A/N: Sooo, we're going on vacation for a month or so, and we won't have any internet access. But here's a suggestion; if, in the mean time, you give us lots and lots of shiny reviews, then we might just have a double update for you when we get back! Sound good? Please, people, we're not asking a lot.
Disclaimer: We do, in fact, own the old Malfoy. Not his name, of course, but him. He's ours. Ours and ours alone! Muahaha! The rest belongs to the amazing J. K. Rowling.
8. - The Old Malfoy
In which Hermione has an unpleasant breakfast and the old Malfoy remembers his manners.
It looked the same.
Harry had wandered about for the past hour and a half, luckily without meeting any more muggles. During that time he had observed how unnervingly quiet it was everywhere. There was of course the sound of the waves, and the occasional chirping of birds, but no distant cars, or airplanes flying overhead. He could never have imagined what a huge difference that would make, even out in the countryside. The air felt fresh and cold. Everything was changed, except for Malfoy manor. Malfoy manor looked exactly the same.
Standing at the crest of a hill, he had a good view of it. Hermione in her coffin was safely hidden away in a copse nearby. Harry was planning to go hunting for some rodents, or anything else which might contain a fairly generous portion of blood. Otherwise shewould be crazy for it. He had seen her like that before.
His stomach also made it very plain to him that he had to find something for himself to eat. Of course he had brought a few provisions, but they had been ruined by the water.
After covering the coffin with his invisibility cloak, he cast a Keep Away charm around it, just to be on the safe side.
-
Hours later, he stumbled back towards where he had left Hermione, and collapsed next to the slight indentation in the grass which showed where the coffin was. It was starting to get dark. Harry could hardly wait until she woke up, so that he would have someone besides himself to talk to. In the mean time, he lit a fire inside a small jar. Then he roughly peeled one of the turnips he'd stolen, washed it with a jet of water from his wand, and proceeded to roast, or rather, burn it over the fire.
After another half hour, when the sky was pitch black, he could hear the lid of the coffin lifting a bit. Without bothering to turn around he removed the protection charm.
He could hear Hermione clambering out.
"Good evening. Rabbit?" He said, handing her one as she came to sit next to him by the fire.
"A rabbit? Oh, that's disgusting," she said, grimacing as she sank her teeth into it.
"Three rabbits," Harry corrected her. "And they were hard to catch you know."
"You cu'v summ thm," she said, through a mouth full of fur.
"Couldn't," said Harry. "There must be millions of rabbits here, I didn't want them all to come flying at me. I had to find them individually and stun them. Anyway, look." He pointed at the manor, just barely discernible through the trees.
"Is that it?" Hermione asked, discarding the carcass. "I was wondering if you'd find your way. The landscape's bound to have changed a bit of course. I forgot to warn you about that."
"Yeah, I noticed that for myself."
They finished up eating in companionable silence. Then Hermione yawned and got to her feet, stretching and wiping her mouth. She looked worn, Harry observed. Her face had an unhealthy pallor, her cheeks were hollow and there were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair was lank and her shoulders stooped. Ever since the night she had been bitten, she had seemed constantly exhausted and ill.
He got up as well, brushing himself off. It was time to pay a visit to the old Malfoy. Harry transformed the coffin back into a wallet and slipped it into his backpack. Hermione had already started walking, so he had to jog to catch up with her.
The silence which had been peaceful during the day was positively frightening at night, even more so considering where they were going. It seemed unnatural that there were no people around and no lights from distant houses; just the dark, looming presence of the Malfoy manor, which they were rapidly approaching.
"How are we going to get in?" Hermione asked, when they reached the gate.
"We could try blasting it open," suggested Harry.
"I don't think that will work. He's probably put up lots of defensive charms."
"Well, what do you suggest? Should we ask it nicely to let us in?"
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "Maybe we could send up some sparks. Then he might come out and talk to us."
"What, do you think he'll come out for a friendly little chat? He's a Malfoy."
"Well, it's no use trying to break in there and steal it, is there? We don't know where it is, or if it even exists."
She was referring to the fabled potion for curing vampirism. Hermione had come across a reference to it in her frenetic search for a cure, and as it was the only lead they had, they had decided to go for it. They had reasons for not disregarding old legends entirely, seeing as the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets had turned out to be perfectly real. Hermione had steadfastly refused to tell Ron about her ailment until they were absolutely sure that there was no hope for a cure. Harry still didn't know why.
They sent up their sparks, and sure enough, the door burst open and a house elf bounded towards them.
"Hello! Good evening," said Harry. "Could we see your master, please?"
"Master is not home," the house elf shouted. "You is going away now!"
Harry raised an eyebrow. Somehow he doubted that the house elf was telling the truth.
"Please," said Hermione, evidently thinking the same thing, "it's urgent. We have to speak to him for a minute."
"Master is gone away!" the house elf shrieked, hopping up and down. "You is going! Go!"
"Who might you be?" said a voice from the doorway. "What are you doing here? What is your business?"
A man had stepped out onto the threshold. He was bent and supported himself with a walking stick, but was still tall. Although they couldn't make out his features in the dark, they saw that had a thick mane of hair and wore a long cloak.
"Sir," Hermione called. "Sir, we really must speak with you. It is of great importance. Please!"
"You is not bothering my master! You is-"
"That will do, Crinkly," said the old Malfoy. "If you would be so kind as to allow them inside."
Crinkly immediately calmed down. She bowed, and opened the gate.
"This way please, lady… sir…"
Hermione looked both astonished and pleased. Harry thought it was not least because the old Malfoy had spoken kindly to his house elf. As they quickly walked through the garden, he noticed that the tree branches were swaying dangerously above them, although there was no wind. He felt glad to reach the door and be let inside.
The interior as well as the exterior was made of stone. Tapestries and carpets in rich green shades, varied here and there with touches of purple, covered the walls and floors. It was almost as if someone had tried to give the hallway a warmer feel. If so, he had not succeeded. The place chilled Harry to the bone. He felt as if he was being constantly watched, and judging by the way Hermione kept glancing around, her eyes shifting uneasily, she sensed it too. He couldn't explain it. After all, there were no portraits on the walls.
"Welcome to my humble home," said the old Malfoy. Now they could see he had a lined face, but he didn't seem as decrepit as he had at first. His nose was long and pointed, and his eyes looked dark and empty. He seemed tired.
"Thank you, sir," said Hermione. She did a clumsy courtesy, and nudged Harry in the ribs.
"Thank you," he echoed, bowing stiffly.
"May I enquire as to your names?" asked the Malfoy politely.
"Oh – my name is Hermione Jane Granger, and this is my friend, Harry Potter."
"Well then, Hermione Jane Granger, I am pleased to make your acquaintance," he said. He took her hand, and looked her in the eyes for a long moment before bowing over it.
"And yours as well, Mr Potter. Though I must confess I am curious," he said. "There are no wizarding families hereabouts bearing these names."
They glanced at each other nervously. If he shared the general Malfoy hatred for muggleborns, they couldn't count on any help from him.
"We are… not from around here," said Hermione. "We have travelled very far… from London, in fact, sir."
"London? I know many a wizard from those parts. I myself will be moving there in a few months' time. But I know of no Potters or Grangers in London." He did not make it a question, but it was obvious he expected an explanation.
"We… we don't actually live there… I mean…" Hermione stammered. Harry wanted to help her, but didn't know what he could say in order to remedy the situation.
The Malfoy smiled.
"Of course. Perhaps you are not from wizarding families," he said.
Harry and Hermione both caught their breaths, waiting for the explosion. They made ready to draw their wands, even though Harry felt it would be incredibly impolite to do so.
"Do not misunderstand me," the Malfoy continued. "I have quarrel with non-magic folk. As the lord knows, I have received more kindness in this past year from my muggle neighbours in Porthleven, than I have ever received from my pureblood relations during my long life."
Just how long had that life been? Harry wondered.
"But come. You must be weary. You say you have travelled far, and I can easily tell this is true. Come into my sitting room, and we will talk. Crinkly, would you mind terribly if I asked you to make a pot of tea for our guests?"
"Of course not, Master," the house elf shrilled, scuttling off in what Harry presumed to be the direction of the kitchen. Hermione beamed at the old Malfoy.
Was it possible? Had they actually found the white sheep of that infamous clan?
"Well then, my friends," said the old Malfoy, once they were all comfortably seated in the drawing room. "Kindly oblige an old man by telling me a bit about yourselves. I get so little conversation nowadays."
"Well, our business here is…" began Harry.
"Oh no, that can wait," said the Malfoy. "First, tell me about the place where you came from. How is London this time of year?"
"Er…" said Harry. "Fine. Brilliant. Er… lots of rain. And people selling… fish, and… things." He'd run out of steam.
"I see," said the old Malfoy. "But what is happening in the wizarding community? I have been out of touch with my friends in Diagon Alley for quite some time."
"Well, actually, he lives outside of London," said Hermione. "But I have been there for the past six weeks."
Harry watched her apprehensively. Now what was she going to come up with? Of course, she had actually paid attention in History of Magic class, so she stood a better chance than he did in this interrogation. On the other hand, she was a terrible actress.
"The goblins are in state of upheaval, you know. The talk goes that there might be an uprising soon."
The old Malfoy leaned forward in his chair, his interest piqued.
"I see. Well, that comes not as a complete surprise to me, for I have had dealings with the goblins for many a year and I have come to understand that they are not often treated with respect by wizards, and consider their rights sorely infringed upon. I must confess my sympathies lie not entirely with my fellow wizards."
"You do seem very liberal minded, sir, if I may say so."
Harry was impressed with the way Hermione managed to keep her speech as old fashioned as possible. It didn't sound entirely authentic, but it was much better than anything he could summon up at the moment. He didn't dare enter the conversation for fear of embarrassing himself again, but didn't like just sitting there without saying a single word. He felt it was extremely rude of him, and it was important to gain the old Malfoy's good will in order to get his co-operation.
"Indeed, my experiences with a certain oppressed minority have proven to me the foolishness of judging others simply because of their species. I do not like the condescending attitude many wizards adopt toward those who are not like them."
Of course, Harry thought; the Malfoy been a vampire himself, hadn't he? So it was only natural that he would have that standpoint. All the same, Harry couldn't help but feel rather uneasy. It was a nice change, certainly, to meet a Malfoy with somewhat modern sensibilities, who wasn't a complete bigot, but still it seemed as if he was testing them, scrutinizing them, watching their reactions to what he said. Perhaps he had already realized Hermione was a vampire. If he had, he must also have figured out why they were there, but why didn't he want to talk about it? Why had he changed the subject?
"This attitude which you speak of, is quite common among several old pureblood families I have met," Harry said carefully.
"Not least my own, I suspect," said the old Malfoy, smiling slightly. Harry had the oddest feeling that he knew exactly where this conversation was heading, and was struck by a sense of foreboding.
"Yes," he said, meeting the Malfoy's gaze. "In particular."
Hermione twitched and Harry was sure she would have sent him a murderous look if she'd dared. He didn't know what he was doing either, but it was too late to back down.
"Now," said the Malfoy, "while I'm no longer pray to my particular condition…" here he looked pointedly at Hermione, "they are still quite keen to avoid me at all costs. I only ever see them when they want something from me. That is not very kind of them, is it?"
They were quiet for a moment.
"No, sir," Hermione said finally.
"No indeed, no indeed..." He seemed lost in thought for a moment. Then he seemed to collect himself. "But enough of this idle talk. I see that you are eager to be honest, which is admirable. Regrettably, you also suspect me incapable of this, because of my unfortunate family connections. I suppose you have good reason to, but let me assure you, my young friends, that I never intended anything but to be perfectly honest with you from the start. From now on, let us speak nothing but the truth to each other. Let me begin by saying, that you are not the first time-travellers to come into this house."
During the stony silence that followed this statement, Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat and Harry waited with bated breath. Hermione was the first to speak.
"But… there have been no accounts, no records of any expeditions…"
"I have made sure of that, yes," said the Malfoy.
There was a clattering sound, and soon Crinkly scurried through the door, carrying a heavy tray laden with teacups and plates of crumpets.
"You are a bit late again, Crinkly," said the old Malfoy. "Now what will our noble guests think of our hospitality. You don't drink tea, I take it, miss?" this he addressed to Hermione, who slumped a bit.
"No, thank you sir," she said, sounding resigned. "I have already… eaten."
"Oh, will I be missing a neighbour in the morning?" he said, his eyes twinkling. "No, I can see by your expression that this kind of behaviour still disgusts you. You are indeed young, my dear."
He had been polite enough, hadn't he, Harry thought, and he seemed open-minded, unusually so considering how he treated Crinkly. Perhaps there was some hope that he would let them go.
Meanwhile, the old Malfoy had started pouring tea. With a hand that shook, ever so slightly, he gave Harry a cup and took one for himself.
"As to why you are here," he said, sipping his tea, "I expect you're after my much talked of potion. Just like everybody else who has arrived here these last few years. I have received a quantity of visitors, from my future and probably from yours as well. They all wished to cure some friend or relative who had been bitten, but never before has an actual vampire come knocking on my door, seeking this old legend."
"Is it only a legend then?" Hermione asked, a note of despair creeping into her voice. Then her eyes widened. "But that can't be right… you're drinking the tea…"
"You are an observant young lady, I see," said the Malfoy. "You are right. The 'cure' does indeed exist. And perhaps after this little talk you will have figured out what my sentiments are, regarding this cure. Calling it a cure, you see, will imply that the person who drinks it is afflicted by a disease."
"Then what would you say vampirism is?" Harry asked.
"Something which you cannot possibly understand. Nor you," he said to Hermione, "until you have experienced it for as long as I did. I could give you the cure, but I would not be doing you a favour. You would feel happy to see the sunlight at first, but then you would wake up one morning, only to realize your life was almost spent, and you would curse the day you let go of immortality."
Harry was immediately and unpleasantly reminded of Voldemort. Maybe their little expedition hadn't been such a good idea. He tried to think of an excuse for them to leave.
"But just like everyone else you come here, wanting only to rid yourself of the terrible curse," said the Malfoy. "Is that not so?"
"Well," said Harry, "yes, but if you're not interested helping us, we really shouldn't bother you anymore."
"No, Harry, we need to talk this through! If you don't mind," said Hermione to the Malfoy, "I'd like to ask you to think about it for a moment. This is very important to me. Honestly, I just can't live like this. I'm not made that way. I'm not going to ask you to brew any more of the potion, but if you have some left, or if you could give us the recipe, it would mean a lot. We're not asking anything from you really…"
"And you shall get nothing," said the Malfoy. "You speak of not being suited for this. Well, no one ever is, but we adapt. Or we die. Why should you be any different? What is so special about you?"
"Well," said Hermione, fumbling for words. "You took it!"
"I was a fool. But I have learnt. And I will not give you the easy way out."
"Well then," said Harry. He felt angry for Hermione's sake, but all the same, his trepidation regarding the place was growing with every second and he wanted out. "I guess we'll leave. Come on, Hermione."
"I am afraid not," said the old Malfoy.
Suddenly, Harry realized he could not move his arms. He tried to stand up, but felt as if invisible ropes had tied him to the chair.
"You see, I did not give you my permission to leave. This is my house, and you are here on my terms. I have listened patiently as you have told me your petty little business. Now you shall listen just as patiently to me."
All at once his entire countenance seemed to change. He was smiling, but the cheerful expression was unpleasantly at odds with his next words.
"I do not like wizards. Or witches, for that matter. And I do not like them coming to my home, expecting me to give them whatever they might ask for, while giving nothing in return. Thinking I will gratefully accept what little crumbs they choose to throw, simply because I was once a vampire."
"But we haven't…" Hermione began.
"Haven't you, my dear? Think carefully. Indeed you shall have time to think long and hard about it. I have a little hobby, you see. Hobby is a wonderful word, isn't it? I picked it up from a fellow from the twentieth century, whose aunt was rather badly afflicted by the disease."
Harry shivered.
"Yes, I am an avid collector," said the Malfoy, "of time-travellers."