Disclaimer: I own none of the Harry Potter characters, events, or anything else created by J.K. Rowling. I do in no way profit from this story.
Author's Note: This is my first story on this particular account, but not the first fanfiction I have ever written. However, it is quite a leap for me. I have wanted to write this story for so long that I finally decided to put down my thoughts and create this chapter, and a few others. I am not sure, though, if anyone will care to read it. This first chapter is a little bumpy because of introductions, and I promise that soon this will become much more fluid. :]
August 23, 1994.
The quidditch fans of the world were still trying to piece together what had happened to them after the final match between Ireland and Bulgaria. The Ministry was filled with chaos, yet they did their best to try and downplay the attack that had occurred Monday night. Those who hadn't attended the match were left confused and anxious over what had happened. One young woman in particular, a Miss Lydia Caxton, was slowly becoming more and more restless.
Lydia was the daughter of Ophiuchus Caxton, a former Death Eater. That is, he had retired up until a few weeks ago. Ophiuchus had never spoken to his daughter about his role as a Death Eater. He saw no reason to do so. The war had ended when she was only six years old, and her mother kept her sheltered from the dangerous and 'evil' parts of society. But now she was nineteen, and her mother had passed away many years ago. Even if her mother had been around, there was no need to shelter an adult from the realities of the world. As her father had said, it would be dangerous for her to remain ignorant. And so, shortly after the Summer Solstice, Mr. Caxton informed his daughter that the Dark Lord was on the rise again, and he would have to take a place among his ranks.
The news was rather shocking for her. Despite being raised as the member of a pureblood family, there had been little talk of blood purity or the removal of muggleborns. Little did Lydia know that this had much more to do with how her father wished to please the late Mrs. Caxton (who was a very pacifistic woman), rather than how he actually felt about mudbloods polluting their world. In truth, Ophiuchus hated muggles just as much as any of the other noble pureblood families. The only thing that kept him from passing such prejudices onto his daughter was his wife's insistence that they let her grow up in blissful ignorance.
Little more had been said on the matter when Ophiuchus admitted the truth to his daughter. He dropped the subject immediately after she understood what this meant for him and left her alone once more. The next time anything at all was mentioned about the 'job' he had taken on was the day before the Quidditch World Cup. Mr. Caxton told his daughter that there was a task he had to partake in the following evening after the World Cup finished. He had been so vague that if Lydia hadn't been able to pick up on the unsteadiness of his voice and slouching posture she would have never known that it involved the Dark Lord at all. But those were the signs that her father was nervous. And what else did he have to be nervous over besides the fact he was once again a minion of the most evil wizard of all time?
That night Mr. Caxton had left after a short farewell to his only child. He told her he would be back early Tuesday morning at the latest. Lydia, still consumed by naivety, didn't question his word. Why would he not be back? The Dark Lord wasn't really back. His followers were probably just going to see the game and then have a meeting somewhere, like any other organization would do on occasion. That is what Lydia told herself. And up until Tuesday evening she had done a fine job of convincing herself that he had simply gotten distracted and would be home any minute.
The minutes slowly ticked by. Soon sunlight gave way to the darkness of dusk, and the stars took their places in the night sky. With each hour that passed, Lydia found herself becoming more nervous. By nine 'o clock her hands were literally shaking with fear. Where was he? What had happened after the World Cup? Why had she not received the Daily Prophet today? Had something gone wrong? Was her father hurt? Was the Dark Lord back? New questions popped into her head simultaneously.
The witch did her best to try and distract herself from the worrisome situation she was in, but not even the best picks off her bookshelf could keep her attention for long. Something was wrong. She could feel it. It was the same sort of feeling she had gotten when her mother fell ill and tried to play it off as a cold. But this time things were much more delicate. She simply couldn't go to St. Mungo's and ask for help. The reason he was missing remained unknown to her, but she knew it had something to do with him being a Death Eater. And looking for help at the Ministry would damn him and her both. No. She would just have to wait it out.
So she sat at the dining table, wand resting on the wooden surface, twiddling her fingers about. Occasionally she would pick at her nails or a stray piece of lint that stuck to her clothing. Mostly, though, she just sat and stared into the crackling fire. But when the clock struck one am, Lydia could no longer ignore the internal conflict that raged within her mind. What if her father needed her help? Waiting would only prolong his suffering. But what if he came back and found her missing? Then he would be just as worried as she was! And even if she were to try and find him, where would she look? She had no idea where the World Cup was being held, since she had so little interest in Quidditch that she never paid attention to the news clips pertaining to the games.
She had to find someone, anyone who would know what had happened. But who? Immediately one man in particular came to mind.
Lucius Malfoy.
Despite the pardons he had received after the war, it was well known that Lucius had been involved as a Death Eater. There was no doubt in Lydia's mind that whatever happened after the World Cup involved Death Eaters. And whether or not Lucius had also rejoined the Dark Lord's ranks he would surely have attended the event. The Malfoys were always present at important events like that.
Fortunately for Lydia, Lucius and Ophiuchus were rather good friends. Or, at least, they had been. After her mother passed away Ophiuchus turned into a rather ghost-like man who rarely enjoyed much of anything. Still, he would visit Lucius on occasion for drinks, and once the Malfoys even came to her home for dinner. So even though she hardly knew the man very well, at least they had a reasonable connection. It wouldn't seem too odd for her to ask him about her father, and he would certainly trust the girl enough to be truthful.
Before the clock could even reach five past one Lydia had made up her mind. With her wand in hand, she apparated to the cloaked part of Wiltshire where Malfoy Manor was located. Surprisingly enough, she was able to pass through the gates without any trouble at all. If her mind had been in the right place she would have found this curious since the next annual party at the Manor wouldn't be until October; but at that point in time Lydia simply shrugged it off, thinking the Malfoys had been too busy to change the wards. And without another thought to the wards she dashed down the extravagant pathway to the front of the Manor, which was thankfully free of the pesky white peacocks.
Half a minute later Lydia stood in front of the large wooden doors that would allow her entrance to Malfoy Manor. She took a few moments to catch her breath after the tedious run. That was when her mind started to clear up a bit. Her eyes flicked up at the silver plated door knocker, then down at her feet. Standing there, alone and looking quite ragged, suddenly seemed silly to her. She became aware of the fact that her actions were rash and completely spontaneous. What was she going to say when someone opened the door? That she had a simple question to ask that could not be postponed by the amount of time it would take an owl to fly there and back? And then what? She would have to thank whoever answered her question, if someone did, for being gracious enough to speak to her at this late hour, and then return to her empty home.
The brunette let out a heavy sigh and clasped her hands in front of her face. It's going to be okay. Just knock on the door, ask for Mr. Malfoy, inquire about father, thank him, and go home. It was not a plan that guaranteed any good results, but given Lydia's naturally shy disposition, working up the courage to simply talk to someone could be quite difficult. In fact, at that moment she was more anxious about having to talk to Mr. Malfoy than the whereabouts of her missing father.
The thought of talking to him made her stomach do flips. It wasn't as if Lucius Malfoy was an easy person to talk to. He was a proud, critical aristocrat that made most everyone around him feel inferior. Even Lydia, who had been invited with her family to attend many parties hosted at the Manor, still felt like he thought she was no better than any stranger off the street. On top of that, he was incredibly gorgeous. For a quiet girl like her, speaking to a man like Lucius was like climbing Mount Everest. It would take all of her strength to get through the impending conversation.
Just do it! The longer you wait the more anxious you will get!
Lydia took a moment to steady her breathing and then she nodded to herself. I can do this. With that thought in her mind, the witch raised her hand to grab hold of the door knocker. She nervously raised it up and let it drop, before quickly repeating the process a few times.
In an instant the girl was filled with terror. Any second now that door would open and she would have to ask whatever elf opened it if Mr. Malfoy was available. What if he wasn't? What if she was wasting her time here? What if she actually had to go home without an answer?
Just as the anxiety began to overtake her, the heavy front door swung open. Standing behind it was a small house elf dressed in a tattered pillow case that clung to its owner's body.
"Hello misses. Pippy was not expecting you." The small elf squeaked. Lydia swallowed harshly and then nodded. It's just an elf. You can talk to a bloody house elf, can't you?
"I am sorry for disturbing the household at such a late hour, but I am in a very difficult situation at the moment and need to speak to Mr. Malfoy." Lydia did her best to look and sound confident. She even went so far as to look down her nose a little at the elf.
"I see. Pippy will go see if Mr. Malfoy is still awake and ask if he wants to talk to you. What's your name, miss?"
The elf didn't seem to be the least bit shocked with Lydia's explanation. It was almost as if that was a very common reason people came calling at the Malfoy Manor. But what did she know? Perhaps it was.
"Thank you. My name is Lydia Caxton, and you might mention that I am here to ask about my father."
The small elf nodded at her and turned around, but then seemed to remember something.
"Oh, so sorry miss! You may come in! Please, come in and wait inside." The house elf moved out of the way and gestured for the witch to walk into the foyer. Lydia smiled softly at her and walked into the large, open room. She had been there many times before, yet the sight still made her feel very humble. The walls were decorated with beautiful works of art, the floors made of an expensive marble, and the vaulted ceiling was so high above the floor that it would make even the tallest guests feel dwarfish. The brunette was so entranced that she hardly noticed that the elf had popped to some other location.
A minute or two later, Lydia heard a loud pop. Once again the meek house elf was standing before her, this time with its eyes lowered slightly.
"Mr. Malfoy will see you in his study now."
Author's Note: I would greatly appreciate your reviews for this story. I wish to know if it seems at all interesting to anyone else, or if I should just give up on this project. It would mean a lot if you left any sort of comments – even critical ones! Thank you.