Title: Dance with the Devil
Author Name: Shy Unicorn
Rating:M
Genre: Romance/Friendship
Main Character(s): Astoria Greengrass and Draco Malfoy
Ship(s): Astoria/Draco, Lucius/Narcissa, Narcissa/OC, Lucius/OC
Summary: Four years after Voldemort is vanquished Astoria Greengrass starts working for 'Witch Weekly' magazine as a feature writer. Her very first job is to interview Draco Malfoy who has just made his first million galleons without the aid of his rich parents. What happens when they meet?
Author's Note (A/N):Here it is! Thank you for being patient with me. Enjoy!
Dance with the Devil
Chapter Eleven: The Big House
The weather is getting colder and colder these days. It's like we're doing a grand slalom into winter. Wily Priory looks oddly inviting tonight. The lower windows shine with warm light and I know that Draco is somewhere inside the house as I approach. I wrap my cloak tighter around myself and adjust the heavy book in my frozen hands.
I've been to the house a couple of times but I still can't get used to the heavy stone grandeur. The spiked gableheads and ancient stained glass windows remind me afresh what different worlds Draco and I inhabit.
I've barely knocked before the door opens. I guess I'm that punctual Draco knows when I'm going to arrive almost down to the second.
"Come in," he says hurriedly and motions me gracefully in from the cold.
"I brought you something," I say as he leads me into the parlor, which is bright and warm with candles and firelight.
"A present?"
He eyes me keenly at the prospect and I hold out the book in my hands for him to take. I have the sudden urge to pull back as the exchange happens.
"It's my copy of 'My Soul is Borne Through the Open Air' by Quirinus Quince. It's the book that changed my life," I say in an uncertain rush. "I don't know if you'll like it, but it's my favorite book. It's sort of like my soul in words. So, I thought you might like it too."
Draco turns the book over in his hands as I speak, opening the age darkened, dog eared pages and fingering the cracked, scarred spine.
When he looks at me it's with that unsettling clarity and I know he's aware of the deep importance of the book to me. He looks honored and reverent. It does feel a bit like watching him hold my soul in his hands. I think of all those night's he's opened his soul to me and I wonder if he felt this bare.
"I'll take good care of it," he says, setting it down on the seat of an armchair.
It's only then that I notice the room around us more clearly. The large cherry wood table that we've played board games at and spread maps over to plan extravagant trips is carpeted with plants. They're so dense they form a kind of jungle that cascades down and engulfs the thick rug beside the fire.
"Bringing the outdoors in?" I ask, intrigued by the triffid invasion.
"I'm keeping them warm," Draco says as he stokes the fire.
"Did they get too cold outside and need to warm their leaves by the fire for a while?"
"It was either that or knit little mittens for their leaves and I didn't think I could knit seventeen thousand mittens before dawn. Prodigious though my knitting skills are," Draco says dryly.
I smile and bend over to inspect the plants closer. They have expansive, serrated leaves that have crimson veins running like lava trenches in the grooves of otherwise green bodies. They feel rubbery and warm to touch, but the kind of warm that seems to resonate from within.
"Did they come knocking, begging for alms or did you rescue them from somewhere?"
Draco smiles and I feel warmed from within. He has such a sunny, little-boy smile. He crouches down, shifting out the lines so that some plants near the back get a chance closer to the fire. I watch him, fascinated by how lightly and carefully he treats the plants, almost like they're baby birds or some other blind and helpless creature.
"Arkie, who runs one of my plant nurseries, didn't have space for all of them in his cottage," Draco says without looking up from his plant reshuffle. "They're due at a lab tomorrow morning where they'll be turned into potion ingredients. The least I can do is give them one final night of warmth before their execution."
"You're so merciful."
"Not really. If these plants die I can't meet my order, which means I'll lose a lot of money and have two unhappy clients. I'm mercenary."
"Shush, not in front of the plants," I chide, gently framing one of the plants with my hands as if I'm shielding its' ears. "You'll hurt their feelings."
There's another flash of a smile and Draco straightens up. "What happened to your hair? Is it a side effect of Sneezewort withdrawal?"
"Funny. I colored it last night for a concert. I haven't got around to changing it back yet. I kind of like it."
"It's different," Draco says, coming over to me and stroking my hair, which is pale lilac.
He thoughtfully takes a tendril between his fingers and we both watch the play of light over it, gliding back and forth changing the color imperceptibly.
"It feels the same." He bends and kisses the top of my head. "Smells the same too."
A smile spreads across my face and I slip my arms around his waist and press my face into the front of his robes.
"Does that mean it can stay?" I ask, amused by his methodical approach to working out if he likes my new hair color.
"I like your natural color better. It seemed more honest. You're very honest. I like that about you. You don't try to hide things and you don't need to."
He kisses me sweetly on my lips.
"I can be cunning," I pout. "I'm not some transparent Gryffindor."
"I know," he placates. "I have a confession."
"What?"
Draco looks awkward and I can feel the color draining out of me. Oh, God, what's he going to say this time? I don't know if I can handle any more skeletons in his closest or more tales of his fucked up family's escapades. I'm almost flinching.
"I told Mother we'd go up to the Big House for nine o'clock cake. She's been wanting to see you for a while. I couldn't realistically hold her off much longer when Father let slip he's taking us to the ballet next week."
"Don't do that to me!" I warn, sagging in relief. I playfully slap his arm. "I thought you were going to say something terrifying."
"Tea and cake with my mother isn't terrifying?" Draco retorts.
"Okay, so, maybe a little," I acquiesce. "I've met her before, remember? It was sufficiently awkward but not disastrous. Parents like me. Your dad liked me, right?"
Draco laughs. "Yeah, he did like you."
"He said that?" I ask in surprise.
"He did," Draco affirms.
I feel weirdly elated to hear this and curious to know how that conversation went. I want his parents to like me, I want to like them too, especially his mum. After years of admiring that photograph of Narcissa on Daphne's wall I've got used to liking her and I don't want that to change.
"Let's go now before the rain starts," Draco says decisively, striding off to get his cloak.
We leave Wily Priory through the back of the house. There's no walled in garden, instead the Malfoy lands spread out in all directions as far as they eye can see. I can almost feel the magical boundaries surrounding us; it's a bit like being inside an enormous bell jar.
On the right, close to the horizon I can make out a cluster of small houses, some of the windows glow gold in the night. On the hillside dark animal smudges graze, whether they're sheep or cattle or magical animals I don't know. We head left, following a beaten down grass path that I think Draco himself has carved by his visits home.
As we walk up to the Big House I can feel myself getting more uneasy with every step. Draco holds my hand and I sense his nervousness mounting too. He gives me a fortifying squeeze and I'm not sure if it's really for my benefit or his.
The night is icy and the wind bites at our cheeks and snaps maliciously at our cloaks. We cross a shadowed field that skirts around a black wooded area on the side of a hill.
As we hike up the mound the silhouette of a soaring, solid, exquisitely beautiful Elizabethan manor rises.
The moon peeks out from behind skidding clouds and the house lights up as all the windowpanes gleam silver like mirrors. For a second it looks like the house is made of stone and skies, a patchwork of nature.
An icy thrill of awe crackles over my skin.
I can feel Draco's eyes on me trying to capture and dissect my first impressions of his family's home. I'm sure I'm a perfect picture of dumbfoundedness.
"The 'Big House'," I say faintly. "I think that's possibly the understatement of the century, Draco."
He smiles tightly but in a blink it's gone.
I was expecting something grand and old, but this? This is beyond anything I've imagined both in its' beauty and its' ability to inspire the most profound insecurity I've ever felt. My knees actually go weak.
I laugh quietly to myself.
Once again it seems like I've drastically miscalculated Draco's wealth and the difference between us. My concept of being a Pureblood witch is understood in an indistinct, foggy kind of way. Now that I'm confronted with Draco's family home I realize that he has a much firmer, concrete grasp of the idea. This beautiful, old manor house which dominates the landscape is a very large and real reminder of his heritage.
I deduce we're at the back of the Big House judging by the way the yew hedge is open to admit visitors. A high marble fountain sits proudly in the center of a neatly manicured lawn. I squint into the dark and can just make out a bright white something which pecks and struts.
"That's just Sparky," Draco says, deducing the reason for my uneasy look.
"Sparky?"
"He's a white peacock." Draco says it so casually you'd think everyone has white peacocks hanging out in their back yards. "He's the least of your worries. Watch out for Morfin, he bites."
I give Draco a questioning look as we reach the house and he takes out his wand to rap against a set of oaken doors.
"He's a crup. My mother breeds them. She's got three right now: Morfin, Magnus and Mixie."
Draco looks deeply unimpressed by this. In fact, now that I look at him properly in the light of his wand he seems ashen and drawn.
"Wow. Mixie Malfoy?" I smirk, hoping to cheer him up. "That'd be a great stripper name."
"I'll tell my mother that," Draco says tonelessly, holding the door open for me.
I give him a look so stern I think Professor McGonagall would be proud. That is probably the last thing I want him to say to his mum right about now.
"Come on, you've got this far." Draco nudges me inside the house.
The white light from our wands glosses over highly polished dark wood cladding and another intricately carved doorway that leads into a long corridor. Draco takes me by the hand and I know I'm being a baby but I huddle close to him and let him guide us.
On the walls portraits of Malfoys stare coldly down at us from their golden gilt frames. There's a thick peacock blue carpet that's squashy underfoot. Everything smells like wood and the silver polish potion I once used to clean my flute when I was a kid. Up ahead on the right a line of orange firelight spills out across the floor like an exclamation point.
I hear the pitter of paws and a second later three little dogs, brilliant white and immaculately groomed, burst out of the room yapping and snuffling.
One with particularly wide set eyes springs up and snaps its jaws excitedly at my fingertips.
"Hi, Morfin," I say in that strange goo-goo voice I use when talking to animals and babies.
The dog snaps at me, licking and snorting, ceaselessly wagging its stumpy tail. I try to pat his head without getting my fingers chewed and end up getting covered in slobber.
The rabble of dogs provides a nice distraction as we enter a richly furnished drawing room. It has blackberry walls, icy chandeliers and a fireplace large enough for almost any human being to stand straight inside of. Four high backed armchairs have been arranged around the light and warmth of a bonfire-like blaze. I'm patting Morfin and trying not to trip over the smallest dog, who is running laps around me, as my eyes adjust.
I realize with a jolt that both the elder Malfoys are home.
Lucius Malfoy is reclining in a chair, one leg crossed, book in hand, a pair of square reading glasses perch precariously on the tip of his distinguished nose. He looks just as brash and bejeweled as when I saw him out in public.
"Draco, darling! Here you are!"
Narcissa rises from her seat closest to the fire. She's taller and thinner than I remember her. Tonight her expanse of golden hair is intricately braided and pinned up. She's intimidating, almost painfully beautiful but there's a streak of something almost gothic in her sharp, low brow. I think that's what makes people truly beautiful, that twist that lifts something rare to something unique.
"You look nice tonight," Draco compliments her.
He drops my hand and surges forward, putting himself between me and his mother.
Narcissa cups his cheek and fixes her piercing blue eyes on him, as if trying to read his thoughts. There's an outward restraint to her movements but I sense that not far beneath the glacial surface is a fierce molten core.
"You're working too hard," she pronounces at last.
"Mother," Draco sighs, unable to keep a tinge of exasperation from his voice.
She withdraws her hand and there's an equal amount of exasperation in that motion as she turns her attention to me. Her eyes are permafrost.
"Good evening, Astoria. So good of you to come to see us," she says coolly.
"Thank you for inviting me," I force myself to say. It comes out quiet and halting.
I smile tremulously. Narcissa's eyes continue to bore into me, unabashedly scrutinizing me from the roots of my lilac hair to the tips of my muddy leather boots.
"Come and sit down," Lucius calls gruffly and I feel a rush of gratitude towards him because it halts Narcissa's inspection of me. "I can't hear what you're saying over there."
Draco and I follow behind Narcissa and I try not to dry swallow too obviously. Draco gives me a weak, watery smile that doesn't do much to steady my nerves. My palms feel sweaty and gross. I surreptitiously wipe them on my dress as I sit down opposite Lucius, who ironically is the less scary of Draco's parents.
The blaze from the fire dowses me in heat. As Narcissa settles herself closest to the belching flames she adjusts a shawl around her shoulders for extra warmth. She tucks and smoothes the scarf until it sits at the most flattering angle possible. Only then does she fold her hands into her lap and turn her attention to the rest of us.
"Are you well, Astoria?" Lucius asks, looking over his glasses at me.
"Yes, I am. Thanks. Are you?" I sound breathless and shy.
"Yes, tolerably well," Lucius says, giving me one of his secretive smiles.
He snaps closed the book in his hand and lays it on a low table set for tea.
I notice it's the collected poems of Flavius Fainlight. I find it both surprising and touching that he was reading metaphysical love poems to his wife directly before we arrived.
"Harvest to Yuletide is easily my favorite time of the year. We're swimming in Russet apples. It's been a bountiful year, wouldn't you say, Draco?" Lucius drawls authoritatively.
"It's been alright," Draco says churlishly. "The Fever Ferns had to be brought in because of tomorrow's early ground frost. I've got about fifty of them squatting in my parlor."
"That's an annoying imposition. Couldn't Arkie or Billius have taken them instead?" Narcissa inquires, as one of the fat little crups hops up into her lap.
"It's fine, Mother. It's only one night," Draco says somewhat defensively.
"Would you like tea, Astoria?" Narcissa asks.
"Yes please."
"Remind me, Astoria, were you in Slytherin House with Draco?" Lucius asks as Narcissa flicks her wand to prepare the drinks.
"Yes, I was in Slytherin. I was a couple of years behind Draco, but my sister, Daphne was in the same classes as him."
Narcissa hands me a cup of tea and I pass it to Draco, who looks more uncomfortable and closed off than I've seen him in a long time. I almost wish I could slip something stronger into his drink but I don't think Narcissa would approve, especially as we seem to have caught Lucius on a dry night.
Draco takes the cup gratefully and I accept the second cup passed my way.
"What's become of Daphne? Is she prospering?" Lucius inquires.
"She's doing research into deep space and stars. She really loves it."
"I was very sad to here they're declassifying Pluto as a planet," Lucius drawls. "It seems as if everything is in decline these days."
"I quite agree. Plum and cherry tart, darling?" Narcissa asks, proffering a plate which Lucius accepts. "Are you finding journalism a satisfying career?" she asks me.
I can feel Narcissa sneering at me as she says this. I can sort of see why she'd be wary of journalists, it's not like they've always been kind to her and her family. However, I can't help but take the slight personally.
"I love it. It's brilliant writing practice," I say contrarily. "I really want to be a novelist but I'm grateful I have a job where I get to write everyday."
Narcissa looks at me sharply and I hold her gaze evenly. She doesn't outwardly soften towards me, but I sense a kind of inward re-evaluation taking place. I hope that's a good thing.
"Do you want the big bit?" I ask Draco, picking up the plate with the biggest bit of cake on it and offering it to him.
From our various lunch dates I've learned that Draco has a sweet tooth. He'd much rather eat dessert than a meal or have chocolate biscuits than savory snacks, which you couldn't tell by looking at him.
"Go on," I tempt. It's the least I can do to ease his suffering.
"Thank you," he relents, a fleeting smile upturning his mouth.
As he reaches out to take the plate from my hand a log cracks like a whip inside the fire. All three Malfoys jump in fright.
Draco looks embarrassed and avoids my gaze as he accepts his cake. He looks almost ill and I can't tell if the sweat that glitters on his brow is from the extraordinary heat of the fire or from the discomfort of being home.
"Do you have any hobbies besides writing?" Narcissa asks me smoothly, ignoring the way her husband and son shift uncomfortably in their seats.
"I like music," I say, forcing myself not to look at Draco or his dad.
"Do you play an instrument?"
"I like music but I'm not a very musical person," I confess.
"Narcissa is a very accomplished pianist," Lucius tells me proudly. "Why don't you play for us?"
Narcissa looks pleasantly embarrassed, almost shy, as if his praise has touched the real woman beneath the armor of propriety.
"I don't know…"
She looks wistfully at her cake and then up through her eyelashes at her husband. Her entire face seems to change when she smiles at him. "I'm terribly out of practice. Why don't I teach Astoria something?" she compromises.
I find myself looking at Draco to know for sure if this is a good idea. The piano is tucked away in a corner of the room, set back from the fire.
"She is really good," Draco says by way of encouragement.
Apprehensively I get up and follow Narcissa across the enormous geometric patterned rug. With a flick of her wand candles bloom, dispelling the darkness. There are some simple chairs arranged for listeners and the vast windows are covered by long, deep purple velvet curtains that don't entirely keep out the draft.
"Come and sit," Narcissa commands, sweeping the skirt of her robes out from under her and sitting at the piano stool.
I ease down next to her.
Side by side she sits a little taller than me even when I straighten up trying to match her upright carriage. She holds herself tight and proud at all times like a dressage horse. I marvel at the energy that she must put in to holding a pose like that. I start to cramp up after a couple of seconds and resume my usual slouch, like most of my generation we weren't threatened with back braces and straightening charms.
"You play this," she instructs and tinkles four keys one after the other, threading them together with her fine boned fingers.
Narcissa points with her frosty blue eyes that it's my turn to try. I play the keys just as she did but it doesn't have the same sound. You can hear the uncertainty in my novice notes.
"Keep that going. Now I'm going to play too," she warns me, and it's a good job she does because I would have faltered.
She spreads both her hands wide and her fingers go running, playing a dramatic racing tune that is nothing like my metronome four beats. I can feel the music vibrate through me.
The sound she creates is phenomenal. Her face remains impassive and she hardly seems to be concentrating at all. Narcissa plays from memory and the notes pour out of her with remarkable ease. The sound builds and builds, each phrase even more profound than the next.
"Don't let her frighten you, Astoria. She's just showing off," Lucius calls jovially.
Narcissa sneaks a look sideways at me and a slight smile curves her mouth.
"You're doing very well," she says quietly.
She plays around my hand, creeping underneath my arm to get around me or reaching boldly over as she needs to. Narcissa holds me as fascinated as if she were telling a story. The music does seem to have a narrative. I think of a unicorn or some brilliant pure creature pursued by an enemy; the forbidden forest at night; dark, inhospitable places, caves and pits and innumerable snares and then a kind of blissful chaos that sounds like falling in love.
"The trick when beginning to learn anything," Narcissa tells me, "is you must see the wonder in what you could achieve or else you'll never practice. I sat at a piano very like this one when I was five years old and I played just as timidly as you are playing now."
"I'm sure you never played this badly," I say graciously, which earns me a wider smile from the impressive witch beside me.
"Would you still like me to teach you to play something?"
"Okay," I breathe, completely captivated by her.
"We'll start with something simple which sounds very impressive," Narcissa says and I'm disappointed when she stops playing.
"How old are you now, Astoria?" she asks as she manipulates my fingers, showing me the notes to play.
"I'm twenty. I'll be twenty-one in May."
"They say May born witches marry Muggles. I do hope that's not true for you."
I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. I didn't expect the wife of a Death Eater to be pro-Muggle but I didn't think she'd be so bold about her opposition to them. It's not exactly okay in the current political climate to admit that kind of hostility anymore.
I concentrate on my fingers. Narcissa's touch is silky but firm. Her hands show her true age, unlike her flawless face. Her hands are careworn and slightly red from hard use and I can feel a small round callous from a quill. They're also very long and elegant and I think perhaps there's a similarity to Draco's.
"Have you thought much about it?"
I look up blankly into her exquisite face. Her eyes are vivid blue and cool like a mountain stream splashing over my cheeks.
"About marriage? To Draco?" I ask in embarrassed surprise.
"When I was a girl all we thought about was marriage. Courting without intent to marry is a very foolish thing," she says sternly. "Romantic love is not infinite as your writers and poets would have you believe."
I feel a bit like I'm being told off. I don't know what she wants me to say. I don't think I want to tell her that I think I'm in love with her son before I tell him that. I'm not sure if she's saying the intent is more important or the love. From what Draco's told me about his parents Narcissa Malfoy and I have very different ideas about love.
"I'm trying to work out what sort of girl you are," Narcissa says, folding her hands into her lap and looking at me.
I can feel her indomitable will focused on me. She's tenacious like the green buds of spring that push up through the snow.
"I don't know your family well. You're poor but are you respectable?" she muses.
I look at her, astonished and annoyed that she has the gall to insult me and insinuate I'm not respectable in the same breath! Her eyes are shrewd and searching. I realize she's got no qualms about offending me because she thinks she's so much better than everyone.
"I'm more respectable than you," I say defiantly.
Her laugh tingles and stings hotly like thawing frost on delicate fingers. She appraises me with resentful admiration.
"I suppose you are," she says, her voice rich with dark amusement. "But I have been playing this game much longer than you have."
"You just can't admit you're wrong, in anything, can you?" Draco yells, his voice rising with his temper.
My fingers falter on the keys. Narcissa and I look over our shoulders to where Draco is on his feet, glaring down at his father.
Draco is furious. He's taken out his wand and is pointing it aggressively at his dad, who remains in his seat. Lucius' pose is still one of a wizard at rest but his eyes burn malevolently.
"You ruined our lives and you're still trying to blame everyone but yourself!" Draco shouts passionately.
He blazes out of the room.
"You insolent runt! You still don't understand a thing!" Lucius yells after him venomously, determined to have the last words.
Shocked by Draco's explosion I get to my feet and have enough time to see Narcissa's wide, startled eyes staring after me before I'm out in the corridor.
"Draco, wait!" I call, practically jogging to keep up with his long, smooth, self-righteous strides.
He flings the doors open and night air smothers me like a pillow. It's drizzling and everywhere smells like wet leaves and ice. I try not to skid on the slippery lawn.
"I hate him! He's a nightmare!" Draco rages.
I trudge determinedly after him into the dark, cold night. I've never seen him this angry before. It's frightening. He's completely consumed by a black hatred so intense it's like he's possessed by something otherworldly. I almost don't recognize him.
At the top of the hill Draco slows down and begins to pace. He runs both his hands through his hair in exasperation.
"Don't you dare tell me to calm down!" Draco yells preemptively.
"I wasn't going to. Be as mad as you like," I say, holding up my hands in surrender.
Watching Draco pace gives me an idea. I charm the ground we're standing on to become as springy as a trampoline.
I start bouncing.
Draco watches me warily.
"Come on, it'll help," I say, taking his hand and drawing him into the circle of enchanted earth. "Just try it."
I catch his bounce and fly up so high I almost lose my balance. My downbeat sends him careening. I jump harder, more aggressively and Draco follows my lead.
His expression clouds, his brow creases in a deep frown and his jumps become violent, staccato stabs as he finds his rhythm. His hands turn to fists, his jaw clenches and even in the dark I catch the black coal fury in his eyes.
"Come on!" I yell at him. "You can do better than that!"
I really let loose. I jump on the spot with all the energy I can muster. I shake my head like I'm at a rock concert and fling my arms around. I haven't done this in years. It feels so good to just not care.
I yell at the heavens. It's a rough, gutterall roar and I hold it until my throat burns. Draco looks at me in astonishment.
I hold his gaze as I bounce, insolently, willing him to try it with my blank look.
I yell again and this time his shout mingles with mine creating a tower of sound that offends a flock of birds. They rise, squawking indignantly, and fill the sky like repelled iron filings. We continue to yell until we're hoarse and red in the face.
Then, when we're tiring, we begin to laugh.
I think the absurdity of the two of us, screaming at the sky, on a trampoline patch of earth in the middle of the Wiltshire countryside hits. Or maybe it's even simpler than that. Maybe we're laughing because we're happy now that it's just the two of us again, letting off steam.
"Thank you," Draco pants, slowing to a stop.
"What for?"
"For being the only person who doesn't think I'm crazy."
"Of course you're crazy. We're all crazy sometimes. Besides, crazy is a compliment where I come from, remember?"
"Thank you for being the only person crazy enough to be crazy with me," Draco puffs.
"My pleasure," I say breathlessly, as he helps me back onto solid ground.