Chapter Three
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Draco
Entering the room once his godfather had spoken the password (‘Love is an open door’, that is so getting replaced), Draco looked around curiously. The Serpent House student’s gaze stopped and rested upon the walls, a truly garish design, and utterly blinding his senses. Entirely. Standing stock still, he allowed himself to struggle in properly understanding the terrifying thought process that so clearly went into this entirely colourblind room. Honestly, his Mother could do better than this, and she literally was colourblind. Some idiot made the blindsided choice to attempt to unite each of the House colours on these walls.
A revolting vibrant orange swirled across stripes of Gryffindor red, Slytherin green, Hufflepuff yellow, and Ravenclaw blue, dotted randomly with a hideous purple shade. Whilst uncertain of the exact shade, Draco was aware that it was one that he has never seen before, and never wanted to see again. As in, he may honestly just vomit right then if he failed to turn away.
Then, hanging from the centre of the ceiling, he spied a glass chandelier. Which, he admitted, in any other setting, would look divine, but in this setting? It looked utterly horrendous against these walls. The ceiling itself was bronze, for Merlin’s sake! Whose design was this room? Really, he wanted to know. Urgently.
Feeling a shiver run down his spine, cold like ice, he strode over to one of the two winding staircases he saw. Obviously, the room had been enlarged, else none of this made sense; magic or no magic. A pair of twin staircases, leading up to two separate landings, with a door on each one. Outside each door, on the actual landing itself, a desk is placed alongside a small expanse of free space around it. However, he actually just ignored all of that and instead went immediately to open the bright orange (what does orange have to do with anything? Bloody orange, of all things) door in front of him. Equally as hideous as the rest of this suite, but still, he held out with some semblance of hope that the rooms, the bedrooms were less unappealing.
And he found himself with that hope entirely dashed.
Similarly to the previous scene, his ‘room’ was…
A garish world of utter colour-blindness. So much so, in fact, that he thought Dumbledore himself must have created this mess. Why, by Lady Magick, is the colour scheme such a hideous combination of green and gold? Not even appealing shades, either. Through a lens of greyish-silver, Draco saw shades of neon green and vomit green, as though either were shades that someone sane would use to decorate their walls willingly. Whoever chose this for the walls has got to have been held at wandpoint, because what the hell was this?
Cursed; that’s what.
Floor and ceiling both were painted — well, the floor was carpet, but still — in shades of gold and yellow. Specifically, neon yellow, chrome yellow (a hideous shade of gold in Draco’s personal opinion), and dark yellow. Did no one at this damned school have any taste? This can’t all have been decorated by Dumbledore; the man surely didn’t have time for this! For Merlin’s sake, the man was the Headmaster!!
Yes, Draco was extremely annoyed by this.
Turning on his heel, the young Slytherin stalked back down that grandiose staircase, intent on speaking to his father and/or godfather about the issue that was this suite. He paused on the last step, brow furrowing in momentary confusion at seeing his mate, wand out, already altering the room. Both she and his godfather, actually, whilst his Father was sat in a conjured black armchair, calmly sipping what was probably tea with Potter, watching the other two redecorate the room.
Draco chose the simplest option of walking to his Father and (hopefully, if his mate didn’t reject the bond) sister-in-law. And joined them in watching Severus and Potter redecorate.
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Lucius
Glancing up at his son, amusedly calm (that was a word, yes), Lucius hummed a quiet ‘Hello’. Then the older Veela returned his gaze to the movements of his school-day friend and (hopefully) daughter-in-law-to-be. The pair had decided, in their spree of redecoration, to simply neutralise the entire room’s colour scheme, making it a series of creams, greys, and whites. With, of course, because Severus adored black, some amount of black as well.
Quite frankly, Lucius just found it hilarious.
Beside him, he heard the elder Miss Potter’s voice, amused and rumbling like a dragon’s would, which made sense considering the rumors surrounding the girl. ‘Dragon woman,’ they called her. ‘More dragon than human!’ they would say.
From how the witch had run off on him in Draco’s second year, Lucius could certainly confirm those rumors to be true. He shivered minisculely at the memory. At least Dumbledore was teaching the children one thing correctly; never tickle a sleeping dragon.
~~~~~
It had been in Draco’s second year, the year in which something had been roaming loose in the school, petrifying students and causing children to be pulled out of school. Multiple times, he and Narcissa had considered removing their son from the school, for fear of his safety, but eventually chose not to, mainly due to the boy’s almost desperate begging.
Having gone, at the end of the year, into the school to speak with the elderly man (and to see Draco in person again, because screw him, he was worried, okay?) regarding how the days in office would continue. Lucius had been surprised to see, when he arrived, the Girls-who-lived, Bloom and Mia (‘Kalmia’, his son had repeatedly told him was her preference) Potter also in the old man’s office. Potter Junior had been holding that book, the diary that his Lord had requested his father hold on to, which had been translated to Lucius after a while. The Malfoy Lord had always hated that book, it clogged his delicate senses and made his magic feel woozy and weak.
But, he digressed. Where Potter Junior looked resigned and understandably annoyed, Potter Senior looked furious. It almost seemed as though her hair was smoking, her ears steaming, eyes narrowed. It had unsettled Lucius, though he ensured it did not translate into his body language.
It would not do for a Lord to appear weak before an opponent, political or otherwise.
Strolling arrogantly into the office, or whatever it was because looking back on it, that wasn’t the Headmaster’s office, Lucius lifted his cane to throatcane the younger girl, before glancing at her elder sister and thinking better of it. Perhaps in another life. Instead, he simply sneered at the girl, “Out of my way, Pottah,” and turned to his old Headteacher.
As with all those years ago, the old man still had less style than his colourblind wife. Ridiculous. His colour coordination was still just as shocking as it had been on the last day that Lucius had attended that dratted school. Number 1 school, his arse. But Draco had wanted to go there, so go there he would.
Unfortunately.
“So… It’s true. You have returned,” he addressed the twinkle-eyed wizard, ignoring the damned House-Elf standing fearfully behind him. How the elf had deluded himself into believing that Lucius was anywhere near as bad as his Mother had been towards the House-Elves, Lucius would never know.
Dumbledore, with those blue eyes a’twinkling, responded in that façade of grandfatherliness, “When the Governors learned that Arthur Weasley’s daughter was taken into the chamber, they saw fit to summon me back.”
Was he truly so foolish as to believe that Lucius did not know that already? A (-n internal) sigh. Ah well, he had a role to play. “Ridiculous!” he spoke in false anger, noting out of the corner of his eye the slight flinch that Miss Potter Junior made, filling him with guilt. Contrary to popular belief, Lucius hated frightening children. In fact, he had cried for a full hour one time when a child ran away screaming from him because he was in the Muggle world testing out Hallowe’en, considering whether or not Draco might like it.
It might have been the entire point of that evening, but that didn’t mean Lucius had to like it.
Rudely awakening him from those memories, Dumbledore spoke up again, responding in a meaningful, leading manner, “Curiously, Lucius, several of them were under the impression that you would curse their families if they did not agree to suspend me in the first place.”
Were he not raised as he had been, Lucius would have blinked, and started to chuckle right then and there, breaking character. Because, okay, fair enough, he did threaten them with that. But he was bored, alright? The dimwits were all used to that by then, and in his defense, there were also others on that board who were equally bored, and had an equal lust for chaos, okay? It wasn’t entirely his fault, even if he had been a rather deciding factor in the decision.
Fortunately for his reputation, however, Lord Malfoy had, in fact, been raised in that specific emotion-suppressing way, therefore meaning that he was able to act out his part with ease. “How dare you!” he spat, almost seething with anger in his role. But he kept his voice slightly softer, wanting not to frighten Potter Junior (or incur the wrath of the older one much more than he clearly already had).
His old Professor, now political rival, only raised a brow at his exclamation of anger. “I beg your pardon?”
“My sole concern has always been, and will always be, the welfare of this school and, of course, its students.” Here, he paused, glancing over at the sisters, where Potter Senior seemed to have settled down somewhat, scowling at him nonetheless. To him, it looked like the girls were having some sort of silent conversation with one another.
Curious.
“The culprit has been identified, I presume.” Lucius stated, mind wandering back to that dratted book. Looking back on it, he wasn’t certain why he had even brought it to that store with him in the first place. Or given it to the child.
Wait a minute, a child? He gave it to a child? His mind was fuzzy about that day. He would ask Draco later on, he decided.
“Oh, yes.”
“And? Who was it?” prompted Lucius impatiently.
After a dramatic pause, as befitting the Hogwarts heir of Drama (Severus was the King and no one was convincing him otherwise), the old man finally responded, “Voldemort.”
Ouch. His arm now hurt. “Ah.”
“Only this time,” Albus continued, “he chose to act through someone else by means of this.”
At which Miss Potter, the younger, lifted the book into the air. A diary, to his memory. What was it doing here? It should be at the Manor still, shouldn’t it? Either that, or at the Ministry, because he gave it to Arthur Weasley. Or Weasley’s child. He wasn’t sure.
“I see.”
“Fortunately, our young Miss Potter discovered it.” As he said Miss Potter, Dumbledore gestured vaguely towards the one in his son’s year. Helpful, at least. “One hopes that no more of Voldemort-” again, really?! “-’s old school things should find their way into innocent hands. The consequences for the one responsible would be…” Albus gave a disapproving stare. “Severe.”
…
Dumbledore knew something, didn’t he. He knew what that diary was. Lucius was certain.
Why else would he be getting stared at in that way?
“Well…” Lord Malfoy responded, turning towards his wife’s cousin many times removed. “Let us hope Miss Potters will always be around… to save the day…”
Flame hair smiled a saccharine sweet smile, responding, “Don’t worry. We will be.”
Amusing children.
Nodding a farewell (or don’t, it would make his life so much easier) to Albus, Lucius turned on his heel, blonde hair flicking through the air fabulously. “Come, Dobby, we’re leaving.”
The stupid House-Elf got himself kicked, he would say later on when describing the scene. Dobby had trotted back over to him, walking directly at his side and all too close to the Malfoy’s feet. Accidentally, Lucius had kicked the elf down the staircase. Ordinarily, he would have paused and ran down after the creature, concerned, alarmed and apologetic.
But in front of his political rival? He couldn’t show weakness. And Dobby was a mentally deranged elf, evermore punishing himself for even the smallest slight, and annoying Lucius all the more for it. Which was why he generally kept the House-Elf on Owl Care Duty.
Instead, Lucius simply stepped past the elf, continuing to walk down the hall, away from Dumbledore’s office.
…..
A minute or so later, Lord Malfoy had felt a great presence behind him, loud as an eagle’s cry. Turning slowly to face the person, Lucius cursed mentally.
Bloom Potter. And she looked pissed.
Now, he was certain. Her hair was smoking, the ends floating up in the air in a gravity-defying manner, eyes a pure sapphire, sclera and all, dragon-like in all its sparking glory. Lips pulled into a snarl, smokey tendrils joining the small flames forming in her fiery hair, Miss Potter looked downright draconic.
It was dreadfully frightening.
In a low growl, the fourth year leaned into his personal space, voice relatively quiet as she delivered a punctuated threat. “You dare? Dare to upset my little sister, frighten her and harm her friend? Mistreat your elf as well?” She paused, jamming a burning finger into his torso, causing him to grit his teeth in pain. “Understand this, Lucius Malfoy. You will release that elf from your employ, extend a written apology to my sister, and refrain meddling in school matters for the remainder of my sister’s time in this institute.” The snarl became a twisted grin, eerily reminiscent of the Dark Lord’s own, except somehow worse. “Lest you wish to face a fiery inferno of death, of course…”
At least he was no longer in Dumbledore’s sight. Thank Morgana for small mercies.
Choking out an agreement through the pain of that burning finger on his chest and the smoke that clouded his vision and shackled his lungs, Lucius felt his eyes watering as he recalled the school motto.
Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.
Never tickle a sleeping dragon.
And it was correct.
Because Lucius tickled a sleeping dragon.
And he would live to forever regret it.
~~~~~
They were finished, apparently, because Miss Potter was tapping his shoulder with a knowing glint in her eye.
Perhaps she did. He hoped not.
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Narrator — Yes, I’m a character. I’ll pop up from time to time, mostly when Medea wants to describe a setting.
After about two hours and a half, the front room, as Draco had insisted it be called, had been fully redecorated, courtesy of Professor Snape and Lord Malfoy, having been expanded from the bland neutrality that said Professor and Kalmia had reset it to originally.
The main room, the front room, even, was now coated in still-neutral-but-less-drab shades, with accents of colours that both mates appreciated. Walls had been painted beige, with darker browns painting swirling tales onto that beige colour. The ceilings were, in general, colour changing, dependant on the general mood in the room. Why? Because magic existed, and people loved to use it for nonsensical things.
Carpeted floors were essential in Draco’s opinion, therefore the one in the main room was a solid yet almost alarmingly comfortable thing littered with pillows and other such things almost everywhere in sight. As in, whilst one could look at the room and easily say that not every available space was covered in pillows, what one could not easily say (without lying anyway) was that no matter where one looked or looked from, they would still be able to see at least one pillow in the corner of their eyes somewhere. That part was more Kalmia’s input on the room, having conjured a large amount of pillows and other plush cushion-type things and spread them about the room, before heading up to her own room to redecorate her own personal area.
Shortly after her, Draco had followed suit.
Now, their rooms looked much better.
Starting with Draco’s, he had transformed it from a grotesque mess of rainbows to a cultured whirlwind of warm, summery colours. The walls had gone from a hideous mixture of vomit and neon green to a tasteful background of emerald and sage green, soft flowery designs painted over that in a pale gold. He had transformed the ceiling from those revolting shades of chrome yellow and neon yellow to a simple white ceiling, from which he had hung flags of his most favoured countries and quidditch teams. It caused fun shadows to be cast across the sand-coloured carpeted floor, enjoyable to the young Veela male.
Something Veela were, in fact, known for was their love of patterns, young children being known to play about in shadows more often than not.
The bed, a previously small thing, had been destroyed and replaced by Bloom as a favour to her sister’s apparent Fated. Mainly because Draco was horrible at conjuration, having little idea of the overall composition of whatever it was he was conjuring, therefore meaning things would either end in disaster or that he would have to employ another person for assistance.
Fortunately for him, Bloom was a brilliant Conjurer (leading her to overtake majority of furnishing choices, though she left the arrangements to the others). What was previously a pathetic cot of sorts had been replaced with a large, perhaps king size, though likely a little smaller, bed. The bedframe had been coloured a calm, khaki shade of brown, with storage drawers having been added beneath the mattress frame. Speaking of mattresses, Draco’s mattress, by specific request, had been delivered by a Malfoy House-Elf to the school, because whilst the Slytherin dormitory mattresses were comfortable, it wasn’t as though he was actually able to simply take that mattress.
Snape had put in place Wards to prevent such theft shortly after being instated as Slytherin Head of House. Because someone had decided that the most brilliant idea they could ever have was to steal a school mattress, meaning that now they couldn’t be detatched from the bedframes by anyone except the House-Elves.
On the other hand, Kalmia’s room had been designed in a more mythological theme, with entirely white walls that were slowly being painted over, by hand, by Bloom and Kalmia, depicting scenes and deities of multiple mythologies, in particular scenes of Ragnarök and the respective afterlives of Egyptian and Greek mythologies. Painted at the top of her wall (Bloom had magically altered the way in which the room had been built, making it a round, circular, dome-shape, as per her sister’s wishes) was Jörmungandr, the World Serpent, forever biting his tail. That painting, or at least the base of it, before Kalmia left it to dry, had taken an entire 45 minutes in total, at which point Bloom had realised that Kalmia most likely would be unable to sleep in her own room whilst the walls were being painted, so asked the two fully realised adults to create a makeshift bedroom for the younger girl.
Which was happily obliged by Lord Malfoy, whilst the child of the Prince line simply removed all personal belongings from her room, grumbling about the stubborn Evans insistence to do everything by hand. Even painting a mural that could be complete in seconds without a single paintbrush, only magic needed.
But Kalmia had Evans blood and Potter blood and Black blood, and had been raised by an Evans, whilst Bloom had Potter blood and Black blood and Evans blood in smaller moderation, alongside her own, probably-genetic, stubborness.
What effort, honestly.
Returning to the room and its murals, Bloom had begun to paint a mural of the passage of souls to the Greek Underworld, down the winding River Acheron, the dead ferried down by Charon, the Ferryman of Hades. Sketches had been drawn onto the rounded wall, sketches of other murals that were to be included, which Draco ended up assisting with.
Once the two and a half hours were up, the students headed back downstairs to join the adults, everyone exhausted and wanting refreshments. In the newly furnished front room, they sat around a low table, each seated upon a pillow or cushion that littered the floor, differing beverages in each person’s hands. Lucius with tea, specially grown in the Malfoy gardens for the sake of his tea addiction, taking slow, calm sips every few minutes or so. Severus sat, after having thoroughly checked the beverage for even a hint of poison, once again proving why he deserved his title of ‘World’s Most Paranoid Bastard’, holding a constantly-refilling mug of what was a dreadfully empowered version of Muggle espresso, each time drinking it in one fell swoop. Beside Severus was Bloom, who had allowed her magic to wash over her own glass, filled with vegan Muggle wine that Petunia had sent along with them in a fit of random excitement, for a moment before allowing the beverage to flow down her throat with no inhibition. As with Lucius, Draco had chosen to have tea from his Father’s collection, a simple yet rich herbal flavour combining peppermint, ginger and sage tea, creating a hot drink that the Malfoy Heir was now sipping contently whilst engaging in a fairly awkward conversation with Kalmia as the adults looked on. Speaking of Kalmia, her chosen beverage was simple sparkling water with squash mixed in, the sparkling water having been thoroughly checked through by the young witch prior to her usage of it.
Alongside these beverages, there were simple enough dishes also on the table, such as a selection of sandwiches as well as some scones, accompanied by a jar of strawberry jam and a block of butter, in case anyone wanted it, because the Hogwarts House-Elves were scarily considerate.
And right then, all was well, despite the raging undercurrents of a conversation that needed to be had.