Pale in the Shadows

Part I Magick in the Air – Chapter 3 Tides of Magick

About: Draco comes from a dark wizard family, but what exactly does that mean?


Resin clung to his fingers and he knew it was inevitably matted in his hair as he leaned against the pine in the lazy summer heat; the forest had beckoned to him and the boy had more than eagerly obliged. Despite it being midday, the forest was dark letting little light in having carved the area with its feral magick, which rose up in taunting purple and silver auras when the boy focused. Draco watched lazily as faerie lights flickered through branches and undergrowth, taunting whatever wild creatures prowled the mast. He relaxed his mind letting his own silvery aura meld with that of the tree's, whose limbs ached and scratched with old magick that practically dripped from the blue-green needles.

Sighing, Draco realized he had better climb down before his mother sent after him. Turning to face the trunk of the tree, he slowly climbed down until he dropped to the ground below. Bowing to the tree, the boy kissed its rough bark mumbling a thank you, and headed back for the mansion. Despite a wild terror that clung to him in the darkness of the magick forest, he was relieved to be walking through its bowels hearing nothing but the song of birds and nymphs. As he reached the clearing of the mansion, he stared in awe of the marble building. It rose above the green lawn in brilliant white marble, and still yet was driven three floors below ground.

He entered through a wooden gate into the back lawn where he wearily eyed birds that pecked the grounds. They were his father's prized peacocks, both male and female a sickly white with ghostly blue eyes. Draco shivered as he went into the house through the servant's entrance. They were known as Haunt Peacocks and were used in rituals for the dead. The birds themselves were born without souls, hatched over graveyard soil, and were vessels for the departed on nights such as Halloween and Walpurgis. Only once had Draco seen them used, and he never wanted to see it again.

Closing the door behind him, he was gratefully for the lazy chill of the manor, and headed for the upper level to where his mother would be inevitably waiting for him in her study. I wonder how she's doing today.


Narcissa felt the cough scrape at her lungs as her breath came out ragged and worn. She stared, frustrated, out the window, sighing. The woman longed to go outside to feel the warmth of the sun on her face and revel in its energy, but instead she found herself curled in blankets at the hearth waiting to take her second potion of the day. Somehow she had caught pneumonia and much to hers and her husband's distress, the blasted disease was twisted with magick. Whoever had sent the disease knew what they were doing, that was for certain.

Surely not one of the light wizards, she mused, turning her attention to a book on curses, lazily eyeing one that made leprosy look like child's play. The Black family she was born from had passed the book on generation to generation, a combination of curses and spells invented by them. The book had been passed to her by her older sister Andromeda when the woman fled their home to marry a muggle. Not that Andy was much for curses being soft-hearted as she was.

Toying with the ends of her silken blonde hair, the woman smiled when she felt a ring on her hand warm. 'Draco,' she said as her son came into the room. The ring had been enchanted with a hair from her son, telling her when he was near or if he was in need. Turning, she stared at him and sighed. 'You've been out in the wood again.' Without saying a word, she pointed at him and his hair straightened and the resin from his hair and clothes pooled into a sticky ball, floating to Narcissa's outstretched hand; she flung the ball into the hearth fire breathing deep the smell of pine and tingling magick.

'Thanks, Mama,' he said, a smile tucked in his cheeks. 'Are you feeling better?'

Narcissa held out her hand, and he came to take it, his fingers warm and smooth on her own. She reached out and touched his cheek, a mother's fondness burning within her. 'Yes, dearest one. Did you at least study some before heading out today?' He nodded to her solemnly. 'Good, then. Will you recite for me?' She nodded over to a chair, which the boy went and brought over to her. He sat on the end, his back straight and hands in his lap as he prepared.


Draco loved his mother, who always took him at his own pace. He took after her in looks; she was thin with peach skin, rosy from her sickness, eyes of shadowed grey, and blonde hair the colour of starlight. Taking a deep breath he began to recite the dress code for alliance meetings. 'When attending an alliance meeting involving purebloods, it is best to ally yourself by wearing the colour of the house to which you are allied most to. For example, during the winter solstice when Father and you attended the Minister's party the two of you wore red. Father chose a silver suit beneath his red robes showing steadfastness to his beliefs. You, Mother, wore a brocade gown coming to the ankle, which you had tied anklets, also of silver. To your gown you tied a belt of unicorn hair dyed silver not only to show steadfastness, but to emphasize purity in your ideals. Not only that but silver is the colour of the Malfoy coat of arms.'

He waited for Narcissa to nod. Smiling she asked, 'And what of my ties to the Black family to which I was born?'

Relieved that he had gotten so much right he sighed. 'The unicorn hair. Unicorns are part of the pull and tide of the moon which is guardian of women, which makes them a sign of the Black family. The noblest family tied to the stars.' Nodding at her son, Narcissa gave a smile for him to continue. 'Then, the red is the colour of the Fudge's family coat of arms, correct?' Draco wasn't sure since Fudge wasn't quite as pureblood as his own family. Usually only purebloods cared for such things, but Draco was pretty sure that Fudge was not the name of someone from a distinguished house.

'I can tell what's going through your head,' Narcissa said, a chuckle escaping her. 'Fudge is indeed pureblood, but his family is allied to light magick. Where we stuck to our original names, many light families changed their surnames. But you are right that red is the colour of Fudge's coat of arms. It's a tribute to Gryffindor, actually, despite the fact he is not a descendant from the Hogwart's founder.'

Curious, Draco asked, 'But, then why did you ally yourself with him? We are a dark family.'

'Ah, that is also what bothers you. Politics are difficult,' Narcissa muttered, with a sigh. She pointed to the curse book she held out. 'For example, this sickness was caused by someone who is not quite allied with the Malfoy family. Understand?' Draco nodded, numbed at the idea that someone would hurt his mother. 'The only way to show the caster I am not one to trifle with is to do something just as subtle to him or her.' She turned, her face alight with cunning knowledge and joy at the challenge. 'Don't worry. I know who cast this on me and most likely it's just part of the dance. In this case, what would be a good curse? Should I hurt her or her children? Should I make her sick or lame her? Can you distinguish what is right from wrong?'

Wearily, Draco thought about it. He hated that his mother was sick, but surely that didn't warrant whoever had caused it to suffer worse. 'You cast something untraceable. As you said, you knew who cast this spell, which means they weren't as careful. Whatever you cast will be obvious in that it was Malfoy,' he hesitated, 'or Black in nature and lasting, but not necessarily harming.'

Beaming at him, Narcissa nodded fondly. 'Very good, my love. Very good.'

'Thanks, Mama. So why did you ally yourself with Minister Fudge, then?'

'That is because the minister was working on denying a bill,' came the icy voice of his father. Whirling in his seat, Draco was surprised to see Lucius leaning against the doorway in a loose white dress shirt and tight leather pants snug in buckled boots. 'Draco, one day you will understand that politics and people are not so black and white.' He gave his son a feral smile at the irony in his attire and words. 'As it is, please leave us, my son. Crabbe and Goyle are downstairs. I ask that you spend some time with them as your mother and I have something to discuss. We will continue this conversation about politics another time.'

Draco nodded, glancing at his mother who smiled in response. He swallowed, bowing to his father, and left the room feeling shut out as his father closed the door behind him.


Narcissa stared at her husband, calculating what was running through the man's mind. They had married as an alliance between the Black and Malfoy families, but both of the subtly admired the other for their cunning and ability to dance through politics. 'You bear news,' she finally said, her voice cold.

Nodding, her husband took the seat that Draco had left, leaning until he could grab her hand which he pulled into his, running his fingers along the lines of her palm making her shiver. There was a tinge of icy magick to his touch, burning into her. The feral blue of his eyes met hers, a spark making her weary yet craving the power that was woven into the Malfoy blood. 'Tonight is a dinner thrown by Parkinson.' There it was, the joke that her husband had longed to share. Narcissa couldn't help but smile. 'I had a feeling you would want to join me.'

'I have the perfect gift for them, then.' She glanced at the Black book and nodded. 'Our son is learning quickly.'

'I overheard,' Lucius whispered, bring her hand to his lips. 'He will be worthy of the Malfoy blood.' Pausing, he gently nibbled at her palm, teasing. 'And that of Black.'

You tempt me, she thought giving nothing away as he teased her. Narcissa toyed with the blankets as she curled her fingers to his lips. 'Strength and family loyalty. It will be interesting to see their faces. Did they send the invitation?' she asked, as Lucius released her hand.

Rising, he leaned into the chair, pulling her chin to him. The swirl of blue was deep as the ocean, lust swirling in their depths. 'Let's just say, I pointed out that hastiness was perhaps not the smartest. Parkinson assured me he would back out between you and his wife; however, that we, perhaps, after your play, consider an alliance. Parkinson hinted that he did not want certain things from the war to reach his daughter's ears.' With that he kissed his wife, and the woman felt heady between the medicine, sickness, and warmth that filled her.

'Playing dirty then?' she whispered.

Smiling, pulling away, Lucius replied, 'Of course they don't know I would never go after children. Not since my blood oath to you when you conceived.' Some part of his eyes deadened, and she knew he was remembering the war and things he regretted, but did for his family name and to protect what he and she had created.

'Well, then,' Narcissa said, drinking the potion and feeling its effects seeping into her, chasing the magicked disease from her lungs. 'I had best get started.'


Draco would never tell his mother the secret that he kept from both his parents, but he relished seeing Crabbe and Goyle. His father had told him to always refer to the two by their last names, it paved a certain level of hierarchy that he was not to discuss amongst the two; however, what he didn't tell his father was it was unnecessary. Draco had indeed inherited the magick from the Malfoy bloodline, all he had to do was focus and the heady magick would leap to his eyes, changing them from his mother's grey, to his father's stormy blue. It was a subtle casting of empathy magick that he used to follow the moods of Crabbe and Goyle if they ever got upset. To him, it was a better way to keep a friendship than forcing them into submission by family name or degrading them. He never told his father they called him Malfoy in turn.

'You look high,' Goyle said when Draco met them in the first floor den, the boy was sprawled on the couch lazily staring about the room, which was carved mahogany with sparse furnishings and few plants tucked against the wall-length windows. 'Went to the forest did you?'

He's bored, Draco thought, with a smirk. 'Bring your brooms or not?' he asked, ignoring the tug of gaping boredom that belonged to Goyle.

Crabbe snickered, as he raked his fingers through his gelled black hair. 'Game of bluggers, is it?' There was a glint to his eye as he nodded at Draco.

Crabbe is pent up. Something happened, Draco realized, hesitating. The other two were unfortunately bigger than Draco, who was lean and swift versus muscular and brawny. If they were to play bluggers, there was the chance that he would get hurt should the weighted magicked balls smack into him. Shaking the fear off, he grinned. 'Is there anything else?'

Truth be told he liked the rush of fear, and as much as his father questioned his ability for politics, he was coming along rather well despite his age. He knew that if he were injured in front of his friends, they wouldn't hesitate to tell their parents, which would in turn make Narcissa and Lucius look weak; however, as Draco and the other boys headed out for the field, he couldn't help but feel a sinking loneliness. He often wondered what it would be like not having to worry and just have fun; he had once talked to Goyle about it, as the boy was the most pensive of the three and the least likely to use his concerns against him, and the boy, too, had confided that struggling with minding their manners and remembering the customs was sometimes too much, sometimes it seemed easier to just give in to being a child.