A Type of Revenge

A Type of Revenge

Draco Malfoy stared at his father in barely disguised horror. “You did what?” he demanded.

“I had Salem Wiley killed Draco.  We didn’t need her any more.” said his father in board tones.

“She’s a Bard.  How could you be so...”

“Yes?” Lucius said silkily.

“Reckless.” said Draco, amending what he was going to say from the original ‘stupid’.  Lucius Malfoy was always dangerous when he spoke like that.

“It wasn’t a reckless decision Draco.   It will be for the best.”

“But why did you kill her?  The Wiley’s have been associated with us for centuries.”

“All,” agreed his father, “Except Salem.   I didn’t like her influence on you.”

“Salem was a Bard.  She’s one of the most influential people in the world, and you killed her?”

“She would not agree to marry you.”

Hang on, thought Draco.  If he didn’t like Salem’s influence on me, why did he want me to marry her.  He cautiously put this to Lucius.

“Good.” said Lucius approvingly, “You picked that up.”

Once being given such praise would have overjoyed Draco.   Now, still reeling from the shock of having his closest friend killed, all Draco could feel was a sense of nausea.

“It was for alliance purposes of course.   She would marry you, and if we could not get her to obey us, she would have a convenient accident.  Her grandmother and I planned for this years ago.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully.  Although it would be part of why Lucius had had Salem killed, it seemed a much too trivial reason for even him. “Is there another reason?”

Lucius looked at him sharply.

“Forgive me for being impertinent father, but killing her because she refused to marry me, seems far too much of a trivial reason for you to take such a risk.”

“You are improving son.”

Draco gave a sickly smile, “I learnt it all from you father.”

“True.  If it wasn’t that it was legally required by law for you to attend Hogwarts, I would remove you from that school where they allow mudbloods to be in the same room as purebloods.  You learn nothing useful there.”

By ‘useful’, Lucius meant anything of the Dark Arts.   Draco gave an internal shiver.   Suddenly studying the Dark Arts didn’t seem as important as it used to.  It was Salem’s influence surely.  She was always talking about the importance of neutrality, and not doing harm.   He shook his head mentally.   He would think about Salem later.

“That may be so father,” he agreed, “But it is also a place to make future contacts, and to learn about Potter’s weaknesses.”

“Yes.  Why do you think I allow you to attend.”

Draco was silent.  He could think of no response that wouldn’t annoy Lucius.   He really didn’t want to be around an annoyed Lucius.

Fortunately, Lucius didn’t seem to expect an answer. “She was growing too dangerous.”

“Sir?”

“Salem.  She knew much of what we are doing, and some of what we planned, and she made no secret of the fact that she disapproved.  When she refused to join us, He decided that she must be killed before she gave anything away.”

Draco continued his silence.  If they’d sworn her to secrecy, she wouldn’t have been able to tell anyone what she had heard, her Bardic Oath would prevent her.   And if his father hadn’t been so blind to what Salem was, and what she believed, he would never have let her stay so long.

“How will you explain her death?”

“You leave that to me son.  I will deal with that.  All you have to do is bury her.”

Draco nearly choked. “You want me to bury her?”

“Yes.  There’s a shovel in the gardener’s shed.  Rinsol will show you where the grave is to be, but you must dig it.   I will know if you don’t.   Now leave me.”

He left.  The shovel was exactly where Lucius had said it would be.  Rinsol, one of his father’s more intelligent henchmen showed him where the grave was to be.  It was in a tiny grove in the middle of the wood on the Manor grounds.   Salem would’ve liked this place, he thought.   She liked nature, said the patterns for it weren’t too corrupted.  That was why she wasn’t very fond of the city, she’d told him.   There were too many patterns, and many of them were damaged or broken in some way.

“Where’s her body Rinsol?” he concentrated on keeping his voice steady, in the way that Salem had taught him, as if he was annoying Potter, and his friends.

“Mr Malfoy said you were to fetch it.”

Draco sighed.  Although his father’s men for the most part were thicker than Crabbe and Goyle, some of them were capable of making the most astonishing assumptions. “I didn’t ask you to get it Rinsol.”

“Then why...”

“I asked where the body is so I can get it.”

Rinsol thought for a bit. “It’s in the cold room.”

Draco bit back an impatient exclamation.  He wanted to get to Salem’s body.   See if they’d made a mistake, and she was still alive really.  See what sort of a mess....

“Which cold room?”  There were hundreds at the Manor.

The man thought again.  Slowly, he said, “The one with the pet food.”

Oh.

“Will I need help to get it?”

“Uh..no.  You won’t need my help master.”  He shambled off, leaving Draco standing in the middle of the wood with a shovel in his hands.

Draco swore, then followed Rinsol out.  He left a guiding charm behind him, so he could find his way back to the site.  There were many such groves in these woods, and Lucius would be furious if he got the wrong one.

In the cold room, where they kept all the fresh meat for some of their creatures, there was a sack.  This was new.   All their meat hung on hooks, to make it more accessible.   A scrap of parchment was stuck to the sack by what looked like blood.  It had her full name and the dates on it.

Draco took another look at the sack.  There was no way that Salem could be alive.   Not if that was all that was left.   Suddenly, all he wanted was to be out of there, for Salem to be alive, and teasing him about his obsession with Harry Potter.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” he said, pointing his wand at the sack.  He gestured it before him, and he followed it back to the grove where he was to bury Salem.   At the grove, he carefully lowered it to the ground.   It made a horrible squishy sound as it landed on the ground, and Draco suppressed a wince.  He couldn’t show that he actually cared.   Who knew what type of spying devices his father had here.

He looked around the grove again.  Lucius hadn’t said where in this grove the grave had to be, only that it had to be in it.  Where would Salem want to be buried, and almost as importantly, where would it be easiest to dig the grave.

She liked the sunlight, she had told him more than once.   She liked the feel of it on her face, and the pattern that was almost too bright for her.  But then, she had also said that she liked listening to the stars sing.   She had helped him to listen to them once, as a birthday treat.   He’d always wanted to hear them again since.   And now....

The center of the grove would be the most suitable Draco decided.   Not only was it somewhere that the sun would shine on, and the stars would look down on, singing their unearthly melody, but the ground was softer than it was by the trees, which would make it easier for him to dig. 

The grave would be the full six feet deep, four across and six long.   He wouldn’t be finished until after nightfall, unless he used some magic.  He couldn’t stop until he had either finished, or Lucius had said he could.

He marked out the dimensions, and started work.   It was easier than he had expected, or was it only because he was so angry and grief-stricken that made it so.   As he worked he thought about Salem, and all that she had stood for.  Her voice played in his memory.  He had been saying to her that all he wanted to do was follow in his father’s footsteps.   She had laughed at him, and told him to wake up, get his head out of his arse, and think about what he was saying.

He hadn’t done that then, but as he dug her grave, he did.

He started with his relationship to Lucius.   Lucius was his father.  He had been taught to give respect to him, and to obey him.   However, any one else that he respected had earned that respect by their actions, not by who they were.  He even respected Potter, for the way that he handled everything that had happened to him, and because of his flying ability.   In that they were nearly equals.   Now if only Potter didn’t have that mudblood Granger, and the weasel for friends, they might actually be able to get along.   Draco conveniently ignored the fact that he contributed equally to their fights, and even started about half of them.  

So what had Lucius done to earn his respect?   He had looked after Draco, since he was a baby, or rather, he had paid people to look after Draco.  He paid his school fees and all of his other costs, and gave him a decent amount of pocket money.  But was not that all part of Lucius’s duty to him as a parent?   Therefore he owed Lucius some respect for all that he had done for him, but not fall-down-on-your-knees grovelling respect.  

As part of the respect, it was reasonable for Lucius to expect him to do as he was told.  Draco generally didn’t mind that, since Lucius gave him interesting jobs...[Like this one] said a small voice in his head.  Draco tried to ignore it.  Salem had talked about moral rights and wrongs.   Was it his duty, as Lucius’s son to do things which went against his sense of right and wrong?  If he had been there when they killed Salem, would he have been able to let her get killed in such a manner that the remains fitted in a medium size blood-soaked sack? 

Draco thought about that for a while. 

No.

He knew that he would not have been able to let Salem be killed like that.   [But you care about Salem] said that little voice in his head.   [What would you do if it was Harry Potter?].   He looked over at the sack again.   The brown of the hemp was already a dark reddy brown.

Draco climbed out of the hole, and looked in the sack.   Twenty minutes later, when he had finished heaving up everything that he had eaten that day and had stopped shaking, he decided that no one, absolutely no one deserved to be killed in such a fashion.   Resolutely, he climbed back into the grave, and bent his mind and body to his task to try and stop himself from thinking of Salem, Salem lying there all cut up, with half of her skin removed, and her eyelids gone, and her hands - at least he thought they were her hands, were little more than a pulpy mass.  Her face was visible, and she had obviously bitten through her lip to prevent herself from crying out. 

He wept as he dug now.  He was deep enough that his father’s spies wouldn’t notice, and the noise of his digging would cover the sound of his tears.   He had learnt to cry silently from a very young age, when he was beaten if he cried, no matter what the provocation.   Lucius disapproved of crying.   In fact, Draco thought, Lucius disapproved of everything that Salem approved of.  Salem had thought that friends made you stronger, since you could get help from them, emotionally and otherwise.  Lucius saw friends as being a weakness, another area where the enemy could hold you hostage. 

Salem had thought that not all advances were good.   Lucius thought that the more, the better, especially if they’re new and inventive ways of destroying people.  

She’d told him that music could be a comfort and encouraged his secretive learning of the piano.  Lucius, when he’d been caught had informed him that music was a sissy activity, and had given him his worst beating for years.   When Salem had found out about it, she’d been horrified, and wept in sorrow.  She had wanted to kill Lucius for that, he remembered, for hurting him.

Salem had been the only person who would stick up for him, purely because she wanted to, not because of who Lucius was, and Lucius’s master.  

It was not right that Salem should die like that, because she couldn’t do other than be true to herself. 

So what did Salem stand for?  What was so important to her that she would be willing to die in such a horrible way without renouncing those beliefs?

He thought intently about all that he could remember her saying.   She believed in neutrality.   She has to, she’s a Bard.   Neutrality was sacred to the Bards, but it wasn’t to him, so that was irrelevant. 

What else did Salem stand for?  That every person should be judged on who they are, rather than who their parents are, or their relationship to you.   Mm.  That sounded like another one of those hints that were telling him to pay attention to what Lucius stood for, and decide if that’s what he wanted.   [That would also apply to Harry Potter] whispered that voice in his head.  Draco dropped the shovel.  Harry Potter?   He should be nice to Harry Potter?  

Surely not. 

That wasn’t what Salem had been saying though, he decided after some thought.  She was just saying to look past the prejudice that he had, and then decide how he should treat Potter.

She also believed in freedom.  Freedom to choose your life path, she had said to him, and not be forced into it because of family.  That was another of her heavy handed hints he noted.   He would ignore that one for now.

Salem had told him once, that her Bardic Oath forced her to be neutral.   ‘I have to judge,’ she’d told him, ‘On what a person is, and what that person has done.   I decide whether it is good or bad by seeing if it is beneficial to people, or harmful.’

That’s what she really stood for, thought Draco.   She wanted everyone to have the opportunity for happiness, and that without fear.  That was why she, and the other Bards had announced to the world that He Who Must Not Be Named was evil, and was not for the good of humanity.

He Who Must Not Be Named would rule through fear, and would do random killings, such as this one to enforce his position.  

Yes, thought Draco coldly, Lucius might have thought of how to kill Salem, but it was the Dark Lord who had ordered it to be done.   Lucius may have suggested it and thus betrayed his son, who loved Salem as a sister...

[You revenge those you love?]

Yes.

Draco climbed out of the grave, and judged the size.   It was late evening, but because it was summer, it wasn’t dark yet.  A coffin.   Salem needed a coffin.  He could make boxes, and that was all a coffin was, a big box, wasn’t it?

“Formero toagjial demakus.”

Hmmm.  That wasn’t quite what he was looking for.  Weren’t coffins shaped in some way?  The large box would certainly fit all that was left of Salem in, but it was awfully plain.

What was that spell his mother used when she wanted material?

“Formero fabrica syalkus.”

Draco looked in some astonishment at the length of violet silk now lying on the ground in front of him.  “I don’t believe it.  It actually worked.” His voice sounded loud in the grove, which was silent apart from the ever present sound of the crickets chirping away.  

Awkwardly he opened the box, and carefully arranged the length of violet silk inside.  It was the same colour as her eyes, and Draco found that incredibly apt.   He wondered what had been done with her flute.   That should be buried with her.

Now for the hard part.  He had to get out all the pieces left of Salem, and put them in the makeshift coffin.  At least there was nothing left in his stomach to throw up. 

Her head was still more or less in one piece.   To his astonishment, he noticed that the expression on her face wasn’t that of pain or terror, but full of a quiet serenity.   She must have activated that suicide thing in her pattern she told me about thought Draco.  It was supposed to be painless.  He hoped it was.

There wasn’t much left to her chest.   Her heart had been ripped out, and her ribcage smashed.   Those floppy things he’d seen earlier were her hands, and Draco was abruptly glad that Salem hadn’t lived after all.   They were unrepairable, and without them, Salem couldn’t play the flute.  And she would die without her music.  Not quite so painfully maybe, but it would be longer, and more drawn out, until she committed suicide or went mad because she couldn’t bear it any longer.

There was even less left of her lower body.   What there was of it, looked like it had been chewed on by dogs or other of the monsters around Malfoy Manor.   He conjured up another length of violet silk to cover her with.   Her eyelids were gone, so he ripped a piece of black cloth off his shirt to wrap around her eyes.  It would have to do instead of closing the eyes.   You did that to the dead out of respect for their bodies he thought distantly.  If he could forget that this had actually been Salem and pretend that he was doing this for a class at school, he might be able to manage to bury her without either throwing up, or breaking down into tears again.   Salem wouldn’t mind that, she was far too practical not to, but Lucius would.  Draco shut the lid of the coffin.

“Wingardium Leviosa.”  He carefully lowered her into the grave, and stood there quietly for a few minutes, paying his respects.

Then, with a sigh, he started filling in the grave again.

An hour later, he stood by a patch of recently turned dirt.   The place where he had chucked the dirt was now clear, and the grave was the only disfigurement in the quiet grove.   A gravemarker, done in permanent stone was the next thing on his list.  Would the Formero spell work again?  No, Draco decided, it wouldn’t.  He wanted a proper headstone for Salem, made by someone who did them professionally.   If he could have one made when he went to the Library in London, to do his homework, and bring it back the same day, that would be good and proper.

For now though, he just sat there, resting from his labours.

Lucius - he couldn’t call him ‘father’ any more - had arranged Salem’s death.

He had to be punished and Salem needed to be revenged.

His holiday project was to work out the best way of doing so.

* * * * *

Draco stood outside a funeral parlour in London, working up the nerve to go in before any of Lucius’s minions saw him standing there.

“Can I help you?” said the pretty receptionist, a young witch.   She was there to reassure their clients that this was a respectable establishment, and that they ran a friendly, caring service.

“Yes.  Where can I have a headstone made privately.”

“Why do you want a headstone young man?”

“For a grave of course.” snarled Draco, “Can I get one here or not?”

“Of course you can.  Come with me please.” she showed him into a small room off the main reception area. “When would you like it?”

“Today.”

She was startled.  They often had clients who wanted a headstone done privately, with no records kept, and other clients who wanted it done the same day, with records kept.   It was rare the two combined.

“Those two services cost extra you understand?”

“Yes....Allais isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Allais, I don’t care how much it costs, I just want it done today.  Privately.”

Allais inwardly raised the price he would be charged by half again.

He flashed her a disarming grin. “However, I did do some research before coming here, so I know what the market rates are for those services.   I do not expect to be overcharged by half.”

Allais lowered the price again. “You understand that we want full payment up front.”

“Half.” said Draco firmly, “And the other half when I collect it - if I am satisfied with the work.”

“Very well Mr...?”

“Malfoy.” 

“Do have what you want it to say written down?”

“Yes I do.” he handed her the small piece of parchment that said simply:

Salem Elizabeth Wiley

1972 - 1998

Music Maker

“And what design would you like?” Allais showed Draco a number of designs that were made to cater for expensive tastes.   Draco however went straight for the plainer ones.   He eventually picked out one with a simple design of music notes around the edge.  It seemed to suit Salem better than the more elaborate designs.

“Mr Malfoy, that particular design is only for Bards.”

“Yes.  I know.   Salem was a Bard.”

“Then why hasn’t there been anything in the Prophet about it?” she was aware that she was overstepping the boundaries with this client....But a Bard?

“We’re keeping this quiet.  In the family.  The announcement will be made only when the family feels that they can cope with the invasion of privacy that will come when the press finds out.   I can count on you to keep silent?”

Inwardly amused at Draco’s glib explanation, Allais assured him that confidentiality was guaranteed here.

“Good.”

“That particular headstone will cost 400 Galleons.   The extra is for the additional services you have used.   So that will be 200 Galleons up front and 200 to be paid when the headstone is collected.  What time will you want it?”

Draco thought hastily.  He could use a reductus charm to help him get it to the Manor safely, but he would need to pick it up at least an hour before he had to catch the train.   “Have it ready for two o’ clock please.”

“Certainly sir.  If you’ll come with me now, you can make the initial payment.”

Draco nodded, and followed her.

* * * * *

Once that was out of the way, he had actually gotten some work done.   Lucius would not be pleased if Draco needed to make a second trip to London.  He still hadn’t decided on the revenge he would take.  He had to revenge Salem.  He owed it to her.

At the Great Library in London, he did his work, and found it took a shorter amount of time that he expected.  Seeing as there was still half an hour before he had to pick up Salem’s headstone, Draco amused himself in Diagon Alley by buying an ice cream, and eating it while studying the people around him.   There was the usual crowd of early buyers for some of their school things, and older witches and wizards who wanted to do their shopping before the back to school rush.  Draco took the opportunity to stock up on ink, and quills, as well as some parchment.

Then he saw an old witch selling flowers.   Salem liked flowers he remembered in a rush.   She liked the feel of their petals, and how they harmonised with their surroundings or so she always said.   He should get some for her.   He could keep them fresh until he could go to her grave and put them there along with the headstone.  He beckoned to her.

The witch came over cheerfully. “What kind of flower do you want young sir?  A posy for a girlfriend?   A bunch for your mother?”

Draco froze. “I was wondering if you have any suitable to put on a grave?”

“Who died sonny?”

“My sister.” Draco wasn’t troubles about the lie, anyway, that was how he’d thought of Salem, and he didn’t want to go into all the details of their relationship in public, and to a stranger.   For one thing it was very private how he felt about Salem, and for another it was too long and complicated to go into now.

“I’m sorry,” said the witch gently, “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“It’s not the same.”

“It never is.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“What was your sister’s name?”

“Salem.  What flowers would be best?”

“Lilies are often associated with death.   I have some here.”

Draco shook his head. “No.  Salem always thought that lilies were rather morbid.”

“What type of flowers did she like?”

“Oh most of them.”

“Roses?  I have purple roses here.”

“Purple’s good,” said Draco, “She had violet eyes.   But not in roses.”

“If there is an actual grave site, and it’s partly in the shade, you could plant violets.”

“That would be good.  And primroses.”

“Primroses?”

“She liked them.  Didn’t care what colour they were, but liked them anyway.   I prefer the yellow.”

“I can get some plants for you.”

“Thank you.  Uh...I was going to give her white roses on her birthday....Do you...”

“Have any?”

“Yes.”

“Here.  Take these, and come with me.  My brother owns the nursery where these were grown, and he’ll have violets and primrose for you.  Unless you want to come back another day, when I can meet you with them?”

“No.  I can’t come here again until just before school starts again, and I want them to be there by then.”

“Well then, come with me.  I’m Eileseia Faunatal.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“You’re a Malfoy?  You don’t act like one...sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“It’s all right.” Draco told her. “I’m glad you were there and don’t mind helping me.”

“I’ll charge you extra then.” she laughed.

“Eileseia.  You’re back early.”

“No I’m not.  I’ve brought this young man to you.  He wants some violets and primroses.”

“Really?  Whatever for?”

“My sister,” Draco told him, “They’re to grow on her grave.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry lad.   How old was she?”

Draco swallowed. “She’d have been twenty six in two weeks.”

“That’s what the roses were for?”

“Yes.  I’ve given her some for her birthday ever since she turned twenty one.”

“Right then,” said Eileseia’s brother, “I’m Iain by the way, these beauties will do wonderfully.   You have to remember to dehead them when they’ve flowered, and declump them every three years or so.   They need water in the summer, and you’ll have to be careful with them now, since summer isn’t the best time to transplant them.  Put fertiliser where you plant them.....blood and bone is good.  Do you need some?”

Draco shook his head.  Salem would do beautifully as blood and bone.  His stomach lurched as he thought of that.

“Very well then.  Six each of the primroses and violets, and a bunch of twenty six white roses comes to a total of fifteen Galleons and three Sickles.”

Draco paid.

Thank you for coming.” said Iain.

“Thanks for your help Eileseia.” said Draco genuinely as he left the store, and went to pick up Salem’s headstone.

He could catch an earlier train back to the Manor, he decided as he finished paying for the stone.  It was everything he wanted for Salem.

* * * * *

Draco placed the roses on Salem’s grave.   It now had a headstone, and violets and primroses were planted in the fresh dirt.  Inside the case with the flowers had been instructions on keeping the plants alive and healthy.  When he could work out a spell to do so, Draco thought, he would keep the grave in perpetual summer, so Salem would always have flowers.   If only he could give her music, for her to hear as long as she lay there.

There was time yet before he had to be back at the Manor.   Lying on the ground beside the grave Draco decided on his revenge.

* * * * *

His mother, Narcissa Malfoy was just leaving as he arrived, ostensibly from the train from London.

“Good.  You’re home.   Did you get your work done?”

“Yes Mother.”

“Go and get changed,” she ordered, “Your father wants to see you and you can’t go in that.”

“Yes Mother.” Draco politely brushed a kiss near her cheek and started to leave.

“Oh, and Draco...”

“Yes Mother?”

“I was sorry to hear about Salem.  I know you cared for her.  However, you must understand that it is all for that best.”

“Quite.” murmured Draco, “If you will excuse me?”

“Certainly.”  Narcissa waved her hand in a farewell gesture. “I am going to France, to meet with our allies there, and I will not be back in time to see you leave for Hogwarts.  I trust that you will do your best in all of your subjects, and will supply us with more information on Harry Potter.  The more we know about him, the more easily we will be able to defeat him.”

“Yes Mother.”

“Now go, your father wishes to see you.”

“Yes Mother.  Enjoy your trip.”

“Thank you Draco, I shall.”

* * * * *

Lucius was not in a good mood.  Draco had gotten clean and changed as rapidly as he could, but he was still late into the study.

“I am sorry that I have kept you waiting sir.”

“You should be.  You know the punishment for being late.”

“Yes sir.” It was exactly the same punishment for coming in dirty clothes, or not washing or failing to be respectful enough to Lucius or Narcissa, or any of the other Death Eaters.

“Bend over then.”

Draco bent over the large wooden desk that Lucius used for nearly all of his beatings.  He knew the cracks on the desk with great familiarity.  Lucius was very fond of the muggle phrase, ‘Spare the rod, and spoil the child..’  Draco had been given almost all the toys that he asked for, but the price he paid was perfection.  Lucius had to have a perfect son, to give as an offering to the Dark Lord.  

Where had that thought come from.  He wanted to be a Death Eater.  He always had, since he had discovered that his - Lucius was one.   He wanted Lucius to be proud of him.   [Or did he?].

Draco gritted his teeth against crying out.   Any sound from him, save the thud of belt leather on his bare skin meant more lashes.  One.

Lucius was utterly silent while he did this.  He had perfected this into an art years ago.   Do one stroke.  Stop, wait for the pain to set in, walk around for a bit, study it, and eventually put the second stroke in exactly the same place as the first.   Two.

Minor transgressions such as being late meant five lashes.   The next level was ten lashes, and then it went into pain causing spells.  For the worst disobedience, it was the Cruciatus curse, even though it was a forbidden curse.   The laws of the Ministry meant little to the Malfoys.   Three.

When the spasm of pain was over, Draco replied mentally to the remembered voice of Salem in his head.  I tried once, remember?  No one believed me.  Why would they?   I’m Draco Malfoy.   I am given everything I want.  What do I have to complain about anyway?  Five.

“Stand up Draco.”

He did.

“Why did I just do that?”

“I was late here sir.”

“Precisely.  I expect more of you now that you are almost old enough, but if you keep disappointing me in little things such as this, you will have to wait even longer.

“Yes sir, I will try to please you more.”   Apparently he was the only one who heard the false note in his voice, because Lucius smiled and came over to him.”

“I have informed everyone about Salem’s death.   There is no need to worry, I have made sure that we are not associated with it.  Now, the real reason I have called you here, is because you need to know more about what the Death Eaters do before you can join us.   We are planning a raid for next week....”

Draco listened intently.  This could be useful blackmail information.

The rest of the holidays went in much the same vein.   Draco tried to spend as much time as he could with Salem, but he was increasingly being drawn more and more into the world of the Dark Lord, although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be there.

Five days before school started, just before he was going up to London to get his books, he received an owl from some lawyers, Hahkansda & Son, requesting his presence at the reading of the will of Salem Elizabeth Wiley (Bard), and could he please come at this time.

Draco thought he would not tell Lucius.  He always spent the entire day in London whenever he went there, so it would be no problem to fit in the visit to Salem’s solicitors.  

* * * * *

Draco entered the solicitor’s office reception area.   He was the only one currently waiting for Salem’s will to be read, but the receptionist assured him that more would be coming and the will couldn’t be read until they were all there.   So Draco sprawled lazily in a comfortable chair and read one of the inevitable witches magazines that were on a coffee table in the center of the waiting area.  A muggle who entered this room would think that it looked uncannily like a dentists waiting room, which was a fairly apt comparison, as most of the wizarding world viewed a visit to the lawyers on much the same level as muggles viewed a visit to the dentist. 

The next person to enter was tall, had long red hair in a ponytail and wore a dragon fang earing in one ear.  Bill Weasley had been surprised when the lawyer, Jeraiboam Hahkansda had come to get him from the middle of South Peru in order to get him to a will reading.  Normally Bill would have said that it could wait.  However since it was Salem....

“We’re now waiting on one more person Mr Weasley.   Would you care to take a seat?   Or would you prefer to stay and talk to me?”

Bill flashed her a bright and meaningless smile, “Thank you.” he said politely and went into the waiting room.   There was only one person in there, which had to be the one of the others in Salem’s will.  All Bill could see of him was some pale blond hair, and black clothes.   He went to sit beside him.

“Hello?”

“Yes?” said Draco grumpily, putting down the magazine.   He turned to face Bill Weasley. “You’re one of Weasley’s brothers aren’t you?”

Bill looked amused, “Is it so obvious?”

“It’s all that red hair.”

“I know.” said Bill. “You at Hogwarts?”

“Yes.  I’m a Slytherin.”

“Then you have to be Draco Malfoy.”

“What makes you say that?”

Bill ticked the list off on his fingers. “The hair.   The eyes.  The bad temper and the insults towards my family.”

Draco glared at him.

Bill laughed. 

“Are you so hard up then that you can’t afford to get a haircut Weasley?”

“I like it long.” he told Draco cheerfully, “And I’d appreciate it if you called me Bill.  Being called Weasley makes me feel I’m back at Hogwarts.”

“Really Weasley?”

“Ron was right.  You are nasty.  What did Salem see in you?”

“You knew Salem?” whispered Draco.

“We were friends.  We were in the same year at school.  Kept in touch afterwards too.”

“Oh.  She never said much about you.”

“Would you have listened?” Bill asked gently, watching as the already pale boy went even more pale. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” snapped Draco. “I thought Salem would be more discriminating than to have a Weasley as a friend.”

“She was a Bard,” said Bill patiently. “She didn’t care about a persons family background, merely about their characters and actions.”

“I know.” Draco said crossly. “She tried to get me to think like that.”

“Evidently it didn’t work.”

Draco glared at him again. 

Bill turned serious. “Do you know how she died?” he asked curiously.

Draco very carefully ignored him.  If he let something slip, they would accuse Lucius without any proof, and he would be forfeit Salem’s revenge.

A few minutes later, a tall figure dressed completely in black, from his head to his feet, without any skin showing entered the waiting area.   He didn’t seem to appreciate either their company, or the surroundings. 

“Mr Hahkansda will see you all now,” announced the witch who had been at the reception desk. “His office is this way.” she smiled at Bill as he went past. “Would you like to go out for lunch afterwards?”

“No thank you.” Bill said, and hastily followed the other two into the office.

Jeraiboam Hahkansda proved to be a tall man who reminded Bill and Draco unaccountably of Percy Weasley.  He had that air of smug imperturbability that characterised Percy.   Draco disliked him instantly.

“I just need to ID you all before the will reading I’m afraid.   It will see past any Polyjuice Potion or any other type of disguise.  You only need to say your name into this,” he held up a small tube that would remind any over age muggle of a breath analyser, “And it will confirm or deny your identities.  Who would care to start?”

“I will,” said the veiled man, “As soon as we move into a room where there is not any windows.”   His voice was light and lilting, with an accent that neither Draco, nor Bill could place.

“Certainly sir,” said the lawyer, “Right this way.”

The room was a small conference chamber, in the middle of the building without any windows or skylights, but it did have good lighting.   Hahkansda held out the Identifier.

The veiled man unwound his veils, and slid his hood off his head. “Bard Dharinel Lithsaydrian Compeltioson of the Seleighe Sidhe.”

“Identity confirmed.” said the tinny voice of the Identifier.

Bill was next. “Bill Weasley.”

“Identity confirmed.”

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Identity confirmed.”

“Jeraiboam Hahkansda.”

“Identity confirmed.”

“Take a seat everyone, and make yourselves comfortable.   We have coffee if you wish to have any, and we also have caffeine free drinks.”

They all declined the offer of a drink.

“Very well then,” said Jeraiboam Hahkansda, “We are gathered here today for the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Salem Elizabeth Wiley.”