Memoirs of a Serpent's Son

Memoirs of a Serpent’s Son

--Age 17—part 39

March 15

The days since the ambush at the orphanage have been condemned to bear us in our uncomfortable silences, stressful atmospheres and the ceaseless waiting as we keep a nightly vigil for McGonagall’s Patronus message.

It’s very different this time… the waiting.

Everyone seems to be walking around the house as though the floor is made of glass and treating everything in a deadly calm. There is nothing but discomfort. Awkward moments where no one really knows what to say to one another. We cannot comfort each other and what’s worse is we cannot let ourselves be comforted.

Lovegood and the She-Weasel rose within about a day, at which point the events of March first had to be retold for them in however little detail we could. But even with the lack of elaborate descriptions, the same ideas were there… murder, loss and suffering.

And then we had to sit by and wait as that feeling of numbed shock washed over each and every one of us AGAIN while the two girls experienced it. Granger had come to maintain a look of controlled grief, pushing back all the raging emotions within her just enough to show as little as she could. To make herself available to comfort others… those that needed the support more than she did.

Weasley never lost that look of mounting illness. His skin had taken on a strange greenish hue that clashed terribly with his hair… though in some kind of sad attempt to make up for the effect on other’s eyes, his hair had dimmed in colour and looked more matte and darker than it ever had been. It was no longer vibrant and flaming. Just red. As though the flames had died out and there were nothing but embers anymore.

I found out that his birthday is March first. Neville died and his sister was attacked on his birthday. I…

I know how that must feel… I can’t even bring myself to make derisive comments anymore. Not at all. I know too much about them now and it’s too deep, too far into this war… we’ve shared too many dark experiences… too many horrible things that have bonded more unwilling enemies than the likes of us I’m sure.

The She-Weasel seemed to have a similar appearance as her brother, less one thing of course. She actually did cry (something I never thought she was capable of doing… not since second year anyway) and yet she never looked down. She kept her head held high and –if possible –gained more determination from the knowledge of what had happened.

Lovegood was the hardest to read… the most telling part was that she did not make as many strange and alarming interjections. In fact, she hardly spoke at all. Her large eyes seemed darker and glassy… always on the verge of tears but never once to the point of overflowing. Every so often, however, when I would walk past the room that Harry had given Neville (as I don’t think I can bring myself to refer to him only as ‘Longbottom’ anymore), I’ve seen here there, for just a moment, letting her fingers run over the door before she walks off, her wand behind her ear and her head in the clouds.

I don’t know that I’ll ever understand why.

I’m not even sure I want to.

Some things are better left unsaid.

But Harry, by far, has taken the hardest blow. He had stopped talking entirely. He would hardly look at anyone in the face, averting his gaze in a manner that suggested he felt ashamed. Ashamed of what? I can’t really know… perhaps he feels ashamed that he, the Saviour of the Wizarding World, could not save Neville Longbottom. Perhaps he feels ashamed that he didn’t die in Neville’s place. Perhaps he feels ashamed that he could not avenge his death immediately.

Perhaps he feels ashamed that despite his courage and determination, he’s still scared out of his mind regarding what he knows he has to do.

In my opinion, he has nothing to be ashamed of… no matter what the reason.

When he DOES talk, it is usually only in response to someone and his moods have become so erratic that most have decided to avoid speaking to him at all for now. It’s impossible to tell whether or not he’ll lash out and yell or answer calmly with a dead voice. No matter what the question.

He’s become a recluse as well. He stays in our room most of the time. I usually stay with him. He doesn’t say much but I think he needs my company more than he would want to admit.

His nightmares are the worst. He’ll wake up in the dead of night, screaming at the top of his lungs and writhing as if he were being tortured. He’ll have tears running down his cheeks and then without a word or an explanation, he’ll fling himself on me and clutch me as though I’m the only thing that could possible keep him here… and keep him safe.

In fact… Granger and Weasley haven’t seen him in days, most likely. Whenever they see me they stop me to ask me if he is alright. If he’s doing any better… if there is anything they can do to help.

And I realized something that perhaps I should have seen from before but was painfully oblivious to.

I no longer have to be jealous. I no longer have to doubt Harry’s feelings for me and I no longer have to feel discomfort around his two friends.

Because he loves me… and I love him.

And everything is different now. Whether he knows it, wants it or will accept it or not… He needs me… He needs me just as much as I need him…

As I’ve always needed him.

Tonks took Neville’s body to Aberforth (whom I later discovered was Dumbledore’s brother… I wasn’t aware of that before and was in far too deep a stupor to possibly inquire about it). We didn’t see him go…

Don’t think any body wanted to.

Moody has been absent, working with the Ministry (as much as he can stand to do) in order to get information out of the Death-Eaters we captured. He reported Theodore Nott’s death as having been his own kill and an act of self-defense in a situation with no other options.

He was cleared when they examined Nott’s body and found the Dark Mark. There was no inquiry at all.

I was silently thankful, though should I be?

I got away with murder.

********

March 18

We received McGonagall’s Patronus today. I did not see it, myself. Nor did Harry. Remus came to our room and informed us that we were told to leave Grimmauld Place and Apparate into the Hog’s Head at midnight.

Harry immediately got to his feet and thanked Remus as he left. He rummaged through his trunk and got out some cleaner clothes and dressed himself quickly. I followed suit and picked up the cloak that Remus had given me as well. The embroidery in the fabric shone more brightly in certain lights… and I realized that it mapped out the night sky… with all the constellations after which members of the Black family were named.

Draco was among them.

And there was a particular point on the cloak… a little pinprick that shone so much more brightly than the rest.

Sirius, the dog star.

I smiled to myself and wrapped the cloak around my shoulders only to suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder.

I turned around and Harry was smiling at me. He was smiling. For the first time in more than two weeks he was smiling.

“What is it?” I whispered, but he placed a finger on my lips to stop me from speaking.

Then he tilted his head and leaned in to brush his lips against mine, covering my mouth for a brief but warm kiss. He smiled still as he pulled away.

“I’d almost forgotten how good I feel when you smile,” he whispered sadly. “You never smiled like that at me back at school. I don’t think I’d ever seen you smile like that at all, then.”

“I wasn’t happy then,” I answered simply and said no more. He looked to the clasp on my cloak for a moment before kissing me once more.

It’s been far too long since I’ve felt his lips.

“We should go,” he whispered finally. I nodded and he took my hand, leading me out the door and into the reading room where everyone else was waiting. It wasn’t quite yet midnight.

I didn’t realize it right away but upon looking around the room I realized that everyone wore mostly black with something in red. Weasley’s socks were red (you could see them under the hem of his pants that were slightly too short). Granger’s scarf was red. The She-Weasel wore four red bracelets around her wrist. Lovegood wore a red belt (because only she would wear a red belt). Remus’s shirt had red accents. Tonks’ hair was red and Harry’s undershirt (though it wasn’t very visible to others) was red.

And then there was me.

The only colour I had on… was green. The accents on my shirt.

I shifted uncomfortably but Harry squeezed my hand and (though I don’t think this was what the action intended) I vaguely remembered that my boxers were red.

But no one else was going to know that.

I don’t know why this made me feel more comfortable.

In fact I don’t even know why I’m including that.

I think I’ve had my brains rattled.

Anyway, at the stroke of midnight we left.

I took Harry’s arms and he Apparated us both to the pub. It was empty and the sky outside was dark. The pub was mostly rebuilt from the attack but it was still easy to see the damage that had been done. The walls were singed and black in places and the windows still bore cracks and chips from areas where the repairing magic hadn’t been accurate enough.

“We need to get down to the gates. Minerva will be waiting,” Remus whispered, before leading us out of the tavern.

The streets of Hogsmeade were possibly in worse condition than the Shrieking Shack during its worst years. I can’t even describe the rubble and ruin and how wholly depressing it was to walk through that and know that once this was a happy retreat from school work and responsibilities… a place where students could go to relax and feel safe.

The black wrought-iron gates that lead onto the school grounds were the same as they always were though now I could see the lightly shining runes that were expertly drawing along each iron bar. They were protections. And they were only one layer of the defenses Hogwarts had erected.

McGonagall was on the other side and opened the gates only momentarily, giving us just enough time to pass through them before they closed and locked behind us. I couldn’t see much of her face in the darkness but I could tell, already, that she looked much older and worn.

She said not a word and led us straight up to the castle (which somehow looked as impressive as it ever had) and through the empty corridors.

As I walked through, hand in hand with Harry, I felt a sudden and very powerful wave of nostalgia. My eyes roved over every iron bust above the doorways and followed the sweeping curves of the archways and staircases as they moved around us. My gaze jumped from statue to portrait and back to statue again as I tried to commit every aspect of the school that I had previously taken for granted to memory. I had only ever felt truly at home here.

Perhaps that’s how every student from Hogwarts feels. We spend so much time at school… living here and breathing the atmosphere of Hogwarts that it transforms itself into a home that none of us could ever replace.

I felt my throat close up and something pulling at my lungs as I realized that I had never wanted to leave. That I would give anything to have that flawed innocence back… To have back the days where my greatest concerns were final exams, the outcome of Quidditch matches and how best to torment Potter.

When all I had to worry about was proving myself and being the best I could be (which is pretty damn fantastic) so that I could please my father and be as successful as he. So that I could live up to the reputation that the Malfoy name demands.

Little did I realize that that reputation also involved a lifetime of servitude in the ranks of Lord Voldemort’s followers.

Disregarding that, however… this place holds the greatest memories (along with the worst) of my life.

And I wish I could just come back and stay for good.

I glanced over at Harry, whose eyes were doing much the same thing as mine were and I realized that he must feel the same way… at least in some respects. His throat muscles tensed a few times as I could see his gaze shift from one adornment to the next, or fall on a particular classroom door… or a passageway.

I want to take him back here… to experience it again with Harry this time… alongside him instead of against him…

I want to know what it was like for him…

We finally reached the gargoyle that stood in front of the Headmistress’ (though I almost wrote Headmaster) office.

“Unity,” Professor McGonagall said simply and the thing jumped aside to let us pass. Harry sighed next to me.

“I’ll always miss the days when the passwords were the names of sweets,” he whispered with a desperate longing.

We climbed the spiral staircase and stepped into the circular office. It wasn’t much different from when Dumbledore was Headmaster. There were more books, admittedly, and fewer random magical knick-knacks floating around the room… but the most marking difference was the arrangement of the portraits of previous Headmasters.

Most were scattered around the room, each given equal reverence and a proper position. Professor Dumbledore’s, however, hung on it’s own in a brightly lit alcove, directly ahead of us as we entered. The area around it was void of any other artifact… so nothing could distract your attention from the image of this man.

And to me… his portrait seemed much larger than all the others. It glowed and drew your attention immediately though, perhaps that is only because of the great and imposing presence of the portrait’s subject.

Dumbledore always had a way of drawing everyone to attention and overwhelming you with a sense of respect, though he was always your superior… in every way.

I bowed my head, feeling that compressing feeling in my throat and on my chest as I saw his crystal blue eyes flicker in the candle-light. My breath hitched and Harry led me forward with as much confidence as he could pass to me through the simple touch of his palm against mine.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts,” McGonagall greeted as warmly as possible under the circumstances. “All of you. Take a seat in front of Albus’ portrait, if you will.”

Several large and comfortable looking chairs were arranged in a semi-circle around Dumbledore’s portrait. Harry led me right to the one that stood opposite him and sat me down. He sat immediately next to me and Dumbledore smiled warmly at Harry and I.

I wanted to die.

“Harry, Draco,” he welcomed as the others took their seats. “I’m very glad to see you both together.” His words were simple but, as always with Albus Dumbledore, there were miles of hidden meanings behind them.

“Professor,” Harry began eagerly. “What can you tell us about what is going on?”

“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your penchant for impatience,” he commented happily. “But in this particular matter you are right not to wish to wait. There is much to discuss and little time to do it.”

“Professor, why haven’t you called to us sooner?” Granger asked keenly. I was careful not to speak. I didn’t trust myself… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“I am just an enchanted object,” Dumbledore explained simply. “I am bound by the spell that sustains me and cannot act against it. Now is the time to reveal to you what I can. There is no better way to explain it, Hermione.”

“What can you tell us now, then?” Harry asked, leaning in. Dumbledore smiled and looked at Harry through his half-moon spectacles.

“I suspect nothing you truly want to hear,” he riddled. “But I shall have to tell you nonetheless and you shall have to accept it.” He took a moment. “Do you all recall the kidnappings of Mr. Ollivander and Florean Fortescue?”

In all honesty, I didn’t. Not until that moment at least. By the looks on everyone else’s faces, neither did they.

“I never did understand that,” Harry admitted. “I suppose Ollivander could help them somehow, but what would Voldemort want with an ice-cream shop owner?”

“Harry, what do you know of Mr. Fortescue?” Dumbledore asked as though this was all simply a lesson on any normal school day. I shifted uncomfortably.

“Well… not much I suppose,” He said. “He owns the ice cream parlour in Diagon Alley. That’s about all…” He thought for another moment. “Actually, he did help me write out my History of Magic essay in third year… when I was staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the end of the summer. But what does all that matter?”

“You must know more by now, Harry,” the portrait explained. “That the tiniest details can often hold the most valuable information.” He gazed around the group. “Did it not seem odd to you that an ice-cream shop owner knew so much, in such complex detail, about wizarding history?”

Harry paused and arched a brow. I did the same, though unintentionally. I suppose it did sound odd indeed. There are few witches and wizards that know much about the history of magic, let alone would they be able to cite detailed references and events off the tops of their heads.

“Well, I suppose,” he began, unsure. “But I mean he could easily have loved History of Magic at school… or something. I don’t know, Professor.”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded. “He was particularly talented at History of Magic though this is not what needs to be marked. If he just had a passing interest in History then why, pray tell, would Voldemort deem him worthy of capture?”

“To terrify,” Harry answered immediately.

“I’m afraid that Tom Riddle’s actions have never,” he said slowly and with some disappointment. “been solely to terrify. He took great joy in frightening and abusing others, though his actions always had alternate intent. He would not act unless it served him directly in some manner.”

“So what did Fortescue have to offer?” Harry asked, sounding slightly frustrated. I didn’t blame him.

“Florean,” the portrait sighed. “Is a very rare breed in the wizarding world of today. He is, simply put, a Keeper of the Histories.”

I don’t think anyone clued in on exactly what it was that Dumbledore meant. Even Granger, who usually piped in with something wholly boring but very well researched, stayed quiet.

“A what?” Harry asked, twisting his face in confusion.

“A Keeper of the Histories,” the old wizard continued. “Is a person, whether by choice or by destiny, literally keeps all the histories and myths relating to the wizarding world. None of the information that we pass on through the years, none of the old magical ways that have been abolished or banned or simply forgotten by the Ministry and our current society is lost entirely. Keepers, like Florean, are living indexes. They are given a kind of sacred responsibility to see to it that this information is never lost.” At this point Granger looked as though she was about to make a comment about books but Dumbledore cut her off. “Books, Hermione, can easily be destroyed or altered. The knowledge in the minds of these people cannot. It can be shared and passed on but never changed.”

A silence crept over the group momentarily.

“Alright, but how does that help Voldemort?” Harry prodded further. Dumbledore smiled, though it was not a happy situation. I imagine that he missed talking with Harry this way… despite that he is nothing more than an ‘enchanted magical object’. He still knows…

“Florean does not simply keep the gritty details of every Goblin rebellion that ever afflicted our world,” Dumbledore said with a cheeky grin. “He keeps ancient incantations and mythical knowledge relating to types of magic that the modern witch or wizard would never think to consider. These are the kinds of magic that have long-since been forgotten. We do not teach them in school and you would never find yourself needing them on a day-to-day basis. For one such as Voldemort, however, these little golden nuggets of information can open up wells of opportunity.

“Voldemort sought only to make himself more powerful and invincible. It is for this reason that he created the Horcruxes. It is for this reason that he killed your parents, Harry, and tried to kill you. He wanted to purge the world of those that might stand in his way and take every step possible to achieve the impossible.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed. “But then what incantation or old magic is it that Voldemort needs to know about?”

Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled and his smile grew wider, though somehow more grim. It was unnerving.

“Tell me,” he said to everyone at once. “Do you know of the Deathly Hallows?”

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A/N: DUNDUNDUN! BAHA! You had to know that I was going to use the Deathly Hallows if I could. I mean considering it’s the title of the next book and I want to make this realistic in whatever way I can.

I won’t say much because it’s very late for me but yeah. I hope you all enjoyed it! I hope you all don’t think I’m mad once you read the next bits.

I love you all and thank you for all the reviews and everything! I want to answer your questions about the future but I cannot, sadly, until it is over! Teehee!

Love and treats and yummies to all!