Chapter 14: Granger vs. house-elf
One encouraging thing Harry had learnt from Professor Pye in the first few classes of the term was that human Transfiguration was never permanent—well, almost never. They had started on a new topic—control of transfigured states, which included determining the point in time when you untransfigure. As it turned out, transfigured states tended to expire sooner or later, and most practitioners struggled to prolong the state, not to end it. This was not Harry's and Draco's experience with the locket so far, but the knowledge gave them a weak hope that even if they failed to crack its secret, they would sooner or later untransfigure naturally, without active intervention.
Of course, there was this word 'almost' that Pye kept throwing in when pressed to make generalisations, and Harry couldn't wait to learn about the exceptions. The pile of books he worked through for his essay on Spontaneous Untransfiguration was certainly twice as high as what was strictly required, but he could not help following the leads that promised to shed light on his and Draco's situation.
That meant sitting in the library for hours on end, and sitting was key here. Even if it had taken him some willpower to go to the hospital wing and let down his pants in front of Madam Pomfrey, now he did not regret it. She had recognized a bludger before Harry could open his mouth, and fixed it in five minutes for what felt like the four-hundred-and-eighty-seventh time. Now Harry could sit in the library for as long as he wanted.
That's what he was doing on Monday evening when the sun had set and the sky was still glowing red in the west. His Untransfiguration essay only needed another paragraph or two, but Harry was kept distracted by a controversial case study on an heir of a Muggle royal house who was transfigured into a hairy monster by way of punishment for abusing his position. There was a great deal of disagreement both on the target species and on the type of love magic that years later brought him back to normal, ranging from Charms, over Potions, down to Herbology. But there was one thing the author was absolutely convinced of: This was one of the most tenacious cases of human Transfiguration documented by the time of writing, which could have ended up permanent, had the appropriate measures not been taken.
Harry stared at the battered manuscript. Love magic. Why did it always have to boil down to that?
"The library is closing, Sir. Young Master is very welcome to come back tomorrow," said a familiar voice.
"Oh, Thorny! What are you doing here?"
Thorny was carrying a pile of books that reached easily a few inches above the top of his head.
"Thorny was asked by Madam Pince to help recatalogue the Hogwarts library."
"Nice! I'm glad your expertise is appreciated."
"It's an honour, Sir. Thorny is flattered by the trust Madam Pince has placed in him."
"Is it a lot of work? Recataloguing?" Harry packed his quill and his unfinished essay.
"Not at all, Sir. Only about three thousand four hundred and fifty volumes in the Restricted Section, that Thorny must check for the possibility of reassignment. It is Madam Pince's impression that some titles were restricted for reasons that can no longer be maintained in the present political climate."
"Ah? Interesting! What sort of titles?"
"A multitude, Sir. Many were placed out of immediate reach of young witches and wizards upon specific requests by influential members of old wizarding families." Now that Draco was not around, Thorny was much more cooperative. "Young Master might be interested to know that one title that concerns Master Cassius Malfoy is now listed to be moved from the Restricted Section to the general historical section."
"I am absolutely interested! I need that book, Thorny!"
"As soon as Madam Pince has confirmed the relocation—"
Not another bureaucratic procedure for five months!
"—which Thorny expects to happen tomorrow afternoon,—"
Ah!
"—the book will become available for all students to read and borrow. If Young Master so wishes, Thorny can make sure the book in question will be waiting on Young Master's usual desk at Young Master's usual reading time."
The next day Harry had two reasons to be anxious. He was anxious to look up Cassius Malfoy in the book Thorny had promised him, and he was terribly anxious about his dance practice appointment with Ewen Arling. Throughout Muggle Studies his mind was preoccupied with the question of how to make a fool of himself as gracefully as possible. Even if it was the remains of Draco's reputation he'd be ruining, he could not get around the fact that it would be himself feeling the shame.
As for the Muggle Studies, Harry was not missing out on much today. Professor Kazlauskas was stuck struggling with the portable electric power generator that refused to turn on. Her level of frustration was slowly reaching the limits of appropriate language.
On those few occasions when the generator had worked, she used to switch on a slide projector and show them schemes which represented the organisation of British Muggle society, with particular focus on the Muggle education system and Social Services. She had started their first class with some sobering statistics:
"If every student in this class has one baby, in all likelihood, about six of you will become proud parents of a Squib," she announced with a glacial voice, "and it is up to you to let your child become part of a universe full of opportunities, or have them rot away in a dark corner of an underworld controlled by a marginalised sect."
She had made them learn definitions of four types of child abuse and four types of child neglect, and explained carefully how common parental practices towards Squib children fitted some of those definitions. Today they were supposed to start on the Muggle health care system, but the generator put up a strike and they were spared a large part of the guilt trip.
"I can't work like this!" Kazlauskas said finally, giving up her fight. "I need a damn plug!" She stormed out of the classroom and her heels clip-clopped down the corridor. The room filled with casual chatter.
"Bet she's on the way to McGonagall," Draco said with a sigh. "I can already guess who is going to pay the plug."
"The Foundation for Wizarding Minorities and Underprivileged Groups, I suppose..."
"Yes, which runs on—?" Draco made a face, "—the generous contributions of convicted losers like me. Who do you think is paying for all those remedial Muggle-borns this year, not to mention the reconstruction of the Room of Hidden Things? Half of that is my community service. And now the plug. Bet in a week's time you'll get a Ministry owl with a request to pay the next instalments in Muggle money."
"Anything wrong with that?" Harry said. The mention of the Room of Hidden Things reminded him of the approaching disaster.
"No, not at all, not at all. It's just— Today it's electricity, tomorrow she'll want, what's it called, internet. My community service is not forever. Wouldn't it have been less trouble to hire a witch?"
'Even your mother wanted to learn computers,' Harry almost said but decided against deepening the subject. Kazlauskas's overly negative views of wizardkind were not particularly popular among the students regardless of blood status. This was one of those things Harry would never admit, but he secretly agreed with Draco. A witch in her place would at least make his probation duties less of an ordeal.
However, there was one student whose heart Kazlauskas seemed to have won entirely. He had come along to the first class out of sheer boredom, surfeit of free periods, and curiosity to see a real living Squib who could read, write, talk like an educated person, and was earning a Hogwarts professor salary. What had started as an unplanned visit to the zoo was turning into a, well, relationship. He had come back a second time, and a third time, and was now poring over some research periodical Kazlauskas had shoved into his hand at the start of the class. Of all people, it was Blaise Zabini, and neither Harry nor Draco could explain the sudden change in his academic interests.
Zabini gave them a bored look, as they headed out of the classroom, and turned back to his reading. Whatever he had found in the Muggles.
Harry saw Ewen one flight down on the Grand Staircase giving a high five to Parvati. Then he lost sight of him, until he emerged at his side a few seconds later.
As they headed upstairs, students hurrying past them kept stumbling over Ewen and snarling at Harry "Watch your step, Malfoy!" By the time they reached the fourth floor, Harry was unnerved, and was ripe for calling off the whole thing before they even started. But Ewen began slipping behind his back to avoid the collisions, which made talking on the way impossible. It was not until they stood in the quiet of the Room of Requirement that Harry could finally air his concerns:
"I'm sorry, I think I forgot how to dance."
"Me too," Ewen said and put on a waltz. He must have thought it was a joke.
"How is this supposed to work?" On some kind of obscure instinct, Harry stretched out his left arm and put his right on Ewen's waist. This must have been the position Parvati had forced him into on the memorable occasion.
"I mean, I really forgot." Now they were in position and Harry had no excuse for standing still.
"Okay," Ewen looked at him with disbelief. "You don't even want to try?"
Harry shrugged, and sighed, and hoped that Ewen would take it as a 'no', but Ewen waited. Finally, he let go and turned off the music.
"It will come back, don't worry." Ewen walked into the middle of the floor the Room made free for them, mumbling rhythmically under his breath. First, it looked like a solitary pensive stroll. Then he started to slide a step sideways every other time.
"Heel-toe, toe, toe-heel..."
Then there was a turn, and a step, and another turn. Harry tried to memorise what he saw. This didn't look remotely familiar.
"Heel, toe, toe-heel..."
Harry watched with fascination as Ewen, fully absorbed in some memory, started circling with an imaginary partner. First in silence, then to the music.
"You know what?" Ewen said finally, coming back from his dream and stopping the music, "Let's— Let me. I'll lead."
"Yeah." That was a really good idea, Harry thought, but tried not to sound too enthusiastic.
Now, Ewen's right went around his side, and Harry's left rested on Ewen's shoulder. He just had to follow his steps, this was easier.
"One, two, three." He stepped on Ewen's foot. "Heel, toe, toe-heel." He stepped on his foot again and bumped into him. "One, two, three." It went on like this for a while, until Harry didn't stumble a few times in a row and realised that there was a pattern. "Heel-toe, toe, toe-heel." He started to recognize it.
"Okay," said Ewen cheerfully and turned on the music again.
"Are you crazy? This is too fast, I'm barely—" But Ewen held him and moved him with steady insistence, and Harry could not help following.
Suddenly, the music took on a powerful swing and Ewen moved faster. Harry lost all sense of gravity for a split second. He thought he would fall, but instead he felt his body strain like a string, his back straightened, his shoulders spread, he felt his feet slide over the floor on their own accord, and his legs seemed to know their way around Ewen's. He was floating inside a shell, which was not listening to the signals of his brain but to Ewen's movement. It was dancing. He was dancing. The thought shocked Harry out of the state of weightlessness, he crashed into Ewen again, and they almost fell.
Ewen was beaming.
"Hey. That was good! Your body remembers!" and he charmed up the next song.
His body, yes. Now that Harry realised what was happening, it wasn't easy to let go a second time. In a childish act of resistance, his consciousness clung to the pattern of steps it had just been able to figure out, and refused to give in to the muscles and sinews down below.
"Your mind is in the way. Just let me do it. You just relax," Ewen kept repeating, but it was not until he pulled his wand and Confunded him that Harry managed to let go of his controls and let Draco's body take over. Ewen led it around, not without an occasional stumble on his own part, but as long as Harry stayed in this blissful state of cluelessness and let Ewen and Draco do all the work, they danced. They actually danced.
Harry ran into Draco at the entrance to the library two hours later.
"Homework?"
"Taken broadly, yes," Draco replied. "We might have a lead on our advanced Transfiguration project."
"Same here." What a coincidence.
But the promised book was not waiting for Harry in his usual working corner. Had Madam Pince changed her mind about removing the restriction? Or had the influential member of an old wizarding family managed to jinx the book so Madam Pince would have to take it all the way to Azkaban for his personal unjinxing? Harry walked between the rows of shelves and searched for Thorny. Draco was also looking for someone. Most surprisingly, they found them in the same spot. Thorny and Hermione were standing on the opposite sides of Madam Pince's desk, stuck in what looked like an unresolvable stalemate.
"I'm Hermione Granger." Hermione didn't offer her hand. Both her hands were clutching a book and she obviously did not trust to let go even one of them. "What's your name?"
"Thorny, Miss. Thorny is pleased to meet famous Miss Granger," he replied icily, his grip firm on the other end of the same book.
"It's amazing how many books have been moved from the restricted section to general access. You've been doing all the work, Thorny, haven't you?" Hermione tried to be nice, but her desire to have the book for herself obviously outweighed the guilt for denying the same pleasure to a house-elf.
"Thorny is happy to help, Miss," said Thorny without the slightest attempt to help.
"I wonder why this book had ended up in the Restricted Section," Hermione said with a sheepish smile and a hopeful look.
"Indeed, Miss. It is completely incomprehensible." Thorny aborted her feeble attempt at fishing.
Just then Draco made a noise and their faces turned. The sight of Harry Potter made the same impression on Thorny as the sight of Draco Malfoy did on Hermione. Their eyes narrowed, and they both tightened their grip on the book.
"Malfoy! Do you make your house-elves do your homework for you?"
Harry could ask the same question to Draco. After all the fuss about not involving Granger into their locket quest, the first thing he did was send her to the library, which miraculously resulted in a fight with Thorny over—
Harry came closer and read the title.
"1001 Most Mysterious Magical Accidents and Unresolved Dark Attacks? Hm. Which class have we been told to read that for?" Harry looked at Draco, but he averted his eyes. Hermione had nothing to counter either. "No, really? Did I miss some homework assignment?"
"But you don't deny that Thorny is yours?" Hermione looked at him as if he'd been trying to attain world power by putting his house-elves into critical positions all around the wizard public institutions.
"Thorny has been commanded to work for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Thorny's primary loyalty lies to the School, Miss," said Thorny.
"I see." Hermione returned his stony glare. "Withholding free access books from a Hogwarts student is surely one of the tasks Madam Pince gave you." The book cover sank in under her thumbs.
Thorny was not the type to start banging his head against the floor, but the conflict between his primary and secondary loyalties made pearls of sweat appear on his forehead.
"It's okay, Thorny, let Hermione have the book," Harry did not have the heart to call her 'Granger'.
"Sir?!"
"If you tear that book in half," Draco joined in, "Madam Pince will put it under a dozen protective charms and you'll need a statement of the Wizengamot to get permission to read it for five minutes."
"It's okay, Thorny," repeated Harry, and Thorny let go with a clenched jaw.
Harry felt Hermione's bewildered look on his back as he retreated. He had been a passable Malfoy for straight five minutes, and now the real Malfoy got to read the book with her. Harry had an impulse to run back and tell Hermione everything. But that would probably end in a loud fight, and Madam Pince would throw them out of the library.
"Master—" Thorny whispered when they were separated from Hermione and Draco by a few rows of bookshelves and safely out of their line of sight.
Harry hushed him. He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak and swung it over himself. Thorny gaped, but braced himself, and disappeared understandingly among the bookshelves. As quietly as he could, Harry walked back until he found Hermione and Draco sitting side by side with puzzled expressions on their faces. Hermione started studying the table of contents and did not notice Harry take a seat on the other side of the desk. Draco raised his eyes briefly and smirked at what looked like an empty chair.
"Why this book?" he asked Hermione.
"I have no idea. But Madam Pince told me that they were unrestricting some books, and I got a little peep into her list. You know who had insisted on putting this book in the Restricted Section?"
"Who?"
"Lucius Malfoy back in his days on the Board of Governors. He must have had a reason."
"Sure."
"And when I saw the house-elf..." Hermione broke off and sighed. "Well, first I thought he was Dobby's ghost." She sighed again and looked into the space where Harry was hiding under his Cloak. "But he was flesh and blood all right. Even athletic, the way he clung to it." Hermione checked the side of the book for any damage to the cover. "Do you think he is related to Dobby?"
"Probably," replied Draco. "He's obviously Malfoy's."
"Exactly. So Malfoy is also after this book. That's why." She opened the book at the back. "What are we looking for?"
"Cassius? Aurelia? Flavia?"
Hermione studied the index.
"Nope." She turned another page. "But there is a Geoffrey Malfoy and a Philippa Malfoy. Page four hundred ninety-two." And a thick pack of pages flipped with a thud from left to right.
Cassius's parents? Harry was not sure, but the way Draco's eyes widened looked promising.
Hermione and Draco were reading away silently and Harry could do little but wait. It felt like an eternity before Hermione started reading out bits:
"The fifteenth of May, nineteen hundred— Their bodies were found alive but empty— an unmistakable Dementor's kiss— no Dementor was spotted anywhere near—" Hermione's speech faded out to whisper and she fell silent again. After a long minute, her voice resurfaced: "The Dementors did not touch their one-year-old son, who was found on the scene playing happily in his crib next to his soulless parents."
Right. Another boy who lived, of sorts, thought Harry. Draco and Hermione were staring dumbstruck at each other.
"Who's that one-year-old son?"
"Cassius," Draco whispered, but Hermione had already disappeared behind the bookshelves. She reemerged with a copy of Nature's Nobility and opened the page with the Malfoy family tree.
"Cassius Malfoy, born 1899, died 1988. Great-grandfather of our Slytherin friend. Son of Geoffrey Malfoy 1868–1911 and Philippa Malfoy née Greengrass, 1872–1925..." Hermione read out. "Hm. They lived for quite a while after they were kissed. Not like Crouch." She closed the book and looked at Draco. "So?"
"What?"
"Does it make any sense to you?"
"No, not really." Draco looked at the spot where Harry was sitting. "Except that they all come in pairs."
"You mean..."
"Flavia and Aurelia died on the same day. Geoffrey and Philippa, but not their son, were kissed by a Dementor, also on the same day."
Hermione followed his gaze.
"That, of course, could be just a coincidence," Draco continued. "If I were a Dementor strolling past, I'd have both of them in one go. I wouldn't come back for the spouse a day later."
"Right. But then why not have all the three? Why not the child?"
"Exactly! I don't believe he was able to cast a Patronus."
"Maybe someone else did?"
"No one saw the Dementors!"
"No one that we know of." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair and looked left and right. "But what can this possibly have to do with getting his parents out of Azkaban?" She did not seem to be enjoying their conversation quite as much as she was in the beginning.
"I wish I knew," Draco said and glanced nervously at the empty spot on the other side of the desk. "I suspect it's some rare kind of magic that has been practised in his family that he's after. And he hopes to use it to free his parents, if he gets to master it? Perhaps?"
Hermione's face grew unhappier by the minute. "Is it just me, or do you also feel like we're being watched?"
Harry closed his eyes, but was not sure it would solve the problem.
"Ron has probably got jealous and is spying on us from behind a bookshelf," Draco replied flirtatiously. Fucking prick! Harry opened his eyes.
"Harry!" Hermione jumped to her feet. "What's wrong with you guys?" Harry wished he had seen what had caused it.
She headed for the exit, but turned after a couple of steps.
"Did you hear that? Draco called me Hermione. What's wrong with him?"
Draco followed her with his gaze as she left the library.
"So it's Draco now. Aha," he whispered to himself, or maybe not only. "Reveal yourself, ahem, Harry!"
Harry pulled off his Invisibility Cloak.
"Yes?"
"So what do you think?"
"I think you're a prick."
"Thanks. Do you have any more articulate thoughts?"
"You're a hypocrite. 'Don't even think of involving Granger?!' And what are you doing now? That's even worse. You're using her without telling her what you're doing."
"I didn't want to involve her, but I underestimated her zeal! Otherwise she keeps bombarding me with questions about my diet, and develops wild theories about my mother's prosecution witness. And this way—"
"Oh?"
"—she's at least busy with something useful."
"Did she find out something about that witness?"
"Nothing I didn't know already."
"What do you know?"
"Look, Potter. This is none of your business. You, and, ahem, Hermione, and all the Weasleys should leave my mother alone."
"Okay, sorry." Harry wasn't really sorry. "Should I have left her alone in Courtroom number eleven?"
"I didn't mean that."
"I don't particularly like your mother, Malfoy, but she saved my life, and I don't like the idea of her in Azkaban, do you?"
"No."
"Maybe I'm prejudiced, but I didn't quite trust that witness either. Why didn't your mother let them see the memory? There could have been some flaw in it. Memories can be tampered with. I thought Knox was doing a very good job getting there. Why didn't she let him?"
"I don't know, but I have a suspicion."
"Which is?"
"Because she did actually tell Snape to kill Dumbledore?" Draco made it sound like a question, but it wasn't. "And for some reason, she did not want to mess with the memories of that... person. And I respect that, and I want everyone else to respect that too."
"Do you really think your mother made Snape swear to assassinate Dumbledore?"
"I don't know. But it's not unlike her. She probably did."
Harry could say little to that. After all, it was Draco's mother, not his.
"That's why Granger's exuberant energy is better invested in the locket than in my mother's affairs."
Harry was about to say that Hermione had the right to know what her energy was being invested in. But now giving it a bit more thought, the prospect of telling her about their situation suddenly weighed heavier on Harry's stomach. He'd have to account for his desperate attempts to become the Slytherin seeker, which had already made the headlines of school gossip, and he did not quite understand why, but he did not fancy the idea of Hermione questioning him about the obscure Hufflepuff who was now giving him dancing lessons.
"What do you actually think about Cassius and his parents?" Draco said.
"Er." The thought of Narcissa's witness had kicked Cassius out of Harry's mind. "Are they—? Was it their portraits that could not be enlivened?"
"Yes. And I suppose, it's because their souls were destroyed by the kiss."
"What does it tell us about the locket?"
"Nothing."
The tapping of small feet interrupted their low-spirited silence, and two big eyes rose just above the surface of the table. The eyes shot distrustfully at Draco, then fixed on the open book in front of them, and finally settled hesitantly upon Harry.
"Thorny?"
Thorny squinted at Draco and at the book again and sighed defeatedly.
"Thorny has found the other document that mentions Master Cassius."
Harry and Draco sat up straight in an instant. Thorny heaved a yellowed copy of the Daily Prophet and placed it carefully on the table. The headline on the front page read:
Parents kissed. Young Malfoy spared.
The article did not say much beyond what was in the book, but there was a large picture of a little child sitting in his crib, holding on to its wooden bars and smiling through the gap between them. A necklace went around his neck, down his torso, and all the way to his lower belly, where it connected to a large metal disc. At least, the disc seemed large as compared to the tiny body of its bearer. Little Cassius was wearing the locket.
"That's what Foggy saw!" Draco said. "Cassius was sitting in his bed."