Malfoy's Worst Memory

1.

Lucius poured himself another glass of wine, one of the better clarets he had kept hidden from the rest of the guests. He stashed the bottle in one of the ebony cabinets lining the front room and checked his suit before he turned to face the funeral crowd again. The elderly relatives milled around like lost souls, wringing their wrinkly hands and nodding at nothing. Occasionally one would cough whilst holding his or her wand and a vase or ornament somewhere in the room would shatter. Luckily Aunt Livia hadn’t been well enough to attend, or there would be toads hopping everywhere. Only the ones too far down the road to senility to know any better had turned up, and the occasional cousin from the toothy branch of the family, looking for handouts and favours. Apparently even the Malfoy name was not enough to bring the others here, whatever Abraxas had done to them.

Lucius, however, smiled and made sure everyone had enough drink so as not to give rise to complaint but not enough to have anyone fall over in a pile of vomit. He kept the silver platters full of food that did not require too much chewing and endured the endless conversations about things he had done when he was a baby with all the grace he could muster. All the while, he kept an eye on the clock, counting down the minutes until he could herd them all into the dining room, feed them properly and then pack them off in their carriages or shoot them up the chimney in a puff of smoke.

‘Lucius, my boy, how sorry I was to hear of your loss,’ declared one of the great great uncles with a face like a deflated balloon. He stood with one of the cousins from France, one of the all teeth-no-braincells crowd. If Lucius’ memory served, he owned a vineyard and a couple of dragons. ‘You must be devastated. I hear the old boy had been ill for some time.’

‘On and off,’ said Lucius. ‘But nothing unexpected at his age, just aches and pains. The Dragon Pox just seemed to come from nowhere, and he hadn’t the fortitude to fight it off.’

‘They do say it’s a bad thing in adults,’ remarked the cousin. ‘My daughters had it in their first year at Hogwarts, wife threw my out the house for a week. I hadn’t had it as a child, see.’

‘He wasn’t well though, was he?’ the uncle repeated. ‘Not in the proper sense. Bit confused, by all accounts.’

Lucius gave an icy smile. ‘Again, quite common in someone his age.’

‘Well, we all get a bit forgetful as the years roll on, but there are degrees…’

‘He’s beyond it now, at least,’ said Lucius. ‘Let us hope, wherever he is, he is fully restored and happy.’

‘Probably counting galleons then,’ laughed the cousin.

‘Nothing wrong with being frugal,’ Lucius muttered into his wine glass as he took a sip.

‘Again,’ said the uncle, ‘there are degrees. I mean, living in that old cottage all the time, living like a ruddy Muggle, and all the time he’s got the family fortune sitting idle in Gringotts. I’m surprised you let him away with that.’

‘I had very little choice. Father could be exceedingly stubborn when he wanted to.’

‘Indeed.’ The old man nodded and sipped a sherry. ‘Still, suppose it wouldn’t exactly have suited to have him live up here with you and the family, ay? Didn’t get along, if I recall.’

‘We had our differences of opinion.’

‘Didn’t think much of you, by all accounts. Still, I suppose all parents are a little disappointed in their children.’

‘My father was not disappointed in me.’

‘Oh? Oh, of course not. Only I had heard him say something about Hogwarts, something about failed exams.’

‘That was a very long time ago,’ said Lucius, ‘and we had sorted it out.’

‘Oh, good, good. Terrible when there are rifts like that in a family. Especially where there’s a name to be upheld. Nothing like a family feud to bring about scandal. All up to you now, though, ay? Keeping the Malfoy name unsullied, protecting our traditions, our history. Big task.’

‘I’ll manage,’ said Lucius. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think we ought to move through to the dining room. Everyone must be starved by now.’

He gestured towards the door and watched them all shuffle off, looking like a huddle of old coats in a long forgotten wardrobe. There would be no way anyone in the family would decay to such an extent, he thought and frowned resolvedly. The name ‘Malfoy’ was not just something to wear on a lapel pin or throw around in the dusty old clubs over a glass of butterbeer. Other old families could decline, but this one would not. It had never been so clear to him than at that moment. One way or another, he would set this family back into their rightful place in the wizarding world.

He followed the last of them out into the hall, feeling as though he should have had a sheep dog working with him in the effort, when he heard someone whispering to him from up on the stairs. Draco leaned over the banister, wide eyed and obviously bursting to tell him something. Probably that he had found something more important to do and had to leave right away – not a chance, boy. If I must endure this, he thought, then so must you.

Ignoring Draco totally, he kept on towards the dining room, but the boy leapt down and chased after him, clawing at him for attention.

‘Father, I need to talk to you.’

‘Not now. Go in and sit down and let us hope this meal is over swiftly, shall we?’

‘But Father, that old Muggle’s back again.’

‘Nonsense. They can’t get in here.’

‘He’s not in here,’ said Draco, ‘but he’s out by the gate, just watching like he was before. I thought I’d better tell you in case any of them saw him hanging about.’

Lucius froze, aware that he might have turned a few shades paler. The old photograph flashed again across his mind and the sense of unease boiled into a steadily rising wrath. ‘All right. Go in there and tell them I shall be along presently. See that they get more to drink in the meantime. Honestly, Draco, if you’d told me this five minutes ago, I wouldn’t have sent them in!’

He put on his robes and went outside, pausing on the doorstep to gather his wits and look around the grounds. He spotted a figure at the far end of the path, ducking behind the gateposts, but it still cast a shadow across the gravel where the serpent lamps caught it. Lucius gritted his teeth, drew his wand and strode down the path. When he was just over halfway to the gate, the old Muggle stepped back into view, and though Lucius expected him to run when he saw the wand, he simply stared, hands in the pockets of his smelly old coat, and chewed on some tobacco.

‘What are you doing here?’ Lucius demanded. ‘I would advise you to leave now, if you value your limbs. We don’t take kindly to your sort hanging around here.’

‘What sort would that be then?’ replied the Muggle.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘You wouldn’t curse me, boy.’

‘Would you care to have a wager on that?’

‘The name’s Sugden,’ said the Muggle. ‘Brian Sugden.’

‘I don’t care what your name is. You are trespassing.’

Sugden shrugged. ‘Reckon you don’t own the path, much as you’d like to think it. How’s about you put that stick away and we can have a chat like civilised gents, then? We both know you’re not going to curse me. Would’ve done so by now if you’d’ve wanted to, so I fancy.’

Yes, thought Lucius, why on Earth haven’t you cursed the old bugger already?

‘You’ve been following me around,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Just trying to be friendly.’

‘Quite apart from the fact that my family do not cultivate friendships with Muggles,’ said Lucius, ‘following someone around is not an act of friendship. It is what’s called an invasion of privacy. I would be quite justified in defending myself and my family.’ Just curse him, get it over with, he thought. His body seemed to have been gripped in an icy cold that prevented him from moving and the more he realised it was only in his mind, not some spell he could fight against, the more frustrated he became.

‘There you go with them threats again,’ laughed Sugden. ‘All bluster, you are.’

‘Try me.’

‘You won’t hurt me, first off because you want to know what I want. You want to know how comes a Muggle knows all about you and your da’.’

‘I know how you know. You fixed that stupid car of his.’

‘More than that. Your da’ and I used to chat of a time.’

‘Rubbish. My father would not spend time with Muggles if he could avoid it.’

‘Used to chat a lot down the garage,’ Sugden went on. ‘Course, I knew he thought I was worse than the dirt beneath his feet, but he still chatted. Needed me, you see, for that fancy motor of his. Magic, so they say, that car. You gonna drive it now?’

‘Indeed I will not. I want nothing to do with you, your garage or your filthy Muggle machines.’

‘Remember you when you were a nipper,’ said Sugden. ‘Cute little thing you were, all chubby and quiet like. Your mother thought you had poor eyes, you used to fall over so much, but I told her that’s just how young ‘uns are at that age. She were a fine woman, your mother.’

‘Get off my land, now,’ growled Lucius.

‘Beautiful woman, your mother. You’ve got her eyes, I reckon. Not her nose, though, Lord knows where you got that from.’

Lucius sighed and aimed his wand at the wrinkled old face. ‘Obliv…’

‘That never works on me, lad,’ interrupted Sugden. ‘Why d’you reckon your da’ never stuck one of them spells on me all those years back?’ He let out a long, loud breath and adjusted his cap, then looked over Lucius’ shoulder towards the house. ‘You got any biscuits up there? Reckon I’m famished.’

‘No I do not have any…look is it money you want? Is that why you’ve been lingering around our family? You want money or you’ll tell people about us? That the sort of thing?’

‘If I wanted to tell people about you and your sort, reckon I’d’ve done it when I was young enough to enjoy the money!’ laughed Sugden. ‘And they’d probably lock me up if I said what I seen.’

The cold feeling not only enveloped his body, it seeped inside and turned his insides to crushed ice. ‘So what do you want then?’

Sugden spat his tobacco into the grass beneath the gatepost and rocked back and forth on his heels. ‘Not allowed just to have a look at you?’

‘No.’

‘Fine little lad you got too,’ Sugden went on. ‘You having any more?’

Lucius stared at him, unable to believe any of this. ‘Get away from this house.’

‘All right, lad, all right,’ muttered Sugden. ‘Sorry to have troubled you. Just reckoned it was about time you knew the truth, that was all, now the old feller’s not here to get into the middle of it.’ He turned and sloped off down the path into the dark. Lucius gazed for a while at his wand, then stepped out onto the road.

‘The truth about what?’ he called, regretting it instantly. The thought of a Muggle managing to manipulate him made his skin crawl, but part of him wanted to know what was going on, if nothing else other than to get his story straight for when he had to explain to the Ministry why he had killed this old bastard.

‘Oh, want to talk to me now?’

‘I’m offering you the chance to explain yourself, not something I would normally grant. Therefore I suggest you don’t push me. Whatever you have to say, say it.’

Sugden turned and shambled back along the path, giving him that same, narrow-eyed, curious stare. How a Muggle could muster something so disturbing…

‘You are a fine lad,’ he said. ‘No doubting that. Healthy-looking. The old feller must’ve looked after you.’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’

‘He ever tell you about your Ma?’

Lucius sneered. ‘If this is the story about the man from the Ministry, I’ve heard it a dozen times before with a dozen variations. You can’t shock me with that. Besides, it was only gossip meant to hurt my father. My mother died when I was young and any other story is simply malicious.’

‘You never thought they might be right and your da’ might be the one was lying?’

‘No, I didn’t.’

Sugden nodded. ‘That’s loyal. Good to see you would love your Ma that much, to want to believe her a good woman.’

‘She was a good witch.’

‘Fine-looking one too. But she was never what you’d call shy with her affections, if you get my meaning. Sorry lad, but that’s the way of it. She did run off with yon feller, the magical government one, some piece of work in pinstripes. Last I heard, they’d gone abroad. Never heard much more after that. But I know she left. Saw her go myself, see. Was down the Cottage one day when I heard them shouting, then she walked out the door, got on a broomstick and flew off, just like that. Never really believed all that magic stuff to tell the truth, till I saw that. Your da’ said I oughtn’t to say anything on account of yon government ministry thing, that they’d want to take me in and he’d get into trouble an’ all for doing magic in front of me. So I said nothing.’

‘And this is what you’ve been dying to tell me? Well you’ve said it. I have no further need for you.’ Lucius aimed his wand once more.

‘Broke my heart to see her go,’ Sugden continued, looking at the wand as if it was some new species of bird, as if at any moment he might reach out and try to pet it. ‘Silly, really. Knew all the time she wouldn’t want to stay with me. Just something to pass the time with, like your da’ with his car.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘She used to come down the garage when he was off at his clubs and little parties with his fancy pals. She used to wear this black dress, all laced up at the front like those women on the covers of Mills & Boon books! And she’d have her hair all loose and fluttering about. Like gold it was. I remember the first time she come down there, I thought, she must just be after the car, something’s wrong with it or something, but then she started talking to me. Talked about nothing, and I was thinking, what’s this woman want talking to the likes of me? Then she starts on about me, about whether I got lonely working down there on my own, and I told her so I was, what with my own da’ having passed away that summer and the rest of my lot being down Glastonbury way now, see? And she says how terrible it is, being lonely. I asked her how someone as beautiful as her should come to be lonely and she laughed. ‘Beautiful am I?’ she asks me, and I had to say aye. Never tell a lie, not willingly. Then she comes a little closer and I was thinking by then that she had an odd look in her eye. ‘My husband doesn’t think so,’ she says. I says, ‘then your husband’s a fool, if you don’t mind me saying’. She just laughs and shakes that long blond hair of hers, and starts untying one of them laces on her dress.

I knew it were wrong, but I was just a lad at the time, at that age where a flash of skin was all it took to get the old furnace going. I remember she said something about Muggles then, and something about how her husband would be sick if he found out. She asks me, ‘do Muggles do it the same way as we do?’ like she thought we were animals or something. Still think she thought that, even after. It was like something dirty for her. But I didn’t care back then. I just couldn’t believe someone like her would even speak to me, let alone let me ‘ave her. She told me not to tell anyone about it, lest the husband found out, and it killed me not to be able to show off down the pub, but I kept with it for her sake. Every time she come to me, she told me how her husband used to speak to her like she was nothing and he was the whole world. She told me he was from some fancy family, a right catch, but he never knew how to live up to his name. She said he had all this money and wouldn’t spend any of it, not on her, not on anyone, and she said he hadn’t touched her since they got married, like he wasn’t capable of it. She just wanted something to hold, she said. Something to make her feel alive. Reckon the fact that it was with something so disgusting in their eyes made it all the more exciting for her. Then all of a sudden she stops coming near me. Weeks went buy, not a word. Didn’t see her round the village at all, though I stopped out near the shop where she said they used to buy stuff, and when I went down the Cottage to see to the car, I only ever saw your da’ there. After a while, I figured maybe she’d had a row with him or made it up with him or something, but either way, she didn’t want to see me any more. Then one day, as I’m going down to the post office I sees her and your da’ standing near the village green, and they’re talking to one of your da’s pals. My heart nearly jumped right out my mouth when I saw she was with child.’

He glanced up and met Lucius’ gaze, maintaining eye contact with a sudden intensity that made Lucius step back without thinking.

‘I asked her, first chance I got, whether it was mine or not. She’d already told me the husband never touched her, see? First she said no it weren’t. Said she and your da’ made it up and he finally managed to…to do the deed, as it were. But I kept on at her and in the end she went all quiet and started to cry, looked away like she hated herself. ‘I’m going to kill it,’ she says. ‘Soon as it comes out of me, I’m going to kill it and throw the filthy little monster away’.’

‘This is all rubbish,’ Lucius hissed.

‘I begged her to let me have the child,’ Sugden went on, stepping closer. ‘I said if you think it’s monstrous, let me raise it then. Wouldn’t be a monster in my eyes. But she just ran off. Never saw her again till after you were born, and though she wouldn’t let me near and the husband sent me this letter to say he wouldn’t have me near the car again either, (and I knew that were her doing), I didn’t feel so bad when I saw her with you. I could see she loved you. Might even have convinced herself you weren’t mine by then. She convinced your da’ at first anyway, for he doted on you, proud as punch that he’d got himself an heir, another little Malfoy to show the world. I don’t know what happened to turn them different, I don’t know enough about these things, see? I don’t know whether they could see something in you as you got older, or if they just knew it like Muggle parents do, instinctive like, but the fights soon started again. I used to come up the Cottage and stay hidden, so I could get a look at you, and I’d hear them arguing. When I saw the three of you down the village next time, your da’ wasn’t looking at you. Your Ma carried you and he went on as if you weren’t there. Little while after that, she flew off. I reckon she couldn’t stand being in that place any longer, couldn’t stand whatever he was saying to her. I don’t think your da’ ever knew for sure. I don’t know if he’d’ve kept you about if he’d been sure of what you were, but I reckon he suspected at least.’

‘Suspected,’ said Lucius. ‘Maybe. That doesn’t make it true.’

‘Believe what you like. All I know is I’ve watched you grow up, and there ain’t nothing of that man in you. Blond hair, that’s all you’ve got in common. A man knows when he looks at his own, and I know you’re mine, lad.’

‘Rubbish.’

‘I didn’t know whether to tell you. Part of me wanted to, but then I thought what the old feller might do if I went in stirring it all up again.’

‘How dare you come up here telling these lies.’

‘But I reckoned with him dead, it was time the truth came out. It’s been kept quiet long enough and I’ve been shoved into the gutter for long enough.’

‘Shut up.’

‘You’re my son, lad,’ said Sugden. ‘Halfblood, whatever your lot calls it, but mine.’

Lucius dropped his wand and launched himself at Sugden with a growl. Unaware of anything but his own rage, he screamed at him to admit he had lied and bashed his head against the road, all the while gripping his throat until he felt the body go suddenly limp in his grasp. With a shudder, he withdrew his hands, repulsed by the feel of the Muggle’s loose skin and the grimy clothes he wore. The whole world consisted of that small patch of road, a few trees and the light from the serpent’s lamp. Soon he would leave that horrid little place and when he stepped back into the house, everything would return to normal.

He glanced up and saw Draco looking down on him but took a long while to register what he was looking at. He saw the look of horror on his son’s place and the cold feeling ran in streams down his back and gripped his chest tightly. He only then remembered the funeral and the others in the house.

‘Are they all still inside?’ he asked, getting up quickly. He could still feel the Muggle’s filth like a film over his skin.

‘Father, what happened? Did he attack you?’

Lucius opened his mouth to reply but could not think of a lie and the truth made him feel sick. He stared down at the body, still unable to believe any of this had actually happened. It had to be some strange dream. Only a voice at the back of his mind told him it made sense. Suddenly his father’s treatment of him made so much sense. ‘I’ll need to get rid of him. Go back inside. I thought I told you to keep them all amused till I got back?’

‘You don’t need any help?’

‘Why would I need help? Simple Reducto charm, the body’s gone, the Ministry won’t notice anything suspicious. Nothing to be concerned about. Now go inside and just have dinner served. Say I’ve been called away or something and I’ll be back shortly.’ All normal, he thought. Nothing wrong. Nothing is wrong. Tomorrow, this will all be a vaguely unpleasant memory but nothing more.

He waited until he could no longer hear Draco’s footsteps, then he looked down at the corpse again. All these people in his life, just names and faces in old photographs but meaning nothing to him, and now suddenly he felt as though they had returned to tear him limb from limb. He shook his head, picked up his wand and threw spell after spell at the body, not only destroying it, but obliterating it completely, and with every burst of energy he cast, he imagined himself kicking the old man and every damned lie he’d told.

As he finally walked up to the house, he growled inwardly at himself, furious that he’d listened. He should have killed the stupid creature the moment it came near the house. He should have been true to his name and never gone near to a Muggle. The film of grime still clung to him, and invisible layer all over his body. He went inside and spent ten minutes in the bathroom scrubbing his hands and face before he gathered his wits enough to go to the dining room and join the others. Luckily the meal was nearly over, most of the old relatives were faintly intoxicated, and so no one noticed his dishevelled appearance or the way his hands trembled as he lifted his wineglass. No one save Draco. After the meal, he saw his son on the stairs, waiting one again to speak to him and doing everything he could to attract attention without actually moving or speaking. Lucius ignored him, watched the last of the guests leave, then hurried into the study, locking the door behind him so that he could reduce the world to one room where everything was familiar and comforting.

He poured himself a drink and downed it in one, then went to the desk and lifted the photo album from the Cottage. For a while he stared at the pictures, at himself in particular, and tried to see if he could spot anything unusual. He had never looked at himself and seen anything other than his mother’s eyes, a jaw line faintly reminiscent of his grandfather and uncles, hair colour he shared with both parents. Was there something there that could have turned his father against him? Was that why Abraxas always held back a little? Was it not merely his father’s lack of personal skills, his belief that independence was the best trait a child could have, but something deeper and more sinister. Lucius stared at his photos and then at his own hands, and he could almost feel the blood flowing sluggishly through his veins, slowed down by contaminants. Was he an abomination? He took another drink and tore out each photo in turn, threw it to the floor, and burned each one with a quick blast from his wand. The old Muggle had to be lying. Just another vicious bastard trying to bring the family down.

He wandered to the window and looked out into the night. A near full moon stared accusingly back. There was no way it could be true. Even if the old Muggle had slept with his mother, nothing said Abraxas couldn’t still be his father. She had said, according to him, that this was the case. Perhaps she only admitted it was the Muggle’s child to get rid of him, or to hurt him.

Suddenly Lucius felt cold again. If there was even a chance it was true, though, then how could he ever look his peers in the eye again? What would they do if they found out? With a shudder, he realised he knew fine what they would do. What if they could see it on him like a stain, or could smell the dirty blood? He poured the last wine from the bottle and took a drink to steady his nerves. That made no sense. If they could tell, they would have spotted him by now. Unless of course, they were using him, using his wealth and influence to protect themselves, to make sure everything was right for when the Dark Lord could return. Perhaps they had always known, and stood laughing at him after every meeting. The stupid Mudblood who thinks he’s one of them! What if they laughed at him just as everyone secretly laughed at Abraxas for his miserliness?

A tremble started at the base of his spine and rattled right up to his crown. What if the Dark Lord had known too? What if he had only been spared when the Potter child thwarted Voldemort’s rise? What if he was marked for death as soon as his usefulness ended, and only the need to repair the damage Potter did now kept him alive? Then a thump upstairs thrust a thought upon him. If he was impure, then so was Draco. He drew a shaky breath and grabbed another bottle from the cabinet, then staggered to the couch and slumped down.

How could his mother have betrayed everyone like that? Not only had she ruined his father’s hopes of having a pureblood heir to carry on the line, but now, years after her death or desertion, she had torn his life to pieces and condemned his son to…he did not dare think about what could happen to Draco if anyone found out, if indeed they still had to find out. The bitch! The stupid, arrogant bitch!

Spurred on by rage, he apparated out of the house. As he reappeared with a crack outside the old garage, he realised how lucky he had been to arrive in one piece, but fancied the sheer desire to come here and tear the place apart focussed his mind enough to travel. He looked at the place, all shabby and grimy even in the moonlight, and hated every last stone. He flung spells in every direction, gritting his teeth and fighting to see as the tears welled through sheer frustration. He would not sleep, he told himself, until every filthy Muggle in this village was destroyed. He would wreck every house, every business, every last stinking trace of them. He was not one of them!

He sagged, exhausted, before he could complete his vengeance and he stood staring at the chaos he had caused around the garage. The fields and trees lay like smears of ink against the night sky, the whole landscape unreal and distorted like a dark potion swirling in a cauldron. The rage dissipated but nothing came to replace it, so he stood there, feeling empty and if he was the only living thing in the universe.

After a long walk, during which he thought nothing and felt nothing save the cramps in his stomach, he came to the house once more and paused at the foot of the stairs, still swathed in a crisp chill from the outdoors. Everything in the house remained quiet and peaceful, with only the clocks to disturb the silence. He very slowly climbed to the first floor and looked into Draco’s bedroom. His son tossed about beneath the covers and muttered softly as he slept. Lucius let his forehead rest against the door a moment and closed his eyes. If there was even a chance…how could he tell him?

When he finally returned to the study, he locked the door without thinking and went straight to the already decimated drinks cabinet. For a while he sat on the couch, staring into the bottom of his glass, pouring out more dark liquid whenever he ran out of something to stare into, but no matter how much he drank, the little whispering voice refused to shut up. It recited the conversation with the old Muggle again and again, and every time he heard the word ‘Halfblood’, Lucius felt more and more tired. Everything inside him ached and he banged his fists against his temples to try and get that voice to shut up. The more it reminded him what was said, the more it mocked him, and then it replayed old arguments, old conversations with his father. He’d always thought Abraxas didn’t know what he was saying, those last few years, but how many times had he been called a Muggle bastard?

Gradually his gaze fell upon the desk and on the collection of objects there, all taken from Abraxas’ house. Amongst them was a black wooden box, about seven inches in length and three in width. He had left it sitting out, ready to dispose of it in case the Ministry ever came to check the place. After a while, it seemed to call to him, summoning him over there. He got up and fell sideways, dropping the latest bottle he had drained, then managed to lurch across to the desk. He fumbled with the box until he got it open. Inside, nestled in a plush velvet cushion, were four glass vials, all in different shades of green. He shook his head and wiped the tears from his cheek, then prized one of the vials out and returned to the couch, where he sat contemplating it for a long while.

He felt so tired, like he would never feel anything again, like he would never need to feel anything again because it was all gone and all hopeless. Draco would have to know, he thought. If the others were laughing, if there was any danger, then Draco would have to be told. Lucius glanced again at the desk. A letter? Something to say goodbye, or was that too sentimental? Was that more than he deserved, more than a filthy abomination deserved? If he wrote a letter he would try to explain, try to make excuses, make it seem as if things were not so bad when in reality… He looked again at the vial, its contents sliding form one end to the other, black within the green glass, like a captive shadow. Perhaps that was what made him think of the solution – captive shadow and captive light. He smiled though the effort was painful, and went over to the cabinets. He opened the one containing the pensieve.



At that point, Draco inhaled sharply and found himself in the cold study once more, and the skies outside were black. The house lay about him, grey and filled with shadows that seemed to be watching him and waiting to see what he would do. He didn’t know that himself, just yet, and it took him a long time, sitting in the dark on the couch where he had last been able to touch his father, before he finally decided. He got up, sifted through the bookshelves, using his wand as a light, and picked out a few volumes, then headed into the fireplace, reading to follow the floo back to London.