A/N: Heartiest thanks to everyone for the overwhelming response I had for Grape of Wrath part 4. Also, thanks to Zeehana, nickiesaysstuff, Grovek26, SereniteRose, dragonjun,WALIXELA, keith alexe, and all the guests for their reviews on last chapter. Thanks everyone for the favourites and follows.
I am sorry for being absent for almost one and a half monthes. My MD exam ended on 6th November and before that, I couldn't make myself to write even if I wanted to. Thanks everyone for your patience and support.
I had to think a lot before writing this and the coming chapters. Initially, I had thought to write Hermione's therapy session in one chapter and Draco's visit to England in the subsequent ones. Then I thought that it would be boring to read an entire therapy session and so, I decided to write it in pieces with its effect on Draco stated on the next parts. I have tried my best to explain medical terms and conditions simply so that the readers don't feel foreign.
***Please take care to read the name of the chapter. It has a subtle meaning about the contents.
Well, that's all and you can leave your feedback if you like. : )
This chapter is rated M, as the story is.
The Pinterest page has been updated with new images. Feel free to check it if you like.
Disclaimer: The copyright to Harry Potter characters belong to J. K. Rowling. Any other characters are purely work of fiction and any resemblances are co-incidental.
Chapter 85: What the Bird Told Me… (Part 1)
Standing before the closed door that led to Morpheus Malfoy's study, Hermione took a deep breath. It was Friday night, Adrian was safely in their bed, cuddling his favourite side pillow and sleeping. She had read to him the story of Cunning Banana until he dozed off and yawned before passing into a peaceful slumber. She had tucked him in and prepared herself for a different night, a night to sleep and share her past with her parents.
Though she had been through two therapy sessions before and knew that she needed this one to relieve her mind, tonight, however, Hermione felt different. Her first session, in a rainy night of October, had been full of uncertainty. At that time, she was completely new to the realm of psychotherapy and didn't know what to do or how to react. Audré had perceived her nervousness well and asked her to sing a song and relax. That session had been helpful in many ways. For one, she had, for the first time in six years, talked about the dark past that had haunted her. For another, she had found out a way to communicate with her mother.
Her second therapy, as she recalled it, wasn't given by Audré but by her actual mother, Adeline who had come in aid to her distressed daughter. Apolline was also present and though Hermione didn't have a logical explanation as to how things had happened down there, she wasn't complaining either. She was contended with the fact that she had felt immensely good afterwards. That quicksand might be a symbol, but the session had helped her to get over her fear of Malfoy and move ahead to find a solution.
Technically, this was her third therapy session and Hermione wondered what Audré would be doing tonight. Would she ask her to sing and put her into a deep sleep where she would communicate with her mother and her father, if possible? Or would it be different? What impact it would have on her life? Was it going to make her braver and face Malfoy with more confidence? There was no way to find out unless she entered the place. So she knocked and walked in, expecting to find Audré standing and welcoming her. Instead she found the study empty.
Hermione scanned the room cautiously, with a slight frown and narrowed eyes. Has Audré forgotten that they had a therapy tonight? The chances were very slim. She herself had asked Hermione to meet her at Morpheus's study and now she was absent. Was she ill then? That could be a possibility, considering the fact that Audré was starting to appear pretty tired these days, under the immense pressure she was under. Hermione was about to turn away and check on her when the door she had been holding open, closed automatically.
It didn't take her more than a fraction of a second to draw out her wand and point it to the invisible intruder. "Homenum revelio." She thought and waited for the result. Whoever it was she was going to find out and if it was Draco Malfoy, she was going to curse him into oblivion. Help or no help, she wasn't going to take chances with him anymore.
The incantation, however, yielded nothing. The study was as empty as it appeared.
Hermione exhaled deeply and relaxed a bit. It was then that an elf appeared and bowed before her. Hermione recognized him immediately.
"Mistress Jean." Zilek being Audré's personal elf and in charge of her mistress's wellbeing had an air of dignity in him as he spoke, "Forgive me for startling you. That wasn't my intention." he glanced at the closed door. "I am here on Mistress Audré's orders. She is with Master Draco and would be here as soon as she finishes with him. I have brought you your nighttime Bliss tea and you can wait for her…" he waved her to the sitting area in the alcove, "…there."
Hermione nodded and withdrew her wand, internally chastising her foolishness. Audré wasn't the kind who'd lure her into a trap with Malfoy in it. Zilek was about to disappear when an idea struck her. Why did not she spend the time waiting for Audré talking to the elf and trying to find out more about the Elf Sacrifice Theory? It would be helpful for her research. He being an elf on household duties could cast some more light into her hypothesis.
"Er, Zilek?" Hermione called him and the important looking elf stopped mid-twist, "Can I talk to you while I wait for aunt Audré?"
"Sure." Zilek, even though an elf, was no less than a gentleman when it came to manners. They both went to the alcove and Hermione took the seat Alexis liked to take when he used to come there for meetings. It was one of her secret pleasures, Alexis and his feels in the things he was associated with. Zilek, astonishingly, made himself comfortable by conjuring a wooden stool and sitting on it as if it was a throne.
Hermione didn't know where to start. She just couldn't jump on the topic Elf sacrifice. The idea was nauseating and distressing even to her and she wasn't an elf. But Zilek was one and she could well assume how it would affect him if she wasn't cautious and empathetic.
"I have noticed that you don't hesitate to address me as 'mistress'." Hermione sipped her Bliss tea and started on a different topic. "Not that I want to be addressed as a mistress, Zilek. You can call me Jean as others do." She added calmly, "It is just that the elves here are very friendly and have no prejudices against the Muggleborns. Most of the others I met were as prejudiced as their pureblood masters."
"It depends, Mistress Jean, on the household an elf serves." Zilek, it seemed, emphasized on the word mistress. "We are like mirrors of our masters. We are taught to believe what they believe, do what they think is right. Most elves are not even entitled to think freely. It takes a great courage to break that law."
Zilek the French elf, Hermione noticed, had very good knowledge of English and didn't use 'is' or 'are' after 'I' or 'me' as most elves did. He seemed very well trained.
"Great Master René was a good man and he brought us here when he bought this Château from his cousin. He never tortured us or told us to parrot his beliefs. Great Mistress Josée, may her soul rest in peace, never even raised her voice with us. We loved them; we love their daughter Mistress Audré and her family. It doesn't matter if you are a Muggleborn witch Mistress Jean. The elves here like you because you are always very kind to us."
Hermione certainly wasn't asking to be praised or be informed that she was universally popular among the Château elves. She decided to move to her next topic.
"Tell me Zilek, where did Great Master René find you?" she asked him, starting from the very beginning, "Did he inherit you? As most purebloods do."
"No." Zilek shook his oblong head. His bulging eyes were pensive when he replied.
"Elves, Mistress Jean, are not native to this land. Our original land is somewhere in the North. But it has been a practice among wizards since ancient times to catch and transport us to different countries, depending on the demands of the pureblood families. There is a market, hidden from public eyes but approved by the Ministry, where new elves are bought and sold out every day, like domestic animals."
"My mother was only seven years old when she was brought from the North and sold in one of those markets. I don't know where I was born or who she is. I was very young when I was sold off to Great Master René because the Pureblood family my mother served thought that they had too many elves to feed. I heard it from Master René's own lips. Most of the elves who live in this Château don't know where they came from. But we don't mind. Our masters are very kind and this place is our home now."
Hermione had come for a therapy and now she was feeling awful, listening to Zilek's account of his life. She had originally intended to find out more about the sacrifice theory but somehow the conversation had led them to a more serious issue.
"Don't you want to go and look for your mother and father?" she asked the elf. Somehow, it echoed her inner desire to find hers. "I am pretty sure aunt Audré wouldn't mind."
"My Mistress certainly wouldn't mind." Hermione detected a tinge of pride in Zilek's voice, "But…" he paused, his bulging eyes downwards now, "I have learned that…that…she is no more."
"Who?" Hermione asked instinctively.
"They…they…" Zilek bit his thin lips, "…they call it sacrifice to safeguard the family heirlooms. It's a noble…noble thing…and an honour not every elf could attain."
Hermione sat there, frozen and horror struck, unable to think or blink at all. She knew what that elf had meant. That was it. She was right and so had been Narcissa Black Malfoy.
Zilek, however, recovered very fast. He looked up, sniffed twice and smiled or better say, grimaced. "Please, Mistress Jean, don't tell Mistress Audré that I have been pining on my mother. Or she'll send me to a holiday. She does that to some of us when she thinks that we are too tired or sad. But I don't want to leave her alone. None of the other elves know how take proper care of my Mistress, as I do." He stated proudly.
Hermione nodded, blinking rapidly to beat down the tears that were threatening to burst any moment. "I won't." she managed to say after a while, her voice slightly broken.
"With your permission then, Mistress." Zilek left his stool and it disappeared. Hermione didn't have the appetite to carry on any conversation and nodded when the elf bowed and disapparated.
She didn't know how long she sat there, lost in her own thoughts about what she had just heard. Just as the horror of the truth had petrified her, the injustice of it all was burning her nerves like a slow fire. She fisted her hands, imagining those horrific scenes when an elf was killed and his or her blood was used to put a curse on an object that was deemed valuable than a life. It was so cruel and inhumane! It was so…
"Your tea has turned cold, Jean." Audré's solemn voice broke Hermione's string of thoughts and she refocused her gaze on the woman sitting before her. Audré Chombrun Malfoy, in a green night dress, looked as serene as ever. But there was a slight frown between her brows. She seemed to have perceived the disturbance behind Hermione's silence.
"I don't think I can eat or drink anything now." Hermione said bitterly. She had come here for a therapy, to relieve her pain and communicate with her mother and now her mind was as turbulent as the stormy sea with waves as big as mountains crushing on her conscience. What was she doing as a Chief Curse Breaker? Why wasn't she going to the Minister and telling him all about those families who were regularly killing elves and placing Permanent Curses on those bloody precious heirlooms? She could have saved some lives that way.
"Zilek is a very fascinating elf, Jean." Audré spoke after a while, her tone soft and pleasant. "Not like other members of his race. He was very young when my papa brought him to this Château. I was born here and we kind of grew up together. Though he calls me mistress, we never had a master and servant relationship. He is one of those human friends that I never had."
She sighed audibly.
"Most of the elves who live in this Château had no family. They were either born too weak or had some birth defects and the family their parents served thought that they were nuisances. They would have killed or thrown them away had Papa not bought them here. Zilek, my maman said was as weak as a newborn calf when Papa brought him here. From an early age, he loved to read. Maman taught him alphabets. You saw him just now. He is as bright and well spoken as a gentleman could be. You won't find one like him even in the oldest and richest pureblood households."
Her words lit a fire on Hermione's nerves like a spark on gunpowder.
"Those rich and old pureblood hypocrites don't consider fellow humans as beings worthy of their attention and these are elves we are talking about, aunt, the lowest of all beings, according to them." Hermione exploded in anger, slamming uncharacteristically on the handle of her sofa. "Look at me, aunt! A pureblood raped me just because I touched his precious pureblood mother! Luna Lovegood was never raped. No one dared to touch her. Why? Because she was a pureblood and that bastard Voldemort wouldn't like it if a pureblood was violated. He told so when he attacked Hogwarts, that he doesn't want purebloods to be harmed. But Hermione Granger? It was perfectly fine to rape her. Why? She was a Mudblood, a dirt under their expensive shoes. In fact, raping her was an act of immense glory, an accomplishment which every able bodied pureblood wizard should partake!"
Hermione left her seat and started pacing around the study, breathing heavily. This topic of her violation, whenever it came up, always produced two intense reactions: extreme fear and extreme anger. She hated Malfoy and she would hate him for the rest of her life.
"Why Draco Malfoy? In fact his esteemed father, his dead grandfather, even his trollish friends should have taken turns to rape me. What can you expect from those whose manhood is limited only to the oppression of the weak or women or elves? But before Voldemort? The great Dark Lord? The savior of Purebloods? Before him, they trembled like gutter rats, their tails between legs! 'Lord, let me kiss your robe.' 'Lord, I am proud to be in your service. Should I offer my daughter for your merriment?'" Hermione mercilessly mimicked the Death Eaters' conversation with their dear Dark Lord. "Such sick are these people!" she spat on the ground.
Audré didn't interfere in her angry tirade and after a few moments of restless pacing, Hermione settled on her previous seat, feeling exhausted suddenly.
"I am sorry, aunt." She rubbed her forehead wearily. "I am not like this…you know that…I just couldn't…" she broke off.
"I know." Audré said solemnly.
"I don't understand one thing, aunt. Why?" Hermione looked up, feeling her anger being replaced by frustration. "Why? Why be so cruel to someone who employs his whole time and energy to make your life comfortable? Why treat them like sadists? Why? Is it so hard to be gentle and kind? Is it so difficult? Flower vases, jewelries, rings, paintings, those blasted staffs that I Curse break everyday in that dungeon office, are they more valuable than an actual life, even if it is of an elf? Don't we call ourselves humans? The best of all creations. What happened to us then?"
"Jean, I have been wondering that for last couple of decades myself." Audré replied, looking grave and thoughtful. "Whenever I visit that Muggle safe house for abused woman, The Dreamcatcher, and look at the sad and tormented faces of all those women who were tortured, assaulted, beaten by the men they trusted most, I always wonder 'why'. Why? Was it so hard for them to behave properly with a woman who was taking care of him as a wife or sister or daughter? Or with someone who is bearing your children and taking your line forward. Was it really something very big to ask for? One good word? One kind smile? One pat of appreciation?"
Her question hung between them like a thick layer of mist. Then Audré sighed.
"Then I found that it was in human nature to want to dominate those who they thought were under them, be it women or elf or a pet animal." She said thoughtfully. "But just because they think it, doesn't mean that it has to be true. They can keep their twisted beliefs to themselves. We are in charge of our lives and as long as one person is there to raise her voice against this injustice, Jean, they can never win."
Strangely Audré's words calmed Hermione and reminded her of a similar kind of speech. It was of Apolline's and she had been telling her about her brother, Adrian's sacrifice.
"As long as one…" She still remembered how the half-Veela had held up a firm finger in the air, "…one person is brave enough to raise his voice against tyrants, Jean, the evil will never win against the good. Be it women, be it elves or the pureblood supremacy, the time will change and a new day will come."
"I will see what I can do about those elves." Hermione was determined now. She wasn't going to tolerate this nonsense madness. "I am the Chief Curse Breaker of Gringotts. I know the names of those families who regularly place curses on their precious family heirlooms. I am going to talk to the Minister and see what I can do."
"Careful, Jean." Audré held up a hand, calming her. "The Minister might be a powerful man but he has some limitations. He can't interfere in matters like how elves are being ill-treated by their pureblood masters because there is no clear law or legislation to protect them. Besides, four attempts have already been taken on his life and with the Rochés trial underway and Mesrine gone, he is under immense pressure. I don't think he'll be of much help."
"What can we do then?" Hermione was not going to sit with hands on hands and do nothing. She wondered whether she should start working on S. P. E. W once again but Audré smiled mysteriously and tapped on her head.
"Women, Jean, are the best guerrilla fighters that ever walked this planet." She winked mischievously, "I believe you know what Guerrilla fighters do. They never go for face-to-face battle. They fight from the dark, from the shadow and sabotage the plan their enemy had hatched."
This was what marveled Hermione about Audré. While she was an intelligent woman herself, her pattern of thinking was usually very straight forward. If elves were being oppressed, make a society for their welfare and try to aware people. If Umbridge wasn't letting them to be trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts, form a secret society by the name of Dumbledore's Army and train yourselves. But Audré? She had a unique sharpness of mind that Hermione was very new to. She wouldn't build societies. She would do something so that Umbridge was on her knees before her. This woman could build and destroy an empire using her cunningness only and she was right this time. The Minister indeed wouldn't be of much help on the elf issue.
The realization made Hermione smile for the first time since her arrival there. Yes, she could and she would be a very good guerrilla fighter trying to protect those elves from killing. She was the one who knew how these Permanent Curses were being placed. And she was the one who knew who placed them. If she just modified the curses instead of removing them and made them to hurt the actual heirs instead of the non-heirs, chances were that those bloody purebloods would discard plans to kill elves and place Permanent Curses using their blood. That way, like Audré had said, she wouldn't be caught, the Minister wouldn't be involved and at the same time, lives would be saved.
"If my eyes are serving me right, Jean's eyes are sparkling because she has an idea." Audré said playfully and Hermione laughed. "She is slowly starting to think like a Slytherin."
Hermione would have vehemently opposed to the complement had she not had immense respect for Severus Snape and Regulus Black.
"So can we move onto the matter we came here for?" Audré asked and she nodded, finally feeling a sense of purpose circulating and calming her. Now she could talk about herself.
"Do you want me to sing again?" Hermione asked, curious to learn if this session would be like the previous one here.
"It is not what I want, Jean, it is what you want." Audré replied, appearing in full control of the situation. "These sessions are for you, dear, not for me. You are at full liberty to do whatever you think relaxes you. If you think singing makes your fraught nerves calm, I strongly recommend that you sing."
"Oh." Hermione commented uncertainly. Internally, she wasn't looking forward to singing either. She loved music and singing was one of those private pleasures that she was pretty shy to admit before others. She had never sung in public and before Harry or Ron.
"Er…" she wondered where to begin. "I have a question."
"Proceed." Audré leaned against her sofa and bade.
"Why does my mother come only when I am sleeping?" Hermione tried her best to not sound skeptic. She loved her mother and wanted her to visit her more frequently, even if it was in sleep. "I mean, she lives in Australia and I live in France. That country has thirteen time zones and I don't know in which zone she and dad lives. Besides, Australia is in Southern Hemisphere and France is in Northern Hemisphere. We have a huge gap of time between us. When it's night here and I am sleeping it could be morning there and mum might be driving or at work or doing chores. How can she answer my call? How does she understand that her daughter needs her? I can understand that she is my mother and we are bonded for life but I just don't understand how she responds to it. Time is a very important factor here."
"Very good question." Audré nodded thoughtfully. "I have been wondering that myself. How can two women living in two different time zones respond to each other's plea? Honestly, I don't know. But I have a suggestion. Why don't you ask that to her tonight? I don't think anyone, including me, would be able to answer that question more convincingly than her."
Hermione had thought so. If her mother was indeed coming, she could ask her. So she proceeded to her next question.
"Aunt, how is it that mum remembers me even after I wiped her and dad's memories of me?" This was the biggest enigma Hermione had regarding the sessions. "I am pretty sure that I didn't over or underuse the Memory Charm. One of our teachers once used a broken wand to cast a Memory Charm and it backfired, wiping his own memories forever. So I was well aware of the risks when I used that Charm on them. They are my parents. I couldn't possibly toy with them. But now?" Hermione bit her lips nervously, "It seems that my Charm wasn't cast properly."
"I don't think so, Jean." Audré commented, looking confident once again. "I have been working on this particular field of Memory Charm for more than twenty five years now and I know things that aren't written on any Charms books. Regrettably, wizards have never employed their knowledge or skills to find out the depths of human minds. They were more concerned with the magic and the ways to modify a memory. Muggles, on the other hand, have worked extensively on this field. And if their theory is correct, which I am very confident of, then you worked only on one-third of your parent's minds."
"One third?" Hermione suddenly visualized an apple pie which was cut into three pieces. The way Audré said, it sounded almost like human minds were like intact pies.
"Yes, one third." Audré affirmed. "Human minds are the most complex things that were ever created, Jean. Each mind is unique, unpredictable and different on its own. Thoughts are not writings on the undersurface of your skull. Memories, Jean, aren't pages of a book that you can tear, crumple and throw away. It's far more complex than that."
Unbeknownst to herself, Hermione leaned forward. Now Audré was talking.
"Human mind, presumably, has three layers: conscious, subconscious and unconscious. All the memories that we have, have three copies of it. One for the conscious layer, one for the subconscious layer and one for the unconscious layer. The conscious ones are the ones that we use daily or most frequently. Like the password of your office door, or the faces of your friends and foes, present and recent past memories. When we change our password, or move to a new place and make new friends and foes, the old copies of conscious memories are replaced by new ones. The old ones aren't necessarily wiped away. They move to the subconscious level, making room for more conscious memory to be written. There they reside until we die."
"The Memory Charm is designed, Jean, only to remove the conscious memories. It was no impact or better say, it can't reach the subconscious or unconscious level of our complex minds. As I said before, memories aren't pages of a book that you can destroy and leave a person blank. Even the teacher whose magic backfired has episodes or dreams when he can remember figments of his old memories. But since he damaged his memory irreversibly, he can't restore them or bring those memories to the conscious level. That's why I said that you worked only on one-third of your parents' memories, Jean and if the other two-third is not permanently lost or damaged like your teacher's was, I am pretty hopeful that they will be able to remember you."
"Remember me?" Hermione's heart constricted painfully. Was it even possible? She had obliterated, wiped or removed anything that bore any sign that Thomas and Adeline Granger ever had a daughter. Even the locket that was a keepsake, a link between them had been sold long ago, to a man called Old Clopin.
"Yes. Remember you." Audré affirmed solemnly. "They already have two copies of all the memories of their only daughter, Hermione Jean Granger, in subconscious and unconscious level. They just need a trigger, a spark to ignite and bring them back to the conscious surface and once that's done, they'll be able to remember you again."
"What kind of trigger?" Hermione was on the edge of her seat now, her therapy forgotten.
"Something that reminds them of you." Audré replied. "It can be anything. Think of it as a password or a piece of information that we think we have forgotten. We try to remember it hard and check the diaries thinking we might have written it down somewhere. But then suddenly, when we look at something, maybe a cat's photo or a flower vase, we remember it. How?"
"Because the password was a pet cat's name or the name of a flower that that person liked." Hermione replied breathlessly, finally getting the real point. She understood now. Completely. That locket was a possible link that could have acted as a trigger to restore her parents' memories. She had known it when she sold it but she had never expected that life would ever bring her to a crossroad where she might desperately need it.
•••••
On Sunday noon a man named Draco Malfoy stood before his ancestral home, the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire. He had painful blisters all over his hands and his travel worn clothes hung loosely around the lean frame of a body that has lost almost ten pounds in just one week. But when he walked, there was a sense of purpose in his proud and long strides.
Deciding and making a journey from France to England could have been more comfortable and fast had Draco taken an International Portkey, as it was customary for wizards. But for reasons known only to him Draco had asked Monsieur Sergeant, his boss, to allow him to leave the country by a Muggle train. The severe looking man, who had just granted Draco a leave to visit England, didn't object of course.
Draco Malfoy, being both a Malfoy and a Slytherin, could almost always perceive it very well what were people's scheme regarding him. He knew that Sergeant wasn't the kind of a man who'd invest in him without any hidden motives. He was not a fool. The job of Potions Researcher was just a ploy. Sergeant was keeping Draco handy to use him against Rochés and therefore he was always ready to grant his wishes no matter how absurd they were; like it was this time.
After watching the first batch of memories, Draco had sat down for a long while wondering where to begin. He had been wrong, terribly wrong about Bill Weasley. The man wasn't like his brothers. Besides, he had sheltered and supported Hermione in a way that no one ever did. Lied to Potter and others; brought her a scent of her country and a souvenir from Hogwarts; given her money when she needed it desperately and consented to be Adrian's Godfather. Draco owed to him. Firstly, for helping Hermione and Adrian; secondly for unknowingly letting in Greyback into Hogwarts who had damaged those handsome features.
It was the sight of those ugly blisters on his hands that had brought on the answer. Wasn't he the one who was helping Descartes to make that Lupus Venom for Werewolves? And wasn't he a Malfoy and a Slytherin? What was he waiting for then?
Leaving the second batch of memories of Hermione's therapy session by the Pensieve, Draco had donned his cloak and left for the St. Lupus facility. He was going to make a deal with Chief Researcher Descartes tonight.
The elderly man was in the middle of an important meeting with his fellow researchers when Draco brought him out of the room.
"Monsieur Malfoy?" Descartes's surprise hadn't been limited to his voice only. Clearly he wasn't expecting his esteemed and resentful volunteer to set foot on his formidable facility for another fortnight.
"Yes. Monsieur Malfoy." Draco had attested lazily and grabbing Descartes by his arm, brought him straight to his office. Time was short and the list of things he needed to do was very long.
"I didn't get time to analyze your…" Descartes had started but Draco silenced him with a calm look. He wasn't there to receive the analysis result of his bloody semen. That thing has already done enough damage to his wives, be it Astoria or Hermione.
"Monsieur Descartes." Draco had started solemnly, "I am not here for the results. I am here to make a will."
"A will?" Descartes had repeated, clearly perplexed by Draco's sudden appearance and the strange wish. His eyes roved down his form as if making sure that Draco wasn't gravely hurt and dying in an hour or two.
"Yes. A will." Draco had affirmed and taken a chair opposite Descartes's one across the large and polished table. He gestured the man to occupy his seat in his own office and curious, the Chief Researcher did so.
Draco had placed his elbows on the table and joined his fingers, resting his chin on them. "Monsieur Descartes, I have recently found out that my son's godfather was once attacked by a werewolf. While he wasn't bitten, his face was damaged and his bears permanent scars. Do you think he could be showing any signs of Lycanthropy in the long run?"
"I doubt it." Descartes had seemed relieved that his precious volunteer wasn't trying to blackmail him again. "Lycanthropy is transferred only by bite, Monsieur Malfoy, not by sex or birth. Werewolves can breed and it is not necessary that their offsprings would be werewolves too. But…" he had paused.
Draco had waited for the rest of the sentence to follow.
"Your son's godfather may have very subtle changes in his behaviour. For example, he might like to eat raw meat sometimes or feel vague discomfort when it is full moon." Descartes had said, "But other than that and the scars that you told us of, there won't be any major changes. He won't transform into a werewolf, of course, if that is what troubles you, since he is your son's godfather."
"No. That is not troubling me." Draco had confessed truthfully. He knew that Hermione wasn't the kind of a mother who would have a man attacked by a werewolf to be her only son's godfather if he wasn't reliable. He was at St. Lupus for completely different reasons. He owed to that man. "As I have said, I am here to make a will." He proceeded to make the proposal.
It had taken Draco and Descartes three quarter of an hour to compile the draft he had been wanting to and when it finished, Draco read it.
I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Late Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and Narcissa Black Malfoy,
Hereby attest that I have been helping the St. Lupus Facility for Lycanthropes and its researchers, as a volunteer, to make a serum that could be used as a potential cure to treat the werewolves.
It is my wish now that the serum, when it is made and ready to be administered, the first recipient to be Bill Weasley, son of Arthur Weasley of England. Chief Researcher Henri Descartes is well aware of the details of the case and has decided to co-operate, keeping me anonymous, for reasons known only to me.
Signed, on 13th November, 2004,
Draco Malfoy.
Later, Descartes had folded the parchment and Draco had sealed it with the ring of Malfoys he always wore on his right ring finger. The will being done he had come out of the office and proceeded for his next destination, Monsieur Sergeant's office.
Ten o' clock at the Ministry of Magic, especially at the Magical Law Enforcement wing, felt like a busy train platform. The Aurors were working late and the air was heavy with the smoke of cigarette and Firewhisky. Draco had knocked once before entering Sergeant's office. The man was talking to Julian and another woman whom Draco didn't recognize.
"Draco?" Sergeant, it had seemed, could have expected Pasteur walking into his office but not Draco Malfoy. His exclamation made Julian to turn his head and look at his cousin. His eyes became round immediately.
"Sorry for the interruption, Monsieur." Draco, as always, was very polished when it came to talking to his boss. "I promise it won't take long."
"Julian told us that you are ill." Sergeant had said, once Draco took a seat beside his cousin who was still watching him with concern, "Man, I have already granted you a leave. There is no need to come personally and extend it."
Draco had smirked internally. Sergeant did know how to deal and keep this Malfoy satisfied. After all, he was his weapon against Rochés.
"I am not here to extend my leaves, Monsieur." He had said calmly. "I just came to inform you that tomorrow I am going to England."
"England?" Julian had repeated incredulously. "In this state?" his eyes had moved down Draco's thin frame and lingered on his scar.
"Yes. In this state." Draco had affirmed nonchalantly. If Sergeant was using him then he was going to use Sergeant too and make a lifelong good impression before them. "This evening I was going through some of my old letters from England when I suddenly remembered that my father used to keep all his old letters and documents locked in his study." Draco was a very good liar, "He didn't like to throw away letters and correspondences. That made me think that if I could, somehow, break and check his old filing cabinets, I might find something useful that could be a good weapon against Rochés." He had said matter-of-factly.
As expected Sergeant's eyes had lit up and he slammed noisily on his desk with loud 'Excellent idea!" Draco had smiled internally. His boss was thinking that he was playing with Draco Malfoy while actually, Draco Malfoy was playing with him.
"But you are ill, Draco." Julian had been reasonable, who sounded against him making such a long journey in this state of health. But Draco had shaken head. If Hermione could come and go to Paris from Beauxbatons when she was heavily pregnant, Draco certainly could go to England to find out her past under the pretence of Ministry business.
"It's alright, cousin. I'll be just fine." He had said and Sergeant had nodded encouragingly.
"I'll have you an International Portkey booked." He had said and taken up a piece of parchment to issue an order. Draco however, had something else in his mind. He was feeling like crossing the English Channel by a Muggle train, the very one Hermione had boarded more than six years ago.
"Merci, Monsieur," Draco tried to sound obliged by his boss's graciousness, "But I would like to take Eurostar."
"Eurostar?" the woman whom Draco didn't know spoke for the first time since his came in. "Muggle train?" she narrowed her eyes.
Draco nodded but didn't bother to give her much attention. His boss was his main target now.
"Eurostar is a Muggle train and therefore my movements will be almost untraceable." He had said, sounding confident about his weird explanation. "If I take an International Portkey, I'll have to notify to both the Ministries, here and there and we still don't know who the spy is. I don't want Rochés or his men to know that I am going to England."
"Good point!" Sergeant it seemed couldn't be more delighted of his decision to recruit Draco under his department. "I knew Draco, my chap, could be as cunning as a fox." He patted him appreciatively on the back. "Very well, I'll have a Eurostar seat booked for you. Take the week off and go to England. Keep your profile low and come back with good news."
Draco had nodded and after shaking hands with Sergeant, left his office for the Château. He still had another batch of memories to watch.
Night had come and gone and when Draco came out of the Pensieve, it was dawn. The sun was peeking out of the eastern horizon. Its first light glowed over his face that had tears of remorse and shame. Audré had been right. These memories were very complex, as complex as the human mind she dealt with.
The Eurostar ticket he had asked for was already Owl'ed to him and waiting on his writing desk. Draco didn't waste time for extravagant packing. He wasn't going there for letters or proofs of his father's friendship with Rochés. He aim was to explore Hermione's past and with it, some long forgotten connections.
Draco didn't have the face to tell Hermione on person that he was going to England. In fact, he didn't have the face to even look at her, let alone talk. So he wrote a letter to her and handed it to Audré, asking her to deliver it to her. Surprisingly, his aunt already knew that he was leaving for England in the morning. Draco couldn't recall telling her anything about his plans. It could have been Julian then.
"Your mother gave me this when she heard that you would be going to England today." Audré had given him a letter. It had a fat envelope and was addressed to a woman called Mrs. Andromeda Tonks. Draco knew she was his other aunt. He frowned slightly. Was his mother trying to rekindle their old kinship?
"Narcissa wants this letter to be delivered to her sister." Audré had said, appearing perfectly normal. "She had wanted to talk to you in person but I lied to her. Told her that you might be taking rest and have a long journey today. I couldn't possibly tell her that you were watching memories, nephew."
Draco had nodded and stowed the envelope into the inside pocket of his coat. "Did she ask you why I am suddenly going to England?" he had asked her.
"She did." Audré had replied. "I told her that you are on Ministry business. Aren't you, nephew?" Her smirk was as enigmatic as she was.
"Of course, I am." Draco had preferred to keep his plans secret for a while. He opened the iron safe and took out the box that contained Hermione's mother's locket. In that therapy memory Audré had said that a trigger could bring back Hermione's parents' memories and he was having an intense feeling that he would need this locket in England.
The first breath of air that filled Draco's chest on English soils reminded him of Hermione's words.
'You bring the scent of my England. That freshly mown grass…' she had breathed into Bill Weasley's clothes, '…that smell of earth after the first rain…it's my England in you, Bill.'
With the view of Malfoy Manor before him, its wrought iron gate wide open to welcome its master, Draco closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.
It was a strange thing, employing one's olfactory senses to feel something. Draco had never done it before except of course on Hermione and Adrian who emanated the scent of daisy and honeysuckles respectively. But this was different. He was trying to find out whether Hermione had been right.
He breathed in and out, slowly and deliberately, trying to identify the scent of soil after the rain and freshly mown grass. It was on the fifth time that he finally discerned it. There, between the mild scents of wild flowers and dried leaves, he found what he had been looking for: the scent of England as Hermione had stated it. It cooled him to his bones, soothed his frayed nerves and damaged soul. It was strangely comforting and welcoming, as if a mother was humming and putting her baby into sleep.
How very strange that he has never sensed it before! The scent of his homeland, his country. But Hermione had. They were both English and he undoubtedly was the dumbest of the two.
Smiling, Draco opened his eyes and the Manor came into view again. It was as handsome as ever with the gravel walkway and high hedges encircling it. The staggering structure was glowing slightly under the midday sun. He was finally home.
Draco walked slowly and crossed the wrought iron gates that flanked the opening of the Manor. Pebbles crumbled under the sole of his shoes, echoing against the hedges. The sound brought in unpleasant words, ones that were spoken by Hermione during her latest therapy session.
'Look at me, aunt! A pureblood raped me just because I touched his precious pureblood mother! Luna Lovegood was never raped. No one dared to touch her. Why? Because she was a pureblood and that bastard Voldemort wouldn't like it if a pureblood was violated. He told so when he attacked Hogwarts, that he doesn't want purebloods to be harmed. But Hermione Granger? It was perfectly fine to rape her. Why? She was a Mudblood, a dirt under their expensive shoes.'
Draco stopped, lifted his right foot from ground and turned the sole up. Now he could see its smooth surface. Was Hermione a dirt under his expensive shoes?
Certainly not. It was the other way, actually. He was the dirt under her feet. He was a vile rapist and there was no excuse to it. Hermione was pure.
With a heavy heart, Draco resumed his walk and reached the fountain that played on the front gardens. He stood and rested there for a while, looking at the rainbow coloured water. It reminded him of that scene in Eva's memory when Edmound had washed his hands in the Fountain of Youth and offered it to Hermione to feel her baby. A gnome inside a thick cauldron, he had said that foetus Adrian felt like. Draco snorted and shook his head.
The gate leading to the graveyard was open and Draco, not feeling like entering the Manor right away, started for it. He wanted to see Astoria before anything.
The Malfoy family graveyard was very silent with only the sounds of rustling leaves and songs of wild birds to accompany him. Draco didn't look at the other epitaphs and approached towards Astoria's grave only. A man was already there. Ebenezer Greengrass.
The man in his early fifties was sitting stoically before his daughter's grave when he reached there. Draco sat beside him, running his hand over the cold white marble and cleaning a speck of dirt. No one spoke for a very long time.
"Back again, Draco?" Ebenezer sounded neither happy nor disappointed that his son-in-law was finally beside his daughter's grave. He was looking straight ahead, at Astoria's oval shaped portrait on the epitaph. With blonde hair and green eyes, father and daughter had strong resemblances.
"I thought my esteemed mother-in-law would be here to welcome me with wands and roses." Draco replied calmly. He wasn't afraid to tell him the truth. Besides, the silent fight between them, he assumed, wasn't unknown to his father-in-law.
"Cassie is at Daphne's place. Theo is going to be a father soon." Ebenezer said indifferently. Draco knew that his once Slytherin housemate and sister-in-law, Daphne Greengrass was actually Daphne Nott neé Greengrass. So Theo and Daphne were expecting a baby!
"I hope Mrs. Nott senior isn't going to kill off her dear daughter-in-law like my mother did." Draco said, sitting on the grass beside Astoria's grave and confronting Ebenezer. He had planned to set things straight with them once and for all and now was a good opportunity.
"Tell me one thing, father-in-law," he emphasized the words, "Why did your wife married off her precious daughter to a family who were nothing but a bunch of murderers and criminals? I mean, my father was a prominent Death Eater. My mother, according to your wife Cassiopeia Greengrass, is a cold-blooded killer. What more, their son was given a Dark Mark when he was only sixteen and sent to finish off his headmaster. What a wonderful family! Aren't they? The Malfoys! It must have been a very easy decision to take, you know…" He snapped his fingers. "…to hand your daughter over to them so that when time comes, they could feast on her blood too."
Ebenezer sighed and looked up at the branches of a tree above. It hung over them like a low ceiling.
"I am sorry that Cassie wrote that letter to Mrs. Malfoy." He said despondently. Even to Draco who was furious with the entire Greengrass line, he appeared tired and defeated. "I even told her that she shouldn't have done that."
"Really?" Draco clapped, his eyes round in mock astonishment, "Then you should be awarded another medal on top of all those you already have. How about 'St. Troll's Award for outstanding achievement in the field of Late Realization'? I am pretty sure they won't find a better candidate than you." Draco was fierce when it came to defending his mother's name and honour. He neither cared nor gave a damn that the man he was talking to was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Ebenezer remained silent, his eyes downward. Somehow it magnified Draco's anger and determination.
"None of you thought it fit to tell us that Astoria had that bloody blood disease when we got married. Don't tell me that you didn't know it. You knew, you knew it all along and you never told us." He pointed a firm accusing finger to the man sitting before him, "Neither of you considered, even for fraction of a second, that all those deaths, all those miscarriages could be related to her being a hemophilic. No. But now that my kids and wife are dead, now that they are all done for and I am left with nothing, this woman, this Mrs. Greengrass suddenly becomes the greatest protector of her daughter's rights. Now she feels for my Astoria. Now? Now!"
Again Ebenezer was unresponsive, his face like a blank mask.
Draco lowered his finger and fisted his hands. He wasn't letting this man go without giving him a feasible explanation. He remembered all those tears that the woman resting in the grave beside him had shed; all those nights, all that desperation and pain. It was almost like Hermione's had been.
"When my aunt was visiting the Manor in August," He started again, "your wife told her stories of Royal Jelly and shed crocodile tears. And as if that wasn't enough, she sent those asswipe letters to my mother, to torment her, vex her. Why? Because she thinks that my mother was neglectful towards her daughter-in-law and killed her in her quest to beget an heir!"
Under the attack of his cruel words, Ebenezer finally looked up and faced his son-in-law.
"I told you, Draco, I am sorry. Cassie shouldn't have done that." he repeated, seemingly determined to avoid the topic at all costs. It was odd. He was not the kind who would apologize to Draco for his wife's misconduct.
"I am sorry, father-in-law, but I can't accept your apology." Draco said coldly and stood up. "Not until I know why, why I was never informed of Astoria's condition."
"Is it really that important?" Ebenezer seemed very reluctant to pursue the topic no matter how hard Draco tried. "They won't come back."
"What the hell was that?" Draco was stunned by the atrocious remark. He was seriously considering suing the Greengrasses now. "What do you mean 'they won't come back'? You think I don't know that they won't come back?" he demanded, his chest heaving and falling heavily. "I know they won't come back. Okay? Astoria. Scorpius. Any of them." He looked away, "They will never come back. Ever." He whispered.
Ebenezer closed his eyes. For the first time, his features seemed pained and troubled. "Draco! Don't you understand? I am…" he paused and hid his face in his hands, "…ashamed! Terribly ashamed!"
Draco sat rooted to the spot, his feelings somewhere between shock and sorrow as Astoria's father spoke.
"We, Cassie and I, knew that Astoria was hemophilic. Even Daphne is. My wife is one as was her mother before her. It is a family disease. Most of the women in their family are hemophilic. It is an unfortunate situation, something that no one has any control over. Don't think that we didn't consult Healers about it. We did. We even talked to the Specialists. But they said that there was no cure to it. It was in their blood."
"My girls are innocent, Draco. It's not their fault that they have a disease that has no cure. It doesn't mean that they can never have a family of their own, get married and have children. You knew Astoria. You knew how very sensitive she was. Had I told her that she was hemophilic she would be left heartbroken and maybe even consider to never get married. So, we never told her about it. Besides, Daphne and Astoria, both could comfortably have daughters. The only issue is having a son. Healers had warned us that they won't survive if the bleeding was severe. That was when the problem arose. Most purebloods must have, at least, one male in their family to continue the dominant line. I don't have any sons but my brothers have and that is how the Greengrass line will continue to exist."
"The day Cassie brought news that Mrs. Malfoy has asked for Astoria's hand for her son, believe me Draco, I wasn't happy. 'Malfoys?', I thought. They were the ones who must have a son. I couldn't possibly marry off my daughter to their family, knowing that she won't be able to provide them with an heir. I even told Cassie that I am against this union, that my daughter would be vexed and mentally tortured should she not have a son with that Draco. Besides, Astoria was only a few monthes away from coming of age. She had her entire life lying before her. She was an intelligent witch and had good looks. We had enough family influences and wealth to marry our daughter off to a family who already had male heirs."
"But Cassie wouldn't listen. She said that her daughter won't be going to any Blood Traitor family like the Weasleys or Mclaggens or worse, half-bloods like Potters. I couldn't deny that either. We are purebloods, Draco and no matter what my position was during the war, I can't have my daughters married to the kinds that are not up to their level. Besides, Cassie said that Mrs. Malfoy was looking forward to this union because she thinks that only I can free Lucius from Azkaban. I thought that if I could do that, Draco, your entire family would be obliged to us and ready to accept Astoria even if she couldn't provide them with an heir. It was like a give and take business; I save your back and you save mine and after considering various points, I agreed to this marriage."
"The happiest day of my life is when Scorpius was born. We thought that by some miraculous means, Astoria was able to have a healthy son and now that the duty of providing an heir was over, she could take a break and enjoy her motherhood. We thought that our daughter was saved! We were so relieved! Cassie kept telling me that our plan has worked better than we expected. It did work well until the day Scorpius bled to death and Astoria decided to conceive again."
If previously Draco had thought that demanding the truth out of Ebenezer Greengrass's tight-lips would make him feel better, he was terribly wrong. Every word that escaped that man's mouth was like a poison to his ears and every syllable was a testimony that his aunt Audré was right. The entire Sacred Twenty Eight Sect was as rubbish as cat litter and now the Greengrasses were trying to play innocent, by blaming Astoria's death on his mother.
"You know what, Mr. Greengrass," He grinded his teeth and Ebenezer looked up, his eyes slightly tearful. "I don't think I can tolerate this nonsense anymore! If you think that your sad story is going to make you look like some pitiful father pining over his dearest daughter's death, you are mistaken. Did you hear me? You. Are. Mistaken!" he bellowed.
Draco's chest was heaving and falling rapidly when he spoke next.
"You and your wife made a deal on our lives, Astoria and mine. Who gave you that right? To make a deal on us? Who?"
"You feared that if I came to know that Astoria can never have sons, I would divorce her and marry another woman, a healthy woman, who could give me sons. Right? That was why you never told us that she was ill. That was the real reason."
"But what now? You claim that you are remorseful and at the same time you are trying to feed me a cock and bull story to make it all look like some kind of accident. You grieve the death of one child. Just one." He held one finger in the air, "I lost three kids and a beloved wife. I don't think I can ever forgive you." he declared and started for the Manor. This man, Ebenezer Greengrass, with his words and fake tears was making his blood boil even more.
"I heard that you remarried." Draco couldn't take more than two steps when Ebenezer's words stopped him. He turned his head and faced the man again. Mr. Greengras's features were calm and impassive again. He had left the ground and his green eyes were sparkling with what could be called a deep scorn.
"Is that a question or statement?" Draco turned halfway and asked coolly.
"Whichever one you like to assume." Ebenezer said airily, clearly challenging Draco's authority as a disrespectful widower to raise questions on Astoria's parents' sincerity. "It is true then. That you remarried." He raised an authoritative eyebrow.
Draco thought it was enough. The Greengrasses have clearly crossed all lines to damage his family and he certainly wouldn't let them do more. But he wasn't going to avoid that question either. Times have changed. He wasn't a coward anymore, hiding behind his father's big shadow. Besides, he wasn't obliged to tell them the truth.
Draco turned fully, walked to the man and held up his left hand, showing it to Mr. Greengrass. "Do you see me wearing any ring here?" he arched his own eyebrow in response to his asker's. The elderly man's green eyes lingered on his empty ring finger for once but he didn't reply readily.
"Rings can be taken off, Draco." He said after a while, clearly not convinced.
"And why would I do that? Take off my wedding ring?" Draco demanded icily. Internally he was relieved that Hermione never gave him a wedding band or it could have been a trouble to explain it to the cunning man who could trade his daughter. "You think you are intimidating enough to scare me? A Malfoy?" He put on his best evil brooding look.
"Don't forget, Draco, that I freed you father from Azkaban." Mr. Greengrass spat. "He was a Malfoy. A big Malfoy."
"And you don't forget what your real purpose behind that act of generosity was." Draco spat back. "For your kind information, Mr. Big Greengrass, had you told us, or least me, the truth about Astoria, I assure you that I wouldn't have divorced her. I loved her and I will always love her. She was my first wife and no one can take her place in my heart. If she was unable to give me a son, that was fine. I could have looked for a surrogate mother but I would never consider divorce as an option."
They stood facing each other, Draco breathing heavily and Ebenezer eyeing him calmly.
"Then you didn't remarry?" he asked cautiously, this time sounding half-convinced.
Draco thanked his damned luck internally. Since his marriage with Hermione in September, they haven't appeared in public together or held any reception parties as Mr. and Mrs. Draco Malfoy. They didn't even dance in the Masked Ball together. No one, except their families, some close friends and Sorceress Marianne knew that Draco and Hermione were a married couple. He was certain now. These Greesgrasses couldn't be trusted with delicate matters as these. They would jeopardize his family's safety just out of spite.
"No." He lied firmly, "But your question disgusts me! It sounds almost like that wonderful statement: 'they won't come back'! I don't know what kind of substandard spies the ministry is employing these days but I can assure you that when a Malfoy gets married, he announces it publicly and holds an elaborate wedding ceremony as the new Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy. I believe you saw enough proof when Astoria and I got married. It was published in all prominent newspapers of Europe."
"I am not spying on you, Draco." Ebenezer said solemnly, seemingly relieved by his statement now. Draco thought it was extremely selfish and hypocrite. This man could free his father to have his daughter established in Malfoy household and yet he disliked the idea that Draco could remarry. "It was in the last issue of Witch Weekly. Skeeter wrote that you remarried and you and your new French wife are planning to live in France permanently and procreate."
Live and procreate in France! Skeeter! That vile woman! Draco gritted his teeth. As soon as this blasted conversation was over he was going to make sure she could never think again, let alone write. She clearly didn't know that famous proverb: an angry dragon was better than an angry Malfoy.
"I have no plans to live in France, Mr. Greengrass." Draco lied coldly, "I am only there to testify on a case that my aunt is the Chief Public Prosecutor. I'll be back as soon as it is over. Rest assured that I will invite you and all the Greengrasses to my grand wedding."
Mr. Greengrass silently digested his jibe and after a minute long staring contest, left for the gate without another word. Draco watched his retreating form for a while and then followed him out. He has had enough of acting and must take a bath before he could think forward.
The elves were standing in a row to welcome their master home when Draco walked in through the front door. They bowed low and he walked past them, his mind on the conversation he just had.
This was awful! Awful! And Disgusting! The way they were married and the way they were forced to have male kids. Especially for Astoria. Draco knew that his life was now bound to Hermione and her forgiveness, Adrian and his acceptance of him as a good father but he couldn't shake off the feeling that life had been unjust to those he loved. Was Dominique right in saying that his innocent wife and sons had paid the price of his crimes against Hermione and Adrian? Was that what everyone called retributive justice?
Lost in his unpleasant thoughts, Draco walked down the hallway that had portraits of all the pale-faced Malfoys: Armand, Nicholas, Brutus, Septimus, Abraxas, Lucius, Draco. He was almost past his own portrait as the last Malfoy when he stopped suddenly by a new gilded frame. It was placed just beside his one. The canvas, however, was empty. Who hung it there and why was it empty?
"I have been wondering that too." Came a snide remark and Draco turned, frowning deeply. Septimus Malfoy, his great-great-great-something grandfather was giving him a very curious look. The man was Malfoy pale and Malfoy proud with cold grey eyes and a pointed nose. "I don't know how but that thing appeared there on 4th September."
4th September? Draco frowned and went back to examine the empty canvas again. That was a day before his marriage to Hermione. That was the night…
Draco's heart skipped two consecutive beats. Merlin! But how was that possible? He turned to his ancestor. The man in the portrait was still giving him a calculative look. He wondered if he has suspected anything about Adrian.
"Do we have an heir on line, Draco?" Septimus asked him with a mischievous wink. Draco, for a fact, knew that this particular ancestor of him was an advisor to the Minister of Magic and used him like a puppet on strings. So he has perceived it well. The Malfoy family magical portraits, just as it was with Hogwarts Headmasters, have hung a possible portrait of their future heir, Adrian Thomas Granger Malfoy. But the canvas would be empty until the boy was brought to the Manor and given its charge. Realizing it, Draco decided to appear as calm and unaffected as possible. The best person to deal with the kinds of Septimus was his aunt Audré.
"He has been on line for a long time, sir." He replied truthfully, "I just found him on 4th September." Indeed he had and that was the night he had Claimed Adrian as his son and rightful heir.
"I see." Septimus remarked with a smirk and Draco, without letting him or any of the other portraits to ask any more questions, left the hallway and reached the grand staircase that would take him to the family wing.
Draco's personal suite was larger than the one he lived in his aunt's Château. The walls, as part of proud Malfoy traditions, were draped in Slytherin green. Draco's, however, had blue flowers printed on them, as a mark of his Ravenclaw wife, Astoria. The curtains, furniture upholsteries, everywhere he looked, it was green and blue, green and blue. Draco and Astoria. Draco and Astoria.
Draco sat on a plush couch by the roaring fireplace and hid his face in his hands. He had thought that he would feel home once he was at Manor but strangely that wasn't the case. This place was empty and foreign; the people cold and selfish, just as he was once. Instead a home with Hermione, Adrian and his own mother felt like somewhere he wanted to live for the rest of his life. The Manor didn't feel like his home anymore. It was sad but true.
"Good afternoon, Master." A singsong voice spoke and Draco looked up, slightly startled. Morpy, the head of the all the eleven House elves working in Malfoy Manor, was bowing low before him, the tip of his long pointed nose inches from touching the rich green carpet under his feet. "Morpy has come to ask what Master Draco would like for lunch." He said.
Draco blinked twice and refocused his gaze on the tiny wizened elf. House elves appearing out of thin air and asking him for his lunch or supper preference wasn't something new to him. In fact, that was the Malfoy rule number 27. It was the elf he looked at. Was he blind all these years? How could he not see that?
The elf, it appeared, was wearing a very dirty pillowcase with rips around the neck and arms. There were numerous grease marks, tea stains and even what looked like dried bloodstains on it. Also, there were no shoes or socks on his overlarge feet and November wind in England was pretty chilly. There was no hat or cap to cover the almost bald head he had. Draco blinked again and suddenly words poured on to him like large pieces of hail.
"I don't understand one thing, aunt. Why? Why? Why be so cruel to someone who employs his whole time and energy to make your life comfortable? Why treat them like sadists? Why? Is it so hard to be gentle and kind? Is it so difficult? Flower vases, jewelries, rings, paintings, all those blasted staffs that I Curse break everyday in that dungeon office, are they more valuable than an actual life, even if it is of an elf? Don't we call ourselves humans? The best of all creations. What happened to us then?"
Yes. What had happened to Draco that he never saw that all the elves who were serving his family for centuries, making their lives comfortable were being disgustingly ill-treated? Was it the same pureblood supremacy that had made him blind to Hermione's inner goodness all these years? Was it the same hypocrisy that had claimed Astoria and his sons lives? If Morpy, the elf who was the Head of all elves, was wearing nothing but filthy rags he couldn't imagine what other elves might be wearing and living like. Compared to them, the Château elves were in heaven. They were well dressed, well-mannered and had enough freedom to serve their masters with love and care and not for iron-clad obligation.
"Morpy?" Draco didn't know who spoke through his voice but he addressed the elf, for the first time in his life, with great care and concern. The elf inched up his head but didn't raise it fully.
"Yes, Master?" he asked him, still bowing low.
"Go…" Draco was in complete trance, "…and call all the elves." He blinked again, "I want to see them all."
"Yes, Master." The elf disapparated in the bowed state leaving Draco looking at the spot he had been.
He returned seconds later, with an entire platoon of elves who were in various state of shabbiness. Draco was appalled. What was he seeing?
Of the eleven house elves who served at Malfoy Manor, six were male and the others, female. Two of them had protrusions over their stomachs, suggesting that they were pregnant. Draco didn't know if elves got married or not and if they did, what could be their weddings like if this was how their daily lives were. Three of the male elves had bandages on various parts of their bodies; they were as filthy as the rags they were wearing.
"What happened to them?" he asked Morpy, showing him the bandaged elves, though he knew the answer perfectly well. It was the self-punishment, Malfoy rule number 43. The entire horde of elves flinched and backed away, evidently fearing his wrath and more punishment.
"They did wrong, master." Morpy replied, his singsong voice grave, "They punished themselves."
Draco sat on the couch, frozen, angry and ashamed, all three at the same time. This was being Malfoy? This? This ignorance! This selfishness! This cruelty! No wonder his uncle Morpheus had fled from this place. This place was no short a hell.
"What was their crimes?" Draco asked after he found his voice. Guilt and shame was suffocating him now and he could hardly talk.
"Horkey broke the flower vase Late Mistress Astoria liked. We restored it but he ironed his fingers." Morpy, it seemed was dreading being put on guillotine and beheaded, "Lanbey forgot watering the plants Mistress Narcissa had planted in the greenhouse and Gobry didn't oil the clocks well. They whipped themselves hundred times. I made sure they were punished for their carelessness, Master."
Draco was staring in the air, his heart filled with such self-hatred that he wanted to punish himself like those elves did, when Morpy finished his little speech. Wasn't he the one who always encouraged them to punish themselves more? How was it that he felt so sympathetic towards them now? Was it an aftermath of Hermione's words?
He sat there for a very long time, trying not to look at the elves who were anxiously waiting for his next sentence of punishment. Then he sighed and rubbed his forehead wearily.
"Morpy," he took out a satchel with five hundred galleons in it and held it before the elf, "Take it and buy yourselves some new and good clothes."
"Master?" Morpy was giving him a look that clearly suggested that Draco has lost his mind completely.
"Also, I will not have any more self punishments in this Manor as long as I live." Draco stated calmly but firmly, "If I ever hear or see or get an air that any elf is taking matters into hands and punishing him or herself…" he swept a look over the small group, all of them round eyed, "…that would mean…" he stopped just before saying 'clothes'.
From his experiences now, Draco could tell that no punishment could be stopped by threats of a more severe punishment. This was sick, the way these elves were forced to obey and he wasn't going to do that to them. He was determined now. Like his uncle's Château, if the elves served at Malfoy Manor, they would serve at their own free will.
"This would mean that Master Draco would leave the Manor and never come back." He finished the sentence in a different way.
"No, Master! No!" Morpy exclaimed, looking shocked. "Don't say that!" he looked at the other elves for support who nodded immediately. "No, Master! Don't say that! We is sorry! It will happen not again!" They declared in unison. Some of them even looked close to tears.
Draco shook his head in disbelief. How easy was it to emotionally manipulate the elves? And they were the ones who had been tortured and maltreated for centuries and yet they cared for their master.
"Morpy." He called the elf who bowed, "Can you please bring me the Malfoy book of Rules?" This was the first time that Draco spoke so softly to an elf. Most of the other times, it had been kicks and curses.
"Malfoy book of Rules?" Morpy repeated incredulously. He clearly couldn't correlate what his master was asking and doing.
"Yes. The Malfoy book of Rules." Draco affirmed him. He knew that the said book was in his father's study and accessible to elves so that they could check it and abide by the centuries old laws accordingly.
"Yes, master." Morpy didn't press the point, bowed again and disapparated. When he returned thirty seconds later, he was carrying the book as if it was a newborn baby.
"Thank you." Draco took the thick tome from the elves offering hands and examined it for a while. He remembered the Malfoy book of Curses that his aunt Audré had eaten and spat out the chewed pieces. Then he turned his head at the fireplace.
There was a collective gasp from the gathered elves when the book flew out of Draco's hand and landed neatly in the roaring fire. There it sparked and burned until nothing was left of it but the ashes. Draco watched it till the end.
"Master!"
"No!"
"What is you doing?"
"The Malfoy book of Rules!"
"Master Lucius is be angry!"
"Master Brutus are be crying!"
"What is you do, master, what is you do?"
Draco turned to the elf who was wailing the most. It was one of the pregnant elves and she looked downright terrified by his master's odd behaviour.
"Made sure that your child don't suffer like Zilek did." He replied with a strangely satisfied smirk.
To be continued in the next chapter…