Hexing the Tide

Chapter Five

"I will open my mouth in parable: I will utter dark sayings of old:

Which we have heard and known, and our fathers have told us."

Psalm 78

The sun was shining through the window again when I woke up. I hadn't expected to wake up at all, so I was quite taken aback by it.

The bed had been moved at some point, and now lay directly over the pentagram. If I had any doubt about the nature of the carving, the sunlight filtering across the duvet would have dispelled it. I noted with some small satisfaction that Draco was curled next to me on top of the bedclothes, reminding me of happier days when he would come to us for security. I watched as his lashes brushed against his cheek while he dreamed, then gently swept my hand along his hairline.

"Oh, Draco. My precious son. I would have died for you."

He opened sleepy eyes to meet mine.

"They say you almost did." He yawned and stretched, slowly uncurling himself in the sun. I gasped to see a gash along his face and neck, half revealed by his hair.

Suddenly awake, he dipped his head guiltily. "I'm sorry, Father. Please don't be mad at me. I just-"

He shrugged. "They gave me a bed upstairs, but I don't sleep there. I..." He shrugged again to cover his wince, as he cast his eyes toward me. "Nightmares," he finished simply.

I nodded reassuringly. I had seen the same expression on Potter's face only a few nights ago.

"I understand, Draco. And I'm not half as worried about propriety as I used to be. I won't send you from me if you wish to stay." I brushed an errant strand from his face to better examine the forming scar. "Had I been a better father you wouldn't be having nightmares."

He started to say something, then simply lay back down again. "Thank you, Father."

We remained upon the bed for a few minutes while I contemplated exactly how improper this might be construed. But my son was alive and seemed whole enough. Measured against that, I cared little enough for what others might think. The thought of others then bade a question about his statement.

"Draco? You said they gave you a bed upstairs?"

"Yes, Father."

"How, er, how long have you been here?" Other details surrounding the night of his arrival came back to me, making my hands turn chill. I tentatively touched my left forearm, sliding up the cloth to note that the Morsmordre was still present. The lines of the skull were faint, but visible. Of the snake, there was no sign.

"A little over a week, Father. I don't remember the first few days though. I missed most of the celebrations."

"And I managed to sleep through it." I traced the lines that discolored my flesh, careful not to display how this thought distressed me.

"They were dying off before I got a chance to see them, either. But they say there is still a Catherine Wheel burning in Hogsmeade," he offered, misplacing my regret.

"I don't believe I'd be up for any celebrations right now, Draco. Thank you."

"Oh." While he gathered his thoughts, I wondered if he was disoriented or simply sixteen. "You were evidently hurt pretty badly, but they wouldn't say more. Mr. Weasley told me not to worry though, because you've slept longer. He said you slept in here almost two weeks straight when you first arrived from Azkaban."

I lost interest in my son's mental state, suddenly contemplating my own. My eye shot to the windowpane. Curse Dumbledore with his constant manipulations. No wonder I had felt so unhinged. They had kept me constantly immersed in white magic for weeks. It's a wonder my brain hadn't pickled. Draco followed my stare with interest.

"It's beautiful, isn't it, Father?" He had a rather wistful look on his face as he gazed at the window.

"You are aware of what that is?" I asked, surprised.

He looked at me slightly askance, but smiled. "Sunlight."

Sixteen, I decided.

He shut his eyes. I watched him until his breathing told me he was asleep. As I watched the soft rise and fall of his chest, I resolved to forgive Dumbledore his scheming if it could help Draco heal.

Gently passing my hand once more across his hair, I sat up. I didn't feel as if I'd been asleep for so long. Of course, I hadn't the last time, either. Just like the inhabitants of this mercurial place not to inform me of such a simple fact. I wondered what other details they deemed too unimportant to mention.

A quiet tapping on the door interrupted my thoughts. Spying my cane, I made my way toward the door even as it slipped open.

"Miss Vance," I greeted her in low tones.

She looked past me to my son, then back as I stepped in her line-of-sight to Draco. She merely inclined her head to acknowledge my defense.

"Mr. Malfoy. We thought you might be awake."

"I see." And I did indeed. I wondered which of Moody's toys was even now active in the room. I said nothing else, but simply motioned her out into the hall. We stood there silently for several minutes.

Finally, she pursed her lips slightly and stepped closer to me.

"Honestly, Mr. Malfoy. Aren't you even the slightest bit anxious about the events that have transpired?"

I considered this for a moment, but shook my head.

"I know everything that I might need to of my future. Since I can feel my magic, Potter must have certainly survived. If he survived, then the Dark- then Voldemort did not. My son is removed from Narcissa and seems healthy. He will be safe and that is quite sufficient. Regardless of what events have transpired, I will be returned to Azkaban. There I will most likely be killed by the Death Eaters captured during the battle. I see no reason why I should wish to know any more details."

She touched a gloved hand to my face, turning it slightly. Scrutinizing.

"You are not the wizard you once were. Where is that arrogant lord that sat before me in Courtroom Ten? Where is your thirst for knowledge?"

I raised my chin, removing it from her grasp. "One learns to get by on less in times of war."

"Or perhaps one learns to curb excessive appetites in Azkaban."

I narrowed my eyes. "We'll see what kind of appetites the other prisoners have when I am returned."

She returned my look in kind. "There will be no Death Eaters in Azkaban."

"Has it been destroyed then?"

Vance shook her head, dashing my nascent hopes. "No. It is simply unnecessary. The Death Eaters are all beyond Ministry jurisdiction."

"Except for me."

"Except for you." she echoed, then tilted her head slightly. "No, I don't really think you could be qualified as a Death Eater anymore."

"I'm still marked," I hissed, tapping my sleeve to echo her actions on my first night in the house.

"That's not a Mark, it's a scar. You lost your master when you gave Harry your magic and your ideology when you let Hermione inject that Muggle concoction into your arm."

"Let!" I snorted. It had been one of the worst pains I had ever endured.

"She said she asked your permission."

"That girl nearly killed me!" I snarled, as the last moments of the evening came crashing back to me.

"I beg to differ. I believe she saved your life." She pointed to my forearm. "The specimen from your arm, or what was left after Ron dispatched it, was a death adder. Hermione's something-o-cane forced it from your body before it could release its full dose of poison. Then she was quick-witted enough for us to conjure the proper potions."

"Of course. Simply the brightest witch of her age."

"You would do better to lose your sarcasm. Perhaps you might then grasp that most other Death Eaters were not so fortunate as to have her protection."

I collected myself as I realized what she was saying. The Dark Lord must have betrayed his own followers at the last. My memories of the evening took on a decidedly different cast given this new information. "Ah. No wonder Azkaban is so empty."

"Yes. Once Voldemort fell, only you and Snape survived." She arched an eyebrow quite effectively. "Since he was working for the Order, one might have thought he would have shared with us his thoughts on keeping anti-venom potions to hand."

"I think that depends entirely on who was doing the thinking. I certainly wouldn't have expected him to do so."

"No. I suppose not," she smiled sadly. "But there would be so many fewer orphans to deal with had he bothered."

"When has Snape ever concerned himself with children?"

We stood silent once again.

"And my wife?"

"She never took the Mark, did she? But that will matter little, soon enough. Your estate fell out of Fidelius in the confusion and we had some hit wizards block it from re-enchantment, although we still can't penetrate the grounds."

"And?"

"And she's played her hand very, very well. She's now the submissive woman who was forced into her actions. A prisoner in her own home with her child held hostage." Vance waved her hand in irritation. "We can't charge her with anything unless you wish your son to file grievance. Then it would be considered a family matter by the Ministry, which is very busy with family matters at present. So they can do nothing."

Her stately air gave just a little under the effect of her hardening expression.

"The Order, however, feels we owe you a debt. Meanwhile, the Ministry deemed it necessary to keep Malfoy Mansion Plottable. You see, we fear the poor woman's evil husband- if he's still alive- might return there to finish the job his master started. So we simply must keep the estate out in the open if we are to catch him."

"So I will face the Aurors as soon as I finish this."

"Yes, of course. You are a renegade convict. But now let's get some nourishment in you. I have the feeling you might need to build your strength."

I bowed with much more respect than I felt necessary. "You will excuse me while I change into more appropriate attire then. After all, I must relinquish that luxury soon enough."

"Do not toy with me, Mr. Malfoy. I don't care much for most of your games."

"My apologies. But I am unaware of my offense."

She appraised me once more. "Could it be that you actually are?"

But before I could compose a proper retort she had laid a cleaning charm upon me and transfigured my clothes. They pressed against me with the weight of proper cloth and I knew instantly that I was in suitable robes for the first time in months. Furtively, I touched a hand to the luxuriant fabric, marveling in its sensuality. Yet one more loss I had suffered in my fall.

"I must make a point of offending you, I think." I studied the Tyrian dye wistfully.

"Does purple distress you? I only find it so much more palatable than that cinnabar and black you tend to favor."

"My robes will be white and black soon enough."

"But your son will be safe. That was our arrangement."

"Yes, of course." I dismissed the serve, no longer wishing to nettle her. Something more important had occurred to me. "Am I correct in assuming that as a Ministry representative, you would be able to bind a contract for his guardianship should something untoward happen to his mother?"

"Something untoward? I had forgotten what a talent you had for euphemism." She replied, swirling her wand in the air to create a smoky glass orb. "Your statement of will is ready to be cast."

"I, Lucius Malfoy, present that it is my wish for my only son Draco Malfoy, should neither birth parent be able to care for him, to fall under guardianship of Arthur and Molly Weasley and such funds provided them from my estate that the Weasley family suffer no hardship for his presence until such time as he can reach his own recognizance. Such is my intent."

The orb snapped to a translucent green as I finished. Miss Vance lost her elegant demeanor for an instant, staring at me as if I were a boggart, but recovered quickly and slipped the orb into a fold of her robes. "Sometimes I must remind myself with whom I am dealing, lest I get caught by your caprices."

"Constant vigilance, Miss Vance," I quipped. "I trust that your allegiance to the Ministry will keep you discreet?"

She pressed a hand across her face, nodding slightly. "Come. Let's join the others in the kitchen."

I cracked the door slightly to check on my child. Thus reassured, I followed her.

The kitchen was a most appropriate location, as it seemed I was upon the tines of a fork. Despite Miss Vance's assumptions, I really had two paths before me. The Order expected me to go after my wife and then return to Azkaban. However, I could also take Draco and quietly disappear into the mists. In their usual version of guile, they never spoke of the second option directly, but it had obviously come up for discussion and had some acceptance among the group. Phrases were couched in such a way as "if I chose to return to the Mansion" or "if I chose to send my son back to Hogwarts." No wonder Vance had intercepted me first. As a Ministry employee she would be best served by my completion of the original agreement.

In all honesty, I do believe there was less candor among them than at a Death-Eater meeting. Yet more proof that the old ways had come to nothing. But I have always been a wizard of the old ways, and a wizard of code. There really was no way forward for me but straight through the center and back into Azkaban. When I grew bored with the conversation I finally made a statement to that effect. If the Order really wanted to help, they could supply me with a Portkey and a wand.

The wand appeared the next evening. Again, it was Miss Vance who took the initiative and stopped by Ollivander's on her way from the Ministry. I worried about her interest in my case, as no doubt I would face her across a bench in a few days' time.

But there were advantages to catching the attention of one from the same echelon. The wand was beautiful, a Dragon Heart string with a power that sung to me; twelve inches exactly and wonderfully sinister despite its pliable rowan exterior.

"An interesting choice." I marveled at the way it felt in my hand, so different from the rather inflexible ebony to which I was inclined. There was something about its give that intrigued me, and I was certain it felt more potent.

"Yes, well. I know you have always carried ebony. But so does Ollivander, I'm sure. And while he is discreet, asking him to ignore the sale of a particularly exotic wand while you are at large is beyond what we could ask of him." She colored ever so slightly. "So, I selected you a wand to match your cane."

I thanked her for her consideration, trying to dispel the awkwardness of such an intimate gesture. I was a little unnerved she knew my core, but the power emanating from this one made my breath quicken. She had chosen me a most impressive wand and I retreated to my cell to consider its implications.

"I resented Potter's scar."

I looked up from where I was reclining. Draco was examining his face in the mirror, once again assessing the damage. Most of it would be hidden by his locks as long as he let them grow, but he had them pulled his hair back to better scrutinize his neck.

"I take it you no longer feel that way?"

"What is the use? Everything Vol..." He shuddered, still unable to say the name "Everything HE touched, he scarred." Draco let his hair slip back against his neck. I wondered what other damage he was hiding with that movement. "Potter is a hero. I am nothing but a victim."

"Draco... Don't label yourself so."

"It's not important anyway. You always said labels are better left for the dead."

"And what will you label me after mine?"

"Father." There was a slight hint of a smirk upon his lips, so I decided I might press him a bit for information.

"And your mother?"

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't answer. He returned to tracing the raised wound on his neck and we fell back into silence for several minutes. I lost my inclination to push him and waited for him to once again drop his guard.

"Father, do you blame her?"

"Unequivocally, Draco. I will make her pay for what she's done to you. I swear it upon my life."

He whirled from the mirror in a panic, his face reminding me of the first time we had gone hunting. Then he shook his head. "No, Father. Not Mother, Hermione. Do you blame Hermione?"

"Ah." This was a discussion I would rather not have. "There was reason to her actions, Draco. And it could only have eased your suffering."

"But we're still bound."

"Only until next June."

"You blame me then."

I sighed. He could be annoyingly perceptive at times. "You did nothing. How could you, imprisoned under the house?"

"But she couldn't have-"

"Draco, I've known you desired her since second year. You nattered on about her constantly." I pressed my temples with a hand. Actually having this discussion was doing nothing to lessen my dread of it.

"No, I hated her second year."

"Passion is passion, Draco. When you're young you can't distinguish one sort from another. Even for adults it's not always obvious."

"Like you and Mother?"

"No. That's perfectly evident. The hatred I have for her is cold enough to crack stone."

"Good." There was a finality in his voice which settled the subject. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm bound to a Muggle-born witch."

"An interesting choice of words."

"I've learned how powerful words can be."

I felt the sting even though I knew it was directed to the other side of his family. I had failed to protect him from them, and I knew that no amount of action on my part could ever truly rectify that. "Yes. I see you have."

"I don't think she would ever try to kill me."

"I doubt you thought your mother would, either."

He lowered his eyes and I immediately repented my words.

"Draco, I apologize. You have been used cruelly this summer and I don't mean to make light of such things. But you are young. You can't fully appreciate the scheme of things."

"I can't fully appreciate what a barmy old hag spouted two hundred years ago? Don't denigrate me so."

"It was written. Until a few months ago, it was even residing safely in the Ministry. You can't change a future that has already been cast."

"It hasn't been cast! There are too many variables. What if-," his voice fell. "What if she was... damaged in the Ministry attack? She was in the hospital wing after, Father. But no one would say why."

"You've thought about this."

"I had a lot of time to think."

I knew I deserved that for my careless speech a moment ago. "I don't quite think failure to produce an heir counts as destruction."

"It will end our line."

He stated it so simply that a part of me wanted to rise up and shake him until he reconsidered. But I did nothing. In his mind they had already completed their bonding. If I took action against her, it would destroy him as well. I had already lost, leaving only the question of how many moves were left me. Instead, I tipped my king. I was done hexing the tide. "Then she will end our line. There are worse ways to fade into history."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No. But if you do, that is enough."

"Haven't you faith in anything?" He laughed vacantly as he said this, yet another oddity to his personality that troubled me. I wondered if this was a product of his ordeal or his bond.

"Not yet, Draco. But I'm trying."

"Well, I do." He took my hand, which unnerved me a bit. "She was with me, Father. She whispered to me. I could hear her voice in the darkness and sometimes that's all that kept me sane, knowing she was there for me. I wish you could realize..." He gasped in frustration as he lost his words, letting my hand slip from his grasp.

"I understand. Truly, I do. I have seen the power of proper bonding and I appreciate she's a most worthy companion. I just wish that it was enough to change the future."

"It already has!" Draco flung himself backwards onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. It was somewhat of a relief to see him petulant as I constantly wished for any sign of his recovery, though I would have preferred that it were something less serious about which he was acting so bullheaded.

I bowed my head to him in mock-formality and picked up my cane. "I need to finalize some details upstairs. Shall you be in here long?" Seeing the slight hardening of his jaw, I didn't allow him time for an answer. "That is fine. I'll come rouse you before dinner."

With that I left him to the gentle care of the room.

I found Hermione in their sitting room playing cards with Ginny. With one look at my face however, Ginny made some outlandish excuse and bolted for the door.

Hermione stood slowly, obviously gathering her courage. "I've been expecting this conversation."

"I doubt you have."

"I really thought it would happen immediately. But then there was all the trouble on Lammas and then..." She waved her hands a bit before dropping them to cross her chest. She still couldn't look at me.

"Hermione, I have just had a rather difficult conversation with my son. I would prefer this one be a little less tedious."

Anger colored her cheeks, but at least she finally met my eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. I want you to listen."

"I can't break it. Not until June. I'll just keep silent about it."

"That is not listening."

"Maybe I don't want to hear! Don't you think I've heard enough about it over the years! Do you want me to say it with you? I think I know this all already!"

"Sit!"

She sat, staring at her hands in her lap and sniffling a bit from her outburst.

"Yes. You've performed a bit of a wandpoint handfast. Certainly that is a tad embarrassing, but if my son has a brain in his head he'll announce it like it was his idea. If he's truly intelligent, he'll convince you to renew it with him next year."

She glared at me half-heartedly. "But he won't because..."

"Oh. I have no idea if he will or won't. He's a most headstrong boy and I really have little control over his whims. But I do know that he cares for you. He has cared for you, even before you took to prancing around the Forbidden Forest."

"Stop it! Just say what you're going to say and leave me to it."

I paced a bit, trying to get a bearing on exactly what I wanted to say to her. But my pause affected her aversely and I heard her start to sniffle again. Such a difficult age; a woman one minute, a child the next. I finally spied young Weasley's hassock and opted to sit in front of her chair that I might see her face without demanding her lift it. This startled her into meeting my eyes.

"The truth is I am quite afraid of you, my dear." There was no sense waiting for her reply, as it would most likely not add anything to our exchange. "The Malfoys have been expecting you for some time. You were prophesized."

The eyes narrowed. "The Mudblood who would taint your precious heir?"

"No. The Muggle-born witch who would destroy the entire family. I can recite the prophecy to you if you wish. I had it drilled verbatim throughout my childhood."

"That's quite all right. I don't believe in prophecies," she sniffed.

"Didn't you believe in Potter's?"

To my horror my son slipped into the room. I should have realized that he would feel her distress and come search her out. He appraised me coldly, but started when he realized I had allowed my head lower than Hermione's. This froze him in his place.

"That's different. Most prophecies are too fluffy to understand without a lot of guesswork. His was pretty clear and concise."

"Was it now?" I really felt a debate on that subject was warranted, but I held my tongue on the matter. The issue at hand was simply too important.

"Oh. Well, I suppose it had some guesswork, too."

"Did you believe it?

She chewed her lip for a few minutes. Behind her, I could see Draco lean against the door jamb and we both awaited her decision. Finally, she shook her head. "Tell me."

I nodded. As I spoke the words, I deliberately kept my intonation blank. "The darkness will never take the Malfoys, for they have already taken the Darkness. Through dark lords and devastation they prevail. It will take a Muggle-born witch with love in her heart to destroy the House of Malfoy. She will raze it to the ground."

"That's it?"

"That's not enough? It predicts the absolute destruction of my family."

"Put that way, I guess it is. I don't know. I just expected, well, something more dramatic."

"I suppose I could impersonate the woman who prophesied it, if you wish. I have certainly seen it in a Pensieve enough. I doubt you would enjoy it though, for she sounded quite like her great-great-granddaughter and I'm told you don't care much for her."

She smiled slightly at that and this relieved me more than I would care to admit. Behind her, I could see Draco relax slightly.

Hermione sighed. "No wonder you hate me."

"I don't hate you. I fear you. It's entirely different."

"The end result is the same."

"Let's hope not. I fear you. I hate Narcissa."

Hermione absently brought a hand to her face, nibbling at her thumbnail. "Will you kill her?"

"Perhaps." By the door, Draco tensed. "Perhaps she will kill me first, but that will land her in Azkaban. Either way I will avenge my son's treatment."

"Is it that important to you?"

"He is that important to me. He is my son, the most precious thing in my life. I would easily kill or be killed to ensure his safety."

"And where does that leave me?"

"That depends entirely on whether you believe in prophecies."

She stood then, and Draco fled the room.

"I don't know whether I believe in them. I don't like that the future is already cast. If it is, what's the point of any of this?" Her nail biting became more violent, and I finally reached a hand out to stop her, careful to grasp her sleeve.

She froze, staring at her arm.

"I will let go if you agree to stop harming yourself."

"You're touching me."

Her confusion must have been contagious. "Miss Granger. I would no more make contact with a young witch than parade around as a Niffler."

"Oh! I thought you were just saying that because you thought I was so far beneath you."

"No, Miss Granger. Mixing of essences is inappropriate. Do they teach you nothing at that school? The magic becomes enmeshed."

"But you gave your power to Harry!"

"Yes. I did. But my rank, my freedom, my wife and my child had already been stripped from me. Was it so much of a stretch to abandon my honor as well?"

"You have Draco back."

I nodded absently. "For now."

She folded the cuff of her sleeve over my hand and placed her own on top of it. "I didn't mean this to happen. Any of it. But I'm not sorry. He only has to ask next June and I'll say yes."

"Why are you telling me this, Miss Granger?"

"Because you don't think you'll be around to see it, do you? Otherwise you wouldn't be telling me this now. I figured you should know that I'll be there for him."

"You really are entirely too perceptive."

She colored slightly. "If that were true, I would have known about Draco."

"Not so. You just never bothered to look."

"Well, don't worry. I'm looking out for him now."

With a shy smile, she slipped her hand from mine and left me.