True Colors
Chapter 4: Beginnings and Endings
By Anne B. Walsh
Lucius Malfoy sat completely still at his dining room table, one hand loosely gripping a sheet of parchment. "Gryffindor," he said finally, very quietly.
Narcissa looked up from her place at the foot of the table, where she was daintily eating porridge. "I beg your pardon, Lucius?"
"Gryffindor, Narcissa. Our son has been Sorted into Gryffindor."
Narcissa nodded. "I thought he might well be," she said. "This is good."
"Good?" Lucius stared at his wife. "No, this is not good! Malfoys are always Slytherins! For one to be a Gryffindor is a sign that something is seriously wrong..."
"No, it is simply a sign that Draco is not exactly like you, Lucius," said Narcissa irritably. "Do look at things sensibly. Tell me this. Do you expect the Dark Lord to return?"
Lucius sighed, sitting back in his chair. "Expect? I know not. Hope for, yes. Wish for, certainly. But expect is too strong a word."
"But you would prefer a future in which he did return to one in which he did not."
"Yes."
"And some, if not all, of your plans are made with regards to that sort of future."
"Indeed."
"Then consider, Lucius, how it will look, when he does return, to be able to say, ‘My lord, my son is a member of the House most commonly devoted to the other side and therefore, if not beyond reproach, at least less likely to garner attention from certain faculty members, some of whom are known to favor that house... and my son has access at almost all times to the sleeping place and belongings of one Harry Potter.’"
Lucius sat up straight. "That is true. I had not considered that. Potter is the same age as Draco, and he would most likely be a Gryffindor himself... that is very true."
A smile appeared on his face, one Narcissa knew well. It meant Lucius was losing himself in blissful dreams of a future in which he ruled over hordes of slaves, Muggle and magical, directing where they could go and whom they could see, reveling in their sorrow and humiliation.
She got up and slipped out. She would not be missed. Dobby would bring her breakfast in the drawing room, and she could enjoy some civilized conversation.
She recalled the one thing she had done, all those years ago, which more than any other had secured her the loyalty of two members of their household...
"Lucius."
They were alone in her bedchamber. Draco, a month-old infant, was in the nursery, being cared for by Dobby. Their other servants were tending to their own business, which Lucius thought to be one thing, but Narcissa knew to be entirely another.
But that does not concern us now.
"Yes, Narcissa?" Her husband looked up from the scrolls he was studying, pale brows drawing in towards the center in a frown.
Sharply she forced down envy and a vain hope, for what never could have been. "I must speak to you about household affairs."
"Then speak."
"Lucius, I know my duties as your wife, none better. I have recently fulfilled one of them."
"Indeed you have, and admirably. Allow me to congratulate you again on such a fine, healthy son as you gave me."
Narcissa concealed her smile and spoke sternly. "But as your wife, I also have rights. I have looked the other way on many occasions, but this will not be one of them, Lucius. I will not tolerate your conduct towards Calpurnia. Turn your eyes away from her, she is not for you."
"Calpurnia?" Lucius looked aghast at her. "Have you gone mad, Narcissa? Why, or how, should I desire an animal?"
"Do not think me foolish, Lucius, I am not. I know quite well what goes on every day in this house, and why certain doors are locked at certain times, and when and how our house and grounds are kept secure. I know that you seek to extend the period when such security may be had, and for all I know you shall succeed. But success or failure, Calpurnia is not to be touched. I will not have that... thing... taking my rightful place."
"Then perhaps, madam, you should make more effort to fill your rightful place, as you call it! And I will have the equal promise from you, that Caesar’s visits to this bedchamber will cease!"
Narcissa laughed coldly. "A shot in the dark, Lucius? You’re slipping. But you have my word. Caesar shall not enter this bedroom again, unless you yourself call him here."
"And you have mine, madam," said Lucius angrily, picking up his scrolls. "The chastity of Caesar’s wife shall henceforth be without reproach."
Thankfully, no promise was necessary in the other case. Not even Lucius would harm his son’s favorite plaything.
Narcissa amused herself for a moment by picturing her husband’s face if and when he found out why his son had taken to that plaything so avidly.
A few of the teachers protested when Zelda accompanied Ray to class, but the wolf was so well-behaved that by the end of Transfiguration on Thursday, Professor McGonagall had actually smiled at her. Professor Sprout, in Herbology, was delighted that Zelda could, and did, smell out and dig up some of the Creaking Crocus bulbs she’d planted the previous year, and Professor Flitwick congratulated Ray on having such a well-trained animal after Zelda sat still and allowed him to charm her fur different colors.
"Potions today," said Harry at breakfast on Friday, pouring sugar onto his porridge. "Double Potions, with the Slytherins."
"Wonderful, I can show you Tweedledum and Tweedledee," said Ray, glancing at the Slytherin table. "Otherwise known as Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. I think my father may have told their fathers to tell them to watch me. I couldn’t get them to leave me alone at the station. I finally had to try talking in words of one syllable." He adopted a very slow, drawling tone. "Buh. Ger. Off."
Ron snickered. "Did it work?"
"Must have. I’ve barely seen them since."
"Well, that might be because you’re a Gryffindor now," said Neville, reaching for the milk. "And they’re Slytherins. Did your father expect you to be a Slytherin, d’you think?"
"Oh, I’m sure he did. But I had my own plans."
"Speaking of plans, what are you doing this afternoon?" asked Harry, who had just opened the note Hedwig had brought him.
"Not too much. Why?"
"Hagrid’s invited me to tea," said Harry, showing the note around. "I thought some of you might like to come along."
"I’ll go," said Neville.
"Sure, why not?" said Ron through a mouthful of sausages.
Ray nodded. "As long as Zelda can come."
"Do you ever go anywhere without her?" asked Ron, swallowing.
"Well, you won’t see her at all tomorrow. She’s feeling what I call dennish. That means she likes to hide away in a little place, like under my bed, and not come out all day. And she takes my things with her, like my robes, or my wand..."
"Your wand?" asked Harry, looking at Zelda in confusion. "What does she want with your wand?"
Ray shrugged. "Don’t know."
"Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Ron gritted his teeth. Harry’d told them all about Professor Snape’s rivalry with Harry’s father and godfather in school, but it seemed awfully unfair for Snape to be quizzing Harry, and only Harry, this way.
"I don’t know, sir," Harry said.
Snape’s eyes flared with triumph. "Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Out of the corner of his eye, Ron could see Ray with his hand raised. Zelda was pressed against his leg, staring at Snape.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again, looking startled. "There... is no difference, sir," he said uncertainly. "They’re two words for the same thing. I think."
"You think, Potter?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
The Gryffindors laughed.
"Five points from Gryffindor for cheek," Snape snapped. "And another five, Mr. Malfoy, if you don’t put your hand down immediately."
Ray’s hand snapped down to the table.
"What happened?" Ron asked as he ground snake fangs with his pestle.
"I don’t know for sure." Harry picked through their pine needles, tossing out the brown ones. "It was like someone told me they were the same. Like she whispered it in my ear, except there wasn’t anyone that close to me."
"She?"
"It sounded like a girl’s voice. I don’t know where it could have come from..."
Three sharp barks and Neville’s yelp cut off their conversation.
"What is going on over here?" Snape swept over to Ray and Neville’s cauldron, where Neville, with a handful of porcupine quills, was cowering away from a growling Zelda, standing between him and the cauldron. "Mr. Malfoy, if you can’t control that animal it will have to be removed."
"She... yes, sir." Ray snapped his fingers, and Zelda relaxed. "Neville, hang on," he said quickly as Neville went to drop the quills into the cauldron. "We have to take it off the fire first."
"Oh, right." Neville set down the quills and picked up a potholder. "Why?"
"Because if you had left it on the fire, Longbottom, you would have created the exact opposite of what you intended to create," Snape said. "And it might well have served you right for your own foolishness, if even an animal can realize how wrong you are."
"He’s really got it in for Gryffindors, hasn’t he?" Harry said under his breath as Snape stalked away.
"That was weird." Ron looked more closely at Zelda, now lying under Ray’s desk, head on her paws. "How did she know?"
"Ray’s good at Potions. Zelda’s probably been around them a lot. Or else she’s psychic. Who knows? Let’s get this done." Harry picked up Ron’s mortar and dumped the crushed snake fangs into the cauldron, then began to stir it counterclockwise.
The afternoon was uneventful, except for an encounter between Zelda and Mrs. Norris, involving a great deal of growling on one side and spitting on the other but no actual bloodshed. The boys meandered down to Hagrid’s hut around three o’clock.
Hagrid let them in, holding back his boarhound, Fang, who started making friends with Zelda immediately Hagrid let him go, then licked all the boys’ ears thoroughly as Harry introduced them.
"So, great news abou’ Sirius," said Hagrid, pouring out tea for everyone. "An’ how long’ve you known and never told no one?"
"All my life, pretty much," said Harry tiredly. "Everyone wants to know about him this last week, everyone’s asking questions... except you, Ray," he said suddenly, turning to the blond boy. "You haven’t asked me one thing about him, I just realized that. Why not?"
Ray grinned. "Why should I? Everyone else already asked everything I wanted to, I heard you when you answered them, so why ask you questions over again?"
"Thank you," said Harry heartily. "I wish I could just write up a little sheet of answers and give them out to anyone who asks. Yes, I like having him around. No, he isn’t mean to me. Yes, he likes to play jokes. No, he’s never hurt me. On and on and on."
"I just can’t believe he was always there," said Neville, blowing on his tea. "I was at your house — Mrs. Black’s house — lots of times, and he was always there, but I never saw him. I never even knew he was there."
"That would be creepy," said Ron. "I mean, if you did know that someone was there, but you never saw them. They just sneaked around where you couldn’t see them."
"Like living with a house-elf," said Ray. "Or..." He stopped.
"Or what?" asked Harry.
"Nothing."
Zelda came away from her game of chase-Fang’s-tail to rub against his shins comfortingly.
"So, let’s see yeh here, little lady," said Hagrid, reaching over to pick her up. She yipped in surprise, but let him lift her into his lap, where she looked more like a spaniel or a terrier than the mostly-grown wolf she was. "Hmm, now where’d yeh get her, Ray?"
"She was a gift from my father, sir. A belated first birthday present."
"So yeh’ve had her a while, then."
"Yes, sir. All my life."
"Don’ go callin’ me sir, I won’ know who yer talkin’ ta," said Hagrid with his booming laugh as he stroked Zelda, examining her closely. "Now this’s interestin’, this is... see her tail, here? ‘Snot supposed ter be like that."
"Like what?" asked Ron, peering at it.
"Like it is. With the tuft on the end, like. Wolves have long, smooth tails. An’ the way her face is shaped, an’ these claws o’ hers... ‘f I didn’ know better, I’d say she was a werewolf, not a true wolf at all." Hagrid laughed again. "But she can’t be, o’ course. Werewolves only have that shape at full moon, and this little lady stays this way all the time, don’ she?"
Ray nodded.
"So I’d imagine yer father thought she might scare people off better if he made her look like a werewolf. Yeh’ll have ter ask him sometime."
"Will you?" asked Neville as they walked back to the castle later. "Ask your father if he changed how Zelda looked?"
"No, probably not." Ray was squinting up at the setting sun. "I know he must have, so there’s no point." He scratched his arm, frowning. "I need to get back to the dorm, there’s something I have to do."
Saturday was fair and sunny, with barely any clouds at all. As Ray had predicted, Zelda was nowhere to be seen when they got up that morning. He peered under his bed, waving Ron and Harry away. "She’s there," he announced. "And doesn’t look like she wants company. And since she’s got claws and sharp teeth and I don’t, it’s usually best to do what she wants."
"But can’t you control her?" asked Ron. "Make her do what you want?"
"Usually, yes," said Ray, tapping his wrist, where he wore a green leather bracelet inscribed with symbols. "But on her den days, I don’t think even my father would try. She’s very grouchy."
A snarl came from under the bed.
"As you see."
Ray went to bed early on Sunday night, claiming he didn’t feel well.
"He’s probably homesick," said Fred.
"Doesn’t want anyone to see him cry," said George.
Ray’s bedcurtains were pulled when the other boys went to bed, and instead of leaping onto the bed as she usually did, Zelda lay down on the rug at the foot.
He must really want to be alone, Harry thought, if even Zelda can tell.
But one good crying jag must have done the trick, because Ray looked perfectly normal on Monday morning, even better than usual. He got as excited as everyone else over the notice on the board about flying lessons, and was as thoroughly disgusted about having them with Slytherin.
"Ray, can I see your History of Magic notes?" asked Neville on Wednesday night.
"Er, from today?"
"Yes."
"Sorry, no."
"Why not?"
"I haven’t written them yet."
"How can you not have written them?" asked Ron. "We had class already. Do you have a perfect memory or something?"
Ray shrugged. "More or less. More less than more." Zelda sneezed loudly. "Bless you, Zel. But I do tend to remember stuff. So I’ll give you a copy when I have them, Neville. Probably tomorrow after flying lessons."
Thursday afternoon was clear and breezy, and Harry couldn’t help but feel excited about the prospect of flying. He’d never flown before that he could recall — it had always been too difficult for Letha to manage everything that would have been necessary for a flying holiday — but he knew that his father had been fabulous on a broom, and had taken him out once or twice as a baby, to his own delight and his mother’s irritation.
"That’s not right, not right at all," snapped Madam Hooch, prying Ray’s fingers off his broom. "Who taught you to grip that way?"
"My dad," said Ray.
"Well, you can tell him from me that he taught you entirely wrong. This is how you do it." She rearranged his hands and moved on to the next person.
Ray snickered. "No wonder Dad’s not much good on a broom," he said over his shoulder to Harry.
Within a few minutes, they were taking short, practice flights, just up a few feet and back down. Harry loved it, it was everything he’d thought it would be, and his only annoyance was that he wasn’t allowed to go as far, as fast, or as long as he would have liked.
"Now, split into groups of five and we’ll cover some basic flying etiquette," Madam Hooch ordered. "You, you, you, you, and you. First five."
Harry had been "you" number three, Ray number four, and Neville number five. Numbers one and two were the hulking Slytherins Ray said had been trying to follow him around, Crabbe and Goyle.
"You there, Goyle, you’re big, so you’re at point." Madam Hooch pulled him into position. "You two, Crabbe and Malfoy, you’re behind him, and Potter and Longbottom, behind them — not directly behind, spread out, make a V shape, take advantage of the wake. Now, on my whistle, take off. Point man, fly to that oak over there..." She pointed out the tree, a handsome specimen about sixty feet high. "Turn around and return. You others, stay in formation behind him. Outside men on the turn, give your partners plenty of room, inside men, turn tight. Ready?"
The whistle sounded. Five brooms rose from the grass.
It was easier taking advantage of Crabbe’s wake, Harry found. He kept his eyes on Goyle to see which way he turned at the tree, so that he, Harry, would know if he were inside or outside for the formation turn...
Goyle turned to the right, Harry would be on the outside. He swung his broom slightly to the left, preparing to turn —
Crabbe turned too tightly and slammed into Ray. Neville, unable to stop in time, plowed into both of them. As if in slow motion, Harry saw Ray, unfamiliar with the new grip Madam Hooch had shown him, lose his hold on his broom and slip off, starting to fall...
Harry shot under the tangle of people just in time to grab Ray by the arm. "Hold on," he panted, and dived, slowing down well before he got to the ground, until he was hovering about six feet up, close enough for Ray to let go and drop to the grass. Then he landed, feeling his heart pounding, but with excitement, not with fear.
The most prominent thought in his mind was, I want to do that again.
"Well done, Potter," said Madam Hooch, arriving beside them. "Malfoy, are you all right?"
"Yes’m," said Ray. "Neville, can you grab my broom?" he shouted up.
"I can try." Neville had managed to stay mounted through this, and had been disentangling from Crabbe while Harry saved Ray. Now he flew over to where Ray’s broom was hovering, took a hold of it, and came down in a careful spiral, landing about ten feet away from them, a bit sloppily but without hurting himself.
"Thanks," said Ray, jogging over to retrieve the broom.
"Harry Potter," called a voice from the direction of the castle. Everyone turned to look.
Professor McGonagall was striding toward them. "Can you spare him for a few moments, Rolanda?" she said to Madam Hooch when she was near enough.
"Of course, Minerva. I’ll take your broom, Potter..."
"No, he’ll be needing it," said Professor McGonagall. "Come along, Potter." She set off along the wall of the castle. Harry followed, feeling a bit bemused. What would she need him to do that required a broom?
"Have you ever flown before?" she asked as they turned the corner.
"No, Professor."
Professor McGonagall let out a loud sigh. "Wonderful," she said, stopping. "All right, Potter, mount up."
Harry straddled his broom, wondering what this was all about. Professor McGonagall drew her wand and waved it in a small circle in the air. A sphere of glimmering gold, about the size of a golf ball, appeared there, and she caught it as it fell. "Do you think you can catch this?" she asked, holding it up.
Harry was trying hard not to let himself get too excited. "Yes, ma’am."
"Very well, then, do it." Professor McGonagall threw the ball high into the air.
For an older witch, she had a good arm, Harry registered as he kicked off. The ball was moving at a good clip, but even on this less than stellar broom, he knew he could get to it in plenty of time... closer... closer...
His hand closed around it about ten feet off the ground, and he returned to Professor McGonagall at that height, dropping it into her waiting palm.
"Again," she said briskly, and threw it more laterally this time, so that he had to fly faster to catch it before it hit the ground, but he still made it with five feet to spare.
"And once more." This time she threw it straight up, and Harry, feeling like showing off, flew into its path as it fell and let it carom off the stick of his broom before chasing after it and catching it.
"Was that intentional?" said Professor McGonagall sternly as he returned the ball to her and landed.
"Yes, Professor," said Harry meekly.
She shook her head. "Your father’s son all over. Well, Potter, do you know Oliver Wood? At least to look at him?"
Harry nodded — Fred and George had pointed out the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team within the first two days of school.
"Introduce yourself to him at some point as the Gryffindor team’s new Seeker, and ask him when practices begin."
Harry closed his mouth quickly and simply nodded.
"You have no broomstick of your own, I am sure, since that would be against the rules... but I have no doubt your godfather will be glad to, shall we say, donate a broom to the school with the intention that you use it during practices and games." She held out her hand, and Harry took it. "Congratulations, Potter. Your parents would have been proud."
She walked away, leaving Harry staring after her, hanging onto his broom for support.
"You lucky bastard!" exploded Ron in the Great Hall.
"That’s great, Harry!" enthused Neville.
"And I went and fell off in front of her," grumbled Ray. "She’ll never think I’m any good."
"She doesn’t make the decisions about it," said Harry, taking a big bite of shepherd’s pie. "Only in special cases, like this, because I’m a first year and not supposed to have a broom."
"But she’s going to get... your godfather to donate one, she said?" Ray asked.
"Yes, so it won’t be mine, but I can still ride it." Harry drained his goblet of pumpkin juice and refilled it.
"I wonder what kind you’ll get," said Ron. "Seekers need to be really fast. Maybe a Cleansweep Seven, they’re good."
"Or the new Nimbus, the Two Thousand," said Neville. "They’re fantastic, from what I hear."
Ray nodded. "I’d really like a Nimbus," he said. "Mother said maybe for my next birthday."
"When is your birthday?" asked Harry curiously.
"5 June. Yours?"
"31 July. How about everyone else?"
"1 March," said Ron. "I was early."
"30 July, right before you," said Neville. "Mum likes to tell stories about being in the same hospital room with your mum."
"And Zelda’s is 19 September," Ray finished, stroking Zelda’s head fondly.
"Hey, that’s coming up," said Harry. "We’ll have to have a party."
"That sounds like fun," said Ray. "Just the five of us. We’ll sneak down to the kitchens and cadge stuff out of the house-elves."
"You know where the kitchens are?" asked Ron in surprise.
Ray nodded. "Right down the same hall as the Hufflepuff common room, behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Tickle the pear, it giggles and turns into a door handle."
"Wow," said Neville, sounding deeply impressed. "How do you know so much about the castle, anyway?"
"My dad likes to know a lot about wherever he is. So he learned all about Hogwarts while he was here, and he taught me. Some of my favorite bedtime stories when I was little were about how to get places inside the castle."
Zelda’s birthday came and went, with the party in the kitchens being a great success, and October was on them before they knew it. Oliver Wood had been skeptical about Professor McGonagall’s decision to add a first year to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, until he saw Harry fly. "Practices are Monday, Thursday, and Saturday at seven," was all he’d said when Harry landed. "Don’t be late, and don’t skip."
One Thursday evening early in October, Ray yawned ostentatiously. "Blimey, I’m tired," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "I think I’ll turn in early. Don’t tromp around like a herd of erumpents when you come to bed, all right?"
"It’s not even seven o’clock," said Harry in surprise. "And you’re nowhere near done with the reading for Charms."
"I’ll finish it in bed, then. Come on, Zelda."
Zelda turned around three times and lay down at Harry’s feet.
"Fine, be that way," said Ray in mock-offense. "Good night, everyone."
"Good night," rippled around the small group as Ray ran up the stairs.
"He doesn’t look too tired right now," said Ron, dipping his quill. "Neville, what were those things we looked at in Herbology called again?"
"Which ones, the ones that scream or the ones that bite?"
Dear friends,
Irony is rampant in our world. My work suggests the last item I search for may be closer to you than it is to me. I have kept you up to date on the progress I make, so you will know what it is I seek. Any assistance you can render would be greatly appreciated.
‘Mithrandir’
He walked through the house as light-footed as any cat, moving surely and swiftly to his destination, where he knelt and unfastened the catch, avoiding all the traps set around it for the unwary. Unwary was something he could not afford to be.
Many items resided in the cache he uncovered, but he was interested in only one.
It’s wonderfully ridiculous, this. He thought it would be safe here. He thought it would be so safe, he felt free to brag about it. And now, thanks to a few kindnesses shown...
He lifted it out and summoned his accomplice, who quickly cleaned away all traces he might have left on the items in the cache, physical or magical. No one would be able to trace the theft of this object to him.
He closed the lid again and slipped out of the room, leaving his friend to finish the eradication of their tracks. There was one thing he needed to make sure of before he could go through with this.
She was lounging in a chair in the library, immersed in a book, but looked up at his approach. "You have it?"
He held it up. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, sitting down beside her. "You know you’ll be ill for at least a week. More likely two."
She gave him one of those looks that he sometimes told her she should patent. "You paid pretty heavily for a week or so after that night I needed mine, and I don’t recall hearing you complain. Why should you expect me to?"
He sighed. "I don’t. I just wanted to be sure."
She smiled. "Always trying to protect me. I think it’s why I love you."
"All right. Let’s get you back to our room before I do this."
"That sounds like a good idea."
"I’m glad you think so."
She squealed as he lifted her out of the chair and carried her down the hallway.
Returning to their room was a good idea for a number of reasons. The obvious, of course, but it would be quite bad for them if they were discovered elsewhere than where they ought to be. As well, it might expose one of their allies, and that would never do.
It made them laugh, sometimes, to think of how different the household’s true structure was from the one that outsiders perceived.
Ray sat up straight for a second, then got up and went to get parchment and quill.
"What are you doing?" asked Harry.
"I just had an idea," said Ray absently. "I want to write it down before it gets away... There, done." He blew on the ink to dry it. "’Scuse me, everyone, I need to run upstairs for a minute." He folded the parchment, scribbled two words on the outside of it, and slipped out of the door, closing it carefully behind himself.
"Where’s he going?" asked Ron. "What’s upstairs from here?"
"Not much," said Harry, thinking about the castle. "Only a few of the towers are taller than this, and there’s not many classrooms up this high..."
"There’s the Owlery," said Neville. "That looked like a letter."
Harry shrugged. "None of our business anyway."
Dear sir,
Mission accomplished. The item is now ashes. Congratulations on completing your quest. Please take good care of ‘Arthur’ and ‘Ralph.’
Your friends in low places