Meet the Malfoys

Draco spent over a week in the hospital wing, much to his annoyance. The news of the attack had spread throughout the entire school, largely thanks to Pansy and her gaggle of girls, who were busy vilifying Potter at every opportunity. His bedside table was cluttered with flowers and cards from his Slytherin friends, while younger girls from the third and fourth years had sent monogrammed handkerchiefs, handwritten letters, and romantic poems, all eager to express their sympathy for the newly single wizard lying cursed in the hospital wing. Trust witches to fawn over a wizard in a sick bed! 

While Draco basked in the attention, but other morbid thoughts occupied his mind. 

Madam Pomfrey had prescribed him a sleeping potion every night for the past week, and it had done wonders for his health. The dark circles under his eyes had vanished, and with the mild strengthening potion he was taking, color had returned to his cheeks. Pansy visited him frequently—more often than he would have liked. To avoid her incessant fussing, he often pretended to be asleep when she entered the room. During this time, he received three letters from his mother, each written in code and filled with vague hints about the possibilities of their escape.

He used his time in the hospital wing to gather his thoughts and devise an escape plan. Perhaps they could flee to Turkey or Australia—places far enough away and obscure enough for the Malfoys to remain hidden. They didn’t have estates or properties there, but they could easily purchase one and lie low during the war. The challenge, however, was that the Black and Malfoy families were well-known in the wizarding world, making it difficult to go unnoticed. Bellatrix was familiar with nearly every estate they owned, and with the Dark Lord poised to take over the Ministry, finding any property linked to them would be all too easy. No wards, no matter how powerful, could fully protect them from the Dark Lord’s relentless pursuit of traitors. The thought of being hunted by him and the Death Eaters in the European countryside kept him awake most nights.

Maybe changing their identities would work, he mused, recalling the vat of Polyjuice Potion he had stolen from Slughorn. But no one knew how long the war would last, and sourcing ingredients while on the run would be nearly impossible. Glamours could be easily broken by a powerful wizard, making Polyjuice the better option, though it came with its own complications and constraints. Then there was the threat of retribution; if the Order won, the Malfoys could face a lifetime in Azkaban—or worse. They couldn’t afford to antagonize either side, as that would ensure their persecution regardless of who emerged victorious in the war.

Draco always knew Potter was Dumbledore’s favorite, but to walk away from using a dark curse on a fellow student (which almost killed him) with a meagre detention was proof enough for Draco that even if he chose to side with Dumbledore his life would not matter much. He thought of other Order of Phoenix members who could possibly help. But that thought was squashed instantly in his head. He scoffed, at his own naivety.

When Madam Pomfrey took out the bandages, he examined the damage in a tall mirror. The scar ran from one end of his shoulder blade to the opposite hip. The skin was pink and tender, he winced when he lightly touched it. He had always tormented Potter for his ugly scar, now he had one too- bigger and uglier. The matron brought back his school robes from the night of the attack, and handed them over with his other personal items.

“Your recovery will be slow. The scar will remain unfortunately, it will fade over time though. Professor Snape did a good job to contain the curse. You would need to take these potions after your meals for three more days. Meet me after three days to review your progress” said Madam Pomfrey and handed him vials of potions to take back with him. He nodded in her direction, and made an exit through the large double doors of the hospital.

*******

The next day, Draco received a letter from his mother, written in a series of unfamiliar runes. A smile crept across his face as he quickly retrieved her textbook to translate the message. Inside, Narcissa had included a list of known Order members, with some names marked as ‘unknown’ or ‘most likely.’ As he scanned the list, a frown settled on his brow. If he wanted his father to agree to any plan, he needed to enlist the help of a pureblood wizard; there was no chance his father would consider collaborating with a blood traitor—or, Merlin forbid, a mudblood.

Determined, he swiftly penned two letters, sending them off by owl with requests for meetings. He sealed each letter with the Malfoy signet ring, a symbol of authority he now possessed in his father’s absence. He knew that members of old pureblood families would recognize the significance of the signature and understand that their safety would be assured at any meeting.

Draco had taken permission to leave school grounds to visit St. Mungo’s for a Healer appointment for his injury, the school had to oblige lest the news of the Chosen One trying to murder the Malfoy heir got out. Draco arrived through floo at St. Mungo’s lobby and spotted his mother who was already at the reception. The reception area was crowded with rows of witches and wizards sitting upon rickety chairs, looking perfectly normal, reading the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. One man was coughing violently at the back, with flames of fire erupting from his mouth every time he coughed, his companion was lazily conjuring a jet stream of water to extinguish the flames.

“Hello sweetheart, are you well? I have already set up an appointment with Healer Derwent. Let’s get out of this place before we catch something.” Narcissa sneered in the direction of the odd assortment of people at the reception. They followed the attendant through the double doors and along the narrow corridors beyond, which were lined with portraits of famous Healers and lit by floating crystal balls full of light. They took a large golden elevator to the fourth floor, which had SPELL DAMAGE written in bold purple letters at the entrance.

Healer Derwent was a short, plump wizard clad in lime green robes adorned with an embroidered emblem of a wand and a bone. He met them outside his chambers and ushered them in. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Lady Malfoy, and your son. How may I assist you today?” he squeaked, his voice high-pitched yet eager. Draco felt a sense of satisfaction that the Malfoy name still commanded respect, even under the current circumstances.

Narcissa spared no detail in explaining their situation to the healer, carefully omitting the identity of Draco’s attacker. He examined the scars meticulously, peppering Draco with questions about the spell and his treatment thus far. After a thorough assessment, he delivered the same conclusion as Madam Pomfrey: the damage from the spell had been contained, with no long-lasting effects expected, though the scar would likely remain—there was no possibility of healing it completely. Knowing better than to suggest any Muggle treatments to the Malfoys, he recommended using glamours if they deemed it necessary.

Both mother and son left the chambers visibly displeased, exchanging curt nods with the healer as they exited.

“How dare he suggest glamours as a possible course of recovery? After donating millions of galleons to this hospital, all we get is this. We will visit St. Florent's in France at the end of the year and seek advice from an expert healer there, this place has fallen in its standards” complained Narcissa. Draco simply nodded and then stepped into the emerald flames with his mother to proceed to Diagon Alley.

The visit to Gringotts proved successful; they were led to the private chambers at the back, reserved for old families with substantial vaults and deposits. The goblin in charge asked a series of questions regarding the need to grant an underage wizard access to the main family vaults. Aware of his father’s imprisonment, they refrained from prying further. The Malfoys were an ancient wizarding family, one of the wealthiest in Britain, and their longstanding patronage to Gringotts was well-known. The goblins remained neutral in the war, not judging the Malfoys in the same light as other wizards did.

After finishing their business, Draco kissed his mother goodbye, and she apparated back to the manor from the bank steps. He then made his way to the public floo fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. Hurrying down the street, he glanced over his shoulder as he approached the apothecary, then quickly turned into Knockturn Alley, taking care to avoid any unwanted attention. He slipped into a windowless pub, almost concealed at the end of the street. 

The Crooked Wand was a small, dingy pub tucked away in Knockturn Alley, its darkened interior filled with the scent of stale ale and secrets. With two floors of shabby rooms, it attracted all sorts of wizarding folk, and Draco had paid the pub owner enough galleons to ensure the place was emptied and closed for the evening. He had no intention of risking exposure or being overheard.

The first-floor room featured peeling peach wallpaper, a rickety chair, and a bare-thread bed huddled in one corner. The air was thick with the unpleasant smell of boiled cabbage, and Draco couldn't hide his disgust. He steeled himself against the unclean surroundings, focusing his mind as he prepared for the upcoming meeting.

A faint knock echoed through the room, and Draco cautiously opened the door to find Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there. The tall, bald black wizard, had a gold hoop earring and was clad in dark green robes topped with a distinctive cap, he entered the room with purpose. He handed Draco the letter he had received, countersigned with the Shacklebolt signet. Draco verified its authenticity before gesturing for the wizard to take a seat.

“I don’t have much time, so I will avoid the pleasantries and arrive straight to the matter of concern. Recently, I was made aware that you might be with the side fighting against the Dark Lord. I have a proposition for you,” said Draco.

“If you think you can offer me gold and turn me to the Dark side, you are mistaken young Malfoy and you are wasting my time.” Kingsley scoffed. He had accepted the meeting out of curiosity, but the boy was a fool to believe that he would switch sides.

“The Dark Lord wouldn’t send a schoolboy to recruit a formidable wizard such as yourself. I am here to seek your help instead.” Draco knew that flattery got you a long way in a negotiation.

“My help? And what makes you think I am keen to help Lucius’s son when the Malfoys have always antagonized my family. I haven’t forgotten what happened in the last war” said Shacklebolt.

“Any help given will be compensated for,” said Draco. Kingsley let out a shallow laugh but Draco continued “We want to escape this war. The Malfoys are no longer keen to support the Dark Lord and his plans. We wish to leave the country and seek your protection” Kingsley stilled at this confession.

“Why me? Why not reach out to Dumbledore? Why not go do it on your own, your vaults are overflowing with galleons, and I am sure your family has enough private residences around the world.”

“Dumbledore? Did you know Potter sliced me open in a school bathroom?” Draco exclaimed, pulling back his robes to reveal the healing scars on his chest. Kingsley’s eyebrows shot up beneath his embroidered cap, his expression a mix of surprise and concern.

“Dumbledore has no love for my family,” Draco continued, his voice laced with bitterness. “And even if I were to take matters into my own hands, it doesn’t guarantee that Potter won’t come after me again. I need protection, not just from the Dark Lord, but from Potter too.”

“And this protection you speak of—will it extend to your mother and father as well?” Shacklebolt asked, his tone measured but probing. Draco had anticipated this question; it was the one he had dreaded the most.

“Yes, I understand my father is at Azkaban at the present moment and if his extraction is complex, I am ready to comprise on his inclusion.” Kingsley raised an eyebrow at this comment but did not say anything to contradict. Draco was careful to not give any hint of the Azkaban break out that was underway.

“What I seek is that you move us to a safehouse, most preferably outside the country. No one in the Order should know of this arrangement. If the time comes, that there is a bounty on our heads, you manage the situation at your best with your contacts in the Ministry and the Order,” said Draco.

“Why should I do this? It is a huge risk to harbor Death Eaters, Salazar not just any Death Eaters but Lucius Malfoy who attacked the Ministry and has been a You-know-who supporter for years. To hide a Death Eater and his family on the run is a huge risk which I am unwilling to take,” said Kingsley. He stood up and went to peer outside the window. The window was charmed to show a shopping alley scenery, since the hotel was in a dirtier part of town.

“With the Malfoy support withdrawn, it will put a considerable dent in the Dark Lord’s plan. Financially for sure, but also with our family contacts in the Ministry, it will delay his plans for the Ministry for at least couple of years.

“What do I get in return for the considerable risk I would be taking on your behalf” replied Shacklebolt. Let me see your cards, young Malfoy he thought.

Draco smirked, now we were talking, he thought. “The Malfoy vaults will be available for use for Order missions” This however did not convince the tall, dark wizard. “My father has information about the Dark Lord’s future plans, we will provide information we know so far including plans for Muggle-born Registration Act and Hogwarts.” Kingsley shifted in his seat with the offered suggestion but did not oblige. Draco was losing time, he had to return to Hogwarts soon to avoid suspicion.

“Minister of Magic” offered Draco. This was his last bet and he did not miss the slight gleam that Shacklebolt eyes betrayed. Draco pushed; he knew he had his fellow Slytherin interested. “When all this war is over, I am sure you will want to work to rebuild the Wizarding World. Who better to lead this effort that you? A minister needs money, sway at the Wizengamot, and contacts in different departments to succeed. My father will ensure all that and more. “

Kingsley Shacklebolt sighed and got up from his seat. He stood in silence for few minutes then slowly walked towards Draco. He offered his hand and replied, “I will see what I can do.” the wizards shook hands and with that Shacklebolt exited the room leaving the blond boy with more uncertainty than before. He wasn’t sure if the meeting was a success, but he hoped that it concluded in favor of the Malfoys.

Draco took few deep breaths, and dropped his occlumency shields. He was shaking now, with sweat glistening on his neck. At least Shacklebolt was not averse to adding his father to the deal and was not interested in turning Draco into a spy for the Order. One could always rely on the self-serving nature of Slytherins to make sensible decisions for mutual benefit without the virtue signaling. He now hoped, the older wizard would reach out in a few days with more details.

Draco waited anxiously for another half hour, hoping his second correspondent would arrive. His mother had mentioned a falling out with her sister long ago, and his grandfather had blasted her name from the family tapestry for marrying a Muggle-born. When it became clear that no one else would show, he made a hasty exit from the foul-smelling room.

With a flicker of a plan forming in his mind and a sliver of hope that something would come together with Shacklebolt, he took the floo out of the pub. Before leaving, he didn’t forget to drop a bag of galleons on the grimy counter, warning the pub owner of a possible visit from Greyback if any word got out.

His arrival at Hogwarts went unnoticed, and he slipped into the Slytherin common room, ready to retreat for the evening.