Hexing the Tide

Chapter Three

"My confusion is continually before me, and the shame of my face hath covered me."

Psalm 44

Indeed, it did come faster than I might have expected. For only the next day I realized I had not calculated time as accurately as I'd hoped. I had ventured out of my room more to enjoy the ease of movement the cane brought than anything else. As I entered the kitchen I overheard the two young Weasleys discussing Potter's birthday. Out of the odd hospitality that was extended to me, the girl offered an explanation.

"Harry's birthday is later this week."

"Gin," her brother hissed. "He doesn't care."

He was wrong. I did care. I had supposed it barely July and was somehow missing a significant amount of time. I leveled my gaze to his. "I was led to believe his birthday was not until the 31^st of July."

He swallowed visibly.

"It is. But don't worry. I don't think he expects a present from you." He quickly retreated from the kitchen.

She, however, did not retreat. Astoundingly, she rounded upon me. Her eyes were rather tawny. "How did you know his birthday?"

I shook my head at her naïveté. Our wand pointing in the Ministry for the very item in question had landed me in Azkaban. "You forget. Someone had to research the prophecy."

"It broke, didn't it? You can't know it. If you know it then HE knows it..."

"The Dark Lord has always possessed half of the prophecy. While it would have undoubtedly been much easier to decipher in its entirety, you must admit I was accurate." I was speaking much freer than I should have been, but my mind was elsewhere. How had I lost weeks?

"You? Did you kill his parents, then?" Her eyes were narrower now and had lost some of their light.

"I suppose I did." In some ways, it is easier to face down a full Wizengamot than a single child.

"No. I mean really. Did you kill his mum and dad?"

At this I was brought back to the reality of the situation, and to the expression upon her face. There was darkness there, not unlike her father's when he had threatened me. But it was not her expression that troubled me, more my own reaction to it. I was suddenly aware I held some small revulsion for my actions and even a slight embarrassment that I had so affected her mood.

"I was the one who divined his potential. I was the one who lured their Secret-Keeper to our cause. Against that it really doesn't matter whether I raised a wand."

"It does to me."

"Then, yes. I killed them. And the Prewetts as well."

I watched her face as the curtain drew suddenly across it, hiding her emotions. She nodded appraisingly then calmly left the room. I didn't know whether this family amazed or frightened me. But I knew my harsh words were necessary. Why could I steel myself to do what must be done for someone else's family but not for my own? I retreated from the kitchen. Despite the freedom of the cane, I doubted I would be able to leave the room for some time.

The window was again glowing gold and my first thought was to throw myself into the shadow of my bed that its rays couldn't find me. But I was weak. Instead I slowly dragged the armchair into the path of it and sank into its padding, exhausted from guilt and despair. I had never before considered myself responsible for anyone who did not die by my own wand. How had I been so credulous?

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, Mrs. Weasley was standing in front of me. She looked more formidable than I had ever seen her, so I assumed she was here on behalf of her family.

"What exactly did you say to my daughter?"

"I told her the truth about certain things. Your daughter does not quite seem to understand the wizard I am."

"The wizard you are? Ha! What kind of adult tells a little girl he murdered her uncles?"

She seemed at the brink of explosion and I wondered if she would actually dare. There was such temper in the Prewett blood. I really couldn't fathom how even tranquil Weasley bore no scars.

"One who did."

"You most certainly did NOT!"

"Would you rather I lie to her? Let her grow some unfounded belief that perhaps I'm just misguided? Perhaps I should explain to her that all the Dark Lord's actions were just blown out of proportion by the Daily Prophet and that he's really just the victim of bad press?"

Her hand made it remarkably close to my cheek before I caught it, even though I had been expecting the blow. My reflexes are not what they had been. But I did take pains to grip her wrist gently enough and to drop it as soon as I assumed her reason returned. She let her hands fall at her waist, but there she clenched them as if to give more weight to her words.

"DO NOT TRY TO HURT MY DAUGHTER!"

"My dear woman, I have already done so. As you are no doubt aware." I shut my eyes briefly as I could not afford to let her see my shame. "I am merely doing my best to ensure I do not harm her again."

She didn't make another attempt at me, although I have no idea why. She paced and stared a bit into the sunlight as if it was a crystal orb. I leant forward, distracted from my guilt by the fact that she might be its creator. Then she shook her head as if to clear it, plainly unaware of what she was seeing and I was doubly afflicted by the action.

"I have already informed Ginny that you lied."

"I didn't lie. I may occasionally twist words to my use, but you'll find I rarely break them."

"You lied. I know the names of all five Death Eaters who attacked my brothers."

"I didn't raise a wand to them, no. But I killed them as surely as if I had. Do you know who located them on the night they died? Who deduced that they were involved in the Order? Or that they were behind the raid at Emain Cal? For that is what killed them."

She snapped her head around to me with the last, her reply bit through gritted teeth. "And there were several Death Eaters killed rather than arrested in that raid, including your own blood. Yet do you know or care who planned Emain Cal? You can't consider them responsible or you would have certainly tried to avenge yourself by now."

The words connected as her palm had not. I should have retaliated for my father's death. Why hadn't I? I would certainly have tried to kill her brothers myself, had I not been directly ordered to instead bide my time. My blood had boiled that whole winter, and I would have dreams where it was my wand that destroyed them. But I had never researched who had organized the attack. It had been razor sharp, brilliant really. Their numbers had been practically non-existent whereas our casualties had been pitifully high, including the untimely death of our primary strategist as a direct result. The Dark Lord did not take the defeat gracefully. Instead, he granted me the position with the admonishment to do better intelligence gathering. And I immediately started with the Prewett brothers. But there I had also ended the matter, assuming the raid directed by Dumbledore. I would certainly have been delighted with his death, but never demanded it. He invoked no rage in me. Trepidation, irritation and possibly even some small respect for his abilities. But no actual hatred. It was war, after all.

"I never deduced an advantage to direct confrontation with Dumbledore. He was too dangerous."

"He didn't plan the operation. I'm surprised you never deduced that. You should be aware by now he is a general not a tactician."

I couldn't tell if she was just trying to make a point about causality or inform me she knew who was responsible. Either way she'd won. The fury over my father's death had ended with that of her brothers.

Unsure of how to respond, I simply didn't.

"So even you admit who wields the wand is important. So, enough of this nonsense. Come to the kitchen. Lunch will be ready shortly and my husband says you are to eat. And do not go telling any more of my children you have murdered anyone." She paused. "Even if you have."

I dutifully followed her and sat toward one end of the very long table. Much to my embarrassment, Mrs. Weasley motioned to an empty plate next to her daughter.

"I've already set a place for you, Mr. Malfoy."

Large dishes were clustered in the centre of them and to my horror I was expected to serve myself from them. I was wholly unprepared to face the etiquette such a situation required. I opted finally to content myself with a small portion from the dish nearest my plate, which turned out to be aubergines. I began to pick at them, wondering how long I must endure the farce before I would be released. As I examined a bit on the tines of my fork, I suddenly realized that very few people were aware of Emain Cal at all. Fewer still that my father had been there, for we had secreted his body away for propriety's sake. The fork clattered to the plate, startling us all. Mrs. Weasley's eyes appraised me across the table for an instant.

"Ron, pass the meat to Mr. Malfoy please." Her voice held its usual timbre but I was wary. It had suddenly occurred to me that it was quite possible I might be dining with the original strategist for the Order. She was a Prewett first, after all. This family carried an astounding duplicity of emotion below their simple veneer, and years of miscalculating them left me scrambling like a prey animal.

I took a small serving from the platter and quietly thanked him.

I crept back to my room after the meal, trying to get my bearings. My calculations and observations were suspect and perhaps my mind as well. If I could no longer rely on my wits for protection, I was defenseless in this confusing milieu. I curled into the chair as if I was a child, trying not to think at all. For a few hours, I even let Draco slip from my mind. The implications of Mrs. Weasley's conversation chilled me. Most likely, I was sleeping under the same roof as my father's murderer. Ironically, I was probably also under the same roof as my own. There was something oddly reassuring in that. As if Hermione's very presence negated the threat of the Dark Lord on my son by right of prior claim. I took up the cane and considered it once more.

A Muggle-born witch with Love in her heart...

Perhaps it was time to discuss her hobbies.

I found her alone in the upstairs sitting room. My enquiries ended with her rather discomfited confession that the cane had come from her family, completely Muggle. She was a terrible liar, only coming into her own when she asked if I wanted to retain it, since I would no doubt consider the cane tainted by its origin.

Intrigued by her fabrications, I had instead requested the honor of it and she'd seemed quite pleased. Only then did I realize the significance of my answer. I had announced acceptance of the rowan, which increased its power.

Hermione was obviously my white-witch.

Having my answer, I prepared to withdraw when she placed a hand on my left forearm. I froze, shocked by the scandalous nature of the action. It was shameless enough for her to touch me, but her palm covered the mark on my arm.

"May I see it?"

I should have stormed away in disgust. Instead, I only stared at her, trying to comprehend why she should even have an interest.

"I had an idea. Before my parents- before I came here, I got something from my parents that might work against it."

"Miss Granger. Nothing counters the Morsmordre. That is part of its very essence."

Nevertheless, I unbuttoned my cuff and slid the cloth up as if she had placed Imperius upon me. She flinched as it was exposed, then recovered and took my arm for closer inspection. The air around us crackled slightly.

"There's nothing there!"

"Did you really expect it to remain exposed when not called? That could prove most inconvenient, don't you think?"

Still, she kept searching for something upon my arm. I remained absolutely still until I could bear no more.

"Miss Granger. I must ask you to please quit making contact with me."

She threw down my arm and rolled her eyes. "Yes. Of course. It simply will not do to touch another wizard. Heaven forbid you mix the magic. Is there any wonder why so many purebloods go wooly? I'm only trying to help."

"Of course." I concurred, thankful that she had dropped my arm regardless. "May I replace my shirt sleeve now?"

She colored. "Oh yes. Sorry, Mr. Malfoy," she apologized, suddenly her age again. Then she rallied, cajoling like a child in Honeydukes. "But I had an idea. Would you let me try something the next time it burns?"

"Try what exactly?" A myriad of horrifying possibilities sprang to mind.

She fidgeted from one foot to the other. "Not magic. Since magic won't affect it, I thought maybe something else would. Kind of like the idea you gave me for turpentine. I think it will work..."

"If it comes to that." I bowed my head as graciously as I could manage and removed myself from the room before she could realize I had not actually given her an answer. I knew enough of Muggle Britain to know that turpentine was poison.

The next few days passed innocuously enough.

The issue with Draco in Diagon Alley had come to naught, as I had known it would. The twin Weasleys had come in the next evening tripping over each other's sentences as they recounted what happened. Instead of simply taking my son's proxy into custody, Moody had arranged to question him about my whereabouts in a ploy to confuse the Dark Lord. Evidently he gave a convincing performance of a man obsessed. It shouldn't have been much of a stretch.

In the early afternoons, I took lunch with Mrs. Weasley and her brood. I tried to do so inconspicuously, answering only direct questions. But the children had there own agendas, and I was often obliged to look to the matriarch before answering.

Her son asked what I might have done without politics. Her daughter asked if I missed my home. Hermione asked how long the Dark Mark hurt when I was called.

Potter never asked anything at all.

Whether it was just because he despised me or because he fought so hard to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind, I don't know. But I was grateful that at least one of them had some sense.

Yet I had grown quite accustomed to this makeshift family. Spending time in their presence, I could almost forget none of us were here by choice. It had been no surprise to me that the Burrow had been destroyed before the Weasleys had even made it home from King's Cross Station. Evidently, the Granger household had also been a target, but Hermione made veiled references to her parents indicating they were still alive. Potter's family I knew intimately, and it irked me the horrid little clan was somehow impervious. Having studied them, I could easily imagine why he chose incarceration here instead of any amount of freedom afforded him in Surrey.

The children never went outside, fearful of being observed. So they congregated in the upstairs sitting room. I spent much of the time with them, keeping a book in my lap, but I often failed to read for watching them. The two boys would sprawl on the carpet and play chess while the girls would play cards or read. It had begun to occur to me that like everything else in the house, this too was a pantomime.

One afternoon they seemed particularly sulky. I tried to decide if I might go bait Mrs. Black for them - she had been remarkably quiet since Hermione had threatened her with some Muggle concoction. I considered this intelligent behavior on Ophi's part, given Hermione's threat to me of the same type of intervention. But the children seemed to need a distraction.

Instead, Potter's owl flew into the room, making me realize it had been absent since my arrival.

"Ooh. Hermione! Look, Hedwig's back."

She tore to the snowy owl and quickly removed the small packet from its leg.

"Mallaga." She stated the word so unemotionally she caught my attention.

It caught everyone's attention. The boys forgot their game and Ginny came to her side.

"Where's that then?"

"Spain," she sighed. "It's a beautiful town."

"Oh. Well, if it's beautiful there, then I'm sure they're happy."

"Does it matter?" She ran from the room in tears.

The two Weasleys ran after her, leaving me to face Potter alone. His cold green eyes appraised me, but he remained silent.

"You really will be an asset to the Auror corps if you choose to remain on path for that."

"I suppose I should be surprised you are aware of my career choice."

"Not if you expect to be a good Auror."

"Do you know what happened to her?"

"I can surmise. It was only a matter of time before someone attempted to raid their household. I daresay I was the best restraint the Death Eaters ever had."

"You're a disgrace!" Finally a flash of emotion from him.

"Agreed. However, these days it's entirely too difficult to decipher what I am even disgracing."

"The Burrow was destroyed too, you know!"

"And this surprises you?"

"No." His voice drained of its emotion. "Everyone around me is in danger. They are weapons to be used against me."

I watched his defenses fall of their own accord. Here was our savior, an abandoned child.

"You're wrong, Potter."

His eyes were green, not grey, but they might as well have been my own son's when he lifted them, searching for reassurance. Had he no one better to turn to in these moments? For the first time in six years of observation, I felt the tragedy of his position. If he had no one better, then indeed, I would serve.

"Everyone around you may indeed be a weapon. But they are not His weapons, they are yours. You are more powerful with friends by your side. You know this. Your friends know this. Everyone knows it." I paused, letting my words penetrate before continuing. "Have you considered that those fatalistic ideas in your head may not even be yours?"

He gasped, touching the mark on his forehead. I nodded. Then he fled the room to find his friends. I wondered if I had lied to the boy, but decided it did not matter. He had his reassurance, and that was enough.