Time
of Your Life
Chapter Two: Meet the Malfoys
By Mina
A/N: Malfoys, meet the Malfoys, they're your
average pureblood family… From the Malfoy Mansion, they're the biggest snobs
you'll ever see… The second part of my "epic saga". Hope you like it! Be
sure to tell me if it gets too annoying and repetitive. Oh, and Bridget Doublon
is pronounced "Brid-jet Doo-blon". Ok? Ok! Thanks to Borgin, my beta!
-------------------*]
"Mudblood's
a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – you know, non-magic
parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy's family – who think
they're better than everyone else because they're what people call
pure-blood."
--Rubeus
Hagrid, Chamber of Secrets
"You
say you wake up crying
Yes,
and you don't know why
You
get up and go lie down
Inside
my baby's room
Yeah,
I guess I'm doing ok
I
moved in with the strangest guy
Can
you believe he thinks
That
I am really alive."
--I
Will Buy You a New Life, Everclear
-------------------*]
It was a grey, rainy day, quite appropriate for Mrs. Bridget Doublon's
mood. She was not exactly what you'd call melancholy, but she had a grave air
about her. Maybe it was just her job choice that did that to her.
She checked her watch again. One o'clock, and yet that dreadful girl
still hadn't arrived. Didn't people have any consideration for anyone
else's feelings? She had a life too, even if her employer didn't seem to
realize it. Mr. Malfoy was very rich, however, and gave good pay.
Bridget was in her late thirties, and widowed. Her husband was fifteen
years older that she, and frankly, she wasn't sad to see him go. She married
him because her parents insisted, not out of love. His money also had quite a
bit to do with it.
Well, what a waste, she thought, reminiscing about the old times. The
bastard died and left everything to charity, every single penny of it. He wrote
her a long letter, explaining how those people "needed it more that you ever
could, Bridget." He said that she'd be able to get along on her own, being
the able woman that she was.
Mrs. Doublon scoffed. A passing pedestrian gave her an unpleasant look,
and she glared right back. These Muggles had no business staring at her like
that, as though she was one of them.
"Mrs. Doublon?" a timid voice rang from behind her. Bridget swirled
around to find a girl of about fifteen or sixteen years looking at her.
"Yes, that would be me. Ms. Hermione Granger, I presume?" Bridget
asked grandly. She twirled her wand nonchalantly, and gave the girl a
scrutinizing look.
"Yes. But please, call me Hermione," said the girl. Mrs. Doublon
looked down at her. A rather scruffy girl, she decided. And that hair!
Completely unlike Master Draco. And she probably had no manners, and most likely
ate like a savage. Bridget disapproved of those sorts of girls; they grew up to
be nothing better than women on the streets or poor secretaries.
"I shall call you Ms. Granger, as it is a more formal title. I will
expect to be called Mrs. Doublon, and to be treated with the proper respect."
The girl looked shocked. She had not expected such a cold and harsh response.
Would she burst out crying, wondered Bridget. The last thing I need is a howling
teenager on my hands.
"Yes, Mrs. Doublon," responded Hermione meekly. She played with the
straps of her heavy backpack, and kicked her trunk with the tip of a muddy
sneaker.
"Look at me when speaking to me, Ms. Granger. You are a pureblooded, I
presume?" Bridget asked in her most indifferent voice.
Hermione went red. She mumbled something, and pushed a lock of bushy
brown hair behind her year.
"I Beg your pardon?" asked Bridget.
"Muggleborn, Mrs. Doublon."
"Oh. Yes, then…" she cleared her throat. "I was just wondering,
as to see how you would adjust to living in an all-magic operated household."
Mrs. Doublon started walking towards the street, meaning to take a shortcut
through Diagon Alley.
Hermione muttered something under her nose. Bridget looked at her
sharply, and stopped. Hermione returned Bridget's glance.
"What did you say?" Bridget narrowed her eyes. Hermione looked up at
her in what seemed like mock-innocence.
"Why, nothing!" Hermione grunted as she heaved her trunk along the
asphalt.
"Ms. Granger, I know perfectly well that you said something. I don't
enjoy this sort of disrespect."
"I'm very sorry. I said, 'It's very kind of you to care'. I'm
sure that I have a lot to learn about living with the Malfoys," Hermione said,
a tinge of defiance in her voice.
That girl has a streak of insolence, thought Mrs. Doublon as she helped
Hermione throw the trunk into the backseat of a cab. I intend to stamp that
streak out if it's the last thing I do. I will not be insulted by a worthless
Mudblood, Bridget added maliciously.
-------------------*]
"WHAT?" screamed Lucius Malfoy. He picked up a semi-expensive vase
and threw it across the room. It hit the wall, and shattered into a thousand
tinkling pieces.
"Now, Lucius… Calm down…" Narcissa Malfoy said, pushing her
husband down into a black leather armchair. She gently brushed his hair back.
Lucius looked up at her, his grey eyes stormy and malevolent with anger.
Narcissa hated it when he was like this.
"But… Why wasn't I notified? Don't I have a right to know when
someone's about to dump a goddamn KID off at my house?" Lucius groaned and
leaned back on the chair. Narcissa gracefully sat down in another armchair,
across the room, that wasn't in throwing distance.
"Lucius, it was either the kid, or facing more Ministry inquiries.
After your little… outing, I'm surprised you're not in Azkaban. Can't
you control that bloodlust of yours?"
"Narcissa, you know perfectly well that I can't control what happens
at my meetings. The others decided, I couldn't go against their decisions.
Master has looked down at me since Potter's last victory. He blames it on my
weaknesses." Lucius slammed his fist against the table. "MY weaknesses. And
that despicable little rat Wormtail…"
Narcissa sighed and leaned her face against her hand. "Dear, don't
start on that again. I know, I know–"
"-that Potter deserves to die-" Lucius continued.
"-and Draco really doesn't need this sort of talk around the
house," finished Narcissa firmly. She actually cared about her son, unlike
many socialite mothers. She couldn't say that she loved him; he was a sneaky,
slippery little villain, just like his father. However, what kind of a mother
would she be if she didn't care?
"Damn it, Narcissa!" Lucius exclaimed. "Who is this girl that
they're sending over?"
Narcissa shrugged and looked down at her nails. "Helen, or Hera, or…
What was her name? Hermione Something-or-other, I think."
Lucius gritted his teeth. "Granger."
Narcissa looked up in surprise. She quickly looked down and nodded.
"Yes, that's it, I suppose. Hermione Granger. One of Draco's friends?"
Lucius laughed bitterly. "A Mudblood. A know-it-all Mudblood would be
Draco's exact description. And a Gryffindor at that! One of Potter's
friends!"
Narcissa bit her lip. "Oh, my… I… I… didn't know. I had no idea
that she was… well…"
"…everything we hate, the exact opposite of everything that the name
'Malfoy' stands for, a piece of muggle scum, Potter's goddamn girlfriend
– well, shall I go on?" Lucius stood up and reached towards a pot of Floo
Powder that stood on the mantle next to the fireplace.
"Why, yes. Lucius, dear, where are you going?"
"I'm going to go have a party with the house elves, Narcissa," said
Lucius sarcastically. "Where do you THINK I'm going? To fix this little
mistake of yours, obviously, over at the Ministry. Oh, and Narcissa…"
"Yes?"
"Never, ever let a muggle into my house without my permission. EVER.
AGAIN." Lucius threw a pinch of Floo Powder into the burning fireplace and
yelled, "Ministry of Magic Headquarters, London!" He disappeared in the
blue-green flames.
"Temper, temper, bastard…" muttered Narcissa as she walked
downstairs to make herself a nice cup of tea… spiked with a bit of brandy, of
course.
-------------------*]
Draco Malfoy was bored. Extremely, almost-to-death BORED. His broomstick
was broken, his father was away on business, and though there was a vast library
in the mansion, he wasn't the type of guy who'd read books for fun. Only
Mudblood Granger would do that, he thought.
Therefore, Draco amused himself by torturing the house elves and the few
servants they had around the place. After a very busy morning (splashed all the
gardeners with water balloons, set of a firework in the house elves' room, and
let a very valuable unicorn loose on the grounds), he was extremely tired, and
very dirty. He figured that he could take a quick shower before the usual dinner
guests arrived, but for now, it didn't matter if ran about looking like a
dirty ragamuffin.
Draco yawned and sat down on the couch in the first floor waiting room.
He stretched out and left muddy fingerprints all over the silky pink material.
He smirked at a painting in the corner of the room as the figure looked over at
him disapprovingly. Draco, however, was proud of what he was – a spoiled
little rich boy. He thought that since he was rich, drop dead gorgeous (so said
Pansy Parkinson, his long time girlfriend), and talented (so said Professor
Snape, his favourite teacher), he should be able to do whatever the hell he
wanted. Soiling a 5,000 galleon couch was certainly not his top priority, but
while he was at it…
"Draco! Up!" he heard his mother yell behind him. She was standing in
the doorway, holding a cup of tea. She saw the couch, sighed, and took a big
gulp. Draco looked at Narcissa nonchalantly.
"Why mother… what is it that you wanted to tell me?" Draco asked
innocently.
"We are expecting company. Please clean yourself up a bit. As nice as
it is to see you… exercising, I would prefer a son that doesn't resemble
something that rolled around in the dirt for an hour when there are people
around."
"Oh, mother… I'll get cleaned up, honest," Draco smiled sweetly.
Narcissa chugged down the rest of her tea and rubbed her temples. She set the
cup down on the coffee table in the corner and walked out, muttering something
under her breath.
Draco sighed and walked towards the other door leading out of the room.
He accidentally knocked the tea cup over on his way out. He stooped down and
picked up the two pieces of glass (the handle broke off).
Say… What's that smell? he thought as he pushed the broken mug to the
far end of the tabletop. Yes, it's Father's best brandy… I wonder where
that's coming from…
-------------------*]
"Quickly, before he gets out!" giggled Artie Bremmenstone as he and
his friend Klaus Brumman snuck into Malfoy Mansion's best bathroom, where
Draco Malfoy was currently residing.
Clouds of steam enveloped the two eleven-year-olds as they opened the
door and grabbed all the towels off the racks.
"Accio bathrobe," whispered Klaus when he spotted a light grey
bathrobe hanging by the shower curtain. The robe flew into his hands. Klaus
grinned at Artie, who looked back at him with a certain respect. Klaus stuck his
wand back into his pocket.
The two ran outside the door. Artie shut it gently and the duo broke out
in laughter.
"Man, that was genius!" Artie exclaimed. "Where'd you learn that
spell? Seemed pretty advanced!"
Klaus grinned. "Found it one of Master Dumbass's old school books.
T'was hard to learn, but definitely worth it!"
Artie whistled. "Whoo… we got ourselves a child prodigy, ladies and gentlemen."
"Thank you, thank you very much…" Klaus bowed to his imaginary
audience. "Well, Malfoy deserved it all. After those water balloons!"
"Yeah!" Artie grinned evilly. "He's going to LOVE having to run
around the house naked for a while."
Klaus frowned. "Wouldn't he call the house elves?"
"Ah, my talented friend, that is why you could never get along without
me…"
"Well, what'd you do?"
"Say there just happened to be a fire in the kitchen right at the time
he got out of the shower," Artie commented. Klaus grinned.
"I bow to the master…"
-------------------*]
Draco spent a relaxing 40 minutes in the shower, letting the hot water
wash over him for most of the time. After a while, he felt as though he was
going to drown. It seemed as though he used up all the hot water in the house,
too… Oh, the house elves wouldn't like that. All the better…
He climbed out, reached for his towel… and grabbed thin air. Draco
looked around in confusion. He was sure there was a towel around here somewhere,
and his bathrobe as well, now that he came to think of it.
He saw a muddy footprint by the door. His eyes narrowed after he worked
it out…
"GODDAMN KIDS!" Draco yelled with all his might. Oh, he was going to
get those little…
Outside, Artie grinned at Klaus. "What'd I tell you? We're
geniuses, we are…" and he proceeded to light a small fire in a pile of dry
wood.
Draco searched through the bathroom frantically. Finally, in the corner
of the bathroom (which was quite big), he found what looked like… a fuzzy pink
bathrobe? Draco sighed. It was either this, or running up three floors to his
room butt naked. Draco squeezed into the tiny robe, which reached to about four
inches above his knees. He noted (to his disgust) that there was also a flower
trim on the edges
He scowled and ran out of the bathroom, his hair sticking out in wet,
dark blonde tufts in all directions. He was at the foot of the stairs when–
The doorbell rang. Draco cursed under his breath. This must be the
company mother was expecting… His face twisted into an evil grin. He imagined
the look on the faces of his mother's best friends (socialites like herself;
he doubted that they had ever seen anything even slightly obscene) when they saw
Lucius Malfoy's son dressed in pink. Oh, this was just too good a practical
joke to resist…
"I'LL GET IT!" he yelled loudly to any servants that might be going
to get the door.
He ran towards the main entrance, leaving little puddles of water
everywhere. He stopped in front of a mirror on the way, mussed his hair up a bit
more, hiked the bathrobe up higher… and saw a bright purple lipstick lying by
the mirror. Oh, what the hell, he thought. I'll give them a real scare, he
added as he carefully applied the lipstick. He smacked his lips together, and
kept running.
Draco pushed the door open, let out a high giggle, and turned to see the
horrified looks on the faces of some overly made up ladies, dressed in designer
robes. Only one problem…
There weren't any ladies there. In fact, the only person there was
Hermione Granger, standing with her overflowing trunk. And she looked just as
horrified as Draco felt.
Malfoy froze. He stared at the girl, and backed away slowly.
"Draco… That lipstick's REALLY not your color," was all that
Hermione could say before collapsing into peals of hysterical laughter.
