The Affairs of Wizards

11. The Play's the Thing

We spent two tense and anxious hours in the waiting room of St Mungo's Emergency Department before one of the healers came to tell us that Tracey was conscious and asking for Malfoy. Malfoy, who had been pacing up and down like a caged tiger, nearly bowled the man over as he rushed out of the room. Reasoning that nobody had told me not to, I followed them. Tracey was awake and aware but still very pale. She flashed us both a weak grin as we entered her room.

"Wotcha Malfoy mate. These bloody quacks want to keep me in overnight. You tell them there's no way that's happening while Nev's in danger."

Malfoy sat in the chair by her bed, and took her hand. "Davis, you should rest. I promise you, I'll do whatever I have to to get Neville back safely, and whoever did this will pay for it."

"Too right they will, mate," Tracey said. "Big time. And I'm going to be there when they do. Now just get me out of here will you?" She and Malfoy shared an almost feral grin. Very different in background and upbringing they might be but they were both hardcore Slytherins, as anybody who crossed them would soon find out.

Malfoy nodded. "Leave it to me." He rose, just as Ron Weasley popped his head round the door.

"They said you were awake. Feel up to telling me what happened?"

Tracey motioned him to come in. "I don't remember much, I'm afraid, Weasley. We'd just got back to his place when the door went, and it was the Wellbeloved woman. Nev opened the door and - wham! Next thing we knew we were fighting for our lives. Must have been at least three of them. One of them Stunned me, I think. I don't know what happened to Nev or the girl."

"Jocasta Wellbeloved?" I asked, confused. "What on earth was she doing there?"

Tracey laughed wearily. "Nev's always had a soft spot for her but just lately she's been virtually camping at his place. In and out at all hours of the day and night. She's got a real thing for Malfoy, and since the murder she's been obsessing about him even more. Seems to think he needs her help. I've tried to tell Nev that it was all getting a bit too much, but you know how he is about lame ducks. Whoever's after Malfoy must have realised that and decided to use her as bait."

Tracey and Malfoy had both insisted I would have made a good Slytherin and perhaps they were right. At that moment all I wanted to do was to get to whoever had used poor hopeless Jocasta Wellbeloved in this fashion and make them pay for it. I've never been sure about the ambition and all that but just then the desire for revenge was definitely there.

"I've got people going over Neville's flat," Ron said. "I doubt we'll find much, though. Much as I hate to say it, I think we'll have to leave the next move up to Neville's kidnapper. If Vanessa's right I don't think we'll have to wait long."

***

Ron was right. We didn't have long to wait before our kidnapper showed her hand.

After a lengthy argument Tracey's healer eventually discharged her into Malfoy's custody, intimating that if anything nasty happened to her as a result he totally washed his hands of the whole affair. She wasn't in any state to Apparate or Floo, so a call to the Manor bought Nobby with Malfoy's flying Merc. This rather worried me, as Nobby's driving resembled that of a Greek coach driver when confronted with a series of hairpin bends, and I didn't think Tracey was in any state to undergo that experience, either. I saw her wince several times during the journey but she bore it stoically.

We set up camp in Malfoy's sitting room and Ron gave Seamus Finnigan instructions to have any message delivered there straight away. Then there was nothing to do but sit and wait. Ron's squad hung around in one corner of the room, drinking tea and gossiping, while Ron challenged Malfoy to a chess match and beat him in three straight games. I did my best to make Tracey comfortable. She would not hear of going to bed, so I made her an improvised bed on Malfoy's sofa and fed her as many cups of tea as she wanted.

Our kidnapper's message appeared around 5.00 pm in the shape of Jocasta Wellbeloved, who appeared at the Manor's gates, exhausted, badly knocked about and nearly catatonic with fear. Two of the Goyle security wizards arrived, half carrying her and, at Ron's gesture, deposited her in a chair. She spotted Malfoy, and burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to do it, but she made me. I'm so sorry, so sorry. Poor Mr Longbottom."

Malfoy knelt by the distressed young woman. "Miss Wellbeloved, you are not to blame. Try and calm yourself, and tell us who you mean by "she" and why she sent you here."

Spurred on by Malfoy's encouragement, Jocasta visibly tried to pull herself together. "She said she was your cousin Ariadne."

"Bingo," Ron muttered under his breath.

"She -" Jocasta began but then tears threatened again. She gulped, obviously forcing back a further flood, and continued, "After she - she gave me this for you." She passed Malfoy a crumpled letter.

Malfoy broke the seal, and extracted a small silver badge with a crest on it. He showed it to Ron. "Black family crest. My cousin is nailing her colours to the mast." He read the letter out loud. "Malfoy, I have unfinished business to attend to with you and my blood traitor aunt. If you wish to see Longbottom alive again you and she should take this Portkey to meet me and we will discuss terms. Bring the Wellbeloved girl with you as assurance of your good intent. If you comply she will be released unharmed. The Portkey will activate at sunset."

Jocasta burst into a renewed flood of tears at the news that she would have to return and face Ariadne Lestrange once more. Tracey and I sought to comfort her, and eventually she seemed to resign herself to it, muttering something about "Gryffindor courage".

"What time's sunset?" Ron barked across the room to his team.

"'Bout twenty minutes boss," someone shouted back.

"Bollocks!" Ron exclaimed. "Look Malfoy, we don't have much time -" He hauled Malfoy off, talking rapidly, while Winky was sent to alert Narcissa. Ron had just finished his harangue, and I thought I saw a flash of something silver passed between them, when there was a crack, and Narcissa appeared, her hand resting on Winky's shoulder for support. Malfoy crossed to her with a look of distress.

"You shouldn't overtax yourself. We could have come to you."

"Nonsense darling," Narcissa snapped in a manner that made me realise where Malfoy got his temper from. "I trust I can still Apparate downstairs. Don't fuss." We watched as Malfoy and Narcissa took their places holding the Portkey, and Malfoy beckoned Jocasta to join them.

Ron was counting down the seconds, one eye on the clock over the fireplace, one eye on the group in the centre of the room, "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five -"

It was just as Jocasta took hold of the Portkey that it struck me. Five years' experience in concentrated reading of other people's body language makes you very sensitive to subtle differences. There was something about the way she walked -

"Malfoy, don't go! She isn't -" I moved towards them, and with a speed of which I had never before known her capable, Jocasta Wellbeloved grabbed my wrist and clamped both our hands on the Portkey. The world dissolved in a mass of swirling colour.

***

We materialised in a cavernous vaulted room, dimly illuminated by the light of a single torch.

"Where are we?" I muttered to Malfoy.

"Still at the Manor," he replied, "or rather under the Manor. This is the vault where my father kept his Dark Arts artefacts. I had hoped never to see this place again."

Jocasta Wellbeloved's wand was out and pointing straight at me. "I'm sure you did, Malfoy. You really made sure it was well sealed, didn't you? Six feet of that disgusting stuff Muggles use to build houses blocking the passage. What you forgot is that it's still accessible by Apparation to someone who has been here before. Now hand over your wands, both of you, or I shall be forced to use some very nasty hexes on the Muggle."

She was backing away as she spoke, wand still pointed at me. There was definitely a more noticeable difference now in the way she moved and the way she held herself. Before she'd just got careless, like an actor relaxing slightly at the end of a difficult play, now she was letting the mask down completely. The outline of her features began to shift, and the straggly blonde hair lengthened, thickened and changed colour dramatically. In a few seconds we were looking at a different woman. A doppelganger of the young Bellatrix Lestrange stood there, looking at us with a very nasty smile indeed.

In response to her impatient gesture, Malfoy and Narcissa laid their wands on the ground. Lestrange picked up both wands and backed away from us again. At her command more torches flared into life. At one side of the room Neville lay unconscious in the coils of some writhing green plant which seemed to be just on the verge of choking the life out of him.

"Devil's Snare," Lestrange said to Malfoy. "I'm sure you recognise it. I have it under control right now but if my concentration slips a bit I'm afraid Mr Longbottom may find breathing something of a problem pretty quickly." She eyed me with cold amusement. "Very Shakespearean, don't you think Miss Granger? Quite inventive for a Muggle, your Shakespeare - always coming up with ingenious new methods of torture and revenge. Poor little Miss Wellbeloved had quite a fondness for Shakespeare, you know. Inherited it from that Mudblood father of hers she was so proud of."

"What have you done with Jocasta Wellbeloved, Lestrange?" Malfoy demanded.

"Sadly, she's no longer with us." Lestrange's smile made me shiver. "Came home one night to find Treadwell and myself waiting for her. We wrung her dry of everything I needed to play her part and then we put her out of her misery. A kindness, really. There wasn't a lot left of her when we'd finished with her. Quite touching; the poor little thing kept calling for darling Daddy towards the end."

I felt sick at the thought of Jocasta suffering at the hands of this monster, then was bought up short by the realisation that the Jocasta Wellbeloved I'd known had probably been Ariadne Lestrange playing a part with an acting skill I could only dream of.

"Oh, and I wouldn't bother mourning for Treadwell, my dear cousin," Lestrange continued, conversationally. "He hated you, and he really didn't take a lot of persuading to help me out. Such a pity he got greedy towards the end. Greedy and careless. After all, the play's the thing, isn't it, Miss Granger, and he played his part, as the Bard would say."

"Nice to see you read at least one of the comedies, Lestrange."

Lestrange ignored me. She was obviously tiring of this game, for she looked round briskly. "Dear Aunt Narcissa," she nodded in Narcissa's direction. "How nice to see you again. Now were all assembled I think it's high time we got on with it. On with the show, as the Muggles say. Mr Longbottom should join us for this. Enervate!"

Neville stirred, opened his eyes, and took in the scene before him. A rueful smile lit his face. "Hello Draco. Seems I made rather a mess of things but even you have to admit she didn't look like a Death Eater." I have never admired Neville Longbottom more than at that moment. It takes great strength of character to engage in light-hearted banter while under the threat of imminent strangulation.

Malfoy met Neville's smile with one of his own. "You're not the only one, Longbottom. Which suspicious Slytherin never thought for one moment he had a murderous Metamorphagus running lose in the potions lab? I think we both made rather a hash of it."

Lestrange was looking distinctly pissed off. Setting the stage for torture and murder only to find your supposedly terrified victims exchanging quips is bound to annoy any would-be super-villain.

"We'll see if you find it all quite so funny when I've finished with you," she snarled, stalking across to a cauldron which stood on a raised dais to one side of the room. Somehow I knew without being told that it was into this cauldron that Voldemort had drained Lucius Malfoy's blood. Lighting the fire with her wand, she remarked, "I got this idea from Hamlet. I would rather have used Macbeth - so much more suitable somehow, but there wasn't really anything fitting I'm afraid. Miss Granger will recognise the quote -

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood -"

Oh God, that's all we need, a Death Eater with a Shakespeare fixation. I supposed we could count ourselves lucky she hadn't got round to Titus Andronicus.

"- and that's exactly what this potion will do to you, Malfoy. A very, very painful way to die, so I'm told. By the time it's over you may wish I'd cut your throat ten years ago."

"Let the others go, and you can do what you like with me, Lestrange," Malfoy responded, ignoring the protesting looks from Neville, Narcissa and myself.

"I'm afraid it's too late to try and bargain, Malfoy," Lestrange responded with unholy glee. "I'm going to finish what I started ten years ago. Just like Macbeth really - an ambitious lieutenant, his scheming wife, a lord betrayed. Now comes the retribution. Your blood traitor mother will watch you and Longbottom die before I finish her off, and know that it was all her fault. But now it's time for a little improvisation." The wand pointing at me flicked slightly. "Imperio."

Being under the Imperius curse is like being under the influence of some of the stuff I'd experimented with in my teens but nowhere near as pleasant. On the surface there's a pleasant warm fuzzy feeling - no worries, go with the flow, do as you're told - but underneath the real you knows only too well what is happening and struggles fruitlessly to resist. The teenage rebel who had spent her time smoking on street corners and hanging around with unsuitable boys woke up and asked since when had I ever done exactly what anyone told me to without question but it was no use.

"Originally I'd intended to Petrify you and just force feed it to you," Lestrange continued, "but this way is so much better. I am going to get the Muggle to feed it to you drop by drop and you will not resist or else I will kill her."

"Leave her out of this," Malfoy protested. "It has nothing to do with her."

"She made it her business by meddling," Lestrange snarled. "Besides, it will be so much more fun when I take the curse off and she realises what she has done to you. Oh, yes - I've seen the way you look at each other. Could you possibly stoop any lower, Malfoy? Muggle filth, not even a witch. Over there." She motioned with her wand towards the corner where Neville was pinioned and Malfoy moved to stand beside him. "You - come here." I found myself walking towards her. She dipped a goblet into the cauldron and handed it to me. "Take it over there and feed it to him girl. Malfoy - down on your knees." Malfoy gave me a long look then dropped to his knees.

The teenage rebel was in full clamour now, and along with her another voice was screaming, Malfoy you fool, don't do it. She'll kill me anyway. It's not worth it, don't make me do this to you, please. Every step was agony but I continued to march inexorably towards him. Then my foot hit something, and Narcissa, who had been silent all this time, suddenly spoke.

"Really girl, can't you do any better than this? Just like your mother. No flair at all."

The sneering tone enraged Lestrange, who whirled to face Narcissa and screamed, "Crucio!" Narcissa fell to the floor, writhing and screaming loudly. The tendrils of the curse lifted slightly, and I was able to force myself to look down at what was beneath my foot.

Neville's wand.

It took more effort than anything I've ever done in my life but somehow I managed to move one leaden foot and nudge the thing in Malfoy's direction. It rolled towards him, and he grabbed it with a speed which would have done credit to a pickpocket working Piccadilly Circus in the rush hour, flicked it towards me and muttered, "Finite Incantatem," before it disappeared into his sleeve. The murky tendrils of the curse fell away and the room came into focus once more. I knew everything depended on me making the most of this opportunity. I held as still as I could and maintained a vacant stare.

Narcissa stopped screaming and lapsed into unconsciousness. Lestrange kicked the prone body and swung round towards me to complete the finale of her gruesome production. Time slowed as I judged the distance I had to bridge. The moment she was close enough I threw the cup and its contents straight in her face. The blood-freezing potion was nasty stuff indeed as she screamed and clawed at her face, dropping her wand.

I ducked, as Malfoy shouted from behind me, "Down, Vanessa! Stupefy!" There was a jet of red light and Lestrange dropped like a stone her head hitting the flagstones with a sickening crunch. I found myself standing over her shaking from head to foot with relief.

"Vanessa?" Malfoy put his arm round my shoulders while shooting a jet of fire at the Devil's Snare which bound Neville. The thing shrivelled. Malfoy tossed Neville his wand, knelt and extracted his and Narcissa's wands from a pocket of Lestrange's robe.

"I'm alright. Your mother?" Together we knelt by Narcissa who lay crumpled and unconscious on the floor. Malfoy touched her face gently, and she stirred, her eyes opening to take in the three of us.

"You're safe. Thank Merlin." She lapsed into unconsciousness again.

Malfoy pulled a small mirror from the pocket of his robe, and spoke. "Weasley?"

"I hear you," Ron's voice replied. "Where are you?"

"Dark Arts vault," Malfoy replied. "The entrance is sealed. You'll need to Apparate in."

"We've got a fix, Ron confirmed. "Hang on, we're coming."

A moment later Aurors began to appear everywhere, and it was all over bar the shouting.

***

The Aurors bound the unconscious carted Lestrange and carted her off. Ron and Malfoy wanted Narcissa taken to St Mungo's but she recovered consciousness soon after he and his team arrived, and wouldn't hear of it, insisting she would not want anyone to see her in her present condition. She allowed Malfoy, Neville and myself to assist her back to her apartments where Winky was summoned to take care of her and shooed us all out, shutting the door very firmly in our faces.

The Aurors took their leave, and the three of us made our way back to Malfoy's apartments. When we arrived Tracey flung herself at Neville with an inarticulate cry. Neville hugged her tightly, whispering apologies while Malfoy and I pretended we weren't looking. Eventually, she was persuaded that it really would be a good idea to go to bed, and Neville helped her off to one of the guest rooms.

When he returned, Malfoy poured us all a large glass of firewhisky, and sank down on the sofa next to me, putting his arm round me. "A word of advice, Longbottom. Stop chasing ghosts and make an honest woman of Davis before she gets tired of waiting."

"Funnily enough," Neville responded with a crooked smile, "that was exactly what I was thinking while one of my own plants was trying to squeeze the life out of me." He took a large gulp of firewhisky. I sipped cautiously at my own. Booze had never tasted so good. Malfoy was looking at me with admiration.

"You threw off the curse. That's something a lot of trained wizards could never do."

"Not really," I responded, gloomily. "If she'd not been distracted I would have fed you that stuff. I couldn't stop myself."

"No," Malfoy insisted. "You'd thrown it off before that, or else you'd never have been able to push Longbottom's wand towards me."

Had I thrown off the curse before Malfoy managed to free me? I'll never be sure. I've read a lot about the subject since, trying to decide, and one thing most authorities agree on is that strong emotion can counter an Imperius. Harry Potter's experience with Voldemort in the graveyard at Little Hangleton is often cited as the classic case. If that is correct, then perhaps I had, for at the moment my foot hit Neville's wand I had looked at him kneeling there and known I was in love with Draco Malfoy, had probably been in love with him since the night of Beth's party, and that he loved me enough to sacrifice his life for the dubious promise of my safety.

The fire flared up, and Blaise's head appeared in the flames. "Malfoy?" He took in the sight of Malfoy and myself sitting close together with Malfoy's arm still possessively draped round my shoulders. There was a brief stab of pain in his eyes, then he carried on as if nothing had happened. "Thought I'd better tell you. Gringotts has put Parkinson Lawler into receivership. The announcement will be made tomorrow."

The three of us exchanged glances, then Malfoy spoke. "So Parkinson's bankrupt."

Blaise nodded. "She'd been walking a knife edge for some time and Daddy had just refused to bail her out again."

"I think we now know what Parkinson's reward was going to be," Neville said.

"If she couldn't marry me to get hold of the cash, she hoped to get someone else to blackmail me into handing over money with a threat to Neville's life," Malfoy commented. "I'm sure Lestrange would have treated her the same way she did Treadwell."

Blaise's face wore an evil grin. "So Parkinson's disappearance wasn't anything to do with Treadwell's murder. She went on the run to avoid the goblins. I really would not like to be her if they catch up with her. Goodnight." He vanished.

The three of us remained for a while sitting by the fire, talking companionably. Malfoy insisted on getting Nobby to drive me home. I let myself into the flat, dropped on the bed, and slept for sixteen hours straight.

***

Ariadne Lestrange's capture and Narcissa's emergence from hiding dominated the front pages of the Wizard press for the next week. After taking advice from a PR agent recommended by O'Neills, we persuaded Narcissa to give several heavily-veiled interviews which spawned headlines like, "Tragic Wife of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Leiutenant Emerges from Decade-Long Seclusion".

We worked long hours to get the potions lab back into production and we managed it just as Rememdium really took off in the Muggle world. Sales went through the roof, and we began to talk about our next project, a hangover cure.

It was the following Friday when I looked up from my desk at 5.00 pm to find Malfoy standing in the doorway.

"Isn't it time you were going home?"

"I might say the same to you," I responded with a smile.

"Just going. One little job I need to do first."

"And that is?"

"To ask a certain young lady if she has any plans tonight."

"None I know of. I take it you have a suggestion?"

"Dinner, somewhere quiet where we won't have any bloody reporters breathing down our necks. And perhaps a nightcap afterwards?"

"Your place or mine?"

"Oh," he responded, coming round the desk and pulling me to my feet, "mine, I think."

***

Malfoy and I were married the following year at Beltane in a ceremony that combined elements of Wizarding tradition with Muggle customs. Of course, it raised eyebrows on both sides of the fence but we ignored them. The Prophet ran the headline, "Malfoy Marries Muggle," which must take the prize for alliteration and stating the obvious in one go.

Our sponsors were Neville and Tracey Longbottom who got married two months after the events on this story, Muggle-style, in the registry office in Tracey's home town of Harlow. Malfoy was extremely smug when he managed to get one over on Tracey at the reception by demonstrating that, yes, he did know how to do the Time Warp, thank you very much.

Hermione and Ron ran away to Jamaica two weeks before our wedding and got married on the beach with only Harry Potter and his current girlfriend as witnesses. As Hermione put it, "Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb because when my mother finds out you're marrying the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor I am never going to hear the last of it." Ron's parents were fine about it all but Aunt Jane didn't speak to them for six months, which I suspect suited Hermione and Ron down to the ground.

Blaise Zabini married Agnes Devereux two days before his thirtieth birthday and divorced her six months later. Agnes made no protest, as her main interest was the Zabini fortune, and she came away with enough of it to satisfy her. With true Slytherin cunning and persistence, Blaise finally found the solution to his problem. Much to his father's disgust, Blaise is currently seeing a Muggle-born witch who also works for Gringotts. Malfoy says she looks like me, but I can't see the resemblance myself.

Narcissa retired to the Malfoy holiday home in France, where the lunatic but loyal Winky continues to look after her. I was secretly relieved, as my Mother-in-Law is a strong-willed woman and there can really only be one Lady of the Manor at a time. I use a taper to light the Southern candle at the Samhain Feast, and everyone's got used to it.

Nobody knows what happened to Pansy Parkinson and none of us feel like asking the goblins. We might just get an answer.

Ariadne Lestrange is currently serving life in Azkaban for the murders of Adrian Treadwell, Jocasta Wellbeloved and many other unspecified crimes.

The Pure Magic Range from Magus now comprises five products and has made Malfoy and Neville almost as wealthy as the Weasley Twins.

Our twin sons, Alexander and Anthony (to fit in with the Malfoy penchant for classical names while retaining a modern air to them) are three now and beginning to show the first signs of magic. An alarming experience for a Muggle mother. You try coaxing a grinning three year old who's just discovered he can levitate down from one of the highest branches of an oak tree. Thank God for Ditzy, the world's best Nanny.

Professor Tolkein wrote in the Lord of the Rings, "Do not meddle in the affairs of wizards -" My life since the day Hermione made that fateful phone call has been one long meddling in the affairs of wizards, and I can't say I agree with him at all. If I hadn't had the courage to meddle I would never have found happiness.

Vanessa Malfoy was talking to Lyn Newman. Her autobiography, Reader I Married Him - A Muggle's Eye View of the Wizarding World, is published this month by Prophet Publishing, price 1 G 6 Sic.

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