It was the violently approaching earth that knocked the wind from his lungs. Draco rolled with the velocity, though – practiced in the art of tucking and relaxing. The wooden bowl he'd used as a portkey thunked into a tree – the same tree beneath which he came to rest. He coughed and stared up through thick, bare branches. Spanish moss swayed in a building breeze, and dark clouds seemed to slick like black oil across the grey sky.
A storm? Fantastic. He rose slowly, feeling too old for his young bones, and dusted himself off. His charmed duffel rested a few feet away in shallow puddle. With a scowl, he drew his wand. "Accio," he muttered. Shouldering the leather bag, he took a moment to gain his bearings.
And noticed for the first time - the smell.
His nose wrinkled slightly. It wasn't necessarily a bad odor. Definitely an odd one. Unlike anything he'd ever encountered, really. Even after years of potions classes with Neville Longbottom. It was…humidity, firstly; the humidity that already clung to his exposed skin. It was also dirt – not the sandy, clean dirt he was accustomed to in Wiltshire, but a loamy, warm black peat that fairly oozed fertility. And water. Everywhere water. He knew the Mississippi delta surrounded him, brackish and powerful. The river smelled of salt and cold.
Then the secondary note arose. Something sweet…floral. Honeysuckle? His cursory visual scan didn't reveal any blooming foliage, but its presence was definite. For just a second, he breathed it in deeply.
It was quiet. The bayou, he thought. How did this happen?
It was too much to think on. He eyed the carriage lane ahead. It was so long, he couldn't even see the house, but he knew he was in the right place. It was a portkey, after all. Consciously, he avoided counting the pecan trees as he walked the thin layer of gravel. There must have been a hundred of them, and the thought of knowing for a fact made him dizzy.
"You must be Draco."
He spun at the voice, hoping he didn't look a startled twat. "I am." His voice sounded uncertain despite the posturing he attempted. "And you are?"
She glided from behind a tree and he saw something in her hands. Straw? "I'm your cousin." Her smile was Tupelo honey. "Marie Eleanor." She extended a hand, sliding what he now realised was a miniature effigy just behind her back. "Everybody calls me Elle, though."
Her hand was soft and dry, surprising considering his felt so sticky. It was also small as the rest of her. He looked down on her five foot frame. "I thank you for having me, cousin," he said somberly. "And my mother, as well."
Marie smiled shyly and not shyly at all. The smile was wide and the red lips dangerous. "Nonsense. We love havin' y'all," she drawled. A flirtatious laugh broke the lips and bubbled over. "Even if ya'll are unapologetic fog-breathers."
He half grinned at the not unkind slight. She was peculiar. He suspected the accent – deeply southern with hints of what he'd heard called 'creole' – was primarily affected. Her glinting green eyes spoke of a sharp intellect and wit, and an age beyond that which her body and face projected. She hadn't released his hand yet. When he looked down at it, she murmured, "But you sure are pretty for a limey. Just like your mama."
He blinked. Stymied.
"And too young for you." This voice from behind him. Again he spun, muttering, "Merlin!"
"No. Maite." The taller woman extended her hand as well. "Maite Evelyn." She bit a plump lower lip. "Maite's Basque. Means beloved."
A snort. "I just bet," Marie chided. "Ev here is my sister."
"Younger sister," Maite corrected. She caught her sister's eye as she shook Draco's hand. He felt like a caught rabbit to be halved by two foxes.
But they seemed jovial enough, the obvious teasing never becoming threatening. Maite was perhaps five inches taller than her sister, beautiful in her own right. Her dark hair brushed her bare shoulders. She had the fuller bosom of the sisters, and seemed proud to display it in a daringly cut cotton frock printed with tiny blue flowers.
"Shall we show our new guest to his temporary home?"
Marie swept an overlong brunette fringe from her right eye. "You take him, sister. I'm…busy. But I'll be along in time for supper."
"Fine." Maite leaned close to Marie, a knowing pout on her pink mouth. She fingered the scalloped sleeve of Marie's white frock. "Don't let your business keep you from us too long."
Draco swallowed when they kissed. It didn't seem at all sisterly. When she returned to him, Maite's smile was inviting. "Ready?" She asked. He nodded, and they set off toward what he assumed was his new temporary home.
"Ev?" Elle called out. The taller sister turned, brows raised. "Be good." Elle twisted the straw in her hands. "His mama'll have your hide if you…misbehave."
Maite's eyes darkened briefly – a shadow crossing still waters. "His mama can have my hide anytime." She ignored Elle's disapproving moue. "Come on, Draco." He looked back at Elle whose pleasant features hardened. Maite walked a ways ahead of him, occasionally glancing back coyly. "Must be awful for you," she said. "Having to leave your home and come here, so far away."
"I didn't exactly have to leave," Draco explained. "And it's still my home –"
"Of course!" The woman turned to him. Her frock swayed around her pale calves. She reached a long-fingered hand to touch his elbow. "I just want you to know…I know what it's like to feel like a stranger."
They certainly don't get much stranger than you, he thought, focusing on the odd design tattooed on the revealed skin of her upper back - two crudely drawn snakes upright and parallel to a staff. "Well. Thank you." He stared past her shoulder at the house – if one could call it a house – in the distance.
It was much as he'd imagined it - the traditional southern plantation of old muggle novels, romantically decrepit, rain-washed white, swathed in wisteria, rocking chairs and a wrap-around deck. He smelled something cooking and was surprised to feel his salivary glands awaken. His day of travel had famished and exhausted him.
A few chickens roamed the green grounds, pecking and rustling about. When Draco and Maite approached the stone steps, a rooster reported the intrusion loudly. Suddenly, the front door banged open and Draco's arms were filled with woman. "Mother!"
"Oh, Draco!"
He staggered grinning into thick stone railing. Her slight form felt like home in his arms and embarrassing heat crept into his throat and behind his eyes. "You feel so good," was whispered before he could censor it.
"Mmm." She nuzzled his neck, fingers kneading at his shoulders as though memorizing his body. "I've missed you so. Gods, I love you, son."
She was firm and curvy pressing against him. He felt cool, moist skin and held her at arms' length at last – needing the distance (disturbingly) and wanting to examine her. "You look well, mum." She looked remarkable. Her skin – normally pale porcelain – glowed a light bronze and her high cheeks were healthy pink.
"Thank you." She kissed the hand that stroked her jaw. "I'm so glad you've come, darling." A hot tear sluiced beneath his fingers.
"Shhh." Again he drew her against him, unable to resist the allure of her comfort, her mothering. Her body. And for the first time, he realised her hair was hidden away save for a dark-light coil slipping into lovely cleavage from a white headwrap.
It appeared in the weeks she'd lived here in Louisiana, she'd adopted the native dress; a light white cotton frock replacing the heavy velvets and satins that had once adorned her, ankles revealed by the tea-length skirt and arms bared to sun. A strap hung from a shapely shoulder.
Not for the first time, Draco recognised his mother's intense beauty – her vital feminine. But when his eyes flicked up from his mother's newness, they saw Maite's knowing smirk. He stepped away, clearing his throat.
Narcissa took his jaw in her hands, still feasting on his visage. "You must be starving," she said. "I believe there's a bit of a feast planned in your honor?"
"A feast?" He smiled at the soft gleam in her blue eyes.
Maite answered, circling the couple curiously. "Indeed, young master. A true southern feast. Barbeque pork, crawfish, corn and potatoes. A regular ol' low country boil."
He'd never seen a crawfish in his life, but his stomach seemed keen enough. "Sounds wonderful. I thank you." He gave a brief, courteous bow. "For the many hospitalities you've shown my mother and myself."
"How very formal." Maite giggled. "Come on in here and put your things away. You'll probably wanna freshen up before supper." She gestured to the door. "I imagine your mama'll be glad to show you to your room?"
If there was any innuendo hidden in her statement, it was well hidden. Or Draco was too tired to catch it. Narcissa squeezed his elbow. "Come, son. You'll be sleeping in the room beside mine. It has a lovely view."
The house was dim, but electrical lights flickered here and there – a product of magic's disturbing energies. A clash of the muggle and wizarding worlds that would no doubt require some getting used to. From the entry's double doors, he could see straight down a long corridor to another set of double doors open save for a screen. A breeze traversed the passage.
There was a slightly musty smell, the smell of age. But the house was remarkably clean and decorous. Its walls shone with embossed paper that spoke of antiquity. Light fixtures were elaborate crystal or painted hurricane lamps. In a nearby parlor hung a low glass and candle chandelier, impressively charmed and accentuating a blood red carpet below.
"Up here." Narcissa led him to the curving mahogany staircase. He looked back to see Maite watching them ascend, leaning lazily on the banister. Her left foot absently stroked her right calf.
The second floor was laid out similarly to the first. A set of double doors at the end of a long corridor opened onto a balcony, and Draco blinked when a large black bird flapped away from the railing there. His mother must have noticed. "That was Jackanape," she murmured.
"Hm?" She was pushing open a door.
"Jackanape." His room's windows were open, airing nicely. "The family bird." She paused at the foot of his large canopied bed.
"No owl?" He asked, dropping his duffel in relief.
"No. Not as common here. Jack is a crow."
He stared at her. "Right."
They breathed. "Well." She sighed. "Do you like your room?"
"It's fine."
"Good." She scratched at her wrist.
Draco looked down. "Mum. We should talk –"
"The loo is across the hall," she interrupted. "It has modern plumbing, but no shower. And the pipes are rather cantankerous."
He nodded. "Thank you." Reached toward her. "Mum…"
But she sidestepped his hand. "We'll eat soon. The dining room is downstairs. Off the hallway on the right." She turned at his door. "I imagine you're tired."
And torn. "Yes. A bit."
"Then we'll have an early night," she said. "In the morning, I'll take you on a tour of the grounds. Introduce you to…to people."
She looked so lost, standing there with her hand on his leaded crystal door knob. He wanted desperately to hold her again. To rock her in his arms and weep in her bosom. To fuck her familiarity… He shook his head. "Sounds fine, mum."
She smiled an ache. "Well. I'll see you at supper."
Supper was (as Maite had promised) indeed a feast. He was a bit late arriving, but no one seemed to stand on ceremony. Piles of chipped pork made excellent sandwiches, the meat soft, moist and flavorful. Potatoes and corn cobs were equally delicious, bursting with new and exciting spice. The long, fat shrimp were sweet and the crawfish…
"Watch me." It was Marie who gave him his crawfish lesson. And watch he did. Her elegant hands were brisk with the bright red creatures, breaking them at junctures of tail, claw and head. She extracted the tender white meat with ease, dipped it into butter and devoured it with a moan of pleasure. When her sinfully rouged lips wrapped around the beast's head and sucked, Draco's trousers tightened. He felt his mother's eyes upon him and looked away.
He was far less graceful with his own crawfish, but by the end of the main course, he was holding his own. His mother certainly seemed to have learned the art well enough. She laughed at his clumsy, messy attempts to eat the shellfish, told him how her own first experiences had been as embarrassing.
The small group of diners laughed with ease, in fact. It was a relaxed atmosphere, possibly designed by the wine pouring freely. Draco was hardly surprised to see Maite's bare foot rest against the table while she leaned backward in her chair. He also didn't miss his mother's expression of displeasure at the gesture. Or Marie's.
When the last drop of wine was drunk and the last laugh came out on a sigh, the dining room doors flapped open like a gull's wings, admitting a woman Draco hadn't met. She was an exotic beauty, head wrapped like his mother's and skin caramel brown. Her eyes were dark but warm. She smiled to reveal small white teeth and set the dishes she carried down upon the table. "Das hot, now," she warned in a honeyed voice and heavy island accent.
"Thank you, Aizan." Marie gestured to Draco. "This is Narcissa's boy come to join us at last. Draco."
Draco rose, gave his introductory bow. Aizan grinned. Her laughter was a strange music. "Oh, you can tell he not from round here!" But she bowed back. "Iss a pleasure to make ya aquaintance, young master."
He blushed, suddenly feeling rather foolish for some reason. "Aizan is our cook," Marie intoned from the head of the table. "Among other things. But mainly, she is the glue that often holds what's left of this crumbling outmoded aristocracy together. Thank you, Aizan."
"Yes, ma'am."
So he'd bowed to a servant. His blush deepened, but no one remarked upon the faux pas. In fact, there seemed little distinction between the diners and the lady who'd brought them dessert. A plate landed in front of him, and his mother was pouring something pale from a sauce pot. It smelled like all the sweetness in the world…
"Bread pudding," Narcissa said. "You'll love it, darling." She well remembered his penchant for pastries and gave him a wink.
Draco took a bite of the buttery, sugary, hot, soft concoction and melted along with it. His mother was right. He tasted lust and taboo and the vaguest hints of something forbidden opening up to him at once. When his eyes opened, three witches were watching his want unfurl. And he imagined he'd only begun to sample the flavors of this lost and alien place.
Belly full to bursting, Draco retired to his room after supper. His mother accompanied him, leaning happily upon his arm as they climbed the stairs. They left Marie and Maite smoking fragrant hand-rolled cigarettes at the dining table. The sisters' watery voices echoed for a time, their conversation familiar and comfortable.
Draco pulled his wand from his sleeve, enlarging his shrunken belongings and sending them to wardrobe, nightstand or chest of drawers. A quick dusting charm brightened the mirror atop the chest and in it he saw his mother reclining on his bed, the waxing moon behind her. The heavenly body cast a glorious glow upon her heavenly body, and Draco paused, imagining…
He shook his head. Began shedding his travel-worn clothes. "Tell me about Marie and Maite," he said.
Narcissa shrugged. "They're peculiar," she began. "But kind-hearted. At least to me. They've been very good."
"They're like no Malfoys I've ever met."
"No. No, they're not." Narcissa took a deep breath. "Distant cousins, I believe. But the family is just as old. They were some of the original settlers in New Orleans. I'm certain they'll take us there soon. I've been. We stay in the French Quarter apartments. You'll like the city, I think."
Draco nodded, rubbing his bared chest. "Neither of them are married?"
Another shrug. "Not to my knowledge." Narcissa looked away when he stepped out of his trousers. "Though I believe Marie is attempting to encourage Maite to do so. Some wizard from the north."
"I see." Clad in his cotton sleep pants, Draco climbed onto the bed. He sank into the thick down mattress and groaned. Every part of his body hurt from exhaustion.
His mother cleared her throat. "I suppose I should tell you…"
"Tell me what?"
She rolled her eyes, an adorable gesture of deprecation. "Marie and Maite. They're…you know."
A slow smile spread. He loved seeing his mother discomfited. "Sisters?" He hedged.
She scowled at him. "Yes, that. And…lovers. I'm fairly certain."
"Fairly certain?" He chuckled. "That's quite a thing to be fairly certain about, mum." But he didn't doubt her words at all – not after the kiss he'd witnessed earlier. "What makes you think such a thing?"
"They're not exactly secretive about it!" Narcissa defended quickly. "But I would rather you stayed clear of them just the same. I don't care for the looks they give you."
"They're my cousins, mum."
"And they're sisters."
"Point taken." Draco turned onto his side to regard her fully. "I shall make it a point to avoid my sexually deviant cousins, mother."
"Thank you." She laid back and looked up at his canopy. Her lips pursed. "It's a strange way of life here. Strange magic." She smiled. "Strange people."
Draco blinked. Her liquid blue eyes shimmered in the moon's light. "Mother."
The eyes closed. "Yes."
He hesitated. Licked his lips. "Do you think about home? About father?"
She loosed a small, impatient sigh. "Of course, I do."
He pushed his luck. "D'you think about us? About what happened -"
"I should leave you." She rose from the bed as though burned. He'd pushed his luck too far, it seemed. "You'll be able to have a lie in tomorrow. We don't rise early." Her bare feet padded swiftly toward his door.
"Mother."
"Good evening, son."
"Mum!" But his door closed, swinging a barrier of oak between them. "Damn it!" Impotently, his fist slammed feather mattress. He flopped frustrated into pillows that smelled of herbs and moist earth. Exhaustion lowered his defenses, opened a flood of memories rivaling the wrath of the Mississippi...
AN: I'm back. And yes, I intend to finish Complex Elektra. But as usual, my time spent in the Louisiana bayou and the glorious city of New Orleans has inspired me. This time, I felt more strongly compelled to give a sense of the place. So more than a simple one-shot is necessary, I fear. Please indulge me, and I hope you enjoy this odd offering. And if anyone is interested in Aizan's homemade bread pudding, let me know. I can probably convince her to share. Also the house Marie and Maite inhabit is based on the beautiful Felicity Plantation in Saint James Parish, Louisiana, along with its sometimes less well preserved but no less exquisite sisters in Terrebonne and surrounding bayou parishes.