The Malfoy Manor had been in the family over forty generations. The medieval-looking structure had survived three wars, fifteen family feuds, and ten city fires around it. Four turrets stood at the four corners of the main house, each one corresponding to the four main directions on a compass. Black and silver flags flew from the northern and southern towers while two different colors of green, one a forest green and the other like a snake, fluttered in the soft breezes on top of the east and west. Around the house a garden full of exotic-looking plants grew in all directions. Any muggle would have only seen weeds, but wizards could pick out various plants and an odd house elf moving among them. A vast forest swept along the back of the Malfoy estate, cutting it off from neighbors.
Guarding the estate and its inhabitants from any unwanted visitors was a large black metal gate and a corresponding fence. If one were able to get past the gate, by means of a password, one would walk down a long stone path to two large oak doors. Inside them ran a long hall lit with torches and not electricity. On the floor lay a long carpet, on which was embroidered a regal looking snake lazy coiled around the initials A. M. Thousands of smaller snakes fanned out in all directions from the large one; some were pictured eating creatures like rabbits and birds, while others seemed to have been killed themselves.
Portraits of men and women with platinum blonde hair and regal expressions lined the walls. Although it was anyone's guess as to how, it was clear that all of them were related in some way. Under the oldest looking painting, and also the one at the end of the hall to the right, hung a golden plaque engraved with the words Amarius Slezeir Malfoy: Founder of the Most Regal and Pureblooded Malfoy Clan.
Off the main entrance hall ran two flights of stairs, one up and one down. The upwards flight led to bedrooms and such, but those will be explored later. For the time being our attention will be turned downstairs to the cellars, basements, and worst, the dungeons.
The Malfoy Manor was equipped with its own floor of dungeons. The floor is actually a long hall with thick, ominous-looking doors on the right and left and in front of every door is a bench.
On one of these very benches, in fact on the one next to the door third on the right sat Desamay Malfoy, niece of the current master of the manor, Luscious Malfoy. After the tragic death of her parents, a four-and-a-half month old Desamay was taken to live with her rich aunt and uncle and their son, Draco, who was three months to the day younger than her. So Desamay had grown up the life of a pampered princess, the perfect little angel in her uncle's eyes.
Desamay was now nineteen and had left the Slytherin house at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry a year ago. She was currently waiting for her uncle to take her and her aunt to a ball to celebrate the recent minor defeat of the dark wizard, Lord Voldemort. Though the Malfoys were actually supporters of the Dark Lord, their loyalties were a secret. The two older Malfoys had both been caught helping Lord Voldemort and had been given a very hard choice: declare their loyalties openly and lose everything they held dear, or say that they had been under the Imperious curse and not lose a thing but the Dark Lord's good wishes.
Lord Voldemort is not as cold-hearted and evil as most people think. On the contrary he perfectly understood the fear and doubt that crossed the Mafloys' minds, and so he gave them a way out. He visited them in a dream and said that the two older Malfoys would act as his spies as they had been doing and would still be considered on his side, even if they denied it in court. The two younger Malfoys (still in school when this occurred) would learn how to become proper wizards, graduate, and on their nineteenth birthdays join his ranks as death eaters. All Malfoys accepted the terms and that's how things had been.
Desemay was quickly rising through the ranks as a muggle assassin and torturer. Her aim and skill with the two worst "unforgivables" was deadly, and she could torture a person for half an hour without showing any signs of emotional stress. In fact, nothing seemed to touch her. Even the arrest of her uncle and aunt had done nothing to harm her spirit. Only three people in the whole world knew what her greatest fear was, herself, the Dark Lord, and Draco, and they wouldn't tell.
Sitting there in her black and red ball gown, the young Malfoy looked almost gothic. The only thing that didn't fit the stereotype was that her hair was the exact same color as all her ancestors'. The dress was elegant enough, made of black satin and lined with red velvet. The top portion was like a corset, squeezing her stomach in and her bust up so that she looked slim and sexy at the same time. There were no sleeves. Instead, the dress was held up by a thin silver chain that ran from the top of the back of the dress up to a black chocker. From the waste down the dress billowed out so that it looked like she was wearing a hoop underneath. But, of course, this wasn't the case. Her aunt had used a clever bit of magic so that the dress flowed and poofed at the same time. Around her shoulders hung an opaque black shall. It was meant to cover the Dark Mark that was still deep black from being given recently. But Narcissa understood that her niece couldn't be expected to hold up the spell the whole time, so she used another simple spell to make it stay in place. Though Desemay was greatful to her aunt for her help, she was also extremely annoyed.
She was sitting with one foot up on the bench, the other leg hanging over its side. One arm was in her lap and the other was draped over her knee. She was twirling her wand, staring out into space with a blank expression on her face.
"You shouldn't sit like that, Desemay. It's unladylike," chided Narcissa, breaking into her nieces not-so-important thoughts.
The blonde turned to her relative, a piecing glare evident on her beautiful features. She then turned back to staring at nothing, completely ignoring the reprimand.
"Desamay," Mrs. Malfoy insisted, "If you ever hope to be a high-ranking Death Eater, you must learn to behave in the proper manner."
"I know how to act, Aunty," Desamay said, her voice, like her stare, cold and impassive, "But right now I really don't care about being any kind of Death Eater."
Narcissa sniffed, "You should start caring if—"
Once again the midnight blue scowl was focused on the older pureblood, "What gives you any right to tell me what I should and should not care about?"
Stiffening, Mrs. Malfoy returned the glare, "You live under my roof, in the clothes I buy, and eat the food I prepare."
"This isn't your house, it's not your money, and you don't even know how to boil water."
Narcissa's perfectly-glossed lips opened in response, but Desamay ignored that and continued.
"Even if all those things were true, I still wouldn't listen to you. You don't control me and haven't since I left Hogwarts. I'm a fully trained witch now, just like yourself and I can do what I want."
"Fine," spat the married witch, "If you're so independent, then leave my house."
Desamay sneered, an expression that made her look so much like her cousin it was scary, "As much as I would love to leave this drafty old place, I'm under orders from the Dark Lord himself to watch you and Uncle all the time and make sure that you two don't screw up his plans again."
There was no response to this that Narcissa could muster. Even if she had been able to think of one to fire, it wouldn't have mattered; at that exact moment the door of the cell the two women had been arguing near opened, revealing the regal form of Luscious Malfoy.
Black dress robes hung about his shoulders and down to his ankles. The only decoration on them was the Malfoy crest, which served a duel purpose as a clasp for the long, flowing cape. His long, blonde hair was tied back into a bow in the traditional British style. In his black-gloved, right hand he held his cane, the snakes head on it gleaming in the torch light and making it appear that it was alive. When she was younger, Desemay had been scared of the cane head, believing it would bite her if she got too close.
At the sight of her uncle, Desemay stood up quickly and curtsied as low as she could, the sign of respect she had been taught at a young age. As she curtsied she discretely performed at sticking charm into her shawl and tucked her wand into one of the gauzy cloth's many folds. Narcissa bowed as well, though not as low as her niece nor as quickly. With a gentlemanly flourish, Luscious took her hand and helped her to her feet. The two began to walk, hand in hand, down the long hall to the door, niece obediently clip-clopping behind.
"Uncle," she said just as the older Malfoys reached the door, "I take it Draco is not coming with us?"
"No," the regal man replied without turning, "My son still refuses to join with us and serve the Dark Lord. This time he passed out halfway through the torture, so I believe he's weakening. Soon he will join us."
Perhaps it was lucky that Mr. Malfoy couldn't see his young niece's eyes at that moment, for they burned with hatred that longed to be spent.
"He still has two weeks before his nineteenth birthday," Narcissa pointed out, "I'm sure he'll come to his senses by then."
"I bloody well hope so, for both our sakes," thought the teenager.
Soon she and her relatives reached the huge fireplace in the large study that was always used for traveling. It was so large that a full-grown giant could have stood comfortably and still have room to spare. The brick trim was, like everything else, a testament to the Malfoy household. Snakes, formed from ribbons of silver, wound themselves over and around large golden M's. Each of the five snakes – two on each side and one on the center top – had a different precious stone as its eye. Flickering candles also gave them that similar quality of being alive that seemed to occupy every snake in the castle-like-structure.
Stopping in front of the hearth, the elder Malfoy pulled out his wand and conjured up a soon crackling fire. Then he lifted a handful of Floo powder out of a large Greek jar and threw it into the fire. It immediately roared up to the height of an average of a man and shone green. The two elder blondes stepped in, turned, and looked expectantly at the younger.
"Go ahead of me," Desemay ushered.
Luscious looked at his niece oddly for a second before shouting the words "Monteberry Grand Ball" and vanishing. Desemay sighed. She hated the wards around every bloody place in the Wizarding world that made it stupidly useless to have the power to Apparate. The soot from the fireplace would make the bottom of her dress all black. Not that that was anything a simple cleaning charm couldn't fix, but Desemay considered all that housework magic above her, and rarely, if ever, used it. Still, it couldn't be helped. Reluctantly, she reached into the Floo powered as well, and proceeded to a ball she would rather not attend.
Hi. This is AR/DM here! Iv decided ill put all my little remarks at the bottom so that ppl can skip them if they want. ANYway…I hope u liked the prologue. I may not update for a while because im a very busy person. But I promise that I won't abandon this story…for the time being. If I discontinue ill let u know. Plz review!
Disclaimer: I don't own Luscious, Draco, or Narcissa Malfoy. But Desamay is mine, so don't take her without my permis. See ya!