Malfoy Manner: Trick or Treat

Part the Second: Treats

Draco's costume was relatively easy to operate. He quickly mastered the sapphire blue toga, thinking it made him look a bit of a poof until he added the weighty shoulder clasp. His brows rose as he regarded the mirror. Rather savage looking for a heart. He fingered the chiseled bronze and detailed embroidery in the white velvet sash. Quite regal, really. And the crown of hearts and arrows was a nice touch…

The lavatory door opened. He turned and gaped.

"I'm not certain this is appropriate." Narcissa groused. She stood in the muted light from the loo, holding the lengths of her pink silk wrap in both hands. "And I may not have put it on properly. I can't decide where all these silver strips go, and I think I may be missing one or two. Draco?"

She'd said something about silver something, but all her son could see was magnificent skin. "God's bollocks," he murmured. "Mum…" The long rope cord of her gilded girdle drew his eye down inches and inches of exposed leg and her little feet were bare. She stood on her tiptoes, years of high heels having nearly trained her feet to that position.

"I think it's a bit…sparse."

"Uh-huh." He gestured for her to turn. Her criss-crossed back showed off the precious cluster of beauty marks just above her firm bum. The erection came so fast it left him light headed. "I can't take you out in that."

"I told you it was sparse!" She flushed pink and gathered scraps of silk and tulle, attempting unsuccessfully to cover her many bare bits. "I appreciate the thought, Draco, but I'm hardly a girl any longer."

He grabbed her arm before she could shut herself up in the lav again. "I agree wholeheartedly with that assessment, Narcissa." And before she could speak, he muffled her mouth with his own, pressed her into the doorframe. Momentarily shocked by his impassioned osculation, she froze under his wandering hands and intense gaze.

He didn't grope or squeeze or push or grab or bruise. He adored. He worshiped. "You have no idea, do you?" His thumb just teased at the edge of silver strategically covering her right breast. "That with every year you abhor so strongly, you grow more and more beautiful."

Holding to a soft hip, he dipped his finger lazily into her navel. She gasped, nipples hardening against the thin material. "Draco…" She shuddered when he put his lips to the protuberance, felt the heat of his mouth through the moist cloth.

Then her fingers were exploring as well, reaching into the folds of his toga to stroke his own bare skin and seek out his hardness. "Ugh," he grunted when she found it, slid a leg between hers. She set to working him with deft tugs and twists, kissing and biting at his lips as he hissed and whispered. "The perfect Aphrodite," he murmured. "Will you bless me, goddess?" His own exploring fingers flicked open the breach of her skirt and found her slit weeping heat.

She stroked a leg up his side, hands impatiently grappling with his toga. "I'll baptize you, son," she promised throatily. The bright afternoon sun through their bedroom windows turned Draco's hair to spun gold. Narcissa thrust her fingers in it. "My splendid Eros."

Her baptism was one of saliva and liquid lust. Draco hiked her legs over his hips and thrust inside her smoothly. Her head crashed into the doorjamb and she cried out at the sudden intrusion. "There's no love like yours, mother." Draco poured his truths into her ear, cradled her jaw as he fucked her. "And if we both get better with age…" He shifted his angle and wrapped an arm underneath her arse. "…Then I'd say in 50 years we'll be bloody perfect."

She chuckled. It was terribly sexy when her laughter was deepened by breathless gasps. "Oh, darling." Her fingers clawed in his silk-clad shoulders. "I think you're already perfect."

"Yeah?" He sucked at her racing pulse, timed his thrusts with it. "That's what every mother tells her son."

She seized him tightly to her, body tensing. "That's because it's always true," she keened. "Oh, hell Draco. I'm…"

She never finishes that line. He shoved a hand between them, slicked past their sweat to press his palm hard over her clit. "You're what?" He growled, pushed her through her orgasm, encouraged and prolonged it by undulating his hand against her quivering cunt.

She growled her release in his ear and milked him dry. "I'm falling."

"Woah!" Draco staggered, righted her while maintaining his own balance with wobbly knees. He snorted and perched on the edge of their garden tub, pulled her onto his lap. "Next time I'll choose a wider doorframe."

She reached for the bath's tap. "Well, since we're here…" They shed their costumes in a warm mist.

In the tub, Narcissa lay against her son's chest. "Hm." She was peering onto the floor.


"I was just thinking." She sat up and swirled a finger through their charmed green bubbles. "Mint collects our laundry. Do you suppose…"



"I've already told you I'm fairly certain the elf knows we're fucking."

She sighed. "Perhaps I've not been as careful as I should be of late."



"I think it's known for a while now."

She tisked and settled, didn't seem as mortified as Draco would have expected. "Draco?" She sat up again, turned to him with a furrowed brow. "Is Mint male or female?"

Draco arched both brows. "I've no idea. I rather assumed you knew."

"I thought she was a female, but sometimes…" She shrugged.

"I thought he was a male."

She settled again. "I don't suppose it matters, really."

"No, not really."

They arrived fashionably late to Grimmauld Place, but the party seemed to be in full swing. The apparation instructions they'd followed had deposited them between two high hedgerows, but the cool evening air still penetrated their long traveling cloaks. Draco took a look around and gestured. "This way, mother."

They walked through a muggle park where a few costumed children played and a few costumed adults watched. It was the perfect night for a witch or wizard to pass through a muggle crowd with barely a look thrown, and maybe even receive a compliment or two on their attire.

The obviously charmed doorway of Grimmauld Place beckoned to them with it's dancing skeleton décor, and after hastily traversing a busy street and walkway littered with children, Draco gave the door's elaborate knocker one firm thunk. The host himself greeted them warmly. "Draco! Mrs. Malfoy! Come in, please!"

"Mr. Potter," Narcissa smiled. "Thank you so much for having us."

"I'm glad you could come. May I take your cloaks?" He shook Draco's hand while Narcissa disrobed, revealing her notoriously scanty costuming. "Good Gods…"

Draco smirked wryly, watching a gobsmacked Potter take in his mother. "Here, Harry." He thrust his own cloak at the Boy Who Lived to Stare at Other Boys' Mums Inappropriately.

"Uh…" Potter shook off what Draco knew to be a sudden and inexplicable urge to mate with something – anything – in order to hang their cloaks on a long wall of pegs. "Mrs. Malfoy. You look…" He trailed off and Draco slapped his shoulder, turning him physically.

"What the devil are you supposed to be, Potter? Some sort of muggle service person? Is that a gun?" He flicked at the plastic prop at Harry's hip. Narcissa blushed, affixing her intricate coils of hair as she followed the two wizards toward the musical din of a party. She didn't miss Harry's occasional over the shoulder glance at her.

"Er…I'm Han Solo," he muttered to Draco.

"Solo?" Draco clapped him again. "Nothing to be down about, Potter! Sounds like a hell of a party."

Ginny Weasley met them as Harry was leading them into the busy drawing room. "Oh, there you are!" She kissed Harry's cheek. "And how good to see you both again, Draco! Mrs. Malfoy! And as two more Greeks! How wonderful!" Even her eyes lingered on Narcissa's form, Draco noticed.

"Thank you, Miss Weasley," Draco intoned. "And if I might inquire…what is your costume?"

Ginny gave a little twirl, the gauzy white shift billowing about her. "I'm Princess Leia, of course!" She grinned at the Malfoys' confused expressions. "It's a muggle thing. Harry let me watch the movies. Come on in and have a drink!"

"I've never heard of this Princess Leia." Narcissa whispered in Draco's ear.

"Me, either. Must have something to do with pastries, though, judging by the hairstyle. Hello, Mr. Weasley!" Arthur had approached with two glasses of champagne, thrusting one into Draco's hand and using the other as an excuse to ogle his mother.

There were some impressive costumes about, making for odd dance partners occasionally. In fact, King Arthur seemed to be having a waltz with the back half of a horse at the moment.

"Oy, Malfoy."

Draco turned to see a robed Ron Weasley with hand out. They shook. "How are you, Weasley?" He was hyper-aware that Arthur was just behind him, crafting fantasies about his mum.

"I'm well. D'you read about the Cannons having to replace Scheckley? Damn tragedy that."

"Yeah. Yeah." Draco nodded, glancing back to see his mother roped into a conversation with both Weasley parents now. Obviously, Molly had sensed a threat… "The dangers of rogue bludgers, though."

"True." Weasley looked just past him, seeming to notice Narcissa for the first time. His eyes widened.

"Ron?" Harry was calling his friend, but his friend was captivated. "Ron!"

Draco nudged the ginger's elbow, gestured toward Harry.

"Oh!" Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, mate?"

The two conversed and Draco made his way back to his mother, finally managing to navigate her away from the familiar faces a bit. "Alright, mum?"

"I'm a bloody spectacle," she hissed.

"You certainly are." Draco clinked his glass against her own. "I believe all the planets are here." He pointed to the corner where an elaborately charmed sun costume sipped a cider. "Rather good spell work on that one."

"Yes, it's quite bright." Narcissa agreed. "And look! There's the moon!"

The amorphous bright blue orb approached them and Draco cocked his head. "That's no moon, mum. That's Granger."


"Hello, Draco!" A very pregnant Hermione greeted him. "And Narcissa." Leave it to the Gryffindor know-it-all to call his mother by her first name. "I'm glad you both could make it." She saw her husband staring at Narcissa and flushed, the halo over her head tilting when she grabbed his arm. "Ron and I are Mary and Joseph. You know." She smiled through an obvious jealousy. "The Madonna?"

"Of course!" Narcissa laughed her tinkling social laugh that only Draco recognized as fake. "How very…clever."

"They're Caesar and Cleopatra," Ron said, nodding to the Malfoys.

Hermione scowled. "Ron. Cleopatra was Egyptian."

"Right." Ron looked back at the faltering Draco. "So you're King Tut, then?"

Hermione groaned, but Ron was corrected by an outside source before she had a chance to emasculate his intellect (or lack thereof).

"That is the mighty Aphrodite herself," came the unmistakable timbre of the Minister of Magic. "And she is the goddess of this evening. No doubt."

Draco turned, gave a respectful bow. "Kingsley."

Shacklebolt took Narcissa's hand and laid a kiss to her knuckles. "Minister," she purred. "So lovely to see you."

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy." Kingsley didn't look away from Narcissa and Draco's nostrils flared.

"I see you are the other Greek, Minister." Draco spoke just as much to comment as to draw Kingsley's eye. "The Zeus to round out our Olympian triad?"

Kingsley laughed and tugged at his fake beard. "Well noted, Eros! I wanted to be Neptune but I had a hell of a time dancing in my fins. And speaking of dancing…" He looked back to Narcissa. "Is it too early for a request, my lady?"

"Of course not, Minister." She shot Draco a glare as Kingsley led her to the floor and the young Malfoy bristled. This attraction of Kingsley's was starting to be rather inconvenient. He snagged another glass of champagne from a passing tray.

"I think the Minister of Magic is rather fond of your mother, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked to the surprising commentary and faked a smile at Molly Weasley. "It would appear that way."

Molly patted his arm. "Well, you can't blame him. She was ever a lovely witch. Sometimes, I think she ages backwards."

"Huh. Try telling her that," Draco muttered. He watched Kingsley's hands, knew what her skin felt like beneath them. He watched his mother's face – could read every subtle nuance there. She wasn't exactly comfortable dancing with the Minister of Magic, but she wasn't going to betray propriety.

Besides, Draco imagined many wizards would dance with her before the night was through. He was glad so many people looked fondly on the mother/son dance as it was often the only they were able to dance together in public.

"Don't worry." Molly was still speaking, her grey-shot orange curls bobbing decisively. "Kingsley's a good man. He won't do anything inappropriate. Meantime, I should warn you you've caught the eyes of quite a few young single witches here!" She winked.

"Oh?" Draco grinned, a feeling of 'fuck it' coming over him. "Well, that's too bad for them, Mrs. Weasley. Because I think I'd like a dance with you."

She chortled and blushed. "Oh, Mr. Malfoy! You are quite the charmer!"

It was the oddest feeling dancing with Molly Weasley. She had an enormous pair of breasts, and it seemed no matter how Draco situated himself, he couldn't avoid rubbing against them. Not to mention, the Brunhilde costume she sported had them shoved beneath his chin. It was a gravity-defying bosom, indeed.

When the song thankfully ended, Draco stepped away with a bow and a flustered Molly Weasley chuckled off to the kitchen. Another song began, but before Draco could spot his mother, Potter had approached him. "Draco. I wonder if I could have a brief word?"

"Sure, Harry." He scanned the room just over Potter's shoulder. Kingsley was dancing with his mother again.

"It's about the quidditch pitch." Harry led a reluctant Malfoy away from the drawing room and into the quieter dining room. A few people were collected round the table, noshing and chatting amiably. "You see, the pitch is a bit more than we imagined. More than we could have hoped for, really. Cider?"

"Thanks." Draco took the offered mug.

"It's a professional pitch, mate. A bloody tournament-size pitch!" Harry beamed. "Minerva's tickled pink, I tell you. We can host professional matches at Hogwarts! Make some extra money for the school if we want. I think she plans to."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Draco was wondering where Harry was headed with this.

"It's brilliant, Draco!" His smile grew serious. "We want to put up a plaque."

"A plaque?"

"You know." Harry gestured. "Something simple like 'Hogwarts thanks Draco Malfoy for this impressive quidditch pitch donated on the eight of September in the year whatever.' You know."

"That's simple?" Draco was flabbergasted. "It's really not necessary," he insisted. "I'd rather not have the name stamped about the school. I mean – for Hogwarts' sake, that is."

Harry shook his head. "You really don't get it, mate. Malfoy doesn't mean what you think it means anymore. You've done enormous good for Hogwarts in more ways than one. And taking up for us on the Board of Governors is… Well, hell it's good to have someone there with our best interests at heart."

Draco hoped he wasn't blushing. "No plaques, Potter. Please." He touched Harry's elbow. "I appreciate the thought, but…" He shrugged. "I'll take tickets to a few of those professional games, though."

Harry laughed. "You're welcome at every Hogwarts game, Draco. I think you should know that."

Arthur Weasley approached on Harry's laughter. "Oh, what's so funny then, Harry? This ruffian dancing with my wife?" He nodded to Draco. "Thanks for that, Draco. Now she's aflutter for the rest of the night."

"It was a pleasure, Arthur." Draco joked back. "Harry was just telling me I've lifetime passes to Hogwarts quidditch matches."

"Oh?" Arthur turned to Potter. "And how does one go about getting one of those, Harry?"

Draco excused himself on that note. He peered back into the drawing room, but his mother and Kingsley were absent. "Hm." He wandered past the dining room and kitchen, not seeing them there. Out back was a terrace. Still no sign of his mother, but Luna Lovegood waved at him happily from her conversation with Neville Longbottom. She appeared to be dressed as some sort of tuber, while Longbottom was…a glove? Weird couple…

He meandered back inside, down the same hallway. He peeked into cracked doors, finding not his mother, but something that definitely drew his attention. He stepped further into this darkened empty room and drew his wand. "Lumos."

The sweeping, intricate limbs and leaves of the Black Family Tree suddenly surrounded him. "Gods," he murmured. He brushed his wand over the numerous names, faces and dates, tracing them forward and forward until he found his mother – the prettiest face of the family. 1955. He touched the tapestry beside her name. Lucius Malfoy. And the name underneath her name. Draco Malfoy.

He traced the line that connected him to the line between his parents, suddenly tempted to singe his father's face from the tapestry.

Bellatrix. Andromeda. His mother's family. His own family. What did he know of the Malfoys? Other than the fact the name was now a curse to be repaired by him.

"There you are!"

He looked to the door where Ginny Weasley stood. There was concern on her features. "We were looking for you. Have you seen your mother?"

"No. I was looking for her."

Ginny frowned. "I'm afraid there's been…an incident."

"An incident?" He followed her into the brightened hallway.

Ginny shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing but a misunderstanding. Kingsley is under the impression he's upset your mother. Apparently she took off. I assume she was looking for you but now no one can find her."

"Upset her?" Draco tensed. No need to over-react.

But Ginny must have sensed his budding anger. "It's alright, Draco. Harry is talking to Kingsley now. He feels truly awful –"

"I have to find my mother." Draco was walking away from her, wand in hand.

"She's nowhere in the house," Ginny called after him.

"Then I'll simply have to leave the house." He stalked past murmuring guests. There was a minor unease about the place, as if the pleasant atmosphere had been interrupted. If he touched her… He approached the main door. His mother's cloak was missing. He grabbed his own and entered the muggle world.

To the right were lit windows and doorways as far as he could see. To the left, was a quieter, dimmer path lined with wrought iron. He took the left, shrugging into his cloak. It had grown late, so the children were gone. All that remained were the carrying voices of late revelers and the autumn leaves on the brisk breeze. It was quite cold.

Beyond the wrought iron Draco observed headstones. A cemetery. How appropriate. Ahead, he heard the creaking of an open gate and a gentle crunch of leaves. He gripped his wand tighter beneath the cloak, checked behind him for followers. Seeing he was alone, he slipped through the gate.

The cemetery was silent, bordered by a high brick wall. There were several large trees mostly bare of leaves, and an impressive number of tombstones, vaults and monuments. Shadows cast beneath the bright hunter's moon made for a true Halloween ambiance.

He heard more footsteps and darted after the sound. "Mother?" Through the thick shadow of a spreading oak, he entered a secluded corner of the churchyard and spotted a cloaked figure in the archway of an ornate marble mausoleum.


"You scared the devil out of me." He approached her, reached for her shoulders and pulled her to him. "Are you alright? What the hell happened?"

"Nothing terrible." She shrugged at his embrace. "I just need some air."

"Ginny came and found me, said something about Kingsley –"

"I probably over-reacted," she said. "It was all quite embarrassing."

"Did he hurt you? Touch you?" He pushed her hood back from her head, saw her hair mussed and her eyes moist. "Mother…"

"He wanted to talk alone, so I went with him to the kitchen." She spoke rather quickly now, wanting to get things out before her son boiled over. "He told me that he can't stop thinking of me, that he…wants to know me better. To take me to dinner and such. But I told him I wasn't interested. I was so very nice, Draco and I felt so awkward trying to explain and very suddenly he…"

"He what?"

"He kissed me!" Her fingers touched her lips as if in disbelief.

"Kissed you?" Draco reigned in his temper, stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "Then what happened?"

"I pushed him away and he apologized profusely." She shook her head. "I shouldn't have taken off the way I did. I'm certain I upset him."

"Upset him!" His voice raised despite his caution. "He kissed you! He's damned lucky you didn't hex his bollocks to bloody raisins!"

Narcissa tugged him into the mausoleum, afraid he would draw attention to them. "He's the Minister of Magic, Draco! I didn't really know what to do!"

"You should have called me."

She scoffed. "Oh, so you could what? Duel him for my honor? How would that have looked, son?"

"Like a wizard defending his mother's dignity!"

"After he dressed her up like a Knockturn Alley whore?" He froze, stared at her. "Because I imagine I sent quite the mixed message dressed like this yet shoving wizards away when they want a taste."

"It wouldn't have mattered if you were bloody naked," Draco hissed. "He'd no right to assume he could just take what belongs to –"

"Belongs to?" She swelled and Draco realized he'd misspoken. "Are you suggesting I belong to someone? I assure you I'm my own witch, son. And I'm entitled to my insecurities, while we're on the topic of what's mine and yours. All night long I've felt like a piece of meat, and not in a good way! Their eyes eating me up, their minds thinking 'look at that desperate old witch clinging to a withering shred of youth – what was she thinking wearing that –'"

She didn't finish. Draco clamped a cold hand over her mouth. "Stop it. That's what this is really about, then. You still feeling like a shriveled old maid? You think they stared with mockery? You're an idiot. They either want you or want to be you. I think the Minister of Magic's tongue in your throat should prove that fact. And yes, I think of you as mine. I claimed you. I have exclusive rights to this." He pressed her backward until she yielded against a pristine sarcophagus. The Greek styled frieze on the side of the death-box imprinted on her calves.

"Draco!" She whispered loudly.

"What?" He opened her cloak. Let it fall to the stone floor. He dropped his own. She didn't fight his advances when he kissed her deeply. "You're exquisite. You're right. You can't blame him for wanting a taste." He lifted her deftly onto the cold marble slab, loving her yelp of surprise. "I want a taste, mother. A Halloween treat."

"Draco…" But her head fell back, white curls spilling across alabaster.

He slid the silken flap of her skirt aside, pulled a slip of knickers down her goosepimpled legs and over the braided sandals she wore. With grace he sprang up and between her thighs. On his knees, he towered over her, pulled his toga over his head. Her hands followed the material's progress, mapping the curves and planes of his chest and belly. "Oh, Draco." She kissed his stomach, tugged down on his briefs until his erection hit the cool night. He hissed, then groaned when her lips caressed the tip.

"Mother, don't." He pulled her away. A few quick tugs bared her breasts and he palmed them, kissing her as he urged her back to the smooth surface. He sucked at each nipple in turn, letting her experience the chill of October on wet skin. She gasped and arched as he licked a hot trail down the center of her of her body, pausing to swirl his tongue in her navel.

"Please, son!" She pushed gently at his head, eager for her favorite pleasure.

Draco smiled at her greed, thrilled she was so amenable to affections in this of all places. He curled his arms round her thighs, opened her and lapped her warm ambrosia. She twisted like the vines of a venemous tentacula, contorted her entire form. He saw several coils of curl drop over the edge of the tomb.

"So good," she murmured. Her breathy voice echoed in the chamber. "Draco, I want you inside me. I want to fuck you, baby, please."

And he wanted the same. He sucked one last long, loud suck on her clit before lunging up her body. His hips were eager to thrust. When his cold cock slid fast into her slick heat, they both cried out. "Oh, sweet goddess!" Draco spoke against her mouth, let her taste her essence on his lips and tongue. "You feel like heaven."

He felt one leg wrap high around his back and the other wrap low around his hip. She found an angle she enjoyed this way, and Draco tried to be conscious of the surface they were on and its effects on her back. He cradled her tightly and let his forearms take the punishment. The scrape was invigorating, and the occasional breeze on his balls was strangely extending his erection.

She wasn't complaining, rocking and rolling her hips to meet his thrusts, speaking her sin in his ears. "That's it, dragon. You fuck me so well, Draco. So so good to your Aphrodite." Her fingers clawed in his hair and she keened.

Draco answered with a growl when her thighs tensed. The muscles in her legs nearly crushed his spine. "I've an offering for you, my goddess mother." He bit at her chin as he spilled inside her.

An owl sounded in the distance. Their bites, growls and scratches slowed and gentled to kisses and caresses. "I'm sorry I dressed you like a whore," Draco murmured. He looked at her satisfied eyes. "I just wanted to show you how truly beautiful you still are to me. No matter how many years you amass."

She stroked his forehead, wiped off the thin and quickly drying sweat there. "I know. And I love you for it. Just know that I…I suppose I have to come to terms with my age on my own, Draco. I'll be reminded soon enough how young I am."

Draco chuffed laughter. "This didn't remind you how young you are?"

She rolled them til she straddled him, gathering the strips of her costume to again strategically cover her breasts. "Reminds me how agile I am, at least." Clothed again and still shivering, she slipped off of the dais and gathered her knickers. "I suppose we should return to Mr. Potter's party and smooth things over."

Draco rose reluctantly and took his toga and cloak from her. "What will you say to Kingsley?"

She was buttoning her cloak at her neck. "That I am sorry for reacting so poorly and that I'm flattered by his advances, but not interested in any romantic relationships right now. Sound good?"

He nodded as he dressed. "Very sensible. Then we'll go home?"


"Excellent. I do enjoy a nice warm, proper fuck in a nice warm, proper bed." They kissed a last lingering kiss. Draco affixed a few coils of her hair and she arranged a few skewed bits of his. "And mother?"


"You are mine."

She smiled an almost secret smile as they walked from the mausoleum. "Indeed I am, love. Indeed I am."

Their soft laughter echoed through the cemetery. The owl in the oak tree hooted, and below him, a figure stepped from the inky shadow.

His eyes were wide with the reality of what he'd seen. Disbelief and shock numbed his limbs even inside his heavy coat. "Merlin…" He whispered. He rubbed a hand down his face and twitched in his trousers. An icy temptation gripped him, made his cock hard and aching.

They'd simply been so beautiful together. So perfect. Like an extension of the marble they'd coupled on, the Malfoys were flawless. As if the Greek statues of old had animated and then mated beneath this magical moon of Athena. Yes, they were mother and son, but they were a veritable awakening of lust in his eyes. He wanted to weep, his emotions torn and at war.

For even at the height of his disgust at what he'd witnessed (bloody incest!), he'd been shamefully unable to look away. And now, most terrifyingly, Harry Potter realized he wanted to see more of them

AN: Yes, that's right. It was Harry. Now the possibilities are endless. And I promised several people I would address the issue of Mint's gender eventually. So there. Probably not what you had in mind. But I'll admit even I don't know what sex the elf is. Thanks for reading, everyone, and I hope you enjoyed it! Your reviews and messages are always great delights.