Chapter Text
I never had air conditioning growing up. In the summer, there was a several-hour-long chunk each day when the sun would fill the apartment, turning the whole place into an oven and making it impossible to sit anywhere comfortable without being half-blinded. This was time I would spend crouched in my closet (the only source of shade in my bedroom), watching true crime videos or reading by the light of my phone’s flashlight.
This summer was different. I was in a new building in a new world. The foster home in Diagon Alley was cooled magically and I drew the curtains closed when the sun shone in at an unfortunate angle. Soliloquy For Lilith by Nurse with Wound was drifting out my record player instead of the speakers Rosa had found at the dump. I clenched my quill a bit tighter at the thought. I had – at this point – written down every event in the Harry Potter books that I could remember. It had taken nearly a week of sitting at my desk while ignoring my homework. I was glad to have it past me. I wasn’t good at long term goals, or so Draco would tell me every time he beat me at chess. That is to say, every time we played chess. I hoped the plan I had worked out for this was better than my plans in chess.
I had made a checklist:
Step One: Write down everything I can remember about the books.
Step Two: Make note of what I think I can change without too many negative side effects.
Step Three: Collect tools necessary for the plan.
Step Four: In the meantime, learn everything I can about the magical world that wasn’t included in the books.
I glanced at the letter from Draco that was sitting on my desk and tucked it into one of my textbooks so I wouldn’t have to look at it. I felt like it was watching me, accusing, nagging at me to write back. It had only been a couple days, but I knew it must be strange for a wizard to have to wait so long for a response. He wanted me to visit Malfoy Manor. My mouth went dry at the thought. Putting aside all the horrific things that would happen in that place (which I could at least disassociate from, as I had never seen the real building), the thought of being anywhere near his parents again made my skin crawl. I wasn’t comfortable near normal adults, nevermind fascist ones.
I pushed my chair back from my desk. I didn’t want to think about the Malfoys just then. I grabbed my history of magic textbook and went downstairs, being of a mind to have a cup of tea while I read.
Ms. Frank was in the middle of prepping lunch when I got to the kitchen, Shaun colouring in a sketchbook at the breakfast table. I hovered near the entrance for a bit, considering whether to pop in to put the kettle on. Ultimately, I decided I didn’t want to get in her way. I sat across from Shaun and opened my book, resolving to get tea when she was done. I had gotten to the section on the witch hunts. I’d always been a bit bothered by how JKR wrote about the witch hunts. It seemed to completely contradict-
“What are you reading about?” Ms. Frank asked suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts.
“Er, mediaeval witch hunts,” I responded, glancing at her and then back at my book.
“Ah,” she said. “One of Margaret’s specialties.”
I instantly whipped around to look at her.
“Really?” I asked. I barely saw Margaret – Ms. Dodd – most days. She was always at work, though I wasn’t entirely clear on what she did. “Did she tell you about them?”
“It’s hard to get her to not,” she laughed. “She’s been fascinated with them since we were in school. I take it they’ve sparked your interest?”
I hummed my confirmation. I shot a look at Shaun to see if he was bothered by the conversation, but he was completely engrossed in his drawing.
“There are a few things that confuse me about them,” I said.
“I might be able to help,” she offered. I shifted in the kitchen chair and tried to get my thoughts in order.
“Well, it says here that no real witches actually died in the witch hunts,” I said. “But if the muggles didn’t keep good records of witches they executed, how do we know that? And if the persecution of witches wasn't actually a big deal, then why was the Statute of Secrecy even needed?”
“I understand your confusion,” she said after a moment of thought. “That particular section is written somewhat misleadingly. Margaret’s ranted to me about it enough that I know that. Firstly, you’re right that it should be more clear that it’s discussing the highly publicised cases – the ones we actually know of. Secondly, it’s important to remember that burning was not the only method used to execute witches. Drowning, beheading, and hanging were also used, among others. You’ll notice that that passage says burning was ineffective, not that all executions were.”
“Oh, I see,” I said, rereading the page. That did make more sense. I decided I should look for other history books with other perspectives and only use this one for my schoolwork.
“You should ask Margaret about it if you’re curious,” Frank recommended. Then, almost as if she’d read my mind, said “I’m sure she has more specialized books on the subject she would be happy to lend you.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure how I would approach her about it. Frank set a plate of sandwiches in front of me and called the other children to the table for lunch. Abigail marched in with Sophie trailing after her, as always, and the conversation very quickly became about Hogwarts once again.
“Can I read your homework?” Abigail asked. “I want to know what it's like so I’m ready.”
“Er, I didn’t really keep any of it,” I explained. “But I can try to send you some this year if you want.”
“Yes, please!” she squealed. Then she looked to her side where Sophie was tugging on her sleeve. The younger girl made a signal with her hands that Abigail seemed to understand. “Sophie wants pumpkin juice!” she called to Frank.
“Right on it,” Frank called back from the kitchen. Soon a cup of juice was on the table for Sophie to grab with both hands.
“Can you send books, too?” Abigail asked excitedly. “From the library?”
“I don’t think they’ll let me do that,” I explained apologetically. The library was a good thought though. It would be a lot easier to learn what I needed to know about the wizarding world once I had access to it again. I wondered if wizards had public libraries.
I went upstairs after lunch still thinking about libraries when my eyes landed on my little desk. And the book in which I had hidden Draco’s letter. Of course.
I immediately rushed to my desk and began penning a letter confirming that I wanted to visit and asking how I should go about getting there. It was only when I was ready to send it that I realized I didn’t actually have any way to send it. So back downstairs I went.
I found Frank in the sitting room, writing in a thick journal and surrounded by receipts. I steeled myself for the dreaded task of “asking permission”. I cleared my throat and she looked up.
“I, er…” I started. “I got this letter from my friend. He wants me to visit and I was just wondering…”
I trailed off, hoping to not have to voice the actual question itself. Frank smiled warmly.
“Who is this friend?” she asked. My stomach dropped. It was a perfectly reasonable question, but one I had not managed to foresee. I swallowed.
“Draco Malfoy.”
Her smile faltered, almost imperceptibly. I wouldn’t have known how to handle the situation either. What are you meant to do when your foster child comes to you asking to visit the house of a known fascist? Surely, you’re supposed to say “no” and then have a long, difficult conversation about complicated adult topics. Luckily for me, she seemed to feel differently. The warmth returned to her smile.
“Alright then,” she said. “Have you got some idea of how to get there and when?”
“Well, I wrote a letter asking about that,” I said, freeing the parchment from my pocket. “I was wondering if you had an owl so I can send it?”
“I don’t, but the post office is just down the street.” She took out an embroidered coin purse and withdrew a few knuts, handing them to me. “Do you think you can get there on your own?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
Leaving the house made me realize that I hadn’t done so since the beginning of summer. I could practically hear my mother scolding me, telling me to get some fresh air. I tried not to feel too bad about it. After all, none of my friends lived nearby and there wasn’t much to do in Diagon Alley except window shopping, which always made me feel worse.
The post office was right where I remembered it being, the inside just as stuffy. Seeing the Daily Prophet stand, it occurred to me that I should probably try to keep on top of the news if I wanted to understand this world. I made a note to myself to ask to look over the paper when it came in the morning. When I got to the counter, I realized that Frank had given me enough money for a mid-range owl. If I paid for a slower bird, I would have a little money left over. I could start saving for a rainy day. It’s not like she explicitly said that wasn’t allowed, so it wasn’t really stealing. Of course, Draco would turn up his nose at the lower quality, but…
I paid for the slower owl and pocketed the change.
x x x
The letter back from Draco arrived the day after the next, giving me enough time to ruminate and struggle to get started on schoolwork. His instructions were simple enough. I could go down that day (Draco must have been very confident about his owl arriving on time) and I could use the floo with the phrase “Malfoy Floo House”. I paced about my room for a bit, wondering if I should bring anything. In my old life, going out was very easy. Phone, wallet, keys. Now I didn’t have any of those three things, but it felt unnatural leaving the house not carrying anything. I decided to bring my notebook and my wand tucked into my bookbag, mostly for the sake of it.
I used the floo in Frank’s living room, enjoying the spinning sensation before being unceremoniously spit out at my destination. I hadn’t had much opportunity to get better at the landing part.
The room where I landed was not at all what I had expected. It looked a bit like a very fancy shed, only without gardening equipment in it. There were three fireplaces along one wall and floor to ceiling windows covered the wall opposite. Through them, I could see an ornate garden, with rose hedges and marble statues.
Draco was waiting for me, lounging on what I was tempted to call a lawn chair, except that it was far nicer than any lawn chair I’d ever seen. He stood immediately when I arrived.
“Finally,” he groaned. “I’ve been waiting for nearly an hour.”
“Maybe you should have sent your owl an hour earlier,” I retorted, following him out of what I assumed was a ‘floo house”.
“ My owl is not the problem,” Draco sneered. “Honestly, couldn’t you have gotten something faster? I’d pay for it just to not have to wait that long for a response.”
I wondered if he thought the delay in my writing back was entirely the fault of the owl, rather than my own stalling. I decided not to correct him.
“I could have, but I enjoy seeing you suffer,” I quipped instead. Draco rolled his eyes at me.
We were walking up a long path through the gardens to where Malfoy Manor loomed just ahead.
“A whole separate building just for the floo?” I asked.
“Of course,” Draco responded, sounding surprised I asked. “We can’t have any random person strolling into the parlour. There’s a separate floo room inside, but it’s only for important guests. Er, no offense.”
I laughed at that.
“Trust me; absolutely none taken.”
This sent Draco’s eyes rolling again. I was beginning to worry they might fall out at this rate. I turned to the massive building now looming in front of us and tried to remember what my mother had told me about rich people. Always let them pay, don’t sign anything, and never let them make you feel like you deserve less just because you have less.
We were greeted at the side entrance by a house elf who wore what I thought was a very serious expression as well as a linen smock. This one seemed to be much better kept than how Dobby was described. I wondered if they had different positions. I nodded to the elf awkwardly in greeting as we passed by. As Draco led me to his bedroom, I wondered whether I should feel suspicious about the fact that we hadn’t seen his parents yet.
When we got to his room, he gestured at an armchair for me to sit in and told me to wait while he went into a side room – probably his closet. It occurred to me then that I wasn’t entirely sure why he’d asked me to come over. I looked around his room while I waited for him. The only other time I’d ever been in a room like it was during a field trip to a museum. All the furniture was heavy, ornately carved wood. Pushed against the far wall was a perfectly polished phonograph. I almost stood to go look through Draco’s record collection when he emerged from the closet. He threw a bundle of fabric at me and it landed in my lap.
“Change into this,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“I won’t have you hanging around Malfoy Manor in those old robes,” he sneered.
“There’s no way your clothes are gonna fit me,” I scoffed back.
“They’re not my clothes,” he said. “They’re in your measurements.”
I leapt up and held the yellow ochre robes at arm length. Sure enough, they seemed to be exactly my size.
“What the hell?” I exclaimed. “When did you take my measurements? And how ?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Draco smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.
“ Yes , I wou-” I cut myself off. One look at Draco’s face told me I would not be getting an answer. I groaned. “Whatever. Just behind here?”
At Draco’s confirmation, I went behind a tall privacy screen to change. The robes were linen and definitely nicer that anything I’d ever owned – in this life or the last. It had a tunic style collar and was cinched at the waist with a wide braided belt. Draco nodded when I emerged from behind the screen.
“I thought so,” he said. “Jewel tones suit you.”
“Oh, er, thanks,” I said. It felt weird, getting a straightforward complement from him. From his own outfit, it seemed like he preferred neutral tones, but I’d never been a fashion person so I wasn’t sure. I wondered if I should ask or if that would be weird.
“Let’s go,” Draco said, as if sensing that an awkward silence was about to set in. “We’re having tea with my parents and then we can play Quidditch out back. I want to see what you’ve learned from your little friends.”
Eating with Draco’s parents was always hell. This was only the second time I’d done it, but that was enough for me to know that I would jump at the opportunity to have my fingernails pulled out if that was an available alternative. I found myself hesitating every time I picked up a fork or cup, certain I was doing something wrong. I took the smallest possible bites, desperate not to accidentally drop something or chew with my mouth open. Having to prepare respectful responses on top of that made my hair stand on end.
“Have you ever thought about going into modelling?” Lady Malfoy asked me. I nearly choked. “You’ll certainly be tall enough and you have excellent bone structure.”
“Oh, er, no. I haven’t,” I said. I still wasn't sure how to address her. Lord Malfoy was easy. Sir. But Lady Malfoy? Was it Miss? Ma’am? M’lady?
“Now, I know you might be self-conscious about your nose, but you need a unique look to break-in to the industry,” she lectured. “I’m sure I can get you a contact if you’re ever interested.”
“Er, thank you,” I said. I had actually never been self-conscious about my large nose, but I was more than used to people assuming I must be. It was my mother’s.
“Draco tells us that your magic has improved a lot since you started classes,” Mister Malfoy said. I silently thanked him and the stars for the change in subjects.
“Yes, sir,” I said. “I think I had a bit of a block near the beginning, but once I got past it, things started coming much more easily.”
“That’s good to hear,” Lucius said. “What area of magic are you most interested in?”
“Hm, that’s a good question,” I said. I paused to sip my tea and think on it. “I like potions and herbology because they’re hands-on. The material for History of Magic is very interesting, but I have trouble sitting through long lectures.”
“He’s being polite,” Draco said. “Professor Binns is awful. Hardly anyone makes it through that class awake.”
“It’s just awful,” Narssica sighed, shaking her head. “Children these days will hardly understand their own history that way.”
“Indeed,” said Lucius gravely. “It’s no wonder this country is going to hell.”
“Oh, let’s not talk about politics at the table,” Narcissa protested lightly. To me though, it looked like the perfect opportunity to get some information.
“Actually,” I said, “I hope you don’t mind, but I have a question about that.”
Lucius gestured for me to go on.
“Well, I’ve heard about that new law, the one written by that Weasley?” Lucius hummed darkly and I went on. “It’s just, I don’t really understand it– or laws in general actually. I was wondering how I would go about getting a copy of the law?”
“It’s good to know that some young people are interested in the workings of the government,” Lucius said with a pointed look at Draco, who huffed and became very interested in a custard tart. “All laws are published annually in a manual called The Wizengamot Decrees. New laws are published in pamphlets during the formalization process. Naturally, I have a copy of that ridiculous Muggle Protection Act . I’ll get it from my office for you after tea.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said. So far, so good. I’ll be an expert on this place in no time.
x x x
Draco insisted on having me stay the night. We had spent the day playing catch in the Malfoy’s Quidditch pitch. The hoops were much higher than the practice hoops I was used to and it took quite a bit of goading from Draco before I could pry my hands away from my broom and actually hold the Quaffle. I would have preferred to practice duelling, but he insisted that he needed to be ready for Quidditch try-outs in the fall.
After supper, Draco and I sat reading quietly in the parlour. He had something in Latin that I couldn’t begin to identify and I was trying to parse the copy of the Muggle Protection Act that Lucius had given me. It seemed to be a law restricting the enchantment of muggle objects, but the more I thought I understood it, the less it made sense to me. I made a note to myself to ask Arthur Weasley about it if I ever met him.
I was still trying to understand it when Draco went up to bed and I told him I’d be up later once I was done. I pulled my notebook out of my robe’s pocket and started making notes so I wouldn’t forget what I needed to look into later. Bringing it along turned out to be a good idea after all. It was after ten by the time I decided I should go up to the guest room Draco had shown me earlier. I climbed the stairs to the second floor and was halfway down when I heard voices and froze.
The voices were coming from a vent on the floor. From its position, I guessed that it led down into Lord Malfoy’s personal study. My heart pounded. I would have thought that someone like Lucius Malfoy would be sure to seal off any entrance to his personal rooms specifically to avoid eavesdropping. I almost worried that this might be a trap of some kind. On the other hand, perhaps the enchantments were just old or this vent was overlooked. The opportunity to listen in on a Malfoy’s private conversation was simply too tempting to resist. I crouched so I could hear better, hoping I could pretend that I was just tying my shoes if I was caught.
“Obviously, he won’t be invited to the Solstice Gala,” I heard Lucius’ voice say. “His table manners are atrocious.”
My face went hot. I had no question as to who he was talking about.
“He can’t really be blamed,” came Draco’s response. “He wasn’t raised to know any better. Anyway, I like him. I think Aunt Mensa would get a real kick out of him.”
To my surprise, Lucius Malfoy chuckled at that.
“Yes, it can be very entertaining to have one of the common folk around,” he said. I gagged, then swallowed what little pride I still had. “But I’m afraid it just isn’t appropriate for such a formal event. The summer solstice is one of the most important days of the year and I won’t have it turned into a spectacle.”
“But-”
“I won’t hear another word on it.”
“Yes, father.”
“I hope this hobby of yours isn’t getting in the way of your schoolwork? Or your other duties?”
“Of course not, father.”
“Then you have no excuse not to improve upon your subpar performance last year.”
“Yes, father.”
“Good. Now off to bed with you.”
I stood in the dark hallway for a long moment after Draco left, digesting what I had heard. I thought Draco had done well last year. His spells were always the best in the house, easily on par with anything I’d seen Hermione do. And what duties could Lucius be talking about outside of school?
I came to a decision. The next morning, before the sun had risen, I creeped back down the stairs, grateful that I’d always been light on my feet. I traversed the dark hallway silently until I reached Draco’s bedroom at the very end. As quietly as I could, I knocked on the wooden door, hoping it would be just loud enough for him to hear.
After a moment, the door opened. Draco’s eyebrows were knit together and he frowned when he saw me.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
“I need you to do me a favour,” I said. His frown deepened at first, but my next words made his eyes light up. “And I need you to not ask any questions.”