AN: Follow/Fav/Review. Thank you for reading.
Staring up at the imperishable structure walls of Azkaban, he tries not to shiver at the sight of the dementors patrolling the skies.
Even though they were in the summer, just being around them, made it feel like they were stepping into whole different season. The unforgiven cold that invaded their bodies, Mortimer was sure he was in the right place.
The weather was cloudy, a predetermine storm that was slowly trailing behind. The air was foggy and moist, Mortimer took it as a sign of what was to come. Fate probably thought it appropriate considering what day it was.
Both Lucius and Mortimer were standing in front the gates. He could almost hear Nana's voice; it was faint but still enough to get him cover one of his ears. "Having second thoughts?" He hears Lucius say. There was a all smirk spreading across his pale face.
Determined, he gives him a glowering look. "No."
Without dragging the time further, Mortimer turns his head forward, waiting for the guards to approach them. "Remember," Lucius bringing to his attention. "Stay close, don't dawdle, and what ever you do, don't get near him."
"I'm not planning on running up to him for a hug." Folding his arms, Mortimer didn't want to linger. He was horribly nervous and just wanted to hurry it up.
Not a moment sooner, the gates open and were instantly approach by a small group of guards. He fiddles with his hands while Lucius and one of the men exchanged a few words. Though, he couldn't hear what they were saying, he was certain it was protocol.
Despite the circumstances, he found himself breathing in relief once Lucius had flicked his head, signaling to come over. Running over to them, they were instructed to hand over their wands before entering the building. There was tight security, and the guards weren't taking any chances.
Once they were finally allowed to enter. If Mortimer thought it was bad outside now, then wait until he enters the prison. As soon as he stepped foot inside, he could immediately see his breath. Deadly cold and almost pitch dark. They could hardly see with the mist of shadows surrounding them. Only the smallest of candles were they able to see in the direction of where they were going. It instantly reminded him of those medieval torture chambers he's read about.
"Follow." Ordered the nameless guard. Mortimer assumed he was to be their guide. Which made him feel better as he wasn't sure how he'd fend off any threat that would come near.
Long, shallowed out breaths, the dementors take hard whiffs. They smelled the sweet, intoxicated scent of fear and it was coming from Mortimer's direction. Frozen in place, he couldn't seem to move. Staring up towards those dastardly creatures, he nearly jumps out his skin. Thinking his soul was about to be sucked right out. It wasn't until the guard that was leading them stood in front. Taking his wand out, he casts the Patronus charm.
A bright light shoots straight in the air. Mortimer was amazed, in awe when it takes form of a butterfly. It felt warm, bringing him a sense of comfort, he felt safe. It swirls around them before flashing against the dementors. Wincing back in anger, they retreat back while they hissed and gestured their sharp razored hands in threatening manner.
Mortimer wonders if Lucius could cast the Patronus charm. There were rumors that dark wizards weren't able to. If there was any truth in that, then perhaps the Malfoy's weren't as lucky. Which made him ask himself, could he do it? Would he be able to cast a spell as powerful, near impossible, as summoning the spirit charm? What would it manifest into? He only hopes it isn't a snake, it's become redundant at this point.
Lucius said very little. By looking at him, he could tell his uncle was feeling uneasy. The place was dreadful to look at, from its cramped cells to the faintest of noises that came from its prisoners. You couldn't help but feel sorry for them. The dementors made things worse as Mortimer watched how some of them stuck their heads inside the cells, trying to suck out any remaining emotion that they might have. It was no wonder they've gone crazy.
Walking the long, hollowed corridors, they reached a flight of stairs. Climbing one by one, their footsteps echoed through the halls, it also caused a small stir of reactions from its residents. Begging and crying out for comfort. It was rough to look at that Mortimer had peer away, opting to keep his head forward. It didn't do much as he was still able to hear them, hear how they all begged for death.
Reaching the up towards what he believed was the sixth level of the prison. Making a few left turns and being constantly reminded to watch himself, they were able to reach a narrow hall. What he didn't expect was having to go through the various of padlocked doors, each were individually opened by the guards.
They proceed to walk across a row of ironed shut doorways. These were different from the others; Mortimer could feel a considerably amount of magic coming from them. They were heavily charmed, and excessively bolted from top to bottom. This was probably the section that housed the most dangerous of wizards.
With every step, Mortimer can feel his heart banging faster and gripping his hands harder. Was it dread? Or butterflies going through his stomach? His emotions were all over place he was having a hard time distinguishing one another.
The guard began to slow down, pausing in front of the eighth door. Carefully, Mortimer and Lucius watched as the man starts removing each lock and chains that were practically imprinted in the door.
His hands were shaking in suspense as he realized he was about to come face to face with the last living Gaunt. Too eager, he almost didn't hear the warden instruct him. "You are to stay five feet away from the prisoner. You have ten minutes."
Nodding feverishly, Mortimer moves his feet. He was surprised when Lucius came as well. Giving his uncle a, 'Do you really have to follow me' look. Lucius had seemed to have already known. "Your aunt specifically told me you are not to be left alone."
"I'll be fine." Mortimer fussed over Narcissa's treatment. "I don't need a babysitter."
Lucius wouldn't budge so easily and had insisted coming along. "It's an order. One I don't plan on disobeying. Should she find a single flake on your thick head. I need not bother coming home."
An irritated breath, Mortimer didn't want to waste it arguing with Lucius. Hating to do it, he concedes and decides to go inside the room.
All quiet as he entered. The loud bang of the door closing behind them nearly had Mortimer jumping at the spot. Observing the room, it was dimly lit and empty. There was foul stench emitting from the back, a large dark figure kneeling on the grim covered floor, rats wouldn't even go near whatever that thing was. It didn't appear to be human; would it leap if he got closer?
It didn't take Mortimer long to realize that the dark crouched up figure was Morfin Gaunt. He was in chains, with both hands, legs and neck, he was beyond recognizable. Taking a few steps, he can hear heavy breathing, it was growling mostly, adding more to the theory that this wasn't human at all.
He's never been so nervous; it was the same feeling he got when he was first introducing to the Malfoy's. But this was different, he needed to get a grip, these were people that were supposed to be the worst kind that the wizarding world has to offer.
He felt like he was walking into an interview. Malfoy decides to stay by the door, keeping himself at a distance where he couldn't be touched. Mortimer took a deep breath, giving Lucius a quick glance before turning back towards the loud breathing figure.
Taking a step forward. "Hello." He lamely greets with a wave. He knows the gesture, or his presence, wasn't caught by the man.
Are you not a parselmouth? Remembering, he nearly thumps his forehead. "Hello, Morfin... I'm Mortimer... Black."
Unbeknownst to Mortimer, Malfoy's body immediately tenses up at the foreign language. Lucius watches them carefully, anxiously awaiting if the older Gaunt will speak.
Gaunts silence made him feel small, though he knew he could still see him. "You don't know me. But I know a lot about you."
Again, he ignores Mortimer's attempt to steer the conversation. One thing he did though was turn to face him. For the first time, Mortimer could finally see the dark glimmering gaze meeting his.
Progress? Swallowing the lump that formed in his throat, he smiles. "I heard you killed a group of muggles. Is it true?" Mortimer asks after a couple beats of silence. He knows the answer too but decides to give Gaunt the opportunity to speak for himself.
He approaches the silent prisoner, planning to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder, he's stopped by Lucius when he hisses out loud. "Stop it! Don't even think about it."
Flicking his head back, Mortimer studied the creature hunched before him, he didn't look so dangerous. Was he self aware? Does he know that he wasn't in the room alone?
"Talk to me, Morfin. This could be the last time you'll be able to talk to anyone."
Once again, after a long pregnant silence, Mortimer speaks again, his voice was soft, but malicious as his eyes darken. "Your ancestors would be disappointed -"
Before Mortimer could finish the sentence hissing through his teeth, his throat was instantly caught by a large thick hand. A loud roar, he yells in Mortimer's face.
Lucius lets out a horrid gasp, nearly jumping back in sheer panic. Narcissa would kill him if something were to happen to him.
Malfoy was about to turn around and call for the guards until Mortimer shouts out in order to stop him from acting.
"No, wait!" Mortimer says with a grin, running a hand around Gaunt's wrist. "Tobey. . ."
A loud hiss coming out from his shirt, the dark snake doesn't hesitate to come out from shadows that covered him. Making sharp threatening noises, he exposes his combed sharp teeth, it was a warning.
Hearing this particular creature caused Morfin's hands to ball tighter. Mortimer swears he could see his cheeks turning pink. At the same time could sense the red, listening as the reptile dared speak to him in such a manner, it made him want to stomp on his skull. "Yo. . .You. . ."
Yes! He was getting through him. Mortimer watches the exchange between Tobey and Gaunt. "Don't worry uncle..." Observing Lucius' horrified expression, Mortimer says with an enthusiastic tone. "Tobey's got it."
Lucius however didn't seem convinced; the boy was practically being held up in the air like a ragged doll. Why he hasn't left, he couldn't seem to remove his eyes from Gaunt or his bloody pet. He could actually tell they were engaging in a conversation; it was astonishing sight.
"You dare to threaten your master in such a manner!" Morfin pants out, his voice vibrating in Mortimer's ears. "I ought' to nail you to the door!" In a small fit of anger, he grips the boy's his neck more, making it harder to breath.
"You are no master of mine." Tobey hisses out as he comes face to face with the wizard holding his young master. "You may speak my language, but you don't own it - Or me! Release my master!"
"Master?" Growing hot in the face, Gaunt was too perplexed, he shakes his head. "Where is this master of yours?"
Mortimer starts to laugh heartily and all Morfin could do was squint his eyes with suspicion and confusion. He somehow seemed to think it was not possible; it was simply too much fun.
Tobey answers, only to confirm. "Him - My young Master. Unhand him, it is your final warning, disgusting human."
Morfin shook his head, disbelieving that a smart intelligent creature as him would choose to obey an unworthy boy. Mortimer effortlessly smiled over the pet's answer. Slowly losing oxygen, his head was spinning and wheezing, he could feel himself becoming numb.
Part of his brain was telling him he should be scared right about now. He was on the brink of losing consciousness - Yet he was oddly calm about being strangled. He didn't fear dying but he was confident enough to know it wasn't going to end here.
He was right when he feels his body hit the hard stone floor. Coughing, Mortimer gasps, breathing air he didn't think was there.
Flabbergasted, Gaunt looks around. "A speaker?" He seemed to have finally caught on. All this time, he had forgotten what it felt like to hear someone else speak it. "You? A parselmouth?"
He was still trying to recover, massaging his bruised neck, staring up with a big smile. "I am. Mortimer Black..." Coughing, his goes for a large intake of air. "I am most happy to make your acquaintance."
"Black?" Gaunt interjects and pauses. A sudden burst of his hoarse laughter echoes in the room, Mortimer briefly turns to Lucius, he was body appeared tense and facial features were somewhat disturbed.
"No no no - You. . ." The heavy wizard abruptly lifts his chin up. Underneath that matted hair of his, Mortimer could see a small glint in his eye. Morfin was looking at him as though he recognized him. "I've seen that face before. . ."
Getting up from the ground, he pats off some of the dust. Somehow Mortimer doubts that as this was first time he's ever laid eyes on him. But not Morfin, he was staring at him dead in the face with such familiarity and contempt.
"You have?" He says without looking at him, tidying his sleeves. "Where?"
"A ghost?" Banging his head with his chained-up hands, he bears his toothless gums, trying to recollect the face before him. "Where, where where..." Snapping his mouth shut, waves of dread washes over his back. He sounded upset as he couldn't remember the days when he was younger, it felt like he's spent his whole life in this prison cell.
Mortimer raised an eyebrow, a lightbulb going off his head. He stepped back in case Gaunt decides to go for him again. "Do you know anyone by the name of Tom?"
"What?" His booming voice shouts. "Whe-Where?" The frustration in his face only increases. The small noises that were coming out, Mortimer believed he was about to cry. He could see his chest tightening, his breath hitching and a familiar whisper crawling in the depth of his mind.
Perking up, feeling the air around him becomes thick with magic. "I feel Slytherin's blood in you boy, very powerful, very dark."
The serious tone, there was a pause that filled the air. Though, it wasn't compared to the odd sensations his body was currently going through. What could only be described as pure emotion, he could almost sense the aura Morfin was emitting. Was this a family bond thing? He's never felt anything like it.
Maybe the dementors were enough to scare him back into sanity. Or maybe he's simply gotten good at hiding it. Whichever, the excitement inside him was slowly being consumed by some other feeling, one he couldn't describe. Was there another word for being overly happy? He thought he might explode from it.
"Can you tell me..." Hastily he stopped himself, anxiously creeping into his chest, his heart banging. "more?"
Morfin sniffs for a few seconds and inhales a long breath. "You reek of magic... it's beautiful." A small grumbling noise with a faint twitch of the corners of his mouth. "You seek to bring the house of Slytherin back to its former glory?"
It was more than that. Who cares about glory or slytherin? Knowledge is what he craved for. He wants to know what made him so special, the secrecy behind his birth. Why his dreams felt more like visions. How is all of this connected with Potter?
If lying meant he'd get answer, he was more than happy to agree. "Of course - Not unless you think you can do any better." He knows he shouldn't be teasing him when he's the one asking for answers.
The prisoner laughed out, the only thing missing now was a thigh slap. "I've failed. . ." Gaunt stumbled over his words, distraught with an occurring thought. Something he's done that was so horrid, he'd never be able to live with himself. "My fault, it's all my fault." His voice utters; he was terrified. Scared that he was caught. "Father is going to kill me."
Calling himself an idiot, the man starts slapping the top of his skull. "Stupid, stupid stupid. . ." It was mixture of panic and anger, Mortimer's stance was unmoving.
"Tell me." Mortimer pushes, his words teeming with desperation. His hands grip together, turning his knuckles white. "Come on Morfin. I know part of you is still in there."
"You want answers, boy?"
"I do. I want to know everything. I want to know you. Come on uncle," Flashing him a very bright smile you could see his teeth. "Will you let me know you?"
Daringly, he takes a step closer towards the boy. By comparison, the man towered over him, aware of this, Morfin kneels down. Sliding his dirty matted hair to the side of his face, Mortimer could see his face clearly for the first time. "Take a look. . ." He choked out, his voice hoarse.
He was offering Mortimer his eyes. The expression on the old man's face, he was carrying pain, hurting over burden that never went away. Trembling and staring at Mortimer, it was hard to process.
Legilimens
He was giving Mortimer permission to go deep inside his mind.
The dementors had truly broken his soul.
Mortimer was starkly silent; would he be able to? There were many known wizards who were able to perform the Legilimency spell without a wand, one of those included his very own father - But he was only a kid, a kid who's still learning. There was no way he'd be able to go inside, not without frying his own brain in the process.
It was crazy, and insanely dangerous. "If you are truly part of Slytherin. It should come to you naturally." Snapping Mortimer out of his thought, he watched over Morfin, still bending on his one knee, waiting for him to move.
"Everyone said you were crazy." Mortimer whispers, facing the man labeled as a complete manic. Talking to him now, seeing him, going further than anyone else has gone before, it was confusing. "What happened?"
"I lost what was precious to me, to my family."
"And that is?"
"My heirloom." He said in a broken tone.
"Did you really kill those muggles?" Mortimer asked, more out of curiosity than worry. His eyes burning with ardent tenacity that frankly would scare any child.
Gaunt felt the chain tightening around his wrists, trying to clear his mind, working through the haze of anger. Everything was just all over the place, the memories, what was real and what was simply a mere illusion. His remaining teeth tearing away at his lip. He whimpered and cowered, trying to fight the blasted wall that was preventing him from remembering.
Then, he saw the cell around him. Azkaban. He was in Azkaban. The dementors were messing with his head. "No."
In that moment, Mortimer believed him. The small voice inside of him was telling him that Gaunt was telling the truth. He's innocent and he's going to die here. This was his father's doing. It had to be.
"Pssst!" Lucius whispers harshly, trying to get Mortimer's attention. "Mortimer get over here."
He didn't pay him any mind. Unconsciously, Mortimer's very own feet move to walk closer to where the older Gaunt was kneeling. He himself wasn't too sure what he was doing. Whether he was being mind controlled or acting on impulse, he faces Gaunt without a shred of emotion.
Both of their faces were blank, free from any hidden burdens that were tormenting them. It had slowly brought them to this moment. A moment between two wizards who shared more than just a name.
"I believe you." Mortimer had whispered, feeling the room closing around the two of them. "I'm... I'm going to get you out of here."
For a man his size, Morfin looked so childlike, "It is too late for me." accepting the reality, the manic glint in his eyes were replaced with those of defeat. "I am going to die here."
His spirit was broken, he succumbs to the darkness within the cell. When Morfin's eyes stares at Mortimer's, it was a though there was a light of dawn peeking through, a small comfort, he'll accept it even if it is short-lived. "Will you claim our lost heirloom?"
Mortimer could tell Morfin had deeply regretted losing it. It would seem that was all he cared about, forget the rest of them, what mattered most was his precious treasure. "I will."
"Then... I can rest easy." Closing his eyes for a moment.
While the scene unfolded, Lucius was stuck between calling the guard or letting Mortimer go. Either way, it will no doubt cause a stir. He couldn't find it in himself to look away. It was unbelievable, he wonders if Mortimer would succeed.
Using his magic key, Mortimer found himself staring right deep into Gaunt's hauntingly dark eyes.
Willingly he lets the young boy enter.
A long inhale and in he goes.
For a few seconds, Mortimer felt himself drifting in and out, he thought he was dreaming. He could see what Morfin wanted to show him, images from life before prison. Unfamiliar voices talking, Mortimer tried to piece back from his shattered mind. Faces, names, memories of his - Marvolo, Merope. . . Tom? His father was at their home, without any witnesses, Tom raises his wand pointing it directly at Morfin's forehead.
The names were reattaching themselves to their proper faces. A muggle family, with a familiar name. The Riddles. Their youngest, walking pass their shack, traveling back and forth, throughout different times of different days. The pain that emerged from Morfin when realizes his ring was missing. The important memories to Gaunt, Mortimer had seen through them all. They were unraveled, their meaning and the mistakes that brought them on this path.
The very shame.
And then, a cold breeze would consume him.
"Never again!" Mortimer heard a muffled yell. "I don't want him nowhere near that God awful place. I can't believe I let you convince me." It sounded like Aunt Cissy. Was she in Azkaban? Was it a memory or was this happening in real time.
He opens his eyes but felt so tired. He saw the fancy ceiling with ornate chandeliers. This wasn't dream... he's woken up to this ceiling - this room, his room. He was back in the mansion.
"Oh, Mortimer! Please, don't move." Narcissa panics out.
He tried to move his head. It was hard, he felt so weak. Why couldn't he move? Feeling a hand on his neck that made its way to the sides of his head. He fell into darkness again.
After that, he couldn't tell the difference between Gaunts memories and the reality he was it. He recalls being in Azkaban, where Morfin was residing. Handcuffed in chains, staring at him with his very own eyes. Letting Mortimer penetrate his mind, letting him see what no one has before. Tom - his father - pointing his wand into Gaunts face and bright light flashes.
It ends there.
It was though he was trapped, replaying the worst memories in his mind, he was lost to the senses of time.
Opening his eyes again, he saw the same ceiling as before.
I'm back home? Where's Morfin?
"You mustn't move, young master!" A shrilling noise coming from a small blurry figure orders him. "I will call for Masters."
"Wh...What?" His throat sounded strange, it was hoarse and felt weak, it came as barely a whisper.
A moment later, a familiar face came into his view. Narcissa was sitting on the side of the bed. Lucius stood at the end. "Try not to move your head so much." His aunt advised. "How are you feeling? Does anything else hurt? Besides your head?"
"No." He groans, though there was an ache coming from his neck. "I-I'm fine. . . I just need a moment-" His head weak, he was trying to recuperate, barely aware of his own surroundings.
He wanted to throw up.
Immediately, he covers his mouth, making an odd noise. Hopping off the bed, he stumbled on his feet as he made the run to the bathroom.
Staying there for what a while, he didn't know how they ever got home.
Mortimer went back to the room where Narcissa and Lucius waited. "Feeling better?" She asks with a tilt of her head.
"Yeah." He was reluctant to climb back to bed. Yet he didn't fancy being ordered by his aunt, he'd rather do it on his own.
When his body touches the mattress, Narcissa suddenly moves towards him. He almost flinches away, thinking he was about to be slapped.
However, stopped once he realizes she had wrapped him up in a tight hug. Mortimer was shocked at how warm she felt against his own. "I'm so relieved you are safe."
"You are?" He questions as he pulls away from her. "I thought you'd be angry."
"I worried. I was terrified you might never wake up - What you did was incredibly dangerous. Do you enjoy worrying me? Why? What possessed you to do something so. . ." Finding the right word. "Stupid!" She breathes out. "You could've gotten yourself lost; you'd be hollow. No different than those soulless dementors or the prisoners they haunt."
He wouldn't look up at her. "Morfin... he wanted to show me something." His defense was a weak one, he knows. However, it was the closest thing to the truth, without revealing too much.
A short break, there was something not right. An attempt to shake of the dizziness that was still over his head. "Where's Gaunt? What happened to him?"
Lucius and Narcissa share a quick look, neither seemed like good news. They bore a grim expression, their skin pale. They were arguing with their eyes, as to say, 'You tell him'.
"What?" The implications on their faces quickly terrified him. "What happened?"
"He's gone." Lucius responds faintly, Mortimer barely caught it.
"What?"
"After you. . . preformed Legilimency," Lucius said darkly. "You fainted. Gaunt managed to grab you before you could hit the floor. But the guards came..." The words getting stuck in his throat. "After that, he went into a frenzy. They were forced to call in the dementors. He was given the kiss shortly after."
"We're so sorry Mortimer." She began, noticing her nephew's body tightening. "We know it isn't you fault -" She reaches out to him, but was brushed off.
"I'd like to be left alone..." He fidgets, a mix of impatience and grief wringing through his fingers. "If that'd be alright with the two of you."
Even after they left the room, Mortimer remained where he sat, he had his face buried in his hands. Muttering useless apologies under his breath.
Tobey had poke his head out, hiding underneath his bed. Crawling up, the white stripped creature tries to coax him up as gently as possible, gliding up towards his back and around his shoulders, assuring him it was alright, but Mortimer wouldn't budge.
"I killed him." Mortimer sighs, his tone came out strained. "I killed him and its all my fault."
"No. . ."
"Yes!"
"You did him a favor." As good as Tobey's intentions were, Mortimer was in a state of shock and more than anything he needed some space. He wanted desperately to not be true, he couldn't be dead, not now.
"Favor? What favor?" Regretting the fact that Morfin had allowed him inside. They'd both find out later, it would lead him to death. "He's been kissed by those things... He was perfectly fine before I walked in. A tad crazy but still... alive. And now... he's gone."
Tobey clings tightly around him. "He was slowly rotting, withering away by those awful things. The human is now free, resting and no longer hurting."
"Is that how you see it?" Huddling himself closer. "Once you're dead, that's it? You just become... nothing?"
"There is no point in dwelling on it. I am alive. I am here to serve only you, my master."
Mortimer was silent as he rose to his feet. No amount of excuses will get him to feel justified in his actions. He didn't know what compelled him to agree in the first place - That's a lie. He knew very well. The reason behind the visit was to find out more about Voldemort. To Gaunts credit, the memories he provided clearly paints the picture of his already unstable family, things he was already aware of, all the more reason why inbreeding was a terrible choice. More importantly, at some point in his life, he had met Tom, his own father. The exchange didn't seem friendly. After seeing Tom whipping out his wand, it made Mortimer feel much worse.
Morfin had died an innocent man.
Mortimer felt his breath hitch in his throat, he did his best to hold his composure. Brows furrowing as wonders if Morfin was truly at peace.
What if I were to die? Would I be in peace? Or would I rot in Hell's blistering inferno for eternity? Nana never failed to remind him the consequences of living in sin. It sounded unpleasant and downright frightening. But after that ordeal, Mortimer wasn't too sure that was entirely true.
There were ghosts walking around the bloody school! Where's the logic in life after death if anyone could become ghost a walk the halls for all eternity. What was the point? He didn't want to be a bloody ghost, it seemed awful. Just look at peeves, and the bloody baron...
Sure, this isn't the first person that's died because of him. But this one was different, Morfin was different. He was just a wizard who thought too highly of himself. He hated muggles and probably wished they were wiped completely. He was a bad person and an even shittier brother/son. In spite of all that, he never went as far as murdering them.
Meeting is snake's gaze; the little worm was watching him carefully. "Master?"
"I should go and apologize to them."
Pulling on some comforting trousers and shirt, he steps into some slippers; it was practical but very cozy to wear. He tries to ease any worries, only to fail at it. In his mind, he could add another murder to his list.
Was there a way to make it right?
Leaving his room, he walks forwards in the halls, the windows showing the night sky and its twinkling stars. Even though the home was overly indulgent, the Malfoy's made sure it was enough for him to feel comfortable. He was already familiar with the mansion's structure, he was sure Narcissa and Lucius had taken themselves inside the tearoom.
His assumption was correct.
He could hear them vaguely. As he was about to take one step foot in, he hears another voice, one that didn't belong to either one of them. Mortimer's heart skyrocketed when he peeks around to find Severus Snape in the room with them. What was he doing here?
Hoping he wasn't spotted, he retreats back. Peering to the side, Snape was sitting back in one of the sofas with a cup in hand. Narcissa was just beside him while Lucius stood near the fireplace, watching the dancing embers.
"I don't know what to do Severus..." Narcissa's voices softly. "Are you sure Dumbledore told you everything? Maybe he missed something."
"I assure you, Narcissa, the headmaster is just as lost as you." Snape says, noting his irked tone. "You probably know more than he does..."
"Yes, but that doesn't explain where he suddenly learned how to be a Legilimens."
Turning his head, Lucius nods in agreement. "You should've seen it Severus. What the boy did. . . it was incredible."
Seething through her teeth, she casts an immediate glower. "Lucius!"
No matter how upset she may have appeared, Lucius was none too concerned. "It's a concerning thought, I agree. However, I won't pretend what I saw was not that but remarkable. I've never seen anything like it before."
"Where could have he possibly learned that?" A minor gasp, she clutched her hear over her robes. "Severus?"
"I can't say I know anyone who'd be willing..." Clearing his throat, he picks up on the implications. "But you seem to forget who his father is."
"Yes, I know that very well! Every day, mind you. He looks nothing like his mother. . ." She sounded sad in the last part. "I'm worried it may get worse, that he may get worse." She sighed, all while Mortimer listened as his cheeks grew warm. "First, it was running away from home. Then, attacking aurors and now -"
"He did what?" Abruptly, his tone becomes gravely serious.
Lucius, unable to resist the smirk on his face. "Our dear nephew certainly has a knack for causing dire straits, wouldn't you agree?"
"He is not to blame." Narcissa stated firmly, though could catch a primary wavering in her voice. "We're all aware that Mortimer hasn't had the easiest time adjusting. Frankly, I blame the fact that he wasn't raised among his people."
Taking a small sip of his drink, the sound of his deep tone made Mortimer feel frantic. "Neither was I - And yet, you consider me one of your dearest friends, Narcissa."
"Severus. . . I only meant -"
"Enough." Lucius finally decides to join them on the chairs. "We're here to discuss about the boy."
A lingering pit of dread inside his stomach, Mortimer did his best to calm his nerves.
"We'll have to lay it down firmly. Let him know he can't behave this way; he must know the dangerous and the proper precautions -"
"What good will that do him, Cissy?" Lucius had a thought of his own. "Severus, perhaps you can teach the boy..."
"He will not!"
"I would rather have the boy learn then have him foolishly attempt to go in another person head blindly. It would be careless of us not to teach him."
So, this what they thought of him? Mortimer has hardly ever seen them arguing. They always seemed in tune with one another. Hearing them disputing over it, it brought him to a surprise and guilt.
"We don't even know if he'll ever attempt it again. We'll tell him, he is not allowed to -"
"You're being unreasonable."
"I am protecting my nephew!" Narcissa shouts, huffing. Mortimer jumped at how panicked her voice was. He's never heard her so. . . frightened. "He is overwhelmed enough as it is. With his father gone and his mother. . . I am doing my very best to make sure he is safe; Bella would've wanted me to. Like any mother, my sister did what she could..."
"Ah - How can we forget sweet Bella." The sarcasm Snape was emitting was caught by Narcissa, who instantly gave him a disappointed look. "We're aware you love your sister dearly, but let's face the reality. She's much at fault for leaving Mortimer in the care of muggles. We cannot understand why either of them had chosen to hide him and we may never know. But that boy, whether you like it or not, is his father's son. A wizard who possesses power like that of the dark lords, Mortimer is bound to inherit those very traits, if not more."
"Then what do you suggest?" Narcissa asks, increasingly getting frustrated from the lack of support.
"Right now?" He sets the cup, giving himself a moment to contemplate. "Time. The death of Gaunt has him upset, correct?"
"Yes." Narcissa's tone becomes smaller.
"Give him time to mourn. It is possible that he is feeling guilt over it."
A few beats of silence pass, taking it all in, he'd didn't know what to think. He hears movement, followed by. "I need to head back now... And Narcissa don't smother the boy too much, you'll only push him away if you do." Snape leaves the couple to ponder over the conversation.
Once Snape leaves entirely, Narcissa inhales deeply, allowing herself to draw out the exasperating thoughts that were bothering her.
"I want him happy." She quietly says. "Don't think I haven't heard what Nott and the rest of your little friends have been saying. I'm telling you now, Lucius, my boy is no one's pawn. Remember it husband."
Rising from her seat, Mortimer can hear her footsteps. Breaking from trance, he heads back to his room. He can't be sure if he was spotted or not, given how distracted he is by what he heard.
Needless to say, he didn't sleep that night. In addition to the recurring memories, there was a nightmare shifting itself and making its way towards his sleep. He'd stare at the moon through the high glass window, trying to find comfort. How was he ever going to live with himself knowing Morfin was dead because of him.
Tobey, curling himself, rests besides Mortimer. "Get some sleep, master." Sticking his tongue out, his tail flicks back a strand of his hair. "I will make sure nothing happens to you."
"Thank you." Mortimer whispers under his breath. It won't be a peaceful night, he admits. But at this point, he didn't care, he just wants to forget.
"I have a favor to ask." Standing near the door, he leans to the side.
His arms were currently in the air. With his wand in hand, Mortimer attempts working on his levitation charm. A simple wooden chair, he wanted to know how far his magic reached. He could lift a couple of pebbles, though, using a 'bigger' target, he was curious to see his capabilities.
"Pfft..." Blowing air out his mouth in disbelief. "I think I've done enough for you." The chair started to wobble in place.
"This isn't about me. It's about Harry." Sirius sighs, annoyed by his carefree behavior.
"Oh, good - All the more reason NOT to help." He mutters back, without looking at him, he concentrates on the chair.
"You little shite!" Snarling, he grips his hands together as he enters the room. "Harry needs our help. Trust me, if I wasn't stuck here, i'd already done it myself; without having to deal with you."
"I'm glad we agree." There was a small break through as the chair rises in just a few mere centimeters. "Now can you leave me alone, i'm busy."
His veins were practically bulging right out of his head. Mortimer thought he might actually hit a wall or go into a fit of rage. To his surprise, he steps away, opening his mouth to argue, realizing he had nothing to say. "Please." He said quietly. "I shouldn't be saying this - Harry's relatives often give him a hard time. They hate magic..."
The chair was slowly getting higher, "Is that so?" the tone was that of some who wasn't interested.
"Will you stop and listen!" Shouting out, his concentration breaks. The wooden old furniture is taken down by gravity, slamming right down. "His relatives hate magic. Because of this... they kind of... resent him for it."
"You're telling me this why?"
"Because he needs our help. You have no idea how it feels to live with such people."
As a matter of fact, he does know the feeling quite well. He's lived with one his whole life. Laughing, he shakes his head. Recalling the nights he'd spent tucked away until he was startled awake from the ever-present nightmares. "Probably not, but I still don't see why I should help any of you. I don't like you or your godson." Musing over his response, he also wanted to add. "I don't like anyone really."
He could tell the man was doing his best to stay composed. When really, he'd ilke nothing more than to toss him right out to the streets. "This isn't about liking either one of us. This is about doing the right thing. If you really want to convince me you aren't anything like that monster you call a father, then help Harry."
"Is that where you were going? Guilt tripping me?" The tactic makes him chuckle softly while the muscles on Sirius face twitches.
There was a long pause.
Mortimer looked up at him, his expression was blank. Though, he was honestly impressed by the lengths he was going through to get him to help. Sirius made it seem he rather strangle himself then every ask him for help. For a few seconds, it appeared that Mortimer was going to decline.
He exhales, already feeling the regret in his tone when he says. "What do you want me to do?"
Four Privet Drive, or was it Three? Five?
Groaning, Sirius told him to look for a boring house with the freakishly neat garden - Vague, he knows. The only thing he had to go on were the numbers of each mailbox. Each house was near identical, box shaped, with a touch sheer blandness. As he observes the area, he notices the kind of people that lived here. It was one of those snobbish type suburbs. Black made it seem as though Potter was living inside a pigpen of some kind. Yet, this was the opposite of how he'd imagine the place to be. It was a nice neighborhood where nothing remotely every happens, other than housing a wizard, you'd think a place this wouldn't exist on the map.
He continues the trip until he believes he's found the right building.
Spotting the number four; he begins to walk on the concrete pathway that leads to the door. Using his hands, he holds onto the straps of his knapsack, bracing himself as he approaches the home.
There was a little handle in the middle, a simple silver ring shaped, he takes hold before knocking it back of fourth. Sirius better pay him for this one...
A burst of air hits his hair back when the doors burst right open. A tall, towering man answers the door, he was fat and had the look of annoyance. His posture was tense and on the fence that Mortimer wasn't surprised when he rumbles out in an unfriendly manner. "Yes? What do you want?"
Mortimer was quick in his quest, he wanted to get it out of the way. "Does Potter live here?"
Just mentioning name had the man's pudgy face go red, "You're one of them, aren't you? You're one of those freaks!"
Keeping his mind close, he had always been aware of the insult. "A freak? Oh, yeah. That's right..." Offering the kindest of smile. "I'm one of those..." Looking over his shoulder, he turns back to the man. "And if you don't want your neighbors to know that too, I suggest you let me in."
His mustache twitches violently, he snaps defensively, shuffling his fleshly arms. "You don't get to barge in here and make demands in my very own home! You and that boy should take your business elsewhere! I don't want it here!"
Cracking his head, Mortimer was getting very tired. "Good idea! Now, go get him so I can be rid of you." Putting a finger on the side of his lip, he taps it while looking out on the distance. "I could've sworn I saw some of your neighbors passing by. It'd be rude of me not to say hello."
Hearing him say that his once grumpy face turns fearful. He relents, opening the door wider. "Get in here."
"Thanks." Mortimer perks up, entering the home, he was surprised to find the walls, along with some of the furniture, to be covered in light colored pink.
Some would say it's salmon, but it didn't matter, it was pink. It was very modern, almost too normal that Mortimer was having a hard time believing Harry lived in such a weird little place.
Marching towards the staircase, he shouts from the top of his lungs. "Boy! Get down here!"
Glancing the home, he could see several picture frames of the family. The son and father were both overweight, Mortimer thought them to be the same size. The mother appeared very skinny, the opposite of the two, she had blonde hair but had excessively long teeth. For all intents and purposes, they were the unattractive sort, it was very surreal how these people lived. Strangely, Potter wasn't in any of them.
There were small statues of bulldogs and cooking books neatly stack on the shelves. Some of the furniture was covered in plastic, those that weren't had doilies resting on top of them.
It was spotless, Aunt Cissy would've been impressed.
"Mortimer?"
Rotating his head, Potter's perplexed eyes meet his, he is standing in the middle of stairs. Worryingly, Harry starts eyeing him and the fat guy beside him. "Uncle Vernon, this is Mortimer, he's. . ." There was telltale sign of uncertainty, as if he wasn't sure whether it'd be offensive to call him a friend or acquaintance.
For a while now, the two had been on - as one would say - civil. While Potter was aware of some of the disturbing behaviors Mortimer exhibited - Specifically, the incident that occurred in the shrieking shack and the attack on Sirius Black, Harry had been fairly forgiving about the whole thing. Too be fair, neither were to blame, it was a misunderstanding on both parties. That's not to say he's excused Mortimer for nearly murdering the both of them. But he could see why he'd be upset after realizing he'd been dragged into his mess because of one filthy rat. The same could be said about Mortimer, he'd forgive but not forget. Still, he no longer felt the want to beat Sirius senseless.
It was an improvement in their relationship, he guessed.
Rather than have Potter break his head over the little things, Mortimer decides to meddle in. "We go the same freak school."
The attempt to keep it light had failed, making the air uncomfortable for everyone. Why bother? After frowning to himself a bit, Harry composes himself. "We'll be upstairs."
Ignoring how the man's color turned from red to purple, he brushes past him hastily. It didn't take them long to reach Harry's room. It was fairly small. Compared to his own room, Mortimer had enough space for at least five people. Potter could hardly fit Mortimer here. There wasn't much interest as the room only had a bed, wardrobe and small desk. He was almost tempted to make a joke about the golden boy being not so golden but restrained himself from doing so.
Mortimer's appearance was definitely questioned once Harry closes the door behind them. He was the last person he'd expect to ever show up in his front doorstep, much less his own room. "What are you doing here?" He asks. Then, notices his backpack. "And why do you have a bag with you?"
He rather not answer. Frankly, he didn't see why he should be the one to do this when he has other lackies that would happily do it. Harry was more confused than ever, watching as Mortimer silently went over to his bed. Removing his backpack, there was a long ZIP. Rummaging, he could hear the crinkling noises of what sounded like packaged snacks.
"Here." Tossing it at Potter, he seemed surprised when he realized it was a packet of beef jerky. Dumping the rest of the contents from the bag, Mortimer tilts his head as he notices something weird, squinting his eyes as he inspects. "Is it just me, or did you get shorter?"
Taken aback, he wasn't sure how to responds, instead shifts in discomfort. "What?"
"You seem shorter than last year."
"I think you've just gotten taller..."
"Really?" He certainly didn't feel like he's grown all that much. Frankly, he thought he might've gotten fatter, or much chunkier over the summer. But Draco always told him it was all in his head, and aunt Cissy always said he was perfect.
He was caught up in his own image, he nearly forgot why he was here in the first place.
"Why are you here?" Harry suddenly asks, scanning the packet, he wasn't sure what was going on or why Mortimer had came out of the blue. "What's all this." Motioning his hand, he points the at some of the tight sealed dried meats, a bag of white bread, canned fruit cocktails and trail mix.
"Your Dogfather." Erosively sounding out dog, his brows knit together.
Harry pauses, looking at him as if he were in shock, Mortimer wonders why. "You and Sirius?" Was that envy he sensed? "Aren't you supposed to be with Malfoy?"
"I am - I wouldn't need to go back to Grimmauld Place, if Black wouldn't stop pestering me." Turning his back, he continued going through all stuff he brought. "What good is having the elf if he isn't going to use it." He scoffs. "Instead, I'm here doing its job."
"Elf? Sirius has an elf?" Harry asks as he tosses the bag to the side, watching as Mortimer began stepping on the floorboards.
"The family elf? Yeah. He won't shut up for nothing. Always rambling about his 'mistress' and his bloodtraitor of a master." Looking for a weak spot, he uses his left leg to add pressure.
Harry seemed bothered by his words. If you were to step closer, you could probably see the nervousness seeping through his temples.
Mortimer is aware that his presence here is out of left fields, and yes, he too found it discomforting. In fact, he hated just stepping foot in here. But when Black gave the hint of a not so pretty picture, he was curious, and one some level could relate, maybe.
"Sirius might've explained your situation, at home." Rubbing the back of his neck, Mortimer's throat becomes a little dry when Harry's face is hit a terror-struck expression. Appearing very defensive and near hostile, he was quick to intrude his pre-existing temper tantrum. "And before you go gaga on me - Please know, I won't go around and start spreading it around the school. I promise." He had raised his hand, at the same time, directing his charmed dark eyes against Harry's very own green ones.
In the end, it had worked, Mortimer spoke truthfully when he said his secret was safe. "Thank you." Harry whispered; it was all he could say in that moment, thoughts jumbled as he didn't know what to believe in.
Finding the weak point, Mortimer makes a noise of approval when he gets on his knees. After messing around with the tile, he was able to successfully remove the piece of wood. "You can store the food here. I doubt they come in here, but just in case they do, they'll never suspect it."
There was a small moment of silence, his cast bewilderment as he watches Mortimer, he hated it. "Why are you helping me? I thought you didn't like me, and I doubt you'd ever listen to Sirius after everything that's happened."
"You're right. I even told Black my disdain for the both of you." He admits without hesitation, until he huffs out briefly. "Still, that doesn't mean I am not above helping where it's needed - I've already told you and your stupid friends, Potter - You are not my enemy." Mortimer really didn't like these types of conversations; he didn't see why he should have to explain himself.
"I. . ." Harry starts to open his mouth but was quick to close it. There was shame in those eyes, Mortimer doesn't blame him for feeling so exposed. He'd probably would've reacted the same way. There was something bothering, Harry, he couldn't help but ask. "Have you had any strange dreams lately?"
Pursing his lips, Mortimer stops for a few seconds. "Strange dreams?" Sounding inconspicuous, he rubs his chin pretending to recall. "No. Why?"
Almost immediately, Harry's body tenses, shaking his head. "No reason at all."
Mortimer knew he was lying but then, so was he. Any other day, he would've pressed but he wasn't in the mood to discuss Voldemort, not after learning about Gaunts imprisonment and the death that followed.
In attempt to take his attention away, Harry's inquiries about the man. "By the way, how's Sirius doing?"
Walking on his knees, he slides himself over to the bed to retrieve the snacks. "Fine, for the most part. Although he's gone a bit mad when he thought he found a balding spot on the side of his head - There isn't - I lied and told him it was getting bigger."
"Why would you tell him that?"
"I'm not quite sure. . ." He shrugs, laying down the packets of trail mix. "I thought it'd be fun. But it's only gotten sadder - I made him think using Bubotuber pus would make it grow back faster."
"Does it?"
"No." Placing the rest of the sealed goods inside. "He smells bad now."
Mortimer didn't think it was possible to make the chosen one laugh. But he did, joining him soon after. "Before I forget..." Rummaging through the small pockets of his backpack, he takes out a sealed envelope. "Black wanted me to give you this -"
Reaching towards the letter, he grabs it as if it were something precious to him. Mortimer could tell it meant a lot for him. "Thank you, really."
Nodding, small moments like these didn't require words, only a sense of understanding - Now that he no longer has to think about it, he was free the breath. Clapping his hands together, "Glad that's done with it..." he gets up from the floor. "I can finally go home pretend this never happened."
Quiet, he looks away nervously. "I - Thank you, again. . . and for not telling anyone. . ."
"Yeah, just don't go around mentioning it your friends, or Draco."
Harry snorts while rolling his eyes. "Right, sorry, I wouldn't want everyone to know you actually have a conscious."
"Now you get it." He smirks.
Putting on his bag, Harry helped him seal the floorboards and by the time Harry's Uncle, Vernon, went up the stairs to intrude, the room appeared as dull and as unsuspicious as it was before.
The pudgy man showed up just to kick Mortimer right out, letting him know it was time to leave.
Harry would walk him down the stairs and right outside of the home. In just seconds a noise interrupts their farewells. Mortimer turns his head to side.
A tall, long-faced woman appeared in the driveway, she nearly shrieked at the sight of Mortimer, wrinkling her nose as though she had seen a rat. Vernon would soon come out to assure his wife that he wouldn't be staying long - Something about 'the freak going back to his circus'.
Seeing the kind of people Potter has to deal with, Mortimer has never been so relieved to be going back home.
"Well, hello young man!" The odd witch greets him back into her shop. "Welcome back. I assume you're here to pick up the new sanctuary for your little pet here."
Finding himself returning to Magical Menagerie, he approaches the front counter. "Yup." He dulls out.
"Wonderful. I'll go get it!" Turning around, he sees her stumbling in the back, sliding the curtain as she tosses the useless items to the side. "I know I put it here somewhere." Her faint shout emits from the behind the heavy drapes.
Tapping his fingers impatiently on the table, he rolls them before he ganders them away. Feeling Tobey crawling out of his sleeve, there was a wave of comfort as he intertwines around his arm. "I don't want a cage."
There was a loud bang, "This one will be better." Choosing to ignore it, the bats inside the cages began to squabble, flapping their wings.
He huffs impatiently. Otherwise, he'll soon find himself late. He was to meet with Draco at Twilfitt and Tattings for a fitting. He doesn't recall what the occasion was, but involuntarily nodded his head.
When the witch finally came back, she was holding a medium sized cage. Frowning, he was somewhat underwhelmed by its appearance. It was a basic, empty, ordinary glass cage. There was nothing special about it, he thought it'd be more... whimsical. A diorama of the forest with enchanted trees perhaps? Displays of soothing waterfalls and moving mists? A firework show?
"That's it?" He disgruntled while eyeing the cage in her arms.
The witch places the enclosure in front of him. "Do you know what it is?"
"A cage."
She hums in approval before adding on. "Yes - But! I've added several charms you may find very useful."
"Really? Tell me more." Mortimer replied, smiling he gazes over to Tobey, staring in suspicion.
"I've added heated charms, fit for anything mother nature throws at you. A shrinking charm so you can literally put him in your pocket, it won't hurt him inside; I can guarantee it. Of course, I've placed protective enchantments around it in case of any unwanted predators." She proudly exclaims, puffing her chest out.
"Where's the lock on this thing?" Mortimer interrupts her celebrations.
"Lock?" She shakes her head with a soft smile. "There's no lock."
"What?!"
"Familiars should never be restricted from reaching their masters." Snorting in laughter, it seemed like a ludicrous thought. "Who does that?"
"Right. Of course, how foolish of me." Rolling his eyes, he grabs the cage. Mortimer sighed and ducked his head once the giant purple toad coughed up a strange green substance that looked like goo. "Guess, I'll take my leave."
Paying it fully, Mortimer slipped by the rowdy animals, noticing how the top of his head weighed more than it should. He looks up to find a ferret resting. He frowns. Without the small criticisms of the establishment, he grabs the furry weasel and places it on one of the random counters that sold food for pets.
Fussing over his hair, he combs through it with his fingers, muttering to himself. "Can't believe this thing doesn't lock..."
Whirling through Diagon Ally, double checking in case he was wrong. He took down the pathway that was less crowded. It will take him a little longer to get to the south side and most of the street was covered with thick weeds sticking out from the pavements and plenty of rocks to kick off to the side.
He could hear the chatter of the other witches and wizards, as well as the loud thumps of barrels being pushed, clinking of glasses as others dinned out in this fine summer weather, indicating the place was bustling with people.
As he walked further in, he could feel the occasional blow of cool air against his skin. Smelling the fragrant of potions displayed just outside the potion shop.
Despite not being able to go inside, he can sense the vibrant energy of the shops and its customers. It was so lively and friendly, it was clear why the street was almost, always, crowded. It was relaxing and the weather only made things better, making it more inviting.
Mortimer found the corner of TerrorTours, away from all the noise. He should be drawing near the clothing shop.
The movement around him becomes a blur as his minds wanders again. Observing the tapestries, counting the windows on each building he passed by, while heading for his destination. He didn't hear the small commotion on his right.
There was a small group of girls huddled together, they could be heard giggling at something. Mortimer assumed they were all hanging out and went about his business.
Stopping in his tracks, he heard a familiar voice coming from a distance.
It was Pansy Parkinson, her hair frizzy from shouting out. "It's high-price Faux Suede you uncultured muggle dweller! And you've ruined it!"
"I said I was sorry... I-I didn't mean anything by it, honestly!" A small voice utters back as she dared to upset the princess.
"Do you know how much these costs? They're probably worth more than that shack you call back home."
The witches that stood by Pansy laughed and nodded among each other.
Instantly, his face sours over the comment.
The random girl was unresponsive. She seemed like she was deep in trouble. Noting Parkinson's antagonizing glare, looking upon her in disgust. He's seen that look countless times to know where her intention.
Lifting her foot, Pansy nearly screeches. "Look at it! My poor beautiful shoe! It's wrecked - I can never wear these now."
"I-I'm sorry." Apologizing profusely, the nameless girl mutters under her breath as her face goes red.
"Maybe I should stomp on you face, see how you like it, mudblood." Her snarling lip and contempt, Mortimer's had the same treatment with others, he grits his teeth just remembering it. "Maybe then you'll think twice before scuffing my heels. And who knows, with my footprints on your face, it might actually improve your appearance."
He shouldn't get involved.
He wanted nothing to do with it and didn't rile them up more. It was probably her own fault for coming here. You were either new to this place or simply had left your brain at home. Everyone here knew this part of Diagon Alley catered only to the upper classes. In other words... no poor people. Even more absurd, purebloods only.
Studying the stranger's nervous posture, it was safe to assume she was neither of those. That mistake alone, he should leave the girl to fend for herself.
Then why was he having difficulty leaving?
Pressing his lips firmly, he walks towards Pansy and the rest of her mindless friends. "What's going on here?"
Pansy rapidly jolts upright with a squeal. "Mortimer!" Panicky blinking, she manages to speak. "Wh-What are you doing here? Where's Draco?"
"Around," He beams out before darkening his gaze, he takes a step closer. Her friends shared her discomfort as they stood silently in the back. "Answer the question."
Clearing her throat, she tries her best to stay composed. "She messed up my shoe." Pointing her manicured finger, she grunts. "The stupid mudblood needs to be learn where to walk."
Her shoes barely had a scratch on if, it was a faint dark spot, if any. But that excuse alone was enough to send Pansy in a fit of rage.
He didn't bother suppressing his scoff. "You're peeved over a spot... on your shoe?"
Wrinkling her pug-like nose, she uses a sickening tone to push her further. "Not just a smudge - Look at her! She's probably carrying human rabies or something."
The insult causes a stir of annoying titters. Yet, he saw nothing amusing about it, his expression hardened for a moment. "Quit whining Pansy, it's unattractive."
"What?" Shooting him with a nasty sneer. "You can't possibly be defending her."
"I could care less." His stare makes the girl shiver back as she watches in shock. "I merely find it annoying that you'd chose to get upset over something so trivial. I thought you were better than that." He sighs while shaking his head as if he were a disappointed. "Oh well, I'm off! Draco's probably wondering what's taking me so long."
With a bop of his head, he turns away. "Wait!" Pansy cries out in an attempt to stop him "I'll go with you."
"That's alright Pansy, I wouldn't want to take your time away from your friends." He shrugs nonchalant, aware she'd follow him anywhere.
"What friends?" Pansy realizing, she didn't come alone, she hisses at their direction, swishing her hands away. "Oh! Go, shoo! Go away!"
Mortimer gave her a weird stare and began walking away.
Not a minute had passed, and she had followed him into the streets. Out of curiosity, he glances back, the girl was still standing there, her expression was that of disbelief.
At least she's doing alright now. With Panay's attention directed at him, the girl can be left alone.
Her arm wraps around his. "Will you escort this little lady to her destination?" Her sly smile as she flutters her eyes, he felt himself getting sick.
If his arms were so occupied holding Tobey's cage, he would've shoved them as far as possible. Instead, he had to endure it until they reached the clothing shop.
Once inside, he was hit with a strong scent of perfume. There were a few displays of vibrant colored summer dresses, soft colored ribbons for accessories, a well stack shelf of heels. That's not to mention the dress robes they had for wizards.
There, he found Draco, looking at his reflection, trying out many of the robes as he funnily made odd poses to show of his defining arms.
Mortimer silently laughs to himself. He didn't know anyone who would be impress.
A soft gasp, Parkinson was an awe. She looked as though she was coming in contact with a living God as she approaches Draco. Admiring his appearence, she lets out a short squeal, running at him like a crazed fan.
"Pansy?" Draco yells out in surprise, grumbling at the contact, he looks around until he sees Mortimer standing by the door.
"What took you so long?" He scowls, whilst getting rid of Parkinson, who had deciding to glue herself onto the blond.
"It was terrible Draco!" Pansy's fake cries were shown. "Just awful. . ."
Bearing her story and presence for the day. Mortimer and Draco managed to get their sizes written down. However, they ended up staying another hour as Parkinson insisted, she try on some of the dresses for them. The idea had her gushing and giddying all over. With two handsome boys, she couldn't let the opportunity slide. The girls would surely be jealous!
When the chance presented itself, Draco raised one eyebrow, slightly closing in on him by leaning down. "I say we make a break for it." Luckily, Pansy was to busy looking at herself, she couldn't see them bolt right out.
Barely losing her, they successfully avoided wasting another hour. It would've been horrible if she had decided to try on shoes.
They calmed down a bit, catching their breath, they ended up right near the joke shop. Draco's amused silver eyes opened up, staring at him as he chuckles softly. "Quidditch Cup?"
Mortimer found Draco's excitement for the sport contagious. Chuckling, he wanted to forget, even if it just for a while. He can still see Morfin's memories, remembering their faces and what it all meant. In his final moments, Gaunt had given up a small part of himself, just for him.
He'd like to think this was Gaunts way of making up for his family's mistakes. So, history wouldn't repeat himself. Giving him his blessing on his quest to stop Tom from coming back, sort of speaking.
Grinning and giving the slightest of nods. "Quidditch Cup." He repeats; it was good to forget.