August 1st, 1991 (Part 2)

From what I remember of elsewhere, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were bad people. They did bad things for bad reasons. They raised a son who was condescending and spoiled. They had an obscene amount of wealth and the impropriety to abuse it. They were known to manipulate laws and the ministry as they pleased. They believed in blood supremacy. They were Death Eaters of the highest order. These people were not good people.

However, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were not ‘bad’ to everyone. And I remember reading about how they loved their son. They loved him so much that they chose to keep him close rather than send him to Durmstrang Institute, where they would be able to insure he only socialized with true witches and wizards. They gave him both what he needed and wanted. While Lucius instilled in his son his own brand of cold affection, Narcissa showered him with warmth.

The Malfoys were family. Family that would do anything to protect each other.

And in the end, after the seventh book ended and the epilogue continued, the Malfoys made it out alive. All their family was together, none in Azkaban. They retained their wealth and prestige.

So, when I awoke on June 5th, 1980, at roughly 2:05 AM in this world to see the blonde pair surveying my infant body, I did not feel dread at being reborn into this family. Then I heard my brother’s wail and I returned one of my own at the harsh noise. Before I even knew the name of these three pale haired, light eyed people, I felt arms wrapped around me and the gentle hum of a lullaby.

When I learned I was Medea Ophiuchus Malfoy, I was only a few weeks old. And I’ve had eleven years to decide what this means to me. Unlike Draco, I still remember the early days. We were born during the Years of Terror. I watched as Lucius willingly put on the white mask and Narcissa helped him with the shadowed robe. I saw the darkness in Father’s eyes as he argued on behalf of pure blood supremacy. I know he cast the Crucio curse. I know he cast the killing curse. And I know Mother supported the cause.

But then, during the next fall, when the leaves were right crisp and well past orange, the news came.

The Dark Lord was dead. The Boy Who Lived became a hero. All was right with the world.

And my family almost seemed normal.

I was no longer a woman of elsewhere. I was simply Medea. I was the daughter of Lucius and Narcissa. I was the sister of Draco. It was simply fact.

So I embraced it.

Mother taught us pureblood society, how to make the most of the influence we had even in social settings. Father taught us to politic for favors, especially when the one to grant the favor hates the idea. The emotions of the house were cooler than the norm, I’m sure, but that made the subtle tones of affection and the ghosts of laughs all the more prominent. Brother is the same, he is cold and snobbish and a firm believer in what Father preaches. I am… different. From who I was in elsewhere, yes, but also from my family. The mask Father taught of a cold and droll pureblood is easy to wear, as is Mother’s mask of a sociable and eloquent young girl. Yet the masks are nearly irrelevant. My mind makes quips and needles away at my surroundings, but irritation and offense hardly penetrate enough to affect me. Maybe it is that I’ve hidden the warmth inside of me so well that all I have left is the cold. Maybe it is that coming from elsewhere stripped me of something. Maybe it is that I am a new person and I have experiences I ought not to and that has impacted me more than I could know.

Just like in elsewhere, I remember. Every book read, a name in passing, the weather on a given day, the conversation of a passerby on the street. I remember it all. Every minute detail from every day of both lives is stored like a film reel for me to access at a moments notice. It is just as exhausting as in elsewhere. Being unable to forget means I am consistently comparing reality and the patterns my mind pulls forward.

It also means I occasionally still flinch when Father slides his wand from his staff.

Still, as I walk out of the fireplace into the grand entryway of Malfoy Manor, I am content. Eleven years is no small amount of time, and family is a special type of bond.

“Mother, we’ve gotten something for you.” I let the words fall flat, my voice droll.

A snap of her fingers has our house elf, Dobby, popping up just as the family pauses, “Medea, darling, are you going to hold me in suspense?”

Father gestures roughly for Dobby to handle the trolley of paper packages that contain my brother and I’s school items, “Off to unpack, elf, before I find a better use for your life.”

With an internal sigh and a slight frown I slide one large yet soft package off the trolley and balance it in my hands, “Not this one Dobs, but the rest of it can go to my new trunk -the blackthorn one with the expansion charm.”

“Yes Miss Medea. Dobby will unpack right away Miss Medea. Dobby will do it well, Dobby promises!” The poor ashen house elf looked positively petrified as he focused on my words rather than my father’s.

Like that, the elf popped away -along with the entirety of the trolley.

“Father, can you not hold back on the threats?” I didn’t even bother to look to my Father as we made our way to the nearest sitting room, a spacious area with a vaulted ceiling that I’d begged Mother to get painted. Now it depicted the golden age of wizard invention - when broomsticks were still simple flying charms and the Dark Arts were in constant use. It was graphic, but fascinating, and the spell work thrown by the animated figures lit the room like a lightning storm. I placed the package on a short table centered between several lounges and settled into the corner of the black velvet love seat nearby.

“I will not be criticized for criticizing the house elf.” Father settled to my immediate right and looked down his nose at me, an action of both necessity and irritation at the familiar gripe, “It matters not how one treats those of such a kind.”

“I’m not telling you to say please and thank you, Father.” I prop my chin up on my hand as I lean against the arm rest, “You are sowing the seeds of discord in our own home. What will you do if this leads us to an unfitting end?”

Mother and Draco sat back with exasperated expressions as they watched Father and I go back and forth. This conversation is not new, and it will likely end the same as always. But still.

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I’d rather not have Dobby sharing family business with Tibble so this is what I’ve got. Besides, he makes a wonderful biscuit.

“A house elf will not be the end of our house, Medea. The thing can barely do it’s job proper. Why you insist on defending it…”

“I’m simply asking what the point of it is. How does petrifying the house elf serve the family? He’d likely do a better job if you didn’t threaten to take a hand every time you want some tea.”

I’ve allowed irritation into my voice, and I know Father hates it when I speak this way. Maybe today will be different, after all.

I decided to needle a bit more than usual as the school year is starting up soon and I won’t be here to level Father and his ego. I’d hate for my decade of work on Dobby to be undone because my father hasn’t cast the crucio curse in a while. In for a penny, in for a pound.

As my fathers scowl makes an appearance I gesture to Mother for her to open the package, “Besides, Father, what’s the joy in intimidating something so feeble? Have you grown tired of a challenge? Has that ginger-haired incompetent bested you in your latest verbal spar? Truly, I’m curious why you bother.”

“Dea.” My brother hissed. Ah, one of his ‘how dare you talk to Father like that’. What a fool. If he never learns to fight our father, Draco will only ever have his love -never his approval or pride. Not that fighting with father over this will net me either.

In the background I heard my mother’s breathy chuckle as she pulled the package to her and began unwrapping.

“Medea Malfoy.” My fathers voice is that familiar cold, no emotion to be found, as his gaze on me intensifies, “What are you after? This is not your usual rebuke. This is… particularly inciting.”

Ah, he’s caught on quick. I’m not the only one whose spent eleven years with him -he’s also spent eleven with me. I shifted in my seat, crossing my arms and leaning back into the soft black velvet of the loveseat. No more fake irritation then. Simply the truth.

“It seems… detrimental.” It’s hard to say the exact point without mentioning that Dobby betrays our house. And that he does it due to one of Father’s ridiculous schemes, but the words slowly come and they are measured when they do, “It’s not as if house elves cannot betray their master. There are ways around everything and we are a house who practices such ways. Is it insanity to be wary of such a risk? Especially when it’s unnecessary.”

All three Malfoys had their light eyes focused on me. Mother’s hands were frozen in the middle of unpacking and she had an unreadable expression, meanwhile Draco simply looked lost as always.

“I know you’re aware of this, and that even though you disapprove you turn a blind eye to it. But I have shown the house elf kindness. I am not asking you to do the same. I simply ask you treat him with indifference.” I gave them a small smile, simply the twitch of my lips. But it is a Malfoy smile. Small, but meaningful. “It seems a small price to pay so that Your daughter can have peace of mind.”

My father’s cold eyes rake over my face, as if trying to uncover all my secrets, “Why now? I can hardly imagine such a mild comment spurned such a thought.”

“Lucius, you two have been having this conversation for years. Ages. This isn’t new,” At that my mother pauses then clicks her tongue in understanding, “They leave for Hogwarts next month.”

My fathers eyes widen ever so slightly as he meet Mother’s eyes. Until he narrows his gaze and his countenance changes to that of Governor Malfoy, “Do you think we’ll ruin your rapport with the elf if we’re left alone with it?”

“Not so much Mother, as… well.” I clear my throat, “You. You will ruin him -likely within a month and I’d be lucky to gain any ground over winter hols.”

And it’s true. Draco mimics father in all that he does, including his ruthless and bloodthirsty barbs at the elf. Meanwhile Mother is more subdued -and she is hardly cruel to Dobby. Even Kreacher, the Black family’s house elf, dotes on her. Plus, she has never cast an Unforgivable curse. Mother may only socialize with purebloods, and she may have an ego of her own, but those that are valued by her know her true warmth.

Father is speechless. I could see it on his face. So I continued.

“Mother is not cruel to Dobby. Brother is simply like you but without a bite to back up his bark. But you, Father…” I like Dobby. It’s true. In all of my coldness, Dobby has a little home right next to my heart. So I am willing to admit to Father something I have kept hidden. Something no one, not even Draco knows, “I have seen you in your entirety Father -and that doesn’t scare me. Even knowing you have cast all three Unforgivables. But I do not wish to lose the loyalty of Dobby. So I will say this. I trust you to protect us, Mother and Draco and I. But I do not trust you with Dobby.”

As soon as I said it I regretted it. Draco took a sharp intake, Mother was absolutely stricken, and Father went rigid.

“You do not trust me?” He words were slow, as if in shock, but then he quickly changed tact, “What do you mean by seen me in my entirety?”

In response to the rough reactions of my family, I looked at my brother, searching for his opinion. We were close, it’s true. And we were twins so I always hoped I could read him like an open book. My gut was telling me it’d be fine to do this next bit as I stood from the lounge. Without meeting my parents eyes I focused on the painting of a pale haired man in fine livery from the 1800s. The eyes were locked on to me as I approached.

I held up my well manicured hand and traced the edges of the frame before finding the spell engraving. Next to it was a prick. It was blood magic -the kind that only recognizes family. So I pressed into the metal and let a drop of blood seep into the spell form on the frame.

“We are different, Father. You have not hidden the truth, merely sugar coated it. And we were so young in the Years of Terror. How could you have known?” Once I heard the clink clank of the lock, I slid my fingers over and tugged out the painting. The hinges gave little resistance as it revealed the hidden coat room behind it.

“Medea-“ Mother had grief written across her face and her hands were wringing. I knew she was not ashamed of their past. I knew she simply wanted to keep me from the cruel reality of this world for a while longer.

“How could we have know what?” This time is was Father, too much emotion thick in his voice for me to decipher. But still, I remember. I know where he stands. For the family. For blood supremacy. For whatever means protects both.

“How could you have known that I would remember every time you got dressed, or told Mother of the Dark Lord’s plans, or even once, when you and your friends were across the manor you had cast crucio on another Death Eater you’d found to be a spy? You couldn’t have known I would remember. But I do. I remember everything.” I paused, looking at what was displayed in the closet. My family was quiet behind me. And though my parents were shocked now, no doubt Father would take me aside and express is displeasure at my grand stand.

“I remember every time Draco wouldn’t stop hiccuping, so you cast Aguamenti while levitating him upside down so he would stop. I remember the color of your robes the day I was born -deep, verdant green. I remember that there four separate robins that landed on the goal posts when you first started teaching us to play quidditch. You thought it was one out to get you.”

I picked up the spelled mask and turned back to my father, holding it away from myself, “I am unable to forget even the most mundane of things, Father, so you can imagine why the intensity of your views concerns me. I simply wish for Dobby to stay with us, be loyal to us -to me. I love only three people and they are in this room. I like few things overall -and Dobby is one of them.”

I took one last deep breath and gave him a searching glance as I dug my nails into the Death Eater mask, “I see you, Father. And I am not scared. If you tell me this was necessary I will believe you. I will stand by you. I will continue to bring pride and prestige to the Malfoy name. But I will not allow you to destroy what I value. Tell me you will do this for me, even if you do not believe in it. Tell me you will not destroy him simply because he has displeased you. Tell me you will not hurt him in passing. Tell me to trust you with something I value. I will do it, Father. I will trust you. But you must tell me I can.”

This is the moment. The moment I know if fate is immutable. If I cannot change this, my family’s suffering is unchangeable. And despite the epilogue I read, I refuse to accept how we get there. Father does not need to be forced back into the fold. Mother does not need to sacrifice her family. Draco does not need to compromise his humanity. We are not good people. But we are family. And I will protect them.

A moment passes. Another. He looked away.

He. Looked. Away. A part of me I had thought was dull roared to life. My vision went black and I could hear the pounding of my own heart. I felt the wetness run down my cheeks before I understood. I could feel my soul shaking at the revela-

“Medea.” Father’s voice wasn’t warm, not in the way a voice usually is. But the way his words were hard, said with force, that was the way Father showed warmth. I hadn’t heard his approach over my own heartbeat, yet here he was. One of his arms wrapped me into him, and with his free hand he wiped the tears from my cheeks. Without waiting another moment, Father pulled my chin up so that my steel eyes met his own.

“Medea Ophiuchus Malfoy, you will listen to me and you will not interrupt,” I searched his face for any of the small Malfoy emotions that I inherited, but Father’s expression was indecipherable. “You are a pureblood Witch of the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy. You are my first born daughter and second born child. I will be furious with you for your doubt and mistrust for years to come. But I will tell you now and now alone. I am your father. I will not destroy that which you value. You can trust me with this, I vow it.”

When he finished, the room was silent. Until a gnat started to buzz.

“Does that mean you remember when Goyle’s father got knackered and broke that bust in the library?”

I let out a choked laugh and turned to look at Draco, “The look on Father’s face when great-grandfather’s nose shattered was truly the highlight of ‘82.”

“Darling, if you’d simply said you remembered such things, we would have taken you to more gatherings.” Mother’s voice was filled with strained amusement, “Someone always embarrasses themselves at the socials. It’s quite delightful.”

“Okay,” I croaked out and spun out of Father’s grasp, furiously wiping the wetness from my eyes, “Now, the point of this little family gathering. Mother, please open your gift.”