The Best-laid Plans…
"Life is what happens to you while you are busy making other plans." (John Lennon)
When the excited chatter around the dinner table had died down Fudge made a deep bow at his host.
"I trust you will accept? I know how distasteful this position would be to you, but I know you have never shirked from your duty when it comes to supporting and protecting our way of life. As former Minister of Magic I am calling upon you as a concerned citizen."
"I would not dream of abandoning my civic responsibilities," declared Lucius Malfoy stiffly, still feeling slightly dazed and overtaken by the latest turn of events and watched Fudge sit back down.
"Then we must debate on how we can position our candidate and plan to get him instated," declared the ministry wizard.
His energy levels seemed to have risen quite dramatically since the inception of his speech. He excitedly rubbed his hands and leaned in to the master of the manor.
"Conspiracy never felt so good, don't you think?" he declared in a stage whisper and took a rather large swig of the cognac to refresh himself.
Lucius gave him a pained smile. He had just blown several hundred galleons – on what? – on being thrown to the wolves, well to the muggles in any case. He saw Eleanor's slim hand come to rest on the sleeve of his coat and gently squeeze his arm. He looked over to her and read sympathetic concern in her deep green eyes.
"Hem, hem!"
A mock cough broke his line of thought and as he surveyed the table he saw that dumpy Umbridge woman heft a rather voluminous handbag embroidered with fat magenta roses and pull a gaudily colored magazine from its depths which she flipped open and pushed towards Fudge.
"We may have to do some damage control before we can get onto the campaign trail," she declared in a girly, high-pitched voice. "I don't know if any of you have seen this yet."
Two of the Death Eaters and Mundungus Fletcher nodded gloomily. Tethering looked as if he knew, but didn't want to admit it.
Lucius heard his wife gasp softly as he leaned over the table and reached for what appeared to be the latest edition of Witch Weekly. "I Married a Death Eater" he read and felt a pulse pound painfully in his temples as he saw Narcissa's name and continued to take in the rest of the short article. When he reached the excerpt he found himself too furious to continue.
He shoved the magazine over to the ex minister, almost sweeping the man's coffee cup off the table.
"Codswallop! Lies and simpering claptrap! Yes, I do distinctly remember her crashing one of our little parties. And I recall Avery handing her a heated poker during the proceedings. Hell, she used it to go to town on that one muggle who insulted her, I actually admired the bitch for her nerves.
'Too distraught to count…' what, from four to five? Pathetic! And what did she think? That I would harm my only son and heir if she objected or raised an alarm? Ridiculous! I might have put her under the imperius to help her keep her mouth shut, is all!
Anyway, in reality she never stopped whining about the noise and the messy leftovers. It's not like she didn't have an opinion on the matter. But it was because of the inconvenience for her and her fear of detection, not because of any stupid attachment to muggles."
He slammed the flat of his hand on the table making his guests flinch.
"She will pay for this! I should have opted to become a widower instead of getting divorced a long time ago. By Azrael, she'll be sorry she ever dipped a quill in ink.'
Through the red haze of his fury he saw that the other wizards and witches had pushed back their chairs and listened aghast to the outbreak of their host. Tethering had buried his face in his hands, Eleanor was shaking her head and noiselessly moved her lips, and Fudge appeared rather nauseous.
"What!" he snarled at them. "I am… – was… – a Death Eater. You have known that ever since the trial three years ago. I never denied it, did I? No point pretending you're having a bad case of indigestion now. What do you expect from me: a sermon? Some wheedling apologies? Conspiracy never felt so good, eh? Well, take a good look at what strange bed-fellows we make and get over yourselves."
He sat back and took a deep breath, willing his voice to sound calm.
"We are forced together now by one single common interest, to fight the recent revolting and obscene pro-muggle laws, which is all that unites us."
He gave a brief derisive laugh. "What are we? The last sad remnants of the former Death Eaters, the once all-powerful scourge of muggles and mudbloods, an ex-minister, an ex-member of the Order of the Phoenix and a few sidelined Ministry officials whose careers have hit dead ends since that idiot Weasly has been in command. Come off it: if Arthur's supporters saw us here tonight they'd be peeing their pants with laughter not with fear."
Umbridge coughed again.
"Remnants of the former Death Eaters?" she asked anxiously. "W-what – who else here is a remnant!"
"Never mind that now," interrupted her Tethering's calm voice from the other side of the table. "Mr. Malfoy was referring to himself. We all know he was once a Death Eater. But since then he's had his own son tortured and abducted by the Dark Lord and his family's lives were threatened by his former associates. No one here is in sympathy with You-Know-Who's philosophy and murderous ideals. We just want to prevent this current ridiculous favoritism of muggles. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Malfoy?"
The blond wizard briefly closed his eyes and tried to plant a beatific smile on his face.
"Yes, of course, Marcellus. Thanks for pointing out the relevant facts here. I am afraid the article took me by surprise. I would have never thought Narcissa would stoop so low as to resort to blatant lies about me merely for the sake of petty revenge."
Not everyone looked entirely convinced. The Death Eaters were glowering at Fudge and the Unspeakables. Mundungus smirked at their host – his stint in the Order of the Phoenix obviously made him doubt Lucius' declaration – and Dolores Umbridge stared nervously at everyone like a fat toad cornered by several hungry grass snakes.
"W-well," stammered Fudge finally, rather rattled by the most recent exchange, "I guess we just have to acknowledge and move past our differences for the sake of the common good. I still think that Mr. Malfoy is the best man for the job."
"Yes," grinned Mundungus, who somehow seemed to find the situation rather funny: "Absolutely! As long as he doesn't go cursing his muggle liaison counterparts to kingdom come…"
Lucius shot the ex Order member a murderous glance, but had to admit that the small-time fraud had hit the problem spot-on. If they were "successful" he would have to deal with the scum of the earth on a daily basis, and regrettably the Unforgivables would not be part of the official protocol.
"I really need some fresh air…" said Lucius Malfoy turning to his wife when the last of their dinner guests had finally disapparated from the dim echoing entrance hall with a soft pop.
The three Death Eaters had tried to stay for a little while longer, lamenting their woes and fishing for sympathy and support from their former second-in-command, but the blond wizard had had little patience for them. They had been pretty lukewarm and ineffective when they had counted among Voldemort's fighters, hence the fact they had remained undetected; they were even less useful to him now.
Eleanor turned to face him, laid one arm around his back and leant in on him. Her other hand gently trailed the frown lines that formed sharp shaded verticals above his arched nose.
"Come then," she said. "It's still warm outside. Let's go into the garden for a bit."
He pulled her even closer with a soft growl and kissed her before turning them both towards the long hallway that led to the back of the manor.
"Thanks for making sure we were at least going down in style," he said.
She laughed softly. "More like shot down in flames, my dear… That fireworks display of the Crêpes Suzette dessert turned out to be rather prophetic, didn't it?"
He sighed as he let go of her to open one of the tall patio doors for them. They stepped out into the deep warm indigo of a clear summer night and as he took her arm again their steps crunched softly over the white marble gravel as they moved among the flower beds and towards the small boxwood maze in the center of the garden.
"I still can't believe I let Fudge talk me into taking this moronic position," he complained. "That damn old tactician sprang a complete trap on me. And then Narcissa's piece… the nerve of that bitch! But I should not have been surprised: I heard the junior editor of Pentacle Publishing in Hogsmeade is her latest beau. He probably hatched that plot with her. It really didn't help us, though. Merlin, you could cut the mutual distrust back there with a knife. How will we ever get these guys to work together?"
His voice became calmer and trailed off as the darkness and silence of the night surrounded them and the few lights of the manor dimmed behind them. He looked sideways and saw that Eleanor had entrusted her steps to his guidance and had tilted her head back to gaze up at the starry summer sky and the soft powder dusting of the milky-way that snaked its way through the bright stars of the summer triangle and past the red fire of Arcturus. He could feel the warmth of her body through her thin dress where she leaned against his hip and his arm.
"Look," she said dreamily, pointing towards the horizon. "Scorpio, your birth-sign, just there in the southern sky. And do you see them, the brightest fires in your constellation: Antares, rival of Ares, god of war, the heart of the Scorpion, red as Mars? And Acrab – Al Akrab – the Arabic word for war and strife? Lucius, intensity and passion are your middle names. Did you ever think you would thrive on peace and quiet? The boredom would simply kill you."
She stopped and turned towards him.
"Admit it, my dear, you are so getting off on this."
In the dim star-light he saw her lips curve in a smile. A sudden, cooler breeze caught in the light spider silk of her dress and caused her robes to swirl and dance around her. Her hair lifted off her shoulders and streamed behind her, revealing the pale glow of the bare skin of her shoulders.
"Perhaps," he admitted, aware of a sudden change in the atmosphere that had little to do with the evening's conflicts and aggravations. "Among other things… But surely you must know it takes more than a few muggles and a good row to bring out the worst in me."
Eleanor felt as if a sudden electrical current crawled over her skin. A dark vortex of wind seemed to envelop her and she bit her lips as she regarded the man who stood before her. In his grey robes he seemed little more than a dim outline framed by the even deeper shadows of the old trees of the park. Only his white blond hair gleamed in the night, and starlight reflected coolly in his pale eyes.
His hands lay lightly on her flanks now, his palms increasingly warm against her chilling skin, his thumbs tracing the hard ridges of her hip bones, slowly, hypnotically. Perhaps it was the dramatic nocturnal setting, perhaps some strange foreboding – though she'd never been successful at divination – but for a moment she paused and the intensity of her gaze stopped his caresses.
"How can anyone be another's destiny like that?" she whispered to him. "How can something feel so much like fate?"
He lightly shook his head, tracing her face with the tips of his fingers.
"There is no destiny. There is no fate, my love. There is only your will. You are here because you want to be. Nothing compels you but your own desire."
She still felt an odd shiver shake her, but her lips curved in a smile.
"That is an opinion born from quite some arrogance, wouldn't you say?"
His eyes narrowed for a moment.
"Prove me wrong. Walk away if you can," he challenged her, and for a moment he sounded deadly serious, as if he were truly testing her.
She lowered her head.
"You know only to well that I can't, Lucius."
"Can't or won't? That is the real difference, isn't it? You could, if you truly willed yourself to go. It's just that you don't want to. And here is why…"
He paused, giving her an appraising look before he trailed a lazy hand down the front of her robes calculating on the thin spider silk to hide nothing from his exploring fingers. He heard her gasp softly and then saw her eyes widen in her suddenly illuminated face.
Lightning flickered somewhere on the horizon, and as if to mirror his own deepening arousal the dark night wind again swept out of nowhere and shook the rustling branches of the old trees of the park.
"Lucius…"
"Come," he coaxed her, repeating his caress and feeling the pebbled hardness of her nipples through the revealing fabric. "The maze…"
"Outside?" she whispered, catching on. "Here? What if…"
He shook his head at her impatiently.
"What? The servants are sleeping! You're not expecting anyone will see us out here, are you? As you well know there are spells…"
"Oh, forget the servants… there's a thunderstorm coming, Lucius. In case you hadn't noticed. We'll most likely get soaked and hit by lightning!"
"Hmm," he purred seductively. "Sopping wet, and toying with mortal danger, eh? You just know how to talk a man into anything, don't you?"
She laughed quietly but realized he was really serious as he let go of her and raised his outstretched arms towards the sky.
"Fulmine cave!" he intoned slowly pushing his palms back towards the ground, and she gasped as his protective invocation was seemingly answered by a huge forked flash that hit the grounds behind the park. Blue fire danced around his body for a moment.
The storm moved towards them swiftly now. She saw murky mottled clouds obscure the western stars, and moments later as he touched her again and drew her to him the first fat, cold spatters of rain hit her, settling her shivering into his embrace. She groaned as he kissed her, his tongue capturing and caressing hers, and did not think about dissuading him any longer.
His long, slender fingers worked to loosen the buttons and fastenings of her dress, and as his hands encountered her bare skin, she answered his caresses with a deep moan and began to undo his robes.
He lifted her dress away from her before she had a chance to divest him of all his clothes, but the impatience with which he shrugged off the last of the barriers that stood between them showed her the urgency of his need.
And then they faced each other across the darkness of the night, no more than mere yards from the place of their handfasting. She felt the heat radiating from his skin as she pushed against him. The powerful gusts of the storm tousled their hair, making her blink as strands of his blond mane whipped across her face. They sought each other's mouths blindly.
His body seemed the only solid thing in the mad onrush of air as he slowly pulled her down with him to the ground. The grass beneath her knees felt short and dense and soft as velvet and she allowed herself to sink back into it. His strong hands that had supported her shoulders as she lay back moved across her stomach now, closely trailed by his exploring lips.
Another brilliant flash of lightning was followed almost instantaneously by deafening thunder and she jumped against him in an immediate physical reaction while his body pinned her beneath him and his knees nudged her thighs apart. The light showed him propped up above her on his right forearm, while his left rain-slicked hand snaked down her flank and gently and insistently stroked and rubbed against her center, her flesh heating his chill fingers.
She moaned and spread herself further, finding it hard to breathe through the dense rain that now beat down on her. She was almost thankful as he finally relented and guided himself into her. Now his body was centered above her and shielded her from some of the downpour. His movements within her felt urgent, and the lightning that illuminated his face showed his full curved lips drawn back from his teeth, his grey eyes boring into her, trying to read her reaction.
Cold thick droplets hit her everywhere and chilled her, save where the heat of his body was covering her. She heard the torrent of water that surrounded her, the angry growl of the thunder, felt the solid presence of the earth beneath her. Lighting penetrated her closed lids in the color of blood. The scent of wet, bruised grass hit her nostrils, but among all that assault on her senses, more than anything she felt him, filling her, stretching her with every thrust. They were both naked before the elements, and she knew within herself that the intensity of what she experienced easily rivaled the fury of the storm.
Just as she had begun to surrender to the trance of his steady rhythm inside her building towards her own climax she suddenly felt his movements still and his muscles grow taut. He paused, and then, with a last thrust that locked him firmly within her he flipped them, heavily and painfully rolling over her left thigh for a moment, his hands firmly grasping her upper arms. She shook dripping curls backwards out of her eyes as she suddenly found herself riding him, his pale, muscular body stretched out on the ground beneath her.
"Come," he coaxed her. "I want to see you – all of you! Eleanor, this is you, the thunder, the lightning, make it yours…"
She collected herself for a moment, taking in her surroundings in the dim darkness, the dripping pile of clothes off to their side, his rain-slicked blond hair that now fanned out on the ground beneath his head and shoulders. Rain beat down on her back and she tilted back her head for a moment letting the cool drops hit her heated upturned face and closed eye-lids. Then she lifted up on her knees that pressed into the soft squelching grass, half released him and impaled herself on him again.
A flash of lighting revealed him to her again in flaming brilliance, eyes half-closed against the rain in almost cat-like self-indulgence, his nostrils flaring, passion transforming his features. She took a deep breath to steady herself. His complete and unreserved abandonment to his senses still amazed her. As much as he prized control in every aspect of his life, with her, in moments like this, his willingness and capability to let himself go, to abandon himself, startled and thrilled her.
She raised her arms off his body towards the sky in a mute invocation of the powers of nature that surrounded them, her upturned palms capturing the rain, willing now to harness the spark of lightning itself. And when she tightened the long muscles of her thighs to support her in her ride towards their mutual climax, she felt an energy behind her that was fueled with power beyond her own.
His grey eyes opened, blinking against the rain as he watched her now and she reveled in the power she was tapping into. A strange synchronicity seemed to govern their coupling as the fury of the storm increased in keeping with their rising passion and as she finally bent back screaming unashamedly into the lashing rain at her release and felt him arch up beneath her a last mighty flash and thunder rent the air around her.
When she crouched back over him, now panting and shivering with cold and exhaustion, the storm also seemed to have spent itself and slowly moved off towards the east. The rain thinned and muted thunder grumbled off into the distance.
She felt his arms enclose her, his fingers lazily trailing along her back but the discomfort of cold and wetness kept them from giving in to rest. She heard his voice next to her ear as he turned his face towards her.
"You're trembling," he said softly.
"Freezing," she complained, teeth chattering. "F-f-fervefacio!"
"Let's get you warm then," he promised her with a suggestive chuckle.
"Only if it involves some hot water, full body contact and warm blankets…" she demanded, lifting her hips off him and dismounting. "Look at us," she said, kneeling to his side, shaking her head, and grinning despite herself. "Like something the cat dragged in. You have grass clippings all over you."
With perfect grace he managed to lift himself and get back on his feet tossing back his wet hair with his usual impatient arrogance. But his hands that reached down to help her up felt gentle.
"Look who's talking," he replied with an appraising smile, but still she caught him flick his fingers at pieces of earth and leaves that had stuck to his water-slicked skin.
She bent down and retrieved their soggy robes, handing him the formless bunch of his shirt, pants, waistcoat and coat. He merely tucked them under his left arm, wrapped his right around her and led their way back to the house, while she at least tried to arrange the remnants of her dress around her in a failed attempt at some modesty.
In the deep shadows of the back porch Lucius halted. A few spells dried their clothes and their bodies and the wizard added a cleaning spell for good measure. As she felt the dry fabric of her gown in her hands she lifted her brows in surprise. That was a rare show of meticulousness from someone who would normally have left a mess like this for the house elves to clean. He seemed to have sensed her reaction, because as he stood next to her in the dark, getting dressed she heard him explain.
"I want to look in on Lavinia before we go to bed. I know she's sleeping, but I want to see her at least once today." He shrugged on his coat. "No point giving old Maleficia a heart attack if she's still up."
She pulled the dress back on and followed her husband into the house, up the main stairs and down the long hallway that led to the nursery. Lucius moved quietly like a shadow, is wand tip barely illuminated to show them the way, and as he laid his hand on the door handle to Lavinia's bedroom he briefly turned to his wife.
"Let's not wake her," he said and noiselessly opened the door.
A moment later they both bent over the small ebony bed in which the youngest Malfoy lay soundly asleep on her side. Lucius carefully increased the glow of his wand and they saw her peaceful face on the deep emerald green pillows. He cheeks appeared puffy and pink with sleep, her small hands curled into fists and she had pursed her lips as a response to a dream perhaps. White-gold hair surrounded her head like a tousled halo.
A colorful swirly crayon drawing lay slightly crumpled on top of her coverlet, with big scrawled letters declaring "TO DADDY". Obviously either Maleficia or Libby had helped a bit at some point.
The wizard stretched out his hand and Eleanor watched him gently lift a stray curl from his daughter's face and lightly tug the sheets that covered her small body in place. Little Lavinia didn't even stir. He picked up the drawing and looked up, the witch meeting his bright grey eyes.
"Isn't she beautiful?" he whispered. "Isn't she perfect?"
Eleanor smiled. "Of course she is," she answered. "How could she not be?"
As a response her husband lightly kissed her forehead.
"Come," he said, gently folding Lavinia's picture and tucking it into his robes. "Let's go to bed."
They turned and left, and neither of them saw the small crack of the door at the far end of the nursery softly close where from the darkness beyond the nanny had observed their visit. Maleficia Babbitt smoothed down her nightshirt, her brows knit in a frown as she slowly made her way back to her bed.