Draco Malfoy did not know what exactly he expected in the new estate. He had grown up in an average hovel in the woods, laboring with no small amount of struggles to support his small family. Every day, he woke up to the sound of blue jays, smiled at the sun poking through his shades, and set off to feed the peacocks. Every day, he worked to chop down offending trees for firewood, to weed the garden to procure better fruit, and to farm the field. Every day, he remained obediently impressed by his father's spell-casting in regards to simple tasks—which were, of course, easier to accomplish manually than by magic. Still, every day, he smiled dazedly at his father and complimented his skills. He knew that Lucius Malfoy was a proud man, and he would never intentionally wound the man's ego by a lack of proper respect. Merlin knew they received enough of it from the Supra in the Neighborhood.
The old Neighborhood, Draco reminded himself with a small smile. A few weeks ago, he would not have dreamed of that thought. He had had no doubt that the entire Malfoy line belonged in the Infra Neighborhood since Brutus Malfoy kissed the mate of Susurro Osbert. The Malfoys had been so shunned then that Septimus and all of his descendants had been downgraded from a Supra Neighborhood to an Infra Neighborhood. Draco had had no doubt in his mind that he, like his father and the fathers before him, would work hard for the meager living they were afforded. He had not questioned his distinct lack of magic. After all, his mother was an Ordinetur. He had simply thought—just as everyone else in his Neighborhood had—that he was just an Ordinetur, an Infra like the rest of them. He had never suspected that he would sprout wings like a bloody swan on his seventeenth birthday. He had never thought that he and his parents would be gifted an estate in a Supra Neighborhood. He had never expected that his estate, the Malfoy Manor as his father had christened it, would be located not only in a Supra Neighborhood, but in the Neighborhood of the Summi Susurro himself. He had never anticipated that the cruel, mocking Spell-Casters could be called Infra from his old Neighborhood.
I will never be called Ordinetur again, Draco realized with a start. He felt his feathers flutter as they responded to his giddy excitement. He glanced behind himself, shifting his shoulder awkwardly to spare a look at his new wings. Wings. He remembered dreaming of this as a child, bragging to his mother that one day Sorcerer Seamus Finnigan would be bowing to him as opposed to the other way around. He recalled splashing in the mud with Blaise—Spell-Caster Blaise Zabini, his mother would have corrected him—and having a Summi Magus mistake him for a Comite and order him to polish his boots. "It's Italian leather," the Summi had told him. He had had to restrain himself from spitting on that Italian leather spitefully.
Never again, he told himself. Now, he would be respected. A Sorcerer's lip would not curl around the words 'Ordinetur Draco Malfoy' anymore. Now, with his white feathers and aristocratic air, a Sorcerer would bend low before him and address him reverently as, 'Magicis Creatura Draco Malfoy.' Now, the only person to whom he would bow would be the Summi Susurro. And even then, he would only bow out of respect. It would not be out of necessity.
Now, he mentally reminded himself, the Summi Susurro will speak to me. He will be the only one who can tell me what to do. He is the only one I am required to obey. I can order a Sorcerer to polish my Italian leather boots now.
Flexing his wing to rid himself of the pins and needles that came from folding them in a cramped stagecoach, Draco smirked. He turned to his mother, smirk still firmly in place, "We will not be obscure anymore, Mother," he promised her.
Turning to him with a gentle smile, Ordinetur Narcissa Malfoy replied, "No, my son, we will no longer be obscure."
Draco turned finally to the large estate—mansion—before them. He had to restrain himself from gawking in sheer shock at its size, tilting his body to view its full height and flexing his back muscles to prevent his feathers from dragging on the gravel. Of course, he had known that it would be bigger than their old home in the Infra Neighborhood. He had had no idea that it would be larger diametrically than their entire Neighborhood. The stone castle jutted out from groomed landscape of Wiltshire with a prideful glare at its arriving residents. It seemed to sense the tainted name of the Malfoy family, the inferior magic of Lucius, and the complete lack of power of Narcissa if its unwelcome glower was anything by which to judge. Nevertheless, it also seemed aware of the esteemed power of Draco, its gates sliding with practiced smoothness to permit entrance.
"Supra Malfoys," a Comite bowed low before them as he approached them at the gate. The Comite had bright red hair, as if embers had been dumped on a field of dry grass. Dressed neatly, though in distinctly low-quality clothing, the Comite appeared for all the world as a natural servant to the Supra. Draco's heightened sense of smell caught a hint of nervousness in his scent, but otherwise, he seemed perfectly comfortable in his low rank. "My name," he spoke respectfully, "is Comite Percival Weasley. I am the Head Comite of the newly established Malfoy Manor. May I escort your graces to the estate?"
Comite Weasley bowed again, gesturing to his right where a black carriage large enough to accommodate Draco's sizable wingspan appeared suddenly. Draco almost jumped before reminding himself that he would have to grow accustomed to casual use of powerful magic, particularly by the Comites meant to be serving him. The carriage was drawn by shining black horses, standing still enough that Draco maintained a sneaking suspicion that they required magic to activate them into movement.
Draco noted with displeasure his father's haughty distaste for the Comite as he looked down the end of his nose at the boy. "A Weasley as our Comite?" Lucius drawled disdainfully. "Whatever have we done to deserve such unkindness?" Draco glanced at his father, intending to glare but reluctant to appear disunited before the head of his new staff. He hoped that the twitching of his feathers showed enough displeasure to tip off his father.
Draco smiled with pointed consideration, "Yes, I believe an escort is in order. Thank you Comite Weasley." The Comite nodded patiently, apparently accustomed to improper treatment, as he opened the door to the carriage and smoothly assisted Narcissa into the coach.
"No need to put your filthy fingers on me, Weasley," Lucius ordered as he gracefully pulled himself into the carriage, his voice dripping with newly developed haughtiness. The Comite nodded and replaced his hands to his sides, bowing his head low.
Once the three Malfoys were seated comfortably inside the stagecoach, Comite Weasley climbed into the front of the vehicle and it lurched swiftly into movement. "Lucius, there is no need to be disrespectful toward Comite Weasley," Draco's mother said quietly. "You must remember that Draco's gift does not sponge away our dishonor, nor does it grant you blank check to behave however you please."
"Nonsense, Cissy. We have new lives now. We do not need to be kind to Comites. They're Comites. We're Supra now. And he's a Weasley," Lucius reminded her. The feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys was an age-old cause of tension, stemming from when Nicholas Malfoy killed Ailwin Weasley and his wife Hilda swore revenge. Of course, that revenge never actually took place until three generations later, when Septimus Malfoy discovered an object in the Malfoy vaults seemingly possessed by the vengeful spirit of Ailwin Weasley. It was alleged in any case, but salt remained in the wound ever since.
"Yes, Lucius, we are Supra now. Nonetheless, it is attitudes like yours that banished us to an Infra Neighborhood in the first place. We are only Supra now because of Draco, and we are both still Infra so far as abilities go. Only Draco's descendants will be born and natural Supra. We must not lord artificial superiority over the Infra. A Magicis Creatura does not change the fact that you are a Spell-Caster and I am an Ordinetur."
"You are wrong, Narcissa. They will never come to respect us if we do not act the type to be respected," Lucius spoke, his voice laced with oily anger for being contradicted by his wife.
Draco scowled, his feathers rustling with irritation, "Mother is right. I do not want to have a disobedient staff because of their distaste for them. They have no cause to hate us. Do not give them any reason to do so. Furthermore, it is compassion, not arrogance, which demands respect." It was a lesson his mother had taught him at a young age, before he understood the importance of social class. His father had ingrained in him the dignity of Malfoys, telling him that their Infra status mattered little compared to their worthiness. He had said that Brutus Malfoy shamed the whole family, but that they could rise above his mistake. That they were above his mistake and they they deserved to be treated as such. Naturally, as a little boy who idolized his father, Draco believed him. However, in the privacy afforded by a cove in the woods, his mother gently contradicted Lucius. She told Draco that cruelty and arrogance created enemies that would never respect him. She taught him that what angered enemies more than anything was compassion towards them. And that flashing anger, she had said, leads to them making a mistake, leads to their defeat. Kindness was the kind a weapon which stabbed opponents and soothed proponents. Arrogance was the kind of weapons which angered opponents, irritated proponents, and dishonored oneself.
Lucius scowled, acutely aware of his son's newly acquired status, and said nothing. Draco hated to insult his father's pride, which was why he had always worn the properly awed expression when the man's eyes flashed gold and the silverware floated gracelessly onto the table. Still, Draco was now the master of the house and representative of the Malfoy family. He could not allow his father to disgrace their name any further. The Summi Susurro himself invited them into his Neighborhood. It was not his wont to offend that invitation.
Draco shifted his wing to a more comfortable position as the carriage slowed to a halt directly in front of the looming estate. He heard a thump from outside the carriage, presumably Comite Weasley dismounting the stagecoach. The door swung open to reveal said Comite as he extended his hand to assist Draco's mother down the coach's steps. After he exited the coach, Lucius paused beside the Comite, "Thank you, Comite Weasley. You have been most…helpful." The words ground from his father's throat like velvet stretched tautly over gravel. The expression on his face bore a strange resemblance to Ordinetur Ernie Macmillan when he ate a lemon rhine whole.
The Comite bowed respectfully, "You are most gracious, Supra Malfoy." Draco could have smiled at the Comite's care not to call him Spell-Caster. Clearly, the boy could pick up on his father's sensitivities. The red-haired boy turned to Draco. "Should you like a Comite to provide you with a tour of the estate?"
"Yes, that would be most welcome," Draco answered pleasantly. He decided that he could get used to being waited on hand and foot.
"Very well, Magicis Creatura. I will inform Comite Hannah Abbott that she is to show you the estate. Following that, if it is pleasing to you Magister, I will, by the customs of Veneficia, assemble the staff so that you may assign them to their posts," Comite Weasley spoke, his head still bowed.
"That would be suitable. Thank you, Comite Weasley."
The boy bowed, snapping his fingers to transport the luggage which they had been told to leave in the Infra Neighborhood into Malfoy Manor. Comite Weasley departed upon the arrival of another Comite with blonde hair and pale skin, eyes bright with pride as she bowed low before Draco. Her gaze lingered for a moment on his snowy wings, which ruffled under her stare.
"Magicis Creatura. I am Comite Hannah Abbott. I have the honor of showing you the estate."
Draco sniffed, smelling lust rolling off of her in waves. He almost rolled his eyes, before he remembered his manners and smiled politely at the girl. He caught the scent of numerous layered perfumes applied to seemingly make her more appealing. He supposed many Veela took mistresses and escorts, though he himself did not intend to do so. He always believed that one's body should be preserved for the one he loved. He was not naïve enough to think that he would wait until marriage, but he could at least court his first.
"Indeed. Lead the way, Comite Abbott," Draco spoke. His tone, he hoped, was clipped enough to put her off attempts at grabbing his attention. She bowed low to him, turning toward the estate and leading the three Malfoys into the lavish manor.
—-
Draco gawked at himself in the overly decorative mirror in his personal chambers, staring with slight disbelief at the…creature who stared back at him. He could barely recognize himself, transformed completely by the expensive-looking attire and complementing cosmetics. His personal Comite Gregory Goyle was experienced both in physical and material care, always dressing Draco appropriately and efficiently organizing his chambers. That was a large reason why he was chosen to be his personal Comite. The other reason was that only he and Comite Weasley could resist his Lure.
Draco was expected to do no work in the upkeep of the estate, relying on Comites for its furnishing and elutriation as well as its financial and business duties. Draco was required to do nothing but bide his time with his own pleasures, occasionally weighing in on important matters when necessary. He had found much time for reading new books, visiting the library in the estate often and becoming acquainted with the easy life of a Supra. Still, despite being treated like royalty by his staff, he never dreamed he would look like royalty.
His outfit, simple in design, complimented his shape the way that no other clothing ever had. The shirt, spotless white and perfectly smooth, fitted to his chest with gold, polished buttons. An equally white bowtie fastened around his neck, straightened with absolute precision. His black tailcoat hung fittingly from his frame, highlighting his slim waist and moderately broad shoulders. Holes were seamed in the back of his shirt and jacket to allow for his wings to sit comfortably on his back as they now did. They gleamed with a clean sheen after he had labored tirelessly to straighten the feathers, moaning consistently at how good it felt to touch his feathers. One thing no one told him about Veela was the sensitivity of his wings. Well, and his newly developed carnivorous habits, he supposed. His black shoes were so polished that he suspected he could see his reflection in them. He specifically requested for them to be made from imported Italian leather.
He was quite impressed with his appearance, but then, he supposed that was a good thing considering that night was the welcoming ball that the Neighborhood was throwing for him. According to Comite Weasley, it was traditional for Supra Neighborhoods to have an elaborate welcoming toast for any new member of the Neighborhood. However, the Summi Susurro always welcomed newcomers with a ball along with the toast. He apparently invited not only the members of the Neighborhood, but all Magicis Creatura. According to legend, all Susurro met as many Magicis Creatura as possible in an attempt to find their mate. He supposed the feast would do that.
It still surprised him that the Summi Susurro had not found his mate yet. One would think that the Magicis Creatura would be falling all over themselves in hopes of being the mate to the most powerful man in Europe—possibly even the world. Then again, he supposed the Summi Susurro was a private man. Perhaps they were falling all over themselves, and he would not allow them to meet him. Draco couldn't think of why the man would not welcome any chance to look for his mate, but he knew the man must have his reasons. He was not the protector of both humans and magical creatures for nothing. Perhaps, for whatever reason, he did not want a mate.
Draco shook himself, allowing his thoughts of the Summi Susurro to dissipate in anticipation for the coming event. He supposed that he was excited, but nervousness eclipsed any other emotion that might accompany his attendance of the ball. He had received the invitation the day of his arrival, the letter coming directly from the Summi Susurro himself. Or, well, Draco supposed it was probably one of his Comites that actually sent it. Still, it was signed by the man. Initially, Draco thought of turning down the invitation purely on the principle of nerves. He had no idea how to act in front of a crowd of Supra who has almost all lived and thrived in this Supra Neighborhood for generations. Only six others had immigrated from other Neighborhoods, and even they had come from other Supra Neighborhoods. The Malfoys were the only family in this Neighborhood to have ever lived in Infra Neighborhoods. In fact, they were the only family in this Neighborhood to have ever had any Infra in their family line. All the other families knew how to behave, what gifts to give, what to say, and what the traditional social cues were. All the other families had attended celebrations with the Summi Susurro previously. They all knew what he was like, what he expected, how he acted, and what to say to him. The Malfoys would be out of place, unaware, and completely uncomfortable. When he had presented this idea to Comite Gregory, the boy laughed and told him that that was what a welcoming ball was intended to do. It was to teach him the customs and expectations of the Neighborhood. He was not expected to know all of that before the ball. "The Summi Susurro will teach you," the Comite had said. It was not reassuring.
"You look splendid, Magister," Comite Gregory complimented him, bowing before him in the mirror.
"That is all thanks to you, Comite Gregory. Merlin knows I would not be able to dress myself this well," Draco smiled pleasantly. He and his personal Comite had gotten along quite well in the week since the Malfoys moved into the Supra Neighborhood. He found that the boy, the same age as himself, shared an interest in similar activities such as reading and baking. The Comite's second language was French, and Draco found himself learning the language from the boy. Overall, his presence was much more enjoyable than the Infra Draco had known in his previous Neighborhood. Still, it was a bit disappointing to know that Comite Gregory was probably only friends with him because he had to be. After all, it was well within Draco's right to reassign the whole Goyle family to a family in an Infra Neighborhood, where they were not allowed the same luxuries as they were in a Supra Neighborhood.
"I doubt that, Magister. I am sure that you could easily select an outfit as grand as this," Comite Goyle spoke reassuringly. Draco nodded absently, his wings shuffling as he mentally reviewed what he would say to the Summi Susurro when he met him.
Hi, my name is—-no, you berk. You can't just say 'hi' like he's some kind of plebeian. And he already knows your name.
Your Grace, it is my honor to address you as—no, what does that even mean? Draco, you idiot, he's the Summi Susurro. You don't address him as anything but Summi Susurro.
Summi Susurro, I humble myself—
Draco's thoughts were interrupted by the voice of Comite Hannah Abbott, "Magicis Creatura Malfoy, the stagecoach is prepared. Supra Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy await you in the coach."
"Thank you, Comite. And thank you, Comite Gregory. Your assistance is most appreciated."
"It is my honor, Magister."