Draco Malfoy, now thankfully once again 100% male, sneered lightly at the innocent book lying at his feet. The man on its cover stared darkly out, his face bearing a frightening resemblance to that of the current Dark Lord- barring the lack of fire-red eyes. Draco toed the book over in disgust. His Lordship should murder the damned muggle artist for daring to borrow his seeming!
The door was thrust out slamming into the boys foot. He pulled it back with a decidedly unmasculine yelp. A face peered around the door, identical to Draco's in all but age. Lucius frowned at his son, eyes warning. "Did I not instruct you to bring a text so that we might conduct our conference in peace?" the man's brow tightened.
Draco looked away, ashamed. "I apologize, Father. I just realized that I accidently brought that 'muggle fantasy book' that Potter pawned off on me instead of any real literature."
The elder Malfoy shut his eyes tightly, then snapped them open. "Draco, you may either sit here silently for the next three hours, read the novel, or floo to Diagon and go shopping with your Mother. You will not make a sound." The man pasted a practiced smile to his face before returning to the diplomatic meeting.
As he left, his son slid down to the ground in a very un-malfoyish manner, though he took noticeable care not to make any undue noise. He lay on his back and searched the ceiling for cracks to count. Finding none, he turned his head to stare at the rug, looking at how the pattern changed from different angles. Growing bored after three minutes, he shut his eyes and tried to get to sleep. He kept distracting himself from beating a rhythm on his leg- then froze when he realized he was tapping to the tune of the jaunty song he'd heard in Potter's muggle bookshop. Stifling a groan, he reached for the book and moved to hurl it violently at the wall. He pulled the throw at the last second and lay the book gingerly on the ground, not wanting to face his Fathers' wrath if he dared make a din.
He glared at the book for a while. At first his gaze was one of blind fury, before slowly turning into a resigned stare. The boy on the cover looked quite like him. He considered suing the publishers for stealing his image, then discarded the idea. It would involve being in contact with muggles. The author was obviously one of some renown, as the name was written larger than the title. Finally, he heaved a quiet sigh and flipped over to the first page of 'The Grave Yard Book'.
Lucius strolled into the small antechamber in a manner akin to a ships cat who knows that all the mice are dead, that the job is done and the Cream protected. In his case, all the rebels were dead, the job was done and his fortunes protected.
Or so he thought.
(Insert dramatic drumroll here)
This time the door was opened carefully to ensure there was no undignified screech unbecoming of a Malfoy. It had the added benefit of being absoloutly silent.
Which is why the boy sprawled out on the floor did not immediately rush to assume a more stately position. As it was, Lucius got the rare chance to see one of the upper echelons in society lolling on his front, feet in the air and book in his hands like a bikini blonde on the beach.
Despite all efforts to the contrary, all of London was cursed with yet another unbecoming squeal.
In a side note, the SPCA sent a party to ensure that nobody was abusing pigs in South Chelmsford.
