What I Did On My Summer Holidays

"Well," said Narcissa Malfoy, tugging at the collar of her newly-restored son's robes, "that seems to be the last of it. Unless you've got some curse marks under your robes that you aren't telling me about-"

"I don't," muttered Draco, unwilling to look his mother in the eye. Bad enough that he had been caught flat-footed on the Hogwarts Express home last year, but to have it happen twice - and at the hands of all the suck-ups in the school, with Potter leading the charge! At least there weren't any windows in the carriage-house. No one could watch the unhexing here.

"-then I've dispelled them all," continued Narcissa smoothly, stepping away and examining her son with a critical eye. "I don't think any of the hexes left any kind of lasting effect." Draco exhaled with relief, shifting in his shoes a little. He had it in mind to go to the family library and look up something truly humiliating to inflict on the Scarhead and his wretched band. "Honestly, Draco..."

He froze.

"I can't imagine what they must be teaching you at that school," his mother continued, eyes lingering on the spot on his forehead where Ernie Macmillan's Furnunculus Curse (the first one, anyway) had struck him. "You were doing so well in Defense Against the Dark Arts this year!"

Draco kicked at the floor, his cheeks suddenly burning. Professor Umbridge had graded him better than Professor Snape - the first time in his five years at Hogwarts such a thing had happened. There'd been the OWLs testing, though-

"Perhaps your father was right. You might very well have learned more at Durmstrang." Draco's heart leapt with a disquieting glee. Narcissa straightened, shaking her head and dusting her hands against each other. "That Umbridge woman must have had some kind of hold over the Minister of Magic. I can't imagine that he'd put someone completely incompetent in charge of Hogwarts."

"Will I be going there in September, Mother?" he asked hopefully.

"No," was the curt reply. "No, I'm afraid you won't."

"But Mother! You said it yourself, I'm not learning anything worth knowing at Hogwarts! Well, except for Potions," he added under his breath.

Narcissa sniffed, flicking her wand of ash at the glistening trail along the carriage-house floor. As tiny blue flames licked the last evidence of any slug-like shape out of existence, she said firmly, "Draco, your father is being carted off to Azkaban like a common criminal even as we speak. The Minister of Magic was made to publicly admit that the Dark Lord has risen again. Wiltshire will be crawling with Aurors by the time the moon comes around full, and the Continent will be even worse. You can't go to Durmstrang with a war on."

His mother was right, he knew that, but Draco still wanted to kick something. "It's not fair," he blurted out. "Just because I got attacked once-"

"No," snapped Narcissa, opening the door that led to the Manor house proper. "It's not. It's also not fair that your dear father was clapped into bonds faster than I could say 'house-elf', but that doesn't change matters, does it? Durmstrang might very well teach you more but face it, Draco, with what became of Mr. Karkaroff last year, they're going to be tracked down and their secrets laid bare right down to the bone. I am not going to put you in harm's way if I can possibly avoid it."

She started stalking into the Manor; Draco fell in behind her. "Hogwarts again, Mother?" Draco asked resignedly. The enchanted candles on the walls flickered in their sconces.

Narcissa nodded. "Hogwarts again," she said. "But that's not until September. Something's got to be done in the meantime."

Draco stopped in his tracks, staring at his mother's receding back. "Not summer term?" he cried, outraged. "I thought we were going to Venice!"

"Draco, which part of 'there's a war on' didn't you understand?" Narcissa turned, maroon robes swirling about her, and eyed her son. "We're not going anywhere. Not until your father's situation resolves itself, anyway, and then where we go is entirely up to him. There shan't be any holidays this summer. You've got to make up for the time you lost this year if you're to be any use at all."

"But- but-"

"I shall contact our relations," continued Narcissa, oblivious to her son's sputtering. "I'm sure they'd be more than pleased to take you in for the summer and give you a bit of tutoring on the side. Won't that be nice? You might not be able to perform the magic yourself, but I'm sure your father's family will be more than happy to show you everything they're not willing to do at Hogwarts."

She swiveled about again and strolled into the Manor proper. Draco followed, thoughts whirling about his head. All right, so it wasn't Venice and he wouldn't be attending Durmstrang come September, but it didn't sound all that bad. A summer spent on his aunt or uncle's country estates, learning the family specialties. . . not a proper holiday by any means, but it wasn't as if it were school. And who knew? With all the fuss and bother going on in the Ministry, if the occasional underage wizard were to slip up and accidentally commit an act of magic or two, it might not even be noticed.

Draco grinned, a spring coming into his step as he followed his mother into the parlour.

"You can't go to your aunt," Narcissa was already saying as she reached for the thick book that contained all the Blacks' and Malfoys' family information. "I simply won't have it. No son of mine's going to be staying with the mother of that Tonks girl. Regulus, alas, died without having the courtesy to marry- pity, really. . ." She began flipping through the book, lips pursing and expression growing more sour with each passing page. "This may be a while, Draco. Why don't you go down to the kitchens? There's a lovely bit of blancmange."

"All right, Mother." Draco wandered off through the hallways of the Manor, considering the possibilities. His father's family was pretty extensive, and he couldn't think of a single one who didn't live somewhere interesting. This summer was looking better and better. In the kitchen he dawdled over the blancmange, prodding the sweet stuff with his spoon as he mentally ran over the Malfoy cousins. Most of them were in France; all right, Mother had said the Continent would be full of Aurors, but so what? Surely they couldn't be everywhere. And anyway, there was always Aunt Livia, who'd retired to Cornwall. When he'd finished with his dessert he rummaged through the cabinets until he located a concealed packet of caramels. These he pocketed; he'd get them eventually, he was sure, but he wanted them now. He left his dishes beside the sink and headed back to the parlour.

As soon as he entered, he knew something was wrong. His mother sat where he had left her, a most undignified scowl on her face; the book was closed, face down on the table. "Mother?" asked Draco. "What's the matter?"

Narcissa lifted her head and gave her son a sad little smile. "We appear," she said, "to have hit a bit of a snag. . . I'm so sorry, Draco."

"Sorry about what?" Draco demanded, pulling a chair up to the opposite side of the table. "Haven't you found anyone?"

"Not a one." Narcissa blinked, swallowing briefly. "Your father's cousins are already having problems of their own. Even if we could get you to France, you'd be in harm's way."

"What about Aunt Livia?"

"I called on her first." Narcissa's lips thinned as she glanced at the small fireplace in the far wall. "It would seem she has already removed herself to parts unknown. I could likely send her an owl, but Dee alone knows when it'd reach her, never mind whether she'd write back. . ."

"Well- well, try harder! There's got to be someone- I mean, if you can't just teach me-"

"Don't be silly, Draco. If the Aurors aren't on their way already it's only because they're packing their kits to take this place apart stone by stone." She stood up, pacing the length of the table like an angry panther. "Is there no one who can do this for me?" she cried to the ceiling.

From the next room there came a soft, deferential cough. Draco jumped. So far as he knew, there wasn't anyone else in the house- oh, wait. There was a painting of Great-Uncle Octavian in there. "If I might make a suggestion?" came a muffled voice.

Narcissa turned wearily towards the doorway. "Yes?"

"There is always my brother's painting, you know..."

Narcissa's eyes flicked towards the ceiling. "I hadn't thought of asking him," she mused.

Draco tried to think. Whose painting did- "You mean Grandfather?"

"The very same." Octavian's voice sounded pleased. "I do believe he might be able to suggest a few options you may have overlooked. The Malfoy obligations do go back an awfully long way, after all."

"Why not." Narcissa threw up her hands, then stalked out of the room. Draco shrugged, settling back in his chair and unwrapping the box of caramels.

Some time later- he wasn't sure how long- Narcissa returned, her aristocratic face even paler than usual. "Draco, darling?" she said. "I. . . have some news for you."

Draco blinked, hopping out of his chair. "What sort of news, Mother?" he asked warily.

Narcissa smiled wanly. "Well," she began. Then she stopped, her hands wavering mid-air.

Alarmed, Draco backed up a pace. "They've come already? The Aurors?"

"No! Merlin's beard, no." Narcissa laughed, a bit too shrilly to be real. "No, Draco. Nothing like that."

"Then what's this all about?"

His mother sighed. "I don't suppose there's any easy way to say this, is there. . ."

"If it's the news I think it is, then probably not," called Great-Uncle Octavian's painting. Narcissa shot the doorway a glare, then turned back to her son.

"Draco," she said, "it seems you've got an uncle."

"You. . . don't mean Uncle Maximilian, do you."

Narcissa shook her head. "Your grandfather has just informed me that he had two wives. It would appear that your father has an older brother, who was never spoken of by the rest of the family. . ."

Draco gaped at his mother. "He what?"

"Your grandfather Coriolanus Malfoy was married to a foreign witch as a very young man, and had a son."

It didn't make any sense. This couldn't be happening, could it? Draco had only the vaguest memories of his paternal grandfather, a man of an icy patrician bearing. The idea that he'd been married at all, let alone twice, was almost impossible to comprehend. "But how?"

"In the usual way, I should imagine."

"No, no, I meant-" He floundered. "Grandfather was married before?"

"Yes." Narcissa smiled a bit. "It was an arranged marriage, you see. His father thought it would be wise to look for allies outside of England- this was back before even Grindewald-"

"How far outside of England?" Draco demanded.

"Africa. Ethiopia, actually."

"Ethiopia?" Draco's voice rose to very nearly a shriek. "I'm not going to Ethiopia!"

"No, no, of course not, darling! Of course not," Narcissa hastened to reassure him. "Your uncle lives in a civilized country! Or nearly so, anyway- he's in America."

"Well- America's not too bad," Draco conceded. "But still- why is it we've never heard of him before?"

Narcissa bit her lip. "Your grandfather disowned him when he was still at Hogwarts," she said at last. "He's. . . not really our kind of people, but your grandfather agrees with me that it's time to make up for that, for the family's sake-"

"What do you mean, 'not our kind of people'? Grandfather didn't marry a, a Mudblood or something, did he?"

"Dee and Merlin, no! No, your uncle's mother was from an Ethiopian wizarding family more than a thousand years old." Narcissa said this with a kind of grudging respect. "It's just... well, the Hat sorted him into Hufflepuff and you know how they are... he and your grandfather got into a row not long after his OWL results arrived and that was the end of that. But he's out there, and he's as far away from all the Dark Lord fuss here in England as it's possible to get and still be moderately civilized."

Draco reached for the arm of the nearest chair to steady himself. His mother continued, "I've spoken to him by Floo. He knows what happened to you on the train and agrees with me that you need the help, and he's the only one both willing and able to give it."

Draco shook his head slowly. "Well- what's his name, then?"

"Lucious." Narcissa shifted uncomfortably. " Your grandfather thought it would be symbolic to take away his name and re-use it, but the Ministry wouldn't let him strip the boy of the name entirely, so he changed the spelling and gave it to your father. Look, we've got to get you started towards America soon. You'd better go through your Hogwarts things and decide what you need to bring with you, and what I can send over later."

His brain still in a whirl, Draco headed numbly upstairs.