Orpheus

Chapter 18

By Pigwidgeon37

"Just so you know," said Sirius Black while closing the door behind him, "I'm not going to organize anything Christmas-y. Because I'm not staying at Hogwarts over the Christmas break, so don't get your hopes up."

"Am I correct in guessing that Miss Filmore is going to leave as well?"

"Yes, Agatha is leaving too. And yes, we have the same destination. Any objections, your Headmastership?"

"I don't think so. But Christmas celebrations are not the reason why I wanted to talk to you."

"So why did you want to talk to me? Are you having trouble with Hermione?"

Severus shook his head. "Not at all. But I'd like to wait until Valerian has arrived, otherwise I'll have to explain twice."

"Valerian?" Sirius tilted his head and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Sev, this almost sounds like a conspiracy. Are you sure everything is all right?"

"No, I'm not sure. On the contrary. That's why I need to talk to both of you."

"Hmm… Am I going to like this?"

"Not a bit," Severus replied with a thin smile. "Not that I like it. You know me, I don't usually ask for help if—"

He fell silent when somebody knocked on the door and rose to greet Valerian Vector.

Vector, who had been appointed head of Ravenclaw in the same year Severus had become Headmaster, was a short, wiry man well into his seventies with clear blue eyes in a bony, leathery face that, due to its ever-alert expression, short upper lip and rather prominent front teeth, reminded most people of a marmot.

"Severus," he said in his clear tenor voice, shaking the Headmaster's hand. After greeting Sirius, he sat down in the chair Severus indicated.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," Severus began, "This will not, however, be an overly long meeting. To make a long story short, I need your help concerning Miss Malfoy."

"I knew it," Sirius muttered, his face darkening. Vector remained calm and unruffled as always, and merely sat up a little straighter in his chair.

"There is nothing concrete as of yet, in the sense of concrete proof, I mean. Just a few strange occurrences, a blatant lie she told me two days ago, and, most importantly, my wife's observations."

"Hermione?" Vector shot the Headmaster a questioning look. "If this concerns her, why isn't she here?"

"Because I don't want her to worry more than she already does. I think I have succeeded in putting her at ease for the time being, but—"

"She never said a word!" Sirius interrupted him, his tone one of indignation and hurt.

"Neither did she to me, until three days ago, that is. She kept it to herself, because she didn't want the girl to suffer the consequences of something she might only have imagined."

"I think," Vector said, "that a more detailed description might help."

Severus nodded and gave a brief account of everything Hermione had told him, adding a few words about the interview he'd had with Lucertola and the inquiry he'd made among the House Elves. In all the three months she had been at Hogwarts, Miss Malfoy had never received any missive, whether of books or otherwise, by elf. "And this is," Severus said, "where the pieces start fitting together. Hermione has the feeling of being stalked, and Miss Malfoy pretends to be studying a lot but doesn't do so in the library. We all know that her grades are excellent, but how exactly she obtains them we do not know."

"I don't think," Vector said slowly, massaging his chin, "that Miss Malfoy cheats in any way. You can do that with one teacher, but not with everybody. One of us is bound to notice—no student is that skilled."

"That wasn't what I was implying. Miss Malfoy has had, as you can imagine, the best tutors her father could find. I would not exclude the possibility of her simply being so advanced that she doesn't need to study a lot."

"She's very attentive during class," Sirius observed. "Writes down everything, always gets things right at second or third try. If her memory is good, she wouldn't have to study too much, just homework would be sufficient."

Severus nodded. "Exactly what I was thinking. Now, without wanting to draw any wrong conclusions, I would quite simply like to know what Miss Malfoy does in her spare time, of which, if our assumptions are correct, she must have quite a lot." Vector nodded, and Severus continued, "She might not be up to anything—maybe she merely wants to be left alone because she is homesick. But she is Draco Malfoy's daughter, and I want to be sure the pastimes she indulges in are harmless, before putting my suspicions to rest."

"And what," Sirius asked, "can I do to help? Valerian's her Head of House, so it's obvious that he can talk to her peers and all that. But me?"

"You, my dear friend," Severus replied, "will have to use your famous charm."

"What?" Suddenly feeling very alarmed, Sirius cast a sideways glance at his colleague. If Severus had found out about his fondness for lusciously-curved female students, that was one thing. Mentioning it in front of Vector was quite a different matter, although Vector didn't seem to have caught the hint. His expression was one of polite interest, nothing else. "I mean, you're not thinking that—"

"I am quite aware of the… er, relationship between you and Miss Filmore. Besides—" Severus raised his eyebrows and smirked "—did you seriously think I was going to encourage a faculty member to seduce a student?"

The emphasis on the word 'encourage' had been very slight, but Sirius hadn't missed it. He snorted. "I guess not. So what do you want me to do?"

"Miss Malfoy is a little less brilliant at Charms than she is at all the other subjects. Given her desire to excel, I am merely asking you to offer her tutoring, once or twice a week. You are famous for getting on extremely well with your students. You might be able to make her talk. Find out more."

"That's as bloody likely as melting the Antarctic with a simple heating charm. But I'll try," Sirius said, more gruffly than he really felt, but he was trying to hide his immense relief.

"Thank you. And you, Valerian, would be doing me a very great favour indeed if you talked to Miss Malfoy's housemates, especially the girls in her year."

"Of course, Severus. I will do my best, believe me." Vector sighed. "I wish I could be more helpful, but have to admit that, so far, I have failed to gain Miss Malfoy's trust. She is, as Sirius said, a block of ice."

"That in itself says a lot about Miss Malfoy. I have yet to meet the student who doesn't come to like you," Severus said, making Vector smile and bow his head with pleasure. Compliments from the Headmaster were as rare as hens' teeth.

"The only problem," Sirius said after a moment of silence, "is that we only have three weeks until the Christmas holidays. It would be a bit strange, wouldn't it, for me to offer her tutoring just now."

"True. But I don't think we're in that much of a hurry. You are holding end-of-term exams, aren't you?"

"Of course, and I'm already dreading correcting them."

"I can imagine," Severus said, grinning. "But you might consider being a tad more demanding this time—maybe Miss Malfoy won't score too well? So you could make your offer when you give back her test? Suggesting that you'll start at the beginning of spring term?"

"Okay. And I'm going to make it up to her at the next test," Sirius said, "Otherwise Valerian would have my head, wouldn't you, Valerian?"

"Although I cannot imagine what use I could possibly put your head to once I have it," Vector replied, eyes a-twinkle, "I would, by all means."

*

Dear Grandfather,

I thought it would never happen, but I got a second chance. It was sheer dumb luck, though. I don't know what made me wait outside in the corridor, in my usual niche, once they had entered the laboratory and closed the door. Sixth sense, I suppose. After about an hour, I heard a loud bang, like an explosion, and then the Mudblood came out running, very green in the face. The Headmaster followed shortly after her, and he wasn't looking much better.
So I did a Bubblehead charm and went inside. I knew I only had a few minutes before they returned, and so I made replicae of as many pages as I could of the book that was sitting on the workbench. I really hope I got the right ones, as I didn't have much time to make sure what was what. And I hope you can make sense of them, because I have never seen such strange formulas.
Father and Mother already agreed to let me stay here over the holidays, but I suppose you already know that.
Please write back soon and tell me what I should do. I'm still sure the Headmaster doesn't know half of what she's doing (she has been in the laboratory on her own more often during the last two weeks or so) but I don't know whether he will listen to me when I confront him with the evidence. He might be grateful, but what if he gets angry and expels me? Or do you think I should contact the Ministry? Or maybe one of the School Governors? Well, I'm sure you will tell me.
Keep your fingers crossed for me, because the end-of-term exams are starting tomorrow. I think I'm well prepared, but an additional pair of crossed fingers won't do any harm.

Your loving granddaughter

Lucertola

*

Dear Lucy,

I trust your exams are going well.
Do not do anything at the moment, as I am not yet entirely sure about the formula you sent me. It is far from complete, but certainly very enlightening. I will, however, have to make some enquiries—Ludovic Malefoi and Mélisande la Folle (my great-grandmother) both had an excellent knowledge of Dark potions and should be able to tell me whether my theory is correct.
For the time being, I suggest you enjoy your holidays which will begin shortly.

Your loving Grandfather

Lucius Malfoy

*

"I can't believe it," said Hermione, staring into the cauldron where the potion, mauve with whirls of dark purple and of a consistence similar to that of pumpkin juice, had just settled, "I really, really can't believe it. But it seems we've finally done it." She smiled up at Severus, who was peering into the cauldron as well. "I thought I'd be feeling more enthusiastic, but… I'm just too stunned."

"Same for me," he replied, his eyes still riveted on the brew. "Although there's still way to go. We'll have to test it, see how long it lasts, maybe make some improvements…"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, that's what I've been worrying about."

"Worrying? About what, Spikes?"

"The testing of course. We'll have to use animals…"

"Yes." He put an arm around her shoulders. "And, although I am convinced the potion will work and we won't harm our test subjects, we still would have to test it on humans to be completely sure. Which is, of course, impossible."

"Harry isn't going to like that at all."

"That's the last of my worries, really. Potter is going to dislike lots of things, as for example that fact that you still haven't written that biography."

They had been cleaning up while talking—not that there was much to clean, for tonight's final step hadn't involved more than heating the base they had made, adding five drops of giant's blood and pronouncing the final incantation, so they were finished rather quickly.

"I thought," Hermione said, while putting the lid on the cauldron, "that I might spend a few days at my mother's and write it there." She sealed the lid shut and cast a climate charm on the cauldron. "I've got all the material and merely need to put it into order. If I use a dictoquill, I'll be done in two, maximum three days. You could do a bit of tinkering with the Draught in the meantime, and I'd have a clear conscience, regarding both mum and Harry. What do you think?"

"I hate to be separated from you during the holidays but see the necessity. When are you planning to go?" He picked up his robes and put them on.

"Would the three days be all right? From 28 to 30 December? So we'd have Christmas together, and then we can go and celebrate New Year's Eve someplace. And maybe stay away a few days. And once we're back—" she gave the room a final, critical look-over before walking towards the door "—we can contact Harry and discuss the next steps. Maybe he'll accept the draught as it is, if the animal tests are successful."

A wave of Severus's wand extinguished the lights. "I imagine he'll be so delirious with pride and joy about the biography," he said, closing the door and gesturing for her to ward it, "that he'll accept pretty much anything. Mostly because both the book and the Draught are important to him only in view of the upcoming elections."

"I'm afraid you're right. I'll write to mum, then. She'll be ecstatic."

"So am I, merely because you don't expect me to accompany you."

"I thought—" she slipped her arm through his "—that maybe you might find it in your heart to come and fetch me, so we'd have dinner together…" His pained look made her laugh, and she squeezed his hand. "I'll make sure Alastor is there, too."

"Now that's a relief. You'd better make sure he is there. Otherwise I'm going to test the Draught on Pluto and Hades, and yes, that's a very serious threat."

*

"Draco?"

He had been sitting at his desk, with his head buried in his hands, a position that he seemed unable to abandon. He was still functioning, in the sense that he Apparated to his office every day, that he ate and slept and occasionally talked; but the amount of strength it took him to go on living his everyday life was tremendous. He hadn't read a newspaper or book in weeks, for whenever his eyes tried to absorb the letters and words, his mind refused to cooperate and went off on its own, to wander among images of the past and spectres of the present and future. It was easier for him to just close his eyes and let himself drift into a state of semi-trance, without thoughts, without images, just blackness and emptiness. When the melodious voice called him, though, his head snapped up. He rose from his chair and crossed the room to stand in front of the portrait of Tisiphone and Alecto Malfoy, which was hanging between the windows.

"Yes? Anything—" he had to pause and massage his temples in order to reassemble his thoughts "—Anything the matter with Lucy?"

Alecto shook her blonde curls. "No. Lucy is fine, I think. We haven't seen her too often, because of the exams. Your father wants a word with you. It seemed rather urgent." The note of glee in the girl's voice was hard to ignore.

"Urgent…" Draco absentmindedly raked a hand through his hair.

"Yes, urgent. I'll tell him you'll be in the library immediately, shall I?"

Draco merely made a tired gesture in her direction. "Do whatever you want." This earned him a baleful stare, but the girls rose from their sofa without another word and left their gilt frame.

So his father wanted to talk to him. And he hadn't even deigned to call him himself. He had sent the two girls. But Draco was really beyond caring. He just felt tired, and heavy. So heavy that every move required enormous efforts. What might Lucius possibly want? There was nothing Draco could give him anymore, nothing of value at least. His father had already alienated Lucy, what else was left for him to desire? Realizing that he had buttoned up his robes the wrong way, Draco undid and redid the buttons on his way to the door. If he had to face his father, the least he could do for his own sake was to face him properly attired.



Something was different, Draco noticed upon entering the library and glancing at the portrait. Only when he stood right in front of the fireplace did he realize that his father was holding a piece of parchment. Wondering how it had got there, he inclined his head. "Father."

"Draco. Sit down please. We have to talk." When Draco had moved a chair, so he didn't have to crane his neck in order to look at Lucius, and settled into it, legs and arms crossed, Lucius held up the parchment. Parchments, rather, Draco thought upon closer examination. There seemed to be a few sheets. "Lucertola sent these."

"Lucy—but how—oh, I see. Alecto and Tisiphone."

"Astute as always, I see." Lucius smirked. "I want you to have a look at them."

"Of course." Draco produced his wand, tapped the parchments and pronounced, "Eximago!" whereupon the thin stack twitched in his father's fingers, began to glow and finally floated out of the painting and into Draco's outstretched left. Putting the wand back into his sleeve, he sat down again and perused the pages, his frown growing deeper. "What kind of potion is this?" he asked, "And how did the formula get into Lucy's hands?"

"That is another story for another time," Lucius replied succinctly. "As to what it is, I would have expected you to have an idea, at the very least."

"It doesn't look familiar at all. And the ingredients are… strange."

A muscle twitched in Lucius's jaw. "Strange. Is that all you are able to come up with? Has Snape, that vile traitor, taught you nothing, or have you forgotten everything you ever learned?"

The insult stung. Draco wanted to defend himself, to remind his father that he had always been a good student, an excellent student even… But what did it matter? Did having been a first-rate student outweigh the shame of having been a bad son? He closed his eyes and shrugged. "Why don't you just tell me? It seems you have a very precise idea of what it is."

"Ah, but you should be able to work it out on your own," Lucius purred. "Let us try a different approach, then: you do remember why Lord Voldemort was so keen to get his hands on the Potters, don't you?"

"I… well… I think they were doing some important research, weren't they?" His mind was foggy, and his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton. He had difficulties concentrating these days.

"Do you think you might deign to actually join this conversation?" Lucius's voice had taken on a distinct note of impatience. "This is important, Draco, what does it take for you to realize that?"

"I'm sorry, I… was trying to remember what exactly it was the Potters were researching."

"They were after the very same formula Voldemort wanted so badly. Only they succeeded, or so it seems. Because this—" he pointed at the parchments Draco was still staring at "—this, my son, is part of their notes. With annotations, as you might have realized, by none other than Severus Snape and his Mudblood wife. The name 'Lily' appears quite often."

"But why, why would they…" Draco stammered.

"Their reasons do not interest me. There is only one important aspect to this: do you know what this potion does?"

"I… I… have no—"

"Just as I thought. This potion, Draco, brings people back from the dead. Interesting, isn't it?"

"It brings…"

"Yes, Draco. It brings. People. Back. From. The Dead."

Back from the dead. He might bring his father back—the body hadn't been cremated. They would be together again, he would be loved, and cared for, a child again… A guilty child, but he was going to make up for it, all of it. "What do you want me to do?"

"Meet the Minister of Magic, of course."

*

"Minister."

"Mr. Malfoy."

The hatred was as intense as it had ever been, maybe more so. Draco looked at his enemy of old, whom he had last seen in person almost ten years ago. He must not give in to his emotions, though. He had only one chance, and if he failed… "Thank you for agreeing to meet me, Minister. I really appreciate it."

Harry gave him a thin smile. "If what you have to tell me is really of such importance for my country, I am merely fulfilling my duty to the wizarding world."

His country. As if it belonged to that pompous son of a Mudblood bitch. Aloud, Draco said, "I believe it is of utmost consequence, yes, indeed. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I believe we ought to make this as short and businesslike as possible."

"As you wish. I assure you that your drink wouldn't be poisoned, though." He simply couldn't resist taunting Potter. It made him remember the old days.

"Maybe I forgot to mention that I arrived here with an escort of elite Aurors. I assure you that any attempt at harming me, whether with poison or otherwise, would have most unpleasant consequences."

"Afraid, Potter?"

"You wish!"

They were twelve again, measuring each other's strength with unmitigated hate, under the eyes of their schoolmates and teachers. Somehow, this re-enactment of their first public confrontation during their second year had broken the ice, and both men grinned.

"I suppose," Draco began, "that you are well informed about the goings-on at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, I daresay I am."

"Excellent." Draco flicked an imaginary particle of dust off the sleeve of his robes. "So it would not surprise you if I told you that the Headmaster seems to be a trifle too interested in Dark potions?" Potter was controlling his reactions admirably. But he couldn't prevent the blood from suffusing his face.

"Dark potions?" Harry cleared his throat and pushed his spectacles up his nose. "I can hardly imagine Headmaster Snape conducting illicit experiments, if that is what you are hinting at."

"I see. Well… " Draco leaned back and studied his perfectly groomed fingers. "And… if I had irrefutable proof that this is exactly what Headmaster Snape is doing? And if—speaking hypothetically, of course—I was willing to hand said evidence over to you, what kind of recompense do you think such an act of… loyalty might deserve?"

"That would depend—" Harry shot him a sharp glance over the rim of his spectacles "—on the amount of danger Headmaster Snape's experiments might entail."

"If—and this is still nothing but a hypothesis—if Snape were able to bring back Voldemort? Would that be a sufficient amount of danger for you to allow me to return to England, together with my family?"

Harry gave a short, almost shrill laugh that entirely failed to convince Draco. "If such a thing were possible, yes, I daresay your return would be an adequate reward."

Draco nodded slowly. "Hmm. Have you ever heard about the Draught of Life?"

Puzzled, Harry shook his head. "No, I don't think so… Wait—didn't it have something to do with Greek mythology? Centaurs? The Gorgo Medusa? It does ring a bell, but—"

"Snape is attempting to recreate it, and it brings people back from the dead."

Draco had prepared himself for reactions ranging from indignant refusal to believe his story (after all, even though Snape had stolen Potter's wife, the bond between the two men still had to be fairly strong) to glee, as it didn't happen every day that fate served you the man who had cuckolded you on a silver platter, ready to be shipped to Azkaban. What he had not expected was the cloud of sadness and hurt darkening the Minister's face. As if he was severely disappointed. Were those tears in his eyes? Maybe a trick of the light…

It took Potter a long time to reply, and when he spoke his voice was hoarse. "Do you have anything to prove this accusation?"

"Of course. Or did you really think I would have uttered it unless I could prove it?"

"I want to see it. Now. And I want to know how you got whatever material you have."

"I'll show you what I have, but I can't disclose my source. Sorry, Minister."

Harry snorted. "I'm not daft, Mr. Malfoy. It must be your daughter, right?"

Draco shrugged. "Maybe. But as I said, I cannot reveal anything about my informant. Maybe you would like to accompany me to my study? The incriminating evidence is there, safely locked in my desk."

"Yes, I…" Harry rose, his movements those of a man twice his age. The gold-rimmed spectacles had slid down to the tip of his nose, but he didn't bother to adjust them. "I think that will be necessary."

They left the library. Draco held the door open for the Minister to step through and, before exiting the room, briefly turned back to wink at his father's portrait.

For the first time in fifteen years, Lucius smiled at him.