The Hard Road

Chapter 3

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Potter's eyes flicked back and forth, surveying the wide great hall from inside the mouth of the black granite fireplace. His wand was still at his side, but his grip left his fingers white.

Draco's mother strode in, decked in a meticulously fitted pink Armani skirt suit. Her blonde hair was pinned back into a neat pony tail, and her makeup gave her the look of a woman twenty years younger. Draco gaped. He had never once seen his mother wearing anything resembling Muggle clothing. She made eyes at him and he instantly turned his surprise into welcome for their guest, but he couldn't shake the sight.

She extended a hand to Potter. "Welcome to the manor. I hope you will find us more cordial than on your last visit."

Harry's body was stiff like a statue as he accepted her hand. She held out a rectangle wrapped in crimson and gold. "I never got the proper opportunity to thank you for saving my son's life, or for your testimony."

His expression softened and his shoulders loosened. "I'm sorry. The last time I was here..."

Potter eyed the gift for a moment and then gingerly unfolded the wrapping. He lifted the lid on the thin box and quirked an eyebrow. His fingertips came back up with a slender but simple wand made of buff colored, coarse grained wood. By the looks of it, it was at least thirty years old but barely used. He thumbed the tag and his eyes reddened. "How did you..?"

His mother rubbed behind Potter's shoulder blade. "Admittedly, the value of war trophies associated with Harry Potter declined significantly when you were imprisoned."

Potter stammered as his fingers drifted over the wand before slowly settling into one of the leather chairs. "It's sort of depressing, you know, thinking of my mother's wand stuck in a pile of somebody's fan memorabilia. Thank you."

She nodded and her tone took on a soft, motherly feel. "If you ever need a place to escape the constant crush, please, feel free to visit. I can't promise we will be here, but you are welcome, none-the-less. May I offer you some refreshment?"

Maltby appeared with a crack, bearing a tray of dried sausage slices, various olives and pickles, cheeses, crackers, and toasted bread. Potter asked for a gin and tonic, his mother a mint julep, and Draco, whose parole stipulated no alcoholic beverages, settled for ginger ale while ignoring the intoxicating aromas of his favorite foods dancing just out of reach. He fought the urge to grab the plate and gorge himself, eating till he threw up, like he had at breakfast. Instead, he allowed Potter to choose, and then selected one slice of freshly buttered toast and topped it with a piece of red pepper crusted genoa salami, farmhouse cheddar, and a pimento filled Castelvetrano olive. He wanted to glup it down, but instead, slowly bit off a taste and let the flavors bloom on his tongue.

Nearby buzzing turned into Potter's teasing. "You going to need a room there?"

He wiped the slobber off his chin and winked. "If you don't mind giving me a minute alone with my sausage..."

Potter snorted and then coughed up a lump of cheese. "Bastard."

Draco chuckled. "It's like I've never tasted anything this delicious in my life."

Potter's eyes sparkled. "Yeah, gummy bears did that to me. You know, the German ones shaped like fruit pieces. That and a jacket potato with marmite and beans."

"You want some? It's no trouble."

"Nah, this gin and tonic is doing me just fine. By the way, what sort of tonic water is this? It's absolutely fantastic."

Draco shrugged and turned to his mother, who answered, "Would you believe it's one hundred percent muggle. Cotswald gin and Double Dutch tonic."

Draco suppressed even more surprise while Potter scribbled a note on a pad and stuffed it back into his robe. The second round seemed to help calm his nerves. They exchanged pleasantries and his mother talked him into another snack off the appetizer tray. Potter paused in the middle of a slice of black pepper crusted salami capped with a miniature cornichon. "The lawyers?"

Draco's mother's poker face was unreadable, until the very faintest hint of a smile perked the corner of her lip. Potter continued. "The lawyers that secured my release."

Draco tilted his head slightly, but waited. He always assumed that Wizarding England had come to Potter's rescue.

Potter continued. "The ministry confiscated all the assets Gringotts didn't take, and wouldn't let me hire any lawyers. Then, they stuffed me into Draco's cell in Azkaban and wouldn't allow any visitors or contact with the outside."

His mother set her glass down on a silk doily and exhaled slowly. "Riddle was determined to destroy my family and obliterate our name, as he did with my father's family, and so many others. He spoke proudly of supporting the old bloodlines, but I'm afraid, the truth was the opposite. Not only did you oust him from Hogwarts, you broke his stranglehold over this family. We appreciated your testimony at my son's trial. I'm aware of what it cost you. It was the least we could do."

"Why didn't you tell me? None of my friends knew anything about it, and the order was quibbling over office titles in the ministry. There was no trial. They just wrapped me in chains and pitched me into your son's cell. Then a gaggle of lawyers showed up at Azkaban. They refused to disclose anything, claiming lawyer client privilege."

"I'm afraid the stain on your reputation would be far more grevious than any benefit to ours."

Potter grimaced, but his protest was cut off by Draco's mother's outstretched wave. "You are my nephew now, and you have given considerable aid to our family. But... I'm afraid that if you intend to pursue a career with the ministry, you will need to mind your reputation. That includes not being seen associating with war criminals."

Frustration flashed across Potter's face. "Are you telling me to stay away from your son?"

She raised an eyebrow and gave him a smirk. "On the contrary. I am simply recommending discretion. For now, you serve as my son's parole officer. Visits here can be explained under the auspices of supervised meetings, inspections and such. I doubt any of it would be questioned so long as the paperwork is in order."

Harry seemed to agree with her assessment and accepted a third gin and tonic. "So.. Did Draco ask you about..."

"Dark arts training? Yes. I believe this is an excellent idea, especially given the unfortunate affairs at Hogwarts over the last several years."

Potter's face turned red. No doubt because Draco's father had been a primary source of those problems.

She continued. "Perhaps I could make arrangements for a few other subjects that may have been... Lacking?"

Harry's eyebrow quirked.

Her eyes glittered. "Divination and magical theory go hand in hand with the so called dark arts, and I believe both may have been... Less than adequate."

Harry's eyes rolled, but she pressed on. "Practical application, of course, centered on results, as well as tutoring in wordless and wandless magic.

Draco itched to get his hands on a wand, to feel magic flow again, but his hopes were dashed when his mother said, "Unfortunately, Draco will not be able to participate in anything requiring a wand. I am sure you aware he is banned from owning one."

Harry seemed absorbed in thought until his wry smirk appeared. "On one condition."

She waited and he continued. "The muggle, halfblood, and magical creature normalization efforts your son championed were abandoned by the ministry. There are still too many families ruined from Voldemort's rule."

"And?"

"And I would like to get it going again. Pick up where we left off. I can pull some strings inside the ministry, but I need support from the prominent old families. For example, did you know that muggle witches and wizards still have to apply for a special license to have a wand? They are more or less automatically granted, but most simply do not apply out of fear. There's still prosecution going on over so called 'Stolen Magic.' Then, there's the magical creature registry. There's no reason for this in the twenty-first century."

His mother nodded. "Our name is not what it once was, but I think I can arrange audiences with The Lord Black. Many of the old families share your views, but fear the consequences of appearing to throw aspersions on the ministry's effectiveness."

Potter rolled his eyes. "They have all the right words, but they haven't accomplished a single thing."

He thought he caught a sparkle in Potter's eye and the knowing look on his mother, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. With that, she escorted Potter away, leaving him alone with the snacks, but by then, he had other things on his mind.

His mother returned and they discussed tutoring in wandless magic. Goyle's story of wizards and witches in America not even bothering with wands seemed unbelievable until his mother, of all people, nodded.

Greg had spun his tale, "It's not like I can just go round, jabbing away with my wand around all those muggles. I didn't meet a single wizard or witch who carried one. Sure, some them probably owned old wands from a grandparent or something, but they didn't bother with them." Draco blew it off as wizards wanting to live like muggles, until Goyle started in about the American's magic ranges. They practiced all sorts of dark and illegal magic at special places. Children as young as ten even practiced casting all sorts of unforgivables including the Crucio and even the Aveda under their parents supervision. Wandless! It hardly made any sense until Goyle showed him some pictures of a normal looking woman coaching her daughter to Aveda a werewolf dummy from a row of wooden benches set up in the forest. Greg's laugh had boomed. "That's why that Riddle nutter never went there. Crazy lot, those Americans." He had even done a quick demonstration, performing several transfigurations wandlessly.

Back in his room, Draco's head spun with these revelations. It was like the world he knew had turned sideways. He didn't need anyone to explain who must have given the orders to keep him in the dark, but still, the pain of disillusionment burned.

On the other hand, knowledge that an entire continent of wizards and witches was doing magic without wands was encouraging. Excellent news, in fact, because if they could, so could he.

His mind drifted across the photos adorning his room. The picture of himself and Daphne dressed for their seventh year Spring Formal caught his eye. They looked so happy with his tuxedo cummerbund matching her sleek, silver dress and his arm around her waist. They were so happy... Or at least he was. When had it all come apart? He had not risked endangering her during the war or the purges. He made a point to keep her family safe. Keep the violence away from them. He exhaled hard and slid the picture out of the frame. There was no sense dwelling on what would never be.

His thoughts returned to Goyle's offer. The itch for a woman gnawed at him, so he scratched out a quick note and sent an owl on its way.

Sulking had given way to fitful sleep when the crack of apparition sent him crashing off the bed. Maltby stood at attention, decked in a shirt and pants made of his grandmother's paisley draperies. He croaked out a greeting. "Master Malfoy, a gentleman, Lyle McRostie, is here to see you."

He pushes off the floor and scrambled for some clothing. "Absolutely! Tell him I'll be down in a minute."

Maltby disapparated with a crack, leaving Draco to rummage his closet for something presentable but not too ostentatious.

Downstairs, the old man's face lit when Draco ambled in. He wrapped his arms around the short man's stiff shoulders and clapped him in a hug. "Old Mic! So good to see you."

The man blushed at the floor and wrung his twill flat cap. "I was just in the area, sir. Heard you got out."

"Don't sir me. We're not at war anymore."

Draco escorted his former master sergeant into the smoking room where they settled into leather chairs and enjoyed a late afternoon snack. Lyle took a pint of ale while Draco stuck to his tea. Ten minutes later, they were trading war stories from the battles.

His mind drifted back to a small demonstration of muggle military weaponry. Acrid smoke filled the air. His ears were ringing from the explosive bellowing of the muggle rifles. Two men had obliterated half a dozen cantaloupes in twenty seconds. Most amazing was the distance. They had no trouble making hits from two full Quidditch pitches away, and that with hundred year old muggle rifles left over from The Great War. Not even The Dark Lord himself could ply curses from that distance, and the men assured him that every one of them had been trained to make hits at half a mile - four times this distance. Then, late that night, they made a broom run onto the Royal Artillery Range at Wiltshire and watched a nighttime training exercise from high in the clouds. Draco was both awed and afraid when the earth and sky shook from six inch shells ripping trails through the fog and splattering armored muggle contraptions from ten miles. He waited until the muggles left off and then hovered down, awed by the sizzling hot gaping wounds blasted through six inches of steel plate. Not even The Dark Lord at his best could punch dozens of holes through half a foot of solid iron. His head spun as searing heat rippled off of the splattered steel hulks. If wizards had always been infinitely superior as his father held, then why were we the ones required to abide by the statutes of secrecy? Two men laying in the grass with army rifles which were obsolete before his father was born... Cantaloupes exploding at hundreds of yards. "Easy pickings," they said. Not a single miss. Just two men. The Royal Marines had eight thousand men with rifles, and they had hundreds of these field artillery pieces which blasted holes through steel and rock from miles away. His stomach knotted as reality stared him in the face. Purges and persecutions, pogroms, and burning at the stake. Wizards and witches were the hunted. He was the one hiding... His knees wobbled for a second as his stomach clenched. Vomit burned his throat, exploding into a cloud of putrid steam against the smoldering tank remains.

The old man's eyes went a bit misty. "They said you died in prison. Said they set those things on you. We were all surprised when we got word that you were out, well, I had to see it fpr myself."

"I'm glad to be out. That place changes you."

The man studied his eyes. The back of Draco's skull tingled, but he allowed the man to search his mind. A minute later, the old man turned away, sullen. His lips were pursed as he let out a long slow breath. "I'm sorry, son. We shouldn't have let you do it."

They sat in silence until the old man clapped him on the leg. "You remember Aberdeen? I tell you, those blighters hadn't seen a scrap like that before, had they?" Mischief gleamed in the his eyes. "Do you still have Black?"

Draco flattened his emotions and put up his mental shields. "They made me surrender my sword."

McRostie huffed out a chuckle. "Your sword, eh? Just promise me she's safe."

The slightest hint of a smile perked in the corner of his lip. The old man laughed and lowered his voice. "Probably good you gave them something."

Draco had also surrendered Finnegan's wand, which they promptly broke in half.

They reminisced through the afternoon until the sun dipped low in the great windows.

On the way back to his room, he found a note.

Draco,

I'll be out this evening. Gregory said he would be over at half seven. You are welcome to use the guest cottage in Cornwall if you feel cloistered within The Manor. It is well stocked and connected through our Floo. I've given Maltby the night off. If you need anything, Filigree will be available.

Love,

Mother

Not so subtle of a hint... His face heated. Mother knew exactly what they were going to do, yet acted like this was an everyday occurrence. There was apparently a lot he didn't know.

Seven o'clock found him waiting in the living room of the seaside cottage in Cornwall. He had checked his shirt, pants, and shoes three times. Now, though, Draco was having serious second thoughts. He had visions of his old friend to dragging up the rough sort of women who lurked behind the corners in Knockturn. That was the last thing he wanted, some bruised hag that stank of booze, piss, and sweat with breath that would knock a giant off his feet.

The welcoming jingle of the doorbell announced company, so he put on a ready smile and slicked his hair one last time. Goyle gave him a hearty handshake and escorted a pair of incredibly beautiful women into the foyer. He fought to keep his jaw off the floor when they sauntered past. The first had shimmery blonde falling down her shoulders in tight ringlets. The other had silky red hair swishing down her back with each step. Both were fit. Slender and feminine, yet athletic with spectacular curves accentuated by their tight dresses. The blonde was in a form fitting silver dress while the red head wore a shimmery green tube skirt that hugged her hips.

Goyle's deep voice boomed out as he clapped Draco on the back. "Drac, meet Milli and Ada. Pick your poison."

Draco's smile bloomed as his eyes drifted past their perky breasts to their curvaceous thighs. He whispered at Goyle, "Are they..?"

Goyle snorted out a laugh, and then muttered, "Really? You know me better than that." He slid an arm around the blonde's waist. "Milli and Ada just started the University in Vienna. Milli wants to be a lawyer and Ada is planning to teach elementary school. Meet Draco Malfoy, former revolutionary turned unemployed ne're-do-well."

The blonde smiled politely while Christmas morning rippled across the red head's face. She curled into his arm. Her skin was soft and scented with a hint of sweet, floral perfume. She twined her fingers into his and whispered, "I don't know if you remember me, but you rescued me and my family out of Birmingham." He wanted to shove her away in protest and escape, shout and kick her out the door, but her scent, the curve of her body, and the feel of her smooth skin against his drew him like a moth to the flame. His mother's words echoed in his head, so he put on his most charming smile and slid his hand around her waist.