The Malfoy Project

𝟐𝟗 - 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

     A blanket of grey hangs over the Manor as if the gods have marked it for death while the rest of Britain shone in the winter sun. The succulent gardens have been reduced to tired weeds and cowering buds of winter blooms, and the stone fountains no longer run.

     I'm walking on damned soil.

     The unforgiving wind bites and chews the exposed flesh of my cheeks as I trudge up the leaf-strewn driveway. I pinch the flaps of my coat tighter, pondering my sheer audacity of having brought along my recorder today.

     Narcissa meets me at the door, dressed in the Malfoys' permanent shade of mourning. Her sun-spun hair seems to glow in the absence of any surrounding light. My tongue wrestles an embarrassed greeting and she steps back silently to let me in.

     After taking my coat and scarf, she leads me to the drawing room where a sombre Lucius waits against the empty fireplace, an elbow resting nonchalantly on the cold marble mantle. He straightens at my arrival and together, in perfect synchronisation, the couple takes their place in the grand Victorian sofas across me.

     We look at each other, taking a quick gander at how the other has changed since the last time we'd met. It's deathly silent. Outside, the wind beats against the windows in a furious rage but I cannot see past the heavy velvets that swath the frames. I feel my throat expanding and contracting against the ribbon with each nervous swallow.

     "Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, I—"

     "Gabriella—"

     We stop, look at each other again, waiting for someone to continue speaking. Lucius, ever impatient to superintend, takes the lead. "Gabriella," he says. "We're incredibly grateful that you're here. We were," — he glances at Narcissa — "not sure if this was the right thing to do, to call you back so soon after the... events that have transpired in the last week. As you may already know, I'm awaiting trial with the Wizengamot. I've just gotten word that it will take place some time next Spring. So, we were hoping to get it done and over with before that."

     I stare at him blankly, trying to digest his words. Narcissa jumps in. "What my husband is trying to say is that we'd like for you to continue the interviews with us. But before that, we'd just like to know what you think."

     "What I think?" I parrot idiotically. "Well, I— um— this is—" my mind scrambles for the words but the only thing that surfaces is a dull, piercing cranial ache. Narcissa lays her hands on her laps and Lucius leans back. They wait for me to speak. I force myself to get a grip.

     "Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, I can't even begin to tell you how deeply sorry I am for this whole situation. The things that were published in the Prophet were told to me by Draco in confidence and should not have been made public like that. I won't make any excuses for myself and accept full responsibility for what has happened, but I'd also like you to know that I never gave Rita those tapes. I didn't write a single word of it down in my transcripts. I would never in my life dream of putting you or Draco in the spotlight like that." I take a breath, expecting them to vehemently disagree like everyone else has, but they only wait.

     "But all the same, the tapes were mine and I didn't take enough precautions to make sure they were safe. I would never wish to betray your trust like this, but I know I have. And I don't have anything to offer you except that I truly am so terribly sorry." I close my sweaty palms over themselves, kneading my skin in nervousness as I wait for their reaction.

     A small smile plays on Narcissa's lips. Lucius pushes himself back up. "We know it wasn't you who'd given the tapes to that woman. We knew that from the very start. Please," he gestures to the tea. I hastily pick up my cup and sip.

     "You see," he goes on, "when I was much younger, I didn't know the difference between good and evil, because to me, they were one and the same. That was the difference between my wife and I. But after spending nearly twenty years with The Dark Lord, you learn to spot the little nuances... between confidence and narcissism, ambition and greed, lust... and love. You are in House Hufflepuff, yes?"

     I nod. "Ah, yes, the Houses," he chuckles to himself. "There's a certain merit to being in the most useless of them all, and that is a confirmation of a sort of... incorrigible purity of heart. You can be clever, brave, or insatiably ambitious, but if one isn't careful, it is easy to... slip off the tracks. But I can say with great certainty Hufflepuffs aren't capable of the resolve and foolhardiness required to attempt anything that pushes the boundaries of sincerity. It's quite admirable, really, if a little childish."

     He picks up the teapot and tips it into his empty cup serenely. Narcissa steps in before I can react. "It is that which brings you back here again despite everything, is it not?"

     "Yes," I squeak, not following, and she nods as if she already knows she's right. "But what would you like me to do with the tapes?" I ask. "When I'm done with everything?"

     "Whatever you want," says Lucius. "Hide them, forget about them, toss them out the window." A teasing glint in his eyes tells me he's jesting, and then more seriously: "You could write a book."

     My lungs deflate. Thoughts tumble about in my head. A book? How on earth does one go about writing a book? And a biography no less. Which publisher would take it? Will people read it? Will they hate me? They won't if I use a pen name or ghostwrite. Ghostwrite? Who would help me?

     "Will we do an interview today?" Narcissa's question calls me back to reality.

     "Oh! Yes. I believe it's your turn where we last left off, Mrs. Malfoy."

     "Lucius, check on Draco, will you?" says Narcissa as her husband stands. "Here, take these for him."She picks out two scones and fills her empty cup. Lucius scoffs lightly, "he doesn't want all that."

     "Just take it to him. He hasn't eaten all day."

     He scoffs again, but takes the tray reluctantly and hobbles out the door. Narcissa swivels back to me. "Sorry," she says, sounding somewhat embarrassed. "Draco's been rather... difficult lately."

     "Difficult?"

     "They interrogated him, the Ministry. Forced him to revisit some rather... dark times. They extracted his memories for their court Pensieve."

     "Oh. Is he alright? Perhaps I could speak with him."

     Narcissa shakes her head. "He said he doesn't want to do the interviews anymore. He simply won't. I don't know how to make him listen, but forcing him will only push him further away." Her crystal blue eyes are glassy as she turns to me. "I don't want to lose my only son."

     "No, you're right," I wave my silly suggestion away. "Your family needs each other more than ever." I feel empty and hollow, like someone had taken a giant spoon and scooped out my insides. The thought of never being able to sit down with Draco again jabs at my chest and takes my breath faster than Monty had.

     Monty. I refuse to think of him now. I retrieve the recorder from my bag, wind up new tapes, plug in the microphone, and spin it to face Narcissa.

    "Whenever you're ready, Mrs. Malfoy."