Ficcage:: Little More Than Sedentary
For travelintheways: Bunny #5 The relationship as viewed by the painting of Abraxas Malfoy. Senility a plus. with Prompt 069. Thunder
Title: Little More Than Sedentary
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Hermione
Prompt: 069. Thunder
Summary: Abraxas hasn't been this entertained since --well he can't remember much these days, come to think of it.
Author's Plea: I think I'll be rewriting this once I finish with PaF II. For now, please accept my apologies for disjointedness and generally poor writing. As well, please be aware that my only personal experience with senility is that of failing memory mixed with a certain elation that believing yourself young and immortal can bring. In short... enjoy if you can, though I hold no hope that you will.
Little More Than Sedentary
astarvingwriter
Standard Disclaimer Applies
*
There was remarkably little to do as a painting. If one was lucky, one had another canvas to escape to when the inclination arose, but most of the time there was only one hanging and very few other paintings within jumpable distance.
That didn't stop him from trying, but there were only so many times one could hit a gilt frame before he became cracked.
Of course, that was assuming he wasn't a bit cracked to begin with. He knew his son liked to tell people that he'd died from dragon pox, but that was only half the story. Dragon pox merely brought his inherent madness to the surface. It was the resulting battle with his mirror --blasted thing had the gall to stare at him with affront!-- that killed him.
So perhaps he'd gone into the painting a bit left of centre, and perhaps the sedate life inside hadn't helped matters, but Abraxas had never been so off as to mistake a Mudblood when he saw one. The young woman that walked with such stealth and silence through his hallway had all the markings of a Mudblood.
"You are positively the worst excuse for a witch I've ever seen."
She jumped, and he smirked giddily. It was a Good Day, after all, and he hadn't been suitably entertained by more than his own hair in quite some time.
"Does my son know you are here? I suppose not."
"Will you please let me pass?" she hissed ungratefully. Naturally, he stiffened his back and glared at her.
"I will do no such thing... if you do not tell me a joke."
The woman nearly dropped her jaw in shock, which he thought was a terribly ignoble thing to do but befitting her nonetheless.
"A joke? You will let me inspect the manor without distress if I tell you a joke?" she asked, her voice nearly dripping with incredulousness.
"A joke or a bit of cheese, but you don't look like much of a painter. You don't look like much of anything, but perhaps you can be of some use. A joke now or I summon my son."
"But--"
"Now."
Her eyes were bright and her wand was gripped tightly in her hand. He half wondered why she didn't just hex him into silence, but that would be one of those logical things purebloods thought of. If he'd had any doubt as to her heritage, there was none any longer.
"What does a Wizard get if he crosses a pound coin with a drainage channel?"
"What--"
"Quidditch."
He stared at her long and hard, but she merely stared right back. Finally curiosity got the best of him.
"What is a pound coin?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but it was at this moment that his erstwhile living son decided to discover his intruder. The woman was frozen solid from both magic and fear before she'd even had a chance to say a word.
"Miss... Granger, was it? You are in my home without invitation. I am within my limited rights to hex you."
Abraxas snorted with amusement when the woman tried to make pointed statements with only the movement of her eyes. It seemed to work particularly well if the sneer on his son's face was any indication.
"No doubt your... friends are awaiting your return. Run away, Miss Granger, before you test my patience."
As soon as the spell was released, she wasted no time in scurrying to the door and Apparating away promptly with all the grace of thunder. Only then did Abraxas laugh giddily. The woman was more entertaining than he had suspected. Still, he was disappointed she hadn't stood her ground. He was more disappointed his son had made it so easy for her to escape.
"I did not raise you to be so lenient, Lucius."
"Father, you did not raise me at all," he responded in kind. "The girl is a menace, but her support is detrimental to my plan."
"Plot, my boy. Malfoys do not plan. Far too mundane."
"Such it is. Humour me, father."
"I always humour you. Now run along, boy, and play with your toys."
His son sniffed with disdain before scurrying off with a bit more dignity. Still, it made Abraxas crow with delight.
He wasn't quite sure how much time passed before the next time he saw the girl, but then it wasn't a particularly Good Time either, so that could have everything to do with it. On this occasion, she barely spared him a glance before his son escorted her quite forcefully out of the manor. He yelled various insults that seemed to somehow apply to both the woman and his son until his throat felt hoarse, and he retreated to the painting of his Great Aunt Vastitude where a bottle of wine waited.
Of course, he over drank and slept for what could have been an hour or a year but was more likely a few days or weeks. It wasn't particularly as if time were really so important to him now, if it ever had been, but he knew some time had passed as the woman's hair was different than the abomination he remembered and the young man that accompanied her looked familiar though aged.
"Draco," she hissed, and Abraxas realized it was this grating noise that had woken him. "Are you sure he isn't here? I can't risk him finding me again."
"Really, Granger, you are too terribly worried."
Abraxas wasn't very good with names, but the young man did look reminiscent of his grandson, with whom he'd had a few rousing conversations with when the young man was but a lad. However, that didn't explain why the boy would be associating with what was surely still a Mudblood.
"But are you--"
"You need proof? Is that it?" Obviously annoyed, his grandson stepped back and yelled out into the manor. "Father, I've brought a present for you! Bright shiny Mudblood, ready to shag to your heart's content!"
The woman looked positively aghast, even as her cheeks took on the rosy hue so envied by the dead. Abraxas chuff awed with delight before rushing off to find his son. After all, an offer like that shouldn't be passed up. However, he soon discovered there was no need. He was barely one painting into the next room when heard the approaching footsteps of Lucius. With all due purpose, he rushed back to his frame in time to watch the show.
"Draco, what have I told you about offering what you do not have?" his son said with disdain and disappointment.
"Only when I'm absolutely sure I won't be called on it," his grandson replied dutifully.
"I daresay Miss Granger has some opinion on that statement, should she get over her modesty to be sufficiently vocal."
"I... I... It's not modesty! I... I'm not quite sure if I'm surprised more that he said it or that you came at the mention of it."
And now this was getting really interesting. Abraxas watched with a bit of giddiness as his son and grandson exchanged a significant look.
"Miss Granger, you obviously have some further reason to invade my sanctuary than simply to annoy me and taint my home. As you have involved my son, it is further obvious that it is a matter of some importance to you. Shall we adjourn to the study, then, to discuss this further?"
"I doubt you'll be interested," she replied with a bit of affront.
"I doubt that you could possibly have any information regarding what I may or may not be interested in," his son replied in turn.
The two, thusly locked in conversation, walked on towards the study with a strange mix of consternation and comfort. Abraxas didn't bother following them. After all, there wasn't a painting anywhere near the study, for practical reasons. Also, why bother when a source of information was right here, gloriously left behind.
"Boy!"
"Grandfather?"
"Yes, boy. Tell me who the woman is."
"Why is she a woman while I am a boy? I fought in a war, you know."
"Who hasn't fought in a war?"
His grandson merely stared at him.
"Well, boy? Tell me, and I'll tell you where I buried those 600 galleons I stole away from Tom Scot before I died."
"They said you spent those 600 galleons on the mirror that killed you."
"Why would I do a foolish thing like that? Honestly, boy, have you no sense?"
His grandson merely stared at him some more until Abraxas made it a point to pull a painted galleon out of his pocket and flip apparently aimlessly in the air.
"Hermione Granger. Twenty-five, like me. Mudblood, former Hogwarts student, anti-Voldemort, hopelessly devoted to 'good', but occasionally dabbles in some Grey Magic. Which is exactly why she is here. She's attempting to save one of her insipid little friends."
"Sounds like quite the spectacle. Are you certain my dear son will not be tempted by her?"
"I am hoping he is."
"Really?"
"He's been bleeding boring since he 'reformed'. Also, it would certainly give me something to lord over Granger."
"How much longer do you reckon?"
"She's returned from both of her unaccompanied attempts to retrieve the books she wants looking quite upset and dishevelled. They are currently in the study, alone, and my father hasn’t been properly shagged in a decade. I would think this very night if not already."
"You underestimate my son. Not for another week, at least. I would wager another 600 galleons on it."
"And which 600 would those be?"
"Those that I won playing dominos the month before I died."
"Grandmother said you never won anything playing dominos."
"Of course she did. Why would I ever tell Isadora the truth?"
His grandson smirked grandly, an effort that made Abraxas quite proud to have had some relation to him, before walking steadily off towards the study to see how the other two occupants of the manor were progressing.
Several hours later, he was shaken from his easy sport of staring animatedly at the opposing wall by an embarrassed squeal followed by sharp laughter. Within moments, the woman stomped through his hallway, clutching her robes to her breast and half heartedly smoothing her hair from its disarray. The angry slam of the front entry was followed by the loud pop of Apparition. Both sounds rumbled through the manor with all the resonance of thunder.
Only moments after she was gone, his son and grandson walked grandly down the hall with matching smirks. His son looked curiously satisfied.
"I'm afraid I do not understand her state, father. I merely enquired whether she was as bright and shiny as I'd promised."
"Yes, well, you'll do well not to upset her too much. She has yet a part to play in my plan."
"Plot!" Abraxas interrupted with fervour.
"Of course, Grandfather, and where did you bury those 1200 galleons you promised?"
"Bury 1200 galleons, boy? You say such foolish things. Now quickly, tell me about the Mudblood that was just here. Who is she?"
*
FanFic100 Prompt Table
Title: Little More Than Sedentary
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Hermione
Prompt: 069. Thunder
Summary: Abraxas hasn't been this entertained since --well he can't remember much these days, come to think of it.
Author's Plea: I think I'll be rewriting this once I finish with PaF II. For now, please accept my apologies for disjointedness and generally poor writing. As well, please be aware that my only personal experience with senility is that of failing memory mixed with a certain elation that believing yourself young and immortal can bring. In short... enjoy if you can, though I hold no hope that you will.
Little More Than Sedentary
astarvingwriter
Standard Disclaimer Applies
*
There was remarkably little to do as a painting. If one was lucky, one had another canvas to escape to when the inclination arose, but most of the time there was only one hanging and very few other paintings within jumpable distance.
That didn't stop him from trying, but there were only so many times one could hit a gilt frame before he became cracked.
Of course, that was assuming he wasn't a bit cracked to begin with. He knew his son liked to tell people that he'd died from dragon pox, but that was only half the story. Dragon pox merely brought his inherent madness to the surface. It was the resulting battle with his mirror --blasted thing had the gall to stare at him with affront!-- that killed him.
So perhaps he'd gone into the painting a bit left of centre, and perhaps the sedate life inside hadn't helped matters, but Abraxas had never been so off as to mistake a Mudblood when he saw one. The young woman that walked with such stealth and silence through his hallway had all the markings of a Mudblood.
"You are positively the worst excuse for a witch I've ever seen."
She jumped, and he smirked giddily. It was a Good Day, after all, and he hadn't been suitably entertained by more than his own hair in quite some time.
"Does my son know you are here? I suppose not."
"Will you please let me pass?" she hissed ungratefully. Naturally, he stiffened his back and glared at her.
"I will do no such thing... if you do not tell me a joke."
The woman nearly dropped her jaw in shock, which he thought was a terribly ignoble thing to do but befitting her nonetheless.
"A joke? You will let me inspect the manor without distress if I tell you a joke?" she asked, her voice nearly dripping with incredulousness.
"A joke or a bit of cheese, but you don't look like much of a painter. You don't look like much of anything, but perhaps you can be of some use. A joke now or I summon my son."
"But--"
"Now."
Her eyes were bright and her wand was gripped tightly in her hand. He half wondered why she didn't just hex him into silence, but that would be one of those logical things purebloods thought of. If he'd had any doubt as to her heritage, there was none any longer.
"What does a Wizard get if he crosses a pound coin with a drainage channel?"
"What--"
"Quidditch."
He stared at her long and hard, but she merely stared right back. Finally curiosity got the best of him.
"What is a pound coin?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but it was at this moment that his erstwhile living son decided to discover his intruder. The woman was frozen solid from both magic and fear before she'd even had a chance to say a word.
"Miss... Granger, was it? You are in my home without invitation. I am within my limited rights to hex you."
Abraxas snorted with amusement when the woman tried to make pointed statements with only the movement of her eyes. It seemed to work particularly well if the sneer on his son's face was any indication.
"No doubt your... friends are awaiting your return. Run away, Miss Granger, before you test my patience."
As soon as the spell was released, she wasted no time in scurrying to the door and Apparating away promptly with all the grace of thunder. Only then did Abraxas laugh giddily. The woman was more entertaining than he had suspected. Still, he was disappointed she hadn't stood her ground. He was more disappointed his son had made it so easy for her to escape.
"I did not raise you to be so lenient, Lucius."
"Father, you did not raise me at all," he responded in kind. "The girl is a menace, but her support is detrimental to my plan."
"Plot, my boy. Malfoys do not plan. Far too mundane."
"Such it is. Humour me, father."
"I always humour you. Now run along, boy, and play with your toys."
His son sniffed with disdain before scurrying off with a bit more dignity. Still, it made Abraxas crow with delight.
He wasn't quite sure how much time passed before the next time he saw the girl, but then it wasn't a particularly Good Time either, so that could have everything to do with it. On this occasion, she barely spared him a glance before his son escorted her quite forcefully out of the manor. He yelled various insults that seemed to somehow apply to both the woman and his son until his throat felt hoarse, and he retreated to the painting of his Great Aunt Vastitude where a bottle of wine waited.
Of course, he over drank and slept for what could have been an hour or a year but was more likely a few days or weeks. It wasn't particularly as if time were really so important to him now, if it ever had been, but he knew some time had passed as the woman's hair was different than the abomination he remembered and the young man that accompanied her looked familiar though aged.
"Draco," she hissed, and Abraxas realized it was this grating noise that had woken him. "Are you sure he isn't here? I can't risk him finding me again."
"Really, Granger, you are too terribly worried."
Abraxas wasn't very good with names, but the young man did look reminiscent of his grandson, with whom he'd had a few rousing conversations with when the young man was but a lad. However, that didn't explain why the boy would be associating with what was surely still a Mudblood.
"But are you--"
"You need proof? Is that it?" Obviously annoyed, his grandson stepped back and yelled out into the manor. "Father, I've brought a present for you! Bright shiny Mudblood, ready to shag to your heart's content!"
The woman looked positively aghast, even as her cheeks took on the rosy hue so envied by the dead. Abraxas chuff awed with delight before rushing off to find his son. After all, an offer like that shouldn't be passed up. However, he soon discovered there was no need. He was barely one painting into the next room when heard the approaching footsteps of Lucius. With all due purpose, he rushed back to his frame in time to watch the show.
"Draco, what have I told you about offering what you do not have?" his son said with disdain and disappointment.
"Only when I'm absolutely sure I won't be called on it," his grandson replied dutifully.
"I daresay Miss Granger has some opinion on that statement, should she get over her modesty to be sufficiently vocal."
"I... I... It's not modesty! I... I'm not quite sure if I'm surprised more that he said it or that you came at the mention of it."
And now this was getting really interesting. Abraxas watched with a bit of giddiness as his son and grandson exchanged a significant look.
"Miss Granger, you obviously have some further reason to invade my sanctuary than simply to annoy me and taint my home. As you have involved my son, it is further obvious that it is a matter of some importance to you. Shall we adjourn to the study, then, to discuss this further?"
"I doubt you'll be interested," she replied with a bit of affront.
"I doubt that you could possibly have any information regarding what I may or may not be interested in," his son replied in turn.
The two, thusly locked in conversation, walked on towards the study with a strange mix of consternation and comfort. Abraxas didn't bother following them. After all, there wasn't a painting anywhere near the study, for practical reasons. Also, why bother when a source of information was right here, gloriously left behind.
"Boy!"
"Grandfather?"
"Yes, boy. Tell me who the woman is."
"Why is she a woman while I am a boy? I fought in a war, you know."
"Who hasn't fought in a war?"
His grandson merely stared at him.
"Well, boy? Tell me, and I'll tell you where I buried those 600 galleons I stole away from Tom Scot before I died."
"They said you spent those 600 galleons on the mirror that killed you."
"Why would I do a foolish thing like that? Honestly, boy, have you no sense?"
His grandson merely stared at him some more until Abraxas made it a point to pull a painted galleon out of his pocket and flip apparently aimlessly in the air.
"Hermione Granger. Twenty-five, like me. Mudblood, former Hogwarts student, anti-Voldemort, hopelessly devoted to 'good', but occasionally dabbles in some Grey Magic. Which is exactly why she is here. She's attempting to save one of her insipid little friends."
"Sounds like quite the spectacle. Are you certain my dear son will not be tempted by her?"
"I am hoping he is."
"Really?"
"He's been bleeding boring since he 'reformed'. Also, it would certainly give me something to lord over Granger."
"How much longer do you reckon?"
"She's returned from both of her unaccompanied attempts to retrieve the books she wants looking quite upset and dishevelled. They are currently in the study, alone, and my father hasn’t been properly shagged in a decade. I would think this very night if not already."
"You underestimate my son. Not for another week, at least. I would wager another 600 galleons on it."
"And which 600 would those be?"
"Those that I won playing dominos the month before I died."
"Grandmother said you never won anything playing dominos."
"Of course she did. Why would I ever tell Isadora the truth?"
His grandson smirked grandly, an effort that made Abraxas quite proud to have had some relation to him, before walking steadily off towards the study to see how the other two occupants of the manor were progressing.
Several hours later, he was shaken from his easy sport of staring animatedly at the opposing wall by an embarrassed squeal followed by sharp laughter. Within moments, the woman stomped through his hallway, clutching her robes to her breast and half heartedly smoothing her hair from its disarray. The angry slam of the front entry was followed by the loud pop of Apparition. Both sounds rumbled through the manor with all the resonance of thunder.
Only moments after she was gone, his son and grandson walked grandly down the hall with matching smirks. His son looked curiously satisfied.
"I'm afraid I do not understand her state, father. I merely enquired whether she was as bright and shiny as I'd promised."
"Yes, well, you'll do well not to upset her too much. She has yet a part to play in my plan."
"Plot!" Abraxas interrupted with fervour.
"Of course, Grandfather, and where did you bury those 1200 galleons you promised?"
"Bury 1200 galleons, boy? You say such foolish things. Now quickly, tell me about the Mudblood that was just here. Who is she?"
*
FanFic100 Prompt Table