Title: The Firebrand Chronicles Book Two: After Dark
Summary: No one knew what awaited them upon returning to Hogwarts that year. No one expected a monster to attack the students, and certainly no one expected anyone to assume that Harry Potter was the party responsible. Blaise Zabini certainly didn't. This is his story. Book Two
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter any of its characters or events. They belong to J.K. Rowling
Firebrand Chronicles
Book Two: After Dark
Chapter X1
The man I was unfamiliar with turned out to be from the ministry, pale skinned, and the one who had written the letter to me. John Calaban. The moment Professor Snape was gone Calaban rounded on Bert. "Now, elf, you will tell me what happened."
"Not a word!" I stepped in as Bert trembled and the look in his eyes was so grateful I was now sure I was right. My worst fear had been confirmed.
"Boy, do you realize you are interfering with a ministry investigation?" The icy glare of his blue eyes was now turned on me.
"Forgive me, but the elf is mine and until I know what he is being accused of I will not let him say another word to you." I squared my shoulders and refused to back down.
"Yours, not the family's?" he clarified.
"Mine, anything he does for anyone else in this house is by choice alone. Though I have asked him to look after things in my absence."
"Mr. Calaban, the elf belongs to the boy and it is his orders he takes. As the young man was at school the elf could not have been ordered . . ."
"Wait!" I had to force the surprise into my voice for I had seen this coming, "you think Bert killed . . ." Gayold nodded looking extremely sorry that the idea had even been mentioned. "Bert," I knelt in front of the elf, "answer truthfully," that was for the benefit of the men. I knew Bert would never directly lie to me or anyone else for that matter. "Have I ever given you authorization to kill any sentient living creature?" meaning spiders in the bathtub didn't count.
"No, Master," he whispered ears perking up slightly.
"Did you do anything with the intent to kill Millard?" I pressed.
"No, Master," his lower lip trembled.
"When was the last time you saw Millard?"
"He was stepping into the fireplace and shouting that he wanted to go to the ministry and that Bert was being in great trouble when he returned . . ."
"What exactly did he say?" Gayold asked softly, and in that moment I greatly appreciated the Man's presence.
"Answer him Bert, as accurately as you can," I ordered.
"The man said . . . Bert is trying to remember . . . Ministry, I always hated house elves, of magicmain entrance, Iwillget even elf,"
"Iwillget? I will get," Gayold mused, "but he said it so fast. The flew must have taken the words for Owl Gate which is the registered name for the Quinby residence."
"That's not a reason it would override the first word which was Ministry . . . the elf must have . . ."
"The matter is settled, Mr. Calaban," Gayold stated firmly. "This whole tragic ordeal was an accident. The elf did nothing. As my clients are facing a time of great grief and distress any further questions are to be directed through me. Madam," he turned towards Mother. "I am sorry for the inconvenience. Elf, you have my full apology. Young man . . . Come Mr. Calaban, we have paperwork." And they were gone.
That was not the end of those two. John Calaban still blamed Bert, and intended to find proof. He made no issue of hiding his motives. Fortunately Mother seemed to want to keep the elf as much as I did, and she found ways of distracting the man. Our lawyer accompanied him to the house on several occasions though always under the pretext of legal reasons. I believed him curious as well though I knew from experience that he had our best interests in mind, and more than one reason to stay close to the case. Gayold had a brother in the auror department who had worked Damian's death, I vaguely remembered a dark man with and earing, and as John had no authority to order him away and we actually felt more comfortable with him there to oversee things. John Calaban felt he needed to double check facts, to tell us personally our flue connection was back, and to check on the state of the household. He was always very polite and I didn't really mind if it weren't for one small fact.
That night after the others were asleep I called Bert to me and asked him straight out, "Did you have anything to do with this at all?"
The elf immediately started crying, though silently for I had already indicated to him that we should be quiet. "Yes, Master. That bad man threatened the family and Master once told me what to do, so I punished him." My own words from long ago echoed in my mind I could hear myself giving that order back when Millard had first entered our lives.
"How, Bert? How did you punish him?" I questioned ignoring his tears.
"Bert, Bert tampered with the flue so that it would not hear the words ministry of magic where that man wanted to go. Bert made it so he would be lost and miss the meeting that was important, that he wanted to go to. Bert is a bad elf, Master would do well to dismiss Bert, Bert knows he deserves it, Bert has failed Master . . ."
"Bert!" I snapped forcing him to look at me, "you did not specify the destination?" he nodded. "Then you are not responsible, you did exactly as you were told and are a very GOOD elf. The responsibility for this falls on me. I am going to give you an order." He looked at me. "You are never to repeat a word of this to anyone other than me. You are not to speak of it, give hints, or indicate what happened in any way shape or form. If anyone wants to know they are to come to me."
"Bert understands." He left me and I retired for the night, brain racing. This was my fault I had killed Millard with a single order through unanticipated consequences. That was what? Manslaughter? And conspiracy afterwards? He was dead was I happy? I had long wished the man was dead, but now that he was I felt strangely empty. I was not happy, not pleased, only numb, yet at the same time it seemed one weight had lifted from my shoulders only to be replaced with a new one. I was responsible and I knew what could and likely would happen to me if anyone ever determined the actions had been intentional, not to mention what could happen if the simple truth were known. No, this was not what I had wanted though I could see the good in it, my family was free of a burden and for that I could live with the guilt, though it was not a burden I could ever share.
There was one thing I could do. Take over the household accounts. Mother stopped trying to do anything of any importance and closeted herself in her room with the exception of when people came to call on her, in which case both were closed in the drawing room. With Janice's help I looked over the numbers, verified that the amounts were correct, and sent the report to Grandfather, who as steward until I turned seventeen, was responsible for such. Abigail obviously knew something was wrong in the house because she clung to me like glue asking constantly where "Papa" was. That little question was like a goad to my conscience and all I could answer was, "gone."
The funeral was held three days after I arrived. I chose to stay in the playroom with Abby while Millard's friends invaded the house. The only bright point being the arrival was Pansy, Bandit in her arms. Abby eventually understood that he wasn't coming back, but she also seemed to think that everybody else was going to leave as well. Every time someone important to her left the room she would cling to their leg until they either had to take her with them or leave her to cry for several minutes. All this with the holidays approaching.
Christmas was a somber event for us. We still handed around presents at the feast Bert prepared, but nobody felt much like celebrating and everything was quiet with the exception being a short bout of laughter when Bandit got in to the pile of left over paper and ribbons. It was the first time I'd seen Mother smile since I'd arrived back from school. Bert was well pleased with the new frying pans we'd gotten for him and I was in a decent mood despite recent events. At least until John Calaban arrived bearing gifts. Surprisingly he's remembered everyone, and I mean everyone.
We all gathered around the tree and John, who insisted on handing everything out himself. I was curious as to what types of gift he deemed appropriate for our family with a recent death and half the members feeling the need to avoid him. He did a surprisingly good job. Janice received a shawl, Mother a dressing gown, (which I though highly inappropriate) Charles a tool kit, and a winter jacket to take to Peter, Abby a teddy bear, myself a set of books which I was horrified to see included Gilderoy Lockhart's autobiography. The other two were better though no less outside my range of interest. "High flyers the history of the broomstick", and "My endless search" an autobiography of a Muggle who had wasted his life away looking for the Lock Ness monster. We already knew it was an overgrown kelpie.
I smiled politely and thanked him for Mother's sake, and then hid in the office where my Father's and Damian's portraits pretended to be asleep. They were only imprints anyway; they couldn't give me any advice the originals hadn't thought of while they were being painted. However, a surprise appeared before very long. This time an unpleasant one.
Bert popped in holding a stack of dishtowels. "Master," he began hesitantly, "the pale man gave these to Bert and Bert is unsure what to do with them."
I hesitated but thinking better of denying Bert a gift on Christmas said simply, "provided there is no hidden trick you may keep the towels."
"Thank you Master" Bert bowed and ran back to the kitchen no doubt to put the towels in their place. Less than a minute later he was back, an apron clutched in his small hand, and I found I had been extremely lucky in my phrasing of permission. Bert might have considered it cloths, and if he had, well a free elf is bound by no orders not to answer ministry questions.
"Master said Bert could keep the towels," he said handing over the offending article eager to be rid of it.
"Thank you Bert there must have been an accident I will send it back directly."
"May Bert speak freely sir?" his ears twitched in irritation.
"Go ahead."
"Mr. Calaban is a very bad man to try to trick Bert that way, if Master has not said towels, Bert may have believed he was given cloths. Master is very wise and Bert would be very sad to leave."
"Thank you Bert I don't like him either." I looked down at him hoping my next comment wouldn't be taken too far. "And I would be very sad if you left too." Bert's eyes teared up, but he very sensibly blinked, bowed, and headed back to the kitchen.
Unfortunately, after our accepting him at Christmas, John was became a frequent visitor in the house, over nearly every day, and I knew that if I didn't say anything to Mother now I never would. So just after the New Year, I made my way up to her room where I knew she would be and knocked, entering when she called. "Mother, we need to talk about Mr. Calaban,"
"What about him?" she asked putting down her hairbrush on her dressing table.
"I don't like him." I was blunt. I saw no good in sugarcoating the matter.
She laughed, "Is that all?" Her manner implied that I should leave well enough alone, but I couldn't.
"He ignores Abby, treats Janice like a servant, disrespects Charles, Peter's hidden from him when he's ventured around the stables. Mother Peter's a Muggle and even he knows something's up. He tried to free Bert . . ."
"An accident," she pointed out.
"No, I don't think it was," I argued, "and he seems to think he can roll over anything I say."
"Blaise, I know you're trying to take care of me, but you're barely thirteen. I assure you John is not nearly so bad as you would like to think." She took my hand and drew me closer. "Blaise, with the exception of Damian . . ."
"And dad," I added knowing what she was going to say.
"You have disliked every man I've chosen to marry and none of them has ever harmed you."
"Damian was the only man you married who was truly good, I don't know about dad but I'd like to believe that of him as well, and Millard murdered Damian. Do you call that harmless!" My temper was flaring and I intentionally chose the one subject I knew was forbidden. Mother's face went still.
"Damian fell that is all," she stated her voice hard.
"I was there, I watched it happen!"
"THAT"S ENOUGH!"
"And now you're going to marry a man who may be as bad!" it was all I could do to keep myself from shouting back.
"I assure you, son, I am not planning to marry anyone just yet," she spat.
"But you will, no matter what they are like you will because you don't know how to be alone. You think you need them."
"Blaise Alexander Zabini!" She rose to her feet furry obvious in her face.
"But you don't," I continued almost pleading, "I have news for you, you're not alone. You've got me and Abby to make you happy and we will if you let us." And I stormed from the room.