Chapter Eleven
(A/N: I have to explain the same day that Harry just went through, but now at the Malfoy manor. If I didn't then it wouldn't make sense. Okay then! Let's start with a few lines from the last section in the Malfoy manor and continue from there.)
It had been so sudden. Lips locked in heated silence as Tamora clutched at the back of Draco's neck. He trembled, and suddenly his arms were limp at his sides. A mixture of shock and passion had kept him silent and docile for several minutes. Just until he heard a screeching voice...
"DRACOOOO COME HELP ME WITH THESE THINGS I'VE BOUGHT! DRACOOOOOO!"
He tore his lips away from hers, gasping for air.
Tamora looked at him with utter disgust, and he back at her.
"UGH."
They stomped off in opposite directions, muttering about how disgusting the experience had been.
"Terrible kisser–"
"–Bad breath.."
"...Can't believe I–"
"Why'd I let her–"
"–This won't ever happen again, you know that, don't you, Draco?"
"Absolutely. Never speak of it again."
"Never wanted something that vile to happen as long as I lived."
They kept walking in opposite directions, like grade school children, bickering all the way.
Narcissa Malfoy hurried through the door with a small, scared-looking house elf by her side. Narcissa carried only a few bags, the house elf carrying, or dragging, the latter. Six or seven bags weighed the poor elf down as it tried to walk. "This way. Hurry up, will you?"
The house-elf squeaked apologies and trudged on, bag handles cutting into its small hands and wrists, leaving painful marks and scratches.
Draco descended, skipping steps to get to his mother a bit quicker. "Mum. What're we going to do with all of the guests if Tamora has one of the bedrooms?"
"We'll remedy it...somehow. There will be plenty of room. Help me with these, dear." He picked up the two bags, and a single package from the elf's heavy burden. "Couldn't we get a second house elf, Mum? The mansion's big enough, we'll need more help now that Dad's..."
Narcissa stopped in her tracks, the elf hitting the back of her knees and falling backward. "No...No. We'll do without. Besides, Dad will be home before you know it. We'll do until then...yes...he'll be home soon. We'll do without..." She repeated herself several times before she carried on toward the kitchen. "And you know, Draco. We'll have to do something about that extra room we'll need. But now I've got to get that bloody elf in the kitchen to start cooking. Got a few courses to cook before they arrive." It was as if she hadn't even heard half of what he'd said. She looked weary, and very thin. Her eyes reflected her sullen expression, almost evolving into a breed of madness.
"Get that girl down here, Draco. She can help the elves cook if we're keeping her here. It's the least she can do to repay us. Where did you say she was from again? Knockturn Alley was it?" Her face was sunken in, cheekbones and especially underneath her eyes. She looked quite dead. "That girl up there. Didn't you tell me that, Draco? She's from that shop in Knockturn Alley. Turning tricks, was she?"
Draco couldn't believe was he was hearing. Where did this fantastical background come from? It obviously wasn't something he'd told her... "Tamora Black, mum. From school?"
"Yes, I know, Draco. You told me. Tamora. She's welcome to come down and try the butterbeer. I stopped off at Hogsmeade, you know."
What was lurking in her thoughts that changed her completely? She had just spoken of... "All right. I'll tell her." He wouldn't disrupt the holiday by informing anyone that his mother was a complete lunatic. He would just make very sure to let Blake be the first to taste dinner... just in case...just to make sure it wasn't poisoned...
Draco seemed harsher and more distant as the afternoon wore on. The daylight hours were grinding themselves thin, slowly, painfully. Tamora was still locked in her room, lying on her bed. Draco, sitting in the parlor downstairs, brooded of the same subject: One. Simple. Kiss. His mind was flooded with the sensation that he couldn't forget. He couldn't think of another time that he'd felt so wonderful and so terrible at the same time. What was it about her? She was forceful, rude, impetuous... Breathtaking. He inhaled quickly. Mustn't forget to breathe...
She lay alone, curled up, clutching her pillow- rather, the guest room pillow, tightly. She promised her father that she'd never become one of them. One of the Dark Lord's minions. And here she was... snogging their long-awaited potential. He could very well lead the Death Eaters, and she'd be there, by his side. It was enough to make her sick... Her father had been so... courageous. He'd never stray from his promises... He would've kept the Potters' secret. What would he tell her if he could see what was happening? Tamora, I know you think you love him, but it's only the second time you've ever had a crush on someone. You thought you loved that fool in Durmstrang, too. This is the wrong choice, Tam. Don't do it. Don't get too attached. That's what he would say. And.. that's what she would have to do. Keep her distance. But... how?
Heart pangs were filling her with anguish... each like a jolt of lightening. Not that she hated it entirely. It was beautiful sorrow, because– after all, she could tell that he had felt the same. No, no! He hadn't. He had just wanted her to stew, to have emotions. He only wanted her physically, if he indeed wanted her at all... Even that was questionable. 'Remember,' she told herself. 'Remember that he's a Death Eater. He has no emotions.' But it seemed so real... 'An intangible dream,' she thought. 'Nothing more.'
Draco had tried to confront her, but... it had done no good. He'd only attained more injuries, mostly to his shins. Never-the-less, this would be his fourth attempt. He walked up the stairs, favoring his left leg. Once at the top, each footstep made a light tap on the marble floors. Draco mouthed thanks to the air that they did not have creaky wooden floors in this marble tomb of a mansion. He continued down the hallway. Finally, her room. The guest room. He was about to knock when a voice echoed.
"What do you want, Draco? Did you forget that I can hear nearly everything? Saying that, you do toss and turn on that couch a lot."
He smiled internally. She had heard him moving on the parlor couch downstairs. "Come out here and talk."
"Magic word?"
"Now."
Draco heard her mutter "bastard", but let it slide when the doorknob turned.
"Yes?" she said impatiently.
"Why should you be sitting in here all alone? If neither of us can put it out of our minds–"
She interrupted, "–put what out of our minds?"
He laughed, "Go on. Pretend you haven't been thinking about it up here all alone."
"You smug little–" she slammed the door in his face, sitting back down on the bed. Quickly, she picked up a piece of parchment and quill. She slammed them both down on the desk, the quill nearly snapping in half. Her hand shook as she scribbled, Dear Harry, having a terrible time. Hope to come home soon. Merry Christm Then she stopped. Why would she bother Harry with her troubles? She scratched darkly through everything but "Dear Harry", then wrote, all's well here. The git's acting pretty well. His family's coming over tonight. Hope everyone's having a nice holiday. Love, Tamora
That would certainly do. Another knock at the door. She was silent. He knocked again. Silence.
"Tamora, open the door."
She flicked her wand at the lock, and it clicked loudly.
"Tamora! OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR. I... want to talk to you." He was just short of saying 'I love you'. Ha. Love? What had made him almost say something as preposterous as love?Maybe it was his cousin. That's what his cousin had told him. Blake said, "You're bound to find someone that loves you if you wave a sack of galleons in the air. But hopefully, you'll meet another girl that will make you feel like you want to die. That's love, little cousin. Feels like it's not worth the trouble, but it is. It gets better. So hang on." But they were friends then. Not anymore. They refused to be related, even.
The lock clicked again. Open. She walked out, trying with difficulty not to meet his gaze.
"You can't ignore me, Tamora."
"Yes I can," she muttered.
"See? Can't." He bit the inside of his mouth to stop himself from smiling. "We're acting like children."
"One of us is."
"Stop this!" Draco held her by the shoulders to stop her from walking by. She wriggled free and kicked him in the shins. He held his shin painfully, "Ow!... that one did hurt..."
It seemed that he had an entire collection of bruises, and each begging for medical attention. Some were a close to bloody, and others merely black and blue. His shins were veterans of Tamora's rage, and once gain he groaned and rubbed his injured leg.
"Tamora, please!"
She stopped dead in her tracks. "Please? I bet you've heard that word a lot- considering how many witches and wizards you must've already killed." After this, she began walking quickly toward the winding stairs again. Draco sped after her.
"What?" He walked with her down the stairs, those stairs that seemed endless as they spiraled toward the ground.
Tamora scoffed. "You're a Death Eater. I bet you've killed lots of Muggles, too." She reached the bottom of the steps just before he did. Tamora placed a hand on Draco's chest, stopping him, then folded her arms. "How long have you been one of them?"
He paused, as to think of an answer to placate her. But... There was no answer. Then... "I've never killed anyone in my life. My father made me a Death Eater at the required age."
"What age was that?"
"Eleven." The sympathy shone in her eyes as he continued. "I had no idea what he wanted me to become. He never told me. Just told me that it was something all important people had to do. That mark was the worst pain of my life. You think you know? You can't even imagine just how disgusting Death Eaters are." He lifted his arm, showing the deep black tattoo, horrid in design. The skull with a snake slithering from its mouth... Grotesquely beautiful on the pale arm. She shuddered, a look of loathing for the tattoo followed. "And I'm just as disgusting now. Thanks to my father. Lot of good it did him to be... 'important'. Blithering idiot. Didn't even know where he was between the... hangovers... and Voldemort's experiments."
"Experiments?"
"Yeah," he seethed. To Tamora, it appeared that he was finally telling a long-kept secret. Remembering who his family and friends were, she found it easy to believe that he had kept to himself this long. Then, she watched his eyes move to his arm. He pulled down his sleeve over the tattoo, once again hiding his atrocity from the entire wizarding world. Draco grinned with an expression of dark humor. It was the unhealthy pale color of his face, or possibly the uncommon severity of his cold grey eyes... Whichever it was, he had made Tamora uneasy. She could barely stand staring him in the face. It felt—dangerous— when he acted this way. Not that she was repulsed by danger- she enjoyed it. This was an entirely different danger. The danger felt in the presence of... well, a Death Eater. It was a feeling she had never before known Draco to evoke... A base terror that tore apart her soul. He had slipped into another realm of sanity, or lack thereof... and it frightened her beyond belief.
"My father. All the Death Eaters, actually- were lead on by Voldemort. Droughts were handed out, potions he promised would make them more powerful. What a load of cack he was feeding them. It was a monitor, a tracing spell. That's why he can find all of the Death Eaters now. That's what made the Dark Mark feel like... Well how do you describe it?... It's like your skin is being ripped off with a white-hot... dull knife. Sometimes it's not quite as bad as all that. Sometimes..." He held his arm, as though even the memory caused him undue torment. "Sometimes worse. But still... something you'd only wish on your real enemies."
Tamora was at a loss for words. "I'm sorry," she whispered. She saw his features had softened, and her fear passed. "But it still doesn't give you any right to bother me about the k... what happened this morning."
"But you started it!" He said incredulously. There was laughter in his voice that made her even more infuriated.
"It was a mistake," said Tamora. The wistful air about her made him gloomy for the rest of the evening. Time wore on again, a bit faster than it had seemed to creep before. An hour or two passed, and she remained on the couch... sitting by the fireplace. The fireplace was bereft of flames, and the large manor was growing steadily colder. "Lacarnum inflamare." she murmured. Flames poured from her rosewood wand and devoured the logs in the fireplace.
Draco lay across a large plush armchair, his legs hanging over one of the arms. He stretched lazily and closed his eyes again. She wouldn't talk to him, and he wouldn't run after her like some lovesick imbeciles he'd seen in the past. They chased after girls out of their league and failed horribly.
"What were you doing talking to Zabini on Halloween night?"
Tamora laughed, mocking him. "You keeping track of me now? He wished me a Happy Birthday. It was midnight. November, actually."
"Oh..." He had never realized that Tamora's birthday had even passed. "November first?"
"Yes." She added, "Apparently he's had a crush on me since I arrived. He asked for a birthday date that night."
Draco's face popped up mysteriously from over the top of his knees, as he leaned on his elbows. "He did what?"
"Is it so hard to believe that Blaise Zabini would ask me out on a date?"
"No, just hard to believe that you'd accept," he laughed.
"It just so happens that I am good friends with him," she said matter-of-factly. "But what gave you the idea that I accepted?" He shrugged. Tamora rolled her eyes. "Well, if you must know, you were right. (Draco smiled to hear the last three words, feeling that he had somehow won a very small battle.) But it was a friends' dinner. I told him that in the beginning. He seemed to take it well."
"Do you realize that Blaise killed his younger brother in December?"
Tamora gasped, blanching at the thought. "...You're kidding..."
"No. Parents never noticed, either. Davon was a weak child. They didn't really care for him anyway. I thought he was all right... First year Slytherin, his brother."
"God..." she was shivering, thinking that she had dated a future murderer. "So," she said, eager to change the subject. "When are your relatives arriving?" Tamora didn't really think of them as traditional relatives, more like various convicts that happened to be related.
"A quarter to seven...at least I think that's what mum said. Dinner always starts at seven on Christmas Eve."
"Well..what do you people..do... on Christmas Eve?" She looked at him with slight apprehension.
"It's not as bad as all that, Tamora. What do you think we do- sacrifice a goat?"
"Now that you mention it..."
"Oh shut up no we don't."
Tamora rolled her eyes. "Sorry to offend you..." There was a long pause, and Malfoy waited. "...what animal do you sacrifice then?"
"Black cats," he sneered, staring her in the face. Draco continued to rest on the chair, distinctly hearing the word 'git' mumbled through the noise of the fire crackling.
"Stupid little ferret, I'll get you if your family's not polite to me."
"You're a pureblood, aren't you?"
"Yes," Tamora said ruefully. "Would I be here if I wasn't? Honestly... 'course I am..."
He shook his head and laughed quietly. "Then there's no problem. You just might not want to mention your name much."
"Is Tamora an unlawful name?" she said sarcastically. "I'm not a friend among your Death Eaters, then."
"Family," he corrected.
"Same thing."
"Oh, then I can call your family Muggle-loving fools, can I?"
"Shut up..." Tamora was growing weary of the constant badgering on both sides. "This is pointless. Let's just get along for a while before we kill eachother."
"Or snog eachother," Draco muttered. "Don't think I can tolerate anymore of that disgusting pastime."
"You were pretty enthusiastic, too, Mr. Disgusting Passtime. So don't make it seem that way."
Malfoy smirked, catching the word too in the sentence."Are you suggesting that you were enjoying it?"
Tamora kept herself turned to the fire, her arms folded. "My morals don't allow me to answer that question."
"Morals," he jibed, "as if snogging is against your code of ethics."
"No, snogging a Death Eater is." Tamora frowned. He let out an irritated groan. It seemed that being a Death Eater was going to disrupt all his Christmas plans...pity...
A/N: Hope you guys aren't too disappointed with this chapter. I'm continuing with Malfoy's Christmas Eve 'celebration' when I can... Do you actually still like this after reading HBP? Hope so...review! Why? Well... review because you're awesome.