Chaos and Order – A Multiverse Fanfic

Saturday, 28 June 1986

03:00 pm

 

Inside the library, Darcie and Daphne sat opposite each other, with a small table between them.

On the table was a chessboard. Daphne had white pieces, and Darcie had drawn black. Now, these weren't sets of magical chess pieces. No. Darcie had specially ordered a muggle chess set with nothing special about them.

16 pawns and 16 chess pieces, all wooden, stood lifeless, facing each other.

The trick was — a self-imposed rule to not touch them.

Daphne's nordic blue eyes were narrowed into slits. Today, she was wearing a light green frock emblazoned with little silver birds.

Suddenly, one white pawn moved, slid on the board, and came to rest at the square, e4.

Darcie's d7 pawn moved to d5 as if it was sliding on oil. Her dark green eyes were focused too, but it didn't seem that moving just a pawn had been an arduous task for her.

"What did Pansy say?" Daphne asked, her eyes searching for the next move.

"Not much," Darcie commented. "She tried, but lost interest when Draco showed her a few tricks he picked from me."

Daphne nodded. Her d2 pawn now crawled to d4.

Darcie didn't need to wait as she had many moves planned already. But this time, her eyes narrowed, her magic churning around her with unimaginable intensity.

Opposite her, Daphne observed silently, taking in every minute change about Darcie; learning from her through games.

It wasn't easy, Darcie realized. Not at all. But she was specific enough, and her belief didn't lack backing, either. Her intention was precise.

All three words became a clear image of conjured imagination in her mind.

The black pawn at d5 shook. It was a common pawn with a round top. But now, a face appeared on it, the contours of the face carving themselves on the wood like ink. It didn't end here.

The small column between the round top and the pawn's flat, but equally round foot, split apart, becoming two lean wooden arms.

Unfortunately, no legs appeared. No matter how much Darcie desired for them to be.

The pawn, now with a face and two hands, turned around on its axis and bowed at Darcie. He then slid diagonally towards Daphne's white pawn at e4. His long, wooden fingers wrapped themselves around the lifeless white pawn, lifted it, and then threw it off the board.

Then the transfigured black pawn threw his hands up, screaming a soundless battle cry of victory.

In the next moment, it returned to its original state.

Darcie took a deep breath and leaned back for the comfort of the soft sofa.

"How many spells were there?" Daphne asked, now not even shocked at the sight she had just seen. It had become a daily occurrence for her, and both Daphne and Darcie were too reserved to express shock over the same things repeatedly.

"Three."

"Three?" Daphne repeated the word, looking thoughtful. "One to transfigure the pawn, one to move the pawn, and…"

"One to imprint it with rules," Darcie said, finishing the sentence.

This was an uncanny and mysterious outcome Darcie had stumbled upon in her quest to learn about wands and their relations with magic and its users.

Unlike a beginner spell, which had a precise effect, Dacie could be more creative with her desired outcomes, combining many spells by just being overly Specific and having an ingenious Belief. Her Intentions took care of the rest, giving her unbound imagination a substance.

But only if she didn't use a wand.

The results had been so far to her liking, though the lack of Control still troubled her like before.

Non-verbal magic using a wand made her magic overpower her intentions, as explained by her father. So that had been put aside by her for now, either.

The only case where she got precise and textbook results was when she used the wand and verbally cast the spells. Neither Darcie nor her parents had been shocked by those results. Not after seeing her last stunts with her mother's wands.

Not to mention, Lucius had commented that not having her own wand might have influenced the results, too. But, as to that, he had added nothing further.

Daphne looked at Darcie, her pearl-like childish eyes deepening with thoughts. Slowly, her head turned to look to her left.

Darcie's eyes followed her gaze. There, on a large table for studies with a lit candelabra resting in the middle, were a pile of books, notes, quills, empty ink bottles, and more books.

The four books nearest to the girls glowed gold, with their Titles dancing on their covers — Magical Drafts and Potions, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, and Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.

"You've read them all," Daphne said, her tone less questioning, more in wonder.

Darcie nodded, knowing well that Daphne was still reading The Standard Book of Spells with dozens of doubts related to the Magical Theory's contents.

Darice had once thought that the book on dark forces would be the most interesting. Potions and magical herbs had been contesting for second place in her mind for days. Yet, to her surprise, it was the book on magical creatures that had fascinated her the most. Especially a few creatures listed so obscurely in it.

"Father told me he is quite proficient in potion making," Darcie told her. "So from tomorrow onwards, he will teach me how to brew potions and everything about the processes involved. Busy as he is, it will go slow, I know. He has already ordered three sets of basic ingredients. Mother has also allowed me to practice spells in her presence, but only using verbal magic."

At the mention of practice, Daphne's eyes shifted from the books to Darcie. "What about the nursery?" she asked. "You told me it would be better for us to have our own."

Darcie shook her head. "They are not allowing me to have it," she told her.

Why? That question Daphne left unasked.

"Father also told me I can only have books equivalent to the 3rd standard according to Hogwarts' curriculum," Darcie said, looking at the distant bookshelves. "Anything above that, and it would raise questions to which we won't have any answers."

"We have some old books in our house," Daphne told her. "Maybe…"

"No." Darcie rejected the unsaid proposal. "It's not time to go that far. Let's finish the game later. I think we best proceed with our plan."

Daphne's eyebrows raised. "But your parents are still here," she said, with the faintest touch of fear. "Are you sure?"

Darcie almost smiled.

"Dobby," she called out.

The house-elf appeared by their side with a loud crack. His face was marked with old bruises, and a few fresh, blue bruises could be seen down his neck as well. A smell clung to him, embracing his frail figure like the ragged clothing he was wearing.

Despite all this, the house-elf looked cheerfully at Darcie's sight. "Miss Darcie called Dobby," Dobby squeaked, his large ears flapping, and his tennis-sized, green eyeballs bulging moistly at her.

Both girls shared a glance, nodded, and stood up.

"Follow me," Darcie commanded. Daphne followed her with a cushion in her hand, and Dobby, now confused, hopped to catch up with them.

There was a strict hierarchy of orders for a House-elf in the magical world. A House-elf, who was bound to a House, owed the patriarch of that house unconditional loyalty. Any order from such a person was prime in house-elves minds.

But this was an outcome of ancient traditions. Not because of magic.

In Malfoy House, Lucius Malfoy's orders were laws for the house servant, Dobby. Darcie knew it. She loved her father, but books had taught her that one need not like all things about a man or a woman for one to love them.

A pet must be treated as a pet and loyalty can not be imposed, but only instilled, Darcie believed.

And the word Belief meant too much to her for her to ignore Dobby's misery.

The little girls took the house-elf to the bathroom in the suitcase. A tub of foaming lukewarm water, soaps, and perfumes were waiting for them there.

Dobby's tiny head with a long nose bobbed up and down in all directions.

Daphne put the cushion on one side, and then both girls grabbed Dobby's stick-like arms and threw him in the tub. Dobby let out a cry, now drenched from head to toe, the hot water already cleaning the filth off him and becoming murky.

"Clean yourself," Darcie commanded. Her father had forbidden her to give Dobby clothes, and the house-elf to accept clothes from any family member. But Darcie's command was out of the purview of both statements.

"Dobby must not, Miss Darcie," the house-elf said, looking horrified. "Master Lucius will punish…"

Darcie's words cut through the house-elf's voice. "Are you afraid?"

The pure eyes of a 6-year-old matched with purer, but courageous eyes of the beaten house-elf. "No, Miss Darcie," he told her. "Dobby is not afraid."

And the house-elf washed himself then. His old cushion was so filthy that with two hard rubs, Dobby's tiny fingers shredded it to pieces.

When the house-elf was done, he stepped out of the tub, looking like a featherless turkey. The color of his skin was so white that one could not say if there was any blood within him. Dense red, blue, and pale yellow marks covered his tiny body, telling a tale of incomprehensible tortures, punishments, and cruelty.

Standing beside her, Daphne sniveled, her fingers digging deep into the cushion.

Darcie didn't need Dobby to be naked and clean for her to see these marks. Most of the beatings had happened in front of her. Some in distant, dark corners, but even then, Dobby's loud cries had nowhere to go. They had echoed in the Malfoy manor for days, ultimately becoming nothing but ghosts of the original wailing sounds.

"Dry yourself, and put on perfume," Darcie ordered.

Dobby did not know how to follow this command, so Darcie showed him. After that was done, Darcie turned her head to look at Daphne. "Give me my cushion," Darcie said, with obvious feigned anger.

"No." Daphne rejected vehemently.

The rejection was followed by a planned fight over the cushion, with Dobby looking at them dumbstruck. By the time they were done with the cushion, its cover had come off, now torn in three places.

The cushion cover was red velvet with gold embroidery, and a tiny snake emblazoned at one corner.

Somehow, with three torn pieces, the cushion cover just looked like a regal gown.

Dobby's gaze was longing as he looked at it. But even he, the house-elf proclaimed by her father as half-a-measure cleverer than all house-elves, couldn't have predicted what happened next.

Daphne lunged at him; a thing that both girls would never forget, for it wasn't planned.

In one stunning movement, the tiny girl put the cushion cover over Dobby before he could fight against it.

Dobby, now utterly bewildered and deprived of the courage he had gathered before, cried. "Oh, no, miss!" he muttered, trying to pull the cover out. "Master Lucius will kill Dobby!"

Darcie narrowed her eyes. "How dare you take off your clothes without my permission, Dobby?" she asked, the corners of her mouth arching up.

Dobby looked up at her, and both girls giggled. A quite rare sight.

Dobby wasn't a fool to not see what had happened. His large eyeballs looked like pearls under the ocean as tears burst out, as he kept mumbling words that could've been anything.

"Let's go," Darcie said, turning around. "We have one more thing to do."

Dobby followed his mistress out in his new clothes, smelling of freshly plucked flowers and earth beaten by the first rain.

They headed for the potions' room. When Darcie threw open the door, one could see a cauldron and other accessories in one corner of the dark room, but not without seeing a large table in the middle.

As Dobby entered, Daphne shut the door, darkening the entire room even more.

Suddenly, a single flame lit up, lighting up the entire table, and giving the entire room a pale yellow hue.

Dobby, almost in a trance, climbed up on the table and saw the thing on which a small candle was flickering with a smaller reddish-orange flame.

It was a cake.

Dobby's knees hit the table. He clutched his new robe over his heart and choked on silent tears. "Miss Darcie… remembers…" he whimpered word by word.

Darcie approached him and patted his tiny head.

"A very happy birthday, Dobby."

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