Malfoy Manner: Trick or Treat
Part the First: Tricks
Malfoy Manor was a relatively quiet place. Neither Draco nor his mother minded the silence. In fact, they reveled in it. Draco (despite his mother's pursed lips and scowls) enjoyed the freedom of slapping barefoot into breakfast or perusing the Daily Prophet in his shirttails against the kitchen counter. And although she tisked at these antics, she didn't make great protest when he saw fit to fuck her senseless on the breakfast table or the kitchen counter or against the wall in the library or in her garden tub or behind the shrubberies on the back lawn. They had glorious run of the house, and she'd started to care less for the elf's possible discovery of their activities. (She still didn't believe Draco when he purported that the creature already knew.)
They'd relaxed into a raunchy and regular routine, it seemed. Draco arose from their badly skewed bed each morning, went to the Ministry for some Board of Governors meeting, was bored out of his skull, played nice with dusty old codgers, lunched with seething, greedy lawyers and finally buggered out as fast as he could to step out of green flame and into waiting pale arms and kisses better recorded by muggle pornographers.
They were insatiable, really. The witch who'd waited half her life for happiness had found it at last with the wizard who'd lived his whole life to make her happy. And as she knew that by right of birth he was hers, he knew by right of love that she was his. So they lived a secret less salacious and more Byronic than anyone in their world could have imagined.
Even the Fates could not interrupt their idyll – though the Bitches often tried.
Draco took a sip of wine, smacked his lips. "Excellent rack."
"Yes, Mint has surpassed even our grandest dinner expectations."
"I didn't mean the lamb." He winked, and a graceful hand fluttered to her modestly clad cleavage.
"Draco…" But she smiled just the same.
His teeth snapped through a fresh green bean. "I ran into Potter today."
"Oh? Is he well?"
Draco shrugged. "He's Potter. He's excited about the new quidditch pitch."
"Yes. How goes the construction?" She wrapped her lips around a bacon-wrapped fig and Draco shifted uncomfortably.
"It's progressing quickly. About six weeks –" He coughed when she licked a dot of cream from the edge of her mouth "- and it should be complete."
"That's quick. Mmmmm." She closed her eyes and swallowed the bite of creamed potato. Draco's fingers tightened around the stem of his wineglass. "These potatoes are excellent."
"Yes. They're quite good." She dabbed at a non-existent spill on her chest. She knew damn well she was killing him. "Mum."
He was hard as a rock and trying desperately to be as nonchalant as she was. "Potter had an invitation for us today."
"Oh?" She sucked mint jelly from her finger. "What sort of invitation?"
"To a Hallow's Eve gathering. At Grimmauld Place."
"I suppose you accepted the invitation?" The tip of a braised asparagus spear teased her plump bottom lip.
"I did." He was terribly hoarse. Sipped his wine.
"Sounds lovely." A drop of butter skated down her chin. Her tongue swiped at it sinfully. "I haven't been to Grimmauld since I was a girl visiting my cousins."
"Well, now's your chance to visit again." He rose from the table. "Do you want to –"
"Shall we bring anything to this Hallow's Eve gathering?" She seemed in no hurry to leave the table, even leaned back to give him a startling view down her corsetry.
His nostrils flare. "No. Nothing. Let's –"
"Costumes?" Her eyes were slits and she smiled like a minx.
"Yes, he said something about costumes." Draco spoke hastily, his patience and trousers tightening exponentially. "Now, shall we retire to our bedroom? Or would you prefer I take you here? Again?"
She pursed her lips, thinking, then pushed away from the table. "Such a demanding dragon you've become."
"You make me insane." He followed her from the dining hall, already shedding his jacket and oxford. Her low witchy chuckle became a surprised yelp when he tugged her into an empty guest bedroom on the first floor.
Draco particularly enjoyed guestroom sex. It had a peculiar anonymity to it usually reserved for hotel rooms – a feeling of disconnection that made their cries a little louder and their joinings a little more abandoned. Not to mention this room had a wall of windows curtained in sheer tulle, so Draco was able to see his lover in a glorious natural light that flattered her nicely.
He'd noticed a rather disturbing trend in her lately – a sort of hiding. He worried she was growing self-conscious for some reason. She'd also taken to fretting before her mirror more often, and he'd noticed the way she scowled at her body or pulled at the skin of her face.
Even now, in their sweaty afterglow, she pulled a satiny throw around her nakedness before snuggling against him. "So. Hallow's Eve."
He kissed the top of her head. "Hallow's Eve. You'll come with me, then?"
"Potter did invite both of us."
"Of course he did." She squirmed when Draco tugged at her covering, attempting to peek at her breasts. "Stop it." She swatted his hand. "Potter certainly acts peculiar around us. Strange that he's always inviting us to his events."
"Mayhaps he wishes to shag you?" Draco asked playfully. Though the thought gave him brief pause.
She chuckled and his hand crept underneath the throw. "Mayhaps it's you he wishes to shag."
"Oh, mother." He tumbled her beneath him, laughing. "You're evil."
"That might not be so bad, really…"
His laughter evaporated and he watched her sparkling eyes. "What?"
She tucked hair behind his ear. "Might be rather nice is all…two lovely, lovely boys…and me."
"You're not serious."
She kissed him, sucked his bottom lip. It did less to soothe and more to excite. "Of course not, darling."
Draco was unconvinced of her sincerity. Even after sleep claimed him that evening, he dreamt seething scenarios of his mother and Harry Potter in decadent and compromising positions of all sorts. Several times he woke on a gasp or a yelp, each time seeing his bedmate, lover and mother peacefully at rest with a small smile curving her lips.
The restless evening left him spent and sleeping late. When he finally cracked his eyelids, he was assaulted by bright midday light. He grunted and turned his head, nearly screaming when Mint's giant-eyed face filled his vision. "Elf!"
"Master has an important owl."
"How long have you been standing there?" Draco scrambled to gather the duvet around him, painfully conscious of his nudity.
"Long enough." With that, the elf deposited a rolled parchment on the bed and popped away.
"You infernal inbred little toad!" But he knew his insult was wasted. The creature was gone. Draco sighed and took up the parchment.
His mother was in the library, legs curled underneath her and a book in her hands. Her brown skirt hung over the chaise, nearly brushing the floor. She looked up when she heard him enter. "Well, good morning."
He scowled. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night." He sat at the end of the lounge and took her stockinged feet into his lap, rubbing them automatically. "What are you reading?"
"My Two Wizards."
He gulped audibly. "I doubt I want to know what that's about."
"It's about –"
"I need to go to the Ministry for an emergency meeting."
"Oh." She closed her book. "Is everything all right?"
"One of the board members died. Apparently a vote is needed to stop a coup."
She tisked. "Politics."
"Mm. Want to come with me? I thought you might like shopping and some lunch out."
"Always," she answered. "I thought to find us costumes, anyway." She rose and stretched. "Meet me in Diagon after the meeting?"
"I will." They kissed, and parted ways to ready themselves.
The meeting was utter supreme bollocks in Draco's opinion. It seemed that no matter how many years the Board of Governors had under their belts, they simply couldn't seem to cease behaving like petulant children. And even after all the nattering and arguing had been corralled by Kingsley, the grumblings continued. But the Minister himself seemed to have little patience for such shenanigans this day, and tabled any nominations for the seat until after Samhain holidays.
Draco rolled his eyes and sighed in his nearly hidden corner seat. Two wasted hours… He could only imagine how many pairs of shoes his mother had acquired, and rose to leave with the rest of the griping idiots.
Draco twisted, his long cape swirling around his ankles (a maneuver he'd learned from Severus Snape) and waited for Shacklebolt to catch up. "Minister?"
Kingsley nodded to the last ancient straggler and shook his head. "Never gets any easier, I'm afraid."
"Rather like babysitting."
The Minister's laugh was rich, and his good-natured slap on the back nearly toppled Draco. "Indeed, indeed, Mr. Malfoy." He sobered, and led Draco down the hallway toward the lifts. "I wanted to ask you if you planned on attending Harry's Hallow's Eve party this weekend?"
Draco nodded, know Shacklebolt could give two shites for his presence, but fully intending to make the Minister as awkward as possible. "Yes, I will be there. Harry asked me personally, so I could hardly refuse."
"Good! Good." Another back pat, and yes, it was quite awkward. "And um…your mother?"
Draco hoped he hid his smile well enough. "Oh, I believe she plans to attend with me, yes."
"Ah. Good." At the lifts, Kingsley took a deep breath. Draco waited. "Mr. Malfoy…in regard to your mother…"
"Yes, Minister?" The blonde's toes were practically curling in anticipation.
But a lift gate slid open and nearly thirty witches and wizards spilled noisily into the corridor, muffling Kingsley's question and making further conversation impossible. "Some other time!" Kingsley had to shout over the din.
Draco fought through the maelstrom onto the lift. "Very well, Minister!" He shouted back. Passengers began speaking floor numbers, and Draco settled in for the insane ride to the lobby. He flooed into the Leaky Cauldron and stepped into a surprising number of greetings. It seemed several members of the Board had decided to luncheon there after what Draco intended to call 'The Debacle.' He nodded genially at them, but did not linger to be webbed into stultifying conversation.
Instead, he headed directly to Flourish and Blott's where he found his mother tucked in a comfy chair beneath a window. She'd swept her hair up in a loose bun and tendrils of it coiled around her graceful neck. She was reading, and her face was the peaceful mask he often saw when she slept. (Not that he watched her sleeping that often, really – only when he woke in the night and the moonlight drew his eyes to her prone form beside him.) He looked at her for a moment before approaching and sweeping his fingers across the back of her neck. She jumped. "Merlin!"
"No. But close."
"Cheeky," she commented, closing the book in her lap. Draco eyed it suspiciously. She could certainly get into some questionable genres. But this one seemed safe enough. The Hundred Shades of Puce. Probably about make-up or interior decorating…
"Ready for lunch?"
She rose, stretching. "Yes."
"Buying that book?" He nodded to the volume on the arm of her chair.
"No. It's utter shite." She hooked an arm through his. "What's for lunch?"
"I was thinking steak."
"You're always thinking steak." The door's brass bell heralded their departure from the bookstore. Outside, the streets bustled with witches and wizards weighted down with packages from primarily two places: Crispin Crunch's Candy Cache or Incognitus Costumerie. It was that time of year…
Draco navigated his mother smoothly through the crowds, nodding and smiling at faces that nodded and smiled at them. Her loose hair occasionally flicked at his shoulder, and the brisk October winds pinkened her cheeks. In the foyer of his favorite restaurant, he addressed her. "Have you given any thought to our costuming, mum?"
"Not really. I thought we would see what's available."
"It may be rather picked over, by now. We're a bit late."
"Fashionably late." An elf lead them to a sunny table near the front windows. Narcissa occasionally looked up and smiled wistfully at the excited faces of the children rushing past.
Draco noticed, but didn't say anything. Her birthday was approaching, and every year she grew more and more pensive and moody around this time of year. All he could do was keep her distracted. "I think since this is our first Halloween celebration since…well, for a long time now, we should do something really elaborate."
"Such as?" She slurped down raw oysters with impressive grace. Draco found it oddly alluring the way she tipped the shellfish down her throat.
"Er…I don't know." He leaned forward excitedly and snagged an oyster before they disappeared. "But definitely something big. A real attention grabbing mother-son duo."
"Oedipus and Jocasta?"
He blanched. "Not quite so…incesty maybe." Sometimes he wondered at her odd morbid humor. "Plus I'd rather not have to perfect a glamour for gouged-out eyes. But the Greek theme is nice."
"Maia and Hermes?"
"Perhaps." Their steaks arrived. "We'll see if they have any of those little boots with wings, I guess."
Draco insisted upon dessert, mainly because he liked watching his mother eat it, so by the time they entered the madness of the costume shop, he was hard as a rock and ready for a fitting room fuck. Unfortunately, the shop was overrun with children and harried parents, ensuring that the fitting rooms were quite full. Feeling more than slightly out of her element, Narcissa opted to wait for a dressing room while Draco browsed for costumes.
The selection was maddening for a pureblood such as himself who had little or no experience with muggle culture. It seemed that every year, the wizarding world was becoming more and more fascinated with being muggle for a day. Thusly, he barely recognized some of the strange combinations hanging on racks or waltzing about on charmed headless mannequins.
He toyed with the idea of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn, but doubted his mother would agree to sporting the detached head under her arm all night. Same with Marie Antoinette and Louis.
Vampires could be fun, but he rather wanted to stay away from anything he'd actually known in life, not to mention the vampire costumes this year all seemed to sparkle for some reason. Ridiculous.
A rather morose section of the store sported Bauta masks and death shrouds of all shapes and sizes. And just who the hell thinks being a dementor is at all amusing?
The sexy witch department had him grinning. There were even charmed wigs that might have been dangerous. But after flicking through a few selections, he was reminded too strongly of his Aunt Bellatrix and felt an odd pang in his chest.
He'd reached the very back of the shop and was nearly convinced that all was lost when he saw it. An imposing and regal conglomeration of silks in ivory, dusky pink and gold. It was exquisite and skimpy and housed behind glass. Obviously meant to adorn his mother. He quickly flagged down a vexed shopgirl. "Excuse me!"
The girl had flyaway black curls and an expression of extreme irritation. "Yes?"
"Could I get that costume there, please?" He gestured to the case.
She tisked and sneered. "That's not just any costume, you know. It's the goddess herself."
Draco looked back at it. "The goddess?"
"The only one that counts, anyway," the girl added. "Aphrodite." Her eyes misted and Draco could tell she was one of those – googly-eyed and love-obsessed.
"You were a Gryffindor, weren't you?"
Her sneer turned to a full scowl. "I graduated Beauxbatons!"
"Forgive me." Draco gave a brief bow. That explains it. "I merely assumed your…bold beauty was of the house of the lion." He glanced at her. She tittered and melted. It was working.
"Well…my mother was a Gryffindor." She coiled a strand of hair around her finger, and when she released it, it orbited her head.
"Then I wasn't too far off," Draco winked.
The girlish giggle sealed her fate. "I'll get it for you." They approached the case and the girl withdrew her wand. "Um…for your girlfriend?" She asked shyly.
"No." The case whissed open and the urge to touch the silk was almost overwhelming. Draco clenched his fists. "It's for my mother."
"Oh!" Her surprise was obvious. "Well. Is she here to try it? It's actually charmed to fit. Self-adjusting."
"I think it will fit just fine." And will eliminate the wait for a fitting room. "Do you have Eros?"
"We do." She looked at him as she closed the case. "Looking to make a matching set?"
"Yes," he answered. "I'll take them both, if you don't mind."
Her brows rose. "Very well. I'll have them boxed at the front counter. What's the name?"
"Oh!" He recognized the utterance as he swept away to find his mother. It was the one that came from people who knew the name but not the faces – the ones who'd read the unauthorized biographies and gossipy new 'histories' of the second wizarding war. The ones who had to reconcile the old reputation with the one they were learning now: Death Eater come Do Gooder. He didn't mind it much. In fact, he rather enjoyed the infamy.
"Come on." He tugged his mother gently by the arm.
"Now?" She spluttered. "But I'm next in line for the –"
"Not necessary," he told her. "It's taken care of."
"Taken care of?" They wove through the crowd to the front counter. "Draco, what have you done?"
"You'll love it. Malfoy." The clerk offered him an elaborately scripted bill of sale and Draco wand-tapped it. He could feel his mother's suspicion as he took the rather small boxes.
"You could have consulted me."
"No. I really couldn't." He tugged her again out the door and sighed heavily once they were on the cobblestone. "Sorry, mum, but that place was making me barmy."
"What's in those tiny packages?" Her elbow nudged his rib.
"Two costumes?" She stopped, disbelief bringing them up short. "That's not possible. Are they shrunken?" She reached for them.
Draco held them above her head, grinned when she remembered they were in public and gave up. "It better not be a sexy witch costume." She clicked ahead of him a ways.
"You're already a sexy witch, mum." He growled in her ear when he jogged to catch up. "But I do think it's quite…alluring."
She stopped again just outside the Leaky Cauldron. "Draco…"
He could tell by the way she bit her lip that she was truly bothered. "Mother." Quickly and discretely, he touched her jaw. "We'll have a talk when we get home."
But when they stepped from the floo into their drawing room, Narcissa seemed perfectly content to avoid any serious discussions. He followed her clicking up the stairs to their chambers. "How was the meeting? You didn't tell me."
"It was a farce. Mother –"
"Did they name a new Governor?"
"No. Mother –"
"I was thinking –"
Finally, she turned to face him. "Yes, darling?"
Draco tossed the parcels onto their bed and approached her, took hold of her shoulders and made her face him. "You're doing it again."
"The thing you do every year near your birthday."
She shrugged him off and went to her jewellery armoire. "Nonsense." She began roughly removing her earrings, necklace and rings, shoving them into their proper places. Done, she slammed the armoire closed and turned to her vanity. Draco watched helplessly as she jerked an elaborate barrette from her hair, allowing it to cascade over her shoulders.
"It's just a terrible trick of the gods is all," she said quietly. She sank onto the vanity bench, fussed at the buttoned cuff on her blouse.
"What's a trick?" When he stepped forward to help with her shirt, he saw the tears in her eyes.
"To sneak the years away from a witch like a thief..."
A few of the tears escaped and Draco dropped to his knees. He absolutely could not bear to see this woman cry. "Mother, you're still practically a girl for a witch! Hell, a bloke once asked me if you were my bloody wife! You've got a thousand years left to –"
He swallowed. "Yes?"
"Do you know how old I am?"
He tried to do some quick calculations, but as usual, he was lacking some piece of information or other. Namely this time – the year his mother was born. "Um…"
"Suffice it to say I'm around half a century."
"So?" She started to stutter a defense, but he stood, stalked to their bed and thrust the costume parcel in her face. "Put it on."
"Just put it on." His entire bearing said he would not take 'no' for an answer as he began shedding his own sharp suit. Narcissa sighed in defeat and headed for the lavatory. Draco watched her go. Silly witch. Thinks she's fucking ancient? He attacked the packaging on his own parcel. Suppose I'll simply have to show her.
The beauty of a goddess is forever.
AN: Just in time for Hallow's Eve, a new serving of sticky and sweet Malfoy malfeasance. Part the second may not post until after the holiday, but rest assured Treats is worth the wait. I wish you all a Happy Samhain, and may the veil bring you close to all you've loved and lost.