Harry Potter fic - Chapter Four
So this is my Lucius Malfoy story. I've decided to go with my original idea and have chapter titles, but haven't had the chance to edit the previous chapters on here yet. I will, though.
Chapter Four
Yours Sincerely, Wasting Away
I
Questi giorni quando vieni il belle sole; On days like these when skies are blue and fields are green, I look around and think what might have been
Morning spread like melted butter over the Marlborough Downs, providing a mellow view from the Malfoy’s kitchen window. Slowly, the surrounding countryside awoke, some plumes of smoke curling from the houses in the village in the distance. The house itself, however, remained quiet, save a few occasional clanks and mutters as Dobby worked in the pantry.
Lucius sat on the kitchen table, his chin on his hands. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he watched the window and sighed. Finally, however, he saw a dark speck against the clouds, drawing steadily nearer. Hearing a screech from the approaching owl, Dobby emerged from the pantry and leapt up onto the worktop beneath the window, hurrying over to open one of the panes. Lucius sprang from the table and swiped the elf off the counter, as the owl sailed into the kitchen and dropped the post down in front of him.
He ignored the letters marked for Abraxas’ attention and even left behind the Hogwarts letter, taking only a small envelope. He then swept out of the kitchen, leaving Dobby to collect the rest of the post, but as Lucius took to the stairs, the house elf followed him.
‘Master Malfoy wants all letters taken to his study,’ he insisted. ‘He will get very angry…’
‘Not if he doesn’t know about it,’ retorted Lucius, making for his bedroom.
‘He will ask is this is all the post,’ said Dobby.
‘Then you say, ‘yes’.’
‘Dobby cannot lie to the Master.’
‘Yes you can. You do it all the time.’
The elf looked suddenly affronted. ‘Dobby never lies!’
Lucius slammed the bedroom door shut in Dobby’s face. He waited a moment, expecting the elf to appear again inside the room, but after a few minutes, Lucius reasoned that the message had been clear enough and Dobby had gone off to ingratiate himself with the adults of the house.
He crossed to the bed and sat with his letter in his hands, staring dully at the address and the handwriting. The edges of the envelope were a little ragged where the owl had chewed the paper. Lucius heard his father downstairs shouting and wondered if the owl had eaten one of the bills again, or had just savaged one of Abraxas’ mail order antiques catalogues. If there was owl stew for dinner that night, he would know the answer. Sibich had threatened enough times, but could never get near enough to the bird without having his bald patches scratched to bits.
Lucius sighed and turned the letter around in his hands. The writing was florid and cheerful, with little stars above the ‘I’ in his name and in ‘Wiltshire’. You could tell, he thought, that a girl had written it even before it was opened. He prized the envelope apart, letting the seal break with a satisfying crack.
L,
Skegness is really grotty. Mum and Gran love it, but I’m going mad, so had to write to everyone to stay sane. I just hope I can find an owl around here. If not, well, I’ll just have to give you this on the train, by which time I’ll have probably told you it all anyway. Oh well.
We have to get up really early in the morning and sit with all the other guests in a big dining hall. It’s kind of like Hogwarts, but really noisy. You can hear all the clatters from the kitchens and it’s full of really little children, or really big families. The camp staff insist on coming to sit with everyone and eating their meals with you, whether you invite them or not. One of them (they’re called ‘Redcoats’) sat at our table this morning and tried to cheer me up. He kept asking me why I wasn’t smiling and kept grinning at me. I’ve never been so tempted to break the underage magic restrictions before, and actually nearly did hex him when he started going on about how I needed to enter their talent competition later on, but I saw mum giving me ‘the look’ and thought I’d best not. I don’t know how mum stands it, but she likes doing ‘muggle’ things to keep dad happy. Saying that, most of the muggle kids looked as miserable as I was.
Dad is entering the talent contest. He’s going to sing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ by Gerry and the Pacemakers. He’s also been in the snooker contest, and has been out on the boating lake with mum. There’s a funfair at the camp, but it’s kids’ stuff. I had to take my little sister though, so mum and dad could spend the day at the pool.
Can’t wait to get back to school (never thought I’d say that). Miss all the gang, even Crabbe. Oh, and mum said they’re starting a new subject this year, Muggle Studies. I might take it then get dad to do all my homework! But we haven’t been able to get the Daily Prophet since we’ve been here so I don’t know if that’s true.
Anyway, I need to find an owl. We’re going for a walk to the beach some time later today, so maybe I can find one then.
See you soon,
A.
Folded up inside the letter was a postcard, showing a few small photographs of the camp, all full of bright colours and grinning people with very white teeth. Somehow he could imagine Dobby liking the place. Remembering Dobby, however, Lucius got quickly off the bed and opened the wardrobe. He found his trunk still stowed at the bottom beneath a pile of shoes, and slipped both the letter and the postcard inside, shoving them through a tear in the trunk’s lining.
A loud knock made him freeze for a moment like a rabbit in the road, then he closed the wardrobe door gently and slipped over to his dressing table just as Abraxas strode in.
‘All right,’ said Abraxas. ‘What was the racket about?’
Lucius stared back at him.
‘With the elf. Now what is going on?’ Abraxas tried again.
‘He accused me of taking a letter from the post,’ Lucius replied. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Didn’t you indeed? If I find out you’re up to something…’
‘I’m not,’ said Lucius resolutely.
Abraxas glowered, but a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his eyes and he nodded. ‘Well, you ought to know by now the price of nonsense. I won’t have it, Lucius. You’re not a baby any more. One can indulge, but only so far. And remember my position. This promotion means a lot to me, you know that. First promotion in ten years, and if they like me, the first of many. A lot of important people will be staying here from now on. It’s my job to look after them, to make sure they go away from Britain saying, ‘My, wasn’t that a fine country!’ And I take that very seriously.’
‘I thought it was your job to keep them happy until the important people at the Ministry were able to talk to them?’ asked Lucius, giving a sly look.
Abraxas straightened. ‘What I will not tolerate,’ he stated slowly, ‘is nonsense and disobedience. Now I have let you run loose around here for a long time. I let you make your own choices…’
‘You had better things to do,’ muttered Lucius.
‘…But just lately it seems that I was wrong to give you so much leeway. This attitude of late, your behaviour at school…it simply won’t do, Lucius. My father never tolerated it from me, nor shall I accept it in my house, is that clear? While you live under this roof, you will speak to myself and to the staff with respect, or better still, try not to speak at all.’
Lucius glared.
‘You’ve had the very best in life,’ Abraxas continued. ‘You’ve no excuse to fail this year if you knuckle down and stop larking about with your little pals. Now, I know there are muggle-borns in the house this year, but that’s no reason for you to let them distract you. You keep your head down and you concentrate on your work. You focus on the future, on making a name for yourself, and doing the Malfoy family proud.’
‘Just like you, father,’ said Lucius with a wry smile. ‘Maybe I could work for the Minister too and I could drive his guests around the country for him.’
‘Rest assured,’ Abraxas continued, pointing, ‘I will be watching your progress at Hogwarts this year. Professor Slughorn will be too, and he’s been told to keep me informed of any silliness. The slightest hint of misbehaviour on your part, boy, and I will come down on you like a ton of bricks, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now you will straighten that face and behave like a responsible young wizard for the rest of the holidays or you will be very sorry, do you understand? Now get up and get dressed. Foster’s getting the car ready.’
Lucius sat up straighter. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I am going to Cambridge with Professor Barbason. You are going to Crabbe’s house. And you are going there to study, not to lark about, so you can wipe that smile off your face right now. Mrs Crabbe was more than happy to have you and to keep an eye on the both of you for the day. With any luck she might let you stay for the night, and let me have some peace for a while.’
With a final look around the room, one that almost made the roses on the wallpaper shrivel, Abraxas slipped out and closed the door behind him. Lucius sat for a moment more, and smiled to himself.
II
Somewhere inside something there is a rush of greatness; who knows what stands in front of our lives?
Goyle stood by the study door and looked out into the hall, towards the stairs. Abraxas meanwhile paced around his desk, straightening the quills each time he passed, tapping his silver-topped cane on the floor as he waited.
‘You know how long I’ve wanted to see Novich’s little den,’ he whispered to Goyle. ‘Years, Cal. Years! Once you’re in with his circles, that’s it. Doors open any time you step up to them. And if this Barbason impresses him enough…’
‘Never liked the thought myself,’ remarked Goyle, drawing a cigarette from his pocket. ‘Cosy little groups, fancy clubs…prefer to work alone.’
‘Yes, but that, Cal, is why you’re still tending paperclips around Law Enforcement. These people only understand the language of flattery and platitudes. You can’t get anywhere without kissing someone’s wife…’
‘Or someone’s arse.’
‘Ten years, Cal,’ seethed Abraxas. ‘Ten years of the Minister’s failed attempts at humour, of constant put downs, and worse of watching that damned portrait in the west wing sneering at me every time I passed. Father never understood how difficult it is to move through the ranks of bureaucracy. He had it set out in front of him like a fancy dinner, never understood how hard it was for others to follow on without support. Would it’ve been too much to ask for a good word in the right ears? But no. ‘Make your own way’, he said. Well I have made my own way and finally I have a chance to be better than he was.’ He sighed and smiled. ‘Abigor Novich…think of it, Cal! Imagine father’s face if he could see me now, shaking hands with Abigor Novich.’
Goyle snorted and continued to watch the stairs.
‘Where in Merlin’s name is that blasted American?’ muttered Abraxas. ‘Don’t they use timepieces over there?’
‘Coming,’ Goyle told him quietly, moving away from the door as Barbason thundered downstairs.
‘Ready to go, Mr Malfoy?’ asked the guest cheerfully.
‘Indeed,’ replied Abraxas, adding under his breath, ‘and have been so for some time.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said I must check with my house elf, tell him what time to expect us.’
‘Ah.’
The front door opened, allowing in a sudden blast of fresh air, and Foster leaned inside, his face almost obscured by a feathered cap that had slipped down over his forehead. ‘All set?’ he asked.
‘Ah, just one moment,’ replied Abraxas. ‘You’ll need the boy.’
‘You sure you don’t mind us apparating?’ Foster went on, sorting his hat as he came into the hall. ‘What I mean is, you don’t need me to drive?’
‘No, it’s all right Foster. I’ll drive.’
Foster looked at him with a slightly puzzled frown, but then shrugged. ‘Oh, very well then. Have a nice day.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Barbason, grinning.
‘Mrs Crabbe knows to expect you,’ Abraxas informed his secretary. ‘Just drop the boy off then get onto the Ministry and finalise the arrangements for Mr Barbason’s meeting.’
‘Sir.’
‘Lucius, get a move on!’ yelled Abraxas, his foot on the bottom stair. He turned and offered Barbason an apologetic smile. ‘Terribly sorry about this. Teenagers, you know? Lucius!’
Lucius hurried downstairs, dragging his satchel along behind him and avoiding eye contact with his father. He ignored Barbason and Foster, striding past to the door instead. Abraxas opened his mouth to call after him, but sighed and scowled.
‘As I said,’ he told Barbason. ‘Teenagers. Now, shall we go?’
Lucius sat on the low wall enclosing the front drive, his back against the tree of an old Scotch Fir and the satchel at his feet where it could be idly kicked. He watched Abraxas, Goyle and Barbason wander out to the car then drive off, the Wraith shimmering out of sight as it reached the end of the drive and passed through the various charms and spells protecting the place. Foster emerged from the house a moment later and closed the front door, regarding his charge warily as he turned the key.
‘You’re a brat,’ Foster said darkly as he approached, shaking his head. ‘Would it have hurt to say goodbye? Or at least try to look polite in front of the American?’
He took Lucius by the collar and dragged him, firmly but not violently, to his feet. ‘Your father gives so much for you and all he gets in return is foul behaviour from a spoiled, ungrateful little wretch.’
Foster pulled Lucius into the middle of the drive, his jaw set into a resolute frown. Lucius sighed deeply and folded his arms, then closed his eyes as Foster apparated them both. When next he heard Foster muttering about how awful he was, Lucius looked around and saw a garden, bathed in glittering summer sun and sprayed with brightly coloured flowers, some of which wore rosettes. Beyond the trailing roses, rockeries, water features and topiary, sat a thatched, half timber house with a stately porch and silvery windows, stone serpents coiling around the eaves and lintels. Foster kept his grip on Lucius’ jacket and hauled him to the artistically cracked path that led to the house.
Giving Lucius a wary glower that showed all too clearly the familial (if distant) relationship he shared with Abraxas, Foster lifted the silver doorknocker and beat three sharp raps against the door. Lucius stared at his shoes, at the bushes by the porch, at the sky and anything else that let him avoid Foster’s gaze. Finally, the door creaked open and a short, stocky man with a bristling brown moustache appeared on the threshold, sucking thoughtfully on his pipe, with one hand in the pocket of his brown cardigan.
He eyed Foster and Lucius from head to foot, nodding to himself, then glanced over his shoulder and called back into the house.
‘Martha!’ With a sneer, he drifted back into his hallway, mumbling, ‘you’d better come in.’
Foster grinned and tipped his hat.
‘Wipe your feet,’ the pipe-smoking man ordered as he disappeared through a doorway further up the hall. Foster whispered an apology and smiled again, then lifted first one foot then the other to allow a small female house elf to clean the soles. Lucius would have gone on past, but the elf caught his ankle and scraped his shoes anyway, before she clutched the hem of her compost sack dress and curtseyed.
‘I can’t really stay, Mr Crabbe,’ Foster shouted. ‘I have to get back to the Ministry and attend to some business. All right if I leave the brat here?’
A garbled reply came from the other room, but Lucius heard footsteps on the stairs above them. He glanced up and saw a lanky boy with unkempt, shoulder-length brown hair, fashionably tatty flared jeans and a tight orange t-shirt, standing at the top of the steps, stooping to see down into the hallway.
‘Lucius!’ he called out in a droll Merseyside brogue. ‘Come up. Mum wants us out the way before her guests start turning up.’
Lucius made a break for the stairs, but Foster caught him at the last moment and hauled him back. ‘One foot out of line,’ he rasped. ‘Remember that.’
Lucius brushed the older wizard’s hand off his shoulder with a murderous glare, then ran up to join his friend.
‘That your dad’s dogsbody?’ asked Crabbe as they sauntered together along the upstairs hall. The Crabbes’ house always looked to Lucius as though a small rose garden had exploded. The floral wallpapers made the nauseating decoration in his own room look mild, and the thoughtfully placed watercolours of various plants, the bits of occasional furniture covered in delicate carvings of leaves and blossoms and the bluebell-littered carpet all added to the effect. Passing around the various twists and turns of the hallway was almost like wandering through a garden maze in some stately home.
‘He’s dad’s second cousin or something,’ Lucius explained. ‘Only his father managed to gamble all the family money away. My dad gave him a job, I don’t know why.’
Crabbe paused, thought for a long while, then sniffed. ‘Don’t like him.’
‘Neither does Dad.’
Crabbe pulled a bag of sweets from his pocket and offered one. ‘I mean, what’s he supposed to be? Even muggles dress better.’
Lucius allowed himself a wry smile.
‘Mum wants us to keep up here out of the way. She’s having a garden party for the neighbours. But I nicked a load of scones from the kitchen.’
He pushed open the last door in the hall, one marked with a crooked sign that read ‘Keep Out!’ and ‘Beware of the Dragon’. Crabbe’s room was the first without flowers Lucius had seen in the house. The walls had been painted stark white, then covered in posters and pictures until barely a scrap of the original surface could be seen. Everything from quidditch to the latest wizard rock bands were represented, though a few had started to curl at the corner. An odd smell, a mixture of socks, oranges and something mouldy, wafted around the place, probably coming from some of the strange piles beneath the bed, in the corner between the wardrobe and the chest of drawers or behind the table by the window. The aforementioned scones sat in a neat pile on a delicate china plate on the table.
‘It’s not much,’ sighed Crabbe, ‘but it’s home.’
He bounced onto the bed, grabbing his broom as he passed, then sat for a moment, strumming it like a guitar in time to some imaginary music. Lucius closed the door and looked around for somewhere to sit that wasn’t sticky.
‘Did your dad go mental then?’ Crabbe asked.
Lucius shook his head. ‘I can handle him.’
‘He’s not giving you bother over the report though?’
With a shrug, Lucius turned and stared out the window. ‘Hasn’t let me hear the end of it all summer, but he always finds something more important to bother with.’
‘My dad said if I don’t pass any tests this year, I’m going to have to live with Auntie Doris. She’s old and smells of wee, plus she lives in Skelmersdale. Hey, that reminds me, Dad’s going to into Liverpool tomorrow, and we’re getting to go, if you’re staying that is.’
‘Don’t think Dad would object.’
‘Groovy.’ He set the broom back down beside the bed. ‘Bloody stupid this. Mum says we can’t go outside and practise ‘cause all her mates are hanging around to see the prize-winning azaleas and eat cream buns. I told her, we’ve got try outs soon as we go back, but she’s not having it.’
‘Dad wants me to study anyway,’ said Lucius darkly.
‘Yeah, my dad wants me to be an auror when I leave school but that’s not going to happen either.’ He reached over and opened one of the drawers near in the bedside cabinet. He pulled out a small brown paper bag. ‘But, I did bring some herbology revision home…’
He pinched some of the dried herbs inside the bag and proceeded to roll them in a cigarette paper, grinning slyly all the while.
‘What is that?’
‘Dried alihotsy,’ Crabbe answered knowingly. ‘With a little something to temper the mix. Nicked it from Mum’s greenhouse.’
‘Doesn’t that stuff cause fits?’
‘Only if you eat it raw. Master Crabbe’s Magical Mixture won’t harm you…’ He prepared another cigarette from the bag and handed it to Lucius. ‘It’s better than any of the other stuff. Doesn’t have any side effects.’
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
‘Honestly,’ said Crabbe. ‘I’ve smoked it, and there’s nothing wrong with me.’
Lucius frowned even more. Crabbe pushed the roll-up closer to him until he accepted it.
‘Don’t be such a girl’s blouse.’
‘I don’t know, Crabby.’
Crabbe sniffed and looked around. ‘Well, I haven’t got anything else, apart from a couple of those muggle pills with the pictures on, them that Porker in seventh year gave me, but my cousin took one of them once and had a fit. He lives in St Mungo’s now and thinks he’s an egg.’
‘My father would kill me…’
Crabbe shrugged. ‘If he does, can I have your black blazer with the thing on the lapels?’
With a deep sigh, Lucius watched Crabbe produce a small flame from the end of his wand, lighting first his own, then Lucius’ cigarette. Crabbe took a deep drag and grinned.
‘I love herbology,’ he breathed. ‘I think it’s going to be my favourite subject this year again.’
Any comments as always appreciated.
Chapter Four
Yours Sincerely, Wasting Away
I
Questi giorni quando vieni il belle sole; On days like these when skies are blue and fields are green, I look around and think what might have been
Morning spread like melted butter over the Marlborough Downs, providing a mellow view from the Malfoy’s kitchen window. Slowly, the surrounding countryside awoke, some plumes of smoke curling from the houses in the village in the distance. The house itself, however, remained quiet, save a few occasional clanks and mutters as Dobby worked in the pantry.
Lucius sat on the kitchen table, his chin on his hands. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he watched the window and sighed. Finally, however, he saw a dark speck against the clouds, drawing steadily nearer. Hearing a screech from the approaching owl, Dobby emerged from the pantry and leapt up onto the worktop beneath the window, hurrying over to open one of the panes. Lucius sprang from the table and swiped the elf off the counter, as the owl sailed into the kitchen and dropped the post down in front of him.
He ignored the letters marked for Abraxas’ attention and even left behind the Hogwarts letter, taking only a small envelope. He then swept out of the kitchen, leaving Dobby to collect the rest of the post, but as Lucius took to the stairs, the house elf followed him.
‘Master Malfoy wants all letters taken to his study,’ he insisted. ‘He will get very angry…’
‘Not if he doesn’t know about it,’ retorted Lucius, making for his bedroom.
‘He will ask is this is all the post,’ said Dobby.
‘Then you say, ‘yes’.’
‘Dobby cannot lie to the Master.’
‘Yes you can. You do it all the time.’
The elf looked suddenly affronted. ‘Dobby never lies!’
Lucius slammed the bedroom door shut in Dobby’s face. He waited a moment, expecting the elf to appear again inside the room, but after a few minutes, Lucius reasoned that the message had been clear enough and Dobby had gone off to ingratiate himself with the adults of the house.
He crossed to the bed and sat with his letter in his hands, staring dully at the address and the handwriting. The edges of the envelope were a little ragged where the owl had chewed the paper. Lucius heard his father downstairs shouting and wondered if the owl had eaten one of the bills again, or had just savaged one of Abraxas’ mail order antiques catalogues. If there was owl stew for dinner that night, he would know the answer. Sibich had threatened enough times, but could never get near enough to the bird without having his bald patches scratched to bits.
Lucius sighed and turned the letter around in his hands. The writing was florid and cheerful, with little stars above the ‘I’ in his name and in ‘Wiltshire’. You could tell, he thought, that a girl had written it even before it was opened. He prized the envelope apart, letting the seal break with a satisfying crack.
L,
Skegness is really grotty. Mum and Gran love it, but I’m going mad, so had to write to everyone to stay sane. I just hope I can find an owl around here. If not, well, I’ll just have to give you this on the train, by which time I’ll have probably told you it all anyway. Oh well.
We have to get up really early in the morning and sit with all the other guests in a big dining hall. It’s kind of like Hogwarts, but really noisy. You can hear all the clatters from the kitchens and it’s full of really little children, or really big families. The camp staff insist on coming to sit with everyone and eating their meals with you, whether you invite them or not. One of them (they’re called ‘Redcoats’) sat at our table this morning and tried to cheer me up. He kept asking me why I wasn’t smiling and kept grinning at me. I’ve never been so tempted to break the underage magic restrictions before, and actually nearly did hex him when he started going on about how I needed to enter their talent competition later on, but I saw mum giving me ‘the look’ and thought I’d best not. I don’t know how mum stands it, but she likes doing ‘muggle’ things to keep dad happy. Saying that, most of the muggle kids looked as miserable as I was.
Dad is entering the talent contest. He’s going to sing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ by Gerry and the Pacemakers. He’s also been in the snooker contest, and has been out on the boating lake with mum. There’s a funfair at the camp, but it’s kids’ stuff. I had to take my little sister though, so mum and dad could spend the day at the pool.
Can’t wait to get back to school (never thought I’d say that). Miss all the gang, even Crabbe. Oh, and mum said they’re starting a new subject this year, Muggle Studies. I might take it then get dad to do all my homework! But we haven’t been able to get the Daily Prophet since we’ve been here so I don’t know if that’s true.
Anyway, I need to find an owl. We’re going for a walk to the beach some time later today, so maybe I can find one then.
See you soon,
A.
Folded up inside the letter was a postcard, showing a few small photographs of the camp, all full of bright colours and grinning people with very white teeth. Somehow he could imagine Dobby liking the place. Remembering Dobby, however, Lucius got quickly off the bed and opened the wardrobe. He found his trunk still stowed at the bottom beneath a pile of shoes, and slipped both the letter and the postcard inside, shoving them through a tear in the trunk’s lining.
A loud knock made him freeze for a moment like a rabbit in the road, then he closed the wardrobe door gently and slipped over to his dressing table just as Abraxas strode in.
‘All right,’ said Abraxas. ‘What was the racket about?’
Lucius stared back at him.
‘With the elf. Now what is going on?’ Abraxas tried again.
‘He accused me of taking a letter from the post,’ Lucius replied. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Didn’t you indeed? If I find out you’re up to something…’
‘I’m not,’ said Lucius resolutely.
Abraxas glowered, but a flicker of uncertainty flashed across his eyes and he nodded. ‘Well, you ought to know by now the price of nonsense. I won’t have it, Lucius. You’re not a baby any more. One can indulge, but only so far. And remember my position. This promotion means a lot to me, you know that. First promotion in ten years, and if they like me, the first of many. A lot of important people will be staying here from now on. It’s my job to look after them, to make sure they go away from Britain saying, ‘My, wasn’t that a fine country!’ And I take that very seriously.’
‘I thought it was your job to keep them happy until the important people at the Ministry were able to talk to them?’ asked Lucius, giving a sly look.
Abraxas straightened. ‘What I will not tolerate,’ he stated slowly, ‘is nonsense and disobedience. Now I have let you run loose around here for a long time. I let you make your own choices…’
‘You had better things to do,’ muttered Lucius.
‘…But just lately it seems that I was wrong to give you so much leeway. This attitude of late, your behaviour at school…it simply won’t do, Lucius. My father never tolerated it from me, nor shall I accept it in my house, is that clear? While you live under this roof, you will speak to myself and to the staff with respect, or better still, try not to speak at all.’
Lucius glared.
‘You’ve had the very best in life,’ Abraxas continued. ‘You’ve no excuse to fail this year if you knuckle down and stop larking about with your little pals. Now, I know there are muggle-borns in the house this year, but that’s no reason for you to let them distract you. You keep your head down and you concentrate on your work. You focus on the future, on making a name for yourself, and doing the Malfoy family proud.’
‘Just like you, father,’ said Lucius with a wry smile. ‘Maybe I could work for the Minister too and I could drive his guests around the country for him.’
‘Rest assured,’ Abraxas continued, pointing, ‘I will be watching your progress at Hogwarts this year. Professor Slughorn will be too, and he’s been told to keep me informed of any silliness. The slightest hint of misbehaviour on your part, boy, and I will come down on you like a ton of bricks, is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Now you will straighten that face and behave like a responsible young wizard for the rest of the holidays or you will be very sorry, do you understand? Now get up and get dressed. Foster’s getting the car ready.’
Lucius sat up straighter. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I am going to Cambridge with Professor Barbason. You are going to Crabbe’s house. And you are going there to study, not to lark about, so you can wipe that smile off your face right now. Mrs Crabbe was more than happy to have you and to keep an eye on the both of you for the day. With any luck she might let you stay for the night, and let me have some peace for a while.’
With a final look around the room, one that almost made the roses on the wallpaper shrivel, Abraxas slipped out and closed the door behind him. Lucius sat for a moment more, and smiled to himself.
II
Somewhere inside something there is a rush of greatness; who knows what stands in front of our lives?
Goyle stood by the study door and looked out into the hall, towards the stairs. Abraxas meanwhile paced around his desk, straightening the quills each time he passed, tapping his silver-topped cane on the floor as he waited.
‘You know how long I’ve wanted to see Novich’s little den,’ he whispered to Goyle. ‘Years, Cal. Years! Once you’re in with his circles, that’s it. Doors open any time you step up to them. And if this Barbason impresses him enough…’
‘Never liked the thought myself,’ remarked Goyle, drawing a cigarette from his pocket. ‘Cosy little groups, fancy clubs…prefer to work alone.’
‘Yes, but that, Cal, is why you’re still tending paperclips around Law Enforcement. These people only understand the language of flattery and platitudes. You can’t get anywhere without kissing someone’s wife…’
‘Or someone’s arse.’
‘Ten years, Cal,’ seethed Abraxas. ‘Ten years of the Minister’s failed attempts at humour, of constant put downs, and worse of watching that damned portrait in the west wing sneering at me every time I passed. Father never understood how difficult it is to move through the ranks of bureaucracy. He had it set out in front of him like a fancy dinner, never understood how hard it was for others to follow on without support. Would it’ve been too much to ask for a good word in the right ears? But no. ‘Make your own way’, he said. Well I have made my own way and finally I have a chance to be better than he was.’ He sighed and smiled. ‘Abigor Novich…think of it, Cal! Imagine father’s face if he could see me now, shaking hands with Abigor Novich.’
Goyle snorted and continued to watch the stairs.
‘Where in Merlin’s name is that blasted American?’ muttered Abraxas. ‘Don’t they use timepieces over there?’
‘Coming,’ Goyle told him quietly, moving away from the door as Barbason thundered downstairs.
‘Ready to go, Mr Malfoy?’ asked the guest cheerfully.
‘Indeed,’ replied Abraxas, adding under his breath, ‘and have been so for some time.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I said I must check with my house elf, tell him what time to expect us.’
‘Ah.’
The front door opened, allowing in a sudden blast of fresh air, and Foster leaned inside, his face almost obscured by a feathered cap that had slipped down over his forehead. ‘All set?’ he asked.
‘Ah, just one moment,’ replied Abraxas. ‘You’ll need the boy.’
‘You sure you don’t mind us apparating?’ Foster went on, sorting his hat as he came into the hall. ‘What I mean is, you don’t need me to drive?’
‘No, it’s all right Foster. I’ll drive.’
Foster looked at him with a slightly puzzled frown, but then shrugged. ‘Oh, very well then. Have a nice day.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Barbason, grinning.
‘Mrs Crabbe knows to expect you,’ Abraxas informed his secretary. ‘Just drop the boy off then get onto the Ministry and finalise the arrangements for Mr Barbason’s meeting.’
‘Sir.’
‘Lucius, get a move on!’ yelled Abraxas, his foot on the bottom stair. He turned and offered Barbason an apologetic smile. ‘Terribly sorry about this. Teenagers, you know? Lucius!’
Lucius hurried downstairs, dragging his satchel along behind him and avoiding eye contact with his father. He ignored Barbason and Foster, striding past to the door instead. Abraxas opened his mouth to call after him, but sighed and scowled.
‘As I said,’ he told Barbason. ‘Teenagers. Now, shall we go?’
Lucius sat on the low wall enclosing the front drive, his back against the tree of an old Scotch Fir and the satchel at his feet where it could be idly kicked. He watched Abraxas, Goyle and Barbason wander out to the car then drive off, the Wraith shimmering out of sight as it reached the end of the drive and passed through the various charms and spells protecting the place. Foster emerged from the house a moment later and closed the front door, regarding his charge warily as he turned the key.
‘You’re a brat,’ Foster said darkly as he approached, shaking his head. ‘Would it have hurt to say goodbye? Or at least try to look polite in front of the American?’
He took Lucius by the collar and dragged him, firmly but not violently, to his feet. ‘Your father gives so much for you and all he gets in return is foul behaviour from a spoiled, ungrateful little wretch.’
Foster pulled Lucius into the middle of the drive, his jaw set into a resolute frown. Lucius sighed deeply and folded his arms, then closed his eyes as Foster apparated them both. When next he heard Foster muttering about how awful he was, Lucius looked around and saw a garden, bathed in glittering summer sun and sprayed with brightly coloured flowers, some of which wore rosettes. Beyond the trailing roses, rockeries, water features and topiary, sat a thatched, half timber house with a stately porch and silvery windows, stone serpents coiling around the eaves and lintels. Foster kept his grip on Lucius’ jacket and hauled him to the artistically cracked path that led to the house.
Giving Lucius a wary glower that showed all too clearly the familial (if distant) relationship he shared with Abraxas, Foster lifted the silver doorknocker and beat three sharp raps against the door. Lucius stared at his shoes, at the bushes by the porch, at the sky and anything else that let him avoid Foster’s gaze. Finally, the door creaked open and a short, stocky man with a bristling brown moustache appeared on the threshold, sucking thoughtfully on his pipe, with one hand in the pocket of his brown cardigan.
He eyed Foster and Lucius from head to foot, nodding to himself, then glanced over his shoulder and called back into the house.
‘Martha!’ With a sneer, he drifted back into his hallway, mumbling, ‘you’d better come in.’
Foster grinned and tipped his hat.
‘Wipe your feet,’ the pipe-smoking man ordered as he disappeared through a doorway further up the hall. Foster whispered an apology and smiled again, then lifted first one foot then the other to allow a small female house elf to clean the soles. Lucius would have gone on past, but the elf caught his ankle and scraped his shoes anyway, before she clutched the hem of her compost sack dress and curtseyed.
‘I can’t really stay, Mr Crabbe,’ Foster shouted. ‘I have to get back to the Ministry and attend to some business. All right if I leave the brat here?’
A garbled reply came from the other room, but Lucius heard footsteps on the stairs above them. He glanced up and saw a lanky boy with unkempt, shoulder-length brown hair, fashionably tatty flared jeans and a tight orange t-shirt, standing at the top of the steps, stooping to see down into the hallway.
‘Lucius!’ he called out in a droll Merseyside brogue. ‘Come up. Mum wants us out the way before her guests start turning up.’
Lucius made a break for the stairs, but Foster caught him at the last moment and hauled him back. ‘One foot out of line,’ he rasped. ‘Remember that.’
Lucius brushed the older wizard’s hand off his shoulder with a murderous glare, then ran up to join his friend.
‘That your dad’s dogsbody?’ asked Crabbe as they sauntered together along the upstairs hall. The Crabbes’ house always looked to Lucius as though a small rose garden had exploded. The floral wallpapers made the nauseating decoration in his own room look mild, and the thoughtfully placed watercolours of various plants, the bits of occasional furniture covered in delicate carvings of leaves and blossoms and the bluebell-littered carpet all added to the effect. Passing around the various twists and turns of the hallway was almost like wandering through a garden maze in some stately home.
‘He’s dad’s second cousin or something,’ Lucius explained. ‘Only his father managed to gamble all the family money away. My dad gave him a job, I don’t know why.’
Crabbe paused, thought for a long while, then sniffed. ‘Don’t like him.’
‘Neither does Dad.’
Crabbe pulled a bag of sweets from his pocket and offered one. ‘I mean, what’s he supposed to be? Even muggles dress better.’
Lucius allowed himself a wry smile.
‘Mum wants us to keep up here out of the way. She’s having a garden party for the neighbours. But I nicked a load of scones from the kitchen.’
He pushed open the last door in the hall, one marked with a crooked sign that read ‘Keep Out!’ and ‘Beware of the Dragon’. Crabbe’s room was the first without flowers Lucius had seen in the house. The walls had been painted stark white, then covered in posters and pictures until barely a scrap of the original surface could be seen. Everything from quidditch to the latest wizard rock bands were represented, though a few had started to curl at the corner. An odd smell, a mixture of socks, oranges and something mouldy, wafted around the place, probably coming from some of the strange piles beneath the bed, in the corner between the wardrobe and the chest of drawers or behind the table by the window. The aforementioned scones sat in a neat pile on a delicate china plate on the table.
‘It’s not much,’ sighed Crabbe, ‘but it’s home.’
He bounced onto the bed, grabbing his broom as he passed, then sat for a moment, strumming it like a guitar in time to some imaginary music. Lucius closed the door and looked around for somewhere to sit that wasn’t sticky.
‘Did your dad go mental then?’ Crabbe asked.
Lucius shook his head. ‘I can handle him.’
‘He’s not giving you bother over the report though?’
With a shrug, Lucius turned and stared out the window. ‘Hasn’t let me hear the end of it all summer, but he always finds something more important to bother with.’
‘My dad said if I don’t pass any tests this year, I’m going to have to live with Auntie Doris. She’s old and smells of wee, plus she lives in Skelmersdale. Hey, that reminds me, Dad’s going to into Liverpool tomorrow, and we’re getting to go, if you’re staying that is.’
‘Don’t think Dad would object.’
‘Groovy.’ He set the broom back down beside the bed. ‘Bloody stupid this. Mum says we can’t go outside and practise ‘cause all her mates are hanging around to see the prize-winning azaleas and eat cream buns. I told her, we’ve got try outs soon as we go back, but she’s not having it.’
‘Dad wants me to study anyway,’ said Lucius darkly.
‘Yeah, my dad wants me to be an auror when I leave school but that’s not going to happen either.’ He reached over and opened one of the drawers near in the bedside cabinet. He pulled out a small brown paper bag. ‘But, I did bring some herbology revision home…’
He pinched some of the dried herbs inside the bag and proceeded to roll them in a cigarette paper, grinning slyly all the while.
‘What is that?’
‘Dried alihotsy,’ Crabbe answered knowingly. ‘With a little something to temper the mix. Nicked it from Mum’s greenhouse.’
‘Doesn’t that stuff cause fits?’
‘Only if you eat it raw. Master Crabbe’s Magical Mixture won’t harm you…’ He prepared another cigarette from the bag and handed it to Lucius. ‘It’s better than any of the other stuff. Doesn’t have any side effects.’
Lucius raised an eyebrow.
‘Honestly,’ said Crabbe. ‘I’ve smoked it, and there’s nothing wrong with me.’
Lucius frowned even more. Crabbe pushed the roll-up closer to him until he accepted it.
‘Don’t be such a girl’s blouse.’
‘I don’t know, Crabby.’
Crabbe sniffed and looked around. ‘Well, I haven’t got anything else, apart from a couple of those muggle pills with the pictures on, them that Porker in seventh year gave me, but my cousin took one of them once and had a fit. He lives in St Mungo’s now and thinks he’s an egg.’
‘My father would kill me…’
Crabbe shrugged. ‘If he does, can I have your black blazer with the thing on the lapels?’
With a deep sigh, Lucius watched Crabbe produce a small flame from the end of his wand, lighting first his own, then Lucius’ cigarette. Crabbe took a deep drag and grinned.
‘I love herbology,’ he breathed. ‘I think it’s going to be my favourite subject this year again.’
Any comments as always appreciated.