UPON THE FROZEN LAKE
ONCE UPON A TIME, Malfoy Manor was bright and cheerful.
Through its empty halls rang the bells of childhood laughter. The tapping of tiny footsteps and the clacking of heels chasing after them.
There wasn't supposed to be anything wrong with a mansion.
Quiet, peaceful, deserted. A haven for pure-bloods trying to stay out of muggle eyes. This home was a staple. The centre point of my family and all those who came before. Where acceptance was always to be found whenever I needed it.
I can't recall when, or how exactly things changed.
I can't imagine it was sudden, but it sure did sting like a pin prick to the finger. A crack in a frozen lake. So tiny it was barely visible, but it was there. Certainly there.
Y̶e̶a̶h̶,̶ ̶I̶ ̶l̶i̶k̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶m̶e̶t̶a̶p̶h̶o̶r̶.̶ Stepping back through that fireplace was just that. A frozen lake.
Now, the sun was on its horizon. Golden hour had turned to twilight, and slowly the frost settled in.
For the first time in my life, I felt the weight of coldness through the linings of my expensive frock coat. A chill down the spine. How it sat upon every surface, creeping within every cushion of every unloved sofa.
Nothing had ever felt this cold before. Not even when I was clinging to the seams of my robe pockets, holding my fingers near the furnace of my cauldron during the first week of snow.
That was bearable. This was purgatory.
Not one fireplace in this wretched place had any ounce of warmth in its flames.
Every aspect of the first eleven years of my life revolved uselessly around this mansion. My eyes were so acclimatised to the shadows that I rarely acknowledged them at all.
The only prodding reminder that anything existed outside of this black hole was the pecking at my window of the morning post, the chirping of Ulysses as he delivered me not one, but a whole myriad of letters from friends.
My friends.
Dear Draco,
First and foremost, you promised you'd write and you haven't. Am I shocked, or entirely unsurprised? Secondly, I hope all is going well. I'm in the Pyrenees for Christmas and heavily missing everything and everyone. Who knew that I could thirst for the UK whilst surrounded by so much beauty?
You would adore it here. There's something so refreshing about the mountains. I think it's somewhat soothing the ache of being away from Hogwarts.
Anyway — how are you doing? How was Christmas Day? Did you get anything cool? Have you finished the essays from Snape?
Personally, I think it's cruel he set us so many whilst we're supposed to be relaxing. I had to shove my Potions textbook into my luggage, which left a lot less room for more layers of clothing to hide from the weather.
The mountains are cold and we all know how much I hate the cold. Turns out I'm not as good at French as I recalled either, which makes life a little difficult as all the witches and wizards I've met so far haven't been the best at English.
When I return to England, I will demand you teach me.
OH, speaking of teaching... From my resort window, you can see the spires of Beauxbatons Academy! I haven't managed to get any closer of a look yet, but in my opinion, I think it looks a lot more respectable than Hogwarts.
Again, I hope all is well for you, and that you're having a fun time wherever in the world you are right now.
All the best,
Pansy <3
. . .
Parkinson,
I never promised to write.
Christmas was good. I spent it with my mother and father as I usually do. I, however, didn't receive anything that exciting. Robes, quills, books — yawn. I wanted a Nimbus 2000 but father is convinced the 01 will be out in no time.
I did complete the essays. All of them. I have a lot of spare time here.
Glad you're having a good time in the Pyrenees. Même si je ne suis absolument pas surpris que votre français soit nul. Si je dois t'apprendre quoi que ce soit, je m'attends au paiement intégral plus les frais excédentaires.
Knowing you, you won't understand that. Good :)
Don't fall off a mountain,
D.M
. . .
Dracula,
IT'S SNOWING!
I told you my lake is sick! Father used some freezing spell (Glacior? Glacius?), and then next thing you know BOOM! The perfect ice rink. Me and Blaise have been skating all week. I can confirm, I am the better ice skater.
No one has as much grace and decorum as I.
Please for the love of Merlin ask your parents if you could visit. My mother is desperate to have a chat with Narcissa.
Tell your mother to come this weekend and then come too.
Or die.
Theo.
. . .
Nott,
Die.
D.M
"You can't write that in a letter."
I looked up from my parchment, my innocent eyes wide as they found my mother.
She was watching me across the dining table, eyebrow raised as her pupils flickered to the table before me. The room was silent, as it always had been, at breakfast. The gentle clunking of a teaspoon against the sides of a teacup was all that could be heard. Occasionally, a crumpling of a page joined the metal like a choir.
"He did," I shrugged.
"You didn't answer any of his queries," she tilted her head.
"I was going to add a note at the bottom."
"And?"
I sniffed, dunking my quill back in my ink pot, "How did you even read it?"
"Years of snooping on my friends' at Hogwarts," she admitted. I looked askance as she cracked a smile, "Oh don't look at me like that — everyone does it."
"I don't," I replied sourly. I could admit it was a cool trait to have, but I made a mental note to be more careful with my letters at the dining table.
A few blotches of ink dripped from the tip of my quill, leaving a trail of thoughtlessness over my letter. It was now obvious I had little to say to him — or anyone about the matter. I was bad at writing my emotions. We weren't exactly open about them. That trait practically ran in the family.
"Regardless, you can't just tell your friend to die," she continued.
"He told me to die," I defended innocently.
She looked at me with a motherly disapproval, "And we don't sink ourselves to the levels of others."
"I have nothing else to say," I grumbled.
"There must be more to the letter than that."
She'd already known that, but it didn't stop her from leaning over and whipping the letter out from beneath my elbow. She briefly scanned through it, as if trying to affirm her eyes hadn't deceived her, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards as she went.
After a few moments, she piped up, "Tell him I'd love to have coffee with his mother — and say something about how your holiday has been going."
My holiday up until that point had been dull and underwhelming. Whilst my friends owled about their various ventures, I sat in my room, staring at the walls, wondering how to charm time itself to pass quicker.
Through those hours, I'd spent a lot of time distracting myself. I'd missed my grand piano so much my fingers ached from how often I'd spent playing — it was fortunate father had banished it to the furthest quarters from his office. I played and I played at all hours of the day, and when I wasn't playing, I studied tirelessly.
That was one of the many strengths of returning home from Hogwarts. Now — instead of feeling bored, I could simply drown myself in academia.
"Draco?"
"What?"
My attention had withered at least thirty seconds ago. I hadn't been following the remainder of the conversation — or rather had barely realised there still was one in the first place. I blinked a few times.
"I said, tell him I want to come," Mother was eying me, concerned. The letter had been dropped onto the centre of the table. Her pale hands now clutched her coffee cup, "You're looking awfully pasty today, my dear. Are you feeling alright?"
"Oh, right," My shoulders deflated. When hadn't I looked pasty? "Maybe I'm lacking some sun," I suggested, "I heard Australia is nice this time of year."
It was half a joke, half a suggesting prod, but, of course, it tipped Father off the edge of ignoring us and straight into annoyance.
"Don't be silly, boy!" he snapped. I couldn't see his face, yet I didn't need to.
He was sat at the head of the table in his usual stature. In one hand, a spoon swirling in a bowl of cereal, ahead of him, a copy of the Daily Prophet hung in mid-air, its pages turning at the flick of his finger. I noticed Father's eyes narrowing above it.
On the cover, a very annoyed-looking Cornelius Fudge was pictured in a press release about Ministry raids. More dark objects in circulation. Books, lockets — Nothing unusual. They'd always tickled father's humour whenever he saw trouble brewing amongst the higher-ups.
"But Crabbe and Goyle are in Norway," I tried, fetching one of the letters from my pile written in a particularly messy scrawl.
The Daily Prophet fell onto the table, revealing Father's scowl.
"Surrounded by muggles," he spat, "There's a vast wizarding population near Trollfjord — and somehow, a group of esteemed pure-bloods find themselves in some wooden shack on some mountain?"
It was true. From the sparse owls I'd received from the pair, they seemed to be having an awfully good time picking on the muggle children, shoving them down slopes — I guessed it was easy when they couldn't fight back.
"We could at least do something," I moped.
Mother smiled, perhaps a little sorrily. It wasn't like she particularly cared for travel.
Retrospectively, there was probably a reason we'd stayed so tethered to our home here. The Malfoys didn't go abroad. Father doted on himself, calling himself far too important to be absent from work.
"We can visit the Notts," she suggested, seeming more eager herself than I.
I weighed up my options. It was either that or more walks in the garden.
Blatantly, I did want to go. Theo and Blaise had snow, Pansy had mountains, and Crabbe and Goyle had fjords. What did I have?
I sat here rueing the thick clouds that bucketed rain onto my head as if the very notion of pathetic fallacy was mocking me.
My eyes found the parchment again.
"Pansy is in the Pyrenees," I huffed. The pool of ink from my hanging quill had grown substantially. Pansy had glamorised and romanticised the mountains beyond repair.
The many spires and turrets of Beauxbatons towered like giants above the many peaks and valleys of the mountain range. She said she'd bumped into muggles who couldn't even see the castle. She thought that was incredulous.
"And I'm sure she's having a wonderful time — but Draco, your father..."
I cut her off, "You know — never mind. The Notts will be fun," I assured.
She nodded and picked up her teaspoon again. I knew she was just trying to make her hands busy as the coffee looked well stirred despite her persistence, "It'll be nice to catch up with Celestia. We have some good memories, her and I."
Finally, I brought my quill back to the page.
Nott,
D̶i̶e̶. Mother said we'll be fine for the weekend. Saturday or Sunday?
The weather here is just miserable, but we haven't had snow. It's just cloudy and grey.
Will Blaise be there? I want to see him too.
See you then,
D.M.
"Better?" I asked. Mother's pupils had been trailing my hand as it ran across the page.
"Much," She continued as I set aside my letter in a pile, feeling relieved as to have finally gotten around to responding to them, "Would you like to walk with me? The clouds have lifted. If we wrap up warm, we could enjoy the sun."
I assumed she was still hung up on the pale and pasty thing.
"I have an essay," I replied dismissively.
"You still have a week until you go back," Mother frowned, "I'm sure you can fit it in this evening."
I looked at her incredulously, "Mother — encouraging me to ditch my school work?"
She swatted at me, "I just wanted to spend some time with my son."
"You do," I replied flatly, "Every day."
"In a week, you'll be all the way in Scotland again," she sighed, eyes glossing over with premature mourning.
I deflated again. We practically walked around the gardens daily — pretending to find even newer interest in the flowers we'd seen the day prior. As I aged, I'd hoped the notion would grow on me — however, for an eleven-year-old, I was still bored to death by the idea.
But... As excited as I was to return to Hogwarts — I did feel slightly guilty about leaving her here.
"Fine. A little one," I conceded.
It was worth it to see her eyes light up with the joy of spending more time with her son.
. . .
"What did Theo say again?" asked mother, sounding particularly serious as we stood in front of the main fireplace that Saturday morning.
Floo travel, akin to all things in the Wizarding World, had risks.
Robes catching on fire, nausea, misspeaking — there was a hundred possibilities that seemed to haunt Narcissa Malfoy's motherly paranoia. Thankfully, there was only one Malfoy manor (and no Malfays, Molfoys or Melfies) but when it came to going elsewhere... things could go slightly wrong.
I fumbled with a crumpled piece of paper in my gloved hands, "He said — floo to — Nott Manor, Keswick..." I looked up, brow furrowed, "There are multiple Nott Manors?"
"Relatives, dear," Mother said. Oh, right. "Come on, Mrs Nott will be expecting us."
I nodded, shoving the letter back into my fur-lined pocket so carelessly it almost tore in half. Mother had been visibly excited about visiting the Nott Manor, bouncing on her heels as she walked. It was both refreshing and foreign. I eyed her nervously, feeling apprehensive at all the ways this trip could go wrong.
"Should I go first?" I asked.
"Yes," she said quickly. She hurried me towards the fireplace, doing up the final button of my coat before she finally stepped back, "Then I can find you if you stray off path."
"I won't," I reminded her stubbornly. Although nervous, I was more than offended by the idea of mispronouncing. I plucked the lid of the pewter pot on the mantel and grabbed a sprinkling of floo powder — just enough to carry me all the way to the Lake District without any diversions.
"Remember. Nott Manor, Keswick," she reminded, accentuating every syllable like she was teaching me a new word.
I cleared my throat.
"Nott Manor, Keswick!"
Then I threw the floo powder at the ground with as much gusto as I could muster, and in a flash of green flames, I disappeared.
. . .
No matter how many times I flooed, I never got used to it.
The fire barely licked my robes before I was spinning very fast through a dark tunnel, a stream of fireplaces flickering between the gaps in my eyelids. Every few blurs I was able snatch glimpses of the rooms beyond. Various houses, shops — anyone who was stupid enough to keep their networks open.
And then, just as abruptly as I was sucked in, I popped out, coughing on the hot dust that had somehow found its way into my lungs.
"That's a Malfoy, alright. As blatant as I've ever seen one," spoke someone ahead of me.
I was still mindlessly swatting around my face, feeling glad to be void of the sensation of falling through the floo network. When I stopped squinting, I realised I'd found myself stumbling into the middle of a grand living room that was nothing like Malfoy Manor at all.
It was warm, inviting. Cosy, despite long windows peering into the snow-clad hilltops beyond.
I blinked a few times, rubbing my eyes with the back of my gloves. There were plush leather couches, a mahogany coffee table and a second fireplace with a roaring log fire on the adjacent wall. Across from me. a man and a woman were sat on the couches. There was a meter of space between them, like they would rather be anywhere but next to each other.
I recognised both of them from the train station.
With a splutter of green flames, my mother appeared at my side, her purse clutched in her gloved hand — the other, smoothing over her skirt that had become ruffled.
"Narcissa," breathed the woman. She climbed to her feet, hurrying forward to kiss her on the cheek, "It's lovely to see you!"
"Celestia," nodded my mother cordially.
Celestia Nott looked as gaunt and pretty as always. Her heart-shaped face, plump, flattering lips and warm hazel eyes were sickeningly sweet, like a china doll upon a shelf.
"This is my son, Draco. I'm sure you've heard all about him from Theodore."
Mother raised a hand to my head, brushing floo dust from the fur of my hat.
"Of course," nodded Mrs Nott. Her dainty, white hand raised to me expectantly, "Your mother and I were as close as cousins back in the day."
I averted my gaze and shook it. Part of me hoped Theo and Blaise would appear out of nowhere and whisk me away from this awkward endeavour.
Mother's hand still lingered on my shoulder, "We were— are cousins. Although, those days feel like forever ago. How have you been?"
"Oh, we have much to catch up on. I'm sure you remember Tiberius," she breathed out. Her husband took it as an opportunity to stand up and approach.
When he got closer, it finally clicked what was so off about all of this. His hair still held onto the darkness of what prevailed his youth, but he could've perhaps pipped Mrs Nott by thirty-odd years. His face weathered, his dark curls littered with minuscule grey hairs.
Mrs Nott gazed at him. I couldn't determine with what emotion, be it love or complacency.
"Of course," Mother nodded.
He graced my mother with a kiss on the hand before returning to Mrs Nott's side.
"It is nice to properly meet you. I've only ever heard of you through word of mouth," he said calmly.
"Only good things, I hope," replied mother.
"Indeed," he nodded, raising a brow at an unspoken thought, "How is Lucius? I haven't heard from him in a while."
Mother shrugged, "He's been busy with the School Board recently — as you know yourself, Dumbledore isn't easy."
"Oh, I do," he quirked, "I spent a lot of time trying to argue with that man, never worked. Part of why I transferred back to the Ministry."
"Tiberius has been promoted to Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Education," Mrs Nott piped up. Mr Nott seemed disinterested by her attempt to boast. His head turned, and suddenly he was looking directly at me.
"And you, the great heir of Lucius," he remarked cooly. I felt an even stronger desire to combust, "How is school?"
I didn't reply.
"Draco is doing incredibly well," Mother instead spoke, "Lucius is insistent on keeping on top of his progress. Severus makes sure to send us progress reports every month."
"What a profound idea. Maybe we should enquire that for Theo," Mrs Nott replied thoughtfully.
"We believe it is the only way to keep an eye on these things," Mother nodded, "Although I'm sure your Theo is well-behaved."
"Speaking of, they've only just left," Mr Nott's eyes still bore into me as if he could see right through me. I wasn't sure why he had acquired such an abrupt interest in my existence, "They're heading down to the lake. You can catch them if you're quick, if you'd like to accompany."
I glanced back at my mother, uncertain whether to leave her alone.
"Go ahead, Draco. I'll be fine," Mother insisted. She practically shooed me off towards a particularly large set of glass panels, one of which had a small, brass doorknob and led out onto a patio, "Anyway, you were promoted to Deputy Head, did you say? Lucius never tells me these things... Is Sallow still being a handful?"
"I'd say he is difficult, yet who isn't?" he chuckled heartily, "Thinks teaching is his birthright. Runs in his blood, he says. Well I say perhaps he should become a Professor, but then again he—"
I didn't catch what he said next. I was already out of the door.
It was not far to the lake. It sat within birds eye view of the manor; a large circular pool of ice in the opening of the woods. The thick line of trees and horizon full of snowy hilltops provided a scenic respite that quickly reminded me of a painting.
It felt too idyllic to be real.
Yet here it was.
Blaise was already fitted in his skates by the time I'd reached them. He sounded the ice for any weak points, gliding expertly along the lakeside.
"I think it's fine — it's a little damp," I heard him say, looking like a young Russian in his fur-trimmed coat and cap.
"My father can re-charm it tomorrow," Theo affirmed.
He sat on the snow, tightening the laces on his skates. I slipped and stumbled down the slope, calling their names as I tried to avoid face-planting onto the snowbank, "Blaise! Theo!"
Just as my words echoed down the hillside, Theo looked up.
I saw the cheeky grin plastered across his face, his cheeks flushed from the cold. His curls, so reminiscent of his father's, poked out from underneath his cap.
He cheered, carefully climbing onto his two blades, "Ay! Mr Malfoy!"
"I am here!" I beamed, brushing the dusting of snow off the shoulders of my winter coat.
"I brought you some of my boots," he nodded towards an old tree trunk, where a set of jet-black skates sat, "you said you didn't have any, didn't you?"
I abruptly remembered all the lies I'd been spewing back at school.
"I've been skating loads of times," I'd said.
"Right, thanks," I swallowed a little too harshly, catching the end of my word in a tremor.
Theo quirked an eyebrow, "Right," he repeated, "Well, hurry up then! We don't have all day."
"We technically do," Blaise called out from the other side of the lake.
Theo rolled his eyes, "If you want to catch a cold, sure."
I brushed off my nerves as I fetched the shoes from the trunk.
Blaise careered to a stop at the bank, seeming satisfied with his checks. As I laced up my borrowed footwear, I could hear him teasing Theo, "You sure you want to trust Malfoy with your skates? He'll probably ruin them."
I turned my nose up, "I'll have you know, Zabini, I am naturally talented. I won't ruin them."
"Don't worry, Blaise. I have faith in him," Theo laughed.
The palms beneath my gloves were suddenly clammy. The idea of falling flat on my face seemed dauntingly possible. I managed to use the trunk to climb onto my blades — but failed to let go of it as I realised how difficult it was to keep my balance.
"Are you ready, mate?" Blaise called.
"Definitely!" I said quickly, "Just checking they're... tightened up."
I don't know why I ever thought I could ice skate. It's not like I'd ever done it before.
I'd seen students doing it on the edge of the Black Lake and, at the time, it looked too easy. I thought once I got over the fear aspect, everything would fall into place like flying a broom once had, but now that we were here, and I was trying to stay upright on the ice, I realised quite quickly that I might have made a slight misjudgement.
Skating was a little like magic. Some people make it look so effortless — but really, there's a whole lot of skill and practice that goes into acing it.
What made it worse was how good Blaise and Theo actually were. They carved pretty shapes into the ice whilst I wobbled and slid, unable to maintain my balance.
"You're doing great!" Theo yelled encouragingly. He was sailing around, pirouetting. I forced a smile, hoping he was moving too quickly to see the terror in my eyes.
"Yeah, just trying to get my bearings!"
I wasn't doing great. I was terrible. I was pretty sure a three-year-old could've skated circles around me. But I was determined to not let Theo and Blaise know that. I would have rather the ice beneath my feet gave way than admit I had no idea what I was doing.
"You sure you've never done this before?" Blaise teased after the fourth or fifth time I'd fallen onto my backside, "You look like you could go pro, mate. You could win that... What do the Muggles call it? The Olympics?"
"He's just rusty, when I didn't skate for a year, I lost my way a bit too—" Theo began. But I was already at my wit's end by the time he'd started talking.
I couldn't do this anymore. I slid to a less-than-graceful stop, my skates scraping against the ice.
"Okay, fine," I grumbled, "I've actually never skated before."
They both stared at me for a moment. Through the quiet, I felt a wall of defensiveness suddenly start building in my chest.
That's what I did when I couldn't hope, I shut down. I swallowed hard, the cold air scratching at my throat.
I expected them to burst into laughter, mock me and jibe until the sun went down — yet within the silence, there was a crack of a smile.
"Well no wonder you're terrible! You've never done it before!" Blaise said, amusedly.
I blinked. My eyes flickered between them. They didn't seem bothered at all.
"We can just teach you," Theo shrugged, "It's really hard. But you'll get used to it."
"You do need to keep your knees bent," Blaise skidded to a halt, "And lean forward a bit more."
"Like this?" I tried. It wasn't by all means graceful, but I didn't bruise my backside.
"Like that!" Blaise grinned. I kept going, making my way towards the centre, "See! You're doing great. You're basically a natural!"
He twirled around me. I kept going towards the tree line, feeling my confidence suddenly begin to grow to the point where I was able to pick up my pace.
Theo was skating backwards, showing off his skills. I couldn't resist teasing him, "You know, Nott, you look ridiculous skating backwards. You're going to fall flat on your—"
As I spoke, my blade caught a divot in the ice.
CRACK.
When I opened my eyes, I was somehow on my back. Theo and Blaise were crouched next to me. Their two concerend faces in stark contrast to the whites of the clouds in the sky.
"Are you okay?" Theo's voice sounded slightly far away.
I wasn't sure. I could recall little between being upright and laying here, snowflakes falling onto the tip of my nose. My immediate thought was how bright the sky looked from down here.
I groaned, rubbing my elbow. It had taken quite the whack against the ice, "That was not my finest moment."
Blaise smirked. He was holding my hat, which had somehow departed my head, "That was pretty cool, actually. I've never seen anyone wipe out that hard."
"I wouldn't take that as a compliment," I grumbled.
"It could've been worse. You landed on the bank instead of the ice," he tried to comfort. I sat up. My skates were embedded in the ice, causing small cracks that stretched outwards from the tip of my blades.
Theo extended a hand to me and I grabbed it, letting him hoist me onto my feet. There was a stinging in my temple as if I'd been hit over the head by a bludger, "If we had an award show — the coolest wipeout award goes to Malfoy!"
I let out a small chuckle. If I was going to hurt, I was at least going to find humour in it, "I expect a trophy next week."
"Done," he grinned.
Laughing made my head feel as though it had a heartbeat. I covered my eyes with my gloves.
"And maybe a vial of phoenix tears."