The Tangled Web

The Tangled Web

Chapter One: The Birth of Meander Strange

"Keep your family at safe distance. They are likely to resemble you closely, and are therefore not to be trusted."

Evil: a Beginners Guide, Professor E. Maledict

It was late July, and apart from Madam Maxime, who was packing for her holidays in Blackpool, Beauxbatons School of witchcraft, wizardry and basket making should have been deserted. But although every other room in the place was empty, the rather cosy fifth form common room still held two occupants: a baby, dozing peacefully in a rather battered basket and a girl, who was sitting cross legged in front of the fire, and whose attention was absorbed in the letter she was scribbling.

Hello, you selfish pig,

Still alive? I hope so (which is rather generous of me, all things considered). How's Mexico? Or is it New Zealand this time? Anyway, hope it's somewhere sunny, you never were a fan of cold climates, were you? Send me back a sombrero if you get the chance.

You may be interested to know that I managed to rescue Jamilla from the goblins: a friend of Madam Maxime rescued her hours before they arrived, and portkeyed her to Beauxbatons. Everyone agrees that leaving your helpless baby daughter to the tender mercies of a band of vicious thugs was appalling, even by your standards.

Anyway, we're still here at Beauxbatons, even though term finished a week ago. Madam Maxime doesn't mind me staying on a little bit until I can sort my plans out, as owing to circumstances ever so slightly out of my control, Jamilla and I now have no money, nowhere to live and no parents, and are apparently being pursued by angry goblins. But then I suppose you know all about this already, seeing how it was you who got us into this mess in the first place.

I don't want to grumble, but - oh hang on, I do want to grumble. What the hell were you thinking?! You must be the most selfish person I've ever met! If you ever come back to England, I'll have a serious bone to pick with you. I don't know why I'm so surprised really, it's not like this is the first time you've gambled away all our money and done a bunk, is it?

Anyway, Madam Maxime says it's probably best if me and Jamilla leave Beauxbatons, as apparently these goblins stick at nothing and may be dangerous. (Didn't stop you leaving me here alone, though, did it?) I'm planning on leaving France and going to school in England instead, hope you don't mind. I'll have to change my name, obviously, but apart from that staying incognito shouldn't me much of a problem.

The real difficulty is getting there, but Madam Maxime said she would travel to England with me, and I'm going to disguise myself as her nephew to avoid suspicion. I would use polyjuice, but apparently since the Triwizard tournament there's been some kind of restriction on the stuff, so I'm going to have to use a charm or something instead. I've already cut my hair off, it looks really odd. You'd laugh if you could see me.

I'm having trouble thinking of a name to call myself in England, the best I can come up with is Meander Strange. Odd name I know, but I've taken a liking to it. Let me know if you can think of anything more appropriate. I haven't come up with a name for Jamilla yet, but I'm sure I will.

Hope this reaches you, I've taken all he precautions I can.

Eris (for the time being).

P.S.

I hope you took the howlers I sent you personally.

P.P.S

You might want to send Madam Maxime a sombrero too, she's been really kind, especially considering that she only took me at Beaxbatons because Mum was her favourite student. I think she's distinctly glad to see the back of me.

Eris Bagman, known both amongst her schoolmates as "really odd" and to her father's creditors as a nasty piece of work, sighed faintly as she finished reading the letter. She hoped her father felt suitably guilty on receiving it. Much as she loved him, he had been responsible for almost all of the problems of her short life, and sometimes he tried her patience intensely. For a moment or two she stared blankly into space, remembering the family's distinctly chequered history, unaware of anything around her.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you." The voice, breaking the silence of the common room with its carefully modulated tones, was as unwelcome as it was unexpected. Eris Bagman jumped visibly, and turned away from the letter she had just finished with a glare. Lucius Malfoy was standing in the doorway to the common room looking, despite the impossibility of his presence, as if he had every right to be there. Eris paused for a moment in pure admiration for the audacity of the man.

"H-Hello, uncle," she replied, sealing the letter she had finished with her wand. She moved instinctively closer to Jamilla's basket as he approached, an action which Lucius Malfoy neither commented on nor failed to observe.

The deliberate emphasis she had given to the word uncle was unmistakable, he thought. It had taken a good deal of self-control to prevent Lucius from wincing at the word. It was no secret that he found the relationship distasteful in the extreme. Not for the fist time, he noted that her eyes were insolently grey, as if she was trying to make her descent as obvious as possible.

"I must ask you not to call me that," he said, "it is inaccurate as well as insulting. The rumours about your connection to the Malfoy family are almost certainly groundless."

Eris said nothing. In her sixteen years, life had taught her that it was wisest not to push certain people too far. And Lucius Malfoy was a man it was better not to annoy. People who annoyed Lucius Malfoy tended not to survive to repeat the experiment. She bent and picked up Jamilla, who, being the accommodating baby that she was, said nothing.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've come," Lucius said at last, after a short pause, during which he surveyed the room with grudging approval. Like every room in Beauxbatons, it was decorated in exquisite - if rather ornate - taste.

"To offer your c-consolations?" Eris hazarded with more than a trace of irony.

"Not exactly. I have something more businesslike in mind."

"The last time you saw me was when I was five, and you wanted me to sign a paper renouncing all claims to the Malfoy fortune. Of course you have something b-businesslike in mind."

Lucius Malfoy shrugged, and seated himself in one of the red velvet chairs which filled the small common room. Eris took the opportunity to study him with simple aesthetic pleasure. He moved with the same graceful confidence that he had done eleven years ago when he had visited to defraud her of her share of the Malfoy fortune. She felt at petty disappointment that time had not marred him, if anything his eyes were sharper, his hair blonder and his face more finely moulded than she remembered.

Eris felt him survey her appraisingly, taking in her recently cut hair and the drab clothes she was wearing. No doubt he found her aesthetically offensive, although the thought amused rather than offended her.

"Do you wear your hair like that from choice?" he asked at last, with a mixture of curiosity and malice.

"Is that what you've come here to ask me?" Eris replied. "Because p-personally I take no pleasure in your company and the sooner you say whatever it is you want and leave, the happier I will be."

For a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of anger in the light eyes that so strangely resembled her own, but it disappeared almost immediately.

"You are going to England, I presume?"

Eris remained silent. She was thinking rapidly. She was meant to be going to England incognito. If her uncle chose to put a spoke in the wheel, things might become distinctly complicated... As if reading her thoughts, Lucius smiled in what he clearly considered a reassuring manner. In reality it was nothing of the kind, more the smile of an ingratiating shark than a friendly uncle.

"Don't trouble yourself, I'm not interested in betraying you. Or rather, I have more pressing concerns at present."

Eris turned away from him to gaze into the fire, forcing herself to remain impassive, despite the implicit threat his words contained. It would be better, she thought, to let him underestimate her. Letting her shoulders sag, she hugged Jamilla closer to her, and switched her expression to that of a pathetic and vulnerable victim.

"What do you want? Because if it's money, you're too late. Please don't make things any worse, I'm frantic enough as it is."

"I want a favour."

"Really? But what could someone like me do for someone like you?"

Lucius Malfoy looked at her. Was she being sarcastic? It seemed likely, and yet her expression was entirely serious. He shrugged. The girl was probably not particularly intelligent, although she would suffice to fulfil his purpose.

"I understand you are entirely destitute?"

Eris saw no reason to lie.

"Yes. "

"Well, as I said, I am in need of a favour, and if you agree to my request, I will be able to remedy your situation. I would provide you and your sister with a generous income for the rest of your lives, as well as formally accepting you into the Malfoy family, despite your rather dubious descent."

Eris said nothing. She simply stared. The Malfoys were rich, everyone knew that, but they were also as stingy as they came. Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected Lucius Malfoy to make such an offer.

"What do you want me to do," she began after a flabbergasted pause, "kill someone?" The suggestion was far from incredible, as Eris was well aware. This was Lucius Malfoy she was dealing with, after all.

"Quite the reverse, as a matter of fact."

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair to study the box of liquorice allsorts on the desk in front of him with a suspicious air. He was as amenable to muggle confectionary as the next wizard, but these strange shaped sweets were a far cry from the usual dependable comfort of his sherbet lemons. Selecting a sweet at random, he placed it gingerly in his mouth and turned to study the letter he had been writing.

My dear Severus,

Loath as I am to interrupt your well-earned holiday, I have been forced by unforeseen circumstances to ask you for a serious favour. As you know, Ludo Bagman has gambled away his entire fortune and subsequently fled, leaving his daughters alone in the world and in serious danger from his creditors. Their ruthlessness is well known (Ludo's creditors, I mean, not his daughters), so they wish to come to England under assumed names for safety.

I have agreed to consider accepting the girls at Hogwarts (Eris, the elder of the two, was recently a student at Beauxbatons) for as long as is necessary. Unfortunately, according to new school policy, we cannot allow anyone but members of staff and pupils inside Hogwarts, and for this reason I need someone to interview the girl to ensure that she is not a spy or supporter of Lord Voldemort. (Very unlikely I know, but after the events of last year we really cannot afford to take chances, as I am sure you will agree).

Normally I would be more than happy to interview the girl myself, but circumstances being as they are, it is better that I do not leave Hogwarts at this time. And therefore I am forced to ask you, Severus, to go in my place. I have total faith in your astuteness and perception, and I am sure that you are the most qualified professor for this task.

Please let me you know if you will agree to accept this mission, I look forward to hearing from you no later than the twenty-sixth.

Albus Dumbledore.

P.S

You will notice this letter is delivered to you by specially trained tracking owl, as for some reason your address on the staff files was erased, perhaps by some well- wisher trying to prevent you to avoid receiving letters begging you for favours.

P.P.S

Whilst you are in Muggle Brighton, I would appreciate it greatly if you would purchase some sherbet lemons for me, as I have run out.

"So what are you going to do now?"

Pansy Parkinson, dressed in robes that would have been more in place at a society dinner, stood toying with her croquet mallet, surveying Draco with a piercing and rather amused glance. Draco turned away (noticing as he did that the heels of her high heeled shoes had left disfiguring marks all over the carpet-like surface of the croquet lawn, for which he doubtless would be blamed) and flung himself down on a nearby bench.

"Why do you care?" he replied moodily.

"Don't be petulant, it doesn't suit you," Pansy said, without moving closer to him. She took a casual swipe at one of the croquet balls, wishing as she did so that Draco would let her give him a hair cut, he really didn't make the most of himself. A new wardrobe wouldn't go amiss either.

"A little sympathy would be nice," Draco replied, lying back and staring up at the evening sky, which was beginning to cloud over. "It's going to rain, by the way," he added maliciously. Pansy immediately looked concerned, and her hands flew instinctively to her hair, recently dyed glossy auburn at horrendous expense.

"Do you think it might? We'd better go in, then, I can't get my hair wet, it'll ruin the curls."

Draco cast an unfriendly glance at the imposing shape of Malfoy Manor, which stood behind them, silhouetted sharply against the purple-red sunset sky. He wondered briefly whether he looked handsome and Byronic, lying in this ornate garden in the light of the dying sun, and then decided that he probably didn't. Knowing his luck he probably just looked cross. Pansy certainly wasn't eyeing him with any great admiration.

"You go in if you want," he said sullenly.

"You can't just carry on avoiding them, Draco. They're your parents after all."

"You make a pretty good job of avoiding yours."

Theodore and Elaine Parkinson were notoriously neglectful of their daughter, who routinely spent her holidays alone at a series of expensive foreign hotels, rather than at the family home. If Pansy cared that her parents were barely aware of her existence, she concealed it extremely well.

"When was the last time you saw them?" Draco asked, distracted from his own misfortunes for a moment by a sudden feeling of curiosity. He had known Pansy since his childhood, but he was still virtually ignorant of some areas of her life.

"Who?"

"Your parents, you lobotomised idiot." Insults between them were taken for granted and barely registered, serving more as terms of endearment than as means of offence.

"Christmas, I think...no, we met at a party a couple of months back. Mum's really aged, actually, I'd hardly have known her, and Dad's going bald...But Draco, yours aren't like mine, you know that."

"What do you mean?" he asked, shivering slightly. The stone of the bench was cold, even though the sun had not entirely set. Pansy dropped her croquet mallet carelessly on the ground, wandered over to Draco's bench and sat down, unceremoniously shoving Draco out of the way to make room.

"You know what I mean, Draco. Your parents actually care about you, which is a mixed blessing but something you should appreciate. My parents wouldn't care if I fell under the Knight Bus, everyone knows that. Besides, you know that your parents are mixed up with Voldemort far more than mine."

"Then why won't they let me join?" Draco demanded furiously. "I'm the right age, Crabbe and Goyle both got the mark this summer, and Father won't even talk to me about it."

"Maybe they don't think you're ready? I mean, after your rather embarrassing encounter with Potter and his friends at the end of fourth year..." Pansy suggested slyly. Ah yes, that incident. Draco's rather unguarded comments, and the hexes he and his henchmen had suffered as a result. They had been discovered at King's Cross by Narcissa Malfoy, lying in an undignified heap in the train corridor. The journey home with his mother was an experience Draco would never forget. He shuddered slightly at the memory.

"That really was stupid, Draco," Pansy continued thoughtfully, "I mean, no wonder your Father's angry. Just because Voldemort's returned is no reason to abandon caution and start mouthing off like a complete imbecile." If anyone else had made such a comment, Draco would have probably hexed them senseless, but Pansy was an old friend, and entitled to certain liberties. Draco merely scowled at her.

"I wish you'd shut up about that. Anyone can make a mistake."

Pansy shook her head gravely, her hair catching the golden-red light of the sun.

"Not if you're serving Voldemort. Make a mistake and you end up dead, Draco. My parents are loyal, and whenever I see them they won't let me even mention his name. It's a huge commitment, after all. Lots of people don't join the Death Eaters properly until they leave school."

"They think I'm too immature," Draco said.

"Judging by past events, you probably are," Pansy replied tartly. "Don't even think about it, Malfoy," she added, seeing Draco reach almost imperceptibly for his wand. "I'd wipe the floor with you, and we both know it."

"In your dreams," Draco returned sceptically, but he replaced his wand with a noticeable alacrity. They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, staring across the grounds of the manor, where a team of house elves was hard at work removing twigs and fallen leaves.

"So, what are you going to do?" Pansy said, after some minutes had elapsed.

"You asked me that before."

"You didn't answer. Well, not a proper answer, anyway."

Draco stood up abruptly.

"We'd better go in, it's getting dark." Pansy gave him the contemptuous look of malice that she usually saved for Neville Longbottom.

"You don't have a clue, do you?" she said scornfully.

"I have a plan, actually," Draco retorted with dignity. "So there's no need to be such a know it all."

"Tell me." It was a command, rather than a request.

So Draco, amid laughter and scornful interjections from Pansy, explained to her exactly what he was planning to do once he returned to Hogwarts for fifth year. When he had finished, Pansy grinned at him with the look that many of her fellow pupils had learned to dread.

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster, if you ask me. Although for an onlooker like myself it should be rather amusing... You actually think it will work?"

"It will."

"We'll see."

Privately though, Pansy felt a flicker of alarm. Plan or no plan, Draco seemed to be heading down a very dangerous path indeed. She would just have to watch out for him, that was all.