Luna whispered a request to her friends, and she was instantly olive-skinned, with ravenblack hair. She whispered another request, and turned invisible.
Draco Malfoy looked down at his chest, finding the expected emblem of the Order of the Phoenix. Or at least something similar enough to work with those unfamiliar with the actual emblem. Which was most everyone in England, as it was a clandestine vigilante organization. It was about to become a very handy vigilante organization. Draco smiled with a nasty edge, nervousness seeping into it, and turning it blacker.
He landed in the middle of the village square, pointedly flying without a broom. In this miserable encampment that had delusions of being a proper village, word would spread fast as wildfire. In small towns everywhere, people were starved for news, and positively famished for good gossip.
Draco Malfoy promised both, in a nutshell.
The nearby people scattered, mostly, though one stalwart old biddy put her hand on her wand and watched him with a gimlet eye. Draco approved of her caution. "What d' ye want?" she asked, and the constant sea breeze tugged at her hair, threatening to pull it completely out of its confines.
"Wait for everyone to arrive, I loathe repeating myself." Draco Malfoy drawled, unfazed by the wand pointing at him.
The old lady nodded, "Is it important?"
Draco responded curtly, "It is."
"Suppose my hubby is gonna be needed, innit he?" the mayor's wife revealed about herself. "Best be getting him out of his drunken stupor. Ain't much call for a mayor about here, now is there?"
Draco's smile was cold, matched in turn by the old crone. In a different world, a different time, they'd have gotten along fine.
Unexpectedly, the mayor was the last to arrive - practically towed by both his wife and what looked to be her sister. The crowd was mostly of weathered old folk, with some children, mostly below the teen years.
"I have a proposal for you, if everyone's arrived." Draco Malfoy said, his trained voice booming. "While I'm certain this Scottish village is a wonderful place to live, I should like to offer you free accommodation in France. Luxury if you prefer it, hard work if you'd rather."
"That, my lord? Sounds too good to be true," the canny old witch sneered.
"There's a war coming," Draco Malfoy offered, with a shrug, "might be safer to leave. Town'll still be here when you get back." Which wasn't precisely strictly true, but close enough.
"And leave our children thinking us dead?" the crone asked, giving a toothy smile.
"Better that than be dead." Draco Malfoy responded tartly.
"I like this one," her sister said, "Even when he lies, he tells the truth."
Draco submerged the impulse to let his jaw gape like a common Weasley. "You'll all have to make the same decision, I'm afraid. And if you decide no, I'll remove your memory of the choice."
"Isn't out of the goodness of your heart, is it?" The sisterly crone asked.
"No, it isn't." Draco Malfoy said, "I intend to use your vacant village as a piece on the board. "
The original crone said, "That's good. I never did believe in the goodness of anyone's heart. Including mine own."
The mayor appeared to be rising out of his drunkness, "Are you truly thinking about it, Gerty?"
"How many times have I told you, man! Call me Trudy!" Gertrude the crone said. "And of course I am. These weary bones would appreciate a bit of luxury. Does this luxury come with silken sheets and feather mattresses?"
Draco nodded mutely.
"I like it better already!" Gertrude said.
"But our children!" A blackened man (probably a blacksmith, fitting the name) said with a meaty fist driven into his other palm.
The mayor nodded along, "He does raise a good point..." , as he pulled at his beard.
Gertrude said sternly, "They never visit anyway. I say we give them a good scare. Won't they come visit after we return?" She turned to Draco.
Draco had a fine read on her. He smiled thinly, and said, "They might."
"See? Young man's got a reason for this, I tell you what. I'm not so stupid to stand in the way of the war - only good that does is get us run over."
Draco Malfoy said, "You can't contact your family in Britain until this is over."
"That, my young friend, is the first time you've felt the need to tell me the obvious." Gertrude said sternly
"Au contraire, madam," Draco Malfoy said, "I was telling the mayor."
The meeting was far from done, but Draco Malfoy knew he had won. He continued to listen to spurious protests and logical arguments, but he already knew that Gertrude got what she wanted, and wasn't about to be swayed.
"Alright, we're ready," Gertrude said.
Draco Malfoy held out a portkey, "This is a portkey. Everyone touch the stave." The long wooden staff spiraled, and had a magnificent shephard's crook.
When everyone had, Draco disengaged, and said with wry asperity, "Lemon Drops." Dumbledore's passwords were always sweet.
Luna appeared beside him, and he had only to nod before they began.
Luna's artistry skills were better than his, so she drew the phoenix in oil on the village green, setting it afire until the flames died down, leaving only a blackened image.
Draco Malfoy began stratigically singing and burning houses, needing this to look like an indescriminate, uncaring attack that had left children homeless and orphaned.
When they were done with their work, Draco (using his own voice) composed a Patronus to the Daily Prophet.
[a/n bet you weren't expecting that Reviews loved!]'