Melting Language; Another Day at the Malfoy Manor
Burgundy patiently waited at the gate leading to the Malfoy Manor. She gazed up at the twisted black wrought iron and shuddered. After all these years, the design—screaming figures fighting to escape the dull metallic vines which bound them to the Malfoy family crest in a spiral of horror—still sent an unpleasant tingle of fear down her spine. She glanced down the road, keeping the gate in her peripheral vision—she didn't like the idea of being unable to see what the magically animated gate was doing, one of her largest fears was that the tortured figures would grab her and pull her into the writhing mass of metal.Burgundy was a redhead, hence the name she supposed. Her master did tend to name his girls based on superficial attributes, although she wasn't too sure how he chose Chamomile's name, or Pansy's for that matter. The rhythmic squeaking of rusty wheels roused her from her ruminations and she looked up and watched as an ancient carriage rounded the bend, a team of Thestrals pulling it gently along. She kept her hands clasped in front of her and her head bowed, a necessary gesture of respect in the presence of one of the Betters. The carriage came to a stop before her and she watched as a booted leg came out of the side. The boot was black, knee high and shiny—an aristocratic boot. The trousers encasing lean thighs were also black. Malfoys liked black she supposed. The man jumped out of the carriage the boots stopped moving. There was a short, waiting silence.
"Hello Sir, you are the Young Master I presume?" Burgundy asked respectfully and she heard a sharp intake of breath.
"Holy Shit. Weaslette?" The man's voice was pleasant, a rather husky tenor and his exclamation rather restrained.
"Excuse me Sir?" Burgundy asked softly, rather confused. She didn't look up, knew she wasn't allowed to look up until he gave her a command.
"Look at me girl." Burgundy looked up and sucked in a quick breath. There was no question that this was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Although the mother was deceased, Burgundy had passed by—and dusted—her portrait many times and recognized the delicate beauty of the late Lady Malfoy reflected in her son's face. The man standing before her was Lucius Malfoy made feminine, but not effeminate. She couldn't quite describe it and logically the man should not be beautiful, his features taken separately did not equate beauty, but in an odd way, he was extraordinarily attractive; as his parents were, in a fine-boned, aristocratic way.
"It is you." He continued, looking perplexed, "What on earth are you wearing?" Burgundy looked down at herself. It was nothing unusual. Many girls at other manors wore far more strange and revealing costumes. She was just dressed as well, a maid—which she was which made it highly appropriate. The dress was black and reached mid-thigh, the edges decorated with white lace. The sleeves were rather puffy, more white silk and a little bow on each sleeve, more lace at the collar and a white bow there too. Underneath she wore a frilly white petticoat, sheer white stockings, and a white garter belt; her shoes were practical Mary Janes. Why, the Malfoy maid uniform was downright modest! She never expected the Master's son to be a prude! She didn't know how to answer, but tried anyways.
"I'm wearing my uniform." Burgundy replied, feeling rather absurd. Was the Malfoy heir daft? "Sir." She amended quickly.
"Is this some kind of joke Weasley?"
"Why would I be joking Sir? And what are you referring to?" Burgundy paused, "And my name is Burgundy, Sir."
"I'm sorry, I haven't been in England since the war and I don't know what in the bloody blue blazes in going on." The man continued, "And stop calling me 'Sir', my name is Draco, Draco Malfoy."
"War? I'm sorry, but I don't know what you are talking about. I've worked at the Manor for as long as I can remember."
"You don't remember the Great War." Draco stated incredulously, "What, do you think I was born yesterday? Knowing you, I'm surprised you haven't taken a butcher knife to my father yet."
"What!" Burgundy exclaimed, appalled. "I'd never... I haven't... I mean I haven't seen you before in my life! ... Not meaning any disrespect Sir." Draco looked at her skeptically.
"Weasley, your family is dirt and you live in a fucking burrow, you're nothing but a blood-traitor. I'm not surprised that you're now hooking." Draco sneered, watching the slim girl standing before him, waiting for the expected explosion. Obviously, the Girl-Weasel was trying to mess with his mind; it was working. All she did was blink.
"I'm sorry." She said after a long pause. She was rather confused by his sudden outburst. Burrows? Hooking? "Well, I suppose you'll be wanting me to gather your luggage?" Draco stared then shook his head in confusion.
"No, no." He said absently, turning back towards the carriage. "I can handle it, just deactivate the wards." He picked up his two suitcases and turned back towards the Weasley girl. "Well?"
"I'm sorry Sir, but I don't know how to do magic. I will tell you how to deactivate the wards, but I can't do it myself." Burgundy looked up at him, now certain the man was a bit off. Of course you couldn't blame him with Lucius as a father.
"Alright, just tell me how." Burgundy told him and he did, and he followed her in silence after she pushed open the gates and crossed the courtyard and entered the foyer. As she led him up the stairs and down a maze of corridors to the room the Master had told her and her fellow maids as well as the house-elves of course his son would be using, Draco peppered her with questions about her lives, Burgundy was answering earnestly, knowing that pleasing her masters was always the safest course of action.
As they neared his room Draco asked, "Why haven't you gone barmy, cooped up in this nightmare palace?"
"Some of the girls do go mad. The poor things... They're gone now." She paused for a bit, staring off into space before shaking her head as though to clear it. "It isn't so bad though. Life at the other manors can be more... trying." They stopped in front of a large door, plainer than the rest. "Your room, Young Master."
"You really don't remember anything do you Weasley?" Draco asked curiously with a queer look in his eyes.
"Please don't call me that Sir. My name is Burgundy and I prefer to be addressed by my own name." Suddenly realizing how rude and uppity she must have sounded and fearing the worst, Burgundy continued contritely, "But of course you may call me whatever you want Sir."
He paused gazing at her for a few moments before speaking again, "I remember you used to be very fiery, very brave." He continued, still watching her as she bustled around the room, putting the extra towels and sheets into the cabinet, dusting a few less-than-immaculate surfaces, in a whirlwind of activity, "Do you really remember nothing Weasl-I'm sorry, Burgundy?"
"Thank you Sir, but I am very forgettable and not brave at all." The small girl replied as she turned down the covers of his childhood bed. "There is nothing to remember."
"Stop calling me 'Sir!'"He hissed. To think that once I would have rejoiced to hear such servility from Weasley lips. The world must be spinning backwards.
"Ghost?" Burgundy called as she entered the servants' quarters after dropping off the Young Master; it was around time for a short morning break."Hey Salt, have you seen Ghost?" Another maid, a tall slim girl with an odd white forelock contrasting sharply against the rest of her long black mane shook her head as she untied her apron and hung it on a peg.
"The last time I saw her she was carrying the Master's papers up to his office. Then I think she was going to help Chamomile fold the laundry." Salt spoke slowly, with great difficulty in her low husky voice. Burgundy and the other girls knew that something terrible had happened to Salt once long ago. Something that had made her hair go white and caused her to struggle to form words. There were also scars, underneath Salt's clothing; old scars that could be seen when Salt changed in the mornings and evenings or when she came back from the showers wrapped in only a white towel. There were more scars, they were sure, Pansy and Burgundy discussed it a lot, even tried to ask Ghost about it, but Ghost wouldn't tell them. Salt didn't remember what happened to her, didn't know how she got her scars and white hair. The girls gave up; none of them were interested in capturing nonexistent memories.
"I need to talk to her about the young master." Burgundy murmured to herself. Salt's hearing was impeccable however, and the rangy girl glanced back at Burgundy.
"Why?" She asked simply.
"Because he claims to know me from before and Ghost is the only one with any memories." Burgundy replied looking perplexed.
"You know that girl is half-crazy!" An angry voiced called out and both girls turned towards the source of the voice and loud clacking footsteps. "Why do you care about any of her ridiculous hallucinations?"
"Pansy, calm down, you'll upset the house-elves." Burgundy hissed, "Besides, Ghost is the only thing we have." Pansy ignored the latter comment and continued seething.
"House-elves?" Pansy half-shrieked. "I ought to! Why don't they do what they were born to do? They love serving, they love cleaning, and they love obeying his stupid orders."
"You know he doesn't let them and they suffer as much as us. We don't do any real chores anyways." Burgundy interjected reasonably. "And that isn't the point at all. Why are you always so angry at Ghost?"
"Why shouldn't I be? She's always getting us all into trouble." Pansy sat down on a rickety stool common in the servants' quarters. "Always getting us into trouble. Anyways I get mad just thinking about this place, I hate the way he makes us do these stupid chores that he could make house-elves do. If you think about it, he probably gets his jollies from a bunch of girls slaving away after him."
"Don't be silly." Salt murmured. "No one anywhere uses house-elves for anything other than the most menial of labors, and sometimes cooking. Gods know we get him off chores or no." The other two snorted at this and Salt continued, "There have always been maids cleaning up after the Betters."
"How can we know if we can't remember?" Burgundy wondered, not unreasonably.
"Salt's right." Pansy sighed, all the fight drained out of her as quickly as it had begun, "We know because it's true. Keep thinking like that and you'll become as nutters as Ghost." Burgundy glanced up at the clock.
"Well then, it seems like I'll just have to find Ghost later." Burgundy said brightly, "Don't get your knickers all up in a bunch now, but we all have to wander around dusting and picking up things while looking attractive."
"And I have to sexily set the table." Pansy sighed. "Our betters all have such strange desires." Salt snorted and put on a fresh frillier apron and tied a bow into her hair.
"Poor Salt, you have to keep him company now?" Burgundy asked sympathetically, noticing Salt's actions. Salt nodded, "Dusting his office."
"Ugh, I tell you," Pansy said as she checked her uniform for lint, "It's the cleaning that gets him off more than anything."
"Hey, no one's arguing with that." Burgundy cried flippantly over her shoulder as she headed up the stairs, trailed closely by Salt. "C'mon Pans, time to get going."
Don't worry, Draco's still an arse. He's just a little out of sorts because he comes home after a long absence Ya'll will find out how long later, or maybe deduce it yourselves or whatever. and gets a very strange welcome. I mean, Giny Weasley dressed up like an EGL maid? Of course he's too confused to be rude. He will be his good old self later, only you know, different because he's all grown up. 0: Loki