What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 24 – Well I Don’t Know If I’m Wrong

“Harry?” Hermione’s sleep-laden voice came through the fire. He was kneeling over the edge of the hearth with his head in the flames. It was three in the morning. “Harry, what is it?”

“Hermione,” he replied urgently and yet trying to keep his voice down. “Can you come for Lily? I need to get Ginny to St Mungo’s. Now.”

******

Draco groaned softly and rose from his bed. It was an unbearably early hour of the morning –one he sorely wished he had never been awake to see –but he could not sleep and any more effort put into it would qualify it a sport.

He pulled on his silk robe and carelessly rubbed the sleep (though it was an absurd name for something that presented itself most obviously when slumber was unattainable) from his eyes. Stepping out into the hall, Draco made his way to the morning sitting room.

He called for a House Elf and (after apologizing for the hour) requested some tea and fruit.

It had been days, though it felt more like years, since Draco had managed to get a full night’s sleep. Ever since the last time he had seen Potter, he had been completely incapable of sleeping for longer than three hours in a single night. It was unhealthy, unpleasant and wholly aggravating.

He sighed heavily and rubbed his fingertips to his temples, hoping to stave off the inevitable headache. It was a fight to no avail, Draco knew, yet he fought it nonetheless.

The tea came and, with it, a letter. Apparently an owl had come in the middle of the night. This happened on occasion, though the Elves normally presented Draco with his post in the morning. As he was already awake, mind you, he supposed they saw fit to give it to him now.

He thanked the Elf and took a sip of his tea, unrolling the letter. It was from Scorpius. Draco found this odd as his son was due to arrive later that day for the Christmas holidays but he shrugged it off and read it anyway.

--Dear Father,

School is much the same as usual. The classes I am taking interest me enough to keep on top of my studies, but they do not passion me the way they should. I want more challenges. The teachers are adequate enough, for the most part, but I feel as though something is missing. I need to do more.

It has been a little more difficult for my since Grandmother’s death and Mother’s imprisonment, but Albus has stayed with me the whole way through. It amazes me that he is so steadfast in his friendship with me and his support. He has so many other things to worry about on his own plate at the moment but spares no effort when it comes to helping me. Was Mr. Potter like that as well at school? The teachers continuously tell Albus that he is just like his father, though they say it in both positive and negative situations. I’m not sure how to interpret that.

In any case, I would really like to have Al over at the Manor for a part of the holidays –I’ve already asked him – but I’m afraid he won’t be able to come. His mother is getting more and more sick with every passing day and he told me he’s afraid she won’t make it through. He gets letters from his father more regularly now and so he’s less insecure about everything. James, his older brother, has also become more subdued in his attacks on me. I think it has to do with his mother’s condition and feel torn. On the one hand, I’m glad James is giving me a rest, but on the other I don’t want Al to suffer. How is it possible that two people so drastically different are brothers?

I hope that everything works out for the Potters, anyway. It was hard enough to know that Mother has betrayed you and will be in prison for a while. The fact that she betrayed us makes it easier, I suppose, to let her go. But I can’t imagine what it might be like for Al to lose a mother who has always loved him.

Do you know anything that might be able to help him, Father? You work with St Mungo’s. Do you know what’s wrong with her?

I don’t expect a reply from this letter as I will likely see you in person before another owl can reach me. I hope you are well, Father, and am excited to see you again. You always make me feel better.

-Scorpius –

Draco leaned back against the back of the chair and thought on his son’s words for a long while. He was amazed, probably as much as Scorpius, that someone so drastically different from himself could honestly be his son. Scorpius was to Albus Severus everything that Draco had ever wanted to be to Harry. Or almost, anyway. He smiled at the thought and felt a swell of pride in his chest, much as he usually did once he finished reading his son’s letters.

And yet, the words on Potter’s wife’s condition irked him. True, he had continued researching in his books and through old case-files in attempt to find something –anything –that might prove useful in the creation of a cure (for he was sure that none already existed). But Draco found nothing and cursed himself for having driven away the inspiration that drove him to fight harder against the books.

He shook his head, knowing that he could not reassure Scorpius this time around. He could not present a magical solution that might save Al’s mother and set everything right again. Or, at least, set everything back to the way it was, regardless of whether it was right or wrong.

Draco rose and looked at the clock. It now read six thirty and he supposed it was time enough for him to bathe and dress. He had to fight with Lucius this morning and needed to be on his sharpest wit to do so.

He made his way back through the hallways and towards his private bath.

Once he was finally washed, dressed and adequately primped, Draco left his rooms to wake his father and convince him of what needed to be done. Lucius, however, was already awake and sitting to breakfast. Draco walked in calmly and stood at the head of the table.

“Good morning, Father,” he greeted with dignified cheeriness. Lucius did not look up from the copy of the Prophet that was spread out before him.

“No,” the older man replied. The word was simple but firmer than rock and much a difficult to wear away. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Oh, please, Father,” he retorted immediately, forsaking his initial impulse to play dumb and let Lucius have it out. “You are acting like a petulant child.”

Lucius looked up with a cold and piercing gaze. Draco countered it with a look just as penetrating and anyone else in the room might have dissolved under the sheer intensity of their looks.

“Pray, do look in a mirror for once, Draco,” Lucius hissed in reply to his son. “You might be interested to see what lies in the reflection before you go about accusing others.”

Draco tensed and had the urge to growl but fought it. He narrowed his eyes very slightly and clicked his tongue.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, refusing to attempt to read his father’s mind.

“You’ve been moping about for weeks now,” Lucius scorned. “Holing yourself up in that private study to wallow in your own misery. It’s unbecoming of a Malfoy. If something distresses you, confront it. If something does not go your way, change it. Do not simply flounce about like a scorned woman, Draco.”

“Ah yes,” Draco replied with venom. “Because I have the kind of luxury you did. In case you had not noticed, Father, the Malfoy name is not what it used to be and I have been working tirelessly against more important critics to rebuild our reputation. I cannot afford to do as I please, the way you did.”

Lucius did not appreciate the comment. He rose to his feet and stood before his son, his eyes clear as crystal in their intent. Draco did not falter.

“I did little of what I pleased,” he shot back, the words like daggers on the air. “I did what needed to be done for you and your mother. Always.”

Draco almost wanted to smile in glee as his comments had finally managed to bring the argument back full-circle to his initial point.

“Then why must you fight me tooth and nail when I act only to do what is best for you??” he demanded harshly.

Lucius clearly realized his mistake and saw that he was caught. He glared at his son and sat back down to give his full attention back to the paper that otherwise lay forgotten in front of him.

“What you intend to have me do today,” he began curtly. “Has no bearing on what is best for me.”

“Oh none at all,” Draco added sarcastically. “Ensuring your full recovery and continued health are not at all what is best for you.” He turned back to his father and glared sternly. “Despite what you may think, avoiding the hospital and refusing care does not make you strong, Father. It makes you stupid.” He turned to leave, wanting no more of their petty argument. “You will accompany me to St Mungo’s today to see Luna for your final assessment whether or not I have to poison you again to get you there.”

Lucius said not a word but as Draco left, he realized that for the first time in his life he actually felt like his father.

As soon as ten o’clock rolled around, Draco made his way to the Floo, expecting to have to seek out his father and drag him to the hospital. Yet when Draco got to the Floo entrance, Lucius was already standing there, cloak and all, completely ready to go. No words passed between them but the determined look on his father’s face told Draco that he had struck a chord in his earlier comment.

They stepped through the Floo Network and arrived into St Mungo’s in the usual manner. Draco led Lucius past the lineup of people and directly up to the third floor where he was to meet Luna for his appointment.

Upon arriving into the small hospital room, Lucius sat himself down gracefully on the chair to the right and ignored the patient’s chair in the centre. Draco snickered inwardly and leaned against the wall to await the Healer.

“Ah, Draco,” Luna’s breezy voice welcomed from the doorway. “Lovely to see you again. How is your libido, of late?”

Draco tensed momentarily at the question. Luna had a tendency of asking awkward questions such as these. No matter how often Draco talked with her, he would never quite become comfortable with all her inquiries. He forced a small smile.

“Lacking,” he replied softly. “My father is here for his final assessment.” He motioned to Lucius who had never quite decided whether or not he fully trusted her or not. His eyes were slightly narrowed and one of his white brows was arched as he nodded to her in greeting.

“Of course,” she winked at him. “Please, Lucius, would you join me over here?” She motioned cheerily for the older man to take a seat in the patient’s chair instead of the visitor’s one. Then she turned back to Draco. “If you are having any problems, I know quite a few tricks that can help. Though it surprises me that you might need it,” she added, looking dreamily at the chart before her. “No real adventurer can resist the allure of an untamed dragon, after all.”

Draco stared blankly at the back of her head as Luna turned around to give her full attention to Lucius and began with her spells. He blinked several times and might have caught himself with his jaw hanging open. Did she know what she was suggesting? Did she even see the possible connotations in her comment?

Draco reminded himself, considering what she had done in regards to Hydra, that Luna probably did know full well what she had said. In fact, she had likely phrased it so specifically to attract Draco’s attention even more.

He scowled.

“Lovely, lovely,” Luna was mumbling to herself as she cast brightly coloured spell after brightly coloured spell to check the state of Lucius’ recovery. Each of the spells sizzled and shimmered on the air, depicting different statistics. “Oxygen intake is prime, cholesterol level is good, heart rate is steady, blood pressure is perfect, body temperature is right…”

Luna trailed off as she remarked on Lucius’ every detail and how he was recovering beautifully, mentioning that all his vital signs were steady and stable. Draco nodded along, only partially aware of what was being said. He was concentrating much more on what Luna had told him before, until something strange caught his attention and he looked up in alarm.

“Wait, wait, what??” he stopped her, his eyes wide and questioning. Luna looked up at him with an airy expression.

“Oh I was simply remarking on how silky your father’s hair looks,” she answered happily. “He is nearly fully recovered and usually the hair texture is the hardest thing to regain after a poisoning of this level.”

Draco shut his eyes and shook his head, trying to dispose of the useless information in a suitable place before beginning to speak again.

“No, no,” he said, finding it rather difficult to keep his voice even. “His blood pressure. You said it was perfect.”

“Why, yes, it is,” Luna agreed, checking the chart once more just to be sure. “Very stable. It’s a rather good thing, actually. Stable blood pressure helps to spread the potions he’s been taking evenly in his body so that recovery is made easier.”

Draco shook his head as he felt the impending headache begin to form.

“That’s lovely, Luna,” he told her, his voice strained. “But my father cannot have perfect blood pressure. He has been off his usual potions because of the vaccines and anti-venoms you have advised for him. He has naturally very high blood pressure.”

Luna tilted her head slightly, considering his words. Draco looked worried and his eyes searched her face for some sign of acknowledgement. She flipped through his charts once more, going back through the ones from his initial visit to St Mungo’s.

“That’s odd,” she replied calmly. “There is no indication that his blood pressure was anything but normal from the moment he regained consciousness after the poisoning.”

Draco’s heart rate skyrocketed and he felt his breaths become more laboured and uneven. He took the chart from her and looked at all of his father’s vital details from the moment he had regained consciousness to now. His eyes scanned the sheets of paper rapidly as his own blood pressure spiked. It was not possible.

Every complication that Lucius had in relation to his high blood pressure was gone. He was, if possible, healthier now than he was before he was poisoned. First Draco thought of the different potions and antidotes that Luna had administered to him but his vital signs, for the most part, were already improved before he was healthy enough to leave the hospital.

Something was not right. Something was seriously off.

“Luna,” Draco began, thinking aloud as his mind raced and his eyes shifted back and forth over the page. “What exactly do those poisons do?”

She lifted her head and smiled brightly, clearly pleased with the opportunity to explain the finer nuances of the effects of Acromantula poison and Basilisk venom.

“Well, both of those poisons are highly destructive,” she began brightly, as though talking about the weather. “Initially, I believed that the bile of a Skitching Sleepruct was the most destructive poison, though as I have discovered those don’t, in actuality, exist, I have to agree with the common belief that these other two are at the top of the list.” She paused to take a breath and Draco tried to sort through the useful and useless information as quickly as possible without missing anything. “Each of these poisons has ultimately the same effect on the blood. It’s rather interesting, considering that Acromantulas fear the Basilisk, but I suppose that’s just universal irony for you.”

Draco clenched his jaw and tried to stop himself from shaking. He needed answers fast.

“Luna,” he asked slowly. “What effects do each of these poisons have on the system, precisely?”

“Acromantula poison,” she began, nodding. “Serves as a deadly poison but first and foremost it paralyses the victim’s organs. The blood is slowed and diluted to allow the actual deadly part of the poison to take effect. Basilisk venom is much quicker in its delivery, though it requires more of it to kill. A Basilisk would have to sink at least one fang completely into a body for at least a minute to deliver death. Acromantula poison is needed in much lower quantities.” She tossed her hair to the side as Draco’s heart beat faster and threatened to kill him. “Essentially, though,” she went on. “They both attack the blood specifically. Together I suppose is the best way to kill efficiently. The poisons serve to dilute the blood and eat away at the fundamental properties.”

Destroy the fundamental properties of the blood… Draco’s pupils contracted to pinpricks as his eyes widened and he felt every second pass as though it was an eternity, ticking away at the time he had left.

“Has anyone ever survived a poisoning like this in the past?” he asked quickly, glancing at his father who was taking a more active interest now.

“Come to think of it,” Luna replied gazing off into the distance as she thought. “Lucius is the first. This poison is normally imbibed in quantities too large to treat, or else the victims are out of reach of Healers.” She brushed something off her robes, offhandedly. “Most Healers wouldn’t know how to treat this specific mixture anyway,” she added amused. “I, myself, had to improvise and because I am ill-equipped to heal such extensive damage, it was a very long and grueling process.”

Draco’s breathing hitched and he knew he looked very odd. There was an answer hidden in this madness and he would find it if it killed him.

“You say you are ill-equipped,” he commented, trying to pull the most useful information he could. “You mean to say there is an antidote that would work better than what you have provided?”

“Oh yes,” she replied happily. “The only antidote that is powerful enough to counter-effect those poisons. It’s terribly hard to come by though and rather unorthodox to use.”

“What is it?” Draco pressed further.

“Phoenix tears,” she answered simply. “Phoenixes aren’t really that rare nowadays, there are some not far from where I live, but it’s near impossible to get them to cry for you.”

Draco felt adrenaline pump through him. He was so close he could taste it now. Nothing was going to stop him.

“But, if you could get a hold of Phoenix tears,” he went on. “It would be sufficient to say that they could save you from this poison without any complications?”

“Yes, naturally,” she answered, tilting her head now, as Draco appeared to get more and more antsy. An odd smirk drew itself on her face.

“And so, if you were to, say, mix the Phoenix tears into the poison itself,” he prodded further, allowing his ideas to form as he spoke them. “What effect would that have?”

Luna thought for a moment and smiled.

“Well, if the proportions were even,” she began. “The tears would cancel out the effect of the poisons.”

“And if there was a greater ratio of poison to tears?” Draco demanded more forcefully.

“I would imagine that would maintain the destructive nature of the poison,” she considered aloud. “While removing the fatal effects of it… but the proportions would have to be absolutely exact and much testing would be required… none of which would be acceptable by Ministry or Health standards. Not to mention the other possible outcomes of the poison that we are not taking into account. Grukkle Root sap, which is normally a noxious substance, turns into a lovely flavoured whipped cream when mixed with the right quantity of powdered poppies. It also causes your eyes to turn red for twenty-four hours, but I feel as though that might have been specific circumstances.” Luna trailed off in her thoughts on the matter, all the while giving Draco ample warning and more information than he imagined that he would get in one visit to St Mungo’s.

He actually hugged Luna before bounding out of the room, to run back to the Floo. He needed to contact Potter, tense circumstances be damned. He might just have a solution. Even if it wasn’t, it was a lead in the right direction and it could serve as some kind of advancement where there have been none at all.

He rushed to the lift and jumped in without waiting. He pressed the button for the ground floor but the lift went up before it went back down and opened on the fourth level to let someone out. Draco’s heart was practically in his throat as he nearly hopped with excitement but the moment the sounds from the fourth floor met his ears, his spirits dropped.

He stepped into the door of the lift suddenly, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Standing in the reception area were a large group of red-headed people, along with one woman with bushy brown hair. There were several children, all very familiar to Draco, surrounding them and clutching the adults. A Healer was speaking to them all with a crestfallen expression and from down the hall came a soft wheeling.

Harry Potter came into view, his face ashen and his green eyes dark as they were cast downward. He walked next to a bed pushed by Healers. There was a figure on the bed but the face was covered in a white sheet. He stopped next to the horde of people that were his family and the bed was turned into a cold room that Draco knew too well.

Potter’s eyes were dead and blank as his gaze lifted to his family members. He did nothing but shake his head once, his jaw tense and his throat closed.

Then, in slow motion, the group of people threw themselves at Potter and wrapped their arms around him, each of them descending into varying levels of sobbing. The hardest two to watch were the two boys that stood next to one another. They were only inches apart but there were miles between them. One of the looked the exact image of his father and stared up, tears streaming down his face with no shame. The other was older and his face was set in a determined frown, anger brimming around his hazel eyes.

Draco felt like he was on the other side of some invisible barrier, holding his arm out to reach out to Potter. He wanted to run to him and comfort him too. He wanted to be there but then the door dinged and closed on the sight before him, signaling that it was heading back downwards and as the lift dropped, so did Draco’s heart.

He was, for the second time, too late.

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A/N: *sniffs* This chapter was difficult to write and I tweaked it for quite a while before posting because I wanted it to be right… I hope you all feel it.

Two more chapters tomorrow! *love*