The decision was made, and I worked very, very hard not to think about it too much. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but... believe me, in the interests of not having a complete hysterical meltdown, it was necessary.
Uncertainties came and went in the back of my mind anyway, filtering their way into a pervasive unease that seemed sourceless, or perhaps a product of illness rather than anxiety: a clenching in my stomach, a strange taste in my mouth, a tightness in my throat.
I looked for a distraction.
While Narcissa had seemed bemused at my quick change of mind, and Lucius was sort of - annoyed? Exasperated? Like he'd been faced with something both unexpected and unexpectedly stupid, and only good manners were keeping him from making dissatisfied ugh noises, basically - Draco seemed... contemptuous.
But that might just have been his face.
It wasn't hard to remember that he was eleven, and thus a little snot-faced bastard like all children of that age, because he looked eleven. He looked like he'd favour his mother as he got older, but honestly that might have had more to do with how puberty hadn't yet hardened his facial features.
"School in the northern hemisphere doesn't begin until September, does it?" I said, hoping to provoke him into conversation - at least if I got him talking I'd know if he had some specific dislike to do with me or if he just resented the idea of a sister in general. "It begins at the end of February in the south. Supposedly so children could go home over the summer months and help with... agricultural work."
His gaze wasn't what you'd call friendly. After a second, he nodded. "September first," he said, quite correctly and with a sort of parentally-approved stiff politeness.
"Are you... looking forward to it, then?" I prompted, hoping he'd give me something to work with. I knew quite a lot about Draco but it wasn't like I could reveal that. If he gave me any opening at all, I might be able to use it, though...
His lips twisted just a little, then he glanced at his mother who was watching like a hawk, and then blinked slowly. "Yes," he drawled, looking at me like I was not very bright.
I felt one of my eyebrows twitch. I was a lot of things - frequently absent-minded, lazy, unfriendly, whatever. But I was not stupid.
On the other hand, allowing myself to be riled and annoyed at an eleven year old for being a recalcitrant little shit was hardly going to help anything. I bared my teeth in a way that probably counted as smiling. "Well, who knows," I said with such forced good cheer it must have grated just to hear it, "Maybe I'll get to go, too. Wouldn't that be great?"
"To Hogwarts?" Narcissa murmured with a delicate moue. "Of course you will. You'll be the eldest in your class, but only by a year or so. I don't think it would be prudent to leave off any longer - although that does mean we shall have to make an effort to get you up to speed before then..."
Draco, on the other hand, looked at me again and his expression clearly said he thought I was somehow not getting his disinterest. Then he gave his plate a much more interested glance. Hmm. Scones and clotted cream, yes, I would probably be more interested in scones, too.
...but I wasn't allowed scones. He had less excuse.
Lucius picked up the thread of the discussion, such as it was, without missing a beat; both seemed determined to let Draco wallow in his reluctance. "Am I to understand that your education has thus far included absolutely no magic or magical history, customs or social studies?"
I'm not actually a great liar, unfortunately - the idea of telling intentional falsehoods makes me feel nervous, and that shows up on my face. I always feel like I'll be caught out somehow, too. In this case, I decided that discretion was the better part of prevarication: incomplete truths were, after all, not lies.
"Definitely no magic. I think all magic in my world was pretty much fiction?" That was one way to get around it, at least: Harry Potter was definitely fiction. "Lots of old stories and myths and superstitions, but I doubt much of it's accurate. Will I be very behind?"
"Not in terms of the magic itself. Traditionally children aren't given wands until they're ten, which tends to cut down on unfortunate accidents."
I thought, for a second, of his delight when I'd blown up his light fixture, and was forced to wonder what on earth Lucius Malfoy considered 'unfortunate'.
"Hogwarts won't admit a student before they're eleven, excepting very unusual circumstances, so you certainly won't find yourself behind in terms of practical applications. There are some more... social elements, that will need to be addressed. Customs, history, etiquette."
"Don't look so alarmed," Narcissa broke in, lips curling, "You're doing very well, in general. Good breeding certainly shows."
"She used the wrong spoon," Draco said.
I blinked. "I did?" Crap, which one was I meant to have used? Surely the spoon next to the cup? No? Okay, all right, no need to panic, I'd figure it out -
"Yes, but she used it well," Narcissa said, heedless of my internal horror and giving Draco the side-eye. "Certainly none of this clattering and banging against the tea cups. Of course," she smiled winsomely, "ladies are gentler by nature."
I didn't exactly wince when she said that, but my expression was probably not entirely opaque, either. I held my tongue. There'd be plenty of time to argue about how gender essentialism was complete bullshit later.
...or, well, maybe there wouldn't be. I wasn't sure precisely how conservative these people actually were. I might have to pick my battles to escape all the racism and violence...
Draco looked annoyed, and he put his own cutlery down with a soft but very deliberate click.
Narcissa sighed.
Unfortunately, while I was sure she'd noticed that tiny, pointed rebellion, I was less sure she'd noticed that he was looking annoyed right at me. I eyed him, envisioning the many horrible possibilities of a young boy who disliked me on principle.
I watched him quietly, wondering how this would play out. We'd have to see...
Narcissa, on the other hand, had taken the moment to share a long, expressionless glance with Lucius. "There's a very great deal to organise," she said finally, as though the enormity of acquiring a second child had not previously occurred to her. She nodded to Lucius. "Would you two take care of Mr Marlow, then? I can see about organising the healer, sorting out the morning's correspondence, and..." she looked sideways at Draco. Very little about her actual expression changed, but she grew suddenly more intent, more calculating. "We'll have to see about getting you measured for new robes soon anyway," she declared.
That caught his attention. He winced. "Mother, really, I-"
"Draco," said Lucius, and Draco obediently shut his mouth. That was quite a trick. I wondered if I could learn it.
Marlow was courteously but swiftly shown the door. Narcissa had drawn Draco aside to help her with whatever correspondence she was attending to, perhaps already sensing his discomfort with the new addition to their family. This meant that Lucius was, as she's suggested, the one showing their guest to the door. I went too, both out of reluctance to crash Draco's alone time with his mother and because I wanted to see more of the place.
The Malfoy house was enormous and... beautiful. I'm not sure why I'd expected any kind of uniformity, but that was not at all what I got. There seemed to be parts that had been built at all sorts of different times. I thought back to an essay I'd written on the topic of Gothic architecture and wondered how old it all was. There were parts where the walls were bare stone, where the roof was lower, and through windows I had certainly seen outbuildings with stout diagonal buttresses, but I wasn't sure what that meant about the age of the walls...
I peered thoughtfully at a window as we passed - not through it, oh no, at it. There was a shallow recess before the glass, and the walls of that were intensely detailed, the edges gilt with what I sure hoped was not actual gold. The huge, dramatic arch of the space let light spill through upon the floors, which were broad and marble and relentlessly noisy. These rooms and corridors, at least, with their huge ceilings and theatrical artistry were definitely newer - maybe, like, baroque or rococo or whatever they called it? I thought maybe sometime before the French revolution? But that was only in the late eighteenth century, surely most of the manor was older than that?
My knowledge of the Harry Potter universe led me to believe that the Malfoys had settled here in Wiltshire in the eleventh century. That was a big gap...
"There will be time to look later," Lucius said neutrally and from right behind me.
I jumped.
I'd gotten completely distracted. My parents had complained about that before -I mean, my rea- my muggle ones. It drove my... paternal non-parent... mad when I'd disappear while walking down the street, usually while he was trying to talk, and he'd find me distracted by a flower shop, a paper store, estate jewellery in a window...
"Oh. Shit, sorry. I-"
Both wizards cringed at my language.
I coughed. Right. Demure. I could do demure! ...Oh god, I was so fucked.
"Sorry," I said again, more carefully. "Um, I'm not really used to..." Company that cared whether or not I swore? Even at work nobody... flinched like that. Oh... dear.
"Apparently." Lucius raised one eyebrow, but there was a surprisingly pleased curve to his mouth when he continued: "My dear, I understand that the Manor is interesting, but there will be time later. We mustn't keep Mr Marlow waiting for long."
I blinked. My dear. Hmm. As endearments went, it wasn't... that bad. Preferable to 'my child,' less unsettling than 'love'. Still very... intimate. Discomforting. I shifted uncomfortably, but nodded. "Sorry."
We did continue on, and I made sure to keep my feet moving in the right direction even as I was peering around at things - some very Italian renaissance-looking paintings featuring a classical Roman goddess (which one? I couldn't tell. Sandals, long hair - dogs?) and a cloud of overeager putti. Now that I was less nervous - or, rather, nervous in a different way; less anxious panic and more genuine nervousness - I was easily distracted by my surrounds, and there was a point where Lucius took my elbow to make sure I didn't walk into a clock - a bronze clock featuring a decorative coiled snake that was really very realistic. I thought it was mounted on marble but to be honest I'd never seen marble in quite that shade before - almost the colour of honeycomb...
Lucius fell into step more or less next to me, which meant changing his stride to match my legs, but he seemed to view this as a necessary evil in preventing me from accidentally colliding with something and/or wandering off.
By the time we finally got Marlow to the door, his precaution had proven to be actually kind of wise. The Malfoy house was amazing in that it was sort of like a gallery or a museum and I wanted to see everything.
Marlow, on the other hand, looked honestly a little relieved to be on his way. As far as I could tell he wasn't so much 'going home' as 'heading off to another dimension', which seemed... er, sort of daunting.
"Do you - er, come here often, then? To this universe?" I wondered, frowning at him. For all that he was a little scary, he'd been reasonably friendly. And... I was curious. How many dimensional travellers have you met? Yeah, exactly.
"Oh," he said thoughtfully. "Certain dimensional travel spells can only really be cast at certain times - some astrological events are necessary before you can really get through. Otherwise, the sky sort of..."
I frowned, because something had triggered a memory... "'When the stars were right, they could plunge from world to world through the sky; but when the stars were wrong, they could not live'?"
He looked surprised. "I suppose that's one way to put it, although it's more poetic than technically accurate. Now," he added, smiling. His eyes were very blue. "I'm afraid I won't be back for - oh, another thirty years at least. There's a bit of a war in - well, elsewhere, at any rate. We'll be busy. But who knows, perhaps I'll look you up. Your situation is... unique."
I swallowed. Thirty years. Christ. I wasn't even thirty years old. A lifetime. I licked my lips. Was I sure? Was I really sure?
A lifetime with the Malfoys.
He reached forward like he would clap me on the shoulder but with a glance at Lucius (and Lucius's eyebrow, raised a terrible fraction of a centimetre) he thought better of it. He lowered his voice - low enough that not even the portraits could hear, let alone my politely overbearing guardian. "Don't look so worried, child. These are hard people, ruthless people, true - but they take care of their own. Don't be scared of them."
That was easy for him to say. He didn't have intimate, detailed knowledge of what would happen sooner or later. In as little as one year, my - my father, for goodness' sakes - was going to set a ravening monster upon a school full of children as part of a political ploy.
But, well: bread.
(I could have scones and clotted cream! Oh my god. Oh my god.)
I nodded, resolute. Yes. This was the right decision. This was perhaps the only decision.
"Good luck," he whispered.
We said goodbye.
The Malfoy family, I found out, didn't attend the waiting room of a hospital like commoners - they had a healer in private practice who attended them via Floo when they were ill, and she came to visit just as soon as I'd agreed to stay.
"Oh, goodness," she said, peering at me through a set of gold-rimmed spectacles. She looked about mid-fifties, which probably put her at around seventy in Wizarding years, and her face was broad and pale with a livid flush of broken capillaries across her nose and cheeks. "You know, Narcissa, when you said you'd had her sent away to keep her out of the conflict, I thought I'd never see her again. Little Sixta! How you've grown."
"We're calling her Victoria now," said Narcissa. She seemed significantly less engaged in this gossipping than the healer was. Her mouth was curved into a smile but it was enigmatic and amused; she could have been smiling with somebody... or about them. The healer did not seem to notice.
'Victoria' wrinkled her nose slightly. Me being 'twelve' did mean that one of the parents was supposed to be present while the healer saw me, but I didn't especially enjoy being the topic of their conversation. I also didn't really love that name, but provided nobody ever, ever tried to call me 'Vicky' I supposed I could handle it.
"Oh! Well. Well, well. Doesn't have that Roman history, but - well. A good, solid English name, that," said the healer, who was herself named Elizabeth and seemed rather biased.
"I'm so glad you approve," drawled Narcissa with that same smile. I was fairly certain that was sarcastic, and there was a tiny hesitation on Elizabeth's face that made me think she wasn't sure.
"Unfortunately," Narcissa said, having deftly reclaimed control over the conversation during that pause, "the child hasn't had contact with proper physicians in a very long time. She has some childhood illnesses that should have been addressed."
"Oh, oh, yes," said the healer, whipping out her wand. She pointed it at me and I felt the sudden surge of panic like she'd drawn a knife.
"Shh," said Narcissa, dropping one hand on my head. On my head. If anything, I tensed up more at her sudden touch. The heat of her hand felt smothering on my skull. "It's unsettling, but not dangerous. Come now. Afterwards we'll get you to the tailor and you'll have something that's not quite that shade of green. I'm afraid it does you no favours at all..."
I nodded stiffly. I didn't love clothes shopping, but I did want to see more of the Wizarding world. "I'd like to look around the house at some point," I suggested quietly while the healer was waving her wand and muttering charms to herself.
"Well," said Narcissa, bemused but pleased, "it's your house. You're family; you may go where you wish... Excepting of course some places that will be locked for your safety, " she added cautiously.
Oh, goodness. What a thought - both the heady idea of being able to look at everything in this enormous museum of a house and the much scarier thought of what might lay behind those locked doors...
I nodded, but I sincerely doubted I'd feel at home in this place for a long, long time.
The healer shot another charm toward me and this time my stomach felt, briefly, as though it was on fire. I yelped and flinched.
"Sorry, dear," said Elizabeth cheerfully. "Not the most comfortable charm, but that will take care of the sprue. You needn't worry about food allergies, at least! Potions ingredients may be another matter," she added.
"Oh," I said, rubbing my belly uncomfortably. "Thank you," I said, a little grudgingly. It hurt! But still.
Bread. Pasta. Pastry that I didn't have to make by hand out of crushed nuts and butter. Oh my god, it was going to be amazing. I forced a smile. "Thanks," I said again.
"There is," she added, her face going suddenly grave, "the matter of some other problems."
"Er," I said.
Narcissa's brow furrowed for just a moment.
"Were you aware, dear, that you suffer permanent barrenness of the womb?"
"Oh," I said. "Yes, actually. I was."
The healer looked relieved, probably because this meant that she wouldn't have to go through with explaining it all to me.
There was a small, thin, horrified noise from my 'mother'. I blinked and looked sideways at her. Narcissa's face had already been pale, but now it was white. She looked... shocked. Distressed. I felt the urge to reach out and take her arm, just to make her feel more - supported? Comforted? I wasn't sure.
I mean, let me be clear, it wasn't a real shock to me, but it seemed to be a shock to Narcissa, who looked like she was quite suddenly on the verge of tears.
"Barren?" she repeated, trembling. "Oh, by Lucina - after all that trouble I had conceiving you and Draco, I -" Her mouth quivered.
"Um," I said. I really wasn't sure what to tell her. That I had no thought of having children in the slightest? That I'd cheerfully lied to Lucius when I told him I'd consider revisiting my opinion? Well...
"Sorry?" I hedged. Then, more firmly. "Sorry."
In a terrifying moment she swooped upon me, burying my face in her hair with a low cry. "It's not your fault, my dear. It's never your fault. I'm just - oh, Lucius will be so disappointed. I..." she sighed, heartfelt and shaking, and I patted her shoulder awkwardly. There was something dainty about Narcissa, delicate and pointed. She was bony and unluxurious under her clothes, but warm for all that.
"It's... look, it doesn't really bother me that much," I told her carefully. "I mean, having children isn't such a big deal where I'm from, and..." And I really didn't want children, so I'd always pretty much been pleased it was me and not, say, somebody who had a great desire to procreate.
"It doesn't bother you now," she said, biting her lower lip. "We... you must not let anybody know, do you understand? It's not that anybody would blame you - well, no civilised person - but..." she trailed off, looking worried.
I blinked at her, wondering if it was really such a huge drama in the wizarding world. Apparently it was. I supposed purebloods were like that. "Okay," I said slowly. "Are people likely to..." What? Gossip? I frowned.
She took my hands in hers and looked down at me very seriously. "There is a... it's possible that..." she paused, gathering her thoughts. "The point of ensuring blood purity," she said slowly and carefully, "is to produce superior witches and wizards: those of powerful magic, of quality breeding and enduring character. We are nature's nobility, my love, and it is our responsibility to guide others by example. However," she added, "there are some families who believe that a witch is... less important, if she is unable to reproduce."
I blinked. "Oh," I said. That... made sense, in a very fucked up way. I opened my mouth to say 'that's fucked up,' and quickly shut it again. No swearing, right. "That seems... like production for production's own sake," I said instead, picking my words. "If the children you have aren't valuable for their own sake, then what would be the point?"
"Why, the family line, of course," she said immediately, as though I'd asked her if she believed in gravity or what colour the sky was.
I licked my teeth. Right. Family line.
Somewhere behind me, Elizabeth made an uncomfortable noise. Narcissa's face didn't change in the slightest, which suggested to me that she'd been constantly and acutely aware of her standing there.
"Victoria, just..." she paused. "Please just don't tell anybody you're not... sure of. Nobody who isn't sound, all right?"
"Sure," I agreed. "It's not like I go around telling everybody about my medical problems, anyway."
That, actually, was a complete lie; you only had to eat one meal with me to listen to me wail about why you could eat popular baked goods and I couldn't. But, I mean, other than that.
She nodded once, took a deep breath and turned toward Elizabeth again.
"Very well. If you would be so kind as to sign the declaration, we can see about having Victoria's identity confirmed. You'll need a Ministry record to attend school or legally purchase a wand, so we may as well get it out of the way," she added to me. She was all business again now, pale and straight and with few signs of her previous discomfort.
I wondered if that was the default for her: concealed feelings, none of the shine taken off her expression. It did seem as though Elizabeth had been a personal healer for many years, and for the Malfoy family to still use her she must have been good at keeping strictest confidentiality. I wondered whether Narcissa looked upon her as "sound". I supposed she must, considering.
The paperwork was completed by wand and at extraordinarily little inconvenience - two signatures from some kind of charmed quill, a stamp of Elizabeth's license on the documentation, and then copies produced themselves in triplicate and Narcissa took hers and waved her hand at the ink once, lazily, to dry it.
The last copy was sent to the department by way of a huge horned owl with evil yellow eyes and - well, apparently that was it.
Elizabeth the healer left via Floo - and that was, let me tell you, fucking terrifying.
The fireplaces were all huge, which on reflection makes a great deal of sense: adults do not fit inside a standard modern fireplace. This one was stone with an ornate cast iron grate, removed with a wave of Narcissa's hand and a soft scraping sound.
The Floo powder glittered and Elizabeth gave only a cheery wave before she threw it inside and - honestly it just looked like she'd been consumed by fire: she took one step into enormous fireplace and - swoosh. Gone. Nothing but wood and ash.
I know I flinched.
Narcissa glanced sideways at me. "You've never seen a person use the Floo before?" she wondered, eyes narrowing.
I swallowed. "No." My upbringing in Australia had led me to view fires as a terrible danger; we had bush fires every summer and between evacuations and damages there were often a few fatalities. It was... not bad, necessarily, but something one ought to treat with respect.
Treating fire with respect did not include blithely walking into it, in my view.
Narcissa had different ideas. "Come here, child," she commanded, and took my hand. "Here." And she took some of the glimmering powder from a box that seemed specifically designed for it and threw it upon the flames. They roared up, bright and green at the edges, but -
Narcissa put her whole hand in the fire, completely.
I made an aborted noise. Christ almighty.
"There, see?" she said, withdrawing her hand, and showed me.
Gently, I touched her palm.
It was no hotter.
"I..."
I looked at the fire. Oh, I understood it intellectually, but I could feel the heat of it on my face and see the light flickering. It seemed impossible.
"Go on," she demanded. Her voice was soft, but it had no room for contradiction.
I swallowed.
"Do I need more powder?" I asked nervously.
"You would, were we travelling, but not for this. Try."
It got hotter as I leaned in. "Are you sure?" I hesitated.
"Together, then," she said, and wrapped her long fingers around mine. Without waiting for a response, she tugged gently and thrust both of our hands into the flames and... held them there.
I squeezed my eyes shut and made a sound that was probably like a confused meep, but nothing hurt. If anything, it was sort of... tingly. Yes, all right, I knew intellectually it wasn't supposed to hurt. I just - it was a bloody fire, okay?
I blinked, finally, and shivered.
Narcissa let go of my fingers and pulled her hand out.
Mine stayed there, all on its own, unburned.
Huh.
She smoothed the back of my hair with one hand. "There, see? You're all right you silly thing," she told me.
I had to stop and remember that she did think I was twelve. Her cooing would have been unacceptable as an adult, but... well. Child. God. Okay. Everything was changing and moving very fast and I felt -
My eyes fell upon the document in her other hand.
Oh god, I...
I was now Victoria Malfoy. Officially. The bird would arrive at the Ministry and...
That was...
That was terrifying. I stared at the parchment in Narcissa's hand, and I took a deep unsteady breath.
She smiled gently at me, like what I was thinking was showing clearly on my face. "Well, now, Victoria. This afternoon we had plans to take Draco shopping for his school supplies. I'll sort out your enrolment with Hogwarts, my dear, and you can come along. Certainly a young lady of your age should have a wand and a more suitable wardrobe, school or no school."
"I..."
"You do look dreadfully pale," she said critically, looking more carefully at me. "Are you well?"
I felt exhausted, actually. I shook my head. "I'm all right, just... a lot of changes, I think."
Her expression softened minutely. "Of course, I should have thought. Well, perhaps tea first." Her lips curved: a tiny, enigmatic little smile. Oh, god, but she was beautiful when she looked like that.
"And toast?" she suggested, with a teasing lilt.
I could feel my eyes widen.
Toast.
Real toast.
I cleared my throat. "Yes?" I said in a hopeful squeak.
Notes:
1. Why did she not protest changing her name any harder? - I started out with my actual name written in the text of the fic and it turns out it freaks me out a little, for reasons I don't actually really understand. So I changed it. Now she has a name and it's not my name and any protests would have been for form, which is less fun to write when I could just move on. SO ON WE CHARGE.
2. Didn't they change school years here somewhere? I thought it was 1990? - Yes. I messed up the timeline in the first chapter because I forgot about northern hemisphere schools starting in September. (We start in or at the end of February here.) I've fixed it going over the first chapter.
That's it for now. If there was anything you particularly liked about the chapter, please let me know in a comment. Otherwise, have a nice day. : )