MORPHEUS' KINGDOM

CHAPTER TWO

A DRAGON'S HONOUR

Draco's Book

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be your to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow.

-John McCrae

I had convinced myself that I was resigned to my stay at The Burrow. But as my father's black limousine pulled smoothly past the gates I felt a deep dread sit itself in the pit of my stomach. Sitting in the back of the car, clutching the painting my mother left me, I gazed out of the windows at the banks of flowers on either side of the road. Poppies everywhere.

The Burrow had certainly changed since the last time I had visited- last time, it was practically a barn. Now it is an elegant country house- presumably now Molly had only one child to worry about instead of seven, she had deemed it acceptable to go and work. And I must admit, they have done an extremely good job.

I had forgotten the uholy way Virginia's parents dote on her now her other brothers are dead and buried. Naturally, they wouldn't think of doing anything so vulgar as gloating. Instead they treat us lesser mortals with a dreadful pitying kindness. At parents' days at school they study the work on display with care, deliberately looking at everything, as if every last piece of juvenilia had an intrinsic merit. Other people laud their children's gifts to the skies; Virginia's parents don't need to. They know and we know that Virginia wins every competition before the rules have even been set. But I do wish they wouldn't try to be so nice about it all the time.

Of course, Virginia's sickening habit of excelling at everything she puts her devious little mind to is what gets me into trouble. The teachers expect me to be like Virginia or my father, and when I'm not they punish me. I still remember what they made me do last time...

I was sitting in Chemistry, trying my best to avoid Professor Snape's eye. I got the feeling that he didn't like me, although goodness only knew why. If I made even one tiny mistake, he would land me in detention immediately. Ever since the old headmaster left, things have changed. Everyone says that, although no-one is quite sure how they know this, as even the oldest students cannot remember anything beyond the new headmaster's reign over the school. Odd, really, since apparently the old headmaster only died last year. Strange how people forget what they do not want to remember extremely quickly.

While I was lost in this particular thought, one of my classmates, Seamus, tapped me on the shoulder.

"Look, mate, do you want me to carry on with this for ye? Ye look like you could do with going to the Hospital Wing, though I'm not sure ye'd really want to go there. Me, I wouldn't go there with a barge pole between me and the matron!"

I had just opened my mouth to thank him and politely decline, when Snape's voice barked at me from the back of the classroom. I felt my heart sink to the toes of my shoes, as my worst fears were answered.

"Malfoy! Detention. Tonight, 8:00."

Seamus looked apologetically at me. I half-smiled at him and shrugged me shoulders at him. It wasn't as if I wasn't going to get detention tonight anyway.

That night, I walked into Snape's classroom filled with dread. With Snape, you were never sure what to expect. At least with the other teachers, you knew what they would make you do. They were rather predictable. But Snape? It was different every time. Last time it had been whips and chains, but who knew.

As I glanced around the apparently deserted classroom, I realised with horror that it wouldn't just be me and Snape. It looked like the Headmaster himself was going to pay us a visit. Oh, joy.

I sat on the desk, bracing myself for what was clearly going to happen. In this Deatheaters' Playground of a school, you knew what would happen if the headmaster arrived.

With a soft click, the door opened and Snape stood at the door.

"Malfoy. I am glad you decided to actually show up at the designated time, tonight," he sneered, and it took all the resistance I had not to punch him. Hard.

"Yes, Professor Snape," I answered, gritting my teeth.

"Ah. The youngest Malfoy." Came the Headmaster's voice from behind Snape. I looked up, startled. I had not heard or seen him enter.

"Shirt off, Malfoy." Barked Professor Snape. I slipped off my white tee-shirt with only the slightest amount of hesitation.

"Trousers down, boy. I don't know why you even bother wearing clothes to detentions, you so clearly enjoy getting them. You're like a slut, you apparently spread your legs for all the teachers in this school." Said the Headmaster with a hint of a laugh to his voice. Well, as close to a laugh as Voldemort got, anyway.

Closing my eyes, I slipped my trousers down my legs and braced myself for the inevitable command.

"Over the desk, boy."

Shit. I had half-hoped he'd had something different planned. But then again, since when had he ever been merciful? I bent over the desk, and I felt the first blow of the cats-tails on my back. There would probably be about 2o of these. Then... who knew? All I could say is that it would be very, very painful...

I shuddered, remembering this. But of course, Virginia didn't even know theses punishments existed, she was such a good little girl. The Headmaster had taken to her at once, and so she has never once got a detention.

My father knows all about these 'punishments'. He doesn't even bother to try to stop them- he just says that they will strengthen my resolve, or something stupid. It doesn't help that I am gay, so he thinks I enjoy it.

I hugged my painting tighter and hoped that I'd be able to survive this holiday without dying from Virginia over-exposure. Strangely enough, it seemed to help. My father had looked at me narrowly when I told him I wanted to take the painting with me but the fight I had expected hadn't materialised. Instead he had said, "I don't suppose it'll be much of a problem," and found me some brown paper to wrap it up in. Relieved, I tried to be especially helpful with the preparations for his trip. I didn't think I could have faced leaving the painting behind. Besides, I wouldn't put it past my father to ship it off to be burned the minute my back was turned. My mother had wanted me to have it, and it must have meant something to her. I didn't want it to be destroyed.

The car came to a halt and my father turned off the engine with a sigh of contentment. While I climbed awkwardly out of the car, he and Bellatrix gazed at the house with a kind of distant pride. They do this every time they visit and it's inevitably followed by a conversation on the way home in the car about what generous hosts my aunt and uncle are. Since I was being inflicted upon that hospitality I wasn't quite as misty-eyed about it but I admit that, were it not for Virginia, I'd find The Burrow an attractive prospect as well.

The house is very big-5 storeys high, rambling everywhere but somehow managing to look extremely elegant and attractive. It was extended when Molly and Arthur still had seven children- there were Virginia, Ronald, Frederick, George, Percival, Charles and Bill. The house was big enough for the whole horde. It has all of the interesting character features that parents rave about: a little staircase that you get to through a cupboard, and twisty, turrety bits that make it look like a children's book illustration. It still can't hold a candle to Malfoy Manor, where I live, though. My mother spent a whole year after she and my father split up (not officially, of course- Malfoys don't divorce) living in one of the converted barns. I have vague memories of visiting her and being jealous of Virginia and her brothers who got to live with my mother when I didn't. I don't remember her brothers, which is rather odd since they only died a year ago, but still.

My father doesn't seem to find visiting the Burrow socially awkward but that's mostly to do with Molly. She and my father are friends from way back and my father sometimes says, "Molly is the only one who has any comprehension of how difficult it was to be married to someone like your mother." But really Uncle Arthur isn't anything like my mother.

It was Arthur who opened the door to us and I thought he was looking better than he did at the will reading. But my father's death had marked him, and his greyish hair always makes him look older than he is anyway, He kissed Bellatrix on the cheek and shook hands with my father before turning to me.

"I'm looking forward to having you stay with us, Draco." He said warmly. "It seems like a long while since we've spent any time with you.

I tried to smile back and mumbled some kind of thank you but was saved from having to make any more conversation by the appearance of my Aunt Molly, who set about organizing us. Father and Sylvester were packed off to the library to talk about books and Bellatrix and I were settled down in the kitchen, where my aunt broke off from doing complicated things with the Aga to pour herself and Bellatrix drinks. Molly doesn't like Bellatrix, although she is some kind of distant relative, for reasons no one except Virginia even pretends to know why. And I'm not sure if Virginia really knows.

"Lunch is in an hour and a half," my aunt explained to us. "I've had to put things back a bit because it's just been one of those days for some reason. Sylvester found a dead snowy owl in the drawing room fireplace, with a bit of paper attached to its leg!" she said, frowning slightly.

Bellatrix made the standard offers of help and my aunt smiled at her sunnily. "There's no need," she confided in us. "Everything's under control but I have to sit here and look attentively at things to make sure it stays that way. The Aga's playing up, it seems to have a life of its own. I swear once I even heard it talk to me, telling me the sausages were about to burn! I must be going mad. It happens when you get old, though I doubt you ever will, Miss Lestrange!" she said with a jokey smile on her face. "Why don't you take your things upstairs and get settled, Draco? Sylvester will bring up your cases later but you can start to move in. We've given you the L-shaped room. Don't worry about the orange- it... it used to be Ron's."

I agreed as positively as I could, since it wasn't as id I had much option, and picked up my painting awkwardly. My aunt gave it a look and the frowned unexpectedly.

"You don't mind, do you, Molly?" Bellatrix asked, catching the look. "He seems to have become quite attached to it, poor sweetheart." This was said in a falsely sympathetic voice. There was no love lost between Bellatrix and I- she strongly disliked my mother and her family, and wanted nothing better than to have me out of the way so she could have my father to herself. I would have felt sorry for him, if he hadn't been the one who'd left me here in order to go to 'meetings' with Bellatrix.

"No, that's alright," Molly said quickly. "It's no problem, Draco. Hang it wherever you want." But once I'd left the room I heard her say something in a voice too low for me to hear and I knew she wasn't entirely happy about it.

I wandered slowly upstairs and found that the L-shaped room had been made up for me. A large vase of flowers sat on my bedside table (even though I'm a boy, Molly seems to delight in putting flowers everywhere- I wouldn't be surprised if her knickers had flowers on them) but for a mercy, didn't appear to have wildflowers of any description. I dumped my shoulder bag on one of the (flowery) beds and unwrapped my painting. There was a suitable nail on the wall facing the bed and I removed a framed print of Hogwarts to make room for it. Once I had put it up carefully, I sat and faced it. The print was still leaning up against the wall and the comparison made the castle my mother painted look even stranger. It was almost as if she'd forgotten how to draw; the shadows and colours were all right but the shapes looked sketched in and there was no detailing on any of them, which made the castle look flat and two-dimensional.

It was then I heard a knock and turned to see Virginia lolling in the open doorway looking like a poster child for the MTV Generation. She was wearing faded blue jeans and an immense white shirt and had tied her red hair into two short braids. She would have looked about ten years old if she hadn't been wearing makeup. She half-smiled at me, which became a look of complete glee when she saw what I as doing.

"You brought the painting!" she said, coming in uninvited to stand almost in front of me and look at it. "Excellent. Do my parents know?"

"Your mother said it wasn't a problem," I told her, not giving it away that it had seemed as if it might be.

Poppy raised her eyebrows as if she gravely doubted it but all she said was, "You missed the NEMTs."

"I know," I said. "What were they like?"

"Très tedious," she said, flipping a hand dismissively. "Don't bother revising. But your... French... teacher sent you some work," The French emphasised as if to say that she didn't think that Professor Karkaroff actually taught French, "And your friend..." she paused and wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, "...Blaise? He sent a letter."

"He gave it to you?" I said stupidly, and Virginia gave me a 'well, obviously' look. I flushed, realising that she had already managed to wrong-foot me within five minutes of conversation. "I didn't realise you knew him."

"I don't," Virginia said, flicking her eyes at me. "But he's kind of cute, and someone must have told him that I'm your cousin. The letter's in my room, do you want it?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said getting up and following her, trying to disguise the fact I was seething. My absenteeism had obviously undone all my hard work spent disassociating myself from Virginia, and Blaise would almost certainly be angry with me for not telling him, since he had a huge crush on her. I trailed after Virginia into her room and immediately determined that I wouldn't comment on it. Last year Virginia's room was purple and blue with white muslin curtains hanging from her four-poster bed. Now it looked like 'Hello visits the Addams family in their Beautiful Showplace Home'. The walls were black, the floorboards were black, the muslin curtains were black and had acquired huge rip marks and tears. Only one wall out of the four was still purple and the furniture had been dragged back from the wall and covered with velvet, whether as dust covers or part of the gothic décor wasn't clear, ready for Virginia to paint it. My cousin was obviously preparing for a no-holds-barred bout of 'Let's Wind Up The Parents'.

I shuddered inwardly while Virginia unearthed a tiny black backpack from the gloom and produced several badly photocopied sheets of paper and a red envelope.

"Do you want to read it now?" she asked. "My mother says I should take you for a walk, by the way."

The only thing that makes staying with Virginia halfway bearable is that she doesn't let her parents force us together. Virginia lies to my aunt and uncle as easily as breathing about all the social activities we've been sharing together when in reality I've been reading books while she flirts with boys. Either she realises that I cordially hate her or she just doesn't want to spend time with me any more than I do with her. But she does cover for me with her parents when she could easily dump me in trouble with mine by complaining that I don't like her. It's not a great help but it is practically the only time I've seen Virginia go out of her way to help me out. Normally I would have colluded, but I didn't want to read the letter right away, not while I had to be with Virginia. And I didn't want to risk my father of accusing me of not trying with her, so I said:

"I wouldn't mind going for a walk. Where did Molly say we should go?"
Virginia shrugged. "We may as well go to the treehouse," she said. "At least there are books."

We spent the rest of the time before lunch there. Virginia's treehouse is a custom-built kids' fantasy. It was built for her and her brothers when she was six. It's up in a big oak tree and has more mod cons than some council flats. There are two platforms; one is about twenty square foot and supports a small house, which has bookshelves and small cupboards and a hatchway in the floor through which you can let down a ladder. For some unknown reason the house also has electricity and Virginia has acquired a fridge from somewhere which is inside one of the cupboards. A spiral staircase leads out of the room and then extends further up the tree to a second platform, which is half the size of the first and has only a low railing around it. When we were young enough to almost be friends Ron, Virginia and I played out here and I know that Virginia sleeps here sometimes because there's a hammock next to the top platform. I swear her parents don't seem to have considered that she could break her neck some day.

The only other good thing about staying with Virginia is that she has reasonable books. The tree house's current selection is a bizarre collection of Wiccan magic books and everything ever published by Bloomsbury. That allows quite a wide range of choice and I pulled out a book called Harry Potter. Reading it, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like I was that guy who shared my name!

As we walked back in Virginia said,

"I can't stand that book. Have you noticed how the characters always accept the 'just' criticisms of their elders?"

Taken by surprise, I laughed and found myself saying, "What about the way Professor Dumbledore always knows the true story?"

Virginia's look darkened slightly. "I hate that man. He was the cause of..." but then, seeming to remember something, she stiffened and didn't say anything more.

I wondered what she had been going to say.

END OF DRACO's SECOND ENTRY