Et Nulli Miseretur

Petunia Dursley is a woman blessed in life. She's dearly attached to her husband with whom she has got a comfortable home, and an adorable boy called Dudley. They're well-off, members of just the right clubs - Vernon has lately been accepted in a rather prestigious circle of hunters, Petunia is playing golf for five years now - they'd spend their son's Easter holidays on Majorca, and since Vernon Dursley's drilling company has achieved some valuable deals in the last years, they finally purchased the Rover limousine that he had set his heart on.

Naturally, no homely felicity ever goes without minor drawbacks - the proverbial skeletons in the closet. In Petunia's case, this is an unfortunate relation, her dead sister's only son Harry, who has grown up with his aunt and uncle. Much to their displeasure. Because said Harry is a - Petunia has never got the heart to speak it out aloud, so shhhh - a wizard. No jesting. A real wizard. Abominable, yes, but could she help it? No, unfortunately no. Fifteen years ago, she opened their front door one morning and found a small bundle that turned out to be her nephew, equipped with a letter demanding that she and her husband took in the orphaned child. They had a struggle with themselves, but accepted after all, out of the goodness of their hearts. Vernon and she have done everything in their power to keep the boy away from that lot, god knows they have, but they've failed.

For ten long years, Petunia, her husband and their son have been forced to endure living with a wizard, in constant fear of being discovered by one of their neighbours or friends. Their fear has lessened in time; now everything could have been fine, the boy went away to some distant school in the North and only returned to the Dursley's house for some weeks in summer, and in the following years, he often visited friends during the holidays, spending even less time with his family. Petunia has kindled the hope that his very last visit this year would be the shortest, but much to her dismay and increasing bitterness, she has been thoroughly mistaken. All of a sudden, their house has been invaded by a whole bunch of them, enough people to form a football team! Of course, Vernon vigorously protested, but in vain. He was told in short terms that too much was at stake for the very house owners to have a word in whom they accommodated or not.

Poor Dudley can no longer bring any of his friends home - more, he's terrified by those folks, who simply won't cease to bully and make fun of him. Petunia can no longer invite her girl friends for hen parties, and it's only a question of time until one of their nosy neighbours will find them out - and what then? Vernon has put considerably much money and effort into this house, they couldn't simply move away, and once the rumours had spread in his firm - better not think about it, she keeps on telling herself.

Now there's not only Harry living with them. There are: a middle-aged couple with six - six! - of their children and the fiancée of one of them. That Mr Weasley they already knew, and it's no pleasant recollection. This man single-handedly destroyed their living room a few years ago, and additionally, he's an awful weirdo. No wonder Harry is up to no good, with crackpots like that one around him. He tails Vernon around the house whenever he gets the chance, asking all sorts of idiotic questions, like how the telly works, or the telephone, or even Petunia's blender. The wife is worse yet. Not only that she's fairly unattractive, as ignorant as her spouse and - of course - a witch! She's also insufferably presumptuous and has the nerve to criticise and patronise poor Petunia! Vernon is by no means surprised that their children have come out the way they have. One of them has been bitten by a werewolf (Vernon takes that very personal. For a start, a werewolf has no right to exist outside of scary fairy tales, and then, he mustn't come round to live with them and be a threat to innocent people like themselves!).

Next, there is that dentist family. Vernon likes them a little bit better than the rest, because at least the parents are normal, but they're too friendly with the rest for his taste, and speaking of weirdoes - they are as odd as anyone, obsessed with dental hygiene, healthy food and full of foolish notions that make Vernon suspect them to be communists. Their daughter - a witch, too - is a terrible smart aleck, and also a friend of Harry, which is never a good sign in anyone.

And then, there are the blondes. A young, eerily pretty girl who's engaged to the werewolf bloke, which doesn't account for her sanity, does it - also, she's French, and does Vernon have to say more about her to explain how horrible she is? She confirms every prejudice he's ever had about them. Two days later than the others, a boy in Harry's age has joined them, alongside his mother - who at least didn't stay; by now, Vernon and Petunia are grateful for the little things. The boy is as weird as any of the rest, taciturn, but if he opens his mouth for once - poor Dudley is twice as broad as him, but still he'd try to stay out of his way if he can help it.

There is but one thing to say in favour of mother and son. They got decidedly more class than the rest, and manners, at least the mother has. She's the one who had the propriety to give Petunia a compensation for her troubles. A suitcase full of 100 pounds notes and actual gold, adding up to nearly a million pounds. A decent woman, clearly! And rich to boot - a fact that never fails to make an impression on the Dursleys. The other guests were very hostile to the poor woman, but she didn't flinch, and they kicked Petunia out of her own living room to have a word with the visitor. The end of it was that her son would stay back when she left, but boy, he isn't remotely as pleasant as his charming mother!

The 'guests' aren't happier with the situation than the Dursleys, finding the whole situation most disagreeable indeed, for various reasons. Arthur Weasley doesn't like to intrude on anyone's privacy like that, especially when one is so obviously not welcome. His wife longs to go home to her own kitchen, away from the unkind hosts. Their younger children hate the Dursleys, their son Bill is afraid what will happen during the next full moon in a house full of Muggles who couldn't even defend themselves, his fiancée Fleur loathes the square style of living and the ignorance of their hosts. The Grangers think along the same lines as Mr Weasley, and would prefer to go back to their own lives and jobs, their daughter can't bear the Dursleys because they are always so mean towards their nephew Harry, and Draco Malfoy still couldn't believe that he was living under the same roof as a bunch of completely unmagical people. The Grangers left him alone, at least, but the pathetic proprietors of this shack - he knew why he loathed the Muggles, and if he had harboured any doubts, they would have wiped them away in a heartbeat!

In short, the sixteen people presently inhabiting number four Privet Drive are a sociological biotope for anybody doing a survey on ill moods and their effect on social interactions.

"Anyone seen Piggy this morning?"

"Ron, stop calling him like that!"

"Just for the record - I didn't coin that name! That was your new friend Malfoy!"

"He's not my - oh, stop this! I'm sick with it, you know? What do you want from Pig-... from Harry's cousin anyway?"

"See? See? You call him Piggy as well!"

It should be mentioned that Harry, Arthur Weasley, his son's fiancée and the Grangers are a little less hostile with Draco Malfoy than the rest. They aren't on friendly terms exactly; they simply don't snipe at him all the time like the rest. Mr Granger, Mrs Granger and Fleur don't know him and therefore have little reason to mind. Harry, who has loathed him since first getting to know him, has shifted the focus of his hatred on Snape since Dumbledore's death, and also, he witnessed Malfoy that night, feeling a tiny little bit of pity for that jerk. For Arthur and Hermoine, it's simply a matter of fairness. They don't like Malfoy either, but find that this doesn't justify to bully him around only because they can. That's his way, not theirs.

"I do not call him Piggy," Hermoine insists angrily.

"Yes, you do!"

"Do not!"

The door opens and in comes said 'new friend', sneering at them and tilting his head. "Gee, look at those lovebirds," he snarls and sips his coffee. "Now isn't this romantic?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," they snap simultaneously, and Ron adds, "What do you want here, Malfoy? I can't remember to have asked you to join us!"

"And I do not relish the company, to be sure. Sadly enough, your mother's sent me out to get you. She sounded like she had a score to settle with you. Normally, I wouldn't bother to obey to your mum, but I thought it could be nice to be the bearer of bad tidings."

Ron glares at him, but decides that his mother is in too bad spirits to try her patience these days, and vanishes without another word. Hermione appraises Malfoy and hisses, "So it was you who invented the name Piggy for Harry's cousin?"

"I'd surely love to claim the credits for that stroke of genius, but I cannot imagine I should have been the first one to come up with it."

"Leave him alone! He hasn't done anything to you!"

"That's what you think, Granger. Anyway, what's wrong with the name? When it looks like a pig, and walks like a pig, and talks like a pig - why not bloody call it a pig then?"

"You only dare mocking him because he cannot defend himself properly!"

"Oh, trust me, he can. If I remember correctly, I first called him Piggy after he tried to exercise his latest wrestling move on me."

"And why would he do that, eh?"

"You best ask him and not me about this. His skull is too thick for me to see through!"

Her father comes in with a friendly expression. "Hermoine, darling - it'd be nice if you could help out in the kitchen. We can't expect poor Mrs Dursley to prepare lunch all by herself, for so many people, and also - well - it may be, uhm, healthier if we give her and Mrs Weasley a hand..."

Oh yes, the food. Draco stayed back in the living room, flatly refusing to help in the kitchen. He wouldn't be of any use, anyway. He had never done as much as making himself a sandwich, there had always been servants to do that. How people could live like this was unintelligible to him. This house - even if normally only three or four people lived here, it'd still be tiny. Cooking one's own food. Doing one's own cleaning. Come on!

He almost craved to go back to his cave. At least, he had been alone there, not forced to put up with those - those - Merlin! It was a hard one to call whom he found more horrid - Weasel Bee or Dudley Dursley. Both were thugs. Both weren't exactly bright. Both taunted him at every opportunity. Weasel Bee lost the competition who was worst because he was no Muggle - hard as that was to believe, because he'd rather use his fists for retaliating than his wand. Draco had decided to live in the cupboard underneath the stairs, to keep out of everyone's way as good as possible, and because there wasn't a single person inside this house that he'd voluntarily share a room with. The Grangers were sharing Potter's old bedroom. Dudley Dursley had moved onto a camp bed in his parents' room, so his place was now occupied by the female Weasleys, and Fleur Delacour. Potter himself and the rest of the Weasleys had settled in the magic extension that Mr Weasley had conjured, and Draco really, really didn't want to sleep in the same room with them. The cupboard was the only option he had, and dusty, crammed and uncomfortable as it might be, he still had it to himself. With his eyes closed and ear-plugs, he could almost fancy himself back in his cave. Or his old Hogwarts bed. Or - heaven, sweet heaven - at home in Malfoy Manor...

Given the same choice again that he had had in that night... He should have pulled it through, shouldn't he? He would have secured his parents' safety, his own... Dumbledore was dead, this way or that... He wouldn't have to hide away like this... He sneered at himself in disdain. They could have been standing on that wretched roof-top for three hours, he wouldn't have managed it. The only times when he had been capable of performing the Killing Curse, he had done away with some creeping insects, and toads, and two or three crups, and that had taken him two weeks to master!

He was sick with sorrows for his mother. What might she be doing right now? What if she was found out? What if he'd never see her again? He couldn't bear that idea. No. No! His mother was cleverer than anyone, cleverer than the Dark Lord himself! They wouldn't manage to defy her charms, never. It must not be! 'But these folks here don't stand a chance to defeat the Dark Lord,' the merciless voice in his head would whisper. And what then?

At least in one respect, his worries were appeased - he did see his mother again. She came for a short visit only two days later, but before he could even say hello, Mrs Dursley had already jumped at her, complaining about Draco and reporting everything he had ever said to her unbearable son, and some insults that were either completely made up or must come from one of the Weasleys. Draco gestured at her, but she listened in silence and apparent attention, finally smiling at the Muggle woman.

"I understand, Madam, and I promise you shall have no further reason to regret your friendly compliance." She turns around to her son. "Draco darling, please," she says quietly, furrows her admirable brows the tiniest bit and to Hermoine's sheer astonishment, Malfoy's demeanour changes completely. The sneer vanishes and is replaced by a genuine smile for his mother, he nods, turns to Dudley Dursley and stretches out his hand.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, "It won't happen again."

Dudley stares at him suspiciously, then takes the hand very reluctantly. "Rrright -"

"Oh, now he's behaving, of course! But as soon as you're out of here, he's back at his usual cockiness!" Mrs Dursley cries and straightens her back as much as she could to be at eye level with Mrs Malfoy.

"Be assured, Madam, he will continue to be as well-behaved as you could ever want him. Draco?"

He nods once more. "Mrs Dursley, I apologise for my behaviour towards your son. I appreciate that you accommodate me, and I will act accordingly."

No one except for his mother buys this rubbish, of course. As soon as she's gone, he'll return to be his normal, nasty self. Draco Malfoy cannot help it - he will always remain Draco Malfoy, right? Amazingly, he seems to try keeping his promise though. Mrs Malfoy leaves again, but old Draco doesn't do anything. No sneer - no snide insults - he even offers Mrs Dursley to help her lay the table for dinner.

"So you'll smash my good china, right?"

"Madam, I assure you that I mean well. If I accidentally broke a dish, I could mend it without a visible trace in a heartbeat, and if you don't trust me - everyone else here could do the same. Please, let me help you."

Hermoine's jaw drops, just like Ron's and George's who witness this miracle, too. "What's he up to," Ron mutters, trailing them into the dining room. Indeed - Malfoy sets the table, and he's irritatingly professional about it, too. A few flicks of his wand, and the table looks as if they were having some sort of banquet dinner - including four forks for everyone, and linen serviettes.

"You reckon the Minister for Magic's coming for dinner?" Ron cringes with laughter.

Malfoy gazes at his work. "What?"

Petunia Dursley smirks, too. "I appreciate your efforts, young man, but - the last time I've looked, we were having only some cold roast, and soup perhaps - at least that stuff that the red-haired woman was doing looked like soup..."

Ron glares at her. "Watch what you say about my mother!"

"What did I say, then?!"

Dudley Dursley strolls in, gnawing on a roast chicken leg. His first reaction is the habitual start that he gives when coming across Malfoy, then he sees the table - squints at the chicken leg - and complains that nobody's bothered to inform him that they were having so many courses, or any 'guests' to begin with.

"And what are we then?" George asks, annoyed.

"I figure none of us qualifies as guests, Weasley. If anything, we're hostile intruders," Malfoy drawls languidly, making Hermione and George laugh. "The equivalent of a Viking attack, you know?"

"Your mother surely is a very good woman," Mrs Dursley tells Malfoy, looking intrigued. "She's welcome any time, you know?"

In Malfoy's eyes, the familiar sneer sparkles for a second, but disappears again. He makes a little bow. "Thank you, Ma'am, but I'm afraid she'd have to decline the invitation. She can't dispose of her time as she pleases."

Later that same evening, when everyone younger than twenty except Malfoy and Dudley Dursley is hanging out in Harry's former bedroom, Ron suggests, "The Imperius Curse. She's cast an Imperius on her own son, can you believe it!"

"That's simply manners, Ron, believe it or not," Hermione replies in amusement.

"Oh yeah, and since when does Malfoy of all persons possess manners? The Imperius is far more likely!"

"I'd like to know how that witch looked when she was twenty," Fred murmurs with a dreamy look. All the guys smirk and chuckle, and Hermione's amusement is wiped away in an instant. They all despise Mrs Malfoy, oh yeah, but that doesn't interfere with drooling at her! Admittedly, it'd be a hard one to call who's better-looking, her or Fleur, and mind you, Mrs Malfoy is forty or so, though she certainly doesn't look like it. But when you've never done a day's work in your life, it's easy to look like that, right? Also, she's amazing with her Transfiguration charms - god knows what she'd look like for real, maybe all that splendid beauty is nothing but the result of some good spell work!

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Auro... Gold blasts open adamant doors.