The Ransom of Albus Dumbledore

16. 'Sv lvr frm N Mlfy'

The Liebestod antidote Sirius brought her put Hermione into a deep sleep. She had a dream of being happily married to Icky the troll. At first she was ecstatic, but hour by hour, he did things that were less and less appealing and more and more of a nuisance, like bringing her an armload of alstroemeria, which she was allergic to, and hand lotion whose primary ingredient seemed to be dragon dung. When she was forced to spurn one of his more nauseating advances by hitting him with his milk pail and then running, he called after her in a vastly different though familiar voice, "Well, it took you long enough."

She turned. The troll had changed into Ron. He was slouching against a wall grinning impishly. He looked so winsome there with his freckles crowding his cheeks and nose and his strong, slender hands buried deep in the pockets of his baggy trousers, she wondered what she could ever have seen in Icky. She ran to him; she wanted to embrace him, to kiss him, to tell him how sorry she was for everything she'd ever done to him...

His image dissolved to reveal Lily in her hunting outfit. She was smiling, but her eyes were opaque today like jade. "We think we've figured out the meaning of the next task on the list. When you awake, Hermione, you will have to enter the household of a Death Eater, whose wife holds a wizard captive with another potent love philter. And you will have to go alone and undercover: Transfigured."

"But I thought I wasn't allowed to use disguises--"

"We have gotten the grudging permission of Sirius'... er... landlord--"

"Lord Death."

"Yes... him. He is going to allow us to change you into a being who will be able to fit well into the household, so to speak. But at a price."

"What do you mean?"

"The transformation will only last for six hours and sixty-six minutes, and you can't take your wand.

"Will Sirius--"

"Nope, he's part of the price. In exchange for being allowed to transform you, Sirius has to spend a day in the company of Reginald and Bertha and keep them away from Death's door."

"Poor Sirius. He dislikes them rather."

"Don't I know it! We could hear him raging about it from our Paradiso cottage. James wanted to go and help him, but he's not allowed any more visits." She sighed. "That last dream was their one and only romp together."

"It was good for Sirius, I'm sure."

"No, I'm afraid it's only whetted his appetite. But they didn't help their cause any. Did you know? After they left us, they rousted a whole herd of centaur foals in the Land Before Time and darn near chased them into another plane of existence. So, no more visits for him."

"Oh."

"Try not to worry about it."

"What's the Land Before Time?"

"It's where babies are started up before they're born. Before they go to the Weighing Room--"

"You mean the Waiting Room where they wait for delivery."

"No, no, 'Weighing'... erm... their essences have to be analyzed... so they can be matched to appropriate parents. It's a long, complicated process--"

"--which there's no time for right now. I understand. So what do I have to do?"

"As I said, there's another lovesick mage, a man this time, who's being held captive by a love potion though it's not quite so strong as the Liebestod."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Let me explain. The Liebestod compromises the victim's very moral fiber. The victim has no choice but to obey, no matter what. But the potion we're dealing with this time is one any school girl can concoct. I... erm... tried it myself while I was at Hogwarts."

"On James?"

"Heavens, no. It was first year, and--oh, never mind. With this potion, the victim falls in love with the girl who serves it to him, but she must persuade him or trick him somehow, if she wants to make him turn his back on his code of ethics--"

"--which is not so very difficult to do if he's already ga-ga over her." Who's the... erm... Lorelei?"

"Narcissa Malfoy."

"Draco's mother?"

"Yes, and her lover is Augustus Pye, a rather callow fellow. He went to school with Narcissa, and now he's a Healer at Saint Mungo's. I'm sure you can see that in his trusted position he could do a great deal of harm."

"Yes, of course. He treated Mr. Weasley, I believe, when he was attacked by the Dark Lord's snake two years ago."

Lily nodded. "Even now Narcissa may be persuading Healer Pye to do the worst kind of evil. Expose her nefarious plot or an essentially good man could turn into a mass murderer."

And I only have seven hours to do it in, Hermione thought. But she only said, "How do I get there?" After her long sleep, she was more than ready for some action.

~*~

A House-Elf, how appropriate, Hermione mused, not for the first time, as she studied her current surroundings. This was proving difficult because she was now only three feet in height and holding a tall stack of linens.

She had arrived at Malfoy Manor at nine a.m. in a grubby tea towel tunic and directed immediately to the servants' entrance. She presented her letter of introduction to the housekeeper, who gave her a quick tour of the place and then thankfully put her right to work, shelling peas in the kitchen under the watchful eye of the cook. She had gone from there to helping squash pumpkin rinds for fresh juice in a vat with her bare feet and then to walking the master's Crups.

Now it was afternoon. She had been handed over to yet another overseer and was standing in a large, well-lit linen closet, a Slytherin green apron embroidered with the odious Malfoy coat-of-arms tied about her waist.

"Hermie, you isn't paying proper attention," squeaked a voice high above her. It was the head house-elf on a ladder braced against a wall of shelves. His name escaped her at the moment, but she knew he was a male because she had caught an unplanned glimpse under his tea towel as he climbed the ladder. He wanted her to do something with the linens obviously but she hadn't been listening.

"You is having to Levitate those towels up to me this instant. We is behind schedule as it is."

Hermione realized she had no idea how to do this. She had not needed magic for her other assignments. She remembered that Harry had described his friend Dobby's magic as always being accompanied by a finger-snap, but she couldn't do magic without a wand. Then an image popped into her mind of another house-elf cradling a bottle of butter beer in the Hogwarts kitchens and wailing like a banshee.

"Oh, I is useless," she cried in an approximation of Winky's high-pitched whine. "My finger-snaps is not working today. The mistress will be angry. I will be having to put my hands through the wringer as a punishment." She started to sob. "Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo..."

The other elf descended the ladder heavily. Hermione could see now that he was quite old. "Do not cry, Hermie. Blobby knows it is hard to serve a new mistress when an elf's old master has died. But Hermie will get used to it in time. And Miss Narcissa is not harsh like the master was. She is kind... and good..." He took the towels from her gently and Levitated them up to the top shelf. Then he climbed back up to straighten them in their space.

"There!" he said, hobbling down again. "Work's all done, see? Now we take a break...." Hermione brightened. Perhaps now she could sneak away and start her search. "...Do some light cleaning," Blobby finished, and he handed Hermione a feather duster. She sighed, and her stomach rumbled. She had toiled right through lunch. For all their magic, the elves of Malfoy Manor worked very hard. Blobby seemed especially dedicated to the family. He prattled endlessly about how lucky Hermie was to have been taken on, about how gentle, how kind their mistress was. If he only knew...

They moved out of the closet and into a long hallway paneled in some dark wood and lined with potted plants . Hermione had been here before during the housekeeper's cursory orientation. There were a least a dozen doors along the corridor, each opening into a smallish room. Most were for storage, but the one across from the linen closet was the mistress's office and sitting room. Only senior staff were allowed to tidy that room.

Blobby started to open that very door but paused as they heard a woman's voice behind it, tremulous but forceful: "... ask you one last time: do not continue to live in sin with that woman...."

Blobby looked briefy scandalized and motioned Hermione to follow him to the next room down. It held rows of shelves crowded with bottles and boxes, which were coated with dust. As she started cleaning them, she restrained the urge to sneeze. She needed to hear more of that charged conversation.

It wasn't difficult. The woman's voice, strained with emotion, penetrated the drywall easily, and in its highest register, made some of the bottles quiver sympathetically. "... that her husband is a convicted Death Eater with a life sentence is no excuse. In fact, it only makes matters worse. Think of your reputation. You are a Pye, a member of an illustrious race of physicians-- not some third-tier medi-wizard, handing out painkillers and pick-me-ups at a local Quidditch match. If word of your behavior reaches Saint Mungo's..."

Blobby hissed, "Pay no mind to that wizard-talk, Hermie." She looked up to see him blushing scarlet.

She nodded and essayed a dull stare as she swept the shelf in front of her.

The man's voice was calm. "Mother, Narcissa and I love each other. And you needn't worry. You are the only one who knows about us. Everyone thinks I'm just the family Healer, helping her over a rough patch."

"If you believe that, you are incredibly naïve."

"But she's going to divorce Malfoy. She told me so. We'll be married soon. I'll take her away from all this: the danger, the shame of it..." His voice rose and cracked. "And, oh mother, her son, her only son, Draco, is missing!"

"Really?" The word was laced with scorn.

"You remember when the Death Eaters raided Hogwarts and that renegade teacher killed their headmaster? Apparently Draco tried to stop him. It seems he was rewarded for his heroics by being taken hostage. You can see why I can't abandon her. She has lost everything: her husband, her brave, young son. The family's reputation is in a shambles...."

The conversation dropped to a low murmur for a time, and presently a door opened and closed. Then there was silence.

The two elves worked a long time up and down the rows until their paths dovetailed in a corner of the room. Hermione heard footsteps in the hallway, and the door opened. Through spaces between the bottles, she could make out a woman with shiny hair, huge gray eyes, and pale skin. Blobby touched Hermione's arm and put a finger to his lips, reminding her of the house-elves' code: to tiptoe about the house doing one's business efficiently, unseen and unheard by the people they served.

They stood silently, and Hermione continued to peer through the jars and jeroboams as Narcissa Malfoy entered the room. Hermione recognized her from the Quidditch World Cup. Her hair was like a curtain, long and silvery and unnaturally straight, and she did indeed have a nose that seemed perpetually wrinkled in disgust. However, that might only have been a reaction to the acrid chemical miasma the two elves had stirred up in their cleaning. Fortunately, she only entered the room far enough to take something from the first shelf.

Once again, Hermione felt a powerful urge to sneeze. She rubbed her nose and concentrated on the contents of the shelves before her, which she realized now were potion ingredients. Between this and a few vigorous head-shakes, she managed to stifle the sneeze. She really didn't want to risk having to put her elf-fingers through a wringer, no matter how much Blobby raved about his mistress's largesse.

Thankfully, Narcissa was not in the storeroom long. They heard her close the door and open the one next to it, her office. At a look from Blobby, Hermione took up her dusting again, working her way towards the wall their room shared with the office.

Narcissa's voice was languid, but high in pitch and as such easily distinguished. Hermione blessed her large house-elf ears which seemed so much better adapted to eavesdropping than human ones.

"Darling Gus. So your mother's gone?"

The wizard's voice sounded not at all distressed. "Yes. She's not happy with our situation."

"I guessed as much. You should have seen the way she looked at me. You told her we were to be married?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't tell her of my troubles."

"She knows about Lucius, of course... and Draco..."

"Yes... my son... my poor, poor son...." There was a sob and silence for some moments. "But I meant my other troubles, you know, those horrible letters.... You didn't say anything about them, did you?"

Of course not, my dearest, what do you think of me?"

"Oh darling, you know I trust you utterly."

"I could understand it if you didn't quite... yet. Do you think I rushed things too much?" His voice turned hoarse. "I know it is still a bit hard to believe that we... found each other this way. That our relationship could develop so quickly."

"Not at all, darling. It's as if it were meant to happen."

"Yet we had such different interests when we were in school."

"You're right, of course, Gus dear. I couldn't believe you even remembered me when we met at that party last month: you, the unselfish Healer; me, the lowly housewitch."

"Housewitch? Hardly. You dazzled me utterly."

"No longer an innocent witchling, gazing in awe at you older students in the halls of Hogwarts."

"Actually, I confess I had only a vague impression of you back then, Narcissa. I believe I'd foolishly written you off as just another selfish Slytherin vixen."

She laughed. "And now you'd do anything for me."

"Yes, anything. You've been so understanding, so gentle, so brave. When you offered me that first cup of punch at the party, the gesture was so genuine, so spontaneous, not at all like the cold calculation I expected from one of your House. I believe I fell for you at that very moment."

Sounds of intimacy ensued. Hermione paused in her work to listen, and realized shortly that things were altogether too quiet: she could no longer hear the rhythmic wiffa-wiffa of Blobby's duster. She turned and saw her overseer down an aisle. He was grasping his duster tightly in one hand and pulling savagely at the feathers with the other, as if he were plucking a particularly tough chicken. His mouth was turned down, and a large vein stood out at his temple. Then--

The duster exploded with a swooshing sound, and feathers flew everywhere. Blobby looked at her sheepishly and snapped his fingers. The feathers flew back to the end of the duster. He started sweeping the shelf in front of him vigorously. Hermione returned to her own work: cleaning and eavesdropping.

A sharp cry penetrated her wall. "What's this?" It was Augustus Pye. He sounded very angry.

"Oh, darling, don't... don't look at those. They don't matter."

"More letters from those lewd bastards. Aaaugh!"

"Darling, please, they're nothing. Remember: hexes and stones may break my bones--"

"--but names will never hurt you? This isn't simple name-calling, Narcissa. It's a threat. They're trying to blackmail you."

"But darling, I'm used to it. Lucius told me... it's part and parcel of being the wife of a wealthy business man. One just has to ignore them--"

"But you've no one to protect you now. Except me."

"Oh, Gus, I wouldn't want you to--"

"What would Lucius have done, Narcissa? Bought them off? Threatened them? Arranged a little accident?"

"I never asked. But I tell you, it's all right--"

"--and I tell you it's not. Look here. This fellow Lupin as much as says he'll kill you if you don't give in to him. Your beauty has driven him crazy."

Papers rustled.

"Why I recognize this one: Kingsley Shacklebolt. And I treated this other fellow myself. Great Merlin! He's married, has a dozen kids. These two have great influence at the Ministry, Narcissa. You'd have scant recourse to justice if they had their way with you."

"And Lupin?"

"He's a werewolf, dearest. He comes to Saint Mungo's monthly with self-inflicted wounds. What he could do to you, the monster!"

"Oh, Gus, I've never seen your eyes so wild. It frightens me."

"More than these beasts? I can't let you face them. I'll have to take care of them for you... the way Lucius would have."

"But he'd never--"

"Oh, I'm sure he would."

"Yes, perhaps he did find it necessary to go outside the bounds of the law... once or twice, but... No, Gus, I can't ask you to do this. Your name, your reputation... I'll deal with it myself."

"How?"

"Can I trust you?"

"How can you ask that, dearest?"

There were sounds of paper ripping.

"Aconite, eh? Infiltrates the skin, does its work, then vanishes without a trace.... Ingenious."

"I thought it the only way. But... oh, Gus, I'm so afraid..."

"Hmmm... it would work best in a salve, I think."

"What? Darling--"

"Don't worry, dearest, I'll take care of everything."

"Would you? For me?"

"Of course. In my position, it will be easy. I'll start with Lupin. The full moon is only a few nights away...." There were more sounds: kisses and sighs.

"But, darling, you must keep up your strength. You have late rounds tonight, don't you? We can make our plans later. Let us go to dinner first, and then perhaps, a little... diversion...."

A door opened and closed, and there were footfalls up the hall.

Hermione found Blobby in a far corner, dusting away furiously, and essayed a winsome grin. "Oh, Blobby, I is finished my rows down here. Should I do the plants in the hall? They looked most dirtsome."

"That is a good idea, Hermie," he answered shortly. He did not look at her; something was bothering him mightily.

Hermione slipped out of the potions larder and looked down the long hall, silently praying that Narcissa had not locked her office. She had no idea what the hour was, and there were no windows to help her gauge the time. She had to get some information and be on her way.

The door was unlocked. She crossed the plush carpet gingerly. There was the evidence on the desk. Three letters, purportedly from Auror Shacklebolt, Professor Lupin, and Mr. Weasley. She perused one. It was salacious and smacked of blackmail:

...Now that your husband is in prison, you must be so very lonely...

With my connections at the Ministry, perhaps I can help you to get him out. If you will only meet me at the Cauldron, I can get us a nice private room, for the purposes of discussion only, of course. Unless you wish more...

I have a wealth of experience. Perhaps I might even be able to make you forget all about him...

I do so admire your feminine charms...

Eagerly awaiting your reply,
Arthur Weasley.

She had to hold down her rising gorge. Ron's tender, chivalrous father as a sexual predator? Narcissa Malfoy had imagination, she'd give her that.

She rummaged about and found an order from Narcissa to her grocer, signed and owl-ready.

All four were obviously penned in the same hand, though with different colors of ink. Love is truly blind, she thought, if Augustus Pye did not notice the similarity in the writing.

And here was the poison... Hermione rewrapped the bottle, gathered it up with the letters, and stuffed them down the front of her tea towel. As such they were not sufficient evidence of a plot, but if she could search the desk drawers...

The door opened behind her.

"Hermie, what is you doing in here?" It was Blobby looking agonized. "This is the mistress's personal sitting room. Did not the housekeeper tell you--"

"Oh," she said in her most winsome squeak, "You is said for me to do some more dusting, and I finished doing the plants, lickety-splickety. Then I is heard the mistress and her friend going out, so, since this is the room you was planning to do first, I just thought--"

"I is having to explain, Hermie: you is only allowed to come in here when you is with me, never by your own self. Is you understanding me?"

She nodded vigorously. "Oh, I is, Blobby. I is understanding you most well." He held the door open for her. She hunched her shoulders, hoping he would not notice the bulge in her towel.

"Is you all right, Hermie?"

"My tummy is feeling a bit rumbly."

"Oh. Does you need to visit the potty?"

"Yes," she said, smiling at the excuse he had handed her. "I'll be back, quickety-quick." But, of course, she wouldn't. Perhaps the letters and the poison would be enough...

As she walked down the hall, Blobby followed and soon stopped her with a tug at her apron string. "You is not did a very good job on these plants, Hermie. Is you sure you--"

Her apron, loosened, fell to the floor, and the letters and the bottle followed it.

"What is this?" he whispered, bending over the incriminating documents.

"Erm... I..."

Blobby gathered them up and stared at her a long moment. He looked so pathetically betrayed that she had no thought to run. Then he seized her arm and frog marched her back to his mistress's office.

He pushed her against the desk. "Tell me true. Is you a spy, Hermie?"

"No," she squeaked. "I is just a poor house-elf... without a house..." No, she thought, I won't lie to this poor fellow, of all people. He deserves the truth--at least some of it. "Oh, I is sorry... I mean... I am sorry, Blobby. I am not what I seem." She told him her real name and that she was charged by the Ministry with the job of stopping Augustus Pye from murdering innocent people.

He looked horrified. "The Ministry?! Them as took away the master... with their hard-eyed Aurors and sting-y hexes... They would not... they is not daring to take the mistress--"

"I'm afraid they may, Blobby."

"They's been watching her." He pressed his hands to his temples and started a keening whine. "No... no... it is not her fault... it is just... she is not strong...."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at her a long moment, then his words came in a mumbled rush. "I is knowing all the time the mistress is got herself into a horrible muckety-muck. Ever since this healing person is started coming around, she is been making more and more bad decidings. Her menu choosing is off. She is not running her finger over the mantel anymore. She is let the necessary disciplines go to potty-pot. She is buying nasty poisons, getting letters from nasty men.... She is so much... googly-eyed over... this Pye person,... she is blind to his reckless badness."

"I'm sorry, Blobby."

He looked at her, wide-eyed. "What is happening, Hermie? You is looking funny."

Hermione realized her point of view was changing rapidly--upward. She was growing back into Hermione Granger. It must be over seven hours since she entered the mansion.

"Oh, no," she cried, clutching at her tea-towel toga, which was now barely enough to cover her torso. "Erm... I told you I was not what I seem."

Blobby turned puce and looked away, scolding her indignantly. "You is naked, young lady. Put on some clothes, quick as quick."

Hermione scanned the room. There was an elegant silk shawl draped over a loveseat in a corner of the room. She wrapped herself in it. "How's this?"

"All right," muttered Blobby, sneaking a peek before facing her. "But how is you to dare to pretend you is a house-elf?" He shook a finger at her. "Oh, I should have been knowing: no finger snaps and your dusting was so haply hazardous and all that blubbing--"

"Believe me, Blobby, I am sorry, but it was the only way I could search for what I needed."

"Well, yes, I is seeing that. Who else but us elves knows the ways of a household like the back of our thumbs?"

She felt sorry for him. He was loyal but conflicted. "Yes, and who else knows so much about the house's needs and those of its owners? Blobby, I can tell you care for your mistress."

"I does, so much. She is frail, and she is not knowing the evilness... the plotting... of the master...." He stopped abruptly and started hitting himself over the head with the desk lamp.

She seized his arm and led him to the loveseat. She sat down, but he refused, with a reproving frown. She apologized. "I understand, Blobby. You must hold to your traditions. Never sit in the presence of a... superior. And never speak ill of your masters."

"You is understanding me, Miss, yes. But what you is not knowing is that the new master-- when he is becoming the master--he will be my master."

"And that means..."

"I will have to obey him. I will no longer be able to protect the mistress." He started to wail hoarsely.

"Wait, Blobby, shhh... Perhaps, before that can happen, I might be able to stop him."

"No... no one can..." The elf stopped and stared at her out of bleary eyes. "If... I is giving you some proof, is you able to get the hard-eyed Aurors and hitting wizards to be taking him away?"

"I think so."

He wiped his nose on his towel and nodded eagerly. To her surprise, he thrust back at her the evidence she had already amassed and walked to the desk. He opened a drawer and brought out an envelope, which he handed to her. It was addressed to N. Malfoy. Inside was a note with the letterhead Borgin and Burkes, and a bill. It was dated three days ago.

My dear Madam Malfoy,

Here is the ingredient that 'friend' of yours will need. May his use of it help speed our day of triumph!

Knowing that you may be in somewhat straitened circumstances at the moment, I have added the charges to your account.

Your servant always,
P.D.Q.Burke

The bill was for 'Tincture of Aconite.'

Blobby's eyes filled with tears again. "You is seeing that it is not her fault. He must have forced her to buy the poison. It is this Burke and this Pye fellow... strong warlocks they is and evil. They is making her do these things."

"I understand, Blobby. I will try to make the Ministry see your side."

"You is not got to only try. You must do it. You is got to promise that the mistress will be protected." He pointed at her. "Or I is not letting you go!"

Hermione sighed. She remembered the damage Dobby's magic had done years ago, before he became friends with her and Harry and Ron. Among other things, he had smashed Harry's aunt's dessert platter, created a barrier to Platform Nine and Three-quarters, broken Harry's arm with a maliciously charmed Bludger, and sent Lucius Malfoy bowling arse-over-teacups down a flight of steps.

"I promise," she said.