Butler in Britain

Chapter Two: Order in Grimmauld Place

A knock on Draco's jail cell indicated the arrival of the agents working in the Order. Draco gave Ellise a polite, but slight nod before following the heavily robed and masked wizards in front of him. They walked through the gloomy walls in Azkaban, with Draco still not believing that he was free at last.

As soon as he was outside, Draco felt the fresh wind seeping through his silver hair, and thus couldn't help but give a small smile. He closed his eyes to embrace the sunlight above them, seeming to him that he needed all the vitamin D he could get. "You'll need this," the stooped wizard in emerald green robes grunted beside him, holding out a silvery cloak that was softer than silk. Draco knew at once that it was an Invisibility Cloak, for he had confiscated as much of them as he could when he still had the power to do so, but before Draco even had the chance to cover himself with the expensive robe, the same wizard grabbed his arm and sliced his skin deeply with a pocket knife.

"Hey!" protested Draco, pulling his hand away from the wizard's evil grasp. "What was that for?"

"Attraction for our use of transportation," said the wizard.

"Oh yeah, like I'd believe that," said Draco, rolling his eyes in disgust. However, no sooner after he said that, large animals began flying down from the sky, their sight making Draco groan in revulsion.

They were fleshless; each and every bone in their bodies was visible. Their heads were of a dragon's, and their wings were immense, as if they were as if made of leather.

"What the hell--?" shouted Draco, taking two steps backward as a particularly ugly-looking horse-dragon landed in front of him. "Me? My legs on either side of that fleshless--thing? Ha, no way..."

"They are called Thestrals, Malfoy," a witch in a bright fuchsia robe piped in, "for a wizard your age, we were expecting you already knew or learned what they looked like, considering the fact that these fleshless things have been pulling your carriages to Hogwarts."

"It's not my fault my professor in Care of Magical Creatures was a half-giant who grunted and growled," Draco protested angrily, "and it's not my fault I didn't see death before I was expelled from school. So they wouldn't exactly be visible, would they? And besides," and here, Draco rounded hastily on the wizard who had cut him a few weeks ago, "what was the hunger for my blood all about?"

"Thestrals are attracted to blood," he answered coolly, "which of course, you should have known by now, or are you going to blame it once more on Hagrid?"

"On the half-giant, yes," said Draco.

"His name is Hagrid."

"You still can't deny the fact that he's half-giant."

"We happen to respect Hagrid," another wizard from the back butted in. "He is a member of the Order. So we suggest if you don't want to experience a long, insufferable and unbelievably brutal death, you might want to start calling him Sir Hagrid from now on."

"Of course, I shall try to remember calling him that, mate," said Draco sarcastically, "or should I say Sir Wizard Who Wears Incredibly Out Of Date Robes?"

"I will not give you the honour of learning my name," said the wizard stubbornly, "it disgraces me."

Draco mumbled between the words of "disgrace" and "ass" before jumping on the Thestral propped comfortably in front of him. As he watched the other wizards and witch beside him ride their respective horses, Draco realized something that made him stare at the green-robed wizard in pure terror.

"Tut, tut," said the wizard, looking around him and then shaking his head, "looks like we're a little short of Thestrals. Maybe we should have someone bleed a bit more."

Draco gave a derisive snort. "I wonder who that could be? Of course, it has to be someone who bleeds once a month, so no worries for me."

"I don't have menstruation right now, I'm afraid," a witch from behind Draco mumbled, "and it seems to me I'm the only female around here."

Draco groaned under his breath as the evil wizard from hell took his sharp knife from his pocket once more, making sure it gleamed in the moonlight for his satisfaction.

*.*

They landed on the shabbiest street Draco had ever found or imagined. He looked around as soon as he dismounted from his Thestral. The houses were nothing compared to the Malfoy Manor; the shutters in their windows were faded and were on the verge of falling into the ground. The doors creaked and the grass in the lawns was yellow and dry. Draco never realized until now, how much he missed being home.

"Here." Someone then shoved a piece of parchment into his hand and ordered him to memorize the words written on it. Draco squinted to see the curly handwriting in the dark.

The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"Holy," Draco mumbled under his breath, "I can't possibly memorize all this stuff."

"Just do it for Merlin's sake," an exasperated wizard sighed out loud.

Draco closed his eyes and repeated the words in his mind as hard as he could; but no sooner had he reached the word Grimmauld, the witch whispered in his ear, "And so it is written, and so it is done."

"People have used that phrase so many times; it practically lost all its meaning."

"Hush your mouth and open your eyes."

Draco did as told and was surprised by seeing a majestic door with marble walls and crystal windows between house number eleven and thirteen; a magnificent manor that stood out in the street, but a manor he had never noticed before.

"How come--?" asked Draco, loss for words.

"Obviously, the Black House, or our headquarters wouldn't be visible except for those who have memorized those very lines we gave you. If it wasn't so, our enemies would have attacked us in no time," someone explained in a voice so commanding that he was reminded of snotty Granger in their fifth year, when she was chosen as a Prefect.

"Used to be a very dark and dirty house I might add," the voice continued, "and if Mrs. Weasley hand't put in time and effort, it still might be."

She walked up the polished stone steps and knocked twice, paused, knocked thrice, paused and then knocked twice once more before the mahogany door opened, bidding them welcome.

As soon as the last wizard in their group had stepped inside, the door gave a quiet click as it closed. Draco looked around and saw that his feet were standing against a soft, velvety carpet that led to a cheery hallway. On his far right was a staircase, also as shiny and as polished as the stone steps they had just walked on. The house was filled with paintings with sleeping people, sometimes showing a person sleeping in a chair or a person drowsing on top of a table. On his left were moth-eaten velvety curtains, as though it was trying to cover something unpleasant. The curtains were the only object filthy in the house, thus Draco made a mental note to himself that he should visit what's behind those curtains very soon.

"So," said Draco, clearing his throat through the ringing silence that was filling the room, "what are we waiting for?"

"People," someone answered softly.

"Good, good," Draco nodded unenthusiastically. He was careful to be polite and kind, knowing that whoever has placed the curse on him might be in the very room with him, and might decide through his kindly deeds that he's good enough without it. Of course, after its removal, Draco was sure to flaunt his true freedom to the wizarding world through wreaking havoc everywhere he passed.

"Since it seems to me we'll be together for an awfully long time," Draco announced, making sure that he stressed the word together for effect, "maybe we can all take our masks off and reveal ourselves. How about that?"

For a minute, the unknown wizards looked at each other, as though asking through their eyes if they should follow his advice. It was only when the witch sighed in frustration, did they see that the long-haired blonde might be right.

Draco watched with interest as the witch pulled off her mask, revealing a beautiful fair-skinned woman of his age, with curly brown hair that reached up to her waist, full-shaped lips and round chestnut eyes. The pink in her robes complimented her skin very well.

All of a sudden, Draco puked in disgust as he realized who he was staring at.

"Mudblood?" he gasped before a searing pain shot through his head, making him wince.

"The name's Hermione if you don't mind," she said snottily, raising her chin in the air.

"Well, you've grown curves," he complimented honestly.

"Unlike you who seem to fancy pushing all your fat in the belly region."

Draco simply gritted his teeth patiently, knowing all too well that an insult would only cause him pain.

One by one the wizards took off their masks, revealing Thomas, Finnigan, Jordan, the two grinning Weasley twins, Macmillan, two Ravenclaws he never bothered to learn the names of, and to his surprise, the green-robed wizard he learned to hate and despise, was no other than Longbottom.

"Why you little--" Draco managed to cry out before holding unto his head for consolation, as an all too familiar migraine attacked once more, at the account of his attempted lunge at Longbottom. "You cut me twice!"

"And it scared me to death, okay?" the chubby Gryffindor protested, quivering behind Granger for support.

"Don't worry," she said soothingly as she shot Draco a death defying glare, "Malfoy's cursed; he can't hurt you. He can't even hurt a fly!"

"Yeah, easy on your heart Neville," one of the Weasley twins advised playfully, "now that you're in your twenties, a heart attack's not impossible anymore."

"True, true," said the other twin, "why don't you have a toffee? C'mon, it's on me."

"Fred!" Granger cried out angrily, "No candies! We don't want Neville to be sprouting a foot long tongue now!"

"Oh really?" Draco commented from his corner. "I wouldn't mind that, really."

The bit of pain that followed didn't hurt as much as the latter, but it was still enough to make Draco cringe.

"You think by now he'd learn to keep his mouth shut," said Finnigan, grinning.

Draco had to use every bit of his patience to stop himself from separating Finnigan's head from his body to make himself a pretty hat; it was rather difficult. Having enough of the mocking stares and laughing faces, Draco marched towards the moth-eaten curtains, prepared to wreak havoc right then and there, ignoring the mighty pain that would surely come.

As soon as he threw the filthy curtains aside, the horrific throbbing attacked once more, this time so painful that Draco felt tears building up in the corners of his eyes. Faster than the pain, however, was the blood-curling screech that reverberated around the house the moment the curtains were pushed aside. Draco looked up to see a huge life-size painting revealing a woman in a black cap. Her skin was yellow and as she screamed, her skin stretched so much that Draco thought for a split second that she was skinless. It took him a moment before understanding what she was screaming heartily about.

"Why my manor? After all the hard work my ancestors have put into the building of an honourable dark house, Mudbloods, half-breeds and pure vileness trod on its floors--transforming it from the noble house it once was, into a despicable house inhabited by the lowest creatures on earth! Get out! Get out! Get--well, hello there."

Draco blinked twice before he become conscious of the woman staring down at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, as if she wanted to smile. Finnigan, Thomas and the two Weasley twins stopped trying to close the curtains the instant the woman stopped her woes, both curious at what was happening.

"Good evening," said Draco curtly, giving a slight bow as he spoke.

"I wonder," said the woman now in her normal speaking voice, "with your silver hair and handsome looks if you are a member of the Malfoy family?"

"Certainly mad' am," he answered in a gentlemanly way, "and proud to be one."

"Oh, fantastic!" she cried out, finally giving a smile. "A pure-blood has come to save my manor! Why, you're the son of Narcissa! Ah, Narcissa, my nice, beautiful yet powerful young niece!"

"And your name will would be?" asked Draco out of curiosity.

"Ingrid Black," the woman replied proudly, her ebony eyes sparkling in delight, as if no question would have made her even happier, "noble member of the Black ancestry, true believer of the Dark Lord's aims and belongs to a long line of pure bloods."

"Voldemort dies died nine years ago," Hermione retorted, shaking her head.

Ingrid Black's screams ("How dare you say his name--you depraved, imbecilic Mud--") were cut off when Finnigan pushed the curtains close as fast as he could. Draco was apparently disappointed as soon as she was silent, seeming to him that it as only Ingrid Black who understood his passions and beliefs completely.

"I won't be the only one if I say that you didn't need to hear that," someone announced from the far end of the room, making heads turn. Draco swivelled around to see Potter, his one and only rival, standing honourably with his chin in the air. His face looked peculiar, as if he was a man of twenty-seven years of age that looked much, much older. The wrinkles on his forehead were clearly visible, and his hair contained a few silvery specks. Nevertheless, Potter still portrayed the same fearful aura he always let out.

"Hello, Malfoy." He walked towards him, as if he was floating in air, and didn't stop until he was only two feet away from Draco. Everyone was watching the two rivals staring at each other, as though bringing daggers through their eyes.

"Well, well, well, Potter," said Draco, taking two steps back just in case, "you've grown."

"I wouldn't have grown this much if it wasn't for you and your Lord," Potter growled, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Draco suddenly felt the dire need to change the subject. "So--uhh....nice horses you got there. Granger told me it was uhh...a Thestine..."

"Thestral, Malfoy. And again thanks to you, all of us can see it."

Draco didn't know whether to smile or not. Knowing that the man standing in front of him had massacred the one wizard that had brought terror to his very own heart as well as his father's, he knew very well that it was not the time to get to Potter's bad side. Even though he knew that he was more powerful than Potter, the curse that was bestowed upon him forbade him to touch one part of Potter's body, making him practically the most helpless Death Eater ever.

"Who did you see die, Malfoy?" Potter asked lazily, as if it was a question that didn't matter to him.

Everything happened so fast. First, every person in the room stiffened while Draco's eyes glazed in extreme anger. His blood rose to his head, and as it did, he thought, to hell with the curse, I'm going to kill Potter right now. Draco was just about to pounce on Potter when Granger suddenly appeared out of nowhere to hastily pull Potter away from him. Then, there was a loud crack that indicated someone had just Apparated into the room. It was no other than Ronald Weasley, who was now standing between the little distance Potter and Draco were making.

"I told Harry not to ask that," the Weasley said out of the corner of his mouth.

"Why not, huh?" asked Potter, breathing heavily, now under the restraint of both Granger and the two Weasley twins. "He deserved to see her die! I saw it coming, didn't you? We all saw it coming! What, Malfoy, tell me! After killing everyone we loved, you just expected that everyone would just take it easy?"

"She didn't deserve to die!" Draco screamed angrily.

"If it was up to me, Malfoy," said Potter, glaring at him, "you would have been dead too."

Everyone watched as Potter made his way out of the room, all dignity forgotten. His hair was now dishevelled and he was sweating from front to back. His velvety robes were now wrinkled from the groping hands of the Weasley twins trying to hold him back. He closed the door in a loud bang.

"That went pretty smoothly, didn't it?" said Granger sarcastically.

The Weasley, however, was staring at the ground, his ears red. Draco felt as if he needed to say something. He knew that each person in this room was able to see the Thestrals because of him. He knew that he had spread darkness even more vile than the other Death Eaters who were much older than him. He did more than what the Dark Lord had ordered him to do. He abused his power and he enjoyed every minute of it. If there was one person in the world who deserved all of Potter's woes, it was him. Draco wanted to say something, but everything was just too late.

*.*

"Awww...doesn't he look pretty?"

Fred gave the chair a twist and Malfoy was revealed. Luna gave an excited squeal and Hermione was pretty sure that Neville just wet his pants. Malfoy turned out to be actually good-looking--a look that was acceptable to the Muggle world.

His hair was trimmed short and using the new product George had just concocted, Malfoy's hair managed to become sleek once more, in fact, as sleek as it had been when he was seventeen. He was wearing a black and shiny tuxedo, the kind that horribly reminded him of--

"Roberto!" he squeaked.

"Roberto?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Roberto--my--my butler!"

"You had a butler?" asked Luna curiously. "Is it the kind that digs in the ground and attacks with wings sprouting from its head while it kicks with eight legs?"

Malfoy blinked.

"Oh, you're butler is boring then," said Luna, frowning.

"As a matter of fact, yes, you are going to pretend to be a butler," said Hermione, nodding, "not all the time of course. You're going to pretend to be Harry at some point."

"Whoa, slow down buck-tooth," said Malfoy, wincing immediately as the curse gave him an invisible slap in the head for the insult. "I'm going to be what?" "Behold, the magic of slideshows," Hermione announced, waving a finger towards Fred, who immediately pulled a huge box thingy that had a light on top.

"Okay, I don't have any idea at all how that can be--" Malfoy was cut short when he saw the image that was projected into the white wall behind Hermione as soon as George had turned the light in the room off, while Fred turned the light on the box on.

"It's called a Projector, Malfoy," said Hermione, smiling at his bewildered face.

"What kind of spell did you use on it?" Malfoy asked, apparently in awe.

"It's a Muggle device, actually. We simply use electricity--" Hermione stopped explaining when she saw the bored look Malfoy was giving her. "Back to business--the image you're seeing right now is a shot of Colin Creevey in his bed."

"He's not moving," Malfoy noticed.

"Well, of course he's not, Muggle pictures don't move, do they?"

Malfoy squinted to see the blurred image of Colin properly. He walked a few steps closer to the Projector before realizing what he was staring at. He gagged in disgust and disbelief.

"We know," said Luna sadly, "it's a great misfortune."

"Why," Malfoy asked, "is he tied in a bed?"

"Colin is showing symptoms of rabies," Hermione explained softly. "It is a viral disease affecting the central nervous system, transmitted from infected mammals to man and is invariably fatal once symptoms appear. It's supposed to be transferable through bites, but as we examined Colin, we couldn't find any bite mark from him. We think that it might be a spell from a wizard who's managed to hold onto his power after the death of Voldemort."

"How do you know it's an attack?" Malfoy asked, "I mean, it can be any disease, right?"

"A witch in Albania named Gida Deti was reported to have the same symptoms as Colin is having. She is very excitable, attacks viciously, bites, is agitated easily, restless, aggressive, and fearless, salivates excessively, is unable to swallow or drink, is currently suffering from convulsions and will eventually experience--death."

"What does this have to do with Harry?" asked Malfoy.

"Gida Deti was our spy in Albania," Hermione replied, "Colin was our spy here. Both were ordered by Harry."

"Ah, a pattern," said Malfoy nodding.

"Exactly. We fear that Harry might be their next victim," Fred piped in, "and what we want him to do is to be the bait."

"The bait?"

"Right," George answered, "tomorrow, he's going on a date with the world renowned actress Ginny Weasley, ahem--my sister, in Beresford Hotel, where Colin's body was found on the night of the attack. What we want you to do is to apply there, as a butler."

"Why?" asked Malfoy, horrified.

"To keep watch over Harry of course," said Hermione simply. "And to be him."

"Why?" asked Malfoy once more, this time, his face aghast.

"We don't want him to be infected now, do we?"

"So technically, Harry's not the bait, I am, since I'm to take his form?"

"Precisely."

"I am not liking this," said Malfoy, about to back out, "I am so not liking this."

"Don't worry about it Malfoy, we believe that our attacker is weak enough for you. You'll be able to take him down--that's the whole reason we chose you."

"I think we're forgetting something here--like the curse?"

"When you fight our attacker to protect Harry Potter, the number one hero of all time, defeater of Voldemort and leader of the Order, you won't exactly be wrong you know."

Malfoy sank down on his chair, defeated. He raked a hand through his hair, sighing heavily during the process. When he faced Hermione, his eyes were filled with worry and fear. However, he managed to ask Hermione with a voice steady enough to cover for his pounding heart, "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow."

"And I'll be a butler for whom, exactly?"

There was a bright gleam in Hermione's eyes when she answered, "Ginny," (Draco swore loudly) "Ginny Weasley."