Draco awoke after what felt like minutes.
He felt lost and disoriented, confused. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. After a few moments, he became vaguely aware that he was in a bed. The ceiling he stared up at was a muddy yellowish color, with a strangely familiar print of faded green dragons. What the hell...?
He frowned up at the odd ceiling, waiting for his mother to call him down for breakfast. Whenever he was at home from Hogwarts, he would sleep in, only getting up when Narcissa Malfoy came up and, peering around the door to his bedroom, tell him that the breakfast the house-elves had prepared was getting cold. Funny, he mused, how one could miss such a homely thing, when one was far from home or any familiar people... when one was stuck in a drab inn with an insanely old owner...
Draco shot upright in the bed and flung back the covers as it all came rushing back to him. He had tried to kill Dumbledore, had been spirited away from Hogwarts by Snape, but Snape was dead, he had killed himself... And now Draco was stuck in this inn, with only depressed drunkards and a mad old man named Blenkinsop Waterbut for company.
Draco realized he was still in his filthy robes. He sank back onto the bed and groaned, his face in his hands. What am I going to do? Tears started to flow, unbidden, down his cheeks, and he didn’t try to stop them. He sat that way for a while, giving himself over to the misery and despair that was on the verge of completely overwhelming him.
After many frozen minutes of time, he stood up and wiped his face dry. Not allowing himself to think about anything for the moment, he walked over to the closed door and, quietly opening it, slipped through into the hallway on the other side.
Draco was soon softly creeping down the stairs, not wanting to awaken any other occupants of the inn. As he made his way down the spiraling staircase, he ran his fingers through his unwashed, tangled blond hair and tried ” unsuccessfully ” to smooth it back. A far-off part of his mind vaguely wondered if he’d ever get it clean again, but Draco easily ignored it. It’s odd, he thought wryly. I can remember a time when that kind of thing was all I ever thought about, and now... Now I can block them as easily as if I’d never had a selfish thought in my life.
Funny, how a healthy dose of humility could clear his head like that.
When at last he reached the bottom of the steps and the tavern half of the inn, he was astonished to see that the same scene awaited him. The same people were at their same tables, staring forlornly into their mugs and glasses as if they’d never moved since Draco had gone up to bed the night before.
Draco looked around at them all uneasily before settling into what seemed to be the exact same chair he’d sat on last night, when he’d had that strange conversation with Blenkinsop Waterbut. This time, though, he had no free bottles of warm butterbeer. He didn’t even have any money.
Butterbeer... butter... His stomach growled, as though reminding him that he hadn’t had anything to eat in almost two whole days. Great... Now not only am I lost, but I’m going to starve to death as well.
The very instant he thought that, however, a large wooden plate appeared on the table before him. As he stared at it in mute amazement, it seemed to look up at him almost quizzically, as if it were waiting...
An idea suddenly came to Draco, and after a few minutes of studying the plate from all angles, he decided to test it. He looked around furtively, then stared intently at the dish and let his mind wander to old memories of home. He remembered breakfasts, made specially by the house-elf cooks: crispy slices of bacon and steaming sausages, accompanied by eggs, and sometimes a warm piece of toast...
He smelled something sweet. He opened eyes he hadn’t known he’d closed and stared down at the plate, which was suddenly filled with hot food. Everything he’s imagined was piled onto the plate, having appeared out of supposedly thin air. A fork, knife, napkin, and glass of juice had also materialized in their proper places around the plate.
Draco grinned at the ceiling. Good service. He then turned his attention back to the hot breakfast and dug in, already feeling a fraction better about everything.
“Good, isn’t it?”
Draco choked on his mouthful of eggs and spun around in his chair to face the speaker whose voice had startled him so badly.
One blue eye and one green eye framed by long gray hair looked down at him in amusement. Draco, wiping his mouth off with the napkin, realized with slight irritation that this was the second time that Blenkinsop Waterbut had made him gag on food or drink.
Blenkinsop grinned cheekily at Draco as he made himself at home in the chair across the table. “Sorry for the intrusion. Did I scare you?”
“Uh... no,” Draco lied. He glowered at Blenkinsop, picking up his fork again and hoping that the old man would get the hint. “No, I was just having some breakfast.”
“Ah. Yes, I can see that. Care if I join you?”
Every inch of Draco’s brain screamed, Yes, I do care! But he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and said, “Not at all.”
Blenkinsop’s grin grew wider. He then pulled a long, dark brown wand out of his pocket and gave it a little flick. Draco watched in interest as a round mug appeared in front of the man. As he watched, he could have sworn he heard him mutter, “No, two creams, how many times...?” as he waved the wand once more.
Wafts of steam instantly began to rise from the mug, and Blenkinsop picked it up with a satisfied smile. “I’m simply terrible if I don’t get a nice cup of coffee in the morning,” he explained to Draco, who was still staring.
Well, at least there’s one thing normal about him, Draco thought. But there was something else bothering him, and he was able to put his finger on it as he watched the old man drink over the rim of his own glass. I guess... I didn’t expect him to have a wand. He’s the kind of person you would expect to be mysterious and all-seeing, revealing no secrets to us common mortals, yet...
He lowered his eyes and instead stared at the muddled pile of bacon and egg. I suppose I didn’t expect him to be something... He grinned at the next thought. ...Something so ordinary as a wizard. If you can call that ordinary, anyway.
“So,” Blenkinsop said, apparently done with his coffee for the time being. “Draco. Did you have a good night’s sleep?”
Draco’s mind spun back to the night before, and he wondered if the butterbeer had been drugged. But... he hadn’t drunk that much of it... had he? He frowned. “Yeah, I think so. I don’t really remember ””
Blenkinsop waved that part aside. “Oh, I’m sure you did. No-one who’s gone through so many hardships as you would be able to stay awake long after a day like yesterday. Running away from the troubles you yourself are responsible for ” not that I’m blaming you, but it was terribly careless of you; you left quite a mess behind ” then your guardian committing suicide...” He made a tsking noise with his tongue. “Given the circumstances, I’m amazed you were as lucid as you were when you showed up here.”
What? Draco gaped at the old man. How did he know about all that? How did he know about the fight up on the Astronomy Tower, the flight from Hogwarts, Snape’s death...? “H ” He wasn’t my guardian,” he muttered, confused.
Blenkinsop stared at Draco’s face, as if seeing the confusion written all over it. Then he chuckled. “Oh, I know he wasn’t. But Draco, you see I’m ””
He was cut off as a large man suddenly burst into the room from what seemed to be a side chamber leading into the main bar. He was burly and barrel-chested, with a huge brown beard and mustache that covered half his face. With what might have been a roar of glee, the big man propelled himself all the way across the wide room in ten steps and enveloped Blenkinsop Waterbut in a bear hug. “Ah, mon ami, tu m’as sauvé!” the man boomed, in an excessively loud voice that made Draco cringe. “Je ne savais pas ce que j’allais faire, mais tu m’as rescué! Tu et ta magie! Merci beaucoup, mon ami Blenkinsop!”
Draco rarely wished he had taken those foreign-language classes his mother had always railed on about, but now was one of those times. He couldn’t understand a word of what this man was saying; the only thing he was sure of was that it was French. ‘Merci’ was ‘thank you,’ he knew, and ‘mon ami’ was ‘my friend,’ but apart from that... the man might as well have been speaking gibberish for all Draco knew.
But Blenkinsop seemed to get the entire message. He grinned and nodded in just the right places, and then, after having been released and called ‘friend’ for the second time, he interrupted with, “Qu’est-ce que tu as decidé, allors?”
The huge man seemed to puff up even bigger with excitement. “J’ai decidé que je vais retourné chez moi, pour parler avec ma femme. Nous allons résolver nos problémes concurremment...”
“Tu es sûr?” Blenkinsop asked, a smile slowly spreading across his face. “Est-ce qu’elle va t’accepter?”
“Je vais me trouver un travail bon, et nous allons quitter la ville en fin. Elle va être tres contente.”
Blenkinsop nodded and said something else, but by that time Draco had blocked it out. There was no point in listening to the triumphs of others when you were in the gutter yourself; especially when those triumphs were told about in a language few people in the room could understand. Several of the other tenants had looked up and listened for a few minutes when the big Frenchman had burst in, but they quickly lost interest and were back to staring broodingly into their goblets.
Finally, after a while longer of jabbering away in French, Blenkinsop grinned a surprisingly youthful grin up at the man and said, “Eh bien. Bon voyage, Francis.”
The boisterous man ” Francis ” quickly left the Green Dragon after saying an eloquent goodbye with words that Draco found impossible to follow. Blenkinsop seemed to be having fun, however, and when Francis had finally gone, he sat back down with a sigh. “It’s going to be awfully quiet around here without him,” he said wistfully.
Indeed, the silence felt like it was weighing down on Draco, and he glanced around uneasily. None of the other occupants of the inn seemed in the least bit disturbed by the big man’s loudness.
As Draco turned back to face the table, Blenkinsop easily read the question in his expression. “Francis Dupont, another guest here,” he explained. “He had a rough situation at home ” out of a job, four children to feed, a wife constantly railing at him... A shame, really. Not enough men like that in the world. He was lacking direction in his life and had no idea what to do when the Green Dragon found him.”
“But...” Something in the story didn’t make sense to Draco. “He spoke French.”
Blenkinsop’s eyebrows rose. “Yes...”
Draco bit his lip. “And the inn... when I found it, it was on a road in the English countryside. So how did he ””
“Ah,” Blenkinsop interjected with an exaggerated sigh. “And so we come to it now. I was wondering when you would finally catch on.”
“Catch... on, sir?” Draco asked hesitantly.
Blenkinsop stared intently at him, then said suddenly, “I’d like to tell you a story, Draco. If you don’t mind.”
The former Slytherin had no idea what he was supposed to say, so he just nodded slightly.
“Good,” Blenkinsop said. “This story happens to be about me. About my life. About... well, about this inn, as a matter of fact.”
His life’s history! Draco knew from experience what was coming next. All old people did the exact same thing. He’ll ramble on about how things have changed since he was a boy, and I’ll never be able to get away politely... He felt a twinge of disappointment. Funny, I didn’t think of him as an ‘old person,’ not in that way at least...
But to Draco’s surprise, the old man began in quite a different way. “I was born in the summer of 1660, in a small village in Ireland.”
This time, the date didn’t even make Draco blink. Was he actually beginning to get used to such things? It’s about time, as I lived around Dumbledore for almost six whole years, he thought wryly, before returning his attention to Blenkinsop, who continued speaking.
“I grew up learning my father’s trade ” he was a blacksmith. But as I grew older, I set my sights higher than my parents intended. Between you and me, Draco, I was an obstinate young fool back then. I left home when I was just your age, and made my way toward the closest city ” which was rather far away ” to become whatever I could make of myself.
“Along the way, I happened to meet a beautiful young woman named Isabelle.” Blenkinsop’s eyes took on a far-off look, as if he were watching something only he could see. “Isabelle... was the greatest thing to ever happen to me. When she smiled, it was as though the sun had exploded, she was so dazzling... Before I knew it, I was in love.
“By this time, I had reached the city, accompanied by Isabelle, who had run away from her own home to try and demolish the opinion that a woman could never amount to much. She was a strong thing, stronger than I ever was...” He trailed off, then grinned at Draco apologetically. “Anyway, we reached the city. I was confident, back then, and I was stupid. City life was too fast for me; it went straight to my head, intoxicating me as thoroughly as it would have had it been a bottle of wine. I was welcomed into the fast pace of the city, but I was still unable to find a job, the craft I’d always dreamt of. Isabelle went off to work as a maid for some wealthy old woman, and I did any odd jobs I could find... I wanted to marry her, you see, but at the time I didn’t have the means of supporting a family. So I decided to put it off until I procured a job.
“I remember that last morning... the last time I saw her glorious, smiling face... so clearly.” A note of pain crept into his voice. “I was running an errand for someone, I can’t recall who, when I passed a crowd of people standing in the street. Someone passed me, saying how terrible it was... that such a pretty girl had been killed.
“The rest of that day is a blur. I remember seeing her face... her cold, perfect face, never to smile at me again... Hearing people muttering around me that she’d been run over, by somebody’s escaped stallion or something like that... But none of that mattered. I ran. I ran and never looked back, I ran until I was on a road much like the one you found yourself on yesterday, Draco. No one else was traveling on that road, so I was able to give myself over to my grief. I felt torn into pieces. I didn’t have anything to eat, not that I would have been able to eat anyway; I couldn’t sleep; all I could do was run. Then walk. I slowly became weaker and weaker, but I didn’t care. I remember thinking that even death would have been better than this cold, empty void she had left, where my heart used to be.”
Draco saw a glint of moisture in the old man’s eyes, but he didn’t point it out. A lump came to his own throat as he realized just how selfish he really was. Thinking about my own stupid little problems instead of...
“But then I came upon another traveler. Another man, younger than I was, who was wandering around listlessly, just like I was except in a worse state. After a while on the road with him, he told me that his parents had been murdered, and the only one who could take him in was his uncle, who rejected him entirely. He had been out on the streets for a long time, and after seeing horrors that no human being should ever have to go through, he’d decided to kill himself. He’d run away to die alone... And after only one day with me, he took his own life.”
Draco shivered. He wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know what the “horrors” were that Blenkinsop spoke of, especially if they had driven the man to suicide... Thankfully, he didn’t go any deeper into the matter.
“I myself was quickly nearing the end of my strength. I was sure I was going to die alone; but then, I came upon a little boy standing at the side of the never-ending road. He joined me, in those last few miles, and was a great ” albeit silent ” comfort in my loneliness. Even though he never spoke to me, I talked to him often, just to talk. I told him about myself, about my life, about Isabelle... And he simply listened.
“But finally, my body decided it had gone long enough without any food or water, and began to shut down. I was dying, I knew, but I felt no pain beside the pangs in my empty stomach and the beating of my ravaged heart. As I dropped to the ground at last, I became aware that the boy was standing above me, just watching impassively, not even offering to help...
“And then he spoke, for the first time, and asked me a question that I will never forget.”
Blenkinsop paused. Draco stared at him in a sort of anxious anticipation to hear the rest of the story.
The old man abruptly changed tact. “Draco... In every person’s life, there is a time when Death himself will come to us and ask us that question. He appears in a different form to everyone: an old woman or a young child; a beggar or an aristocrat. Death can take on any shape, but when Life flees, when all that matters is that one final breath, he comes. Then and only then does Death come to us, and ask the question that he asked me so long ago, in the form of that little boy:
“‘What would you do, Blenkinsop Waterbut? If you had all the time in the world, what would you do to make it last?’
“The question caught me off-guard, and as I lay upon the ground, curled up into a ball of my own misery, I considered it. What would I do? When the answer came to me, it was so ridiculously obvious that I nearly laughed aloud at myself.
“‘I would help them,’ I told the waiting Death. ‘I would help all the ones who ever needed help, like the others on this road... like me. I’d do everything in my power to keep them from the fate that I always had coming to me.’
“The boy regarded me solemnly, as if weighing my answer.
“Then I lost consciousness, and the world suddenly turned black and crumbled in around me.”
Blenkinsop fell into a brooding silence. Draco waited, his mind a tumultuous storm of questions that he didn’t dare voice. “Sir?” he said at last, looking at the quiet old man. “Blenkinsop?”
The man looked up and once again smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, lad. Got myself in recollections for a moment. Where was I?”
“You lost consciousness,” Draco prompted, a trace of his old impatience rising from its grave. He forced it back down, knowing that impatience would get him nowhere in this inn.
“Ah. Yes. I woke up, to my great surprise, and didn’t feel sick at all, much less as if I were dying. I was completely alone on the road; the boy I now recognized as Death himself had disappeared. In his place, however, I discovered a pile of tools and various building materials, on top of which rested a note. The note was written in a flowing script that contained only two simple words:
“‘Help them.’
“I immediately understood what the planks and bricks were for, and I set to work at once. I wasn’t much good at building things, but my strange project on that lonely road attracted others. They were drawn from their dark, nightmarish lives to help create something great; so in a way, I suppose, I was doing my job already.
“The Green Dragon Inn was completed on the day I turned twenty-three. From time to time, as we began getting in more customers, we would add on more rooms and things, but there always seemed to be enough materials and supplies to keep us on our feet. Our bartender, Andrew, was one of those who gave up his old life and helped us out... I think about ten years after we’d gone into business.”
“Then, er... He’s quite old, too, isn’t he?” Draco asked, glancing over at the tall, muscular man who was quietly talking with one of the men at the bar.
“Yes... Some time after he came to us, we began to notice something odd about our inn. All of the people wandered in from a deserted road or trail in the middle of nowhere, yet... it was never the same road, never the same place. One day we got a young woman from Italy, who spoke only one or two words in English. Another time, we had Francis Dupont come in, from France. Ten minutes later, an Englishman walked in.
“We soon realized that there was something magical about the Green Dragon. It seemed that we were able to travel freely through Europe, to help anyone who had lost their way ” emotionally, spiritually, mentally. At first, I was ecstatic. That made my task that much easier, you see.
“But something else became evident, as the years passed: We didn’t age normally. Those of us who remained in here for a long period of time ” like Andrew ” aged only one year for about every five that flew by. Andrew has seen at two full centuries turn, but his body is just over fifty years old. It’s been even worse for me, though... Somehow, when my life was spared that day, it was also prolonged... I recently celebrated my three hundred thirty-sixth birthday, Draco.”
Such a blunt declaration of his age made Draco’s jaw drop. He stared at Blenkinsop, and all he could think was, Wow... He looks really good for his age.
Blenkinsop chuckled, but there was a sad note in his voice. “Yes, not bad for three-sixty-three, am I? People are envious of me, saying that I’ve achieved man’s greatest dream: immortality. But I know better. No man was ever meant to live forever. I’m sure I will die someday; it’s just a question of when. The only thing that keeps me going every day is the thought that all these people would be lost forever without me. When you have seen a year pass in the blink of an eye as I have, living is just a burden. That’s why I’m afraid I never understood your Lord Voldemort.”
Draco froze at the sound of the name. It seemed that the wizard was not unknown even in a disconnected place like this; but he hadn’t expected to hear it here... especially when the rest of the Wizarding World usually considered it taboo when speaking about him.
“I’ve never understood,” Blenkinsop continued, “why he wants to live forever, when that in itself is far worse than death. If he is so foolish as to believe that immortality would be the greatest treasure in the world, then he will never gain it. It is more a curse than a blessing, and if he were to realize that, he would immediately destroy all his ”” He stopped, as if he had almost mentioned something he was not supposed to. Then he sighed and continued. “But I don’t think he ever will. His eyes are blinded to the truth, and not even God can hinder him now.”
Draco sat in his chair, stunned into silence, as Blenkinsop looked out one of the small, square windows and stood. “It’s getting dark.”
Draco looked too. It was dark; he wondered where the whole day had gone, then realized that he was starving. “It’s almost night,” he said with faint surprise.
“Yes...” Blenkinsop murmured, staring out the window. Then he glanced at Draco and smiled. “How time does fly, eh?”
“...Yeah.”
Draco ate a quick dinner, then headed back to his room to ponder his conversation with the old owner of the Green Dragon, while Blenkinsop himself once again disappeared through the small door in the corner.
~*~
Here's the translation I promised!!
Francis: Ah, my friend, you have saved me! I didn't know what I was going to do, but you rescued me! You and your magic! Thank you so much, friend Blenkinsop!
Blenkinsop: What have you decided, then?
Francis: I've decided that I'm going to return home, to talk with my wife. We're going to solve our problems together...
Blenkinsop: Are you sure? Will she accept you?
Francis: I'm going to find a good job, and we will finally leave the city. She's going to be very happy.
Blenkinsop: Alright. Goodbye, Francis.
The Green Dragon by PadfootBaby
Chapter Notes: Sorry if my French in this chapter isn't perfect, but then... I'm not French. Translation is at the end of the chapter, for those who want it. Enjoy!!