Chapter 22) Closeted Part I

Selected Listening: The Past and Pending- The Shins

***Author's Note: This is the beginning of one of my favorite chapters. Part II was written well before the rest of the series. I hope you enjoy it! Please R&R (favorite, follow, all that good stuff). ***

On the day she was expected at Malfoy Manor, Anastasia woke up in the headmaster's suite, showered, dawned her best clothing—her navy corduroy jumper and striped shirt, redid her braid, and put on her mother's necklace. She slid her wand into her pocket, put on her shiny black Mary Janes (they did not match, but they were the only shoes she had), and headed down the passageway to Snape's office.

In the days leading up to Easter, Anastasia wanted desperately to ask Draco what had caused the episode the night of the full moon. It had not felt like an asthma attack, and Anastasia felt Snape was most correct in his description, that it felt like genetic material being ripped apart and put back together another way. Still, it seemed to have no lasting effect on Draco, other than that he was more solemn and reserved than usual. Anastasia still felt as if she had run a muggle marathon every day, and often woke late to Hermione shaking her. Inside, all her muscles ached.

If she felt that way, she knew Draco felt twice as bad.

She hadn't had time to pull him aside again. Not with quidditch practice ramping up for the last game of the year, and against Slytherin no less. On top of studying, she was barely keeping up with-day-to-day life, much less find a way to talk to a boy who wouldn't chat with her in public.

After she had made the decision to attend Easter dinner at the Malfoys, she realized she hadn't asked permission to go, and she would need to find a way to excuse her absence on the last day of spring break to her friends.

When she broached the subject with Albus, they were eating vegetable soup at their normal dinner time the Sunday prior to the event.

"So, I've been invited to Easter dinner…by Narcissa…at the Malfoys."

Albus's spoon clinked and paused against the edge of his bowl. He did not blink, but did not erupt with anger either.

"And have you responded yet?" he asked carefully, trying to judge her expression.

"I said yes, before I thought about asking you…" she said carefully, "sorry."

He picked up his spoon again and continued stirring.

"That is fine…I trust Narcissa…I trust you and Draco are on good terms?" he asked with a slightly fearing gaze.

"We're on terms," she stated. "After what happened the other night, I'm afraid something else like that will happen if he goes alone."

Albus put down his spoon and picked up his tea. He took a long sip.

"Yes, it's troubling, what they are trying to accomplish…honestly, I do not think they will try to perform a dangerous spell around so many guests. They haven't even leaked the full extent of the divorce proceedings yet…I doubt any of their friends know."

"But they hate each other. Why wouldn't they tell people?"

Albus folded his hands and rested his chin on them above the table.

"Ah, because they love Draco…and they must keep up appearances. If he was injured last weekend as you so described it to Minerva, there is no chance of them trying again any time soon.

"In short, I feel relatively safe sending you there for an afternoon, but realize you'll be navigating mixed company. If you speak as freely as I've taught you, you're likely to ruffle some feathers."

"Maybe some people need their feathers ruffled," she concluded.

Although the conversation with her father went well, she couldn't imagine a situation in which telling her friends she was going over to the Malfoys for a shared meal would end well for her. She planned to remain silent, disappear to "spend time with grandad" for a day, and return without her friends having discovered where she went. It wasn't until the Saturday night before, when Anastasia picked up her rucksack and passed through the common room that anyone even questioned it. Her friends were sitting around the fireplace eating the chocolate eggs that Mrs. Weasley sent.

"Where are you going?" Harry asked. Anastasia stopped and said as confidently as she could,

"I'm going to spend Easter with grandad," she said, "I'll be back tomorrow evening."

"You and Professor Dumbledore celebrate Easter?" Harry asked. "Why exactly?"

Anastasia froze. She didn't know much about the event. Luckily Ron saved her.

"It's not just a Christian holiday," Ron remarked, "the man was a wizard you know. He helped a lot of muggles in that time. Dad says without his outreach we wouldn't be able to excuse half the magical accidents that happen in the muggle world. Of course…didn't turn out so well for the bloke on that day…"

Harry, quite surprised by this new information, quieted and continued eating his chocolate egg in silence.

"But what about the studying we were going to do for Flitwick's charms midterm?" Hermione asked critically. Anastasia had forgotten all about that.

"Can't we study Monday afternoon?" she asked. Hermione pulled out a packet of color-coded schedules and flipped through them.

"Well, if I move transfiguration and ancient runes to tomorrow, but then we can't study those together, and that doesn't change that you have quidditch practice until six on weekdays. Can't you come back from the headmaster's suite early?" Hermione asked.

Anastasia shrugged.

"Sorry, grandad's a big stickler about it…" Anastasia, doing her worst lying, screwed up her face to one side. Her friends frowned at her odd expression but didn't comment on it.

"When will you be back?" Hermione asked. "Do you think you'll be back by two?"

Anastasia, frustrated by Hermione's insistence that she follow the same oppressive study schedule, blew up.

"I'm not sure Hermione! I'm not taking ten subjects at once. You'll have to do your best without me!"

She stormed out before Hermione could ask any more questions.

Anastasia knocked on Snape's office door and it swung open, to reveal the stark dark-cloaked professor standing behind it.

Draco stood in front of the desk and adjacent fireplace. He wore a lavender button-down shirt with a tie and black pants under a black dress robe.

"You're wearing that?" Draco asked incredulously. Anastasia looked down.

"It's not that bad, is it?" she asked, pinching the corduroy material.

"It's muggle garb. You're better off wearing school clothes."

"Well let me change—" she turned to run back to her room, but Snape grabbed her by the scruff and forced her to stand next to Draco.

"You've wasted enough of my time today. Go."

Draco side-eyed Anastasia, took a handful of powder, and walked into the hearth.

"Malfoy Manor," he said, and vanished.

Anastasia gave Snape an uneasy look, took the powder, and stepped into the hearth herself. She took a deep breath.

"Malfoy Manor," she said, and was gone.

Anastasia stepped out of the chartreuse flames into an enormous den. The entire house was paneled in dark wood, and the upholstery of the furniture was all velvet or leather. Gold and silver accents sat here and there. A large window spanned the entire left side of the room looking over a garden and pine forest. An opposing chandelier hung above. She felt as if she had stepped into a museum rather than a household. The scent of wood wax and earl gray tea overwhelmed her.

And nine adults and four classmates peered at her as if she'd come from a goblin's hovel. Draco avoided eye contact.

"Ah! Anastasia, dear, welcome!" Narcissa took an arm around her shoulders and ushered her into the room.

"Everyone, this is my goddaughter, Anastasia Dumbledore."

Anastasia swallowed and examined all their faces. Blaise was there, along with a plump, dark skinned woman, whom she recognized as Blaise's mother. Crabbe and Goyle were there, of course. Both sets of parents were stocky and brutish. Their fathers had been talking with Lucius and only slightly turned their heads to see the newcomer. Pansy was there too, glaring furiously, and Anastasia could match her to a spindly dark-haired woman who had been attempting to engage Blaise's mother in conversation when Anastasia arrived. Crabbe and Goyle's mothers stood to the side of the room, quietly judging her.

Last, but possibly the worst, Lucius Malfoy gave her a piercing glare as if he believed her to be the scum of the Earth.

Madame Zabini came forward and offered her hand as if it were a limp tissue.

"Ah oui, zie talk of the town. I've wanted to meet you since reading about you in Magique Le Monde," she said loudly. "So glad I got to see you at the airport, but even better under the current circumstances." She wanted credit for breaking the silence.

"How do you do?" Anastasia said quietly, doing her best to keep her expression flat, as she could have been shaking hands with a murderer. The woman flashed her an encouraging smile, and she found the motivation to perk up.

"Actually! We've um…met before. At the Flamels' funeral. I was there, but you didn't see me," she tried to say pleasantly. The woman folded her hands and smiled back.

"Ah, wonderful. You must have spent a lot of time with them. Parles Françoise?"

"Oui, Madame. Les Flamel m'ont appris quand j'étais petite fille."

"Tres bonne! And, of course, you've met my son Blaise? Oui?" she looked over her shoulder towards him. He made brief eye contact and gave a small nod before turning back to Pansy and the Slytherin boys.

"Yes, as acquaintances," Anastasia said with a pleasant smile. Madame Zabini beamed.

"Fantastique. Cissa, darling, we must have this young lady to the design studio one day for a fitting and a photoshoot?"

"That would be lovely, Mercucia," Narcissa said.

Anastasia turned bright red and shook her head, waving her hands.

"Oh no, no. I couldn't do anything like that." In fact, she'd had enough publicity for one life already.

At that moment, Pansy's mother came flying over Madame Zabini's shoulder like a trashed flyer.

"The poor dear is right, she's too knobbly, and look at her coloring—all those freckles. Pansy's much more suited for camera work, aren't you, pet?"

Mercucia gave Pansy's mother a harsh eyebrow.

"We shall see…" and she looked back to Anastasia, "…j'adore freckles."

The woman walked away.

Lucius and the rest of the men had been talking louder and louder, as if to drown out the flurry of attention around Anastasia.

"Go ahead, I need to check on the meal…" Narcissa nudged her towards her peers. Anastasia stumbled into place beside Blaise and Draco.

"Zeun't mind mum. She talks big, but it's rar she follows through on zie talk she makes," Blaise commented in a rather friendly way.

"Did you used to have a French accent?" Anastasia asked, because it sounded rather heaped on.

"Ziew like it? Zey say et es le langue d'amore," he said smoothly, raising his eyebrows at her.

Anastasia smirked instead of giving him an honest answer. She was at least glad to know he didn't hate her guts.

Pansy rolled her eyes.

A female house elf in a triangle-shaped rag dress wandered into the room and rang a little bell.

"Dinner is served," she announced, and walked back into the kitchen.

Lucius led everyone into the dining room, where Narcissa was already taking her place next to the head of the table. The solid black dining room was nearly as large as the den, with a table that could seat at least twenty. Anastasia found her place card two away from the head of the table.

"Move over, Dumblebrat. That's mine," Pansy hissed and shoved her two seats down with her hip. "Wait…"

Anastasia smirked proudly.

"Actually, Parkinson, it's mine," she replied and pulled the enormous, heavy wooden chair out the best she could, and watched Pansy flounder until she found her name at the spot where Anastasia had been pushed. Draco took his place next to the head of the table, on Anastasia's right.

Blaise's mother sat across from Anastasia, and next to Narcissa. She smiled and nodded respectfully. Draped in fabulous dark teals and blues, Madame Zabini did not appear to be a witch who would kill a man.

Lucius stood at the head of the table and looked at the order in which the younger party members were sitting. He glared at Narcissa as he took his own place.

"You switched the girls," he hissed under his breath while the tinkling of the house elf moving dishes around could cover it up. Narcissa gave a little smile and whispered back.

"I thought you would appreciate a more traditional seating arrangement. They're now sitting in order of importance of bloodline. Dumbledore and Zabini should come before Parkinson," Narcissa said frankly. Anastasia bit down on her lip to keep from laughing.

"You forget that bastard children always come last in those arrangements." Lucius hadn't bothered whispering that sentence. Blaise growled low. He had been included in the insult. Anastasia grew hot under the collar. She stole a sideways glance at Draco, who was already looking at her warily.

They both looked away.

Lucius punctuated by clearing his throat and banging his spoon on his wine goblet for attention. The adolescents had been given water in the same crystal goblets with golden rims.

"Friends, Family, welcome to our Easter holiday meal. While other magic families might celebrate this holiday as a joyous occasion, people like us rightfully observe it as a day of mourning. The day a wizard, came back from his so-called grave to perform many miracles for muggles and then faded into obscurity instead of leading the way to overtake the muggle world.

"He let the muggles mock him, and then chose to become a god in their eyes instead of helping wizards claim victory over non-magic people. His example sent magic people down a path of hiding, fear, and shame, from which we have never recovered."

Anastasia, baffled, had never heard this version of the story before. As she heard it, and as the Weasley's heard it growing up, the man was a wizard who promoted living in peace with muggles, and he used his magic to help them.

"Nevertheless, although it is a day of grieving, we can make it otherwise. Now this day gives us the chance to join likeminded brethren and make plans to regroup and come up with new solutions to the problem we all face. Cheers, to a future where wizards might hold the power once more."

Everyone raised their glasses to toast. Anastasia abstained, examining how the faucets of the crystal goblet gleamed as she turned it.

"Something wrong, Miss Dumbledore?" Lucius asked once he'd set his wine down.

"I've never heard it that way…honestly it sounds a bit Gindlevallian for my taste," she said as kindly as she could.

The room froze as she had made some horrible social faux paus. Narcissa's eyebrows perched up on her forehead.

"My, the girl does not stifle her spells," Madame Zabini commented with a smile. It was Lucius's turn to growl.

"I'm sure, with your father being the wizard-lover he is, you would know all about Grindlevald, wouldn't you?" Lucius asked with a stinging sneer.

"What?" Anastasia asked. "Wizard-lover" was not a term she was familiar with. The room grew even quieter.

"Lucius," Narcissa hissed in warning. But the pompous tyrant continued.

"Surely, you know that your father, before he helped defeat and arrest Grindlewald, had a strong—um—let's call it a partnership with the man."

Anastasia remembered her uncle's words. She flushed.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," she muttered.

Narcissa slammed her silverware against the ceramic plate in protest of her husband saying any more. Pansy's mother cleared her throat as if she were indicating impolite dinner conversation.

"Well of course he is!" Mercucia pipped with a laugh. "Albus has better fashion sense than most of my customers. Anyone can see that."

The rest of the room stayed frozen. Anastasia, now beginning to understand what they meant, grinned graciously, and then shrugged, unflinchingly.

"Grindlevald was a horrible person who deserved to go to prison for his crimes. What more is there to say?" she asked, hoping the topic would dissolve.

"Grindlevald was a good person," Pansy shot, cheekily. "He was standing up for wizarding rights."

Anastasia stared in disgust.

"That's right dear," Ms. Parkinson commented, happy to steer the conversation back to a political direction, "nothing wrong with standing up for ourselves. Not when the Ministry would rather we hide like rats." The other adults gave agreeing murmurs of support.

Lucius turned back towards Anastasia with a piercing steely leer.

"Miss Dumbledore, you haven't been in wizarding society, or any society, for really very long. And you'll find, as much brainwashing as your father has done on you, there's some of us who have differences in opinion."

Anastasia glared sharply at Lucius. She wanted to go home. Grandad wouldn't approve of her mixing with company that still believed such backwards hogwash. A gentle pressure fell onto her right toe. She realized Draco was stepping on her foot purposefully. A warning. Once she looked to him, he removed his shoe.

"At Beauxbaton," Blaise piped up, unable to hold it in any longer, "zey took us on a fielhd trip to zee the cemeterie where he held his ralliez. It ez required every year. He killed 'undredz of wizards in that amphitheater. Deusn't seem very progressif for a man claiming to save wizard kind."

Anastasia stared gravely at Blaise, and when she caught his eye, gave a little smile of thanks. He returned it with a short nod.

Draco, who had seemed to reach the limit of his nerves, stuffed his mouth with food.

"This is great pasta," he said when he swallowed, "what recipe did you give the houseelves, mum? It's Great Aunt Aurora's, right?"

"Aunt Aurelia's, actually. She really was a fantastic cook, it's a shame she died when she did—" Narcissa continued, also wishing to change the subject as readily as possible.