The Actual Party
Tiberius Malfoy, the Minister of Magic, stood in the doorway of Natalie’s bedroom. A half consumed glass of the bubbling liquid that was the hit of the night in his hand, he gazed around for a long moment before sighing. Closing his eyes, he pressed his thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose. His personal assistant, his secretary, his niece, the children — and employees — of his closest friends, and most of the English national Quidditch team were somehow all in his niece’s bedroom, which smelled strongly of the ubiquitous Ebulliosus. Most of those present had glasses of the drink in their hands, and Tiberius suddenly knew why he had to send his elves to purchase more.
Without opening his eyes, he repeated, “what is going on here?”
“Er, group therapy?” offered Antonin Dolohov, pushing the bottle of Ebulliosus towards Adolphus Lestrange while his boss wasn’t looking. Lestrange made an offended noise and shoved the bottle back towards Dolohov. A tussle ensued.
Tiberius opened his eyes and looked around again. Freezing Dolohov and Lestrange, with the Ebulliosus bottle halfway between them. Nobody else had moved and everyone had varying expressions of guilt shining through the glaze lended by the Ebulliosus. He sighed again and took a long sip from his own glass, his gaze roving the room until it landed on his niece, who still sat on the floor directly opposing the door.
Natalie sheepishly smiled at her uncle before climbing to her feet, placing a hand on the arm of the chair Tom Riddle sat in to steady herself. She’d been drinking continuously for well over an hour — but Ebulliosus was no Firewhiskey. Little candles seemed to twinkle and flicker all over her, giving her a warm glow both inside and outside her body. She shivered as a wave of heat crashed through her skin, rising and falling like the incessant tide on a tropical beach.
“Um. . . group therapy can happen downstairs?” she offered, tilting her head and running a hand through her blonde hair. The curling charm still held.
“Yes, I believe it can,” announced Tiberius and he began ushering all present out of the room. Natalie remained standing near the armchair with Lord Voldemort, ignoring the others as they awkwardly shuffled past the Minister of Magic, most trying to bring their drinks with them. Antonin Dolohov refused to meet the Minister’s eyes as he slunk out of the room, hiding his drink with a quick invisibility charm.
Natalie prowled a few paces towards the mirror she had used a while ago to charm her hair and makeup. She stared into it and blinked, taking a step back in shock upon meeting her own eyes in the mirror. They glowed with an incandescent glare. She blinked again, noting how slowly her eyelids dropped and then rose. The Ebulliosus. She glanced towards Tiberius, noting the drink in his hand, and then looked back at herself in the mirror. Her makeup remained flawless, her hair bounced in light curls down her back, and the dress had been made and charmed by Quinn to allow her full freedom of movement, despite it looking like a second layer of skin.
She glanced back at her eyes, studying them intently for a long moment. It was Christmas Eve; everyone downstairs would also be inebriated, so they would all probably have the same languorous droop within their eyes and hopefully they wouldn’t remember it was her birthday-
Movement in the mirror jolted her out of her thoughts. Tom Riddle had come to stand behind her. His dark eyes pierced her’s within the mirror and he laid a hand on her shoulder. When he spoke, his words sounded like creamy milk chocolate melting on her tongue.
“Are you coming downstairs?”
“Yes,” she replied, taking one last look at herself in the mirror before turning to where Tiberius impatiently stood in the doorway. Her friends and teammates had already joined the actual party downstairs, leaving the three of them.
The Minister of Magic scanned her with imperious gray eyes. “How much have you drank?”
“How much have you drank?” Natalie countered.
Tiberius gave her a look. “The legal limit established in 1912 was half a bottle of Ebulliosus per wizard — or witch.”
“Oh,” Natalie nervously laughed, walking across the room towards the door, Tom following. With every step, the warm tide within her ebbed and flowed, making her giddy. Palms tingling, she rubbed her hands together and briefly wondered where her glass had ended up. “I didn’t know there was a legal limit.”
She heard Tiberius sigh as she walked past him, and she began humming to herself. Ebulliosus was much more fun to be intoxicated on than Firewhiskey. The magical drink rocked her gently in a boat in a quaint little harbor under a caressing summer sun. She heard Tiberius mutter something that sounded like “bloody expensive” to Tom before she stepped out into the hallway.
Pausing there and glancing down, she remembered she was still barefoot.
“Oh well,” she mumbled to herself, as it wasn’t like she would be going outside. Approaching the staircase, she realized how thrilling it would be to walk down the stairs while the waves of Ebulliosus rose and fell within her. A giggle escaped her lips as she took one step down, then another, and another — savoring the rhythmic rocking until she found herself at the bottom staring at all the floating candles adorned with tiny poinsettias.
She liked the poinsettias. She liked the poinsettias a lot. There was something fascinating about them. Perhaps it was their striking aesthetic. Deep red petals and forest green leaves against the pure white wax of the candles. The leaves were very nearly the same color as her dress! Now, there was a clever idea-
“What did you just do?” a voice sliced through her swaying mind and she glanced behind her. There stood Lord Voldemort; the flickering lights of the candles reflecting off the sharp angles of his face, leaving his eyes in darkness, though she could feel his gaze scouring her.
Following the feel of his eyes, she looked down and bared her teeth in a grin. Scarlet poinsettias had threaded themselves into the stitching of the dark green dress she wore, blending into the fabric as though the garment had been woven with them already there. She ran a hand over the one on her upper thigh and laughed. It was the same material as the dress yet looked like a real flower. A sudden desire to show Quinn Bulstrode seized her.
Natalie looked back up at Lord Voldemort. “Finally finished getting ready.”
She could hear his eyes roll as Tiberius strolled past them and remarked, “about time.” The Minister slipped through the ajar door leading to the main function room, leaving the two of them in the dim hallway.
Natalie stared at Tom. “How drunk are you?”
He ignored her question, looped his arm through hers and led her after Tiberius. Stepping into the room was like letting a wave of sensory stimulation crash over her. Natalie winced, blinking briefly before glancing around. A hundred and one different conversations were taking place, and yet lilting notes of a piano drifted through the room as if it was empty. Ebulliosus permeated the air, its scent alone completely intoxicating. The holiday theme had been capitalized upon by most guests — witches twirled about in red, green, silver, and gold, while wizards were clad in similar, though generally darker garb. Magical snow drifted down, piling onto the scattered tables, where it would occasionally be swept off by a sleeve and vanish with a twinkle.
“Slughorn,” Natalie heard Tom mutter and her gaze snapped onto her old Potions professor, who had evidently just spotted them enter the room from where he stood, sampling every hors d'oeuvre on a tray held by a house-elf.
“No,” groaned Natalie, squeezing her eyes shut. “I don’t want to see him.”
A clanging noise, a squeaky yelp, a chuckle from Tom, and she found herself pulled in a different direction. Bewildered, she snapped her eyes open and peered through the crowded room to witness the house-elf banging its head with the emptied serving tray, as a bright orange dipping sauce was now splattered across the velvet slippers of an irate Horace Slughorn, the remains of whatever else had been on the tray scattered all over the floor.
“Be a little less obvious next time, I’d say,” Tom muttered in her ear as he pulled her into a circle of laughing witches and wizards.
“What-” she began to question his meaning before she realized who stood around her. “Neil! Neil Lament, bloody hell!” she crowed the name of her old teammate and launched herself at the redhead for a hug. Laughing, he just managed to catch her — another familiar face grabbing the glass in his hand before it could drop to the floor.
“And Cassie!” yelled Natalie upon seeing that the person who caught Neil’s glass was in fact Cassiopeia Black. “You’re here too!”
“Everyone is,” said Cato Greengrass, another former Slytherin teammate.
“Bloody hell,” breathed Natalie as she untangled herself from Neil and Cassie. Looking about, she realized Cato was right. Lestrange, Dawson, Savanna Rowle, Rosier and Bulstrode, Nott and Selwyn, and Avery were all standing about in a massive circle; Giles Morrison and Jonathan Shaw were nearby, speaking to Alphard and Walburga Black, while Orion and Callidora Black watched them with silly grins on their faces, likely making fun of whatever was being spoken about. Willow Avery, Lloyd’s younger sister, hung at her brother’s elbow, gawking around at the crowd. Abraxas was near the piano, which Melania Malfoy gracefully played. Antonin Dolohov, Seymour Mulciber, and Winky Crockett gathered there as well, with drinks in their hands, laughing about something Dolohov had just said. She even spotted Ignatius and Lucretia (formerly a Black) Prewett speaking with the individual who had asked her for an autograph at the Leaky — Lancelot Prewett. Letting her eyes roam further, she watched redheaded identical twin boys run away from Eugene Dent, clutching pieces of parchment. Two other young boys then ran up to Dent. Natalie recognized the second pair as Vincent and Wesley Crabbe, who had asked for her autograph at Borgin and Burke’s.
“Bloody hell,” repeated Natalie and she giggled as an idea struck. “Raise your hand if you’re related to someone here.”
Nearly everyone within earshot put a hand in the air — just as Horace Slughorn stepped into the scene.
“Oh, are we voting on something? I do love a good democratic conductance of opinions,” the Hogwarts professor patted his rotund belly and snagged a miniature cooked shrimp from the house-elf trying to sneak around Rosier.
“Yes, actually!” exclaimed Natalie, eyes glued to the shrimp in Slughorn’s hand. “We were about to vote on the best dipping sauce for whatever it is you’re eating-”
“I do hope it’s not the one on your shoes, Professor,” Lestrange interjected with a toothy grin. “Else that’d be a shame.”
Slughorn ate up the turning of the conversation towards himself without hesitation, despite it being fairly obvious half the group hid their laughter in their glasses or behind a hand. Natalie took the opportunity to grab Tom Riddle by the arm and duck away from the group, as Slughorn dejectedly proclaimed, “it is a shame, because it was indeed, the tastiest-”
“This is ridiculous,” muttered Natalie as she and Tom wove through the crowd. She thanked Merlin the floating candles only sent a weak light throughout the room, making it easy to avoid being recognized. The two of them slithered through the party, not entirely sure of their destination.
Tom finally slowed as they slunk past Domitia Malfoy, who happened to be in a heated conversation with Melania and Arcturus Black, the parents of Orion and Lucretia, and another witch with dark red hair whom Natalie did not recognize. “Where are you dragging me to?”
“Uh, not sure,” she said, just as her stomach started growling as she accidentally made eye contact with her grandmother, who summoned her immediately.
“Natalie! Come here!” called Domitia Malfoy in a stern voice. She beckoned her granddaughter over with one hand and held the other hand up to the three she was speaking with, pausing their conversation.
Natalie slowly approached, still dragging Lord Voldemort after her.
“So you’ve finally made it downstairs,” Domitia announced, handing her glass off to Melania Black and running a hand through Natalie’s blonde curls, another patting the arms and shoulders of her dress. “What’ve you done to the dress?”
“Er, made it better?” Natalie timidly offered.
“Is that what you’ve been doing upstairs? Did you get that Bulstrode girl to do it for you?”
“No, this was more of a whim,” said Tom, with a smirk on his lips that only Natalie could see as she shot a glare at him. He gave her a polite smile back, the kind she knew was fake, and he bent down slightly to whisper in her ear. “Let go of my hand before you break my fingers.”
Natalie blinked, not having realized she gripped his hand so tight. She released his hand, and he straightened back up, plastering a graceful smile on his face as Domitia had begun introducing him to the Blacks and the witch whom Natalie still hadn’t determined the identity of. She was young enough to have attended Hogwarts recently, and looked like she could be related to some others at the party, but Natalie couldn’t put a finger on when she could have graduated or who she shared blood with.
“-Head Boy at Hogwarts as well, and yet works for my uncle -- on my father’s side -- Caractacus Burke, you know him-”
“Domitia, your granddaughter doesn’t know who I am,” the witch interrupted the Malfoy matriarch and Natalie averted her gaze, realizing she had been staring the whole time. Eyes now stuck on a spot on the floor, she heard Tom chuckle beside her and felt annoyance wash over her grandmother.
“I wouldn’t call that surprising,” Domitia snapped with so much venom, Natalie’s gaze shot back up to observe. “I don’t believe she’s ever met you.”
“Please,” Arcturus Black stepped in with a smooth wave of his hand, more than hinting at his pureblood breeding. “Muriel is the aunt of our Lucretia’s husband, Ignatius Prewett.”
“Oh,” Natalie blinked at the finality in this statement, as if it explained the witch’s impudence for interrupting Domitia Malfoy. “Er, hello, I’m Natalie Malfoy-”
“No need to introduce yourself, everyone already knows who you are,” laughed Muriel Prewett. “I’ve seen you in nearly every copy of the Prophet.”
“Yes, isn’t it amusing how playing for the national team during a Quidditch world cup year does that,” hissed Domitia Malfoy, making Natalie avert her gaze again. She had no desire to become ensnared in whatever bad blood their tones indicated. Stomach rumbling its hunger, her eyes found themselves drawn to the jumble of house-elves holding up serving dishes. And she spotted a familiar figure amongst them.
“Oh, uh, my captain is calling me,” she sank into a little bow to the group of Domitia, the Blacks, and Muriel. “I’ve got to go see what he wants.” And she snatched Tom’s hand again and bolted away, enticed by the scent of food washing over her and making goosebumps appear on her skin.
She didn’t unleash his hand until she popped up beside Eugene Dent, nearly panting from having shot across the large room so quickly. The house-elves let out little yelps as she appeared, several almost dropping the trays of food they bore.
“Bloody hell-” Dent flinched and began coughing, choking on whatever he had just placed in his mouth. “Where — you-”
“Hungry,” she explained, releasing Tom’s hand and snatching up one of the shrimp she had seen Slughorn eating. Finding a tray with the various dipping sauces as Lord Voldemort had the decency to retrieve his wand and mutter a spell to clear the national team captain’s throat.
“Er. . . thanks,” muttered Dent once he could breathe again, glancing at Tom Riddle with a sort of respect and nodding. Then he looked back at his Seeker and watched her shove another piece of shrimp into her mouth. “You would’ve let me die.”
Natalie, in the middle of deciding whether she liked the horseradish or jugenberry sauce better, looked up at Dent and shrugged. Gesturing to Tom with the piece of shrimp in her hand, she drawled, “he had it handled.” She gave her captain a sweet smile, dipped the shrimp into what looked like some sort of mustard-type sauce, and popped it into her mouth. Placing a hand on the house-elf’s head to prevent it from scurrying away, she looked down and stared at the house-elf for a long moment.
“Oh, hi, Jubbal,” she greeted the elf once recognition flushed through the waves of Ebulliosus still rumbling within her. “Please stay, I want to try all these-”
“It obviously would rather you not do that,” Tom finally spoke to point out that the tiny elf was trembling under Natalie’s hand. She stared down, noted the fear within the elf’s huge eyes and sighed, releasing the elf and stepping away. Jubbal scurried off with the dipping sauces and Natalie mournfully watched her go. The other elves were quick to follow.
Dent stared after the elves before looking back at Natalie. “What the-”
“Shut up,” she snapped at Dent before he could get the question out. He held his hands up in defense.
“Nevermind then.”
Voldemort cleared his throat and nodded his head in the direction of an incoming Evan Rosier. “This looks interesting.” A huge grin lit up Rosier’s face, his blond hair looked damp as he approached them, and a few stray flakes of snow (Natalie figured it was real snow given the state of his hair) were scattered along the shoulders of his dress robes. Once within ear shot, he pointed at each of them and mouthed a few words.
Natalie scoffed at his antics, clueless as to what he was trying to communicate. “What the hell is he doing, why can’t he just say whatever it is-”
“Come outside,” both Tom and Dent translated for her at the same time.
“Oh,” she looked between the two of them and raised an eyebrow. A tension passed over the two wizards as each met the other’s gaze. They held eye contact for several minutes, which Natalie found exceptionally amusing. Something about Tom Riddle and Eugene Dent facing off was hilarious to her. Perhaps because she knew that somewhere, buried underneath their pretensions and professionalism, each harbored a simmering jealousy of the other.
By the time she started giggling, Dent broke the stare, looking down at the floor instead. Lord Voldemort smirked, tossing a look at Natalie as Rosier decided to join them.
“Come outside,” he said aloud this time, adding in several eager hand motions. “C’mon, we’re having fun instead of being in this stuffy room-”
Natalie didn’t need any more motivation. She looped her arm through Rosier’s and turned them towards the exit of the room. “Let’s go.”
With a laugh, he guided her through the crowd, Tom and Dent close behind them. They had to duck their heads as Slughorn came dangerously close, but soon escaped out into the freedom of the hallway. Their shoulders all slumped in relaxation once leaving the main room of the party and they shared a look between themselves, collectively breathing a sigh of relief.
“Party too much for you?” came a voice a few paces down the hall. Natalie froze, recognizing the voice immediately. Maybe it was the Ebulliosus distorting reality a bit more. . . .
“Mom?!” she exclaimed, tugging her arm free from Rosier and bolting down the hall to where she’d heard the voice. Looking around frantically but unable to find the source. “Hello?”
“Here,” said the voice, and Natalie snapped her head towards the wall, jaw dropping and heart kicking into overdrive. Illuminated by the floating candles was the portrait of her mother which had always been empty.
Natalie gaped, barely aware the three boys had followed and stood behind her with an air of reverential respect. “What — why are you here?”
“This is my portrait, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I’ve never seen you in it-”
“Happy birthday, dear,” a smile appeared on the painted lips of Theia Malfoy. “And merry Christmas-”
“No!” Natalie growled, the words coming out of her mouth like an unexpected waterfall. Dropping over the cliff before she even knew it. “Don’t say that to me. Don’t remind me. I don’t want to think about you. Or. . . or my father-”
The portrait seemed to darken, the smile disappearing — replaced with solemnity. “I did love your father-” began Theia, but Natalie had already heard enough.
“HE KILLED YOU!” she yelled, taking a step towards the portrait and shaking off the hands that had reached out to grab her. All she could see were her mother’s pale eyes within the frame. Lifeless and haunted. Nothing but oil on alabaster. The portrait wasn’t her mother. Her mother was dead. This was a fraud. A caricature. Just like her father had been. “AND YOU LET HIM! YOU HAD MAGIC AND YOU DID NOTHING-” she never finished her tirade. Arms wrapped around her, dragging her backwards as a loud crack shattered the quiet hallway. The candles blew out with a whoosh, blanketing them in darkness. Natalie felt a rush of air as the frame toppled forward, crashing down to the soft carpet of the hall with an explosive burst that made her eardrums pop. Silence returned, with nothing but her labored breathing to puncture it. There was still an arm, or two, or three, or four wrapped around her, keeping her away from the destroyed frame that now lay on the floor, defeated. She didn’t know if it was Tom, or Dent, or Rosier who held her away from it, or all three. But she didn’t care. She would have leapt onto the frame with the savagery of a wild beast had the arms holding her not begun dragging her away, down the dark hallway.
Someone — it sounded like Rosier — muttered something along the lines of, “er, how about we go have some nice, carefree, fun?”
Next thing she knew, the front doors of the Manor were wrenched open and they piled out into the chilly winter night. Jolted by the cold air, Natalie shivered, blinking and glancing around curiously. Thoughts of her parents slowly melting away as she breathed in the crisp air of the Christmas Eve night. Snow still drifted down from the gray skies, but the wind had picked up, biting at their faces with its blustery temperament. On the manicured front lawn of the manor, romped two familiar wizards. Conjuring creatures out of the piling snow and having them face off against each other, to the delight of those who served as their audience.
“Look who decided to join us!” called a rowdy voice she recognized as Adolphus Lestrange. He controlled an enormous snow dragon that was roaring at another equally large snow dragon controlled by Eric Dawson.
“Got delayed!” shouted Evan Rosier, the wind carrying his voice down to them. Natalie, now eager to watch whatever was going on here, attempted to pull free from the arm still wrapped around her waist. But she was tugged backwards. Looking up, she found Tom Riddle staring down at her, his arm secure around her as if she was liable to fall down. Dent right behind him, gaping at her as though he’d never seen her before.
“Let’s watch,” she insisted, peeling his arm from around her and looping it through hers. She led them across the sheltered porch that ran along the side of the manor to where the group of Quinn Bulstrode, Pamela Selwyn, Savanna Rowle, Zacharias Nott, and Lloyd Avery and his little sister, Willow Avery, stood watching the snow dragon fight. Though sheltered from most of the fury of the elements under the covered porch, the snow and wind still found their way to whip the witches’ hair about and pattern the wizards’ dark dress robes with speckles of white.
The group greeted the new arrivals with whoops and cheers, except Willow, who shyly waved at them. The eleven year old’s face was cherry red and her eyes shone with a strong Ebulliosus-induced glaze.
Quinn greeted Evan with a bear hug, as though they had been parted for ages. She planted a kiss on each of his cheeks, making him blush despite the snow they stood in, before Natalie dropped Tom’s arm and jumped forward, pulling Quinn away from her own boyfriend, remembering what she had wanted to do earlier.
“Quinn, look at this!” she insisted, running a hand over the poinsettias that had magically appeared on her dress and then grabbing Quinn’s hand to do the same. “Feel them!”
“They look real!” Quinn observed in astonishment, dexterously running her fingers over the poinsettias embedded within the dress. “What did you do?”
“Drank a lot of Ebulliosus,” answered Natalie, to the chortles of laughter from Rosier and Nott.
“We all have,” giggled Savanna, her attention, and everyone else’s, quickly drawn back to the snow dragon fight by her boyfriend excitedly calling her name.
“Savanna! Savanna!” shouted Adolphus Lestrange. “Look what I can make mine do!” and he flicked his wand at the conjured snow dragon that towered over him. The creature shivered, reflecting under the gray clouds like blue ice covering a frozen lake, before opening its maw the size of a man and letting loose a stream of icy crystals. Lestrange’s dragon directed them at Dawson’s dragon, which shuddered and coiled under the assault of ice pellets.
“No fair!” Dawson yelled over the shrieking of the wind, which had quickly grown more ferocious. The snow became thicker, no longer the picturesque little flakes that stuck on eyelashes. It darkened the scene for those on the porch, Savanna and Pamela made disappointed noises while Quinn still inspected Natalie’s dress. Though Natalie’s attention had moved to the fight taking place on the front lawn.
Dawson’s dragon roared and shrieked as he held it together with his wand under the attack from Lestrange. The snow and ice that it consisted of rippled and twisted as his magic worked to weave it back together from Lestrange’s ice bolts. The snow beast reared back and spread its enormous wings, battering the heavy snow with the same intensity as the wind itself. It sent a blast of cold air and snow down towards those watching, making everyone duck. Quinn, not paying attention to the fight, was thrown off balance and slipped, gripping onto Natalie’s dress to steady herself.
Natalie yelped as Quinn nearly dragged her downwards — Tom managing to pull her away from Bulstrode as Rosier grabbed his girlfriend before she could fall to the ground.
“Pay attention, Quinn!” scolded Pamela, herself hiding behind Nott as the dragon blasted them with wind.
“I was!” Bulstrode snapped back, only causing Selwyn to scoff in disbelief.
“Both of you be quiet!” hissed Savanna Rowle, her glazed eyes remained on Lestrange. She smiled as he waved at her and took a dramatic bow. “Isn’t he bloody brilliant?”
“Sure,” replied Dent, the first word he’d spoken since following them outside. He stood behind the others, as close to the wall of the Manor as he could get. His pale eyes observing everyone and everything until he glanced over at Natalie. She raised an eyebrow at him, making him spit out what he was thinking. “But I’ve a feeling this could go very wrong,”
“Your feeling would not be incorrect,” replied Lord Voldemort in a cold voice, Dent threw a nervous look at him, his eyes then running over the arm still wrapped around Natalie. He nodded to himself, as if satisfied Tom Riddle could keep his Seeker safe.
“Look!” squealed Willow Avery, drawing all eyes to her, as none of them had heard her speak that night. The young witch had become captivated by the snow dragon fight, she hung onto the handrail of the porch and gazed down at the conjured dragons in awe. Lloyd hovered right behind his younger sister. They all followed her pointing finger to watch Dawson figure out how to make his dragon breathe snow or ice or whatever it was Lestrange had just done.
Dawson’s dragon arched its long neck and dropped its jaw open. Pamela Selwyn made a noise of admiration for the detail that went into the conjuration of the snow dragon. Its mouth was full of sharpened pieces of ice, ranging from the size of a man’s hand to the size of a golden Galleon, serving as glittering teeth for the creature. They were ordered symmetrically, the largest towards the front, and tapering off as they ran back towards the dragon’s white throat.
“Adolphus’s looks better,” said Savanna, picking up on Pamela’s commendation. “His has scales made of ice. Eric’s only has teeth made of ice, the rest is just snow.”
“Yes, just snow,” repeated Nott with a considerable degree of sarcasm as this time Bulstrode complimented the detail that went into the conjuration of Dawson’s dragon.
“Adolphus’s is better,” Savanna stubbornly defended her boyfriend as Dawson’s dragon released a torrent of ice upon Lestrange’s. “Watch.”
Lestrange flicked his wand up at his dragon and it let out a roar. Shattering the air like thunder, it seemed to shake the Manor itself. Those watching collectively bent or reached out to grab something to steady themselves. Savanna and Willow giggled at this. The snow and wind had grown so thick, only the hulking outlines of the snow dragons could be seen. They watched as Lestrange’s dragon charged towards Dawson’s with a deafening howl.
Natalie, overcome with a sudden prickly feeling, leaned around Tom Riddle to give Dent a look. He met her eyes with a grim smile.
“Yeah, I think you’re gonna be right,” she announced. The instant the last word left her mouth, a resounding boom rattled across the front lawn as the dragons collided in an explosion of enchanted ice and snow. A shockwave seemed to roll off the collision with the intensity of an earthquake — making Bulstrode and Rosier fall into each other as Selwyn and Nott slipped to the ground. Savanna and Willow threw themselves onto the railing, frantically clinging to the slippery wood as Lloyd dropped to his knees, covering his head with his arms. Tom pulled Natalie against the side of the manor that Dent squeezed himself against.
Some instinct within Natalie told her to fling a hand up as both her boyfriend and her captain gripped her as if she would fly away. It was not a moment too late, as after the initial shockwave, a blast of freezing air blew out from the dragons. The front lawn was a white haze as the wind screamed outwards; the magic holding the dragons together snapped like an icicle that had become too heavy. Natalie vaguely heard a warning shout from the two wizards down on the lawn before snow and ice shot out towards the audience, pelting them with the ice they had been admiring moments ago.
Whatever her hand had done when she flung it out prevented the sharp ice and snow from hitting her, Tom, or Dent. But once the onslaught of snow, ice, and wind died away, she quickly realized the shield magic she had used did not extend beyond them.
A scream shattered the air with the same velocity as the snow and ice. Willow Avery fell from the railing she had desperately clung onto and dropped to the ground beside her brother, who had been huddled on the ground himself. Natalie lowered her hand as a plethora of curse words came from around those who had been watching a dragon fight only minutes ago as they took in the situation.
“Willow? Willow!” yelped Avery, climbing to his knees and leaning over his sister with concern. She lay motionless, eyes closed and face pale as blood spurted out of a large gash on her forehead — it melted into the accumulated snow around her, turning it a gory scarlet. The perpetrator, a large piece of ice that had served as a tooth for one of the dragons, lay nearby. Red blood stained the blunt end of it.
“Oh my Merlin!” shrieked Savanna, who had been right beside Willow during the sudden storm of ice and managed to have much better luck. She dropped to her knees on Willow’s other side and surveyed the wound. “Willow? Willow, are you alright?”
Nott and Rosier scrambled over to observe, leaving Selwyn to comfort Bulstrode, who had turned pasty white at the sight of all the blood and looked ready to vomit.
“She got knocked out,” said Nott, wincing at the piece of ice that had just been one of the teeth they had been admiring. “Cut bad too.”
Bulstrode moaned, “I’m gonna be sick,” and flung herself at the railing, leaning over it to unleash the contents of her stomach to the snow below. Selwyn made a disgusted sound, but pulled Quinn’s hair away from her face anyway.
“I’m going to kill them,” Avery announced with a brutality none of them had ever heard. And he stood up with what could only be described as murder on his face. “One of you take her inside to my parents.”
“Um. . .” mumbled Dent as Natalie’s jaw dropped from the sudden change in energy coming from Avery, who was usually their quiet, passive follower. She even felt Tom grow unnerved beside her when Avery drew his wand and stepped around the unconscious body of his sister.
“Lloyd, mate,” Rosier jumped in front of Avery, blocking his path and speaking with as rational of a voice he could muster. “C’mon, let’s all get her inside and we can-”
Avery didn’t even look at Rosier. Instead he pushed past him, giving him a good shove on the shoulder that sent him stumbling into Nott, who managed to steady him.
“He’s going to kill Adolphus,” whispered Savanna, eyes wide in terror. She still kneeled in the snow on the porch, frozen in shock and fear. “And maybe Eric too-”
“Zack,” Lord Voldemort cleared his throat to take control of the situation as Avery disappeared off the porch and into the snow and wind that was no longer magical, but nearing blizzard proportions nonetheless. “Take her inside.”
“Right,” Nott moved around a shocked Rosier. He leaned down and gently scooped up the unconscious, bloodied figure of Willow Avery. The girl’s skin was growing paler by the moment as blood continued to flow out of the head wound.
“We’ll help,” volunteered Pamela Selwyn, to Bulstrode’s displeasure. Quinn had stopped vomiting but looked nauseous at the sight of the bloodied girl. She grudgingly followed Pamela’s lead and the two hastily moved to clear the piles of snow from Nott’s path and open the doors leading inside.
“Evan, go with them and take Savanna. Try to avoid a scene,” Voldemort ordered. Rosier gave himself a little shake and moved to obey.
Savanna rose to her feet, whipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and straightening her long mint green dress. She gave Tom Riddle a stubborn look. “No, Lloyd could kill Adolphus! I’m going after him,” and she stepped forward to pursue Avery.
Natalie felt Tom’s fingers tighten in their grip on her waist as his anger blossomed from Savanna’s impetuousness. Rosier flashed a look at Lord Voldemort, sensing his anger as well. He stepped in front of Savanna, not willing to be bowled over by a second person that day. Rosier held a hand towards Savanna and gave her a pleading look.
“C’mon, Savanna, they can handle it fine.”
“You’ll only be in the way,” Dent spoke up with the seriousness that came with being the captain of the national Quidditch team. It was this that made Savanna pause. She glanced at Dent, then at Natalie, who gave her a sharp look. Shuddering, she finally met Lord Voldemort’s eyes and dropped her gaze to the ground and then her hand into Rosier’s after only a few seconds.
Rosier led her inside and Lord Voldemort finally moved. Pushing Natalie towards Dent, he stalked off after Avery, just as a shout could be heard over the wind and snow. Dent grabbed Natalie by the arm and pulled her towards him as she made to follow Tom.
“Let go of me,” she grunted, trying to wiggle away from him. “I gotta help.”
Dent snatched hold of her other arm and made his grip vice-like, holding her steady right in front of him. “If he wanted you to help don’t you think he would have taken you with him and not handed you off to me?”
“Shut up,” she snapped. “Let go of me!”
He continued as if he didn’t hear her demands or feel her struggling. “I mean, it’s obvious the bloke doesn’t like me at all, so leaving you with me means he really doesn't want you to follow. Where do you even nab a boyfriend like that?”
“School,” she hissed, putting her focus into wriggling out of his grasp. She wasn’t willing to try any of her magic tricks on the captain. They couldn’t afford an injury to either of them — they had a match coming up shortly, and the weather was dangerous enough already.
But she also very much wanted to go down and see what was happening on the lawn. Craning her neck while still trying to escape Dent’s grasp, she squinted across the grounds. It was useless. The snow had turned to white-out conditions; the wind flung her curls all around, forcing her to bring her eyes almost to a close. She managed to pick up on shouting and what sounded like curses being tossed around.
Natalie whipped her head back around to stare up at Dent. She became absorbed in observing his height. He was taller than her, tall enough to be accurately described as tall, but not as tall as Tom Riddle. A devious plan popped into her head based on her precise calculations of just how tall Dent was. The second she knew it would succeed, she was moving to execute it.
Using his grip on her wrists and hands, she yanked him towards her so she ended up pinned against his chest. She felt his muscles freeze from the contact and watched his pupils blow wide (as well as noting for the first time that he also had a slight glaze over his eyes from the Ebulliosus, so she would have to tease him about breaking his own “no drinking” rule at some point after this).
She leaned up onto her tiptoes, remembering that she was still barefoot for the first time since coming outside into the snowstorm, and pressed her lips on his in a sudden, aggressive kiss, going so far as to sneak her tongue out and run it over his lips.
It had the same result as if she had cast a charm. His hands unclenched their grip on her in his astonishment and she freely stepped back, now unhindered to run after whatever was occurring between Avery, Lestrange, Dawson, and Lord Voldemort.
Before she could turn away from Dent, she felt another hand on her shoulder. It spun her around with a violent force and she found herself staring at Lord Voldemort himself. She was barely aware of Lestrange and Dawson behind him, both with streaks of blood on their face and in their hair, and a satisfied-looking Avery, who stepped into the Manor to find his sister.
The look on Voldemort’s face made her own blood run as cold as the weather had become.
“What,” he began in a dangerously slow voice, “are you doing?”