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Flesh of My Flesh
By : lashton
Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco
Views: 9435 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. - Chapter List
Legacy of LightLaurence Ashton
Prologue:
Flesh of My Flesh
Part I
“I assume you have this in writing,” said Cornelius Fudge, seething as he leaned back in a wingback chair in Albus Dumbledore’ office. Dumbledore gave a single nod. “And it is quite legal?”
“Oh indeed,” said Snape quite calmly as he took a sip of his tea. “A pleasant woman — Madam Everett — officiated them personally. It was a Wednesday, as I recall…. More tea?”
“I do not see why Lucius would send me here with… false information.” Cornelius twisted the Malfoy signet ring on his left hand, staring down at it thoughtfully, then glanced to Draco and smirked. “Did, perhaps, your father sign away all rights to you, or only those which concerned your immediate guardianship?” The tone in which he asked the question made it quite clear that he already know the answer. Draco glanced at the signet again, which Fudge rarely wore. Perhaps he was communicating with Lucius through this somehow.
“Those are antiquated rights, no longer even considered in legal writings,” Draco answered, a feeling of unease welling in the pit of his stomach.
“But they are rights, Master Draco,” said Fudge quietly, stroking the ring, “as evidenced by the wards….”
Draco gasped at the feeling that came over him then, the feel of phantom hands tracing over every inch of his body, squeezing, gripping, binding. The touch was harsh, almost painful at times, and balked, grappling with the urge to fight against the strengthened pull of the wards, locking around him. Eventually he forced himself to relax into the coils, and the magic seeped into him, leaving only the lingering tingle of phantom touches against sensitive skin.
Fudge rose, smiling, but not pleasantly. “Come along, Draco. As our centuries of precedents dictate, your father has sole rights to any liberties with your body now that you have gotten yourself into such a disgraceful situation. The Ministry of Magic is taking you into custody at St. Mungo’s immediately.”
Draco glanced to Snape, who watched Draco thoughtfully, obviously scanning the new and strengthened wards that Lucius had placed over him.
“Draco,” said Fudge impatiently, grabbing Draco’s arm.
“My, Minister, how quickly we have forgotten all other issues in the face of a shallow victory,” interrupted Snape. “You see, you may have rights to Draco’s body, but his well-being is solely my concern. And, indeed, I am concerned about what should happen if I allow you to take him to St. Mungo’s. Therefore, you may monitor Draco’s condition as you wish only in Hogwarts’ infirmary and only under the guidance and restrictions of the Healer of my choosing — Madam Pomfrey?”
Fudge spun around to see Pomfrey coming into the room at precisely the right time. Fudge sneered as she went to stand beside Snape’s chair, looking rather pleased with herself.
“As you well know, I was Director of Diagnostic Medicine at St. Mungo’s for twenty years and a Supreme Healer of the Unspeakable League during You-Know-Who’s first reign of terror. And, before you even think of insulting my mettle, you should recall that I voluntarily left both of these positions as a favor to an old friend — indeed, as a favor to our esteemed Headmasters, here. So, shall we all agree that I am more than qualified to oversee Mister Malfoy’s condition?”
“Quite,” said Snape with bruising finality as Dumbledore nodded and Fudge mumbled his reluctant agreement. With everyone in accord, Fudge winced and slipped the Malfoy signet ring from his finger. Draco noticed that there was fresh scarring and burns where it recently lay. “Now, Minister, I do believe you have some forms that Draco must complete?”
Fudge nodded sharply and handed the scrolls out to Draco. Draco took them quickly, trying to hide how badly his hands were shaking. He stuffed the paper in his pocket and said that he’d send them off to Fudge by the end of the week. With that done, Snape made certain that the Aurors were dismissed and the Healers taken into conference with Madam Pomfrey. Draco was permitted to leave after that, and he practically raced down the winding stair that led from the Headmaster’s office. He was surprised, when he got into the hall, to see Harry leaning against the far wall speaking with a purple-haired girl in Auror robes. Harry looked up when Draco came out, a worried frown on his brow.
“Hey,” said Harry, taking Draco’s hand and pulling him close. Harry kissed Draco’s cheek, and Draco winced, but didn’t have the heart to tell Harry how much that had stung. The purple-haired Auror looked between them curiously. “What happened? Everything okay?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Oh, this is Tonks,” said Harry amiably. “Nymphadora Tonks. She’s friendlier with Dumbledore than the Ministry, if you know what I mean. And besides, she’s your cousin on your mother’s side.”
Draco glanced at the Auror curiously and she scrunched up her face as if she were in pain. Then, her hair began to sprout from her head and darken into chocolaty brown curls, her indigo eyes turned light and hazel green, and her rather large nose shrunk and reshaped until it was pointy like his own. She almost looked like his mother — and she certainly looked more feminine now.
“Wotcher, Draco,” she said, holding out her hand. “Your mum’s my aunt, though we’ve never met.”
“Andromeda’s daughter, then,” said Draco. Despite himself, he shook her hand and smiled. “How do you do?”
Tonks laughed. “Never thought for a second you’d actually respond!” she said. “Your mum mentioned that you might be a little… er, unpleasant when you found out who I am. Boy has she got you pegged to the wrong tree.”
“That’s not exactly true,” said Draco. “I am rather a nasty little git, but I’m a bit in shock right now, so you’ll have to excuse me. And what do you mean, my mum said that?”
“Aunt Narcissa blasted the door off my mum’s house decked out like some avenging demon of the Black House a couple of weeks back. Gave my mum a right fright. Thought Gran Eleanor or the Death Eaters had come for ‘em. Yanked me out of bed by my hair, she did, and dragged me back through the Floo.” Harry sniggered and Tonks punched him in the arm lightly. “It’s not funny, Harry!” she scolded, and laughed herself.
“What did Mum want?” asked Draco warily, thinking back to his mother’s reaction to the Fay’s revelation.
“Called in a few favors, one of which was my getting assigned to guard duty for her ickle sweetheart.” Harry laughed harder. “In exchange, she gave Mum her name back and rights to all the privileges that come with it.”
“I see.”
“No, I don’t think you do, Draco, but you will soon enough,” said Tonks. “But, I’ve got to get going now. Have to report back to Mistress Black Malfoy before she flogs me. I’ll see you around, cousin. Take care, Harry!” With that the Auror jogged off and turned the corner. Draco watched her go nervously, then turned back to Harry.
Harry wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and pulled him closer. “So, tell me what happened.”
“I have to register with the Ministry of Magic for my condition and have to submit to the Ministry of Magic’s demands, within reason of Madam Pomfrey’s guidelines, regularly so that they can monitor the pregnancy. I only just escaped being shipped back to my father, and I don’t want to think of what he would have done to me.”
“He would have been angry, do you think? Would he have hurt Carin and Xander?”
Draco sighed. “Hurt them? No. But he might have taken them, raised them as his sons. Maybe he would have loved them too much, or maybe he would not have loved them at all, saving his affections only for… me. Whatever he would have done, I’m just glad he doesn’t have the opportunity to do it.”
“Father’s sons, aren’t they?” he asked, voice like shrapnel. Draco nodded, blushing. “I am sorry you must endure his… affections. The worst of it has not yet come. He will hurt you always.”
Julian’s voice rang in Draco’s head and he looked away from Harry, saddened. He did not know what more to expect from his father, but he now believed what Julian had said. Lucius’s madness ran deeper than Draco could ever have imagined. Lucius would never retreat from Draco’s life, would never let Draco be in peace, and there was absolutely nothing Draco could do about that now, except to kill him. But Draco would never settle for that, and would, instead, always submit to his father’s manipulations. He did not know what else to do.
“Let’s go grab something from the kitchens,” Draco suggested. “Then you can help me fill out my registration. I’ve got to do it twice, since I’m having twins, and we can do it faster together.”
“Sure,” said Harry. He kissed Draco again, but on the lips, lingering there, tongue tasting at Draco’s own, coaxing him into submission. Harry sighed into the kiss, and Draco thought that it might have been pleasant, were it not for the phantom hand that inched over Draco and seized his heart in a malicious grip, spreading a stinging pain throughout him. But, just as Draco was about to balk away from the kiss, the phantom hand receded, and there was only Harry’s fingers on Draco’s chin, and Harry’s lips upon Draco’s, and Harry’s heat and pleasure fusing into Draco like osmosis. Draco gasped at the feel of this kiss, the overwhelming goodness of it, as only pleasure can feel after enduring some torment, and pressed himself fully against Harry. Harry’s hands, which had been cradling Draco’s face, slipped down to Draco’s waist to steady them together, but even so then ended up slouched against the wall, Draco supporting Harry’s weight and Harry supporting Draco’s. Then, of a sudden, there was a pulse of magic between them, so green and curious and happy that Harry whispered ‘wow’ into Draco’s mouth. Draco pulled away from the kiss, laughing, eyes closed as he removed his hands from Harry’s hips and touched instead his own abdomen. A light flutter beat against Draco’s palm and he laughed again and guided Harry’s hand there instead.
There was something refreshing about watching Harry’s face light up in a joyous surprise that made Draco feel young and green to the world again. It made him push aside his troubles for a moment and concentrate on now, on feeling the vital buzz of someone else’s happiness as if it were his own, on relishing in the light in someone else’s eyes, on hearing the words that are never said. He felt the wards tingle over him, and for once he pushed back thinking, ‘be still; I am here’ until the phantom hands faded away without a trace.
When the fluttering stopped, Harry took Draco’s hand. Mirage slithered from her nesting place up Draco’s sleeve to wrap around Harry’s wrist. He stroked her head and said, “They spoke to me, in my mind.”
“That is part of the draw of Malfoy twins,” said Draco as they started walking towards the kitchens. “Twinning is the Malfoy Charm, the family legacy, if you will.”
“Then, can you do that?”
Draco shrugged. “I am not at full power since my magic must sustain my sons and…”
“And?”
“Julian,” Draco explained. “He is trapped in a world where he must wait for me, until I follow him or until I draw him out. When I have birthed and have regained most of abilities through the inhibitors, I will draw him out. Then we will see what I have inherited through twinning.” He paused. “It is strange, though.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, never before has a Malfoy twin birthed twins. There were three sets before — Clovis and Charles-Martel, Accalia and Andromache, and Beauregard and Bellamy. They did have children, of course — and Accalia and Andromache each called their second sons by Malfoy — but none of them ever had twins.”
“Do you think it’s because Julian died and you didn’t?” asked Harry.
Draco thought about that for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
“Do you think it’s because… your father…?” Harry blushed and didn’t finish the question.
“No,” Draco answered. “I think it’s because of me. I disrupted the Charm when I didn’t follow Julian into death, and that… I think it changed me somehow. I am still twinned when by the rules that guide the Charm I should be dead or my powers broken, turned into a squib.” Mirage raised her head and hissed at that, and Harry and Draco turned to look at her, curious. A shadow came over Harry’s face.
“What did she say?”
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but Mirage beat him to it, projecting her words as was her way. You were called forth from a new song. This way it was to be. We decided this long ago, my king and I.
“I don’t understand,” said Draco. Mirage slithered across Harry and Draco’s intertwined hands again and coiled around Draco’s wrist, shivering there, sending waves of heat into him. “That’s magery, or at least, that’s what my father said.”
Out from the fire. Out from the dark. Ye old ones answer the herald’s hark. Out from the earth. Out from the sea. Ye old ones submit to your ancestry. Out from the spirit. Out from the air. Ye old ones enter the demon’s lair.... Once in blood. Twice in name. Hearts not one but eyes the same. Ere they called one by the devil, we were but blind before the shame.
Draco blanched, feeling a cold rush over him. “That makes no sense,” he told her. “You can’t mean to tell me that I was meant to have the Black charm, but I...”
“Have them both,” said Harry. Mirage hissed. “She says that this is how you were called. Do not question it lest you manifest.”
Draco hesitated, scrunching up his nose. “Manifest what?”
~A week passed before Draco received any word back from the Ministry of Magic in regards to his pregnancy. The wait was agonizing, leaving him worried and anxious over what the results of the conferences with Madam Pomfrey would be. It felt frustrating that he could not even have a say in his own limitations even though he would be the one exposed in front of the entire world. Pansy and Blaise crept around him like shadows, trying to keep him occupied so that he wouldn’t think about what could possibly ruin his life, but Harry was less careful and Draco ended up zapping him with varying degrees of pain hexes quite regularly. By the time Pansy and Blaise stopped speaking to him altogether — for their own protection — and slunk two steps behind, and Harry had taken to carrying vials of healing potions in his pockets, Draco received word that he could attend the next Healers’ conference to finalize the Ministry plans, and Draco’s anxiety ended. Temporarily.
He could feel his blood pressure escalating, though, as he walked into Madam Pomfrey’s (magically expanded) office on Monday morning while all other seventh year Slytherins went to Charms. In place of Madam Pomfrey’s desk stood a long wooden table with high glossy finish that reflected back the intrigued, impersonal expressions of the top Healers of the day. Madam Pomfrey stood to welcome him and ushered him to a seat between Professor Snape and herself, at the head of the table, across from Minister Fudge and a flat-nosed undersecretary.
“Would you like some tea, dear?” asked Madam Pomfrey. Draco nodded and she summoned a full service and fixed his tea just as he’d had it before: mint tea, dark chocolate, lots of milk. She smiled at him kindly as he thanked her and took his first draught of the soothing mixture. “A round of introductions before we begin, then?”
“Valentin Antonov, Director of Obstetrics at St. Olga’s Hospital for Magical Affliction located in St. Petersburg,” said a stocky man with leathery skin and a bushy, peppered brown mustache. He had a heavy Russian accent.
“Percival Purge, Healer for the department of Medical Genetics at St. Mungo’s in London,” said a young Healer with messy blonde hair and an acid-green and goldenrod shirt under his lime green robes.
“Ayda Dooney, Supreme Healer for the Unspeakable League with expertise in Inherited Diseases,” said a gray-haired black woman with sharp gray eyes. She gave Draco a pleased smile. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malfoy.”
“Er,” said Draco, caught off guard by the pleasantry, “how do you do?”
“Juanita Otono, Healer for the department of Obstetrics at St. Mungo’s in London,” said a Spanish woman giving a friendly smile and wave.
“Cecilia Dalton, Director of Obstetrics at St. Mungo’s in London. I’ll be overseeing your pre-natal care — next to Madam Pomfrey, of course,” said a woman with a long black braid down her back and a cane resting against her chair. This was said without scorn, though, and Draco glanced at Snape to see his godfather smirk momentarily.
“Boniface Bonifay, Director of Emergency Medicine at St. Martin’s Hospital for Magical Ailments and Afflictions located in Paris,” said a young, pretty black woman with a French accent. “And please, just call me Bonnie or Bebe.”
“Africa Diggory, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic,” said a stern-looking auburn haired woman, scowling at Draco as if he had kicked her puppy. Draco scowled back, unconcerned of her scorn.
“And, I daresay you know who I am, Draco,” said Cornelius — Minister Fudge.
Draco blushed. “Yes, sir,” he said, and bit his lip, irritated that he was stuck in this position between his Father’s impossible demands and those of his cousin, the Minister of Magic.
“Right, well,” said Madam Pomfrey. The others at the table didn’t introduce themselves, and Draco thought that they were probably interns, apprentices and technicians. “Let’s begin. Mister Malfoy plans to attend his afternoon classes.” Fudge picked up a stack of papers and the undersecretary prepared to take notes with a Quick Quotes Quill.
“In accordance with the Wizarding Preservation Act (1321), Section D, Clause 7 (updated 1615), which states: In the event of a pregnancy, the expected mother — that’s you — shall oblige the prenatal care regulations willingly or shall be taken into custody with the Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injures for the duration of the prenatal period, the Ministry of Magic hereby nominates the Healers Valentin Antonov, Percival Purge, Ayda Dooney, Juanita Otono, Cecilia Dalton, and Boniface Bonifay to oversee the prenatal care of Draco Tiberius Narcissus Malfoy in the Hogwarts infirmary.”
Draco scowled. “Note that the aforementioned Healers will oversee the prenatal care of Draco Tiberius Narcissus Malfoy under the leadership and medical and magical guidance of Madame Poppy Pomfrey.”
Minister Fudge narrowed his eyes but nodded to his undersecretary and said, “Noted.”
“We are in accord,” said Draco.
“In accordance with the Wizarding Preservation Act (1321), Section D, Clause 23 (updated 1991), which states: In the event of a pregnancy, the expected mother shall stop the intake and activity of any substance or deed that may violate Section C, Clause 13 of the Wizarding Preservation Act (1321) which lists fetal rights as such: 1, the right to life (birth), and 2, the right to be born free of any preventable ailments or afflictions, magical or otherwise, the Ministry of Magic hereby requests Draco Tiberius Narcissus Malfoy to submit to a monthly system and metabolic evaluation and weekly system and metabolic purges.”
“Weekly purges?” said Draco.
“A purge is—“
“I know very well what a purge is you condescending harpy!” snapped Draco, glowering down the table at the overenthusiastic intern. “I only want to know why I should require weekly purges.”
“We are quite aware of your nasty drug habit, Draco,” said Cornelius with a sly smirk, “and we are prepared to rigidly enforce the regulations in accordance with fetal rights.”
Draco felt his face grow hot from his anger and he curled his hands into fists in his lap. This was humiliating and degrading and designed solely to torment him, and he resented the implication that he would take or do anything that would bring harm to Carin and Xander. It hurt him, of course, that his own cousin would say such a thing, but more than anything he only wanted to leap across the table and strangle Minister Fudge.
“Do you resist such a reasonably request, Draco? Would you prefer that we allowed you to violate the fetal rights of,” he shuffled his papers and glanced down at the stack, “Icarus and Leander?”
“I would rather—“ Draco began icily, but Snape kicked his ankle under the table, “We are in accord. Now move along before I show you what I would rather.”
The undersecretary sniffed with disdain as Minister Fudge continued, “In accordance with the Wizarding Preservation Act (1321) Section B Clause 3 (updated 1704) which states: Each wizard has the right to life in conditions which shall not present a detriment to his magical, physical, or mental health and in the event that a wizard child is kept under such conditions, the child may be taken into custody by the Ministry of Magic and reassigned guardianship, the Ministry of Magic hereby requests Draco Tiberius Narcissus Malfoy to undergo parental evaluations for—“
“We are not in accord and will never be. If you again presume to insult my ability to parent responsibly, I will bring charges against you for slander and if you presume to aggravate me on the issue any more, I will bring charges against you for harassment in accordance with the Wizarding Preservation Act (1321) Section D, Clause 27 (1976), which states: The rights of the fetus and of the wizard child are considered subunits of the parent(s)’ or guardian(s).’” Draco watched Minister Fudge’s face purple and the veins in his temples throb. “What? You didn’t think I’d come in here unprepared, did you?” Fudge didn’t say anything but his undersecretary sneered. “What will the medical examinations entail and how frequently?”
“The Ministry of Magic requests Draco Tiberius Narcissus Malfoy to regularly submit to weekly physical and magical examinations of the womb, blood tests, and all things necessary and proper to ensure the fetus health is maintained at the best possible condition.”
~After dinner that day, Madam Malkin arrived at Hogwarts via the Hogwarts Express, levitating several trunks behind her. Headmaster Dumbledore and Snape met her at the gates and they took her into a brief meeting in the Headmaster’s office before she was allowed to meet with Draco in Professor Snape’s private quarters. She looked slightly abashed as she came into Snape’s sitting room to find Draco waiting for her in the space Blaise and Pansy had cleared for her to work.
“Ah, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, then looked at his midsection for a rather long time. Draco shifted, still uncomfortable with the attention even after receiving it and worse at the hands of his peers all week. “I’ve brought a selection of maternity robes from our line which we may use as templates for your new wardrobe. I didn’t expect you’d want to go around wearing women’s robes, so I’ve brought along a selection of fabrics to choose from.”
To business, then, Draco thought as he rose and shook her hand. “Thank you. I wouldn’t want to further confuse people on the issue of my apparent androgyny by going about in drag.”
Madam Malkin tittered nervously. “Er, I read those articles in the Daily Prophet as well.” She patted Draco’s hand. “Don’t think anything of them,” she said. “The Daily Prophet is full of parasites that feed on other people’s pain. Nobody pays them too much mind after the Potter fiasco a few years back, anyhow.”
Harry Potter, my savior? Draco thought, then immediately felt disgusted with himself. Oh, gross, Draco. Get a grip. He’s a foul little bugger. Mirage’s laughter echoed in Draco’s mind and he glanced at where she coiled on the hearthrug by the fire. She had grown considerably since he’d gotten her, more than three months ago, now. She was stronger, longer, and fatter since she’d feasted on the magic in this place, but she was still small by the standards of some of the other Fay that Draco had met. Now Mirage could rest in the open, if she chose, about his neck, but still she preferred to sleep up his sleeve, or at least coil up and down his arm.
Draco turned his attention to Malkin as she began to set up a platform, racks of clothes and shelves of fabric. Mirage watched too, hissing irritably when Malkin accidentally stepped on her tail while trying to maneuver a large rack of casual clothing away from the fireplace. Malkin hummed as she worked, until at the last she conjured a bamboo room divider with cherry blossoms painted on it.
“First let’s look at some styles, hmm?” said Malkin, ushering Draco to sit on the couch. Mirage slithered over to join him, winding up his legs to come to nest in his lap, watching with interest. The maternity robes of the racks floated off their hangers and puffed up as if bodies of air were in them. The robes filed into a line that coiled off to the side and paraded in front of Draco and Malkin one at a time, each pausing to spin slowly around and show off.
“Oh, now these are very comfortable,” Malkin said jovially, as a turquoise pair of trousers and a white-flowered maternity blouse with a matching white cloak twirled on display. “Excellent example from the Magique casual line…. Mother’s just love it. The fabric is enhanced with soothing magic, you know. The entire line is designed to soothe away little aches, especially in the back — most have problems with that, you know.”
“Oh?” said Draco, concentrating on being polite so that he wouldn’t erupt into a fit and tell Malkin exactly what he thought of her Magique casual line. Malkin bubbled on about the processes used to wind magic into the fabric and the outfit spun cheerfully around, delighted with the extra attention.
Ah, my sweet, remember that these are only templates, Mirage said in his thoughts. He took a few deep, calming breaths and looked at Mirage gratefully. She shivered and gave the impression that she was preening. I’d hate to think what you’d get to if I wasn’t around, claimed one. Draco scowled at her and looked up as just as the turquoise outfit sauntered off to be congratulated and envied by the rest of the clothing line before it took its place on the rack once more and fell still. Although, perhaps one couldn’t blame you, Draco. This is ridiculous. Draco felt comforted when Mirage agreed with him.
“Are you interested in that, piece, Mr. Malfoy?” asked Malkin.
“Not, as it were, it that outfit,” said Draco, unable to keep from scrunching his nose just a little. “It was, er, too… detailed,” Draco finished lamely.
Malkin blinked and summoned the outfit back over. The outfit filled out once more and preened as it drifted over, giving the impression that it was calling to mind a bunch of superlatives to describe itself. Draco watched it warily, wondering how the clothing came to have such an annoying, egotistical personality.
“Maybe if we worked with a blank canvas this would go easier for you,” Malkin said, then flicked her wand at the outfit, which color changed to all black. Draco grew agitated when he found that Malkin was right and the outfit was not half as appalling as it had been in turquoise and white. “We’d change the trousers to fit a male body, of course,” she added with another flick of the wand, “and perhaps we could change the cut of the shirt,” another flick and the v-neck, loose-fitting shirt became a turtle-neck with a comfortable, closer-fit. “Oh, and the sleeves,” she made the sleeves grow longer and flare a little at the wrist. “That is the style nowadays, isn’t it?” Draco wouldn’t know. He had never really followed fashion, but he had to admit that outfit wasn’t so bad with the alterations. “Is this more to your liking, Mister Malfoy?”
“Er, that is much better, thank you,” he said. Malkin beamed at him.
“Oh, good,” said Malkin. “I’ll put this in stasis, then, and we can move along.”
About two hours into Draco’s session with Madam Malkin, Pansy and Millicent showed up, pretending that they wanted to ask him a question about a potion. Draco groaned, knowing what they were really doing there, and knowing that he’d have no chance of getting them out of the room before they were ready to go.
Malkin welcomed the girls and the three of them picked out most of Draco’s remaining wardrobe, only pausing as they made selections to make certain Draco didn’t hate the clothes, before choosing fabrics for them. Draco sat back with Mirage and let them at it, not daring to come between Pansy, Millicent, and their love affair with fashion. Mirage told Draco stories of her younger days— which mostly involved such “wild” adventures as sleeping, hunting prey, and, on rare occasion, stealing from the dragon hoards— and Draco listened attentively out of affection more than interest.
The time came for Malkin to take more measurements and cut the fabrics they’d chosen, and Draco was ushered onto the platform. Draco stayed pliant as Malkin went to work piecing fabric together.
“Oh, now, this is lovely,” said Malkin, taking a step back from the platform. She flicked her wand and a mirror appeared in front of Draco with a little plop. Draco startled when he saw it and the mirror gave a little yelp and fell silent.
“Where did you get that mirror?” he demanded, turning to glower at Malkin.
“Why, I conjured it, of course,” said Malkin.
“Yes,” Draco snapped. “But where did you conjure it from?”
“I don’t know,” said Malkin with a shrug, going back to work. “I don’t suppose anyone knows where things come from when they summon them. It’s just magic.”
Draco gawked uncomfortably at the mirror and touched it tentatively. The surface rippled, as if the mirror was trembling in fear of him. He snatched his hand away.
“What’s wrong, Draco?” asked Millicent, coming over to them with more bundles of cut fabric. “You look like you’ve seen a phantom.”
Draco glanced at her sharply, then back to the mirror. “I broke that mirror,” he said.
“I can banish it, if you want,” said Malkin, “and summon another.”
The surface of the mirror rippled again, and Draco stared at it curiously, wondering why it was so terrified of going back to where it had been — in the afterlife for mirrors, he supposed. The mirror whimpered.
“No,” he said. “I’ll keep it.” Malkin looked at him curiously and he touched the surface of the mirror again. The glass was flexible under the pressure, indenting where he touched and snapping back into place when he pulled away. “You’ve changed, mirror,” he told it.
“All thanks to you, you heathen!” the mirror snapped in a hoarse, grating voice, then whimpered. “You wizards are a barbaric lot! If I hand hands, I’d strangle you! It wasn’t enough to be broken, was it? You had your little girlie friend send me away, exile me to that horrid, horrid place to be put back together, and hurt again! It wasn’t enough to destroy something in body, was it? Monsters and vultures is what you are— all of you — THE WHOLE LOT OF YOU WIZARDS, ARE CRUEL BEASTS! WHAT’D I EVER DO TO YOU TO DESERVE EXILE IN THAT — IN THAT — IN YOU-KNOW-WHERE? ALL I’D EVER DONE WAS SERVE YOU, AND YOU BASTARDS SENT ME TO HELL, YOU SICK, TWISTED S—“ The mirror cut off when Malkin cast a silencing spell on it. The seamstress had a shocked expression on her face that echoed Pansy and Millicent’s horror.
“Are you certain you want to keep that vile thing?” asked Malkin. “It seems a bit damaged in the head. No wonder you broke it the first time around if all it did was yell at you.”
The mirror went stiff in fear and looked to be trying to communicate, to apologize and beg to stay.
“I want to keep it,” Draco said. “But I think I’ll leave it silent for now.”
TBC
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