Circles
Wiltshire Mansion, July twenty-second,
The Malfoy siblings fidgeted in their dress robes as they waited for Mother to remember calling them for inspection. She sent them to their dressing rooms an hour ago to 'tidy up' and now seemed to have forgotten her previous summons in the face of more terrible troubles. The ham was burning. Jezibell could smell it from the parlor – the bitter stench of homemaking gone wrong. She'd grown quite accustomed to the fragrance of Ode de Failing Housewife in the past two summers at Malfoy Manor. But this was a blacker predicament than usual for tonight they had company. Not the tea party hens, but Father's company. Business with fellow retired Death Eater, Mr. Franklin Nott, which ranked somewhere between foreign aristocrats and lower level ministry wizards in threat. Of course, nobody said that's what Mr. Nott was coming for. It was just a check up on old friends, nothing beyond a cordial sup followed by charades and champagne. Mr. Nott was even bringing Theodore along to keep up the needless pretense with the children. It wasn't as though the adults didn't think they would have put it together by now, but practicing silence in private decreased the chance of public slip-ups. After all practice makes perfect, most of the time.
A whooshing noise of flames being doused echoed from the kitchen.
"Hope Mr. Nott likes it well done," Draco adjusted his cufflinks as an air-freshening charm blasted through the house, leaving everything smelling of strawberry and perfectly roasted pig. Nice bluff.
"Then he'd want Indian Cuisine," Jezibell waved away the pink puff of spell residue with her sleeve. The dress robes Mother chose for her were pleated to the point of ridiculousness, the neck line swooping uncomfortably and the sleeves disproportionately long, but they did have their practicalities however few and far between. Mother bustled into the parlor, crossing smartly to straighten the drapes before turning to the secondary matter of her children.
"Chin up, Jezibell," A forcing hand cupped under it, "I don't know where you learned to slouch so."
She narrowed her eyes as though she had a number of ideas on it, but didn't speak them. Time was running short for nitpicking.
"Hair out of the eyes," She tutted, batting it aside to find them glaring at her, "You didn't touch the makeup I put out, did you? Well, I suppose I can hardly expect the sow's ear to cooperate. Fine, keep them in. Perhaps it will tone down that hideous expression enough for them to look sideways at you."
She threw up her hands and brought them down on Draco's head, smoothing the already slicked back hair, "My little doorman, can I trust you to pick up your sister's slack?"
"Of course, Mother," Draco smiled.
"Charming as always," She kissed his forehead, "But don't twist your cufflinks, they're tailor made."
The doorbell called out, "Visitors, ma'am, Franklin Nott and young Theodore. Theo's combing over his hair, but don't think it looked so smart when he arrived."
"That'll do," Mother commanded and the gossipy doorbell fell silent. The hostess glanced at the grandfather clock and wrinkled her nose in distaste, "They're early."
"They really should know better by know," commented Draco.
She gave him a warning look, "Go entertain them. Jezibell, I would appreciate your help in kitchen."
Appreciate her getting out of the way, more like. There wasn't much help to be done, or at least nothing Jezibell could accomplish without magic. Mother made her set the table manually anyhow, though the witch could have done just as well with a wave of her wand. Probably better. An ear was kept cocked to the door where the tones of Draco's greetings could be heard if not distinguished. They didn't really need to be. It was the same bland cut-and-paste socializing that Jezibell could never pull off, even in her pre-school years. Hence the kitchen duty now.
Once the salad fork, desert spoon, steak knife, and the butter knife were all in order she made to take her customary seat, two chairs to the left of the head, when she noticed the cards.
"Mother," She picked up the folded over paper entitled Draco Malfoy, "Aren't we a little old for assigned seating?"
"Aren't you a little young to be concerning yourself?" Mother snatched the card back and set it right, "I have this all measured perfectly, don't be difficult. Your seat is the top right."
"Right of the head? But that's –"
"Don't be difficult."
Jezibell gathered her overdone skirts and sat. This was an unusual development. The right hand was reserved for Draco, always had been. It was the honored spot where Father could display his model son proudly, where guests looked to see who was in favor and what personality was trying to be sold. Jezibell had never quite fit the demographics and in her jealous childhood developed a quiet loathing of the right hand. So, why -?
"So, forgive me, but you're something of a test subject now. Mother's cooking will be splendid as always, but she's working with a new sauce. Anything off about the flavor… Well, let's say that's a stroke for the garlic and onion."
Draco entered the room, Mr. Nott and son in tow. He had apparently been warned about the seating arrangements beforehand as he gave no sign of surprise that his was spoken for. Jezibell stood for the company out of ingrained courtesy, arching her neck a little more pointedly than necessary. Draco ushered the guests to their seats, and as Jezibell retook her – ah, Draco's she faced Mr. Nott.
Mr. Franklin Nott was middle aged by wizarding standards, meaning he was somewhere in his late nineties. It showed, in the balding white hair and ingrained wrinkles on his pasty forehead. Flesh flowed from his jowls that distorted the underlying slender structure, telling he lived a cushy life but not one requiring high standards of appearance. His profile resembled Theodore's in that they both had an elongated face and rabbit noses, but unlike his son's darting glance his eyes were mostly lost in skin folds narrowing to little peepholes from which he observed the girl set before him.
"Good evening, Miss Malfoy," He began as Theodore settled beside her. Jezibell would have been content to duck her head in reply, but a glance down the table to her mother said that wasn't going to cut it.
"Quite," She started but clammed up when Father claimed his seat. For better or worse, that was the last vocal activity she was required for the meal. Mostly the latter, given the main course turned out to be a la Jezibell.
"How are you getting on in your classes, Theodore? You and Jezibell share quite a few of them. I believe Potions? Yes, she has top marks."
"Are you admiring the new painting? You know, Jezibell has fair talent in the arts."
"Of course Draco has everything to be proud of in being the Seeker for Slytherin; he almost won the Cup this year. Jezibell nearly got on the team as well; she is a practiced flier. What position? Keeper, naturally, a good protection for the goals and a lady would never be involved with the more brutal game play."
"I hope you enjoy the meal, Frank, it was Jezibell's idea to use this spice, she quite the attribute in the kitchen."
"Yes, always helpful, she set the table for this evening," Father turned his head slightly to bestow a small paternal smile. It made Jezibell's skin crawl. The cosmetics in the upstairs bathroom may never touch her skin, but Mother's makeover proceeded as planned. Preening Jezibell's image into that of a demure center piece and yet somehow ignoring her as always. Jezibell did her best to detach from it all, block out the heavy face of Mr. Nott looming, Mother giggling, Draco grinning as the hideous dress caged and displayed her at the right hand of that smile. She entertained a sudden impulse to scream and jump on the table kicking glasses to the floor and flee to Emmy and her room with no lights or expectations, but disregarded it.
Eventually they grew bored with her and turn to the infinitely more invigorating conversation of work and social life. Father's voice carried on uncomfortably close to her about his latest successes in the ministry. Sole hope for escape lay in the clock, silver plated and emerald set, ticking in a lazy way that gutted Jezibell slowly. There was a magic time, about forty-five minutes to an hour after supper started, when one could make an excuse to retreat from the table with no intention of return and the action would go completely unnoticed. Presently it was barely ten minutes since Father sat down. It was quite a setback - after years of coming to terms with childish envy, Jezibell found fresh hatred for the right hand.
A tinkle of fine silver to the right served as a herald to her savior's arrival. It came in form of a brilliant stain of pumpkin juice that lit up the white table cloth and slapped her thigh with cold sticky orange. Theodore cursed and hastily reset his now empty goblet. He took his napkin off his lap, scrunched it and held it out to Jezibell's now ruined gown. Then he remembered their audience. "I… am terribly sorry, Jezibell, I didn't mean that."
"Oh dear, don't be," Mother smiled in fake flippantness while narrowing her eyes in a way that said you-will-never-be-forgiven. "It wasn't your fault, besides I can have that juice out in a jiffy."
"No," Jezibell stood up awkwardly as the wet patch squelched on her thigh, "I'd better change. I apologize, for interrupting, but it is pumpkin juice. It'll start to smell. With respect, Mother, may I be excused?"
What was she going to do? Rebuke such a sweetly phrased request? Not without undermining the whole angelic daughter bit.
"Very well, but –"
But Jezibell was already halfway up the stairs. Two hours and some change later, a light knuckled knock drummed her bedroom door. Jezibell didn't have look up from 100 Years for Emmy's appraisal.
"It's Draco and he's excited, but not angry."
"You know how relieved I am," Jezibell slipped the banned book under her pillow, "Entrez vous."
"Gratuitous French now does not compensate for dinner," Draco gave her irritated look as he leaned on the wall across from her. He'd changed into muggle garb of a collared shirt and leather pants. Emmy was correct in saying he had something more intriguing than a chewing out on his mind. It took but a few seconds of patient silence to draw it forward, "I have a new pattern."
"Already?"
"Hey, you can't hold back genius. Besides, this one is going to need three."
"Is Theodore game?" Jezibell pressed the negative, presently not in the mood for anything but the Time After Time series. She was getting to a good bit, where the Professor explains everything he thinks he knows right before a plot twist. The books got kind of formulaic after a while, but the characters were so interesting they could never bore her.
"Nott's not not game, which is good enough. His dad and Father locked themselves in the study about ten minutes ago and Mother's fixing her hair for bed. There's no better opportunity," He grinned with the little bit of adrenalin that came with knowingly doing what would make the rolls spring out of their mother's obsessively styled hair. If she ever knew, that lip would curl while nostrils flared as disapproval peered through made up eyelids down her nose and demanded how dare they. And just like that, Jezibell was in the mood.
"Give me two minutes."
He left her alone to don her second costume for the evening, a black shirt and pants ensemble. It occurred to her as she assured Emmy she'd be back before midnight that Theodore had with him only wizarding dress robes. Fine ones to be sure, smart pine green that worked well with his brown hair, but fashionably useless for skulking around rural Wiltshire. She twisted the handle of Draco's door lightly to alert them to her outside, finding knocking a bit conspicuous with Mother in the powder room one wall away.
Draco let her in, closing the door softly behind. His window was open and waiting with Theodore beside it. He'd been lent some clothes, a skull patterned shirt and a pair of corduroy pants about a size too short.
Jezibell raised an eyebrow, "Classy."
"I don't have to along with this," he muttered, not looking at her.
"Yes, you do. I'm keeping those dress robes hostage until we're done. They have to be the only ones you own or you wouldn't wear them," Draco was perched on the windowsill grinning like a clever monkey who just pulled a fast one on an unsuspecting hiker, "Now you can't see the handholds, so watch where Jezibell and I put our feet."
"How do you see them?"
"We memorized ages ago," He shrugged himself outside, lowering his slight self gently onto an out of view ledge below, "Far as I know they've always been here, waiting for an incredible mind like me to find them."
His smirk disappeared past the sill into the twilight below.
"The discovery was made when he jumped out the window at six," Jezibell informed Theodore as she assumed Draco's position on the sill, "We think he was trying to fly."
"Unlucky," He smiled.
"We only have until midnight, you know!" Draco's voice jeered from below and Jezibell shimmied down the wall without further ado. Left, right, across-right, down, across left, swing, back-right, left, drop. Her boots hit the grass with stomp that shuddered and steadied. She looked up to see Theodore's progress. Despite his protests, he had been paying attention. He only missed one, the second back-step, and he found it on his own quick enough. Draco's smug grin only broadened when Theodore fell to his knees from two yards above ground. He gestured for the two to follow him.
"It's fastest to cut through the village, which will still take a bit, but once we're at the henge, I have some toys that'll make traveling out to the field a lot quicker," He explained for Theodore's benefit as they tramped down the low rolling hill. Grass turned to stone under their feet and the night was painted by the golden streetlamps of West Amesbury. Draco basked in their glow, hooking his belt cockily for the amusement of some teen girls passing by.
"Three guesses as to why we're really cutting through the village," Theodore sniped, watching a girl with a miniskirt giggling to her friend. Draco ignored him, busy reclaiming his distain towards the twee muggle bungalows. Jezibell had long been bored with this step to the procedure and picked up her pace so Draco would have to do the same in order to stay at the head of their little pack. The trio followed the aptly name Stonehenge Road out of the village to the larger A303. Theodore became twitchy as fast smelly cars whizzed past them, at one point nearly jumped into Jezibell as beastly truck carrying manure trundled by. Before long the trio was joined by a trickle of muggles, most heading in the opposite direction. Nobody gave them more than a passing glance or snicker at Theodore's pants. They were wrapped entirely in their own little world, not caring they rubbed shoulders with magical minors. Of course after tonight some of them might be caring a bit more. The asphalt shrugged casually up word and their destination came into view.
"How do they not see it?" Theodore marveled. The odd thing about Stonehenge for a wizarding site is how blatant it was. There were no immediately visible magical protections or strong anti-muggle charms and it stuck out like, well, an ornate stone observatory at the intersection of two busy modern roads. There were even signs, advertising that this thing was an important landmark, Wonder of the World, mystery of England. It drew tourists from the world like a Lumos charm draws fireflies, dumbly moving in and around the attraction and flashing cameras to capture some of the nearly set sun. Then again, what their photographs would show and what was actually there were two very different things.
"It just looks like a pile of marked up old stone to them. That's what's left from Merlin before the Norman Conquest. It's a brilliant spot for astrology and spells that need specific shadow and times so the druids who controlled it weren't keen on giving it up. Clovis Malfoy let the Celts keep their boulders and mounds so long as we got to install our observatory on the same ground. A few centuries of clever war later the druids were forced back into Wales and this place has been with the family since. We never got rid of the old stuff because it's convenient way to keep rivals from bumbling into our design," Draco said.
"Did I ask for the history lesson?" Theodore grumbled and Draco ignored him, striding over to a small ramp that lead up to the walkway that circled the building.
"Typical muggles," Draco sneered, "Putting a stinking fence up and charging people money like they own it."
"Why do they bother with it? Muggles can't leave anything be. If according to them it's a bunch of stupid rocks, why not cart them off and use the land for something useful?"
"They must think it's still worth something," Draco said, "Evidently they're right, since the morons pay a Galleon and half to see it."
But despite Draco's griping, the real deal in the set-up was for the wizards. Unbeknownst to the muggles raking the notes in, much of the gold the paper represented went to Malfoy family who owned the rocks, the observatory and the benefits. This is why the collectors didn't give either of their landowners a second glance when Jezibell and Draco strolled through the gate. One bored looking man did try to reproach Theodore until Jezibell said he was with them.
Face to face with the observatory's curving wall, it began to lose substance. Arched carvings of planets and orbits crumbled around them until all that was left were the relics of misshapen rock. A few stacked lengthwise like a fallen house of cards, but most just plopped in odd semicircles right where the astronomy pit should be. Jezibell watched Theodore tip his head back to stare where sphere shaped rocks had been rotating suspended above moments before, seeing no more than a muggle could.
"That is mad," he muttered, "We should be inside it."
"It exists in a different part of space, like Diagon Alley or nine and three-quarters. A whole street full of wizards, shops and a bank doesn't fit into a back alley of London without powerful inside expansion and displacement charms," Jezibell explained as the trio navigating around the druid handiwork and people who paid them as much mind as the stone did.
"I know how that works, but the platform and the alley are more tucked away. These two, the real Stonehenge and the one from the druids, they're practically on top of each other," Theodore turned around as they reached the other side, confirming his statement as the outer wall reappeared perfectly tangible.
"They are," Draco corrected, "Clovis really was just showing off when he came up with the system. This is a sweet spot, but there's no point in cutting it this close. Except, of course, demonstrating that non-Malfoys are on such a lower level that our achievement can literally surround them and they will never know it without permission."
"So how do you get permission?"
Jezibell looked at her brother for an answer. They had never brought a guest to the Henge without parental supervision before. She wasn't entirely certain the blood rite would work, since they were still underage. Draco returned her look with one of 85% certainty before replying to Theodore, "You ask."
They were now approaching what the muggles called heelstone, a boulder squatting in a low roped off section a few feet from the road to the right of the entrance. It was just outside the building itself and appeared as they faced it for the entire world a worn ugly bit of rock. The door was circular, shaped by plates of metal rigidly interlocked in coiling designs that could be snakes or orbits. Most of the tourists were heading back to their cars and buses at this point since it was too dark for proper photographs anymore. Nobody paid the slightest mind as Draco marched up to the heelstone.
The Guardian in dormant form resembled a bulldog with its head mashed in from the sides. The expression dopey from erosion, giving the impression it was failing to look past the end of its nose. Not good traits for what was supposed to a vigil protector. Draco took out a small knife – barely sizable to cut a peapod, but sharp enough to cleave a diamond clean - nicked his thumb and drew an untidy Malfoy crest with the resulting blood. He pressed this thumb to what could be called the nose of heelstone, murmuring the Malfoy motto. Nos es unos. We are one.
Immediately the shape and texture smoothed and cleared itself like dough being kneaded over. The vague mammalian head stretched and yawned into that of a serpent, visible only from the neck up. The new form rolled its eye to focus on Draco and Jezibell with tedium, but when it spotted Theodore perked up as much as a reptilian face can.
"I am the guardian of the Stonehenge," The jaws gurgled out the words in appropriate gravel tone, "To pass you must answer these questions three. First: What… is your name?"
"Theodore Nott," he answered reflexively.
"Second: What … is your quest?"
"Eh, to enter –"
"Don't encourage it," Jezibell chastised.
"What?"
Draco then stamped Theodore's palm with the bloody thumb in the business air of a Gringotts goblin clerk, befuddling him further, "Ok, guardian of comedy, he bears the crest of your masters. May we enter some time tonight?"
"Oh, you're no fun anymore," The Guardian flicked its tongue at him impetuously. Behind it the metal began to dance and with an artful flurry of clicking magical locks, the stone shell prized open.
"That one is going to need a memory wipe very soon," Draco rolled his eyes as they entered, "Or a good crossword puzzle. A bored guardian will pick up all kinds of rubbish if left around muggles long enough and I think it's last complete cleanse was sometime in the 60s."
Jezibell tapped a resting candle on the wall. It became animated and levitated to above the door, sparking itself into flame. At this cue the others sitting atop shelves and in holders did the same, kissing the edges of the room with light. The inner walls of the observatory were painted deep dusky indigo, a color that grew subtly darker as night fell outside. The building was open roof and the hanging stone orbs for which the site was named whirled massively around each other in the air ten feet above, representing planets and their moons. Gold instruments for calculating positions hung lightly on sensitive little hooks. Walls fitted with wooden honeycombs were filled with tubes of parchment from generations of astronomers scribbling their findings. Great moving maps were drawn up on the floor that contorted a universe of celestial bodies into flowing waves of glitter and gridlines with little arrows squirming between the specks. Jezibell watched Theodore bend down in curiosity and prod a small pulsing red dot at the tip of his shoe that at his touch filled half the floor with the image of an erupting supernova.
"Watch it!" Draco snapped, making a sweeping gesture to bring the dying star back to proper size, "We're not here to play with the scholars' stuff. Father hates it if it's not perfect for them when they come. Got to keep the illusion they're getting their money's worth, after all. You two look at the pretty lights while I go down to the archives and get what we need so we can get out before Murphy's Law kicks in."
He left for the descending steps to the extended storage below, the shellac in his hair shiny in the candlelight.
"Bet he wouldn't be such a prick if it weren't for those leather pants," Theodore sounded miffed.
"A common misconception - it's not the pants, it's the shoes," Jezibell said and he chuckled. Theodore rolled his dress shoes to cover the star in sleek black. Without putting much thought to it, she sidestepped into the center of a disk shaped galaxy. Theodore responded by hopscotching to an adjacent star cluster. His motion echoed preschool chalk games. She jumped to a spiral, balancing on her left foot. Throw the pebble, skip one-two. He caught her eye for a second.
"Ok, we're good to go!" Draco called as his shoes stamped a staccato up the stairs.
"Premium leather," murmured Theodore as Draco emerged with the provisions. Three large death black cloaks were slung across his arm. He tossed one to each of them.
"You wanted some cooler clothes?"
Jezibell caught hers and flinched at the literal chill that excited her fingertips.
"Just because Parkinson finds your jokes funny doesn't mean they are," said Theodore. Jezibell slipped the material over her shoulders. It felt like silk, but much less substantial, and icy like Draco pulled it out of a snow bank. Not a bad thing considering the hot July night. As she lowered the hood a freezing sensation wriggled down her spine. She was ready to fly.
"What is this stuff?" Theodore was holding his at arms-length, cautiously poking it to watch the fabric ripple like rain running down a street.
"Cloaks from dead dementors," Draco did the clasp on his calmly, "Go ahead, put it on."
"You cannot be serious."
"Don't worry, everyone looks good in black."
"Shut up," Jezibell cuffed the back of her brother's head (the Sleekazy's potion made this unpleasant for both of them), "It's safe. We couldn't be traveling to the fields and back in a night otherwise. Besides, it's worth it."
"Yeah, I'll dress up in a soul sucker's garb for vandalism. Totally worth my while," He said sarcastically.
"Stop acting like your grandmother," Draco regained his swagger and took out three bluestones from his pocket, "I'm beginning to think you haven't got what it takes to handle one of these."
Theodore's expression went sour, but he pulled the robe over his head without complaint. So that was why he put up with Draco's crap. Draco promised him a bluestone.
Bluestone was a handy substance in the magical world to have access to. In addition to the healing properties and charm life enhancement, it was an excellent conductor for magical energy. Before using bits of fantastic beasts became popular, bluestone was often set in staffs and belts to increase power. Now the material was outmoded and largely disregarded by the wizarding community in favor of more powerful and precise organic wands. By itself the bluestone was fairly useless for complex incantation, but a galleon-sized chunk when squeezed could release and receive a light pulse. It was enough to level a few hundred yards of crop at most; nothing that would brush the underage wizardry radar. But when it came to messing with the local muggle population that was all you really needed.
They each got a bit that fit in the palm of their hands. Draco gave Theodore and Jezibell a copy of his latest design, a large eye, including what points on the field they were to stand at and move to coordinate it all properly. It was all plotted down to the yard, a thoroughness not often seen from Draco and his leather pants.
Jezibell decided not to wait for the rest of Draco's exposition on the bluestones and how their powers would be used tonight. She tucked the parchment into her pants pocket and used the cloak's slight levitating ability to leap ten feet up onto the open roof. Once outside, breeze caught the cloak. She rose up onto her toes in the light current, looking north to her destination, or so said the map. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet for a moment, savoring it. Then she jumped.
Technically, it wasn't flying. The cloak carried her only about fifty yards into the air with a good start and it was just enough to get her past the initial grass around the Henge. But it was so, so brilliant. Shame it wasn't legal. Her boots brushed the tips of grain, the beginning of the ocean of crop that was Salisbury Plain. She dove, the slick cloak parting the stalks without a rustle. A few swift leaps and she got a good speed. The cloak wove her through the blades like a shadow, fluid and invisible. Dementor cloaks repelled substance, like a magnet met with the opposite side of another. This trick of zipping at speeds that would make a Firebolt jealous wouldn't work on an open road, but in the forest of wheat to bounce off of Jezibell had little more to do than steer. The wheat to the right was buffeted suddenly as Draco's laugh flew past. That didn't take long. Then there was a second stirring as another shadow clipped her on the shoulder as Theodore overtook her too. Oh, it's on now.
Using the bluestone to channel magic down, Jezibell blew herself about fifteen feet in the air. Just in time, they were coming onto a road and Jezibell simply glided over the cars, red and white lights like schools of luminescent fish below. She continued coasting, occasionally catching glimpses of Draco and Theodore alongside her. Not long after, she spotted the cubes of light shining from a farm in the near distance.
"This is it!" Draco's voice called from up ahead. Jezibell tugged the cloak around her and promptly dropped. She took out the map and peered at it by the light of the moon. Draco had marked where the barn was on it and Jezibell was approximately twenty paces to left of where she should be. She sighed irritably and tromped the dictated steps. This part of making Draco's patterns was always rather tedious. Once in position, she squeezed her bluestone and let up a small blip of white light. Across the field to her right came another and, after a moment's hesitation, it echoed again to the left. Let the fun begin.
A second light glimmered from the right. Whoosh. The wheat rustled as though a large animal was running towards her. Jezibell was ready with the bluestone as the energy rush came to the last stalk. The rock absorbed it with a brief warm pulse and released a glob of white light. Jezibell turned where the left signal came from, she guessed its sender was Theodore. She flicked her wrist like she was skipping a rock and let the hot flare of power escape through her arm. Whoosh. The grain was cleaved like parting hair to reveal a black mass of shadow at the end. A ball of white light flew up from the shadow and Jezibell used the time to get to her next receiving point, where she shot up another white light. Whoosh.
They danced through the dark. Threading through increasingly thin wheat and flinging wild magic while not five hundred yards from a muggle residence. No wonder the muggles thought the patterns were made by aliens. Under the dementor cloak whispering warm light, Jezibell felt like one. This particular design was fairly complex, compared to some of Draco's others at least. What looked like a giant eye on paper were three thick circles that weren't much trouble. Most of the real work was in the long crisscrossing angles in the middle. When it was done, the three congregated in the center circle of cleared wheat to admire their creation.
"How do you tell if we got it right?" asked the shade with Theodore's voice.
"We'll find out tomorrow," said Draco's voice from another, "There's usually something in the muggle paper. If any aeroplane goes over it'll look like a giant eye staring at them, this one's bound to be featured."
"Unlike the giant dumbbell," Jezibell said.
"That was practice," Draco's voice sulked. A pale hand appeared with a watch. "We got about an hour before you have to leave, but we should head back now."
So they did. The journey was quicker and less exciting than the one out. When they reached the Henge, Draco stowed the toys away and started the slow walk up the A303. Jezibell was in less of a hurry to return to the manor and Mother. She climbed up to the open roof and used the cloak to jump onto a moon of Uranus. Unlike the others, Uranus rotated vertically and it carried Jezibell up. Just as her legs were getting tired of the crouched position, she leaped again and grabbed the slim ring of Jupiter. She climbed up the stone, the rough soles of her boots coming in handy. On top of the planet, Jezibell settled cross legged and gazed out across the fields, trying to spot the bald patch in the distance but it was invisible behind waves of grain. Jupiter spun slow and tranquil as faster smaller moons whirled around their king. Jezibell undid lower clasp and let the dementor cloak blow halfway off her shoulders, a black banner of night reaching out to its brethren.
Uranus gamboled into her view below, a juggler trotting past in its unique Ferris wheel style. On one of spheres a large dark shape was flapping about akin to a wounded crow. Jezibell slid down to the Jupiter's ring as the figure came around and held out her hand. Theodore's appeared and she took it, bracing herself between the ring and planet to pull him up. He jackknifed into the gap, mimicking her position and lowered the hood.
"Thanks," he said quietly, trying to hide how out of breath he was from the climb.
Jezibell took down her hood too and nodded in assent. She went into an upright fetal position and resumed her staring into the night.
"So," Theodore went on, "When did you and Draco decide to break into the public art market?"
"Year before last. It was Draco's idea and last year I tagged along."
"How come you never took me to the Henge before?"
"We weren't allowed until we turned eleven, and that year…"
"That year," he echoed with a sigh. They were quiet for a bit, Jezibell thinking back to the summer before that year. Theodore, her and Draco in the yard, under a tree fiddling with a three dimensional puzzle of a chimera, watching Emmy stalk a baby peacock and exchanging stories of Hogwarts. Plotting what they would do in twelve months when they were in Slytherin together. They planned to be the first to find and keep track of the legendary Room of Requirement. According to what Theodore's father said, anything you could imagine would appear in it. Shelves full of all the things they hadn't gotten for birthdays and a whole wall devoted to Dragonsnaps. A stock of proper professional brooms and a ceiling so high it had clouds for them to fly through. A house elf to do their homework and a litter of snake-cats that Emmy could have a family. They would rule the school, and if anybody else discovered the room Emmy and her new family would make sure they kept quiet.
"What happened?" He stared at her, expecting an answer.
"It wasn't my fault."
"Sure," He blew hair off his forehead, resentfully. "You could've posted me that you wouldn't be coming. I found out on the Hogwarts Express."
"Sorry."
"Sure." He repeated. Jezibell pushed her knees further into her chest numbly. A warm apologetic hand sat on her shoulder, "But we can get things back to how they should be."
Jezibell looked into his face, his squaring cheekbones and sprouts of facial hair. "Theodore, it's been three years. Things changed."
"I didn't say they had to be exactly the same." His eyes widened, the whites sickle moons around large dark pupils. The hand on her shoulder cupped the back of her head and his face loomed forward. He kissed her.
No. Jezibell elbowed him across his chest, whacking his head back with her arm. She vaulted over the ring, crunching her knees onto neighboring Neptune. She skidded off, the pain only reaching her in the peripheral, and dropped heavily into the astronomy pit. Galaxies and star clusters inflated under her boots. She ripped off the dementor cloak fully and tossed it into a corner where it merged with shadow. That would be cleaned up later. She ran, out the door past the guardian through the gates onto the street, away. A little ways into Amesbury, she ran out of breath. A bench, outside the Parish Church, was empty. She sat and breathed and didn't think for a while.
"I put away the cloak," He said from behind her, "And fixed the star chart. I think I may have messed up the lion constellation."
"Leave."
"Fine," He huffed, "I get the message. But what I don't get is what your problem is. Yeah, I kissed you. People do. And they don't try to kill the other when it happens to them. If you don't want me then fine. You didn't have to shove me into Mars to say so."
"Jupiter," Jezibell closed her eyes. Go away.
"Whatever the hell." He growled. Jezibell's kneecaps stung badly. She tucked up her legs, making it worse, and rested her forehead on them. "And don't think I don't know. About dinner and what your parents were trying to pull."
Jezibell looked around at him through her bangs. What?
"Oh, come off it. Even if they didn't tell you, you're smart enough for this. The seat next to your father, the way they kept going on about you. That dress that made you look like..." He didn't complete the thought, going a bit pink in the streetlight, "They were marketing you. To me."
The idea was so horrifying Jezibell rejected it at first. But then logic kicked in. The letter last year, Mother worried her little Jezibell was finding relationships at school. Matches were never made so accidentally for their kind. There was a very select pool for pure of blood and pocketbook that once a Malfoy becomes of age, around six or seventeen, she is expected to fish from. Jezibell had thought these troubles were several years from her, enough time to plot an escape, but it seemed she rather underestimated the fears of a high society harpy. No, harpies were too good for that woman. Now she had pulled Theodore into her imaginary vortex of drama.
"Good thing you figured it out then," Jezibell said carefully, "So you don't fall for what they fabricated and we can do what we like."
"No, you still aren't getting it," Theodore leaned on the back of the bench, facing away from her, "Even if you reject me no, they're going to keep trying with you until they find someone they'll make work. You could do a lot worse than me. Actually, you could do a lot better too. They tried this match-maker thing with me first not because my father's got a vault full of gold or that he's at all influential, but because they knew we were already friends. They were being nice."
"You're right. I should thank them for the attempt at respecting my personal feelings by setting me up with a childhood friend from whom I moved on entirely. They clearly have my best interest at heart," Jezibell sneered nastily.
"What is your problem?" He demanded again, "This was going to happen eventually. And it's not like you have a better option. Or do you? Is that it, you really are Harry Potter's new girlfriend."
"Leave," She snarled, having no wish to go through this Mount Everest of troll crap again.
"No, I've figured it now. You're the rebellious princess. You're not rejecting me because you don't like me or wouldn't be happy with me, you just reject conforming to whatever being a good little Malfoy entails on principle. I happen to be something your parents would be alright with, and the minute you realized that you couldn't stand me. If they suddenly decided those combat boots were the last word in fashion, you'd ditch those too. You hang out with the Potter pals not because you like them any better but because they make you special. Nobody twisted you're arm to play the misfit in second year. You just did it because it makes you feel so much above than the rest of us, but really you're just like your brother strutting around in leather pants. I bet you asked the Sorting Hat to make you Gryffindor!"
"You're right," Jezibell repeated, standing up stiffly as her kneecaps defied the motion, "I did. I wanted change. And you're exactly the same."
He didn't follow her this time.
Draco Malfoy
Draco fell onto his swan feathered bed, exhausted and exhilarated from the match. The night's game had been phenomenal, nothing in his previous World Cup experiences could compare. He could still hear the Irish celebrating their victory in the distance. The team had utterly out flown the competition, even though Draco himself had been rooting for the Bulgarians. In his opinion Victor Krum won. His capture of the snitch proved he bested over the Irish seeker and it ended the match on his terms. And he did with blood spurting from his nose. Awesome.
Draco glanced at the identical richly furnished mattress beside him, whose occupant was staring sleeplessly at the ceiling. He could tell her thoughts were far from the World Cup. It was the same look of quiet envy that she had given the redheaded wonders, the Weasley family, as they passed by them on their way to the stadium. He knew there were few things she wouldn't give to be bunking in their shabby, secondhand tent right now.
As the excitement of the evening began to wear off Draco slipped into a doze, chasing around half-dreams of flying like Krum and winning like the Irish. Fans tugged on his emerald green robes as he alighted to the ground with the captive snitch in his hand. The tugging was getting quite annoying as he tried to land. He felt a sharp jerk at which he wheeled around to tell the persistent fan to cut it out. Draco's eyes popped open to see an irritable Jezibell roughly nudging him awake.
"WHAT?" he yelled furiously, "I am trying to SLEEP!" Jezibell let go of his pajamas and glared at him coolly.
"Death Eaters."
Draco's anger melted to shock. Jezibell's non-expression told him all he needed to know, but he asked her anyway. "Father?"
Jezibell nodded grimly.
"Where's Mother?"
"She left to talk sense into him before the ministry representatives get organized. She told me to wake you and we should go to the forest so we won't get hit by accident."
Hit? By what precisely? Jezibell was already at the door of the silken tent so these queries would have to be postponed. Draco slipped to the robe hanging on his mahogany bedpost and followed her outside.
It was mayhem. Screams and shouts colored the night air from burning tents in the distance, the smoke from the bonfires created a haze over the grounds so the hooded figures making their way around them were hard to see. Hard, but not impossible. Jezibell motioned to him to keep his hood down as they crept around the part of the grounds still sleepily oblivious to the chaos across the grassy lot. The forest was an ideal hiding place from the masked men and Draco and Jezibell slipped behind the nearest pine tree a little ways into the thicket. This way no one would find them and they should have good enough view of outbreak to know when it stopped. Some of the Death Eaters had gotten hold of the muggle who owned the campsite. They levitated him and his family high above trees so the twins could see them clearly and began to flip and spin them like puppets under an inadequate master. Making circles.
More people had noticed the Death Eater attack and many were now fleeing into the woods. Shadowy figures rushed by the twins as people discovered the sanctuary it provided. Jezibell pulled Draco by the back of his cloak into the shade so the panicked wizards wouldn't spot the Death Eater's children in the half light.
"Yow!" A sharp cry of pain sounded a few yards from where they stood making both of them flinch.
A girl's anxious voice cried "Lumos!"
Wand light shattered the dark. Ronald Weasley lay on the forest floor, his lanky form stretched out a good two meters, the toe of his trainer caught on the appendage of a mighty oak.
"Tripped over a tree root," he growled as the anxiety riddled Hermione Granger came into view along with the Great Harry Potter Himself.
"With feet in that size, hard not to," smirked Draco, unable to help himself. He felt Jezibell's glare boring into the back of his head as the trio, Weasley back on his canoe-like feet, turned abruptly to face them. Weasley said a very nasty something that would have put Crabbe's four letter vocabulary to shame.
"Go," Jezibell intervened, "Deeper into the woods; it's safer."
"Yeah," said Draco, obligated to help but also not wanting to be conspicuous about it, "hadn't you be hurrying along? You don't want her to be spotted, do you?"
He nodded at Granger just as a blast of green light lit the trees, emphasizing his point.
"Hermione is in no more danger then the rest of us," said Potter aggressively, "She's a witch!"
"Suit yourself, Potter," Draco countered casually, "if you don't think they can spot a mudblood you can just stay where you are."
"Shut up!" hissed Jezibell and then said to her friends, "Stay off the path and take cover by a tree."
"Shouldn't we stick together? Strength in numbers," suggested Granger and Draco cringed internally at the thought. Weasley uneasily shuffled. He didn't like the idea any more then Draco did.
"We'll be fine." stated Jezibell firmly. Another screaming body rushed past in the darkness.
It took a few more subtle hints and nonchalant reverse psychology to convince them, but Potter eventually made the executive to keep moving. But instead of groveling after his master, Weasley paused to give Draco a long measuring look.
"You want to take picture," Draco smoothed out his silk pajamas sarcastically.
"Are your socks… pink?" Weasley squinted at his feet.
Draco had a feeling it wasn't just the socks anymore.
"You aren't one to be critiquing other people's footwear, Weasley," he gestured at the redhead's tennis shoes that had met their life expectancy three hand-me-downs ago.
But it was too little too late for his dignity. Potter looked back and coughed a laugh, "Oh my god, Jez, you were actually serious."
Granger was simply confused. "What are you – "
"But why would you keep them? You got rid of wrecked pajamas." Potter asked incredulously.
"They're still good socks," Draco shrugged.
"That are pink," sniggered Weasley.
"And mold themselves perfectly to my feet," Draco protested, "My mother paid good money for these socks. More than yours has spent in -
"Are those the Woolskins brand?" Granger interrupted, "The ones with the self-dry cleaning function?"
"Yes," Draco answered amiably before remembering himself, "I mean, no. What -?"
"That's why those ones you got me for Christmas always smell like pine," Potter said to Jezibell.
"What happened to you losers fleeing to safety?" Draco demanded, a bit more loudly than he'd intended. The others shut up and when they did the yells and screams of the riot filled their ears, louder than before.
"They're coming this way," Granger announced. Potter and Weasley sobered.
"Leave." Jezibell ordered in laconic. The losers flew. Once they were gone, she gave him a look that said you-will-never-be-forgiven.
"That was not my fault," he whispered, "You decided to document my closet in your love-letters and play Father Mudmas with the Weasleys."
"For the love of socks," She muttered and crouched on crunchy leaves that coated the base of the tree. Draco went quiet, listening to the calls of drunken men and wondering which one was his father's. Jezibell stared at the levitated muggles like a cat transfixed by string. Like a normal cat would, not like a certain hybrid who nearly took off Draco's hand when he tried that trick with her. The muggle woman was being turned upside down so her knickers showed in a blur of pink and white. They stayed in the shelter of the oak, waiting for the riot's end. Draco played with a stick to pass the time, guessing underage magic wasn't one of the Ministry's top priorities at the moment.
"Engorgio", bigger stick.
"Reducio", smaller stick. It didn't matter how much you magicked it, the stick was still knobby and brown.
Just as Granger divined, the long procession of smoking cackling hoods was moving steadily in their direction. They wore masks, like the one in Father's study, silver skulls with impersonal eyes. The idea of being the Death Eater kids seemed like such good life insurance five minutes ago. Draco and Jezibell moved as stealthily as they could over the dry leaves and twigs, quickly putting distance between themselves and the masquerade. They were heading the way that Potter had gone and it was quieter here in this section of the woods. The trees were thicker and in the darkness it was hard to tell exactly which direction they had come in.
But they were not lost. At all. The idea of being lost is ridiculous and they were in no way, shape or form lost. Draco twisted around abruptly to look back the way they came. The sounds of the campsite were faded into the distance and the tree trunks were thick and densely packed. There could have been a mountain troll two feet in front of them and they wouldn't have noticed.
"We're lost," announced Jezibell.
Draco wanted to give his sister a good kick for destroying his small, tender planet of serenity. But fluffy pink socks, while they make delightfully awkward conversation, are rubbish for kicking, so he did it another way. "If we are, it's your fault. 'Let's go deeper into the large labyrinthian woods.' Brilliant. What will be our next move, Oh Wise Leader?"
A sudden cry made him break off. A shout, not far from where they stood frozen, echoed in the silent wood, "MORSMODRE!"
It was hard to tell. The trees made a leafy canopy that obstructed sight, Draco felt sure he saw a shot of emerald spell-craft dart into the air. Morsmodre… rang a bell…
"To run," said Jezibell sharply, her breath speeding up like a cornered rabbit under a hawk's shadow.
"Where? I thought you got us lost," Draco failed to see what she was so agitated about. Then the deathly still wood erupted in screams. The cacophony made the already blurred shadows even more confusing. Jezibell grabbed his hand and yanked him through bracken and decaying mulch, her longer legs making it difficult for him to keep up. Little popping noises, like a bunch of soap bubbles bursting, surrounded them. Apparitions indistinguishable in the night, they could have been ministry representatives or Death Eaters. Or both. Jezibell's grip was vice-like. Her nails dug into his wrist and his nose hit the musty ground.
"STUPEFY!"
Ok, they were from the ministry. Red light flared around them for a few seconds. Draco hoped some of the casters would hit each other by mistake. Teach them right. Somebody yelled something about fifty meters to the right of them and the firing halted. A pair of non-amused wizards appeared on either side of them. The one to the right prodded Draco up right, more harshly than necessary.
"Gerroff," He dusted himself off, "Do you know who my father is?"
"We know exactly who your father is, Malfoy brat," said the slight wizard to his left. He was old and deformed, a wide scar dragging down his face to one side. An Auror. Draco's mouth went very dry and he licked his lips nervously.
"Good," he managed. The Auror herded them over to meet the other people that had been shot at. The ministry wizards flanked them like some sort of guard, but made no more moves to touch either of the twins. Once they were in the clearing, Draco could see the cause of the chaos. A brilliant green skull design was sitting against the black sky with a writhing serpent protruding from its mouth, identical to the tattoo on his father's forearm. Beautiful and terrifying, the Dark Mark was a true work of art. But why was it here?
The other captives were Potter, Weasley and Granger. They were being fiercely interrogated by Mr. Balding-Has-Been-Crouch and Amos Scruffy-Neighbor-To-Arthur-Weasley-Diggory. The second Draco and Jezibell stepped into the grouping there was a perceivable change in the atmosphere. You could see it on their faces; Crouch and Diggory wore different degrees of tentative anticipation and certain triumph. Ah ha! they thought, Here are people we can put a reasonable blame on. Potter and Pals looked surprised and worried. Draco was just the former. What was His Holiness Harry Potter here for? The people gathered around the edges of the clearing wore expressions similar to the muggles in the Witch Hunt chapters in a History of Magic. They, too, knew exactly who his father was.
Crouch stepped forward, his mouth a line of grim satisfaction. Draco took a few quick paces backward, wondering if he would be able outrun the ministry people. Jezibell shifted her weight and leaned diagonally across him. Her shoulders tensed and her right hand hovered over her wand-pocket, like she could do anything against a ministry rep.
"So the former Death Eater's spawn found at the scene of the Dark Mark," said Crouch, "coincidence, do you think?"
"You saw where we were found," Jezibell said loudly enough to be heard by everyone in the clearing, "Nowhere near the casting point."
"We found you running, fleeing the scene of the crime-"
"As opposed to rest of the law-abiding campsite," She said snidely and Draco resisted the urge to edge away from her. There is a time and a place for sarcasm, Sis. Now is not it. Crouch looked like he was preparing to spit fire. She was saved from his international wrath when one of the scouts who had been sent to search the wood returned. He had a friend with him. A little female house-elf lay unconscious in his arms. In the elf's limp right hand was a wand. Mr. Crouch's face was the color of old milk which could mean one of two things. Either he had eaten a funny whelk for breakfast cooked on a muggle fire, or the elf was his.
The scout dumped the elf at Crouch's feet and without further ado, Crouch stormed off into the woods. Draco had to smirk at the hypocritical old fool. He could prosecute the Malfoys as much as he liked, but there was no denying the skeletons rattling hiscloset. Across the yard, the Golden trio was hyperventilating. Granger had her shivering fingers over her mouth like she was trying not to cry out. Weasley gaze was fixed on the Mark. Oddly, Potter seemed to be giving Draco a reassuring look. Wait, no that was probably intended for just Jezibell. Of course. Crouch came back, predictably, empty handed. Mr. Weasley and Diggory were arguing now, could a House-Elf have produced such a strong spell wandless?
"Ah," interjected the scout, "but she did have a wand, here." He passed the finely carved wooden object forward. The windbags wheezed. Clause Three of the something-something this, shame on Barty Crouch that. Blah blah, blah blah blah blah blah. Jezibell eased off her protective stance and Draco relaxed his urge to run. Now that they weren't in danger of being carted off to Azkaban, he just wanted to go back to his down-upholstered bed. Father would explain everything worth knowing later, all this discussion between ministry representatives was boring.
Diggory was trying to get a confession out of the elf now. She hugged her skinny knees and wailed, pathetically going to pieces as Diggory interrogated her.
"I is not doing it! I is not knowing how! I is a good House-Elf!" she squealed her grammatically challenged pleas. Diggory waved the wand furiously in her tearstained face, emphasizing some point he had made. The wand caught the glittery green light of the Dark Mark as it sailed inches from the elf's nose. It looked kind of familiar.
"Hey, that's mine!"
Draco and Jezibell's heads whipped around in unison to see a dumbfounded Harry Potter gazing at the acclaimed wand.
"Excuse me?" said Diggory, his professional manner preventing him from saying something on the lines of "Oh shit!"
"That's my wand," Potter clarified, "I dropped it!"
Oh, well that clears it all up. This just kept getting better and better.
"You dropped it? Is this a confession? You threw your wand aside after you conjured the Dark Mark?"
Yes, that's right, Mr. Diggory. Harry-Boy-Who-Lived-Chosen-Savior-Of-Us-All-Next-Messiah Potter cast the Dark Lords trademark symbol. Have fun holding up that one in Wizengamot. Mr. Weasley gave him a similar message of exasperation to the one in Draco's head and Diggory backed off sheepishly.
"I didn't drop it over there, anyway." said Potter, gesturing towards the area where the elf had been found, "I had missed it right after we got into the wood."
Diggory recovered from his brief moment of shame and started accusing the tiny House-Elf again. If he kept on her like this, he would have to ennervate her again.
"It wasn't her!" Granger piped up."Winky has a squeaky voice, the one we heard doing the incantation was much deeper."
Granger's own trembled before the solemn adults in the clearing. Weasley and Potter backed her protest loyally but it didn't make much of a difference. Diggory's Prior Incantato revealed all the information the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures needed. After the ghostly apparition of the Dark Mark faded away, the Ministry representatives argued some more about what the elf's fate would be. Ministry representatives don't generally do much else.
Draco was starting to worry about where their parents were. Surely Mother found Father by now? They couldn't be in any trouble. If they had been caught by ministry people, word would have been sent to the clearing. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy didn't usually fret over the whereabouts of their children, but maybe they would be bound to be getting worried about Draco and Jezibell by now. If they didn't go back to the campsite soon, would Mother come looking for them? Would it be a good thing for Mother to come to the scene of the Dark Mark? Jezibell must have been thinking along the same lines,
"They won't let us go back to the campsite until this is sorted," she muttered, "It'll be easier to wait out."
Draco nodded, trusting her to plan.
"She will be punished," said Crouch, in reference to the sniveling elf huddled at his feet. The man was apoplectic with the shame of her public disobedience. There was only one thing to be done. "Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have thought possible. I told her to remain in the tent and stay out of trouble. And now, to find she has disobeyed me. This means clothes."
At the last word Winky let out a howl of denial, "Not clothes Master! No! No, Master!"
Neither Draco nor Jezibell had witnessed a house-elf sacking before. Their old one, Dobby, had been tricked from his father by Harry Potter (Though Draco suspected Jezibell's involvement too). It was a very personal and messy business, doing it publicly was like hanging out your dirty laundry. Whatever that meant.
"But she was frightened!" cried Granger in another futile attempt to help the elf's lost cause, "Your elf is scared of heights, those wizard were levitating people! You can't blame her for wanting to get out of the way!"
Once again, the mudblood's thin voice shook with barely concealed stage-fright and Draco felt unexpectedly sorry for the piteously sobbing creature that had no true shield against her master's rejection. It was like watching a puppy being kicked.
Jezibell plucked at the sleeve of Draco's robe. Now that everyone was turned the other way it was their cue to slip out of the crowd unnoticed. She guided him through the gathering of people. They barely registered their passing, too focused on the drama of Crouch's elf. The twins were adept in keeping their heads down when necessary.
They reached the edge of the clearing and found the post-riot wood much easier to navigate then the dusky, panicky maze. The fires had gone out and the smoky haze cleared so the forestry was thinner and less intimidating. The campsite was easily discernible through the partings of the trees, illuminated by sickly green light of the mark overhead. Draco walked behind his sister, over crackling leaves to the melting ice cake of a tent. Winky's wails were replaced by the harsh whispers of fighting parents as they slipped inside.