It was a beautiful day. The sun was glittering on the water of the lake and most of the students were outside, relishing the warmth and the nearing end of the school year. Most of the students outside meant only a handful in the building. It was not a bad day to die.
Draco knew he was stalling. His eyes were burning from the effort to make out individual students from the window he had chosen to get a last look. His heart was beating erratically, when he saw a girl that might be Granger. A small slither of hope, that must be enough.
He checked the coin, that allowed him to exchange messages with Rosmerta. Dumbledore had returned. A few quick strides took him to the room of requirement. Three times he ran back and forth, the ritual to open the room familiar by now. He entered, and went directly to the vanishing cabinet. He almost sung the incantation that would open the passage.
When he heard the voice of his aunt, he knew that his spell had succeeded. He could have cried. When she came out of the cabinet, he just gave her a curt nod, because he did not trust his voice. He turned on his heels and raced out of the room and up the astronomy tower. It felt strange to hasten towards his own death, but the sooner he confronted Dumbledore, the sooner the death eaters would be gone again.
The minutes after he had cast morsmordre were agony. He tried not to think about what might happen in the castle. He saw a speck in the sky and knew that Dumbledore came, just as he had expected.
He did not expect his expelliarmus to succeed when Dumbledore entered the tower.
He stood wand in hand before the man he was supposed to kill. A drop of cold sweat slowly made its way between his shoulder blades and his skin was covered in goosebumps. He was not surprised to see his hand shaking.
Why didn't Dumbledore do anything? The man was talking, talking! Talking about how he could help Draco, save his mother and him. He told Draco that he was not a murderer, when Draco was already painfully aware, that he did not want to cross that line. He never wanted to relive the night after he had thought that Katie Bell would not make it. And he hated Katie.
Draco tried to taunt him into attacking him. He sneered and bragged, and expected to be overrun by a wandless bout of magic any time. Surely even a wandless Dumbledore could take him out? The old man looked exhausted and drawn, but he should still be a match for Draco, a teenager who was overtired and hadn't eaten enough in months.
The drop of cold sweat on his back had become a river. His hands had started to shake even more violently. He lowered his wand. He wondered, if this was some kind of test, and if he had failed or succeeded.
The other death eaters had made it to the top of the tower, and Draco knew that it was over. Now, they knew. His aunt knew. That he had failed. That he was not trustworthy. That it was not a question of Dumbledore being more powerful but of him being unable to kill. He would be branded as a coward. Maybe letting them into the castle would be enough to save his mother. Why had that old man not defended himself? He was supposed to defeat Draco.
Even now, he was talking, stalling perhaps? Severus Snape had reached the last stair to the tower, his presence commanding the room. Draco knew that the dark man would not hesitate.
Dumbledore seemed relieved to see him.
"Severus, please," he said, as he had not pleaded with any of the others.
The green light made Draco flinch and he watched in horror as Dumbledore fell. He would have stood there, rooted to the ground, if Snape had not pulled him with them when they fled.
"The task is done," Snape had said, his voice devoid of any emotion.
Draco would only remember bits and pieces from their flight later. He was hit by a few insignificant curses but managed to run on. His brain was fuzzy and confused from the mere fact that he was alive. Somehow Potter had come out of nowhere and pursued them, screaming in rage at Snape. How had he even seen that Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore?
Potter tried to crucio aunt Bellatrix, and she laughed her strangely unhinged, but chiming laughter.
"You have to mean it, Potter."
The stupid Gryffindor hero would have died then, if Snape had not insisted that he was for the Dark Lord.
When they disapparated, Draco crumbled on the grass. His thoughts were running wild and in circles. He felt a hand that helped him up.
"Get a grip, Draco," Snape told him. "The Dark Lord awaits."
Draco was trembling with fear, when he was brought before the Dark Lord. He was lucky that the Dark Lord was gleeful about Dumblodore's death. He only invaded his mind shortly, and Draco managed to push his fear to the front of his mind, his fear of the powerful wizard, his fear of failure, his fear for his mother. It was real enough and everybody could see him shivering in anxiety. The death eaters' laughter over his cowardice washed over him, while his mother stood at his back, her hand an iron grip on his arm. Draco did not know if she wanted to keep him from crumbling or if she wanted to stop her own body from shaking.
He had to pay for his failure of course, but only with a couple of crucios, and at the end of the day his mother was still alive, but so was he. He wondered what twist of fate had thwarted his plan, and he dreaded his next task. He had no doubt that the Dark Lord would come up with something.
Chapter 9: Gringotts
Summary:
Rina does not take her father's advice and accompanies him to Gringotts.
Notes:
The whole galleons- pound exchange rate is a mess... If galleons are gold, and the Weasleys just have one galleon in their vault at the beginning of the book, there is no way that the exchange rate is 1 galleon to 5 pounds. We should also remember that Harry paid 7 galleons for his wand.
So for the sake of this fic, I made the assumption that there is an official exchange rate that is in favour of the Muggles who have to pay for school equipment for their magical children, but that otherwise galleons are about 1 to 80. There could be a magical protection on galleons that prevents Muggle parents of Muggleborns from just exchanging them and melting them down, but obviously that cannot be the exchange rate for people who are wizards and witches.
So, for the sake of this fic, I make the guess that a wand would be about 7 galleons, but that would surely be about 560 pounds.
That being said, I don't think that there is a really logical way to go about the whole galleons/pounds thing.
Anyway that is not yet important for this chapter...
Chapter Text
When Rina reached Gringotts she barely got there in time to see her father climbing the steps in a determined stride. She ran to catch up with him.
He was not pleased. His grey eyes certainly had a frosty look to them.
"I see, you do not listen to advice."
He had stopped in front of the great entrance.
"You might make yourself useful, if you insist on coming along. Give me your bag."
She handed him her bag, and he opened his coat and took out a thick bundle of pounds and put it in her bag. "I sure hope that they won't abolish cash before all of you have finished school. Trying to get Gringotts to accept credit cards will be a nightmare."
He handed her the bag. "Now, place a scutum on it."
Rina tapped her wand on the bag, swishing it just at the right angle. "Scutum", she said, picturing the shield encasing the whole bag and then tying the spell off, with another swish. The moment, the scutum hit, her bag became heavier and almost slipped out of her hand, when the anti-gravity charm was cancelled.
"Why?"
Dad raised one of his eyebrows.
"Oh, when I started school. I remember. Somebody stole your pounds by magic?"
He nodded. "Yes, 'somebody'. I usually place the money close enough to my body."
They entered the bank together.
Rina had never been to Gringotts and she was very impressed by the sheer size of it. She knew that there was a Malfoy vault, but it could as well be on the moon for all the good it could do them.
Her dad went to the end of the queue that was at the left, where there was a sign that read "Exchange and others". The queue was not that long, but Rina saw with worry, that one of the goblins had spotted her father. He stood up and went to the back and vanished.
Rina saw that there were some people who were welcomed at the door and led to the back. She assumed that they were important people with vaults.
She went to her dad.
"Dad," she whispered. "Is the entrance to the vaults in the back?"
"You would have to ask your mother about that, but I suggest you'd better not mention her own excursion to Gringotts, while we are here." He smirked.
"Have you never been to the vaults?"
"If I had known that I would never get a chance to see them, I might have begged my father to take me, when I was a child."
He grinned at her. "When you think about the irony, it is really funny."
"So, the important people with money are treated differently."
Her dad shot her an astonished look. "Of course, Rina, this is a bank."
She rolled her eyes. "How could I forget."
"You know, what really is funny?"
"No?"
"When I go to Barclay's, I am actually treated quite nicely. Not exceptionally, but Fortescue and Miller make enough money for them to be accommodating."
He winked at Rina. "Of course, they might just suspect me of laundering money with all the cash I withdraw from my account. And they treat me nicely because they think I am a criminal with connections."
Rina chuckled despite herself. "If you think this is funny."
"You know, this will probably take quite some time."
"Don't start again, I'll stay."
"O.k. but don't complain to me about being bored."
Rina would never have admitted it, but when it was well into the afternoon, and they had moved about what felt like four inches at the most, she was bored. Several people had been picked out of the queue behind them and had been guided to the counter. Dad would narrow his eyes each time that happened, but apart from that, his face was a mask.
He had taken out his phone. He put the phone in his palm, so that the back was covered and typed with the other hand. Rina glanced at the display, and saw that he was checking mails.
"How does that even work in here?", she asked, curious.
Her father moved his fingers, so that only half of the phone's back was covered, and the display changed to swirling colours as was to be expected in a wizard building.
"My scutum does have the strangest side effects."
He moved his fingers again and pointed at the display.
"Look, there is a request for next Christmas, almost a year in advance." He shook his head. "Christmas gets worse every year."
He pointed at another mail. "And that woman! I swear she writes a mail a day. She organises her cousin's wedding in May, and she seems to think that it can only be a success if she mails Fortescue and Miller's once a day. She's already changed the menu a dozen times. She even wrote on Christmas eve."
"Dad, people want their wedding to be the happiest day of their life."
"Which is stupid. Imagine, your life only going downwards once you're wed."
"A hasty marriage on short notice with the registrar as witness is not to everybody's taste."
"It does ensure that you have better days ahead."
"Only if you count house elves running rogue all over the country as better days."
"That only happened afterwards, when our marriage was registered in the ministry of magic. And your mum counts that as an improvement on how things were before."
"You don't?"
Dad grinned. "It must be my greatest achievement. And it never ceases to amuse me. It is a pity Sammael Malfoy was not there to see the backlash of his pact."
His grin faded so quickly, that Rina knew, that someone was behind them. She turned.
A goblin was standing just behind Rina.
"Squib, follow me!"
Well, that certainly didn't start well.
Chapter 10: On probation (July 21, 1997)
Summary:
Draco is on probation and the Dark Lord asks him to do a simple task, but is it simple?
Notes:
Another flashback chapter. I guess you could still see this as extended canon. I mean Voldemort probably had some plans with high profile muggleborns?
Chapter Text
It was oddly calming to look at the little creek that ran through the small wilderness in the park of Malfoy Manor. Draco had loved this place as a child, and so far, this place had not been compromised, not tainted by killing or torture. Listening to the burbling water was soothing.
Draco tried to gain control of his thoughts. He would have to become a better occlumens if he wanted to have any chance of survival at all. He had prided himself on being good enough to shut Dumbledore out, but his certainty about his skills had wavered when he understood that Dumbledore must have known the whole time. When his mother had thanked Severus Snape for finishing the task that had been his, he had finally understood. Snape had told Dumbledore about his task, and Dumbledore had trusted Snape to prevent Draco from killing him. Only to be betrayed.
So, Draco could not know if his occlumency had really been enough to shut Dumbledore out. And it was just his luck that the person who had proven to be a better occlumens than Dumbledore was also the one person he couldn't possibly ask to help him hone his skills. Draco had to scoff. It would certainly not be a good idea to ask Snapeif he could teach him more occlumency so that the Dark Lord would not realise that Draco was not loyal, that he hated him.
For now, it was probably best not to shield his thoughts too obviously. A blank mind would be suspicious. He would have to concentrate on the thoughts that could not expose him. And he probably should practice his unspoken spells.
One of the bushes at the creek rustled. A small ferret sniffed at the air and descended to the creek. Draco went still and slowly directed his wand at the animal. It was time to test a theory. He hated ferrets anyway.
Draco remembered his fourth year and Alastor Moody who had introduced the class to the unforgivable curses. "Each of you could yell the killing curse and nothing would happen."
"Avada kedavra", he thought, and a green light shot from his wand and hit the ferret. The little animal fell into the creek with a splash.
Draco edged closer, when the ferret sprang up again, shook itself and ran.
"Looks like I don't hate ferrets that much," Draco muttered under his breath.
"What a strange pastime, Draco," he heard a voice behind him. "Did you try to kill that poor ferret?"
It was Severus Snape. And there was no use in denying anything. The green light of the killing curse was rather unique.
Draco shrugged. "Just practicing unspoken spells. They need some refining." That was not a lie.
Severus Snape's face was unreadable. "The Dark Lord awaits us in his dining room. He wants to sit in judgement amongst his loyal followers."
Draco did not comment on the fact that it was not actually the Dark Lord's dining room. That the Dark Lord had taken over the manor as his residence was supposedly an honour. Draco had no doubt that the judgement would not be in favour of Hogwarts teacher Charity Burbage, who was being held at the manor to await her fate.
The cold sweat that ran down his back as soon as he came into the Dark Lord's presence had become oddly familiar. The Dark Lord's eyes on him felt like a heavy burden. Draco pushed his fear into the forefront of his thoughts. Better to be thought a coward than a traitor.
The so-called judgement on Charity Burbage went as was to be expected. Bile rose in Draco's throat when the Dark Lord killed her and fed her to Nagini. He tried to look elsewhere and concentrated on not throwing up. He barely registered that they made plans to hunt down Potter. He did not know if he should be relieved that he was not to be involved. It meant that he would not have to move against the one person who might have at least a chance to defeat the Dark Lord, but it also was clear that he was not trusted. And Draco was certain, that he would get another task to have his loyalty tested.
It was barely a surprise that his father had to give up his wand. The Dark Lord had no qualms about showing his distrust. Draco hated to see his father so subservient. It only reminded him that all the bravado and pride his father had expressed over the years had been a lie. It only reminded him that the man he thought would protect him at any cost was helpless in the face of the dark wizard who had occupied their house. That death might hit any time. Draco tried to bolt from the table as soon as the plan on how to catch Potter was agreed upon, but the Dark Lord called him back.
"Draco." His eyes seemed to bore into Draco's scull and Draco desperately pushed his fear in the front of his mind again. It was not difficult.
"I have a task for you, that should be easy enough."
The other death eaters laughed. Draco could see his mother pressing her lips together.
"My Lord," he answered.
"There is this mudblood, that hangs around Harry Potter," the Dark Lord said. "What is her name?"
Draco bowed for a moment, breaking eye contact. His fear threatened to overwhelm him. His thoughts whirled. When he looked up and met the Dark Lord's eyes again, the memory of Hermione punching him in the face in third year was the thought he pushed forward.
"Granger."
The Dark Lord laughed. "You let that slip of a girl hit you."
Draco blushed and held on to the memory of the punch. He felt the Dark Lord probing his mind further. "She bested me in every class but potions. She does not know her place. I've hated her for years." Not a lie.
It was easy to string thoughts about her into a line for the Dark Lord to follow, thoughts about her besting him, about her getting points, about her waving her arm, when she wanted to answer a question. It was even easy to conjure up the feelings of hate and disgust he had felt once, his simmering sense of the unfairness of their teachers favouring her. Draco did not know if he imagined it, but he almost felt the Dark Lord picking up his thoughts and examining them.
The Dark Lord smirked. "Then you should have no problem, getting your revenge by killing her and her parents."
Draco should have expected it. It still felt like a punch, and he could feel the blood drain from his face. He pushed his fear, his hesitation, his cowardice to the forefront of his mind, in the hope, that his reluctance, his revulsion would stay hidden.
The man laughed. "You really are not the most strong-willed of my death eaters, are you?"
Draco felt more than he saw that his mother was about to step forward.
"My Lord," she called out. "Let me do this!"
"Ah, Narcissa," the Dark Lord said. "No, Draco shall do it. He must learn how to kill. We must root out pity from the hearts of our followers. We have access to the ministry's files on mudbloods and their parents. Minister Thickness will give you the address."
The Dark Lord nodded to the heavily imperiussed minister who smiled blithely.
Draco kissed his mother on the cheek before he left. He did not dare to show more affection. It would not do for anybody to suspect that he had no intention to follow the Dark Lord's order. He suspected his mother knew. She had volunteered to relieve him of his task, as if her killing for him would save him. As if it would make this any better. Deep in her eyes he saw her desperation. Not telling her anything was the only choice he had.
It was dark by the time he apparated to 7, Mayweed Grove. No lights burned in the house. He tested for wards and was surprised to find none. Either Granger had been so stupid as to feel safe or her wards were undetectable. He suspected the latter, but even running several detection spells produced nothing. Could the Grangers have left? Draco felt a flicker of hope. He might not have to fake a defeat after all.
He opened the door with an unspoken alohomora. He illuminated the house with his hand of glory and searched through it. It was mostly empty, only odd pieces left, a shattered photo frame here, an abandoned stool there. The house still felt like it had been inhabited until recently, but the family had moved out. And although the move had been hasty, the lack of furniture told Draco that it had been planned. He let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. Although he knew he probably should report back, curiosity made him search all the rooms.
Draco decided that the room on the left with a blue carpet must have been Hermione's. He could smell the lingering smell of violets, persistent but unobtrusive. There was a note of cinnamon as well, a sharp refreshing lemony overtone and just a hint of fresh paper. The smell reminded him of something, but the memory eluded him at the moment.
He sighed in relief. She was gone. She and her parents had probably left the country. His lips burned with the memory of the kiss they had shared in the hospital wing on that moonlit night.
Before he left, he picked up the shattered photo frame that had stayed behind in what probably used to be the living room. A middle-aged couple about the age of his own parents, but with a look of normalcy about them smiled into the camera. They did not move. Draco shook the photo before he remembered that Muggle photos did not move. He recognised Hermione's eyes in the face of the woman. She had obviously inherited her curls from her father though. Even with his hair cut short the curls were distinctive.
"I wonder how you would look with short hair," he told an absent Hermione.
He was about to leave when something struck him as odd. The couple on the picture was not in the centre of the photo. Mr Granger had one arm around his wife, but the other lay on the back of the sofa. Draco could easily picture Hermione sitting next to her parents.
It hit him then. She had not left the country. He could hear his own ragged breath, when his knees gave way under him while he tried to fit the puzzle pieces. Her parents had left the country, but not her. She had tempered with their minds. Some kind of memory charm, that had affected the photos. Wherever Mr and Mrs Granger were they probably had no idea they had owned this house or had a daughter. They were safe and could not be used as leverage against Hermione. Draco let out a wail of anguish. If he knew her at all she would be with Potter and in danger of falling into the ambush the Dark Lord planned.
There was a chance that she would be somewhere safe already, maybe with the Weasleys. Not a very comforting thought, but still better than in danger. Draco tried to make his mind work. He should return, that would be safer for his mother, but he also should probably hide what he had found out. He wondered if his method of pushing his fear at the front of this thoughts would be enough.
A shadow of a plan formed in his mind. He went into the former kitchen and looked for some glass that could serve his purpose. He found an empty bottle which would have to do. He transformed the bottle into a vial. Reluctantly, he pulled memories from his mind. Hermione at the Yule Ball, beautiful as a fay, Hermione flushed with excitement when she mastered a spell. Hermione's eyes searching for him after he had been strong enough to go to classes again. Each memory that might betray him went into the vial. When he retrieved the memory of the moonlit night in the hospital wing, he almost cried. A faint smell of violets was in his nose. He corked the vial and slipped it into his pockets. He searched for the memory of their kiss and just found the certainty that it had happened, as if it was something that someone else had done. There would be nothing for the Dark Lord to find.
Afterwards he wreaked havoc on the house. He cast about every destructive spell he could think of, quickly and in short order, systematically reducing the house to shreds. He disapparated when the neighbours called the Muggle police.
"They have fled the country", Draco told the Dark Lord. He could feel Severus Snape's scrutinizing eyes on him. His mother's face gave nothing away, not even a faint echo of the relief Draco knew she felt.
He let him pick his brain, led him on a short chase after his relief that he had not had to kill. He had his reputation as a coward to uphold after all.
"Your wand," the Dark Lord said.
Draco handed over his wand. The Dark Lord cast a priori incantatem on it. Fortunately, he was bored by the destructive spells that the wand spouted long before the detraction of memories was shown.
"Why didn't you just burn the house?", the Dark Lord asked.
Draco shrugged. The vial felt like a block of ice against his leg, while cold sweat ran down his back.
"I thought it was a good opportunity to practice unspoken spells," he answered. Not a lie.
Chapter 11: Getting galleons
Summary:
Draco tries to exchange pounds to galleons from a very reluctant banker.
Notes:
As I have said already in the author's note of chapter 9, the pound-galleon system is not really coherent, and I tried to make sense of it. I do think that about 800 pounds for a wand that in theory should last a wizard's or witch's life would be an adequate price, especially if you think about rare wand cores. So, this is my idea. There is also the 'official' exchange rate, that I interpret as an aid for muggleborns who do after all not come into the wizarding world with a vault of their own in existence.
Since Percy Weasley is in this chapter I want to say that a) there is a reason he acts that way, apart from being a fastidious accountant and b) I always thought that JKR made not enough of the fact that Percy worked for the Voldemort infested ministry for a year. Yes, sure, in the end he stood with his family (and I just love, love, love that scene), but boy did it take him a long time to realize that the ministry was corrupt. I mean, with the "registration of muggleborns" and everything, how did he not realize who he was working for? My idea is that he realized but only worked up his courage at the last moment. I do not blame him. Living under a tyrant is shitty and he probably was afraid.
So, my characters are grey, and the PoV of the chapters colour how you as readers see the people involved (at least this is my intention). So, none of the Weasleys are bad in this fic, it is just that life is complicated and it might take a while until we see why some people do what they do.
If you like my ridiculous headcanon, do not hesitate to leave comments. Nice comments make my day and get me going!
Chapter Text
Rina followed the goblin and her dad with a sense of foreboding. They were led to a different area, to a counter that was clearly meant for potentially disreputable customers. Rina clutched her bag in one hand and gripped her wand in the other.
Behind the counter was a red-headed man in his middle ages, maybe slightly older than dad. He probably would have been handsome if not for his mien that spoke of an assiduous clerk, someone who met his superior's expectation with avid punctuality.
The look he gave them was decidedly unfriendly. "You have some gall, Malfoy, to come here today of all days."
Dad's face gave nothing away and frightened Rina. He did not look like dad at all. "Mr. Weasley. I would like to exchange British pounds into galleons. I am well within my rights. Last I checked, there are no days unsuitable for this endeavour as long as the bank is open."
Mr. Weasley threw a paper on the counter. It was an extra afternoon edition of the Daily prophet.
'It just didn't work out' was the headline and below was a photo of England's famous quidditch keeper and a beautiful witch with dark curls. They seemed to scowl at each other.
Rina suppressed a groan. She had no difficulty recognizing Ron "Weasley is our king, he never lets the quaffle in". It looked like he had 'irreconcilable differences'.
"I do not see how a piece of gossip in the Prophet is in any way connected to my wish to get galleons in exchange for pounds." Dad's mouth became a thin, almost invisible line.
"Don't you?"
Mr. Weasley smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. "It certainly does not interfere with your right to exchange. I can't vouch for the time of negotiation or the rate of exchange. I suggest you return another day, when I am more in the mood."
"I would prefer to purchase galleons today."
"I guess, you'll have to beg then, Malfoy. Or you could always negotiate with Mr Fawley, if you prefer that."
Her dad bared his teeth. "Thank you, Mr Weasley, for the offer. I choose the begging, instead of Fawley's method of negotiation. Shall we proceed, Mr Weasley? I'd like to have an official receipt for the pounds and then I'll do all the begging you want me to."
"Show me, what you brought." Mr Weasley did not sound glad at dad's insistence.
Dad opened her bag, took out the bundle of pounds and began to count the pounds on the counter.
"…800." The count was finished.
"800, noted". Mr Weasley took the notes. The moment he got hold of them, his face suddenly became even darker.
"What are you playing at, Malfoy? This is fucking muggle plastic."
"Paper notes have been gradually replaced by plastic notes for two years. This is valid Muggle money. You should ask someone who knows about this."
Rina's heart pounded wildly. The unfairness made her see red. Drawing her wand was a smooth motion, but the hex she sent, struck her dad's hand who had been faster than her, anticipating her. It puffed away, harmlessly, with just the tiniest of sparks.
"I'll pretend I didn't see that," Mr Weasley said, while dad gripped her arm and shook his head, vehemently.
"Is your daughter even of age? Or did I just witness her offending the law."
"I am an adult," Rina protested, blood racing to her face.
"Sadly, lacking decent upbringing and manners, I'd say. But what would you expect from a death eater's daughter."
"My father was acquitted. He was acquitted. And that was twenty years ago." Rina clamped her teeth together.
"Your father was acquitted because of benefit of the doubt, Ms Malfoy."
"It's Ms Granger- Malfoy. Certainly you would not forget who my mother is." She narrowed her eyes. "You know, the witch without whom Harry Potter would have died a thousand times over."
"I am quite certain, Rina, that Mr Weasley needs no reminder about the identity of your mother." Dad's face was still a mask, but his eyes clearly told her to shut up.
Mr Weasley scowled at her. "Your mother is also the witch that disrupted wizarding society and overthrew a perfectly capable minister of magic, all because she associated with a murderer."
Rina opened her mouth, but her father's hand descended on her arm again, and pressed on it, hard.
"I beg to differ. First, I'd say that my wife did not overthrow your father. She just reminded him publicly of the fact that even the minister of magic must adhere to the law. Second, I did not kill anybody."
"That has never been proven, Malfoy. There are plenty of people who doubt that."
Rina felt tears spring to her eyes, but managed to hold on. It was all so unfair.
Her dad shrugged. "Be that as it may, any crimes would fall under the statute of limitation after two decades anyway."
"You really have some nerve, Malfoy. Maybe I should just send you down to the Malfoy vault to get some galleons and see what happens."
"I doubt, even a Weasley would do something as stupid as that. A clash between the protection on the vault and my scutum might blow this place up. So, shall we proceed with negotiations? Why don't you have it checked that the money is genuine?"
Mr Weasley narrowed his eyes. He waved to a Goblin and asked him to fetch Mr Fawley. Then he took a paper form, a quill, and sat down.
"What do you need the galleons for?"
Dad frowned. "That is none of your business."
Mr Weasley's face took on an ugly red colour. "You are being difficult today, Malfoy. It's a new ministry regulation against money laundering."
"Which surely is against paragraph 32 of squib law that protects privacy."
Mr Weasley smiled. "But you are not a squib, are you? So… you are obliged to tell me, as long as your wife does not hand in one of her remonstrations against wizarding law."
He put down the quill. "That is, if you want to make an exchange. I've already told you, that it might be better to return another day."
Dad pressed his lips together and stayed silent for a moment. Rina wondered if he was tempted to leave.
He drew a deep breath. "I need the galleons for the same purpose as always. School equipment for my children."
Mr Weasley's quill still hovered over the parchment. "School starts in September, it's January."
"My son needs a new wand."
The quill scribbled on the parchment.
"So, you would need about seven galleons? Given the usual price at Ollivander's? I am surprised, Malfoy, you actually brought enough pounds to get the sum you need for once."
Rina could not help herself. "The official exchange rate is five to one," she protested. Ollivander would never sell them a wand for seven galleons.
Her dad scowled at her.
"You are quite right, Ms Malfoy, but that is only for muggles who need to buy at Diagon alley for their wizard or witch children. This is not the exchange we set for others. Galleons are partly gold, just in case you didn't know, and we can't have people take the galleons, melt them and make a fortune out of them in the Muggle world."
"That would be illegal."
"Which is why we have to prevent it from happening."
"Rina, I want you to wait outside, while I discuss this with Mr Weasley." Dad's eyes clearly told her that she was not improving the situation.
Rina fought tears and nodded. She clutched her bag and her wand and turned.
"Where are your manners?" she heard behind her back.
She felt the blood drain from her face.
"Good bye, Mr Weasley, have a nice evening," she pressed out.
She managed to walk out with her head held high and tears held firmly in check. When she had reached the entrance, she risked a glance back and gasped when she saw that her father was on his knees.
She stumbled outside; sat on the stairs that led to the great entrance of the bank. 'Beg, Malfoy', he had said. It looked like Mr Weasley was true to his word. She was oblivious to the people around her and just let her tears fall.
Chapter 12: Rooting out compassion (August 15, 1997)
Summary:
Draco takes precautions in case of a new task and finds a loophole.
Notes:
Just a quick reminder, that Draco is not a defendant of house elf rights. He still has a way to go, and he barely sees them as sentient creatures.
That is why I decided that at this stage he would think of any house elf as "it".
Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy's memories as retrieved on August 8, 2020
The ministry had fallen. Thicknesse was minister now, and Dolores Umbridge became the right hand of the minister again. Muggleborns were called to the ministry to register, on the pretence of researching why they had magic. Draco knew that their wands would be confiscated and snapped.
There was still a semblance of order, as if the Dark Lord did not want to claim power in the wizarding world too brazenly, as if he did not want to just call himself the tyrant he was, for as long as Potter was alive and unaccounted for.
Draco dreaded the assemblies in the Manor's dining room. He felt constantly under surveillance, the Dark Lord's eyes probing his mind, ridiculing his fear. He became so accustomed to push his fear in the front of this thoughts, that he could barely let it go, even when he was alone, or just with his mother. Fear was his constant companion.
He spent a lot of time in the library, trying to find a way to work around priori incantatem. He knew that the next order to kill someone would soon come, probably before school started. He briefly let himself hope, that school would be a relief, but that hope died the moment he learned that Carrow would be teaching "Defence against the Dark Arts", "Dark Arts" more likely.
Draco flipped through a book on wands. It was a more recent book and had an index, but priori incantatem was not in it. Opening books on random pages would not get him very far. To find something like that, he would have to be very lucky. And luck had never been on his side. He wondered if he should ask Ollivander, who was currently held in their cellar. He immediately chided himself for that idea. Even if he tampered with Ollivander's memory afterwards, it was too risky. He could trust nobody.
A part of him wished, he could ask Granger. He pictured her giving him her most condescending look. Malfoy, I can't believe you overlooked that. It was in the Charms book in third year. It felt odd to realise that he could still smile.
A distinct plop pulled him from his reverie, when a house elf apparated in the library. He had his wand out in the blink of an eye, and the elf squeaked.
"Prudy," he shouted. "Do not apparate so close to me. You almost gave me a heart attack." He shuddered. What if it had not been Prudy, but Snape. Snape who probably could read his thoughts within seconds.
The house elf bowed. "Sorry, Master Draco." The little creature began to slap itself, after it had carefully laid the tray it carried on the floor.
Draco looked at the elf and was hit by an idea.
"Stop it," he said absentmindedly. He pointed at the tray. "My mother told you to bring me something to eat?"
Prudy looked at him with large eyes. "Mistress said that Master Draco does not eat enough."
That was true enough. Sometimes Draco wondered if ribs could be visible through wizard's robes.
The creature's eyes were pleading. "Please, Master Draco, eat."
"I am not hungry."
Prudy began whacking its ears, wailing.
"Stop it", Draco said again. He took one of the sandwiches.
He waved his wand and put a silencing charm around them.
"I forbid you to speak to anyone about what I'll ask you."
Prudy nodded. It looked pointedly at the sandwich in Draco's hand and he took a bite. The creature sighed in relief.
"I mean it," he said. "No skirting around this. I order you to rather kill yourself than disclose any of this."
Draco steeled himself to ignore the pleading in its eyes. He knew that house elves could find loopholes This was necessary. His eyes bore into the elf's, until Prudy nodded.
"Is there a way to cheat on the priori incantatem spell?"
The little elf shuddered. "We are not allowed to tamper with wizards and witches' spells."
"Say, your master is in mortal danger."
Prudy's eyes became as large as plates. "We can do much, if our masters are in danger or the order is strong enough." It could have been the whimper of a mouse.
Draco bent down until his head was at the same level as the elf's.
"When someone does priori incantatem on my wand, can you create an illusion so that it looks like I have done other spells?"
"Yes," the creature whispered. "If you tell me, what you want to be seen."
Relief flooded Draco until he almost laughed.
The little creature fidgeted. It probably was afraid, and Draco could not blame it.
"You will hold yourself ready. Stay as close to me as possible. I may need your skills any time."
He wriggled the ring with the Malfoy crest from his left ring finger.
"Here, close your hands around it."
Prudy did as she was told, and Draco took the ring back and placed several charms on it.
"Now, I can call you with this ring, when I tap my thumb and my index finger on it three times. When I do this, stay invisible and show the Dark Lord what he wants to see."
He would just have to hope that circumstances would never prevent him using his hands. He couldn't account for every possibility.
"I am going to remove this talk from my memory. I'll just remember the gist of it, but no details."
He put his wand at his temple and drew out a silver-white line. He took the vial from his pocket, added the memory, and corked it again.
He turned it in his hand for a few seconds, and then he gave it to Prudy.
"Guard these with your life."
Court record of Draco Malfoy's trial – October 5, 2001
[Prosecution] "Mr Malfoy, report your dealings on August 21, 1997."
[Accused] "Voldemort had given me the order to kill a random Muggle family. Severus Snape was to show me a house. He left me alone to 'work up my courage' as he put it. At that time, I was sure he acted on Voldemort's order to test my loyalty and make me overcome my weakness. I'm sure, he observed what I did."
[Prosecution] "But you do not know, if Severus Snape observed you?"
[Accused] "No, if he did, he might have put this into his own memory stash."
[Prosecution] "Which only you insist exists."
[Defence] "Objection!"
[Judge] "Sustained. Keep on track, Mr Sloane."
[Prosecution] "What did you do then?"
[Accused] "I stunned and confounded the Muggles, tampered with their memories and portkeyed them away. Then I set fire to their house. I pulled parts of my memory and stored them away. I told Snape I had killed the family and made sure that I threw up by taking a puking pastille, because he would never believe me to be sanguine about it."
[Prosecution] "According to Selwyn's statement, which the jury may verify in the evidence folder, Voldemort not only questioned you about the killing, but he also read your mind and ran a priori incantatem, which clearly showed four adava kedavra spells that killed Muggles in addition to the arson of their house. Do you truly want the jury to believe that you worked your way around all that?"
[Defence] "Objection"
[Judge] "Sustained. Mr Sloane, rephrase your question."
[Prosecution] "Mr Malfoy, how did you manage to convince Voldemort you did the killing?"
[Accused] "I lied with the truth. I told him, that I had found it difficult to kill and left out that I had not done it. When he read my mind, I pushed forward how I had burned the house and how I had thrown up afterwards, how Snape had watched me with contempt. When he ran priori incantatem, Prudy conjured up an illusion. He believed me then."
[Prosecution] (to the jury) "Esteemed wizards and witches of the Wizengamot, please note, that Mister Malfoy's testimony cannot be verified. Severus Snape's memories on Mister Malfoy, if they ever existed…"
[Defence] "Objection!"
[Prosecution] "Severus Snape's memories are not available, nor is this something he inserted into the memories his portrait holds. The accused himself claims he detracted his own memory, but this cannot be verified, because his memory vial is under a scutum that cannot be undone. Selwyn on the other hand, fully cooperated during his own trial. Mr Malfoy's only witness is his own house elf."
[Defence] "Objection!"
[Judge] "What is it now, Miss Granger?"
[Defence] "The Prosecution insinuates that the house elf Prudy is still in the possession of Mister Malfoy, when she is a free elf currently working at Hogwarts for a salary."
[Judge] (sighing) "Sustained."
[Prosecution] "I want it put on record, that while the killing of the Muggle family cannot be proven right now, the accused just admitted that he committed arson."