Author's Note: Alright, finally. Some plot-building stuff! Sorry it has been a few days since the last update. Next week is Spring Break and I think all the professors have been conspiring to make it a hectic one. There is a little lemon juice at the end, for your patience in reading this far. Enjoy!
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"Criminal Case 9800271: Lucius Malfoy versus Ministry of Magic, heard this 28th day of August, 2001. Mr. Malfoy, you have appeared before this court for your sixth and final time. We have heard cases for and against your crimes during the uprising of You-Know-Who," uttered the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. He was a youngish-looking man, actually in his fifties, with the harshness and grit of a man who had lived through a hundred years worth of hardship.
Lucius Malfoy sat before the Wizengamot in the center of the courtroom, looking much the worse for wear. The long platinum hair he had formerly kept so immaculate, was a nest. His dark eyes were sunken into his head and he seemed to have aged a good deal in a short time.
"We, the Wizengamot find Lucius Malfoy to be guilty of the crimes appropriated to him," the Chief Warlock intoned to the audience and the scribe. "Seconded?"
"Seconded," said a female Wizengamot member from the back of the rows.
"A third?"
"Agreed," concluded a thin whisp of an old man sitting in the second row.
"Lucius Malfoy, you are sentenced to punishment by means of the Dementor's Kiss. This will take place in one week's time, in order for you to get your legal affairs in order. This court is dismissed."
In the chair to which he was shackled in the center of the courtroom, Lucius Malfoy seemed to crumple in upon himself. He was not surprised at the ruling, but he still felt the cold jaws of fear close around him as he was unshackled and pulled to his feet by a prison guard.
A member of the audience in the stands spat at his feet as he was led away to spend the last week of his cognizant life in Azkaban.
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Draco observed with narrowed eyes the other eighteen people sitting at the table with him. For a long moment, no one said a word.
"Well, we all know why we're here," a middle-aged witch named Cassandra Fawley finally began. Her hair was long and blonde, with streaks of gray. "Today we obliterate the idea of the Sacred Twenty Eight and recreate the list anew."
There was some awkward shuffling at the table, until Maurice Parkinson spoke up, "Many of the pure bloodlines have been wiped out." His face, like that of his daughter who was also present, resembled a pug more than anything.
"Which is why we will renew the list," Cassandra answered gravely. "Now that our very existence is threatened, it is more important than ever for us to recognize those whose blood status is also toujours pur."
"Abbotts can remain on the list," Theordore Nott's voice said confidently as he peered at his list. He was the Secretary for the Pureblood Society, a boy Draco's age.
"May as well cross the Averys and Blacks off the list, they're extinct," growled Marcus Flint from his place at the head of the table. He was only a few years older than Draco, and had been his Quidditch Captain when Draco had been on the Slytherin team. The meeting was taking place at his home, Flint Lodge, an ancient compound nestled into the misty moors of the north.
"Bulstrodes… Burkes…" Theo continued, "Carrows have essentially been eliminated as they're all dead or have been Kissed…"
A murmur of unease went around the table.
"Crouches wiped out their own line," grunted Marcus Flint, knowing what the next name on the list would be. Draco knew it, too. The Sacred Twenty Eight were the names of the families that were known as purebloods… names that had been drilled into Draco's memory since a young age, treated like royalty. His father and mother had occasionally quizzed him to make sure he hadn't forgotten any of them.
"Fawleys… Flints…" continued Theo. "Gaunts have been gone for some time, we believe." He crossed the name out on the list. "Greengrasses…. Lestranges."
Deimos Lestrange was the youngest member of the Pureblood Society, a weedy boy of fifteen. His father, Perseus, had been the brother of Bellatrix's husband, Rodolphus. Perseus sat the table with his son, but his wife had died many years ago.
"…Longbottoms…"
Draco snorted in derision, thinking of Neville Longbottom. Certainly, Neville would never be invited to the Pureblood Society, but until he married someone whose blood wasn't pure, he would inevitably have to be included on the list.
"Macmillans… Malfoys… Notts…" Theo went on, then corrected himself, "or rather just Nott, as it's only me…"
It was true, Theo Nott's parents had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. He wasn't alone, Draco thought, many pureblood families survived through only a handful of members, himself included. He knew he had distant cousins in France with the Malfoy name, but he wouldn't even know where to begin looking for them, nor did he have any desire to do so.
Theo's hand paused over the page, "Ollivander?"
"Garrick Ollivander was only ever a half-blood," spat Perseus Lestrange.
"Hear, hear," Maurice Parkinson agreed.
Theo crossed the name form the list, "…Parkinson..." and stared at the page, crossing out the next three names: Prewett, Rosier, and Rowle.
"Shacklebolt, Shafiq, Slughorn all remain," Flint supplied for Nott.
"Yes," agreed Nott as he crossed Travers off the list. His hand paused over the name Weasley.
"Cross it off," spat Flint.
"Agreed – filthy blood traitors," hissed Tahirah Shafiq.
Nott crossed the name off the list, leaving Yaxley's. He appraised the completed list with a furrowed brow. "Looks like we're the Sacred Fifteen now."
It was a sobering fact and everyone at the table felt it. Even more worrisome was the fact that of the fifteen remaining pureblood families, four weren't even represented among them.
The Shafiq and Lestrange families had organized the Pureblood Society two years prior. It was utterly secret and for that reason, never met in the same place or at the same time. While the members of the secret society had not all necessarily been followers of the Dark Lord as Draco and his family had been, they all agreed it had been a good cause. Additionally, they also all knew the accusations and convictions of their family members were still continuing, so it was necessary to keep their heads down for awhile. The Pureblood Society was a way for them to do this without sacrificing their pride for what they were.
"Our most sacred laws of marriage will have to continue steadfastly if we're to not go completely extinct," Jacen Bulstrode pointed out.
Draco chewed the inside of his lip. He was glad Astoria wasn't present at this meeting. Bulstrode had made the idea of marriage seem so mercenary, which was not how Draco viewed his upcoming nuptuals to Astoria at all.
"Parkinson, what are you going to do about your daughters?" demanded Fabian Fawley bluntly. The Parkinsons had four daughters – Pansy, Dahlia, Amaryllis, and Zinnia – and no sons or male heirs of any kind. Their line was all but doomed.
Maurice Parkinson had only brought one daughter, Pansy, with him that evening. The other three were still in school. His face twisted into a grimace, "Suppose I'll have to marry 'em all off when the time comes." Pansy flushed, glancing sidelong at Theo, who did not notice in the slightest, but was examining his list more thoughtfully.
"Deimos is about the right age for one of your daughters," Perseus Lestrange interrupted. Turning to his son, "Which one…?"
"Amaryllis," responded Deimos with very little hesitation, flushing.
"We will discuss terms and dowry," Parkinson answered, turning the thought over in his head and seeming pleased with the idea. "Not until the girl is at least nineteen."
Lestrange nodded. Nineteen was the typical age for purebloods to marry when it had been an arranged marriage. Draco offhandedly wondered what the absent Amaryllis Parkinson would think of the match to Deimos Lestrange.
"We must protect the sanctity of our names," agreed Arkesh Shafiq, "but our family lines are at stake. I will have to search outside England for a bride. We should extend the hand of friendship to other countries."
"There is also the matter," his sister continued, "of those who are not pureblooded families but support the idea. The Urqhart and Crabbe families for instance, may not have pure blood per se, but in recent generations they have striven to marry only established wizarding families and are better than half-blood at this point…"
Draco lost track of the conversation. His mind was preoccupied with thoughts of his father's conviction, which had taken place that very morning. He hadn't attended, more to protect his father from a son's public embarrassment than anything else. He supposed, though, he would have to visit him before…
Draco swallowed hard. He and his father had never had a typical relationship. Lucius had sometimes been harsh and always had very high expectations for his son. But Draco was grateful to him and for many years as he was growing up, had tried to emulate his opinions and mannerisms.
Finding it difficult to focus for the rest of the meeting, Draco was glad when it finally adjourned.
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Upon his return to Malfoy Manor, a weighty gloom seemed to make itself comfortable around Draco's shoulders like a heavy cloak. For the first time, it felt odd to be in such a large house and be the only occupant, not counting the house elves (and he didn't). He declined supper and dressed for bed, where he lay awake for hours, tossing around on the soft mattress.
He thought of Astoria, imagining her long, dark hair in soft curls. He remembered the way she smirked at him knowingly in one of the hidden alcoves off the entrance hall of Greengrass Manor... the way she'd caressed his manhood through his trousers the moment they'd been left alone.
Pureblood families – the ones that came with dowries, anyway – always insisted on preserving the bodily virtue of their women, until marriage. That was part of the dowry agreement. For this reason, Draco had never known a woman intimately. Despite opportunities he'd had with Slytherin half-blood girls back at Hogwarts and a Ministry witch he'd had a brief flirtation with two years ago, he'd remained a virgin simply because he never found any of them sufficiently interesting. For much of his fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts, he'd been preoccupied with orders from the Dark Lord. Most of his sexual experience came from fleeting moments of teasing he'd shared with Astoria, each only lasting for a few minutes at a time, as they were rarely unchaperoned. He'd also accepted a blowjob from Pansy Parkinson when he was fifteen.
Draco felt a growing hardness between his legs as he thought of the time he'd slid his hand up Astoria's thigh and under her dress during a formal dinner. They'd both remained convincingly straight-faced as he gave her pleasure with his fingers...
Grunting with annoyance, he figured he might get to sleep faster if he caved in to his more primitive urges and reached down, grasping himself in his fist. He thought of the euphoria he'd had when Pansy's mouth had been wrapped around his cock and imagined it was Astoria pleasuring him with her tongue. He felt his member growing harder within his fist and began pumping himself with deliberation, eager to get it over with.
Then, without warning, the image of Hermione Granger standing before him in his office at the Ministry floated into his brain. Her face was contorted into a snarl and her conservative pantsuit and robes were immaculate. Her formerly-so-bushy hair was elegantly pulled back into a knot at the back of her head, a few whisps of bangs falling gently into her brown eyes…
Draco paused in confusion, his hand momentarily frozen. Shaking his head, he thought once again of Astoria running her fingers softly over his hardness while he bit at her neck, wanting her all the more for knowing he couldn't have her at that moment. That he would have to be patient.
He began to feel himself growing harder and his pace increased, pleasure mounting with every passing second. He imagined all the things he would do to her on their wedding night. Sweet release was so close...
But then, there she was again! The image of Granger's dark eyes close to his face, burning with fury. She smelled of fall leaves and fresh parchment. Her neck was long and graceful and her fingertips were blotted with ink. There was a trail of beauty marks on her collarbone, just peeking out from under her robes and leading downward, well past her neckline…
Draco gasped as he burst in satisfying milky ropes. He lay there a moment, panting softly. He hadn't done that in awhile.
After cleaning himself up and changing his bedsheets himself (they had suffered from the mess he'd made), he lay there for a few moments on the fresh linens, with the first light of morning began to peek through the window. He felt bodily more relaxed, but his mind was greatly disturbed... almost more so than it had been when his father had been sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss less than 24 hours ago.
As he finally drifted off to sleep, his last waking thought was that he was grateful no one else in the world would know of what his mind had conjured that night.
