--eight-eleven am, Friday morning--
Draco Malfoy had never been so frightened in all his life as he had been when he heard his father's voice say, "Severus, if you don't mind?" to Professor Snape as Potions started. He had left his bag for Crabbe to carry back up to his room, and his father had tossed him a cape as soon as the Potions lab door slammed behind them. But he had not said a word. He had just strode off towards the front doors of the school, and on out, heedless of the light rain that was falling. Undoubtably he would Apparate back to Malfoy Manor, with Draco, and this was the thing frightening Draco.
If he was just going to yell at me he would have done so in Dumbledore's office, he reflected as he walked along behind his father. . But...he swallowed nervously...anything more serious he won't do there. That's why he's taking me back home. Oh, Merlin. This is gonna be bad.
Lucius Malfoy was not making any pretenses. The Anti-Apparation wards extended to just the large gate that marked the main entrance to Hogwarts. Three paces outside, he reached for Draco's hand, and held it in a grip like carved stone, then Apparated.
They appeared in the main hall of Malfoy Manor. House elves appeared and took their cloaks in their usual invisible silence, and then Lucius Malfoy walked into his study, Draco following miserably in his wake.
Lucius sat down at his desk, leaving Draco standing uncomfortably before him. He exhaled, and stared at his son with icy eyes before he finally spoke.
"Up until this point, Draco, I had been fairly satisfied with your progress. Not so brilliant nor so dull in school as to raise comment, and apart from your constant and understandable problems with Potter, managing to not excite the attention of students or teachers. This is wise...We Malfoys have always led from the shadows. However, I am now convinced that you are blazingly, blindingly stupid." His voice cracked like a whiplash, and Draco twitched.
"I do not refer to your seeming taste for unwilling women. This is a sport I myself have engaged in from time to time. But your choice went past unwise into imbecility, and your timing is the poorest I've ever seen. What were you going to do with her? Imperio or not, unless you cast a Memory Charm of a skill that you simply do not have, she would remember what you just did to her, and there would be no way to keep her silent short of death. And she is not one of the cattle we bring in for revels, Mudblood though she is. If she disappeared, a hunt would go up that would not cease until she was found. If she died, the Aurors would be all over Hogwarts, and would not rest until her killer was found. She is Head Girl, and for all that I myself would have enjoyed hearing her scream...we can't touch her right now. And you knew that. And you did it anyway. Do you have any excuse for your stupidity?"
Draco knew better than to try. "No excuse, sir."
"You have some sense at least," his father said, voice like a hanging judge. "I have been waiting and working for all these years for our Lord. He understands that like serpents, we Malfoys do our best work in the shadowy edges. He understands that I must occasionally wear a cloak of respectability. And so I have done what I had to to stay out of Azkhaban, that my hands might be free to do the Dark Lord's work. I will not have the adolescent lusts of a stupid boy bring it all down about my ears!"
His voice had risen, and now rang in the study. He took a deep breath, and his voice returned to its usual silken tones.
"If you wish to take unwilling females, go into the muggle world, into their slums and their darknesses, and take as many as you will. But foul our nest again, and I will not care that you are my only heir." His eyes met Draco's and his son shivered and dropped his gaze.
"And there are consequences for this stupidity. I will engrave them into your brain so that you do not forget. Ever."
Draco closed his eyes, but he still heard the silky way his father said the word, as if he were pronouncing the name of his beloved.
"Crucio."
--The Burrow, eleven-twenty-three am, Friday morning.--
Molly Weasley was relaxing at her kitchen table with a cup of tea. She rolled her shoulders, listened to the radio, and was filled with a warm sense that everything was right with the world. Encouraged by the early birthday gift of a very luxurious new bathroom, bought with the revenues from the twins' business, she had embarked on a cleaning and redecoration spree. She had just removed everything from her youngest son's room, cleaned it thoroughly, repainted, and put it all back, thereby eliminating the vague odor of stale socks that seems to permeate the personal living space of all adolescent males, and was musing on doing out either her bedroom or redoing the one Bill and Charlie had shared into a guest room when the fire crackled green, and an envelope shot out.
"Hm, " she said. "It must be urgent." She picked it up, opened it, and read it. And reread it. Her hand groped for a chair, and she dropped into it bonelessly, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. But Molly was not one to give in to emotion. Hurt demanded action. She swiped at her tears, then walked over to the desk, which obediently opened and gave her a quill and parchment.
She wrote Poppy Pomfrey back, dropped it through the Floo, and then went upstairs to make sure Hermione and Ginny's bedrooms were ready for them to come home to. If she had to occasionally conjure up a tissue and blow her nose, well, there was no one around to comment.
Draco Malfoy had never been so frightened in all his life as he had been when he heard his father's voice say, "Severus, if you don't mind?" to Professor Snape as Potions started. He had left his bag for Crabbe to carry back up to his room, and his father had tossed him a cape as soon as the Potions lab door slammed behind them. But he had not said a word. He had just strode off towards the front doors of the school, and on out, heedless of the light rain that was falling. Undoubtably he would Apparate back to Malfoy Manor, with Draco, and this was the thing frightening Draco.
If he was just going to yell at me he would have done so in Dumbledore's office, he reflected as he walked along behind his father. . But...he swallowed nervously...anything more serious he won't do there. That's why he's taking me back home. Oh, Merlin. This is gonna be bad.
Lucius Malfoy was not making any pretenses. The Anti-Apparation wards extended to just the large gate that marked the main entrance to Hogwarts. Three paces outside, he reached for Draco's hand, and held it in a grip like carved stone, then Apparated.
They appeared in the main hall of Malfoy Manor. House elves appeared and took their cloaks in their usual invisible silence, and then Lucius Malfoy walked into his study, Draco following miserably in his wake.
Lucius sat down at his desk, leaving Draco standing uncomfortably before him. He exhaled, and stared at his son with icy eyes before he finally spoke.
"Up until this point, Draco, I had been fairly satisfied with your progress. Not so brilliant nor so dull in school as to raise comment, and apart from your constant and understandable problems with Potter, managing to not excite the attention of students or teachers. This is wise...We Malfoys have always led from the shadows. However, I am now convinced that you are blazingly, blindingly stupid." His voice cracked like a whiplash, and Draco twitched.
"I do not refer to your seeming taste for unwilling women. This is a sport I myself have engaged in from time to time. But your choice went past unwise into imbecility, and your timing is the poorest I've ever seen. What were you going to do with her? Imperio or not, unless you cast a Memory Charm of a skill that you simply do not have, she would remember what you just did to her, and there would be no way to keep her silent short of death. And she is not one of the cattle we bring in for revels, Mudblood though she is. If she disappeared, a hunt would go up that would not cease until she was found. If she died, the Aurors would be all over Hogwarts, and would not rest until her killer was found. She is Head Girl, and for all that I myself would have enjoyed hearing her scream...we can't touch her right now. And you knew that. And you did it anyway. Do you have any excuse for your stupidity?"
Draco knew better than to try. "No excuse, sir."
"You have some sense at least," his father said, voice like a hanging judge. "I have been waiting and working for all these years for our Lord. He understands that like serpents, we Malfoys do our best work in the shadowy edges. He understands that I must occasionally wear a cloak of respectability. And so I have done what I had to to stay out of Azkhaban, that my hands might be free to do the Dark Lord's work. I will not have the adolescent lusts of a stupid boy bring it all down about my ears!"
His voice had risen, and now rang in the study. He took a deep breath, and his voice returned to its usual silken tones.
"If you wish to take unwilling females, go into the muggle world, into their slums and their darknesses, and take as many as you will. But foul our nest again, and I will not care that you are my only heir." His eyes met Draco's and his son shivered and dropped his gaze.
"And there are consequences for this stupidity. I will engrave them into your brain so that you do not forget. Ever."
Draco closed his eyes, but he still heard the silky way his father said the word, as if he were pronouncing the name of his beloved.
"Crucio."
--The Burrow, eleven-twenty-three am, Friday morning.--
Molly Weasley was relaxing at her kitchen table with a cup of tea. She rolled her shoulders, listened to the radio, and was filled with a warm sense that everything was right with the world. Encouraged by the early birthday gift of a very luxurious new bathroom, bought with the revenues from the twins' business, she had embarked on a cleaning and redecoration spree. She had just removed everything from her youngest son's room, cleaned it thoroughly, repainted, and put it all back, thereby eliminating the vague odor of stale socks that seems to permeate the personal living space of all adolescent males, and was musing on doing out either her bedroom or redoing the one Bill and Charlie had shared into a guest room when the fire crackled green, and an envelope shot out.
"Hm, " she said. "It must be urgent." She picked it up, opened it, and read it. And reread it. Her hand groped for a chair, and she dropped into it bonelessly, tears beginning to run down her cheeks. But Molly was not one to give in to emotion. Hurt demanded action. She swiped at her tears, then walked over to the desk, which obediently opened and gave her a quill and parchment.
She wrote Poppy Pomfrey back, dropped it through the Floo, and then went upstairs to make sure Hermione and Ginny's bedrooms were ready for them to come home to. If she had to occasionally conjure up a tissue and blow her nose, well, there was no one around to comment.