A/N: Thanks again to Alice Helena for leaving a nice thoughtful review. I dedicate this 10,000+ chapter just for you. Hope you enjoy it! :)
Posted: 12/11/15
Beta: the artful scribbler
A Little Knowledge
A little learning is a dangerous thing;
drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring:
there shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
and drinking largely sobers us again. – Alexander Pope, An Essay on Criticism
10th September, 1998
Lucius was in his study trying to delude himself into thinking that he was still busy and important. In reality he was drinking some expensive bourbon, thinking about the romance novel he'd just finished reading. It was the new Pure-blood Passion book that he had purchased his wife for a Christmas present. He hadn't meant to read it, had not even enjoyed it that much. But all of his other books were so heavy. They were either non-fiction books about magic, which depressed him, or they were about protagonists that he could not relate to anymore. Potent men of action, solving mysteries, overcoming the nefarious, inventing colossal, ground-breaking spells and potions, and these fictitious wizards were just as dampening to his spirits. All he could stomach these days was whether or not the beautiful Lavinia Dashwood would secure the love of her handsome, rich, purebred betrothed. Yes, she would. She always would.
"Have you thought more about what I said to you two evenings ago?"
"Not really, Father," Lucius said absentmindedly.
"Well, you should," the portrait of Abraxas chided.
Lucius's study was an opulent testimony of longstanding luxury and refinement. The floors and shelves were made of sound, well-aged oak, and his sturdy, lavishly carved desk was an inherited masterpiece of craftsmanship, bequeathed to him by his maternal, heirless Uncle Thuby; out of all his male cousins who had coveted the precious thing, it had come to him. The wide, tall windows faced out onto the east side of the manor and gave him a gentle, twilit view of an evening, each season bringing a separate but equal pleasure. Lucius loved his study and all of the beautiful trappings it afforded him. The titanic desk, the spacious wingchairs, and every priceless antique were situated to his comfort around the splendid proportions of the room. The study was his own small sanctuary, much the way Cissa's was her dressing room, and he retreated to his personal mew when he needed to get away from the bustle of life, or occasionally his wife, or these days the sight of a mudblood in his manor.
Lucius opened the shallow drawer in the center of his desk and brought out his leather pipe pouch. He carefully untied the fastenings, withdrew his sleek, curved calabash, and began to carefully layer the fragrant moist tobacco into the bowl with a well-practiced hand.
"Why are you ignoring me, Lucius?" Abraxas asked.
Without a wand, he used a small silver flamfactum to light the pipe. He sucked at the bit vigorously a few times, making sure the embers were well caught, and cottony plumes of smoke engulfed his face until he fanned a dispersing hand through it.
"I am not ignoring you Father," he finally responded, relaxing into his cushy wingback. "I am smoking."
Abraxas, Rosamunde, all of the numerous Malfoys depicted in the moving, verbose portraits throughout the Manor - that they had all, at some point, been the masters and mistresses of - were insufferable nowadays. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and even to an extent Bellatrix were treated daily to a nonstop hail of criticisms from the tiresome paintings. It had begun when the Dark Lord decided to use Malfoy Manor as his headquarters, waned over the last year as they were magically and repeatedly silenced by Cissa and Bella and threatened with the attic, and then had revived afresh upon the appearance of the mudblood. They were only now getting manageable again, but only just. Lucius couldn't really blame his ancestors for their shock and disappointment at their descendants' failures. If he were in their positions Lucius knew he would behave the same way. Malfoys weren't renowned for their compassion.
"I am trying to advise you, son," Abraxas said quietly.
"I am trying to enjoy my pipe in peace, Father," Lucius returned.
"You used to listen to me," the portrait spoke softly.
Lucius sighed heavily and rubbed at his left temple. He was getting another headache.
"About money," his son uttered.
"About everything," Abraxas retorted.
"When I was fifteen," Lucius said, and sighed again.
If he still had his wand, the same wand that the portrait of his father was holding and which Lucius had lost, he would cast the Silencio charm on him. However, he didn't have the Malfoy wand anymore, and he was contemplating bringing out the attic warning once more. It was so trying. Why couldn't his father just leave him to smoke in peace?
But his father had never left him in peace. Not even when Lucius was grown, and married, and a father in turn. Abraxas Malfoy had always been there, advising, blustering, withholding his approval and occasionally access to the vault, and making Lucius miserable in some form or another. When he had finally given in to the Dragon Pox, Lucius had been quite terrified for some moments afterward that his father would reappear as a ghost and continue haunting him for the rest of his life. He had wanted to feel sad about his father's passing, had really tried to, but all he experienced was a blessed relief – like a considerable burden had dissolved in his chest. Though to the outward public Narcissa had seemed properly bereaved – wearing black dresses and affecting a sedate carriage – she had seemed more carefree in private, quicker to laugh and often boldly flirtatious, as though she were reveling in the freedom that she knew Lucius experienced. It was such a happy time for them both.
"I told you not to get involved with him," Abraxas said, unable to keep quiet even from a frame.
Lucius released a low, throaty chuckle which smacked of skepticism.
"I did," Abraxas insisted. "I told you when you were twenty-two that he was trouble."
"You said that the gods of our ancestors had brought him to abolish the Muggle blight, and that anybody who died in his service would be reserved a special place in the highest paradises off Mount Olympus," Lucius reminded him sardonically.
"I was not talking about you and you know it, Lucius," Abraxas said, visibly stiffening at this unpleasant speech, while his grey sideburns and moustache waggled, doing a kind of wardance. Lucius had begun laughing again, and so the portrait had to speak up. "I never meant for you to join his ranks or risk your life, Lucius. Malfoys do not participate in battles and duels like foolhardy Gryffindors. We keep to the background, temporize, and hedge our bets. I was adamant all those years ago that lying low, and letting others do the dirty work, was the key to staying on top of the whole blasted war!"
"In case it has escaped your attention, Father, the Dark Lord doesn't brook the sort of prevarication to which you are referring. When you try to sidestep his blunt language, you find yourself on the wrong side of his wand and forced into a more forthright frame of mind than you have ever known you are capable of achieving." Toward the end of this, Lucius's voice had soured.
"But Lucius, you brought yourself to his attention," Abraxas spat, leaning forward in his gargantuan chair. "You sought an audience with him, let him brand you, and accepted a mask from him! Why, eh? Why did you do all that when I advised you to try and stay off his path?"
Because I was an idealistic fool of a young man, whose home-life was stifling and unbearable, Lucius thought. And it was a post-teenage rebellion. There had been some fuss over his wanting to marry Narcissa, because of Andromeda, and Lucius had wanted – nay, needed – some outlet for his frustration with the Pure-blood and mudblood clash. He'd convinced himself it was his duty to purge the world of magic of the encroaching scum. He wished now that he had listened to Abraxas, but it was no use crying over spilt potion.
Aloud he simply muttered, "Because I wanted to make a difference."
Lucius took a deep, satisfying drag from the pipe and released the sweet and acrid tendrils of smoke slowly through his nose, allowing the subtle aromas of the expensive tobacco-blend to linger in his nasal cavities.
"Lucius, you have to get them out of our house," Abraxas said.
Lucius ignored him.
"There's something off about that mudblood," he came again.
Lucius rolled his eyes and then shut them as he pulled gently at the warm mouthpiece of his pipe, feeding the embers the air they needed to remain active and aglow.
"She probably knows where Potter is," Abraxas said.
"Do you need to go the attic, Father?" Lucius intoned without much conviction. He was so tired. It was hard for him to strike the proper ring of authority this evening.
"She does not act right," Abraxas said, unable to drop it.
This had always been his father's way. He could never let anything go.
"She's a mudblood. She acts the way we assumed she would," Lucius replied without opening his eyes.
"Lucius, I'm telling you once and for all that that girl is an actress," said the portrait firmly.
"I'm sincerely hoping, for the sake of your position on the wall of my study, that this really will be the last time you tell me this," Lucius said resolutely, opening his eyes, sitting up, and fastening his cool grey irises on the painting hung between the large windows.
"Just think about it, Lucius," Abraxas counseled him delicately. "No one knows for sure where she comes from. Have you or Narcissa ever asked her where she comes from? No. She was helping Dumbledore from such a young age? Dumbledore? You believe that?"
"What does that even mean?"
"I know that you and I, for the most part, saw eye to eye about that man. He was stupid for allowing the Muggle-born pupils of Hogwarts an equal standing among the Pure-bloods. But there were always lines he would not cross, Lucius."
"I do not know what you're getting at."
"Do you mean to tell me that you actually believe a man like Dumbledore would take a brainless, immature, nine-year-old girl, and turn her into a tool to spy on You-Know-Who?"
Lucius closed his eyes again, trying to shut out the image of the condescending look in his father's eyes. It was the same look and patronizing tone he had used time and time again with him when he was alive. "Yes," he answered abruptly.
"Why?"
"Because she was useful to him," Lucius said in exasperation, as though he were trying to explain to a simpleton that one and one make two.
"That's something You-Know-Who would do. Not a wizard like Dumbledore!" Abraxas shouted. He seemed to sense from the basilisk look he was receiving from his son, that he might have gone too far, because he gathered his emotions and started again in a calmer tone. "Lucius, you have to know your enemies better than your friends. I knew Dumbledore better than you, and I'm telling you that using a dumb little girl to gather information on somebody like your master is not something he would have lowered himself to do."
"So, she's what? A diabolical genius?" Lucius asked dryly, and laughed again at the absurdity of it.
"I don't pretend to know what she is son," Abraxas told him carefully. "I just know…she is not what she seems."
"How do you know that? You always say that you can tell, but you never say how. So go on then, Father, enlighten me. What exactly makes you think the stinky troglodyte is so…wily?" Lucius demanded, and raised his eyebrows to affect a look of mock interest.
Abraxas sighed heavily at the sarcastic expression his son was giving him. But he leaned forward a little and attempted to reason with him. "She says that she's twelve and she still plays with dolls. You do not think that extremely odd?"
Lucius scoffed. "No!"
"She is too gross!"
"Of course she is gross! She is a soulless animal, Father. A mudblood. She is the reason we do not want her kind polluting our world," he huffed. He was trying to give his father the benefit of the doubt for once, to humour him on the off chance that he could have a useful point. But as usual, Lucius was disappointed and regretted ever beginning.
"But it's so…exaggerated, Lucius. You don't think all of her belching and her nose-picking and her refusal to bathe is a bit too much?"
"Of course it's too much. Even should she only engage in one of those behaviors, let alone all three, it would always be too much!" Lucius said loudly, the pounding in his temple increasing its tempo as his heart rate elevated.
Lucius knew why his father's portrait was wasting his time with this ridiculous ruse. He just wanted attention. He still wanted Lucius to think he was omniscient, and it was pathetic.
"Have you or any of the other portraits in the manor seen her doing anything contrary to her usual behavior when she's by herself?"
Abraxas sighed, studied his son mutely, and then shook his head briefly.
Lucius got up and strode to the window.
The heat of summer was softening to a milder degree; some cooler breezes signaling the advent of winter. Even though he was not fond of winter, Lucius could feel his spirits flip-flopping with a weak pleasure at the thought of autumn. He really enjoyed the variegation the crisp air lent to the massive trees in the woods around the manor. The vibrant orange and yellow leaves were such a sight to behold from the view of his study.
Lucius had had a perfect life a couple of years ago, before Azkaban. Why had he not seen that then? Why had he been so desperate for more? He would give anything…
He had only wanted to make the world a better place. He wanted to know that his son, and all of the Malfoy descendants, would always be recognized as the superior wizards and witches that their blood line made them. He wanted all of England to understand how fine Draco was; the day Draco was born was one of the happiest moments of his life. He had proved such a welcome addition to the family, through every stage of his development, making them laugh with his ignorant questions and his guileless mischief. All the gold in the world was useless without a child to give it to - a piece of himself for a father to bring up and instruct. What would happen to Draco now? What had Lucius done?
And he thought of Narcissa. His beautiful, beautiful wife and her fortitude and her impeccable comportment; it didn't matter about Andromeda, or for that matter Bellatrix. Cissa was steady and upright. His fair goddess, his perfect potioneer, had always made him happy, always taken care of him as well as he had always taken care of her. She did not sit down and ask for help when she could be doing. He thought of her lovely pale hands preparing potion ingredients, never idle, though her patrimony gave her every right to unlimited leisure. He pictured her in a satin and lace nightdress at her dressing table; he had seen her there so many times, all he had to do was close his eyes and he could see her so vividly. A slim, shapely leg visible through the part in her dressing gown, her delicate blue-veined wrists, her poised laughter and a saucy gleam in her eyes as she related a bit of meaty gossip passed on from one her friends. Her slender fingers nimbly brushing, pinning, painting - employed like magic. She had given him everything that she could, always. She had faithfully and uncomplainingly nursed himself and their son through every illness, made a point of having their favorite dishes frequently on the table, and done dozens of small things to anticipate his wishes. And she did it all with such an easy, graceful way, never expecting thanks for all she did, nor even notice. He could not count the many times he had been on the point of leaving home, on his way to an important meeting with a minister or governor, to inveigle or, if needed, bribe and blackmail, and Cissa had stopped him, said, 'No, Lucius, that cravat doesn't go with that vest', or, 'Lucius, you shouldn't wear the fob watch with that set', and then she went to his jewelry cabinet and selected a more suitable piece for him. She was ever the maven, wanting him to look his best because Narcissa understood, better than anyone, how important appearances are and will always be.
Lucius thought of his small, perfect family and ignored the gabby portrait of the dead father he had spent so much of his life at odds with. He would move his paintings to the attic tomorrow. It would set an example to the others. It was hard enough to live his life, without his antecedents constantly browbeating him for the mess he'd made of it.
This was such a hard thing for him to do. Recognizing his failures as…well as an anything, was not something he had ever been taught to do by his proud parents. But there was some shift, a subtle change was happening around Lucius and he couldn't quite locate where it came from, how long it had been coming on, or even what it was exactly. The world was changing. He suspected the mudblood had something to do with it, or perhaps her presence here was just calling his attention to it. Lucius, at the seasoned age of forty-four was suddenly realizing that there might be different ways of looking at the world. As he remembered his childhood, his overbearing father and his silly, indecisive mother, and even his time at Hogwarts, he could feel the verve of his indoctrination surrounding him. But cutting sharply through, he kept thinking about those letters he had exchanged with Dumbledore. He still had the replies that Dumbledore had sent – his counter-arguments.
As much as Lucius loved his study, his crystal Venetian vases and paperweights, the sterling silver Swedish clock and bookends, the late and Great Uncle Thuban's desk, the calfskin footstools, and the hand-woven Turkish rug, as much as he cherished his home and all of his gold, he would give it all up in a spellflash second, if he could only know that his wife and son would be always safe and healthy. At this point, happiness seemed like too much to hope for.
~x~}{~x~
A couple of days later found them in the Nook. Dusk was settling in and since Jane hadn't slipped away for long, and an afternoon downpour had prevented an earlier outing, she wanted to know if they could go outside for a bit. The Malfoys didn't have many opportunities to spend their evenings in the courtyard since she had come to live with them, though it was something they enjoyed frequently in the past. So they had readily agreed to accompany her.
It was a pleasant evening - the earlier shower lent the air a faint soupiness that felt refreshing rather than clammy. A sweet little nothing of a breeze was playing half-heartedly with Draco and Lucius's hair, coming in for a tease then pulling coyly back. The sun had dipped below the soggy cloudburst, but had yet to marry the horizon, and it was making an exalted spectacle of itself by throwing pink and soft purple shafts of light over the narrow fringe of sky in which it receded.
Jane was playing with the white peacocks; or rather she was terrorizing herself while she harassed them. She had named them, after Lucius coolly explained to her that they were merely meant to be plumage, not pets. So the larger one was now Bert and the smaller was Ernie. Such prosaic names, but they, the Malfoys and the birds, could not have cared less what she called them.
Jane had taken some seed from a dispenser and she was making these ridiculous cooing and chirping noises while she threw it at them. With her hiccupy gait, she would slowly sidle up to the feeding, distracted birds with an outstretched hand as though to stroke them, but as soon as she was positioned too closely to the untamed things they would start squawking and beating their wings while they charged aggressively at her. Then Jane would shuffle off in a clumsy retreat, half yelping, half laughing, obviously frightened and thrilled by them. Then when they'd gone back to pecking at the birdseed, she would start her exhilarating game all over. She was so undignified.
Draco was pretending to ignore Jane, but he was actually planning on throwing his glass of water on her the next time she came close enough to his chair. He had been doing these petty little things to her all week.
The morning after he'd been bewitched by the Amorentia, his mother had found him lying on the floor outside the spare room where Jane slept.
"Draco," she said softly, looking a bit scared that he might start yelling for his Jane at the top of his lungs again. "Why don't you go get in your bed for a while and take a lie-in?" she suggested, taking in his bloodshot eyes and sallow complexion.
Draco could still feel her presence pounding through him as sharply as the pain inside his head, but he had also been able to feel himself, and so he had quietly gone to his room, undressed to his pants and climbed into bed.
When he had woken up again, right before noon, the obsession was completely over. But the humiliation was just beginning. And despite a week's worth of cruel pranks - such as putting three spiders in her bed one night just before they locked her in the room, so that thirty minutes later she screamed so loud Mother and Father had gone rushing in to see who was trying to murder her – and mocking her mercilessly – like imitating her low-class accent and affecting her limp so accurately that Mother and Father had tears of unabashed mirth streaming down their faces, while Jane herself cried from anger and yelled that he was such a 'meany' – Draco had yet to get it all out his system - she needed to shed a lot more tears before he would - and he was plotting a lot of equally callous things to say and do to her over the next week.
If she'd just left him alone he would not have been so angry at her. But he was certain that she'd been quietly laughing up her sleeve at him the entire time, and she shouldn't have followed him around and asked him to play all of those games with her! Oh, he could see her now for the crafty little skunk that she was, and she had to pay.
The sound of distant male voices broke over the courtyard stones, echoing around the Nook, and then they began to grow louder.
The Malfoys all sat up in their seats, bristling at the unwelcome intrusion, and Jane, looking a bit confused and alarmed, went and sat at the table with them. Draco forgot to pour the water on her. He, like his parents, was nervous as five wizards rounded the corner of the conservatory and, calling out "Malfoys!" like they were the best of friends, headed toward the table where they were sitting.
The men were called Charles Quirke, Daniel Baddock, Malcolm Cauldwell, Thaddeus Banks, and Frederick Lipscombe. Each of them clutched a bottle of spirits in one hand and a broomstick in the other. They were underlings of the Dark Lord's, recruited more for numbers than skill, but with an elevated status due to their pure-blood lineage they were allowed to come and go as they pleased, unlike many of the Snatchers.
They were all dressed rather richly, or gaudily as the Malfoys saw it, with plenty of thick gold chains and rings, flashing dully in the fading sun, and brightly colored, unfashionably cut robes made from expensive fabrics. It was all afforded to them, no doubt, by the spoils of war; serving the Dark Lord had plenty of perks, and many a poor little nobody was making a small fortune from their lazy work, with or without the skull and snake insignia. Pure-bloods got the largest portion of the pickings, but there was plenty to go around, and most of the Snatchers that came to the manor were attired in similar flashy decadence.
They seemed steady on their feet as they casually sauntered into the nook, pulled up or conjured chairs, and joined the Malfoys at the table.
Lucius was looking angry, with a tincture of fear puckering his brow, though he was trying to disguise both of these emotions.
Malfoy blood was magically anchored to the very stones the house was built with and it was an old branch of magic commonly known as Homespells. It was as tight and as complex as the magic used to create the Fidelius Charm and for the past three centuries there had been a strenuous dome of wards and enchantments kept regularly invoked around the entire manor to keep out unwelcome persons. However, since his family home had become the Dark Lord's headquarters, these numerous spells had to be modified and relaxed, so that it was easier for a variety of wizards and witches, with dubious intentions and ambiguous heredities, to come and go in the course of their work for the Pureblood cause.
It wasn't uncommon for these types of people to wander around his manor and the surrounding grounds. Sinecurists of this sort came and went daily, reporting on assignments they'd completed and gathering new ones. These jobs mostly consisted of patrolling Diagon Alley, the Ministry, St. Mungo's, and sometimes they were sent to the homes of various citizens to issue warnings and threats - or dole out punishments to those who were repeat offenders. These mercenaries comprised a sort of ragtag police, and they were drunk on the power they wielded and thoroughly corrupt. They lazed around the lowest floor of the manor waiting for new assignments to come in, drinking Lucius's alcohol, helping themselves to the contents of his kitchen and larders, and often took up a spare room for a night, or more, and Lucius sorely wanted them to leave. Or at the very least pay him room and board.
Draco used to think that the young men who were his Slytherin housemates had used some nasty language when they talked about women and sex, but it was actually cleaner than Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover when contrasted with some of the things he'd heard the Dark Lord's servants saying around the manor. Draco had overheard groups of these men and their Snatcher counterparts bragging about how many muggles they'd robbed, raped, tortured, and killed. He was sickened by the things they'd done, the bald language they used to describe it, and also of how proud they seemed to be of the horrendous acts they had committed. Draco knew that as practitioners of magic, and as the supreme race of wizardkind, they were meant to rule the Muggles, but as he was beginning to grasp what many of the Dark Lord's minions defined as 'dominate', he was starting to realize that he wanted no part in it.
Before Lucius bothered to greet them, he said, "We were just going inside," and he made to rise. This was a mistake and as soon as he said it he seemed to realize it.
The convivial smiles of the young men chilled. Their eyes narrowed malignantly and one of them, Charles, clapped one of his luridly bedecked hands over Lucius's shoulder and pulled him roughly down. "Now then, Lucius-" he began.
Malcolm, who was only nineteen and the youngest of the group, started laughing hard, already amused by what he could sense in the near future. Charles and Daniel, the leaders of the pack, looked at Malcolm and started laughing too. Then Thaddeus and Frederick, as though they'd been given permission, laughed as well.
It was stupid. They were stupid, and drunk and mad at the Malfoys for everything that they had been born with, and they were dangerous. Were all three of the Malfoys armed, the boisterous thugs wouldn't have been so pernicious, but, as it thus stood, they posed quite the threat.
Narcissa looked at the bottles they were holding, realized they came from their own private stores, and tried to assess how intoxicated they actually were; and she longed to retrieve her wand, but worried that doing so would precipitate an escalation that could otherwise be avoided.
"Now then, Lucius, my friend," Charles began again, an anaconda grin playing around his mouth. "How's it goin' without the wand, my friend?"
Malcolm, who it seemed was the mindless hanger-on of the group, laughed gratingly after everything that was said, often pulling one of his own heavily bejeweled hands up to cover his mouth as he did so. Draco thought he was perhaps doing this in an attempt to show off the extravagant rings on his hand, but made him seem like a skittish, ten-year-old girl.
Lucius wasn't really sure how to handle the situation. If he had a wand he would put the hoodlums in their places posthaste; but then, if he had enough status to have a wand, he would never have been in this impossible situation to begin with. Up until his capture and imprisonment Lucius had moved through life with all the conveniences of a pampered aristocrat, for if his name and blood-status couldn't cut through any bother or trouble, then his bloated vault at Gringotts could always be relied on to clear the way. Dealing with anything without the assistance of these handy lifelong tools was beyond him.
He knew he hadn't begun right. He should have sat a moment with them and engaged in some small talk - and then made an offhand remark about it being Jane's bedtime. But how could he? They weren't important enough to be counted with the other Death Eaters, they were dressed like vulgar buffoons, and despite their supposed lineage they weren't even close to the elite society with whom he was accustomed to conversing. Sitting around with these morons to drink or be merry would feel exactly like inviting Martha to sit down and take tea with them. All of his propensities were revolting at the very idea. But he should have done it anyway, for the sake of self-preservation.
"Yeah," Daniel mimicked Charles. "'Ow you doin' without yer wand?"
"Very well," he said quietly, glancing at Narcissa's eyes and then the sleeve of her gown, where he knew her wand rested. He plastered a ceramic smile on his face and continued, "So kind of you to inquire. How's the vintage port? Is that the '56?"
Charles held his bottle up and examined it. Then he flung his arm around Lucius and said, "Nope. The '42."
Malcolm draped an arm over the back of Draco's chair and then Daniel placed his around Narcissa's. All three of the Malfoys pinkened at this last one, and Lucius went rigid as the last lout put his unworthy arm around his wife. Draco sorely wished to say something, but knew he should follow his father's lead.
At this awkward moment, Jane decided to get up and go to watch the fish in the fountain.
The five ruffians watched her departure from the table. Lucius couldn't help notice that both Malcolm and Frederick looked after her rather wistfully, the latter actually licking his lips with undisguised yearning.
Charles readjusted his eyes on Lucius. "How's takin' care of that freaky little bitch? We hear she don't like the baths."
They broke into another chorus of chimpanzee laughter. Lucius affected his own milder version of their laughter and so did Draco and Narcissa, but it sounded forced to their own ears and probably did to the others as well. Applying the word 'bitch' to any female was lower than low in Lucius's opinion. The closest he'd ever come to doing so would have been for Bella, but he hadn't. These cretins using the word on the mudblood was crass, but Lucius found himself more upset by them using such foul language in his wife's presence.
Once the monkey noises had subsided, Lucius said, "Yes, she is quite the little beast."
Daniel wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and said, "Yeah, must be 'ard 'avin 'er stinkin' up yer big pretty 'ouse, Malfoy."
Malcolm, like a broken record, clapped his fat gorilla hand over his mouth in another girlish gesture, and tittered harshly again.
"Yes, it is," Lucius woodenly agreed again.
"It true she like to fart at the dinner table?" Charles asked, a wicked smirk shining out of his glassy, drunken eyes.
It was horrible enough to keep the slippery fish in their home, but to know that it was talked of and most definitely joked about by others was especially odious to the Malfoys. Lucius was trying to keep hold of his anger, hoping that, if he patiently waited while the dullards had their laughs at the expense of his family, then eventually they would get bored of it and leave.
"We 'ear you's gotta do all kinds of lil' experiments on 'er," Daniel said. "That true, too?"
"Yes. She's definitely the abominable little freak," Lucius told him. Getting an idea, which he hoped might encourage the lackeys to forget about his earlier faux pas, he said, "She has proven immune to everything we've tried on her, in fact. The Dark Lord has ordered us to feed her countless, deadly poisons. Nothing works. You are more than welcome to try some curses on her if you would like, to see for yourselves."
"That right?" Thaddeus asked, and looked to Charles to see how he would react.
"It's true," Narcissa said, giving her husband a casually loaded look before she turned to Charles and continued. "Even the Cruciatus Curse has no effect on her."
Charles actually looked a bit interested by this suggestion, "Any one ever tried the Killing Curse on 'er?"
Narcissa and Lucius were appreciably alarmed by this question and Lucius rapidly told them, "No, no! The Dark Lord, to my knowledge, has not cast that particular curse on her yet, and I ask you not to either. He would be most displeased by that I believe, and would surely punish any who did so without his express permission." Lucius was trying to draw their animosity away from the Malfoys and onto the Jane (who had the inviolable protection of their master) but now he was worried he might be digging his own grave. "I am simply suggesting you try casting some hexes and jinxes at her if you would like. Many of our acquaintances like to see it for themselves, you see, as it is such an oddity for anyone to be immune to magic."
"Narcissa," Lucius, said with a simulacrum of an easy smile, "May I see your wand, love? I will give them a small demonstration."
Narcissa hurriedly pulled out her wand and handed it to him, relieved that the onus of protection, if it came to that, would fall on her husband rather than herself.
Since Jane was at least ten feet away from the table where they sat, Lucius had to take careful aim as he cast a few spells at her. Knowing it would impress them more if the men knew which jinxes he was using, Lucius spoke the incantations aloud instead of doing it nonverbally as he would have done any other time. When the magic started pouring into her, Jane sat up and looked over to them.
Draco gave her a casual wave and a fake smile and all eight of them laughed, united against the frowsy muggle.
His plan was working. The inebriated thugs were starting to focus their sloppy gazes at Jane, and Lucius was just beginning to relax and congratulate himself on his cleverness when Draco, inadvertently, went and ruined it all.
Lucius knew it was an accident. Draco simply thought they might be interested in knowing about it, but it was badly taken when he told them, "The Dark Lord even brought an Orb of Thanatos for her to touch a few weeks ago."
They clearly didn't know what an Orb of Thanatos was, ignorant gits that they were. They didn't appreciate the boy saying that, because they thought he was trying to make them feel stupid.
If the Malfoys had a proper status, had wands even, then one of them, Charles probably, would have feigned an interest in what Draco said, and he would been open to receiving an education. But this, combined with the earlier rebuff, convinced them that the Malfoys were still putting on misplaced airs because of their wealth. When were the Malfoys going to stop acting like the bleeding snobs that they were? How low did they have to go, before they would come around to the realization that they weren't better than everybody else?
"That so?" Charles asked, his eyes regaining an insidious gleam. "She touched one of them, eh?"
"Tell us somethin', Draco," Frederick chimed in, "she ever touched one of yer orbs?"
Draco's eyes rounded out with shock and horror. Did they know about the love potion?
Daniel, Frederick, and Malcolm burst into the rowdiest laughter yet. But Charles was quietly taking in the communicative expression on Draco's face.
"Now, now," Lucius said, his face the vibrant color of a tomato, "there's no need for such crude language in my wife's presence."
The Malfoys were rapidly losing their semblance of cool.
The undemanding position that these ruffians had been enjoying, combined with the nature of the work they did for their master, had spoiled them. These men may have begun with a little decency when they enlisted to straighten out the pecking order of the wizarding world, drawn in by the power and the uncomplicated accumulation of wealth, but they were now rotten to the core.
"We should be getting Jane to bed soon," Lucius cut in, over the rank sounds of their polluted laughter.
"You like puttin 'er to bed, Lucius?" asked Malcolm, causing an increase in their noisy glee.
"That's just about enough!" he said loudly as he stood, unable to ignore such disgusting allusions.
"Come along Cissa, Draco," he commanded.
His wife and son rose from their chairs.
Charles quickly pulled his wand out of his robe and cast a hex at Lucius.
Lucius wasn't as prepared for it as he should have been, distracted as he was by his fury at their nasty insinuations, but he still managed to deflect it with his own Protego spell.
He managed to disarm Malcolm and Frederick, while Draco was trying to wrest Daniel's wand away from him. But when he turned to take on Charles, Lucius saw that he had immobilized Narcissa, was standing behind her, using her as a shield, and he had his wand to her throat.
"Drop it," Charles commanded.
Behind him Lucius heard a deep voice, probably belonging to Thaddeus, shout, "Legrancum!" and then he heard Draco moan in pain and the distinct sound of a body hitting the paved stones.
Daniel laughed, and then said, "You bloody git! Took ya long enough to get 'im off me!"
Lucius had never felt so helpless in his life as he saw his wife's face; the spell had captured her countenance, and she had her lip curled in disgust. She didn't look scared, simply contemptuous.
Lucius heard another incantation and he lost consciousness.
~x~}{~x~
Narcissa could not turn her head to her son or her husband, could not discover their injuries or fates in this nightmare falling over her family. They were handicapped without wands. She had always known it. But this moment was crashing it into her painfully and inclemently. Martha had gone home, Bella, even were she to appear, had no wand, Jane was as stupid and useless as the peacocks, and any other Death Eater who might come across this scene would be just as likely to join in with the torment as they would to offer them help, depending on how the mood struck them - except for Severus, but he was at Hogwarts now and usually only came for the Sunday meetings. They had not seen him for weeks. They were alone and helpless.
Morgana help us! Narcissa sent a desperate orison to a numinous benefactress she normally lent little heed to.
Charles and his lackeys were delighted with the outcome of the brief skirmish. It was all over now. The Malfoys were subdued and at their mercy - of which they had none.
Charles stepped out from behind the blonde bitch, walked over to her blond bastard of a husband, and embedded a vicious kick into Lucius's stomach. He revived enough to moan. Then the young man leaned down and spat on his face.
"You still think your shit don't stink, donchya Lucius?" he asked, with voice brimming with hatred.
"Wha'dya reckon we should do with them?" Daniel asked joyfully, and then took a long drink from his bottle.
"Oi," Malcolm drew his companions' attention softly. They turned and looked at him. "This ent a good idea," he said, nervously looking at them, two on the ground and Mrs. Malfoy still standing like a white marble statue.
She was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. Malcolm didn't mind hurting Muggles, he liked fucking the little ones. But Mrs. Malfoy was nothing like those scared, mindless animals that he loved to make cry. She was everything he'd been taught to believe was above him, out of his reach, and her face, frozen in disdain, just seemed to be confirming this belief.
Charles and Daniel might get ideas about bringing her down, but Malcolm didn't want to participate in that. He liked women like her being so calm and ethereal. She was like an angel to him and he didn't want to tear off her wings, see her sobbing and begging; he could feel uncertainty setting into his mind, holding him back this time.
"Blimey, Mal! Wochu' talkin' about, eh?" Charles asked, his voice sounding a touch peevish.
"They's Death Eaters," Malcolm said urgently. "We ent. The Dark Lord might not like us makin' sport of 'em. They ent exactly the Muggle rubbish we usually play round wif, yeah?"
"Who cares!" Daniel shouted furiously. He didn't want to hear these sensible thoughts. He was getting too warmed up with the thought of teaching the Malfoys the lesson they so clearly needed. "They's nobodies now! They don't even get invited to the meetings anymore, what I 'ear."
"Yeah," Charles seconded. "They're so low they're mindin' Muggle filth!"
"Let's go," he urged them. "We got some good plans fer tonight. Let's just go and find some Muggles to get it on with."
Apparently Malcolm, who at first seemed like the dumbest of the lot, had a lot more common sense than his mates. "What if Lestrange gets another wand, eh? She's Mrs. Malfoy's sister, and I ent wanna be on 'er dark side. I 'ear she's barmy."
"Then just go, you tetchy lil' rat. It ent like we can't erase their memories after we're done," Charles said harshly.
"Ya know that spell, do ya?" Malcolm asked sceptically.
"Course I know it," Charles told him calmly.
"I'm goin'," he told them. He was not as confident in the leader's skills as Charles seemed to be.
From the corner of her eye Narcissa saw Malcolm pick up a broom from the ground, mount it, and take off.
"I can't believe Mal's missin out on the fun," Daniel said, as he watched his colleague fly away. Now his voice was thick with doubt.
"Donchya be getting no ideas of following him now, Danny!" Charles commanded him. Then his demand somersaulting to an entreaty. "Ya hear?"
Please let him leave, Narcissa thought. Just let them all leave.
All was silent for a moment.
"Right then," Charles said. "You lot get them up."
Suddenly Lucius was brought into the side of her wobbly vision as Frederick and Daniel hoisted him into a seat. Blurrily she watched undulating lines moving around Lucius as Daniel cast ropes around her husband's arms and upper body. Then she heard them hauling Draco into the seat beside her husband.
It was an indescribable agony to hear everything, to see half-formed pieces in her periphery, and have no power to stop what was happening to them - or to even move her body.
Once Draco and Lucius were positioned and bound, Daniel and Charles cast counter spells at them so they could revive and be aware of what was happening.
"Release us this instant or I'll kill you," she heard her husband say in a breathy panting voice that wasn't as cold and hard as it would have been if he was not in so much pain.
The remaining four burst into shameless laughter.
"Pipe down now, Lucius," Daniel said. "It'll all be over quick 'nuff."
"Or not," Thaddeus added.
They just kept laughing and laughing. Narcissa didn't think she could stand much more of it.
When Charles came to her, put his arm around her, she thought she would be sick. She could actually feel hot, acrid bile rising and burning the back of her throat, but she was unable to swallow it down. Her eyes were watering as well, as she had no control of any of her faculties and couldn't even perform a simple blink to moisten them.
Charles ran his finger down her cheek, sliding it through the damp streak that glistened in the dusky light.
"Look at 'er," he said softly. "She were about to get 'exed and all she felt was scorn for us."
Daniel laughed again. He was the best looking of the rough bunch, with piercing blue eyes, bright black hair, and a straight nose and square jaw. Even though he was almost thirty, three years older than Charles, he was only the second-in-command of their motley gang.
Charles had a forceful, charismatic personality, and he was clever. He always had good ideas for getting better jobs with bigger pay-offs, and with his silver-tongue he could snake his way out of just about any sticky situation. So, for now, Freddy, Mal, Danny, and Tad all looked to him to negotiate their way through the murky waters of life in the Dark Lord's service, and he had steered them safely thus far. Of course, loyalties were in never-ending flux as the tides and undertows of power constantly churned and shifted, so the second he took a misstep, he could be sure one of his followers would get him in the back. There was no honor among thieves.
Charles wasn't in any hurry, and to demonstrate his comfort he brought the bottle of port to his mouth and took a few long swigs.
He put his wand to Narcissa's head, leaned in closer to her ear, and whispered a spell.
Cissa could feel her whole head and neck relaxing, though everything from the neck down remained immovable. She started to blink and swallow.
"Release me now, pig, or me and mine will spend the rest of our lives making yours' unlivable."
"Shut your mouth, you cheeky little bitch!" Charles ground out roughly through his teeth. And then, soft again, "You think you're better than me, donchya?"
"You're not fit to lick my boots, scum," Narcissa told him calmly, coldly, boring her icy eyes into him. He was chilled by her glacial composure. He was used to panicky Muggle animals, and had never had the courage to assault a genuine lady before now - but he'd always wanted to fuck Narcissa.
With his arm still around her, Charles forced his bottle roughly into her mouth, bruising her lips and banging the glass against her teeth as he did so. Once he had the bottle firmly in her mouth he tilted it forcefully up, causing some of the fiery spirits to spill into her.
Narcissa tried to swallow it so she wouldn't choke, but she was so angry and disconcerted a small portion of it slipped into her windpipe and she began to splutter and cough.
"Let my mother go, you barbarians! I'll kill you if you touch her!" Draco called from his seat, and he pulsed and writhed, tried to struggle out of his bindings.
Lucius, who was having his own trouble staying conscious, said weakly, "You will be sorry for this."
Charles used his wand to give both the man and his boy some magical pain. Draco and Lucius screamed for a full minute, before Charles felt sufficiently mollified. Narcissa felt more hot tears run down her cheeks, but these had nothing to do with an inability to blink.
"Shut it! All three of you just shut it!" Charles was enraged. "That's what I can't stand about you lot, you arrogant bastards! You just never know when to say sorry. You walk round all the time with your noses in the air and it disgusts me! Well… Guess what? All your money and your big house and your fancy clothes and hoity-toity manners ent gonna save you now."
"Now then," and he turned back to Narcissa, "I wanna know what color your knickers are."
"Go to Hades," she told him. Her heart started pumping faster with a fear she tried not to show.
Lucius thought he might cry. He couldn't cry; he was a Malfoy. But if he had to watch these men treat his wife like some sort of slattern he would die. Lucius was wavering between rage and a deep shame and grief. He couldn't even protect his family anymore.
"I bet they're lacy, Chuck!" Frederick called out. "Blimey, is that a Firebolt?" he asked, catching sight of Draco's broom. He weaved a serpentine path to the broomstick leaning against the wall and picked it up. Freddy was a total pedophile – boys or girls, either would do for him – and Narcissa's knickers held very little interest to him, as he knew there would be hair beneath them.
"Merlin's nuts, Freddy," Thaddeus called loudly, "you have dung for brains! Come 'ere and let's see what her knickers look like. I bet they got some silky ribbons on them."
Thaddeus, Frederick, and Daniel started making bets on what sort of undergarments Narcissa was wearing while Charles, his hazel eyes glued to his beautiful victim, began using his wand to slowly raise the costly fabrics of her silk gown and satin shift. He was trying to gage how far he would have to lift them before her stolid demeanor avalanched.
Narcissa was managing to keep up her pretense of cool indifference. But only until she felt the benign, teasing breeze swirling around her bare knees.
This was it. She was breaking, and her face crumpled. "Lucius," she sobbed.
"Oi!" Cissa heard Jane call.
The next thing everybody knew the little brat was in the center of the group.
"That's nuff, now," Jane said calmly. "You's gotta be goin' now."
Charles was so taken aback by the tiny urchin's tranquil order that he just gaped at her with his mouth hanging open like a codfish.
"Scuse me?" he asked, regaining his momentum. "Did you just speak to me?"
The sun was halfway sunk beneath the horizon and the magical torches that were placed around the courtyard and trained to ignite themselves should any people be present were now lit up. The flickering flames were swaying and rocking over Jane's glasses and the metal over her teeth.
"You's gotta bein' gode now," she repeated.
Charles led the men in a round of hearty laughter. He dropped his wand from Narcissa skirts and they fell down to where they belonged, at her ankles once more.
For all her relief, Narcissa didn't know what would happen. She was glad that Jane was distracting them, and she was scared that the men, drunk on liquor and power, might hurt her – Frederick's salacious eyes fixed on Jane were not lost on Narcissa, even in her state of distress – and she couldn't see how any of this might have a satisfactory outcome. If they decided to attack Jane, the Dark Lord would probably kill everybody present, incapacitated or otherwise.
"I don' think you understand what's goin' on here, Mudblood," Charles told her, a mad little glint in his eyes. He walked closer to the little girl, leaned down a little and softly explained, "See, we've got the wands and the power 'ere, yeah. We're bigger than you, we're smarter than you, and I ent appreciatin' ya trying to tell me what I gotta do."
He gently but firmly pushed on her shoulder, and Jane was forced to take a step or two back.
"If you hurt her, the Dark Lord will kill us all," Narcissa cautioned him.
And then, quite mysteriously, Jane, in a soft, almost sing-song voice crooned, "Is baffy-waffy time Chuppywuppykin."
Lucius saw Charles eyes widen in terror and disbelief as he quickly moved away from Jane as though he'd been burned by her words. "What?" he softly spat.
Jane didn't repeat it. Instead she said, "You's be 'earin me, Chuck. Now get on your brooms and fly 'way. Or I's tellin' everyone what it meaned."
Charles looked thoroughly dazed, but then he made a raw sound and took a step toward her. He pulled back his hand as though to strike her. Thankfully he didn't. He seemed too disoriented and too distraught.
Daniel came toward them at this point and asked, "Oi, what's she goin' on about?"
Danny leaned down into Jane's face now and asked, "What you talkin' about, you uppity lil' cripple?"
And then, just as inexplicably, Jane looked at Daniel and opened her mouth and started talking to him in what sounded like a lilting foreign language. Lucius did not know what language it was, but it had a distinctly Oriental rhythm to it.
Danny also looked horrified by her cryptic speech. He took some steps away from Jane as though she'd just grown ten inch fangs and sprouted a gruesome pair of scaly wings.
"All of you's better goed now, or I's be sayin' all your secrets to each uvver," Jane said calmly.
Charles leaned down once more, and with a face permeating hatred he growled, "You better watch yer back, bitch!"
And then he went and retrieved his broom from where it was leaning against a chair.
"What's goin' on?" Thaddeus asked.
"We're leavin', Tad, Freddy, Danny!" Charles barked.
"Why?" Thaddeus whined. "It's just gettin' good."
"Now!" Charles yelled. He soared up about ten feet and then turned around and watched the rest of them. He had to make sure they would follow him. "Now!" he shouted again, sounding more than a little deranged.
Thaddeus got onto his broom, Frederick climbed onto Draco's brand new Firebolt and they both took off into the night.
Daniel was still standing looking at Jane. He didn't seem scared or angry anymore, simply numb. Without speaking he took up his broom, cast a last blank look at the mudblood, turned away from the Nook, and ascended the cool twilit air.
Only after his mates had departed, did Charles turn and follow.
Jane hobbled over to Mrs. Malfoy's wand, picked it up and tried to put it in her hand.
"No Poisson, you daft darky!" Narcissa chided her. "Can't you see that I can't hold it? Give it to Lucius or Draco!"
Without a word, Jane did as she was instructed.
Though he did try, Lucius was too damaged to keep hold of it and he promptly dropped it. So Jane picked it up once more and put it into Draco's hand. Draco, though he was not as bad off as his father, still had a hard time maneuvering it properly, especially as his arms were tied tightly to the chair. He dropped it after a few tries, Jane retrieved it for him again, and finally, just when they all thought Jane might have to leave them there and go track down Bellatrix, Draco managed to unfreeze his mum.
Narcissa was shaking uncontrollably, but after some sloppy wrist movements she finally freed her husband and son from their ropes.
When Lucius tried to stand up, he was racked with such a harsh fit of coughing that he brought up some blood.
"Oh Medea! What have they done to you?" Narcissa cried.
Draco, weak and trembling, Jane, small and lame, and Narcissa, shaken and ashamed, together managed to get Lucius upstairs and into bed. As soon as he had finished getting his father settled, Draco promptly collapsed, and Narcissa and Jane had to help him into the bed as well, to lie beside his father.
Around ten Bella came looking for them.
"What's happened?" she cried from the doorway, as she took in her brother-in-law and nephew on the bed side by side, while Jane was wiping Lucius's forehead with a damp cloth and Narcissa sat at the breakfast table fiercely grinding some seeds with a mortar and pestle.
"We were attacked," Narcissa told her succinctly, as she distractedly pushed some displaced hair away from her sweaty forehead and went back to the arduous task of grinding.
"What! By whom?"
"It doesn't matter. They're long gone, now," Narcissa huffed. She was a mess. Her make-up was smudged around her eyes, her hair was rumpled and, in her haste to administer some potions, she had spilled something orange all over her pink gown. But, for once, Narcissa had no thought to spare for how she looked.
"Of course it matters, Cissy! Tell me what happened!" she demanded.
Narcissa pithily related what had happened at the Nook.
"What did the mudblood say to them?!"
"I don't know, Bella! It just sounded like gibberish to me, but it scared them."
Bellatrix, who had come into the room by this point, strode closer to Jane and asked, "What did you say to them, Mudblood?"
Jane wrung warm, herb-laced water from the compress she was holding, and put it back over Lucius's sweaty forehead. She shrugged.
Bellatrix went up behind her, grabbed her, and spun her around.
"What did you say to make them leave?" she asked, her eyes wild with anger.
Jane gave her a blank look and shrugged again.
Bellatrix raised her hand to slap the waif, but she felt a stab of hot pain run down her shoulder and arm.
Bellatrix looked up and saw Narcissa's wand trained on her.
"Just leave her be, Bellatrix! And help me!" she cried.
"Why didn't she say something sooner?! If she had the power to make them stop, then why didn't she interfere as soon as it began?!" Bella wanted to know.
"Because she hates us," Cissa imparted softly, darting narrowed, acidic eyes at the child.
"Give me your wand, Cissy. I'm going to find them and kill them!"
"No! It's over for now! I-I need…help!" she panted.
Narcissa had taken three years of training for a healer after she'd completed her N.E.W.T.s., but her parents had instructed her drop her studies once she was engaged. She knew a great deal more about healing than the average witch, but she wasn't certain she knew enough to help her husband. Draco was better, he was resting now, but Lucius was still in bad shape. She might send for a healer, but who could say if any would come to the home where the Dark Lord held court? If it came down to it, she would take him to St. Mungo's, with or without their master's permission. But she didn't want the Dark Lord, or anyone, to know what had happened to them. What had almost happened to her.
"Narcissa, those scum have to pay for what they did to you," Bellatrix told her roughly. She was panting with fury and her voice was like gravel.
"Yes, and they will. But Lucius will want to help, and I need to heal him first. Please, go to the Brewery and get the Fuscillitia. It's in a purple bottle, inside the black glass-fronted cabinet, between the windows."
"Lucius couldn't even protect you, Narcissa. He's worthless," Bellatrix said, her tone rife with derision. "Let him die! He just sat there while that cockroach practically raped you!"
Bellatrix felt a cut of pain across her face. She raised her hand to her cheek.
"Get out! Get out, now!" Narcissa shouted. "And don't you dare tell anybody what happened, or you'll get worse than that!"
Bellatrix turned on her heel and stormed from the room.
Narcissa sat down at the table, put her head in her arms and started to sob.
"Mrs. Malfoy," she heard Jane say softly.
"What do you want?" Narcissa asked in a harsh, wary voice.
"I's get the purple bottle for you," Jane offered.
"Fine then, Poisson. If you can find it, then go and get it for me. Just leave my sight," Narcissa told her.
Narcissa kept Jane fetching and carrying until three in the morning. Jane was as pliable and meek as a kitten. Without complaint or emotion, she laboured under Narcissa's rude instructions until she finally fell asleep propped up in a chair in the corner.
Around dawn, Narcissa finally sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. She had done it. Lucius was healed.