Editor: Gladiusx. Beta Reader: OtsutsukiMitra.
Evening of the solstice,
Malfoy Manor
The sound of table utensils clattering on the porcelain of plates echoed in the expansive manor's halls. In the dining room, two figures sat on a long and lonely table that could fit twenty.
"How do you find the food, Draco?" Narcissa gazed fondly at her son, her plate empty from the meagre meal she had.
"It's… alright." Draco idly looked at the green peas and mashed potatoes before eating reluctantly. "Why do we have to make our own food, mother?"
"It's a good idea to learn how to cook and prepare your meals, just in case you ever need to take care of yourself, my son."
"But we never had to worry about that. Why now?" Draco placed his utensils on his empty plate and stared at her hesitantly. "Does it have to do with how everyone treated us yesterday?"
Narcissa sighed inwardly, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. Word had leaked about her falling out of favour with her husband, most likely by that cur Rowle, yet none seem to know the full details. Thankfully, the oath of secrecy prevented that fool from providing details, yet enough had been hinted at yesterday that none gave them the respect they previously enjoyed.
By Morgana, Theodore Nott practically undressed her with his eyes last night! Narcissa knew that the widower lusted after her, as did many others, but he had always controlled himself lest he felt her husband's wrath. Now, he was more brazen with his stares, even attempting to grope her, and she would have cursed the fool if not for an unlikely saviour.
Of all the people who treated her with kindness yesterday, it was Arthur Weasley. Her distant cousin had smoothly taken her away from the lot she had tried to embed herself in, and she was grateful to him for that.
It saddened her to hear that Aunt Cedrella had chosen to join her grandson in Egypt over staying in the Isles, but she was glad Arthur was better. Her night had improved when young Harry greeted them before being spirited away by a gaggle of girls for a dance.
Alas, their family's good standing was the least of their woes.
Her Draco was a smart boy and knew that things had changed in their fortunes. Lucius had doomed them when he installed that withdrawal limit from Gringotts. A thousand galleons a year was enough to allow them to live comfortably, yet her husband's mind was surely addled when he signed that cursed decree.
The damned goblins had used a loophole to retroactively include all previous withdrawals of the year in that decree and then charged them for breaking the contract; only Morgana knew how much gold they pilfered as a penalty. Now, they could not withdraw a single Knut, and her savings were barely enough to last them a month.
Worse, the Manor's vault was keyed to Lucius and only Lucius. The only way it would open for Draco was if Lucius died, but even then, she wasn't certain if there was gold inside.
Soon enough, they would be forced to sell some of the treasures and luxuries in the manor to make do. That would not go unnoticed, however, and like grindylows smelling blood in the water, their enemies would pounce on them.
"Mother?"
She stood up and walked to her son, hugging his head, earning herself a weak protest. "Do not worry about those people, my little dragon. Your father has been out of the spotlight as he contracted a malicious curse and is seeking treatment. His associates saw that as weakness and have shown their true colours."
"But, even my friends - even Pansy told me her father told her to keep her distance. And you know how much they've been bending backwards for us."
"Fair-weather friends they have proven themselves to be, and an unworthy bride to be. Now we know not to associate with them." Narcissa stroked her son's hair soothingly, the boy finally surrendering to her ministrations. "You have learned how shallow they are, and you must now learn to make better friends."
"How? Father was the one who introduced them to me, and they always listened to everything I said."
Draco's mother bit her lips in frustration at how messed up her son had grown to become. She could not even bring herself to blame Lucius fully, for she was always there to support every decision her husband made. Friends were a fleeting dream; only mutually beneficial alliances were worth anything… was what her maiden house had espoused and taught her when she was young.
Narcissa could scarcely recall any instance of her making friends in school. Even when others approached her, she always kept a wary wall around her, for why else would anyone want to befriend her aside from getting close to the House of Black? Unbidden, her thoughts strayed to a certain red-haired Weasley she had met on that fateful first train ride, whom Narcissa scorned once she was sorted into Gryffindor. Then, she was reminded of Draco's tale of how he first met Harry Potter.
"This is something that the both of us will need to work on, my dragon. No matter what we face, we must stay strong and look forward to a brighter tomorrow. Now, how about you prepare for our ritual? I will meet you at the foyer."
Draco looked lost as he nodded to her and returned to his room. Narcissa waved her wand and had the plates follow her as she made her way to the kitchens and deposited them into a growing pile of dishes that needed to be washed. Lamenting the lack of servants or house-elves, the Malfoy Matriarch sighed as she made her way to her room to change into a white linen dress, a simple garb fit for the ritualistic prayer to Magic.
She retrieved this year's offerings from a chest, thanking the heavens that she insisted Lucius prepare them last spring, or else they would never be able to afford them now.
Pausing, Narcissa's eyes lingered upon the offerings; they had decided on a set of three items from the dragons inhabiting the British Isles, hoping that Mother Magic would bless her Draco. The blood essences of a Hebridean Black, a Common Welsh Green, and the Irish Oil-Scale. Unlike normal blood, the essence was the small portion that would remain in the dragon's heart, even after death.
After grabbing vials of powdered incense and fairy dust, Narcissa shut the chest.
Draco was already waiting for her in the foyer, wearing a similar plain white garb.
"Ready to begin, dear?"
Her son nodded, and she held his arm as they left the manor. The prayers for the solstice could be started at any time from dusk till dawn. Lucius was never a man of faith and did not care about the ritual, allowing her to dictate how the ceremony proceeded.
While her husband couldn't care for the olden traditions, Narcissa did.
How could she not, when her father beseeched her great-aunt Cassiopeia to help in her thirteenth birthday ritual? So much was invested in that ritual that she did not truly understand, as Narcissa was blindfolded and deafened for most of it, yet it had borne fruit!
Draco was the very proof of how she had managed to overcome the curse that plagued the women of House Black that made it difficult to have children.
They made their way to a spot in the grounds where blocks of stone were arranged in the form of a triquetra, with the convergence point being an altar. The Malfoy Matriarch summoned a stack of firewood, cut from oak and rowan, arranged them in a fire pit, and set them alight. Then she poured the incense into the fire, causing it to flare a brilliant blue and give a soothing smell before emptying the fairy dust, causing the flames to turn purple and grow in strength.
They prayed in silence, thanking their blessings and the creatures where the offerings came from, before Narcissa produced the blood vials and handed them to Draco.
"Go ahead, son."
Draco nodded, grey eyes full of determination, and poured the dragon blood at the flames, one vial at a time. First was the Hebridean, the flames turning an ominous black, then the Welsh, the flames turning a venomous green, and finally the Irish, the flames turning a mellow yellow. They sat on the dirt ground and held vigil as the fires danced, colours slowly shifting back and forth. Seconds stretched to minutes, and minutes grew into hours with mother and son staring at the flames, enjoying the heat and staving off sleep.
"Mother, will Father ever return?"
Narcissa jerked at the sudden question and turned to find her son staring forlornly at the flames. "What brought this on?"
"I don't know." Draco shook his head, his brows furrowed in confusion. "He's never stayed away for so long before. He visited over a week ago, didn't he? Why didn't he speak to me? What did he even want that had you shut in the parlour without me?"
Narcissa remained silent as her son stared at her imploringly, hoping for an answer. How could she explain this to her little dragon? She sighed as she hugged him sideways and decided a hint of the truth should do. "Your father had done terrible things, Draco. He now suffers the consequences, but you must learn from his mistakes. Lucius did not have friends, not true ones at least, and the moment he appeared weak, all his friends turned their–"
"Yes, yes, you already said that." Draco waved his hand dismissively, causing her to frown. "But will father return? No matter what he did, surely he can still make things right and come back. I mean," her son waved his hands in the air, trying to point out the obvious. "It's Father. He always manages to make things right."
"… I don't know, Draco. All we can do is pray for our future and Magic's blessings." Her son did not look satisfied with the answer and returned his attention to the fire.
Soon, the flames started dying, and they said their final prayers. Just before it completely fizzled out, a cold wind blew for a heartbeat, and the flames fanned into a vibrant orange.
Magic was giving them a boon!
Before she could breathe, the flames sputtered out, and nothing happened. Still, Narcissa smiled as she stood.
"This was different." Draco stood up and stretched, "What do you think it meant?"
"That shall remain to be seen. Let's get you back to bed, it's nearly midnight."
Her little dragon nodded, and they cleaned up after the fire. Once the altar was clean, they returned to the manor, her son yawning. They barely opened the door to the foyer, only for the ding of the floo to greet them. Narcissa frowned at the fireplace, wondering who would call this late at night, only for her eyes to soften as she saw a certain girl's head shyly looking at them in discomfort.
"Er, Mrs Malfoy? I'm sorry to call unannounced and so late, but I er… I don't have any other options."
Narcissa could have questioned her, but there was no need. A glance at her eyes gave her surface thoughts of fear and despair, but she was too far away to learn more. Nevertheless, she smiled in sympathy, "Of course, dear. You can come in, Merula."
The fireplace flared green, and then Merula Snyde entered the foyer, dressed shabbily and dragging an old suitcase, gazing at her hesitantly before bowing. "Thank you, my lady."
"None of that now. You remember Merula, Draco?" her son nodded hesitantly, "It appears she managed to lose her job yet again. What was it this time, dear?"
Merula half choked, half coughed, vainly attempting to regain her dignity. "I, er, might have slapped some ministry official for getting handsy with me."
"Just slapped, dear?"
"I dumped a bowl of hot soup on his head for grabbing my arse, alright?" The girl finally confessed. "That blonde brute and his friends had it coming, yet the stupid restaurant covered for them. My lodging was provided by my work, and now that my unlamented aunt blew up our only house, I'm homeless."
Merula looked at her beseechingly as Narcissa approached her, grabbing her cheeks and inspecting her face where bruise marks were visible. The shorter girl flinched, and Narcissa's skin crawled as she felt the remains of dark magic on her, causing the blonde woman to scowl. Someone had got more than handsy with her, and considering the description…
She gazed at the girl's orange eyes, Merula seemingly understanding her silent request and letting her in. Narcissa focused and found herself staring at the happenings of the day. She scowled as she saw that brute Rowle with others making a scene in the restaurant; how the fool had the guts to appear in public after the papers lambasted him, she did not know.
A glance at his companions had her scowl deepen. Crabbe, Goyle, and others, but most importantly, Nott. It appeared Theodore was busy securing the loyalty of her husband's friends.
Coming out of the girl's mind, Narcissa was distracted by her orange hair and then noticed her orange eyes. A colour so similar to that final burst of flames from the ritual, and Narcissa's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Was Magic telling her to accept the girl into her home? Into her family? She certainly would not mind; Merula was a hardworking witch. A pureblood that can trace her lineage for centuries, and had left a good impression on her years ago. Draco could use an older sister, and with Lucius who knew where, having a retainer on hand sounded brilliant.
"Draco." Her son perked up from where he was yawning and approached them. "Take Merula to the room opposite mine. Move your things to the room next to hers. This mansion is far too large for us, and without Dobby, we can no longer maintain it. We shall all live in the same wing."
Draco nodded and grabbed the girl's luggage; Merula gave her a watery yet heartfelt smile. Narcissa patted her shoulders as she started to thank her profusely, and within a minute, they were chatting genially as they followed Draco to Merula's new room.
Narcissa wasn't sure why, but she had a strong feeling she would need the support of another witch in the house. Lucius' absence was felt dearly, even after all the woe he had caused them, and expanding on their household was a sound idea.
Her husband's aversion to hiring witches or wizards in their home was understandable, but it was time for Narcissa to practice what she preached to her son.
A*L*S*M
Same evening,
Birmingham.
Mundungus Fletcher wiped the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief while waiting for his client. The evening was hotter than usual, and his long coat did not help. It was one of those jobs he would normally not risk doing. Abetting in the rape of three muggle girls, then using some obscure ritual on them… not even Dumbledore could save him if he was caught red-handed.
The thought of the headmaster made him sweat even more.
Mundungus knew he shouldn't be doing this, not just because of something as silly as conscience, but because he had another significant deal coming up soon. With the ministry not doing anything about the issue of cauldron bottom thickness and even tightening imports of foreign cauldrons, many potion makers suddenly found themselves in dire need of high-quality cauldrons from abroad.
Swedish cauldrons of the finest quality! A deal he only managed to procure ahead of time because of his source in the DIMC. There was a bulk order coming soon enough that would turn him into a rich man!
Dung shook his head as he checked the streets, waiting for the Malfoy lord. Despite the late hour, there were still a few muggles walking up and down the street, and if not for his Muggle-Repellent charm, the police would have questioned him for loitering. His knowledge of muggles was better than most wizards, but not by much, and the longer he waited for Malfoy, the more he had doubts.
Just where the bloody hell–
"What do you have for me, Fletcher?"
Mundungus' heart jumped to his throat, and he turned to the shivering form of the Malfoy Lord. The sunken cheeks and cold eyes gave shivers in his back, but he hurriedly gathered himself.
"As you requested, three muggle girls. One seventeen-year-old and fifteen-year-old twins, all knocked out with a sleeping drought. Their mother is dead, and their father should be out of the house until morning."
"Should?"
Mundungus shivered again at the cold voice before hurriedly nodding. "Y-Yes, I followed him closely, and he works at the butchery down the street. Heard them say they expected a lorry of sheep, and it would take them all night to have them settled."
The smuggler wiped the sweat on his neck as the gaunt man stared at him silently for a minute before slowly nodding. "You are certain they are pure?"
"The charms said so, and the family is one of those - er, I'm not sure where they're from exactly, but they follow that faith from the desert that demands celibacy before marriage."
"What faith, you fool? Judaism? Christianity? Islam? Zoroastrianism? They all came from deserts!" Mundungus flinched and stepped back. Malfoy took a deep breath before staring him down. "No matter. I care not whether they worship frogs or cows so long as they are pure. Take me to them, and let's get started."
The smuggler nodded hurriedly and led his client into the building and to a flat right by the entrance, through an unlocked door, then to the living room where three nearly identical girls slept peacefully on the wooden floor. The room's meagre furniture was pushed to the walls, leaving enough room for the ritual to take hold.
"As you asked, I drew a pentagram with that chalk you gave me and placed the five anchors at each prong. You know better what to do from here, but…"
"What is it, Fletcher? Ah, of course, your gold. Here." Malfoy had taken off his cloak and threw him a sack of coins. "Five hundred galleons for a job well done. A lot more than you could dream of making in a year."
"That's not what we agreed on, two thousand is what you promised!" Mundungus suddenly found his spine at the thought he would be swindled after all the trouble he had gone through.
"And you will get the rest of your pay after I finish. I still need you to keep watch in case of interruptions." Malfoy had removed another layer of clothes, yet he was still dressed for a snowstorm despite the summer heat outside. "Let me be clear, Mundungus Fletcher. I want no interruptions, or I promise you that I can make your wretched life even more miserable."
Dung could only swallow his grimace and nod at the arrogant lord. "Fine, I'll be watching the street."
Swearing under his nose as he went down the steps, Mundungus kicked the rubbish bin outside. Seeing something big and black at the corner of his eye, he spun, only to be faced with an empty street. Was the heat playing tricks on him? It was late in the night, and the crowds had thinned.
Shrugging carelessly, the smuggler lit his pipe, leaned on a lamppost and waited. It would be a lie to say that he was not disgruntled with the measly five hundred galleons he received for his efforts. Did Malfoy not realise how much time and effort was taken from him over the past week searching for those girls? Of the dangers he had to navigate? Muggles were not as powerless as wizards liked to pretend, and he was limited with the magic he could use in muggle areas or else risk alerting the DMAC.
Days and nights, he searched and listened to muggles gossiping about their neighbours, even having to lose many opportunities to sell those cauldrons he hoarded. Even that diagnostic charm was not truly his, but an enchanted sapphire that he bought from a contact, the stone crumbling to dust after overusing it. This venture had already required a hefty investment, and the Malfoy lord had better not short-change him.
In fact, the more he thought about it, the less sufficient the two thousand galleons seemed.
Puffing on his pipe, Mundungus wondered what was taking the Malfoy lord so long. Sneaking through the shrubbery and to the window of the flat, he risked a glance through it, only to find the curtains closed. Curious, bored, and annoyed, he waved his wand, subtly moving the curtain an inch to peek through, and nearly chortled at the sight of the cranky man half-naked and trying to get his member up.
This would probably take a while, Mundungus chuckled as he returned to his position. Normally, he would never condone the despoiling of innocent girls like that, but they were muggles and would never notice a thing, thanks to his potion. Besides, the pay he was getting was worth it. He even left them three gold coins as wergild, just so his conscience, which sounded too much like Dumbledore, wouldn't annoy him too much.
The smuggler shifted again as he finished his pipe and frowned. This was taking far too long, and just as he wondered if he should check on his client again, an owl hooted above him; he nearly cricked his neck as he turned to it.
That was the signal for his other client, and Malfoy was still not out. A glance through the window again found the impotent lord downing potion after potion as his member slowly hardened, and Mundungus scowled. This deal could net him at least a thousand galleons, but most importantly, it would empty one of his stashes so he could use it for other things.
Looking irritatedly up and down the street, Mundungus decided it wouldn't take him long to finish the deal and return. At the rate Malfoy was going, he wouldn't be done until dawn. Decision made, Mundungus Fletcher walked a bit away from the house to an empty alley before turning on the spot, vanishing with a loud crack.
.
.
.
In the shadows stood an enormous shaggy figure, a pair of grey eyes like two chips of stone quietly observed Mundungus Fletcher popping away. A moment later, it dashed towards the butchery. They were nearly done settling in the sheep when the massive dog burst into the shop, where a large, surly man was talking to the shepherd that drove him here, and grabbed a large raw shank off the counter.
"Oi, catch that dog!"
The butcher ran after the beast, followed by a few of his coworkers, and he led them down the road and to the building where the hateful man entered. Glancing behind, the Grim made sure they were following, the butcher holding a cleaver and his tired face contorted in anger. They even managed to drag a cop with them, though he seemed to be chasing the butcher for brandishing a blade on the streets.
Grinning inwardly, the dog entered the building and crashed through the flat's door, just in time for his pursuers to barge behind him.
They froze at the sight of the gaunt naked man staring at them in shock, the room decorated in what looked like satanic rituals to them, and the three naked maidens on the floor. The man was holding his member with one hand and the legs of one of the girls with another, just about ready to–
Lucius scrambled to grab the cane holding his wand, but it would not budge as he pulled at it. A bloody slab of meat smacked him in the face as something ripped away the lacquered wood from his grip. The enraged muggle, arm with cleaver already swinging furiously, didn't even halt for a moment.
"DIE!"
The dog burst out of the window, shattering glass everywhere, just as the butcher swung his cleaver on the man's head, splitting it in half.
A malignant, chilling wail shattered through the night, the inhuman sound lingering in the air as the room was covered by a wave of arctic frost, as a malevolent shadow of twisted frost dispersed, although the muggles failed to see it.
Down in the alleyway, the enormous grim was clutching the lacquered cane in his jaw. The next moment, he shook, turning into an unkempt man wearing rags, who quickly unsheathed the wand with a manic grin as it shined for its new owner.
A crack whipped through the night, and the backstreet was empty again.
A*L*S*M
Same time,
Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes (DMAC).
Rita Skeeter grumbled inwardly as she adjusted her position over a bookshelf and monitored the large room with dozing witches and wizards. It had been some time since she was forced to spend hours as a beetle to scope for newsworthy events, and Cuffe had not been the most agreeable lately. Damn that little harlot for stealing her show, and it was a picture of Harry Potter to boot!
How could she have known that a boring cabinet meeting would end up being the hottest topic in Wizarding Britain? It was not her fault that she was still recovering from Weasley's curse, and allowed Cuffe to give the assignment to someone else.
No, it was all Harry Potter's fault!
Her thoughts returned to earlier that day when she brought a great scoop for Cuffe. Harry Potter, consorting with werewolves! That would have easily made the headlines and ruined that savage boy's reputation. It paid to have skipped the gala and, instead, hid in the gardens, where she was lucky to hear the boy discussing it.
Every werewolf had to be registered with the ministry, and their information was publicly available as long as they were of age. Chiara Lobosca might have hidden her affliction in school, yet now she was fair game. Even if the ministry insultingly gave her journalist pass to the Quibbler, it would have been worth it to cause the downfall of The Boy Who Lived.
Barnabas Cuffe disagreed as he completely shut down any thought of attacking Harry Potter. He was too powerful right now, too well-connected, too well-loved by the public for a sudden attack like that. In the worst case, they would make a terrible enemy and maybe even have the public change their minds about werewolves!
That could not be allowed to happen; those savage wretches deserve to be controlled, if not hunted down.
The lack of faith in her judgment must be because she flopped earlier at Weasley's funeral, and Barny subtly hinted she should either retire or prove she still had what it took to be a journalist. It was why she was here, in the department that would be most active on the eve of the solstice with the amount of rituals that would be happening all over the country.
It was a forlorn hope, as even if something happened, there was no proof it would be newsworthy. Still, Rita would do her job and work her way back into relevancy.
Her thoughts were broken by a shrill klaxon, causing everyone to jump and rush towards a massive map of muggle Britain. Maps of magical locations were useless, yet Magical Catastrophes operated almost exclusively in the muggle world to cover up any events that risked breaking the Statute, especially on the night of the Solstice.
Rita's eyes glanced at the map, seeing a bright light shining out of central England. A wizard appeared to be reading something on a piece of paper that a magical quill was writing on, and Rita could see his face paling significantly.
"We have a major break of the Statute in Birmingham. Let's move, people, on the double. I want obliviators and a magic reversal squad there yesterday!"
The wizard hollered with a portkey in his hand as others gathered around him into teams before they disappeared. It must have been quite the commotion to require two dozen wizards in such haste.
Rita could taste her success the moment a witch ran over to summon the DMLE.
We get a look at how magical prayer rituals are done. Narcissa's method is the over the top kind that is both costly and complicated. Did it work? Time shall tell, but the Malfoys have both lost and gained a member.
Lucius' demise had been planned for a long time. Killed by a muggle, with Sirius' help.
Never underestimate the tenacity of a beetle.
Harry's take on the ritual will be shown in the next chapter.
If you would like to support me, or read five chapters ahead, feel free to join me on Pat(re)on under the same pen name.