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bookishwenchYet more.
Author: Meltha
Rating: FRT at this point, but likely to rise
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Melpomenethalia@aol.com
Spoilers: Currently, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Again, this will rise.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Draco’s journey to Hogwarts will being soon, but first he is confronted with a few shocking facts.
Disclaimer: All characters are created by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful writer whose works I greatly enjoy. I have borrowed them for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Previous chapter here.
Part 2: Perspectives
Roses were Draco’s favorite flowers. Not only were they gorgeous, but they had thorns. They were capable of defending themselves against intrusions, and he respected that.
The rose garden of the Malfoy estate was very large, hidden behind a high stone wall. One of his illustrious ancestors had originally built a large house on the spot, but it had burned down (it was rumored he had been drinking too much firewhisky and the flames beneath his cauldron had sent the drapes up in a blaze), and while the blackened stone walls remained, the thatched roof had burned away completely, leaving a kind of courtyard that was open to the sky above. His great-grandmother had gotten the idea of planting roses there, thinking the crumbling walls created a charming effect.
Every single rose in the garden, and there were thousands of them, was a perfectly pure white. Even roses in the Malfoy house had to be pure-blooded. Since it was night, they had closed more tightly against the darkness, but the full moon ove head and the torches burning in brackets on the old walls made them glow in an almost unearthly way. With a loud sigh, Draco dropped onto a bench near the fountain at the center of the garden. The beds of flowers radiated out from it like spokes on a wheel, and he sat silently for a while, trying to process everything he’d learned.
“I don’t believe I’m betrothed,” he finally said aloud. As he’d had very little company other than house elves, he’d developed a habit of speaking to himself. “What is this, the sixteenth century?”
He kicked at the white gravel path in front of him, knowing it would scuff his shoes and deciding he really didn’t care. His father wasn’t around to see them, anyway. Suddenly, he was hit with a very simple thought that hadn’t occurred to him before. He was going to be away from home, and away from his father’s watchful eye, for months. Whatever he wanted to do, he could. With a smirk, he leaned back against the bench and gazed up at the stars, almost feeling himself master of his own destiny, at least for a while.
“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind him.
Draco promptly jumped off the bench and whirled around. Standing a few feet behind him was an old man he had never seen before.
“What are you doing here?” he yelled, slightly alarmed. “This is private property, you know!
“I’m dreadfully sorry to have disturbed you,” the man said, and as he came closer Draco could see that the torchlight was glinting off his half-moon spectacles. “I’m afraid I couldn’t hit upon another way of speaking with you confidentially.”
“Who are you?” Draco asked, looking out of the corner of his eye and wondering why he didn’t see the usual battalion of house elves hovering just out of sight to do his bidding if he called.
“I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts,” the old man said as he took the seat Draco had just vacated.
Draco looked at him appraisingly. Yes, he matched the pictures he’d seen on the Chocolate Frog cards.
“Okay,” he said, keeping his distance. “Suppose you are. What are you doing here, and where are my servants?”
“They agreed to give me a few minutes to speak with you in privacy,” Dumbledore explained as he dug through one of his pockets, eventually finding a box of lemon drops, extracting one, and popping it in his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry; I don’t wish to be rude. Sweet?”
“No,” Draco said, still unnerved. “What do you want to speak with me about?”
“Hogwarts,” he replied, looking around the garden interestedly. “This is a lovely spot, I must say.”
“What about Hogwarts?” Draco asked, and though he knew he wasn’t being terribly polite to someone quite important, he gave himself credit for not popping the geezer in the nose.
“Mister Malfoy,” he said, and it took Draco a moment to realize the name was being applied to himself, “I am coming to ask you for a rather difficult favor.”
“What sort of favor?” Draco said, his eyes narrowing.
“You have gotten your letter of admission from the school, have you not?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes,” he said, “weeks ago.”
“Good,” Dumbledore said. “And what are your feelings regarding going away to school for the first time?”
“What business is that of yours?” Draco said before he could stop himself.
Dumbledore blinked once, then smiled. “Quite right, Draco. I am indeed a bit nosy, I’m afraid. But I really must ask you to tell me the truth.”
“It sounds okay, I suppose,” Draco said, and Dumbledore gave him a particularly piercing look that made him feel the man knew a great deal more than what Draco had just told him.
“Being apprehensive is entirely normal,” Dumbledore said quietly, “but I am sorry to say I am going to have to burden your mind a bit more than the usual first year would experience.”
“How?” Draco asked.
Dumbledore sighed, and he suddenly looked much older than before. Good God, Draco thought, the he had to be pushing a hundred at least.
“I am sure you have heard of Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.
It was now Draco’s turn to blink. “You just said the Dark Lord’s name!”
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “I find all this He Who Must Not Be Named business quite pointless, really.”
Draco silently agreed with him, and his estimation of him raised a notch. It seemed stupid not to call Voldemort by his right name, but since he’d been able to talk he’d been told never to call Voldemort anything other than the Dark Lord or He Who Must Not Be Named. Personally, he found it all rather silly, but as it was one of the few rules that he would be punished quite severely for breaking, he had learned to bite his tongue.
“What about him?” Draco asked.
“I have reason to believe that he is attempting to regain his former power,” Dumbledore said.
“You can’t be serious,” Draco said, laughing.
“I’m afraid I am very serious,” Dumbledore said, fixing him with another penetrating look, “deadly so.”
“He’s dead,” Draco said in what he hoped was a firm voice.
“He’s not,” Dumbledore countered. The absolute conviction behind those two words was very unsettling. “I realize this is disturbing, Draco, but don’t make the mistake of thinking you can simply close your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening. Far too many have made that choice. You, however, are in the position of being able to aid us in preventing a calamity which would affect thousands of people. I’m asking for your help.”
Draco remained silent, not really certain what to say.
“What I’m asking,” Dumbledore continued, breaking the silence, “is for you to keep your eyes and ears open in regards to anything unusual that is happening at Hogwarts. You will almost certainly be a member of Slytherin when term begins, and it would be of great worth to those of us who want to stop Voldemort if you could give us any information that would benefit our cause. I beg you to consider it.”
“Why me? Why not someone else?” Draco asked.
“Because I believe you have tasted a bit of what life is like under the old regime in your home, and perhaps it is not to your liking,” Dumbledore replied.
Draco looked at him for a long moment, and then he couldn’t help it. He began to laugh loudly.
“My father said you were a bit daft, but this is ridiculous! You want me to toss away my future, my family, my way of life, tattle to teachers about what the sons and daughters of some of the most powerful people in the wizarding world are saying over breakfast, and in return I get what? So what if the Dark Lord does take power again? He’ll wipe out the mudbloods and the disloyal. If what you say is true and he is getting powerful again, why would I want to put my head on the chopping block?”
“Why indeed,” Dumbledore said softly but not unkindly as he got to his feet. “Perhaps someday in the future you may change your mind.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Draco mumbled.
“I am sure you understand, though, that I cannot have you telling anyone else about this conversation. I am afraid I can’t trust you, so…,” he produced a wand with more speed than Draco would have dreamed possible, “obfirmotem secretas.”
A pale violet light whizzed from the tip of Dumbledore’s wand and hit Draco’s chest.
“What was that?” he said angrily.
“A spell that will prevent you from communicating the contents of our conversation to anyone except myself unless I choose to break the enchantment,” Dumbledore said, and he looked at the boy sadly. “I am sorry. I shall now leave you to your thoughts. If you should ever reconsider your decision, do let me know at once. I realize what I asked of you is a great sacrifice. Unless you truly understand why you should make it, I cannot expect you to undertake such an unpleasant task. Goodbye, Draco.”
Dumbledore turned to go, but then paused and faced him again.
“By the way,” he said, a smile tugging around his lips, “you are not yet in my school, but once you are, realize that it is not acceptable to speak to your instructors in the same manner you have just addressed me. If you do, I believe you find yourself in detention for most of the next seven years. Have a good term.”
With a small popping noise, he apparated away from the Malfoy manor, leaving Draco standing alone in the rose garden. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Well, for once I can honestly say my day hasn’t been boring,” Draco muttered, then started up the gravel walk to the house, too tired to think anymore tonight.
To part 3
Author: Meltha
Rating: FRT at this point, but likely to rise
Feedback: Yes, thank you. Melpomenethalia@aol.com
Spoilers: Currently, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. Again, this will rise.
Distribution: The Blackberry Patch and Fanfiction.net. If you’re interested, please let me know.
Summary: Draco’s journey to Hogwarts will being soon, but first he is confronted with a few shocking facts.
Disclaimer: All characters are created by J. K. Rowling, a wonderful writer whose works I greatly enjoy. I have borrowed them for a completely profit-free flight of fancy. Kindly do not sue me, please, as I am terrified of you. Thank you.
Previous chapter here.
Part 2: Perspectives
Roses were Draco’s favorite flowers. Not only were they gorgeous, but they had thorns. They were capable of defending themselves against intrusions, and he respected that.
The rose garden of the Malfoy estate was very large, hidden behind a high stone wall. One of his illustrious ancestors had originally built a large house on the spot, but it had burned down (it was rumored he had been drinking too much firewhisky and the flames beneath his cauldron had sent the drapes up in a blaze), and while the blackened stone walls remained, the thatched roof had burned away completely, leaving a kind of courtyard that was open to the sky above. His great-grandmother had gotten the idea of planting roses there, thinking the crumbling walls created a charming effect.
Every single rose in the garden, and there were thousands of them, was a perfectly pure white. Even roses in the Malfoy house had to be pure-blooded. Since it was night, they had closed more tightly against the darkness, but the full moon ove head and the torches burning in brackets on the old walls made them glow in an almost unearthly way. With a loud sigh, Draco dropped onto a bench near the fountain at the center of the garden. The beds of flowers radiated out from it like spokes on a wheel, and he sat silently for a while, trying to process everything he’d learned.
“I don’t believe I’m betrothed,” he finally said aloud. As he’d had very little company other than house elves, he’d developed a habit of speaking to himself. “What is this, the sixteenth century?”
He kicked at the white gravel path in front of him, knowing it would scuff his shoes and deciding he really didn’t care. His father wasn’t around to see them, anyway. Suddenly, he was hit with a very simple thought that hadn’t occurred to him before. He was going to be away from home, and away from his father’s watchful eye, for months. Whatever he wanted to do, he could. With a smirk, he leaned back against the bench and gazed up at the stars, almost feeling himself master of his own destiny, at least for a while.
“Excuse me,” said a voice from behind him.
Draco promptly jumped off the bench and whirled around. Standing a few feet behind him was an old man he had never seen before.
“What are you doing here?” he yelled, slightly alarmed. “This is private property, you know!
“I’m dreadfully sorry to have disturbed you,” the man said, and as he came closer Draco could see that the torchlight was glinting off his half-moon spectacles. “I’m afraid I couldn’t hit upon another way of speaking with you confidentially.”
“Who are you?” Draco asked, looking out of the corner of his eye and wondering why he didn’t see the usual battalion of house elves hovering just out of sight to do his bidding if he called.
“I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts,” the old man said as he took the seat Draco had just vacated.
Draco looked at him appraisingly. Yes, he matched the pictures he’d seen on the Chocolate Frog cards.
“Okay,” he said, keeping his distance. “Suppose you are. What are you doing here, and where are my servants?”
“They agreed to give me a few minutes to speak with you in privacy,” Dumbledore explained as he dug through one of his pockets, eventually finding a box of lemon drops, extracting one, and popping it in his mouth. “Oh, I’m sorry; I don’t wish to be rude. Sweet?”
“No,” Draco said, still unnerved. “What do you want to speak with me about?”
“Hogwarts,” he replied, looking around the garden interestedly. “This is a lovely spot, I must say.”
“What about Hogwarts?” Draco asked, and though he knew he wasn’t being terribly polite to someone quite important, he gave himself credit for not popping the geezer in the nose.
“Mister Malfoy,” he said, and it took Draco a moment to realize the name was being applied to himself, “I am coming to ask you for a rather difficult favor.”
“What sort of favor?” Draco said, his eyes narrowing.
“You have gotten your letter of admission from the school, have you not?” Dumbledore asked.
“Yes,” he said, “weeks ago.”
“Good,” Dumbledore said. “And what are your feelings regarding going away to school for the first time?”
“What business is that of yours?” Draco said before he could stop himself.
Dumbledore blinked once, then smiled. “Quite right, Draco. I am indeed a bit nosy, I’m afraid. But I really must ask you to tell me the truth.”
“It sounds okay, I suppose,” Draco said, and Dumbledore gave him a particularly piercing look that made him feel the man knew a great deal more than what Draco had just told him.
“Being apprehensive is entirely normal,” Dumbledore said quietly, “but I am sorry to say I am going to have to burden your mind a bit more than the usual first year would experience.”
“How?” Draco asked.
Dumbledore sighed, and he suddenly looked much older than before. Good God, Draco thought, the he had to be pushing a hundred at least.
“I am sure you have heard of Voldemort,” Dumbledore said.
It was now Draco’s turn to blink. “You just said the Dark Lord’s name!”
“Yes,” Dumbledore agreed. “I find all this He Who Must Not Be Named business quite pointless, really.”
Draco silently agreed with him, and his estimation of him raised a notch. It seemed stupid not to call Voldemort by his right name, but since he’d been able to talk he’d been told never to call Voldemort anything other than the Dark Lord or He Who Must Not Be Named. Personally, he found it all rather silly, but as it was one of the few rules that he would be punished quite severely for breaking, he had learned to bite his tongue.
“What about him?” Draco asked.
“I have reason to believe that he is attempting to regain his former power,” Dumbledore said.
“You can’t be serious,” Draco said, laughing.
“I’m afraid I am very serious,” Dumbledore said, fixing him with another penetrating look, “deadly so.”
“He’s dead,” Draco said in what he hoped was a firm voice.
“He’s not,” Dumbledore countered. The absolute conviction behind those two words was very unsettling. “I realize this is disturbing, Draco, but don’t make the mistake of thinking you can simply close your eyes and pretend it isn’t happening. Far too many have made that choice. You, however, are in the position of being able to aid us in preventing a calamity which would affect thousands of people. I’m asking for your help.”
Draco remained silent, not really certain what to say.
“What I’m asking,” Dumbledore continued, breaking the silence, “is for you to keep your eyes and ears open in regards to anything unusual that is happening at Hogwarts. You will almost certainly be a member of Slytherin when term begins, and it would be of great worth to those of us who want to stop Voldemort if you could give us any information that would benefit our cause. I beg you to consider it.”
“Why me? Why not someone else?” Draco asked.
“Because I believe you have tasted a bit of what life is like under the old regime in your home, and perhaps it is not to your liking,” Dumbledore replied.
Draco looked at him for a long moment, and then he couldn’t help it. He began to laugh loudly.
“My father said you were a bit daft, but this is ridiculous! You want me to toss away my future, my family, my way of life, tattle to teachers about what the sons and daughters of some of the most powerful people in the wizarding world are saying over breakfast, and in return I get what? So what if the Dark Lord does take power again? He’ll wipe out the mudbloods and the disloyal. If what you say is true and he is getting powerful again, why would I want to put my head on the chopping block?”
“Why indeed,” Dumbledore said softly but not unkindly as he got to his feet. “Perhaps someday in the future you may change your mind.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Draco mumbled.
“I am sure you understand, though, that I cannot have you telling anyone else about this conversation. I am afraid I can’t trust you, so…,” he produced a wand with more speed than Draco would have dreamed possible, “obfirmotem secretas.”
A pale violet light whizzed from the tip of Dumbledore’s wand and hit Draco’s chest.
“What was that?” he said angrily.
“A spell that will prevent you from communicating the contents of our conversation to anyone except myself unless I choose to break the enchantment,” Dumbledore said, and he looked at the boy sadly. “I am sorry. I shall now leave you to your thoughts. If you should ever reconsider your decision, do let me know at once. I realize what I asked of you is a great sacrifice. Unless you truly understand why you should make it, I cannot expect you to undertake such an unpleasant task. Goodbye, Draco.”
Dumbledore turned to go, but then paused and faced him again.
“By the way,” he said, a smile tugging around his lips, “you are not yet in my school, but once you are, realize that it is not acceptable to speak to your instructors in the same manner you have just addressed me. If you do, I believe you find yourself in detention for most of the next seven years. Have a good term.”
With a small popping noise, he apparated away from the Malfoy manor, leaving Draco standing alone in the rose garden. He raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“Well, for once I can honestly say my day hasn’t been boring,” Draco muttered, then started up the gravel walk to the house, too tired to think anymore tonight.
To part 3
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-11-16 12:39 am (UTC)And you must have read my mind the other day, because I was bemoaning the fact that all my favorite fanfics haven't been updated in months.
And now this. yey!
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Date: 2006-11-16 01:44 am (UTC)