He Onward Came
By: Bucket/Replacement for the Stars/filthyfreedom
Chapter One:
Tricks
He onward came, far off his coming shone,
And twenty thousand (I their number heard)
Chariots of God, half on each hand were seen:
Hee on the wings of Cherub rode sublime
Paradise Lost (John Milton), Book VI, Lines 768-771
(O.o)
Draco Malfoy, soon to be third year Slytherin at Hogwarts, followed silently behind his father as they walked through the vast halls of Malfoy Manor, counting the times that his father's cane hit the cold stone floor between the lush carpet runners. So far, he had counted twenty-six times, as the runners were quite lengthy. His father's closest acquaintance—for Malfoy's did not have friends—was the man they were on their way to visit, and Lucius was clearly taking his time, as he was entirely not fond of Spinner's End. Draco often heard his father talk—for Malfoy's did not rant; how common—of the dreariness and filthiness of Spinner's End and how Muggle Snape's summer home was, and Draco believed him, although he personally had never set foot inside the Professor's home. Lucius, however, would never say such things in front of Snape; to do such a thing would be utterly rude and Malfoy's always upheld a high level of decorum.
The Portkey in his father's cane—the Slytherin-emerald left eye—was set to leave for the sitting room of Spinner's End at exactly one in the afternoon of July the thirtieth. Draco knew this because his father had informed him at least twice; Lucius Malfoy made utterly sure that no member of any plan of his went uninformed, unless it happened to serve his needs for someone to remain uninformed, which happened spectacularly often. Lucius turned a corner and they stepped out into the vast entrance hall, Draco casting a glance up at the massive crystal chandelier that his mother had once informed him had been in the Malfoy family ever since the famous Brutus Malfoy.
Lucius whirled around, his Egyptian silk black robes snapping dramatically about his heels, and clasped one of Draco's thin shoulders. "I will hear no words from your mouth about the state of Severus's house," Lucius warned, and Draco nodded immediately in acquiesce. Spinner's End had to be, then, at least five times as worse than he thought. "Severus is…not like us." The snake head of his cane gestured to the grandeur of Malfoy Manor, and Draco nodded again, understanding what his father meant. He knew that Snape was not wealthy; however, Lucius had learned of how precious Prince loyalty was—Snape had Prince blood; if Draco remembered correctly, Snape was a half-blood, which, frankly, demeaned the Malfoy name, to be known as an acquaintance of a half-blood; however, his father's word was law and Draco would never defer—and passed his knowledge onto his son. Snape was trusted implicitly by the Malfoy family and his disgusting pedigree was handed off as misfortune. "However, he is…" Lucius frowned slightly, and Draco watched his father's face for signs of what he would say next. "Family." Lucius nodded, showing Draco that nothing more would be said on the matter, and gracefully held out the head of his cane.
Two aristocratically elegant fingers touched the jewel and after a few moments of waiting, Draco held in his gasp as his navel was hooked and they spun away.
Both Lucius and Draco landed smoothly on their feet, both having been taught from an early age that Malfoy's must remain elegant and graceful in any situation, and Draco lifted his head as his father snapped back his cane, and cautiously looked around the cell-like sitting room of Spinner's End. It fit what he knew of Snape: books lining the walls, no windows, only a plain fireplace and a simple armchair off to the side with a tiny table, an empty decanter sitting exactly in the middle, filling the room. The lack of splendor and opulence nearly made Draco uncomfortable, but he obediently followed his father when the man stepped over to the only exit—other than the front door—out of the room and looked around the utterly tiny Muggle kitchen. He had never seen such appliances! A sink that needed plumbing—he had read about it in a Muggle Studies book—and a…refrigerator? If Draco remembered correctly, they were like cooling cabinets. Draco looked closer at it and hesitantly reached out one hand to touch the cracked white exterior. It was cool, surprisingly; cooling cabinets were only cold on the inside.
Draco lifted his nose and turned back to see his father's handsome face flash with a disgruntled glance of what would be alarm on any other person. Snape had informed his father at least twice over Floo that he would be ready for them at one, and Draco knew that his father trusted Snape to keep his word. Lucius stepped back into the sitting room, with Draco nearly on his heels, and perused the bookshelves. Although he felt stupid for thinking it, Draco wondered if Snape was hiding in a book.
Lucius reached out one long, pale finger and pulled on the upper pages of a book on Light potions. He stepped back, immediately straightening himself, and Draco nearly gaped as the bookshelf creaked and then slid forward and aside. He had always thought that the passage behind the bookcase was a Muggle myth; perhaps, he thought, as his father ordered him to stay in the sitting room as he ascended the stairs, that's why Snape had put it in, so no one would expect it. Draco shrugged to himself and turned to look at the softly roaring fireplace, moving sightlessly over to the single chair. Before he sat in it, however, he looked down, and gaped at a small black kitten sleeping soundly on the seat of the chair. As the chair was black, it was easy to see how he had missed it on the first step into the room; however, Lucius was extremely observant and surely would have noticed such an animal, not matter how out of place it seemed to be.
Remembering Bultstrode's lessons on how to pick up a cat, Draco carefully cupped the thin ribs and the cat's bum, holding it to his chest; the kitten was heavier than it looked. Surprisingly, the silky smooth black hair was greasy; Draco settled himself in the armchair as the cat yawned and curled deeper into his chest, the Malfoy Heir smiling slightly. "Looks like Snape has had you in his potions lab, no?" he murmured, glancing up the stairs to see if his father had returned. He had not; Draco peered down at the slumbering cat and gently rubbed it behind the ears, holding in his grin at the soft purr that erupted.
Dark copper eyes slowly opened and the kitten yawned again, stretching against Draco's hands and butting his chest with its small black nose. An owl tapped on the single window in the kitchen and, clutching the kitten to his chest, Draco walked quickly to the window and let in the bright white bird, who stared at him with knowing orange eyes.
Getting an idea—he would most likely pay dearly for it with detention with Snape for sending his cat off with an unknown owl—Draco pulled out his wand, mentally thanking his father for bribing the Ministry to allow him to perform magic outside of school, and flicked his wand, creating a container large enough for the kitten but small enough for the owl to lift. He quickly put the kitten inside of the carrier and held out the straps for the owl to take.
When his father returned downstairs, Draco had already shut the window and was back in the sitting room, hiding his grin behind the standard Malfoy mask.
(O.o)
Harry fed Hedwig another owl treat and bustled her to her cage as she brought him his last present, this one sounding dangerously like an extremely furious cat. He was shaking in excitement; he already had letters from Hagrid, Ron and Hermione! And someone had sent him a cat! Harry grinned as he approached the small carrier that Hedwig had left on his tiny bed; he figured it was Hermione, as a joke about the Polyjuice incident with Bulstrode's cat. He'd have to give her a huge hug the next time he saw her.
Harry swallowed to himself as his small hands encased the carrier, feeling around it for the opening. The moment his hand touched one of the sides, it fell open, and a black blur shot itself right at Harry's gut, snarling at his too-large and holey clothes and ripping through them. Harry lifted the kitten by the scruff of its neck and cautiously examined it. "You're cute," Harry informed it, and it hissed at him, dark copper eyes slit angrily and small ears flat back against its skull. Harry examined the underside as quickly as he could, dodging the sharp claws; Harry sighed to himself as he set the tiny kitten on the bed and it shot off to pounce on his pillow. He had himself his very own male kitten. Harry grinned and turned back to the carrier to see if it held any information, but it had vanished. Hermione had probably bought it before summer or had somehow found the spell for it and created it at Hogwarts; it didn't matter, really, so Harry put it out of his mind.
Harry crawled across his bed and grabbed up the small kitten as it attacked his pillow yet again, ignoring how the stained cover was now mostly shredded. "Did 'Mione give you to me?" he asked softly, and dark copper eyes peered up at his bruised face—Uncle Vernon had a temper, after all—and one small paw moved up to rest on his chest. Harry touched it and pulled it slightly away, examining the small black pads with a clinical gaze. "I suppose she did," he murmured, and dropped the paw, moving around to sit on the floor, against the wall. Slowly, the kitten began to talk softly, and as Harry began to nod off, he smiled.
(O.o)
The kitten was asleep when Harry woke up. He smiled sleepily down at it and moved over to drop on his back onto his bed, cradling the small black body against his concave stomach. He smiled down at the kitten as the dark copper eyes slowly blinked open, and felt it yawn against his hand and then arch its spine in a stretch. "I suppose you need a name," Harry mumbled and rolled over on his side just in time to see Petunia's skinny hand push a cold can of soup through the cat flap.
"Eat, boy!" Petunia screeched, and Harry listened as she clicked down the stairs…oh, that was right, Aunt Marge was visiting soon and Petunia had said something about needing to get used to heels. Harry rolled his eyes and set the kitten to the side, rolling off the bed and dropping to his hands and knees, crawling quickly over to the soup.
He grinned over at the kitten peering at him over the side of the bed, the dark copper eyes wide and curious. "Meat soup, kitten. Soup, meet kitten." He grinned at his wit and crawled back over the bed, digging out a chunk of beef and dropping it on the edge of the bed, watching as the kitten attacked it. "Err…I don't know what kind of food kittens eat, so we'll just go with meat." Harry nodded and pushed to his feet, digging out another chunk of meat, as well as a chunk of carrot, and dropping them in Hedwig's cat. "Sorry, girl," he murmured, and turned back to his bed, grinning as the kitten gnawed on the chunk of meat. Harry sat on the floor at the end of his bed, crossing his legs and resting his chin on the thin blanket, absently feeding himself the last chunk of meat. He licked the soup off his fingers and grinned at the kitten when it finished the hunk of meat and stared inquisitively at him.
Harry sighed and leaned back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. The kitten jumped off the bed and curled up on Harry's stomach, quietly beginning to talk again in a soft, distinctive tone. Harry listened quietly, wondering what the kitten was trying to tell him. He abandoned the half-finished can of soup and gently rested both of his hands on the kitten's small, warm body, and then grinned at the abandoned Argyll sweater right next to his head. "How about Argyll?" he questioned, and glanced down at the suddenly quiet kitten. There was a long, slow blink of the dark copper eyes and Harry took that for a yes.
"Well, then," he announced, sitting up and pressing a swift kiss to the soft fur between Argyll's wide eyes, "Guess you've got a new name and I have a cat named after a sweater."
-Replacement for the Stars
