He couldn't move. Mrs. Weasley's words rooted him to his spot. Hot chills spread up from his gut. He forced himself to look back into her face. His confidence wavered, but he defended himself. "How dare you! How dare you come here with this rubbish? Harry lets you think you're some agent for good, some claimed family, but you're just as controlling and manipulative as anyone else I know. You think you're so righteous. My parents have been drug through the streets for less than what you're doing right now."
She barked back, "Your parents chose their side and made their fate, and you're the one bringing them up. Not me. You can't compare my concern with their crimes."
"Yes I can. You have no idea. Voldemort killed everyone who was against him. We didn't have an army of aurors fighting for us. We had each other. My parents did what it took to stay alive. And who are you to talk, you killed my aunt to save your daughter. You've no fucking right to judge me. When you're in it, you do it. No one's above it. Show me someone willing to die for blind love, and I'll show you an idiot who has nothing to live for. You'd ask me to turn my fucking body inside out, so Harry's goddamn feelings won't be hurt. Well he can't have everything. I'll lose my mind if I put myself through something like that."
"Language. As well bred as you are, I'm sure you can represent your parents with a better vocabulary than that."
"This is not about my parents. This is personal."
"I'm only saying, you've already been through the worst of it, you're stronger than you think."
"You weren't there, you didn't see what…" He almost said, what Harry went through, but he wasn't going to let her trick him again.
"You haven't been with us, you don't know what it's like. You were always meant to be a mother. A wife. We're men, and nobody fucking knows what this is like for us, yet you would have us turn ourselves into jokes, just to make yourself feel better. I don't give a damn about any plant or any baby, I have enough to think about. And you haven't proven anything. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an old lady desperate to feel useful. Go back to your family and meddle in their lives, why don't you?"
He threw the plant against the lower part of the wall, to the side of her. The pot cracked, spilling dirt, but she didn't flinch. He turned and went back inside.
She held out her hand and the shattered pot put itself back together again, leaping into her arm. She took a deep breath, summoned her strongest magic, and followed him by stepping through the closed door.
He felt her enter behind him, and gasped at her audacity.
"Don't worry, dear. I couldn't get past your wards if Harry's welcome didn't allow me to. This place knows that I don't mean you any harm better than you do. As long as this is his home, I can enter. I taught him that trick."
He closed his eyes, squeezing back the instinct to drive his fist into a wall. Harry should've discussed that with him. Then he thought, maybe he did, he wasn't sure. He wanted to punch something so badly, he felt the urge pressurize in his chest. He wished he was as evil as people thought, so that he wouldn't have any problem hitting this woman. When he spoke, his throat constricted and his emotions betrayed him.
"You've crossed the last line. You're not welcomed..." He couldn't finish. Too much heat and wetness blurred his vision. Frustration would not allow him coherency. Fucking hell, why do emotions clog everything up.
She was smart to stand still, but everything in her manner longed to approach him. Her face softened, no longer flexing the crows feet lines around her eyes to show him who was older, wiser, and tougher. She had hit a pretty harsh blow below the belt, and he needed privacy to recover.
"Draco dear, I know I'm making the most personal statements a person could make, but I'm only doing it to show you that you have something wonderful. Something worth saving. This child represents the best of both you and Harry."
"Get out." He bent over, as if she were further pummeling him. He grabbed onto a small console table in the entryway. Tension knotted below his navel, and he knew that it was a manifestation of the argument with her. It was energy that he hadn't made peace with. She'd stirred it into a frenzy. He hadn't told a single soul about his plans to have the procedure done. It was hard enough to find a wizarding doctor who hadn't heard of him, let alone one specializing in magical pregnancies. Her concern denied him the ability to dismiss what was happening to his body, and he hated her for it.
"It's very special. You both have done a lovely job with Iece, we all couldn't be more proud. But you also know that you're cleaning up your father's doing. You're taking responsibility for her, and that's magnificent. She can't help how she got here, now there's nothing to do but love her. But this one, this one is yours and Harry's work. Your intent to start fresh come to life. If I can impress upon you how important it is to keep this child, please give me a moment to talk to you. I swear I'm not trying to hurt you."
The more loving her tone became, the more he resisted it. It made him hate himself for all the risks he and Harry had taken when it came to sex. After seeing Iece's birth, he'd gone out of his way to find a method for keeping himself from ever getting pregnant. Not because he intended to have sex that way, but because he knew he couldn't say no if Harry wanted it. Holding him was sometimes the only way to get through to him. Sex was too critical a language between them, to ever think he could just resist giving in. He couldn't rely on muggle technology or wizarding craft to ensure what he needed. So he'd turned to lesser known, experimental means. Hybrid technology. Multiple methods. He took maintenance potions and a "flush" pill every two weeks. It was designed to stop any cell division and cleanse the fertilized object from the body without going noticed.
The first time taking risks with Harry after the war, especially after remembering what their first time was like, he walked on eggshells afterwords, ready to unleash a battery of illegal spells if anything weird started to happen. Months went by. They weren't having sex all that frequently, just when things got particularly crazy. He got through a whole year, with the only side effect being loss of weight. He began to relax about it. Now he could see that he'd gotten comfortable and careless. Sex with Harry was too much of a morphine drip to his pain, for him to know how to do without it. What the hell was he going to do in America, without Harry? Life was more than sex, he knew, but it was that comfort that made the rest tolerable. Only when he lay with Harry, could he let his defenses down and stop running to survive.
It was bad enough that he'd been careless to take any risks at all, but of course they were going to comfort each other. But it was worse having Mrs. Weasley guess it and threaten to tell. He couldn't forgive himself for that.
"Just leave." It was a plea this time.
"I'm going, but I had to tell you. I'm not doing this to hurt you," she repeated. "I don't mean to. The way you've barred me from your life, leaves me no choice but to barge over here and tell you that you've got choices."
"You've gone too far." He braced himself over the table, staring at the white splotches in his hands that hinted of strained circulation. "What goes on between me and Harry isn't any of your business."
"I can't ignore your pain, or what you're about to do to your child."
"You can't read my mind. You don't get to decide what I'm thinking and planning. You've no right to even attempt it."
"And you don't get to run off by yourself trying to handle this on your own. I couldn't live with myself if I said nothing. I'd rather hurt your feelings than have you destroy the only solid evidence of yours and Harry's union."
He put his hands to his temples and leaned against the wall.
She came closer. "I know you're planning on getting rid of it, because that's what almost any scared young person might do. If I were so scarred and didn't know any better, I might make the same wrong turn."
This confused him. He couldn't see her giving up one of her babies. Not even if she had a hundred, with no way of caring for them. She was one of those bleeding heart people who thought love could fix everything. He stared at her through his fingers.
"I know, it's a necessary thing for some, but not for you. I know you're not cruel, or Harry wouldn't have anything to do with you. You think you're protecting this child by not letting it come into your lives. You think things are so ruined and messy that all you can realistically do, is salvage what you've got. You think you don't have enough energy for a second child, and that you're barely hanging on with Iece, and in the face of so much against you. The kindest thing you can think of, is letting it go back to the source of love that it came from, instead of trying to survive in your terribly damaged world.
"I knew when I saw you back here. The plant only confirms it. The night you flooed to Hermione to pick up the baby, you stood next to a plant I'd given her. Don't worry, I don't think anyone noticed."
She gave him a minute to absorb this and sat the plant down on the table. "I said I wouldn't butt in, but now that everything is going to be out in the open again, in a trial, I knew you'd fight it. I know you're overwhelmed and there's too much on your shoulders. You're going to leave without telling him. If you do this, he'll never forgive it. He'll always love you, but he'll never be able to forget that he wasn't given a say in the matter. And you're not alone in the hell he leaves you with. I'm happy to help you. You think you can't trust me. You think these are just words, but I would raise that baby, myself, if I thought you'd let me. Rather than see you follow through with your plans."
How did this Weasely woman know his plans? Why was she so smart all of a sudden?
She must've read his questions in his face. "You applied for an American visa. You've bought land there. The Daily Prophet leaks news of your hotel negotiations every chance it gets. They pay others to spy on your business affairs, you know that by now. Everyone knows it, so don't look at me like that. Tell me, in your plans to be the most visible and successful Malfoy on the planet, do you see yourself raising a second child? When you dream of a life away from Harry's problems, do you see anyone with you, besides Iece?"
When he couldn't answer, she said, "I didn't think so. That's because you haven't made plans for another child. You know what you're going to do as soon as you find a doctor who can be paid to blindly perform the procedure you need. No one here would dare hurt Harry like that. You've made no plans for anyone else but you two. You think you'll be free, but you won't. If you do this, you'll be further chained to a regret that nothing can heal. At least now, you can make things right. Be honest with him."
He exploded, speaking through clinched teeth. "You think this is so easy. You've never done what you're asking me to do. You've never been in my shoes. I don't care how many children you've had, you've never been a man in this situation. Don't you dare try to tell me what's right for my life."
She agreed with him, coming closer. "No, you're right. I don't know. All I know is what you'll lose if you go away. And I'll say anything to get you to understand. You have to keep this child. For almost three years, you've been nothing but a light for Harry. You've loved the hardest you've ever loved for him. This child is all that exists of your purest feelings for him. Iece is perfect, bless her, but you're cleaning up something your father did. With this one, it's living proof that Harry inspired you to forsake everything you've been taught to hate, and to simply love. That is what's coming to life inside of you, and I'm begging you not to destroy it."
He snapped at her, "This is not supposed to be my life. I have plans. I'm not a fucking house wife."
"I know, and I admit it's terribly unfair to you. But here you are, and no one does it alone, dear. You shouldn't have to. No matter what sort of trouble Harry gets himself into, you're not alone. Arthur and I will help you. You can trust us."
"Trust you to talk rainbows and purposes, and kids that are meant to be. There's no greater plan behind this. It's just rotten luck, the same as it's always been for me.
"Luck has nothing to do with it. It's either a decision that was made, or one that wasn't. Sometimes, you don't know until you get a result that you don't like. But the good news is, you get to make better decisions. Like now, with this opportunity. This isn't happening for nothing. This child is coming because you and Harry need it."
That struck him as so ridiculous, he realized he'd actually started to listen in hopes that she'd say something sensible. Her failure to do so only made him angrier. Through his teeth, he told her, "No one needs a baby. Least of all me and Harry. That's just selfish bullshit people say. More responsibility is never the solution to anything. People only end up blaming their kids and their kids end up feeling useless. I will not do that."
"I'm not saying you need it to save your relationship," she came right back at him. "I'm saying that this little one is being born from all that you two have been through. It's made from your bond. Bless her, but the same cannot be said of even Iece's birth, though she is being raised on it just the same. You two were still enemies when she… "
She stopped, thinking better of her words. "This one is like a living custom diagnostic that fits your needs. An assessment of your total time with Harry. Of your challenges." Her hands reached out, curling as she tried to find and grasp words out of her reach. "This child will be hard-wired to fit into your lives because it comes from your current need of one another. Not the years during school. Not when you were running to survive, but up to right now, and all that you feel for him."
She saw the look on his face. "I'm serious. Your body did this, as you were living day in and day out with your frustrations and your hopes for Harry. Your prayers."
He sneered. "I don't fucking pray."
"Language, dear. You wouldn't want to misrepresent your upbringing with poor manners. My point is, we all ask for things in the privacy of our hearts. Call it a different name, it's still the same thing. You must've asked for Harry to figure himself out. To figure his life out and finally be done with all the things haunting him. There must've been times when you didn't know how to get through to him, but you wanted him to be done with his pain so badly. Every cell in your body understands what you want for your little family, and your body let you get pregnant at the worst of times because you were asking so powerfully for help with all of that. I'm a mother, I can see it because I know it. I've stood where you are, minus the lack of support and goodness knows what, that you've been living all these years."
She wouldn't stop. Her words were emphatic. "You've no idea how intelligent your cells are. You can talk to your limbs the same way you can use affection to get a plant to thrive. Don't you know, that with the right spell, a pumpkin seed can travel through your digestive system, survive the journey, is replanted, and the next harvest will have exactly a surplus of nutrients that you've been deficient in? Your chemistry tells that tiny seed what it needs to make for you. Now if a seed can do that, what's yours and Harry's trying to make for you? A solution, that's what."
She smiled, pleased with her analogy.
Draco was stricken. He brought his hands down slowly from his face. "Someone actually recovered a digested pumpkin seed and replanted it for human consumption?"
"Well, for the sake of all that scientific learning and what not, yes. It's an old Ayurvedic tradition, and it works. You're missing the point. This child is unique to yours and Harry's journey. You've no idea the form your prayers are taking."
"So according to Weasley logic, Harry got pregnant because his body was asking for my father's child?"
He meant to be a smartass, but as soon as he'd said it, he new his mistake. And somewhere back there, he knew he'd already betrayed himself.
Her narrowed eyes said, as much as she cared for him, she wasn't about to pretend she hadn't heard that. She put her hand on his arm. "Yes. I know you don't want to hear this, but Harry needed a reason to survive that night. Without her, he probably would not have."
"Well isn't that perfect! Isn't that just the silver fucking lining? Harry's not her birth-father. I am, and I don't want another one."
"Draco."
"And I don't have to explain anything to anyone. I've had it with tiptoeing around all the do-gooders judging my every move, thinking I'm sad and pathetic. I don't care if the world knows what my father did. I'm not broken, I'm perfectly sound, and I make perfectly clear decisions for my self. I will not drag another person into this shit-show. And Nicee deserves to be as far away from here as possible, where she can get a fresh start as well, without the whole bloody world thinking they're better than her just because of how she was born."
She placed her hand on him again to steady him. He was shaking. Stray hairs shivered, falling into his eyes. He brushed them back with one hand. "She's mine, and I have to do what's right for her."
Flustered beyond reproach, he was about to make another point when she butted in.
"Arthur and I know that Harry gave birth to her. Snape told us."
He held her gaze, not daring to let her see how this confession deflated him.
Her tone filled with compassion. "You were still in hiding with Harry when Snape warned Aurthur and I of the dangers to you both. He insisted that he was in contact with you still, and instructing you on what to do when the time came. He was taking you through drills, he said. It was too dangerous for you to reveal yourselves and he wouldn't give your whereabouts away. Not even to us. He kept saying that he's prepared you as much as possible, and that your magic would have to do the rest. He intended to be there for her birth, but trained you should the worst happen. He was coming back for you, and we were all going to decide on better arrangements for you and Harry. But he died.
"When neither you or Harry didn't say anything at the trial, we hardly felt it was our place to do so. Especially when the baby was completely innocent in all of this. We played dumb like everyone else. We supported the fib that she was yours instead of Harry's, and that you shouldn't be forced to provide medical records for all the world to gossip about. You've been shamed enough and there was enough evidence to convict Lucius without traumatizing you further. You see, we've been on your side the whole time. You don't know how glad we were, when we finally got to see her. Does she look like Lucius? Why, yes! Is she beautiful beyond reason? Absolutely!"
He couldn't let himself fall for it. "You did that to protect Harry. Not me. It's okay if the world hates the Malfoy's, incestuous and lying family that they are, but we can't have them knowing that Boy Wonder took it like a man because, like Draco, he was missing everything that made him a man that night and he got fucked and pregnant like Voldemort scripted it."
She slapped him. It tossed his head to the side, leaving him stunned.
"I'll hear you out," she said, "but do make an effort to use appropriate language, or I'll treat you exactly the way I treat my boys. Trust me, there's a spell I could've used, that makes that slap look like a warm hug."
He'd been trying to be as vulgar as he dared, just to get her back for having known the truth all this time. He wanted to drive her away, but his face smarted. She looked exactly like her daughter when she wasn't backing down. He could see where Ginny got her grit from.
He rubbed his face and drew himself up. There was no dignity in hitting her, he knew, but he wanted to. So he said instead, "When my family lies, we're corrupt, but when you lie, you're just doing what's best for Harry. How come everyone's okay with exposing my family's skeletons, but Harry's image can't be tarnished?"
She came right back. "Look who's talking. You're the one who's protecting him, more than anyone. It was your testimony that left him out of the picture completely. Arthur and I, Ron and Hermione, all followed your lead, dear. I think you know perfectly well why you chose not to bring Harry into the circle of victimization that left you exposed to ridicule. Once they know, people never look at you the same. You spared him that humiliation because you know it better than anyone. You took that hit. And we four are guilty of following you into it. That was wrong on all our parts. But Draco, the real crime isn't simply the mistake. The crime is deliberately choosing to hurt someone. As far as I'm concerned, we all made choices not to see anyone else get hurt. That's why we pretended that we didn't know. You took all the scandal upon your shoulders and made yourself a decoy. That wasn't a solution, but it was the only thing you knew to do. That was a voluntary fall from grace."
He winced. "It's not as if it was much of a fall. I was already on the ground."
"Then you have your answer. You had nothing else to lose, and Harry, in your eyes, had everything to lose. You would not see him suffer anymore at the hands of your father. You took his burdens on. All of them, including the lie. We didn't know how to help you. We didn't know everything that went on, so we supported you. Not just anyone can be trusted with the truth. Least of all, not the general public. But now, I don't think we did either of you any favors regarding secrecy. It's obvious that Harry can't find peace, and that you're working yourself to death. If you wanted to tell the truth, it would be difficult, but not impossible to come out of this completely clean."
"I'd go to prison. Harry would. If they knew what my father did, and all the people who watched, my parents would've been sentenced to death. And so many others. They're either free or alive and locked up, because none of us could bring ourselves to tell the truth. If Iece's blood is tested for hereditary magic, they're going to know that she's not mine. That she's my half-sister. She'll be taken away from us."
"I won't let that happen. If you have to do time, I'll take her. I'll foster her until you get out. Yes, you lied, but it was born out of trauma. If you go to prison, I can't see it being more than a short period of time. Certainly not Azkaban. You're not insane. There are decent facilities where you could give birth in a healthy environment. Entrust her to me. Both babies, I'll have plenty of help. Once you're out, all of this will truly be over and you'll have your family. The worst thing you'll miss is teething and tantrums. I would make sure your children saw your photo every day and thought highly of your return to them."
"Stop. Don't."
No. That was too much. Hearing her beg to take Iece punched him in the chest. It preyed on every fear he had for his sister, and his desperateness to see her protected. How dare she, a Weasley, dangle this in front of him when he was at his most vulnerable. Only a few weeks ago he considered her as a foster parent, but couldn't get past his resentment and animosity that seemed to be bred into their family names. They were both of ilks that couldn't mix, like oil and water and that was perfectly natural. It felt wrong to try to change that nature. Yeah, she was an experienced mother and a capable witch, but she despised everything he had come from. How could he really trust her? How dare she make the one offer that he and Iece needed more than anything right now? Safety and stability. A guarantee. How dare she love Harry so much, that she's willing to dismiss his family's mistakes? Or would she make Iece suffer because she could?
She did lose a son over Voldemort and those who supported him. Her children wouldn't let it be that simple. There was too much to consider. He found himself shaking his head against all that he couldn't speak. She watched him, trying to anticipate what she needed to say.
There were a thousand reasons why she couldn't have Iece, and they were so ugly, behind her bosom offer, that speaking them would only reveal how callously he had learned to think.
"Don't you dare make such a promise," he told her. "An impossible promise. My sister will be hated. She might even be hunted. Don't tell me you'd protect her the way you would your own. Don't lie to me. If it wasn't for my family, Fred might still be alive. No matter how much you love Harry, you can't honestly say that it's all forgiven. You can't raise her and hate my family too. I know you mean well." He wiped his eyes. "But I can't let you lie to me like that. Not when it's about her."
Her mouth was set to defend herself, but he forged ahead.
"You'd try to live by your word. You'd try to love her. But you can't speak for everyone in your family. And no, I'm not accusing your relatives of going around taking their anger out on children. It's just that you can't watch her every second. Her security will cost a fortune. People would challenge you and threaten your family if she came to live with you. You've already lost one son over the hatred that just keeps going. I can't leave her with you."
He knew he hadn't made himself understood, but that's all he could bring himself to say. She lifted her hands and placed them on his back and shoulders, forcing him to turn his whole body to face her. When he stood straight, she held his shirt sleeves.
"Arthur and I value family more than anything else. My offer was simply an option. Yes, it'd be difficult, but nothing we can't handle. If you let your little ones come to live with us, they'd be ours. They'd have four parents, not two. We could never do this half-way, just because she isn't blood. All children require commitment. I would kill for your child the same as I would kill for my own, if anyone gave me a reason to. Yes, I'm still angry about Fred, but I don't put the blame on you or your parents. There's only one person who ordered that attack on a school full of children, and it wasn't any of you. So put that out of your head right now. If me taking her upsets you so much, then give yourself more time to think about what you're doing, before it can't be undone. Give yourself more time and don't make such a rash, irreversible decision based on fear. Nothing done out of fear ever works out. Ever."
She hugged him, pulling him into her cushioned arms. He remained tense, but didn't fight it. Maybe if he let her think she had him, it would give him time to rethink his plan. No matter what she said. No matter how good it felt to be accepted. No matter the relief her arms around him brought. She grasped him in a light, shaking way, as if to make sure her affection was getting into him. He should've felt uncomfortable, but his muscles loosened and he put some of his weight onto her, and it didn't feel like being repelled by something gross at all. It felt like a mother's complete embodiment, and just for a second he envied the Weasely brats who got to grow up with this level of soothing. No wonder they were arrogant. They'd had this kind of support growing up no matter what stupid things they did. She could never replace his mother, but just briefly, he wondered how different he might be, if he'd had this growing up.
It turned out to be easier than Harry thought to get into Gringotts with Jipsy. They were escorted by four guards, but no one detained them with extra questions or paperwork. Uniformed aurors watched them from a distance and he had to agree to Goblin trace charms, but as soon as he did, he was allowed to side-apparate with Jipsy right into the vault.
He expected the vault to be a cave of dark, hollowed out bedrock, with a stack of magical trunks, of unfathomable depths. Instead, Jipsy showed him through the cave entrance into a stately ambiance of eighteenth century architecture and décor. For starters, the room swallowed them, making Harry think this is what it would look like if the Room of Requirement modeled itself into The Bowery in New York. He'd never been there, but he'd seen pictures. Those low lights, warm rafters and soft leather chairs were reminiscent of old English homes. However, this room was a bit brighter, had much higher ceilings to accommodate dripping chandeliers, and possessed more than a touch of female charm.
Femininity was in the air. Perfume. It was light and reminded him of honeysuckle, it was that distinct. That could only be a witch or wizard's meticulous brew. Muggle perfumes smelled like synthetic chemicals compared to the finer layers of wizarding ones. The precision it must've taken, the skill and patience, reminded him of Snape and he would've bet that the perfume was made by someone related to Snape. This brewing ability had definitely passed to his genetic stores and it was uncanny that such a thing could run so specifically in a bloodline. For a moment, he was pleased that the only way he could know this was from having watched Snape brew for seven years. That suddenly felt like an immense archive of knowledge and experience under his belt.
The room felt palatial. There were two fireplaces, one at each end. Walls and carpet were outfitted in matching scarlet patterns that lined around the mahogany panels. Four chandeliers crystallized the length of the room with gold illumination. Circular tables of deep, thick varnish reflected them against the backdrop of a painted ceiling filled with astrological signs and forgotten deities. Each table, far older than the century in which they were arranged, held vases of fresh flowers. An assortment of lounging settees, sofas, and divans, complimented each other in sumptuous crimson textures. Even lamp shades draped with velvet shades of that same blood hue that soaked the carpet. Enormous mirrors on the walls sat in braided gold frames, reflecting oil masterpieces, books locked behind glass shelves, and artisan molding that stretched to the ceiling's relief sculpture. He recognized some of the symbols painted up there, but not all of them. He saw that the depth of the room was an illusion that gave way to the illusion of rooms beyond.
Jipsy explained that this was mistress's sitting room and lured him to explore deeper inside. As he followed, he was unable to articulate anything more than a "Wow." He saw that she hadn't simply preserved fashion accessories, she preserved the entire home of Ladoria Prince. When she'd told him that she only kept some trunks and sentiments, he didn't know she meant all this.
"Jipsy, how much of this is magic, and how much is physical?" His steps led him forward, but his head and body kept turning to take in everything. Jipsy led the way, but had to wait on him to absorb what he was seeing.
"Jipsy's rule of thumb. If you can pick it up, it's real. The lighting is all magic, but the first sixty meters carpet came from the home. Jipsy can wait many years to see what the new owners throw out. Mistress's in-laws, their children took over the home. I had to wait a long time before anyone bothered to restore the old estate. Then I got the last of the things. All of Mistress's favorite pieces. The paintings are not originals, but Jipsy has special magic for copying them. The best replicas are here. Jipsy has more in hiding places."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Let me get this straight. You've replicated the entire Prince estate in your vault?"
"No, sir. Sadly, I could only get a few of Mistress's favorite rooms inside, but I used her library and bedroom for the colors and decorations. Every item you see, is either real or recalled from my time with her. Gringott's wards automatically limit the amount of magic that I can use to create space."
The place looked truly real and stunning. She'd done such a good job, it made him reconsider having a look at Grimauld Place before getting her to change it back to the way it was. After dropping off Kreacher, he hadn't hung around to check it out.
"Is this the same spell used to make Grimauld look like the Malfoy Estate?"
"Yes, sir. With modifications. This way, when I'm missing Mistress, I can enter and feel that she's only off reading or having tea in another part of the house. I often prepare meals here and bring them back to you. It's fun to pretend she'll be appreciating some hot dinner."
As sad as that sounded, it reminded him to stay alert and focused at the same time. He sniffed at the perfume. There really could've been a lady getting dressed on the other side of that privacy screen, which he saw as he approached the next room.
"Hell, Draco and I could just hide here if we ever needed to."
"Except for the Goblin magic that would tell on you, sir."
Right. That.
He pointed to the room ahead. "Is that where the trunks are?"
She ran ahead of him. "Yes, you must see!"
Just as he suspected, the room was fascinating and uncomfortable at the same time. Exactly like being in a woman's bedroom when he wasn't supposed to be. Open floor space gave breath to a large vanity, rows of chests and wardrobes, and yes, stacks of trunks magically arranged on top of one another. He tried not to stare too long at a bed so large and outfitted in gossamer gold and black curtains, that it reminded him of a sumptuous black wedding cake. He wanted to approach the photos that he saw by the bed, but the silk dressings shimmering up at him, discouraged any movement in that direction. That fabric was, dare he admit, sexier than he thought Victorian people would tolerate, and positively exclaimed an active intimacy in the history of the bed. He had to remind himself that he was dealing with a witch who knew how to get away with certain things. The couple sharing this bed, did not necessarily share the moral fortitude of the day with English society in those times. He looked away.
His eyes settled on a lightly guilded Chaise Lounge, rather tightly and artistically upholstered with the same black silk that rippled smoothly across the bed. Honestly, the fabric looked more expensive than the woodwork, and he couldn't imagine any ass plopping down casually on something meant to exude royalty. It sat at the foot of the bed, with a coffee table and tea service beside it.
"Let me guess," he ventured. "The husband had that made for her, didn't he?" He pointed. Jipsy nodded.
"Yes, it's still spelled to maintain itself and her happiness that day. It's a work of art, the highest craftsmanship. Mistress cried when she saw it, and said that there was not another masterpiece in all of Europe, including the Louvre."
"Wow, she did like black shiny things."
"Wrapped herself up in them, she did. She used the softest, most beautiful materials to soothe the most broken of hearts."
"Her daughter, right? She lost a child?"
"Yes. Lost to love and pride."
"Um, which brings us to why I'm here. All this stuff is really cool, but I'm looking for something that will tie Snape to me personally. How are we related? Since you can't talk about that, maybe I'll find more clues in Ladoria's trunks. I really don't want to snoop, but I kind a have to snoop.
He risked a peak in the closest chifforobe drawer. Something flimsy and pink flashed before he closed it shut again. "Um, I don't want to rummage through anyone's delicates. Can you show me where there might be letters or photos, or birth certificates, things of historical significance. Family things."
"Well, sir, I know you didn't come simply to admire Jipsy's enviable collection. Let's start with these trunks."
She brought down the topmost stacks with a wave of her hand. They spread in a semicircle on the floor.
Thirty minutes into it, he was looking at magical copies of deeds and records far too numerous to sort.
"I thought you said the husband's family removed all the important stuff. You made copies of their documents?"
"These are Mistress's copies. She made them herself, just to keep the family's affairs organized. She was going to publish her own book, archiving her ancestry and relative records. It was to be a gift to to her sisters and her daughter, in the hopes that they would take up where she left off. But she lost interest when she lost her child."
He found stacks of letters and photos to go with them, but those faces meant nothing to him. And from what he could make out, the letters were mostly mundane correspondences between distant cousins, some courtship souvenirs, and journals with blank pages. He knew the journals could've been charmed, but something made him hold off from forcing their contents from them.
"Oh, how did her daughter die?"
Jipsy looked troubled for a moment, then admitted, "Not death. Not then. Removed from the family."
"Disinherited?" The mystery deepens. "So she was grieving for a daughter. Surely, she must've kept a picture." He would've.
"Yes, look for the hidden bottom. The few she kept, she did so against her husband's wishes. She had to hide them."
He dug into the trunk, finding a very solid bottom and no photos. He took everything out. "If you saw a picture of her, you'd tell me, right?"
He waited for an answer and heard nothing. He looked up from the floor. Jipsy shrugged her bony shoulders. "I can't speak her name. But if you find her, I can confirm or deny with a nod of my head."
"Boy, that's some secrecy spell." He appealed to her, feeling a bit slowed down and tired from finding too much of nothing definitive. "Can you please remove the charm protecting this false bottom. I don't have my wand."
They seemed to have reached the point where he needed her help for everything. The goblins wouldn't allow him inside with even a generic wand.
She snapped her finger and the bottom opened. Stacks of more letters and photos fell out. A somewhat sullen, dark haired girl looked out from them. They were wizard photos, and the girl merely stared intensely, sometimes blinking, sometimes looking off to the side in thought. It took him a minute to realize that he was looking at the same girl in multiple pictures, at various ages. Some of the teenage ones were muggle pictures, but most were magical in nature. There was something piercing about her, like hair and eyes that were unusually black in a world of muted brunettes and dark brown eyes. This must be the daughter, he surmised. He found one of both mother and daughter, and confirmed it. In the muggle world, photography had only been invented for around fifty years when these were taken. But wizarding methods of capturing images were older and more various.
The daughter was off-putting, even a little creepy, as she looked at the camera as if she didn't trust it. It was difficult to tell her age in each photo. He found twelve altogether. He turned them over, one by one, reading "Eileen." Was this Ladoria's only daughter?
"Jackpot. This has to be her."
Jipsy nodded, encouragingly.
Eileen wore braids in all but two, and had a healthy tone to her complexion, but that was all he could say of her attractiveness. She looked too defensive to be concerned with her looks. Even the ones with her long hair down, and wearing more grown up dresses, she looked like it was all a waste of her time and she wanted to be doing something else. Unlike the mother, who used the opportunity to brighten her dark eyes with make-up, and sweep her hair into curls that piled and spilled from graceful hats and scarfs. Ladoria decorated her ears and throat with flashy jewelry that took pride in her wealth. Her smile was generous and made her truly pretty, in a motherly sort of way. She was even a bit plump and tended to smile mid-laugh in all of her photos, as if she were a fairly jolly personality. Harry liked her.
The other one, Eileen the daughter, he couldn't say what she made him feel exactly. Uncomfortable, maybe. She had a lovely shape to her mouth and might've made a better impression if she smiled and came across as friendly. He couldn't wait to read the letters, to get an idea of what transpired between them. Every time he pulled one out to get started on reading, another tiny photo fell out, distracting him. There was obviously too much here to deal with all at once. It would take weeks to sort this out.
"You don't suppose I could take some of these back home to read them. A few at a time?"
"Of course. Jipsy will clear it with Gringotts. Mr. Potter is to come and go from Jipsy's vault whenever he likes." She stated firmly.
He liked the sound of that. Just then, another picture fell from between the envelopes he held. This one was the oldest version of Eileen than all the others. She'd actually grown up to be a nice looking woman. More handsome than pretty, due to the serious way she stared the camera down. But it looked like she'd mellowed since her early teens. She couldn't have been more than twenty. The astonishing thing was, she held a baby, looking months old. Old enough to sit up, but definitely not walking. The child's rounded, drool-wet lips made him smile a little, reminding him of when Iece was that small. These photos seemed to impart some light magic, making him feel more attached to them than he had a right to feel. This wasn't his family, after all. That remained to be proven. But he kind of felt proud of her, as if her kid was a big deal. She'd become a mother and done well, as if that path had been in doubt at some point. As if no one expected her to ever want to be that normal. What was making him think this?
"This is a boy?" He guessed right.
The photo was black and white. In it, every time she started to show a genuine smile, one of the firsts, she'd get bashful, look down and pat her baby, who sucked on the hem of his dressing gown and dangled his kicking legs over her lap. He got the distinct impression that she was blushing over the fact that she'd had a baby, as if someone off-sight was rubbing it in and amazed that it had happened at all. He could almost hear a joke being made, and appreciated that this was one of her more happy moments. He wondered briefly if the magic in the photograph could possess telepathic qualities, for he felt like this was coming from her easily, unlike the other photos. It was like she'd made peace with something, and was so happy, that she didn't mind sharing herself on that day, unlike in the other pictures.
He stared a little too long. She did an odd thing, sat her baby against her chest and took up her embroidery loop laying off to the side. He thought that was just a prop, but she began using a needle on it in earnest, her hands working quickly and efficiently.
"Wow, these photos really are treasures," he said to Jipsy. What he meant was, he could see the way this woman transformed over the years and grew into more of herself. "She seems happy in this one. I'm glad she didn't die. Can you tell me why she was disinherited?"
Jipsy shook her head. "Bad marriage," is all I can say. And yes, the baby gave her happiness."
"Cute thing." He looked closely. The distracted child tried to grab his mother's needle, but she expertly pushed his fingers away and held it out of his reach. A sprig of tender black hair flowed over the baby's soft scalp and Harry supposed that whatever made him seem familiar, must be universal to all babies. They all had those miniature features, perpetually wonder-filled eyes and thin lips that were sweetly pink. This one was no exception, except he did have his mothers scopic black pupils.
Then it hit him. If Ladoria was the woman Jipsy worked for, whose name was Prince, then this woman was Snape's mother. Eileen was Snape's mother. He was looking at Snape before the age of one, sitting on her lap and probably teething or something.
He didn't breathe for a solid minute as he came to grips with this. "Holy shit. Professor Snape." His precious teacher. He touched the photograph with the tips of his other hand. "How am I seeing this? I sat in his class for six years. He was a cranky old fart, how can he be this beautiful baby?"
He laughed and looked at Jipsy, whose grin reappeared and stretched with his.
"It's true," he told her. "This guy scared the shit out me since I was eleven, then he ends up sacrificing everything to save my life. I can't get over it. I can't let him go. Now, I'm meeting his mother. I'm meeting him. It's like I get to travel back in time, before I was even born, just to have this meeting. So weird and so amazing at the same time. I can't thank you enough, Jipsy. I have to get a copy of this. And now I have to find out how exactly am I related to Snape?"
Jipsy silently nodded, deliberately keeping quiet.
When he looked back at the photo, his breath caught. He lost all thought of what he'd been about to say. All time stopped and there were no words to explain what he was seeing.
In the photo, Eileen held Severus's tiny arm back, to keep him from grabbing her tambour frame. She was breathing hard, strained. Her arm thrust the hoop out for him to notice. She shook it, demanding that he see it and nothing else. Harry was forced to squint to read what she had stitched upon it. In long dark threads, it read:
Harry Potter. I'm waiting for you.
Harry looked at Jipsy, to make sure that she could see it too, and he wasn't imagining things.
Jipsy's wide eyes confirmed it. "No, sir. You're not going crazy. I see it too. I reckon when you enter her picture, she'll tell you everything you need to know about Mr. Snape."
