3. THE MISCONCEPTIONS OF MUGGLES AND MALFOYS
"Go open the door!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the living room, the sofa sagging dangerously under his considerable weight and several empty beer bottles littered over the floor or incongruously placed on Aunt Petunia's fine lace doily on the coffee table.
Holly sighed soundlessly, carefully straightening her aching back from where she had been crouched on the floor next to the oven, trying to scrub away the burnt-in grease, sauce splatters and crumbs. The doorbell rang again and Uncle Vernon gave another annoyed bellow, complementing it with his usual threats to improve her motivation. She almost rolled her eyes, but then thought it better to get a move on before he actually roused himself enough to implement some of his threats that had become disturbingly more imaginative ever since Petunia had left for her trip.
She moved towards the front door, absently pushing her sweaty bangs out of her face, realising a little too late that she had probably just smeared soot all over her forehead and cheeks. Oh well, nothing to be done about that now. She opened the door, blinking in surprise to find Lucius Malfoy stood on the front steps, his silvery hair gleaming in the bright sunlight, his dark robes falling in impeccably precise folds over his broad shoulders and his fingers tapping impatiently against the snake head of his cane.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a whisper, glancing behind her to make sure that her uncle hadn't ventured forth from the living room to investigate.
Malfoy arched one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at her rude greeting, his eyes wandering appraisingly up and down her form, no doubt noting the dirt on her skin and clothes, her shoulder-length hair haphazardly held back by one of her aunt's old scarves, her hands red and cracking from the aggressive cleaning solutions Petunia always had her buy. She could pinpoint the exact moment he noticed the dark bruises on her arms, the still angry imprints of where Vernon had wrapped his fingers around her throat.
"Miss Potter…" he said, interrupting himself when there was another shout from her uncle.
"What the bloody hell is taking you so long, girl?" her uncle bellowed and she winced despite herself. "This better not be another one of your freaky friends! I've had about enough of that nonsense! And bring me another beer!"
"It would probably be best if you left," Holly said softly, making to close the door.
"I couldn't disagree more," Malfoy replied, blocking the closing door with his hand and smoothly stepping around her while he pulled his wand from his cane. "Stay behind me."
"What are you… no, stop it!" she hissed, grabbing his arm and trying to physically pull him back, with predictable results.
"Tell me one thing, Miss Potter: Is that Muggle in there responsible for your injuries?" Malfoy demanded, staring expectantly down at her and nodding to himself when she gave no answer. "I thought so. Now I would suggest you pack your things while I deal with this."
"But… you can't. The contract…"
"Believe me, Miss Potter, I'm sadly aware of the new limitations the contract has imposed on us and as much as I might wish to opt for a permanent solution to this problem, I shall not make the mistake of incurring the wrath of both you and the Dark Lord," Malfoy replied, lazily swishing his wand when a red-faced Uncle Vernon appeared in the door way. "Petrificus Totalus."
Her uncle's frozen body tilted backwards dangerously, at first as if in slow motion before gravity asserted its full force and his rotund body crashed to the floor, angry bubbles of spit still clinging to his lips.
"I'm going to have a little chat with your uncle," Malfoy said, turning back to her. "I assume you will want to wash up a little before we go."
"Go where?" Holly demanded suspiciously, trying not to look at her uncle so she wouldn't have to see the frozen rage on his face, the terror in his eyes.
"I was under the impression that you were not quite so eager to spend any additional time with your relatives so I came here to extend an invitation for you to visit Malfoy Manor," the blond informed her.
"But Dumbledore said…"
"Ah, but I'm not asking Dumbledore for his permission. I'm asking yours," Malfoy replied, arching his eyebrow again.
"You have a funny way of asking," Holly muttered, but then decided not to look that particular gift horse in the mouth. "Okay, thank you I guess. I'm going to pack my things, but most of my school stuff is in the cupboard under the stairs and I don't have the key for that."
"I will see to that for you," Malfoy agreed readily, but instead took a step towards her uncle. "After I've dealt with this."
"Don't hurt him," Holly warned, but didn't wait for an answer as she quickly made her way upstairs to the room she still thought of as Dudley's second bedroom.
§*§*§*§*§
Uncle Vernon had looked physically unharmed, but rather shell-shocked when she had left no. 4, Privet Drive, for what she hoped, fervently, had been the last time. A part of her felt guilty for that, but the larger part of her remembered all the years of abuse and still felt the bruises on her arms and on the rest of her body and couldn't care less.
On the curb, and much to their neighbour's apparent fascination, a sleek black limousine was waiting for them, and Malfoy gentlemanly opened the door for her and ushered her inside where she was immediately greeted by a bouncing house-elf. Even after more than five years in the Wizarding world, she was still slightly surprised to find the inside of the limousine so much bigger than the outside had suggested as she stepped into a small library, fully equipped with a fireplace, several tall bookshelves, a chessboard, three armchairs and a black leather sofa, a liquor cabinet and an extra door that probably led to a bathroom.
"Please take a seat," Malfoy said. "May I offer you something to drink?"
"Some water or pumpkin juice would be nice," she replied, picking the armchair closest to the fireplace and smiling in thanks when the house-elf popped up next to her with both requested drinks a second later.
"I don't believe I have any bruise salve on hand, but I could offer you a mild pain relief," Malfoy said, taking a seat in the armchair opposite of her, his own drink popping up on the small side table.
"Thanks, but I'm fine," Holly mumbled, trying not to shift uncomfortably underneath his scrutiny. "So, did Voldemort send you?"
"I will apprise the Dark Lord of my invitation of course, but no, he did not make the suggestion," the blond wizard replied easily.
"I'm sure he'll be delighted to have your report," Holly said bitterly, drinking down her glass of water before taking a handful of crackers that had also appeared on the side table. "Or maybe you could sell the story to the Daily Prophet."
"I think, Miss Potter, that you misjudge my intentions in coming here," Malfoy replied slowly. "I have no interest – and certainly no financial motivation – in revealing the particulars of your home life to anyone. Though I do wonder why you never confided in anyone about this. Or is this a recent development?"
"It's not and I did." Holly snorted indelicately. "I told Dumbledore."
Malfoy sneered derisively. "Let me rephrase that: Why did you never confide in anyone who cares? Your godfather…"
"You can't tell Sirius!" Holly protested, sitting up abruptly. "Please… He'll do something stupid and it doesn't even matter anymore. With any luck, I will never have to see my aunt and uncle again."
Malfoy studied her silently for a moment. "I will agree to keep your secret, but only if you answer some questions for me."
"I really don't appreciate being strong-armed into yet another bad deal, Mr. Malfoy," Holly informed him with a sigh, but waved her hand in acquiescence.
"How long has this abuse been going on?"
"For as long as I can remember. My relatives weren't overly thrilled when Dumbledore dropped me off at their doorstep with only a note," Holly replied, striving for an even, disinterested tone.
"I found an inscription in the cupboard under the stairs…"
"'Holly's room', yes, that's where I slept till I got my Hogwarts letter." Holly shrugged lightly. "Then they moved me to my cousin's second bedroom because they didn't want any of the wizards to know how they treated me. Not that knowing made a difference to Dumbledore."
"He was very insistent that you return there…" Malfoy said, his statement once more trailing off into a question.
"Blood wards. The theory was that Voldemort couldn't get to me as long as I was staying with my mom's sister," Holly explained, thinking to herself that Dumbledore probably also thought – and not without reason – that her relatives' abuse would leave her much more susceptible to his influence.
"And did your aunt never intervene on your behalf?"
"Why would she? She hates me just as much as my uncle," Holly replied, nibbling on her crackers in hopes that they would soothe her aching stomach so that she wouldn't give Malfoy anymore fodder for his interrogation.
"And are those bruises the worst of the abuse or should we make a stop at St. Mungo's?"
"I'm fine. Mostly they just had me do chores and Uncle Vernon's been in a bad mood because he lost an account. It's always good to have someone to blame for such undeserved setbacks."
"Muggles, treating a magical child like this!" Malfoy delivered his judgement with finality, his lip curling in disgust and Holly couldn't help but snort in disbelief. "Something you wish to add, Miss Potter?"
"With all due respect and not that I'm not grateful for your unexpected help today, but that's just hypocritical," she explained, tilting her chin up defiantly when she saw the anger on his face. "You had no problem endangering a magical child when you slipped Ginny Weasley Riddle's old diary. You and your fellow Death Eaters were happy to cheer on Voldemort when he tortured me and challenged me to a duel just to prove that he could beat a fourteen-year-old girl. And then there was the Battle at the Department of Mysteries: Almost all of my friends needed to be treated for injuries or curse damage after that… And now you and Dumbledore and the Minister have decided that I should marry the man who murdered my parents and be fine with it. How exactly is any of that better than what my relatives did?"
Malfoy clenched his teeth, the muscles in his yaw ticking as he glared at her. "We were at war, Miss Potter, you can hardly equate that with your relatives' shameful dereliction of their duty of care."
"Maybe you can't, but from my perspective it's all just more of the same," Holly retorted, turning away to stare into the fireplace. "If you want to kick me out of the car, that'll be fine. I'm sure I can find my way to the Leaky Cauldron."
The blond wizard was silent for a few long moments, several minutes in fact, before he released a slow sigh. "I have no wish to rescind my invitation. And you're right. If anyone had dared to be as careless and indifferent about Draco's wellbeing as I have been of yours, I would have destroyed them without a moment's hesitation. Perhaps I've found it too easy to think of you as the Girl-Who-Lived, rather than a girl who deserves to live."
"I'm used to it." Holly shrugged before flashing Malfoy a grin. "Does your son know I'm going to invade his Potter-free summer?"
"Draco and his mother are currently on holiday in Spain though they should be back in a couple of days," Malfoy replied with amusement, seemingly glad for the change in subject. "I thought your visit might be a nice surprise for him."
"I'm sure he'll be delighted." Holly laughed, imagining the younger Malfoy's face when he would find her in his home.
§*§*§*§*§
They had spent the rest of the car ride alternating between strained conversation and uncomfortable silence, but despite her outburst and true to his word Lucius Malfoy had been the perfect host ever since she had arrived at his home. He had given her a salve for her bruises and once more offered her a pain-relief potion before he had taken her on a tour around his manor, showing her several libraries and music rooms, the formal dining hall, the informal dining hall and the family dining hall, the stables, the private Quidditch pitch and the extensive gardens. Finally, he had shown her to the guestroom that would be hers for the time being (which was equipped with a luxurious and rather fantastic feather bed) and assigned her to the care of a beaming house-elf named Wobbly before he had suggested – with a half-apologetic smile – that she might as well follow Dumbledore's advice and enjoy the rest of her childhood.
She had done her best to do exactly that, exploring the manor and the grounds, making good use of the Quidditch pitch and lesser use of the libraries, talking to Sirius over the Floo and writing to Hermione and Ron to let them know what was going on. She mostly only saw Malfoy during meal times, which was fine by her, though since he had been unfailingly polite and gracious with her, the atmosphere between them had thawed a little and he had even offered her the use of his first name, though she wasn't quite sure what ulterior motives he might have had for that.
"Good morning, Holly, I trust you slept well?" he greeted her, looking up from his morning paper and rising to his feet until she had slid into her usual seat.
"I did, thank you," Holly replied, picking a fresh roll from the bread basket he had floated over to her. "Could I have a piece of the paper?"
"After the news broke yesterday about the peace contract, it's mostly filled with a great deal of unsubstantiated speculation," Lucius said, but neatly separated the paper to keep the financial and business sections for himself before handing the rest over to Holly.
She grimaced in distaste, already seeing an editorial on the question of whether there should have been a public referendum before the signing of the contract and if perhaps they could have negotiated better terms. Right next to that was a gossipy article on what style of wedding dress she might pick and which witches had a chance to be chosen as her bridesmaids.
She put the paper down again, trying not to let it sour her mood.
"And what are your plans for the day?" Lucius asked, seemingly equally as eager to get them onto another topic. She felt a little bit grateful for that.
"I think I'm going to borrow your son's broom again." She smirked, the thought of the younger Malfoy's reaction to her borrowing his broom always serving to amuse her.
Lucius smirked. "If you keep on like this, Draco will demand that I buy him a brand-new broom before the beginning of the new school year."
"Shouldn't be too much of a stretch for you after you bought brooms for the entire Slytherin team," Holly pointed out with a roll of her eyes.
"Actually, Draco looted his savings vault for those," Lucius replied, smirking at her shocked expression. "Narcissa and I both thought that twelve was perhaps still too young for him to be on the team."
"I don't know if I'm more surprised that you said 'no' to him or that he had enough in his savings vault for such a purchase," Holly answered after a brief pause before laughing. "You realise you're giving me a lot of teasing material against your son."
"Am I? Well, maybe I am gathering 'teasing material' for him in return." The blond smirked at her. "And I believe Draco quite enjoys your little spats, though he was rather upset when you rejected his initial offer of friendship..."
"I might not have, if he hadn't insulted Ron in the same breath," Holly pointed out, drinking the rest of her hot chocolate as Lucius hummed in neither agreement nor disagreement.
They continued their breakfast in silence for a bit before Holly broached a subject that had been weighing on her mind, "May I ask something? Professor Snape said that in case of a breach of contract the punishment is at the discretion of the injured party. What happens when the injured is not just injured but… dead?"
Lucius looked up sharply. "Holly, you really need not worry about that. The Dark Lord did not enter into this agreement just to break it."
"And that assessment is based on what? Your intimate knowledge of Voldemort's twisted mind? Because mine is based on experience," Holly retorted.
"I daresay I do not know every thought or plan the Dark Lord might be entertaining, but I assure you, he is quite sincere in wanting you as his wife." She must have looked suitably sceptical because Lucius continued with a soft sigh, "The Dark Lord has – and I shall deny that if you should ever repeat those words to him – what some might call an unhealthy obsession with you."
Holly snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Gee, really? I hadn't noticed."
"Do you think – setting aside for now the serious repercussions he would indubitably face – that killing you would truly satisfy him at this point? That after years of your lucky escapes and unexpected feats of prowess he would feel any vindication in that?" Lucius asked. "No, Holly, at this point, killing you would simply be another missed opportunity."
Holly shuddered, feeling sick at the myriad implications. "Then what does he plan to do with me?"
Lucius didn't answer right away, instead pouring her a cup of ginger tea from the fresh pot that had popped onto the table. She took a careful sip, but kept her gaze fixed on the tall blond to prompt him for an answer.
"The Dark Lord wants peace, Holly. There are no ulterior motives," he finally offered.
"No." Holly refuted with an angry shake of her head. "If that were true he could have just offered a peace contract – without forcing me to marry him."
There was another tense moment of silence before Lucius tried again, "I understand that you may not wish to hear this, Holly, but you are… an asset in this war, due to your tremendous magical potential and the much-cited prophecy if nothing else. To allow Dumbledore continued control over you would have been too great a risk. This was the only way to assure – or at least render possible – a lasting peace."
"So he means to neutralise me."
Lucius grimaced delicately. "An unfortunately ambiguous term, I would say. To clarify: The Dark Lord wishes to get you away from Dumbledore's sphere of influence and prevent the headmaster from wielding you as a weapon against him in the future. He does not mean you harm, Holly."
Holly found that a little too hard to believe, a little too good to be true. She crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "You didn't answer my original question: What happens if Voldemort kills me?"
Lucius studied her for a moment, the lines around his mouth tightening ever so slightly. "The consequences he would face would be decided by your heir or heirs, though I suspect that Dumbledore would make some effort to claim that authority for himself."
"Oh," Holly mumbled. "And if I don't want that? If I don't want Dumbledore to decide how to best use my death to his advantage? What would I have to do?"
"You could add a provision regarding this matter to your will," Lucius replied, continuing before she had to ask. "Wills and probates are commonly handled by the goblins of Gringotts. Do you know the name of your personal banker?"
"Griphook always took me to my vault," Holly said a little uncertainly as Lucius got to his feet with an air of purpose.
"I will set up a meeting for you so that you may take any steps you deem necessary," he declared. "Will the manor be acceptable or would you like to go to Gringotts instead?"
"Eh, I guess here's fine. Thank you," Holly mumbled. "Did I offend you? Again?"
"Not at all. Your concerns are very comprehensible even if I think these particular fears are unfounded." Lucius halted his steps at the door. "I also understand that you have no reason to trust me so I'm hoping that the representative from Gringotts might be able to put at least some of your worries to rest."
He gave her a nod and a formal looking smile and turned away. "Lucius?" she called. "Thank you. Not just for this, but for everything else as well."
"You're very welcome," he replied, losing some of the rigidness in his posture. "Why don't you go outside and enjoy the nice weather. Wobbly will find you when it's time for your meeting."
Well, I hope you liked this chapter... I wish you a very merry Christmas and happy holidays!