Chapter Ten “ Parents and Children
It is not a bad thing that children should occasionally, and politely, put parents in their place.
Colette
Draco materialised outside Hogwarts castle. Glaring angrily at the ring that had brought him there, he pocketed it and picked up his suitcase. All he knew was that he had to get to the front door, and then to Dumbledore. If they let him in, of course.
The distance from him to the front doors, which was less than the length of the Knight Bus, couldn’t have seemed longer. His legs shook beneath him, and his hands could barely hold his suitcase. What if this was some misunderstanding, and the Order weren’t expecting him? Would they kill him? Draco’s stomach clenched. He tried to swallow, but his throat seemed to have been walled up. Or what if it was a trap?
Draco forced himself to knock on the door. This was a different kind of courage to fighting someone. It wasn’t fear of death or injury, it was fear of the unknown that was plaguing him. He tried to stay calm as he heard footsteps approaching across the marble floor of the Entrance Hall. It would be alright. It had to be alright.
The door opened suddenly. A pretty girl of about Draco’s age peered out into the gloomy night. She had shoulder-length, slightly wavy hair the colour of honey. A single curl kept on falling in front of her large, blue-green eyes. They reminded Draco of shallow, tropical seas on a sunny day.
“Hi. What’re you doing here?”
“I’ve “ I’ve come to see Dumbledore.” His words jammed in his throat and stuck to his tongue like treacle.
“I’ll take you to see him, if you want.”
“Yes, I would,” said Draco, gratefully. He’d been afraid that he would be left to find Dumbledore by himself.
The girl raised her eyebrows until they disappeared into her fringe. “I think most people would say ‘thanks’ at this point.”
“What? Oh, thank you for taking me to see Dumbledore.”
The girl rolled her eyes. “That’ll have to do. Come on.”
She turned round and headed for the marble staircase. Hastily, Draco grabbed his suitcase and followed her. For someone quite small, she walked really fast.
Trying not to sound out of breath, he asked, “Could we slow down a bit, please?”
She stopped, and turned around. Draco noticed with irritation there was a slight smile plucking at the corners of her mouth. “’Course, if you can’t keep up.”
Draco was about to snap a reply about how heavy his suitcase was, but thought better of it. She’d probably just find some way to twist his words against him. As she thought she was so clever, he decided that she should think of something to say. They walked in silence for a few minutes. Finally, he decided it was getting a bit ridiculous.
“I’m sorry, but I still don’t know your name.”
“Myra Mix.”
“I’m Draco Malfoy.”
The conversation seemed to be wilting in front of his eyes. What else could he say?
“So…why did you decide to join the Order?”
“To get away from Mollie.”
Feeling very ignorant, he asked, “Who’s she?”
“My sister. Half-sister actually. Her mum, Christina, married my dad ages ago, before I can remember.”
“What happened to your mother?” asked Draco, realising too late it probably wasn’t a very good question to ask.
“She died,” said Myra bluntly. “I don’t know how. Dad never talks about it.”
“Oh, I’m s-”
“You don’t have to say you’re sorry. I know you’re not, and neither am I.”
“What?” Draco gaped at this strange, unfeeling girl. “But…but she’s your mother!”
Myra shrugged nonchalantly. “I was only a month or so old when it happened. Christina’s my real mum, now. All I wish is that she hadn’t had Mollie.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Everything,” sighed Myra, and the mischievous, playful twinkle in he eyes seemed to have been extinguished. “She’s like a gormless little parasite. When she started Hogwarts last year, she had this huge tantrum because she was sorted into Hufflepuff, and she wanted to be in Gryffindor, like me.”
Draco stiffened instinctively. He was in the presence of an enemy. Remembering that now he was at the Order of the Phoenix, he was going to be spending a lot of time around Gryffindors and Mudbloods, he forced himself to relax.
“Mollie followed me all the time, and kept on interrupting me when I was talking to friends. And at home she was even worse. She trailed around after me from room to room, and the second I did anything a tiny bit wrong, she’d run off to tell Christina. I hated her. So when I heard about the Order, I came as soon as I could. It looked like it’d be fun, and Mollie would never dream of signing up, so I was safe from her.”
Draco wasn’t quite sure what could be remotely ‘fun’ about staying in what was, basically, a wartime stronghold for people stupid enough to fight against Voldemort. But he decided not to say anything.
“So when you went to school you came to Hogwarts.”
“Of course.”
“Did you like it?
Myra shrugged in a non-committal sort of way. “I suppose. It was alright. I wasn’t really into the whole ‘learning’ thing, which was kinda a problem.”
“Yes,” he grinned. “I expect it would be. Did you play any Quidditch?”
She stopped in her tracks and span around to face him. Her expression was half bemused, half exasperated. “Err…honey, do I look like I enjoy sport? Or care about it at all?”
He looked at her closely, glad to have an excuse so he didn’t feel awkward. She was slightly plump, not fat exactly, but she wasn’t all sharp angles and hip bones like the models in Pansy’s fashion magazines. And she definitely didn’t have the build of a female Quidditch player. Her hair, which fell in silky waves on either side of her rounded face, didn’t look like it had ever been ruffled by the wind. And when Myra showed him her nails, Draco saw how long and perfect they looked, each tinted bright turquoise. If she tried to catch the Quaffle, she’d probably puncture it.
“No, you don’t look like you’d ever play sport,” Draco admitted.
“Well then,” Myra started to walk again. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”
He hurried after her.
“We’re almost there, by the way,” she casually threw the remark over her shoulder.
Fingers made from ice and dread clenched against his lungs so he could hardly breathe. In a few minutes, he’d have to see Dumbledore. What was he going to say? Desperately trying to distract himself, Draco spoke to Myra again.
“So, what subjects did you like at Hogwarts?”
She rolled her eyes, and said scathingly, “Do you interrogate every girl you meet, or am I just an exception?”
“Oh.” Flames burnt inside his face. He dropped his gaze from her mocking eyes, and stared at the floor instead. “I’m sorry. It’s just…I don’t want to think of what’s going to happen to me here. I never wanted to come in the first place.”
Myra’s expression softened somewhat. She laid a comforting hand on his arm, like an exotic bird, nestling briefly, before flying away again. He felt the bubbling, tingling magic from her fingertips soak into his skin. “Don’t be scared of the future, Draco, if you can’t change it.” Then, even more gently, she said, “We’re here.”
“Where’s the door?”
“There isn’t one. You have to know the password.”
“But I don’t.”
“Fortunately for humanity, I do. It’s ‘Jelly Yetties’.”
***
They stood outside the door to Dumbledore’s office. Shaking, Draco was about to knock when he heard a voice coming from within. A voice that definitely didn’t belong to the Headmaster. It must be a girl, and he was sure it sounded familiar. If he leaned against the door, he could just about hear what they were saying…
“Here it is. I wrote the whole thing down, even though I suppose I could just give you my memory, but I didn’t want to forget any of it…”
There was a rustle of unfolding parchment, followed by a muffled note of surprise. Draco was almost sure it came from the headmaster.
“It looks to me as though you have obtained the whole prophecy.”
“I think so,” said the female voice hesitantly. “It mentions all six Elements, and it certainly seems to make sense.”
“I am amazed and impressed in equal measure. When I sent you to Cassandra, I had no idea she even remembered the entire prophecy. How was she, by the way?”
Draco didn’t need to be in the same room to pick up the sudden eagerness in Dumbledore’s voice. Obviously, he was very interested in this person they were discussing. Cassandra, wasn’t it?
The girl cleared her throat. “Not well. She…she confused me with Elsa, her great-great grand niece, or something like that. Her mind wandered a lot, and she talked most of the time about Jamie.”
The eagerness in the headmaster’s voice had been replaced by infinite sadness. “Thank you. I only hoped over the last month or two that there might have been some small improvement.”
Draco noticed that Myra was giving him funny looks. She was probably wondering why he hadn’t gone in yet. So, gathering his tattered courage around him, Draco knocked.
“Come in,” said Dumbledore, and the door swung open before he had time to grasp the handle.
The headmaster was sitting behind a desk, his face in shadow. The whole study was dark, except for a small fire and a few lit candles scattered around the room. At first Draco didn’t recognise the girl sitting opposite Dumbledore. She had her back to him, and all he could see of her was a lot of chocolate brown hair. Then she turned around, and Draco instantly knew who she was, even though she looked much, much older.
It was Hermione Granger.
“What’s that Mudblood doing here?” he demanded, realising too late that he wasn’t supposed to say that word while he was at the Order. After all, if Myra was in Gryffindor, then they couldn’t be all bad, could they?
Instead of hurting her, his remark only seemed to make her amused. “Very nice to see you too, Draco.”
Draco? Not Malfoy? Clearly, something very odd was going on here.
“Kindly refrain from using that word while you are staying at the Order,” said Dumbledore, more sharply than Draco had ever heard him speak before.
“I don’t mind, Professor,” Hermione protested.
The headmaster acted as if he hadn’t heard her. “Please sit down, Mr Malfoy. I have a very short space of time to tell you everything you need to know.”
“Why is she here?” objected Draco, jerking his head in her direction.
“Because you, Miss Granger and four other unknown people all share a certain destiny.”
That was ridiculous! He was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He didn’t share anything with that busy-haired know-it-all. Dumbledore had it all wrong, as usual.
“I am afraid there is a lot you do not know about yourself at the moment. You have been lied to about your parents and your destiny. Now it is time to learn the truth.”
***
Dumbledore finished his explanation nearly an hour later. All through it, Draco sat still trying to understand this mind-boggling mass of information. He hadn’t opened his mouth to ask a question once.
His parents were Lily and James Potter. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been lying to him all these years. His mother was a Mudblood. Muggleborn, he corrected himself. That couldn’t possibly be right. He’d been brought up to believe that Muggleborns were inferior, and so were Half-Bloods. He was inferior. He was on the wrong side. Now he was expected to work against the Dark Lord, with trash like Hermione Granger. But his mother had been like her. So that made him trash, too.
Draco shook these thoughts out of his head. It was too much to try and understand all at once. He had to get away from it all before it engulfed him entirely. Before this talk with Dumbledore, he had wanted desperately to go home. Now Draco didn’t have a home, and he certainly didn’t belong at Malfoy Manor.
He needed to go to bed.
“Do you have some sort of spare room I can sleep in?”
“Of course. The boys’ dormitories are located in the Gryffindor and Slytherin Common Rooms. But I have sent to Lucius and Narcissa, and they should be arriving shortly. I trust you will want to speak to them?”
Draco’s honest answer would have been ‘no’, but he just shrugged his shoulders. There wasn’t much he could do to avoid them. Eventually, he’d have to talk to them, and hear their excuses. So it may as well be today as any.
“They should be here in about ten minutes. In the meantime, I expect you wish to read a copy of the prophecy?”
Draco nodded eagerly. Maybe there would be something in it about what you could do if you didn’t want to fight the Dark Lord.
The headmaster handed him a piece of parchment. It was covered by small, neat writing he recognised from somewhere. “This is the only complete copy of the prophecy in existence. It was written by Miss Granger, who retrieved it from a Seer very recently.”
Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
As Draco read, he noticed Dumbledore open the door and speak to Myra. She was leaning casually against the wall, inspecting her fingernails. When she saw the headmaster, she stood up straighter, and her arm dropped to her side. Draco held the parchment just below eye level, so he could spy on them without being noticed.
“Miss Mix, I was wondering if I could send you to fetch Harry. I have some guests arriving that I want him to meet.”
Myra sighed like a martyr, “Ok, ok, I’ll go get him.” Under her breath, he thought she muttered, “I’m doing way too much walking for my own good, here.”
“Thank you very much,” said Dumbledore as she turned and flounced down the stairs.
Potter? Of course, Potter would be meeting his parents. Only, he wasn’t Potter, he was Malfoy. Draco himself was Potter. It was all too confusing. He gave up, and went back to reading the prophecy, which wasn’t making much sense, either. What did ‘MHM’ stand for? And all this stuff about flowers. And what on earth did ‘Ends his source in wood and bone’ mean?
***
Myra located Harry sitting with some friends in the Great Hall. He seemed to know exactly why Dumbledore wanted to see him, and that he wasn’t going to enjoy it. She followed his purposeful strides out into the Entrance Hall and up the marble staircase. It seemed obvious that he wasn’t going to be receptive to a little light flirtation. But Myra was in luck. His hot godfather Sirius had come along too, and he was definitely up for it. Much better than that wimpy Malfoy boy…
***
“Now, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore, seating himself in his chair again. “I have an important request to make. Would you be willing to take the prophecy and try to solve the other four Elements?”
“Me?” asked Hermione, shock and panic blanking her mind. “But don’t you know who they are, Professor?”
“I must confess I have no idea.”
“But…but this is crazy! How am I supposed to work out who they are? They could be anyone! I might not even know them.”
“You will, I am sure, Miss Granger. As the prophecy states, ‘Drawn together for reasons they can hardly explain.’ You know them, or will do shortly.”
“Why am I doing it, not you?” Hermione was panicked and near tears. Getting the prophecy was bad enough, but this. The entire wizarding world was relying on her enough already. What would happen if she made a mistake? No, she couldn’t do it. It was too much.
Dumbledore was dangerously close to laughing. “You are completely capable of doing this.”
“I can’t.”
“Of course you can, if you put your mind to it. Just like you could work out what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets was, and discovered Professor Lupin’s secret. I have complete faith in you.”
Hermione couldn’t deny that it felt very flattering to be trusted by Dumbledore. “But that’s different. This time, everything depends on getting the right answers.”
“But, as I have said, every person in the group will have a different role to play. Yours may well be solving the prophecy.”
Her resolve was waning like an old moon. There was no point in denying that it would be interesting to try and find the other Elements. “But what will happen if I can’t work out one of them?”
“We shall see. But you may find it will solve itself.”
***
Harry was tiered of listening to Myra and Sirius flirting with each other unsubtly. Neither of them understood what was happening to him. He had hated the Malfoys for years. Then Dumbledore had told him he was their son. And more than that, they had been willing to abandon him to keep that prat Draco safe. He should have been the one with parents. He should have lived in Malfoy Manor and had an ordinary, happy childhood. Draco should be the one with the scar.
As the three of them passed the Order’s hospital, there was a horrible noise that sounded like glass smashing. Then he heard a male voice, which he was pretty sure belonged to the Order’s Healer, bellowing, “CHO! WHAT DID I TELL YOU? NEVER HOLD IT WITH THE PINCERS LIKE THAT!”
The answer, when it came, was just as loud, “I KNOW! YOU DON’T HAVE TO KEEP ON TELLING ME!”
Harry was struggling to remember the Healer’s name. Did it begin with ‘M’? “THEN WHY DON’T YOU DO IT?”
“IF YOU ACTUALLY GAVE ME SOME TIME TO THINK, I MIGHT BE ABLE TO FIND THE RIGHT TONGS!”
Moore! That was it. “TIME TO THINK? DO YOU EXPECT TO HAVE TIME TO EXAMINE EVERY PIECE OF EQUIPMENT IN THE PLACE, AND MAYBE CHECK YOUR NOTES TOO, WHILE SOMEONE’S LYING ON THE OPERATION TABLE BLEEDING TO DEATH?”
There was a metallic clatter. It sounded to Harry as if the offending pincers had been thrown onto the floor. A door was slammed nearly as loudly as the Big Bang, and the Healer, Moore, swore several times.
Myra was barely able to keep her laughter from bubbling to the surface. She beckoned, “Come on, Harry!”
***
Draco finished reading the prophecy, and handed it back to Dumbledore without a word. He was very glad that Granger was going to be solving it, not him. It didn’t seem to make any sense whatsoever.
One of the headmaster’s silver instruments suddenly started to make noises like clanking chains. It had a delicately curved pipe at the top which was emitting jets of different-coloured smoke. Turquoise. Crimson. Bottle-green, and then a humongous burst of violet. Dumbledore crossed the room and inspected the instrument closely, his crooked nose almost touching the pipe. It gave out three short puffs of fuchsia, and then fell silent again.
“Mr and Mrs Malfoy are just about to arrive,” said Dumbledore quietly.
All his confused, angry, hurt feelings about the Order, about blood and his parents, which he’d tried to bury, seemed to be resurfacing. They threatened to erupt, destroying everything in their path. Why had he let his parents make him go to the Order? He’d come meekly and resigned, because his mother had wanted him to. What had he done to deserve this sort of treatment?
“I don’t want to talk to them. I absolutely refuse to have anything to do…”
Draco trailed off. The fire had swelled to a roaring mass of jade and emerald flames. And he knew what was coming next. He made an attempt to stand up, but all his blood had frozen solid, and all he could do was gape.
Two figures emerged from the fire. The people he’d thought were his parents until Dumbledore enlightened him. They dared to stand before him as though nothing had changed! That he still knew nothing of their lies.
“Draco,” said his moth “ said Narcissa softly. She put her arms out to hug him, but he withdrew from her coldly. He didn’t want anything to do with that lying, betraying woman. She stepped back to her husband’s said, head bowed, hands clasped.
“You lied to me,” Draco accused bluntly.
“Yes, yes we did,” his fa “ Lucius answered.
“But I swear,” said his wife, “We didn’t want to deceive you.”
“And you brought me up on purpose so I’d find it difficult to fit into the Order.”
“We had to, Draco. We needed to raise you like a true Death Eater’s son.”
“You could have told me.”
Lucius was about to speak, but Draco interrupted him for the first time in his life. “No! Don’t you dare talk to me. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.”
Myra and Sirius Black, with Harry trailing along behind, entered the study laughing and chatting, but fell silent immediately.
“I hate you both! You’re the worst parents who ever lived. You abandoned your own son, and you couldn’t even bring me up properly! I hate you, and I hope the Dark Lord finds out you’re traitors, and has you killed!”
And with that, Draco stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
For a few minutes, there was absolute silence. No one moved, or took more than light shallow breaths. But everyone heard Draco bang downstairs and out into the corridor below like a hurricane.
Myra was the first to speak, shattering the tension like a stone thrown into a motionless lake. “Does Draco always behave like a spoilt brat?”
“Yes,” said Harry quietly.
Ignoring the last two comments, Dumbledore asked, “Well, I expect you’ll want to talk to your parents?”
He tried not to panic, and forced his voice to keep steady. “I don’t want an audience.”
He wasn’t having Hermione goggling at him, or Sirius silently hoping he’d punch Mr Malfoy and break his nose. Or Myra finding everything desperately amusing. But, as they all filed obediently out of the study, he realised he didn’t really want to be alone with them either.
Only after Dumbledore had shut the door quietly behind him, did Narcissa speak. “Hello Harry, I suppose you hate us like Draco does?”
With a great effort, he shook his head. “No, I don’t. But I’ve had longer to think about it than he has. Dumbledore told me just after the Tri Wizard Tournament.”
Harry felt oddly calm and detached from everything surrounding him, as though none of it mattered. This wasn’t happening to him, it was happening to a boy called Harry Malfoy, who he didn’t know.
The secret he’d been forced to keep inside him had been burning for so long, it seemed almost ordinary. When he’d first known, he’d been as angry as Malfoy was now. Harry remembered spending hours just lying on his bed and hating everything to do with it. His blood parents, his real parents, Malfoy, Dumbledore, himself…
“I still don’t understand it properly, but I don’t think I ever will. I forgive you for not telling me, or Draco. I know it was necessary. But what I can’t believe is how little you cared about me. So little that you could easily abandon me to someone else’s care, when you knew how dangerous it was.”
“No, Harry,” interrupted Narcissa. She drew herself up regally, full of hurt pride, and Harry was forced to recognise himself in that. “It wasn’t easy to give you up. We didn’t want to have to leave you in danger. But I knew Lily Potter, and I knew she would protect you like her own son. And I was right. She sacrificed her life for you, even though you were only someone else’s child.”
“But you still put my life at risk, just so that Malfoy could be safe,” said Harry sulkily.
Narcissa opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Lucius spoke.
“Naturally. And if you were in the same position, Harry, you would do it, too. Consider how terrible everyone’s lives had been, while the Dark Lord was in power. All the murders, lies, hate and suspicion which was all part of our day-to-day routine. Then along comes a boy who could help stop him. It would be years before he could protect himself, and we knew Voldemort would discover his identity before long. No one could protect a person against him for twenty years, or as long as it took to locate the rest of the Elements. And we were the only other couple with a new born child that Dumbledore could trust. It was our duty.”
Harry didn’t want to admit it, but Lucius was probably right. He glared at them both, Narcissa agitated, her hands like two squabbling birds constantly fidgeting, her husband cool, calm and unreadable as ever. “But…but I barely know you! I was twelve before I even met you. You can’t expect to just stroll back into my life.”
“We’re not, Harry,” said Narcissa, calmly. “We just thought…well, that it was better for you to know who your parents really were. And if you ever needed us, we would be happy to-”
“I don’t need you help!” Harry spat. “My life’s bad enough without this mess.”
“It could be much worse,” she said quietly. “Draco found out that he is an orphan today. At least you’ve gained parents.”
Harry was not in the mood to hear about Malfoy, and how much more important he was. “I was perfectly happy with the ones I had before, thanks.”
An angry silence pressed over them for some time. Harry felt like he was slowly being smothered by a huge, hot cloud. Its weight seemed to be slowly grinding him into the carpet.
Finally, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he spoke. “I think we’ve said everything we need to.”
He stalked to the door, and was about to open it when Narcissa spoke. “Harry, if you ever need to take a break from the Order, you’ll always be welcome at Malfoy Manor. You know that, don’t you?”
He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just shrugged, and pulled the door open. Sirius, Hermione, Dumbledore and Myra were still waiting outside. They all jumped, and tried to look as though they hadn’t been listening in on their conversation.
“I think Narcissa and I should be going home now,” said Lucius.
Harry hugged himself protectively, and tried to seem inconspicuous. He waited as the Malfoys held a quiet discussion with Dumbledore. Hermione looked like she wanted to speak to him, but he shook his head. Not now. He couldn’t talk until everything made sense to him.
Dumbledore lead them into his study, and offered them Floo powder. They were leaving, without saying goodbye. He wasn’t sure whether to be offended or overjoyed, as they tossed their powder onto the fire.
At the very last moment, just as she was about to be devoured by the flames, Narcissa turned back. Her long blonde hair, tinted green by the firelight, spilled over her left shoulder, and her eyes gleamed brightly. She couldn’t have looked more ethereally beautiful. “Goodbye, Harry.”
He watched with confused, mixed emotions as his parents were consumed by the fire, and he was left alone.
Roses and Thorns by Phoebe Gruzelier
Chapter Notes: Heya, guys!
Sorry it's been so long since I updated, I've had the small matter of the school play and exams within a week of each other. However, that's all done now, so I hope you enjoy the new chapter in this rather epic fic.
BE WARNED: It's very long!