Bad Dreams
Chapter 3: Bad Dreams
Unable to fall back asleep, Draco drew open the curtains to his balcony, and watched the orange and pink hues fill the sky as the sun rose on a new day—a better day. Looking out across the horizon, a white speck of white was growing larger and larger until it took the shape of a bird…an owl. Potter’s owl. It was decidedly not a better day anymore.
Draco watched as the unwelcomed bird swooped into the conservatory and out of sight. A letter for Sirius, of course. Huffing in annoyance, Draco slammed the curtains back together and stomped toward his bathroom to get ready for an already disappointing day.
…
There was no sign of Sirius or Lupin the rest of the morning, which was honestly a good thing. Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep himself from lashing out at his cousin. It wasn’t Sirius’s fault Potter was insufferable, but the man was his godfather he supposed. Still, it didn’t sting any less every time he ran off to tend to Draco’s arch nemesis when he’s living under the Malfoys’ own roof.
Grumbling, he got dressed and plodded to the dining room for breakfast. Yet another surprise awaited him, as the table was empty except for his father, already seated and reading the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.
“Father,” Draco greeted hesitantly.
Lucius quickly folded the top half of the newspaper down to see the intruder, though he knew very well who it was. “Draco, good morning,” he greeted tightly.
“Good morning, any interesting news?” the younger Malfoy attempted to make conversation.
“Oh, this is just a mock-up some reporter sent me. She seems to think I would be interested in the headline…Some Ministry worker has been missing for a month now…disappeared on holiday in Albania of all places…” Lucius responded, pondering his own words as they left his pursed lips.
“Albania?” Draco wasn’t sure why anyone would take their holiday there. Perhaps that’s why she’s lost, he chuckled internally. He also made a mental note to study a few maps before the new term started, surely Granger knew trivial things like that and if he wanted to be any sort of competition this year, he needed to think more like her.
Lucius was still distracted as he answered Draco’s unasked question. “Bertha Jorkins—she’s been working for Bagman and for quite some time now she’s—“
“Dead,” Draco murmured under his breath in disbelief. The dream had been real. She was real and he killed her.
“Hmm?” Lucius looked up, suddenly less distracted.
“Oh, erm, nothing, excuse me” Draco coughed, trying to cover the revelation as best he could.
“Yes, well, she always had a knack for sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, and I wouldn’t put it past the obnoxious woman to have gotten herself into trouble,” his father scoffed. “Smart on Bagman’s part to cover it up for now, though anyone who’s met the witch will know it’s pure poppycock that she’s that forgetful—especially the ones she’s blackmailed over the years…” His resentful tone was hard to ignore.
Lucius continued to lazily flip through the Prophet, making offhanded comments seeing if Ludo could find the missing witch anytime soon before he had to step in and actually help, but Draco was no longer listening. If this woman was really missing, surely she’s dead by now. Perhaps his dream was like a Seer’s vision? He needed to speak to Lupin and Sirius.
Making more excuses as he pushed out his chair, Draco scrambled from the dining room, his father most likely not even noticing his disappearance. He wondered if Sirius had gotten back from the conservatory yet.
As he rounded the corner, Draco nearly ran head first into Theo and Pansy, arms linked together as they walked. “Where’s the Fiendfyre?” She joked.
“Yeah, mate, you look like a ghost’s just gone through you,” Theo chuckled with a hint of concern.
Draco whispered to himself, “Something like that…”
“Whoah, anything we can help with?” Daphne offered sweetly as she and Blaise joined the group in the corridor.
“I need to see Lupin.” Draco felt frustration building in his veins. They were all moving much too slow for his comfort. If it was a vision of the future, shouldn’t they be running through the Manor; racing against time? He didn’t have time for any of the questions they were now asking to his back as he continued on.
Picking up speed, Draco rounded corner after corner jotting down steps as quickly as he could without appearing panicked. Finally reaching the conservatory, he gave the pond a wide berth inside, not having the patience to deal with a vengeful Kappa after it had already been thwarted once, possibly twice this morning.
“Lupin? Sirius?” Draco called out into the vegetation-filled glass room. “Hello?” His voice cracked in desperation.
“Here!” Lupin’s voice echoed toward a host of his mother’s prized orchid collection. Draco weaved in and out of the dense tropical leaves in that section of the gardens, ducking under a vine of bougainvillea, brushing the colorful leaves aside.
He caught a glimpse of rainbowed feathers as a bird took off through an open window; Sirius had finally sent his letter to Potter. “Everything alright?” Sirius asked, the worry etched into his features sent Draco a pang of guilt. He hadn’t meant to add to the man’s obvious worries, but Sirius and Lupin were the only ones who knew both sides of what was really going on.
“I just spoke to father,” Draco began slightly out of breath, “he said the Prophet is planning on reporting Bertha Jorkins as missing—“
“What?” Remus asked, shocked.
“Father was sent a mock-up by the columnist wanting to print it—said he’d pay her to keep it quiet until after the Cup since he owed Bagman a favor and the missing woman worked in his department,” Draco answered, hoping to clear it up. “The article said she had a terrible memory and was supposedly in Albania—“
“She’s got nearly the best memory from our time at Hogwarts! Had her nose in everybody’s—“ Sirius cut in indignantly.
“Business. Yeah, my father said the same thing,” Draco finished a tad irritated at the interruption.
Remus must have been able to read the emotions all over his face; the way he looked at Draco with sympathy was quite telling. Draco slipped into his Occlumency library, shoving the dream back into a worn, black book, and tried to regain control of his emotions so he could get out what he wanted to tell them.
“What was it you were trying to say?” Lupin prodded gently.
Slowly, Draco began again. “Anyway, when father said her name I recognized it immediately. That’s the woman from the dream—the one he killed…”
Both wizards froze in place.
“Are you absolutely certain?” Lupin placed a hand on Draco’s shoulder, directly meeting his eyeline.
“Yes,” he breathed.
“We have to take this to Dumbledore,” Sirius immediately jumped from his seat.
“No!” Draco shouted in fear, surprising not only the two men before him, but himself as well. “I know you think differently, but Dumbledore can’t be trusted.”
Remus’s eyes conveyed pity more than sympathy this time, and instead of feeling seen, Draco felt angry. Very angry. How could a teenage boy see the situation so much clearer than two grown men?!
“Dumbledore is the only man who would be able to reconcile the situation—perhaps even save Bertha’s life,” Remus patronized. “That’s why you came to us, is it not?”
“I’m n-not—“ Draco stuttered, flustered over being rushed for an answer and frustrated at being ignored and constantly interrupted.
“We’re wasting time!” Sirius growled, jumping to his feet. “We need to be taking action, not placating a teenager with a grudge! Let’s go Remus!” His cousin ran off without a glance behind, long black hair swinging in time with his steps. One last concerned glance behind as he straightened his robes, and Lupin chased after his friend.
“This is BULLSHIT!” Draco bellowed out, hearing nothing but his own voice echoing back at him, reverberating off the stone floors and glass ceiling.
“Draco?” A small hand slipped into his and he squeezed, holding on for the sake of sanity. “Do you want to talk about it? Full disclosure, we heard everything—bit fuzzy on the dream part—but we’re all here for you…”
Draco nodded dejectedly—not ready to speak yet. The obvious dismissal from the two men he trusted most was heartbreaking…not unexpected, but disappointing to say the least. Not to mention, the fact that Dumbledore was most likely being briefed on the entire situation in this very moment was infuriating. If they had just stopped to let Draco explain…
It was no use wallowing in a moment of weakness. Now he knew. The only ones deserving of his trust were still in the room with him right now, and his mother. No more, no less. Perhaps Granger could be included on that list someday, but Gryffindors were simply much too impulsive to be given any important information. Whether their brazenness could be reconciled, well that remained to be seen.
“I’d like mother to be included in this, would you mind, Pansy?” Draco asked softly, much more controlled than he felt.
“Of course. Morning tea in the library?”
“I’ll inform Mippy,” Draco confirmed, regaining some confidence.
As Pansy walked back to their friends huddled near the doorway, Draco called for Mippy.
She popped in with a soft crack. “Young Master is calling for Mippy, sir?”
“Yes, Mippy, if you could prepare morning tea for the library for six please?”
“Oh, I’s be happy to!” She squealed before popping away to prepare the tea.
Heaving a sigh and straightening of his shirt left Draco with nothing more than to make his way to the library. He walked slowly, giving everyone else time to get there before him. He wasn’t even sure how to begin, but he knew Pansy would insist he explain the dream first. Of course they all knew about his meetings with Healer Wiggins, so it wasn’t the fact he was somehow cursed that plagued him…it was the fact he was the Dark Lord in the dream—vision—whatever it was that was more troubling.
When he entered the library, he found them all anxiously awaiting his arrival; Mippy was happily hopping between them all serving tea and pastries. The murmuring stopped when they noticed Draco’s entrance, however, he wasn’t quite sure how to begin. Hello everyone, I think I may or may not have watched the Dark Lord avada someone in a dream last night, but not to worry Sirius and Remus have run off to inform Dumbledore who will most likely lock me up in Azkaban for aiding and abetting a dark wizard. No that certainly wouldn’t do, especially with his mother present.
Narcissa sat at the head of the gathered seats, poised and regal as ever. “Darling, before we begin, I thought I might thank you for inviting me along. I know having your mother around dampens your time with friends, but with your father having just left for a meeting with the Minister, I appreciate not being left alone for the day.”
Draco felt the nerves fizzle out at her words. His father was gone, leaving no chance of being overheard. While she didn’t know the extent of what he wanted to tell them, she would have deduced that meeting in the library was code for “don’t tell father” considering the man despised the room. Lucius was a man who would much rather have someone rattle off the information to him than find it and read it himself.
“Of course, mother. What I have to tell you all is a bit unsettling and rather important it would seem, so I thought it best to include you as well,” Draco nodded curtly to her and Narcissa gave him an encouraging smile.
“So a dream?” Pansy prompted impatiently, as expected, sitting rigidly on the edge of her seat.
“Last night,” Draco began with a deep breath, “I fell into an odd dream…the Dark Lord was sitting in a darkened, dusty room, and Peter Pettigrew was essentially his servant. He spoke about how Pettigrew killed a woman—Bertha Jorkins—“
Draco made meaningful eye contact with his mother. Narcissa stared back penetratingly, but no emotion registered on her face. She must be Occluding too.
“She had given them information about something—they’re using it to plot to kill Potter, I’m sure of that much. The Dark Lord is weak…Pettigrew was feeding him and doing practically everything for him—“
“What’d he look like?!” Theo trembled.
“I—I don’t know…” Draco said quietly, hanging his head a bit to avoid the eyes focused intently on him.
“But you said you saw it all in your dream?” Daphne carefully prodded.
“I—I was the Dark Lord in the dream. I only saw what he saw,” Draco explained hesitantly. A collective gasp broke the rising tension in the room and he looked away, not wanting to see the accusations in their eyes; the assumptions.
“Draco, darling, was there more?” His mother inquired, drawing his gaze back to her and her alone. Her mask was still firmly in place, and he used it as an anchor to shift his own on.
Losing his nerves and devoid of any emotional nuisance, Draco continued, “yes, there was a Muggle man—a caretaker who stumbled upon their plotting and was discovered by a large snake out in the hall…Nagini he called her. I—he—we were speaking Parseltongue I think. Then, he killed the Muggle and I woke up…” Draco finished quickly to keep his voice from wobbling, unable to contain the buried anguish completely as the scene vividly played out behind his eyes again.
“Oh, Draco,” a single tear formed in her crystal blue eyes. She stood gracefully, and quick as a blink, was enveloping him in her embrace. He broke. The dam he had tried to erect crumbled and every emotion flooded out. He sobbed into her shoulder, her delicate fingers caressing his hair as she whispered in his ear, “shhh, my darling, everything will be alright. I will make it alright.”
“But if you saw it as though you were the Dark Lord…did it really happen?” Blaise asked, his face twisted up as though working on a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem.
Narcissa pulled away from Draco reluctantly. “Sirius and Lupin seemed to think so,” Draco answered, surprisingly calm after releasing so much emotion and energy. “They ran off to tell Dumbledore.”
“Fat lot of good that’ll do,” Theo snorted. “She’s already dead, right?”
All eyes turned toward the lanky boy, glaring to convey just how inappropriate his nonchalant attitude was in that moment.
“What? It’s true!” He protested, hands raised in surrender.
“Nothing is for sure, Theodore,” Narcissa scolded. “You also know better than to speak in such a crass tone in front of me.”
“But he’s right.” Draco spoke, shocking them all. “She’s dead. She was dead before the dream started. Father read in a preview of an article for the Prophet this morning that she’s been missing for over a month now. Why wouldn’t the Ministry be able to find her if she was still alive?”
“Honestly, I think you’re overestimating the Ministry’s level of concern, not to mention competence. What do they care if some low-level witch disappears?” Pansy shrugged.
“Father said she was working for Ludo Bagman—“ Draco began, but Theo quickly interjected.
“D’you think the Bulgarians kidnapped her?! She had to know some juicy insider information for the World Cup if she was working for Bagman! It’s only days away!”
“Honestly, Theo? International sporting espionage?” Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. “You sure know how to lighten the mood, mate. Now, get serious and use that detective brain you’ve been honing all summer!”
Theo smiled sheepishly as the group smiled and laughed at the remarks.
“I think the best course of action for this moment,” Narcissa rang above them, “is inaction. Let us simply be observers for the moment and make note of any clues…?” She looked to Theo with a smirk and they all fell into another fit of laughter as his cheeks turned red again. “I should think you’d all best begin packing for the Quidditch World Cup, hmm?”
The drama having been forgotten in the moment of light heartedness, the teenagers chattered excitedly about the upcoming match as they rushed to their rooms to begin the arduous process of packing.
Pansy proclaimed loudly, as she flounced up the stairs, that she would be sporting red and black, as she thought it complimented her features better. Blaise protested even louder that she most definitely would not be wearing anything even semi-supportive of Viktor Krum. Daphne quietly noted she would be wearing green and that she would be attending with Anthony and his family who were fanatical supporters of the Irish team since the rest of the U.K. were out of the running.
Draco couldn’t blame them, it was a disgrace how badly England lost to Transylvania nearly four hundred to ten. To top it all off Wales lost horribly to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg. Ireland was really all they had left, if they were to keep a more patriotic stance.
The girls turned off into Daphne’s room as she would be the first to depart—leaving that evening to join the Goldsteins before they left for the World Cup in the morning. Lucius’s box seats from the Minister were nearly the best seats in the stadium as per usual, so the Malfoys and company wouldn’t be leaving until the following day just prior to the match beginning. Mippy and the other elves were popping between the Manor and their reserved space at the event to set up provisions and every fine luxurious comfort they could possibly dream of needing while away.
“Any chance you want to support Krum just to piss off Blaise?” Theo whispered in Draco’s ear.
“Definitely,” he smirked back.
…
Packing didn’t take up as much time as the boys had anticipated considering they were only going for one night and Mippy was taking care of all their toiletries. Draco threw an extra set of black summer robes, a shirt, trousers, and boots into a bag, along with his newest pair of omnioculars, and placed it on top of his school trunk.
Moving to check on his friends’ progress, Draco opened the door to his bedroom only to find Daphne wrapped tightly in Theo’s arms at the end of the hall. “I’ll miss you, y’know?” She sniffled against the lanky boy’s chest.
Theo seemed to squeeze harder at her words, his ever-increasingly shaggy, brown hair falling over both their faces, mixing with Daphne’s golden blonde. “I know, me too,” he said gruffly.
Draco, feeling as though he was intruding on a very private moment, backed into his room quietly and closed the door without so much as a click. He sat in one of his armchairs waiting for something to signal his friends’ departure. Not even five minutes later, Theo entered without knocking, looking a little worse for wear.
“Daph left,” he stated glumly, but in the blink of an eye he bounced onto the open settee and grinned cheerily at Draco who was quite confused.
“Oh?” Draco managed to choke out after witnessing the whiplash of emotions so violently.
“Said she’ll find us tomorrow before the match.”
“Great.” He wasn’t really sure what to say. He had just watched them both essentially crying over being separated for less than twenty-four hours, which was suspicious enough as it was. “Did you see her off?”
Theo’s melancholic mood returned, “yeah, I—uh—helped her with her bag—and uh—walked her to the Portkey…they sent a bronze hairbrush,” he scoffed. “Fucking pretentious if you ask me.”
“What’s so pretentious about a hairbrush?” Draco pondered aloud. He honestly had no idea what Theo was on about, with the exception of his obvious jealousy over Daphne still dating Anthony.
“It’s just typical, isn’t it? It was the answer to some stupid riddle he sent with his owl last week: ‘I break knots in every strand, Helping those who have it at hand; Often found inside the spot, Where cleaning’s done quite a lot.’”
“Well it was a bit clever,” Draco shrugged, not very impressed. Granger would’ve worked it out as she read it the first time through. “Shouldn’t you be minding your own business instead of reading people’s mail?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Theo scowled with deflection.
“She’s dating Goldstein, why on earth would she let you read their private correspondence?” Draco quirked an eyebrow at his friend, “you’ve been snooping around the Manor all summer. I would bet a hundred galleons you’ve been reading her mail when she goes into Pansy’s room…I’d also bet you’ve been sniffing her clothes and pillows too!” He chortled at Theo’s bright red face and inability to form a coherent retort.
“She doesn’t even like him that much!” Theo finally whined.
Draco rolled his eyes. “And yet she’s still dating him…why?”
“‘Why’ indeed!” Theo jumped to his feet with renewed vigor. “I must prepare!”
“Prepare for what?” Draco stood too, even more confused than he had been only a few minutes ago. Theo wasn’t listening, however, and dashed out of the room, leaving the door wide open as he shoved past a startled Blaise and Pansy readying to knock on the door. “Alright then…? This won’t end well.”
Shaken by the encounter, Blaise called out, “What the bloody hell was that all about?”
“Daphne…I think. Don’t ask,” Draco answered, shaking his head.
…
Dinner was a bit quieter without Theo, with the exception of the occasional thud coming from his room directly above the dining room. He insisted on taking his tray to his room to continue working on his “master plan”, which sounded an awful lot like a villain plotting some type of heist…or at least a Boggart rattling around in a cupboard.
“Now that I think about it, who’s to say this ‘master plan’ of his isn’t a murder plot?” Draco wondered aloud.
Blaise looked shocked. “I mean sure he still has a thing for Daph, but Theo’s no murderer! Anthony’s a nice bloke, he’ll move on eventually.”
Pansy cut in, “He has been reading novels that are practically guides on how to get away with murder…”
“Theodore is squeamish at even the sight of his own blood. Besides, he’s quite loyal and, I dare say, wouldn’t do something so foolhardy which would surely lose Daphne’s trust,” Narcissa commented assuredly, ending the distasteful dinner conversation.
Another loud thump echoed overhead, and Narcissa set her napkin harshly down and on her plate with a rattle of the dish. She promptly pushed away from the table, a stern and determined look fixed on her face.
“Oh he’s in for it now,” Pansy grinned devilishly.
“Doubtful,” Draco commented with disappointment, “as angry as she looked, she’s got a huge soft spot for Theo, not to mention he can talk his way out of anything.”
Blaise nodded in agreement, “she’ll be roped into being his accomplice—you just watch.”
Pansy pouted as she realized they were most likely right, and went back to pushing the remaining peas around her plate. “I just wish he’d actually be reprimanded for once,” she whinged.
“Not likely,” Blaise rolled his eyes, joining in Draco’s laughter as they took full advantage of Narcissa’s absence to pile a gross amount of food onto their plates and begin shoveling it in at an ungodly pace.
“Boys are honestly disgusting.” Pansy dropped her fork with a clatter, disgust evident in her scowl. She, too, excused herself from their company, and Blaise merely shrugged at Draco as they continued their gluttonous meal.
…
As expected, his mother spent the remainder of the evening helping Theo with his “plan”, and not wanting to oversleep in the morning and miss their Portkey, Draco, Blaise, and Pansy bid each other goodnight at only half-past ten.
The day that had seemed to last an entire week was over, and Draco found his body gave little resistance to sleep as he lay down in the bed. His bedsheets puffed around him in a perfect cocoon, and his eyes shuttered simultaneously as his breath evened out.
…
…
…
…
“No!” She screamed endlessly. “Please! No more!”
His wand never wavered. “Silencio!” He shouted, and with a flick of his wand her cries were gone, the quiet restored to the Manor around him.
“Oh, Draco,” his aunt cooed at him, “you’re learning so quickly. The Dark Lord will be very pleased at your progress. I do wish you’d let the Mudblood scream a bit more though…you know it makes me quite giddy,” the woman giggled as she circled the crying girl crumpled in the center of the room. “Get up Mudblood!”
Draco suddenly felt more aware of his surroundings. Sure they were familiar…it was his Manor after all…but something else lingered in his subconscious…just out of reach.
“Again, Draco!” Bellatrix barked at him, no longer the doting aunt, but the commanding General, her eyes filled with ire.
His world tilted on its axis. The marble floor tiles shifting beneath his feet.
Bellatrix, seemingly unphased by the unstable ground, advanced on him; her wand aimed at his chest. “Do it!”
His arm was moving of its own accord…inching up slowly from his side. Not this again. It can’t. I can’t! Draco tried to force his arm back down, but it was moving smoothly to point at her.
Draco slammed his mind shut—forcing every wall and shield he could dream up into place; building brick wall after brick wall; sealing the cracks in with cement. The floor dropped out from beneath him.
He was now laying on a plush bed of grass and moss. The world before him was greener than the most faceted emerald. A wolf jogged along the edges, his tongue lolling out the side of its jaws; a raven swooped overhead, the sun glinting off the blue-black feathers. Draco stretched, feeling his wings spread wide, as he launched himself off his hind legs and into the air. The breeze whipped between his crimson and golden feathers, melting away the anguish of only seconds ago. The three friends looped over and through the clearing, soaking in the joy and warmth of each others’ presence.
So quick, he wasn’t even sure he’d seen it, something silver flashed as it flew across the field. Circling back, Draco saw the wolf; drenched in scarlet, his tongue still lolling, yet lifeless. The raven screeched above and dove down to the ground. A snare snapped shut with a loud, echoing CLANK!Rememberinghimself, Draco circled once more, finding the field near impossible to maneuver—once open and free, now filled with traps, snares, and predators licking their chomps waiting for him to falter.
The breeze stilled, and Draco flapped harder and harder to stay afloat. His wings grew increasingly tired, and an exhaustion deeper than anything he’d ever felt sunk into his bones. Struggling, he desperately searched for a safe haven, finding none. The predators circled below, watching him hungrily.
Then he was falling.
…
Draco jolted awake, shooting upright in his bed. The mass of blankets and pillows once comforting now twisted around every limb and suffocated him. Fighting to escape, he yelped as he fell to the floor, panting to catch his breath.
His bedroom door flew open, a bewildered and crazed-looking Theo and disturbed Narcissa tumbled through the door, the lights bursting to life. Squinting his eyes at the sudden brightness, Draco scrambled to his feet from the mess of sheets and pillows.
“Wha—?” He groaned, shielding his eyes from the lights.
“Are you okay?” His mother demanded, marching to where he stood across the room.
“M’fine. Jus’ fell outta bed. Bad dream,” Draco mumbled.
“Did someone else die?!” Theo shrieked fearfully.
Draco huffed in annoyance, “yeah, you!” While not entirely a lie, his dream definitely felt more something they could analyze later, not an actual premonition or vision.
“M-m-me?!” Theo gulped dramatically, throwing himself into the chaise and whinging mournfully. “I’m next! Can you believe it? I’m next!” He clutched at his chest over his heart. “I won’t even get to put my plan into action! I’ll miss the World Cup!”
“Oh, shut it. I’m kidding. It was just a bad dream this time, honest. No Dark Lord, no visions. Just a dream,” he groaned, rubbing his eyes. It was entirely too late…or too early, rather, to deal with this version of Theo.
Just as he was about to check the time, an alarm echoed through the Manor. Perfect timing.
“Well, impeccable timing as ever, dearest. Best get to it boys, Lucius will be arriving any moment to take us to the portkey. I doubt it’s to be much of a trek since we’re guests of the Minister, but always good to be prepared,” she indicated, pointing to the more stylized version of Muggle wellies she wore under her robes. Draco and Theo looked at each other in pure shock as she promptly left the room to check on Pansy and Blaise.
“Was your mother—Narcissa fucking Malfoy—wearing MUGGLE BOOTS?!” Theo boomed incredulously.
“Yes, Theo, I believe she was,” Draco answered in disbelief.
The two boys hurried to get dressed and grab their bags. They met the rest of the group in the drawing room, looking more put together than disheveled, although Theo was barely passable by pureblood standards.
“Is Narcissa wearing Muggle boots?” Pansy mouthed at him when his mother’s back was turned.
“Yes, Pansy, I am wearing Wellingtons. They are practical for the possible walking we will need to do. Would you rather I wear trainers or even heels? Contrary to what some believe, I cannot float on air,” his mother answered curtly without turning to face any of the teenagers behind her.
“Won’t father—“
“What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” she said exasperatedly, casting a quick notice-me-not over her feet.
Theo began to question her, “Does that really—“ but the Floo roared to life with green flames as Lucius stepped from within.
“Ah, good. Everyone ready then?” Lucius was in a significantly better mood than the last time Draco had seen his father, and he was grateful for it.
The elder Malfoy plucked a handkerchief-wrapped object from his pocket, unrolling the cloth carefully to reveal a matchbox. He checked his watch quickly before looking to Draco.
“On the count of three,” Lucius said demandingly.
Each of the present party placed a single finger on the matchbox.
“Three…” Lucius counted down, looking at his watch. “Two…one…”
The long-forgotten hook behind his navel jerked Draco forward, his feet flying off the ground below. All six travelers seemed to bang against one another as they sped through the air spinning around them. It felt as though his body were being pulled by invisible strings from all angles irresistibly forward and then—
Their feet slammed into the ground that had reappeared beneath them. The four teenagers toppled over in a heap, while Lucius and Narcissa landed quite gracefully next to them.
“Twelve past six,” a voice chimed overhead.