Summer in the City

Chapter 4

On the top of the stairs, Draco was greeted by an anxious-looking old woman and a beady-eyed old man.

The old man thrust out one hand towards him. He smelled of cheap tobacco. "I'm Mundungus Fletcher, and this is my wife Arabella. We don't usually have no visitors 'ere before dawn, but we've seen greater wonders, 'aven't we?" He winked at Draco. "Who are you, lad?

Draco thought it better not to offend the old man, so they shook hands. "I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, and clamped his free hand on his mouth immediately. He had wanted to say 'Zacharias Smith'!

The old man released his hand immediately, with a look of horror on his face.

"I see my enhanced Veritaserum is in effect," Snape said silkily behind Draco. He put a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Malfoy, it is time for you to answer some questions. Mrs. Fletcher, I believe this juvenile delinquent has made a bit of a mess in your laboratory. You had better take a good look. Ah, and I think your supplies of talc have diminished as well."

With that, he steered Draco into the back room, leaving the shocked Fletchers behind. Harry was there with the unconscious Padfoot.

"Your nightgown looks way too short," Snape told Harry. "Have you no sense of decency? Go get dressed. I'm not having you in my house without proper clothes."

Harry glared at him. "This is a tee, not a nightgown. And it's oversized as it is. It's far from being indecent."

"I don't care whatever you wear when there aren't any strangers around," Snape scowled. "But having pubescent boys staring at your breasts is another story."

Draco realised Snape was talking about him. Indeed, he was staring at Harry's breasts. A boy's breasts. Draco averted his eyes, face burning in shame.

Harry noticed it and rolled her eyes. (Or his? Oh, bugger! - Draco thought) "Fine. I'll be back in a moment."

Draco always thought it took women ages to get dressed. It was true of his mother, anyway. Harry, on the other hand, didn't seem to have such problems. She was back in half a minute, wearing the same striped top and red skirt Draco had seen earlier that day.

Snape looked at Harry's bare feet and legs. "No, that's still too... tempting. In the company of such young criminals as Mr. Malfoy, it is better not to take chances. Put on a pair of - you know."

"I know what?" Harry asked.

"Oh, my. I mean those thick trousers. The blue pair. Whatever they're called," Snape said disdainfully.

Realisation dawned on Harry's face. "Oh. My jeans."

She left the room again, just to come back with a pair of what looked like a House Elf's loincloth dyed blue and tailored to fit the owner's limbs so tightly that fleas would have had problems getting under it. To Draco's surprise, the girl started wiggling into them on the spot. This time Snape didn't say anything. He just buried his face in his hands. Finally, Harry pulled on the trousers, but left the skirt on as well.

"There," she said. "Better?"

Snape eyed her critically. "No, but it shall have to do. We have wasted enough time already. Fetch me a chair. Thank you. Now give the mutt a dose of Sleeping Draught while I'm interrogating Mr. Malfoy. And then, drink half a flagon of your own potion."

"My own potion? Why?" Harry asked. "I usually don't have to take it in the middle of the night."

"True, but now you are awake. Being awake means your system metabolises the potion faster. Consequently, you must take a new dose," Snape said, exasperation clear in his voice.

Draco started sniggering, but Snape turned towards him immediately and ruined the mood. "What is so funny, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Oh, nothing really," Draco said. "Absolutely nothing. It's just that your nephew - or niece - can be extraordinarily thick sometimes, and you can't even humiliate her properly for that."

Somewhere in the middle of his little speech, Draco realised that he should have stopped after 'absolutely nothing'. At least, he had intended to. How come he couldn't?

The Professor looked annoyed and satisfied at the same time. "You are responding wonderfully to the serum, Mr. Malfoy. Your answers are outrageously impudent, but so far you have not said anything I have not known."

"He said 'nephew or niece'! And he called me 'Harry'! How on earth does he know-" chimed in The-Boy-Who-Was-A-Girl.

"I've seen you come in here as a boy, and I've seen you change into a girl," Draco replied, face blank.

Snape glared at Harry. "Have I not made myself clear enough, imbecilic child? It is my turn to talk, not yours." After that, he turned back to Draco. "I think we should go back to the very beginning. Tell me your full name."

Draco's eyes lost focus again. "My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Are you the son of Lucius Verus Malfoy, of Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire?"

"Yes, I am. Which means, he's my father."

Snape waved a hand in irritation. "Yes, yes, that's clear, no need to be pleonastic. How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Why have you come here at such an ungodly hour of the night?"

"To sneak back to your Floo and go back home the way I got here."

Snape frowned. "We have no Floo connection."

"Yes, you do," Draco said.

"Really? And may I inquire where?" Snape asked, slowly.

"In the corner of this room, inside the iron stove. When I arrived here, I found an ignited cigar stub, or something like that. The Floo network must have perceived it as a sign that the fireplace was active," Draco droned impassively.

Snape pounced on the information. "When you arrived here, you said. When was that?"

"Mid-afternoon. I don't know the exact time."

"Did you know this address?"

"No. I just mispronounced my destination. Well, okay, not just mispronounced. I started insulting one of our House Elves, and the network took me to the destination which sounded closest to what I'd said."

"The cigar stub you found, what was it like? Was there anything unusual about it? Was it magical?"

"No, it wasn't magical, I would have felt that. But it wasn't a proper cigar stub, either. It was wrapped in paper. Also, there was an inscription on the paper."

"What did it say?"

"It said Marlboro Lights. Is that some kind of a spell?"

The Professor turned to Harry. "Have you been smoking again?"

Harry went beet-red. "Uh, well, yeah. Sorry."

"Right. Fetch me the cigarette stub. I would like to examine it."

"I've cleaned the stove up in the evening," Harry admitted, looking ashamed and angry at the same time. "Look, I'm sorry about it, I'm sorry about the whole thing, okay? I mean, you told me once you had tried smoking when you were twelve!"

Professor Snape stood up, drawing himself up to his full height. Although the man was looking at Harry, Draco felt his blood chill in his veins. Then Snape opened his mouth, but seemed unable to speak. Brick-red patches appeared on his face and neck. Harry took an involuntary step back, a stoppered bottle full of Sleeping Draught still in his hand. An unwilling witness to the scene, Draco simply wanted to run home to his mum.

Professor Snape took a deep breath. "Harry. What are the most common effects of tobacco smoke, when applied internally?"

"It boosts up your metabolism," Harry answered after a bit of hesitation.

Snape inclined his head. "Precisely. Now tell me, if retaining your current shape and gender depends on the time it takes you to metabolise the potion - as the fact that I have asked you to take an extra dose suggests - how would smoking affect the duration of said potion's effects?"

"Um, the effects would wear off sooner?" Harry offered.

"Yes," Snape hissed, "exactly. Which means that your relapse this afternoon wasn't simply caused by your otherwise remarkable forgetfulness, but by the fact that you engaged in a Muggle ritual where the key element is a poisonous substance, in a premeditated attempt at disobeying me and questioning my authority and my concern for your well-being!"

Snape took a deep breath again, and Draco expected another outburst, so he moved behind the workbench, in case he would have to defend himself. Instead, the Professor sank back into his seat after a short pause. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he'd just got a terrible headache. "We shall talk about this later, Harry. Right now, we have more pressing duties. Mr. Malfoy, do not try to hide. Answer me. What is your father's current political status?"

"He serves directly under Minister Fudge, as Vice Chairman of the Death Eaters' High Council, and Lieutenant-General of the Auror Office,"Draco drawled. "Hey, are you trying to squeeze strategically important information from me?"

Snape shook his head. "No, I'm not trying to - I'm already doing it. What are the Death Eater Council's main tasks?"

Draco shrugged. "They make laws, hold court, distribute money coming in from taxes, things like that."

"Wouldn't that be the Wizengamot's duty?" Snape interrupted.

Draco shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about. There's no Wizengamot. There are only Death Eaters."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "How many Death Eaters are there in the country now?"

Draco shrugged again. "Don't know. I'd say quite a lot, because you're admitted to their ranks when you become twelve. See? This tattoo is called the Dark Mark. Death Eaters, even juniors like me, wear tattoos like that."

Snape's eyes bulged slightly as he watched Draco roll his sleeve up and hold his left forearm out for inspection. Harry was staring at both of them, mouth slightly open.

Snape's face twitched. "Where are the Death Eater headquarters?"

"In the Ministry of Magic, first floor, but in the summer debates are sometimes held on the Isle of Azkaban, in the memorial park, as far as I can remember."

"Then you are not remembering very well," Snape snapped. "Azkaban is a prison. There is no park there."

Draco shook his head. "It used to be a prison, but the DE Council passed a reform bill previous year. Now there is a nice memorial park on the Isle, commemorating the Death Eater heroes who suffered in the prison. I've been there with Father. Once you get past the guards, it's a cool place. Father has even initiated building a hotel on Azkaban Beach..."

"I see. Where is the prison now?" Snape asked.

"The prison has been relocated to the vicinity of a Scottish village, Hogs-something," Draco said, shrugging. "Father said there used to be a school once, but now it's a really creepy place, full of wild ghosts. People say it belonged to Dumbledore, you know, the blood-traitor bloke who assassinated Lord Voldemort-"

Snape stood up so abruptly that he knocked his chair over. He gathered his dressing robe around him, and headed for the door.

"Did I say something wrong?" Draco asked lamely.

Snape was already through the door. He called back over his shoulder, "Harry, I am going downstairs to help Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher. Please be so kind and bathe Mr Malfoy and the mutt while I'm away. I shall return in the morning and inspect your work."

With that, he left the room.

Draco stared at the empty doorway until he felt someone nudge his shoulder. It was the girl called Harry

"Hey, blondie," she said. "Don't just stand there, help me. Bring some water. You can take a hot shower upstairs after we've taken care of Padfoot."

"Don't call me blondie."

"Draco, then. Would you bring some water, please? There's a tap next to the door."

Draco crossed his arms over his narrow, thin chest. "I think it would be better if you let me take a shower and some food first."

Harry bit her lower lip. "Look, maybe it's better if we just do what Severus said. I've never seen him so angry."

"Why do you think he got this furious?" Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. "No idea. I'll find out if I can, okay? Not now, though. Better let him calm down a bit. Until then, we might as well bathe your doggie. Hold on; I'll be right back with the mop."

While he filled the largest cauldron with water, Draco wondered what crime Snape and Harry had committed that they had to hide from the wizarding world. He also wondered why Snape wanted Harry disguised as a girl, while he dragged the cauldron back to the middle of the room. It was awfully heavy, and wobbled when Draco tried to move it, but somehow he managed not to slosh too much water during the process.

Harry returned shortly afterwards with what looked like Muggle cleaning products and a mop. She eyed Draco's work critically. "There was a bucket under the tap. Why on earth did you use Severus' favourite cauldron?"

Draco shrugged. "The tap was dripping, so I thought I'd better leave the bucket there. Besides, Padfoot is really large, he wouldn't fit into the bucket."

"True," Harry said. "Let's just get over with it, then, and hope Severus doesn't find us out."

They went over to Padfoot and grabbed him by the paws. The dog opened his eyes and whined.

"Oh, crap!" Draco said, releasing Padfoot hastily. "I thought he was supposed to be knocked out."

"I thought the same," Harry assured him. "I don't know what happened. Maybe the potion wasn't potent enough, though that's not too possible. It's supposed to work just fine. There was only one occasion when it didn't. Once Mundungus got really drunk, and he went bonkers. He was completely delirious, and we dosed him with Sleeping Draught, but he just got more drunk. The potion is alcohol-based, so it might not work if you're already an alcoholic, but dogs usually don't drink spirits, do they?"

"No, I suppose not," Draco agreed. He bent over to Padfoot again. "Erm, nice doggie. You're just going to have a bath."

Unfortunately, Padfoot struggled all the while they shampooed him. By the time he was more or less clean, Harry and Draco were drenched in soapy water. Draco was also nursing a small bite on his hand, and there were thin, bloody scratches on Harry's lower arms.

"Okay, hold him down for a while!" Harry instructed. "I'll get some water to rinse him."

"What? No, wait, where are you going?" Draco cried. "Don't leave me alone!"

"Oh, bugger, just hold him down while I'm filling the bucket with water!" Harry snapped. "I'll be back in a sec."

It took more than a second, and by the time Harry returned with the water, Padfoot managed to bite Draco one more time. Harry upended the bucket over the dog's head. Padfoot almost bolted, but Draco was holding on to his neck with all his strength.

"Gotcha!" Harry said triumphantly.

"Got me, you mean," Draco muttered. He'd gotten at least half of the water. And it only got worse when he released Padfoot and the dog shook. True, Padfoot looked really thin with his fur wet. He also seemed exhausted by his struggle. He started to cast a disdainful look at Harry and Draco, but he stopped in mid-motion, staring at Harry. His eyes widened.

Draco followed Padfoot's gaze. "Uh oh. I guess you're a boy again, Harry. Your tits are gone."

Harry stared at his own chest and blushed deeply. "Damn! I can never feel when I change back." He hurried over to the workbench, picked up a bottle, and downed its entire contents in one gulp.

His convulsions started soon after that. Draco watched him - her - impassively as he, or she, was writhing on the floor; he knew what to expect, after all. Not that it wasn't awful. Padfoot, on the other hand, was truly distressed by the sight. He went over to Harry and pressed his cool nose to the boy's - girl's - face.

"Hey, doggie," Harry mumbled. "Don't look so worried. S'alright. It's supposed to hurt a bit."

The dog pulled away, and trotted to the puddle of soapy water on the floor. He dipped one paw into the puddle, then hobbled a few feet away, holding his wet paw above the ground. Then he started scratching the floor where it was dry.

"Mr. Padfoot, you seem determined to cause an even bigger mess," Draco said haughtily. "Cease your activities immediately, or I'm calling Snape."

Padfoot just growled at the mention of Snape's name, but didn't stop. Draco stepped in front of him.

"Look here, mutt," he began, annoyed. But the rest stuck in his throat as he glimpsed the wet traces of the dog's paw.

Glistening in the dim lamplight, the letters J-A-M-E-S were clearly visible on the floor.

"James," Draco whispered in awe.

"What?" Harry asked, hauling herself to her feet. She walked over to Draco. Her face went white as she read the wobbly letters. "This is-"

"This is amazing," Draco whispered. "I should have known. Padfoot is a magical dog. But who is James?"

"It's me," Harry said in a small voice. "My middle name is James. And it's my dad 's name as well."