The Keeper

The Keeper

Mrs. Malfoy was on the battle plain with her family.

'The wizards on our side outnumber and outclass the wizards opposing us. There was no reason to make whatever deal was made with those creatures,' she concluded, thinking about the goblins, werewolves, and giants.

There was general movement, a sense that something wasn't right, and then wizards running past saying things that couldn't be true.

There was a bright light. Her husband stepped in front of her. And then silence.

There was movement in the darkness. Her son stepped in front of her. And then silence.

This morning, like many mornings, Hermione was not the only one to wake screaming.

* * *

Several months before our ballroom brawl, there was another social occasion.

"You're here because of my sister."

"I was assigned here."

"You were assigned here because of my sister," said Mrs. Malfoy, pouring tea for herself and Mr. Potter. "Help yourself to the biscuits. I'm not hungry. I haven't seen my sister."

It was a cloudy, early summer morning, three weeks after the final battle. Mrs. Malfoy wore black in mourning for her husband and son even though their bodies were never found. She had received Mr. Potter and his announcement that he would stay at the Malfoy Manor graciously. 'All of wizard England is still in shock,' he thought.

He quickly amended his original thought. 'All of wizard England except Mrs. Malfoy is in shock.' In the three weeks since the battle, she had been busy. Contrary to expectations, she had engaged mundane lawyers who had quickly created a legal labyrinth protecting the Malfoy estate. Most of the investments were in double-blind trusts. Not even Mrs. Malfoy knew the source of the funds that would appear on schedule. The wizard community did not have the knowledge or resources to challenge the mundane legal establishment, nor did they want the resulting publicity.

Mrs. Malfoy had placed a retroactive scorched-earth policy on the Malfoy assets. The wizard authorities had raided and closed one of the Malfoy establishments, but the next morning they found a small pile of ashes. The building, inventory, and land were gone. The authorities decided that further raids would do more damage to the community than to Mrs. Malfoy.

In the confused aftermath of the conflict, they did not confiscate her wand until two weeks after the battle. The authorities could barely function because of their losses.

Now, Harry Potter faced a grieving, but composed, Narcissa Black Malfoy. As Mrs. Malfoy had guessed, the administration assumed he would be eager to do anything to track down Bellatrix Lestrange. The Zeitgeist was revenge.

* * *

After the two visitors left, Harry rejoined Narcissa in the reading room. "They were from the school," he told her. "I may teach part time...Defense Against the Dark Arts. I told them I was assigned to watch you, but you were interested in plants. I suggested first-year Herbology, but said I hadn't asked you what you wanted to do."

"My goodness, you are taking watching me seriously, aren't you? Are you sure I can be trusted with innocent plants or the tender minds of first-years?"

"No," he said, "but I've got to get out of Malfoy Manor before I go crazy."

She pondered her next move. "I should show you something, Mr. Potter."

She unbuttoned the lower part of her blouse. He stared at the scar. The only place she could have got it was at the battle. It was enough evidence to put her in prison. It was the evidence the authorities had been seeking for quite some time.

"Well?" she asked.

Emotions seethed through him...from the extremes of she-killed-my-friends to revenge-is-worthless. He just stared at her.

She was talking to him. "I wanted to stand with my family. They protested, but I couldn't bear to see Lucius and Draco go while I stayed behind. I wanted to protect them." She paused. "Our family was together on the battlefield, part of the honor guard for the Dark Lord. We knew the werewolves and giants would attack first, and we were waiting for our signal. I don't know what happened or what the other side did, but suddenly they were upon us, shining lights. Lucius raised his wand to protect me. The first spell went through his chest. The second took his head off. It seemed as if only Draco and I remained, and we were surrounded. We dropped our wands and surrendered. I think we surrendered to save each other. A wizard was assigned to watch us, we heard the Dark Lord was dead, and then a curse sliced the wizard guarding us in half. Draco saw something and moved to protect me. A curse sliced him in half." She was silent a minute. "I went to protect them, but I caused their deaths."

'What in the world did happen in that battle?' thought Harry.

"Whatever curse sliced through Draco scarred me but didn't kill me. I fell to the ground. When it was quiet, I gathered their parts together and dragged them away from the shielded battlefield to a place where I could bring them home...their parts home." She paused for a small, hysterical chuckle. Harry became alarmed, but she recovered and continued. "When I and their parts were safely home, I lost consciousness for two days. When I woke, I managed to build a pyre. I wanted to build two, but I knew I couldn't manage. I cremated them together and then lost consciousness for another day. When I woke the second time, their ashes were cold. I used two different urns...gold for Lucius and silver for Draco...even though their ashes were mixed."

'Is she telling me the truth?' wondered Harry. 'If she is, then that's why we never found any sign of Lucius and Draco. That's why they've disappeared.'

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" replied Harry, still in shock from the story.

"I told you because you would eventually discover my scar. I saved my husband and son from the indignity of being counted as coup and their bodies displayed, but I can't expect to escape that fate. Are you going to take me in now or wait and use me as bait to capture my sister before taking me in?"

'Ferocious lady,' he thought. 'Hateful, dangerous, but worthy,' he thought.

He postponed his decision. "We can wait. There is your sister."

As he postponed his decision, it was made for him. "We can wait for your sister. I think it will be a very long wait. In the meantime, would you consider teaching Herbology? It would make my life and job much easier."

She gave him a strange look. "Yes, making your life and job easier is an irresistible argument. How could I decline?"

She surreptitiously eyed him. 'How does it feel to miss your destiny?' she wondered. She paused to reflect. 'I should know. I was to help establish a rich and influential dynasty. Instead, I cremated my hopes in secrecy.'

* * *

"It's a mess," declared Mrs. Malfoy.

Harry watched her toss aside the textbook and notes for first-year Herbology. 'Oh, great,' he thought. 'I argued and fought for her to teach the course, and now she's making a fuss. Isn't that woman happy with anything?'

"They're just learning miscellaneous facts and how to pot an odd assortment of plants...some of them too dangerous for first-years," she declared.

"Do you have a better suggestion?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"There are things that are true about all plants," she said. "Plants can be organized into groups that explain how they grow and what they do. There are harmless and useful plants that illustrate all of this." She paused. "Herbology can be beautiful. And safe."

With a diplomatic effort that made him proud of himself, he said, "If you want to teach the course differently, why don't you gather your information and present your case?"

"That's marvelous, Mr. Potter. Do you think they would let me?"

"It won't hurt to try," he said. 'It'll keep her busy and have her screeching at someone else,' he thought.

To his surprise, the school agreed to let her teach the course she wanted if she could provide a schedule with substantial material before the term started. She declared it would be easy since the French textbook was excellent and all she had to do was translate it. She worked on her course with the enthusiasm of the new instructor.

* * *

Harry noticed that Mrs. Malfoy walking through the corridors did turn the heads and start the tongues of the older boys. He came upon one such trio after she had passed, and caught some of the nastiness and prurience.

"Gentlemen," he said quietly.

They turned, saw who it was, and nearly came to attention.

"That's not a respectful way to talk about a professor," he informed them.

"Yes, sir," they chorused, trying to sink into the floor.

"Well, be about your business, and in the future, curb your tongues."

They vanished down the hallway.

'Strange,' thought Harry. 'When I was their age, I was thinking and saying worse about her.' Despite their coarseness, it was obvious the boys both admired and feared her. 'I did neither,' he thought.

* * *

When she wasn't in the greenhouses tending plants, Narcissa was on a balcony that offered a view of both the lake and the forest. Despite its openness for both viewing and being viewed, Mrs. Malfoy had apparently been the one to discover it the first week she was at school. She had furnished it with simple, rugged furniture and a few non-flowering plants that gave the air a fresh scent. It was a masculine décor that fit Mrs. Malfoy, totally female, perfectly. The old Charms professor, Flitwick, often dropped by for morning tea. He had been injured in the battle and now taught fourth to seventh-years. He had always regarded Narcissa Black as a potential scholar lost to wealth.

"He's an old survivor, and they always survive," Mrs. Malfoy had told Harry. "He finally admitted he was one of those who had the Dark Lord surrounded." She shook her head in disbelieving admiration. "He and his young protégé. They both survived."

"Higgins?" asked Harry. "That aloof, distant bloke?"

'They did your job for you, and they were injured,' she was thinking. 'You escaped unharmed.'

"Higgins is from the Ministry," she said. "He taught for a while at Durmstrang, but he's wary of being an instructor." Harry looked perplexed. She continued, "He thinks repetition will rot his mind and exposure to people without talent will give him soul-destroying arrogance."

"Hmm," went Harry, who had had no such thoughts. 'And how did she learn so much about aloof, distant Higgins?' he wondered.

Mrs. Malfoy was gazing into the distance with a serene look on her face.

* * *

Harry walked by the balcony during a severe thunderstorm. Professors Malfoy, Flitwick, and Higgins were watching the rain as if it soothed their spirits. 'I suppose a blizzard would warm the cockles of their hearts,' he thought.

* * *

"Malfoys, Lestranges, and now a French Herbology course!"

The upper-level Herbology professor and the Quidditch coach were in Harry's office.

The Herbology Professor was struggling to restrain herself. "It's going to pervert the first-years. Malfoy spends half her class time having those poor kids drawing stems and leaves." She caught her breath. "Okay, they're really learning the parts of plants and how they work, but it's all French stuff. What's it going to lead to?"

"There's the fleur-de-lis," suggested Harry, thinking there weren't any Lestranges around and Professor Malfoy had translated everything into English.

His two visitors looked puzzled.

"It's a stylized iris," he explained, "a symbol of the French monarchy. They used to brand prisoners with it."

The professor and the coach lit up.

"I tried," he said as he made the universal palms-up gesture of resignation that implied he had argued hard but some people wouldn't see reason. It was not school policy to brand professors.

"That Malfoy whore is going to sneak some stuff in. I just know it," asserted the professor.

"Yes, of course," said Harry. "That's where you're better qualified to watch her than I am. Why do you think we're giving her the chance?"

The professor pondered that and then developed a conspiratorial gleam in her eye. "That's clever," she said.

"But what about her wanting to go flying around the castle?" asked the coach. "Won't she fly away?"

"That is a problem," admitted Harry. "I let her fly last summer, but I wasn't worried about her getting away from me."

The coach bridled. "I think I can handle her flying. Besides, it's like Herbology. We'll give her a chance to make a wrong move."

"I'm glad you two dropped by," said Harry. "Now, I can relax at school. I am sick to death of watching that woman."

The professor and the coach left his study. "We'll watch her like a hawk."

'Yes,' thought Harry. 'Watch like a hawk. Fly like a hawk. Hawk's the word.'

* * *

"Mr. Potter," said Mrs. Malfoy.

"Yes," he replied.

"You know I don't like asking favors, but I do need one."

"What is it?" he asked.

"A book I need has come in. Would you pick it up for me?"

Harry looked quizzical.

"I'm not ready to face the public," she said. "I should be braver, but I'm not."

"I can get it," he said. "Better yet, why don't you come with me?" He paused. "You haven't shopped for a long time."

"It's not nice to poke fun at people, Professor Potter." An idea occurred to her. "Yes, we can shop together. My lingerie is in desperate straits."

"It's not nice to poke fun at people, Professor Malfoy."

There was a storm raging outside, but the two of them sat quietly on the balcony and enjoyed the refreshing rain. The storm was over by tea time, and they left the school for the day to go shopping.

"You know," said Harry, "a good principle of shopping is to purchase the smaller articles first."

"What's your preference, Professor Potter, light reading or flimsy lingerie?"

An hour later they were walking across the street to the bookstore. Harry was still befuddled by the overwhelming femininity of the clothes shop, and Mrs. Malfoy was the one who saw the two men glare at them and then pull out their wands. "Look out, Harry!" She gave him a shove that sent him sprawling behind some decorative pots. Harry rolled and came up with his wand in his hand in time to see Mrs. Malfoy take the hit, fly through the air, and land with the crack of broken bones.

"Narcissa!"

Harry hurled two stunning hexes and saw the hit wizards crumple...crumple from stunning hexes hurled in fury. Later, the investigators would tell him the two never regained consciousness.

"Mrs. Malfoy! Mrs. Malfoy!" He ran to where she was lying on the cobblestones.

"Take me home," she gasped.

"Hospital," he said.

She grabbed his cloak. "No. No. I can't go to hospital. Take me home."

'By the gods, that's right,' he remembered. 'She can't be examined at hospital.'

At the Manor, Mrs. Malfoy had painkillers and rudimentary medical supplies. Harry made her comfortable, and that night he raided the school infirmary for the potions she needed.

He had had to play nurse and clean and treat her abrasions, bruises, cracked ribs, and broken arm. She was grateful for the sponge bath he had given her. After his care and the potions, she was clean and comfortable and resting in her bed while he sat watch.

His mind was still reeling from seeing the full extent of her scar. Unlike the people on his side, she had received no medical care. No one had cleaned her wound or performed any cosmetic repair. She had opened it and ripped it as she crawled home from the battle field to collapse with fever. It ran from her shoulder across her breast to her hip, and it was deep, gnarly, and ugly.

If she had been examined at hospital, the authorities would know she had been at the battle and on the wrong side. She would now be in prison. 'Bloody hell,' he thought. 'I'm the authorities, and I've known for some time.'

She woke for a few seconds. "Obviously, my days as a beauty queen are over."

He took her hand. "You're a fine and brave lady." She smiled and went back to sleep.

* * *

She initially denied the longings she was having. 'My days for that are past.' No one could be as accomplished as Lucius. No one could transport her the way he had done. But it didn't take an expert to achieve satisfaction in this endeavor. She wasn't going to demand perfection...only some consideration of her needs. Her current house guest was an athlete. He should be great at it. She dropped the occasional hint that it was natural for couples. It could be done with her scar covered, and he wouldn't have to look. She was certain that once involved, he would forget about her scar. She remarked that she would like to be doing what everyone else was doing. There was no reason for her to be the only person in the world neglected.

One desperate evening, she put on her shimmering green dress and began their dinner with a glass of champagne in the gazebo with moonlight and candles. They would have oyster stew, asparagus, chicken breast filet with Chablis and crusty French bread. She would serve him vintage Port and peel some fruit for him. When the first course arrived, he tucked in with gusto. She watched him slurp it up. The fire of her rage reduced her carefully planned evening to a cinder...the cinder of breaking her soup bowl over his head. She glared at him until he noticed her.

"What?" said the imbecilic prat.

"Mr. Potter, if you don't take me to the masked ball, I am going to scream."

There, she had said it. She picked up her spoon. The oyster stew was delicious. She noticed he did not finish his and he merely pushed the asparagus around with his fork. 'Time to grow up, Mr. Potter,' she mused mercilessly. 'Certain things are expected in an adult relationship.'

* * *

Later, while trying to teach him the foxtrot, she had second thoughts. 'I always assumed there was a correlation between athletic skill and dancing ability. How wrong could one woman be?'

* * *

On the night they were to attend the masked ball, Mrs. Malfoy dressed in simple elegance. She twirled and Harry got a glimpse of leg. For the first time in over a year, he remembered that he was missing part of a normal life. He thought Mrs. Malfoy ruined the elegance of her dress and disguise by placing a large four-leaf clover over her ear.

"For good luck," she had said.

At the ball, they tried several simple numbers before they retired to their table. Out of nowhere, a chap with an elegant costume ruined by a large four-leaf clover appeared. Mrs. Malfoy sprang to her feet. The new chap wasn't a great dancer either, but she didn't seem to mind.

'They must be two of a kind,' thought Harry, chuckling at the large clovers and noticing they had found a table for themselves.

Harry was discovering he didn't have to be a great dancer, or even a good dancer. Girls were approaching him, he was too polite to turn any of them down, and he was discovering he liked holding girls. He told them it was his first time at the ball, and they wanted to know if he planned to return.

"Yes," he said. He rather thought he might. "Yes," he agreed when they asked about his costume. He would wear the same one the next time so they could recognize him. They told him he was very considerate.

He thought he recognized two ladies sitting at a table in a corner. The attention from the girls had given him confidence he never had before. He approached the two at the table, talked to them, danced with them, and offered to buy them drinks. He was on his way to the bar when an evening that was becoming pleasant was interrupted by pandemonium. 'We're being attacked,' he realized.

Harry panicked. Where was Mrs. Malfoy? What if that guy with the ridiculous clover was a disciple of the Dark Lord here to rescue Mrs. Malfoy and take her to her sister or husband? He was vaguely aware of the chandelier smashing against a wall. He saw Mrs. Malfoy by a far window. Harry was running toward her when glass globes began breaking and releasing clouds of mist. The room swirled as Harry fell to his hands and knees. He saw Mr. Four-Leaf-Clover breaking a window with a chair and pulling Mrs. Malfoy out after him. Harry managed a fast crawl to the window, looked out to see the pair stumbling towards a group of bins in the alley, and heaved himself out the window to follow them.