Image of a Fallen Statue

Chapter 4

Voices were shouting. They had been for some time, but the potion had kept me from waking. When I heard the words, I pretended to still be asleep; with my unconscious state verified because of the potion, I could use this chance to gather information.

"What were you thinking, taking a potion Malfoy made? God, Harry, I thought you knew better!" Hermione shouted. She was incensed, but there was more than one person's anger clogging the air in the Burrow.

"I only took one sip, and chucked the rest just in case," Harry replied. His tone was cool, dismissive - that of an adult in control of his own actions, rather than the impulsive youth I knew only too well.

"Haven’t we suffered through enough of Snape’s lectures to know that one sip is enough to kill?" snapped Ginny, of all people. So her anger was the source of the fury that crackled through the air.

"I’m fine," Harry said, simply and commandingly. The noise quieted. "But I had an unusual conversation with Malfoy . . ."

There was a slight pause, followed by murmurs of interest, and Harry continued, telling them everything that had occurred. I had known this would happen — the sharing of knowledge between Harry and his friends wasn’t exactly a secret. Even so, I had to bite my tongue to keep from flinching when he told them about my scars. It had been a secret kept for so long that having others know about it made me acutely uncomfortable.

After the conversation deteriorated into breakfast and food was made, I blinked and stretched, then sat up and picked my shirt off the floor, shaking some of the cat hair off it before putting it on. That damn feline seemed to like me, for no reason I could understand. Cats were contrary, seemingly gifted with the ability to find the one person in the room who detested them and fall asleep on his lap.

I walked into the kitchen, sat, and began to eat, ignoring the silence that appeared at my entrance and then was forced away. I was used to it, so much so that I was surprised that I even noticed the brief moment of shock that they had been unable to conceal; after all, instinct, reason and experience told them that they were welcoming an enemy to their table.

I went, after breakfast — Apparating to a London alleyway, using the last of the money I kept on hand to buy myself muggle clothes. I purchased underclothes, socks, sneakers, and darkly shaded bluejeans, dark gray shirts and sweaters, because when attempting to blend into the night, or fog and mist, true black stands out against the light of night rather than camouflaging. Gray is the only shade that can provide adequate protection when the stars and moon illuminate the otherwise pure black of night.

I Apparated back to the house, into the midst of another argument, it seemed. In my house, defiance was nonexistent. The only explanation I had been able to come up with so far was that they liked to squabble, but that made no sense to me.

Ignoring all of them, I went upstairs, took off my filthy clothes, and quickly bathed. I dried my hair, now long enough that my bangs were getting in my eyes. I got dressed and went downstairs again, where small spells were flying — Ginny had Jelly-Legs, Ron was suffering from Furnunculus. So far Harry had warded off everything that came his way and Hermione was smart enough to counter all attacks. The cat was hissing and spitting madly on the couch, hair on its back raised. Fed up, I pulled out my wand and said calmly, "Immobilus!"

The entire room, with the exception of myself and the cat, instantly froze. "God, I am getting sick of the way you people bicker," I huffed out, exasperated. I turned to leave them there, and felt claws prick through my clothes and into the skin on my ankle. I looked down to see the cat staring at me. It turned its head to look at those frozen in the room, and then glanced back at me.

"Fine," I said, refusing to believe that I had finally cracked and was talking to a cat. I lifted the curse and the cat’s claws retracted. It disappeared somewhere and left me to face the four aurors.

Since there was no way to lift the Furnunculus curse without a potion and Jelly Legs would take about an hour to wear off, I offered to brew the potion to lift the Furnunculus.

"No — I’ll do it," said Hermione quickly. "Uh, after all, I hit him with it in the first place." I wondered if I was the only one who could see how obviously she distrusted me, and decided against it.

I raised a brow, saying nothing — all the more power to me if they thought I couldn’t see their suspicions. And it wasn’t as if I trusted them either, I reasoned.

Sitting down at the table, I waited while Ginny and Ron worked together making food, staying silent. "You know," said Ron, turning as he held a frying pan, stirring the sauce in it, "I still can’t figure out what the hell happened to you, Malfoy."

"What?" I asked, and he said, excited, "That’s just what I mean!"

I raised my brow slightly, giving him a dirty look.

"That’s more like it," he continued. "I mean, people can’t just be assholes for all their lives and suddenly reform. I don’t see a halo, Malfoy, and even if I did, you’re no angel. What the hell is going on?"

There was silence in the kitchen. "Am I actually supposed to answer that, or was it a rhetorical question?" I retorted, sarcasm making me unable to hold my tongue.

"Hell yeah, I want an answer," Ron replied. "So the veritaserum proved you were telling the truth. That doesn’t explain any of the weird things I’ve noticed since then."

I gave him a cold look, and ran my hand through my hair, slicking it back the way I used to wear it, simultaneously drawing myself up into my old cool, collected posture. Ron stiffened. "You have a choice," I said simply, my voice suddenly the smooth, arrogant drawl of the Draco Malfoy they had known at Hogwarts. "You can accept what I am now, or you can deal with the ‘asshole’ you went to school with, instead. I leave it to you." My posture was subtly different, dominating, scorning the whole room.

"I think what Ron is trying to say is, you seem very different from when we knew you at school," said Hermione, skillfully interjecting herself into the conversation and covering for her husband. "He wants to know why you spied in the first place."

I sat back, relaxing only slightly, and said harshly, "Call it fate, if you will. I know you’ve had dealings with it’s like before." I glanced sidelong at Harry, and he stiffened.

Ron opened his mouth — probably to demand a more exact answer — and I cut him off with a glare that was remniscent of our school days.

"Well, now that that’s cleared up, we need to get to work," said Ginny put in practically, pulling her thick red hair back and securing it. She totally ignored the tension still swimming thickly through the air, and the fact that no matter what she chose to believe, the issue hadn’t been settled, not by a long shot.

I shrugged, then turned my head as I heard a tapping noise coming from the window. A white owl was waiting patiently on the porch railing, a scrap of parchment tied around its leg. Next to it was a brown tawny owl, with a thick letter. Glancing in puzzlement at the brown owl, Ginny opened a window and said, "Hungry, Hedwig?" The old snowy owl hooted and hopped inside.

The brown owl came directly to me, and held out its leg. I saw a silver/gold wax seal and felt my stomach drop. I deliberately reached out, purposefully untied the letter and released the owl, which I ignored. Its wing roughly brushed by my head as it left, but I focused on the seal, breaking it to reveal the confident, bold handwriting of my father.

Draco,

Despite that performance, I know after the disappearance of your body that you are not dead. I send this to you to inform you of the disappointment you have been. You have disgraced our family, and have shamed me, beyond words. Your mother is horrified at your behavior, and at the anger of the Dark Lord, who knows that you live and is seeking you. Your punishment will fit your crime. You are a deserter and no longer my son; I denounce you and disown you — this is our last contact.

Do not think to come home.

Lucius Malfoy

Anger rushed through me at the hypocrisy of this letter, at the tone and the presumption. I was staggered by the intensity of the emotion — emotion, which I had shut myself off from for years.

He had disgraced me far more than I could ever shame him. I relished the feeling, more intense than any I had felt since my capture. Emotion boiled through me, raging in my blood. My fingers clamped down on the parchment and I struggled with my fury, closing my eyes tightly.