***DISCLAIMER***: This fic will eventually contain themes that may be
offensive such as profanity, violence, and sex. There will be slash, D/H
eventually. However my story is about much more than that, love, adventure,
mystery. So, if you don't approve of such things, move along. If you don't
mind it, read on at your own risk.
***DISCLAIMER*** Unfortunately, I do not own the world of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does, so please don't sue me. I haven't got any money, and its only fan-fiction after all. The only thing that is mine is the plot and so far Évelyne, so please ask before borrowing ideas.
Please read and review! This is my first fic., and I'd love to get opinions. I'm feeling a bit discouraged at the lack of response. I promise this is going to be an awesome story, but good stories take a while to blossom and mature. I mean I could have Draco and Harry fucking each other's brains out already, but that wouldn't be civilized, now would it? Relationships are going to crop up soon, and the plot is beginning to thicken, so please bear with me. In addition, I really value constructive criticism so please chime in. And don't worry about any French I throw in, I always translate at the bottom for those who aren't obsessive francophiles (lovers of anything French nothing etchi/hentai well unless it pertains to D/H goodness. sigh.).
Fairy Rings Can Be Rather Tricky Things
Chapter Five: Enter the Dragon
From Draco's Point of View.
For some reason mother's been flighty as a nervous canary watched by a long-toothed cat for the past week. When I ask what she's so concerned over, she refuses to answer. She just shakes her head and mutters, "Later, Draco, later." But, hey, isn't that all she's ever told you? But what kind of mother do I expect after what she's been through with father? What kind of son am I, for that matter.
I've never seen her work the house elves so hard to get the manor clean. Everywhere I look, I see myself reflected in some surface or other; my face on the black marblee floor of my bathroom, the jade coffee table in the main sitting room, the Ming vase in the library. Mother says that they named me Draco because of this vase, and that they loved the piece so much they gave me its name.
Dragon, I am a dragon. It's always been my mantra. You're a dragon, you feel no pain. You're a dragon, you are above all you see. You're a dragon, you burn down and eliminate all the obstacles in your way. The silver eyes that stare back at me on that porcelain vase dance among the cobalt dragons, haunted, remote. I hate my eyes. Dragons don't cry, Draco. Dragons are strong, invincible. You're everything a dragon isn't, Draco, you sniveling coward.
My father's voice in my head again. "He's dead though, unable to touch you, unable to hurt you anymore." I tell myself quietly steeling myself before leaving the room. He may be dead, but I can hear him, feel him everywhere in this mausoleum of a house. Sometimes at night, when I walking to the loo, or getting a snack from the cupboard, I have to turn around and check that he's not coming after me. I'm a coward. He's dead, but, here, in my head, he's still alive and kicking.
I continue to stare at the vase, loosing myself in the cross-shaped clouds and sinuous reptilian curves untill I feel a tug at my robes. I look down and see a particularly loathsome house elf, Moffat I think, tugging at me. "What?" I drawl managing to perfectly capture disdain and boredom in my voice. Ah, yes father, I learned my lessons well, even now, I practice what you preach. From habit more than necessity. How can you be kind if you've never known kindness?
"Your mother, sir, the mistress, is waiting for you in the sitting room." The elf trembled under my withering gaze, but his fear gave me no pleasure, it never really did.
"I'll be right along then. You can leave now, Moffat." His limpid brown eyes, like a wet, dirty tennis ball, stared up at me in awe. Probably in shock that I'd bothered to remember his name. He fled in horror after I raised an eyebrow at him. I watched him scurry away like a frightened mouse. I wanted to laugh. Didn't they know that I was never the one to fear? That I was never the predator?
I raised my hand and smashed the priceless vase to broken bits of pottery. I shook in anger, in futile rage. I'm just a mouse. Just like that pathetic house elf, a mouse. Somehow knowing that the help would come and restore the vase to new again, destroyed some of my glee at wrecking something of my father's. If it weren't for mother, I would raise this fucking madhouse to the ground. Only if it weren't for mother. She's all that's left that matters.
Her beauty stikes me like an open fist when I enter the room. My mother is like that vase I just ruined, flawless, eternally lovely. Her platinum hair was neatly gathered into a French chignon, clothed in flattering lilac dress robes, matching Prada heels peeking out like timid rabbits. "You're looking well, Mother," I murmur, taking her slim paw into my hand to deliver the perfunctory kiss to her ivory knuckles. He diamond wedding ring feels sharp and dangerous under my lips, and I wish that it would cut me, bleed me of all these dark humors building up in my soul.
"Draco. Come here and sit beside me. I have something to tell you."
I slide gracefully next to her onto the black leather sofa. She seems so out of place here, like a ray of light in the depths of despair. She was only meant to adorn this mausoleum, just like me. "What is it, Mother? Does it have to do with all the activity and bustle going on around the house?"
"Yes, actually, it does, Draco." She replied nervously smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the front of her robes.
The elves were setting up tea service for four. "I take it we're about to receive company."
"Do you remember your father and I speaking of your Aunt Évelyne?"
"You mean the 'half-fairy bitch that's always causing trouble for our Lord'?"
She shuddered at my cruel impersonation of my father and nodded, growing paler if it were possible. "Yes, your Aunt Évelyne. And, yes, she is half Fae, princess over the High Selieghie Court, if you must know." Her voice held a faint tone of annoyance, but like everything else about her, it was only a shadow.
"Forgive my impertenence, Mother. So, what do we owe the pleasure?"
"She's your Godmother as well, and she's written to ask me it you would come to visit her at Court until school starts." She looked away nervously and ran her fingers over her hair looking for flyaways and failing.
"I take it you've already replied in the affirmative then?"
"Yes."
We sat for a moment in pregnant silence. "Is it important to you that I do this, Mother?"
"Yes, we were friends once Draco, I loved her as my sister. After all we all have endured these past years. I think we owe her this small request. The family has not been kind to her since your grandfather's death."
"Father did bear her a lot of ill-will. I suppose he hates her because half of the Malfoy fourtune was transferred to her Gringots account after Grandfather's death I take it."
"Yes, he hated her with all of his black heart." There was another uncomfortable pause until she asked hesitantly, "Will you agree to this, Draco? Fairy is a beautiful place and I think you would love it as well as I once did."
I covered her mouth with mine in the briefest, chastest of kisses. "I will do anything, if only to please you, Mother."
I managed to catch a glimpse of a fleeting smile before a jumpy house elf announced in a squeaky, painful voice, "Princess Évelyne has arrived, mistress."
"Send her in then, Kirry."
I waited feeling the first up-wellings of anticipation in months. I want to see the object of my father's hatred up close, tête à tête*. She entered serenely, as if she belonged wherever she went. She was lovely like my mother. Blonde and fair, but healthy and bright. She shone like a new penny, rich and vibrant. All of the house elves in the manor seemed to be crowded around her feet kissing her shoes, daring to touch her ankle, fawning like dogs. "S'il vous plât, vous n'êtes pas mes serveurs. Je voudrais vous aider, mais je ne pourrais pas. Je ne peut pas parler de ça avec votre maîtress. Je suis tellement désolée, mais vous savez les régles.**" She spoke softly in lilting French that played allong my spine like exquisite music or the feather-soft touch of a lover. With those words the elves fled in seeming dispair. I'd forgotten French was the lingua franca of the fairy world.
"Greetings, sister." My Aunt smiled at my mother and to my astonishment embraced her, kissing both cheeks. My mothers eyes became alive as she kissed this strange woman, her embrace feircely possessive. "And you must be Draco, I'm so happy to finally meet you. You've grown into such a handsome young man."
I had been standing since she entered, and I took her hand into mine and kissed her soft, fragrant skin. "Je suis enchanté de faire votre conaissance, ma belle taunte.***"
"Handsome and he speaks French like a native. How do you fend off the hopeful girls?" She laughed pleasantly.
"I don't." I smiled my best rakish smile, but it faded as soon as I noticed who stood behind my aunt.
"Ah, Harry, I am so rude." She smiled at him. "I'm sure the two of you are well accainted, Draco?" She asked me a little too innocently for my tastes.
"Oh, yes, we know each other very well, don't we Potter?" I drawled smiling a faint malicious smile. Why hadn't I bothered to question the setting for four and not three? What is he doing here?
"Yes." Potter said simply, seeming to sum up our rather one-dimentional relationship of shared hatred in one well-spoken word.
"Well," I said extending my hand, not knowing quite what I was doing, "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."
Comments, thoughts? Dying to know what's to come next?
tête à tête* = head to head, here in the context of face to face/ head on, a sort of meeting of the minds if you will
S'il vous plât, vous n'êtes pas mes serveurs. Je voudrais vous aider, mais je ne pourrais pas. Je ne peut pas parler de ça avec votre maîtress. Je suis tellement désolée, mais vous savez les régles.** = Please, you are not my servants. I would like to help you, but I cannot. I cannot speak of this to your mistress. I am sorry, but you know the rules.
Je suis enchanté de faire votre conaissance, ma belle taunte.*** = I am enchanted to make your accaintance, my beautiful aunt.
***DISCLAIMER*** Unfortunately, I do not own the world of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does, so please don't sue me. I haven't got any money, and its only fan-fiction after all. The only thing that is mine is the plot and so far Évelyne, so please ask before borrowing ideas.
Please read and review! This is my first fic., and I'd love to get opinions. I'm feeling a bit discouraged at the lack of response. I promise this is going to be an awesome story, but good stories take a while to blossom and mature. I mean I could have Draco and Harry fucking each other's brains out already, but that wouldn't be civilized, now would it? Relationships are going to crop up soon, and the plot is beginning to thicken, so please bear with me. In addition, I really value constructive criticism so please chime in. And don't worry about any French I throw in, I always translate at the bottom for those who aren't obsessive francophiles (lovers of anything French nothing etchi/hentai well unless it pertains to D/H goodness. sigh.).
Fairy Rings Can Be Rather Tricky Things
Chapter Five: Enter the Dragon
From Draco's Point of View.
For some reason mother's been flighty as a nervous canary watched by a long-toothed cat for the past week. When I ask what she's so concerned over, she refuses to answer. She just shakes her head and mutters, "Later, Draco, later." But, hey, isn't that all she's ever told you? But what kind of mother do I expect after what she's been through with father? What kind of son am I, for that matter.
I've never seen her work the house elves so hard to get the manor clean. Everywhere I look, I see myself reflected in some surface or other; my face on the black marblee floor of my bathroom, the jade coffee table in the main sitting room, the Ming vase in the library. Mother says that they named me Draco because of this vase, and that they loved the piece so much they gave me its name.
Dragon, I am a dragon. It's always been my mantra. You're a dragon, you feel no pain. You're a dragon, you are above all you see. You're a dragon, you burn down and eliminate all the obstacles in your way. The silver eyes that stare back at me on that porcelain vase dance among the cobalt dragons, haunted, remote. I hate my eyes. Dragons don't cry, Draco. Dragons are strong, invincible. You're everything a dragon isn't, Draco, you sniveling coward.
My father's voice in my head again. "He's dead though, unable to touch you, unable to hurt you anymore." I tell myself quietly steeling myself before leaving the room. He may be dead, but I can hear him, feel him everywhere in this mausoleum of a house. Sometimes at night, when I walking to the loo, or getting a snack from the cupboard, I have to turn around and check that he's not coming after me. I'm a coward. He's dead, but, here, in my head, he's still alive and kicking.
I continue to stare at the vase, loosing myself in the cross-shaped clouds and sinuous reptilian curves untill I feel a tug at my robes. I look down and see a particularly loathsome house elf, Moffat I think, tugging at me. "What?" I drawl managing to perfectly capture disdain and boredom in my voice. Ah, yes father, I learned my lessons well, even now, I practice what you preach. From habit more than necessity. How can you be kind if you've never known kindness?
"Your mother, sir, the mistress, is waiting for you in the sitting room." The elf trembled under my withering gaze, but his fear gave me no pleasure, it never really did.
"I'll be right along then. You can leave now, Moffat." His limpid brown eyes, like a wet, dirty tennis ball, stared up at me in awe. Probably in shock that I'd bothered to remember his name. He fled in horror after I raised an eyebrow at him. I watched him scurry away like a frightened mouse. I wanted to laugh. Didn't they know that I was never the one to fear? That I was never the predator?
I raised my hand and smashed the priceless vase to broken bits of pottery. I shook in anger, in futile rage. I'm just a mouse. Just like that pathetic house elf, a mouse. Somehow knowing that the help would come and restore the vase to new again, destroyed some of my glee at wrecking something of my father's. If it weren't for mother, I would raise this fucking madhouse to the ground. Only if it weren't for mother. She's all that's left that matters.
Her beauty stikes me like an open fist when I enter the room. My mother is like that vase I just ruined, flawless, eternally lovely. Her platinum hair was neatly gathered into a French chignon, clothed in flattering lilac dress robes, matching Prada heels peeking out like timid rabbits. "You're looking well, Mother," I murmur, taking her slim paw into my hand to deliver the perfunctory kiss to her ivory knuckles. He diamond wedding ring feels sharp and dangerous under my lips, and I wish that it would cut me, bleed me of all these dark humors building up in my soul.
"Draco. Come here and sit beside me. I have something to tell you."
I slide gracefully next to her onto the black leather sofa. She seems so out of place here, like a ray of light in the depths of despair. She was only meant to adorn this mausoleum, just like me. "What is it, Mother? Does it have to do with all the activity and bustle going on around the house?"
"Yes, actually, it does, Draco." She replied nervously smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from the front of her robes.
The elves were setting up tea service for four. "I take it we're about to receive company."
"Do you remember your father and I speaking of your Aunt Évelyne?"
"You mean the 'half-fairy bitch that's always causing trouble for our Lord'?"
She shuddered at my cruel impersonation of my father and nodded, growing paler if it were possible. "Yes, your Aunt Évelyne. And, yes, she is half Fae, princess over the High Selieghie Court, if you must know." Her voice held a faint tone of annoyance, but like everything else about her, it was only a shadow.
"Forgive my impertenence, Mother. So, what do we owe the pleasure?"
"She's your Godmother as well, and she's written to ask me it you would come to visit her at Court until school starts." She looked away nervously and ran her fingers over her hair looking for flyaways and failing.
"I take it you've already replied in the affirmative then?"
"Yes."
We sat for a moment in pregnant silence. "Is it important to you that I do this, Mother?"
"Yes, we were friends once Draco, I loved her as my sister. After all we all have endured these past years. I think we owe her this small request. The family has not been kind to her since your grandfather's death."
"Father did bear her a lot of ill-will. I suppose he hates her because half of the Malfoy fourtune was transferred to her Gringots account after Grandfather's death I take it."
"Yes, he hated her with all of his black heart." There was another uncomfortable pause until she asked hesitantly, "Will you agree to this, Draco? Fairy is a beautiful place and I think you would love it as well as I once did."
I covered her mouth with mine in the briefest, chastest of kisses. "I will do anything, if only to please you, Mother."
I managed to catch a glimpse of a fleeting smile before a jumpy house elf announced in a squeaky, painful voice, "Princess Évelyne has arrived, mistress."
"Send her in then, Kirry."
I waited feeling the first up-wellings of anticipation in months. I want to see the object of my father's hatred up close, tête à tête*. She entered serenely, as if she belonged wherever she went. She was lovely like my mother. Blonde and fair, but healthy and bright. She shone like a new penny, rich and vibrant. All of the house elves in the manor seemed to be crowded around her feet kissing her shoes, daring to touch her ankle, fawning like dogs. "S'il vous plât, vous n'êtes pas mes serveurs. Je voudrais vous aider, mais je ne pourrais pas. Je ne peut pas parler de ça avec votre maîtress. Je suis tellement désolée, mais vous savez les régles.**" She spoke softly in lilting French that played allong my spine like exquisite music or the feather-soft touch of a lover. With those words the elves fled in seeming dispair. I'd forgotten French was the lingua franca of the fairy world.
"Greetings, sister." My Aunt smiled at my mother and to my astonishment embraced her, kissing both cheeks. My mothers eyes became alive as she kissed this strange woman, her embrace feircely possessive. "And you must be Draco, I'm so happy to finally meet you. You've grown into such a handsome young man."
I had been standing since she entered, and I took her hand into mine and kissed her soft, fragrant skin. "Je suis enchanté de faire votre conaissance, ma belle taunte.***"
"Handsome and he speaks French like a native. How do you fend off the hopeful girls?" She laughed pleasantly.
"I don't." I smiled my best rakish smile, but it faded as soon as I noticed who stood behind my aunt.
"Ah, Harry, I am so rude." She smiled at him. "I'm sure the two of you are well accainted, Draco?" She asked me a little too innocently for my tastes.
"Oh, yes, we know each other very well, don't we Potter?" I drawled smiling a faint malicious smile. Why hadn't I bothered to question the setting for four and not three? What is he doing here?
"Yes." Potter said simply, seeming to sum up our rather one-dimentional relationship of shared hatred in one well-spoken word.
"Well," I said extending my hand, not knowing quite what I was doing, "Welcome to Malfoy Manor."
Comments, thoughts? Dying to know what's to come next?
tête à tête* = head to head, here in the context of face to face/ head on, a sort of meeting of the minds if you will
S'il vous plât, vous n'êtes pas mes serveurs. Je voudrais vous aider, mais je ne pourrais pas. Je ne peut pas parler de ça avec votre maîtress. Je suis tellement désolée, mais vous savez les régles.** = Please, you are not my servants. I would like to help you, but I cannot. I cannot speak of this to your mistress. I am sorry, but you know the rules.
Je suis enchanté de faire votre conaissance, ma belle taunte.*** = I am enchanted to make your accaintance, my beautiful aunt.
