mold over there to eat." Loony skipped off.
Granger gave a tense smile when their eyes met again. "Erm, Malfo– I mean. Draco?"
His own name sounded so unfamiliar coming from her lips. The social contract, however, had now been initiated of what he must do next.
"Good evening, Hermione," he said as pleasantly as he could muster. "I've barely spoken to you all night. Are you enjoying yourself?"
"Ah–! Just fine, thank you. But, er–" She wrung her hands together. "I don't know how to say it."
Draco closed his eyes and nodded, accepting his fate. "Say what you must," he said, placing his palm on her shoulder. "I know I deserve every single word of it." He'd found a strange kind of grace and serenity since the trial, since finding out what happened between everyone and everything. It was almost like some pustule within his heart had been lanced and he was free to start anew.
"What?" she balked. "Oh! O-oh, no, it's not that. I mean." She looked around again. "The thing is, well..." She looked over his shoulder. "It's...Ella." She pointed over his shoulder. Draco frowned and turned around to see Ella at the other side of the courtyard, cheeks flushed bright red and gesturing wildly, causing her brandy to splash and slosh all over the stone floor. She was talking, quite enthusiastically, to Harry Potter, who's face was white as a freshly-peeled apple. Draco wondered what was being said, but then the way she then licked her two forefingers and fiddled with the top of the rim of her glass and then winked at Potter made it incredibly clear. How anybody could wink loudly was beyond him, but by Salazar, she did it!
"Merlin's beard!" gasped Draco as he shoved the champagne flute into Hermione's hands and made a line of Ella. Her drunken conversation became audible as he got closer.
"And djyou must remember – clitoral stimulation is essential all before, during, and esssspecially after penetration!" Had the scene not been so horrifying it'd be hysterically funny. Ella noticed him and threw both of her arms up in the air, splashing some of her drink about behind her. "Papi! Mi corazon–"
"My darling, why don't I finish that for you – it'd be a sin to spill brandy this fine." Before she could protest, he quickly scooped the brandy glass from her palm and began to down it, very quickly noticing that it was not brandy, but firewhiskey.
"Papi, that's not brandy–"
"–Yes, I'm aware," choked Draco has he continued to down the drink, a hot stinging fire going down his throat and into his belly, so hot he might belch fire. Ella did pout for a moment, but quickly put her hand on the small of Draco's back and turned back to Potter.
"You know what, though? You could really learn a thing or two from this guy," she said, patting on Draco's shoulder. She leaned in and whispered–no, slurred to Potter: "He eats pussy like it's his last meal."
Draco whipped his head away and spit the whiskey everywhere, choking in shock as he began to laugh louder than he thought he was capable of laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hermione take a tray of canapes from one of the silver trays that a House Elf was carrying and threw them all over her shoulder, right all over Angelina Johnson, who was standing next to George Weasley, who was also laughing hysterically. She scurried quickly to Ella's side and piped: "Ella! I'm afraid we're out of those delicious spinach puffs!"
"Oh!" Ella quickly took the tray and excused herself to go back to the kitchen. Draco could barely stand up straight for he was laughing so hard. He gestured to one of the house elves with the glasses of firewhiskey and they came over. He stood up and took two glasses and handed one to Potter.
"Cheers to that, my dear chap." He clinked his glass to the one in Potter's hand before sipping. Hermione didn't seem amused.
"How much has she had to drink?!" she whispered, horrified.
"From the amount of slurring and vulgarity, I'd say she's on Firewhiskey number five," chortled Draco, recalling the wild night in Paris they'd spent together. "You must admit it's getting late. It's near midnight."
"I suppose," sighed Hermione. "I'll go make sure she's fine in the kitchen." Before Draco could protest, she dashed off. He and Potter were standing in the corner by the trellis of hydrangeas. Potter didn't look amused, but rather horrified. Draco swallowed another sip of firewhiskey and cleared his throat. Potter looked up. The air between them became tense. Draco didn't want to be the first one to break eye contact, so he decided he'd be the first one to speak.
"I apologize on Ella's behalf. She's an American and they do turn into beasts after dark." Potter blinked.
"Right."
Draco cleared his throat. "I don't know if I've congratulated you on your wedding yet." A beat. "Congratulations."
"Thanks," said Potter, tense.
There was far too much left unsaid between them, but he supposed it'd be worse to leave him in this state. He'd promised Ella that he'd be on his best behavior and the perfect host, especially towards the Gryffindors. "So, I hear you're honeymooning in Greece?"
"Yes," said Potter, shortly.
Draco blinked and put his hand in his pocket, and sipped his whiskey with the other hand. "I don't know why you and I haven't ever spoken casually - you're a brilliant conversationalist."
Potter shifted. "Right." He cleared his throat. "Sorry."
"No, no - I understand." A beat. "I'm sorry, too."
A moment of silence was shared between them.
"Have..." Draco's eyebrows raised attentively. "Have you ever been to Greece before?" Potter then asked him.
Draco smiled. "Yes, twice. Once to Athens and then once to Mykonos. I preferred Mykonos, myself. I loved the food and the sailing. We have a summer home there." Draco quickly scolded himself - there wasn't a 'we' anymore, there was only him. He had a summer home in Mykonos; he didn't have a family anymore. He cleared his throat. "You know...if you're going near Mykonos, why don't you use it? No, really. It's just sitting there on that island, waiting for who-knows-what."
"Oh –! Er, that's not–"
"–No, please. I insist. Please use it. It's beautiful. I'll arrange it tomorrow for you. Call it my gift to you."
He could see that Potter's temper flared. "You think a gift is going to–?!" Potter then stopped, and in the reflection of the lens of his glasses, for the briefest of moments, Draco saw Ginny's reflection giving him an extremely nasty look. "Er." Potter gulped. "Yes. Thank you. That would be very nice." Draco almost laughed; everyone there must be all trying to keep the party's mood light by keeping the two of them from being bad towards each other. "So. What's there to do in Mykonos?"
"Oh, plenty! Lots of sights to see. There's a row of 16th century windmills that sit above a small town that overlook the coast, if you're into that sort of thing." He then remembered it was likely not Potter's sort of thing, remembering how he once saw him falling asleep in history class. "You may use the ship that's there as well. It's quite small, but it's the kind that steers itself. You can sail all around the island. And the color of the water is like nothing you've ever seen." Draco cleared his throat. They both drank.
"So, erm." Potter shifted. "You and Ella are...?" He gestured vaguely to nothing in particular, but Draco understood what he was trying to say.
"I..." Draco looked down, took a breath, and then looked up and just to the left. "I must confess that I don't know." Draco turned his eyes back to meet Potter's. "But we are headed to New York after your wedding. Perhaps we'll stay the remainder of the summer." Well, not immediately after your wedding, thought Draco. We have to wait until the 8th, after the full moon passes. He'd be turning 21 on the first night of the full moon, that next Tuesday. "Not all pleasure, though – apparently she's got a connection with the research hospital in New York."
"Right. I hear she's getting close to curing Lycanthropy?" The way Potter said it confirmed in Draco's mind that he didn't know, he was just making polite conversation.
"She hopes," he answered. They didn't talk about...that. "I have faith in her that she'll do it. She's a brilliant witch." Draco felt a sharp pain in his lung, and then caught the light of the waxing gibbous moon in the reflection of his glass. "Please excuse me." He finished his drink and set it on a passing House Elf's tray, and walked inside. It was quiet inside, once he got out of the corridor and into one of the side rooms, all plush with velvet and cushions of fur and embroidered silks. He sat on the ottoman and breathed deeply. He wondered if Ella would mind terribly if he went upstairs to lie down for a moment. At that thought, his spine suddenly cracked and shifted.
"Dammit," cursed Draco underneath his breath. He took in a deep breath, wondering what in the world was aggravating his. He wasn't meant to transform for another four days. He didn't want to ask Ella if she had anything to ease his symptoms. He then sat up straight at the sound of voices across the hall, loosening his tie and then tightening it again. His eyes scanned the room to see if he'd brought a glass of anything, but he hadn't. He stood and immediately felt dizzy; Draco gulped hard. "Why am I...?" He shook his head and decided to go upstairs.
When Draco came to the doorway he stopped for he heard voices across the corridor, just on the other side of the wood. He peeked through the crack of the door to see Granger and Weasel.
"Honestly, she handles herself in every aspect of her life except for this! She's got to be the sloppiest drunk I've ever seen!" She put her hand on Weaselbee's chest. "Promise me you'll help me keep an eye on her tomorrow and don't let her drink more than four Firewhiskies."
He put her hand over his and smiled, then looked down and silently nodded. He was making an expression that looked like he was trying to keep a tree frog safe in his mouth.
"What's got into you? Oh, Ron! You've got dirt on your nose, just there. Here, let me get it for you–" She reached up to brush his pallid freckled face.
"–No! I mean–" He caught her hand in his before she could brush it aside. "I put it there on purpose. You know, for luck."
Granger scoffed. "I've never heard of anyone putting dirt on their nose for luck."
"Don't you remember, 'mione? The day we met on the train. I had dirt on my nose, right here, and you told me about it." A beat. "Do you remember?"
She shook her brown head and gave another laugh in - what Draco assumed - was disbelief. He could feel her smiling through the air in the corridor. "I suppose... But I still don't understand why you'd need luck tonight."
He took both her hands in his and smiled. He looked down at his feet, gulped, and then looked up at her again. "I was going to wait until the party had died down and we were alone, but... Well, since you've noticed..." He dropped to one knee. Both of her pale hands came up over her mouth in a gasp. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a burgundy-colored ring box and opened. Draco couldn't the details, but he could see that it was definitely an engagement ring.
"Ronald Weasley!" she gasped, near tears. "How dare you not tell me you were going to do this!"
A laugh came through his teeth. He gulped and smiled. "What do you say? Marry me?"
Her bony shoulders began to shake, and her head bowed, her face buried in both of her hands. The red-headed auror stayed kneeling, his red brows tilted up in concern. Draco could hear his thoughts, but before he switched his attention to Granger's, she began to nod her head and cried out: "Yes!"
"Yes?!" Weasley jumped up with glee. "Did you say yes?"
"Yes!" Laughing and crying filled the corridor, and Draco pulled away from the door. He went to the chaise and laid down, his arm draping over his eyes. He decided that he should be happy for them. He always teased them about getting married finding a dream home in the shrieking shack, saying nasty things and asking if his family slept in one room. So what if he was poor? He always seemed happy. Draco wasn't ever happy, not really.
"Don't think about this now," he whispered to himself, as quietly as he could. He shook his head, then tensed as his ribs popped again; his breathing became ragged. Draco told himself that it was likely safe to come out soon, or at least go upstairs. He remembered which room was Ella's, so he'd just lie down there. He didn't want to go back to Malfoy Manor. Like an echo, Draco then heard his own name from not the lips of his lover's, but of another. He held his ribs as he sat up and the voice got louder. The footsteps came to the door of the room he was in and knocked as it pushed open. A flash of deep red; it was Ginny. Her eyebrows furrowed in frown but her thin lips curled in a smile.
"Wotcher, Malfoy? You alright?"
He straightened himself up and cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you, I was just taking a moment."
She gestured at where he was holding his ribs. "Oi, you still find time to run quidditch drills?"
"Yes!" he lied quickly with a laugh. "Nothing quite like a jaunt on a broomstick to clear one's mind." A beat. "Brilliant game the other day, by the way." Ginny smirked and came in, shutting the door behind her. "You've won me 50 galleons."
"You're still gambling," she japed with a grin.
Draco grinned. "One of Ella's pet expressions is 'it's not gambling if it's a sure thing.'"
Ginny gave a hearty laugh. "You ever play Idle Mercy against her?"
"Only once! I lost my shirt," laughed Draco. "I now know better than to play cards against that witch. I much prefer Snapping Dice. Or quidditch."
"You know, I'm pretty surprised you never went out for a professional team." A beat. "I'm even more surprised that Ella didn't drag you to try-outs."
His brow furrowed in a frown but his lips curled into a smile as he shook his head and looked down at his feet. "It's not for me anymore, I don't think."
"I don't know," said Ginny cooly. "You were a slit git at school, but you were always pretty good. You kept me on my toes for sure."
He laughed a little. "Thank you."
Ginny smirked, her smart eyes looking him up and down. "C'mon, then, you." She nodded pointedly outside. "It's midnight. You're wanted out here."
What in the world for? he thought to himself as he stood. He thought about offering his arm as a courtesy but simply walked beside her. "You know," he then said, recalling her bat-bogey hex. "You kept me on my toes, as well." Ginny laughed and punched him in the arm; naturally he held down his yelp of pain, as he clearly didn't realize how strong she was.
"You're alright when you're not being a slit git," said Ginny. "I'm glad you and Ella worked it all out. I always thought she was good for you."
He snapped his head to look her in the eyes. "You did?"
"Sure. But she's the first girl-cousin I've got that I actually like, so don't go 'round mucking it up again."
"I certainly don't plan on it, I promise you that."
In a most-sisterly fashion, Ginny put her arm around his shoulders as they came out into the garden. Draco had never wanted a sister or a brother; he had been quite content to be the doted-upon only son. It was this evening, though, that made him wonder how things might have turned out had he had a sibling to play with. "Alright, you lot!" she announced to everyone. "It's now midnight! Party's over, wedding is tomorrow afternoon - but we've got one more thing to celebrate while we're all still pissed!" Quite a few laughs occurred. Draco guessed that it was the engagement of Ron and Hermione and decided that he ought to make a special effort, put on a smile, and wish them both well. It was such a happy evening and he'd have the chance to retire soon. "C'mon out!"
Suddenly, from behind, Ella came skittering around on their side with a glorious pineapple upside-down cake and a slew of tiny candles stuck artfully all in three neat rows. It was baked in a sheet and dripping with caramel around the edges and glossy with sweet syrup. His eyes went wide in shock as she began to sing at the top of her lungs, and was quickly joined by the rest of the party.
"Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday, dear Draco!
Happy birthday to you!"
Applause came all around and cheering and whistling. His face felt a little hot with embarrassment.
"Darling," he whispered to his lover across the cake. "It's not my birthday until Tuesday."
"Oh, go on, Malfoy!" cried Ginny. "We're all gone after tomorrow and we won't be there to celebrate it!"
"Vamos, papi! Make a wish!" begged Ella, who was bouncing excitedly.
"C'mon! Blow up the candles! I want some of that cake!" cried Angelia Johnson from the rim of the party.
"'Blow up'?" came Potter's voice, chiming in.
"It's how wizards do birthday candles, Harry!" explained Ginny. "We just did the 'blow out the candles' because you knew how to do it." She nudged Draco with her elbow. "Make a wish."
"Ah, very well. I wish..." He shook his head. He couldn't remember the last time this happened - that someone threw him a birthday party unprompted. His ribs stuck together with his breath, and miraculously he was able to keep a straight enough face that nobody seemed to notice. "I wish..." He looked up and saw the thing he realized that he'd always wanted, to be surrounded by friends. His eyes met Potter's. "I wish you and Ginny a happy life."
He heard a few 'aww's and 'how sweet's here and there as he turned to look at Ella. She smiled. "That's a good wish," she whispered. Draco smiled and took in a deep breath and blew on the candles, low and long, and harder and harder, and smoke began to form at each of the wicks as he blew across the surface of the cake. One by one by two by two by three, the flames came to life and began to glow. Clapping and cheering came as the 21st candle finally lit, Draco was certain he was near-purple in the face from blowing them all up. Ella threw the cake up in the air and clapped with glee. Draco's hands reached out in a panic and caught the cake as all screamed in shock. The flames flickered happily and applause erupted at his quick hands.
"Good catch!" cried Angelina.
"Blimey!" Ron nearly shouted.
"See! You should be a Seeker!" insisted Ginny with a laugh. "C'mon, let's cut the cake!"
Draco awoke with the sun in Plumfield's master suite, truthfully surprised he'd been able to drift off knowing he was in the bed that once held Helene Christophe and her late husband Archibald. Ella was still dead-asleep, still in her party dress. One of her legs was wrapped around his, and although he specifically remembered taking her shoes off for her, one of her feet still had a shoe on. He rose and ran his fingers through his silvery hair, feeling an internal grumble of hunger. He was feeling cantankerously hungry, and thought of ringing the bell for one of the servants, but he didn't want to wake Ella so he very quickly dressed and decided to head down to the kitchens for a spot of breakfast. The wedding was going to be at noon so the plan was for Draco to send Phoebus to Malfoy Manor and pick up his formal suit and hat from his bedroom. He had asked for him to go yesterday afternoon so he should be back with the sun. Phoebus was an exceptionally clever owl who could even navigate Ella's wardrobe when she asked for a specific necklace or a certain pair of shoes, so he had no qualms in asking him to find his fine suit.
The light didn't hurt him at all. The house was quiet and still, so nobody had yet awakened. He could smell, however, the delicious buffet of breakfast that he house elves were preparing for the guests. His stomach growled at the thought of toast with scrambled eggs, flecked green with chives. He'd barely made it down the stairs when a knock came at the door. Draco frowned in question of who could possibly be up here at this hour. A house elf appeared at the door and opened it, revealing a red-eyed Hermione Granger, who gasped at the sight of him.
"Oh! Draco, I..." She cleared her throat. He approached and saw that her eyes were wet, and her nose was pink. "I'm sorry, I was hoping Ella was awake."
"Not yet, but..." He looked behind him, up the stairs. It'd be at least another hour or so at her awakening if he had to guess. He recalled his promise again: he would be kind and gracious to Ella's friends and would treat them as she would. He put on a charming smile and motioned to the parlor. "Won't you come in? Perhaps it's something that I can help with."
She frowned up at him through her eyebrows, then tentatively stepped inside. She glanced around, as if a nervous cat, and then walked fully inside. She gulped. "Thank you." Her voice was quite suspicious. He gently peeked into her mind–not enough to penetrate but just enough to get a sense of her motive–and found that she was incredibly apprehensive of his intentions and motivations. Draco understood. She went and sat on the jacquard sofa, looking rather small. He stood in the door and pulled gently on the silk rope to summon a servant.
"Some tea for our guest and myself," he said when one came, and a floating silver tea trolley came in, complete with milk and sugar. He took it from the air and set it down in front of her, and sat adjacent to her in a chair. "Do you take milk in your tea?"
"E-Er... No, thank you. Lemon and honey, please."
"Same as Ella," he commented as he drizzled some honey into one of the painted Prussian teacups, rimmed with gold. "I apologize. I'm afraid she won't be up for some time." He poured the tea, nice and high, and handed the cup and saucer to her.
"Thank you..." She nervously sipped while he poured himself a cup.
"Hermione," he began. "I know I cannot undo the past." Draco looked up to meet her dark eyes. "I can swear to you, though, that I am a changed man."
She quickly set the cup down on the saucer and reached across to squeeze his hand. "I know that, Draco."
"I..." He gulped. "I don't expect you to forgive me." Draco set his teacup down and put his hand over hers. "But please let me help you. At least until Ella wakes up. I'm told I'm good at listening."
A sob broke through her lips, and her white hand came over her mouth. Draco quickly took her cup from her other hand and set it down, and conjured a handkerchief from his pocket. Was this about last night? Had she and Weasleby broke it off? The ring was still on her left hand, so he guessed not. She took the handkerchief and blew her nose.
"Ron asked me to marry him last night," she croaked. Draco was suddenly unsure if he should congratulate her or not. "And I want so much to be happy. I love him. It's just..." Her face twisted up in agony and she cried into the handkerchief. Draco put his hand on her shoulder. "Watching Ginny and Harry together...her parents with her." Draco frowned. Hermione looked up. "Did you hear what I did to my parents when the war was going on?" He shook his head silently. "I obliviated them. I erased myself from their lives, their memories... There's not even a photograph of me in their home anymore. It's like I never existed." She let out a sharp sob again. "I told myself I could undo it once the war ended. I told myself it was the right thing to do, should I die in the war, they'd never have to mourn me. But..." She shook her head. "They went off to Australia for awhile. And now they've come back home. They still run their dentistry practice." Their what practice? "But I never figured out how to reverse the spell. I've looked everywhere for the last few years. I went everywhere I could think of, even the library in the Ministry. I..." She shook her head. "There's nothing. I was..." She gulped. "I was hoping that Ella might know of a way."
"There's no way to reverse the spell 'Obliviate,'" he said quietly. Her face twisted, her cheeks went red. Hermione looked down at her hands and nodded.
"I supposed I was just hoping for the impossible."
A candle lit in the back of his mind, as quickly as a hiccup. "I..." A smile grew on his lips. "'Impossible.'" Hermione frowned and looked up at him in confusion. Draco smiled fully with his white teeth. "Said the witch." He snapped his fingers and stood. "Please excuse me. I have an idea. Enjoy the tea." And he apparated to Wiltshire, back to Malfoy Manor. He didn't need a key; the house knew it was him so the gates and doors opened before he could even reach the doorknobs.
Light streamed within. It was eerily quiet inside. The doors opened at his presence and closed at his passing by. He walked through the tomb of his home, all the furniture covered in sheets. It was all a truly ghoulish sight inside, but Draco went straight upstairs and to the East wing of the manor, where the library was. It was the largest private collection on the continent, and if there were books inside which only the Malfoys owned. The vaults below were full of ancient treasures dating back before the dawn of English civilization. There were tomes and scrolls from China and India, some written in Sanskrit. Even Draco didn't know how far it went, and he'd spent as much time as he could in that room - if you could call it a room - before his father dragged him out to get on a broomstick.
The library doors swung open. The smell was of incredible black walnut shelves, so tall you couldn't see the tops. You couldn't see the back of the library, either, and so long as Draco had been alive he had never reached a single wall, not even a window. He was truthfully unsure if this place had an end, for he hadn't ever seen it. Within the library there were gargoyles with jeweled eyes, eternally watching and reading, protecting the library and guiding you to where you needed to go. It was them that read all the books and shelved them where they needed to be. They had been carved in the 11th century, when Malfoy Manor was first built, and had been there ever since. Black marble formed a beautiful great circular mosaic in the center of the entryway, and Draco stood in the middle of it. He took in a deep breath, swore to himself that this would be his redemption, and let that same breath out through his pursed lips. I will find the answer here.
He spoke to the books, loud and clear: "Break a spell; obliviate."
As if they were on train tracks, the shelves all flew past him from the front, then swished to the side, then swished to the front, and turned around, and went on running around him so quickly it blew through his silvery hair like a winter wind. The shelves then sank into the tile ground until the top shelf was at eye level with Draco, and a single tome, so old and crumbling he was almost afraid to touch it, came forth into his hands. He frowned at it and tried to read the title of the book, but the leather was so deteriorated over the centuries he couldn't.
Draco's lips came close to the cover an blew gently to wake it up. He held the book level in his hand and it creaked open, as if it was rising from a long sleep. The cover was nearly falling off, and the binding was close to snapping, but near the back of the book was written in some Anglo-Saxon dialect. No wonder nobody knows about this! thought Draco. It's been lost in time. He pulled out his wand and cast Lumos for a little more light and discovered that - ridiculously - it appeared to be a receipt book owned by some rich lord's cook.
Patience, Draco, he scolded himself. You can find knowledge in the most unexpected places.
He backed up and sat on the top of the bookshelf. It had been a long time since he'd read Saxon, but he was halfway through a recipe for lamprey when a note scribbled in the margins mentioned the word for 'obliviate.' His hand trembled, the light from his wand shaking. His mouth felt dry as he read on, nearly going cross-eyed at the scribbles. Draco's eyes clenched shut in frustration. He stood within the circle's center and summoned:
"Saxon dictionary."
The shelves shot straight up and grew high above his head, then swished further to the right, and to the back. A newer book - one from the 1800s - flew off the shelf at him and into his hands, which was a book he recognized from his childhood studies, when he was learning the ancient languages of Europe. Germanic, Gothic, Saxon, Welsh...he had once been able to read all of them with ease, but it had been so long he wasn't sure if he recalled how.
"Exit," he announced loudly, and the shelves flew aside and around him as they went back to their proper place, and he was in the center of the tile mosaic once again. As quick as a wink, he apparated out of the house and back to Plumfield, inside the parlor, where Hermione was still sitting. To his shock and surprise, Ella was awake and not looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed...simply bushy.
"Papi!" she gasped. "Where were you?"
His mouth was agape in shock. Ella's eyes were baggy and her hair was a messy, almost sticky-looking bird's nest from the night's sleep she'd had. Even her lipstick was smeared halfway across her face. "I..." He cleared his throat and looked to Hermione, who was looking at him just as quizzically. "Hermione, I think I've found something." He held the books to her. "Take the top one." She obeyed and opened it.
"A Saxon dictionary?"
Draco sat on the coffee table and opened the ancient and crumbling tome, gently, to the page he was reading in the library at home.
"Where did you get this?" asked Ella.
"Look here. This is an old recipe book from some cook in the late 1500s. Look here next to this recipe for lamprey. Someone mentions 'obliviate.'"
"In a cookbook?" balked Ella as Hermione's face went white with shock.
"You..." Hermione gasped. "You can read this?"
"It's been a long time, but I can tell you that this is a recipe and this says 'obliviate.'" He closed the book gently. "This book was in my home. I think it can show you how to break the spell."
"This makes no sense. 'Obliviate' is a memory charm created by the witch Mnemone Radford. Why in the world would 'obliviate' be in a cookbook?" asked Hermione.
"Wait." Ella tilted her head to see the author of the book on the spine. "Who wrote this?"
Draco frowned. "Some cook."
"Yes, but who's cook?"
Hermione gasped. "Ella, what are you implying?"
"That Mnemone Radford didn't invent the memory charm but stole it from an employee that worked for her." Draco and Hermione looked at her as if she'd just sprouted a second head. "What! It's not unheard of," Ella insisted. "Draco, does it say who this book belonged to?"
"If what you're insinuating is true, I can tell you that most prominent witches and witches of Madame Radford's status had head cooks that oversaw house elves in those days. It was an ultimate sign of luxury to employ both wizards and house elves." Hermione flipped gently to the front of the book and saw a seal, likely a patent.
"Draco?" Hermione handed the book to him.
His eyes widened in shock. "It's..." He shook his head. "That's the coat of arms for Abraxas Radford, who was Mnemone Radford's father." His fingers pointed to the scribbles. "I can't read the name, it's too smudged, but that's no mistake - it must be the book of his head cook's."
The three of them fell silent in all they had just learned. One of the greatest minds of magical history had...stolen a spell from a cook? Draco took the book and opened it to the page that mentioned 'obliviate.' "It's..." He pinched the space between his eyes. "Sorry, Saxon always makes me go a little cross-eyed." He shook his head and tried again. "It's...something about the house elves... 'something to eat' and..." He blinked. "I think that this cook would teach House elves to make these recipes and then obliviate them when they were bought by another Wizard, to keep them from stealing their recipes!"
"That's barbaric!" gasped Hermione, appalled.
"Well..." Ella began. "Now that I think about it, there were a lot of things that my mother wrote in her notebooks from culinary school that were purposefully wrong, or written in a weird code, so I couldn't read them."
"Why?!" Hermione gasped, quite visibly upset.
"So I couldn't learn the secrets to her special recipes, I guess. Maybe it's the same with this cook?" suggested Ella, gesturing to the book. "I know it's from a crazy long time ago, but people are still people. They don't really change."
Hermione looked to Draco, and smiled–really smiled. Her eyes welled with happiness. "People do change," she whispered. Draco smiled and felt a strange warm glow in his chest. "May I borrow these books?"
"Well it is why I brought them," he joked. Hermione's fair white hands took the crumbling tome, so gently, as if it were a fluttering bird.
"Draco," began Ella. "You have a book in your library that shows you how to break an unbreakable spell?" She blinked in disbelief. "How much more is in that library?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "I've never seen the end of it." Draco looked back to Hermione. "But if this can help you, I want it to. Here. Please take it, and get your parents back." Hermione's brown eyes looked up, wet with tears. "It's a long shot. But I think this will have the way to break the spell inside. Use it as long as you need." He looked to Ella, his brow tilting up in question. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly agape. Her mind was open and the faint aroma of amortentia filled his memory, as her inner voice whispered 'you really have changed.' She must have felt him tickle the inside of her mind, for she quickly went flushed in the face and turned to Hermione. She took her whole head in her hands and kissed her forehead, as if a sister would.
"Good. No more crying, then. Only hope." She turned to Draco with a toothy grin. A keening caw came lofting above them, and the parlor windows opened to a Great Horned Owl came flying through with Draco's suit bag hanging from his talons, along with another bag that Draco could only assume had Ella's bridesmaid dress for the day in it. He flew low to drape it over the ottoman and flapped to the coffee table with a huff and a fluff. "Phoebus! You brought me my dress!" Before she could call for it, a silver tray of raw grouse appeared on the tea tray, which Phoebus snatched up and hoarked down. Ella looked to Hermione with a toothy smile. "Everyone that spent the night should be waking up soon. I'm going to shower now. Let's get to that wedding."
Cute. Lighthearted, but sweet and yet heartfelt? Thanks so much for your patience in this endeavor. I think we only have two chapters left, if that, before this gorgeous tale is complete. I need to continue/finish my GoT fics at least a little before I move on to the sequel to this. I do recognize that in the books Hermione only altered the memories of her parents but in the movies she uses "obliviate." As for a well-regarded person of power plagiarizing the work of their employees, I realize that it's a tired old trope but hey, it was the only way I could rationalize why the heck you would need a reverse for obliviate. What if you obliviated the wrong person, or brought a cook back? My older sister works as a Chef and she fires and hires people back sometimes, situation dependent. Yeah I don't get it either. And so what if Ella's a messy drunk? George R.R. Martin said "write complicated women"!
Also, Ginny Weasley is easily one of the most-amazing characters in all of literature! I love her resilience and I truly admire her quick wit and turnaround. And I saw a headcanon tumblr post on how Ron proposed to Hermione in this way so I frankly couldn't resist. I'm sure a quick google could tell me who originally wrote that cute little headcanon, but shout-out to those people that did until I find it!
What mysteries must we unfold? What loose ends do we need to tie up before this story is complete? Stay tuned!