Title: "There Is No Place Like Home" or "At Lucius Malfoy's House"
Author: Bracken Isadore
A/N: Just a story about boys from different worlds
Spoilers: None. This is set in the past. Lucius and Arthur are in the fourth year. This is Hogwarts of old and I've used some creative lisence. Also, no conveniences like floo powder in existence and Arthur is under-age and cannot apparate, thus, he cannot afford the cost of the trip home from school.
Warning: At most, glimpses of pre-slash. If you squint really hard.
Rating: G (Goddess! How I've slid!)
Distribution: Liar, you don't want this
Feedback: Is ambrosia (or its caffeine and sugar equivalent: Coke)
Dedication: Tami, I don't deserve a girl who gives me an aroma-therapy massage and Italian food and then has a discussion with me about HP slash and "The wonders of Draco" I am not worthy.
Emphasis in _blah_
There Is No Place Like Home
Or,
At Lucius Malfoy's House
At the table's section of Slytherin fourth years, Lucius Sebastian Malfoy leaned sleepily on one hand and haphazardly smashed his vegetables, as bored, destructive little boys are wont to do. Just when the head of his fork had disappeared beneath a sizable lump of now unidentifiable vegetable paste, there came a discreet tap upon his shoulder.
It was Jenkins, the human in charge of the Hogwarts' house elves, still called the kitchen boy by everyone, even though he was older than all the seventh years and some of the younger professors. One evening last year, just before bed - time, Lucius had come across the worker quite inefficiently smuggling cheese, bread and other kitchen commodities out to his quarters. Not a word had been said about it, and now, as the young Master Lucius pointed out, Jenkins was "obliged".
Lucius unhurriedly turned his handsome, flaxen head, nodded at the nervous Jenkins, and accepted the plate of steaming food from him. The other fourth years around Lucius looked on, both accustomed to and envious of the procedure, though no one uttered a challenging word.
Lucius was known to be rather unappreciative of some of the meals served at Hogwarts. He had complained bitterly upon his arrival when he was presented with some less than favourable dishes. With his parents he was never forced to eat anything. In his sprawling manor house, everyone ate what he or she desired. His classmates were regaled with descriptions of dinner parties that sounded closer to banquets. They would have been disbelieving, except that Lucius was heir to the Malfoys, and everyone knew that the Malfoys really did live in such opulence.
Lately, having made an unwilling co-conspirator of Jenkins, and having drawn up a list of his best dishes, Lucius never ate anything that disagreed with his superior tastes. He had never been caught either, though the arrangement stood from last year. And it is unlikely that anything would be done, either, if his dining scheme were discovered. Again, Lucius was of the Malfoy household, and it was not often that he let those around him forget it.
His spirits much improved, the youth set to his meal enthusiastically, pausing occasionally to share his mind with the others. The other boys, despite Lucius' rather overbearing nature at times, did listen attentively. This was less due to his surname and more to do with the fact that Lucius really was quite blessed of wit. Come to think of it, it all seems very unfair.
It was during this meal, much like many meals past, that the extraordinarily privileged child decided to indulge in one of his best pass - times. I speak not of wizard chess, but of mockery. You see, Lucius had mastered the art of the condescending English drawl. In fact, at his young age, he managed to sound as dry as many adults. This was not a talent he let lie.
Just as Lucius had a favoured pass - time, so did he have a favoured target on which to practice.
"…besides," Lucius was saying, "what kind of a name is _Weasely_ anyway? It says a lot about a family to be named after a scavenging rodent."
There was murmured assent and the requisite snickering. It was common knowledge (thanks largely to Lucius' loud declarations) that the Malfoy boy - child was most upset that he shared a school, nay indeed, a year with so unlikely a Hogwarts' student. Very few noticed that object of Lucius' mockery stood behind them.
"Actually, I prefer the name myself, to that of Malfoy. What does it say about a family to be named as a source of dark wizardry? Though I suppose Malfoy pride will not allow that comment to go uncontested, will it, _Lucius_?"
But Lucius let the insult slide and did not bother to even look in the direction of the voice.
"At _my_ house," announced Lucius loudly, "people do not interrupt conversations that they are not invited into."
The fourth years' table was hushed and everyone looked to the young Weasely, wondering if he had a rebuke swift enough for the Malfoy wit.
"Ah, I see what you mean." The red-headed Weasely nodded sagely. "Just as in _my_ home we don't mock people while at our dinner tables."
He shrugged, "They're a funny thing, manners, very subjective." And he walked further on, sat down at his table and began his meal.
Arthur Weasely was an ordinary looking boy (discounting the lanky frame, the red hair and the smattering of freckles) with an ordinary sounding name. He had the extreme misfortune of being in a school filled with children carefully designed to be extra - ordinary. Be it by their parents' modelling, their professors' or their own, these children were not only different, most were wealthy and well - stationed to boot.
Arthur was neither great in money nor in social standing, but he was different. He was smart. Well, his parents and teachers said he was smart. People like Lucius claimed he was merely lucky.
The school handed out one full scholarship each year. _It was necessary,_ they said. _It was the school's way of looking compassionate and doing charity,_ they jeered. If Arthur was here on any merit, it was simply the virtue of his low - income status. It had nothing to do with his abilities, of course. Whether or not he topped the grade in most of his classes.
His professors knew of the taunts, and while few of them went so far as to defend him, something Arthur would have hated in any case, they were helpful. They looked the other way when his school robes were in a bad state of repair. Subject professors turned a blind eye to the fact that their lessons sometimes shared pages with others because of a shortage of books. What did it matter that half his Transfiguration notes shared space with his Arithmancy exercises when the boy scored top marks in both?
Arthur consoled himself with this knowledge and made more of an attempt to taste the food he was eating. On the way out of the dining hall, he was summoned to the headmaster's office, where Lucius Malfoy was already waiting.
* * *
Lucius was not happy, but what could he do? He was leaving tomorrow, he did not live a great distance away, like some of the other boys did and it was not as though another mouth to feed would impoverish his household. All that remained was the matter of him despising Weasely.
Arthur was embarrassed, to say the least. Malfoy was the very last person he needed knowing that his parents couldn't afford to send for him and had asked he remain at school over the holidays. The school, rather than be vexed about his feeding and supervision, had made arrangements _for_ him instead.
Tomorrow, after the long final assembly was over, he was to leave school with Malfoy. As school ended in the evening, he would spend the night at Malfoy Manor. The next morning he would be taken home - a rather long journey that he could not really afford and was now being charitably undertaken by the Malfoy seniors. The principal had requested it as a favour of them and they had consented. If the ground had ever been waiting for a chance to swallow Arthur whole, at that moment, he would not have fought back if it tried.
He finally managed to get out a feeble form of protestation that did not make him sound ungrateful. "I don't want to impose, Sir." He cast a sidelong glance at Lucius to gauge his reaction. The boy was not taking well to the implications of that statement.
"Imposition!" exclaimed the other boy indignantly. "I do not come from the kind of household where another person is seen as an _imposition_!" He spat the word out as though it had an ugly taste.
Arthur winced. Obviously there was no talking his way out of _this_ situation.
* * *
The next day some one from the Malfoy staff came to fetch them. He helped carry their things and exchanged grovelling pleasantries while Lucius treated him insignificantly. Arthur felt uncomfortable about burdening a stranger with his things but the man insisted. For the most part, the Malfoy heir behaved as though Arthur were not there.
The manor's imposing door swung open before they could ring or knock. Lucius looked smug that he had obviously been anticipated. The butler bowed stiffly. "Welcome back to Malfoy Manor, young master. I see you have company."
And the boys were led into the grand house. This was the sort of reception that spoke of one's stature and Lucius glanced over at his visitor, expecting to see awe etched across the poorer boy's face. Instead, Arthur looked caught up in an emotion akin to pity. Lucius felt a flash of annoyance followed by a surge of something deeper. He ignored it and began to climb the master staircase.
Once Arthur was ensconced one of the draughty guest suites, a house elf asked if he had any preferences or objections for supper that night. Lucius looked at him scornfully upon his reply that anything was fine by him.
"In this house our guests have every convenience." He announced regally. "Today, that applies to _you_, Weasely. Pick something you want to eat."
Overwhelmed, Arthur said the first thing that came to mind. Some miscellaneous fish dish. Arthur hated fish.
Lucius' parents only made an appearance at supper, which was quite a stately affair. While everyone supped on fish, the older Malfoys made polite but disinterested enquiries into Arthur's well - being. They sounded slightly more concerned when they got round to Lucius, but it was not by much.
They asked about school, but not in detail. They talked over politics, but it was sufficient that the boys had opinions - sufficient enough not ask what their opinions were. The discussion of quidditch was superficial at best. Arthur assessed the situation gloomily. It seemed that in this place everything had worth at face value, but nothing mattered deeper down.
Later, in his perfectly appointed quarters, he found that the unsettling notion robbed him of sleep.
* * *
The following morning, Lucius and his father accompanied Arthur on his long journey home. It was the polite thing to do for a young, unaccompanied guest. No other reason was given.
The largely silent trip was peppered by stilted conversation until they all gave up. Finally, _finally_, Arthur was back where he should be.
He had just disembarked the charmed carriage when Sebastian Malfoy's voice instructed Lucius to walk him up to his cramped little cottage. Lucius opened his mouth in protest.
"Your job as a host is not yet ended." Said his father to him threateningly. Lucius disembarked as well, and Arthur felt even more like a task to be neatly completed.
They walked up his narrow garden path and stood on his tatty, rain - faded welcome mat. There was the noise of talking filtering through the open windows. Arthur knocked. It was a short wait until the door was flung open. The smell of cooking escaped out the doorway.
It was Arthur's mother, who beamed at her boy and enfolded him in her arms immediately. "Welcome _home_, son." She whispered fiercely to him, in a voice as tight as her hug. The word _home_ echoed in Lucius' mind like an important truth he had never heard before.
Arthur's mother looked curiously at Lucius, awaiting an introduction, but he had a wretched look upon his face. The Malfoy heir locked storm- grey eyes with her son's.
"I _hate_ you." He hissed at Arthur, and then turned and ran down their overgrown garden path. Down, down, to his waiting father.
"Where is he _going_?" she asked, bewildered.
"Back to his house." Arthur said sadly, and shut the door.
The end.
Author: Bracken Isadore
A/N: Just a story about boys from different worlds
Spoilers: None. This is set in the past. Lucius and Arthur are in the fourth year. This is Hogwarts of old and I've used some creative lisence. Also, no conveniences like floo powder in existence and Arthur is under-age and cannot apparate, thus, he cannot afford the cost of the trip home from school.
Warning: At most, glimpses of pre-slash. If you squint really hard.
Rating: G (Goddess! How I've slid!)
Distribution: Liar, you don't want this
Feedback: Is ambrosia (or its caffeine and sugar equivalent: Coke)
Dedication: Tami, I don't deserve a girl who gives me an aroma-therapy massage and Italian food and then has a discussion with me about HP slash and "The wonders of Draco" I am not worthy.
Emphasis in _blah_
There Is No Place Like Home
Or,
At Lucius Malfoy's House
At the table's section of Slytherin fourth years, Lucius Sebastian Malfoy leaned sleepily on one hand and haphazardly smashed his vegetables, as bored, destructive little boys are wont to do. Just when the head of his fork had disappeared beneath a sizable lump of now unidentifiable vegetable paste, there came a discreet tap upon his shoulder.
It was Jenkins, the human in charge of the Hogwarts' house elves, still called the kitchen boy by everyone, even though he was older than all the seventh years and some of the younger professors. One evening last year, just before bed - time, Lucius had come across the worker quite inefficiently smuggling cheese, bread and other kitchen commodities out to his quarters. Not a word had been said about it, and now, as the young Master Lucius pointed out, Jenkins was "obliged".
Lucius unhurriedly turned his handsome, flaxen head, nodded at the nervous Jenkins, and accepted the plate of steaming food from him. The other fourth years around Lucius looked on, both accustomed to and envious of the procedure, though no one uttered a challenging word.
Lucius was known to be rather unappreciative of some of the meals served at Hogwarts. He had complained bitterly upon his arrival when he was presented with some less than favourable dishes. With his parents he was never forced to eat anything. In his sprawling manor house, everyone ate what he or she desired. His classmates were regaled with descriptions of dinner parties that sounded closer to banquets. They would have been disbelieving, except that Lucius was heir to the Malfoys, and everyone knew that the Malfoys really did live in such opulence.
Lately, having made an unwilling co-conspirator of Jenkins, and having drawn up a list of his best dishes, Lucius never ate anything that disagreed with his superior tastes. He had never been caught either, though the arrangement stood from last year. And it is unlikely that anything would be done, either, if his dining scheme were discovered. Again, Lucius was of the Malfoy household, and it was not often that he let those around him forget it.
His spirits much improved, the youth set to his meal enthusiastically, pausing occasionally to share his mind with the others. The other boys, despite Lucius' rather overbearing nature at times, did listen attentively. This was less due to his surname and more to do with the fact that Lucius really was quite blessed of wit. Come to think of it, it all seems very unfair.
It was during this meal, much like many meals past, that the extraordinarily privileged child decided to indulge in one of his best pass - times. I speak not of wizard chess, but of mockery. You see, Lucius had mastered the art of the condescending English drawl. In fact, at his young age, he managed to sound as dry as many adults. This was not a talent he let lie.
Just as Lucius had a favoured pass - time, so did he have a favoured target on which to practice.
"…besides," Lucius was saying, "what kind of a name is _Weasely_ anyway? It says a lot about a family to be named after a scavenging rodent."
There was murmured assent and the requisite snickering. It was common knowledge (thanks largely to Lucius' loud declarations) that the Malfoy boy - child was most upset that he shared a school, nay indeed, a year with so unlikely a Hogwarts' student. Very few noticed that object of Lucius' mockery stood behind them.
"Actually, I prefer the name myself, to that of Malfoy. What does it say about a family to be named as a source of dark wizardry? Though I suppose Malfoy pride will not allow that comment to go uncontested, will it, _Lucius_?"
But Lucius let the insult slide and did not bother to even look in the direction of the voice.
"At _my_ house," announced Lucius loudly, "people do not interrupt conversations that they are not invited into."
The fourth years' table was hushed and everyone looked to the young Weasely, wondering if he had a rebuke swift enough for the Malfoy wit.
"Ah, I see what you mean." The red-headed Weasely nodded sagely. "Just as in _my_ home we don't mock people while at our dinner tables."
He shrugged, "They're a funny thing, manners, very subjective." And he walked further on, sat down at his table and began his meal.
Arthur Weasely was an ordinary looking boy (discounting the lanky frame, the red hair and the smattering of freckles) with an ordinary sounding name. He had the extreme misfortune of being in a school filled with children carefully designed to be extra - ordinary. Be it by their parents' modelling, their professors' or their own, these children were not only different, most were wealthy and well - stationed to boot.
Arthur was neither great in money nor in social standing, but he was different. He was smart. Well, his parents and teachers said he was smart. People like Lucius claimed he was merely lucky.
The school handed out one full scholarship each year. _It was necessary,_ they said. _It was the school's way of looking compassionate and doing charity,_ they jeered. If Arthur was here on any merit, it was simply the virtue of his low - income status. It had nothing to do with his abilities, of course. Whether or not he topped the grade in most of his classes.
His professors knew of the taunts, and while few of them went so far as to defend him, something Arthur would have hated in any case, they were helpful. They looked the other way when his school robes were in a bad state of repair. Subject professors turned a blind eye to the fact that their lessons sometimes shared pages with others because of a shortage of books. What did it matter that half his Transfiguration notes shared space with his Arithmancy exercises when the boy scored top marks in both?
Arthur consoled himself with this knowledge and made more of an attempt to taste the food he was eating. On the way out of the dining hall, he was summoned to the headmaster's office, where Lucius Malfoy was already waiting.
* * *
Lucius was not happy, but what could he do? He was leaving tomorrow, he did not live a great distance away, like some of the other boys did and it was not as though another mouth to feed would impoverish his household. All that remained was the matter of him despising Weasely.
Arthur was embarrassed, to say the least. Malfoy was the very last person he needed knowing that his parents couldn't afford to send for him and had asked he remain at school over the holidays. The school, rather than be vexed about his feeding and supervision, had made arrangements _for_ him instead.
Tomorrow, after the long final assembly was over, he was to leave school with Malfoy. As school ended in the evening, he would spend the night at Malfoy Manor. The next morning he would be taken home - a rather long journey that he could not really afford and was now being charitably undertaken by the Malfoy seniors. The principal had requested it as a favour of them and they had consented. If the ground had ever been waiting for a chance to swallow Arthur whole, at that moment, he would not have fought back if it tried.
He finally managed to get out a feeble form of protestation that did not make him sound ungrateful. "I don't want to impose, Sir." He cast a sidelong glance at Lucius to gauge his reaction. The boy was not taking well to the implications of that statement.
"Imposition!" exclaimed the other boy indignantly. "I do not come from the kind of household where another person is seen as an _imposition_!" He spat the word out as though it had an ugly taste.
Arthur winced. Obviously there was no talking his way out of _this_ situation.
* * *
The next day some one from the Malfoy staff came to fetch them. He helped carry their things and exchanged grovelling pleasantries while Lucius treated him insignificantly. Arthur felt uncomfortable about burdening a stranger with his things but the man insisted. For the most part, the Malfoy heir behaved as though Arthur were not there.
The manor's imposing door swung open before they could ring or knock. Lucius looked smug that he had obviously been anticipated. The butler bowed stiffly. "Welcome back to Malfoy Manor, young master. I see you have company."
And the boys were led into the grand house. This was the sort of reception that spoke of one's stature and Lucius glanced over at his visitor, expecting to see awe etched across the poorer boy's face. Instead, Arthur looked caught up in an emotion akin to pity. Lucius felt a flash of annoyance followed by a surge of something deeper. He ignored it and began to climb the master staircase.
Once Arthur was ensconced one of the draughty guest suites, a house elf asked if he had any preferences or objections for supper that night. Lucius looked at him scornfully upon his reply that anything was fine by him.
"In this house our guests have every convenience." He announced regally. "Today, that applies to _you_, Weasely. Pick something you want to eat."
Overwhelmed, Arthur said the first thing that came to mind. Some miscellaneous fish dish. Arthur hated fish.
Lucius' parents only made an appearance at supper, which was quite a stately affair. While everyone supped on fish, the older Malfoys made polite but disinterested enquiries into Arthur's well - being. They sounded slightly more concerned when they got round to Lucius, but it was not by much.
They asked about school, but not in detail. They talked over politics, but it was sufficient that the boys had opinions - sufficient enough not ask what their opinions were. The discussion of quidditch was superficial at best. Arthur assessed the situation gloomily. It seemed that in this place everything had worth at face value, but nothing mattered deeper down.
Later, in his perfectly appointed quarters, he found that the unsettling notion robbed him of sleep.
* * *
The following morning, Lucius and his father accompanied Arthur on his long journey home. It was the polite thing to do for a young, unaccompanied guest. No other reason was given.
The largely silent trip was peppered by stilted conversation until they all gave up. Finally, _finally_, Arthur was back where he should be.
He had just disembarked the charmed carriage when Sebastian Malfoy's voice instructed Lucius to walk him up to his cramped little cottage. Lucius opened his mouth in protest.
"Your job as a host is not yet ended." Said his father to him threateningly. Lucius disembarked as well, and Arthur felt even more like a task to be neatly completed.
They walked up his narrow garden path and stood on his tatty, rain - faded welcome mat. There was the noise of talking filtering through the open windows. Arthur knocked. It was a short wait until the door was flung open. The smell of cooking escaped out the doorway.
It was Arthur's mother, who beamed at her boy and enfolded him in her arms immediately. "Welcome _home_, son." She whispered fiercely to him, in a voice as tight as her hug. The word _home_ echoed in Lucius' mind like an important truth he had never heard before.
Arthur's mother looked curiously at Lucius, awaiting an introduction, but he had a wretched look upon his face. The Malfoy heir locked storm- grey eyes with her son's.
"I _hate_ you." He hissed at Arthur, and then turned and ran down their overgrown garden path. Down, down, to his waiting father.
"Where is he _going_?" she asked, bewildered.
"Back to his house." Arthur said sadly, and shut the door.
The end.