WARNINGS for this chapter: very badly under-negotiated non-monogamy.
Chapter 28: The comic book
After Ron and Ginny had vented their frustration over Slytherin's victory, followed by obligatory sighs and reassuring pats, Draco pulled Hermione out of the crowd of grumbling Gryffindors to find a quiet corner. As much as the Inverse Animagus theory was appealing, it left a few questions unanswered, as they both had to admit. First of all, what did his mother have to do with that rat? Why had, erm, it wanted her in Azkaban so badly? And then they remembered the witness's spectacular wandless transformation to a comic book. Hogwarts seventh year's curriculum mastered by an illiterate rodent—disconcerting, wasn't it?
On his way to the Transfiguration class on Monday, Draco could think of nothing but comics, and when the class was finished, he approached Professor Pye and asked if he could, no, he announced that he would like to write his term essay on Inverse Animagi. His side projects had become more and more demanding recently, and he was running behind with his school work. The only way to survive the end spurt was to see that he kill two, better three or four rats with one curse.
"Ms Granger expressed the same wish earlier today. Curious, isn't it?" Pye raised an eyebrow.
'Wait until Potter shows up,' Draco thought, and nodded politely.
"You are aware that all forms of animal-to-human transfiguration are punishable by law?"
"Yes, Professor. This is only for the theoretical exam. I'm also interested in the legal side."
"For your career in Law Enforcement surely?"
Pye gave him a list of references, and an hour later Draco was sitting in the library next to a pile of books and century-old issues of Transfiguration Today. Ron Weasley dropped into a chair next to him, and took a book from the top of his pile.
"Wow! You're already taking them on," his voice flashed with excitement, "You know what? Hermione and I were thinking—"
But Draco missed what Hermione was thinking. Potter and Ewen walked past, each with his own pile of books, whispering and giggling softly, and turned the corner at the next book shelf.
"What?" Draco asked, turning to Ron.
But Weasley stared back at him, all excitement gone without a trace.
"Harry."
"Yes?"
"Please tell me one thing."
"Yes?"
"You know I'm okay with it. If you're into blokes, then you're into blokes, it's none of my business, and you're still my best mate. You know it!"
Draco had heard this opening a few times by now. "Yes?"
"But I just can't believe, I just can't get my head around it that you, you, gave up Ginny for Malfoy."
"I didn't give up Ginny for Malfoy."
"No, I mean, of course, you didn't give up Ginny. It just didn't work out, it couldn't, tough luck. But you and Malfoy?!"
"Me and Malfoy? He has a thing with Arling!" Draco nodded towards the bookshelf behind which both had just disappeared.
"Yes, and you're upset about it. You think I don't see the way you glare at them?"
How sharpsighted of Weasley! Draco rolled his eyes and let out a tired sigh.
"I'm not glaring at anyone, I'm spying, on Kingsley's orders. And the only thing I'm upset about"—now Draco had to improvise someting quickly—"is that he has apparently stopped researching his family history and I don't know why."
Weasley looked at him incredulously.
"You're not in love with Malfoy then?"
"No!"
"Promise me that you will never have anything with Malfoy."
Now, that was going a bit too far. He might not be the eligible bachelor he had once been, but considering the scarcity of supply... "As a gay wizard, your choices are limited. By the age of fifty they have all slept with each other."
"Hm." Weasley pondered. "What about Mugg—? Hey, wait! Are you saying that by the age of fifty you will have slept with Malfoy?"
Draco groaned and dropped his forehead against the subject index of Pereyra & Yakubu 1948. Luckily, Granger, who had arrived with a piece of parchment and not a single book in her hands, saved him from the need to answer.
"Harry! You've taken out all my books," she said, going through his pile.
"Be my guest," Draco said, and made space between himself and Weasley.
"Did you already tell Harry?" she said.
"Oh, right!" Weasley's sour grimace vanished in an instant. "We were thinking, if that rat-woman stayed at Snape's place, maybe there's something still there, something she left?"
"Something that can give us a clue about her personality," Granger added.
"Yeah. So we thought, we could just go there and have a look."
Draco sat bolt upright. Now Weasley was talking business. Whatever it was his mother had not wanted anyone to see could still be there.
"When? How?"
"This Saturday. It's Hogsmeade, and we could just apparate from there."
"Have you been there before?"
"No, but my cousin has. Not at Snape's place itself, but in Cokeworth. So the plan is, we first apparate—"
"Your cousin?"
"—to her place, I know where, so I can take us all side-along, and then she could apparate us to Cokeworth."
"Which cousin?"
Ron looked at him cheerfully. "Southill! Evelyn! Wake up, mate!"
"Oh yeah!" Draco had no idea who they were talking about. Southill. He rolled the name on his tongue and had a vague feeling that he'd heard it somewhere, but he could not place it.
"And she could also take some pictures!" Granger added.
"She'll wait for us this Saturday at eleven." Weasley nudged him on the shoulder. "Hey mate! It's an adventure! The three of us together, like in the old days."
Draco was not looking forward to breaking the news to Potter. They had both received an invitation from Benveniste to take tea with her on Sunday, and Ewen had confirmed that they were going to discuss the seance with Draco's ancestors, so Potter was in a good mood when Draco found him in North Tower the next day. But when he explained Ron and Hermione's plan for the Hogsmeade Saturday, Potter's face went dark with venom.
"No."
"Potter!"
"Forget it!"
"It's about my mother!"
"I don't give a shit!"
"Please!"
"No! You have your probation officer at eleven. I'm not going there without you. It's your probation!"
"Just this one time, Potter, please!"
"I knew it! I knew this was going to happen. You go have fun with my friends, and I have to pay for your crimes. Brilliant! You know what? I'm done with it. I'm not playing this stupid game any more! I'm going to Ron right now and telling him that it was you who had almost killed him, and then we'll see how excited he is about going to Cokeworth with you!" Harry made for the door, but Draco blocked his way. The wands snapped out.
"Guys! Guys!" Ewen broke into the small space between them, "Cool it! Cooooool it! Harry!" He turned to him, and Draco now stood staring at Ewen's back. "I will go with you instead of Draco."
"You?! What for? It's his punishment, for his crimes!"
"Some of Draco's crimes are also mine."
Was he mental? Draco grabbed Ewen's shoulder. The idiot was heading straight for the abyss. 'Shut up!'
"I'm not telling him anything he hasn't figured out already," Ewen said, jerking out of Draco's grip, and turned back to Harry. "I knew he was a Death Eater, I knew why he was repairing that Vanishing Cabinet, and knowing that, I helped him. The only reason I'm not serving a sentence is because Draco did not grass me up."
A silence fell. Potter looked at Ewen like there was nothing else in the room. "Why did you do that?"
"Because I was thinking with my dick!"
"What kind of reason is that?"
"The true one."
"For murder!" Potter's scandalised glare gave Draco a glimpse of hope that he might dump Ewen right there. But Potter only closed his eyes and shook his head. "Bugger."
"Harry," Ewen touched him, "just this one time, I'll go instead of Draco, okay? Let him go to Cokeworth, please."
Potter's gaze clouded for a second, but then, sharp and venomous again, met Draco's over Ewen's shoulder. Potter's arm snaked around Ewen's waist, and now he was kissing him. Ewen's back arched, giving in to his touch. Draco stood transfixed, watching, taking his punishment.
When Draco stood outside on Saturday morning, waiting for Weasley and Granger, Potter and Ewen marched past on their way to Hogsmeade. Potter shot him a gloomy look, Ewen winked mischievously, and Draco tried his luck one last time:
"Who's Southill?" he shouted to Potter's back.
"Sod off," Potter growled, without even looking.
Ewen held both hands up in the air with his fingers crossed, and hurried after Potter. A minute later, Weasley and Granger arrived and pulled him along in the same direction.
Granger insisted that according to some school rule or other, they were actually not supposed to leave Hogsmeade. They found a secluded spot between a high fence and a thick bush of brambles at the outskirts of the village. Draco prayed silently for luck, as he was sucked into the crack in the space, hanging onto Weasley's elbow. He checked himself carefully when they popped out at the other end, but none of his eyebrows, fingernails, or teeth seemed to be missing, and he exhaled with relief.
They were in a lively shopping street, but it was narrower than Diagon Alley, and everything was a size smaller, at least on the outside, except for the huge irregular flagstones under their feet. Scores of glimmering, blabbering, and capering merchandise were on display under sturdy round arches carried by stone pillars. Draco had been here once before on an errand. It was Twinwalls, the wizard enclave of York.
They passed at least four bookshops, and Granger gaped at every one, before Weasley ushered them into a shady alley, which was so narrow you could touch the buildings on both sides with your fingertips.
Weasley stopped at a door with a dozen doorbells of different forms and sizes, pulled at the one next to a tiny brass frame with the name Southill on a piece of parchment fitted inside it. A bell chimed somewhere very high above their heads and the door flew open with a bang against the wall of a tiny corridor, tiled in a black and white checkerboard pattern.
They climbed, and climbed, and climbed up a wooden winding staircase, whose each and every step squeaked three times as they mounted it, until they hit a dead end. In the doorway stood a tall ginger-haired witch, firm like an antelope and ready to gallop across the savanna. Draco's heart skipped two beats, his foot missed a stair, and he almost slid half a floor down. He knew exactly who Southill was.
"Are you okay, Harry?"
"Fine," Draco lied, getting back up.
"This staircase needs a proper overhaul, really! Hey, Harry, so nice to see you!" she opened her arms wide, as far as the space allowed, and lacking any other option, Draco put on the stupidest grin he could muster and fell into her embrace. Bloody hell!
They squeezed through the door into a loft, which was definitely pumped up to twice the size on the inside, but still not exactly spacious. There was only one room, which apparently served as bedroom, living room, kitchen, and photography studio, and Draco wondered where his nude portrait would have ended up, had he misbehaved during his arrest. The answer presented itself as soon as Draco ventured a couple more steps deeper in: Gorgeous lifesize men and women relaxed and enjoyed themselves in black and white pictures mounted between the rafters. To Draco's relief, they all looked like they had consented to the shooting.
While Draco was admiring the pictures, introductions and tea were being made, but it didn't take him too long to realise that his cover was about to be blown any minute. Southill was not only Weasley's cousin and an Unspeakable. She also turned out to be Potter's Auror partner, and when she started dropping names of mutual friends Draco was only hearing for the first time, and he had no idea whether he should be happy or upset that Proudfoot had been promoted, the only thing he could think of was to flee to the bathroom, which, luckily, was a separate room.
"Are you okay, Harry?" Southill's worried voice sounded through the door.
"Just got a bit dizzy apparating," Draco lied, turning on the tap for the sake of appearances.
"Poor darling! We have to apparate to Cokeworth, I'm afraid. Sorry!"
Draco carefully timed his return from the bathroom to coincide with the moment when everyone was ready to apparate to Cokeworth. Southill swung a camera over her shoulder, they got out into the alleyway, she grabbed the three of them in one heap, and a second later they stood in the shadow of an abandoned cotton mill with a menacingly tall chimney.
A tin 'No trespassing!' sign cracked and banged under their feet, as they stumbled over it, getting out through a breach in a chain-link fence into a bleak street of faceless brick houses.
"This is where the spinners of Cokeworth met their end, I suppose," Southill said, peering at a street sign spotted with pigeon faeces: 'Sp***er*#*#nd'.
An elderly couple crawled arduously along the street, like every cobble under their feet was a hill. A kid on a skateboard rumbled by. A car pulled in from a side street, stopped, rolled back, turning, and steered in the direction it came from.
"A cheerful neighbourhood," Weasley said, wrinkling his nose, as they passed a row of overfull wheelie-bins. "No wonder Snape was such a grumpy stinker."
"It's all a matter of attitude," Granger said, "Harry's mum grew up near here, too, somewhere, didn't she?" She looked questioningly at Draco.
"Wha'?" Draco had no clue. "Oh yeah."
They walked all the way down to the last house, whose number had completely disappeared under a carpet of vines, but must have been sixty-seven, because the house right after it was sixty-nine. Its ground floor window was broken, the walls were coated with graffiti, and a sign 'for sale' hung lopsided beside the door.
"That will be it," said Southill, pulled her wand, but the door did not respond to her Alohomora. "It's sealed." She looked expectantly at Draco. "Do you have your mark?"
"My mark?" Sweat shot up Draco's neck. 'His mark' meant only one thing to him, but Southill could not have meant that. "Er."
"Your Auror coin."
Draco was panicking silently.
With a disapproving frown, Southill stretched her side, squeezing her finger into one pocket of her jeans, then into another. After going through half a dozen pockets, she finally produced a coin with the insignia of the Ministry. "Auror privilege." She said to Granger and held the coin to the lock. The door cracked open.
They were welcomed by a sharp smell of mould, climbing over a fallen coat rack. Under an arch of cobwebs, they stepped one by one through an almost non-existent entry into a tiny sitting room. With the four of them inside, it was crowded.
Draco recognized it only too well. There was the dilapidated sofa where his mother had pleaded with Snape for his sake. There was the rickety table, probably still stained with the wine they had been drinking. And there were the books. On the shelves. On the floor. Draco glanced quickly to the corner where the comic book had been sitting on top of the pile in the memory he had seen with Potter. And there it was, still there, its colours muffled by a thick layer of grey dust.
It took Draco a second to realise what it meant.
"Hominem revelio!" Granger and Southill shouted in unison, as he went for his wand.
"Hominem revelio!" A blue flash shot out of its tip.
The book shuddered, tipped over, and fell open, as it tumbled to the floor. The bright pictures of the strip story, untouched by dust, shone from its pages.
Southill was already shooting one photo after the other. Weasley crouched over the book and laughed:
"Blimey! This is just comics! Normal, hundred percent vanilla, Muggle comics!"
"Harry, you understand what this means!" Granger blurted out, wide-eyed.
Of course, Draco understood what it meant. He came closer and turned a few pages. A row of pictures showed a muscular guy in a red and blue tricot doing gymnastics in the streets of a metropolis.
Southill shooed them away from the exhibit. "Reverte!"
The book settled back on top of the pile, and even the layer of dust that had fallen off its cover swept back into place. Southill went for another row of shots.
"This is brilliant!" she commented in between flashes. "The book in the courtroom had blank pages." Flash! "I'm telling you." Flash! "I took the pictures." Flash!
"We saw, right?" Weasley said. Flash!
"That means," Granger said, "that it is possible that the witness just said that she was transfigured into this book, so everyone saw that she was there in the memory. But maybe she wasn't. Maybe she wasn't here at all."
"If she wasn't here, how would she know that she should transfigure into this book? She must have seen it. I rather wonder where she was actually hiding." Draco came closer to the book pile and looked around it. Right next to it, a dark rat hole gaped in the wall. He swayed out of the way, so Granger could see it too. Her brow furrowed.
"She could have seen the book after or before the event," Southill said, putting down her camera, "Pettigrew could have told her about it, she could have seen Pettigrew's memory, she could have even got Pettigrew's memory implanted in her brain! All that does not exclude the possibility that she told the truth. She could have witnessed the Unbreakable Vow while being transformed into a similar comic book. The only way to find out is to inspect her memory very carefully. Kaye has probably kept a copy. In any case, this is new evidence. We must inform the Department."
This was exactly what Draco had feared. His mind went whirling. One word, and they would reopen the investigation. His mother could be moved from Azkaban to a Ministry cell tomorrow! But what if in the end she had to go back for life? No way Draco would take that risk as long as he did not know what Vaisey knew. It took all his self-control not to jump at it.
"I don't think we should inform the Wizengamot yet," he said.
"Why?" Southill looked perplexed. "An innocent person should not be in Azkaban. If that witness lied and Narcissa's innocent, she should be brought back right now!"
"If Narcissa's innocent, why didn't she let the memory be inspected in court?" Draco said, a little too loudly.
"That's for the Wizengamot to judge. Our business is to provide the evidence."
Draco felt panic raise in his chest. For a second, he had an impulse to go for his wand and obliviate them all, but it was three against one.
"This is not our business at all," he said, failing miserably to sound calm. "It's Narcissa's business."
"If this is not our business, what am I doing here on a Saturday?" Southill crossed her arms and looked like he was under arrest again.
"Hey, Evelyn," Weasley said, "It's great you're here! Thanks, really!" He turned his angry face to Draco.
"Harry just means that we should also inform Narcissa and her defender, don't you, Harry?" Granger said firmly. "Anyway, the case will not be reopened unless Narcissa files an appeal."
"Right," Southill confirmed. "What's your problem with Narcissa Malfoy, Harry?"
"I have no problem with Narcissa Malfoy! I just—" Draco could not take it any longer. He stormed out of the sitting room and crashed into the fallen coat rack on his way out.
"What's wrong with Harry?" he heard Southill say, getting back to his feet.
"Everything's wrong with—" Granger's voice died as he slammed the door behind him.
After taking a walk around Hogsmeade to calm his nerves, Draco found Ewen and Potter huddled together in the Three Broomsticks, content and peaceful, their empty plates strewn with remnants of Saturday's usual rumbledethumps. Ewen invited him to join them. Potter didn't seem to care. His eyes were fixed on the far corner of the dining room, where Benveniste and Charnay were enjoying a cup of coffee and a conversation.
"Are they dating?" he said.
Ewen threw a sceptical look in the direction of the alleged couple. "Define dating."
"Define dating? You know what I mean. I mean, you know these things about everyone."
Ewen squeezed Draco's hand under the table, and didn't answer. Potter continued staring at Benveniste and Charnay.
"I think she likes him. Look how she's smiling?"
"How?"
"Differently. Not like she always does."
Ewen threw another look at the pair. "Optical illusion."
He started explaining to Potter the basics of seeing. While he was at it, Draco caught the waiter's attention and ordered whatever was quickest to make. A minute later another dish of rumbledethumps and a butterbeer landed in front of him.
Madam Rosmerta had left the inn to her cousin, and according to Knox's intelligence, had gone on a tour around the world after their more than satisfactory settlement. Draco hoped she was enjoying her travel. The cousin rivalled her in swiftness, if not in cooking, and he certainly did in looks. Cheers.
"See, Benveniste is an unsuitable object for such exercises. If you don't practise some very serious Legilimency, you just don't get past her smile. And if you do practise some very serious Legilimency and she catches you doing it..."
"Did you try?"
Ewen let out a breathy groan, and seemed to be very interested in the wood grain pattern of their table all of a sudden.
"If you absolutely must know," he took a long draught of his Butterbeer, "Charnay doesn't have a fucking chance."
"Why?"
"Because it's always the same thing. A guy hits on her, she knows immediately what's on his mind, and don't ask me why, but every time she's disappointed. I used to be curious, but I stopped, because it's boring."
Charnay had been telling her something agitatedly, but Draco could only see his back. Benveniste gave him a succinct reply, and he exploded in sparkling laughter. Just at that moment, a grey figure entered the inn and hid the couple from view.
Draco looked up, and his mind halted in disbelief: His probation officer gave Potter a discreet but friendly salute before she proceeded to the bar. He had never seen anything but mistrust, contempt, and obsessive control from her, and was already expecting a lecture from Potter on his terrible suffering this morning, but Potter was unfazed by her appearance and continued sipping peacefully at his butterbeer.
"How— how was the probation officer?" Draco said, following her with his gaze.
"Oh!" Potter twitched his lips in a wonderstruck half-smile. "Different."
"She's quite nice actually," Ewen said with an innocent look. "I don't see what all the fuss is about."
Potter shrugged defeatedly.
"Ewen went all out with the charm."
"I didn't charm her. She was just happy that you're finally settling down in a healthy relationship." It was not quite clear which one of them Ewen was addressing.
"We didn't use the cloak," Potter explained. "He just went in there as your boyfriend."
"Make love, not war—that kind of rhetoric, you know," Ewen added.
Healthy relationship, my arse, Draco thought, finishing his lunch, and when the next round of butterbeers arrived, so did Granger and Weasley. They stopped dead, and with disgruntled faces were taking in the sight of the three of them sitting together. Before Draco could stop him, Ewen gestured cheerfully for them to join their table, Granger and Weasley exchanged glances, and a second later were rumbling with the vacant chairs.
"Arling."
"Weasley."
A handshake clapped across the table, Granger greeted Ewen with a good-natured smile, but when they all settled down with their drinks, Granger and Weasley's faces, less disgruntled than just before but still rather malcontent, turned to Draco.
"How was your trip?" Ewen said brightly. "Found anything interesting?"
Granger froze with her mouth open and a question in her eyes. Draco was also wondering. What was Ewen playing at again? But now that the words were spoken, Draco could not think of anything better than playing along.
"Yes. We found the comic book." He explained carefully the implications of this finding. Perhaps Vaisey was right and he was a blabbermouth, but keeping track of who was supposed to know what was exceeding his mental capacity. He let it go, and spilled the whole story, from shape-shifting sperm cells to wandless transfiguration into, well, not that comic book. Now they were all on the same page.
Granger was running her eyes between the three of them in utter bewilderment, Weasley stared at Potter with mistrust, Potter kept his mouth shut, and so it was Draco and Ewen who maintained the conversation.
"Did you say zero point five percent of the sperm cells would shape-shift?" Ewen said.
"Yes, and only half of the fertilised egg cells," Draco said.
"Okay, that's zero point twenty-five percent chance of an Inverse Animagus embryo per hit."
"Not much, is it?"
"That depends. How many offspring does a male rat produce per year?" Ewen asked matter-of-factly, and looked at Granger, as if she was supposed to know. "After a thousand trials, the chance that at least one of the fertilised cells would shape-shift would be more than ninety percent, and Pettigrew must have had plenty of opportunities for trial and error."
"Ninety percent? How do you get that?" Granger said, and one could almost hear the gears grind in her head.
Ewen began to explain probability theory, but after three sentences only Granger could follow. Potter was still silent, avoiding Weasley's eye, and Draco could think of nothing else but the hundreds of little Pettigrews back then at the Manor. If Ewen was right in his calculations, and he probably was, then they had actually been lucky not to find a human baby in their cellar.
When Draco was brought back to reality by another butterbeer that landed in front of him, Ewen and Granger had left rodents' reproduction behind, and were taking apart Pettigrew's daughter's magical skills.
"How did she actually grow up?" Ewen asked. "Who was taking care of her?"
"Pettigrew, probably?" Granger said. "Who else? Though how he could do it being a rat most of the time, I have no idea."
"I don't know who was taking care of whom," Weasley joined in, "but she lived with You-know— er, Voldemort in Albania, for Merlin knows how long."
"Oh! Then," Ewen said, "she might have learnt transfiguration from the most powerful wizard in the world! If he had an interest in teaching her—"
The 'most powerful wizard in the world' did not go down well with Weasley. Ewen tried to steer back, but everyone had tensed up, and the conversation stalled. The circle dissolved when Potter offered his thanks for the trouble and left with Ewen in tow. Granger was dragged away by Ginny and Boot, who dropped by on their way to Scrivenshaft's, and Draco soon found himself walking back to the castle together with Ron.
"You call this spying? Does he know that you're spying on him? Do you tell him everything?"
"Not everything. But this is about his mother, and as long as he hopes there is a way to get her out without breaking the law, chances are he won't."
"You actually want him to stay out of Azkaban."
"Of course, I do. Keeping him out of trouble. Again, on Kingsley's orders."
"The git wanted to murder Dumbledore! He almost killed me!"
"He won't do anything so stupid ever again."
"How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure."
They walked in silence past the haunted house. The melting snow was streaming down the hill in small creeks. The moist air smelled of spring.
"Speaking of murder," Draco said (for some reason the fresh breeze just refused to get into his lungs), "you don't have to call him Voldemort just because of me." He could pronounce that name without stuttering now, but it still hurt.
"Huh?" Ron stepped into a pool of mud with a loud squelch and a generous load of spatter. "What d'you mean?"
"Just that."
"But you've always— And Hermione—"
"People like me and Hermione did not grow up with it. You did."
"Yeah. That's right, I suppose, but—"
"If you're more comfortable with Riddle, call him Riddle."
Ron grunted, trying to manoeuvre around another puddle.
"I'm still stuck with You-know-who, kind of."
"That's fine with me. Call him You-know-who. Just be yourself, you know."
Their boots chomped through the snivelling mud.
"All right," Ron said after a long silence. "When will you be yourself then, huh?"
Draco didn't say anything. He direly wished he knew the answer.
"Is this all because— Merlin's pants, Harry! Forget what I said the other day. If you're in love with Malfoy, then you're in love with Malfoy! I'll try to understand, I will! But can't you just be normal again? When will you be normal again, Harry?"
"I will be normal again," Draco said, hoping beyond hope that it was true. "I just need time. Just give me some time, okay?"
