12. Fruitcake
Disclaimer: Dinnae clype on me, or ah'll hae ma heid in ma hauns an' ma lugs tae plae wi'.
Translation: Scots – Don't tell on me, otherwise I'll be in trouble. (literally: I'll have my head in my hands and my ears to play with.)
xx
Sitting on the edge of the camp bed, Hermione turned the parcel over in her hands, her fingers fumbling with the string and Spellotape as she unwrapped the brown paper package. Loosening the last piece of tape allowed the contents to enlarge, and she was overwhelmed by the expanding items.
"Look at this, Harry. Oh my goodness. Look!"
Despite the locket around his neck, Harry managed to show some enthusiasm. "Food."
"And books!"
"Are those blankets?"
"Yes, and warm winter cloaks."
"Who's it from?"
"Luna." Hermione showed him the handwritten note she had found tucked inside one of the books. "She says she wants us to keep warm to protect us from Nargle infestation. There's comfort food to ward off the Horny Gollochs and fresh fruit for our health. The books were sniffed out of the library by Malfoy. Wait... that can't be right."
"Who cares, ʼMione? There's a Hogwarts fruitcake."
"She says that's to remind us of her."
"D'you think she meant to say that?"
"Luna? ʼCourse she did. She's not daft."
Tickled by Luna's self-deprecating humour, they both keeled over in fits of giggles.
xx
Arthur Weasley sat on the edge of his bed, one thumb absent-mindedly running up and down the rippled edge of the photograph in his hand while he traced a finger over the image of the smiling family. They were all there. Molly was wiping her hands on her apron before pushing her hair out of her eyes. Percy stood a little awkwardly between Bill and Charlie, who each had a hand on a twin's shoulder, holding the troublemakers apart. Fred and George were facing away from each other, but he could see their hands sneaking behind them to pinch unwary legs. And at the front were his babies. Ginny sat cross-legged on the floor, back straight, red-gold locks glistening until Ron's hand reached up and tugged hard. Charlie's free hand snuck out and hugged his little brother back tight against his broad chest.
The happy-go-lucky, cheeky grin on Ron's face made Arthur's heart contract, and a tear slipped down his cheek. Arthur wondered where he had gone wrong. He felt like he had failed his youngest son and lost him forever under the black fog of depression. How could things have become so bad this cheerful youngster from the photo had turned his face to the wall and tried to take his own life?
The mental health team at St Mungo's had been helpful, but limited, and after a brief stabilisation period Ron had returned home, not deemed damaged enough for admission to the Janus Thickey ward. The Weasleys had been provided with his anti-depressant potions and had been advised to try to re-engage Ron with things he would enjoy. But the spark had gone from the young man, and Arthur struggled to know how to help him. Molly coped in her usual practical way, by cooking and mothering Ron, however, Arthur felt useless.
He looked at the photograph again, pondering how much his family had changed since it was taken. It wasn't just Ron. Percy was as good as lost to them with his rigid adherence to the Ministry of Magic. The twins were always involved in some convoluted scheme. Bill was off and married now, living with his beautiful wife in their seaside cottage, which Arthur had a good feeling would in due course become a cosy, family home. Their other dependable son, Charlie, was away in Romania dragon-taming.
Arthur worried about Charlie working with such dangerous creatures every day, but the young man seemed to have developed a quiet confidence and inner strength which his dad envied. It was just what he wanted to give Ron, and, as he thought some more about it, he wondered if Charlie could help. With that in mind, he moved to the table to write a letter to his dragon-wrangling son.
xx
As Draco sat on a chair with one foot propped on his bed, tying the laces of his dress shoe, he glared at his distorted reflection in the highly polished, black leather. Snape was taking him to Malfoy Manor soon for a Death Eaters' soiree, and the young man was not looking forward to the evening. His anxiety made his hands tremble and his fingers less dextrous, and he swore quietly as his fine laces failed to retain an acceptably symmetrical bow.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself, leaning back, running fingers through his hair and taking a deep breath. "What am I worrying about? It's only an evening at home."
Letting out a long, calming breath, he bent forward again to complete his task, knowing he couldn't go anywhere with untied laces and changing into slip-on shoes would send his mother into apoplexy. A quick smile flitted across his lips at the thought of seeing his family again. He had only had a couple of very brief owl messages from home since the start of term, and he was looking forward to spending time with his parents. If only the evening didn't have to involve Voldemort and his followers as well.
Draco swallowed hard to stave off the burn of rising bile as he remembered the events of the summer holidays. The images of Burbage's torture still woke him from his sleep, on occasion drenched in cold sweat.
Tonight he and his parents would have to put on their perfect, Malfoy façades and entertain the madmen and murderers in their own home as if nothing had happened. He didn't know how his mother and father coped with their presence every day. At least, he thought, they had each other for support. He wished he could take someone with him tonight who he could be sure was on his side. Snape would be there, but he really wasn't the type to hold your hand in times of stress.
As he wiped a small smudge off a nearly immaculate shoe, Draco tried to think who else he could count on for support nowadays. It depressed him to realise the list was so short as to be virtually empty. Previously, he relied on Crabbe and Goyle, but now he got the impression they would not watch his back unless they were all facing a threat to Slytherin house. He wondered if he could trust them at all.
The only name which kept sneaking to the front of his brain was Lovegood. Reaching for a silk tie, Malfoy snorted in disbelief. Looney? For goodness sake, was there no-one else? His hands stilled for a moment as he tried to conjure up another name, but he could not ignore her persistent, irritating presence in his mind.
Well, he was going to be out of Hogwarts tonight, and the daft witch would have to take care of herself. To his dismay, a curl of anxiety coiled in his gut at the thought of leaving Luna behind, alone. The wizard shook his head, trying to dispel the idea. She was not alone; she was with her Ravenclaw house mates. But, Draco's conscience reminded him, Phineas Black had asked him specifically to look out for her.
With a sigh, he closed his wardrobe door and looked in the mirror as he knotted his tie. Perhaps he should ask someone else to keep an eye on her whilst he was out. The next problem was who to ask. Draco knew he couldn't approach anyone from another house. Imagine a Malfoy seeking help from someone outside Slytherin; it was unthinkable. The only person who came to mind, who Luna would also trust, was Theodore Nott.
The now-composed, handsome blond reflected in the mirror straightened his tie, smoothed his hair and robes and left the room to look for Nott the nerd.
xx
Pushing his spectacles up his nose, Theo lounged back against the cushions of the common room sofa with a textbook in one hand. As he reached for his drink without lifting his gaze from the page, his hand was intercepted by a booted foot on the coffee table.
"Oops!"
A malicious laugh from behind him alerted Nott to another presence.
"Those weren't important notes I spilled coffee on, were they?" Goyle sneered as he leaned in toward Theo, his bulk obscuring the light.
"Well—ˮ
"Good, ʼcause I'd hate for you to go crying to your daddy over a spilled drink."
"You know I don't—ˮ
"See, it's like this," Crabbe interrupted, grabbing Nott's hair from behind and jerking his head back against the sofa. "With Malfoy going out tonight, me and Greg want the senior common room for ourselves—"
"—and our ladies," Goyle added with a low chuckle.
"And we don't want any lady-boys interfering. See?" Crabbe tugged Theo's hair again for emphasis, and Nott's breath hissed in through gritted teeth.
"Oho! Do you like it rough, you naughty boy?" Goyle's large fingers pinched the flesh of Theo's cheek.
"Ow! No. Fine..."
"Look at the blush on him. He liked that, didn't he, Greg? He's been hanging about with that Gryffindor pussy too much, I think. Maybe we should show him a proper bit of rough." Crabbe snickered, reaching for the front of his trousers.
"He's cringing, the big girl's blouse. His dad might be a Death Eater, but this Nott's not." Grabbing a fistful of robes, Goyle chuckled as he hauled the smaller wizard to his feet, then onto his tiptoes, bringing him in line with his eyes. The thug pretended to examine Nott before asking, "What'll we do with you?"
"Put him down."
"Eh?"
"I said put him down." Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, emanating a cold fury.
"We was just havin' a lark together. Weren't we, Notty?" Goyle released his grip, and Theo stumbled as his feet landed back on the ground.
"It didn't look much fun to me," replied Malfoy. "Is this how we treat our Slytherin housemates nowadays?"
Crabbe squared his broad shoulders and pushed his cuffs back from meaty hands as if preparing for a fight.
"Are you challenging me, Vincent?" Mirroring his movements, Draco pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, exposing the Dark Mark on his left forearm and drawing his wand. Crabbe hesitated at the sight of the dark tattoo. Then, with a small smirk and an elegant gesture, Malfoy pulled his cuffs back down again and straightened his cufflinks. "I don't have time for this right now. I have an engagement to attend. Perhaps I should just have a word with your fathers whilst I'm there."
"Ah, now—ˮ
"You don't need to—ˮ
"Save it for another time, boys." The suave blond held up a quieting hand and quelled any further speech with an icy stare. "Nott, I have something I wish to discuss with you before I leave. Come." Malfoy extended an arm, grabbing Theo's sleeve and dragging him from the room.
"Don't they make a lovely couple, Greg?"
"I always thought Malfoy was a queer fruit."
Crabbe sniggered and made an effeminate, limp-wristed gesture with his hand while Goyle pouted his lips and minced around the room. The two louts could hardly stay upright as they dissolved into guffaws of laughter.
xx
Meanwhile, at Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy sat on the edge of a straight backed chair in his opulent bedroom. His eyes were closed and his hands rested on his knees, but one knee danced up and down as his foot jiggled with ill-suppressed anxiety.
As his wife reappeared from her dressing room in a waft of expensive perfume, Lucius inhaled deeply and let the familiar fragrance soothe his tattered nerves. Opening his eyes, he looked at Narcissa. He marvelled at her cool demeanour and gazed in awe at her classical, blonde beauty. It was beyond his comprehension why this goddess remained by his side despite everything.
Smoothing her evening gown with beautifully manicured hands, Narcissa sat on a chair in front of her husband, facing the mirror. Gazing at their combined reflection, she caught his eye and handed a hairbrush and comb back over her shoulder to him. As the elegant woman lifted her abundant tresses from the back of her neck, she asked Lucius to do up the back of her dress for her and then finish her hairdo.
The man's fingers trembled as he fastened her gown and, taking the heavy, silver-backed brush, tended to her hair. This had always been part of their routine in preparation for a formal function, and the familiarity of the task calmed him. Normally he would have finished styling her hair into an elegant design with a skilful flick of his wand, but tonight had to manage with brush, comb and his own manual dexterity. Unable to complete some of the simple tasks without magic, the powerful wizard felt emasculated by the loss of his wand.
When he finished, he could not resist placing a soft kiss on the perfect, alabaster skin of his wife's neck. Narcissa's hand reached back, slipping her fingers into his long hair, and she turned towards him, gifting him with a tender kiss on his temple. Lucius felt discomfited, knowing his silken locks had never regained their previous glory since his imprisonment. He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard, only lifting his head and opening his eyes when Narcissa gently squeezed his knee.
"Are we ready to face the world?" Lucius asked as he rose, taking Narcissa's hand and turning her to face him.
"Together, my darling, forever," replied his wife, smiling as she gazed lovingly into his deep, grey eyes. His question had remained the same since the early days of their marriage as had her response. Nowadays the affirmation of her ongoing support shored up his flagging spirits, and he acknowledged the fact with a small nod.
"Who is gracing us with their presence tonight, my dear?"
"The Dark Lord and his followers who have made our house their own will obviously be here." Narcissa's fussing fingers paused briefly as she adjusted her husband's tie. "Also, our dear friend Severus is coming, and he'll be bringing Draco."
Her tone was light, but Lucius noticed the faint tremor when she spoke their son's name, and he squeezed her hand comfortingly. The Malfoys believed no-one spied on them physically in their own chambers, but never knew who might be listening in to their conversations. Though he wanted to say more, Lucius dared not, letting his small gestures say all he needed to his long-suffering spouse.
Tucking her hand in to the crook of his elbow he led her to the door. "Shall we?" he asked as he laid a hand on the doorknob.
With a last pat to her curls and a quick lick of her painted lips, she gave him a small nod, and the Malfoys opened the doors to their chambers, presenting a united front to the world.
xx
Later that evening, after he had returned from Malfoy Manor with Draco, Snape stood outside the door to his old room in the dimly lit dungeon corridor. He watched the young man's receding shadow until Malfoy turned the corner on his way back to the Slytherin dormitory. Severus could be sure he would be safe from there on.
With a murmured password, he dropped the wards to his old quarters and pushed open the door. None of the current staff had chosen to take over these rooms, and Severus was happy to have a bolt hole away from the headmaster's office with no interfering students, judgemental staff or spying portraits.
"You're back early." An upper class, nasal voice intoned from an unlit corner of the room.
Revising his previous thought, Severus sighed as he dropped down into the comfortable fireside chair: only one interfering, judgemental, spying portrait. "Phineas Nigellus."
"As I said, you're back early, young man."
"I was babysitting and had to bring young Malfoy back, which meant I was able to leave before the unpleasant fun and games began."
"I'm worried about that young chap. What he has had to experience in his own home is not right for a well-bred young fellow."
"It's not right for anyone, Phineas. I could hear screams starting as we stepped out of the front door."
"I don't know how his parents got mixed up in such shenanigans. I remember them as such bright young things."
"Lucius hasn't always been the most upstanding member of our society, but he was never involved in such evil. His skills lie more in manipulating people and funds, and he has been sucked in by the fool's gold of perceived power. Narcissa, on the other hand, is a Black."
The painted man bristled visibly. "Do not tar all Blacks with the same brush, Snape."
Severus smirked, enjoying scoring a point off the snobby ex-headmaster. "Are they not all the same? Mad, bad, incarcerated or disowned." He raised a questioning eyebrow at the older man, who puffed his cheeks out with the affront as he tried to prevent a smile developing in reply.
"What would you know, you wet-behind-the-ears, half-blood upstart?"
"Enough witty repartee, old codger."
The painted image folded his arms across his chest and lifted his nose in the air as if there was a bad smell in the room.
"Tell me what you're dying to tell me, Black, so I can have a quiet drink by the fire before I retire to bed."
Phineas Nigellus sniffed with disdain. "Manners maketh the man."
"Please," Snape retorted through gritted teeth, adding under his breath, "you arrogant twat."
"I heard that. And, I might add, I am not a woman's pudenda."
"Merlin, you really are behind the times, old man. Look it up in a dictionary."
"I did, last time you used the word, and it said twat comes from Old Norse meaning a slit or clearing in a forest."
"How old is your dictionary?"
"Ah..."
"In a more up to date version, you may find it also means a foolish or despicable person."
"Which is worse, you insolent knave."
"Knave?" Snape slapped his thigh as he rocked with laughter. "What century do you think we're in? Who uses such archaic language nowadays?"
"I do," Black replied a little huffily, though the edge of his mouth quirked slightly. Part of the enjoyment of baiting the current headmaster was making the normally taciturn man laugh. It didn't happen often, but it allowed the beleaguered wizard a small period of normality in his dangerous, hectic life.
"That wasn't even very funny. Things must be bad if I'm laughing at your senility," Severus said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye and sobering up. "Tell me what's on your mind, Phineas."
"It's our Luna—ˮ
"Our Luna?"
"Yes, she—ˮ
"Fuck!" Severus grabbed his left forearm, which burned viciously.
"Language, Headmaster! You're becoming as foul-mouthed as our Mudblood wench."
"Sorry. It appears I haven't been given the night off. We'll have to finish this conversation at a later date."
As the door closed behind the departing man, Phineas Nigellus put a hand over his painted lips. "I've got to stop saying that," he told himself.
In the corridor outside, Severus Snape paused briefly. "Our Mudblood wench? The old beggar's losing his marbles."
xx
Around the corner of the dungeon corridor, Draco sat with his back against the cool stonework. He had not gone straight to his bed as he had assured Snape he would. Instead, he was taking some time alone to think. Being a privileged only child, the young man was accustomed to the tranquillity of a near empty house, and he found the constant bustle of people and magical beings at Hogwarts got on his nerves at times.
In previous years, Crabbe or Goyle would stand outside the bathroom, deflecting intruders whilst Malfoy lounged in a decadent bath, mulling over whichever Potter-induced problem he had to deal with. Since the beginning of this school year, things had been different. His nemesis was gone from the castle, but Draco felt harassed, exposed to danger and constantly on edge and longed to return home to some peace and quiet.
Despite knowing Death Eaters were staying at Malfoy Manor, he had been looking forward to seeing his parents again, but what he had found worried him. Narcissa appeared strong as she held herself with poise and elegance, but Draco had seen the brittle edge to her smile and had heard the faint tremor in her voice when she had spoken. His father, on the other hand, had looked a beaten man. To a stranger's eye Lucius may have seemed calm and debonair, but his son had seen a huge difference in him since his release from Azkaban. It was the small things Draco had noticed; the lack of shine in his eyes, the loss of lustre to his hair, the blunting of his sharp wit and the constant fine twitch of his wand fingers, which clearly missed their accustomed magical contact. All this had come from following one man and his madness.
At the start of the summer holidays, taking the Dark Mark had seemed the right thing to do. He had thought joining Voldemort was the only way to support his parents, but now Draco regretted his decision. He rubbed his left forearm distractedly as his mind was drawn back to the horror of the Death Eaters' excesses.
Hugging his knees to his chest to contain a shudder, the blond let his head droop as he recalled his most recent personal audience with the Dark Lord. Draco scrubbed a hand across his mouth to erase the memory of dry, scaling skin rasping against his lips as he kissed Voldemort's hand in obeisance. The putrid breath when the monster had whispered sibilant demands through thin lips had made his stomach lurch.
His new directive was simple enough. Unfortunately, the final hissed demand not to discuss his task with any other Death Eaters made things trickier, as it meant Draco could not ask for help from his parents or Snape this time. All the young wizard had to do was deliver one person to Malfoy Manor before Christmas. It wasn't a difficult job, but the thought of it made his gorge rise. Draco tried to breathe evenly to dispel his nausea and was dismayed to hear a small whimper escape his lips. Clutching his head, he wondered why the person Voldemort wanted had to be Luna Lovegood.
A light touch on his shoulder startled him and, as he looked up, the back of his head hit the stone wall behind him.
"Lovegood, what are you doing here? Piss off! Leave me alone." Malfoy jerked his shoulder from under her hand.
The foolhardy witch didn't leave. Instead, she knelt on the stone-flagged floor between Draco's perfectly polished shoes and enfolded the shaking boy in her arms, whispering in his ear. "What's wrong? Maybe I can help."
Hugging his arms across his chest defensively, Malfoy muttered, "You've no idea what's going on in the real world, Looney, so why don't you just fuck off back to your la-la land of make believe."
He was surprised by her giggled response as she grabbed his hand, hauled him to his feet and started to skip down the corridor away from the Slytherin dormitory, towing him behind her. "What a good idea. You can escort me back to my dorm and the Land of Nod."
Before an involuntary smile could form on his lips, the tread of heavy feet and a gravelly voice from behind them stopped Malfoy in his tracks.
"Well, well. What have we here?"
Neither Draco nor Luna looked back.
"Leave it, Goyle, this does not concern you." Malfoy's voice was subdued with only a hint of superiority.
"Oh, but it does. This is the best gossip we've had in ages, innit, Vincent?"
"Holding hands like a lover-boy with two people in one day, Malfoy? That's good going." His thuggish companion sneered. "How d'you tell them apart?"
Luna glanced sideways at the rigid features of the blond next to her, questioning him with her look.
"Won't your other sweetheart, Theo, get jealous?" The emphasis on Nott's name hung jarring in the air.
Luna felt a light pressure on her hand before Malfoy dropped it and turned to face the taunting Slytherins.
"I have merely been asked to escort a fellow student representative through the school, as it is after curfew."
"Student rep, eh, Malfoy?"
"Hey! That's who we caught him with in the corridor the other night, Greg. I recognise the hair now."
"Bugger me sideways! So it is. It's Looney! Look!"
"Luna and I—"
Malfoy's explanation was drowned out as coarse laughter filled the night-darkened corridor, echoing off the stone walls as the louts elbowed each other and leered. Luna buried her face in her hands and fled down the hallway without looking back, her shoulders and chest heaving as she ran.
Draco's wand was drawn in an instant, and he backed away from his former bodyguards, keeping a wary eye open for an attack. "I would strongly suggest you both return to the common room before I call for assistance."
"What for? For ripping the piss out of you, knob-end?" Goyle advanced a couple of threatening steps.
"As I said, this does not concern either of you."
"C'mon, Vince." Goyle turned away with exaggerated nonchalance. "Malfoy's no fun since he became such a girly ponce. We've got better things to do than waste our time on him."
As the pair disappeared back down the corridor, Draco turned on his heel and ran in pursuit of the fleeing witch, against his self-imposed rules. He caught sight of her as she headed up the stairs to the first floor. Though her pace had slowed, her hands still covered her face, and her shoulders silently shook the curls which draped over them.
"Luna," he called. "Wait for me."
To his relief, the tousle-headed blond stopped part way up the staircase, but did not face him as he approached to within a couple of steps of her.
"Luna," he repeated, catching her wrist gently and turning her round towards him.
"I can't believe it," she said, voice muffled by her hands over her mouth.
"I'm sorry." The boy dared not look at her, knowing he couldn't continue if he saw the predicted distrust in her clear, grey eyes. "It's not what you think."
"I know."
"What they said about Nott and me, it's..."
"I understand."
"No, you don't understand, Luna."
"Yes, I do, Draco. They believe you're a homosexual. And that's okay with me."
"No. It's not... I..." He squirmed with embarrassment, flames of colour creeping up his pale skin.
A gentle hand on his cheek brought his attention back to the girl in front of him, and as he looked up into her large eyes, he realised she had not been crying as he thought, but laughing.
"They think you're gay, and I know different."
His lips curved into an incredulous smile as she placed a soft kiss on them. Slim fingers ran over his scalp, cradling his skull and drawing him to her.
"What was that for?" he asked.
"You called me Luna."
"You daft bint," he whispered against her sweet lips, and as she hummed a dreamy reply, he pulled her closer, pale hands slipping smoothly under her outer robes.
xx
Neither of them noticed the tinkle of sapphires moving upwards in the Ravenclaw hourglass as a malevolent couple spied on them from above.
"Inappropriate behaviour. Five points, I think."
"After curfew as well. Another five?"
"Despicable," the Carrow siblings said in unison, smiling maliciously.