The Long and Winding Road

Chapter Three: "The Space Between Us All"

Draco stared numbly at his plate. He couldn't seem to get his eyes all the way open-- his eyelids felt heavy. His whole body felt heavy, in fact; clumsy with weariness, even though it was barely eight o'clock in the morning. He hadn't slept well.

"Draco," his aunt said gently from across the table, "you really should try to eat something."

He sighed, but after a moment he reached out and obediently served himself a pastry, choosing one at random. He managed to choke down a few bites before the effort of eating seemed like too much of a bother. Then he listlessly picked it apart. He gradually filled his china plate with breadcrumbs, covering the Malfoy Arms pattern with tawny specks, like sand drifting over the floor of an abandoned desert temple.

His throat tightened. He dropped the pastry and stared out the window.

He hadn't been outside for nearly three weeks now.

Aunt Andromeda sighed and poured a cup of tea. The cup floated over under the guidance of her wand and hovered in front of him, neatly balanced on its saucer, silently insisting that he take it.

Draco glowered at it. He really, really wanted to hate her. Part of him kept insisting that this was all her fault. If it hadn't been for the blood she shared with his mother, she'd never have been able to force access to the Manor through the Floo Network; and if she hadn't been able to get in, she couldn't have brought the Ministry down on him. Not like that, anyway-- and not by Apparition, either. A person couldn't Apparate into a place they'd never been. Without Aunt Andromeda, they probably would have had to fly here.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been angry at her for exactly that since the moment she arrived. But every time Draco tried to get angry at Aunt Andromeda today, his mind kept presenting him with the image of her sagging on the wall, nerveless with relief that she wasn't going to have to stand aside and see him dragged away to Azkaban. He frowned at the floating teacup, not understanding why that moment had so thoroughly undermined his rage and resentment at her.

With another aggravated sigh, he took the cup and went back to staring out the window. She'd deliberately used twice his usual amount of cream and sugar, which he would have found sickening under normal circumstances. At the moment Draco found it strangely soothing. His empty stomach calmed slightly with the first sip of tea.

He cradled the cup in his hands, soaking up the warmth. It was late July. He was in a brightly sunlit breakfast parlour. Fragrant steam crept from the edges of the covered silver platters.

He still felt cold.

Draco heard footsteps coming down the hallway and tensed. A tiny part of his mind raced through another round of desperate, vengeful and-- he'd finally realised-- stupid plans that wouldn't work, couldn't work, and hadn't worked.

The rest of him stayed wrapped in the muffled gauzy listlessness. Nothing would help him. Completely pointless, all of it. He slumped back in his chair and dully contemplated the choice Aunt Andromeda had presented to him so painfully clearly last night.

I can save the Manor. I can save some of our possessions. I can stay out of Azkaban.

I can lose the Manor. I can see it and all of our possessions burned. I can go to prison.

'Hobson's Choice'. Draco's mouth twitched slightly in appreciation of the black humour. Aunt Andromeda had explained what that meant, too, last night. 'An apparently free choice that in fact allows for no choice at all.'

Oh, terrifically funny, Aunt Andromeda. I'M not the Hobson's Choice, here.

Malfoy wanted to blame someone. And there was a surplus of people to blame currently available to him, really... the Ministry, Dumbledore, Potter, the Wizengamot, Gringotts... Everyone and everything seemed bent on proving that he was helpless to control or even affect the chain of events begun that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries-- no matter how much those events happened to impact his own life.

He felt like he'd been slipped a Draught of the Living Death in his pumpkin juice on the Hogwarts Express, because this entire summer had been one long nightmare. SOMEONE should be held responsible.

Potter's a tempting choice. If I had access to my broom and my wand, I'd hunt him down and kill him. Him and his bloody Dumbledore's Army. I'd go to Azkaban laughing, Aunt Andromeda be damned.

Malfoy shook that idea out of his head, admittedly with some difficulty. He could feel himself beginning to tremble as the thought of Potter-- probably off somewhere enjoying his holiday with his Muggle-loving friends-- pumped violent energy into his bloodstream. His vision blurred. It's not fair!

He struggled to bring himself under control, clamping his hands tightly around his teacup until the fury ebbed. He couldn't afford to lose his temper now. All he could afford to care about was that-- unless he was willing to attack three wand-carrying Aurors with his bare hands like a bloody Muggle, and go to prison as an accessory to crimes his parents hadn't told him the first thing about-- he had no options.

He wasn't quite that suicidal.

A sharp stab of guilt twisted his stomach, making him glad that he hadn't really bothered eating. ...Father would have cursed them out of the front hall and into next week. Mother would have pretended to co-operate until they went away. I didn't manage to accomplish either one. His shoulders slumped again, and he set the teacup down shakily. He closed his burning eyes. I failed. Mother was right to leave me here. Father was right not to tell me anything.

Someone gently nudged his shoulder. "Come on, Draco," said Tonks. "Time to get to work."

He hauled himself up out of his chair and followed her-- out into the dim corridor, through the empty ballroom, past the door to the private drawing room. Moody and Shacklebolt were waiting near the library door, where the main corridor met the corridor running down the East Wing.

Malfoy walked over to a light fixture on the southern wall. He reached up into the ornate candle sconce and raked his thumb over a sharpened edge, hidden in the knots and folds of metal.

He then pressed his bleeding thumb to the stone directly beneath the candelabra. "Patrimonium," he said quietly. A heavy wooden door melted into view under his hand, darkened with age, banded with tarnished silver. "There," Malfoy said despondently.

"Was it invisible?" Tonks asked, peering closely at the silver fittings. Moody snorted derisively.

"No," Malfoy agreed with Moody, rather flatly. "It didn't exist. You'd never have gotten in without me. I want that remembered by the Ministry," he added in a resentful tone, staring at the floor. He would have preferred that no one ever knew how completely he had shamed the name of Malfoy... but that wouldn't bring him any leverage, and he needed all he could get if he was to save anything.

"They will, luv," Tonks said, patting his shoulder gently.

Shacklebolt was fairly courteous about it. "Thank you, Draco."

Moody was neither gentle nor courteous. He jerked his gnarled thumb at the door. "After you, boy," he said, with a horrible smile.

Malfoy sighed and opened the door. He walked into his father's study, followed closely by Tonks and the others.

He hadn't really thought about the condition of the room-- he'd had other things on his mind in the last two weeks. He was amazed that he'd even remembered to lock the door, what with the Warding Web going off and no food for days.

The room was a mess.

His father's desk was still surrounded with the piles of books and scrolls that he'd abandoned when the Web had summoned him. Half-burned candles were strewn on every flat surface, most of which he'd fixed in place by their own melted wax when he'd run out of candelabras.

There were other signs of the six days he'd spent here alone. Empty wine bottles and cheese rinds were scattered on the floor around the hearth; they'd been the only things left in the cellar that even resembled food. A tattered old blanket that he'd pulled out of his toy chest in the nursery was in a tangled pile on the fireside loveseat. An empty, dented tin of Firetalk powder was lying forlornly on its side in the ashes.

Tonks blinked. Shacklebolt glanced around the room with a surprised arch to one eyebrow. Moody snorted. The blatant evidence that he'd actually been in his father's study before they arrived, probably from the day he'd arrived home from school, wound up earning him a universally disapproving glare from all three Aurors.

Malfoy flinched.

"Well, we'd better get to work," Tonks sighed irritably after a moment. "We're going to have to tidy up in here if we want to search the place. I'll get some cleaning stuff from Mum."

...Cleaning. The idea managed to spark a defiant flicker of energy in Malfoy, jarring him slightly out of his depressed daze. More cleaning. Oh HELL no.

Moody caught Malfoy roughly by the shoulder as he headed for the door. "And where do you think YOU'RE going?"

* * *

Malfoy stared moodily into the fireplace, ignoring the artefact they'd dumped in his lap. They'd been in here for nearly two days now-- fifteen hours of hell, in which the Aurors discussed how what they were finding was going to damn his father just that little bit more. It was getting harder and harder not to scream.

He'd co-operated. He'd opened cupboards and chests and drawers, no matter what was in them. He'd hidden nothing. He'd lied about nothing. He'd even warned them about a potentially deadly artefact that Tonks had been about to pick up.

Aunt Andromeda had his promise, and he was sticking to it scrupulously. She was the only person who was willing to defend him at all anymore. He couldn't afford to hack her off again, and that was all there was to it.

He could hear Moody and Shacklebolt behind him, working on the curio cabinets. Malfoy hadn't actually touched any of his father's things before the Ministry invaded, other than his careful checking of the books for anything useful. He wouldn't have dared touch so much as the books, under normal circumstances-- he'd scarcely dared even enter the room-- but the circumstances had hardly been normal, and he'd needed help so badly...

Not that it did me much good. I might just as well have been checking out racing brooms and eating ice cream in Diagon Alley.

Malfoy's mouth twisted sardonically. Oh, wait. No money for ice cream.

At least he'd managed to convince the four of them that this room was exclusively his father's; that his mother obviously could have no knowledge of anything contained in it, because she couldn't get in the door.

'Only someone with Malfoy blood can do it. Mother is only Malfoy by marriage.'

Morons.

He actually had no idea if his mother had ever been in this room. But she was the wife of Lucius Malfoy, and Father had never in his life made an alliance that did not bring him power. The larger and more dangerous section of the laboratory was hers. He was betting that she'd known a way to get in.

Morgan help us if they find one of Mother's private rooms. Thank god he didn't know where those were. He couldn't be forced to show anyone. He could at least help save ONE of his parents; and if it were to be only one, better that it be the one that still had freedom and money.

"That's the fifth time in an hour I've caught you staring at nothing, Malfoy," Moody said.

Malfoy immediately looked back down at the artefact they'd given him, a trapped puzzlebox he'd been trying to open. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." he muttered-- which was, conveniently enough, not a lie.

Tonks yelped, dropping the book she'd just pulled from the shelf behind the desk. It fell open as it hit the floor, and instantly a howling, bitingly cold wind blew from the pages, filling the air with snow.

Moody turned away to deal with it. Malfoy sighed with relief.

"Lucius certainly fancied cold, didn't he?" Tonks complained, her teeth chattering, struggling to close the covers on the growing blizzard. "This is the fourth time I've seen this particular curse..."

"Like calls to like," Moody growled, and forcibly slammed the book shut between his gnarled hands.

Draco flinched and looked back down at the puzzlebox, not quite missing Tonks' swift worried glance in his direction. He sort of wished he HAD missed it. He kept having the idiotic impulse to tell her he was fine.

He wasn't fine.

Tonks took the tome from Moody and set it on the pile of 'Dangerous' books, still looking thoughtfully at Draco. "Kingsley, Mad-Eye, would you mind if I brought in a Wireless? It's too quiet in here."

Moody shrugged indifferently. Shacklebolt simply muttered, "I don't see why not," distracted by the artefact he was trying to get out of the cabinet. It kept trying to stab him.

Draco was surprised when she turned to him. "Draco? Wireless all right with you?"

"Who, me?" he blurted out, before he could stop himself.

"Luv, it's your bloody house," Tonks said, smiling. "Music all right?"

Draco blinked at her. A vague feeling of relief sifted through him at the idea of drowning out not only the thoughts in his head, but also the silence of the Manor. Even when there were people in the same room with him, even when they were talking, he thought he could hear it. It was as pervasive as darkness-- it lurked everywhere, hiding in the corners and the empty rooms, waiting for the sound to die so it could return and smother him. Even the portraits were silent-- there were nothing but silent, pitch-black squares within the frames, like windows facing onto a hushed, empty world that never saw sunlight. "All right," he said faintly, almost hopefully.

Tonks grinned at him and whisked out. Moments later she returned with a brightly painted, battered little portable Wireless, obviously her own, and set it on the desk. Pointing at it with her wand, she tuned in a station with rather loud music and went back to work.

Shacklebolt looked up. "...The Weird Sisters? Really, Tonks."

"You just don't like them because they're popular," Tonks said with an impudent grin, going back to sorting through the bookshelf.

"No-- I don't like them because they're loud. There's a difference."

Draco bent his head back down over his work to hide his own grin. He sort of liked it. Particularly if one of the Ministry's goons didn't. It made a sort of contrary, frantically cheerful noise, blotting out his consciousness of the empty rooms and corridors surrounding them.

He actually found himself humming along after a while. Tonks chuckled, and Draco looked up with a stab of frightened guilt, stopping the noise. But to his surprise, Tonks just gave him a wink and didn't comment. He blinked at her in confusion.

He looked back down at the puzzlebox-- and something suddenly occurred to him. "You know, this would be a lot easier if I had my wand," Malfoy remarked, not looking up at anyone.

A startled silence fell over the room. It was the first thing he'd said that wasn't a response to a direct question in nearly two days.

There was a snort from Moody. "You're an underage wizard."

Malfoy winced internally. Oh. Right. I'm not supposed to be using magic over the summer. I suppose if Father had ever made me obey that law, I wouldn't have forgotten.

He flared up indignantly, trying to distract them from his inadvertent admission. "These things are dangerous, you know! And I'm sitting here prying them open like a Muggle!" I've been living like a bloody Muggle all summer, in fact. I hate this. No wand and no broom. I haven't been outside in weeks!

Shacklebolt finally said, "If we expect him to help us identify these things, he should be able to cast some basic charms. We could arrange with the Ministry for a temporary exemption."

"I don't like it."

"We could hobble his wand," Tonks said. "That should be safe enough. He's helping now, isn't he?"

Moody snorted sceptically.

Shacklebolt studied Malfoy for a long moment. "I'd like to discuss the idea with Andromeda first," he finally said. "We'll talk about it when we stop for dinner."

"Foolish," Moody growled. "He'll hex you as soon as you turn your backs. He's a Malfoy."

You're damned right I am, Malfoy thought sulkily, and went back to working on the box in indignant silence.

...All right, I don't know if I'd hex Tonks anymore, Draco admitted to himself a moment later. But I still want my bloody wand.

* * *

Aunt Andromeda had been cautiously in favour of the idea, so after lunch Shacklebolt disappeared somewhere-- probably gone to the Ministry. It figured that his wand wouldn't even be in the Manor. He supposed he should be grateful they hadn't snapped it in half.

Draco followed Tonks and Moody back to the study and morosely went back to solving the box. Aunt Andromeda had given him a searching look before coming down on his side of the debate, as if to confirm that he remembered his promise to her. His heart had sunk straight into his stomach for some reason, and he'd spent the rest of the meal pushing his food around on his plate. Now he had a stomachache.

Shacklebolt suddenly Apparated back into the study, startling Draco into dropping the puzzlebox.

The Auror silently held out his wand, and with a slightly trembling hand, Draco took it. It was his wand, no question. The only difference was that there was a band of dull black metal fitted around the ebony shaft, just above the handle. The band seemed to make the wand heavier, much more so than the tiny ring would account for.

"That ring is only removable by an Auror," Shacklebolt said. "Your wand will cast detection charms, countercurses, and protections against the Dark Arts, as well as a few simple everyday spells-- Lumos, for instance. But nothing more."

"Thank you," Draco said in a subdued voice, staring down at the wand, trying to reassure himself that it was really there.

Moody glowered at him. "If you try to cast anything dangerous with that ring on your wand, Malfoy, it'll probably explode." He smiled with grim satisfaction. "Wands don't like it when magic backs up on them."

Well, there's that plan scrapped. "I understand," he muttered sullenly, avoiding the scarred Auror's eyes.

Tonks turned the Wireless back on. Music came throbbing out of the little grille-- a bass and drums, as deep and pounding as a dragon's heartbeat, accompanied by something that might be a guitar, played fast and wailing like a banshee. Draco's eyes widened as a wild intermingling of haunting female voices suddenly poured out of the Wireless.

They were singing something about ghosts dancing through a prison, terrifying the inhabitants in the grey hours before dawn. It should have really upset him, given the topic, but instead it was weirdly... cathartic. They never really mentioned Dementors, not specifically, although the ghosts certainly gave the prisoners horrible visions of death and despair-- and they never mentioned Azkaban, nor what the prisoners were there for-- and they mentioned a man who was going to die for killing someone, but not how he'd killed them or why. But most importantly, it wailed and screamed and protested over the horror and pointlessness of it all.

It was gorgeous.

"Tonks, have we got to listen to this?" Moody growled irritably.

"Yeah," Tonks grinned. "We do."

"Damned Belladonna. The Ministry should investigate, I'm convinced they're up to something..."

"Who?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"Belladonna is the name of the band, Draco," Tonks said airily. "Pay him no mind. It's common knowledge at the Ministry that Mad-Eye has no taste."

Shacklebolt chuckled quietly. "Alastor, their subject matter makes it impossible for them to be Death Eaters. You've investigated them yourself, twice. Let it go."

That didn't make any sense to Draco at all. It sounded to him like they were singing about Azkaban. But any band Moody hated-- and had investigated twice, which Draco could only pity them for-- was a band he liked. He smirked, just a little, for the first time in days. "Can we turn it up?" he whispered to Tonks.

Tonks giggled as Moody spun around to glare. Draco quickly ducked his head and studied the puzzlebox, smothering his grin and pretending that he hadn't said a word. Shacklebolt chuckled again.

Feeling a little bit better, Draco turned the box over and picked up his wand. After a few attempts at unlocking charms, a piece finally slid free. He levitated it out and carefully set it to one side, then tilted the heavy, ornately carved box to peer into the hole. There was another, smaller piece inside that seemed to be locking a larger outer piece into position.

He checked it carefully in the light of the candles. No spells on that piece, as far as he could tell. No needles, no powders, no glistening film. But it was too cramped in there for him to levitate the piece out without breaking it; he couldn't tell how it unlocked from here. He reached in with a fingernail and gingerly tugged at the second little piece until it came free-- a gnarled piece roughly the size of a cherry, carved to resemble some sort of snail. He turned over the box and carefully opened the outer panel, pulling a drawer free.

The drawer seemed to contain a small but extremely pretty jewellery box. Curious, Draco peered in at it. It was covered in tiny jewels of every imaginable colour, forming a delicate spiral...

It also seemed to be trapped, unfortunately. As Draco reached out to trace the sparkling helix of gemstones with his fingertip, there was a soft, explosive hiss of air.

He jerked backwards, trying to avoid the cloud of mist jetting from the jewellery box. It coruscated like the Northern Lights, more hypnotic than the box itself as it shifted from colour to colour through the rainbow-- which might have been why Draco wasn't quite fast enough to get out of range. His startled intake of breath sucked a wisp of it down his throat as he dropped the puzzlebox, and the ensuing stab of pain tore an odd, hoarse little whimper from him.

Tonks glanced up in surprise-- then yelped and ran over, quickly casting a Bubble Charm around the box. Draco could hardly see her through the tears in his eyes. His throat suddenly seemed to have been rubbed raw and painted with acid when he wasn't looking.

"Damnit!" she said fiercely. "Draco, don't talk. Try not to cough or swallow. We need to get you an antidote. Mum!" she shouted over her shoulder at the open door.

Shacklebolt picked up the bubble and frowned in at the swirling cloud of colour. "Streeler venom," he said, in the most angry tone of voice Draco had ever heard from him. He handed the bubble to Moody and Apparated out of the room.

Draco begged his cousin for help with his eyes, unable to speak. The back of his throat was starting to feel like someone was pouring boiling metal down it. It also itched like crazy. He clawed at his neck with his fingers. Tonks quickly grabbed his hands and held them away.

"Hang on, luv-- it won't kill you, it just feels like it." Tonks' eyes said she was lying, as did her frantic shout. "MUM!"

Aunt Andromeda burst into the room like a whirlwind, carrying a pale blue potion that glittered like starlight. She reached over Tonks' arms and tipped up Draco's chin, looking into his eyes to make sure she had his attention. "I want you to gargle this and spit it out, Draco. It'll hurt, but it'll dilute the poison. Try not to swallow. Shacklebolt is getting the antidote."

The next few minutes were a nightmare. Draco tried to wash out the poison, but he wasn't sure he'd managed it. He kind of hoped he hadn't, in a perverse sort of way... because if this was diluted, the undiluted effects didn't bear thinking about. By the time Shacklebolt returned, the world was swirling with clouds of colour, and Tonks had had to put a binding hex on him to keep him from ripping his own throat out. It was a toss-up between wanting to get the itch out of his throat and simply wanting to end the pain. The only endurable things left in the world were the arms holding him tightly and the soothing voice whispering in his ear.

Suddenly there was a bottle at his mouth. "Drink it," someone ordered him. Gasping, Draco swallowed. Something that tasted like... unbuttered toast... skim milk... cold mashed potatoes... slid ashily down his throat. It left an aftertaste of slightly stale, lukewarm water. It was the most mind-numbingly bland thing he'd ever tasted.

The burning sensation suddenly vanished entirely, leaving him with nothing more than the worst sore throat he'd ever had in his life. By comparison, it was unimaginably lovely.

And then the potion hit his stomach, churning angrily together with the poison it had washed out of his throat. He tasted salt at the back of his tongue. He suddenly felt like he had that time in Italy, when he'd accidentally swallowed too much seawater. Only about a thousand times worse. He clapped a hand over his mouth.

Aunt Andromeda hurried him into the nearest lavatory and held his head while he threw up.

* * *

Aunt Andromeda did all that could be done to reverse the corrosive effects of the Streeler venom he'd inhaled. She assured him that any permanent damage incurred would be minor. "If anything, I think your voice will wind up being a bit deeper than it might have been," she said, smiling in a conspiratorial way. "I don't imagine that you'll mind."

Draco had to smile a little as he shook his head in agreement. He'd actually find that a relief. He was hitting puberty later than most of his peers, and he was thoroughly sick of being teased by his housemates. It had particularly irked him during this last school year that he was shorter than Potter.

Until his throat healed, however, he couldn't talk. Aunt Andromeda warned him that doing so might cause more severe damage-- possibly resulting in a permanent loss of his voice. Malfoy had no plans for disobedience, for once. A mute wizard was little better than a Squib. The very idea gave him the creeping horrors.

The Aurors took the box away from him. They tossed him out of his father's study, in fact.

"He's shown us about as much as he can, to be honest," Shacklebolt told his aunt. "It's too dangerous for him to be in there, and he won't be able to warn us in time if he does notice something-- not if he can't speak. Tonks can take him around the rest of the house while we work on the study."

Which meant that Malfoy spent the next four days wandering around the Manor, trailing after Tonks with a pad of parchment and a self-inking quill. That was a relief. He didn't feel as guilty as he did in the study, for one thing. For another, he didn't have to deal with Moody.

And for a third, he was starting to actually LIKE Tonks, inconceivable though it was. She brought the Wireless with them, so he got to listen to all the music he wanted. She talked about all kinds of interesting things. She made funny faces at him when he got impatient or depressed. She filled the horrible, echoing silence of the Manor with incessantly cheerful, completely irreverent chatter that made him grin in spite of himself. She never got annoyed at him, in spite of the ungodly amount of time it took for him to write down any but the simplest of replies.

Mostly she wanted to know about who had stayed at the Manor. Which was just fine with Malfoy, because the only times that he'd ever seen guests in the Manor, they had been here for completely public functions that couldn't possibly hurt his parents. Half of the Ministry had attended some of their parties, for Morgan's sake.

So they worked their way down from the first floor, going through the guest rooms. Tonks had wanted to start on the second floor, but Draco shook his head frantically at her.

That's mostly Mother and Father's quarters-- other than the laboratory and workroom, which you've already seen, he scribbled hurriedly. Their private rooms, their offices.

"Oh, I get it," Tonks said, reading the parchment he was holding up. "Too dangerous, huh? We'll leave the rest of that floor for later, then. How about the first floor?"

Guest suites, mostly-- particularly in the East and West Wings, he wrote. They used to be family suites, back when we had a larger family. Some public function rooms in the Old Manor.

"What's the Old Manor?"

The bit in the middle, he wrote, and rolled his eyes at her. It's the original building.

"Oh. All right, what's in there?"

The nursery, the private drawing room, the ballroom, the balcony. The breakfast parlour and father's private study you already know about. The choir loft, and the top floor of the library.

"And the ground floor? Anything we haven't seen yet?"

The chapel, the portrait gallery, the museum, the dining room, the gaming room, the salle. Some more guest suites in the wings. He paused, frowning. After a moment of thought, he added, The music room.

"So did your parents throw a lot of big parties?" she said, going down the spiral staircase ahead of him. "Christmas, Easter, birthdays, that sort of thing?"

Not really, he wrote. We had the big house party at Christmas, of course. Malfoy wasn't about to mention Walpurgis Night. But mostly little dinner parties and weekend visits for close friends. Sometimes meetings for the governors were held here.

"Right, your dad was a Hogwarts governor, a few years back," Tonks said, nodding. "So who visited most often? Did close friends have suites that they always stayed in? How about people from the Ministry?"

Malfoy eyed her suspiciously. Why? he finally asked.

"I'm trying to find out if your dad was spying on them, actually." She grinned a little sheepishly at him. "No offence."

He blinked, then slowly nodded his head. So you want to know who stayed here most often?

"That'd be a help."

Malfoy chewed on his bottom lip, then tried to list people who the Ministry either already knew about or whose presence could be explained away. The Crabbes, the Goyles.

"Right."

Avery, Nott, Jugson, Mulciber. There was no way in hell he was going to tell her about Aunt Bellatrix or the Lestranges. They'd only been here within the last year anyway, because before that they'd been in Azkaban.

"Mmm-hmm," Tonks said, looking a little angry, although it didn't seem to be aimed at him. "How about people who work at the Ministry?"

Malfoy frowned a little, then sighed and made a stab at remembering which of them had been listed in the Daily Prophet as being captured or outed already. Macnair, Rookwood, Fudge.

Tonks sighed and nodded. "Anyone else that came here regularly?"

Draco hesitated, then scribbled, The Parkinsons. Every Christmas.

Tonks blinked at the parchment. "That one surprises me. We don't have anything on the Parkinsons. Only at Christmas?"

Draco nodded. Tonks looked at him curiously. He could tell she wasn't going to leave it alone, so he sighed and explained. I'm betrothed to Pansy Parkinson, he wrote reluctantly.

"You are?" Tonks said, her eyes lighting up. "Really? Why didn't you say?" Draco just shrugged. "How long?" she asked curiously, obviously anticipating some sort of romantic story.

He snorted a laugh and wrote, Since we were eight.

Her eyes widened. "You're joking."

Draco shook his head, smirking. It was arranged by our parents. We exchange birthday greetings, and if we have a Christmas party, they attend. But otherwise we don't really socialise.

Tonks blinked at him dubiously for a long moment before visibly setting it aside. "Well, show me which rooms people stayed in, luv, and we'll check for scrying spells. We'll do the public rooms later."

* * *

Tonks was an uncanny judge of character. She probably got that from Aunt Andromeda. There HAD been scrying spells-- in every single one of the guest rooms, even the ones that the Crabbes and Goyles usually stayed in. Draco couldn't imagine what could have been said in those rooms that would be of interest to his parents.

You'd have to have a brain in order to plot in secret, wouldn't you?

They moved on to the family suites, which took another day. There were scrying spells in these, too, but they were much, much older-- possibly because they hadn't been actual FAMILY suites within his lifetime, barring last Easter. Some of the spells linked the private drawing room to a set of mirrors in a particular suite. Malfoy thought he remembered his mother saying that his Great-Aunt Claudia had once lived in that suite, which he duly communicated to Tonks. Apparently Great-Aunt Claudia had been a suspicious old biddy.

One of the large suites on the second floor had really bothered him. It was the one directly across from his own, in the West Wing, just around the corner from his mother's. To his knowledge, no one had ever stayed in it... but there were visible signs of a fire having happened in the bedroom, at some point in the last decade or so. The floor had charred, but then been magically repaired instead of replaced. The bedroom, dressing room, and bathroom were all far more dusty and neglected than any of the suites on the first or ground floors; they were almost covered in cobwebs.

"What happened in here?" Tonks wanted to know.

All he could do was shrug. There was a faint scent of something in here, something like perfume. It irritated him for some reason. Malfoy rubbed the back of his head, scowling. Suddenly he could feel a headache coming on. Can we take a break? he asked.

* * *

The next day they moved on to the public rooms, checking for spells and curses-- in particular, the ballroom, dining room, and gaming room, most often used during parties. The music room had been almost as neglected as that strange half-burnt family suite. Malfoy told Tonks that he didn't remember it ever having been used; neither his mother nor his father were very fond of music.

The drawing room was still off-limits, to Malfoy's severe annoyance. He sarcastically pointed out that unless they let him in, he couldn't show them the secret room under the floor.

Oops, he scrawled, I suppose you already know about that one, don't you?

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Look, luv, just show me the other rooms and we'll talk about the drawing room later, all right?"

Malfoy sighed and led her into the museum.

Tonks' eyes widened as they stepped into the long gallery, her eyes going up to the ornately decorated ceiling. Four arches were covered in gorgeously coloured paintings, depicting the four elemental landscapes and their inhabitants-- sirens for Water, veela for Air, gorgons for Fire, and lamia for Earth. In between each set of arches, painted at the apex of its own little dome, was the Malfoy coat-of-arms.

"Okay, I can see most of that. Even the lamia; they're part snake, cursed to crawl on their bellies through the dust and all that... but why gorgons for Fire?" Tonks asked, puzzled.

Gorgon's blood is so corrosive that it can set things on fire, Draco explained.

"Ewww..."

Draco smirked at her. She stuck her tongue out at him, and it was forked. He croaked a laugh and she desisted, shushing him.

"Stop it, you'll hurt yourself. So what's this room for?" she asked, staring around at the walls, which were lined in bookshelves and curio cabinets and tapestries. Cushioned tables marched down the centre of the room, most of them displaying jewellery.

It's the Malfoy family museum. Everything important we have that once belonged to our ancestors. Draco trailed his fingers rather wistfully over the ducal coronet of his Great-Grandfather Émile. He'd been a powerful man in France at the beginning of the eighteenth century. He'd brought the family to England, just after Queen Anne's death. Don't pick anything up, he suddenly thought to warn Tonks in a rapid scrawl. There are a lot of spells in here designed to harm thieves. I'd like to leave those up, to protect our things. Is that all right?

She looked from the parchment to his anxious face. "Sure we can. I'll talk to Shacklebolt about it. Did guests come in here often?" Draco shook his head. "Then we can skip it for now." She glanced around the room once more, her eyes bright and curious. "You'll have to bring me and Mum back in here once you get your voice back. Some of this stuff looks pretty wicked. Is that really Venetian glass?" she asked, pointing at a collection of delicate potions bottles on a shelf, each swirling glass stopper ornamented with a different magical creature.

Draco nodded, smirking. About five hundred years old, he informed her smugly.

"Bloody hell." She put her hands behind her back, very carefully. "Get me out of here quick, before I break something," she said, with a sheepish grin.

Draco's eyes widened in what must have been a comically horrified fashion, judging from the resulting explosion of laughter from Tonks. He hurried her out, one arm protectively extended between her and the nearest breakable object.

The next room they went to was the portrait gallery, which suddenly reminded Draco of something he'd been meaning to ask. Can we get these fixed?

"What d'you mean, fixed?" His cousin glanced around at the stark black canvases, startled. "Draco, are these portraits?"

He nodded. I think Mother did it, before she left, he admitted painfully. So nobody could ask them where she went, I suppose. It's really creepy, though. Can we fix it?

Tonks nodded. "I don't know if it's really Ministry business," she admitted reluctantly, "but you and I can ask Mum. I'll bet she can figure it out." Draco sighed in relief. Tonks stared around at the silent, empty frames for a moment longer, then shivered. "You're right, it's creepy. Let's get out of here. It's time for supper anyway."

* * *

The next day they tried some of the more public rooms on the second floor. Malfoy had a nerve-wracking morning in which Tonks tried-- and failed, to his relief-- to track down a strange magical aura in his mother's arboretum.

"I just don't get it," she complained, sitting on the edge of the ornamental pool. It was designed to look like a natural water source. A little waterfall trickled down from the ceiling, descending down a series of rocks into the irregularly-shaped basin. "I know there's something here, but it keeps shifting."

Malfoy shrugged and sat down next to her, propping the pad of parchment on his knee to write. I don't know where it is, he told her. Maybe it's the plants?

"No, it's a concealment charm of some sort," she sighed. "I'll have to get Moody's help."

Malfoy's stomach lurched. Is it important? It's just a garden, he wrote desperately. If his mother had hidden something in here, it probably WAS important. Which meant that he didn't want the Ministry knowing about it. For her sake, if nothing else. He'd managed against all odds to keep her record spotless the entire time the Ministry had been here. I know she was working on some magical ways to make plants grow faster, he added. She might have cast things to conceal her work until it was ready-- I mean, there's nothing to keep strangers out of this room.

"I guess so," Tonks said, studying the parchment, then his face. She brightened slightly, as if she'd decided that he was telling the truth. Which he was. Just not all of it. "That's perfectly legal. We can come back to it after we're done with the rest of the rooms."

He breathed a sigh of relief. Tonks stood up-- and her foot slid out from under her on the wet rocks beneath her feet. Flailing her arms in a useless attempt to regain her balance, she fell backward and knocked them both into the pool.

Malfoy sputtered in annoyance and sat up, waist deep in water, his parchments scattered and floating around him, his klutz of a cousin in his lap.

Tonks scrambled off of him. "Sorry! Sorry!" She tried to shake water out of her soaked sleeves.

He rolled his eyes disgustedly and planted his hands on the rocks at the bottom, trying to push himself out over the raised edge of the pool.

And something bit him. Hard.

Yelping in pain, Draco scrambled up out of the water, shaking his right hand wildly. A tiny lobster-like thing, light grey with dark green spots, was hanging from the pad of his thumb and clacking angrily. Tonks snatched up her wand and cast a quick charm on it, making it let go. It fell hissing back into the water.

His hand throbbed. Draco wrapped his hand around the injury and squeezed, which eased the pain a bit. He tried to curse, but nothing came out but unintelligible croaking. Just as well. Aunt Andromeda would probably have gotten out the Mess Remover for what he was trying to say.

"Don't talk!" Tonks pulled him out of the pool in a hurry, then held out her hand, her wand held high and glowing brightly. "Let me see."

Wincing, Draco released his pained hold on the injury and gave her his hand. The skin of his thumb was turning a dark, sickly green around the edges of a rapidly developing blood blister. Tonks studied it with a frown.

Moody and Shacklebolt appeared suddenly in the doorway. "What happened in here?" Shacklebolt said, holding Moody's wand arm tightly by the elbow. Moody looked as if he'd been planning to hex first and ask questions later.

"Draco got bitten by something," Tonks said worriedly, glancing up at Draco's face. "And... um, I didn't like the look of it," she said evasively.

"What was it?" Moody demanded.

"It was lobster-shaped," she said reluctantly. "And I think it was grey."

Shacklebolt came over and looked at the injury. Then he, too, carefully studied Draco's face. "He's a bit flushed," he decided, sounding as if this was a bad thing.

"Mackled Malaclaw," Moody decided, marching over to the pool and poking at the water with his wand, eyeing it suspiciously. The lobster-thing was nowhere to be seen in the muddle of grey rocks and green moss at the bottom of the pool.

"A Malaclaw bite," Tonks sighed. "As if you needed that."

Draco stared at her, a sudden flare of panic making his hands shake as he scrabbled after his parchment and quill. Antidote? he wrote frantically on a less-soaked piece of paper.

Moody glanced this and snorted. "There's no antidote for a Mackled Malaclaw bite," he growled, still poking at the water.

Draco's eyes widened in horror.

"It doesn't kill you!" Tonks hurried to reassure her cousin, shooting a rather exasperated glance at her fellow Auror. "You'll be fine. It won't even hurt, once we heal it up."

"It gives you bad luck, Malfoy," Moody rumbled, sounding rather maliciously pleased but otherwise ignoring him. "For about a week or so. Nothing to worry about."

Draco stared at Tonks in dismay. She nodded, looking almost sorry for him.

Draco sat back down-- on the floor, this time, which was apparently a much safer place-- and stared at his thumb. I don't think I can stand anything else going wrong this month. Isn't there a bag limit on horrible things happening to you?

Maybe it won't work. The worst thing that could happen to me has already happened, hasn't it?

* * *

His aunt healed him up again, insofar as he could be. Eventually, the only worrisome sign of the Malaclaw bite was a faint green stain beneath Draco's skin. It spread in little threads like slightly jaundiced veins, trailing down from the tiny jade-tinted scar on his thumb, across his palm, and into his wrist.

"That should fade as the venom works its way out of your system," she explained, her sharp eyes a softer blue than usual as she met his worried gaze. "Draco, I want to you be extra careful for the next week or so. Let Nymphadora handle anything dangerous you encounter. Don't do anything that relies on chance to go well."

Draco nodded nervously.

"We're almost done with the public rooms," Tonks reassured her mother. "The only one we've got left is the chapel. After that he can take a break for a few days."

"Good," Aunt Andromeda sighed. "You might as well go and get that done with now, then. I'll feel much better once he's not poking around in dangerous areas."

Draco smirked and picked up his pad of parchment. So, you're planning on taking me out of the Manor entirely, then?

"Very funny, Draco. Go on," she said sternly, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Draco led Tonks to the chapel on the ground floor. He'd hardly ever been in this room, but he was familiar enough with it that he pushed open the double doors and wandered in without much of a reaction.

Tonks, on the other hand, stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening into startled saucers.

"Holy mother of Merlin," she breathed.

Malfoy looked around in surprise, then snorted a laugh. Not an inappropriate reaction, I suppose.

Pale marble walls rose to an intricately arched ceiling, the curves and circles above glowing even in the dim light. Choirs of angels hovered there in vibrant colours, circling a glittering sun-in-glory at the centre of the dome.

Painted wooden panels lined the walls, faded by the passage of centuries but still stunningly beautiful. Saints were depicted on them in the severe, sharply delineated style of Byzantium-- haloed in gold, sparkling with jewels, their robes falling in straight lines to their feet.

At the far end of the room, past four carved ebony pews for the congregation, a draped altar stood behind a golden, gated partition. The partition bore the most detailed icon of all-- Christ, holding a glowing tome, one hand lifted in benediction, surrounded by a corona of flame. An unlit golden lamp stood between the gate and the pews.

An alcove to one side of the partition was wreathed in a mosaic of flowers. Row upon row of small white candles stood before an icon of the Mother of God, a single tear falling from her dark, almond-shaped eyes. An alcove to the other side held a Bible on a golden stand.

The room was covered in dust. The air was slightly stale, as if no one had been in here for years; only the faintest ghost of incense still lingered.

Good morning, Tonks! Malfoy wrote, and waved it in front of her stunned face with a nastily superior smirk.

"What? Oh!" She glanced around the room again. "I've never seen anything like this," she muttered, shaking her head. "It's not Catholic, I know that-- Dad's Catholic."

Eastern Orthodox, Malfoy scrawled carelessly. Wizard version, of course. What do you want to see first?

"Um." Tonks took another flabbergasted look, then sighed. "You'd better show me the altar stuff. We'll work from there."

* * *

Tonks was still going over the religious paraphernalia with painful caution, and it was boring Malfoy to tears. He got up and paced around the room, weaving back and forth between the pews. This room made him uncomfortable. He'd never spent this much time in it before. And he could not get rid of the nagging feeling that only someone of Malfoy blood was supposed to be behind the partition. Not that I'd have anything to say about it anyway, he thought resentfully. Better Tonks, in that case, than Shacklebolt or Moody.

He wished she'd thought to bring the Wireless in here. Between the silence and the room itself, the numb, hazy veil between himself and the world-- which had been thinning as it was, under the influence of Tonks-- was tearing badly. He walked over to the other alcove next to the altar, studying the ornate golden stand bearing the family Bible. They'd checked it for curses already.

Malfoy rolled his eyes in disgust. Or rather, Tonks looked at it and then nearly knocked the bloody thing over. He flipped open the cover and entertained himself by tracing his lineage through the names listed there. His finger trailed down the page to the bottom. His father's name and date of birth. The date of his father's christening. His father's and mother's names together, and the date of their marriage.

...Two slashed out lines.

Draco blinked down at the page. A pair of lines beneath his parents' wedding date had been inked over. Repeatedly. He stared at the darkly etched, blotchy rectangle, frowning. His pulse began throbbing in his temples.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel the sudden headache, then shook his head and went further down the page. There was his own name and date of birth, and the date of his christening. He studied the page morosely, wondering if he would ever get the chance to put his own marriage date there, or the names of his children. It didn't seem likely at the moment.

Good thing they don't record things like incarceration.

Thoroughly depressed once more, he flipped through the pages of the Bible, not really seeing any of the Greek text. Finally he propped his chin on his hands and leaned on the stand, staring aimlessly at the wall, his eyes tracing the abstract patterns of the mosaic.

...There was something wrong with the wall.

Draco squinted at it, bewildered.

"Draco, luv, do you know how to open this?" Tonks called, still puttering about with the chest she'd found under the altar. It was a larger version of the one he'd carried to Knockturn Alley, almost four years ago now; covered in black leather, bound and locked in gold, with fleur-de-lis ornamenting the edges.

He sighed and smoothed his parchment flat on top of the Bible. He was getting really tired of not being able to talk. His throat felt mostly all right now; maybe he could get Aunt Andromeda to lift the talking ban tomorrow morning. No, sorry, he told his cousin. I never really came in here much.

"Oh well, so much for that idea," she muttered, and tried another unlocking spell. Something zapped her, and she yelped. Draco went back to staring despondently at nothing.

...There was STILL something wrong with the wall. The complex swirls of the mosaic swam forwards and backwards in his vision as if they were actually moving. The wall looked almost translucent in the flickering light of the candles.

Malfoy sucked in a startled breath, his eyes widening with horror. Oh bloody hell-- anything but that-- why isn't it gone?!

A hand fell onto his shoulder with such sudden force that it was nearly a slap. Malfoy shouted, wordlessly and hoarsely, and spun to look up at Moody's face.

"What are you looking at, boy?" he rumbled, his scarred visage not two feet from Malfoy's.

Tonks screeched, and the sizzle of scorching flesh came from the altar. "Mad-Eye, you scared the bejeezus out of me! What are you doing in here?"

Moody's gaze didn't waver from his captive. "I heard you and that box you're working on," he replied curtly, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as Malfoy tried to jerk away. "Malfoy, I'm going to ask you again-- what are you looking at?"

"Nothing!" yelped Malfoy, without thinking. His voice was horrible, wavering randomly from a growl to a squeak, and all of it sounding like he had a throat full of wet sand. But he could talk again, after a fashion.

Just when he didn't want to.

No, no, no...!

"Bollocks." The scarred Auror turned to look at the alcove, scanning it with his magical eye. "There's something wrong with the wall, isn't there?" he finally said, frowning at it as if he suspected it of dark doings.

He probably did. And he was right. Malfoy's stomach was roiling with such anger and fright that he was surprised he didn't throw up. He yanked himself out of Moody's grasp and forced himself to step directly between the Auror and the wall. "It's just a funny wall," he managed to rasp out. "It's probably a meditation mosaic, some sort of prayer aid--"

"Bollocks," Moody snarled again. He pushed Malfoy aside, leaning in towards the suspicious pattern, peering at it.

"Draco, you're not supposed to be talking!" Tonks scolded, starting towards the two of them-- and then suddenly knocked one of the candelabras off the altar as she passed, with a crash louder than anything she'd done since she'd arrived. Shacklebolt, who was now peering curiously at Moody from the chapel doorway, made a startled noise and moved to rescue Tonks.

Moody's attention never budged from the panel. Malfoy cursed internally. If there was a charm on the wall-- and there had to be-- it wasn't working well enough. It was probably old, not up to dealing with the stupid single-mindedness of someone like Moody. He scrambled in his pocket for his wand, although he wasn't sure what he'd be able to do with it.

"It's a book," Moody said slowly.

"It's a WALL, you lumbering moron!" Malfoy howled in a grating voice, driven to complete defiance. "Get your eye checked!"

There was a startled silence behind them. Moody ignored it. He reached up and pushed his hands right through what looked like impervious chips of stone. His hands disappeared past the wrist.

Malfoy found himself furiously wishing that they'd REALLY disappear. His grip tightened clammily on his wand.

When Moody's hands reappeared again, they were holding a large tome bound in dark red leather. The old Auror walked past him to set it on the altar-- ignoring Malfoy, the startled looks from Tonks and Shacklebolt, and the badly bent golden candelabra on the floor. Malfoy ran after him.

That was a mistake. It put him in range. Moody turned and grabbed him by the collar.

"You see it, don't you, you little prat," he growled.

"No," Malfoy insisted. "I mean, yes, it's a book--"

"AND?"

"It's-- it's a Bible. It's an antique," Malfoy protested. "It was put away for safe keeping or something!"

"Yes, with a Diversion Hex plastered so thickly over the wall that it's a miracle Tonks hasn't accidentally killed herself by now." Moody's eye was about six inches from his own, as if the Auror were trying to bore a hole in his skull. Malfoy whimpered. "Why can't I read it?"

"I can barely see it at all," Tonks wondered. "It's just a sort of rectangular smudge in the air..."

"The boy can see it," Moody said, giving her a look. "I was watching him. He looked terrified. He recognised a danger to his father, is my guess."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Malfoy yelled, so loudly that his throat felt like it had burst into flames.

Moody shook him. "This is something important, and only you can see it. Tell me what it is, boy, or I'm taking you straight to the Wizengamot!"

* * *

The Manor was in an uproar. Malfoy found himself wishing that the silence he'd hated so much would come back. How could only four adults talking make that much noise?

They'd taken away his wand again. Moody was vehemently calling for a trip to Azkaban. Shacklebolt was advising the use of Veritaserum. Tonks was arguing with both of them.

Aunt Andromeda, however, was on the couch next to him, trying to rattle him out of his stubborn silence. Malfoy folded his arms and glowered at the floor.

"Draco, look at me!"

No, I won't. I'm not doing that, and I'm not telling you about the book.

Aunt Andromeda sat up abruptly, making an exasperated noise. "Well, it appears that the promise of a Malfoy is worth nothing."

Malfoy flinched.

"Nymphadora," Aunt Andromeda said. She didn't stop glaring at him. Malfoy could tell. He could feel that icy blue stare burning his skin. "While I disagree strongly with the Azkaban option, I think perhaps it IS time to use Veritaserum."

Draco flashed a look up at her. His eyes met his aunt's for a grateful instant, then skittered away.

"...Ah," she said gently, after a long, startled silence on her part. "I believe I understand your problem, Draco." She turned briskly to Tonks. "I think that we should call in your colleague, Nymphadora. The one from Slytherin House."

Tonks blinked at her for a moment, then her eyebrows shot up and she glanced at Draco. "Oh!"

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Andromeda," Shacklebolt said slowly.

"He will have Veritaserum, will he not?"

Draco, against his better judgement, was drawn into looking up at the four arguing adults. Who was this other person-- and if he was Tonks' colleague, why did it sound like he didn't work for the Ministry?

"Always does," growled Moody. He had the strangest expression on his face. It looked like extremely reluctant respect. Probably of the outrageous level of paranoia suggested by someone who kept Veritaserum on hand like other people kept pumpkin juice. Moody approved of paranoia.

"Call him." Aunt Andromeda stood up and held out her hand to her desperately slouched ward. "And get the necessary approval from the Ministry. I don't care what you have to tell them," she said calmly, as if she ordered Ministry officials around every day. "Draco, come with me. It's time for supper."

* * *

Draco could hear the newcomer all the way from the dining room. He sat up straight with a jolt of excitement as an extremely familiar voice echoed down the corridor.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to reach you?" Professor Snape shouted.

"We've been a bit busy!" Tonks' voice protested.

"You've ignored nine of my messages. Nine! How long does it take you to pen a simple letter?"

"I asked Molly to tell you he was all right...!"

He? Oh. Me! Draco was surprised by his reaction to that. The fact that Professor Snape had apparently been worried about his safety seemed to ease that aching cold emptiness in his chest by quite a lot. He must have been sending messages for weeks now!

" 'Draco's doing fine' lacks a certain level of plausible detail, considering the circumstances." That acid tone was unmistakable. If Tonks had still been at Hogwarts, it would have cost her house at least ten points. Draco smirked. "I did not associate with Lucius for the last twenty years to have the boy disappear, too!"

The amused look faded from Draco's face as quickly as it had appeared, wiped away by a frown of bewilderment. Too? What the hell does that mean? Who else disappeared?

"Where is he?" his Head of House demanded, cutting off Tonks' continued arguments. "I've wasted too much of my time already to listen to your ridiculous excuses."

"He's having supper, what d'you think at this time of day? D'you think Mum's been starving him?"

Draco was not, in fact, having supper. He wasn't doing anything but staring at the door, his heart thumping at the base of his throat. He looked over at his aunt, only to find her sharp, knowing eyes on him. She smiled at him. "Go ahead," she said indulgently. "You're excused."

He bolted out of his chair and ran to the door, just as it was flung violently open from the other side. Draco skidded to a stop. Professor Snape stood in the corridor, sallow with fury, eyes blazing. His robes flared and settled like black wings as he came to a sudden halt.

Draco had never seen him this hacked off. In spite of the grey fog of depression clogging his brain, he felt his mouth curve into a genuine smile. "Professor Snape!"

"Draco." His teacher's black eyes skimmed over him, irritably taking an estimate from his appearance. "Well, they certainly haven't been feeding you," he snapped. But a certain amount of tension seemed to drain out of the Potions master.

"I think you will find," came Aunt Andromeda's voice from behind Draco, "that the trick these days is getting him to eat."

Professor Snape's gaze flicked past him. "I have always found him to be a most obedient student," he sneered with open disdain, as if Aunt Andromeda were some sort of incompetent teacher's aide instead of Draco's guardian.

"Then perhaps you will do me the favour of sitting down with us for supper," Aunt Andromeda said with pleasant imperturbability, appearing at Draco's shoulder. "I am sure he will improve under your watchful eye." She looked at Draco for a long moment, assessing something in his hopeful expression... and a strange, affectionate sort of amusement crept onto her face. She then turned and offered her hand to Draco's Head of House, gracing him with a warmly welcoming smile. "You have no idea how pleased I am to meet you, Professor Snape. Won't you join us?"

* * *

Draco ate. He really couldn't do anything but, once Aunt Andromeda had said that. It wasn't as if he wanted to join the conversation anyway. Not only did he not want to discuss the book, his throat hurt like bloody hell. So he ate. House pride must be upheld at all costs.

Not to mention that Professor Snape glared at him whenever he tried to push his food around on his plate. He seemed to resent the delay incurred. The Potions master had sat down at the table with extreme reluctance, quite obviously wanting to be elsewhere. So Draco ate quickly and obediently, listening to Aunt Andromeda update his Head of House on what had been happening in the Manor for the past three weeks.

Draco had assumed that her rendition of events would be severely prejudiced in favour of the Ministry. He was shocked to discover that it was anything but. He nearly choked on his pumpkin juice when she described his welcome of the Ministry in the entrance hall as 'a determined and capable-- if misguided-- attempt to defend his home'. Professor Snape had glanced at him with that subtle flicker of approval that usually accompanied his doing something brilliant in Potions.

But then she got to the events of the past few days. Malfoy stopped eating, hunching his shoulders sulkily, glowering at his plate, as Aunt Andromeda tersely described their current dilemma with the hidden book.

"I am left with a choice between using Veritaserum on my nephew or seeing the Aurors take him to Azkaban," she said, her voice infused with a sort of dismayed and angry frustration. "So I asked Nymphadora to contact you."

"While I certainly have a store of Veritaserum," Professor Snape drawled icily, "I fail to see why you requested my presence. I am not an enforcer for the Ministry. You would do better to ask someone who is."

There was suddenly a very awkward silence. Malfoy eyed them from beneath his lashes, his gaze flicking from Professor Snape to Aunt Andromeda. Some sort of silent communication was going on between the two of them. Aunt Andromeda glanced in Malfoy's direction, and then she shook her head, slightly but firmly, at Professor Snape. The Potions master's mouth twisted in irritation.

"I would strongly prefer," Aunt Andromeda said, "that if it be done at all, it be done by someone Draco trusts. Tonks is getting approval from the Ministry to use Veritaserum, but as I understand, it need not actually be administered personally by their agents. You are more than qualified to oversee the potion's use, and you are an adult wizard in good standing with the Wizengamot. I fail to see how they can object."

Professor Snape smirked, rather sourly. Malfoy could sense all kinds of undercurrents rippling through this conversation, but he couldn't figure out what they meant. It was insanely aggravating.

Also disconcerting. He hadn't really cared about anything in days, and he didn't like being pulled out of the safe, sheltering numbness he'd been floating in. There were upsetting things out here, waiting for him. He seemed to react in strange and unpredictable ways when he wasn't insulated. Like persistently wanting to cry, for instance.

Draco blinked furiously. Fifteen year old boys did not cry. Malfoys most CERTAINLY did not cry. Not unless you counted being in hideous amounts of pain, which he didn't. The last time he'd honestly cried was rather hazy in his memory, in fact; well over a decade ago. Tears got you nowhere.

"If the proper permissions from the Ministry are acquired, I will administer the potion," the Potions master finally said grudgingly. "Given your requirements, I can see that you would have few choices available to you. But you had best see that it is done quickly. I have duties that must be attended to, as your daughter should have informed you," he added acidly.

Draco felt his mouth twitch into a bitterly crooked smile. That seems to be a recurring problem for everybody this summer. Choice.

* * *

Draco stared morosely at the tiny pool of clear, sparkling liquid at the bottom of the spoon. It glittered in the morning light as if it were Extract of Diamond instead of Veritaserum.

"Drink it," Moody rumbled.

He looked past Moody at his aunt, who gave him an encouraging little nod-- then up at Professor Snape, who was standing to one side with his arms folded, glaring darkly at everyone like a broody vulture. Draco reached out with a sigh and took the spoon. He took the three requisite drops, feeling an oddly cool tingle in his throat as he swallowed.

"All right." Moody stepped forward-- only to be restrained by Shacklebolt.

"Let's allow Tonks to handle this one," he said quietly. "I think we'll get better results."

"Oh, thanks loads," she muttered back. Neither Moody nor Tonks looked happy with this proposal, but Moody finally gave an irritated shrug and left her the field. Tonks sighed and stepped forward to stand in front of Draco's chair.

"Okay, Draco, I'm going to give you some test questions." She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he nodded. He felt strange. Everything in the room was sort of sparkling and sharp-edged. His throat wasn't hurting any more, and he was suddenly both alert and strangely contemplative. He stared around at everything, wondering if the colours had really been that vibrant all this time.

"What's your full name?"

He didn't exactly decide to answer-- his mouth just opened of its own volition while he was busy looking around the room, and he heard his own voice come out. He sounded very calm. Does Veritaserum have a sedative effect? "Draco Émile Augustin Giovanni Basileios Malfoy." Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught his Head of House nodding in response to Tonks' startled and questioning look. Draco filed that away to think about later. His full name didn't appear on his school records. How did Professor Snape know it?

"Holy cow." Tonks looked astonished. "That's a mouthful. Why?"

"Draco is mine. The rest are names honouring an ancestor from each region we've settled in through the ages: France, Spain, Italy, and Byzantium," he explained proudly. "Malfoy children are named for the forebears their parents admire most. You're supposed to receive the blessings-- or at least the qualities-- of the ancestors you're named for." Draco shrugged. "It's not like we use them all."

"And I thought 'Nymphadora' was bad." Aunt Andromeda tsked at her, and Draco grinned slightly. "All right. Who do you love most in the world?"

"My mother." He frowned. There was something not quite right about that answer. "My father," he added immediately on the heels of his previous statement-- and frowned harder, suddenly very conflicted. "My... Wait. I don't-- I'm not sure..." He blinked up at his cousin, beginning to feel rather panicked, even through the layer of cool serenity brought on by the Truth Potion. There was a weird pressure in his head that was becoming more and more painful. "Tonks--"

"Perfectly normal, luv; that answer's fine," Tonks reassured him.

Draco sighed in relief and let it go. There had been a third answer in there, trying to get out-- but he'd drawn a complete blank on what it was. It had felt like he was being pulled in two opposite directions by dozens of invisible hooks. The sensation had been unnerving.

Draco suddenly noticed that Professor Snape was staring at him with narrowed eyes-- not as if he were angry, but as if he suddenly suspected something funny was going on. Draco couldn't imagine what his teacher thought he was up to. He was under Veritaserum, for Morgan's sake.

"Who do you hate most in the world?" his cousin asked this time.

Malfoy answered without a moment's hesitation. "POTTER." Even the Veritaserum couldn't make that answer calm. There was a suspiciously amused snort from Professor Snape. Tonks' eyebrows flew up.

It suddenly occurred to Draco to wonder why he felt that way. Some of the things he'd been blaming Potter for since he got off the train this summer seemed very far-fetched, now that he looked at them. How the hell would Potter convince Gringotts to close my family's account, anyway? They're GOBLINS, they hardly even listen to the Wizengamot. What could he have done-- sent them a threatening letter from school? His irrationally violent antipathy for Potter squirmed uncomfortably around in his head, fading temporarily to a state of confused irritation and dislike.

And jealousy. Bloody hell. Draco tilted his head and frowned thoughtfully into the distance. I never realised that. How extremely annoying. And offended pride, but I knew that already. No, those are NOT hurt feelings-- Draco struggled fiercely to cling to denial for a long moment, and lost. --Damn, they are. That's not possible, is it? I mean, really, why would I ever have wanted to be friends with a Gryffindor, much less Dumbledore's little angel...?

Malfoy scowled suddenly, brought up short by his recollection of the latest little miracle performed by the Saviour of the Wizarding World. --He still sent my father to Azkaban. It was no longer just dislike.

He was so busy re-examining five years of unspeakable hatred for Harry Potter that he missed the next question. He only snapped out of it when the room got noisy. Other people were talking.

Draco looked up and assessed the situation. Aunt Andromeda looked worried. Shacklebolt seemed concerned. Moody was quite obviously frustrated. Tonks wore a very puzzled expression. And Professor Snape... Professor Snape was leaning over him, staring him piercingly in the eye. He looked slightly disturbed, but it was mingled with intellectual curiosity. He pulled out his wand and muttered a spell that Draco couldn't quite hear.

A faint blue glow erupted around Draco. It was very strange to look at everyone through it, as if he were under a thin film of water. He heard the ocean in his ears, sounding as if it were coming from somewhere very far away. It shushed him softly for a few seconds before fading again.

"What's wrong with the boy?" Moody growled irritably.

"I'm underweight," Draco told him promptly. "Also without any parents for the foreseeable future." He squinted thoughtfully into the distance again. "I'm insomniac and having night terrors, and I've been getting these weird random headaches. I seem to have self-worth problems that I'm overcompensating for, but I can't imagine where they came from. Oh, and I've been poisoned with Mackled Malaclaw venom. That's all I can think of-- but you should really ask Aunt Andromeda, she's probably got me all figured out. She's so smart it's scary."

Tonks nearly fell down, she was laughing so hard. Even Shacklebolt grinned.

"Well, you can't say it's not working," Aunt Andromeda told Moody, her voice wobbling ever so slightly. Her eyes were sparkling with suppressed laughter. "I think this particular reaction is a little unusual, though, isn't it?"

"He does have a slightly atypical reaction to certain potions, but it's irrelevant for your purposes," the Potions master said, studying Draco closely as the blue glow faded. "His mind may wander a bit, but if he answers you, it will be the truth." He smirked. "Possibly more truth than you want to hear, but the truth."

Tonks got herself under control, wiping her eyes. "All right." She turned back to her cousin and sat on her heels in front of his chair, bringing her face down to a more comfortable level for both of them. "Draco, tell me about that book." She pointed at the table in the centre of the room, where the red-bound tome rested.

For the first time, Malfoy struggled not to answer. The other answers hadn't seemed important, but this he knew was vital, in spite of the weirdly soothing effects of the Truth Serum. He clamped his jaw shut.

It didn't help. The truth was shining painfully in his head, as if it would lance an exit for itself right through his eye sockets if he didn't willingly let it out. Malfoy sent a wildly pleading look at his Head of House. Professor Snape's mouth twitched, but he made no other response... except for what might have been a faint flicker of pity in his eyes.

Malfoy's heartbeat began throbbing in his temples, and the room blurred a little with every beat. He blinked desperately-- his mouth opened-- and in a hollow moment of despair, he heard himself answer.

"It's my father's journal."