Envy Engenders Spite

Lord Voldemort apparated onto the sweeping entrance of the Malfoy family mansion. He had timed his arrival to Tiberius Malfoy’s Christmas Eve party perfectly — he was one of the first ones, if not the first one to arrive, but it was not early enough as to be considered rude. 

Outside the mansion was quiet — the manicured lawns and surrounding thick forest were wrapped in an otherworldly silence as a soft snow coated the world. It fell with such dignity, he felt himself obliged to stop and observe for a moment. All was calm. A rare event.

He stepped towards the arched entry doors and they opened as if expecting his arrival. A house-elf stood on the threshold. It bowed deeply, holding its skinny arms out towards him. He stepped in, swung off his overcoat and dropped it down to the elf. It nearly toppled the creature over. A squeak and a muffled word he couldn’t hear, and the house-elf vanished away with a crack. 

Another house-elf appeared immediately with a popping noise.

“Welcome to the Malfoy-”

“I’ve been here,” he interrupted the elf with an impatient wave of his hand. “Where is the Minister of Magic?”

The elf bowed. “In the main dining room, sir. May I escort-”

“No need,” he said and moved past the elf, making his way into the mansion. Floating white candles, each adorned with tiny evergreen wreaths and scarlet poinsettias lined the long hallway. Portraits of famous members of the Malfoy family hung on the walls. Their painted eyes stared at him as he stalked down the hallway. All had the distinct silver-blond hair and cold gray eyes of the Malfoy lineage, though there were a few brunettes, strawberry blondes, even a redhead or two. 

About halfway down the hall, he paused. Running a hand through his dark hair and adjusting his velvet black dress robes. He had just purchased them a few weeks back; Quinn Bulstrode had tailored them for him at her pleasure. They fit impeccably. Reaching into the hidden pocket, he traced the smooth wood of his wand and inhaled. He would not need his wand tonight — this was considered the highest society of the wizarding world. Anyone who was anybody would be in attendance. And pureblood gatherings generally did not end in magical scuffles.

Lord Voldemort exhaled, narrowing his focus on the little buzzing in the back of his mind until it amplified, growing warm within his chest. Yes. The ring was here, which meant she was here. Upstairs. Not at the main party yet. Perfect. He hadn’t seen her in nearly two months.

Toward the end of the hall, near the doors to the main dining room, he stopped in front of a particular portrait. His eyes found themselves drawn to it. It was Natalie. Except — these were all deceased members of the family. He glanced at the bottom of the ornate frame and read the name. Theia Malfoy. So her mother. He studied the portrait further. The similarities were remarkable, although the more he stared, the more differences he spotted. The hair was too straight, the eyes too soft, the features too blended, and the posture far too relaxed to be Natalie.

“Hello.”

Lord Voldemort nearly jumped out of his skin when the portrait spoke. He immediately felt foolish. Magic existed, of course. The portraits were charmed. They had all done an exceptional job of remaining extremely still as he passed. The image of Theia Malfoy blinked down at him from the plush couch she lounged on and smiled. There was a teasing amusement hiding within her smile and he found himself staring.

“Are you just going to stare at me without saying hello?” the portrait asked, in a manner unnervingly similar to her daughter, though the voice was a bit higher and a lilting accent crept through her words.

“Er, I apologize. Hello-”

“You’re that Tom Riddle boy,” the portrait looked him over, making him feel incredibly self-conscious. He shifted about in his new dress robes, nervous they hadn’t been tailored properly, or maybe the anti-wrinkle charm hadn’t stuck, or perhaps snow had melted through his coat. “Yes, I know you. My mother has told me all about you.”

“Has she?” he slowly asked, not sure what route this was going to take.

“Of course. My mother tells me everything about my daughter.”

Lord Voldemort blinked, suddenly feeling like he was about to get scolded by the portrait of a dead witch who looked a bit like Natalie. “Ah, I see-”

Theia Malfoy cut him off with a wave of her hand. “My mother thinks you’re wasting your talents.” And with that she stood and walked out, long green robes trailing behind her. Tom Riddle found himself staring at an empty portrait frame.

“Don’t mind her,” a voice drew his attention away from the frame and to the door he had been heading towards. Tiberius Malfoy stood in the doorway with a thin flute glass of a bubbling liquid in one hand and a strange expression upon his face.

“My sister was all bark, no bite. . . .” a note of bitterness entered the Minister’s voice, reminding Tom Riddle that Tiberius Malfoy had lost his sister several years ago and then wife this past year. “And that’s probably what got her killed.”

There was silence for a long moment as Lord Voldemort tried to avoid meeting Tiberius Malfoy’s scrutinous gaze, strengthening his Occlumency walls. He knew the Minister was proficient with Legilimency, but he didn’t fancy sharing his thoughts or feelings at the moment. Or ever, really.

Tiberius finally backed down. Taking a long sip from the glass of sparkling liquid, he sent Tom a wink.

“I think you’ve found her daughter to be a bit different.”

“Yes, certainly,” replied Tom, glad the tension had passed between them before he extended a hand and a charming smile. “Minister, Merry Christmas to you.”

“Tom,” Tiberius returned the smile, shook his hand and then clapped an arm around Tom’s shoulders, steering him into the main dining room. “First one here, I believe. Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

“I would hope not, Minister,” Tom remarked, adding a lighthearted tone to his voice. 

“If I hadn’t known better I’d say you had quite the upbringing,” said Tiberius, “proof it’s all in the blood. You’ve said your mother was a pureblood, I believe? One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, yes?”

“Yes, a Gaunt,” he replied, maintaining a relaxed air upon the mention of his family as he took a moment to study the setup of the large function room. There were small tables arranged all around the room, clearly meant for a night of mingling with many people. Twinkling candles floated about, casting a soft glow. Charmed snowflakes fell from the ceiling, landing only upon the tables, where they heaped in delicate little piles. House-elves were scattered about, holding up trays with an assortment of hors d'oeuvres and glasses full of the same bubbling drink Tiberius clutched. A row of green and silver Christmas trees took up an entire wall of the room. A full size piano centered in the middle of them. A young couple in matching green dress robes sat on the piano bench, and he recognized Abraxas Malfoy and his wife, Melania. They had clearly begun snogging when Tiberius left the room.

“Oh, hello, father!” Abraxas hastily broke away from Melania and jumped up as though nothing was amiss. “And hello, Tom, Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Tiberius, Melania,” Lord Voldemort greeted them with a smile, hiding his amusement at how embarrassed Melania looked. She hid her face behind her hands and giggled to herself. 

Tiberius had not noticed anything, or pretended not to. “Where is your cousin, Abraxas? Did my mother not insist everyone be ready before the guests arrive?”

“Upstairs, still, I think,” replied Abraxas. “Probably sleeping. She only arrived an hour ago. And it’s her birthday. She hates her birthday.”

“She let that filthy Muggle who called himself her father ruin her birthday,” Tiberius muttered under her breath before he turned back to Tom. “Would you mind going up and bringing her down?”

“My pleasure,” Lord Voldemort dipped his head in a deferential nod and turned to head back to the hallway.

“Oh, wait!” called Abraxas, pausing Tom on his way out. Abraxas snatched two glasses of the sparkling liquid from the nearest house-elf and pushed them into Tom’s hands. “Now you can go.”

Voldemort chuckled and continued on his way. Ignoring the still empty portrait of Theia Malfoy, he headed up the magnificent staircase to the upper floor. At the top, he nearly walked right into Domitia Malfoy.

“Ah, excellent, you’ve arrived!” exclaimed the matriarch of the Malfoy family. She was adorned in shimmering black dress robes that made her powerful aura even more pronounced. “See if you can get my granddaughter up and ready. She’s locked the door and I can’t break the enchantment. Makes me feel my age.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised as she gestured him past her and towards Natalie’s room.

“And I hope both of those drinks aren’t for her!” warned Domitia.

“Of course not,” he placated her immediately. Domitia made a grumbling noise, a dark shadow passing over her brow before she headed down the stairs. 

Lord Voldemort paused just outside Natalie’s door to take a sip from one of the full glasses. The liquid sparkled and bounced on his tongue, it somehow tasted like cinnamon and warm apple pie, and made his whole body feel wrapped in a warm blanket before a crackling fire. So he took a few more sips. It was almost as addicting as another, similar sensation he was well acquainted with. The feeling of this one with the thought of the other made him giddy.

Balancing both drinks in one hand, he attempted to turn the doorknob. It didn’t budge. Sighing, he allowed the two drinks to hover in the air beside him with a quick nonverbal, wandless charm so he could retrieve the wand he didn’t think he would need to use tonight from his pocket. He should have known better. This was Natalie Malfoy. There was probably some overly complicated, energetically derived enchantment locking the door. The challenge excited him.

So he first tried a simple, nonverbal alohomora. 

No luck. And he was already feeling a bit lightheaded from the drink. Whatever was in it must be strong. No wonder Domitia had not wanted Natalie to have both drinks.

He moved to more advanced spells. Then charms. Then some more — darker — spells. He tried a curse, then an anticurse, then another curse, growing more excited and intrigued with every attempt.

Nothing. 

A thought striking him, he tugged on the door handle again. “It’s me,” he muttered, “open the-”

The door clicked open, granting him entrance.

“Of course,” he snorted, returning his wand to his pocket and stepping into the room, the two floating glasses of the incredible drink following him. The room was pitch dark, although when the door swung shut behind him, a silvery-white light appeared near the ceiling, illuminating the room with its gentle beams.

Lord Voldemort found two luminous eyes staring at him from the bed. They were the only things visible under a mountain of thick green and silver blankets. He approached the bed and took a seat near the pair of eyes. A staring contest ensued for a few moments before he reached a hand out, trying to find where she even was underneath all the blankets.

“Ow!” growled Natalie as his hand landed on what felt like her torso. “I’m bruised.”

“From what?” he demanded. “And don’t you have potions for that?”

“Practice,” she grunted, only her eyes still visible to him. “I’ve slept on the floor of our locker room for a month straight. D’you know how many Bludgers I’ve gotten hit with for no reason other than to ‘get used to it’?”

“Don’t you have potions for that?” he repeated.

She grumbled, moving about under the covers. “I wanted to be miserable. I just got here. This is the only break I’ve had in a month. I don’t want to do anything.”

“Well, your family is insisting you join them downstairs. Guests are beginning to arrive.”

“I can see that,” she said with heavy sarcasm before closing her eyes and groaning. “Come to bed.”

“Drink this,” he told her instead, taking the full glass of the sparkling liquid and presenting it to her. Gray eyes snapped open and stared at the glass with suspicion before a pale arm snaked out of the covers to grab it. He spotted a large fading bruise on her forearm as she cautiously took a sip.

“Calm down,” she muttered as if sensing the spike of anger that flashed through him. “They’re healing themselves. Just slowly.”

He didn’t say anything. Rather, watched as she sipped on the liquid, studying the change in her expression as the taste and sensation hit.

“Holy shit,” she softly exclaimed and a shiver ran down his spine as a fresh wave of her energy hit him. It was warm, bubbly, and inviting. Now he wanted to join her in bed. “What is this?”

“I’ve no idea,” he responded and he watched her drain the rest of the glass. Then she flung it away — it vanished in mid-air. She stared directly at him, gray eyes dancing, before reaching past him. Confused, he turned to find what she was reaching for before he realized. The other drink, which he had consumed half of. Domitia Malfoy’s words echoed in his ears as he watched her granddaughter down the rest of the second glass.

“Come to bed,” she demanded again and he had no intention of doing the opposite.