After a long talk with Draco, Pansy had braced herself and ventured into the muggle world. Chasing paper (or plastic) pound notes was just not enough, not when so much of muggle financial transactions happened without a single note changing hands. Harry had talked about the fact that they needed muggle experience for ages and Pansy decided, that is was time to act.
So, now she sat in a muggle bureau. She had donned coat and skirt which she had bought in a muggle fashion shop so that she would seem reasonably well off. Officially she was the heiress of a small family enterprise who wanted to up the computer security and was looking for advice. The fact that she had only 'recently inherited' would hopefully cover any blunders she would make. She wished Neville could be with her, but she knew that a man probably would never get away with blundering. She had declined Harry's offer to accompany her for that reason.
A man in a suit about her own age greeted her and led her into a bureau. He was broad shouldered and big and quite obviously someone who did sports. A coffee mug stood in front of his name plate and Pansy only saw that his name began with a D.
She told her cover story and did her best 'I am just a poor woman with no clue' smile. Not that it was difficult. She had no clue. And that rankled.
The man was surprisingly pleasant and gave her a quick overview of what they could offer. Pansy took all the material she could get. It probably would be best if she arranged a meeting with Hermione's parents. They might be willing to help a friend of their daughter on Aye -Tea – security, or whatever the name was. Or Hermione or Draco might let her have a look at their computer.
She bagged her haul and was about to leave, when she saw a little figurine on the desk, that sat just behind the man's name plate. It was a small lion, meticulously done, that reminded her of the little owl they had seen at Emma's house. She tried to cover the shudder that came over her and pretended that she was getting cold, putting on her scarf and slipping into her coat.
"That is a cute figurine.", she remarked, putting on her gloves. "Mind if I have a look?"
The smile of the man was full of affection. "I have this in my office for my son. He swears it moves, when he plays with it."
Pansy gave a shaky laugh. "Children," she said. "Their imagination often runs wild."
He handed her the figurine, and Pansy studied it carefully. Just like Emma's owl it had a plastic stopper on the downside, just where the figurine had a small hole. Pansy twirled the figurine in her hands, trying to loosen the stopper with her gloved hands.
"My godson loves books. He's read the Lord of the Rings and can't stop talking about it. All the elves and that." It was time for small talk.
Pansy got a grin in response. "My son is not old enough for Lord of the Rings. He's just turned ten and he's a Percy Jackson fan."
The stopper came off.
"I am not familiar with that. Is it good?"
"Oh, it definitely is. A teenager certainly can read the books."
"Thanks for the recommendation. Good idea for the next birthday!"
Pansy took the stopper and let it slip into her bag.
She put the figurine into her left hand and pulled off her glove of the right hand. She stretched it out to shake hands.
"Thank you, for everything, Mr…" she squinted at the name plate. "Mr Dursley."
Mr Dursley stood and came round his desk.
"You're welcome. I'll write a proposal for you. The offer will stand for a fortnight."
Pansy thanked him.
She wondered if the man could be trusted enough to up their department with this muggle stuff. She studied the photos on his desk. Two children, a boy and a girl, his wife had a decidedly Indian look that reminded Pansy of the Patil twins that had been in her year. They looked like a nice family, but that could be deceiving. She thought of her own parents. They had loved her, but that had not prevented them from making bad decisions.
If the little lion were like Emma's owl, he would move when she touched the figurine with her bare hand. She walked closer to the desk and let her left hand with the lion hover over the desk, as yet undecided. If the man's son were a muggleborn, his parents would learn about the magical world anyway.
She placed herself in such a way, that Dursley would not see her putting the figurine back. She picked it up with her right hand and the lion began to shake his mane, well hidden behind the name plate.
Mr Dursley, however, had made his way back to his chair and saw the lion moving. Pansy's mind whirled trying to come up with an explanation.
"You're a witch." His voice was a whisper. It did not sound superstitious. It sounded as if he knew.
She took a leap of faith and picked up the lion again. "Does it move like that, when your son touches it."
He nodded.
"Your son has magic," she said.
He nodded again. "I know about magic. My cousin is a wizard."
Pansy rummaged in her brain. She did not know any Dursleys in the wizarding world.
"We are only loosely in contact. We send each other Christmas cards and that's it."
He picked up the figurine, and the lion went still again. "I suppose, when Neil turns eleven, he'll get an invitation to that school, just like Harry did."
"Harry?" Pansy asked. "Harry Potter?" She remembered that Harry had grown up with muggles, but this tall, strong man had so little resemblance to lithe and slender Harry.
Mr Dursley smiled. "You know Harry?"
"Everybody in our world knows Harry, but I know him rather well. He is my boss. I am…" she hesitated. "… with the police, you would say. I'm investigating."
He blinked at her in a way that suddenly struck her as familiar. "What the hell do you want with our firm then? You investigate computer networks?"
"No, a murder case, possibly connected to money laundering. And we have a lead into …" Pansy considered how to put it. "… your world, and smartphones and all that stuff."
She laughed, relieved that she could admit her ignorance. "The whole stuff blows my mind."
Then it hit her. "Oh, Merlin, since when do you have this figurine?", she asked.
"Maybe three weeks," he answered. "It was a promotional gift from a client firm."
"We have to talk with Harry about this, your son might be in danger."
Notes:
Another Auror Pansy chapter. They keep sneaking into my work... Pansy insists that they be included... I don't know how else to explain this...
Well, it is plot relevant, but I originally intended to just sum this up in the next Harry chapter...
Chapter 45: Baking cake (Easter 2001)
Summary:
A glimpse into the life of a certain Duncan Miller, a former young offender, now in employment with Malcolm Fortescue - a man with memory issues.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"You're not supposed to stray from the recipe," Prudy remarked. "not with baking."
Duncan scoffed. "And you are not supposed to be here. I'm hallucinating your presence and Dr Williams said, that I should have long stopped seeing you. He says I've made so much progress, but you insist on just being there."
He put flour in the measuring jug. "And I probably shouldn't even be talking to you. You're an image my traumatized mind came up with that helped me in my time with this gang I was part of, but you might not be helpful now."
The little elf rolled his eyes. "You like talking to me. I am your friend. And you should at least entertain the idea that that Muggle doctor just doesn't know everything."
Duncan began to stir the egg white, the machine whirring. "I have to admit that the fact that you actually have an effect on our surroundings, belies the idea that you are just an image of my traumatized mind."
Prudy grinned. "I love it, when you apply logic. Now slowly add the sugar."
"I know, Prudy, this is not the first time I'm baking a cake."
"Yes, but you want this to be especially good. You are invited to Malcolm and Saima after all."
"They would invite you, too, if they could see you."
"Ah, now I am more than just an imagination of your mind."
"You know, that I don't really believe Dr Williams. It's just all so puzzling. I wish I would remember."
"You won't, at least not everything", Prudy told him as she had many times before. "You tempered with your memories, magically. You might at some point remember what happened, but you won't have any images to go with it."
"Magically! Hah, there is a logical fallacy there, Prudy. If I did this by magic, how comes that I can't do magic now."
"You can't any longer." Prudy's face was full of regret. "Because I had no idea that the spell that saved your life would be perpetual."
She scrunched her face. Duncan patted her. "Prudy, I know you saved my life from that evil gangsters."
Duncan did not really know how an imaginary friend could have saved his life nor how an imaginary friend could do real cooking, but Dr Williams insisted that it would all make sense once he got his memories back. He certainly didn't know how his imagination could come up with such a strange looking creature and this beautiful girl he liked to draw in his sketch book.
Prudy insisted the girl was real, as real as the middle-aged woman Duncan drew, that Duncan was sure was his mother. Duncan might have inherited his blond hair from her. Or his father. Duncan did not want to search his mind for an image of his father. For some reason he was very angry at his father.
Dr Williams had been proud of him when he said that out loud. 'I am very angry at my father.'
He suspected the ring on his right hand with the black stone had been a gift from his father. For some reason, the black colour of the stone made him sad.
When he had put the cake in the oven, Duncan leafed through his sketch book. Sometimes he would remember or maybe come up with sentences that fit his sketches and then he wrote it below the sketch.
Today he looked at a picture of a round-faced boy, and for some reason the sentence 'Where is my toad?' came to his mind. He scribbled it down.
'Hermione' was written under the pictures of the beautiful girl or maybe woman. Duncan had so many sketches of her, and to him it was clear that he must have grown up with her or maybe they had visited the same school. On some pictures she could not be older than twelve, on some she looked like a grown woman. Her hair was a mass of unruly curls, but Duncan somehow remembered that they were soft to the touch. Her brown eyes were warm.
Prudy had told Duncan that she had indeed been in his school, that he loved her, and Duncan knew this to be true, even though the name Hermione made him suspicious. Who had a name like that? It somehow did not roll naturally from his tongue when he tried it out. Did he have a pet name for her? Maybe something that started with G?
When the cake was ready, Prudy and he made their way to the Fortescues. Duncan got a warm welcome and Saima smiled at the flowers he had brought and told him what a nice gentleman he was. Duncan had a warm fuzzy feeling in his heart. Easter holidays were especially difficult. There was a dark memory somewhere in his mind, that was connected to Easter. He had not yet dared to try to unveil it. Just thinking about it too hard, made him sweat.
The Fortescues had two teenage daughters and they insisted to have a re-watch of 'Pride and Prejudice'. Malcolm wanted to see 'The Godfather', but his wife shook her head.
"No violence," she chided him.
Duncan was very obliged. He loved watching films, but he did not need to see any blood, even if it was not real. Another oddity of his memory was that he did not remember ever watching any movies before he had come to work with Malcolm. His daughters were regularly surprised that he had no idea about Disney movies. He had indulged them once and had watched a movie called 'Sleeping beauty' with them, and they had been surprised that he was surprised when Prince Philipp's kiss woke up Aurora. 'It doesn't make sense,' he had told them. 'He should have undone the spell. Since when does a kiss undo a spell. She wasn't pricked in her lips, was she?'.
Prudy sat on the back of his chair and he could hear her chuckle. The whole family knew the series by heart, it seemed to Duncan, and they had far too much fun with Duncan's reaction to the story.
Duncan immediately liked the refined gentleman who was holding himself aloof and made the occasional witty remark. His friend was a little bit too cheery for Duncan's liking. Who walked around with such a grin on his face all the time?
The female protagonist was even more to Duncan's liking. He admired her sass, and so did the refined gentleman.
"He's in so deep for her. Does she even realise that her sass just makes him fall harder?" He chuckled.
"You spotted that quite fast." Malcolm seemed more amused about him than the film.
Duncan groaned when Elizabeth Bennett had to put up with that incredibly stupid cousin of hers.
"He should be a ginger, as stupid as he is." He did not know where that idea came from. "How could he think this would make her say yes?"
They tried Duncan's cake after that. And although it had been an experiment, it was really tasty. Malcolm decided that they would include 'Chocolate-lemon-cake' into their offers at Fortescue's. Duncan stuck out his tongue to Prudy, when there was an opportunity, and nobody looked. Prudy rolled her eyes.
At the end of the third episode, Duncan found himself defending Mr Darcy's proposal. He could not understand why the girls thought it was unromantic.
"He really jumped the fence there," he argued. "Her family is inferior, and he loves her so much, that he is ready to overlook it."
"No," the girls told him in no uncertain manner. "It shows that he does not yet care really about her feelings, or he wouldn't insult her family to her face. He just thinks she will accept, because he is insanely rich."
They had a point there. "Are you saying he blew his chances?"
The girls nodded.
Duncan shook his head. "Poor sod, this is going to have an unhappy ending, isn't it?". It made him sad and he could not even say why. Maybe Elizabeth Bennet would give Mr Darcy a second chance?
As it turned out, she did. The next day, the Fortescues made him watch the second half, all the way laughing heartily at his remarks.
Ms Bennet and Mr Darcy met again by chance and Mr Darcy managed not to blow it again, and then he had the opportunity to help his love.
He laughed so hard, when his and her family were quite openly opposed to the match and remarked that they should just get together against all odds. The way Ms Bennet dressed down Darcy's aunt was admirable.
The girls sighed heavily at Darcy's second proposal, and Duncan had to agree that it was way more considerate than the first.
Malcolm was still laughing about his investment in the story when Duncan bade them goodbye to return to his own flat. He lent him the book the series was based on and Duncan looked forward to reading it.
On the way home, he thought about Hermione. He was quite sure that his love was at least as witty as Ms Bennet. When he asked Prudy, she told him, that to her knowledge, she was.
"In a world without Voldemort, that might have been your story."
"Merlin's beard, Prudy, don't say that name." He looked around as if sinister shapes would come around the corner. It had been an involuntary reaction that came out of nowhere. He did not really know who Voldemort was, and he had no idea why he had sworn by the name of Merlin, a long dead wizard, a legendary figure.
"He's dead, Duncan. There is no need to fear him any longer."
Duncan shuddered and clutched his left arm, the arm with the tattoo as if he remembered the pain he suffered when he got it. There was a connection. He just knew it, but it eluded him.
Notes:
I had to elaborate on Prudy, the 'imaginary friend'...
Chapter 46: Old and dusty tomes
Summary:
Rina gets detention and a strange task.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Rina was sent to the headmaster for storming out of the Potions room in the middle of her lesson. She usually did well in Potions, but when Professor Thompson had told his class, that the Phoenix Potion was nothing but a myth, she had lost her temper.
John Greggs, her fellow head from Hufflepuff, had tried to calm her, but to no avail. She had called her teacher a liar and had shouted at him, and now she was ascending the stairs on her way to see Headmaster Flitwick.
Despite her predicament, she was not entirely unhappy. It was her seventh year and finally she had managed to do something that would let her see the headmaster's office. She knew she would probably get a scolding, but even if the headmaster wrote to her parents, they wouldn't be angry with her, not really. Dad would tell her not get worked up about something she could not change, and mum would tell her to state her disagreement in a calm and collected manner.
Rina had to laugh, just picturing her parents. Dad would not be openly worked up about something he could not change, but he never cut on his sarcasm. And her mum. At one time Blaise and Luna had taken her to court to see her mother in action, Blaise because he wanted to be entertained, and Luna because it had been a trial that had involved centaurs. Her mother at court did not really do 'calm and collected', dedicated and spirited came much closer.
The door opened to admit her to the headmaster's office and Rina took a few breaths to calm herself. Flitwick had been a nice and fair teacher and he had taught Rina in charms in her first three years, before Professor McGonagall retired, but it would not do to enter the headmaster's office laughing.
"Professor Flitwick?", she called out.
"Come in."
She barely saw the small man. The whole room was packed with books. Dozens, no, hundreds of books, old and dusty tomes that must be worth thousands of galleons. Rina stared in wonder.
"Ah, Ms Granger-Malfoy, our head girl, just the person I need."
Rina was baffled. "Professor Flitwick?", she said. "Professor Thompson told me to report to you. He said you should write an admonition to my parents because I was disrespectful in class. And that I should get detention."
"What did you do?"
"I called Professor Thompson a liar and shouted at him."
"Whatever for?"
"He said the Phoenix Potion was just a myth."
"Well, I see, how that might have irritated you."
Flitwick looked at her as if pondering a difficult question. "We will have to think about a detention, that will show Professor Thompson that I do not tolerate such lapses. Would you like to do some research, Ms Granger-Malfoy?"
He waved at the masses of books.
"What do you want me to do?" Rina was not sure, what daunting task would be connected to such an enormous number of books.
"You know that your father will come to Hogwarts?"
Rina nodded. "Yes, for DADA lessons, scutum and all that." She still did not know how she felt about that. Lizzie had told her that the Hufflepuffs were all very excited and were collecting questions they could ask dad. Some of the questions had leaked and students were already betting what dad would answer.
"Well, he wrote to me, that he wants to visit the library, while he is here."
"Oh Merlin, did he remember where he put his notes on the Phoenix Potion?"
"No. He wants to look into the Malfoys' history."
Rina was taken aback. "But why, and why here?"
Professor Flitwick shook his head.
"Rina, you are an intelligent girl, and I know that the 'Greengrass guide' is on your curriculum since Christmas. You can answer that question yourself, eh?"
"Dad wants to find an heir? Someone who is not him and who could possibly revoke the cut out curse? So that he can see my grandmother? And he must do it here, because he can't look up the books at Malfoy Manor." Rina felt her knees give way and she unceremoniously let herself fall on one of the book stacks.
"As soon as I got your parents' letter I wrote to your grandmother and suggested that she lends some books on genealogy and old wizarding families to the Hogwarts library."
"I see," Rina said weakly, waving her hands at the books.
"I got rather more than I bargained for," Professor Flitwick told her with a shake of his head. "Your grandmother did not lend the books, she donated them, and this is only the first shipment."
"The books need to be categorized and included into our library, but I will leave that to Mr Fillingham."
He winked at her. "Your detention will be to look at the tomes that hold information on the Malfoy family. Since your teacher is not satisfied with what you do know about your family."
He sighed exaggeratedly. "It's such a pity that your siblings get detentions so rarely. You just have to ask them to help you. That way you'll give your father a head start."
"But why?" Rina asked.
"Because I suppose you have to go back several generations and there will be quite a lot of dead ends."
Rina shook her head impatiently. "I figured that. But why give me detention and why are the books here and not in the library."
"Ms Granger-Malfoy," Professor Flitwick answered. "We are dealing with a volatile and deadly curse. Better safe than sorry."
Rina spied Colin at the Gryffindor table at the end of the bench as usual. His nose was buried in a book with a worn cover, that looked positively shabby. David Finnigan, the Gryffindor prefect looked up when he saw her approach. Rina wished she knew why the two Gryffindor prefects lately seemed so off. They treated her as if she were made of glass, and it annoyed her no end.
Rina looked over Colin's shoulder. Although the book had a cover, it was obviously handwritten, a spidery script that looked like someone had tried to distort their writing. It was written in no language she knew.
"Colin?". She touched his shoulder. "Could you just come over to Lizzie for a moment? I've got to tell you something and don't want to go through it twice."
Colin put a finger in his book and followed her. Lizzie was in the midst of very exuberant Hufflepuffs who readily made space for Colin and Rina.
"What is it?," Lizzie asked.
"The headmaster just told me that mum and dad will come both. I guess we'll get owls soon as well. Flitwick just got a letter today. They want to look up…. " Rina stopped, because she suddenly got the feeling that all the surrounding Hufflepuffs were staring at her.
"Your mum will come as well?", one freckled girl with braids asked her.
"I don't see how this is your business," Rina snapped. Why did Hufflepuffs have no idea about personal space. "But, yes, my mum and dad will come."
"Oh Merlin," the girl said. She raised her voice. "Guys, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger will visit Hogwarts. Together. This is not a drill. I repeat. This is not a drill."
Rina stared open-mouthed as the Hufflepuff table seemed to come alive, buzzing and humming like a beehive.
Lizzie giggled. "I told you, mum and dad are popular in Hufflepuff."
"This is insane," Colin remarked.
Rina stood up. "This is too much, please come with me, just for a moment."
Her younger siblings followed her outside. Rina watched around and glared at some Ravenclaws who decided to give the Head Girl a wide berth. She nodded satisfied.
"O.k…. Has Professor Greengrass talked to you about the Cut out curse?"
They both nodded. "Not in class," Lizzie piped up. "She took us aside."
"Mum and dad want to research the Malfoys' history, to find an heir, who then can revoke the Cut out curse. Our grandmother has sent books on the family history here to Hogwarts and Flitwick just asked me to begin the research to give mum and dad a head start. He suggested you could help me."
"That is why!". Colin's face lit up, like it usually did, when he had understood something. "I was wondering why dad would want to come here."
He chuckled. "The Gryffindors are puzzled, but since Uncle Neville invited him, they haven't said anything yet, at least not to me."
Rina studied him, carefully. She still did not see him with anyone else but Rachel, and Prudy of course, but he looked more relaxed.
"No need to be worried, Rina." Lizzie grinned openly. "Jane Fletcher and David Finnigan have decided to flank Colin. They behave like mother ducks."
"What is up with them, anyway?" Rina wanted to know. "They look at me as if they know some secret even I myself don't know."
"Fifth and sixth years have learnt about ancient family curses, and they might have put two and two together." Colin frowned. "Jane asked me how dad survived. I thought she meant the war, but she might have meant the curse… "
He paused and thought. "…Actually, she can't have meant the curse. She asked me directly after Christmas break." He shrugged. "But it's not only that. I have a truce with the Pott-Weasel disasters."
"What? How did that come about?"
"Apparently, they were instructed to behave better than dad and Weasley."
Rina scoffed. "That was not dad's fault."
"It could not have been dad's fault, obviously" Lizzie said. "Dad is a happy man, after all."
They laughed.
"So, when shall we three meet again? For the sinister task of delving into our family history?"
Rina clapped Colin on his arm. "Macbeth. You show-off. We'll start this evening, after dinner."
They made a circle with their hands and then walked back and entered the hall again.
"Can you even read that?", Rina asked and pointed at Colin's book.
"I have absolutely no idea." Colin sighed. He showed her the cover. "This book is supposedly on house elves, but it is all gibberish. I don't recognize the language."
He shook his head. "Can you believe that mum was the last person to borrow this book?"
"Since it seems to be basically unintelligible…. that actually makes sense." Rina reined herself in. She would not roll her eyes at her brother.
They separated and went to their house tables. John, the Head Boy came over and asked how her meeting with Flitwick had gone.
"Must be your first detention ever!"
"No," Rina told him. "I got one by Dawlish in sixth year as well, when I challenged his opinion on how long a scutum spell can be held."
She focussed on her food and avoided looking at John. She hated when anyone looked at her with pity, and she did not want to go off on John who was usually a very accommodating co-head.
Owls arrived and she got a letter by mum and dad. It was for her, Colin and Lizzie, just as she had expected, and she began to read immediately. She had not yet finished the letter when she heard the shrieking of a howler.
Professor Greengrass sat shocked as she was addressed as being a piss poor excuse for a DADA teacher, but the howler had no time to finish. Uncle Neville's mongoose sprang out of his wand and swooped to get the howler and cut it short. The shimmering white figure then returned to Neville and he wiped his wand over it with a complicated pattern and then whispered something to his patronus. The mongoose disappeared, the howler safely in his mouth. The sender would get a nasty surprise. Rina absolutely wanted to learn that spell. Uncle Neville must have picked it up from mum.
Uncle Neville sat again, at first seemingly oblivious to the awe of the students and shrugged off Professor Greengrass' thanks.
When the excitement in the hall did not die down, he stood again and quickly enhanced his voice with a sonorus charm. "This is just one of the many uses of a corporal patronus. I expect the sixth years to keep that well in mind."
Notes:
Well, Narcissa has found yet another way to get rid of the Malfoy fortune...
And genealogy might become important...
Chapter 47: Revisiting Mayweed Grove (September 18, 2001)
Summary:
Duncan revisits a place he knows from before
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Mayweed Grove," he told Prudy. "That is where she lived. I remember that."
"Don't just stand there. Go on, try to look for the house," the little elf told him. "I've done some sleuthing, and if you don't remember soon, you might be too late."
"Too late? Why?", Duncan asked.
"Just try to find her, you dunderhead" Prudy answered.
"You're supposed to be my friend. Why do you insult me?"
"It's not an insult, if it's the truth," Prudy rolled her eyes. "And it is so much fun to test my boundaries." She hopped at his side.
"Duncan the dunderhead, Duncan the dolt, Duncan the dork," she shouted at the top of her lungs. "I've just realised that your name really goes well with D-insults…"
Duncan had no idea what Prudy meant with boundaries. She certainly had not shown any reluctance to tease him over the years. Briefly, he wondered, if imaginary friends were supposed to be that unmanageable. Shouldn't imaginary friends be more, well, friendly?
On Prudy's prodding he overcame his hesitation and went into the lane even though his mind did somersaults, and he felt slightly nauseous.
He half-closed his eyes and let himself be carried by his feet, trying not to concentrate on where he went.
He came to a halt in front of a non-descript house of medium size, big enough for a family.
His heart was beating erratically, sweat broke out on his brow and his hand began trembling. He was certain that in this house something had happened. It might have been a trick of his mind, but he thought he could hear glass crashing, and he had an image of himself, a wand in his hand, standing in midst of chaos and destruction.
A wand.
In his hand.
"What did I do here?", he whispered. He somehow knew he had ploughed a path of destruction through the house, but why? It reminded him of his dreams, he very reluctantly shared with Dr Williams. Dr Williams thought the dreams were just images his mind conjured to veil his memories, but standing in front of this house, Duncan was not sure.
"I don't know. I was not yet your confidante," Prudy told him. "But I guess you started messing with your memories at this place."
He sat down on the pavement, his head pounding.
"Why don't you just tell me?" he asked Prudy.
"I am not sure, I should," his friend answered. "Dr Williams told you it is better if you remember of your own accord."
He began to fiddle with his ring, tapping the ring.
"That was our sign. I came, when you called me like that."
He put his head between his knees, trying to blend out Prudy's voice. "It hurts. My head hurts."
Prudy laid a hand on his knee. "I know you are quite comfortable as Duncan Miller, and I like Duncan Miller much more than I liked your older self."
He looked up. "Why would you say that? Was I that bad in my time with the gang?"
Prudy looked at him with her big round eyes. "I wasn't your friend, I was your servant. And you used me for your own schemes. Even if I agreed with your plans, I still resented that."
She shrugged. "I pitied you at first. Lost in London, in a world you had no idea about."
And then she laughed. "Do you remember when you spent your first wage in a single afternoon, because you thought it was just pocket money?"
"That was not funny." Duncan scowled at her, and then he laughed. "Oh my, I would probably have starved without you. Dressed in a nice button-down shirt, black jeans and shiny new shoes. But starved."
"Not to forget that your hair would have smelled fresh," Prudy teased him.
"I do keep my money together, now." He shook his head. "If you prefer me as a friend now, why should I remember?"
"If you do not look for Hermione now, you might lose her forever. And in case you do remember later, you might never forgive me. You are presumed dead and she is engaged."
"Engaged to whom?" He jumped up.
"Ha," Prudy clapped her hands. "I should have known that would get me a reaction."
"Who?", he asked. "Who?"
Prudy bent her head to the side. "I don't want you to go on a rampage. You just have to find her."
"Then tell me, tell me, what my name was."
"I have to be sure you want to risk that. Dr Williams said, that regaining your memories might be quite overwhelming."
Duncan pulled out his sketching book and leafed through it, until he chanced upon a picture of Hermione. She was bent over a pot with an ancient design, and a streak of her hair had been plastered to the side of her face with the raising damp. To him she looked like a mirage, but Prudy said she was real.
"Tell me," he said.
Prudy pointed at his ring. "Your name is Draco, you are the Malfoy heir and you are a wizard, or you were a wizard up to the point I threw the scutum spell on you, that Severus Snape had prepared."
Draco Malfoy. A wizard.
Nausea hit him and suddenly the pavement was much nearer than it had been, and he barely managed to brace his fall with his elbows.
The pain from his elbows prevented that he lost consciousness and for minutes he lay on the ground, panting heavily, his thoughts whirling, bits and pieces of his life before he became Duncan.
His mother, his father, he himself sitting on a broom, a snitch in his hand, the vast grounds of Malfoy Manor, the Hogwarts Express, Severus Snape, his teachers, the sorting hat calling 'Slytherin', the dungeons, the joy of feeling magic flow through him, when he got his wand.
Then he felt the burning on his left arm, the day he got the Dark Mark, the cabinet, Dumbledore, the Astronomy Tower, a ferret that did not die, when he tried the killing spell, and fear. Fear. Ever present fear. Fear as his constant companion.
Other memories he did not see but were just words in his mind. Manor, Bellatrix, Hermione screaming, scutum, Phoenix Potion, his notes, Room of Hidden things, Horcrux, Hogwarts Library.
He groaned.
"It was worse than just a criminal gang," he mumbled. "wasn't it?"
Prudy nodded.
He picked himself up with some difficulty and sat down on the pavement again.
"Don't be too hard on yourself, Draco," Prudy said. "You tried your best."
She looked up and immediately fell silent.
Draco turned his head and saw a middle-aged man who looked down on him with sympathy.
"Young man, are you quite alright? I am only a dentist, but I still know something about medicine. And you took a bad fall."
Draco stared. He would recognize this bushy hair everywhere.
"You're her father. You're Hermione's father."
It was the man's turn to stare. "You know her? Can you lead us to her? We've been looking for her for ages."
Notes:
We are getting closer to the reunion. Hooray!
Please leave some comments, if you like it. :-)
Chapter 48: Doubts and Hope (September 19, 2001)
Summary:
Hermione ponders her options...
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Her birthday was always the worst. None of her friends save Luna really understood her need to be alone on this day of all days. It was her fifth birthday without her parents. She did not remember if Harry, Ron and her even acknowledged her birthday when they were on the Horcrux hunt. But the birthday after Voldemort died had been the worst. Mere days after the battle of Hogwarts Hermione had flown to Australia, but Monica and Wendell Wilkins had vanished without a trace. Voldemort had died, but she had lost her family and she had lost the boy whom she might have loved if the times had been different.
There had been no trace of Draco after the battle. She thought she had seen him at one end of the Great Hall, as if he had been under a badly placed disillusionment charm. She regretted that she had not stayed with him after they had escaped the fiendfyre. She had not been needed neither for the killing of the snake, nor for the final defeat of Voldemort. She had fought of course, she had thrown the few vials of Phoenix Potion she had at her friends, but she doubted it had made any difference. If only she had stayed at his side! She would never have lost him then.
She had searched for hours with no result. The querio charm that could be used for any magical being had been useless. Every time she used it her wand had just spun in circles, a very unusual reaction. It had been like that for years now, and Hermione should know. She only used the charm occasionally now, but she still repeated it, her hope never having died. It was as if she were addicted and could not get rid of this bad habit. And would Draco not look for her, if he had survived?
She knew for certain that Draco's parents had searched as well, and intensely. They had offered a reward to anyone who could give information on their son. And they had not stopped at that.
About a week ago, when she had visited Harry and Ron at the auror department her fragile peace of mind had been shaken to the core. She had overheard Pansy Parkinson talking to the head auror Kingsley Shacklebolt. Pansy Parkinson had opted for joining the auror department of all possible career choices, a year after Ron and Harry, after a repeated seventh year and proper graduation from Hogwarts, just like Neville had done. Parkinson had answered Shacklebolt's question about the Malfoys' efforts and Hermione's heart had stopped for a while when she had chanced upon their conversation. Shacklebolt wanted to tie things up, catch and try one of the few death eaters unaccounted for.
Apparently, as soon as Lucius had come out of Azkaban this August, the Malfoys had used a blood spell to locate Draco. Hermione did not even know this was possible. Blood spells were supposed to be dark magic, but Shacklebolt had been inclined to be lenient when parents used their own blood to search for their son. The powerful spell had been as much a failure as her own querio charm, though, just as if Draco himself was untraceable. Apparently Narcissa Malfoy had not given up hope. The spell had not disclosed Draco's whereabouts, but it had also shown that he might be alive. If he were to be found he would face a trial and likely a sentence, but after three years of peace, the wizarding community was unlikely to be after the life of a death eater who hadn't killed anyone, at least not as far as anyone knew.
She could use her mother's advice now. She slowly sipped her tea, but the answer to her predicament was not to be found in the tealeaves.
After she had finished law school in July, Ron had proposed. They had been together ever since the autumn after Voldemort died, three years ago. Ron was funny and occasionally thoughtful and there could be no doubt, that he loved her. They fought frequently, but they laughed more often. And Hermione loved him, she had always loved him. She was just not sure if she loved him in the right way.
She would be surer about the nature of her own feelings if she did not still think about Draco. Sometimes she remembered how they had kissed that night in the hospital wing, sometimes their desperate kiss in the Room of Hidden things came unbidden to her mind.
When she told herself that it had been just kisses, that she had kissed Victor and Cormac before Draco and Ron after him, and that mere kisses should not fluster her, she felt more than she saw his intense look at the moment Bellatrix had stopped throwing the cruciatus at her. When she remembered how Draco had encased her in his spell and how his gaze had hit her at the very core of her being, she could not fathom that anything she would experience could ever be that intense.
This was why she desperately needed her parents and their advice. She had accepted Ron, thinking that Draco was lost to her, likely dead. She wanted a home, she wanted people she trusted. She wanted people that were close to her and the Weasleys had been so welcoming and nice. She needed some anchor in her life, some safe haven in the wizarding world that could still be unaccepting of people like her at times. Draco was just some far away 'might have been', not a real person she could touch and love. People did move on after grief and mourning and could be happy. Or so she had told herself repeatedly, before her resolution had been shaken, when she had overheard Parkinson.
What would her parents' advice be? Move on? Forget about Draco? Even if he were alive, he would face a trial and there was little to no chance that his family or her friends would be welcoming a relationship. Call the wedding off? Because of a single overheard sentence and a maybe? A single sentence that had thrown her into a spiral of doubting the depth of her feelings for Ron? And what did it tell about her feelings for Ron, when a shadow of hope could shred her certainty to nothing?
The most nagging thought of all was her 'what if'. Would she even have said yes, if her parents were with her to give her the warmth and love she craved? Had she said yes because she feared the Weasleys would reject her if she said no?
When she realised the splatter of tears on her hands, she was relieved she was alone, so that no one could see her like this.
She had the sinking feeling that she knew what her mother would say. 'Better marry no man than the wrong man'. She could almost hear her mother's voice.
Was Ron the wrong man though? Or was it her who was wrong? Pining after a love that everything told her was impossible, unrealistic, doomed, uncertain, instead of a solid, trusting and even tender relationship? Shouldn't she be more realistic, more reasonable about this?
The tea in the mug she held had long grown cold and she still did not know what to do. Call off the wedding? Renew her efforts to find Draco? Settle down and stop daydreaming?
Finally tell Ron and Harry about the history she shared with Draco? Tell someone about it?
She grimaced. She had tried to tell Harry and Ron about Draco helping her, about Draco helping them, when Crabbe and Goyle had almost ruined their search for the diadem. Time and again she had tried to reason with them, and it had always ended with a fight.
She shook her head. Harry had readily testified for Narcissa Malfoy and had been the main witness for the defence. Narcissa Malfoy's blatant lie to Voldemort about Harry's supposed death had earned her a light sentence. She had been declared a 'defector' and had been allowed a wand and full use of it after a year of house arrest. But Harry would not even consider that Draco was not a death eater at heart. Hermione wondered if it was a weird effect of Harry's bad conscience about the sectumsempra he had directed at Draco in sixth year. If Draco were a death eater through and through there would be no need to feel bad about that after all. As for the events at Malfoy manor, having joined the aurors and learning about dark curses and unforgivables and possible effects of the cruciatus had fastened Ron's and Harry's opinion that she was the one who misremembered.
What would they even say, when they knew that Hermione's conviction that Draco had been helping them was not all? That her heart pounded when she thought of Draco, that she was convinced that he had even worked against Voldemort? That she had kissed him? Would Ron ever understand? Would it mean the end of their relationship, the end of their friendship?
Would it be worth it? Confessing everything? And then? It could end with her all alone, on her own. She was an independent and confident woman, but could she bear that?
Could she on the other hand marry Ron in good conscience when she had left him in the dark about her history with Draco? Now, that she knew there was a chance Draco was alive?
Hermione looked in despair at her cold tea. When had she erred? When she had allowed herself to be consoled by Ron? When she had not insisted that she needed more time? Or when she had visited Draco in the hospital wing? Should she have begged the order to save her parents? Would everything be different if her parents were alive?
Her vision blurred, again. Sobs made her body tremble and at first, she did not hear the doorbell.
She stopped crying, annoyance taking over. She had explained to the boys that she needed to be alone on this day. She decided to ignore the doorbell. She would brew herself a fresh hot tea.
The person at the door kept insisting. Someone must have fallen asleep with a finger on the button. Irritated, Hermione waved her wand and cut the connection to her bell. What was so difficult about understanding that she wanted peace!
Luna's hare patronus popped into existence in her kitchen and she dropped her tea mug and it crashed to the floor.
The animal opened its mouth. "Please, Hermione, open the door. I know you are at home. I promise this is the best birthday surprise ever."
Hermione muttered to herself and went to the door, wiping her tears away with her sleeves.
"I swear, if Harry or Ron set you up for this, I am going to hex your ears off, Luna Lovegood," she said sternly when she opened the door.
Luna stood there, the brightest grin on her face and at her side, smiling timidly were her parents.
"I believe you are acquainted with Monica and Wendell Wilkins?"
Hermione burst into tears again.
"How, how?"
She was tempted to hurl herself into her parents' arms, but she saw that they did not recognize her, their eyes curious, but with an air of uncertainty about them.
"You do have your father's hair," her mother said. She held up a worn-out poster, Hermione recognized from the war, when she had been an undesirable.
"How are you alive?", Hermione asked. She ushered all of them into her flat.
"We were captured and brought to this evil wizard, but one of your former teachers saved us," her father said.
"From their description I would say it was Snape," Luna put in. "He must have helped them shortly before the battle of Hogwarts."
"He told us to not go looking for you unless we heard someone say the name Voldemort." Her father frowned. "We tried to piece things together, and remember, but you seem to have been quite thorough with your memory spell."
"Did you not look for us?", her mother asked.
Hermione dabbed her eyes. "I travelled to Australia, but you were gone, and nobody could tell me where you went. I assumed that they had found you and killed you. I was about to try a spell I only learned about this week as a last resort."
"We did remember our old address here in London and rebought the house, but not before recently," her mother told her.
"You moved back to Mayweed Grove?" Hermione's heart clenched at the thought of her childhood home.
"Yes, and we got the house for a penny and a half. Apparently, the neighbours think, it's haunted. Someone made a wreckage of the place after we had left."
"Death eaters probably." Luna thought out loud.
"And when we had moved in, that nice young man came by and told us, that he could lead us to you. What was his name again, Wendell?"
"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."
"Draco?" Hermione's voice toppled over.
Luna laughed. "Believe it or not, Hermione. He went into the Leaky cauldron in broad daylight. I was there, having a drink with Neville and Hannah, and there he was. He told me that Hermione Granger would want to see the Wilkinses."
"Draco? Draco found them?", now her voice was a whisper. Her knees felt weakened and she grabbed Luna's arm to support herself.
"Yes, Malfoy of all people. I could hardly believe he would care enough for your muggle parents." She patted her arm. "Maybe you were right after all, you know, that he tried to help you. It was his bad luck, that there were several aurors there as well, apart from Neville. But he turned himself in without fight, if you can believe that."
Worry entered her eyes. "Hermione, you are pale as a sheet. Did you forget to eat again?"
Her voice sounded like she was suddenly very far away, and if she said something after that, Hermione didn't hear it as she was sinking into short-lived oblivion.