Authors Note: Before we start, i'd just like to make a few general points about structure, updates, etc.-// On average I update every 5-7 days. -// Although I have taken into account the limited information we are given in the books about the Malfoy history, I have not directly followed or included any of it, so will therefore not entertain criticisms of the story on the grounds that it is "not parallel to what we already know".-// I have included the use of tobacco in the story, despite the fact that it had not been discovered or used in Europe at the time this fic is set (the 18th century)...so err don't complain about it being anachronistic :)-// Please take a few minutes to review the story if you have enjoyed/loathed it. Even if only to say "I liked it" or "I hated it". Its extremely encouraging to receive feedback, be it positive or negative. However, more detailed reviews would be welcomed - if there is something you wish to point out or that you are not satisfied with, I would be happy to alter or explain it.-// Thats about everything i think...so I hope you enjoy it!!
The run-down houses of the Parisian street looked strangely beautiful. Snow covered their roofs and windowsills, more falling all the time. It swirled across the pavements, buffeted by the icy wind that cut through Gabriel like a knife. He moved closer to his companion, burying his chin into the high collar of his own cloak as he did so.
They were poorly dressed for the occasion, having just left a performance at the prestigious Comédie-française. Gabriel's delicate pastel slippers sank deep into the snow, his body heat melting the ice that clung to his white breeches and chilling him to the bone. His cloak, although thick, seemed useless against the cold. His breath came in smoky jets and appeared to sparkle before his eyes, before disappearing among the myriad snowflakes that raged silently about him.
He was sure he would've frozen there and then if it hadn't been for the large amount of fine Parisian wine coursing through him. He was blissfully drunk, and he couldn't help laughing softly at the intensity of his happiness.
"And what's so funny?" his companion said with a smile, demonstrating from his raised voice that he was quite as drunk as his friend. "We…are here," he waved his hand dramatically past his surroundings, nearly losing his balance "when we have enough money in our pockets to buy every carriage in Paris."
Gabriel threw back his head and laughed indulgently.
"Oh Sebastien, you always were the most insufferable rich-boy. We are here because it is beautiful…we are here because money cannot buy the stars in the sky, or the snow at our feet."
"Well it can buy everything else." Sebastien replied, laughing again. He span his cane between his fingers, the gilded silver of the handle glinting in the moonlight.
They both knew it was foolish to walk through this part of town so late, but the wine had made them reckless, and they were enjoying their stroll far too much to care.
They reached a small square surrounded by ramshackle houses, with a stone well at its centre. The snow had slackened off, and Gabriel could see numerous alleyways leading off in every direction. Sebastien had already started towards the one directly in front of them, and he turned back as he reached the entrance.
"Come on, or have you found some new object of fascination? I swear, if I have to wait around for as long as I did when you saw that lamppost I'll-"
But Gabriel cut him off. He was experiencing the strangest sensation. As he stared down the alley, his eyes trying to pick out some detail in the darkness, a feeling of foreboding flared in him. It was almost like a warning, a voice telling him that something in that alleyway was bad…meant him harm…
"Wait! Lets…lets go this way." He called, surprised at how worried he sounded. He pointed to the next alleyway along.
Sebastien rolled his eyes, obviously mistaking this for another of Gabriel's drunken tangents.
"But we'll be quicker if we go this way. Otherwise we'll have to go right along the boulevard and frankly -…Gabriel? Whatever's the matter?"
As Sebastien's voice rang out into the silence, Gabriel felt the warning increase dramatically. An unusual energy coursed out from his chest and along his limbs. His eyes were wide, his elegant lips slightly open. Whatever was down that alley was moving.
Without thinking, he charged forward, his arms outstretched.
"Tien! Tien, behind you!"
Sebastien turned, puzzled, to face the entrance of the alley. He could suddenly hear footsteps. Something moved in the dark, the footsteps quickened. There was a flash of silver as a knife was drawn from a belt.
"Tien, NO!" The pulsing energy seemed to gather in Gabriel's hands. They began to burn.
All at once a figure burst from the alley, taking hold of Sebastien's collar and bringing the knife down in a deadly arc.
The energy became intolerable pain, and a flash of vivid orange light forced Gabriel to close his eyes. He heard himself shouting 'no', and felt the pain receding. Then everything went black.
He regained consciousness to find Sebastien shaking him urgently. His head throbbed, but that intense pain had finally left his hands.
"Gabriel, are you all right?"
Gabriel looked into the face of his friend. A strand of his auburn hair had slipped from its white silk ribbon and lay across his face, a stark contrast to his flawless, almost luminescent skin. He looked worried, and Gabriel could see himself in the reflection of those mahogany-coloured eyes.
"Yes…yes I'm fine. What happened? Are you all right?" he added, sitting up suddenly.
"Of course I am." Sebastien replied. "And I don't know what happened. There was light – it came past my shoulder and struck the man in the chest. He was a cut-throat, would've killed us both for the money in our pockets…Did you see where the light came from?"
Gabriel's head was spinning. What he remembered was clear, vivid, and yet it made no sense at all. That surge of pain, then the release from it precisely when the light appeared. And it had appeared in front of him, seemingly materialising inside his very palms. But how could that be?
He shook his head, sighing deeply. Sebastien rose to his feet and offered his hand, pulling Gabriel upwards.
"Come. Whatever happened tonight has obviously left you exhausted." Sebastien said, slipping an arm around Gabriel's waist and leading him down the alleyway.
"Wait. What happened to him?" Gabriel whispered. "The man."
"He's unconscious, but he'll live…unfortunately."
Gabriel let out a sigh of relief. If it had indeed been him who'd conjured that light, at least he hadn't done any serious damage. At least he'd saved Tien.
They began the walk back to their respective houses in silence. Gabriel realised he was still very weak, and Sebastien's warm embrace was the only thing stopping him from falling over.
It wasn't long before the Malfoy house loomed up ahead, its grand façade putting all the buildings near it to shame.
The Manor, jewel in the crown of the Malfoy family, was situated in the hills some miles from Paris, but winter was always a time of cultural activity and decadence – the Malfoy's two favourite things – and so they resided in one of their many town houses throughout this period.
The windows were dark, and surrounded by the white of the snow they looked somehow foreboding. Arriving outside the wrought iron gates, Sebastien released Gabriel and stood facing him. He still looked slightly worried.
"Will you be all right getting home?" Gabriel said quietly, his breath coiling up into the sky, which was now perfectly clear.
"I'll be fine. There are no cut-throats in this part of the city…and besides, I'm sure I can rely on another orange explosion should anything go wrong." He smiled and would have laughed but, seeing the look on Gabriel's face, he stopped himself.
He leant forward and kissed his friend in the traditional Parisian farewell. He thought he noticed Gabriel linger a moment longer than usual, thought he felt the delicate texture of his lips more profoundly, but then it was gone and he was watching his companion make his way to the pitted oak front door.
The aged hinges creaked lazily as Gabriel slid into the spacious entrance hall. All was dark, and he crossed the room to the little alcove underneath the staircase where an elegant candelabra stood on a polished desk. Moments later it was lit, casting eerie shadows along the finely papered walls of the second-floor corridor.
Gabriel still felt weak and very drunk, but it was no longer enjoyable, and he cursed under his breath as he stumbled for the third time. Finally arriving at his bedroom door, he grasped the burnished handle and entered.
The room was immense, almost the size of the square they had stood in earlier. The walls were plastered with rich crimson, a skirt of gold separating them from the polished wooden floorboards. The ceiling was painted in much the same way as you would expect a church to be – sun-blessed clouds and prancing cherubs, their small white wings beating rapidly as they danced about the golden gates of heaven.
Gabriel had always hated this, being a strong Atheist. However, his father would never consent to its removal – the Malfoy's were a well-respected aristocratic family, and all well-respected aristocratic families were Christian…at least in public.
His room contained very little, and would have looked bare were it not for its obvious lavishness. Thick rugs, shipped from the Far East at great cost, covered the cold wood floor. Delicately patterned drapes hung by the large window – a seat of mahogany and blood red cushions beneath it. A writing desk lined the wall to the right of the door, an enormous gilt mirror suspended above it.
Easily the most dominating feature of the chamber was the bed. Each of its four posters were exquisitely decorated with floral engravings – vines snaked upwards, their stems stretching out into beautiful roses at the tops. The cover was crimson with a fine gold lining. The sheets were crisp and white.
Closing the door behind him, Gabriel stumbled across to the desk. He began to empty his pockets, placing a lilac purse studded with pearls and a finely crafted gold cigarette case onto the shiny wooden surface. He then removed his cloak and frock coat, loosening the white ruff at his neck. Kicking off the pastel blue slippers, he undid the black silk ribbon that held his hair back and looked into the mirror.
The transition from the bitter cold outside to the relative warmth of his room had left him flushed, accentuating his high cheekbones and delicate lips. He had the true complexion of an 18th-century Parisian aristocrat – pure and almost luminescent, but not pale. His hair was white-blonde and shoulder-length, his eyes cobalt grey, but with the strange ability to seemingly reflect all the colours that touched them. The whole of the Malfoy family were beautiful, but Gabriel was unusual even amongst them, and well liked because of this.
He stared at his reflection for a moment, his mind still focused on the happenings in the square. He just couldn't understand it. He'd seen magic tricks performed on the boulevards and in theatres, and witnessed the magnificent firework displays held in the gardens of the Palaise-royalé, but never this…More and more he was beginning to accept that it had been him who had conjured the orange light. The question was, how?
He sighed in a hopeless sort of way, succeeding this with a large yawn.
Forget it for now. He told himself, stifling a second yawn. He stretched lazily, slipping out of his white shirt as he did so. He made to put it over the chair but, noticing the cigarette case, he paused.
"Oh why not." He murmured to himself, sliding a white cigarette from the case and inserting it into a thin ivory holder.
He walked across to the window and eased it open, pulling one of the red silk cushions close to his bare chest. He lit the cigarette, watching the grey smoke snake up into the night. His eyes glittered in the light from the moon, and as he inhaled deeply he found himself thinking about Sebastien, about how he smoked, how his arm had felt around his waist, warm and comforting.
Gabriel smiled, tracing his tongue along his lower lip at the best memory of all.