Title: Names
Authoress: Lady Domino
Summary: Now that Harry's safe, Draco thinks he can forget everything that happened. He has no idea how wrong he is…
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters; they belong to J. K. Rowling. Sigh.
A/N – A mega thank you to all of you who reviewed. I do try and answer them all, so if I've overlooked you let me know!! Here it is, here it is! Chapter 6! Completed on my birthday! This was a hard chapter to write, so I hope you enjoy it.
Flames
The attics of Malfoy Manor. We've been there before. I shivered as I climbed the ladder and stepped onto the wooden boards. The windows I had flung Bilpy out of had been repaired, the gleam on the new glass almost blinding as the morning sunlight caught it. I could trace scuff marks through the dust – the outlines of expensive shoes where my father had trod, and bare footprints where Lord Voldemort had placed his feet. It's strange how eerie and unnerving those footprints were, a reminder of an evil that had trod nakedly here and left its mark. Subconsciously I stroked my left wrist. The Dark Mark blazed there, black and triumphant, branding me as cursed and clear for the entire world to see; in the hot weather I wore only a blue tee-shirt and jeans.
The charred stump was gone, thank god. Disintegrated? I wondered. Or had Lord Voldemort taken it with him as a souvenir of that day. I could easily imagine him on cold winter nights taking out his trophy and stroking the filthy object. The knife was gone too; another memento of the day 'Harry Potter' died? What remained was the furniture. Mountains of clutter. Malfoys are squirrels; we don't throw away anything that could one day be useful. Much can be repaired (vanishing cupboards for example); many of these objects could still have a further part to play in my family's history.
And so I spent that sunny morning locked away in a dust-filled attic shifting through the furniture and other detritus. It was backbreaking work, hefting three-legged chairs, mahogany tables and cracked mirrors around, but I dared not summon a House Elf. No one could know what I was doing. If my absence was questioned I planned to say that I had gone flying.
Where would the Dark Lord have hidden his cup? Somewhere it would be safe and protected, I thought, rooting through chests of mouldering curtains and wedding dresses from brides long dead. Somewhere it would not be noticed, I mused, sorting through a cabinet of old silverware. Somewhere clever where it would never be found, I considered, pushing my hand into the open beak of an ancient stuffed hippogriff. The dust rose around me, gumming up my eyes and tickling my nose. I paused to sneeze and caught sight of myself in a splintered mirror. My multi-faceted counterpart stared back, eyes red and irritated, face grimy, hands dirty, shirt stained, and (my breath caught) hair ruffled. This couldn't go on. And then it hit me. I am, very rarely, an absolute idiot. I pulled out my wand, as I should have done right at the beginning.
"Accio cup! Yaarrrgh!" I ducked to avoid the hail of goblets which flew at my head from all sorts of places. I sorted through them in vain. The one I wanted wasn't there. OK, do not give up at the first hurdle, Draco. I tried again. "Accio cup!" There! I heard it! A rattling in the Victorian writing desk I had leant Bilpy against. Gingerly I eased the drawers open. Nestling in a box of silk in the bottom drawer was a little golden cup with two handles. An embossed badger stared up at me. I'd found it! Yes! I'd found it!
Not knowing what it was, I didn't dare touch it, but instead closed the lid of the box back over it and attempted to transfigure it into a book. It refused to change. After four more tries I was stumped – the thing wilfully resisted all attempts to charm it. Sighing, I picked it up carefully, snuck down to my room and hid it in my underwear drawer. No one would go looking in there. Then I grabbed sheet of parchment, scribbled that I had the cup and sent it off with Myfwany, my Mother's owl, to Potter.
That done, I washed and changed, then took a book, planning to read it out in the garden. My father was sitting in the conservatory reading, but glanced up as I walked by.
"Draco?" I halted and turned to face him.
"Yes Father?" He marked his place in the book and set it aside.
"It occurs to me that I have not had a chance to speak to you since Potter's suicide." My heart quickened. Would the past never be past? "I wanted to ask you," he continued, "how you are feeling." I swallowed.
"Harry Potter was nothing to me. I'm glad he's dead, Father, truly. I only wish his filthy friends could have been there to see it."
"Yes." He absentmindedly pulled a lock of his hair over his left shoulder and braided it, and I knew he was thinking hard. My father always fiddles with his hair when he thinks. "Naturally you are exultant due to the death of an enemy, and yet you do not appear ecstatic to me. In fact I perceive that you barely care."
"Father?" I was nervous now. I could not see where this conversation was headed, but I doubted that it would be a pleasant final destination. My father sighed.
"Draco, the Dark Lord is less than enamoured with you. It might be an idea for you to revise your attitude."
"You wish me to appear more enthused than I truly am? The Dark Lord would see through false fervour in an instant, Father, and despise me for it." He nodded, and his fingers twisted the strands slightly faster.
"True, Draco. I do not wish for you to make a fool of yourself. I want you to show a deeper interest in the Dark Lord's work. I want you to persuade him, and yourself, that you believe in his cause, that you wish to see it through to completion."
"And if I don't believe in him, Father?" I was nearly whispering now. My father shrugged and flicked the braid over his shoulder. His fingers combed the hair on the right.
"That is neither here nor there, Draco. The Dark Lord does not ask for your heart, he asks for your actions. You would be wise to show willing the next time he comes here looking for something." I met his cold, silver gaze. "Because I can not protect you from him, no matter how much I want to."
Pity suddenly struck me, pity for a man who had sold himself without realising that his son would become part of the deal. I had never had a choice in where my loyalties lay, and my father understood this. Are you with the Mudbloods? No? Then you must be with Lord Voldemort. But true life was not as simple as generalisations. I despised Mudbloods, and muggle sympathisers and inter-marriage, but the answer was not Lord Voldemort. The problem could be solved simply by exterminating all muggles. Voldemort represented a crusade against Dumbledore, not a crusade against muggles. And with Dumbledore gone it became a crusade against anyone who had supported Dumbledore. When they had all died would it become a campaign against all who did not truly believe in him? And finally a war against his own, in a bid to find the fiercest, the most loyal. Were there any limits to his paranoia? Would he not rest until the only one left who could wield a wand was himself?
And this was the madness in which my father was ensnared. Worse, this was the madness he had trapped me in. Try as we might, neither of us could escape. For my father it was not too terrible – I am sure he still believed in his Lord, even if his temper rose as he bowed, and he was forced to swallow the bile whilst simpering obsequies. But my father could see the depths of my misery. Malfoys act as if arrows simply bounce off us; our armour is indifference. But what had happened to my mother, what was happening to me bit too deep to shrug off. Every encounter with the Dark Lord I was taunted and humiliated; I had been branded a coward and a fool. I am not either. But there is no room in the Dark Lord's ranks for the believer in laisser-faire, and so I was thrust to the bottom of the heap and trampled upon. My father knows this, and yet he watches powerless as his only son is derided, as he is forced to join in.
On an impulse I placed my book on the glass topped table, walked forward and hugged my father. The depth of his returning embrace told me that he understood much of my feelings. But not all, Father. You have no idea of the depths of my treachery. You can not comprehend how I defied the Dark Lord on a simple whim. And it is not over. It keeps returning, until one day the Grim Reaper himself will knock on the door and remind me of that day. He will throw back his hood and his eyes will blaze scarlet as his wand blazes green. I clung tighter to my father than I had for a long time, and for a few seconds the mask cracked, the indifference slipped and I was a terrified child caught up in a whirlpool that threatened to drown me at any minute.
But no longer, Father. I'll find a way out, for me, for my mother. And then you can obey your Lord and hunt us down with a clear conscience. Would you still think me weak and foolish in my defiance? Would you mock me for it? Or would you hate me? I'd like you to hate me. Hatred entails respect. I don't think I could stand your indifference, I don't think I could stand those narrow doors to your soul slamming shut. I'd still need you to feel for me. I'd still need you to care. Promise me that, Father. Promise you'll never forget me, never dismiss me like that. I am Malfoy. Promise me.
"Promise me," I murmured.
"Hmm?" His breath tickled my ear.
"Promise me…"
"Yes?"
"Promise me you will not forget me." He laughed gently as I clung to him in despair, a drowning man latched onto an uncertain spar. My mother loves me, but I do not have the certainty from her that I needed so desperately from him.
"Never," he swore. "Never ever." I pulled away from him and our gazes locked.
"You're certain?" He reached out with his finger and smoothed my fringe back from my brow. I jerked back in annoyance. "I hate it when you do that."
"I know you do." He sounded amused. "Sixteen years since I first did that, and I have not forgotten that first look of horror on your tiny face." I smiled. It was an odd way of answering me, but it was enough for now.
"Well, isn't this touching?" a voice purred from behind me. We sprang apart and I turned to face my Aunt. Affection surged through my heart as I surveyed her. Powerful and reliable, she had not forsaken me when others had. I knew that she risked Lord Voldemort's displeasure for it, knew that that hurt her deeply, but still she stood by us.
"Aunt Bellatrix, you look well." I hugged her, smelling her familiar perfume. A deeper scent than the delicate fragrance my mother used, and it suited her perfectly. I broke the embrace and turned to Uncle Rudolphus. To say he looked well would be an understatement. Once paid for modelling broomsticks, he retained vestiges of his handsome features, and the ravages of Azkaban were less prominent than when he had first escaped. He smiled, and it was still the glamorous smile that had rivalled Sirius Black's in his school days.
"Draco. I hear you've been having quite an exciting week." I forced a harsh laugh.
"Perhaps Lord Voldemort has told you that Potter attempted flying without his broomstick. Dramatic yet foolish gestures appear to run in his family; we can only thank God he didn't survive long enough to breed." My aunt's mouth pinched in an expression of disgust.
"Uurgh; imagine having three or four of the little beasts running around."
"We have been spared a terrible plague," my father agreed as he stood up. "Bellatrix."
"Lucius," she replied, a touch coolly. My father lifted her right hands to his lips, and she dipped her head for a minute. The two of them co-existed for the sake of my mother and me, but he had still not forgiven her for fleeing and leaving him to go to Azkaban. She on the other hand had been furious that she lost favour with the Dark Lord because an operation Father was in charge of had failed so catastrophically. The death of Black had been a wholly inadequate consolation prize.
Uncle Rudolphus tends to be ruled by Bellatrix, so he too was less than warm with my father. They exchanged names and handshakes, and my father suggested they look at something in his study. As they went out I could see the smile forming on Uncle Rudolphus' lips; in truth he got on exceptionally well with Father, and would no doubt appreciate some alone time with him. I turned back to my aunt, who crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. Recognising instantly what she was doing I slammed up the mental defences. Brick wall. No bricks are loose. You can't get in. She laughed.
"Pretty good, Draco. But in the time it took you to think I'd already seen dust, grime and furniture. What were you doing in the attics this morning?"
"Searching for an old medallion Mother had told me was hidden there," I replied smoothly. "I fear she may be exaggerating its properties, but I was in a mood to humour her." My aunt nodded, satisfied. Inside I breathed a sigh of relief. This was a danger I had not foreseen – Aunt Bellatrix was almost as good a leglimans as the Dark Lord (although she lost focus when highly emotional) and I was more likely to let my guard down around her. I resolved to concentrate on my brick wall extremely hard. On the outside I smiled lightly.
"My mother is in the garden. Shall we join her?"
"Yes, we should," she agreed. I snapped my fingers and a House Elf appeared with a bang.
"You, bring us drinks in the garden. I'll have iced lemonade, as will my mother. Aunt Bellatrix?"
"Caiparinia," she replied. "Not in the mood to join me in a cocktail, Draco?"
"I have a slight headache, Aunt. I don't wish to provoke it." And I can't afford to lose focus around you. She shrugged. I turned back to the Elf. "And we'll have lunch in the garden too, on the table by the magnolias." The Elf bowed and vanished.
Aunt Bellatrix laughed.
"What's amused you, Aunt?"
"It's just, seeing you order those Elves around, it reminds me. You are seventeen – a man now." I pricked up my ears.
"Will you teach me those spells you would not before? Now that I am older."
"Perhaps," she replied. "When you have demonstrated competence with all three Unforgivables, as I taught you."
"I haven't had a chance," I protested feebly, as we stepped onto the patio. She laughed again and tossed her head.
"Haven't had a chance? Why Draco, I'm afraid I must beg to differ. Surely you could have found some weak willed person in Hogwarts whom you could practice Imperious on?"
"I did though," I said, suddenly eager. "I started on House Elves and I could make them do as I wanted."
"Not hard," she interrupted.
"And I moved onto Hufflepuff First Years and I could control them. I dared not do anyone in my own year, because they'd all recognise the spell, and tell the professors afterwards."
"You could have wiped their memories."
"I was keeping a low profile, Aunt. I didn't want to draw attention to myself." We were crossing the lawn now, and I could see my mother, lying in a chair in a cream dress, reading. She didn't appear to have noticed our approach.
"How about the Cruciatus curse? Have you successfully used that?" The memory of a girls' bathroom rose in my mind.
"I tried to, once."
"Tried?"
"I was caught unawares by a curse. I didn't expect my opponent to know such a spell. I didn't find a chance after that." She smiled dangerously and halted on the grass, just out of earshot of my mother.
"And the killing curse, Draco. Don't tell me you didn't have a chance to perform that." I squirmed in her gaze, and frantically shoved all thoughts of Bilpy to the back of my mind. She sighed. "What is the point of me teaching you these spells, Draco, if you won't use them?"
"But I will," I said desperately. "I would have used the Cruciatus curse, and I will in future."
"But you won't kill." She raised a hand. "No, I don't want excuses or arguments. It would be a pity to ruin such a nice day, and I had precious few of them in Azkaban." She raised her face to the blue sky and closed her eyes as the sunlight played across her features, then turned, and clapped her hands. "Cissy! Dearest!"
"Bellatrix! I'm so glad you could come," my mother replied. I smiled; at least she remembered who my aunt was, and why she was here.
We sat in lawn chairs and Aunt Bellatrix and Mother talked. About the latest fashions, about far flung elements of the family, about Bellatrix's plans to buy a new horse. My aunt is horse-mad, and a requirement on any horse she will take is that it be big and black and able to rear magnificently in sunsets.
Tactfully both of them avoided mentioning politics, and I was grateful to my Aunt. My mother didn't need the reality of Lord Voldemort thrust into her face again.
Bored, I picked up my mother's discarded book. A romantic novel. Uurgh. I put it back in disgust. A House Elf came with our drinks.
"About time," I hissed at it. Bowing clumsily, it mumbled that lunch would be served in half an hour. I charged it with notifying my father, who could happily forsake all meals when viewing something of interest in his study, then dismissed it.
"Harry Potter." Hmm? I lifted my head, the mention of the words branded on my brain triggering instant alerts.
"What about Potter?" Bellatrix turned her attention to me.
"I was just saying how typical it is of that fool to be caught near Malfoy Manor."
"I wonder what he was trying to do here, anyway," my mother mused. Aunt Bellatrix shrugged.
"Probably something highly heroic. Does it matter? He's dead now, isn't he Draco?" No, he's not, Aunty dearest. He's alive, and he's talking to me, and I, well, I suppose I'm working for him. I'm certainly helping him; in fact I've already helped him, AND fooled Lord Voldemort to boot. She choked into her caiparinia, breaking my reverie.
"Bella? Something wrong?" my mother asked. Bellatrix banged her chest and stopped coughing with an effort, red faced.
"Nothing. Drink went down the wrong way." She smiled, but her eyes were unnervingly cold.
"Cissy, I want to show you this new horse I'm considering. You've always had such an eye for excellence. Will you stay tonight at Erebos?"
"Well…" my mother considered. Bellatrix took her hand.
"Oh Cissy, do. You must."
"Very well, then," my mother agreed. "Although I'm afraid I have limited experience of horses. Ever since Draco left I haven't had much interest in anything." Her brow furrowed in a frown. I sighed.
"Mother? I'm right here."
"So you are," she said. "That's funny. I could have sworn you went somewhere. Maybe Lucius can tell me when he returns." Bellatrix rolled her eyes and sat back.
"Father's here too, Mother."
"Where?" she asked, looking around.
"In the house. You'll see him at lunch."
"And Draco. I'll see Draco too?"
"Yes," I promised her. "You'll see Draco too."
Lunch came and went. The food was excellent, the conversation again devoid of all references to Lord Voldemort. During the afternoon we all played Wizard Racing Demons, with cards that leapt from our hands to the tables and fought each other for positions in the piles. Then Father and Bellatrix played Wizard Chess, whilst Mother and Rudolphus went for a walk.
I watched the chess, admiring the way Bellatrix and my Father complimented each other, polar opposites sitting on either side of the board. He was fair where she was dark and bold, and their styles of playing differed too. My father favoured subtlety, sending his bishops and knights darting behind enemy lines and out again, whereas my Aunt would martial her troops and march them forwards in rows, decimating any pieces in her path. In the end they each won two games, and I sensed that somewhere along the way, amidst the shouting, hand waving and occasional cries of 'More Port!' they had thawed out a little. In fact they were almost polite.
When my Mother returned from the walk she went to her room, to pack for her stay with Aunt Bellatrix. When I say pack, I mean pack in the Malfoy sense of the word, i.e. lying on a bed directing sweating House Elves. I dropped in on her, and was gratified to see Sparky swathed in dresses as my mother dithered over what one to wear the next day. I chose a rose pink one for her, then took Sparky aside and charged her with accompanying my mother to Erebos and watching over her.
Aunt Bellatrix was in an unusual hurry to leave. She practically dragged Uncle Rudolphus away from Father and the fossilised dragon egg they were studying, and was less than patient with my mother. She struck me as a modern day Cinderella – anxious to be home before the clock struck. At last, once my mother felt truly prepared, they started a fire in the drawing room. My uncle went first, tossing the Floo powder in and vanishing in the green fire. Then my mother stepped into the fireplace after kissing me, with Sparky carrying her trunk just behind her. My Aunt nodded a farewell to my father, who replied in kind, and then took me aside.
"Draco, it has been good to see you."
"And you, Aunt." She held me at arm's length, running her eyes over my face as if to memorise the features.
"I will take good care of your mother, Draco, and keep her safe." It seemed an odd thing to say, but I smiled.
"Thank you, Aunt." On an impulse she hugged me hard, her scent filling my nostrils.
"When I left Azkaban, seeing you grown… it brought home to me how much I had missed. I am glad I did not miss you entirely." I hugged her back.
"I am glad that we have met too," I replied. I wriggled and laughed. "Does this mean you'll teach me more spells?"
"We'll see," she murmured. Then she released me and stepped into the green flames, her face hidden by her long dark hair.
My father stretched.
"Alone at last. Chess, Draco? I need a decisive win to finish this day." I shrugged.
"Later, perhaps. There's something I need to attend to in my room." He nodded, and I left.
Two owls awaited in my room. Mercury hooted when I entered, and Mywany echoed him. I read Mercury's letter first.
Draco,
I didn't feed your bird, as you requested. I'm not an idiot, you know.
Secondly, you're a clever person (or so I thought). Use your own inventiveness to find this cup. You have access to Malfoy attics which I don't, so make use of your advantage. However, if you do find it I don't advise touching it. It contains dark magic important to Lord Voldemort. That's all you need to know.
Regarding the deal; yes, it starts now, but that does not give you an excuse to be arrested tomorrow. I have enough on my mind without needing to bother about you as well.
Finally, Regulus is a good idea. I'll do my own research. As for your prize, well, your owl's still alive isn't it?
Potter
Hilarious. Oh Potter, you wit.
Myfwany hooted impatiently, so I took her letter too.
Draco,
As soon as you can open a Floo passage to Weasley Wizard Wheezes and place the cup gently in the flames. I will be waiting the other end. If this is the real thing you and your mother will be absolved of all future crimes and granted the complete protection of the Order of the Phoenix.
He was going to give me what I wanted. He was going to protect us, and not just him but his whole order too. I had won. My mother would be safe. A weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Relieved, I sent away both Mercury and Myfwany, and started a fire in my grate.
The flames were hot in the warm evening air.
I took the box containing the cup out of my underwear drawer.
Someone was coming noisily up the stairs.
I threw Floo powder on the flames. They blazed green.
Someone was coming close.
I hesitated guiltily. The last thing I needed was my father walking in on me like this.
No, two sets of footsteps.
Get rid of the evidence Draco.
"Weasley Wizard Wheezes." The pathway beckoned.
Place the box in the flames.
My door burst open.
I spun around guiltily.
Lord Voldemort.
NO!!!
Lord Voldemort, furious.
Lord Voldemort with his wand pointing at me.
RUN!
"Draco…" His voice was terrible.
Into the fire.
I leapt into the green flames and the world spun.
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