My Life As A House-Elf

My Life As A House-Elf

Chapter 13 - The Burden of Freedom

* * * *

Back at the Manor, Hermione scoured from room to room, across spiral staircases and through blazing candle-lit hallways, filled with a mad desire and desperation to find the person she despised most of all.

"Where is that prat?!" she muttered breathlessly, overturning some velvet cushions upon a couch in a flare of hopelessness.

"Excuse me?"

Hermione lifted her eyes and faced a rather puzzled looking portrait, who had been gazing, engrossed, in a sheet of parchment etched with fancy, starry diagrams of constellations and planets. Translucent glass models of the solar system, and intricate paintings of galaxies and stars surrounded the figure, who was staring, quite puzzled, at Hermione. He raised an eyebrow.

Hermione´s eyes travelled down to the plaque that was stamped underneath the portrait frame: `Havelock Malfoy, 1787 - 1830´. And underneath that, in smaller lettering, `Banished for life from the Manor for excessive gambling, and obsessing over astronomy. Found dead in a well for not watching his step on a particularly starry night.´

He seemed a perfectly normal person, for a Malfoy. Hermione muttered an apologetic, "Beg pardon," and arranged the cushions into their original positions, before asking him hurriedly, "Have you seen Draco Malfoy pass through here recently?"

Havelock looked thoughtful. "Well, um. I´m not too sure. I was busy looking at my diagrams." He cast a glance across the hallway. "Have you seen the boy, Celandine?"

Across the hallway was another portrait, this of a young, svelte-looking Veela, who was busy combing out her long, silvery locks before a gilt mirror with an ivory comb. She looked aloof and politely indifferent, and terribly beautiful. She glanced at Havelock nonchalantly before offering a simple, "You mean my grandson. Yes, he did pass through here."

She tinted her lips golden, absorbed with her reflection in her mirror. When it was obvious she didn´t have anything else to say, Hermione asked in slight irritation, "Where did he go?"

"Tower Room," she answered simply, never lifting her gaze from the mirror. "He looked positively livid, and he was muttering to himself. It wasn´t a pretty picture, unlike a certain portrait in this room." She flounced back a lock of thick, brilliant hair.

"Don´t mind Celandine," Havelock muttered kindly, looking down at Hermione. "She´s very pretty, and often vain. The Tower Room is on the East Wing, if you´re wondering."

"Thank you," Hermione muttered breathlessly and sincerely, before dashing down the corridor at the speed of a miniature whirlwind.

"Please, wait -" Havelock continued, but Hermione had vanished behind the corner. "Oh, drat," he swore, "I was going to warn her about the hexes and the jinxes and the curses the boy had laced around the door."

"That´s lovely," Celandine said in distracted irritation. "Don´t you have something shiny to look at, Havelock?"

Grumbling, the aspiring astronomer turned back towards his star-studded parchment and diagrams.

He was completely oblivious to the dark, thin sliver of shadow lurking in the gloomiest corners of the hallway, hugging the walls. The candles flickered as it passed through the hallway, as if they were quivering in terror. Silent and cloaked it moved ...

Leaving no trail, and making no sound ...

* * * *

The rainstorm began in town as soon as Lucius had finished berating the poor innkeeper about his poor security, which was perfect, considering an ominous clap of thunder and a flash of lightning had accompanied Lucius´ threats and accusations.

When the rain began to pour, Lucius announced he´d stay inside the tavern till the storm was over, and he´d have a drink by the bar, thank you. The innkeeper nearly fainted in terror. Narcissa and Mrs. Parkinson were already seated, comparing newly-bought, glittery bracelets.

Narcissa flashed a perfect grin, and a row of jewels encircling her wrist. "What do you think, Lucius?" she asked. "Do you think it looks pretty on me?"

He barely cast her a glance. "I wouldn´t go displaying excessive amounts of jewellery in public, Narcissa. It could attract unwanted attention." He threw a cationary glance around the less-than crowded room as he sipped his Bloody Mary.

"Oh, come now, dear, that´s what jewellery is for," Narcissa radiated. "And what bizarre and suicidal thief would want to steal from me, with you by my side?" She slipped a hand through his arm.

Lucius met the gesture with polite indifference. "I didn´t mean that kind of attention," he answered simply. "And I wasn´t addressing that kind of jewellery ..." He turned his gaze towards her. "Where´s your necklace?"

Narcissa instinctively reached for the base of her throat and felt the comforting feel of the silver thread of her necklace and the peculiar, carved pendant. It gleamed strangely under her touch. "Around my neck," she answered sombrely. "Where it always is."

"Good." Lucius took another sip of his drink, and gave a short glance at his wife. "And I think the bracelet looks lovely on you." Narcissa smiled.

But the smile faded as soon as it met her lips, replaced by a slight frown. She distractedly muttered something about having a headache, before clutching her forhead in pain, then crying out and collapsing on the floor.

Lucius glanced down at the slumped body of his wife. "Oh, damn," he swore, greatly inconvenienced. He bent down and gazed upon Narcissa´s limp and quivering frame, and she was apparently in great pain, as if fighting off a vivid nightmare. "She´s having another," Lucius muttered.

The Parkinsons simply stared in stunned bewilderment. "Having another what?" Mr. Parkinson asked fearfully.

"Vision," Lucius murmured, as if it were the most normal thing to happen to anyone. "Alright, then. Narcissa, speak."

The sprawled figure of Narcissa Malfoy hardly moved. Her face was blank and her eyes were closed, her hair askew. Her mouth moved rapidly and silently, whispering softly:

"Death awaits our son at the door, lingering and silent and terrible. Sent by a great and fearful power searching for pain, for vengeance. Our son is blinded by confusion and anger, and is helpless in his ignorance, and does not heed the warning cries of those that wish to save him ..."

Lucius watched, and listened. He turned to the crowd of shocked onlookers who had gathered, and nonchalantly asked, "Is anyone here taking notes?"

One by one, they slowly shook their heads.

"I supposed so," he said, and turned back towards Narcissa.

"Death is luxurious," she continued. "He lies in his coffin, still and white underneath the tear-stained earth. My son, my poor dear, Draco ..."

"Alright, that´s enough," Lucius interjected, shaking Narcissa slightly. Without turning, he reached out backwards. "Water, please."

A goblet was deposited in his hand. He placed the goblet against Narcissa´s lips and let her drink, until her eyes burst open, bright with confusion and terror.

"Oh, Lucius," she gasped. "I don´t want to do that again anytime soon."

"I´m sure," he muttered, dusting off his hands and standing up. "Well, one thing´s for certain."

Mr. Parkinson was still recovering from shock. "What?" he asked dumbly.

Lucius´ gaze was steely and distant, but his voice was earthly and tinged with darkness as he helped his wife to her feet. "Apparently I was wrong. There isn´t anyone out to kill me," he murmured, "but someone´s out to kill Draco."

Narcissa drew in breath sharply, and looked like she was ready to faint again. Lucius´ voice stopped her from collapsing. "Narcissa ... I´m afraid we´ll be needing your necklace, very, very soon."

* * * *

Draco stood at the door that led to Tower Room, tossing a ball of scrunched parchment in the air, and catching it again. He finally caught it the last time, and held it tightly in his fist, as the pattering sound of footsteps grew louder behind him.

It was Hermione. She stared at the back of his head for a few moments as she tried to regain her breath, but as soon as he turned to face her, Hermione took a few steps back in alarm.

He looked painfully livid. She´d never seen such anger, or such shadows, in his eyes before.

"Hello, Granger," Draco greeted darkly. His voice was soft and tinged with malice. "I´ve noticed you´ve been very busy lately."

"W - what do you mean?" she asked in alarm. She glanced at the paper in his hand.

"I mean this," Draco continued, smoothing out the piece of parchment in his fist. "Listen, Hermione ... I want you to listen ...

"`I am being illegally held in Malfoy Manor,´" Draco read from it, voice spiteful and bitter. "`A wizard named Barquel performed a prohibited form of magic in Knockturn Alley and transfigured me into a House-elf. Helpless in my form, I was auctioned off in a grotesque and crude manner to the Malfoys, who are now holding me in their custody. Please come and retrieve me. This is a matter of the utmost urgency. I wish to be restored to my original form as soon as possible, and request you respond immediately. I await your reply. Yours sincerely ...´" He cast a full gaze, full of hostility and hatred towards her. "`Hermione Granger.´"

Hermione was speechless. She had forgotten completely about the letter, and when she saw it crumpled and clenched in Draco´s fist, she felt as if her heart had stopped beating.

She wanted to say something, anything. Instead two slender tears trickled down to her cheeks. Her throat remained dry of words.

"Do you know what you could have caused my family?" Draco asked softly. The anger seemed to have faded from his voice, replaced by a soft, jagged bitterness. "Do you know how much trouble my Father already is in with the Ministry? Do you know how much pain this would cause my Mother?" He paced slowly towards her.

"For a moment, I actually trusted a little bit in you, Hermione Granger." His voice was hard and guttural. "I suppose I shouldn´t have."

Hermione´s heart felt crushed. Why does he have to speak like that? Why can´t he raise his voice? she thought in torment. Why does he make me feel so horrible ... She turned to face him. "Draco, I´m -"

"You´re what?" Draco snapped. "You´re sorry?" he threw the scrunched parchment at her feet. "Do you know how much pain this has caused me?! Simply sorry isn´t enough to win my trust, Hermione, I cannot see it!"

"But I never -"

Draco gave a groan of anguish and fury, lifting his face to the ceiling and gripping his hair tightly. To Hermione and Draco´s shock, a nearby tapestry suddenly burst into flames, igniting abruptly as if triggered by Draco´s wrath.

For a moment, they stood in silence as the flames licked at the gold embroidery.

"It happens ..." Draco muttered, staring at the flaming tapestry, its golden threads curling in the heat, " ... when I´m angry." He threw a glance at Hermione, and this time they were filled with a steely, calm sullenness, likened to the ocean sky before a storm. "I have something for you."

He reached into his pocket. To Hermione´s horror, he drew out a long piece of fabric, striped green and silver in Slytherin colours. It was a scarf. Like a noose, it dangled from Draco´s hands.

"You´re dismissed." Simply and hypnotically, he tossed the scarf towards Hermione, who caught it. Her eyes were bright with despair as she stared at the woven wool in her hands, soft and warm and smelling sweetly of melancholy and lilac. She looked up.

Meeting Draco´s gaze, she saw a trace of colourless agony behind the shards of anger. With a single movement he opened the door and closed it softly behind him, and silently made his spiralling way upwards.

Alone, Hermione sobbed into the scarf.

She wept, because she was free.

* * * *