Like he owns the place, 8 September 1997
Who: Narcissa Malfoy, Draco Malfoy
What: Catching up
When: Around 4 pm, 8 September
Where: Malfoy Manor
Status: Complete
Draco had been furious this morning when Aunt Bella'd refused him the morning off to spend the day at Malfoy Manor instead of coming 'round for lunch, but the food had been so fabulous that annoyance was swept clean out of his mind. Beest was no slouch, but there was something to be said for a Manor full of house-elves and Mother to look over their bony shoulders and make sure they were indulging Draco's palatte. Aunt Bella barely knew her house-elf existed.
And afterward, Draco'd gone flying, and that was always glorious, even in dodgy weather.
Finally, he'd made his winding way up the Manor's many steps (steering clear of the library), broom hefted over his shoulder, just breathing in the smell of old wood and varnish, interspersed with the scent of wet grass, hyacinths and roses that wafted in through the windows. He was home.
Pushing open a door near his mother's boudoir, Draco'd thrown himself onto the sunlit rug, fully intending to laze away the afternoon, watching dust motes swirl through the air till he was dizzy an needed food to fortify himself again. The war? Could go hang till midnight, he thought, feeling delightfully brave.
There was a movement in the corridor, and Draco jumped. He opened one eye to make sure it wasn't Aunt Bella, then closed it again and turned his face to the sun.
What: Catching up
When: Around 4 pm, 8 September
Where: Malfoy Manor
Status: Complete
Draco had been furious this morning when Aunt Bella'd refused him the morning off to spend the day at Malfoy Manor instead of coming 'round for lunch, but the food had been so fabulous that annoyance was swept clean out of his mind. Beest was no slouch, but there was something to be said for a Manor full of house-elves and Mother to look over their bony shoulders and make sure they were indulging Draco's palatte. Aunt Bella barely knew her house-elf existed.
And afterward, Draco'd gone flying, and that was always glorious, even in dodgy weather.
Finally, he'd made his winding way up the Manor's many steps (steering clear of the library), broom hefted over his shoulder, just breathing in the smell of old wood and varnish, interspersed with the scent of wet grass, hyacinths and roses that wafted in through the windows. He was home.
Pushing open a door near his mother's boudoir, Draco'd thrown himself onto the sunlit rug, fully intending to laze away the afternoon, watching dust motes swirl through the air till he was dizzy an needed food to fortify himself again. The war? Could go hang till midnight, he thought, feeling delightfully brave.
There was a movement in the corridor, and Draco jumped. He opened one eye to make sure it wasn't Aunt Bella, then closed it again and turned his face to the sun.