A/N: All the stuff about Draco's heritage is what I would have pointed to had I written Half-Blood Prince. Of course if I had written Half-Blood Prince I probably would have written the other Potter books as well, and then things would have been much different now wouldn't they of.
Chapter 13: The Healing Process
Time came to a standstill for Draco Malfoy. The words of Caliban still reverberated through his mind echoing like a deep song in a widespread canyon. At first they didn't latch onto anything, the sheer absurdity of the notion that he, the scion of Lucius Malfoy, would be a half-blood was complete and utter nonsense. He found himself eagerly anticipating the painful death and loss of magic that would surely overcome this arrogant mudblood standing in front of him.
He waited for a few seconds, still certain the death was yet to come.
Another few seconds passed.
And another.
Soon thirty seconds had passed, and Caliban was still very much alive, with that ever present smirk still plastered firmly onto his face.
Draco scowled, though a small nugget of fear and doubt managed to creep its way into the back of his mind. His anger began to show, and he could feel his wand slip out of the charmed holster Caliban had given him and fit neatly into his hand. Caliban looked down, his smile broadening a bit more.
"What are you going to do Malfoy, hex me?" He barked out a laugh. "As if you could even muster enough daring to curse me." He tilted his head, toying with Draco's emotions. "Perhaps you're going to use an unforgivable on me then?" His smile grew even broader. "That's certainly what your father would do. I've just spilled the proverbial beans on his deepest, darkest secret....even a spineless worm like your father wouldn't hesitate to kill me where I stand. But then again....we know you're not your father." Caliban leaned forward, drawing closer to Draco, who by this point was seething. "You're nothing but a half-witted halfblood....nothing more than a filthy mudblood."
It was all Malfoy could take. He fired off a few cutting hexes towards Caliban, confident that the older Death Eater wouldn't be able to dodge them or put up a shield in time. To his surprise however, Caliban merely flicked his wand and the curses flashed off of him harmlessly. Caliban laughed as Draco sat wide-eyed at the display, his mouth slightly dropping for a moment, before it shut again as anger once again filled his face.
"You're a liar," Draco said flatly, "I don't know how you did it...but you faked that wizard's oath. There's no earthly way that what you're saying is true."
Caliban shook his head, "I falsified nothing."
"Your name," Draco replied in return, his face becoming much more confident. "It's not really Caliban de Montesquieu. That make the wizard's oath invalid. You can lie till your blue in the face."
"Clever little mudblood," Caliban mused, earning another glare and snarl from Malfoy. "But alas you are wrong again. Though Caliban de Montesquieu may in fact not be the name given to me by my blood father, it is the name I have taken as my own since then. So in fact, my oath still rings true."
Draco's eyes resumed their widened stance, if what Caliban said was true then.....No, it couldn't possibly be true he told himself. There was no way. It went against everything he had ever been told, everything he had ever known.
"It's quite a tale really," Caliban mused, speaking to himself if no one else. "You're father loved Narcissa Black, but unfortunately an errant curse in her fourth year had left Narcissa infertile. Lucius wanted to marry Narcissa, but knew he would need an heir if he was to be allowed to inherit the Malfoy fortune without it passing on to one of his brother's. Fortunately for him, only a few people knew of Narcissa's....handicap. So he turned to me for help. I found him a muggle wench that he raped and left pregnant. Nine months later....you were born. I then dispatched of your birth mother, and handed you over to Lucius." He thought for a moment before adding, "I suppose he could have used a witch instead of a muggle stripper. Lord knows I would have liked to use my cousin Molly, but then again he didn't want any Ministry entanglements." Caliban finished and sat back, twirling his wand in his hands. "So, the point is, don't assume your enemy to be weaker than you simply based on his blood. Voldemort is a half-blood....I was born of pureblood ancestry....sorted into Slytherin just as my father was. Yet Voldemort is three times the wizard I could ever hope to be in terms of raw magical ability."
Draco was stunned, virtually near mental collapse as everything came over him at once. Finally, unable to latch on to anything else, he asked, "Who were your parents?"
Caliban smirked and then frowned in rapid succession. "My birth name was Agamemnon. My mother was Madeline Prewett. My father.....was Albus Dumbledore."
/ - / - / - /
Harry threw another book over his shoulder and grabbed the next one from his stack. Thus far he was having trouble finding exactly what runes should be used in the construction of a Time Turner. Sadly, the Ministry seemed to deem such information as better suited as being kept out of the public domain.
He had found a few runes dealing with time travel, but none that would enchant an object with such a property, at least not without a great deal of effort. Though he had a vague intuition of what to look for, having never taken ancient runes before he wasn't able to rely as much on his inherited knowledge as before. He guessed that since he couldn't conceptualize it in his own mind completely, he was having trouble finding what he was looking for.
Idly he took a break for a moment to glance over at Hermione. Since they had returned from the bank she had thrown herself into various book about arithmancy and surprisingly some about ward construction as well. He tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowed with worry. She hadn't really let up much since this whole thing had begun, diving in with fervent tenacity into every task she could find and essentially following him around by the hand without taking the initiative. It was this second aspect that told him that this was not the normal Hermione, and frankly it worried him.
He tried to quash the nagging voice in the back of his head that the only reason she had said that she loved him was because of the death of her parents. That the only reason she was there was simply for protection and for someone to try and make the pain go away. And if that's all it was, he told himself, he would be there, despite what it would mean for him. Regardless of that though, he knew that she should be grieving more than she was. She was throwing herself into her work, trying hard to think about anything else but the fact that her parents were dead.
It was only in her nightmares that he saw the brief snapshot of what lay beneath her studious activities and her gentle demeanor. As much as he didn't want to bring that to the forefront, he knew from firsthand experience how much such grief could eventually consume a person if it wasn't confronted, at least somewhat.
Of course, thinking that and doing something about it were two completely different things. She seemed happier, even if he told himself that she wasn't. She needed closure, and for whatever reason it was going to be incredibly difficult to give her that. Harry had sent Dobby to the Granger's house to retrieve many of her items as he could. Many of the magical items that were left behind the first time around had since disappeared, as well as, Dobby was sad to report, the bodies of Hermione's parents. Hermione had remarked once that she had no other family to speak of, at least none in Britain, and as a result Harry wanted to be able to give her parents a proper burial, wherever that might be. Much to his disappointment however, the bodies had been taken, more than likely by Ministry Officials. Not being able to bury them properly might hinder his plans for helping him heal Hermione. Sighing he glanced back down at another book, though his eyes couldn't help but wander upwards to glance at Hermione every so often. Internally, he vowed to do everything he could to help her come to grips with things.
Little did he realize the gears in motion to stop him from doing just that.
/ - / - / - /
Time passed slowly as Draco processed what Caliban had just said. He was still somewhere around his father knocking up a muggle woman who turned out to be his mother, though a part of his mind was running circles around the notion that Caliban had just claimed to be, and for all intents and purposes was, if the Wizarding Oath held any water, the son of Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light.
"I suppose it is an irony," Caliban mused to himself, leaning back. If he wanted Draco to listen, it didn't show. "The Leader of the Light's only son becoming the servant of the Dark Lord himself." He pulled out his wand and pointed at the open kitchen door. A bottle of brandy came whizzing out, followed by a small glass tumbler. Waving his wand over the glass after he caught it, a couple of ice cubes fell in, and he poured the brandy a few seconds later. He leaned back, swirling around the brown liquid, caught up in his memories. "Voldemort and I were schoolmates. He went by Tom Riddle then, until I found his heritage for him. He also helped me in ways that are best left a secret between friends....between servant and master." He took a shot of the brandy as his features darkened for a split second.
In Caliban's mind, memories of his father were dredged up from the small corners of his subconscious where they had been buried. The death of his family, all in the name of some vague constructed concept of the greater good, was a sore point to him. He quickly took another shot of brandy, reminding himself that they were no longer his family. His family was still very much alive. Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at Draco, who to this point had still said nothing.
"You're awfully quiet," Caliban said with a smirk. "Perhaps there's some part of my claim you wish to deny some more." He frowned when he saw there was still no response from Malfoy. Caliban sat the glass down and walked over to Malfoy. He waved his hand in front of the boy's face and snapped his fingers a couple times. Caliban sneered as he saw the catatonic state that Draco's mind had locked up in. No doubt a symptom of the boy's training in occulumency. Because of the severity of the information presented to him, and the internal war that was going on inside his mind, Draco had withdrawn into himself as a defense mechanism. He wouldn't be good for anything for a few hours. He expected the boy to attack with rage, to fight back with every ounce of fervor he had physically, not just internally. Muttering to himself, he pointed his wand at the nonresponsive Malfoy and uttered "Soporifor..." Draco slumped forward, immediately falling to sleep. Caliban levitated the young Death Eater off the ground and gently guided him to his bed. Once he was securely put away, Caliban shut the door and locked it, leaving Malfoy alone to his thoughts.
/ - / - / - /
Arthur Weasley sat in the parlor room of number 12 Grimmauld Place, pacing back and forth while his wife sat in silence. In truth, much disagreement over their actions the last few years had driven a bit of a wedge between the two lovers, and though they still cared deeply for one another, Arthur knew that there was a strain on their marriage that had never been there before.
He often wondered nowadays how they found themselves in this mess in the first place. What role did his family exactly play in the grand scheme of things? Though the Weasley family was one of the oldest of the pureblood families, of the current lines it was only predated by the Potter and the Dumbledore lordships, it had rarely interceded in politics and the like. Arthur himself had a seat on the Wizengamot, though his vote had been suspended, as had his pureblood status for a time to his family's financial situation. Time had mended that to the point where they were no longer swimming in debt.
Dumbledore had helped with that, Arthur reminded himself. Which unfortunately was part of the problem he was in.
The overtures had started innocently enough. Dumbledore had suggested to Arthur that he tell his son Ron that Harry Potter would be on the express that day. Dumbledore had suggested that Arthur offer the boy a place to stay in times of need (though Arthur would have done the latter without prodding).
It was in recent years that Dumbledore's subtle meanderings had become increasingly overt. With the return of You-Know-Who to the forefront, Dumbledore had taken what appeared to be an unhealthy interest in the personal life of Harry Potter, particularly when he hadn't seemed to keen on giving the boy a proper home in the first place. Arthur wasn't stupid, and neither was his son. Ron had seen the bruises, seen the lashings on Harry's body and when he had figured out what had caused them he had immediately owled Arthur to tell him, to try and help Harry. Dumbledore's intercessions had stopped that train of thought almost immediately.
Now the interest Dumbledore had was in Harry's lovelife. Albus seemed to be encouraging Molly and he to move their daughter Ginny into a relationship with Harry, which all things considered made sense at least from the Weasley point of view. Ginny had been saved by Harry from that awful creature in the Chamber of Secrets, she had become an auxiliary to Harry's central group of friends, and most of all she had been infatuated with Harry Potter from the moment she had laid eyes on him. To Albus Dumbledore, and to Molly Weasley to a lesser extent, that seemed to be enough.
Arthur wasn't so certain. Seeing his little girl perhaps through new eyes for the first time this year, he had come to realize that her infatuation with Harry Potter was in fact with Harry Potter....not with Harry the young man that Arthur considered to be as close to his own as he could be without red hair. Furthermore Ginny truly did seem to be over Harry, at least in a romantic sense.
Yet Molly was insistent at trying to match the two up, in addition to setting up Ron with Hermione Granger. Dumbledore supported her measures, and Arthur felt left out in the cold.
Yet he was still confident that, despite his eccentricities, Dumbledore had the right intentions in mind, which was why he was willing to go along with things, for the moment. Arthur had never been one to really take the initiative with defying anyone, particularly Dumbledore. It was this lack of ambition that might have landed him in this hot water in the first place, but it'd also been what kept his head on straight for several years as well.
A small click of the door leading to the kitchen broke Arthur from his reverie, and he and his wife looked up to see Albus Dumbledore walk in, very much looking like a 150 year old man. Dumbledore sat on a chair across from them, breathing heavily, as if he had been through a long ordeal.
"Albus, is something wrong?" Arthur ventured to ask, his concern for the man apparent.
Dumbledore seemed to compose himself for a moment and waved the Weasley patriarch off. "I'm fine Arthur, really," he said with a sigh, though a frown was still readily apparent on his face, "I just have a horrible truth to relay to you."
"It's about Harry isn't it," Molly spoke up, her voice quivering a bit at the end.
"It is," Dumbledore replied dejectedly. "I'm afraid that what Severus said has caused several pieces of the puzzle to fall into place, and many things which were not quite apparent before are apparent now." He paused a moment, thinking, before nodding his head and turning back to Arthur. "I trust you know of the protections placed on the Granger residence." Arthur and Molly both nodded, having the same protections placed on their own home recently. "Those wards are foolproof, I designed them myself. There's simply no way that a Death Eater could have broken them down, certainly not one as dimwitted as Jonas Caldwell." Dumbledore brought his hand to his mouth, apparently upset by whatever conclusion this had led him too.
"Albus, what are you saying?" Arthur asked, his tone a bit harried. He had added it up in his own mind, and couldn't believe what the man was selling.
"I'm saying that they either were aided by someone from the inside, or they never attacked in the first place." He paused a moment longer, and looked the Weasleys dead in the eye, "I'm saying Hermione Granger is a Death Eater." There was a bit of a stifled gasp from Molly, but Arthur ignored it. He lowered his head slightly, enticing the slightest of glares towards Dumbledore.
"Is that so," Arthur said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "Why would the Death Eaters include someone who was a muggleborn?"
"Voldemort is a half blood himself," Albus clearly stated, "And perhaps Miss Granger simply wishes to get ahead in our world. Whatever her reason I believe that she has placed Harry in great danger."
Arthur smirked, and Dumbledore could tell he wasn't buying the story. "Let's assume for a moment that you're right and that she has been acting in league with the Death Eaters....couldn't she be under the imperious curse?"
"I don't think so," Albus said thoughtfully, hoping to get somewhere with Arthur. "She has too well organized a mind to be bewitched so easily."
"And Lucius Malfoy didn't..." Arthur trailed off. This was still a bit of a stickling point as far as he was concerned. Albus didn't broach the subject however, and merely turned towards Molly.
"Has Harry contacted either Ron or Ginny at all this summer?" Dumbledore asked with worry in his voice. Molly stood up straighter, moving closer to her husband.
"No, at least not that they've told me." She paused a moment, thinking something over, "I'm certain that Ginny would tell me if they heard something, but Ron might not if he was asked not to." Dumbledore nodded.
"Perhaps I should have a talk with young Ronald. He deserves to know of this betrayal. In the meantime, I'll inform Magical Law Enforcement that they are to put out a warrant for the arrest of Hermione Granger both for the murder of her parents and for the abduction of Harry Potter. There's no doubt in my mind that these two events are connected. Go back to your family and floo me if you here anything." Arthur kept a firm gaze on Dumbledore, and Molly turned to him. She saw the anger readily at the forefront, and interceded before Arthur could give the elder man what for. She ushered him out of the parlor and towards a fireplace.
As soon as they were out of sight, Dumbledore let out a sigh. There was nary a kernel of truth in his story, but they needn't know that right now. It was for the best anyway, he quickly told himself. If those two never got together then.....Dumbledore didn't allow himself to dwell on it any further. He headed towards the fireplace himself, eager to get a good night's sleep.
Watching over all of it, the portrait of Walburgia Black, who had been pretending to be asleep for the exchange, muttered to herself about how she would have been proud to have Albus Dumbledore for a son.
/ - / - / - /
"This is so frustrating!" rang through the library of Potter Manor, causing Harry to look up from the book he had been glancing through and stare at Hermione. She angrily flopped down the book she had been reading for the third time that day and dropped her head into her hands. Silently, Harry stood up and walked over to her.
"The constructs are just too complicated," she said with a resounding sigh. "It's just too many variables to account for in going back in time. Too many loose ends to get the spell to work."
"Loose ends," Harry inquired, his interest perked.
"Yes, loose ends. It's not really a technical term." She bit her bottom lip, staring down at the desk trying to figure out a way of explaining it. "It's kind of like a quilt. If you have too many loose threads in the quilt, then it unravels or it isn't complete. It's the same way with any spell construct. The more complicated the spell, the more potential for loose ends. The equations are sound, it just would take me ages to be able to apply them in a more constructive sense." Frustrated again, she pursed her lips and sat in thought for several moments, before Harry gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"It's getting late," he said softly, "And we've both had a long day. How about we get something to eat and then pick this back up in the morning."
"You go on ahead," she said, not turning towards him. She waved her hand toward the door and grabbed another book, "There's a few more things I need to look up." Harry frowned, and stood watch as she opened the book again. She was avoiding something, Harry quickly decided, something she needed to confront. Silently, he waved his hand and the book slammed shut before Hermione could place her hands in it too deeply. She turned to look at him, a mixture of shock and anger on her face, but Harry remained calm.
"'Mione, you need sleep. I know you haven't slept well the last few days, just a few hours here and there." She tried to interject but Harry stopped her. "You also haven't eaten anything since this morning." Sighing, she set the book aside and stood up, heading towards the door.
"Fine," she said with a resigned tone in her voice, "I'll get something to eat. But I have to keep at this Harry." She paused a moment and smiled, "Really I'm fine, I'm not tired at all." Harry shook his head and Hermione frowned slightly. Since when had he become so perceptive?
"No, you're not fine Hermione. Look, I know that you still have nightmares, I still have them too." He sighed, sitting down himself, "I can't say I fully understand everything you've been through." He paused a moment when he saw that Hermione had made his way back to his side, her eyes a little misty, "I never knew my parents like you did and while Sirius was like a father to me, I didn't know him but for a couple of years at most." He took her hands into his, trying to be supportive as the tears flowed freely down her face. "The nightmares will fade with time, and when they do you'll be left with 16 years of happy memories with your parents." He paused a moment before adding, "I'll get you a pensieve if you want, so you can always have those happy memories on hand whenever you want them."
Hermione nodded, but didn't say anything. She tried to smile a bit and wiped the tears from her eyes. Harry could see that the healing process had only begun, but that things could move forward slightly. A small drawn frown at the corner of her mouth drew his attention, "What is it 'Mione?"
"Their bodies," she whispered, stifling a choked sob as she did. Harry simply nodded.
"I sent Dobby to get your things and their bodies after we left but...when he got there their bodies had been removed." He sighed apologetically, "The Ministry probably took them. I can inquire about that as soon as possible if you'd like."
Hermione smiled as much as she could and nodded her head. She stood back up and offered her hand, "Let's get something to eat," she said. Harry smiled back. It was the best thing he'd heard that day.
A/N: Ron next chapter, as it gives me a place to start up. Also we'll solve the mystery of the time-turner and what they'll do, have some more Tonks/Lupin discussion (mainly Tonks) and probably explore the basement level of Potter Manor.
My question to all of you is, should I handle the training in several chapters, elongating everything immensely but giving you more detail or should I have them emerge from the training without discussing it and instead referencing it at various points throughout the story as necessary and thus speeding the story along?