The Slytherin Renaissance
Chapter Five: "The Malfoy Family Gala Christmas Special"
By My Cat Frank
Note: This chapter should probably be subtitled "The Narcissa Malfoy Show". Once I started writing lines for her, she pretty much took over the entire story. But in this fic, she's just the sort of super woman I'd like her to be. ^_^
Note Part Dva: This is the first chapter I've finished since OotP came out. So far, I don't think I strayed too far off…except for giving Narcissa the maiden name of Hornby. Who knew? Rowling, of course…how mean of her not to give me a heads-up. :P Anyway, this used to take place in fifth year, so now I'm jumping it up to sixth year. From this point on, at least, our main characters will be in the sixth year. Check within the story for some cheap humor aimed at this confusing break in realism.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and its characters, and universe, belong to J. K. Rowling and her corporation, her dog, her goldfish, and basically everyone except me. I think she would disagree with the direction I'm taking her characters, but, well…we can't have everything in life.
Warnings: Some slashy fantasy, a Death Eater board meeting, Whitney Houston, Crabbe abuse, Tchaikovsky, and vomit.
This Chapter's Malicious Play: It's a Wonderful Life, Lucius Malfoy!
Thanks to everyone who has viewed, reviewed, even struggled against the tides of Fanfiction.Net's weirdness for hiding the last chapter of this fic! Y'all are just too much, let me tell you. Chocolate-chocolate-hip cookies of pure admiration go to: Pisces, deb-sampson, orphne, MOI, Ron's Girly, Show, Captain-Emily, Tess, yuyin, VMorticia, Kelsey, Aishuu Shadowweaver, Sheron, FightsLikeACow, Slytherin Psyche, nightwing, Aurenne, amythest, reila, Vee-sempai, celestinne, Adia, Jadedragon, Kaylin, Fataldreams—Seducer of Fantasy, Catspook, Rosetta, Iris, Rosa Crouch, Caedesdeo, and rosalba! And also, this goes out to those special unknown people who managed to review Chapter 4, but whose reviews have been somehow erased from fanfiction.net's memory. I wish I could remember who you were! Everyone gets a cookie!!!
(Yes, originally that was going to be chocolate-chocolate chip, but I mistyped…and I like the idea of hip cookies. Let's go with that.)
And now, our FEATURE PRESENTATION:
Those who had never been to Malfoy Manor before often created their own impression that the building itself would resemble some run-down, overly-huge Gothic mansion in a state of advanced decay, worthy of a story by Edgar Allen Poe. The rumor developed by these people—and there were indeed quite a few people who never had been there because they'd never been invited, and felt obligated to speculate about the gloominess of the place—had it that the grounds were overrun with half-dead man-eating plants, monstrous children-eating beasts, and that it was a life-risking venture to approach the establishment. The sky above the Manor was supposedly a perpetually dismal gray, and that the mournful ghosts of dead victims to ancient Malfoyan cruelty could be heard moaning when the foul-smelling winds blew their echoes across the moors. In legend, Malfoy Manor was a ghastly, horrid place.
Well, it was and it wasn't. In the summer, it was quite pleasant, and it wasn't always cloudy, but when the sun came out and warmed their patch of earth an afternoon spent in the gazebo was rather lovely. The air was never really foul, and the supposed moaning sounds—as Narcissa casually explained to guests—really came from some large piece of kitchen appliance which she really didn't understand but that the house-elves used to make fabulous calorie-free cappuccinos.
The garden, while not overrun with dangerous plants or beasts, occasionally grew beyond standards of decency in private areas of the estate. The areas where the Malfoys entertained were always trimmed and beautiful, arranged with a variety of colorful flowers, cherubic fountains and koi ponds. But in back groves the shrubs grew wild and harbored nasty tendencies to thwap passers-by with their branches. The children's playground had grown to such a bad state that the only thing to mark it as a children's playground was a barely-detectable tree swing hidden between the vines of devil's snare and crawling with bloodthirsty death beetles. The area was surrounded by poison ivy, poison sumac, and delicious-looking strawberries, which looked identical to the poison ivyberries sprinkled around them.
When he was ten, Draco mentioned this to his father. Lucius looked down at him and said, "Well, Draco, that's a sign that your time spent in childhood is over. Don't look back, son."
In winter, however, most of these out-of-control foliages had withered away, and snow covered the estate with a white, unmarred blanket that hid many of the less-desirable features of the Manor grounds from sight. While it was true that the Malfoys never decorated the outside of the mansion with colorful Christmas lights, and there was a sign on the front gate that clearly stated "No Caroling Under Penalty of Disembowelment," there was a cheerful Yule wreath on the front door. The Manor, while not glowing with Christmas cheer or emanating delicious warm baking smells, looked tidy and elegant in its own right.
On this particular winter's day, which—by an excellent coincidence—happened to be Christmas Day, the Manor was blanketed in a peaceful morning sleepiness. An eagle owl flew towards one of the high windows on the front side, and landed on the windowsill. It looked inside, hooted politely, and stuck its foot forward to the waiting hands of the room's alert occupant.
Narcissa blinked her eyes open and woke up. She stared at the expensive bedsheets before her as she slowly rose into a conscious state, thoughts unfogging themselves from groggy sleepiness.
She rolled over to her husband's side of the bed. It was cold and empty. She unconsciously shivered from the draft as she pushed away the warm down comforter and looked around the bedroom.
Lucius was already dressed. He was standing by the window, reading the letter which had just been delivered by the owl. He turned at the sound of movement and regarded his wife.
"Oh good, you're finally awake," he stated flatly and crumbled the letter into a ball. It caught on fire and burned away to nothing.
"Merry Christmas, love," Narcissa mumbled sleepily, pushing her hair away from her eyes.
"Yes, it is Christmas," he replied, adjusting his tie in front of the full-length mirror, "Don't forget about our party tonight. I must leave soon to care of some...other preparations, but I will need for you to see to the ballroom and dining preparations." He picked up a sheet of parchment from the dresser and handed it to her. "Here is the guest list, and a list of some of the Dark Lord's preferred foods. I have already had the invitations sent out last week, but you should arrange for enough space and refreshments for everyone. And whatever you do, make sure that no bread products will be served at the feast. The Dark Lord is allergic to wheat germ," he explained, "and absolutely NO holly in the decorations. He has a...predisposition against holly."
"No holly, no wheat germ," Narcissa repeated numbly with the patient humor towards her husband that seventeen years of marriage had imparted in her. She glanced over the list Lucius had given her, her mind still waking up.
"Good," Lucius answered, and walked to the door. "Tonight will be very special. The Dark Lord has announced plans to initiate some new members. It is imperative that the Death Eaters recruit new blood, and Voldemort has indicated that he particularly wishes to induct Draco. So we need to—"
"W-what?" Narcissa choked. "Our Draco?"
"Yes, of course," he answered impatiently.
"But he's so young," she protested, even though she knew her arguments could not change her husband's mind.
Lucius frowned. "It's time our son became a man," he stated firmly. "If you continue to mother him, he will never grow up. Besides, this will secure his future success as a powerful wizard. It is a great honor that the Dark Lord would wish to induct him so soon. I wish you could understand that." He stared levelly at Narcissa. "I will see to all the important arrangements. Just see to the party details, and do try not to screw things up too badly. The guests will begin to arrive around 7:30. I will see you shortly before then."
"Yes, dear." Narcissa spoke coldly from behind a polished veneer that hid the lump forming in her throat. Lucius turned to leave. "Wait, Lucius!" She called after him.
"Yes, what is it now?" He asked in irritation.
"Could you kiss me? It is Christmas, after all."
Lucius sighed, marched over to the bed, and pecked his wife roughly on the cheek. "Remember, no wheat germ," he repeated.
"No wheat germ."
With that, Lucius exited the room and left Narcissa alone, sitting up in bed and clutching a sheet of parchment filled with what seemed to her to be the most trivial information anyone could expect on a Christmas morning. She sighed, rubbed her eyes, and got out of bed. She plopped down heavily in front of her vanity and buried her face in her hands.
After a minute, she raised her head and looked at her reflection in the mirror.
"Merry Christmas, Narcissa darling," she spoke softly, voicing the words she had so wanted to hear from her husband, "Even after all these years, I still love you. You and Draco are the two most important people in my life, and I would never let any harm come to either of you. I would never let the Dark Lord come between us," she continued. She knew she was babbling to herself, but her mind insisted someone say what she wanted to hear. "And I would never, ever allow our only son to become a slave to the madman who filled my heart with hate and destroyed-our-marriage." These last words were said through clenched teeth.
She shook her head solemnly. If she had still been sleepy when she was talking to her husband, the idea that Draco might become a Death Eater had affected her like a bucket of ice water. She opened a drawer and pulled out a box labeled "Lady Wellington's Vitamin-Rich Calorie-Free Breakfast Chocolates". She delicately reached in, picked a cream-filled bonbon, and popped it in her mouth, closing her eyes in the small amount of pleasure the chocolate could provide. She put the box away, sighed resolutely, and began her morning toilette. She stared back at her reflection. "Very well, Lucius," she stated, her resolve growing, "perhaps I should show you what a mother can do.
"Echo!" She called, and a face rose to the surface of the mirror in front of her.
"How may I be of service to you today, my lady?" Echo asked solemnly, gazing out into the room with empty, glassy eyes.
"I want to know more about my son," she said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "What has the manor mirror's guild observed about him? Does he reveal any secrets when he's alone? Does he talk about anyone in particular?"
Echo looked at her pensively. "I can tell you what we know," he answered, speaking collectively for the mirrors of Malfoy Manor. "But first, I suggest that you talk to your son yourself, before spying on him."
Narcissa stared at him, dumbstruck. "Talk to my son? Without doing the proper research first? But—he's a teenager!" Echo looked at her impassively. "Do you really think it would work?" Narcissa asked doubtfully.
Echo opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "No, no, let's just do it this way. Yes, of course I'll talk to him—I'm his mother, after all—but why not prepare myself with a little background information first? Come, come, now tell me what's going on with him!"
Draco was lying awake in bed, enjoying the relative peace that came from his solitude at home. His mind was busy, musing over the events of the past fall semester at Hogwarts and certain revelations he had recently experienced.
Chief among his musings was Potter. There was no denying it anymore; he felt a sick attraction to the unruly-haired apple of everyone's eye. Damn Potter. Potter would never know; he could never understand what Draco felt when they faced off on the Quidditch pitch, or in class, or in his dreams... Images of Potter came up unsummoned in Draco's mind: laughing with his little Gryffindor friends, smiling at Hagrid, scowling at Draco. No, it was best that Potter never know how he felt. But yet...
He let the image of Potter resurface in his imagination. It was a holiday morning and Draco had nowhere he had to be, nothing he had to do right away, but plenty of time to indulge in a little fantasy. He knew his parents would probably be busy planning their party for the evening. They had already celebrated Christmas the night before—well, as much as the Malfoys ever celebrated Christmas, which was an emotionless gift exchange and a fancy, overdressed dinner.
He wondered what Potter was doing at that moment. He was probably opening his presents in the Gryffindor common room, or laughing about with the other Gryffindors and showing off the horrid sweaters Mrs. Weasley had probably made for them all. Draco erased the image of other Gryffindors from his fantasy and focused on the picture of Potter opening his presents. Draco smiled wickedly and imagined himself inside a large wrapped box.
He could see through a small hole in the side as Potter approached him and untied the knot on the ribbon around the package. Draco's heart pounded rapidly as Harry slowly, carefully pulled apart the wrapping paper. Draco stood inside, completely naked, breathing in short, silent breaths, as Potter took an eternity to unwrap the long, thin package.
Outside of the fantasy, Draco slipped a hand under the waistband of his pajamas, giving himself fully to his imagination.
Potter pulled off the wrapping paper very gently, slipped his fingers under the edges of the lid, and jerked it off suddenly. Draco gasped at the sharp movement, fully exposed to Potter and the bright sunlight coming in from behind him. Potter grinned. Draco smiled and stepped out of the box, lifting his arms to wrap around Potter's shoulders and place himself fully in his embrace.
"Merry Christmas, Harry Potter," Draco exhaled. Potter placed his hands on Draco's waist and began running them up and down the length of his sides. Draco sighed as Potter lowered his head and nibbled on his neck, flicking his tongue and placing small kisses on the pale, tender flesh. Draco tangled his fingers in Potter's hair and arched his back, urging Potter to continue.
Potter gently lowered Draco to the floor, and now they were both naked. Potter hovered over him, his hands roaming and his lips kissing every inch of Draco's body, getting closer and closer to that spot that so urgently needed Potter's attention...
"Ohh, you're sooo sweeeeet, Harry!"
Draco blinked. He hadn't said that. That had been a woman's voice. Potter stopped his ministrations and looked up. Draco followed his gaze and saw Cho Chang.
"Cho!" Potter jumped off of Draco and ran over to Cho.
"Potter, wait—"
"Ohhh, I love you, Harry," Cho cooed, running her finger up and down Potter's chest. Draco was mortified to see that Cho was naked, too. "Why don't you let me show you the kind of love a woman can give you?"
Potter moaned and kissed Cho hard on the lips. Draco watched helplessly as their tongues dueled roughly, Potter showing her a passion he hadn't shown him.
Draco groaned in frustration. He tried to rewind his fantasy back to the point before Chang showed up, but it was no use. Though she would never know it, Cho Chang had completely ruined Draco Malfoy's Christmas morning wank-off.
"Damn the woman!" Draco punched his pillow. He leaped out of bed and paced his bedroom, looking around for the right object to smash against the wall. Instead, he threw himself onto the stool in front of the vanity his mother had given him for Christmas and glared at his reflection. His hair was tousled from sleep. He combed it back into its usual appearance, slick and form-fitting to his skull. He frowned.
"What's Cho Chang got that I haven't got, anyway?" He asked out loud, sulkily.
"Well, of course there is the obvious—" the mirror began to reply.
"I wasn't asking you!" Draco snapped. If there was anything he hated, it was a talking mirror that didn't know when to keep silent when he felt like talking to himself. Well, that and Cho Chang.
"Tsk tsk, no need to get so snitty," the mirror huffed.
"Just leave me alone."
"Fine, fine." After that, the mirror remained silent.
Draco was no fool. He knew that Chang had at least one or two major advantages over him, as long as Potter remained of the heterosexual persuasion. Still, he forced himself to wonder what set Cho Chang apart from all the other girls at Hogwarts. It was obvious to most of the student body—at least, as much as Draco could tell—that Potter was attracted to her, and she undoubtedly knew it. But yet she never used it to her advantage.
Draco had to admit that he did not know her personally, and knew precious little about her personality. However, he only needed to look at her to tell that she was exotically different from most of the other girls at school. It wasn't because of her race or ethnicity. Hogwarts was a very multi-cultural institution, and students of Asian descent were by no means a vast minority. Then again, Draco briefly wondered, Potter had attended the Yule Ball last year with Parvati Patil, so maybe he had a thing for Asian girls. But then, Potter hadn't seemed at all interested in Patil apart from the fact that they had to enter the dance together, so maybe that wasn't it after all.
No, Chang was exotic because she had her own unique sense of style. It was something in the way she presented herself on an everyday basis that stated, 'I don't care what you think. I'm doing my own thing and if you have a problem with it, tough.' She wore her raven-black hair short and spiky with neon-blue highlights. She usually wore some zany, off-beat jewelry that barely fit within the perimeters of the Hogwarts dress code and painted henna designs on her hands. Her glasses had these huge black rectangular frames that would have looked excessively dorky on anyone but herself (or maybe Potter—Draco sneered at the idea of them kissing and getting their glasses tangled). On weekends when students were free to wear whatever they wanted, Chang usually sported combat boots, tight jeans and even tighter T-shirts bearing strange messages like "Rainbow Brite Fan Club" or "Take Me Home I'm Delicious". She looked very strange to Draco, but she managed to pull off the look easily and no one questioned her about her style because she obviously didn't care what people thought about her. No wonder Potter must like her. The girl had moxie.
Draco thought about his own appearance in comparison. He wore the clothes his parents wanted him to wear, combed his hair in the way his father wanted him to, and carried himself the way a Malfoy should: formal, elegant, and proud. He dressed and behaved exactly the way his family and the rest of the world expected him to. He didn't do this because he wanted to, but he did it out of habit. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like an ass because he was too afraid to try something different. He didn't believe he could ever pull off Chang's fashion style, but that was because he had never tried and was afraid of what people would say if he did.
He had grown sick of his tired old appearance. He had had the same hairstyle for years, and it now seemed very old-fashioned and un-daring to him. His pale hair and complexion used to make him feel a step above his peers because it was a symbol of his aristocratic breeding—which in of itself might have been exotic, but he had nothing to do with it himself. His snobbishness got him nowhere with Potter. He found that he wanted to change his appearance and do something totally wild: he wanted people to recognize his style as something purely belonging to Draco Malfoy. He wanted to catch people's eyes and let Potter know—let the world know—that he wasn't afraid to go against the grain of tradition. He would do something completely different and unconventional, his parents be damned. In a surge of teenage rebelliousness, Draco decided he was going to be an individual.
With a newfound sense of purpose, he thumbed through the copy of Magical Hair Care his mother had given him for Christmas. ("Narcissa! Just what are you thinking, giving our son such froufrou Christmas presents?! A MAN doesn't need those things!" His father had been less than happy with his mother's choice of presents. So what else was new?)
Draco stopped on a page that listed recipes for hair dye potions. There was a color chart on the opposite page that listed not only natural hair colors, but also a few bright, bold, exotic colors. His eyes honed in on a shade of green called "Maui Meadows". It was bright, it was bold, it was green, and it was perfect. He looked up the corresponding potion recipe, and set himself to work.
"Pooky!" Narcissa shouted, pulling her robe around her. She sat at a desk and jotted down some notes on a sheet of parchment. A small feminine house-elf wearing a pink gunnysack embroidered with flowers appeared at her side.
"Yes, mum?"
"Pooky, this is going to be a very busy day. I want you to take notes, so you won't forget anything that I tell you."
"Yes, mum," Pooky replied, and pulled a miniature notepad and quill out of thin air.
"Now, as you know, our Christmas party is this evening," Narcissa continued, handing a sheet of parchment to the house-elf. "This is the menu for the buffet line. Please note that there will be absolutely NO wheat-related food items served this evening. The focal point will be on the sushi platters, so tell the kitchen elves to arrange accordingly."
"...arrange accordingly," Pooky repeated, scribbling on her notepad. Narcissa handed her another sheet of parchment.
"This is the blueprint showing how I would like the tables to be arranged in the ballroom and foyer. The auto-playing harp quintet will go in the far corner, opposite the fireplace. Add a few extra chairs to the storage room adjoining the west wall in case we have need of them.
"I want Spicken to lead the cleaning committee," she continued, "be sure to tell him that I do not want to see a single particle of dust anywhere on the grounds by seven-o'clock. Oh, and it is freezing in here, so do tell Kreacher to raise the thermostat by three-o'clock."
"Three-o'clock."
"Now," Narcissa grinned conspiratorially at the house-elf, "after you have finished with that, I have a special job for you. I am entrusting you with the task because I believe you to be the most capable among our staff, and because I understand you have a penchant for adventure."
Pooky's eyes lit up. "Is you serious, mum?"
"Yes, Pooky," Narcissa smirked, and leaned in closely enough to whisper. "I want you to sneak into the Parkinson Estate," she explained, "and find out what Begonia will be wearing this evening. Report back to me as soon as you have identified her planned color scheme. I want her to clash completely with tonight's party decorations. It's the least I can do to repay her after what she did to me last summer at the Death Eater garden party."
Pooky grinned wickedly. "She will be going down, mum."
"I do hope so," Narcissa smiled, "Now, see to the list I have given you, and by the way, tell Verbena to prep the greenhouse for floral decorations. Hmm, I'd say orchids would look splendid in the ballroom, don't you? We can always change the colors depending on the Begonia variable. I have a lot still to do today to prepare for this evening and protect my son from becoming a future minion of evil, so let me know as soon as you have completed your mission. There, you have your instructions; set to work!"
"Yes, mum!" Pooky saluted her mistress and disappeared with an audible 'POP!'.
Narcissa stood up and brushed her hands as if she had just completed a large task, then set off for Draco's chambers. She walked briskly, her satin day-wear gown billowing around her. Her chin-length hair bounced in large blonde curls, and she fixed her lips into a small, determined line. She looked like a film noir movie actress from the 1940s, though she would never be aware of such a muggle reference.
As she approached her son's chamber door, she twisted the knob and spun into the room as gracefully as Ginger Rogers. The sight that greeted her, however, caused her to unleash a horrified scream that would put any Alfred Hitchcock heroine to shame.
And now...
A Note From the AuthorThere are a few things in life that just cannot be explained in words if the reader has no background knowledge of the subject. For example, it's almost impossible to describe a piece of music to someone who has not heard it without playing the melody for them. It's one thing for me, as a writer, to ask readers if you are familiar with a refrain repeated throughout Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_. I could describe the refrain as a "haunting melody" that will give you goose bumps whenever you hear it. I could mention that it's a very familiar piece of music that most people would recognize once they heard it because it has been used countless times in movies and television. I could even say, "You know, it's what they play whenever that giant crow dude leaps out and scares people!" But if you as readers are not familiar with the music from _Swan Lake_, chances are that you will still have no clue what I am writing about.
The point that you need to get from this little narrative is that if you don't get it, you just don't get it. Normally, this is not a problem for most people. After all, it's impossible to know everything. With that thought in mind, we continue this chapter with a glimpse into the life of Lord Voldemort.
Lord Voldemort had never appreciated muggle culture. He grew up with it during his childhood and summers away from Hogwarts at the orphanage, but as soon as he had been old enough he turned back on that life without so much as a goodbye. Of course, the story of Lord Voldemort's resentment toward muggles does not need retelling. But after he left the muggle world for good, he—to use role-playing terminology—lost his points in muggle pop cultural lore. What he did know about pop culture was extremely limited and dated to the 1940s and 50s. As a result, he was hopelessly, critically, vulnerably clueless about muggle life at the turn of the millennium.
And as he sat at the head of a long, expensive mahogany table looking around at the Death Eaters—his TRUE family—this thought did not occur to him in the slightest. Nor would it occur to the Death Eaters, who had thoroughly rejected everything muggle, and so would not have recognized a muggle pop cultural reference if it jumped up and bit one of them on the...well, ahem. Anyway, if the Death Eaters were going to worry about anything concerning their Lord, it was why he seemed to be slipping in his mental faculties ever since he had failed to destroy Harry Potter for the—well, it would be impolite to say how many times it had been. After all, he was the heir of Slytherin, and especially in a story about Slytherins that title deserved a certain degree of respect. So no matter how much the Death Eaters might have wondered about it, the word "senility" was completely, utterly, not one which anyone felt necessary to bring up any time soon.
So anyway, there they were, sitting at a board meeting and deliberately not thinking about senility or muggle references. It was in a nice board room, set up at the Riddle house, and had become the headquarters for meetings of the Death Eaters' Inner Circle. He drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, waiting for one more arrival.
Lucius Malfoy entered the room, maneuvering a large crate full of rabbits in front of him with his wand.
Voldemort clapped his hands together in delight.
"Lucius! You brought me BUNNIES!!!" he exclaimed joyfully.
"Please forgive my lateness, my Lord," Lucius bowed, setting the crate of rabbits on the table in front of Wormtail, who looked at them apprehensively. Wormtail was allergic to rabbit fur. Lucius continued as Voldemort stood up and walked around the table to examine the bunnies. "I had planned to bring these rabbits to you as a gift, but their acquisition took longer than I had intended."
Voldemort opened the lid and pulled out a medium-sized, black-and-white rabbit. He grinned in an awkward sort of way, his thin, snakelike lips pulling back and showing his teeth. A couple of the Death Eaters grimaced inwardly at the sight.
He carried the bunny over to Nagini, who was sitting in the corner by the fireplace. Nagini raised herself excitedly, and Voldemort tossed her the bunny.
"//Atta girl,//" Voldemort coddled her in Parseltongue as she swallowed the cute little bunny rabbit whole. He petted her head. "//Who's the sweetest little girl in the world?//"
He turned back to the others. "Thank you, Lucius," he said, and Lucius took a seat near the head of the table with a smug look on his face. Voldemort eyed the rest of the Death Eaters. "At least Lucius understands that the way to a man's heart is through his snake."
This statement was met with silence. Snape concentrated on a small speck of dirt on the table. MacNair coughed gently. No one made eye contact with the Dark Lord.
"Very well," Voldemort continued, unfettered. "Let's begin the meeting, shall we?" Avery conjured a sheet of parchment and quill and prepared to take minutes.
Voldemort turned back to Lucius. "Have there been any new responses to our advertisement in the Daily Prophet?"
Lucius flipped through a small stack of paperwork. "Just these four, my Lord," he responded, handing the stack to Voldemort, who skimmed through the applications. "Three of them are recent Hogwarts graduates, and one who is currently employed in the Ministry of Magic."
"Hmm," said Voldemort, "Right then. We shall induct these three," he pulled out one application letter from the stack and handed it back to Lucius. "But not this one. He says he took Muggle Studies. Make sure they are in attendance at your party tonight. How are the party arrangements coming, Lucius?"
"Very well, my Lord," Lucius answered. At the other end of the table, MacNair drew something on a scratch piece of parchment and showed it to Crabbe Sr.
"There will be no wheat germ, I trust?" Voldemort prodded.
"I have placed my wife in charge of coordinating this evening's menu," Lucius explained coolly.
"Ah, yes, your wife," Voldemort scratched his chin, looking vaguely disconcerted. "She truly is a gem, Lucius, a gem. But I really can't have any more wheat germ—if she lets me eat bread I'd be forced to kill her, of course—you can see what a bind I'm in—"
"Please be assured that I have instructed her as to your dietary restrictions, my Lord."
"And no holly?"
"And no holly," Lucius answered.
"Good, thank you. And the other preparations...have you arranged for our Induction ceremony this evening?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"With the ingredients necessary for the Induction potion?"
"Yes, my Lord."
"And the piñata?"
"Filled with small muggle children."
"Excellent." Voldemort pressed the tips of his fingers together in satisfaction. "And all of you—will your children be present this evening?" He looked pointedly around the table.
Several heads snapped up, as the others realized that they were being spoken to. Those who had been paying a dim degree of attention nodded; those who hadn't looked at the others first, then nodded their heads to pretend like they knew what was going on.
"Good, good," Voldemort said, then turned to Lucius. "And you, Lucius, we'll be inducting your son, too, this evening, of course?"
"Of course, my Lord."
"Wonderful! I must say that it's a terrific thing to see such talented young people to follow in our footsteps." He looked around the room, a thoughtful expression crossing his twisted, snakelike features. "I believe the children are our future," he deadpanned. "We must teach them well, and let them lead the way." Several Death Eaters nodded in agreement, unsure what the Dark Lord meant but believing that it would do them a good service to agree. "Wouldn't you agree, Snape?"
Snape looked like he was considering his words carefully—or maybe he was suffering from a sudden abdominal pain. It was difficult to say which. "Yes, certainly, my Lord."
"Yes," Voldemort continued, lapsing into a strange reverie. "Let the children's laughter remind us of what we used to be. Well, I think that's enough for now. We'll reconvene this evening at the Malfoy family's Christmas gathering."
The Death Eaters each respectfully saluted the Dark Lord in turn, then disapparated.
"Mother!!" Draco exclaimed, blushing hotly at his mother's intrusion. "Don't you ever knock?!"
Narcissa smoothed her hair, regaining her cool demeanor. "Of course not. Malfoys never knock," she drawled. She frowned, staring at her son. "But what are you DOING?!"
Draco stood in front of the vanity wearing a towel over his shoulders and dragonhide gloves on his hands. One hand was holding an applicator bottle filled with bright neon green hair dye, and the other hand was trying desperately to keep a large blob of dye from dripping further down his forehead. Half of his head was erratically covered in green splotches, and his ears, neck, and various spots on the vanity and rug were stained with the dye.
"I wanted to do something different," he answered nonchalantly, setting the applicator bottle onto the vanity.
"Oh, sweetie," Narcissa sighed, dropping herself into an armchair. "It's just not your color. You're a winter. A lighter shade would suit your coloring much better—like mint, for example." She pulled out her wand and waved at the stains until the area was free of green splotches.
Draco collapsed onto the stool and released a heavy, put-upon sigh. This had not gone at all like he had planned.
"Were you trying to look like a radioactive leopard, dear?" Narcissa asked, dripping sarcasm.
"He wants to look more like Cho Chang," the mirror interjected.
"I do not!"
"Who's Cho Chang?" Narcissa asked, intrigued.
"I just wanted to give myself some highlights!"
"Like Cho Chang's, only greener," the mirror pointed out.
"Nobody asked you, did they?" Draco snapped.
"I'd like to know—" Narcissa began.
"Fine, fine, don't listen to me, what do I know? I'm just a mirror, after all, but just so's you know, I pick up a lot just by observing things, like how you talk out loud when you—"
"ERNESTINE!" Narcissa exclaimed.
"Yes, ma'am?" the mirror answered, her voice lowered a notch.
"A good mirror knows when to be quiet," she sang sotto voce.
"Yes, MA'AM!" Ernestine the mirror responded, and remained silent for the rest of the mother/son encounter.
Narcissa breathed a sigh of relief, then waved her wand at Draco's hair. The green potion splotches disappeared and his hair naturally resumed its usual sleek style. She looked at her son pointedly.
"So, who is this Cho Chang person, and what makes him think he can compete with my baby?"
Reluctantly, Draco found himself explaining all about Cho Chang, carefully avoiding certain details like her femininity and—of course—Harry Potter. Narcissa listened with rapt attention, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration. Then she sat forward and clasped her hands together, and Draco was almost certain that he caught a glint of triumph in her eyes.
"Very well, Draco, very well," she said finally, "It's time that you and I had a serious mother-to-son talk. I think it's clear that you're old enough to learn the truth about your heritage, and if we give you a bit of training over the rest of the holidays, you will effortlessly be able to blow this Cho out of the water." She grinned, and Draco joined her, feeling his confidence beginning to rise.
"The first thing you need to understand," she continued, "is that you're not a pureblood wizard."
Draco blinked. "W-what?"
"You're not a pureblood wizard, because you're not a pureblood human."
"Oh," he quickly sighed in relief. "Then, what—"
"My mother—your grandmother—was a veela," she explained. "This would mean that you are one-quarter veela, but since both my family and your father's have had a long history of marrying into veela families, it is difficult to ascertain exactly how much of our blood is veela."
"But I'm pureblood magical, right?"
"Oh yes, you're quite magical," Narcissa agreed. "Your father has never wanted you to know about this because he has determined that the ways of pureblood wizards are the best, and so he has done everything in his power to hide his own veela heritage. He wanted you to grow up without any knowledge of your true identity so that you could better portray the image of perfect wizarding elitism."
Draco smirked, then a thought occurred to him. "Mother—this doesn't mean that—well, will I have to mate for life by the time I turn eighteen, or else I'll die without having a human to tie my powers to?"
"WHAT?!" Narcissa exclaimed in outrage. "Goodness, no!" She shook her head. "Your father really must have told you some wild stories to turn your mind against veelas. No, no, you don't have to mate for life, and you certainly will not die if you don't have sex. But you have inherited certain talents and abilities which you have not yet fully realized, and I can help you there. You have natural charm, which you can build upon with training. There are also a few spells, potions, and other abilities that you can use to add to your repertoire." She grinned. "By the time I'm done with you, I dare say that Harry Potter won't stand a chance against your allure."
Draco's eyes lit up, but then he caught himself in surprise. "No—You've got it wrong—I'm not—I mean, I don't—not Po—"
"Oh, I already know all about it, dear," she answered, cutting him off. "I talk to the mirrors, remember? Mirrors never lie." She rose from the chair and stepped towards the vanity, standing behind him.
"That's right!" Ernestine piped up enthusiastically.
"Shh," Narcissa told her. "Oh, don't worry, Draco—your father has no idea about any of this. Besides," she continued, looking at her son through the mirror and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, "He seems like one of the best young wizards in the world, and for my son, nothing less than the best will do." Draco instantly relaxed, and his face began to soften into a warm, genuine smile. She gave him a small peck on the cheek and gently ran her fingers through his hair.
"Now, the first thing we need to do is give you a makeover before the party tonight. And by the time you go back to school, you'll be the best-looking fifth-year at Hogwarts."
"Mother, I'm in sixth year now."
Narcissa looked startled. "What?"
"I'm in sixth year."
"I thought you were in fifth!"
"I'm sixteen, Mother." Draco answered patiently, but there was a hint of irritation in his voice.
Narcissa slapped her forehead. "Sixteen!" she exclaimed. "My son is sixteen, and where have I been?" She felt a stab of pain in her chest.
Draco shrugged indifferently, apparently used to his mother's absense.
"I know," Narcissa answered her own question, laying her hands on Draco's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Draco. I wish I had been around for you more in the past, but I want to do more for you now. Draco," she continued, her expression serious, "you should know that your father has plans for you, plans that I'm not sure that I want you to follow—"
"He wants me to become a Death Eater, doesn't he?" Draco interrupted.
Narcissa studied his face. "Yes, he wants to have you inducted tonight. How did you know?"
Draco frowned. "I suspected he did, when he said he wanted to introduce me to some important contacts this Christmas," he explained. He turned around to face her. "Mother, I don't want to have to—I mean, he can't make me, can he?"
Narcissa was surprised by the note of desperation in his voice. She looked at him, and a soft smile graced her expression. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her chest—it wasn't too late for her son, after all. He would not necessarily turn into his father, and as long as she could keep him safe from the Dark Lord she could still steer him in the direction she wanted him to follow.
"Leave this evening to me," she answered softly. "I'll find a way to prevent you from joining them tonight, but please try to keep yourself as distant from them as you can. I know, it's hard, with your father dragging you in, but I'll try to stop it as much as I can. You don't need to follow a wizard like that," she wrinkled her nose in distaste at the thought of Voldemort. "I don't want you to ever become a slave to that—that—man," she spat, unable to find an appropriate word to describe him.
Draco sighed in relief. "Thanks, Mother," he said.
Narcissa turned his chair back around to face the mirror. She sifted her fingers through his hair, lifting the strands away from his scalp. "Now, let's look through that book I gave you. I think that what we want is a style with a bit of body to it."
"Mistress Narcissa!" Pooky apparated into the room with a loud pop, and kneeled on the floor before them.
"Pooky!" Narcissa exclaimed, pulling herself apart from Draco's hair. "What news do you have of Begonia Parkinson?"
"If you please, mum, she's laid out an emerald toga for tonight's event," Pooky revealed.
"A toga, eh?" Narcissa tapped her finger on the vanity, considering this information. "Pooky, instruct the house-elves to decorate the ballroom in a Roman theme. Lay out emerald tablecloths, alter the columns and moulding to a Roman plaster appearance, and tell all the house-elves to change the color of their tea towels to emerald. If you can get everyone to arrange their tea towels to look more like togas, that would be perfect."
"But—mum—Pooky thought you—"
"I've changed my mind," Narcissa smirked, "Begonia is not going to clash with our party decorations; she is going to match."
"Oh, and one more thing, mum—"
"Yes, Pooky?"
"It's Kreacher, if you please, mum, he's hiding himself in the attic again."
Narcissa sighed. Draco rolled his eyes. This was not the first time they had had problems with the newest house-elf on staff. Kreacher refused to obey anyone except Narcissa, and did not cooperate well with the other house-elves. "Very well," she said, "tell him that if he does not come down and help the rest of you, I will personally deliver him to the doorstep of my sister, Bellatrix."
Pooky's eyes widened and she nodded her head in understanding, then disapparated.
Narcissa turned her attention back to Draco. "Ah, now, where were we? Oh, your hair!"
The time of the party was at hand. Narcissa had left Draco with instructions on how to finish his makeover, then oversaw the decoration of the ballroom, making last-minute changes and alterations until she was satisfied with its appearance. She was pleased to find that all the house-elves were decked in festive emerald tea towels, which had been arranged to look like togas. All of her directions as to the food, tables, music, and decorations had been followed to the letter. The ballroom had been transformed to look like an ancient Roman palace, the orchids replaced with Mediterranean-themed floral arrangements. There was not a sprig of holly in sight, nor were there any dishes containing wheat germ on the buffet line; instead, the food consisted primarily of sushi platters and other non-wheat-related foods.
After seeing to all this, Narcissa had left to dress herself, then headed down to meet her husband in the entrance hall to greet the soon-to-arrive guests. Lucius looked up as she descended the stairs, dressed in a champagne-colored gown that shimmered as she moved. Her hair was gathered in a loose upsweep, glittering with strategically-placed diamonds and sapphires that matched her equally brilliant necklace and earrings. She joined her husband on the main floor, frowning at his outfit. Lucius was dressed in a dark green fitted suit trimmed with black silk.
"Oh, Loochie," Narcissa pouted. "Why didn't you put on the outfit I laid out for you? Now we won't match." She reached up to adjust his ascot.
Lucius growled softly in irritation, and pushed her hands away. "How many times have I requested you to refrain from using that silly name?"
"What—'Loochie?' You didn't always mind. I remember a time when you seemed to like being called that."
"Times change, Narcissa."
Narcissa sighed. "That they do, Lucius." She secretly thought that Lucius had changed more than the times.
"Where is Draco?" Lucius asked, looking displeased that their son was not yet present to greet the arriving guests.
"He is still getting ready," Narcissa answered. "Have you spoken with him about your plans with the Dark Lord?"
Lucius studied his fingernails. "No, I haven't. The Dark Lord feels it would be best to keep the induction a surprise. He has been watching Draco from a distance for some time now, and has come to think of Draco as a godson," he answered proudly. "He's even planned to give our son a Christmas present. It's an unprecedented honor."
"Hmm," Narcissa replied, digesting this information. "Why has he singled out Draco so specifically? It sounds terribly suspicious, if you ask me."
"And no one will," he responded coldly. "The Dark Lord must have his reasons."
"Yes we must hope that he does. Has he explained to you yet his reasons for continuing to pursue the teenage boy he hasn't been able to kill, or why he let you stay in Azkaban for three months after he freed the Dementors?"
A visible twitch crossed Lucius's face. Narcissa smirked, feeling like she had finally gained some leverage where she had lost control many years before.
"Now is not the time to discuss such matters, when our guests may arrive any minute." He fixed her with a cool glare.
Narcissa quickly studied the timepiece on the wall. "Oh, I think this is a perfect time to discuss such matters, Lucius. Nobody shows up on time for parties anymore. I'd like to know why you put so much trust in an old man who can't even—"
But Narcissa's question was cut off as a loud popping noise announced the apparation of three people into the entrance hall. She and Lucius turned to see David, Begonia, and Pansy Parkinson. Begonia was, in fact, wearing an emerald green toga, which exactly matched the ones worn by the Malfoy house-elves.
"Oh, Begonia,
David, and Pansy! How punctual of you!" Narcissa cried as she rushed
over to embrace the guests, hiding her annoyance that their appearance should
prevent her from having a long-overdue talk with her husband. "It's been too
long since we've seen each other, hasn't it?"
"Oh, I'd say since the garden party back in July," David answered
politely.
Begonia smirked evilly. "Had any dangerous encounters with croquet mallets lately, Narcissa? I still remember seeing you on our lawn—haven't laughed so hard since—"
"Croquet is so last season, wouldn't you agree?" Narcissa quipped, steering them into the ballroom.
As the evening progressed, the ballroom filled with England's most elite wizarding families. The Roman motif proved to be a hit with the vast majority of the guests, Begonia Parkinson being the only exception. Narcissa wandered over to where Begonia was hovering by the buffet line.
"Really, Narcissa, sushi?" Begonia chided mercilessly. "What does sushi have to do with Rome? Nothing! Really, your skills in planning a theme party leave much to be desired."
Narcissa was about to answer with a snide retort, when Avery Nott approached them and handed Begonia a tumbler half full of ice.
"Scotch on the rocks," he muttered, looking everywhere but at Begonia.
"I beg your pardon?" she asked him, a note of irritation in her voice.
Avery looked confused. "I said, Scotch on the rocks. I want a refill." He repeated himself a little louder, thinking that maybe she was slightly deaf.
Begonia was furious. She threw the tumbler at his feet, where it shattered into a mess of broken glass and ice cubes. "I AM NOT A HOUSE-ELF!" she shouted, attracting the attention of everyone in the ballroom. She whirled around to face Narcissa, who was desperately trying to suppress her laughter. "That's the third time in less than an hour! Why, I never—mark my words, Narcissa, you will pay for this!" With that, she stormed off to the bathroom.
"Honestly, Begonia, what am I to do if you dress like my house-elves?" Narcissa called after her. Avery skulked away, trying to avoid the looks people were giving him. Narcissa smiked evilly, charmed by her accomplishment.
"Congratulations, Narcissa," a deep, velvety voice spoke from behind. She whirled around and found herself face-to-face with Severus Snape. "This is the only Christmas party I have ever attended where I had to wonder if Christians would be thrown to the lions for entertainment."
"Severus!" She exclaimed, secretly glad that the man had come out of his shell enough to approach her. She had seen him earlier hovering near the wall, looking shy and too apprehensive to talk to people. But if anyone could bring out the best in Snape, it was her.
Just then, the auto-playing harp quintet began to play a tango. "Will you dance with me?" she asked, looking up at her son's Potions professor.
Snape smiled a rare smile and took her hand. Although it was a surprise to most people, he was quite capable when it came to ballroom dancing. He was no Fred Astaire, but was capable, nonetheless. This particular dance was the Malfoy Tango, which Narcissa arranged in honor of the visiting branch of the Malfoy family which had moved to Argentina in the mid-1940s, and because she knew that it was one of the few dances Snape was particularly good at.
Draco entered the ballroom as a small hush came over the crowd. He smiled to himself, catching glimpses of whispers as people gossiped about his new appearance.
His hair was not slicked back, or green; instead, a cascade of silver-blond hair covered one side of his forehead. The other side fell tamely over his scalp—all in all, it was a light, airy style that seemed to float around him and framed his face nicely. He gracefully sauntered over to the buffet line and poured himself a cup of punch.
"Oh, Draco, I love your new look," Pansy cooed, sliding up next to him. She was wearing a sparkly lavender dress with a short, fluffy skirt that almost resembled a tutu.
"Thank you, Pansy," Draco answered politely—not warmly, but not irritably either. "You look..." he trailed off, trying to find an appropriate description.
"Like a Sugar Plum Fairy," Crabbe winked, finishing Draco's line with a flirtatious grin. He had just approached the two of them, and looked on at Pansy in great admiration.
Pansy beamed. "Why, thank you, Vincent," she said, looking him up and down appraisingly. Crabbe was not half as ugly as most girls claimed him to be, though his looks were nothing compared to Draco's.
"Crabbe," Draco turned to his sidekick, "where is Goyle, anyway? Shouldn't he be here tonight?"
Crabbe frowned. "He got sent back to Hogwarts," he answered, shaking his head. "He owled me this morning. Said that he got in a fight with his old man and called him a sycophantic automaton. After Mr. Goyle looked up the words, he got so mad he sent him back to school for the rest of vacation." Draco raised his eyebrows at this revelation. "He's not upset about it, though," Crabbe continued, leaning in so that only they could hear what he was saying. "Says he's reading more political theory. He quoted some muggle named Gandhi and says he's going to read about Eastern religion next."
Draco chuckled. "If we're not careful, by the time we come back from vacation he'll be trying to get us to meditate with muggles or something!"
Pansy clucked her tongue, upset that the attention had been taken away from her. "Vincent, could you be a dear and pour me a cup of punch?" she asked, giving Crabbe her sweetest smile.
Crabbe blushed hotly. "Of course," he grinned, and left the two of them alone.
Pansy turned to Draco. "Draco, look up for a second."
"You are shameless, you know," Draco told her, "you know he has a crush on you."
"You say it like it's a bad thing. Now, look above our heads." Draco humored her and looked up. Oh shit. There, above their heads, was a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the ceiling. Pansy slithered closer to him until her face was mere inches away from his. "Kiss me, Draco."
"Draco!" He turned his head, grateful to whomever was going to save him from this situation, until he saw that it was his father who was beckoning him.
Lucius stood about fifteen feet away from them and motioned to Draco. Standing next to him was none other than Voldemort. Draco groaned inwardly and walked towards them. He heard Pansy whine in annoyance behind him, followed by Crabbe approaching with the punch.
"Here you go, Pansy," he said, handing her a cup.
"Yes, cheers, thanks a lot," she snapped. Crabbe looked momentarily heartbroken, but he hid the emotion quickly enough.
"What's going on?" Millicent Bulstrode asked as she walked up to the two of them, interrupting the awkward moment.
"Malfoy's going to talk with Voldemort," Crabbe whispered. The three of them looked on at the exchange.
Draco approached the spot where his father and Voldemort were standing. He put on his most benevolent face, hiding his revulsion at the Dark Lord.
"Ah, young Draco, what a pleasure it is to see you again!" Voldemort exclaimed. He was holding a Christmas present the size of a shoebox.
"The pleasure is mine, my Lord," Draco answered cordially, and bowed slightly.
"Never mind, never mind," the old man replied jovially, "we will have more time to talk later. For now, I just want to wish you a merry Christmas." He handed Draco the present.
Draco accepted it, disbelief evident in his features. He never would have thought that the Dark Lord would be the Santa type. Curious as to what kind of dark magic Voldemort would offer as a gift, he carefully unwrapped the package and lifted the lid of the box.
It was a nutcracker doll.
"Oh...wow," Draco managed to say.
"Ah! You see? You see, Lucius? I told you he'd like it!" Voldemort clapped his hands ecstatically.
If Draco had been an anime character, a large sweat bead would have suddenly appeared on the side of his head. Regardless, he tried his best to show his appreciation. "Th-thank you, my Lord," he stuttered.
"You flatter us, my Lord," Lucius told Voldemort obsequiously.
"No need for that," Voldemort stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Now, where is that lovely wife of yours? Ah, there she is, dancing with Snape!" With that, he and Lucius went off in search of Narcissa, leaving Draco to return to his group of friends, armed with an old-fashioned nutcracker doll.
"Is it magical?" Crabbe asked, examining the doll. Draco shrugged, still dumbfounded by the experience.
Millicent laughed. "I bet you could eat a lot of nuts with that, eh, Malfoy?"
"Stuff it, Bulstrode," Crabbe snarled. He shrugged and handed the nutcracker back to Draco. "I guess you should feel flattered," he decided, "you seem to be the only one of us worthy of getting a Christmas gift from an evil madman hell-bent on world-domination."
Draco chuckled. "Funny, that," he answered non-commitally.
As Snape spun her around the dance floor, Narcissa remembered why she missed his presence. "It's been too long since we talked, Severus," she whispered, as they danced practically cheek to cheek.
"Since before you were married," Snape responded, an enigmatic expression on his face. He spun her out in a circle, then pulled her back to him.
Narcissa sighed. "So much time has been wasted, then." Her expression grew serious. She looked into his eyes as they danced, moving together fluidly. "Severus? I know this sounds absurd, seeing as how we haven't seen much of each other over the years, but…I have a favor to ask," she said nervously, breaking eye contact to look over Snape's shoulder.
Snape looked at her, encouraging her to continue.
"It's my son," Narcissa sighed. "I'm worried about him, about what my husband
plans for him. You're around him so much more than I am. I just want to know
that he'll be looked after—that someone is there to look after him, protect him
from becoming…" she trailed off, unable to finish. She caught herself. "Never
mind—it's too much to ask. Forget I said—"
"Narcissa," Snape interrupted, "I already do."
She looked into his eyes again, and was startled to see the sincerity in them. All this time, while Draco had been at Hogwarts, Snape had been keeping an eye out for him, trying to prevent him from becoming too much like his father.
Narcissa smiled. The air around them felt too heavy, and she felt like she had to laugh to break the seriousness. Something seemed wrong about their dancing: They danced like old school friends who hadn't met in years, unspoken emotions hovering around them as they performed the tango. If Narcissa were not a married woman, she was certain that it would have felt like a very romantic, sexy atmosphere spinning around them, catching them up in a mood which would have been totally wrong for them. She was beginning to feel lightheaded.
"I must look like a fool," she laughed sardonically. "I'm just a helpless woman trapped in a loveless marriage, with a son I'm estranged to." She wasn't sure why she was saying this to Snape, but the words seemed to leave her lips without warning. "You're lucky, Severus. You never got married, so you're free to be with whomever you choose," she said.
"The woman I love was never free for me to choose," Snape answered mysteriously, and dipped her. Time seemed to freeze as Narcissa looked up into his eyes, and he did not pull them back up right away; instead, they both seemed to hover there, the air around them growing increasingly heavier. It was like she was seeing Snape in a new light, not as a distant school friend, not as the teacher of her son, but something wholly different and dangerously forbidden. Narcissa unconsciously stopped breathing, a strange, unfamiliar tension mounting between them.
Suddenly a chilling shadow fell over the two of them. "Narcissa," hissed an awfully familiar voice, "how lovely to see you again. And such a dancer! Yes, Lucius certainly is lucky to have you. Wouldn't you agree, Lucius?" It was the Dark Lord himself, standing next to Lucius, who had apparently been steering him around the party.
"Yes, of course," Lucius answered coldly, glaring at Snape. Snape avoided his eyes and pulled Narcissa upright again, stepping arm's length away from her. Narcissa frowned, partially disappointed at the intrusion yet relieved that the awkward moment between them was over.
"Right! Well, then, Lucius, I dare say it's time. If you'd just give me your arm," Voldemort said.
Lucius dutifully held out his left arm, raising his sleeve up to his elbow. Voldemort grabbed his write and pressed a finger into Lucius's Dark Mark, signaling to the Death Eaters that it was time to move into the Malfoy cellar for their Induction ceremony. They were accompanied by three new inductees.
"That's Marcus Flint!" Pansy exclaimed, pointing at one of them. Marcus was walking out with the other Death Eaters.
"Come along, Draco." Lucius placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and pointed him towards the door. Draco paled, sparing a glance at his mother.
Narcissa froze. She hadn't completely decided on how to best excuse Draco from the initiation that would inevitably take place momentarily. She looked around to make sure no one's eyes followed her movements, and subtly waved her wand at her son.
Draco stopped and stood still for a moment, his face turning a pale shade of green.
"Draco?" Pansy simpered, watching her boyfriend in concern. Draco turned away from her gaze and held a hand to his stomach. Then a second later he retched on the floor.
"Ugh!" Pansy exclaimed, backing away from the pile of the vomit on the floor that Draco proceeded to add to.
"Wow, that is unbelievably gross," Millicent Bulstrode commented in sick amusement, standing behind Pansy. "Looks like he ate the squid roll. Watch out, he's splattering it everywhere."
"Draco!" Lucius yelled sternly at his son, as if Draco had caused this embarrassing spectacle on purpose just to ruin his glory. Draco failed to respond, the contents of his stomach doing the talking.
Draco covered his mouth and looked up with a pained expression at the crowd which was gathering around him, staring in sick fascination. He privately wished they would all drop off the face of the Earth and leave him alone to vomit all his bodily organs in peace. A house-elf named Spicken materialized next to him and began cleaning up the mess.
"Tsk! Such inappropriate party behavior—and from my own son, no less!" Narcissa's voice rang through the ballroom as she broke through the crowd and put her arms around her son, helping him up from his kneeling position. "Come along, Draco. You're much too ill to stay here, and as your mother I insist that you go to bed—that cellar is much too cold and damp for your current state." She turned to her husband. "It will have to wait," she said, "he's much too sick right now." Lucius frowned and opened his mouth as if to say something, but remained silent.
Draco avoided meeting anyone's gaze, but mumbled something incoherent. "Oh, dear, are you going to throw up again?" Narcissa asked in a soft, motherly tone. Draco nodded, all of his pride forgotten. Narcissa grabbed a nearby antique vase from a stand by the wall and held it in front of him just before Draco volunteered more of his dinner.
Narcissa laughed lightly and tossed a mock-exasperated expression to the other wives and mothers milling around, watching the spectacle, minus Begonia Parkinson: she was still hiding in the bathroom. "A mother's work is never done!" Narcissa tossed out in a singsong voice and shrugged lightheartedly, as if this display was a demonstration of the silly sort of trouble that her son gave her on an everyday basis.
With that, she steered Draco out the door, holding the vase in front of him.
"Mother, I feel ill—" Draco started, then stopped at the bottom of the stairs and vomited again into the vase.
"Yes, of course you do, dear," Narcissa replied automatically, still holding the vase with one hand and rubbing the other hand soothingly over Draco's shoulders.
"You did that on purpose." He started to look up, but the moment seized him again.
"The vase, dear, the vase," she instructed, "Oh, what a shame, your Aunt Wednesday picked it out," she thought out loud, looking at the ceramic vessel with a critical eye. "Then again, there's no accounting for taste. This is the best use we've ever found for it, I suppose. Come on, up the stairs."
She helped her son climb the stairs slowly, supporting his weight with an arm around his shoulder. Draco groaned.
"Yes, I know, sweetie. It's called 'tough love'. Best just to suck it up, keep a stiff upper lip, and all that."
Draco clutched the vase and showed her exactly how he felt about that. His entire head was bright pink from the exertion, and his face showed purple spots from the broken blood vessels. He did not feel at all well, and looked even worse. He sighed tiredly, and put all of his effort into climbing the stairs and walking the mile-long hallway to his chambers. At least, the journey seemed to him like well over a mile in his current state.
When they finally reached his room, he collapsed tiredly in his bed. A house-elf appeared with a draught of sickness potion, which Narcissa took and held up to Draco's lips.
"Drink this," she told him in her soft, soothing motherly voice. "It will ease your stomach and help you sleep it off." Draco downed the potion while Narcissa rubbed her hands soothingly on his back again. She placed the empty cup on the nightstand and tucked her son into bed. She rested her palm gently on his forehead, pushing the hair away from his face.
"I am sorry, sweetie," she whispered. Draco looked up at her. "Everything will be better in the morning," she continued. "You will feel like your perfect, handsome young self again, and I will begin to teach you the charms that are your legacy." She smiled, the love showing plainly on her face. She did not feel like she had many things in life worth living for, or many people worth loving, but her son ranked highest on her list. She would do everything she could for him, and give him all her love and wisdom. "We will begin by teaching you how to brew a shiimase potion, and how best to use it."
"A shiimase potion?"
"It's a flirtation enhancement," she explained, "not exactly a love potion per se, but...it will certainly be suggestive to whomever you wish to use its powers for." Draco smiled and closed his eyes.
"Sleep well, Draco," she whispered, and moved towards the door. Draco opened his eyes.
"Mother?" Narcissa stopped and looked at her son.
"Yes, dear?"
"Good night...and thank you."
She smiled. "You're welcome." She turned off the light and closed the door behind her. Draco closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, thinking pleasant thoughts about flirtation enhancement potions, and how they might wonderfully affect a certain young wizard.
MCF Notes:
As far as Draco's new "look" is concerned, I've been imagining it to look like Ash Lynx's post-makeover hairstyle in Volume 5 of Banana Fish. For those of you not familiar with Banana Fish, it's a shoujo manga series. Check it out!!!
Voldemort is quoting from the song, "The Greatest Love of All," by Whitney Houston.
What Narcissa did with a croquet mallet at the Parkinson's Death Eater garden party last summer is still a mystery, but apparently it was rather embarrassing.
The veela thing: I know, I know, the veela theme has been really popular this past year. It's been around before, but lately there has been a surplus of fics revolving around the idea that Draco matures as a veela and sets his sights on Harry. Would you believe that I actually planned to make Draco part veela when I originally created the outline for The Slytherin Renaissance over 1 ½ years ago, before Frizzy first published Magnetic Attraction? Maybe not. I don't expect you to believe me, but there it is. In a way it's my own fault for taking so friggin' long to write this fic. In light of the popularity of this theme, I considered taking it out, but the idea is too central to Draco's plot. However, rest assured that my version will not come too close to Frizzy's or other author's fics (I hope, anyway—I haven't read them all!). I was kind of spoofing Frizzy's Magnetic Attraction when Draco asks Narcissa about having to choose a mate. ^_~ Draco is going to have some tricks up his sleeve, but he's still going to have to woo Harry—and nobody's going to die if they don't get together (though it wouldn't be as much fun without the slashy goodness!) So stay tuned, and find out how Draco sets out to do this. Maybe it'll be like watching Wiley Coyote chase the roadrunner, but maybe Draco will have better luck.
For those of you pagans out there, I recently found out that the ancient Romans celebrated winter solstice on December 25. So Narcissa's Roman theme just became all the more appropriate. ^_~ Happy Solstice, Christmas, (belated) Hanukah, Kwanzaa, New Year's, Day of Bob, whatever—if you celebrate it, have a happy!
Harry Potter and the Malfoylicious Play
Christmas Edition
After a long hard day of Ministry raids and Death Eater business meetings, Lucius Malfoy fell asleep in a chair, mumbling to himself about what life would be like if he had never been born...
"'Ear that? Sounds like a prime job for me, it does!"
"Yes, Stan. Now shut up and go! Remember, your wings are at stake..."
Lucius woke up to a cold sensation passing through him. He opened his eyes and saw a ghost standing before him, dressed in the uniform of a Knight Bus attendant. The ghost smiled and saluted him.
"'Ere, now, Gov'nor, the name's Stand Shunpike, recently deceased, and ready to take you out on a spin so's I can get me wings. Got run over by me own bus—'ow's that for rotten luck, I ask you? Anyway, I'm to show you life what's it like had you never been born. Come on, then!"
Stan turned away, motioning for Lucius to follow him. Lucius rolled his eyes and stood up, albeit reluctantly, and began to follow.
"Must you be so patronizingly Cockney?" he sighed.
Later...
"What happened to Malfoy Manor?!" Lucius stood outside, shaking the large iron gates that closed off the Manor from the lane. On the front lawn, he could see what looked like a muggle car on cinder blocks, and a few other odd, out-of-place items were visible from the road. "And why is the Malfoy 'M' turned upside down on the gate?" he demanded, looking up at the letter affixed to the tall iron construction.
"'S'no longer Malfoy Manor, now, is it?" Stan challenged him. "Remember, you were never born, so your parents went up an' sold it an' moved to Bermuda. That 'W' up there's to represent the current family in residence."
Lucius squinted and saw a red-headed figure in one of the windows of the mansion, and a horror finally dawned on him. "Weasley?!" he cried, "The Manor belongs to the Weasleys?"
Stan nodded. "Doing right well now, they are," he said.
Still later...
"Narcissa! It's me, Lucius! Don't you know me??"
"STUPEFY!!!"
Lucius fell backwards on the sidewalk as he heard Narsicca's footsteps run away and two more sets of footsteps approach.
"Narcissa, darling, are you all right?"
"I—I think so," she answered, "this man grabbed me and acted like he knew me! But I've never seen him before in my life!"
Lucius regained his sense of mobility and sat up. Narcissa was standing in the arms of a very strong, dashing, and attractive-looking Snape.
Snape snarled at him. "Stay away from my wife!"
"But—but—"
Stan helped him up and ushered him away. "You never married her, remember?" He laughed. "What, did you think she wouldn't never marry, if she couldn't marry you? Think she might've ended up a spinster librarian, did you?"
"This is nonsense! I'm going to find Lord Voldemort!"
"You mean Tom Riddle?" Stand shook his head. "Never lived to become 'Ee-oo-must-not-be-named," he said, "Without the financial backing of the Malfoy family, 'is ideas never gathered followers, and 'e died alone and unknown. Just think," he continued, "'Ow many lives were never lost without 'im to do the losin' of 'em."
Just then, a teenaged boy walked past them, talking to Pansy Parkinson. The boy looked exactly like Harry Potter, but without the scar. "Just wait until my father hears about this," anti-Harry drawled boredly, "Those Weasleys and their nouveau-riche ways are a disgrace to the name of wizard. Imagine, they want to change the name of this town back to Hogsmeade." He and Pansy passed beyond Lucius's hearing range.
Lucius turned to Stan expectantly. "What does he mean? Isn't this Hogsmeade?"
Stan shook his head. "Pottersville," he said.
"POTTERSVILLE??!!" Lucius sank down to his knees in disbelief. "But this can't be! I'd never allow—"
"You were never there to prevent it," Stan pointed out. "Voldemort never killed all those people, so the Potters lived, an' ickle Harry never got his scar, just like Narcissa never married you an' the two of you never 'ad Draco—"
"But—here's my wedding ring!" Lucius held up his hand, but his ring finger was missing. "And my Dark Mark—"
"Both gone," Stan explained, "you were never born to get them! How thick can you be?"
"Even Draco's—" Lucius frantically fished around in his pockets for some proof of Draco's existence. "Even Draco's soul, captured in a baby tooth, coated in adamantine, and attached to my keychain?"
"Even Draco's soul."
Lucius buried his face in his hands. "Oh, what a world! I want my life back! I want my life back! I want my life back!"
"Father!" Lucius found himself being shaken awake. He pulled his hands away from his face and saw Draco looking down at him, an expression of mild concern on his face.
"Draco! You're ALIVE!" Lucius grabbed him in a big bear hug. Draco looked mildly horrified, then relieved when his father finally let him go.
"Lucius? Whatever is the matter?"
"Narcissa! I love you!" He pulled her to him and covered her lips in an unusually affectionate kiss.
"And we're in the Manor!" he cried, and spun himself around the drawing room. "It's good to be alive!"
Narcissa and Draco shared a puzzled, concerned look. Suddenly one of the house-elves entered the room carrying a tea tray, a ridiculous-looking jingle bell attached to its tea towel in a display of Christmas cheer. Lucius heard the bell jingle as the house-elf approached.
"Hear that, Draco? Every time a bell rings..." he stopped short, unsure how the rest of the saying was supposed to go. He had only heard it once in his childhood, and it had never mattered much to him.
"Something inane and pointless happens?" Draco volunteered in his drawling voice.
Lucius considered this. "That'll have to do," he decided. "Happy Christmas, everyone! Let's sing carols!"
Yeah, I killed Stan Shunpike. And I messed with It's A Wonderful Life. Nothing is sacred here. But hats off to Cassandra Claire, whose Draco Dormiens series I shamelessly spoofed with the keychain containing Draco's soul!
Here's a teaser for Chapter 6:
The classroom exploded into applause and cheers. Most of the guys—especially the Gryffindors—were laughing so hard that he saw a couple of them wipe away tears. But that was fine with him. He was supposed to be under the Imperius Curse, after all. And Potter was beyond amazed, he noted with satisfaction; the other boy was still staring at him like a deer trapped in headlights, his mouth slightly open and a fierce blush across his cheeks.
"Er, um, yes, very well done, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Grubbly-Plank fumbled, still wondering exactly what had just happened. "Now, could you kindly remove yourself from my desk and find your seat?"
Now, I'd like lots of nice reviews for my Christmas present, please. ^_~
--MCF