[Fic] Lorelei in the Menagerie: Chapter I
For hd_fan_fair.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (2/5)
Author: Belladonna
Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: R for mentions of torture, miscarriage and cannibalism, but nothing graphic.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Summary: "I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.
A/N: Special thanks to josephinestone for being my beta.
Lorelei in the Menagerie
by Belladonna
Chapter I: Prenatal Lullaby
The Malfoy Manor had lost some of its splendour during Draco's year-long travel. Hedges grew wild and spread their many limbs outward to seize more territory. The smell of withered flowers and dead leaves choked the air. The rain further brought out the dilapidated state of the garden. Not pausing to examine the garden further, Harry ran with Draco down the long driveway and into the house.
The interior of the mansion was as cold and gloomy as Harry remembered. When unpleasant memories threatened to creep up on him, he shook himself free of their clutch and followed Draco further into the house. Echoes of their footsteps shattered the hollow silence; portraits scrutinised them with those same grey eyes that the current family head had inherited. A spider crawled across one of the doors as though standing guard over the treasure hidden within.
Harry turned away from the spider and stared at Draco's back. "Have you asked the portraits if they knew what's going on?"
"I did, but they wouldn't talk to me." Draco took out his wand and cleared away the cobweb in the corner. "Sorry about the mess. I just got back several days ago, and I didn't have time to tidy up."
Several years ago, Draco's parents moved to a country where their infamy would not pursue them. After his divorce with Astoria, Draco was the sole occupant of Malfoy Manor. In truth, the estate was too large for a single wizard to maintain by himself.
"If you want, I can ask Kreacher if he wanted to help out in the manor for a few days."
"I'll think about it." Draco stopped in front of a pair of double doors, which slid open without a sound. "There's something I want to show you."
Behind the doors was a beautiful private library. Interspersed between mahogany bookshelves were arched windows that looked out to the garden in the rain. A fireplace adorned with a marble mantelpiece served as the main attraction in the reading area. Rows of shelves extended to the other end of the library, where a cast iron spiral staircase led to the upper level. A large fresco across the ceiling depicted various mythological scenes taking place under the opalescent sky.
Stacks of books were piled onto every table and chair; more ended up on the floor. His curiosity perked, Harry opened one of the books on the table and watched a wizard transfigure a young woman into a laurel tree. "You've been studying hard."
"It wasn't me." There was no amusement in Draco's voice. "It was like this by the time I came back to England several days ago. I don't know who or what it was, but it's impossible for an intruder to break into the manor while I was away. There are many spells protecting this place."
"Maybe your parents came back while you were away, and they wanted to look up something? Or maybe you forgot to put the books away before you went on your trip?"
Draco cast Harry a cool glance. "My memory isn't so bad that I couldn't remember taking out several hundred books to set up a barricade. I've sent my parents an owl, though they haven't replied yet. Come on." He led the way down the aisle to the far end of the library.
Standing in front of the spiral staircase, Draco whispered, "Tabula rasa." For a moment, nothing happened. When they climbed the stairs to the upper level, however, a new passageway had appeared between two sets of shelves, leading into further darkness. After conjuring a lantern to his aid, Draco stepped into the gaping hole; Harry trailed after him in silence.
The air in the stone passageway was as stagnant as a pool of stale water. While Harry listened to his and Draco's footfalls, he thought about what Draco had told him so far. Although it was not unusual for an old house such as Malfoy Manor to be haunted by a dark creature or two, what disturbed him most of all was Draco's claim that his son was haunting the manor: a dead foetus could not become a ghost.
"What makes you think it's your son's doing? It could be something else."
"Maybe." Draco stopped and turned around, his face betraying a hint of vulnerability. "The voice in my head keeps singing the same song that only someone from the Malfoy family would know. It's a song we sing to our heir when he's in his mother's womb. My father sang to me a long time ago, and I sang to my unborn son." A shadow passed across his countenance. "Do you think I've gone mad?"
Harry was about to disagree when he changed his mind. What Draco needed right now was his genuine opinion, not baseless reassurance. "I don't know. But a ghost can't pull out all those books."
A moment later, Harry and Draco arrived at a chamber that might have once been an alchemist's workshop. Dust had settled on every surface in the room like moss, though there were signs of recent disturbance. Several books lay about on the shelves; jars and bottles with half-peeled labels filled the cabinet; beakers and cylinders were attached to a complex network of gadgets and tubes on the table. In the corner, a staircase spiralled upwards to the upper floor.
"This was my grandfather's workshop before he passed away. I suppose you can say he dabbled in things: potions, alchemy, politics, finance. No one uses this room anymore though." Draco climbed the stairs. "Yesterday morning, I woke up on the upper floor and discovered something."
After hanging the lantern to the hook nailed to the wall, Draco stepped aside for Harry to look around. The room was bare except for the object standing in the middle of the room. A full length mirror with a tarnished brass frame dominated the space like a despondent queen in her prison, and the twin brass snakes that adorned the top of the frame was like a crown she wore.
When Harry took a closer look, he realised it was not a mirror at all, for it did not show a reflection of him or Draco. Inside the frame was a bare room that could be mistaken for an extension of the chamber they were in. An empty trunk lay open on the floor and taunted them with the prospect of a secret it once kept. Bemused, Harry reached for the trunk; his fingers met cold glass.
"It's probably a portal, but I haven't found a way to get inside yet." Draco joined Harry in front of the framed glass. "I hadn't been in this room since I went to Hogwarts, and I was sure there was nothing in here back then. I don't recall seeing this thing anywhere in the manor before either."
"Does your father know about this?" Harry looked behind the frame, but there was nothing there. He touched the glass again, feeling for seams or cracks that could guide him through the barrier.
"I wrote about it in the letter." Crossing his arms, Draco fixed a sullen gaze at the trunk inside the glass. "Perhaps it's not related to what's happening at all."
"But you think there's something inside the trunk. Either someone came and took something out, or the thing inside managed to escape by itself." Harry frowned. Even someone as prone to wild fancy as he was found the idea far-fetched.
"I don't know. Like I said, maybe it's nothing." Hesitation lingered on Draco's visage before desperation seeped through his armour. "I want to know what's going on, but I need you to be my eyes and ears. Will you stay in the manor tonight?"
Staring into Draco's eyes that seemed clouded with disquietude, Harry nodded.
* * * * * * *
The rain continued to fall, but the boy did not feel cold. Wandering in the woods by himself, he sang his favourite song. Every tree looked the same to him, but he had no trouble navigating in the woods: the forest was his playground. Like a ghost he moved amongst the trees, gliding behind the trunk and gliding out again in a one-man game of hide-and-seek. As the sound of rain filled his ear, hunger dominated his consciousness.
There was no sign of living animal in the forest; there rarely was. Food was hard to come by, particularly the kind of food he craved, but once he had eaten, the gnawing pain inside him would subside for some time. The village on the other side of the forest had food aplenty, but he had learnt that he must be cautious lest he be seen. If he were caught, he would be eaten.
Coming upon a clearing, he looked up at the pale sky. When rain drops fell onto his face, he blinked. Nightfall would not come for some time. Disappointed, he drifted away from the clearing and began to sing. No one came to him-not yet. The person he loved most in the world never answered his summon during daytime; therefore, he prayed for night to arrive soon. For now, however, he must eat.
* * * * * * *
Every lamp in the library was lit, but the light could not chase away the night that was lurking in corners and alcoves. With a stack of books floating behind him, Draco tried to put each book back to its proper place. It was a tedious task, but he pressed on without complaint.
Once Draco was done with one of the books, he took the next book from the pile and moved on to the next aisle. When he flipped through the book, he realised it was one of those psychology books Astoria was fond of; the title had led him to believe it was a book on Legilimency. As he stared at the abstract art on the cover, he remembered Astoria once asked if a foetus had dreams while it was inside the mother's womb.
"Need any help?"
Looking up, Draco found Harry leaning against the shelf, watching him with a look he could not decipher. Once he had recovered his wits, he banished the book back to the table. "You won't be of much help unless you are a librarian or your name is Hermione Granger."
Harry smiled in the same bashful way Draco remembered from their shared past. "Try me."
"If you insist." With a flick of his wand, Draco sent several books flying towards Harry, who scrambled around to collect them before they hit the floor. "These books belong to the section over there." He waved a hand at the other end of the shelf. "They are in alphabetical order, or you can stuff them in any empty space you can find."
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of organising the books in the first place?" Harry took his pile of books to the other end of the aisle and got to work. "Is there any information in here that can tell us more about the portal?"
"I doubt it. Besides, it'll take weeks to look through every book in the library. I tried the diaries and letters left behind by my father and my grandfather, but I couldn't find anything."
When Harry said nothing in response, Draco became quiet as well. For some time, they sorted through the books in companionable silence. At length, as though unable to keep quiet anymore, Harry asked, "What does the song you were talking about sound like?"
After taking a deep breath, Draco opened his mouth and began to sing. Even though he had not sung the song since Astoria's miscarriage, he had no trouble recalling the melody or the words. The song had been playing on and off inside his head like a curse, a mockery of all mockeries.
Draco was aware of Harry's gaze, but he did not turn around to look. Echoes of ghosts filled his mind, connecting him to those who came before him and those who will come after him. Once more he saw the dead foetus curled up inside the urn-his child sleeping for eternity in the ceramic womb.
"The Hatter doesn't taste good at all. I thought we could have a mad tea party. I want to see you soon..."
"I should prepare some food for you. Would bread and cold meats be all right? I can heat up some soup as well." Abandoning his task, Draco took the stack of books back to the reading area and headed for the door. Before Harry could say anything, he added, "I'll be fine on my own."
Alone in the library, Harry tightened his lips and carried the books to the table. It was unusual for Draco to make such an abrupt shift from one topic to the next; the song must have touched a wound. Even though Harry did not understand the lyrics, the wistful melody and the softness of Draco's voice told him everything he needed to know.
* * * * * * *
After a simple dinner and a fruitless search in the manor, Harry set up a ward in Draco's room. If anything were to enter or exit the room, whether through the door or the window or the walls, he would be alerted. Before Draco retired for the night, he looked as though he wanted to say something to Harry; in the end, he smiled a bitter smile and said good night.
The door clicked shut, and Harry, raising his wand, cast the final spell on the door. Satisfied with his work, he went to the room next door, sat down by the door and settled in for a long night of surveillance.
Behind closed door, Draco, lying on the bed in the dark, was lost in reminiscence. The reunion with his old classmate had stirred up too many skeletons and ghosts from his past. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and let his memories swallow him whole.
Dead leaves scattered like ashes around the willowy Astoria on the day Draco proposed to her. The sprig of lavender trembled in her hand after they found out she was pregnant. The whiteness of the sheet burnt his eyes on the day Astoria woke up in the hospital after the hellish ordeal. Astoria's hazel eyes glistened in the twilight when she told him to be happy and to let her go.
The scene changed. Guilt coloured Harry's face on the day Astoria was taken by the serial killer the Aurors had been trying to capture. Anguish flickered in Harry's eyes on the night he demanded to know if Draco had killed the dark wizard. Wistfulness marred Harry's smile when Draco told him he would be leaving England soon.
When Draco found himself standing in front of an empty picture frame, he realised he was no longer remembering: he was dreaming. Within the picture frame was a tiny figure with blond hair and grey eyes, clad in the tailored jacket and shorts Draco once wore for a family portrait when he was little. The child was singing the lullaby every Malfoy knew by heart-praying, yearning, and calling for the father who will watch over him. His unborn son, his dead son. As the child reached out for him, Draco reached out for the child like a reflection.
* * * * * * *
Before Harry heard the sound of the doorknob being turned, he felt the invisible string coiling around his finger tighten-a sign that the ward had opened up. Cloaking himself beneath the Disillusionment Charm, he peeked out the door and saw a dark shape walk out of Draco's room. Silent as a hunter on the prowl, he followed Draco into the dimly lit corridor-left, right, down, forward and out the front door.
There was nothing but darkness and rain beneath the hazy red sky; silhouettes of trees and plants swayed against the wind. Like a man in a trance Draco walked barefoot to the front gates of the manor, as though unaware of the rain beating down on him. As Harry trailed after him, a string of music, lurking beneath the murmur of rain, trickled into his ear. At first, he thought Draco was singing; in the next beat, he realised the voice was more shrill than Draco's. It was a child's voice.
Beyond the gates stood a tiny figure about the height of a primary school child. While Harry wondered what a child was doing in a place that was sealed off from Muggles, Draco opened the gates, conjured a cloak out of thin air, secured it around the figure, and carried the whole bundle back to the house. At least one mystery was solved, Harry thought as he walked behind Draco up the steps.
Without bothering to turn on the lamp, Draco took his charge into the bathroom and closed the door. The sound of running water went on for a while before splashing sound reached Harry's ear. Not wishing to be discovered by whatever Draco had taken into the manor, Harry waited outside and listened. It was a strange experience; what Draco was doing seemed to be no more than that of a caring father taking his child to the bath after the child got drenched in the rain.
Some time later, the sound of water stopped, and the door swung open. Draco appeared to be carrying something into the bedroom. After putting his burden on the bed, he rummaged in the wardrobe for a while and returned to the bed with a piece of clothing. As Harry watched Draco help the child get dressed, he began to wonder-foolish as his rationality believed-if the child was indeed Draco's son. Even if the child Astoria bore had survived, he would be no more than a year old. Unless Draco had a child in an earlier relationship...
Pulling the cover over the child, Draco sat on the bed and ran his hand over the child's head, murmuring words Harry could not hear. Just when he thought the child was asleep, the child said in a voice resembling that of a boy, "You won't sing anymore?" Draco did not reply.
Harry lost track of time as he observed the surreal scene between a father and a child. At length, Draco stretched himself on the bed and moved no more; it appeared both he and the boy were at last asleep. Mindful not to wake them, Harry crept to the bedside and lit his wand, illuminating two sleeping faces that were as dissimilar to each other as can be.
Dark feral eyes snapped open and glared at Harry. Startled out of his wits, Harry took a step back, his mouth moving of its own accord to pronounce the first syllable of a name. At the same time, the child bared his sharp teeth like an animal and hissed.
Harry woke with a start. While he stared at the canopy, he touched his throat. To his relief, he felt neither blood nor pain. As soon as his tension evaporated, disorientation took hold of him. Unable to remember where he was, he sat up on the bed and examined his surroundings.
A wardrobe of classical design stood against one wall. A small table and a comfortable looking armchair made up the tea area by the window. The bed itself was a study of fine craftsmanship from the Victorian era. Both the velvet curtains and the shimmering bedspread were of the highest quality. In the pale morning light, the combination of mahogany furniture, dark velvet and grey damask wallpaper had transformed the room of tasteful antiquity into a solemn affair.
Remembering he was in Malfoy Manor, Harry shot out of bed, ran to Draco's room and pounded on the door. When no one answered, he let himself in; no one was in the room. A towel was left on the floor, reminding him that what he had witnessed last night was not a dream. He had seen the mysterious little guest Draco had invited into the manor, yet somehow he could not recall the boy's face.
Swallowing his panic, he ran down the corridor, drew out his wand and muttered, "Homenum Revelio." The tail of the net he had cast across the manor tugged at him, pulling him towards the inner garden at the back of the house.
Once upon a time, the inner garden would have been a sanctuary for the weary, but what remained now was a hybrid of wilderness and order. The outline of the planting could still be glimpsed in the flower beds; however, wilted plants and yellow grass gave the place a forlorn look like a childhood memory defiled by decay and death.
Kneeling in front of a flower bed was Draco, whose hair and clothes were dampened by morning dew. Glad to have found the man, Harry walked closer and soon noticed something was wrong. A hole had been dug in the flower bed; poppies were plucked out of their soil and scattered about like funeral flowers. A ceramic urn caked with mud was broken into several pieces, its inside empty. Draco was running his bloodied thumb over the jagged edge of a fragment, as though searching in desperation for clues that were not there.
With a vacant look Draco stared at Harry, his face grey and his eyes dead, a hollow shell that seemed ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. Harry had seen Draco like this before, and yet he could do nothing for him, not even offer words of comfort. Suppressing the urge to take the man in his arms, Harry crouched beside Draco and called his name.
A gleam of recognition appeared in Draco's eyes. Chapped lips moved for several beats before a raspy voice came out. "Tell me everything."
* * * * * * *
Half an hour later, Harry and Draco congregated in the kitchen for breakfast: tea and toasts with butter or jam. For a kitchen equipped to serve up a banquet, the only appliances that had seen some use were the stove and the oven. "I can boil you an egg if you want," Draco offered, but Harry shook his head.
Over a pot of Earl Grey tea, Harry told Draco what happened last night. Doubt, bemusement and indignation passed across Draco's face in quick succession. "From what you've said, it looked like I was placed under the Imperius Curse by a child?"
"Probably. Assuming you weren't sleepwalking, that is. He was waiting by the gates as if he knew you would come down. After that, when I tried to see his face, something happened. I was off guard. The next thing I remember was waking up next door in the morning." Harry drank some tea to wet his lips. "He might look like a human child, but there's something strange about him."
Raising an eyebrow, Draco poured himself another cup of tea. Although he appeared to have recovered his composure, Harry suspected he was not as calm as he seemed. "He could be a shapeshifter with the ability to control minds, or a witch or wizard disguised as a child. Maybe someone used him as a bait to get inside the manor."
"I don't know." Wild dark eyes and beast-like fangs sprang out at Harry from the depth of his memory. Even though a fire was burning in the stove, he felt a chill inside him. The boy had reminded him of a half-forgotten nightmare from a long time ago, a nightmare he thought he could never wake from. "You don't remember anything at all?"
Draco stared at the cup as though considering how best to answer the question. "What you said I did? No. I did hear someone sing in my dream, but it might just be in my head." Deep in thoughts, he raised the cup to his lips. "You won't sing anymore. Was that what he said?"
"Yes, but I don't know what that means. I assume he's talking about the song you sang yesterday. Is there any significance to the song? A secret code of some kind?"
"Outside of family tradition and sentiment, it doesn't have any meaning. It's not a cipher or a secret message. If that were the case, someone in the family would have deciphered it a long time ago." Draco's expression darkened in anger. "How did he know the song?"
"He heard it from you?" When Draco frowned at him in incredulity, Harry defended his claim. "I'm serious. It's the most logical explanation. Or maybe he used Legilimency on you."
Draco let out a weary sigh. "All right, let's sum it up. He's not after my life. He's not after something in the manor either, since he could've used the Imperius Curse to make me show him where something is. There's no mistake that he wants something from me. Perhaps he's trying to drive me mad."
While Harry agreed with Draco's speculation to a certain degree, the scene he had witnessed last night hinted at something else entirely. "I think what he made you do isn't the means to an end. It is both the means and the end."
A wry curve appeared on Draco's lips. "Something that might not be human wants me to play surrogate father? Why me? I just got back several days ago. There's a Muggle town on the other side of the forest. He could find plenty of candidates there."
"Maybe it has to be you." Just like me, Harry added. Nevertheless, there was no meaning to the affection he had kept in a message bottle that could not be cast out to the sea. "He knows the song. It means something to him. It's not just a way of luring you-"
"The trunk in my grandfather's workshop," Draco interjected, breaking Harry's train of thought. "A child could fit into it."
When Harry realised the full extent of the implication, the notion made his stomach turn. "Are you saying the boy was inside that trunk the whole time? That someone locked him up in there for who knows how long, and he managed to escape in the end?"
"If he was already inside the manor while Astoria was pregnant, he might have heard me sing. That would also explain how those books were taken off shelves when no one was supposed to be in the manor. Maybe he was teaching himself magic or looking for something."
"I have two questions for you. One, how did he survive without food? Two, assuming he's inside the manor at the time you were still married to Astoria, why haven't you or Astoria noticed there was a third person in the house?"
"One, we don't know if he's human. He might not need food to survive. Two, if he's stuck inside the portal the whole time, Astoria and I wouldn't have noticed anything. After all, there's no reason for us to visit the workshop." With a distracted air about him, Draco wiped away the crumbs on the table. "But would he have heard the song while he was locked away in there?"
As Harry stared at the Malfoy signet ring on Draco's finger, the question he had kept to himself would stay docile no more. "Can I ask you something? What was in the urn?"
The facade of composure Draco had crafted with care began to crumble. Boring his eyes into Harry, he said in a flat voice that frightened Harry more than fury or crippling grief, "My son's body."
Harry shuddered. Why would someone steal Draco's child, much less a dead foetus? When his gaze fell upon Draco's white knuckles, he wished that Draco would lash out instead of keeping everything inside. "Are you all right?"
Draco took a deep breath, and the moment passed on. "I'll be fine." There was a pause. "Thanks for telling me everything. Now that I know I'm not imagining things, I can do something about it on my own. You should get going now. You wouldn't want to be late for work."
"Don't worry about it. I have an extra day off." Harry finished his tea. "There is something I want to check. As far as we can tell, he's not in the manor anymore. If he's very attached to you, he wouldn't go far. The forest outside the manor would be a good place to hide."
For several beats Draco contemplated Harry's face; in the end, he sighed and conjured a quill and a piece of parchment. "I have to go to London on business. Don't go into the forest alone. You'll be lost. There's a pub in the Muggle town on the other side of the forest. We can meet up there for lunch." He wrote down the address and handed it to Harry. "You'll like it there."
* * * * * * *
Given free rein to the manor, Harry returned to the secret workshop and examined the portal once more. The glass remained as impenetrable as before and the trunk as unreachable. However far-fetched Draco's speculation sounded, he could not dismiss the possibility either; and yet, it begged the question of who brought the boy here and why he was imprisoned.
Thinking back to how he retrieved the Philosopher's Stone from the Mirror of Erised, he repeated the same trick he did back then, but the trunk would not come to his side. Undeterred, he stared at the snakes at the top of the frame, imagined they were alive, and tried speaking to them. When the snakes did not move, he let out a bitter chuckle. It was to be expected, for he could no longer speak Parseltongue.
Since there was nothing more he could do in the manor, he ventured outside. At the gates, he tried every detection spell he could think of, but nothing happened. Some unknown force was preventing him from discovering the boy's trail. Frowning, he looked towards the forest, a study of innocence beneath an overcast sky. The search would have to wait for now, for there was something else he needed to do. Apparating back to his house, he changed his clothes, contacted a colleague at the Ministry, and set out once more.
The respite from the rain was short-lived. By the time Harry arrived at the town on the other side of the forest, a drizzle fell upon the sleepy town like a spell. The cobblestone street was slick with rain; autumn flowers nodded in their hanging basket outside one of the shops. Buildings, be they made of stone or bricks or timber, never quite lined up with their neighbours, which added to the quaint charm of this rural town.
Posing as a writer doing research on local folklores and legends, Harry asked around. The locals had a lot to say on the topic: the fairy that had been stealing food from houses and farms; the snake charmer who set venomous snakes upon evildoers; the robed figures who brought death in the old forest; and the lost boy of the Witching Woods who lured people into the forest with his song. Of the stories he had heard, the Witching Woods came up so often he could not help but become suspicious.
After asking for direction, he headed for the town's second-hand book shop, a cabin-size white house with large windows. Its openness lent a refreshing change to those stuffy antique book shops Harry had frequented lately. I must've developed an affinity for book shops, he mused as he stepped through the door.
An eclectic collection filled the shelves. Books were tilted to one side as if no one bothered to stand them upright. There were no recent bestsellers in here, only books that might have been forgotten in the passage of time had they not been rescued from dusty attics and litter bins. Sitting at the birch counter was the shopkeeper, a slim, grey-haired gentleman with shrewd eyes and an aquiline nose. In the eyes of Muggle townsfolk, he was an expert in local folklores; in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic, he, Marcus Shelley, was the Ministry's Witch Watcher.
"You've heard quite a few stories before coming here," Shelley remarked after Harry told him what the locals had said. "There is no ancient evil in the old forest. The Witching Woods just tends to attract the wrong sort of attention. The inside is like a maze, you see, the perfect place to lie low in. It doesn't help that Malfoy Manor is on the other side."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "You know the Malfoys?"
Shelley quirked a smile. "They don't know me, though I used to see young Mr Malfoy in town sometimes." He summoned two bundles of documents and handed them to Harry. "This is probably what you are looking for."
While Shelley manned the counter, Harry retreated to the backroom and read through the files, at times jolting down names and dates that might be relevant to what he was looking for. The more he read, the more sombre his mood became. When he was done, he returned the files to Shelley.
"Do you believe there is some truth to all those rumours in town?" Harry asked.
"I wonder." Shelley rubbed his chin. "Missing person cases might be genuine and not the doing of some supernatural being. Someone who claims to have seen a werewolf could be a liar. Bizarre deaths are in fact accidents or animal attacks. The truth can be quite mundane sometimes. The Witching Woods might give off the air of existing outside the rules of the world, but it's the people that drive the stories."
Once Harry had digested Shelley's words, he asked one last question. "Do you know anything about the lost boy of the Witching Woods?"
"There have always been stories about lost boys, though the latest incarnation is a little different. It started about a year ago, I believe? Right after a young boy went missing near the woods. Some people think he was caught by the lost boy; some people think he is the lost boy. No one knows the truth, of course, since the boy hasn't been found yet."
After thanking Shelley for the information, Harry bought a book on folklores and legends in Wiltshire, compiled by the man himself. "It's a hobby of mine," Shelley remarked in a casual tone before handing the wrapped package to Harry.
With the door bell chiming its farewell behind him, Harry stepped out onto the misty street and checked his watch; it was almost time for him to meet Draco at the pub. When he remembered what happened last night, he quickened his pace as though pursued by vultures.
* * * * * * *
To be continued...
A/N: Tabula rasa means blank slate in Latin. It refers to the theory that humans are born as a blank slate. Thank you very much for reading.
Title: Lorelei in the Menagerie (2/5)
Author: Belladonna
Pairing: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Horror/Suspense
Rating: R for mentions of torture, miscarriage and cannibalism, but nothing graphic.
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter and its characters are not mine.
Summary: "I think my dead son is haunting the manor," says Draco when Harry runs into him in an antique book shop. Driven by yearning and suspicion, Harry offers his help and is drawn into a web of secrets and half-forgotten nightmare.
A/N: Special thanks to josephinestone for being my beta.
Lorelei in the Menagerie
by Belladonna
Chapter I: Prenatal Lullaby
The Malfoy Manor had lost some of its splendour during Draco's year-long travel. Hedges grew wild and spread their many limbs outward to seize more territory. The smell of withered flowers and dead leaves choked the air. The rain further brought out the dilapidated state of the garden. Not pausing to examine the garden further, Harry ran with Draco down the long driveway and into the house.
The interior of the mansion was as cold and gloomy as Harry remembered. When unpleasant memories threatened to creep up on him, he shook himself free of their clutch and followed Draco further into the house. Echoes of their footsteps shattered the hollow silence; portraits scrutinised them with those same grey eyes that the current family head had inherited. A spider crawled across one of the doors as though standing guard over the treasure hidden within.
Harry turned away from the spider and stared at Draco's back. "Have you asked the portraits if they knew what's going on?"
"I did, but they wouldn't talk to me." Draco took out his wand and cleared away the cobweb in the corner. "Sorry about the mess. I just got back several days ago, and I didn't have time to tidy up."
Several years ago, Draco's parents moved to a country where their infamy would not pursue them. After his divorce with Astoria, Draco was the sole occupant of Malfoy Manor. In truth, the estate was too large for a single wizard to maintain by himself.
"If you want, I can ask Kreacher if he wanted to help out in the manor for a few days."
"I'll think about it." Draco stopped in front of a pair of double doors, which slid open without a sound. "There's something I want to show you."
Behind the doors was a beautiful private library. Interspersed between mahogany bookshelves were arched windows that looked out to the garden in the rain. A fireplace adorned with a marble mantelpiece served as the main attraction in the reading area. Rows of shelves extended to the other end of the library, where a cast iron spiral staircase led to the upper level. A large fresco across the ceiling depicted various mythological scenes taking place under the opalescent sky.
Stacks of books were piled onto every table and chair; more ended up on the floor. His curiosity perked, Harry opened one of the books on the table and watched a wizard transfigure a young woman into a laurel tree. "You've been studying hard."
"It wasn't me." There was no amusement in Draco's voice. "It was like this by the time I came back to England several days ago. I don't know who or what it was, but it's impossible for an intruder to break into the manor while I was away. There are many spells protecting this place."
"Maybe your parents came back while you were away, and they wanted to look up something? Or maybe you forgot to put the books away before you went on your trip?"
Draco cast Harry a cool glance. "My memory isn't so bad that I couldn't remember taking out several hundred books to set up a barricade. I've sent my parents an owl, though they haven't replied yet. Come on." He led the way down the aisle to the far end of the library.
Standing in front of the spiral staircase, Draco whispered, "Tabula rasa." For a moment, nothing happened. When they climbed the stairs to the upper level, however, a new passageway had appeared between two sets of shelves, leading into further darkness. After conjuring a lantern to his aid, Draco stepped into the gaping hole; Harry trailed after him in silence.
The air in the stone passageway was as stagnant as a pool of stale water. While Harry listened to his and Draco's footfalls, he thought about what Draco had told him so far. Although it was not unusual for an old house such as Malfoy Manor to be haunted by a dark creature or two, what disturbed him most of all was Draco's claim that his son was haunting the manor: a dead foetus could not become a ghost.
"What makes you think it's your son's doing? It could be something else."
"Maybe." Draco stopped and turned around, his face betraying a hint of vulnerability. "The voice in my head keeps singing the same song that only someone from the Malfoy family would know. It's a song we sing to our heir when he's in his mother's womb. My father sang to me a long time ago, and I sang to my unborn son." A shadow passed across his countenance. "Do you think I've gone mad?"
Harry was about to disagree when he changed his mind. What Draco needed right now was his genuine opinion, not baseless reassurance. "I don't know. But a ghost can't pull out all those books."
A moment later, Harry and Draco arrived at a chamber that might have once been an alchemist's workshop. Dust had settled on every surface in the room like moss, though there were signs of recent disturbance. Several books lay about on the shelves; jars and bottles with half-peeled labels filled the cabinet; beakers and cylinders were attached to a complex network of gadgets and tubes on the table. In the corner, a staircase spiralled upwards to the upper floor.
"This was my grandfather's workshop before he passed away. I suppose you can say he dabbled in things: potions, alchemy, politics, finance. No one uses this room anymore though." Draco climbed the stairs. "Yesterday morning, I woke up on the upper floor and discovered something."
After hanging the lantern to the hook nailed to the wall, Draco stepped aside for Harry to look around. The room was bare except for the object standing in the middle of the room. A full length mirror with a tarnished brass frame dominated the space like a despondent queen in her prison, and the twin brass snakes that adorned the top of the frame was like a crown she wore.
When Harry took a closer look, he realised it was not a mirror at all, for it did not show a reflection of him or Draco. Inside the frame was a bare room that could be mistaken for an extension of the chamber they were in. An empty trunk lay open on the floor and taunted them with the prospect of a secret it once kept. Bemused, Harry reached for the trunk; his fingers met cold glass.
"It's probably a portal, but I haven't found a way to get inside yet." Draco joined Harry in front of the framed glass. "I hadn't been in this room since I went to Hogwarts, and I was sure there was nothing in here back then. I don't recall seeing this thing anywhere in the manor before either."
"Does your father know about this?" Harry looked behind the frame, but there was nothing there. He touched the glass again, feeling for seams or cracks that could guide him through the barrier.
"I wrote about it in the letter." Crossing his arms, Draco fixed a sullen gaze at the trunk inside the glass. "Perhaps it's not related to what's happening at all."
"But you think there's something inside the trunk. Either someone came and took something out, or the thing inside managed to escape by itself." Harry frowned. Even someone as prone to wild fancy as he was found the idea far-fetched.
"I don't know. Like I said, maybe it's nothing." Hesitation lingered on Draco's visage before desperation seeped through his armour. "I want to know what's going on, but I need you to be my eyes and ears. Will you stay in the manor tonight?"
Staring into Draco's eyes that seemed clouded with disquietude, Harry nodded.
* * * * * * *
The rain continued to fall, but the boy did not feel cold. Wandering in the woods by himself, he sang his favourite song. Every tree looked the same to him, but he had no trouble navigating in the woods: the forest was his playground. Like a ghost he moved amongst the trees, gliding behind the trunk and gliding out again in a one-man game of hide-and-seek. As the sound of rain filled his ear, hunger dominated his consciousness.
There was no sign of living animal in the forest; there rarely was. Food was hard to come by, particularly the kind of food he craved, but once he had eaten, the gnawing pain inside him would subside for some time. The village on the other side of the forest had food aplenty, but he had learnt that he must be cautious lest he be seen. If he were caught, he would be eaten.
Coming upon a clearing, he looked up at the pale sky. When rain drops fell onto his face, he blinked. Nightfall would not come for some time. Disappointed, he drifted away from the clearing and began to sing. No one came to him-not yet. The person he loved most in the world never answered his summon during daytime; therefore, he prayed for night to arrive soon. For now, however, he must eat.
* * * * * * *
Every lamp in the library was lit, but the light could not chase away the night that was lurking in corners and alcoves. With a stack of books floating behind him, Draco tried to put each book back to its proper place. It was a tedious task, but he pressed on without complaint.
Once Draco was done with one of the books, he took the next book from the pile and moved on to the next aisle. When he flipped through the book, he realised it was one of those psychology books Astoria was fond of; the title had led him to believe it was a book on Legilimency. As he stared at the abstract art on the cover, he remembered Astoria once asked if a foetus had dreams while it was inside the mother's womb.
"Need any help?"
Looking up, Draco found Harry leaning against the shelf, watching him with a look he could not decipher. Once he had recovered his wits, he banished the book back to the table. "You won't be of much help unless you are a librarian or your name is Hermione Granger."
Harry smiled in the same bashful way Draco remembered from their shared past. "Try me."
"If you insist." With a flick of his wand, Draco sent several books flying towards Harry, who scrambled around to collect them before they hit the floor. "These books belong to the section over there." He waved a hand at the other end of the shelf. "They are in alphabetical order, or you can stuff them in any empty space you can find."
"Doesn't that defeat the purpose of organising the books in the first place?" Harry took his pile of books to the other end of the aisle and got to work. "Is there any information in here that can tell us more about the portal?"
"I doubt it. Besides, it'll take weeks to look through every book in the library. I tried the diaries and letters left behind by my father and my grandfather, but I couldn't find anything."
When Harry said nothing in response, Draco became quiet as well. For some time, they sorted through the books in companionable silence. At length, as though unable to keep quiet anymore, Harry asked, "What does the song you were talking about sound like?"
After taking a deep breath, Draco opened his mouth and began to sing. Even though he had not sung the song since Astoria's miscarriage, he had no trouble recalling the melody or the words. The song had been playing on and off inside his head like a curse, a mockery of all mockeries.
Draco was aware of Harry's gaze, but he did not turn around to look. Echoes of ghosts filled his mind, connecting him to those who came before him and those who will come after him. Once more he saw the dead foetus curled up inside the urn-his child sleeping for eternity in the ceramic womb.
"The Hatter doesn't taste good at all. I thought we could have a mad tea party. I want to see you soon..."
"I should prepare some food for you. Would bread and cold meats be all right? I can heat up some soup as well." Abandoning his task, Draco took the stack of books back to the reading area and headed for the door. Before Harry could say anything, he added, "I'll be fine on my own."
Alone in the library, Harry tightened his lips and carried the books to the table. It was unusual for Draco to make such an abrupt shift from one topic to the next; the song must have touched a wound. Even though Harry did not understand the lyrics, the wistful melody and the softness of Draco's voice told him everything he needed to know.
* * * * * * *
After a simple dinner and a fruitless search in the manor, Harry set up a ward in Draco's room. If anything were to enter or exit the room, whether through the door or the window or the walls, he would be alerted. Before Draco retired for the night, he looked as though he wanted to say something to Harry; in the end, he smiled a bitter smile and said good night.
The door clicked shut, and Harry, raising his wand, cast the final spell on the door. Satisfied with his work, he went to the room next door, sat down by the door and settled in for a long night of surveillance.
Behind closed door, Draco, lying on the bed in the dark, was lost in reminiscence. The reunion with his old classmate had stirred up too many skeletons and ghosts from his past. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and let his memories swallow him whole.
Dead leaves scattered like ashes around the willowy Astoria on the day Draco proposed to her. The sprig of lavender trembled in her hand after they found out she was pregnant. The whiteness of the sheet burnt his eyes on the day Astoria woke up in the hospital after the hellish ordeal. Astoria's hazel eyes glistened in the twilight when she told him to be happy and to let her go.
The scene changed. Guilt coloured Harry's face on the day Astoria was taken by the serial killer the Aurors had been trying to capture. Anguish flickered in Harry's eyes on the night he demanded to know if Draco had killed the dark wizard. Wistfulness marred Harry's smile when Draco told him he would be leaving England soon.
When Draco found himself standing in front of an empty picture frame, he realised he was no longer remembering: he was dreaming. Within the picture frame was a tiny figure with blond hair and grey eyes, clad in the tailored jacket and shorts Draco once wore for a family portrait when he was little. The child was singing the lullaby every Malfoy knew by heart-praying, yearning, and calling for the father who will watch over him. His unborn son, his dead son. As the child reached out for him, Draco reached out for the child like a reflection.
* * * * * * *
Before Harry heard the sound of the doorknob being turned, he felt the invisible string coiling around his finger tighten-a sign that the ward had opened up. Cloaking himself beneath the Disillusionment Charm, he peeked out the door and saw a dark shape walk out of Draco's room. Silent as a hunter on the prowl, he followed Draco into the dimly lit corridor-left, right, down, forward and out the front door.
There was nothing but darkness and rain beneath the hazy red sky; silhouettes of trees and plants swayed against the wind. Like a man in a trance Draco walked barefoot to the front gates of the manor, as though unaware of the rain beating down on him. As Harry trailed after him, a string of music, lurking beneath the murmur of rain, trickled into his ear. At first, he thought Draco was singing; in the next beat, he realised the voice was more shrill than Draco's. It was a child's voice.
Beyond the gates stood a tiny figure about the height of a primary school child. While Harry wondered what a child was doing in a place that was sealed off from Muggles, Draco opened the gates, conjured a cloak out of thin air, secured it around the figure, and carried the whole bundle back to the house. At least one mystery was solved, Harry thought as he walked behind Draco up the steps.
Without bothering to turn on the lamp, Draco took his charge into the bathroom and closed the door. The sound of running water went on for a while before splashing sound reached Harry's ear. Not wishing to be discovered by whatever Draco had taken into the manor, Harry waited outside and listened. It was a strange experience; what Draco was doing seemed to be no more than that of a caring father taking his child to the bath after the child got drenched in the rain.
Some time later, the sound of water stopped, and the door swung open. Draco appeared to be carrying something into the bedroom. After putting his burden on the bed, he rummaged in the wardrobe for a while and returned to the bed with a piece of clothing. As Harry watched Draco help the child get dressed, he began to wonder-foolish as his rationality believed-if the child was indeed Draco's son. Even if the child Astoria bore had survived, he would be no more than a year old. Unless Draco had a child in an earlier relationship...
Pulling the cover over the child, Draco sat on the bed and ran his hand over the child's head, murmuring words Harry could not hear. Just when he thought the child was asleep, the child said in a voice resembling that of a boy, "You won't sing anymore?" Draco did not reply.
Harry lost track of time as he observed the surreal scene between a father and a child. At length, Draco stretched himself on the bed and moved no more; it appeared both he and the boy were at last asleep. Mindful not to wake them, Harry crept to the bedside and lit his wand, illuminating two sleeping faces that were as dissimilar to each other as can be.
Dark feral eyes snapped open and glared at Harry. Startled out of his wits, Harry took a step back, his mouth moving of its own accord to pronounce the first syllable of a name. At the same time, the child bared his sharp teeth like an animal and hissed.
Harry woke with a start. While he stared at the canopy, he touched his throat. To his relief, he felt neither blood nor pain. As soon as his tension evaporated, disorientation took hold of him. Unable to remember where he was, he sat up on the bed and examined his surroundings.
A wardrobe of classical design stood against one wall. A small table and a comfortable looking armchair made up the tea area by the window. The bed itself was a study of fine craftsmanship from the Victorian era. Both the velvet curtains and the shimmering bedspread were of the highest quality. In the pale morning light, the combination of mahogany furniture, dark velvet and grey damask wallpaper had transformed the room of tasteful antiquity into a solemn affair.
Remembering he was in Malfoy Manor, Harry shot out of bed, ran to Draco's room and pounded on the door. When no one answered, he let himself in; no one was in the room. A towel was left on the floor, reminding him that what he had witnessed last night was not a dream. He had seen the mysterious little guest Draco had invited into the manor, yet somehow he could not recall the boy's face.
Swallowing his panic, he ran down the corridor, drew out his wand and muttered, "Homenum Revelio." The tail of the net he had cast across the manor tugged at him, pulling him towards the inner garden at the back of the house.
Once upon a time, the inner garden would have been a sanctuary for the weary, but what remained now was a hybrid of wilderness and order. The outline of the planting could still be glimpsed in the flower beds; however, wilted plants and yellow grass gave the place a forlorn look like a childhood memory defiled by decay and death.
Kneeling in front of a flower bed was Draco, whose hair and clothes were dampened by morning dew. Glad to have found the man, Harry walked closer and soon noticed something was wrong. A hole had been dug in the flower bed; poppies were plucked out of their soil and scattered about like funeral flowers. A ceramic urn caked with mud was broken into several pieces, its inside empty. Draco was running his bloodied thumb over the jagged edge of a fragment, as though searching in desperation for clues that were not there.
With a vacant look Draco stared at Harry, his face grey and his eyes dead, a hollow shell that seemed ready to fall apart at the slightest touch. Harry had seen Draco like this before, and yet he could do nothing for him, not even offer words of comfort. Suppressing the urge to take the man in his arms, Harry crouched beside Draco and called his name.
A gleam of recognition appeared in Draco's eyes. Chapped lips moved for several beats before a raspy voice came out. "Tell me everything."
* * * * * * *
Half an hour later, Harry and Draco congregated in the kitchen for breakfast: tea and toasts with butter or jam. For a kitchen equipped to serve up a banquet, the only appliances that had seen some use were the stove and the oven. "I can boil you an egg if you want," Draco offered, but Harry shook his head.
Over a pot of Earl Grey tea, Harry told Draco what happened last night. Doubt, bemusement and indignation passed across Draco's face in quick succession. "From what you've said, it looked like I was placed under the Imperius Curse by a child?"
"Probably. Assuming you weren't sleepwalking, that is. He was waiting by the gates as if he knew you would come down. After that, when I tried to see his face, something happened. I was off guard. The next thing I remember was waking up next door in the morning." Harry drank some tea to wet his lips. "He might look like a human child, but there's something strange about him."
Raising an eyebrow, Draco poured himself another cup of tea. Although he appeared to have recovered his composure, Harry suspected he was not as calm as he seemed. "He could be a shapeshifter with the ability to control minds, or a witch or wizard disguised as a child. Maybe someone used him as a bait to get inside the manor."
"I don't know." Wild dark eyes and beast-like fangs sprang out at Harry from the depth of his memory. Even though a fire was burning in the stove, he felt a chill inside him. The boy had reminded him of a half-forgotten nightmare from a long time ago, a nightmare he thought he could never wake from. "You don't remember anything at all?"
Draco stared at the cup as though considering how best to answer the question. "What you said I did? No. I did hear someone sing in my dream, but it might just be in my head." Deep in thoughts, he raised the cup to his lips. "You won't sing anymore. Was that what he said?"
"Yes, but I don't know what that means. I assume he's talking about the song you sang yesterday. Is there any significance to the song? A secret code of some kind?"
"Outside of family tradition and sentiment, it doesn't have any meaning. It's not a cipher or a secret message. If that were the case, someone in the family would have deciphered it a long time ago." Draco's expression darkened in anger. "How did he know the song?"
"He heard it from you?" When Draco frowned at him in incredulity, Harry defended his claim. "I'm serious. It's the most logical explanation. Or maybe he used Legilimency on you."
Draco let out a weary sigh. "All right, let's sum it up. He's not after my life. He's not after something in the manor either, since he could've used the Imperius Curse to make me show him where something is. There's no mistake that he wants something from me. Perhaps he's trying to drive me mad."
While Harry agreed with Draco's speculation to a certain degree, the scene he had witnessed last night hinted at something else entirely. "I think what he made you do isn't the means to an end. It is both the means and the end."
A wry curve appeared on Draco's lips. "Something that might not be human wants me to play surrogate father? Why me? I just got back several days ago. There's a Muggle town on the other side of the forest. He could find plenty of candidates there."
"Maybe it has to be you." Just like me, Harry added. Nevertheless, there was no meaning to the affection he had kept in a message bottle that could not be cast out to the sea. "He knows the song. It means something to him. It's not just a way of luring you-"
"The trunk in my grandfather's workshop," Draco interjected, breaking Harry's train of thought. "A child could fit into it."
When Harry realised the full extent of the implication, the notion made his stomach turn. "Are you saying the boy was inside that trunk the whole time? That someone locked him up in there for who knows how long, and he managed to escape in the end?"
"If he was already inside the manor while Astoria was pregnant, he might have heard me sing. That would also explain how those books were taken off shelves when no one was supposed to be in the manor. Maybe he was teaching himself magic or looking for something."
"I have two questions for you. One, how did he survive without food? Two, assuming he's inside the manor at the time you were still married to Astoria, why haven't you or Astoria noticed there was a third person in the house?"
"One, we don't know if he's human. He might not need food to survive. Two, if he's stuck inside the portal the whole time, Astoria and I wouldn't have noticed anything. After all, there's no reason for us to visit the workshop." With a distracted air about him, Draco wiped away the crumbs on the table. "But would he have heard the song while he was locked away in there?"
As Harry stared at the Malfoy signet ring on Draco's finger, the question he had kept to himself would stay docile no more. "Can I ask you something? What was in the urn?"
The facade of composure Draco had crafted with care began to crumble. Boring his eyes into Harry, he said in a flat voice that frightened Harry more than fury or crippling grief, "My son's body."
Harry shuddered. Why would someone steal Draco's child, much less a dead foetus? When his gaze fell upon Draco's white knuckles, he wished that Draco would lash out instead of keeping everything inside. "Are you all right?"
Draco took a deep breath, and the moment passed on. "I'll be fine." There was a pause. "Thanks for telling me everything. Now that I know I'm not imagining things, I can do something about it on my own. You should get going now. You wouldn't want to be late for work."
"Don't worry about it. I have an extra day off." Harry finished his tea. "There is something I want to check. As far as we can tell, he's not in the manor anymore. If he's very attached to you, he wouldn't go far. The forest outside the manor would be a good place to hide."
For several beats Draco contemplated Harry's face; in the end, he sighed and conjured a quill and a piece of parchment. "I have to go to London on business. Don't go into the forest alone. You'll be lost. There's a pub in the Muggle town on the other side of the forest. We can meet up there for lunch." He wrote down the address and handed it to Harry. "You'll like it there."
* * * * * * *
Given free rein to the manor, Harry returned to the secret workshop and examined the portal once more. The glass remained as impenetrable as before and the trunk as unreachable. However far-fetched Draco's speculation sounded, he could not dismiss the possibility either; and yet, it begged the question of who brought the boy here and why he was imprisoned.
Thinking back to how he retrieved the Philosopher's Stone from the Mirror of Erised, he repeated the same trick he did back then, but the trunk would not come to his side. Undeterred, he stared at the snakes at the top of the frame, imagined they were alive, and tried speaking to them. When the snakes did not move, he let out a bitter chuckle. It was to be expected, for he could no longer speak Parseltongue.
Since there was nothing more he could do in the manor, he ventured outside. At the gates, he tried every detection spell he could think of, but nothing happened. Some unknown force was preventing him from discovering the boy's trail. Frowning, he looked towards the forest, a study of innocence beneath an overcast sky. The search would have to wait for now, for there was something else he needed to do. Apparating back to his house, he changed his clothes, contacted a colleague at the Ministry, and set out once more.
The respite from the rain was short-lived. By the time Harry arrived at the town on the other side of the forest, a drizzle fell upon the sleepy town like a spell. The cobblestone street was slick with rain; autumn flowers nodded in their hanging basket outside one of the shops. Buildings, be they made of stone or bricks or timber, never quite lined up with their neighbours, which added to the quaint charm of this rural town.
Posing as a writer doing research on local folklores and legends, Harry asked around. The locals had a lot to say on the topic: the fairy that had been stealing food from houses and farms; the snake charmer who set venomous snakes upon evildoers; the robed figures who brought death in the old forest; and the lost boy of the Witching Woods who lured people into the forest with his song. Of the stories he had heard, the Witching Woods came up so often he could not help but become suspicious.
After asking for direction, he headed for the town's second-hand book shop, a cabin-size white house with large windows. Its openness lent a refreshing change to those stuffy antique book shops Harry had frequented lately. I must've developed an affinity for book shops, he mused as he stepped through the door.
An eclectic collection filled the shelves. Books were tilted to one side as if no one bothered to stand them upright. There were no recent bestsellers in here, only books that might have been forgotten in the passage of time had they not been rescued from dusty attics and litter bins. Sitting at the birch counter was the shopkeeper, a slim, grey-haired gentleman with shrewd eyes and an aquiline nose. In the eyes of Muggle townsfolk, he was an expert in local folklores; in the eyes of the Ministry of Magic, he, Marcus Shelley, was the Ministry's Witch Watcher.
"You've heard quite a few stories before coming here," Shelley remarked after Harry told him what the locals had said. "There is no ancient evil in the old forest. The Witching Woods just tends to attract the wrong sort of attention. The inside is like a maze, you see, the perfect place to lie low in. It doesn't help that Malfoy Manor is on the other side."
Harry's heart skipped a beat. "You know the Malfoys?"
Shelley quirked a smile. "They don't know me, though I used to see young Mr Malfoy in town sometimes." He summoned two bundles of documents and handed them to Harry. "This is probably what you are looking for."
While Shelley manned the counter, Harry retreated to the backroom and read through the files, at times jolting down names and dates that might be relevant to what he was looking for. The more he read, the more sombre his mood became. When he was done, he returned the files to Shelley.
"Do you believe there is some truth to all those rumours in town?" Harry asked.
"I wonder." Shelley rubbed his chin. "Missing person cases might be genuine and not the doing of some supernatural being. Someone who claims to have seen a werewolf could be a liar. Bizarre deaths are in fact accidents or animal attacks. The truth can be quite mundane sometimes. The Witching Woods might give off the air of existing outside the rules of the world, but it's the people that drive the stories."
Once Harry had digested Shelley's words, he asked one last question. "Do you know anything about the lost boy of the Witching Woods?"
"There have always been stories about lost boys, though the latest incarnation is a little different. It started about a year ago, I believe? Right after a young boy went missing near the woods. Some people think he was caught by the lost boy; some people think he is the lost boy. No one knows the truth, of course, since the boy hasn't been found yet."
After thanking Shelley for the information, Harry bought a book on folklores and legends in Wiltshire, compiled by the man himself. "It's a hobby of mine," Shelley remarked in a casual tone before handing the wrapped package to Harry.
With the door bell chiming its farewell behind him, Harry stepped out onto the misty street and checked his watch; it was almost time for him to meet Draco at the pub. When he remembered what happened last night, he quickened his pace as though pursued by vultures.
* * * * * * *
To be continued...
A/N: Tabula rasa means blank slate in Latin. It refers to the theory that humans are born as a blank slate. Thank you very much for reading.