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Father, My Father—Chapter 43 (Christmas Ball)
23 December 1949 (Friday)
Nicolette bade farewell to the sun as it dipped below the horizon, pulled her cloak tighter about her frame, and let out a small sigh as she took one last glance around the flat rock in the orchard. No letter from 'Margentis', though she hadn't honestly expected one. She'd written to wish him a Merry Christmas several days ago…he rarely wrote back sooner than a week or two, and knowing she had loads of planning to do for the upcoming Christmas Ball he wouldn't want to distract her. She gave a rueful smile; he'd always been so thoughtful. She could re-read the letters she'd stored in the hole of the tree trunk, but it was getting dark now and she really ought to return to the manor.
She got up, spun, and nearly bumped into Horatio, who'd been standing behind her. A small squeal of terror escaped, and she tumbled backward as thoughts of the letters raced through her head—had she given off any sign, did he know?
Horatio snatched her arm and jerked her forward, keeping her from plunging off the sheer, steep end of the rock, saving her from a nasty fall and possible injury. "What in bloody hell are you doing out here in the cold?" he demanded, frowning. "You've got company coming in an hour!"
Panting from shock, she shook her head. In a tiny voice she said, "I—I come here to relax, and with all the work I've been doing I needed some time alone."
"You've got a bedroom," he said.
Emboldened that he seemed not to have any clue of her true purpose, she replied, "I like fresh air—and I like having a place to go where I can be totally alone. Is that asking so much?"
The edge of his lips curled into a sneer, his tone condescending. "Women. I don't care where you go, my dear, except when we have a hundred or more people showing up. Now let's go to the house and get ready, shall we?"
He started off toward the manor, Nicolette trotting to keep up with his longer strides. Still the frightening thoughts of his discovery hounded her. "How did you know where I was? I didn't tell anyone I was going there."
A snorted laugh wafted back. "We've been married for thirty years, Nicolette. I know you better than you think."
Her stomach simultaneously lurched and sank. If he'd guessed this was her place of sanctuary, the letters weren't safe, and neither was she. Next time she came, she'd make sure it was when he was out of the house—and she'd burn those letters for good measure. And any incoming letters as well. It saddened her, but in the scheme of things it was the most prudent course. For now, she must put it out of her mind; she had a party to prepare for.
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As it did every year for the Malfoy Christmas Ball, the enormous ballroom looked stunning. Dressed in a loose-fitting, silvery shimmering dress that flowed about her and swept the floor, Thalia gazed around the room, tastefully decorated this year in ancient burgundy and forest green tapestries, live mistletoe hung in doorways, undulating streamers that appeared alive swooping about the lofty ceiling, round tables covered in festive cloths set with the finest china and silverware, centerpieces made of fresh flowers, with champagne at each table. The amount of planning and organization took her breath away—and she hadn't even got to the food selection and preparation, guest list, order of events, entertainment. As she mulled it over, a live band was setting up near the front, just under the balcony. Around half the room, lining the walls, were tables laden with every kind of sumptuous food and drink one could want.
"Nicolette, I'm so impressed! You truly know how to throw a soiree!" she said with respect.
Nicolette shifted her gaze from the baby she was carrying to her daughter-in-law and smiled. "Thank you, dear. Next year, when Cassius is older, you'll have time to begin learning yourself. Remember, one day you'll be the mistress of the manor, and it will be your job." She cooed at the tyke and he stuck out his tongue and giggled.
"I'm glad you're here to teach me," Thalia said. "I don't think I'd ever figure it all out by myself."
"Don't sell yourself short, Thalia. You're a very bright young witch, and we're all lucky to have you in the family." She handed Cassius to his mother. "Why don't you step up to the balcony? Once the guests arrive, Horatio will announce you two, and Cassius will make his entrance into society."
Thalia nodded. "I'm nervous. I shouldn't be, it's Cassius they want to see."
"He'll not disappoint. How could anyone fail to see how beautiful and precious he is?" Nicolette stroked the child's cheek lovingly.
"Handsome," Thalia corrected, shaking her head and smiling. "Brax insists we say it that way because he says boys aren't pretty or beautiful, they're handsome."
Nicolette snickered along with her. "Yes, those Malfoy men can be rather persnickety, can't they?"
"Indeed." Taking a deep breath, she headed up one of the staircases.
She hadn't long to wait before the first of the guests began to trickle in. Watching from her vantage point, she noted the Notts walking in with Horatio. A moment later the Rosiers came in with Abraxas. From there the visitors were announced by a hired assistant as they arrived and were greeted by the men and Nicolette. Being the type of party it was—thrown by the richest wizard in England—everyone was expected to show up on time or close to it if they wanted to be recognized; anyone trailing in half an hour late may as well be sneaking in, for there would be no introduction.
As the minutes rolled by, she picked out Horatio talking with the Avery family; they laughed and nudged each other over whatever he'd said. Though she'd lived with the Malfoys for over a year, it still surprised her how charming and likeable Horatio could be with outsiders…the very reason no one suspected him of being the monster he'd been all those years to her darling Brax. The same reason Brax was so leery of letting him near Cassius without being there himself to protect the boy.
Thalia got up to move around a bit. Her dress, while lovely and able to hide the couple of baby pounds she'd not yet shed, caught slightly under her shoes at times—not a problem on the floor, but definitely a problem on the stairs. Taking her wand from her cleavage, where Brax thought it very risqué to hide it—as if she had a choice in this outfit—she pointed it at her hem and muttered a quick shortening charm. There, much better. Or was it? Now it reached the top of her shoes! But she had to carry Cassius down the steps, she couldn't afford to take chances. Well, if anyone had something nasty to say, they weren't likely to say it to her face.
Horatio and Abraxas and Nicolette had ascended the steps, and she went over to meet them. As usual, her eyes drifted over her beloved, taking in his handsomeness in his deep green, high-necked jacket with the filigree pattern on the sleeves that, if one looked closely enough, could be taken for frolicking baby seahorses. She thought it whimsical and sweet, though if Brax saw it that way he'd probably never wear the suit again. She slipped her hand into his and he squeezed it tight.
Striding to the front and center of the balcony, Horatio put his wand to his throat and his voice boomed out, "Esteemed friends, thank you for coming to our Christmas Ball."
The people below quieted down and looked up to where the Malfoys stood.
"We have no doubt you will thoroughly enjoy the refreshments and the music, and have high hopes that the companionship of the evening will fare as well. As you all know, we have an addition to our family." Hoots and applause. "My son Abraxas and his wife Thalia proudly present their son and my new grandson, Cassius Malfoy!" He swept an arm across the balcony at the trio and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause. On cue, Cassius began to wail from the overwhelming sound.
Abraxas quickly placed his own wand to his throat. "Please, if I may ask you not to applaud." The noise began to diminish, the better to hear Cassius squalling and Thalia trying to calm him. "You may have noticed that my son has lungs the size of London and isn't afraid to use them." Laughter. "We will be bringing him down to let you become acquainted, and then it's off to bed for him while you enjoy the party." Chuckles.
Horatio and Nicolette, hand in hand, led the way down the stairs. Holding Cassius in one arm and holding tight to Abraxas with the other, Thalia carefully navigated the steps with all eyes upon them. At last they reached the bottom, to be swarmed by curious guests eager to get a glimpse of the newest Malfoy.
"Oh, how cute!" squealed Mrs. Avery.
"He's adorable!" said another.
"What a pretty baby," said Quentin Nott, shaking Abraxas' hand. He didn't notice the tight jaw on the young man's face or the light smile on Thalia's. "You're a lucky man."
"That I am, thank you."
For the better part of the next half hour they paraded Cassius through the throng, letting guests hold him while he studied the strangers intently with serious grey eyes, and pulled at the long hair of witches silly enough to let it within his grasp. Even Horatio was permitted to hold the child in order to show him off to his acquaintances, with Abraxas standing close watch.
At last Abraxas took Cassius into the crook of his arm. "I think it's time for this one to get some sleep. He'll be cranky if we keep him any longer. Say goodnight, son." He lifted Cassius' tiny hand to wave to them, making the women ooh and ahh over him again. He was headed out when Thalia waylaid him.
"I'll take him, darling," Thalia said, holding out her hands. "You stay and talk with your friends, I'll be back as soon as he falls asleep. Fancy will keep watch over him." She didn't need to mention the special elf spell that Fancy had placed around the nursery to keep any but family members from entering, for Abraxas had wholly agreed when Thalia suggested it.
She carried him out and down a flight of stairs, then down the corridor to the room beside the one she shared with Abraxas. In the nursery, Abraxas' old and extremely expensive crib was set up there, though not used often, for she'd been taking Cassius to bed with them from the first night, reserving his crib for naps. She sat in the rocking chair, cuddling the boy close, and began to sing a lullaby. Cassius looked up at her with love in his eyes, smiling and cooing and pumping his tiny fists until drowsiness overtook him and he dropped off into slumber.
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"Ri, you really should take it easy on the firewhiskey. Last time we got pissed here Mr. Malfoy told our dads and they whipped the stuffing out of us." Cygnus automatically glanced around to see if his father was anywhere nearby.
Orion snorted and swallowed the rest of his drink. "My dad is busy talking Mister Malfoy's ear off. He doesn't know what I'm doing."
Cygnus pointed surreptitiously into a corner, where a man resembling himself stood talking to a young lady as he peered at Orion and Cygnus. "Al is watching you."
"Al-phard," Orion said, in a singsong voice, rolling his eyes. He set his glass on the nearest table and poured champagne up to the brim. "Your brother's such a tattletale. And I'm not even drunk!" Turning to his cousin Alphard, he lifted the glass in a mock toast, then swilled it down in two gargantuan gulps, followed by a long, loud burp.
"Yes, that's the way to be subtle, moron. If you keep it up you will be drunk. You're lucky Walburga is home sick or she'd be—" Suddenly he stopped, his sight lighting on a young witch across the room. "Isn't that Druella Rosier?"
Orion looked over and nodded. "Yeah, so?"
"So I fancy her! I've told you that a hundred times!"
"Well excuse me for not listening," Orion said sarcastically, then shrugged as he poured another drink. "So go talk to her."
Cygnus hung back, despite his obvious desire to go to her. "Last I heard she was seeing some bloke."
"I don't see anyone with her now."
"Good point." Eyes glued on the young lady, Cygnus still didn't move.
"Go!" Orion gave him a shove.
He stumbled a few feet, then gaining his composure he stood erect, threw back his shoulders, and strode purposefully toward his goal. Stomach halfway to his throat, he bowed and took her hand, lifting it to his lips for a brief kiss. "Hello, Druella. Are you alone?"
"No, I came with my parents." She smirked at his obvious discomfort.
Cygnus looked around the room, though he'd be hard pressed to see far with the crowd. "I mean, you're not with someone."
Druella's eyes lit up and she smiled. "Oh, we broke up ages ago!"
"Oh. I did not know that." Smiling shyly, he took her elbow to steer her away from the people, to focus on himself. "May I offer you a drink? Punch? Firewhiskey?"
She held up a partially full cup. "I have punch."
"It's almost empty." He snapped for Kreacher, who'd been borrowed for the night by the Malfoys. Kreacher appeared dressed in a sparkling white tea towel with red ribbons on the shoulders and a festive garland about his waist.
"Yes, Master Cygnus?" he said, bowing low.
"Punch for the lady, please." He'd scarcely got the words out when Kreacher snapped his fingers and a tray of drinks appeared on it. Cygnus handed a cup of punch to Druella. "Thank you, Kreacher."
Druella took a sip. "Are you having a good time?"
"I am now," said Cygnus in all sincerity. "Would you do me the honour of a dance?"
"Um…there's no music."
His face reddened slightly, but he forged ahead. "Huh. So there isn't. Well, when they strike up the band again, I get first dance. Agreed?"
"Absolutely." She smiled again, then laughed a little. "I never noticed how cute you are. Let's sit down here and talk till the dancing starts."
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Over in Orion's corner, Thalia came upon the young wizard trying to stack shot glasses inside a wine goblet. "What are you doing?"
"Building," he said, snickering. "Hey, Thalia, I forgot to ask when the kid was here—how come you didn't name him after me? Orion's a good name." He lifted his face, grinning like a loon.
"It's a perfectly lovely name, but we've already got one of you. I'm pretty sure that's all we can handle," Thalia answered, smiling back. "Besides, when you and Walburga marry, you'll have children and you can name them whatever you want."
"I don't wanna marry her," Orion blurted, then slapped a hand over his own mouth.
"Then why are you engaged to her?"
He shrugged in defeat. "The family says we need to keep the line pure."
"There are other purebloods," said Thalia.
"She's my cousin, you know," he said, falling into a chair. Then he leaned in close to her, his breath reeking of rum. "But she's really my dad's cousin, so it's not like we're—no, wait, she's—my dad and her dad are cousins. Yeah, that's it!"
"I see," said Thalia. It did put to rest that creepy feeling she'd had about first cousins marrying. This wasn't so far off, but at least acceptable.
"I'm hungry. You hungry?" He waved at the table where he sat, loaded with platefuls of delicious food. "You Malfoys put out a good spread."
"Thanks, but Nicolette is the one who did all this. Are you alright?"
"Yeah, why?" He shoved a rolled slice of meat into his mouth. "Mmmm, so good."
"No reason. I need to mingle, but it was nice talking to you." She edged away, though Orion seemed oblivious. It made her feel bad to see him intoxicated again, and the party hadn't even come into full swing yet.
The band had begun playing again and Abraxas had been making his way over to speak with Orion when he caught sight of his wife leaving from there. It warmed his heart to see her; an instant later he stopped cold, the blood frozen in his veins. His eyes must surely betray him, for he was not seeing what he thought he was seeing. Certainly a filthy blood traitor was not soiling his family estate! And was that—oh, hell no! He might have let the blood traitor issue stand if only for peace, but he could not—would not—let this stand, something had to be done. Scowling, fists forming from fury, he strode over to his orange-headed nemesis.
"This is a party for family and friends, Weasley. I don't believe you qualify as either."
Septimus Weasley smirked, forcing Abraxas to use great restraint to keep from knocking the smugness off his freckled face. "My wife is a Black, and your father issued a blanket invitation to the Black family."
"An oversight, to be sure," Abraxas rejoined tightly. He glanced around; he didn't recall seeing Cedrella here, and most assuredly her family would raise a ruckus if they caught her in their midst. "That doesn't explain him." He jerked a thumb at the ill-dressed man behind Septimus, cramming a cupcake into his mouth.
"He's my guest," said Septimus, appearing affronted.
Abraxas nearly blew an artery. "Leach was not invited and you bloody well know it!"
From nowhere Orion had appeared and insinuated himself into the fray. With one hand on Weasley's shoulder, he leaned in close to his ear. "The last time I looked this was Malfoy property, and Malfoys determined the guest list. As far as we here are all concerned, blood traitors aren't particularly welcome either, Weasley."
"Is there a problem?" asked Leach, walking over to the group.
"Yeah—mudbloods aren't welcome here," said Orion, pushing himself off of Septimus and turning to Leach.
Leach flushed. "I'd heard Malfoys were a bigoted lot; I should have assumed the same for their friends."
Abraxas, in a feeble attempt to restore order when he wished nothing more than to draw his wand and obliterate the pair, said through clenched teeth, "I don't care to make a scene on such a day, so I'll let it go if you leave quietly."
"And if we don't?" asked Weasley, tempting fate.
Orion tapped Abraxas on the arm. "Let me handle this. Kreacher!"
"Yes, Master Orion?" said the elf, wrinkling his large nose at the sight of Leach, who was so evidently mis-dressed even an elf could tell.
"Escort these two to the front door. If they won't leave, apparate them out and drop them into the sea."
"Yes, my master," said Kreacher, with every intention of doing exactly as he'd been instructed. He glared at Weasley and Leach. "Are you coming, or do you care for a night swim?"
With no recourse, knowing the elf would do it, the men reluctantly followed the elf out the ballroom door. Relieved though still vexed, Abraxas watched them go. If Father had found out that a blood traitor and a mudblood from work had entered his house, he'd never hear the end of it.
"Thanks, Orion. I owe you one."
Orion nodded. "Merry Christmas, Abraxas. Now point me to the loo, I need to throw up."
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6 January 1950
In October John had begun archery with Horatio. He'd loved it from the start, not only because he took to it like a duck to water, or that it pleased Father that he proved good at it, but that he got to spend additional time with Father on those rare occasions when he deigned to go outside and watch him practice and give him feedback.
He'd hoped it was Father coming today, but it had only been the odd little elf. Not that he disliked Fancy in any way…he simply wanted more, and felt guilty for wanting more. Fancy acted as a companion, and she was quite knowledgeable about cooking and all sorts of household tasks, though she seemed lost when it came to anything else. One good thing: he didn't have to change into Abraxas to be with Fancy. He'd learned the difference in apparition sounds between Father and Fancy, and she seemed fine with him the way he was, which also saved potion—he'd been running low until Father recently brewed a new batch. As for archery, she merely huddled next to John and watched with her bulbous eyes as the arrows flew towards the targets, waved her hand, and the arrows returned to him magically. Convenient, if nothing else.
Around a three acre plot, targets of various sizes and shapes had been set up: squirrels, wild hogs, bears, wolves…humans. John readied for the target next on the course, a prancing deer. He drew an arrow the way he'd been instructed, set his feet, nocked the arrow, and aimed. It flew true, right to the heart of the deer. If only Father had been here to see!
He glanced at Fancy, a big smile on his face. "Not bad, huh?"
"Yes, lovely," Fancy remarked distractedly, hugging herself and shivering. Once more she waved her hand and the arrow popped into the quiver on John's back.
"Oh, Fancy, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you were cold." He set down his bow and quiver and shrugged off his cloak; the thick jumper beneath it would keep him warm for a while. He held the cloak out to the elf. "Here, put this round you."
Fancy's eyes went from enormous to nearly leaping from her skull, and she backed up, arms extended in horror. A strange alarmed cry emitted from her. "Ahhhh! No, no, no! Why, why Devon treats Fancy so? Fancy thinks Devon nice!" She burst into tears and ran for the house.
At a complete loss, John-Devon collected his things and followed her, finding her in the kitchen cowering next to the stove. "Fancy?" he said hesitantly, quietly.
She sniffled without a reply and wedged herself firmly between the stove and the wall, her overlarge head sticking out the top.
"I don't understand. What have I done?"
"You tries to free Fancy," she said accusingly. Tears clung to her cheeks, but a hint of anger had entered her tone.
Long pause while he considered that. He'd been doing archery, he offered her the cloak when he noticed she was cold. Not a word had been spoken of freedom. Maybe in elf talk 'free' meant something else. He shook his head in bewilderment. "I don't understand. Even if I did, isn't freedom a good thing?"
Another high-pitched, ear-splitting wail. "Noooooo! Elves needs their families! Only bad elves gets freed!"
"Okay, I won't try to free you," he agreed, backing off still none the wiser as to what she was talking about. "Could you explain to me what I did?"
She glared at him. "Devon knows."
"I truly don't," he said in apology, sitting down at the kitchen table. "I'm a muggle, remember? There are loads of things I don't know."
That seemed to placate the elf, for she often forgot that little tidbit, and she sighed. "If wizards giving clothes to their elf, the elf is free. Free is very bad, means shame."
"I'd never do anything to hurt you, Fancy," John said in earnest. "I just wanted you to be warm—and besides, I'm not a wizard, and I don't own you. I couldn't free you if I wanted to."
Fancy cocked her head. That was true. He wasn't really Master Malfoy's son—didn't even look like him without the Polyjuice potion. She wiggled out from behind the stove and padded to the table. "Fancy forgives Devon. Is you wanting food? Fancy makes a good lunch!"
"Yes, I'd like that. Afterward, would you teach me how to make a lemon tart?" asked John-Devon. Father had mentioned once that he liked the tarts Fancy made.
Fancy nodded her head. "Fancy liking to help Devon. Come, come, sit. Fancy making lunch."
He sat, smiling at the creature. For not being human or even animal like Cheers, she was so nice.
