In the time of the Order of the Phoenix, a mysterious transfer student from the United States of America comes to Hogwarts. With hair to rival Hermione's, and a tongue to rival Draco's, the suspicions and tensions rise in Professor Snape's classroom. And we thought Dolores Umbridge was the problem...
This story will be told in many different parts, in many different times. It will jump from the years at Hogwarts to the years after the war, and it'll be up to you to figure out the puzzle.
Narcissa 41
There was a strange sort of joy, anticipation, anxiousness growing within her as she climbed the stairs. As she climbed, she heard the music, the lilting notes from her son's piano. It was only a few notes, on the higher octaves, he was likely fingering absentmindedly. When she came to the fourth floor, on the north wing, she heard the harmony, the supporting notes, the counterpoint, playing without any rhyme or reason. She came to his door, which was closed over, yet open enough to let the sound come through. He was playing in F#minor, soulful and sad, yet somehow ethereal. Music had been the only thing that she and Lucius had in common; he, like all Malfoys before him, could play the organ, while she played piano and harp. It was a mutual love, a gift, they had both given to their beloved Draco, the light of their lives, the shimmering star eternal in a lifetime of darkness. That's why he was named, like all Blacks before him, after the stars. Draco of the deep northern sky, guiding all, stretching and flying eternally. Her own little dragon's wings were broken, or perhaps they functioned perfectly and he had no desire to fly anymore.
Narcissa pressed gently against his door, peeking in gingerly. She glanced up and noticed his ceiling, bewitched to look eternally like the north-facing night sky on the eve that he was born. He was sitting at his piano, thankfully dressed, his room decently clean and his bed made, but she noticed a rather large pile of envelopes tipped into the wastebasket, along with a green box, half open with some black silk ribbon. Frowning, she crossed the floor and went to the box, picked it up, and opened it to reveal a glossy, shimmering, golden cake with red cherries in the middle of thick cut pineapple rings. A wafting scent of caramel and, curiously, sweet corn danced with the fruit in her lungs. The box must have been enchanted to keep its contents eternally fresh; she opened the box all the way to see a message written on the box's top underside: "Happy 16th Birthday, Draco! I baked this myself. I hope you like it! (Write me back if you don't. I can bake you something else.) From Ella" Narcissa was appalled.
"That's mine!" She looked up to see her son had turned around at the piano bench, frowning at her.
"And you threw it away?" she gasped, stunned. "This girl made a lovely gesture for your birthday and you threw it away!" She all but slammed the box down on the desk in frustration. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, that is extremely rude of you!" she nearly shouted. "It looks as if you didn't even try it. Did you even send a 'thank you'?" Draco turned away, his hands on the keys, his head slumped beneath his shoulders. Narcissa softened her eyes, overwhelmed with remorse for raising her voice. She wanted to say she was sorry, for everything. She glanced down at the rest of the pile. They were all letters, some half-opened and some not opened at all. She saw a few from his friend Theodore sitting on his desk, opened and ready to be answered, but it looked as if all of the ones from everyone else had been thrown away. Narcissa quickly reminded herself that her son was entitled to some privacy and came to him on the piano, and put her hand on his shoulder.
She looked at her son, all fair and wiry. It was so hard to believe that he was once a fat little baby, cradled in her arms. He'd grown so much over the last year, and gotten so much stronger than he had been before. She barely recognized him when he'd come home for summer break; though he was obviously in some distress over the current situation, she noticed over the course of the trial that many of his suits had to be let out around his chest and arms, the tailor noting that he'd put on quite a bit of muscle. Even his hair was different, which seemed to now flow softly and freely instead of always being slicked back. She didn't know what to think of her son turning into a brute, but becoming so athletic had made him strong, just in time for his father being sent to Azkaban to make him weak. She glanced at the sheet music on his piano, the one in front was half-composed, and she smiled at herself for guessing the correct key, F#minor. He'd spilled a bit of ink on his piano keys, too; if Lucius had seen he would have scolded Draco for ruining his things. Narcissa stroked his hair gently, all soft and fine, like silk. She peeked gently into his mind, only to hear his voice going "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA" so loudly she almost laughed.
"You're getting very good at occlumency," she commented.
"Perhaps I wouldn't have to be getting so good if my mother would learn to leave me alone," he growled. She might have scolded him for being rude, but he was having a very rough time, so she decided to leave it alone. She put both of her arms around his waist and leaned her chin on his forehead.
"I think I know what might make you feel better," she whispered. Draco quickly shrugged her away and stood up.
"Mother, please," he snapped, walking briskly to the window. She noticed his half-open sleeve on his left arm, which was healing from the bite. They had scrubbed it with every salve, scoured the entire county for every ounce of dittany available, but the scar wouldn't shrink. Narcissa quickly reminded herself that it wasn't his fault that he was emotional, angry. But a girl that was a naturally gifted potioneer, already mastering the Wolfsbane potion at 16 would be a good thing for Draco, at very least, to be friends with. Severus said that she didn't know, but if she was truly as bright as she seemed to be, then it was wise to pursue her.
"That girl is quite lovely, Draco," she mentioned, leaning against the wall.
"What girl?" he asked without turning around.
"Pansy Parkinson," she quipped. He quickly turned around, his brow furrowed in question. Narcissa laughed through her nose. "At least you're looking at me, now." She sat on his piano bench. "In fairness, you did escort her to the Yule Ball when the Triwizard Tournament came. You said that she was the best Slytherin House had to offer. She's your fellow prefect, as well, is she not?" Draco didn't say anything; he simply leaned away from the window and walked to his bed, sitting down. "You don't like her anymore?" Again, Draco said nothing. "May I ask why?" He looked away. Narcissa stood and crossed the floor and sat next to her on on his bed. "Darling, you used to tell me everything. Won't you tell me?" Draco shrugged. "Well," said Mrs. Malfoy. "I suppose she wasn't that special to begin with. Though I'd hate to think your affections are fickle—"
"—I'm not fickle!" he argued, his head snapping around to face her.
"Then why—?"
"—Mother, please! It's not that Pansy isn't—" He stopped and sighed through his nose. "It's just that she's—" He looked away, sighing again. "She's fine. There's nothing wrong with Pansy. She's... It's just..." Draco got a quite faraway look in his eye as he looked out the window. Narcissa turned her head to see a flock of birds flying in formation towards the west. "Have you ever wanted something more?"
"More than what?" she asked, trying to sound lighthearted. Surely, he wasn't wanting for anything; they'd given him everything he could desire and more since the day he was born.
"Devotion is all well and good, I suppose, and Pansy was absolutely devoted to me. She swooned at me, she always cared about me and my needs first, she was always there, fawning over me when I got hurt or staring lovingly at me whenever I said something funny. She stared at me as if I was Merlin himself. She looked at me as if I was the gift to end all gifts. She simply existed for me and my needs."
"As well she should, my northern star," insisted Narcissa. "Devotion is what makes a good—"
"—Mother, honestly!" sneered her son. "It's nothing—it's shallow, is what it is. I don't want blind devotion, I want somebody with half a brain! I want somebody I can talk to! I want somebody who...reads." Draco stood up and began pacing. "Pansy is someone I can't talk to. I can talk at her all I like, and she'll swoon and sigh and agree with absolutely everything I say, no matter what. She's just a— She's a— Well, she's a-a-a sycophant!"
"'Sycophant?'" Narcissa wasn't quite sure where he'd picked that up the idea that endless devotion was such a bad quality in a girl.
"Do you know that I once asked Pansy what her favorite food was? Without missing a beat, she said 'What's your favorite food, Draco?' and when I told her what mine was she said it was the same. Do you know what Ella's favorite food is? It's lobster. She hates every single olive ever created. She likes coffee and cheesecake and licorice wands. She likes rainy, cloudy days and her favorite season is winter. She hates Divination, even though she got an Outstanding in it, and all I can gather from that is that she hates it when someone tells her what to do. She doesn't back down from fights. She's loud and bossy and opinionated, and best of all she actually gives a damn about my opinions, too. Do you know how I know that? Because she asks me questions; she's so nosy that she questions everything. I always know that she's listening to me because she tells me what she thinks about everything I say, whether I want her to or not. Do you know how annoying that is? Do you know what that's like?"
It struck her just then that Narcissa genuinely did not know what that was like. She knew Lucius's opinions, always, but never his opinions on her opinions.
"Everything I say is challenged; everything! Why do I think this or why do I do that—? 'Draco, what do you think about this?' 'Draco, those earrings are ugly!' 'Draco, come and dance with me!' 'Draco, just because you're handsome doesn't mean you get to be rude!' 'Draco, come to the choir performance tonight!' 'Draco, come audition for John Smith in my Thanksgiving play!' 'Draco, come to the Snowman Building contest I've organized!' 'Draco, only losers focus on beating others!' 'Draco, I'm going to enjoy chasing you around on the back of a hippogriff!'"
"She what—?!" she gasped.
"She's so bloody annoying! Everything she says has to mean something and therefore everything I say has to mean something, too! Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to actually have to think about everything you say and do and believe, all the time, because your nosy girlfriend might ask 'why?'" He paced again. "And every time she gets mad at me, she starts screaming at me in Spanish. Do you know what the word is for 'listen to me, you asshole' in Spanish? Because I do."
"Draco, I don't understand! Up until now, you've said nothing but lovely things about her—"
"Mother," began Draco, his eyes full of emotion. "She's always in my face because that's what real friends do and I don't know how to handle it." He gulped. "Do you know what it's like to have someone actually care? Without any agenda, any rhyme or reason for doing so? Do you know what it's like to have someone see you as an equal?" Without waiting for her to respond, he pulled back the sleeve on his left arm, showing her the horrific red scar where he thought his Dark Mark should have gone. "Do you know what the Spanish word is for werewolf?" His jaw tightened. "How can I face her—?" he choked.
"Draco—" Narcissa quickly came to her son and wrapped her arms tight around him, kissing away any tears that threatened to spill. "Draco, it's alright. Here, roll down your sleeve, my star. Nobody will notice. Remember, nobody can make you feel inferior without your consent."
He tore himself away angrily. "Do you really believe that?"
"Draco, please don't raise your voice at me," Narcissa implored. The room was tense. The clock struck four. Draco suddenly laughed quietly, his eyes brimming with tears.
"Y'know, if I ever raised my voice at Ella..." he began. "She doesn't hesitate to put me in my place." Her son scoffed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I really like her. She's so different. You look at her and you can just see a million thoughts racing through her mind all at once; it's like watching a colony of bees." He sighed through his nose, calming his quivering emotions. "I can't believe I like someone so much that drives me so crazy." There was a very long pause.
"Would you be upset," began Narcissa, "if I were to invite her to dinner?" Draco tensed, his pale cheeks came to life with red in a very funny way. Perhaps she had been too hasty in extending an invitation to the girl; she had been admittedly hysterical at Severus's little house. Draco was always fond of surprises as a child; she'd hoped that his inquisitive and adventurous nature hadn't yet been snuffed out by the darkness ever growing. Slowly, her son smiled and shook his head. Narcissa sighed a bit in relief. "Good. Because I ran into her earlier today."
"What?!" gasped Draco, his eyes wider than she thought possible. "Where?!"
"On her way home," she said, deciding that a little white lie wouldn't hurt. Draco gulped. Narcissa noted just how big his Adam's apple was now; he was truly growing up fast. "Unless there's another Ella Zamora walking around somewhere," she mused in hopes of Draco smiling. He didn't. "She's very pretty, for her type."
Draco tensed suddenly, seemingly a little insulted. He frowned.
Narcissa smiled to appease him. "All I meant was...well, she just looks very Spanish. Monegasque. Exotic. Her eyes are so lovely; almond-shaped..." He still seemed annoyed. "I've asked her to come tonight at 8 o' clock, with her grandmother." Draco shot his eyes to the clock.
"That's four hours from now!" he protested.
"Plenty of time to have the house ready for guests." He seemed distressed. Narcissa grinned in the most comforting, charming way she could. She cupped his pale cheek. "At very least, we can enjoy some lobster for dinner, even if she doesn't come." His face felt a little hot in her hand. "You mustn't be terribly disappointed if she can't, love. It is rather short notice, you must admit." He nodded silently. "There. Why don't you have a bath, while I see to supper?" He nodded again, color showing in his cheeks. After a moment, he smiled, and it filled Narcissa's heart with joy.
The clock chimed 7:30 and the sun was beginning to set. Draco watched the western sky from the drawing room, obviously nervous. This was a good place to wait, for the large mantle was immediately below in the entryway, which is where they could floo in, should they have chosen to come that way. He looked so much like his father, the way he stood. He had certainly made an effort; combed hair, polished shoes...it was the first time he seemed to have put a genuine effort into his looks since the trial had ended. Bella was pacing, like a tiger in a cage, obviously displeased for some reason or another.
"This isn't a good time, Cissy," she hissed scornfully under her breath. "Distracting Draco from the Dark Lord's mission set forth for him—"
"—You be quiet!" she snapped in a whisper. "You be quiet right now!" Bella's eyes went wide. "You will not ruin this for Draco—! This is his chance at happiness—"
"—He can be happy when he's killed—!"
"—Mother, look!" The sisters' heads turned to the sky, and a silhouette grew. They came to the window to see a carriage, pulled by a winged horse of some type. They quickly scurried downstairs to the entryway, the doors to the manor flying open. She flicked her wand to light all of the candles and bid Draco come to her once more to check his hair. He, instead, stopped at the mirror by the door, adjusted himself, and walked out. She waved her wand again for the gate to open, and in came a gleaming white pegasus with polished golden hooves, the largest she'd ever seen, at least 19 hands.
The carriage itself appeared to be something out of the 1700s, flourishing with a grandiose amount of gold and glimmering Beauxbatons blue that it was positively gauche, with equally gauche carriage drivers and footmen, dressed all in white, save for the gold masks, which looked as if they belonged in a Venitian ball and not on the faces of servants. The footmen hopped off and stood on either side of the carriage door, which swung open with the flick of their wands. A carpet of green unfurled itself all the way up to the front door. They all watched as tiny stars began to glow against the green, and the stars' light began to glow and bloom, bigger and bigger, until they finally formed into a carpet of white magnolia flowers, perfuming the arrival of their guests.
A green shoe, sparkling and glittering, appeared in the light, and attached to it was the leg of a dark-skinned girl in a shimmery silver dress that fell just above her knee, overlaid entirely with form-fitting lace in the same shade, all to create a pretty off-the-shoulder neckline and elbow-length sleeves. Her hair was swept half-up and tucked into a bejeweled diadem, which nestled itself nicely in her thick black curls. She had to stop herself from sighing at the way Draco puffed his chest up when he saw her; she worried that the next line of Malfoys would be dark, like her. The feeling quickly went away when she saw how happy he looked, even if the girl was wearing makeup around her eyes. True to form, she gave a polite nod of the head before crossing halfway to meet them. At the halfway point, as is custom, she curtsied low, which is when the receiving family greets their guest with either a bow or a curtsy, respectively. It was at that moment Narcissa noticed the footman holding his hand out to aid, what she assumed, was Ella's grandmother; and all at once she bloomed.
Out of the carriage flourished a statuesque witch in a magnificent black dress, with a deep plunging sweetheart neckline that any other grandmother might balk at. An equally magnificent black hat was dipped below one eye, almond-shaped and expertly lined; a pair of red lips grinned smugly. Opera gloves went all up her long, thin arms, and as she stepped onto the magnolia carpet, a summer breeze came and revealed the slit in her dress. It might have been gauche had it been on a younger woman, but it seemed oddly terrifying to see a woman of that age wearing something like that with such comfort and confidence. It was quite clear that she was a real Monegasque, and the way she glided towards them was almost otherworldly.
"Welcome," Narcissa greeted, "to Malfoy Manor. I am Narcissa Malfoy, and you must be Ella's grandmother?"
The French witch extended her gloved hand. "Helene Christophe," she said in a very thick French accent. "Enchanté." She gestured to Ella. "I would introduce 'er, but I believe you 'ave already 'ad ze pleaszure, madame."
"And what a pleasure it is to finally be in her good graces. We've heard nothing but lovely things about Ella." They all smiled. Narcissa gestured to Draco. "Madame Christophe, I'd like to present my son, Draco Lucius Malfoy." Draco smiled and kissed Madame Christophe's hand.
"Je suis ravi recontrez-vous, Madame. Bienvenue."
She seemed rather amused, for she stifled a laugh and nodded her elegant head. "Merci, Draco." She nodded pointedly to Bella. "Your maiden aunt?"
"Ahm—" He turned to his aunt. "Je veux vous présenter ma tante, Bellatrix Lestrange."
"Yesz," she said to Draco with a wry grin. "Your French eez very good. C'est tres bien." She leaned in. "But eet eez moszt unnecessary, I assure you." She nodded pointedly towards Ella. "My granddaughter won't underzstand a word." The girl rolled her eyes with a self-deprecating smile and a shrug. She then looked to Bella. "Madame, 'ow nice of you to zsay 'ello." Her sister looked tense. "Eez your 'uzband 'ere? Or are you jjust veeziting?" This was unexpected; a bit of panic filled her heart. Bella was a loose cannon, and the last thing that was needed was for her to insult her guests. "I zsee. Alors, we won't keep you. I am sure our children are missing you." The French lady grinned. "Good night, Madame." A nail in the coffin, and Narcissa then understood a bit more of with whom they were dealing. The social contract had almost-nearly been broken, yet it still had to be enforced...the guest was always right. "Ella," said the French lady, glancing at her granddaughter. "Don't be so rude! Say goodnight to Madame Lestrange."
"Oh, sorry!" the girl gasped, obviously feeling quite ill-at-ease. "Goodnight, Madame Lestrange. It was so nice to meet you." Perhaps the girl didn't know what her grandmother was doing; the strong-willed witch at Severus's house seemed squashed beneath her grandmother's will, who was quite obviously a fearsome and formidable woman in her own right. Bella was frozen.
"Good night, Aunt Bella," said Draco, a bit of unrecognizable force and resolve in his voice, his eyes unfaltering at his aunt. Narcissa was inwardly overwhelmed with shock and relief. Narcissa had lived in a dream as a Queen as a Malfoy, but she'd always had the fear of her elder sister in the back of her mind. She couldn't have Bella ruin this evening for Draco...Bella didn't have children; she wouldn't understand. "Thank you for taking time to say hello," finished Draco, his eyes locking with her sister's.
"Yes, good night, Bella." Before she could protest, Narcissa pulled her by the shoulders to an embrace, and whispered in her ear "Please. For me."
Without even looking at her, Bella hurriedly stormed inside. A breath was let out of Narcissa's chest, and a great deal of relief washed over her. All Narcissa wanted was one evening that hadn't dealt with politics, and that was impossible when her sister was there. The French lady grinned when they made eye contact.
"Oh, look! You have peacocks!" said the American girl, charmingly changing the subject. Narcissa came to her side, the scent of magnolia blooms filling the summery night air. The girl quickly snapped her head to the side to acknowledge her with a smile. "They're all white."
"Magnificent, aren't they? They're the descendants of a Persian wizard the Malfoys once befriended, many centuries ago," Narcissa explained. "We've since gotten more, from India, as they're social creatures that prefer company."
"I've named them all," said Draco proudly. The American girl glanced over her shoulder, seemingly amused. He came up to her side and pointed to the keening peacock atop the hedge, its crest ruffling a bit. "That one's called Octavius."
"'Octavius,'" repeated the girl, smiling.
"Yes," answered Draco, seeming a tish annoyed. Oh dear, this wasn't starting well.
"Oh, really?" giggled she.
"Yes, really," insisted Draco, going a bit red in the face.
"Well, ahm, I don't know how to tell you this—" said she, looking up at the peacock, "—but he says his name is Kamal." There was a tense pause.
"You'll 'ave to forgeev my granddaughter," said Madame Christophe. "She eez Americenne and razzer eel-mannered." The American girl then looked rather embarrassed, and seemed to shrink into her own slumped shoulders.
"Kamal is a nice name," said Draco just then, causing Narcissa to look up in surprise. Draco then looked to the peacock and bowed his head. "Kamal," he greeted, and the peacock fanned his great snow white train in a glorious display. The American girl then shimmied her body quickly, almost as if a whole chill had gone up and down her spine all at once. She bowed her head.
"You can speak with animals?" asked Narcissa.
"Ella is an Animagus," boasted Draco, his head high. He then looked at her with a smile. "She can turn into a raven. She can also speak with all manners of avian creature. And speak Parseltongue."
"An Animagus?" breathed Narcissa in admiration.
"You're quite young to be an Animagus," said Mrs. Malfoy.
"She came out of ze womb like zat," said Madame Christophe. "We all worried she would not make eet. A very rare case—"
"Meme," whispered Ella Zamora, obviously quite embarrassed suddenly. There was a pause.
"Shall we go inside?" suggested Narcissa, gesturing to the manor.
"Actually—" the American girl spoke up. "—There's still a bit of daylight left. Is there time to see the gardens?" Madame Christophe didn't look pleased, but she didn't look displeased, either.
"Of course," said Draco, almost immediately, with a smile. "There's not enough time to tour the entire hedge maze, as it is quite expansive, but we can see the Southern Gardens." He offered his arm to the girl. "Malfoy Manor faces the east, so they're just this way through that arch."
"What arch?" asked she, looking to the hedge. Narcissa recalled the first time Lucius showed her that way to the gardens. Her son nodded pointedly towards it. She looked to her grandmother, who then nodded, looking annoyed, before taking Draco's arm. The French were famously grouchy people, but the Monegasque often had a great lust for life; it was obvious which Helene Christophe identified with.
Draco guided her to the hedge; Narcissa and Helene followed. She watched the girl try to slow her pace, but Draco kept going, and the hedge grew away and opened up to a sculpted arch, which earned a gasp.
"Ooooh, that's cool!" exclaimed the American girl, which earned a stifled sigh of exasperation from her grandmother, at Narcissa's side.
"Blood magic," Draco explained. "Malfoy Manor was built eleven centuries ago, and boasts the ultimate strongholds in ancient magic. Centuries ago, during the great wars, giants, trolls, and more of the like have been devoured by this maze, which is welcome only to those which are invited, and accompanied by one of Malfoy blood." They walked through the archway, the roses all in bloom in a glorious array of white along the hedge walls. "I can walk straight through the maze, if I want to."
"What if you wanted to stroll through the hedge maze, Mrs. Malfoy?" asked the girl, glancing over her shoulder at Narcissa. "Does Draco have to go with you all the time?"
What a sweet question... "I'm already on the inside, Miss Zamora," she chided. "The magic extends through marriage." She guessed that they didn't have that sort of thing in America, as this was quite a common magic in old Pureblooded society in this country, all known to the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
"You needn't call me that, Mrs. Malfoy—'Ella' is just fine," she said, smiling, turning her eyes forward.
"What a sweet girl," whispered Narcissa to Madame Christophe. "She's so friendly," she said.
Madame Christophe sighed through her nose. She produced a scroll of parchment in her gloved hand, which seemed to be a Patent of Purity, by the ribbons and coins dangling out of the edge. "Ella's papers," she said quietly as they reached the Southern Gardens, a glorious expanse of trimmed hedges, hollyhocks, crystal clear pond with black swans swimming in them, beneath the stone bridge. Wiltshire was truly a gorgeous county, and Narcissa was proud to call it her home. Draco gestured around, pointing out the blooming flowers, the greenhouse in the distance, the rolling hills and the apple orchard nearby; everything seemed to excite her, and Narcissa could see what Draco was talking about. Every word warranted a response, a question, and a thoughtful continuance to the conversation. Narcissa glanced at the Patents, waiting patiently in Madame Christophe's hand.
"So she does wish to marry?" asked Narcissa, taking the scroll.
"Frankly, I 'aven't any clue what 'er wishez are, uzzer zan to be a potioneer." Narcissa unfurled the scrolls, which were quite expansive, dating back all the way to the 6th century. Narcissa even recognized a name of the Black family, married to Gawain Mason, which was the name of the Spellings before they beget their last daughter... Mason became Spelling some time in the 18th century; but they were all there, traces of them... The Blacks and the Selwyns, the Macmillans and the Rowles; all of them were sprinkled here and there in Ella's bloodline. The name Archibald Spelling, Ella's maternal grandfather, stuck out in Narcissa's mind, but she couldn't recall why.
"Impeccable," gasped Narcissa. "Absolutely impeccable! A shock, then, that the Spellings are not a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight..."
Madame Christophe waved her hand dismissively. "Bah. Couzzins, 'ere and zere, marrying 'alf-breedz and mugglez. But not our line. My Archibald wuz a real zsouroughbread. Zat man was a real weezard. And our Penelope was a powerful witch."
"Yes," Narcissa's throat felt a little tight, sadly only remembering bits and pieces of her when they were children. "I've heard what happened to her. Such a tragedy. No mother should bury her child." Madame Christophe kept her eyes forward, watching her granddaughter, who had become quite fascinated with the gazebo, the columns of which were carved from white jade, a gift from a very generous wizard from China. "I hadn't any idea of such things...Scourers."
"Oui," agreed the elegant French lady. "We 'ad 'eard zat Amereeca wuz going to be better for us; 'ow wrong we were." She sighed again. "Ah, well. C'est la vie. Penelope survived long enough to raise a razzer extraordinary girl." She gestured to the scrolls in Narcissa's hand. "Champion duelist, champion potioneer...all zat she doesz, she winsz at. She eez a winner. I am not zsuprized zat Draco 'as shown interest. I confessz zat I am, 'owever, zsurprized zat you weesh to pursue 'er."
Narcissa nodded in an understanding way. Under other circumstances, she might not have considered the girl at all. She was, after all, an American. "I must admit, I'm surprised myself," she said, honestly. "It wouldn't have occurred to me to seek out an American for my son. I hadn't any clue that Hogwarts had begun an exchange program."
"Eet eez very exclusive. You 'ave to be a beet of an over-achiever to be conzsidered. I, myself, attended a year in Mahoutokoro when I was a girl."
"The Japanese wizarding school?"
"Ah, oui. I learned a great deal zere. Ze Japanese weezards are...rigorous een wayz zat we shall never know."
"Does the exchange program only match for all magical schools, then?"
"Mais oui. Alors, only a zselect few are ever conzsidered to uze eet. A part of me wuz razzer disappointed when Penelope wazsn't invited, but I blame ze move from 'Ogwartz to Ilvermorny on 'er slipping gradez. She wasn't a good student. Not like Ella." A faint smile graced her lips. A few house elves bearing silver trays came from the house and offered canapes, which Madame Christophe politely declined, while Draco and Ella both picked up. One had truffled quail's egg on toast, and another had langoustines suspended in champagne jellies; Ella seemed to rather enjoy the foie gras rissoles with pomegranate seeds and pistachios, of which she ate four. Madame Christophe shook her head. "'Ow zat girl doeszn't bust out of everyzsing she ownz eez beyond me. Eef I wuzsn't zso rich, she would eat me out of 'ouse and 'ome." She then gave Narcissa a look. "I know zat I ought not to zsay zsuch 'arsh wordz about my own grandchild. I am 'ard on 'er. I do not deny it. Eet eez out of love, Madame. Love for my blood."
She gave a sad smile. "I understand," she said. "My mother, Druella, was hard on us, too. She used to make me wash my face in ice water, always convinced it wasn't clean enough. I was very grateful to her, you know. She wanted us to be all that we could be."
Madame Christophe grinned, her eyes soft. "Eezn't eet funny? We shower our sonz wees good sense and love everyzsthing zeir 'eartz dezire, and we shower our daughterz weez restrictionsz and rulez."
Narcissa paused. "Yes," she said, a bit shaken to the core. "How funny indeed." Madame Christophe laughed just then.
"Not Ella. Not 'er. Not a rule een zsight for 'er. I believe zat she zsinkz zat she can rule ze world because nobody told 'er zat she cannot. Or per'apz zey did, and she eez determined to prove zem wrong." Narcissa was unsure what to think, or what to say next. "I believe zat women like you and I cannot afford dishonesty een ze 'ome. We are surrounded by eet already, oui?" Her throat went tight. "I want to be clear weez you, Madame Malfoy. Ella eez a 'andful. She eez willful. Stubborn. But she eez also powerful. Ambitiousz. You put 'er to a task, and eet will be done. I just don't believe zat you want someone like 'er for a daughter-een-law."
She looked to Draco, who was smiling, laughing with the girl in front of him. She was pointing to the apple orchard in the distance, and she could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying as they strolled as leisurely as they could along the path. Draco came up next to her and pointed at the orchard, and took her hand in his. "It's not about what I want," said Narcissa. "This is about what Draco wants. And he wants her...a willful, Parseltongue-speaking Animagus."
"A language elective at Ilvermorny," she explained. "She took eet all of 'er yearsz zere. I will zsay, she eez addicted to learning." Narcissa's brows raised, impressed.
"Well, we do have a rather expansive library here, in the east wing, magically expanded until it has become one of the most-impressive private collections on the continent. It boasts tomes dating back to before Merlin's time, many of them in Welsh, some in Old English...which Draco can read."
"Ah, oui?"
"Oh, yes. Draco speaks French and some German, but can read many more languages than that. He's the Slytherin team's Seeker, a Prefect, a natural leader, of course." They strolled along the stone path, following a bit behind the two teens, Draco stopping at the silver-studded rhopaloceroses. Narcissa heard him say 'watch this,' and plucked one of the blooms. "He's also quite knowledgeable in herbology," said Narcissa, as they watched her son hand the American witch the silvery blue flower. She gave a toothy grin, closed her eyes and put it to her nose. She felt a glow of pride, recalling how charming Lucius used to be when they were both young.
All at once, the petals of the flower each turned to a fluttering silver-blue butterfly, which flew up and all around the two in a flight of them, some floating away, some staying on the stem, some landing in the girl's black hair. She gasped and smiled and held out her hand for them, one of which landed upon her little finger. One of the silver-blue butterflies landed on Draco's shoulder before fluttering away in the breeze that soon came. The girl laughed softly, and blew gently on the butterfly's wings as the rest of them all flew off and away to the south. Narcissa glanced to Madame Christophe, who seemed far less impressed.
The sun was just peeking below the horizon, and the lumolotus blooms that floated on the pond were beginning to open, their gentle white glow like tiny stars on the mirror-like water. Draco pointed to them, and explained where they'd gotten them, all that they can do; Narcissa hadn't heard him speak of flowers or plants in many years. Ella seemed very interested, and smiled when Draco offered to send some of them to her home in Monaco, but politely declined when she explained that they lived in a penthouse by the sea, and they seldom visited Chateau Christophe of Plumfield enough to enjoy them.
"They seem to get along well," mentioned Narcissa. "I've heard nothing but lovely things about her all year."
"I 'ave 'eard noszing of 'im all year," said Madame Christophe. "Zen again..." The French lady shrugged. "She doeszn't write 'er fameely musch. Penelope wrote us once a week, but she deedn't 'ave many friendz." The first smile of the evening graced her lips. "Ella eez popular. She writez 'er friendz, sthrowz partiesz... I 'ave enjoyed zees time weez 'er. I am getting to know 'er." Madame Christophe smiled again, Narcissa feeling her defenses lower. "I weel zspeak frank weez you, Madame Malfoy. Eet eez my weesh to keep Ella een Europe after she graduatez. I do not want 'er to go back to New York. Ze Second Salemersz are ever-prezent; I'll not 'ave ze last of my line die at zeir 'and."
"Of course," gasped Narcissa. "I would do the same. To think that Wizards and Witches are hunted like animals by Muggles...well, it's simply unthinkable. Draco even wrote to Lucius and I last year about it."
Madame Christophe gave an unreadable look. "She told 'im?"
She then felt a bit embarrassed. "I oughtn't say much, but Draco seemed rather upset at the thought of—what did you call them?"
"Second Salemersz, Scourer descendentz. Zey protest een public spacesz een New York Ceety, and plenty een Georgia, ze Southzs...everywhere. Zey want to expoze and eradicate ze magical world completely." Narcissa was aghast, not just for the sake of Draco's happiness but for the sake of all Wizards and Witches in America, living with such horrors every day. When the New World Order would rise, Narcissa was going to ask the Dark Lord's favour herself to head next to America, and save them all. "I know eet eez an unconventional topic before a meal, but my daughter Penelope wasz tortured and burned at a zstake, and she wasz far more careful zan Ella." She nodded pointedly to the girl, who was smiling at Draco's side as they talked. "I don't undersztand; she zseemz to zsthink zat noszing can 'urt 'er. Een Amereeca, you cannot afford to be zso reckless."
A pang in her heart rung like a bell; Narcissa understood how deeply she must have feared for the last of her line's safety. As Draco's mother, there is nothing she wouldn't do to ensure his safety. Nothing. "Yes, of course," agreed Narcissa. "I assure you, Madame Christophe, there is no safer place than Malfoy Manor. You were allowed in because we were expecting you. And I assure you that Ella would be absolutely safe here. It has withstood the tests of time since the 10th century, by wizard and muggle attack alike. You will never find a more powerful House to protect her, Madame. On my life, I swear it."
Madame Christophe paused then smiled, then looked back to Ella, who was laughing so hard at one of Draco's jokes it almost seemed ingenuine. Narcissa couldn't remember the last time she laughed that loud. "I 'ave never zseen 'er zat 'appy. "Eet eez getting dark. Shall I try to wrangle 'er in?" Narcissa returned her grin. "Per'apz, eef you like, after zsupper, we can talk zsome numberz."
Long-ER chapter. I must confess, Helene Christophe is my absolute FAVORITE character, even though I know it should be Ella. Here we have a MASTER Spy, a chessmaster extraordinaire, right in the Snake's den. Is she sincere? Yes and no. Is she a liar? Yes and no. What game is she playing? What do we not know about her intentions? Will we EVER know? Is she just using Ella to play her game, to get inside the Death Eaters and destroy it from within? How far will she go?
I know that a lot of people have this idea of Draco being musical to be a bit far off and fangirl-ish, but I don't think so. If you look at the relationships between Lucius and Draco, I don't think it's far off to think that Lucius is trying to toughen Draco up because he feels he's not smart enough, not strong enough. It's clear that shrewd old Lucius bought the ENTIRE Quidditch team Nimbus 2001s because he wanted to encourage his (obviously sensitive) boy to be more athletic, to get him outdoors. And let's not forget the smash hit "Weasley Is Our King"? Draco wrote that song overnight, which is a violently hilarious use of a creative gift gone awry.
The psychology of the Malfoys is so interesting to me. I think that Draco is just struggling to please his father, a fearsome and formidable man in his eyes, and that's why he's so nasty to others...because Lucius is nasty to him. Bullies only are bullies because it's what they're taught at home. Kindness and compassion are obviously going to be seen as weaknesses, and historically the Malfoys have been Dark Wizards since they arrived on the shores of England in the 1050s. What would happen if the long line of Dark Wizards produced a little boy that was sensitive(who runs away and cries when he's scared), and curious(jumps in to Borgin and Burkes as a child and can't wait to look at and touch everything), and nurturing(look at the way he tried cradling and tickling that baby mandrake in Chamber of Secrets)? What happens when their long illustrious line of powerful wizards produces one that's fun-loving and creative? All of that shit gets beaten out of him, is what. That's what, I think, is at the heart of Draco's psychology.
And we'll see how that plays out.
Thanks so much to my faithful reviewers Pancakestack, HeartofAspen, SabrinaJasmine, and more! (I frankly don't care if any of you think Ella's a Mary Sue. By definition, Mary Sues are pleasantly perfect and automatically fix everything they touch, and Ella pretty horrifically screws everything she touches up. Trust me, you'll see.) You guys are the reason to push forward. I owe it to all of you to finish this story. MUCH LOVE!