Chapter Text
“Draco.” Elsa glared angrily down at her brother, who was blatantly avoiding her sharp gaze. “Draco, look at me.” Draco stared down at his breakfast plate, seeming not to hear. “Draco, please.” Elsa was desperate now, and it showed in her voice. Draco glanced up at her, finally acknowledging her presence. “Draco, did you tell father?”
Sheepishly, he looked away. Softly, he said, “Father told me to send an owl as soon as you were sorted. So I did.”
Elsa looked at him sharply. “You told him…even though you promised me you wouldn’t?” she hissed. She was still upset by the howler she had received earlier. The entire hall had watched as she sat barely containing her emotions, face red, fists clenched and shaking. It hadn’t helped that the letter had burst into flames before it began berating her. Lucius’ normally quiet, disdainful drawl had dripped with rage as it echoed through the great hall.
“I cannot believe,” the envelope had spat harshly, “that my daughter—my daughter—would dare to disgrace the family so. As a…Gryffindor,” tongues of angry yellow and orange flame shot out at Elsa at the word, “you have no right to bear the Malfoy name. I renounce you. Do not return to the manor ever again.” With its final word, the envelope vanished in a puff of black smoke and sparks.
Elsa shuddered at the memory, at the unadulterated hate in her father’s voice and at the stares of stares of her fellow students boring holes into her flesh. She had sat for a moment, too stunned even to think, before she stood up abruptly, and all but stomped over to her brother, seated at the Slytherin table.
“How could you?” she asked softly. “You’re my brother. You promised me.” Her voice broke; she was near tears. She turned away from Draco, and strode out of the great hall with her head held high. As soon as the great double doors had shut behind her with a loud thunk, she slid against the cold stone wall and thought, What am I going to do?
Elsa stood once again on Platform 9 ¾, drawing her red and gold scarf more tightly around her face to block the wind. She didn’t mind the cold or the heavy snowfall, but the wind on the exposed platform was harsh. Elsa was thinking dark thoughts, remembering the beginning of the school year and the unfortunate events that followed.
“Elsa!”
She was shaken from her contemplation by a cheerful voice calling her name. Elsa looked up and saw a short, fair-haired man in a mismatched suit striding purposefully towards her.
“Elsa!” he said again, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. Pulling back from the startled girl, he said, “Elsa, I know we’ve never officially met, but I’ve heard so much about you.” He smiled, and held out his hand for her to shake, “I’m your uncle, Ted Tonks.”
Elsa looked down at his extended hand, floundering and frowning slightly at the formal greeting that had so shortly followed the embrace. She shook his hand, and politely replied, “Pleased to meet you.”
He beamed at her, then said, “Well, come on! I know Dora and Dromeda are excited to meet you, and I bet you’d like to be out of the cold.” Elsa nodded to indicate she would follow him. He picked up Elsa’s trunk, saying, “I’ll let you carry your owl. It’s not too far to the Portkey.”
The two passed through the brick wall separating the platform with the rest of King’s Cross Station, moving towards the area of the station from which wizards and witches could arrive and depart. Passing through another hidden barrier, they were greeted by several fireplaces and a surly porter watching over a line of mundane objects.
The pair approached the porter, Ted giving the man his name and their destination. The porter grunted and used his wand to cause an old purple comb, which was missing half of its teeth, to sail through the air towards them. It stopped, hovering directly in front of Elsa’s face, at eye-level.
“Ready, Elsa?” Ted asked, linking his arm with hers. She nodded. “Right, then!” he said, jovially. “Off we go!” and he grabbed the comb.
When the Portkey finally stopped, they both floated gracefully to the ground, treading the air in a practiced manner. They landed in a snowy field across from a large gazebo-like structure. Dusk was beginning to fall, and the expanse of unmarred snow was tinged shades of pink and orange by the sunset. Trees, bare of leaves for the winter, shivered skeletally in the breeze. The hush of the wind and their soft breathing were the only sounds to break the still quiet of the air. In a voice little louder than a whisper, Ted said, “Welcome to Kensington Gardens, Elsa.”
Elsa turned to him quizzically, but he stopped her before she could ask her question. Ted chuckled softly, saying, “I know it’s not really far enough to warrant a Portkey, but Dromeda dislikes cars and absolutely refused to let us take the tube. It’s just a short walk from here to our townhouse in Knightsbridge.”
The pair walked south in companionable silence, passing the statue of Achilles, but not quite getting into Hyde Park. Leaving the gardens, they exited onto Knightsbridge Road. The old wrought iron street lamps, a holdover from an earlier age and slightly at odds with the chicly modern nightclubs and restaurants that peppered the road, had been lit in preparation for the twilight which had fallen thickly around them.
Ted and Elsa, carrying the trunk and owl, made an odd-looking pair in that snowy half-light, but few of London’s denizens were outside to see. After a few turns along several more snow-covered streets, Ted stopped. They stood in front of a cream-colored façade trimmed with black, whimsically twirled railings and speckled with large, white-paned windows. A stout staircase led up to a burgundy door, as cheery and flushed as someone drunk on wine of the same shade, all surmounted by a winking gold number 24.
In the lights of streetlamps and the fading sun, the building had a warm glow, defying the cold of the snow and wind it faced. “Welcome home, Elsa,” Ted said, offering her a small smile.
Elsa couldn’t help shiver, though she wasn’t cold. I can never go home again, she thought, with a melancholy grimace.
Unmindful of Elsa’s withering mood, Ted continued up the steps and opened the door. Elsa followed, hesitant. She looked down at her feathered companion. “Well, Marshmallow,” she whispered softly, “here goes nothing….” The snowy owl cooed comfortingly back at her as she crossed the threshold into the cheering heat of the townhouse.
The foyer into which she stepped was small and inviting. The white oak floor beneath her boots was covered by large, plush rug patterned in reds and golds. A small table abutted one ivory wall and held several family photos and an ornate vase filled with bundles of orchids and sprigs of lavender. Opposite the table, on Elsa’s other side, a narrow staircase spiraled up and over the arch of the front door.
“Dad, is that you?”
Before Ted could answer, a flash of pink descended the steps at a run. Nymphadora Tonks skidded to a halt at the foot of the stairs, barely refraining from knocking Elsa over.
Startled, Elsa jumped back. Before she could retreat further, though, she was pulled in for a crushing hug.
“You must be Elsa!” Tonks pulled back, smiling down at the blonde. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’m Nymphadora, although no one really calls me that.”
“I call you that,” came a mildly annoyed voice from further in. The woman to whom the voice belonged followed shortly after. The dark haired older woman turned to Elsa, and said, “It’s nice to finally meet you, Elsa. I’m your aunt, Andromeda.”
Elsa furrowed her brows slightly, and said, “But Aunt, I believe we have met before.”
Andromeda looked at Elsa, confused. “I’m not sure to what you’re referring.”
“I was told you came to our hou—to, um, Malfoy Manor—for Christmas, right after my first birthday. So I suppose we met then?”
A pained look briefly crossed Andromeda’s features. “Ah, yes,” she said, smiling kindly, “and are you still as adept with ice magic as you were back then?”
Elsa shyly returned her smile. “I’m not bad,” she said modestly.
“What?!” Ted exclaimed. “The way Dromeda told the story, you were a natural! I’m sure you’ve gotten well past the point of ‘not bad.’”
Before Elsa could respond, Tonks turned to her and said, “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to see it. I’m studying to become an auror, so I want to experience all sorts of magic.”
Elsa looked up at the three encouraging faces surrounding her, and exhaled softly. “Okay. Any requests?”
“Ooh, you should do a lion!” Tonks exclaimed enthusiastically, beaming at Elsa.
Seriously? Elsa thought to herself. Of all the ridiculous suggestions…a lion. She sighed, and rolled up her sleeves. She held her hands out in front of her, fingers splayed, magic tickling her palms. Then she remembered her wand.
I almost forgot! She winced, and quickly grabbed the instrument. Elsa was not in the mood to be questioned about her ability to do wandless ice magic.
Entirely for show, she waved her wand, letting loose some of her magic in the process. Quickly, a life-size lion rose rampant, its claws extended and mouth open in a soundless roar. Its cobalt eyes and bared teeth glittered in the warm light of the foyer.
“Wow,” Tonks breathed out reverently, “that’s amazing. No wonder you’re a Gryffindor, doing lions like that.”
Seated around a dark mahogany table laden with food, the Tonkses asked Elsa about her experiences in her first semester at Hogwarts.
Between bites, Elsa explained the rumors that had been circulating the school.
“The first attack happened on Halloween—Filch’s cat was petrified and a message had been written on the wall next to her, saying that the Chamber of Secrets had been opened.”
At the mention of the chamber, Andromeda and Ted exchanged worried looks. Elsa heedlessly continued on.
“About a week later, Colin—Colin Creevey, a boy in my year and house—was petrified. A few people had seen me snap at him earlier that day when he was taking pictures while I was trying to study. So they suspected me of being culprit.
"I mean," Elsa continued before any of the Tonkses could interject, "it made some sense. I was a pureblood from a notoriously Slytherin family, and I obviously must've been angry for being sorted into the 'wrong' house. No one else could've possibly had the knowledge or motive for it.
"People went out of their way to avoid me after that, always whispering about me behind my back. I was…really isolated. So I was almost happy when Harry spoke Parseltongue and was blamed for the third attack. I'm sure he didn't do it," she said quickly, "and I know it's wrong of me, but I just couldn't handle being blamed for something so awful when I had nothing to do with it."Elsa sighed, and looked down at her food, obviously upset.
“Hey,” said a soft voice from across the table, catching her attention. Elsa looked up, and found herself staring into her father’s face.
She started, backing away so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over, eyes still locked on those cold, familiar grey irises. Before she could get far, though, the face in front of her began to shift. The sharp pointed noise was squished back, its front broadening until it resembled that of a pig. Ears elongated and pointed, triangular tips rotating to face her. Pale skin grew ruddy, taking on a distinctly pink tinge. Elsa couldn’t help but laugh.
Tonks shifted back to her earlier features, joining Elsa in her laughter.
Behind her hand and in between gasps and giggles, Elsa said, “I can’t—I can’t believe—you made him—can’t believe you made him look like a pig!”
Tonks smiled broadly at Elsa. “Glad you liked it. I could do Draco too—give him a turkey gizzard, or maybe some ferret features.”
With that in mind, Elsa and Tonks spent the rest of the meal avoiding one another’s gaze. Just one look at the other’s barely-concealed smirk would dissolve them into laughing fits once again.