A violent sky, a mound of earth, a few twisted crosses. Malfoy read a tombstone that Snape had directed his attention to.
"William Grieves. Born in 1971 in Chelmsford. Died 1998; in agony, cursed into oblivion," Malfoy said as he slowly read the words out loud.
"I think you... got my message," Snape said.
"Yes yes, indeed. But tell me, Snape, let me just test the potion here, so to speak. Supposing I was to say something like 'I'm a close friend of Lord Voldemort and I think he'd be very interested to hear about you and Molly and the cane, so why don't we just call it quits, eh, Snivellus," Malfoy smirked.
"I would say, firstly, the Dark Lord would not believe you, and secondly,... you'll regret calling me Snivellus later today," Snape roared shoving his wand in Malfoy's face. "I will have my money by Evensong tonight or... your gorgeous blond hair will wish it had never been born!"
With those words Snape left, his robes sweeping behind him.
Back at his mansion, Malfoy was pacing up and down the drawing room. Macnair was sitting at the fireplace reading a book and Wormtail was standing by in silence.
"Well, gits, I'm up a certain creek, without a certain instrument. Either I raise one thousand Galleons by this evening, or I get murdered. What should I do?" Malfoy said.
"That's obvious, Master. You'll have to get murdered. You'll never raise that sort of money," Peter said stepping forward.
"Oh come now, Wormtail, a piffling one thousand?! Pay the fellow, Lucius, and damn his impudence," Macnair said waving his hand.
"I haven't got a thousand, dung-head. I've got 85 Sickles in the whole world," Malfoy snapped.
"But you're always boasting to the Dark Lord about how wealthy you are," Macnair said surprised.
"A cunning web of deceit spun about the Death Eaters to improve my standing, unfortunately," Malfoy explained.
"You mean, you've been... fibbing?" Macnair asked shocked.
"Yup. My whole life has been a tissue of whoppers. I consider myself one of the finest fibsters in the magical world, "Lucius said as he sat down in a chair by the door.
"Couldn't you just dip into the family fortune?" Macnair suggested.
"There isn't one. My father blew it all on Firewhiskey, woman and amateur dramatics. At the end he was eking out a living doing humorous impressions of house-elves," Malfoy sighed.
"Oh Lucius, I'm sorry. I had no idea. But do not despair, for I have some small savings, carefully harvested from my weekly allowance set aside against my frail old age," Macnair said, a glint of a tear in the corner of his eye. "By lucky hap, it's just over a thousand Galleons methinks, and has for years been hidden beyond the wit of a thief..."
"In an old sock under the squeaky floorboard behind the kitchen dresser," Malfoy finished bored.
"You – you've seen it?" Macnair asked surprised.
"Seen it, pinched it, spent it. And the same goes for the two Knuts Wormtail thinks he's got hidden inside that mouldy potato," Malfoy said.
"Then you're doomed," Macnair said dramatically as he sat on the floor. "Alas, for Merlin's sake, let us sit upon the carpet and tell sad stories..."
"Certainly not," Malfoy said as he stood up. "When Lucius Malfoy is in trouble, he doesn't sit about. I've got 85 Sickles and that's a start. I'm sure I'll think of something as long as I'm not disturbed."
The door opened and a messenger entered the room. He took off his hat and bowed.
"Mister Malfoy, the Dark Lord does demand your urgent presence on pain of death," the messenger said.
"Damn! The path of my life is strewn with dog-poo from those Muggles' awful pets," Malfoy hissed. He gathered his cane and cloak and took off.
"William Grieves. Born in 1971 in Chelmsford. Died 1998; in agony, cursed into oblivion," Malfoy said as he slowly read the words out loud.
"I think you... got my message," Snape said.
"Yes yes, indeed. But tell me, Snape, let me just test the potion here, so to speak. Supposing I was to say something like 'I'm a close friend of Lord Voldemort and I think he'd be very interested to hear about you and Molly and the cane, so why don't we just call it quits, eh, Snivellus," Malfoy smirked.
"I would say, firstly, the Dark Lord would not believe you, and secondly,... you'll regret calling me Snivellus later today," Snape roared shoving his wand in Malfoy's face. "I will have my money by Evensong tonight or... your gorgeous blond hair will wish it had never been born!"
With those words Snape left, his robes sweeping behind him.
Back at his mansion, Malfoy was pacing up and down the drawing room. Macnair was sitting at the fireplace reading a book and Wormtail was standing by in silence.
"Well, gits, I'm up a certain creek, without a certain instrument. Either I raise one thousand Galleons by this evening, or I get murdered. What should I do?" Malfoy said.
"That's obvious, Master. You'll have to get murdered. You'll never raise that sort of money," Peter said stepping forward.
"Oh come now, Wormtail, a piffling one thousand?! Pay the fellow, Lucius, and damn his impudence," Macnair said waving his hand.
"I haven't got a thousand, dung-head. I've got 85 Sickles in the whole world," Malfoy snapped.
"But you're always boasting to the Dark Lord about how wealthy you are," Macnair said surprised.
"A cunning web of deceit spun about the Death Eaters to improve my standing, unfortunately," Malfoy explained.
"You mean, you've been... fibbing?" Macnair asked shocked.
"Yup. My whole life has been a tissue of whoppers. I consider myself one of the finest fibsters in the magical world, "Lucius said as he sat down in a chair by the door.
"Couldn't you just dip into the family fortune?" Macnair suggested.
"There isn't one. My father blew it all on Firewhiskey, woman and amateur dramatics. At the end he was eking out a living doing humorous impressions of house-elves," Malfoy sighed.
"Oh Lucius, I'm sorry. I had no idea. But do not despair, for I have some small savings, carefully harvested from my weekly allowance set aside against my frail old age," Macnair said, a glint of a tear in the corner of his eye. "By lucky hap, it's just over a thousand Galleons methinks, and has for years been hidden beyond the wit of a thief..."
"In an old sock under the squeaky floorboard behind the kitchen dresser," Malfoy finished bored.
"You – you've seen it?" Macnair asked surprised.
"Seen it, pinched it, spent it. And the same goes for the two Knuts Wormtail thinks he's got hidden inside that mouldy potato," Malfoy said.
"Then you're doomed," Macnair said dramatically as he sat on the floor. "Alas, for Merlin's sake, let us sit upon the carpet and tell sad stories..."
"Certainly not," Malfoy said as he stood up. "When Lucius Malfoy is in trouble, he doesn't sit about. I've got 85 Sickles and that's a start. I'm sure I'll think of something as long as I'm not disturbed."
The door opened and a messenger entered the room. He took off his hat and bowed.
"Mister Malfoy, the Dark Lord does demand your urgent presence on pain of death," the messenger said.
"Damn! The path of my life is strewn with dog-poo from those Muggles' awful pets," Malfoy hissed. He gathered his cane and cloak and took off.