bookishwench (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bookishwench) wrote2009-01-06 11:50 am
bookishwench) wrote2009-01-06 11:50 am
Entry tags:
Fic: Shadowed Lives Chapter 13: Mail Call (Dramione, G)
Whew! It was stuck for a while, but it's coming along pretty well now. :) Draco gets a package from home, a stern letter from Narcissa, and actual physical contact with Pansy.
Previous parts can be found here
Author: Meltha
Rating: PG 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 receives a package from home.
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.
Author Note: Some information double-checked through the Harry Potter Lexicon.
Part 13: Mail Call
The next morning, Draco woke early. He wasn’t really sure what had caused him to roll over and know that he wouldn’t be going back to sleep even if the light outside the charmed window was very dim. He lay in bed a long while, though, going over his schedule for the day once more: Transfiguration, lunch break, Charms, dinner, and finally Astronomy. He was moderately hopeful about his professors today, and when he noticed that his leg looked perfectly normal this morning, he was practically cheerful.
Draco rose and dressed, then went down to the Great Hall for breakfast before his roommates began to stir. After yesterday’s fiasco, he was determined to get a decent meal at least once. Seated at the Slytherin table was a handful of older students, most of them looking decidedly groggy and grumpy. Draco decided to take a seat relatively far from them, then waited for breakfast to arrive.
When the platters of hot toast slathered in butter and strawberry jam appeared, he almost whooped aloud. Eggs followed along with links of sausage still sizzling from the pan. It is possible that Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune and possessed of the very purest of wizarding blood, may have scarfed down his food in a somewhat wild fashion. It’s even possible that a bit of butter may have found its way into his sleek blond hair. In fact, the distinct possibility exists that a certain Master Malfoy actually cleaned an entire platter of sausages meant to serve four people all on his own. Regardless, he felt delightfully full when he was finished and still had plenty of time before his first class.
Crabbe and Goyle entered the Great Hall a few minutes after Draco had polished off his breakfast, and when he noticed just how hungry they looked, he was very happy that he’d managed to eat first.
“Morning,” he said, sipping at a glass of water since he couldn’t abide pumpkin juice.
“Mrghf,” Crabbe attempted as he sat down, which was still better than Goyle managed to do. The other boy had actually fallen asleep again over the table.
Well, so much for breakfast table conversation, Draco thought. Carefully, he checked his teeth in the reflection of his knife (it wouldn’t do for a Malfoy to appear with sausage wedged between his teeth), and behind him he caught sight of a wild nest of brown curls sitting at the Gryffindor table. He turned around, but as Hermione was seated facing away from him, he couldn’t catch her eye. Unobserved, he stared at the other table and its strange assortment of students, a rather unusually large number of them sporting the red hair his father had taught him to associate with the Weasley clan. Purebloods, granted, but exceedingly poor and apparently rather dim since they seemed to be blood traitors on top of everything else. Still…
A thought crept into Draco’s mind. Was it possible the Sorting Hat chose what house a student was in based on money? Draco considered for a moment. He knew his family was wealthy, and judging by Pansy’s emerald encrusted shoes and some of the extremely elegant robes Blaise had, so were they. Maybe Hermione had wound up in Gryffindor not because she lacked the suitable background, temperament, and intelligence of Slytherin, but because her parents were poor? This thought bothered him. Really, the girl shouldn’t be penalized because her parents were layabouts, and he simply didn’t see in her the stupidity and rudeness one associated with Gryffindors and their class. He supposed his parents would have been displeased if he remained friends with a girl who was below their level of richness (and, on second thought, he did think her robes might possibly have been bought used), but there were plenty of purebloods who had amassed fortunes on their own. Maybe she would turn out fine in the end.
Still, this brought up a thought. Hadn’t Hermione said on the train that her birthday was in September? For some reason, the idea that her more than likely impoverished parents might not be able to send her a present made him feel… the word uncomfortable seemed to fit. Draco didn’t like feeling uncomfortable, so he thought he’d better do something about it.
As he was considering what, the usual morning mail call of owls swooped into the hall, and Draco immediately picked out Persephone in the throng. She landed gracefully on his arm, and he gave her a bit of left over bacon that she swallowed with solemn dignity. Carefully, he untied the rather large package that was attached to her leg, and he noticed she shook it stiffly.
“You all right, there?” he asked her, stroking the skin on her leg.
She hooted softly as though in reassurance, but moved her leg again tenderly, and he lifted the box. It really was rather heavy, especially for a trip all the way from Malfoy Manor. He wondered that his mother hadn’t noticed it, but he supposed she was busy with some of her social calendar.
“If you’ve got to do a delivery that far again,” Draco said, rubbing her head gently, “make sure another owl comes with you. There’s a white one in the Owlery who seems decent.”
He gave her another scrap of bacon and then opened the package as she chewed thoughtfully. Inside he found a letter, a good-sized box of Dobby’s taffy, and a book that looked deadly dull before he even opened the cover.
“Leaves on the Tree of Perfection: A Wizarding Genealogy,” he read, then grimaced. “I’m sure this will be fascinating.”
“What have you got, Draco?” Goyle asked, awake again after a good dose of eggs and undoubtedly scenting the taffy.
“Package from home,” he said, purposely keeping his meaning vague.
Carefully, he unrolled the parchment of his mother’s letter and read the familiar, sloping handwriting.
Dearest Draco,
Your word has reached me of your Sorting into Slytherin. Your father and I are both very pleased.
Draco beamed. Praise from his parents was always a good thing, and there wasn’t always a lot of it to be found.
However, I hope your godfather had adequately corrected your notions regarding Pureblood status and its characteristics as well as those of Mudbloods and their ilk. These enemies are hovering near to you even as you read this, and you do not want their taint to contaminate you. It is your duty as a Pureblood to expose their deficiencies, deriding them whenever the opportunity presents itself, but you may choose simply to hold yourself aloof from the dreadful creatures if you do not want to engage in open warfare with them.
As Draco read these words, a flush of color came into his cheeks. His mother certainly wasn’t calling him a coward, was she? Of course he’d humiliate Mudbloods if that’s what his parents wanted! He still didn’t quite understand how they were able to lie about their parentage so bold-facedly and pretend they were as good as everyone else, but if he caught one of them in it, he would be sure to make his or her (or perhaps he should use “its”?) life as miserable as possible.
I have given you an excellent book on the genealogy of all Pureblood branches in the United Kingdom. Should you encounter wizards from abroad, there are other directories that can assist you in finding out their parentage, but I think this book will give you all the information you need to look up information on your various classmates and reveal their level of purity. The Malfoys, of course, are mentioned prominently, as are my family, the Blacks.
Draco looked at the book with a little more interest now, but he still didn’t hold out much hope for its plot. Graphic, descriptive broomstick chases and dragon fights really didn’t seem all that likely in the history of the Malfoys or the Blacks.
Do well, surpass your peers, and remember to keep the Malfoy honor above reproach, my son.
Mother
P.S. The taffy can be a useful tool in winning over the rest of the Slytherins. Be certain to pass it around to all the important people in an effort at friendship.
Draco opened the box of taffy, each of the wrappers a different pastel color, and sighed longingly. Really, he’d love to down the whole box himself, but Mother’s advice wasn’t meant to be ignored.
“Here, Goyle,” he said, handing him a couple pieces. “One of our house-elves makes this. It’s quite good.”
His face lit up at once, and Draco felt a strange surge of pride. He gave Crabbe some as well, then, deliberating carefully, passed one to Blaise, who looked at it curiously, but unwrapped it with a polite, “Thank you.”
“Nott, you want some?” Draco asked, holding the box in his direction.
“I’m not fond of sweets,” Theodore said, regarding him steadily. “Thanks just the same.”
“Whatever,” Draco said, feeling rather insulted.
Just then Pansy caught his eye from her seat at the end of the table, and he realized he really should offer her some. She waved at him, giving him that practiced smile again, and he walked down to her.
“Care for a sweet?” he asked her.
“Oooh, yes!” she said, grabbing two pieces. “You’re going to fatten me up at this rate, Draco! What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the book.
“Oh, wizarding genealogy book,” he said off-handedly. “The best families are all listed. Mother sent it to me.”
With a surprisingly loud squeal, she grabbed the book out of his hands and immediately began flipping pages towards the section that began with P.
“I do so love seeing my name in print,” she said. “Oh, look, there’s a lovely, long section on the Parkinsons right here, see?”
There was indeed an entire chapter dedicated to the illustrious Parkinson family, and though Draco skimmed the first paragraph a little to see whether he was wrong and the book was more interesting than it looked, sadly, all it did was prove him right. It was deeply boring.
“This is fascinating!” she said again. “I normally loathe books—horrid, dusty things that make people near-sighted, you know—but I’d love to get my hands on this for a day or two.”
Draco looked uncertain. It had seemed like his mother had wanted him to study it right away.
“Please?” she asked, and her eyelashes fluttered sweetly as she smiled up at him.
“Well, all right,” he agreed, figuring it was best to give his betrothed whatever she wanted at this point.
Pansy threw her arms around him in a quick hug, then backed off in some embarrassment, sitting down once more and going over the text with her friend Daphne.
“I’ll, ehm, need it back, though,” he said uncertainly, a little overwhelmed.
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes and blushing a bit. Draco walked back down the table to his seat, and Crabbe and Goyle smiled at him as though they’d figured out some great secret.
“Pansy’s pretty,” Goyle said, “even if she is a stupid girl.”
“Don’t call her stupid,” Draco snapped, feeling irritable.
Draco couldn’t help feeling that Goyle had very little room to insult anyone else about intelligence to begin with. Cautiously, he looked down the table towards Pansy and Daphne again. The two girls were giggling madly and pointing to something in the book. Goyle had been right about one thing though; Pansy was decidedly pretty. Still, so was his broomstick, and he didn’t really feel like marrying it, but he wasn’t about to tolerate anyone, even another Pureblood, insulting a Pureblood young lady in his presence, regardless of whether it was Pansy or Hermione or Daphne or even that rather frightening Millicent. It simply wasn’t good manners. As he watched Goyle wipe his nose on his sleeve, Draco sighed. He was going to have to help this one and Crabbe rather a lot.
The din of breakfast was beginning to break up as students and staff began drifting out of the Great Hall and off to their classes. Draco patted his full stomach. Really, whoever was in charge of the house-elves was going a marvelous job of getting them to cook very well indeed… when he could get hold of it. He gathered his books and set off for Transfiguration, deeply intrigued by the description Hermione had given him of McGonagall. He glanced once more around the Great Hall to see if he could catch sight of her before she left the Gryffindor table, but she he just caught a glimpse of her exiting through the door a good thirty feet in front of him. Even so, he smiled, though he didn’t stop to consider why.
On to chapter 14 here.
Previous parts can be found here
Author: Meltha
Rating: PG 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 receives a package from home.
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.
Author Note: Some information double-checked through the Harry Potter Lexicon.
The next morning, Draco woke early. He wasn’t really sure what had caused him to roll over and know that he wouldn’t be going back to sleep even if the light outside the charmed window was very dim. He lay in bed a long while, though, going over his schedule for the day once more: Transfiguration, lunch break, Charms, dinner, and finally Astronomy. He was moderately hopeful about his professors today, and when he noticed that his leg looked perfectly normal this morning, he was practically cheerful.
Draco rose and dressed, then went down to the Great Hall for breakfast before his roommates began to stir. After yesterday’s fiasco, he was determined to get a decent meal at least once. Seated at the Slytherin table was a handful of older students, most of them looking decidedly groggy and grumpy. Draco decided to take a seat relatively far from them, then waited for breakfast to arrive.
When the platters of hot toast slathered in butter and strawberry jam appeared, he almost whooped aloud. Eggs followed along with links of sausage still sizzling from the pan. It is possible that Draco Malfoy, the heir to the Malfoy fortune and possessed of the very purest of wizarding blood, may have scarfed down his food in a somewhat wild fashion. It’s even possible that a bit of butter may have found its way into his sleek blond hair. In fact, the distinct possibility exists that a certain Master Malfoy actually cleaned an entire platter of sausages meant to serve four people all on his own. Regardless, he felt delightfully full when he was finished and still had plenty of time before his first class.
Crabbe and Goyle entered the Great Hall a few minutes after Draco had polished off his breakfast, and when he noticed just how hungry they looked, he was very happy that he’d managed to eat first.
“Morning,” he said, sipping at a glass of water since he couldn’t abide pumpkin juice.
“Mrghf,” Crabbe attempted as he sat down, which was still better than Goyle managed to do. The other boy had actually fallen asleep again over the table.
Well, so much for breakfast table conversation, Draco thought. Carefully, he checked his teeth in the reflection of his knife (it wouldn’t do for a Malfoy to appear with sausage wedged between his teeth), and behind him he caught sight of a wild nest of brown curls sitting at the Gryffindor table. He turned around, but as Hermione was seated facing away from him, he couldn’t catch her eye. Unobserved, he stared at the other table and its strange assortment of students, a rather unusually large number of them sporting the red hair his father had taught him to associate with the Weasley clan. Purebloods, granted, but exceedingly poor and apparently rather dim since they seemed to be blood traitors on top of everything else. Still…
A thought crept into Draco’s mind. Was it possible the Sorting Hat chose what house a student was in based on money? Draco considered for a moment. He knew his family was wealthy, and judging by Pansy’s emerald encrusted shoes and some of the extremely elegant robes Blaise had, so were they. Maybe Hermione had wound up in Gryffindor not because she lacked the suitable background, temperament, and intelligence of Slytherin, but because her parents were poor? This thought bothered him. Really, the girl shouldn’t be penalized because her parents were layabouts, and he simply didn’t see in her the stupidity and rudeness one associated with Gryffindors and their class. He supposed his parents would have been displeased if he remained friends with a girl who was below their level of richness (and, on second thought, he did think her robes might possibly have been bought used), but there were plenty of purebloods who had amassed fortunes on their own. Maybe she would turn out fine in the end.
Still, this brought up a thought. Hadn’t Hermione said on the train that her birthday was in September? For some reason, the idea that her more than likely impoverished parents might not be able to send her a present made him feel… the word uncomfortable seemed to fit. Draco didn’t like feeling uncomfortable, so he thought he’d better do something about it.
As he was considering what, the usual morning mail call of owls swooped into the hall, and Draco immediately picked out Persephone in the throng. She landed gracefully on his arm, and he gave her a bit of left over bacon that she swallowed with solemn dignity. Carefully, he untied the rather large package that was attached to her leg, and he noticed she shook it stiffly.
“You all right, there?” he asked her, stroking the skin on her leg.
She hooted softly as though in reassurance, but moved her leg again tenderly, and he lifted the box. It really was rather heavy, especially for a trip all the way from Malfoy Manor. He wondered that his mother hadn’t noticed it, but he supposed she was busy with some of her social calendar.
“If you’ve got to do a delivery that far again,” Draco said, rubbing her head gently, “make sure another owl comes with you. There’s a white one in the Owlery who seems decent.”
He gave her another scrap of bacon and then opened the package as she chewed thoughtfully. Inside he found a letter, a good-sized box of Dobby’s taffy, and a book that looked deadly dull before he even opened the cover.
“Leaves on the Tree of Perfection: A Wizarding Genealogy,” he read, then grimaced. “I’m sure this will be fascinating.”
“What have you got, Draco?” Goyle asked, awake again after a good dose of eggs and undoubtedly scenting the taffy.
“Package from home,” he said, purposely keeping his meaning vague.
Carefully, he unrolled the parchment of his mother’s letter and read the familiar, sloping handwriting.
Dearest Draco,
Your word has reached me of your Sorting into Slytherin. Your father and I are both very pleased.
Draco beamed. Praise from his parents was always a good thing, and there wasn’t always a lot of it to be found.
However, I hope your godfather had adequately corrected your notions regarding Pureblood status and its characteristics as well as those of Mudbloods and their ilk. These enemies are hovering near to you even as you read this, and you do not want their taint to contaminate you. It is your duty as a Pureblood to expose their deficiencies, deriding them whenever the opportunity presents itself, but you may choose simply to hold yourself aloof from the dreadful creatures if you do not want to engage in open warfare with them.
As Draco read these words, a flush of color came into his cheeks. His mother certainly wasn’t calling him a coward, was she? Of course he’d humiliate Mudbloods if that’s what his parents wanted! He still didn’t quite understand how they were able to lie about their parentage so bold-facedly and pretend they were as good as everyone else, but if he caught one of them in it, he would be sure to make his or her (or perhaps he should use “its”?) life as miserable as possible.
I have given you an excellent book on the genealogy of all Pureblood branches in the United Kingdom. Should you encounter wizards from abroad, there are other directories that can assist you in finding out their parentage, but I think this book will give you all the information you need to look up information on your various classmates and reveal their level of purity. The Malfoys, of course, are mentioned prominently, as are my family, the Blacks.
Draco looked at the book with a little more interest now, but he still didn’t hold out much hope for its plot. Graphic, descriptive broomstick chases and dragon fights really didn’t seem all that likely in the history of the Malfoys or the Blacks.
Do well, surpass your peers, and remember to keep the Malfoy honor above reproach, my son.
Mother
P.S. The taffy can be a useful tool in winning over the rest of the Slytherins. Be certain to pass it around to all the important people in an effort at friendship.
Draco opened the box of taffy, each of the wrappers a different pastel color, and sighed longingly. Really, he’d love to down the whole box himself, but Mother’s advice wasn’t meant to be ignored.
“Here, Goyle,” he said, handing him a couple pieces. “One of our house-elves makes this. It’s quite good.”
His face lit up at once, and Draco felt a strange surge of pride. He gave Crabbe some as well, then, deliberating carefully, passed one to Blaise, who looked at it curiously, but unwrapped it with a polite, “Thank you.”
“Nott, you want some?” Draco asked, holding the box in his direction.
“I’m not fond of sweets,” Theodore said, regarding him steadily. “Thanks just the same.”
“Whatever,” Draco said, feeling rather insulted.
Just then Pansy caught his eye from her seat at the end of the table, and he realized he really should offer her some. She waved at him, giving him that practiced smile again, and he walked down to her.
“Care for a sweet?” he asked her.
“Oooh, yes!” she said, grabbing two pieces. “You’re going to fatten me up at this rate, Draco! What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the book.
“Oh, wizarding genealogy book,” he said off-handedly. “The best families are all listed. Mother sent it to me.”
With a surprisingly loud squeal, she grabbed the book out of his hands and immediately began flipping pages towards the section that began with P.
“I do so love seeing my name in print,” she said. “Oh, look, there’s a lovely, long section on the Parkinsons right here, see?”
There was indeed an entire chapter dedicated to the illustrious Parkinson family, and though Draco skimmed the first paragraph a little to see whether he was wrong and the book was more interesting than it looked, sadly, all it did was prove him right. It was deeply boring.
“This is fascinating!” she said again. “I normally loathe books—horrid, dusty things that make people near-sighted, you know—but I’d love to get my hands on this for a day or two.”
Draco looked uncertain. It had seemed like his mother had wanted him to study it right away.
“Please?” she asked, and her eyelashes fluttered sweetly as she smiled up at him.
“Well, all right,” he agreed, figuring it was best to give his betrothed whatever she wanted at this point.
Pansy threw her arms around him in a quick hug, then backed off in some embarrassment, sitting down once more and going over the text with her friend Daphne.
“I’ll, ehm, need it back, though,” he said uncertainly, a little overwhelmed.
She nodded, not quite meeting his eyes and blushing a bit. Draco walked back down the table to his seat, and Crabbe and Goyle smiled at him as though they’d figured out some great secret.
“Pansy’s pretty,” Goyle said, “even if she is a stupid girl.”
“Don’t call her stupid,” Draco snapped, feeling irritable.
Draco couldn’t help feeling that Goyle had very little room to insult anyone else about intelligence to begin with. Cautiously, he looked down the table towards Pansy and Daphne again. The two girls were giggling madly and pointing to something in the book. Goyle had been right about one thing though; Pansy was decidedly pretty. Still, so was his broomstick, and he didn’t really feel like marrying it, but he wasn’t about to tolerate anyone, even another Pureblood, insulting a Pureblood young lady in his presence, regardless of whether it was Pansy or Hermione or Daphne or even that rather frightening Millicent. It simply wasn’t good manners. As he watched Goyle wipe his nose on his sleeve, Draco sighed. He was going to have to help this one and Crabbe rather a lot.
The din of breakfast was beginning to break up as students and staff began drifting out of the Great Hall and off to their classes. Draco patted his full stomach. Really, whoever was in charge of the house-elves was going a marvelous job of getting them to cook very well indeed… when he could get hold of it. He gathered his books and set off for Transfiguration, deeply intrigued by the description Hermione had given him of McGonagall. He glanced once more around the Great Hall to see if he could catch sight of her before she left the Gryffindor table, but she he just caught a glimpse of her exiting through the door a good thirty feet in front of him. Even so, he smiled, though he didn’t stop to consider why.
On to chapter 14 here.
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