HP Magic Eight Ball: The Sequel! Part 1 [NC-17]
For enchanted_jae , for her birthday! The Ball Returns!
In bits-and-pieces, sorry!
HD Magic Eight Ball: The Sequel! Or…'Balls to the Wall, Malfoy!'
The 20 standard answers on a Magic 8-Ball are:
● As I see it, yes
● It is certain
● It is decidedly so
● Most likely
● Outlook good
● Signs point to yes
● Without a doubt
● Yes
● Yes - definitely
● You may rely on it
● Reply hazy, try again
● Ask again later
● Better not tell you now
● Cannot predict now
● Concentrate and ask again
● Don't count on it
● My reply is no
● My sources say no
● Outlook not so good
● Very doubtful
10 of the possible answers are affirmative (●), 5 are negative (●), and 5 are maybe (●). Using the Coupon collector's problem in probability theory, it can be shown that it takes an average of 72 questions of the Magic Eight Ball for all 20 of its answers to appear at least once.
Part 1/several
"Potter," Lucius began, thoughtfully regarding the shiny black orb he'd handily relieved of his wife. He gave it a little jog and it came up with a cheery message: Outlook good.
"'Malfoy', Father," Draco interjected calmly, not raising his eyes from the Financial section of the Straits Times, Sunday Morning Wizarding Edition, "his legal surname is now 'Malfoy', though Harry still insists on using 'Potter' professionally. I hope to disabuse him of that ridiculous notion soon enough."
"Git," Harry muttered darkly, "you wish," and continued on reading the Quibbler's Travel section. Draco chuckled, in no way perturbed, and turned a page.
"Er…Malfoy," Lucius continued, clearly reluctant to use this intimate form of address when referring to the terminally irritating, utterly abominable 'Boy Who Insisted on Bloody Surviving'—or rather, more recently, the 'Boy Who Could Now Properly Be Termed a 'Malfoy''. That last entitlement galled him no end, even more than the first had, years ago.
"'Harry', Lucius, darling." Narcissa looked up only briefly from the Daily Gardening Report in the Prophet, but her glance was sizzling and pointed like a Very Big Stick. "He's your son now, just as much as our dearest Draco."
"…Urgh, fine! Harry!" Lucius was close to giving up altogether on his quest to address the—the person who now had the full and legal right to join the Malfoy family 'round the Malfoy private breakfast table, and thus extract the information he so ardently desired in re the vastly intriguing Oracle his son had somehow laid his grubby hands upon. Lucius's thin lips pursed fretfully; he frowned horridly; he achieved fully the 'I just bit into something both bloody unexpected and sodding awful' grimace he'd perfected over the years for dealing with Muggle sorts but, bravely, as befitting a true Malfoy, he forged forward, only mildly daunted by his wife's minatory eye.
"Tell me, where, precisely, did you come across this piece? I understand it is your Bonding gift to our Draco." Lucius gave the fascinating black ball another little shake, causing the floaty white triangle to take a happy zip through Outlook not so good and Ask me again later.
He frowned at it, as the Ball seemed a mercurial sort, and perhaps Draco was mistaken in relying upon it.
"From Hermione, Mr. Malfoy," Harry answered, civilly enough. The previous month's worth of marriage to the blond menace had been brilliant; this month had brought the vastly unwelcome persons of Lucius and Narcissa to darken the Manor's broad and imposing doorstep. Harry had remained civil for the last fortnight only by dint of reminding himself often (sometimes three or four times a minute, during meals) of the previous month. It was a strain, he admitted freely to his empathetic spouse, having Lucius Malfoy up his nose constantly. Draco's response to this had been exactly as required from a smitten husband: shagging sessions in their Auror cubicle had increased exponentially.
"The Mud—" Three sets of eyes instantly swiveled to Lucius, glaring. Six separate holes bored (metaphorically) through his forehead. He stopped his tongue immediately, cleared his throat, and quelled his rather understandable flash of temper at being non-verbally schooled by his own children—Feh!—with staunch Malfoy fortitude. "Um. Muggleborn Witch?"
"That's correct, Father," Draco answered in Harry's stead. "Hermione Granger, Harry's best mate from Hogwarts," he added, stealing a quick sideways glance at his newly Bonded partner, now visibly fuming. Best not to let Harry open his mouth to respond further to Father at this moment, Draco determined, calculating damages sustained with acuity. Or at all, really. In fact, it was likely even better that they should finish breakfast in peaceful quietude and then seek out some location far more relaxing the very moment breakfast ended—and then stay out all day, likely. Father retired generally at nine, sharp.
Have a picnic, Draco thought, with a certain amount of pleased delight at his own sudden burst of romantic spontaneity. Potter will like that.
I'm going to murder that scheming sly old bastard, Harry was thinking, simultaneously, busy cruelly rending his innocent crumpet to shreds with the fingers of his unoccupied hand, for still existing on this planet despite me. Bloody annoying old arsewipe! Bleeding bigot!
After glaring sullenly a half-second longer at his erstwhile father-in-law, he huffed and returned to his newspaper, well aware that Malfoy—his Malfoy, the barely tolerable one—might be offended if he, Harry, hexed his horrible new sire-in-law of his with Burbling Boils. Because, when his Malfoy was offended by things, he tended to become vocal, and Harry, at all costs, wished to avoid that botheration.
"Why do you ask, Father?" With every appearance of calm deliberation, Draco reached out a careless hand and relieved his direct forebear of the Eight Ball as smoothly as Lucius had appropriated it from his lovely wife, not two minutes previous. "And thank you; that's mine. I shall be returning it to our suite now."
With a casual wave of Draco's wand, the Ball Vanished, despite Lucius's furtive grab at it.
"It's a…curious item, this Ball," Lucius allowed, picking up his compote spoon instead, just as if he'd meant to, all along. Muffy, their serving elf du jour, sprang into action, providing him a generous helping of sliced exotic fruits swimming in champagne. "Magical, is it, son?"
Harry Potter Malfoy—despite himself—grinned at Lucius's unsubtle prodding. He rustled his newspaper to hide that, and then traded the Travel section off to Draco after yet another meaningful glance shared between them, snagging one of the house elves' superior crumpets along the way to replace his damaged one. It was already toasted a golden brown, buttered thickly and lavished with apricot-plum marmalade, just as Harry currently liked it. There were at least some advantages to being married to a Malfoy, Harry admitted. Silently, of course. He certainly wasn't going about saying that aloud—not here, with Lucius listening.
Not ever, with anyone listening. Malfoy was a right prick to deal with when he was feeling superior. Which was often.
"You could maybe call it that, Mr. Malfoy," he smirked, scanning the Nikkei Index with sudden absorbing interest, his brows rising when he caught the excessively high price-per-bale of uncured Romanian dragon leather. Draco, looking up from the Time-Turner rental adverts in the Quibbler, sent yet another sly glance his way and Harry met it with widened, intentionally gullible green eyes. They gazed at each other, in perfect connubial harmony. "If you wanted. Right, Malfoy?"
"'Draco', Harry. Please practice the use of it, my given name," Draco returned urbanely, one eye twitching into a barely-there wink of shared humour over his deplorably transparent pater's antics. He then settled his eyes firmly upon the article on the Greek Islands Potter had seemed so very interested in before they'd handed off their respective sections.
Perhaps they could hop over to the Parthenon for luncheon, instead? Draco pondered. Potter might enjoy that; certainly, the scenery was delightful, the cuisine healthful and Father absolutely abhorred Greece with a passion. "And yes, you could, Harry," Draco replied after a long moment, remembering at last that Harry had asked him a rhetorical question. It was his bounden duty to aid Harry in winding Father up another degree; matrimony required it. "I know I find it very, er, useful," he drawled, implying all sorts of things that caused Lucius to perk his pointy ears up and look alarmingly interested.
"Lucius," Narcissa returned her folded section of newsprint to the table with a slap, whereupon it promptly Vanished. She picked up her teacup with vigour, newly refreshed by the incredibly indispensible Muffy.
Muffy and her immediate kin were the house elf contingent who took such excellent care of the actual Malfoy personages, as opposed to their numerous possessions, acting as valets, secretaries, dressers, tailors, serving personnel and such. Harry, being a new Malfoy, blessed them daily, especially as they all had that same zealous attitude Kreacher did, minus the weird Black family dependency. It was refreshing, no matter what Hermione had to say about it. He liked having clean underthings and socks available at all times, in findable places, such as his dresser drawers. He enjoyed a cold butterbeer appearing with the snap of his fingers—and he especially relished the relative sanity of the Malfoy elves, after his experiences with Dobby and Kreacher.
"You do recall, Lucius," Narcissa continued in a steely tones, stirring two lumps of sugar into her tea with great concentration and absolutely no disharmonious clinking, "that we're set to meet up with the Greengrasses and the Spodes at the Club, do you not? For luncheon?"
"In a moment, Narcissa," Lucius waved her off, frowning. The Muggle Ball had taken all his interest. "Erm, Harry," he reluctantly addressed his appalling excuse for a son-in-law once more, "where precisely did your...acquaintance obtain it?"
"Toy store, I'd wager," Harry replied, after casting a moment's quick cogitation at it. The Index was of far greater importance to him, at the moment. "Muggle, likely, Mr. Malfoy. Draco, did you see the EuroBludger stock increase? That's a start-up company I've been watching closely."
"I did," Draco nodded, not looking up. "Already taken care of, Potter. Friday."
"Good." Harry nodded back, satisfied. "One hundred shares, right?"
Draco nodded again. Lucius found himself doing the same, distracted by all the bobbing heads. "One hundred shares, Potter—as we'd agreed," Draco confirmed, his gaze dreamy over images of Barbados. Much too far for luncheon, though, he thought regretfully.
"…Toy store?" Lucius butted his pale head in once more, recalling his most imperative Mission: Ball obtainment. "Muggle?" His exceptionally well-bred tones were beyond horrified. The possibility of the device being of Muggle origin even outweighed the utter unfairness of having his own son address Potter as 'Potter' whilst he, Lucius Malfoy, was chastised for doing this very same thing!
"Lucius," Narcissa's voice was just that much more insistent. A terrier with a chew-toy, Lucius snorted—under his breath, of course. Bloody woman and her bloody luncheons! "My love. We join them at eleven, on the dot, for an aperitif. You'll need to be dressed, darling."
"Where, then, might one find this toy store, Potter?" Lucius ignored his upcoming lunch with the gentry in favour of a topic of far greater interest: the Eight Ball. He had not missed his son's consultation of the mysterious black orb when choosing investments; he'd not been blind nor deaf when Narcissa sneaked it off to her private Sitting Room to consult with it on the QT over the likelihood of grandchildren.
"'Malfoy'," Draco murmured, turning a page and squinting. Gibraltar and Monaco also were of interest, he noted, seeing the ticks his Bondmate had left beside them. Clearly, his Harry was now in dire need of a vacation. "Or 'Harry', if you must, Father. Though he won't like it."
"Muggle London, likely," Harry finally glanced up at the repeated mention of his name, having absorbed the wholesale closing price of Trilling Turtle Eggs for his planned Monday business meeting with the Weasleys, as well as the recent ups and downs of that particular commodity. The Eggs were an important ingredient in Invisible String Sauce, and WWW's regular supplier was proving a sore disappointment. "Lucius," he added evilly, for his own secret enjoyment. "Sir."
"Ah, I see," Lucius returned unwillingly, wincing in well-bred agony at the uncalled-for familiarity of an upstart Potter referring to his elders-and-betters on a first name basis and then allowed it pass unremarked, subsiding into a sulky silence, broken only by papaya-mastication. It took but a moment of chewing to realize he was actually thankful the abominable, appalling Potter-at-his-breakfast-table had not, in fact, ventured quite so far as to address him more properly as 'Father'. Now that would be truly excruciating! Lucius concluded decisively. He'd likely sick up his fruit cup were that to occur!
Narcissa redoubled her glare at him, as if she knew exactly what Lucius was thinking—and, more's the pity, likely she did.
"Which is to say, you should make ready right now, darling." She, at least, was not to be put off by Lucius's sudden interest in things Muggle or papaya, no matter how very unusual either of these new interests were for a man of his staid tastes. "You know you take much longer to dress than I do, Lucius. And then there's your hair, dearest."
Harry, caught off-guard, snorted his mouthful of Oolong right out his nose in a spray of brown liquid, obliterating a whole table of fascinating statistics on historical Jabberwock claw cost changes during the late Nineties boom market. In all fairness, he couldn't help it. That idjiit berk Malfoy—the younger; Harry's pesky husband-and-Auror partner—had just twitched his upper lip just so in sly amusement and then there was the look on his new father-in-law's face: priceless!
NB: And we're off and running—or rather, rolling—as Lucius scrambles after his latest obsession and the author scrambles after a PLOT! We'll see where it takes us, shall we? As half the fun is getting there, yes? And this is a WIP, mind you, and a giftish one, to the wonderful enchanted_jae, for her birthday. Posting in fits-and-starts, then.