Chapter Text
HJP: “Interview is now being recorded. We are in room 7006, found in [REDACTED]. Speaking is Harry James Potter, who will be conducting this interview. Sat beside me is Ronald Billius Weasley. Mrs Polnus is transcribing. Across the table is the interviewee, Draco Lucius Malfoy. All in the room consent to being recorded and transcribed.”
[A hum of agreement.]
HJP: Malfoy, you have to verbally consent.”
[A sigh.]
DLM: “Very well. I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, consent to being recorded.”
RBW: “I consent.”
[Papers rustling.]
HJP: “For the purposes of context: on the fourth of December, the previous Monday, Malfoy and-”
DLM: “May I begin this interview by making the transcriber and any readers aware that I did specifically request to be interviewed by Harry James Potter, and only Harry James Potter. I do not understand why Weasley has to be present. Nor do I consent to being glared at like a cockroach when I have been nothing but professional.”
RBW: “Professional?”
DLM: “Whereas, and this is not just my opinion, but basic fact, Weasley has been nothing but an obstacle since I first met him. In fact, his tendency to be obsessive, rude, and just plain irritating led to my partner and I having to steer clear of Ministry environments for sheer dread of running into Weasley himself. Even going so far as to seek out a private laboratory so that I didn’t have to put up with his presence. At the behest, I might add, of the entire case itself.”
[Scoff.]
RBW: “You’re lying through your teeth, Malfoy.”
DLM: “I refuse to comment until the Weasel is removed from the room. As we go through the events, I’m sure the interviewer, case reviewer, and Union will come to understand why.”
HJP: “But-”
DLM: “Let me put it this way. I no longer consent to be recorde-”
[Recording cut off due to consent being rescinded.]
11:03:
HJP: “This is the continuation of an interview between myself, Harry James Potter, and Draco Lucius Malfoy, regarding the events of the fourth of December. We are now in room 8003, due to…[throat cleared] property damage. Listeners, please note that Ronald Weasley has been removed on the request of the interviewee. Do you re-consent to being recorded?”
DLM: “I do.”
[Papers rustling. Throat is cleared again.]
HJP: “So, Malfoy, when did you-”
DLM: “Perhaps it would be easier if I just start at the beginning, Potter?”
[A pause.]
DLM: “Very well. On the first of March, two-thousand-and-eight, I was summoned by the International Union for Wizarding Safety, to the Ministry of Magic, Switzerland. I arrived and was escorted directly to the basement which, usually, works as a holding cell for prisoners waiting to be sent to Azkaban. Having visited before, I was fairly surprised to find prisoners down there at all, considering Switzerland’s remarkably low crime rate. Most often, the floor is empty. I’d visited before, when- That’s probably not relevant.”
HJP: “Go on.”
DLM: “The Healer and Minister accompanied me down to the basement, where I found every single cell had a prisoner. I cannot be sure why they decided they had to parade me around the place like a literal piece of meat, but I assume it was to make a point. Either way, I quickly became aware that something was extremely wrong.”
HJP: “What do you mean?”
DLM: “Well, first of all, I knew instantly that these were not prisoners. They were patients.”
HJP: “What gave you that impression?”
DLM: “They appeared to be mentally unwell. Most were screaming, throwing themselves at the bars as we passed them. Many had, by all reports, been practically comatose until the moment the basement doors were open. They couldn’t have guards down there, you see; the doors to the floor had been barricaded and kept locked for weeks, by all accounts. Most guards refused to go inside based on prior events. It took hours to find somebody willing to simply show me around. Those who had been placed on guard duty previously were now… being guarded, as it were.”
HJP: “Sick?”
DLM: “Yes. It appeared that whatever was causing the mental crisis was contagious, and on further questioning I determined that it was spread through bodily fluids. Bite, scratch, ingestion of saliva, etcetera. They had a total of fifty-three patients, all presenting with the same symptoms; mania, extreme violence and anger, complete and utter disregard of the people they they once were. And, of course, the apparent thirst for murder, as demonstrated to me when I got a bit too close to one of the bars. Quite honestly, my life flashed before my eyes.”
HJP: “What exactly happened?”
DLM: “Well, being that I jumped about fifty metres away just in time, we'll never know. I can hazard a guess at what might have happened, had the patient got their claws in me.”
[A sigh.]
HJP: “A logical guess, then.”
DLM: “They were trying to eat me.”
HJP: “How could you be sure?”
DLM: “Ever been up against a starving polar bear, Potter? At one point, it was Durmstrang's favoured test of bravery. Until you’ve seen anything similar, I can’t explain to you how I knew it. But I knew it. Had I not moved, that man would have sunk his teeth into my neck with absolutely no hesitation. And where one focused, so did the others. Like they were of one mind; one goal.”
HJP: “To eat you.”
DLM: “Yes. Anything living, I suppose. Eventually, I was escorted upstairs, to the hospital wing.”
HJP: “To patient zero?”
DLM: “Yes. They were in a moment of lucidity, a privilege apparently not passed on to the others. Nobody could explain to me why this was, but luckily it meant that I could carry out a preliminary interview with said patient zero. Name of Alexandra Nilsson. She was happy to talk, despite feeling lethargic and just generally under the weather. She had admitted herself to hospital two months prior, reporting various symptoms: headaches, dizziness, confusion. They diagnosed her with a severe flu and sent her home. Two weeks after that, she brought herself back, claiming that she could no longer use her magic.”
HJP: “She was weak.”
DLM: “No. It was more than that. She was losing her magic. Whilst we can’t be sure of it being drained, as such, she reported that that was exactly what it felt like; something sucking it out of her. They admitted her then, for observation. All tests came back clear, nothing could be done. After another three weeks, they sent her home.”
HJP: “So, five weeks since the first symptoms were reported.”
DLM: “At this point, her magic was all-but non-existent. She could barely levitate a pencil. But, with nothing to be done, they promised to check up on her and sent her on her way.” [Sigh.] “It was possibly the worst decision they could have made, although I’m sure they weighed their options. Around a week after Alexandra was sent home, there were reports of a disturbance at her address. Authorities arrived to find her…” [Sigh.] “I suppose there’s no easy way to describe this. She was eating her husband.”
HJP: “Can you give more… detail, please?”
DLM: “Salazar, Potter, how much more detail can I give? She was leaning over him, eating his stomach with her bare hands. When the authorities arrived, she attempted to attack them, needing to be stunned and restrained physically. Magic had virtually no effect on her, so they resorted to Muggle interventions. What happened next was a quick descent into chaos. They brought her here, to be observed. She had a moment of lucidity, although she couldn’t remember anything from the last two days. Her magic was gone, stripped. She was akin to a Squib. When told that her husband was dead, she became hysterical and had to be stunned once more. It became clear very quickly that she had a daughter, who was missing. The authorities went out looking for her, and in tracing her, found a long line of victims.”
HJM: “How long?”
DLM: “In total, the girl had bitten seven people. They found her eating the brains of a cat she had caught a few villagers over. They figured out much too slowly that the bite was infectious; from that one girl, twenty percent of the prisoners in the basement stemmed. Whether directly or indirectly.”
HJP: “And could therefore be traced back to patient zero.”
DLM: “Yes. And yet, whilst the majority of the symptoms were the same, there was one key difference. The victims infected through a bite did not lose their magic. In fact, those who were placed in isolation prior to becoming unwell had their magic right up until the very end. At this point, those bitten or coming into contact with anyone infected was being isolated and observed, so the Ministry had reports on all of them. They were, considering what happened later, fairly lucky. A testament to their quick actions.”
HJP: “So, you knew that Alexandra Nilsson was the only one who had lost her magic prior to becoming unwell?”
DLM: “Yes. We couldn’t be sure, of course, having no way to test if the other victims had lost their magic, with their being unable to respond to a simple greeting without throwing themselves head-first into a metal bar to try to eat you. Alexandra hadn’t been bitten. She hadn’t come across anyone with the infection. She was, as you said, patient zero. The first one. It all came back to her.”
HJP: “Except, it wasn’t just her.”
DJM: “After I had been in Stockholm for twelve hours, I was ordered to my next location. Berlin. I floo-ed there and found much of a similar situation. Their patient zero, a man by the name of Willem Meyer, had been kept in for observation much longer than Nilsson, so the first episode had been observed and recorded. The memories of witnesses had been helpfully placed in a Pensieve for me to view. Eight weeks after the first symptoms, he was lying in his hospital bed, appearing to be asleep. A nurse was doing his checks, quite regular, when he suddenly threw himself out of bed. Managed to get his teeth into her arm, ripped her tendons out. One of the orderlies at reception saw the whole thing, called security. During that event, three people were bitten. Of course, they were debriefed. Gave their reports and memories as per hospital policy. And went home.”
[Loud sigh.]
HJP: “And then?”
DLM: “And then, carnage. Before they realised what was happening, seventy-six people were bitten. All of them had to be imprisoned. Meyer was quarantined. Under my instruction, he was stupefied so I could perform some diagnostics, but again, it barely lasted five minutes before he was awake. In the end, I had to run my tests with him completely tied down to the bed, teeth gnashing at me, and everything. It was quite traumatic, I won’t lie to you. Anyway, all came back clear. At no point, did he cease to be extremely violent. In one day, I visited three cities, all of which were having the same problem.”
HJP: Stockholm, Berlin, and… Nice?”
DLM: “Yes. In total, three patient zeros. Almost two hundred victims as a direct result. All original victims shared the same affliction. All bitten victims, the same. Further testing proved some stranger… details.”
HJP: “Which were?”
DLM: “The bitten victims were considered legally dead. Not just legally, I supposed. They had no heartbeat, no working organ systems. Their cells did not repair or divide. No hex, jinx, or curse slowed them, even Unforgivables. The only way proven to stop them had been found by accident; a mis-judged depulso to the head.”
HJP: “So, the brain was destroyed.”
DLM: “Exactly. The original victims, of course, were still living. Without their magic, and only flashes of their memories immediately prior to contracting the illness. But alive. And only episodically craving human flesh.”
HJP: “So, you set on a cure?”
DLM: “I did. Two years of research, testing, crafting charms and brewing potions. Two further years of testing and experiments. The victims just kept piling up. I did everything I could. Four years, and although I could assist the patient zeros in their symptoms, and help keep any more incidents contained… In the end, I knew I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t cure it. I needed help.”
HJP: “And you chos-”
DLM: “Had I known what was going to happen, I never would have involved her. Not even for a second. You… You know that, Potter, right?”
[A pause.]
HJP: “Everyone knows that, Malfoy. Nobody doubts that. I’m sure she doesn’t either.”
[A sigh.]
DLM: “Well, I needed a partner. A good one. Over the years, more and more patient zeros had cropped up; at first it was just three a year, for three years. Then, only six months between reports, like clockwork. Then, more people started coming in, more regularly. But always in threes, and always the same. I needed help. But considering my history, not everyone would agree to work with me. I needed someone smart, capable. Someone willing to keep a secret. Or, someone who could be easily persuaded to do so.”
HJP: “The Union was keeping it under wraps.”
DLM: “Of course. Could you imagine the global panic if the public found out? Anyway, it took me a few months before I finally thought of her. I had heard basic rumours, of course, but nothing concrete until I asked for her file. I believe Kingsley thought I would change my mind upon seeing it.”
HJP: “But?”
DLM: “But, reading her history only proved what I already knew: that it had to be her. That she was the only one who could cure this. So, I grabbed you - Potter, that is - and we apparated to her house. And that, I suppose, is where this story really begins. And forgive my unprofessionalism, but I’m going to need a drink.”