Chapter 20: An Unpleasant Task
Snape forgot the nightmare completely by the time Ariel woke him with a kiss and a heartfelt good day. Though he was spared one nightmare, that didn't mean there wasn't a fresh one waiting for him in the form of reckless Draco Malfoy. The irony of it all made him sweat with rage: this young man bred to always want and never stop taking all life had to offer was refusing his expert help. By December, most of their conversations ended in screaming matches. And that was when he was able to catch him. Another great irony: he taught him too well. Now the boy knew all his tricks on how to not exist.
Draco knew there was a slim chance of him seeing the New Year.
All his attempts to kill Dumbledore without having to look the old wizard in the face were one spectacular failure after another. Worse, everyone knew it was him. He felt everyone's eyes. They knew. Potter knew. So did his friends. His teachers. Dumbledore. The Dark Lord. They all watched him try and fail and it was absurd how well everyone knew yet no one came for him. No teacher, no judge or executioner. The only one who talked to him about it was Uncle Sev but he merely screamed at him for not letting him to the task himself.
"Just let me—"
"I can do this!"
"Be that so! Why turn down someone's offer to do an unpleasant task when you can spare yourself?"
"Spare me from what?! He's aching for a reason to cut my head off. If I don't do this—"
"All he cares about is if the task is complete. Whoever—"
"This is my task! He assigned it to me. Which means if I fail…"
"You don't have to fail. Let me do this for you!"
"How is constantly solving my problems for me supposed to be good for me?" (Snape balked) "I don't know how many times I need to tell you this but: No one asked for your help."
That was their last conversation before the disaster fight at Slughorn's party and summitted with Draco, once again, storming out of his office. From there, they didn't say anything beyond perfunctory small talk from then to the end of the fall term.
Classes became pure agony for all he did was wait for his jailers, listen for his classmates' and teachers' scorn, struggle through exhaustion migraines and flashbacks of nightmares and the voices in his head that sounded a lot like Voldemort that told him "I'm going to kill you I'm going to kill you I'm going to kill you."
The Malfoys were foolishly hopeful.
The Dark Lord was in a fantastic mood lately. His capricious temperament of before had tempered slightly since Ariel's arrival. While his bloodlust didn't disappear entirely, that would be deranged, he was slower to punish his followers and his cruelty was redirected to where it belonged: muggles, sub-creatures and blood traitors. And the Malfoys were grateful to be in his somewhat good graces again.
Then Draco, prodigal son, had returned and for a few days the dour Malfoy Manor was teeming with holiday cheer and the Malfoys tricked themselves into thinking Draco would be spared the Dark Lord's wrath.
They were wrong, of course.
It was the morning of New Year's Eve and Narcissa was the first one to rise. She was so high from well rest she actually woke up that morning humming. Her moods, and her sleep schedule, always improved once Draco returned from school but since both her son and her husband were home (and more importantly, the Dark Lord had moved out permanently) she hadn't been depressed (or woken up hungover as hell) in weeks.
She was still humming, loudly, when she walked down to her kitchen and a horribly familiar voice greeted her from behind, "Good morning, Narcissa."
She whirled around to discover the Dark Lord sitting at her kitchen table, venomous Nagini draped across his shoulders, book in hand, with a smile on his face that made her insides melt with terror.
"My Lord." Narcissa blurted out breathlessly. Then she remembered her place and took a nervous bow before picking herself up and asking, with some calm, "What do I owe the pleasure?"
Voldemort turned the book so that the book was split open to his last page. She caught a full view of the cover and recognized the ancient runes at once. Necromancy. Magic so dark it sent a shiver to her core just looking at the book. "I wanted to speak to your son."
His voice was warm but he had that look in his face. Like he was desperate for depravity.
"Would you mind…?"
Narcissa felt her heart plummet to her feet. She saw it in his eyes. He wanted to butcher her baby. This would be her punishment for using Ariel to break Lucius out of jail. He waited until after Saturnalia until they were lulled into a false sense of security, to do this. So that every year, for the rest of her miserable life, she would start the new year with the memory of her son's slaughtering fresh in her mind. She knew it. He knew she knew it and that's why his smile widened under her crestfallen stares.
The walk from Draco's bedroom to the kitchen felt like an endless death march. It was all she could do not to sob the entire way, least her cries encourage the Dark Lord's callousness. Draco made no pretenses to hide his fears either which is when Narcissa took to the Dark Lord he squeezed her hand the entire way.
"Ah, little Draco, back from school," Voldemort remarked once the pair came before him. "How was your fall term?"
"Um…actually—"
"Just kidding. I actually don't give a shit." Voldemort laughed as he began to twirl his gnarly wand in-between his fingers. "I heard about the cursed necklace though. What a spectacular failure that turned out to be, right?" He laughed again while Draco and Narcissa withered in silence. "Oh, it's a hard lesson to learn, Draco, I'm sure. I know it's hard for a lot of people their first time. I mean, not for me, of course. By the time I was your age I already successfully gotten away with five murders but I understand everyone's different." With that, he stood up and walked from around the kitchen table. Draco and Narcissa's spines straightened instinctively as he ventured towards them with a terrible smile curled along his lipless mouth. "Which is why I thought of the perfect punishment. It's harsh but fair and I think it'll drive home a very important lesson that I think all Death Eaters should learn." He reached forward and grabbed Draco by the jawbone. He was so close Draco could smell the fresh blood on Nagini's breath. "You can't be afraid to get your hands dirty."
He punctuated his statement by letting go of Draco's chin, leaving behind two red indents from where his thumb and index finger dug into him. He then raised his wand-carrying hand to above his shoulder and flicked it forward.
To Draco and Narcissa's bewilderment, out from an unseen corner hopped along with a collection of, what they would find out later to be, muggle cleaning supplies: a mop, bucket, a rectangular sponge, a dustpan, some rags, a spray bottle fill of white vinegar and water, and a plain old broom. To Draco's confusion, the cleaning supplies hopped right into his arms.
"What the…?"
"These are what muggles use to clean with," Voldemort informed gleefully. "And you, little Draco, are going to use them to clean your godfather's house. From top to bottom."
Narcissa nearly burst out crying right then and there. Draco was half inclined to beg the Dark Lord to just kill him now. But before either could respond the Dark Lord had clamped a hand onto Draco's shoulder. A split second later Narcissa was alone in her luxuriate kitchen.
A split second later and Draco was in Snape's kitchen, staring out of the threshold that led into the living room. He could see the back of Ariel's head from where he stood and he opened his mouth to greet her when he felt a cold hand slide over his lips.
Voldemort shushed him then used his wand to send Nagini through the air like a venomous blimp. Draco's heart raced when he saw the mischievous glint in the Dark Lord's eyes. He should have known. He wasn't there to clean up a dusty house. He was there to help because the Dark Lord wanted little Draco would dispose of Ariel's corpse and to know: no one was spared from his wrath. Not even his own mother.
Ariel was alone, in the living room, with the newest issue of Potions Heads Monthly when a soft sibilant sound pulled her nose out of the magazine. She looked up and found Nagini floating above her head, staring at her with unblinking black eyes, her little black tongue poking at her, hissing away as if saying, you smell good enough to taste. But Ariel didn't flinch or scream or was startled in any way to see that man-eating cobra instead she gave the fearsome beast a small smile then reached up and gave its chin an affectionate scratch.
"Well, hello to you." Ariel cooed.
The giant cobra dropped from the ceiling and fell into Ariel's lap but she continued to lavish the beast with pets like Nagini was merely a friendly dog.
"Wow, Nagini!" Ariel remarked affectionately. "You're getting so big! Yes, you are!"
A beleaguered sigh from behind announced Voldemort's presence. "I should have known by now nothing scares you."
She looked over her shoulder. Out from the kitchen strolled Voldemort and timid-as-ever-looking Draco. "You were trying to scare me?"
"Tried to," he replied as he leaned down to deliver a hello kiss on her cheek. "Hello, mom."
"Hello, Tom."
Tom? Draco thought. He didn't even know the Dark Lord had a first name.
Voldemort stood back up and looked at Draco, who was doing his best to not look like he wasn't scared shitless. He cleared his throat threateningly.
"G-good morning Lady Ariel," Draco said.
"Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to call me that. Ariel is just fine." His chest tightened under Voldemort's smoldering stare, which told him, try and I'll throw you out the first window I see.
"It's a habit," he said. "I was taught it's rude to call adults by their first name. And since you don't have a surname, I thought Lady Ariel was the only proper way to address you."
His quick lie made the Dark Lord smile. "Such a well-mannered young man." To Ariel, he said, "You know it's funny, I was talking to Draco, here, about how, as a late Saturnalia gift, I was going to send a bunch of elves to clean this house—because I couldn't help but notice how filthy this place has gotten over the years—and Draco, here, not only offers up his services but he insists on doing it without magic!"
"Is that right?" Ariel asked, unconvinced.
"It's true." Draco piped up. "I love cleaning without magic. I find it peaceful."
It was the biggest bald-faced lie he'd ever made in his short life. But Draco would have said anything to keep the Dark Lord's wand from turning onto him or, worse, his parents.
"I will never understand how anybody can find cleaning without magic peaceful," said Voldemort to Ariel. "But he insisted."
Ariel studied Draco's face for a moment as if waiting for his façade to crack. But when it didn't, she asked him, "Would you like some tea before you start?"
"No thank you, Lady Ariel," Draco said as he headed for the stairs, eager to get as far away from the Dark Lord and his oblivious mother as he could.
"Draco," The Dark Lord's tepid voice called for him when he was halfway up the stairs. Draco looked past the mop and broom his struggled to carry and saw Voldemort's cruel smile. "You forgot your sponge."
Ariel let out a panicked yelp then bolted out of her chair, pushing Nagini onto the floor as she darted for the sponge that fell to the floor then hightailed it for the kitchen. "Sponges can't be out of the water that long!"
"Mom, no! It's not a sea sponge!" Voldemort cried over the sound of running water.
Once the panic settled down and Draco was on the other side of the house, crying over how shitty it is to clean without magic ("how do muggles do this every day?!"), did Ariel turn to Voldemort and say, "Happy birthday."
Voldemort gave her an endeared smile. He must have told her once, in passing, decades ago, yet she still remembered.
"I got you something."
"Ooh! What is it?" He asked as he watched her climb from her chair and pull a badly wrapped package from underneath the couch.
"Oh, like you can't read minds." She said, handing him the light rectangular-shaped object.
"Legilimency isn't as simple as reading minds. It's—"
"Just open your gift."
Voldemort tore through the wrapping to find she had given him a copy of The Tales of the Beedle the Bard. Mom, I'm seventy-one-fucking-years-old and you give me a children's book? He thought but he feigned enthusiasm for her sake. "Aww, a book. You know me so well."
"You like it?"
"I love it."
"Good because there's more."
"Two presents? I barely deserve one."
Ariel reached over and took the book from him. Then she got up, took him by the hand, and lead him to the couch. He took one end and she took the other. With the book propped up on her bended knees, she explained, "I figured we could read some of the stories together." She glanced over the top of the book and caught his stunned stare. "I mean if you're not too old to be read to."
If only his childhood-self was there now. He'd be sick with envy. "I genuinely would love that."
Ariel smiled at him then read the tale of "the Wizard and the Hopping Pot" which he listened to in captivated silence.
By the time Draco had finished cleaning the second floor of Spinner's End, his body felt like it was run over by a stampede of unicorns. But even as he hobbled down the flight of steps with his collection of cleaning supplies, Draco kept his aches and pains to himself. Not out of fear of being heard by the Dark Lord, but because he didn't want to miss a word of his conversations with Ariel.
"So, where's lover boy?" He heard the Dark Lord ask, referring to Snape.
"He's with his mother."
"She's still alive?"
"I know, lucky bastard."
Draco quietly set his mop and bucket down on the first floor and walked back up the flight of steps with a broom in hand so he could sweep from the top down. He walked on his tiptoes so his footfalls wouldn't cause the old steps to creak too loudly as the pair continued on. But the Dark Lord must have sensed he was eavesdropping because after that their conversation devolved into snickers and whispers. His ears pricked, trying desperately to catch a phrase or two, but after a while, he gave up and focused on his cleaning.
He was wrapped up in his own thoughts when a voice startled him out of his reverie. "Draco?"
"Ah!" He cried, though the second it left his mouth he regretted it. It was merely Ariel, standing at the bottom of the steps.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was wondering if you're hungry."
He didn't even realize his own hunger until she mentioned it. The mere suggestion caused his stomach to churn loudly.
"I'll take that as a yes." She said with amusement. "C'mon. Take a break. I was just about to make lunch."
She turned away but Draco hesitated to follow her. He searched for the Dark Lord's eyes, to make sure it was okay first, but the only one in the living room when he looked was Nagini, coiled up and snoozing on an armchair. His stomach gurgled, louder, begging him to eat but his gut warned him against the idea. You can't eat now! You must flee! Danger is near!
But he was so hungry and weary at that moment it didn't even matter to him that this was possibly his last meal. At least, he thought as he ventured towards the kitchen, I'll get a last meal. Most people don't get that privilege when it came to the Dark Lord.