Envy Engenders Spite

“MALFOY!”

“WHAT?”

“WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Dent hovered above the goal posts as they enacted real game-play at practice using enchanted dummies that would turn invisible in the middle of play. It made flying ten times harder — you never knew when an invisible dummy would come knock you off your broom or steal the Quaffle right out of your hand. Or, like Leonard Cadwallader — snatch the Beater’s bat from your hand and hit you over the head with it. 

Natalie had come to a rest right on top of the hoops Dent guarded. The heels of her feet kicking at the goal posts as she sat — much too casually — on her broom. 

“I’m sitting here,” she called down to the captain as the Pottingers had the Quaffle stolen from them by an invisible dummy. “Look out, the dummies are coming.”

Dent turned — only the Quaffle could be seen streaking towards them. Ricky Webster smacked a Bludger at it, hitting the dummy — which briefly turned visible before vanishing once again. It was enough time for a Pottinger to snatch it back up. 

Dent returned to barking at her. “Why aren’t you looking for the Snitch?”

“I was looking for the Snitch!” she snapped, eyes scanning the stadium. “But I don’t think you released it.”

“I did,” he said.

“You’re lying,” she said.

“I am not!” he yelled up at her. 

“Yes, you are!” she shot back, “where is it then?”

“It’s your job to find it!”

“I can’t find it!”

“You’re a shitty Seeker then! We’re never going to get to the Cup Final if you just decide you can’t find the Snitch!”

“Where did you put it?” she demanded as the Pottingers sunk a goal on the opposing end of the stadium. 

“What do you mean?” Dent asked innocently. 

Natalie glared at him. “I know you did something with it. Something stupid, no doubt.”

“Are you accusing me of being an unfair captain?”

“No, I’m accusing you of being bloody annoying.”

“I should make you run laps for that.”

“Aren’t we going to do that anyway?”

“Well, yeah, tomorrow-”

“Where’d you put the fucking Snitch, Dent?”

“I can’t tell you where the Snitch is, Malfoy,” he said as though this was a crime worthy of Azkaban, but she caught his slight glance towards the stands surrounding the stadium.

“Did you trap it in the stands?” she demanded.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“Just trying to give my Seeker some. . . enrichment.”

“Enrichment,” she scoffed, “it would be enriching if I was allowed to go somewhere other than this stadium to put up with you dunderheads every day!”

“That’s your own fault, I heard.”

“Shut up!” she flew off towards the stands to search for wherever he had hidden the Snitch, grumbling to herself all the while. 

It took her nearly an hour to find the Snitch. After Dent shouted something about how she could never be too careful where she looked, she had to abandon her broom and scour through the stands on foot, checking on top of, around, and below every individual seat. She was furious she hadn’t brought her wand out to practice that day — though Dent probably would have done something even more absurd at tomorrow’s practice if she attempted to use a Summoning Charm.

Practice was over and her teammates were hollering a mixture of encouragement and disparagement (mostly the latter) at her from the pitch when she finally found the tiny golden ball, stuck under a random seat halfway down the stands. Whatever sticking charm held it fast broke when she flung out her hand and snatched it up. 

Needless to say, Natalie was in a very sour mood when they marched off the pitch and into the dressing room, sprinting to hurry out before her teammates, in spite of Dent’s comments that she “had no need to rush because she literally had nowhere to go.”

She was surprised to step out of the team locker room to find Adolphus Lestrange and Eric Dawson, wearing their sharp Triple I robes along with goofy grins, waiting for her instead of Antonin Dolohov. 

“What, did Antonin get bored of babysitting me?” she asked as they both crushed her into a hug. 

“The Minister needed him for something else, apparently,” said Lestrange once she swatted them away, “so we volunteered.”

“How nice of you,” she teased, her mood immediately lifting upon seeing the two troublemakers, who’d been traveling for Triple I most of the year. Lestrange slung a hand around her shoulders and steered them towards the back exit. 

“We’ve got big news, actually,” said Dawson, an enormous grin on his face. “Two things-”

“I’m engaged, as you know!” Lestrange burst out, unable to stay quiet. “I proposed to Savanna-”

“Months ago,” said Dawson.

“-and she said yes, obviously, because why wouldn’t she-”

“Poor girl,” said Dawson.

“-and, here’s the important part to know: we’ve picked a date-”

“Like they’re in a rush or something,” continued Dawson, the full, gray eye of the Triple I logo winked mischievously each time he spoke. 

“-so save the date because it’s gonna be a Christmas wedding-”

“Ruins the holiday, if you ask me,” said Dawson.

Lestrange stepped away from Natalie to fling a punch at Dawson’s shoulder. “Can you shut it!”

He turned back to Natalie to find her doubled-over, laughing at the two of them. Straightening up, she grinned. “You’d think Eric is a bit jealous of Savanna, marrying his best mate and all.”

“He is!” exclaimed Lestrange while Dawson scoffed dramatically. 

“Please! If anything, Savanna should be jealous of me. I’m going to be the best man!”

“Aw,” Natalie patted Dawson’s arm and gave him a hug. “The best man! Look at you, I’m so proud of you.”

Lestrange spluttered, “I’m the one getting married here! It’s my wedding!”

“Oh, yes,” Natalie detached herself from Dawson. “I must remember to owl Savanna to let her know I’ll be present to see her married.”

“What about me!” whined Lestrange, waving his hands about. “I’m the bloke marrying her!”

“Hm, that’s right,” she surveyed Lestrange with a critical eye while Dawson tried to contain his laughter. “I’ll be sure to wish her good luck too.”

“Ugh!” Lestrange sounded terribly offended. “You’re awful!”

“Thanks,” she laughed and gestured at the brick wall ahead of them. “Are we leaving?”

“Oh, yeah, hold on a second,” Lestrange’s tone quickly changed, he shot an excited look at Dawson, who pulled out a tiny vial from his robes and held it up to her. It was filled with a thick, royal blue potion.

She narrowed her eyes between the two of them. “What is that?”

“Polyjuice Potion,” whispered Dawson, sounding very pleased with himself.

“My fiancée was kind enough to donate one of her beautiful blonde hairs for this little excursion,” said Lestrange as Dawson handed the vial to her. 

“Excursion,” she repeated blankly before she gave them an enormous grin as understanding broke over her. “Bloody hell! We can go wherever I want?”

“Wherever you want,” nodded Dawson.

“No one knows about this, I assume?” she asked.

“Nope,” Lestrange looked devilish. “But we figured you’d like a change of scenery.”

She lunged at them both for another bear hug, squeezing them as hard as she could while they laughed. “I love you idiots.”

“Aw,” they both crooned.

“Stop that though,” she said with disgust, stepping away from them and glancing around the tunnel. The Pottingers had stepped out of the locker room and were heading down the other end of the tunnel. She stuck the vial of Polyjuice Potion in her pocket. “Okay, first. . . the Aurors need to see me leave. . . .”

“On it,” said Lestrange, and he looped his arm through her’s on one side while Dawson took the other. Trying not to giggle, she allowed them to steer her through the brick wall and to the back entrance of the stadium. Only Keefe Jameson stood outside. The Auror twirled his wand around his fingers and looked incredibly bored.

“You can head out now,” Natalie said with a quick smile. “We’re all done.”

Relief flashed across his face. “Brilliant,” he said, glancing between Lestrange and Dawson in confusion for a moment before his eyes landed on the Triple I logo on their robes. He nodded to both of them and drew his wand through the air to allow them to step through the protective enchantments around the stadium. They slipped past, trying to contain their laughter.

“Okay, I’ve a plan,” she said quietly, “apparate into the back room of Borgin and Burkes.”

“Are you going to take the potion?” asked Dawson.

“When we get there,” she said, tilting her head back to point out that Keefe Jameson was watching them leave.

“Got it,” said Dawson with a grin. 

“And if someone’s in the back room of Borgin and Burkes?” asked Lestrange.

“Makes this excursion all the more fun,” she said and he looked elated. Laughing, they unlooped their arms and turned to disapparate away.

Appearing with a soft crack, Natalie quickly looked around the back storage room of Borgin and Burkes. No one else was present. The room was dimly lit by a few rust-eaten sconces with flickering candles, throwing an eerie light over the motley collection of objects stuffed onto rickety wooden shelves. A stuffed head of a wrinkled house-elf glared at her from the wall, and an all-black suit of armor holding a heavy crossbow near the curtain leading out into the shop slowly turned its head with a harsh squeal to look at her with empty eyes.

With two small pops, Lestrange and Dawson apparated beside her. They looked around the room, first with disappointment that they had not scared the living daylights out of old Burke, then with curiosity as several objects caught their attention.

“Blimey,” whistled Lestrange, leaning over to study an enormous axe that had what Natalie was sure were blood stains all over it. “This axe was used by Greer the Godless to chop off the heads of thirteen giants. . . wicked. . . .”

“Yeah, well, this candlestick melts all the candle wax into your skin until it seeps into your bloodstream and slowly poisons you,” Dawson pointed to a rather innocent looking golden candlestick.

“I didn’t plan for this to be a shopping trip,” she hissed at the boys. “I just want to get ice cream.”

Lestrange gestured at her. “Then why do you still look like Natalie Malfoy?” 

“Shh,” she hushed him, retrieving the vial of Polyjuice Potion from her robes. Before she could remove the stopper, the black curtain leading to the front of the shop was thrust aside and Tom Riddle burst into the back room, his wand pointing at them.

Lestrange and Dawson instinctively flung their hands up in the air. Natalie just stared at him. Upon realizing who was snooping about in the back room of Borgin and Burkes, he lowered his wand. 

“What are you all doing here?”

Lestrange and Dawson dropped their hands, and Lestrange pointed at Natalie. “Her idea.”

“What,” she scoffed, pulling the stopper off the potion and taking a sniff only to grimace. “This excursion thing was your idea.”

“Excursion?” repeated Tom, now looking at the vial in her hands. 

“Yeah,” she said, tilting it back and swallowing the Polyjuice Potion in one gulp, trying not to gag at the taste. The world turned hazy around her as her insides felt like they were being smashed all together, her bones and muscles pulled apart and rearranged, and her skin seemed to swim over it all like a thick stew. 

When the transformation was complete, she pocketed the empty vial, ran a hand through the golden blonde hair of Savanna Rowle, and looked around at the three boys. “How do I look?”

“Disgusting,” said Dawson.

“Gorgeous,” said Lestrange.

“Idiotic,” said Voldemort.

Natalie looked at Adolphus and raised her — or Savanna’s — eyebrows. “Are you going to tolerate these insults to your fiancée?”

“Fiancée?” said Tom, looking over at Lestrange.

Lestrange grinned like a little boy. “Savanna and I are engaged. Wedding is this Christmas.”

“Glad to see you didn’t go with August fifth,” said Voldemort with a snort.

“Adolphus!” snapped Natalie, “you were going to plan your wedding on the same day as the Cup Final?! What’s wrong with you?”

“You know, Savanna doesn’t usually talk to me like that. She’s actually nice to me,” Lestrange crossed his arms while Tom Riddle laughed to himself. “You’re going to do a terrible job at selling this.”

“All I want is a butterbeer frappe,” she said, “and then let’s go bother Evan and Zack at the Ministry.”

“Savanna Rowle can’t just walk into the Ministry to bother my dad’s favorite employees,” sighed Dawson. “Natalie Malfoy could. But not Adolphus’s fiancée.”

Natalie looked between Dawson and Voldemort. The latter raised his eyebrows as though agreeing with this statement.

“I guess you’re right,” she muttered, very much disappointed with this whole excursion now. 

“Evan and Zack are at the Malfoy Manor right now, anyway,” said Lestrange. “Melania invited Cygnus and Druella over for tea and they dropped by too.”

Natalie slowly turned to look between Lestrange and Dawson. “Of all days to pick to go on an excursion, you two picked the worst day. We should just go to the Manor, seeing as everyone is there.”

“It should also be noted that Savanna Rowle would be at Hogwarts right now,” said Voldemort, who now looked incredibly amused by the entire situation. “Why would she be wandering about Diagon Alley at noon. . . on a Wednesday. . . in mid-March?”

Infuriated, Natalie picked up the closest thing to her, which happened to be a dusty old pillow, and flung it across the room. It hit Lestrange in the chest and sent him flying backwards — with much more force than she had expected to come from a pillow. He crashed into a shelf holding a collection of delicate china plates with roses painted on them. The entire shelf collapsed down onto him.

“Do you have any thinking skills?” she yelled, “besides just doing what sounds like fun?”

The delicate china plates and the dusty old pillow were apparently not what they appeared to be. Instead of breaking upon impact, the china came to life. Quivering and glowing with an ominous yellow light, they rose into the air and spun about as what had looked like painted roses turned into actual thorns that sprung up out of the plates and waved threateningly about. The pillow, meanwhile, was doing its utmost to suffocate Lestrange, clinging to his face and wrapping around his neck and head as he struggled with it. Dawson leapt over to help his mate, shooting a spell at the pillow which made its goose down fall out until Lestrange could peel it away from his face and gasp for breath.

There was silence in the back room as everyone stared at the floating plates with waving rose thorns. Natalie let out a hysterical laugh at how disastrous this excursion had already become — and the china plates launched themselves at Lestrange and Dawson, doing their best to tear open as much flesh as possible with their thorns as the boys screamed bloody murder and started shooting spells off with reckless abandon. Flashes of light bounced around the room, destroying more artifacts. Natalie flung herself to the floor as one ricocheted off the stuffed house-elf head and struck the black suit of armor behind her with a resounding gong. 

Voldemort stepped forward, pointed his wand at the attacking china and muttered a spell. Instantly, the china dropped out of the air and hit the ground, shattering to pieces and losing whatever murderous sentience it possessed. Natalie cautiously stood back up to catch a glance of Lestrange and Dawson — panting and covered in numerous cuts — before her senses darkened and she dropped back to the floor just as the black suit of armor lifted its crossbow and fired a barbed arrow towards her. It sailed over her head and embedded itself in the stuffed house-elf’s nose on the opposing wall.

Silence returned within the back room and Natalie poked her head up to look at Tom Riddle. He shot another spell at the suit of armor and it seemed to deflate, its helmet falling to rest on its cuirass and its bow dropped back to its side.

“I take it Burke isn’t working today, then,” she said when he walked towards where she sat on the floor, annoyance oozing all around him.

“Lucky for you,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Was this your intention for coming here? Destroying the place?”

“No,” she said sheepishly and gestured to the tiny door on the far wall that led out to Knockturn Alley. “Just needed to not be seen while taking the Polyjuice Potion somewhere with a back door.”

“You couldn’t have done that anywhere else?”

“Well, maybe I wanted to see you.”

“How touching. Almost as endearing as destroying my shop.”

“Your shop? If anything it’s my shop. Burke made a fortune selling my team posters and you know it.”

“Get up,” he said, glaring down at her. “You already look idiotic. You don’t have to look even more so on the floor.”

She rolled to her feet and realized that Savanna was a bit taller than her normal stature. She grinned at Tom from this new height, and was delighted to find that it infuriated him. 

A loud coughing drew their attention away from glaring at the other. Lestrange and Dawson stood in a pile of broken china and limp goose feathers. They’d healed any minor injuries they’d sustained from the assault, though Lestrange’s hair looked wild from the tussle with the pillow. 

“No offense,” Lestrange began in a small voice, pointing between Natalie, who still looked like his fiancée, and Lord Voldemort. They were inches from one another and the tension was palpable between them. “But this is terrifying and I don’t like it. Also-”

“How much trouble are we in?” Dawson finished for him. 

“Well, this whole thing is Adolphus’s fault,” said Natalie.

“What?” Lestrange’s jaw dropped, “you threw the pillow that tried to kill me!”

“I wouldn’t’ve had to do that had you put a little more thinking into your plan for this excursion!”

“This bloody excursion was Eric’s idea!” Lestrange pointed at Dawson, who looked thunderstruck and pointed right back at him.

“The Polyjuice Potion was your idea!” 

“You made the potion!”

“You got the hair from Savanna!”

There was a loud bang as Lord Voldemort slashed his wand through the air and they fell silent, now looking guilty.

“Enough,” he said coldly. “This can be fixed-”

Natalie dug out the velvet pouch of gold she always carried on her since the time she found herself without any in Diagon Alley and held it out to Tom Riddle. He fell silent, staring at it in confusion. She waved her wand and the broken china and feathers vanished. 

“Just tell Burke I bought them,” she said with a shrug. “Is he going to complain?”

“No,” said Tom slowly, taking the pouch and weighing it in his hand. “Definitely not.”

“And also,” the silly grin on her face made him give her a suspicious look. She pointed at the suit of black armor that had almost shot an arrow straight through her. “I actually want to buy this stupid thing.”

Tom stared at her. “Why?”

“It explains that,” she pointed at the arrow in the house-elf. “And I just think it’s neat.”

“I think it’s bloody brilliant,” Lestrange tossed out his opinion.

“Engagement gift, then? If you’d like it,” she grinned at Savanna Rowle’s future husband.

Lestrange placed a hand over his heart and looked lovestruck. “My own fiancée giving me an engagement gift. . . .”

Natalie slapped a hand to her face and pulled on some of the golden hair — it was much more sunny than her usual platinum. “Bloody hell — how long is this going to last? Do we have time to go to Fortescue’s?”

Dawson checked his watch. “You should have at least thirty more minutes. But what about how Savanna is supposed to be at school?”

“Ugh!” Natalie groaned and sank back to the floor. “Why did I agree to this?”

“Because you’re bored,” said Tom, shooting her a look as though this ought to have been obvious. “Get off the floor.”

Instead she settled back to lay down on the cold stone floor, sprawling her limbs all about and closing her eyes. “Eric!” she called, “go get me a butterbeer frappe. I’ll stay here until I don’t look like Savanna.”

“Get me one too,” demanded Lestrange, “seeing as my bestman didn’t get me an engagement gift-”

“I have,” Dawson scoffed and Natalie heard him moving through the room towards the exit. “I was just making you wait.”

“Oh,” Lestrange sounded touched. “I didn’t know-”

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point of gifts, you idiot,” said Dawson, “they’re a surprise.”

Both Dawson and Lestrange headed out, with Lestrange making cooing noises at his best mate and best man. Natalie opened her eyes to find Tom Riddle standing over her, looking unimpressed.

“Are you just going to lay there?”

“Probably,” she said.

“Borgin should be coming back any minute.”

“Ah, Erasmus,” she sighed, “he’s always a delight.”

“He’s terrified of you.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Rolling up to her feet, she stepped over to peek around the heavy curtain leading to the front of the shop. 

“Are there any customers here?” she asked.

“Obviously not,” he replied, walking through the curtain and into the shop. “We’re closed.”

She followed him out. “Then why are you here?”

“I’m trying to break the enchantment on this,” he gestured to a tiny jewelry box sitting on the counter. It was made of a highly polished dark wood and had curling silver runes engraved on each of its drawers. “It’s been locked for the forty years its been here. Burke is convinced it contains something incredibly valuable to wizardkind, but hasn’t bothered letting me know what’s inside and refuses to sell it, which is why I suspect he might be somewhat telling the truth.”

“Oh, so you’re not supposed to be trying to open it then,” she laughed and jumped up to sit cross-legged on the counter; her favorite thing to do in the shop. “Have you tried alohomora?”

“Obviously,” he rolled his eyes. 

“Hm,” she stared at it intently for a moment before flinging out a hand and knocking it to the floor in a manner not unlike a petty feline. It fell with a heavy clunk. She peered down at it and frowned. It hadn’t opened. 

“Did you actually think that would work?” asked Voldemort.

“Yeah,” she admitted.

He sighed and picked the jewelry box up to return it to the counter, Natalie leaning over his arm to inspect it for cracks the entire time. 

“If you’re going to act like a cat, just transform,” he said, pushing her away. When his hand touched her shoulder, he paused. Setting the jewelry box back down he placed a hand on her knee with the same manner in which one would determine the softness of a fabric.

“Stay still,” he said.

“What’re you doing-”

He moved his hand from her knee to her shoulder to her cheek before pulling it back as though she had said something offensive.

“It’s. . . dulled,” he said it like this was a personal affront to him. 

She stared at him. “What?” 

“Your energy,” he scowled and gestured to her. “The Polyjuice Potion must be affecting it somehow.”

“Well, this technically isn’t my body,” she glanced down to study the lines of Savanna Rowle’s palms.

“Oh, really?” his sarcasm was ruthless. “Is that how Polyjuice Potion works?”

“Shut up,” she said, trying to tug open the drawers of the jewelry box one by one. 

“Do you think everyone who’s come across this hasn’t tried that?”

“You never know,” she shrugged but then looked up at him and paused. “Are you just going to stare at me like I’ve done something awful?”

“Yes,” he said, gesturing at her again. “I don’t like this.”

“What, me sitting on the counter?”

“Stop acting ignorant. The Polyjuice Potion.”

“I don’t like it either.”

“Then why did you drink it?”

“I wanted to go somewhere that isn’t the stadium or the Manor.”

“You’re bored.”

She sighed and narrowed her eyes at him. “Maybe.”

He gave her a triumphant smirk as there was a noise in the back room.

“Borgin’s back,” she said unconsciously.

Tom pushed her hands off the jewelry box and carried it off into the shop, returning it to wherever he got it from. Natalie turned towards the entrance to the back room and prepared herself for Borgin’s arrival.

Erasmus Borgin, wearing black robes and a scowl, ducked around the curtain and froze upon seeing her sitting on the counter. His hand flashed to his pocket and his pale eyes narrowed. 

“Who are you?”

“It’s me, you dolt,” she began, but then remembered she did not look like herself at all. She promptly decided she hated Polyjuice Potion.

Borgin drew his wand and pointed it at her. “Pardon me?”

“Are you normally in the habit of drawing your wand on pureblood witches?” she crossed her arms and straightened her back. “I’ll have you know I’m Frederick Rowle’s daughter and the fiancée of Adolphus Lestrange!”

The surnames made Borgin lower his wand, but only slightly. His voice was polite but still contained an underlying sneer. “How did you enter this shop? We’re closed at the moment.”

“Your hours are a little ridiculous, don’t you think?” Natalie, pretending to be Savanna though knowing full-well the actual Savanna Rowle would never behave in such a manner, said pompously. “What, do you and Burke just close the shop down whenever you feel like it?”

Borgin hesitated, finally pocketing his wand, then said, “well, yes-”

Tom Riddle popped back up from returning the jewelry box to its spot within the shop. Looking over at him, Borgin pointed between him and Natalie. “Did you let her in?”

“No,” said Tom without a hint of emotion.

“So you really just close the shop whenever you feel like it?” continued Natalie, she found Borgin’s bewilderment fabulously entertaining.

“Is that my fiancée’s voice I hear?” Lestrange ducked around the curtain, Dawson right behind him, both clutching two ice cream frappes each. Borgin jumped at their sudden appearance, his wand pointing at these new intruders.

“Who are you and how did you get in here?” Borgin’s gaze drifted to the Triple I logo on their robes and his wand lowered.

“I’m Adolphus,” said Lestrange casually, “Adolphus Lestrange.”

“Eric Dawson,” said Dawson, taking a sip from what looked like a chocolate peanut butter frappe. “Is there a problem here?”

Borgin ignored the question. “You two work for Triple I?”

Lestrange made a big show of looking at the logo on his, and then Dawson’s robes, while Dawson laughed into his frappe. “Yeah, looks like we do.”

“Ah,” gasped Natalie, leaning forward and clutching the edges of the counter she still sat on. Her body grew warm and tingly as the Polyjuice started wearing off. Her vision blurred and her head began pounding — she rolled off the counter and crouched on the floor as her skin crawled, her insides swam, and a tidal wave seemed to rush through her. She blinked until her eyes could focus and everything within her seemed to settle back to normal. It was like peeling off sweaty robes — she suddenly felt much better without even realizing how uncomfortable she’d been.

Natalie climbed to her feet and grinned. Everyone had fallen silent as she morphed back into herself. Tom moved towards her and snatched up her hand as though checking her pulse. A look of satisfaction crossed his face and Natalie had the distinct feeling he would have snogged her right there had the others not been present. 

“I was joking, actually,” she told Borgin, who was now staring at her in horror. “I’m not Adolphus’s fiancée.”

“Yeah, she’s not pretty enough to marry me,” teased Lestrange. He stepped forward and handed over the butterbeer frappe. Natalie shook Tom away from her to eagerly accept the ice cream. 

“Yeah, that’s why Eric’s marrying you — because he’s prettier than me,” she remarked, making Dawson choke on his frappe and turn bright red. “Congrats on the engagement, Eric. Though good luck putting up with this idiot.”

Borgin looked around at them all, spluttering. “What — what are you all doing here?” His eyes dropped to the counter behind Natalie and he visibly paled. Natalie turned to find that the counter she had been sitting on when the Polyjuice Potion wore off had black scorch marks all over its surface. 

Natalie drew her wand and tapped the counter. A thin wooden surface plopped over the counter and seamlessly attached itself to the top, hiding the marks. Pocketing her wand, she turned back and smiled. “Right, well, we’ve got a tea party to crash. There’s a suit of armor I want that I’ll be picking up. . . at some point. Do tell Burke that, won’t you?”

Borgin stared at her, flabbergasted. “Er, that’s not for sale-”

“Oh, dodgy,” she hummed, looking him in the eye. “It is now.”

“It is now. . .?” he slowly repeated.

“It is now,” she said again.

“It is now,” he said with a nod. His eyes drifted to Tom Riddle as if seeing him for the first time. “What are you doing here, Tom? We’re closed.”

Tom’s eyes flew to Natalie. She gave him a toothy grin and he plucked the butterbeer frappe from her grip and took a sip. Making a face at the flavor, he handed it back to her. As if cued, Dawson stepped forward and held out the second frappe he had to Tom. Taking a sip of this one, he seemed much more pleased with the flavor. Natalie shot a look at Dawson and he mouthed “vanilla and mint.” She had to stifle her laughter when Tom finally responded to Borgin, his voice sounding creamy and melodic.

“Just on a. . . an excursion.”

Lestrange and Dawson choked on their ice cream, Dawson grabbing onto Lestrange’s robes as they tried to keep their laughter quiet — it came out as strangled coughs. Natalie slapped a hand over her mouth, looked around at them and moved towards the back room, slipping behind the curtain.

“Right, well, we’ll be off then. . . c’mon. . . kids. . . .” Lestrange and Dawson scrambled after her, still shaking with laughter. Tom Riddle smoothly followed, leaving Borgin a muttering, confused mess.

Lestrange’s and Dawson’s laughter exploded once they returned to the back room, though they all quickly disapparated. Appearing in the entrance hall of the Malfoy Manor, where the two boys’ laughter echoed around the long hallway. Even Natalie descended into giggles until the door to the lounge popped open and out stepped Evan Rosier.

“Oh,” he said with a smirk, running an eye over them. “I thought I heard a bunch of dimwitted idiots making a ruckus out here. Turns out I was right.”

“How’s the tea party going?” asked Natalie, strolling towards him with her frappe. Tom on her heels, Lestrange and Dawson slowly following, still beside themselves with laughter.

“Boring,” said Rosier. “Lots of girl gossip.”

“Girl gossip,” she laughed, “who’s here? And why are you here?”

Rosier grinned, “Melania invited my annoying sister and her husband over for tea. Zack and I decided to tag along since Seamus told us to take the day off. Cygnus brought his brother, Alphard, too.”

“Oh,” she raised an eyebrow, as this was certainly interesting to her. Then she scowled, looking at the boys around her. “Does nobody here actually work?”

“Do you?” asked Lestrange.

“I play for the national team,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, how’s that work?”

“I definitely work harder than you,” she muttered, recalling how Dent made her search through the stands to find the Snitch that morning.

The door behind Rosier opened wider and Alphard Black appeared. He seemed momentarily surprised at the sheer number of people outside in the hall before a smug smirk appeared on his face when he saw the butterbeer frappe in Natalie’s hand.

“Are these the latest blokes you’ve tricked into buying you ice cream?”

“I don’t have to trick these blokes into buying me ice cream,” she said with a laugh, moving to slip past him and into the room. 

Melania was gracefully lounging on the couch near the fireplace, a cup of tea in hand as she chatted amicably with Druella Black. Druella and her husband, Cygnus Black, sat on the couch opposing Melania, both with their own tea cups. Zacharias Nott was slumped in one of the wing-backed armchairs, floating his full cup of tea in the air and trying to make it spin without spilling any. Upon her entrance, the tea cup dropped to the floor and splattered all over the carpet. The conversation paused as eyes turned to her, and then to the group that entered the room behind her.

“Hi,” she greeted the Blacks, shooting a quick grin at Nott and Melania.

“This where the party is, huh?” drawled Lestrange, he and Dawson threw themselves onto the couch beside Melania, loudly slurping on their frappes and, as usual, taking up as much space and attention as possible. Rosier dropped onto the couch with his sister while Alphard and Tom took the two armchairs beside Nott. Tom stared at her until she leaned against his chair and studied the room while sipping her frappe, trying to gauge what the conversation had been about before their arrival. 

Druella Black and Evan Rosier looked at the frappes between Natalie, Tom, Adolphus, and Eric.

“Where’s mine?” the siblings demanded, immediately shooting a glare at the other.

“None of you came on our excursion,” bragged Lestrange, to Natalie’s dismay.

“Excursion?” said Alphard with a laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Natalie shot a wide-eyed look at Lestrange, avoiding eye contact with Melania, who was now giving her a suspicious look.

“Uh, nothing,” said Lestrange hastily. “Eric and I, er, dropped by Fortescue’s.”

“With the world’s wealthiest Quidditch player in tow, I assume?” Alphard was still finding the situation funny. She shot him a glare and mouthed, “shut up.” He raised an eyebrow but fell silent.

“I thought you two were supposed to bring Natalie back here after practice,” Melania narrowed her eyes at Lestrange and Dawson.

“We went to Fortescue’s before we went to the stadium,” said Dawson. 

Melania looked at them quietly for a moment, clearly unwilling to argue the point further. “I see.”

“What’s all the fuss about ice cream?” asked Cygnus Black.

“Natalie causes an uproar every time she’s seen in public,” said Druella, looking at Natalie with something like respect in her hooded eyes. “Alphard would know, right, Alphard?”

Alphard snorted, “sure, Ella.”

“Oh, yes,” Cygnus leaned forward to look between Alphard and Natalie. “My mother keeps raving about you two. That article in Charmin’ Cheers had her in a complete tizzy.”

Natalie slid onto the armrest of the chair Tom sat in, balancing herself beside him with the smooth ease of a cat on a ledge. She let one leg hang over the armrest, dangling loosely towards the floor while she bent and tucked the other in, so her knee jutted out sideways towards Tom. His hand instinctively rose to rest on her knee. 

“Really, why?” she asked innocently, drawing the exasperated gazes of Nott, Rosier, Lestrange, and Dawson.

“My mother-in-law thinks you two should marry,” Druella said tonelessly, as if she were tired of hearing about it. She took a slow sip of tea and looked at Tom Riddle with interest. “I assume you’re Tom Riddle?”

Natalie felt him hesitate, feeling his surprise and satisfaction that Druella knew who he was, followed quickly by his annoyance at the Muggle name. He tapped a finger against her knee as though thinking to himself, sending a shiver through her. 

“I am,” he said.

This piqued Cygnus’s attention. He scanned Tom with something akin to fascination. Natalie felt his hand tighten around her knee, capturing all her attention. “Is it true what I’ve heard? About your relation to Salazar Slytherin?”

“Direct descendant, yes,” he said, in a tone that invited no further questioning. Silence fell across the room, save for the sipping of tea and frappes while Natalie attempted to control the insane urge to snog said direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin. From the way his hand sneakily moved from her knee to run along her thigh, she had the feeling he knew all about this urge.

Alphard Black finally flashed a grin around the room. “Does Mother know my competition is the only known heir of Salazar Slytherin?”

“Competition?” Lestrange choked through his ice cream. “Competition?”

“I was unaware I had. . . competition,” Tom remarked as though this was some amusing joke to him, his hand slid back down to her knee, where he drummed his fingers in a rhythm that made her want to excuse both of them immediately.

“As was I,” said Natalie, becoming increasingly unable to focus on anything other than the wizard sitting on the chair she was perched on. It was becoming more and more difficult to maintain her balance on the armrest. It seemed every force in the world wanted her to topple over into Lord Voldemort’s lap and snog him until they couldn’t breathe. “This is. . . news. I didn’t read that in Charmin’ Cheers.”

“You don’t read Charmin’ Cheers,” Melania pointed out.

“Neither do I,” said Alphard.

“You know how Mother is, about you especially, Alph,” Cygnus shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “She’s still upset about that Mudblood you were seeing at Hogwarts.”

Alphard made an annoyed sound that thankfully hid Natalie’s slight coughing on her frappe as Tom started moving his hand further up her thigh than she thought he would dare to. She had to tense every muscle in her body to prevent herself from squirming under his touch.

“Susan Robinson was bloody fit,” drawled Alphard, “but we never actually dated.”

“Oh, so it was a one-time shag, then?” Lestrange sounded overly-interested in this topic.

“It was definitely more than once, if you must know,” Alphard rolled his eyes. Rosier and Nott made gagging noises while Lestrange and Dawson nearly choked on their ice cream. Natalie took the moment to shoot a look at Tom. His hand had traveled all the way up her leg to rest on her hip for a moment before flowing back down to her knee in a teasingly slow fashion. He had nothing but innocence on his face but his dark eyes held a sinful story. He smirked. She had to tear her eyes away from him to avoid turning bright red.

“You shagged a Mudblood?” Nott said incredulously.

“Disgusting,” Druella muttered under her breath, giving her husband a look as though it was his fault his younger brother turned out to be a delinquent.

Cygnus sighed, “I’m glad you spared Mother that detail.”

“I don’t see why it concerns her — or any of you, really,” Alphard’s voice grew hard.

“I don’t particularly care,” announced Natalie, all eyes flying to her. She struggled to avoid trembling as Tom’s hand once again started creeping up her thigh. She hoped her face didn’t look as warm as her body felt.

Druella sounded scandalized. “You don’t care that he shagged a Mudblood and his mother wants him to marry you?”

“Well, I didn’t plan on shagging him too,” said Natalie, waving her frappe through the air and casually resting her other arm on Tom Riddle’s shoulder. She made sure to apply as much pressure onto his shoulder as possible, to make up for how distracting he was being, running his hand all over her and completely muddling her thoughts. She felt a shudder run through him and hid her grin. 

“Charmin’ Cheers ran a different story,” said Cygnus. He was looking at her and Tom Riddle with disguised amusement, and Natalie had the feeling he was the only one in the room who knew what was going on between them at the moment.

“Charmin’ Cheers runs hogwash all the time,” said Dawson, finishing his frappe with a loud slurping noise. Lestrange shot him a look as though annoyed Dawson had finished his ice cream before him. Natalie had to grab hold of the armrest she was perched on to avoid tumbling into Tom Riddle’s lap when he silently shrugged his shoulders and made her arm fall off its resting place. She was quick to return it to his shoulder, managing to brush her forearm along his neck as she did so. She bit her lip to avoid smirking when she felt him shiver.

“Wasn’t there a rumor that article was faked?” asked Rosier with a look at his sister. “Because there were so few copies of it?”

“Yes, actually,” said Cygnus, “I’ve only seen my mother’s copy. My Aunt Helena hadn’t a clue what she was talking about when my mother started on it at dinner a few weeks back.”

Lestrange perked up. “Helena Rowle, my soon to be mother-in-law?” 

“The same,” Cygnus nodded. 

Natalie cleared her throat, both to gain their attention and focus her thoughts away from Tom Riddle’s hand slithering along her thigh. “Someone. . . should tell Irma I don’t intend to marry Alphard.”

“I’m sitting right here,” muttered Alphard, only to be ignored. Natalie shot him a charming smile, though she had to quickly fill her mouth with butterbeer ice cream to avoid giggling when Tom purposefully tilted his head so some of his dark curls brushed against her bare forearm, gliding over her skin like soft smoke and giving her goosebumps.

“Is it because he slept with a Mudblood?” asked Druella, leaning forward and now looking thoroughly impressed.

Natalie placed her hand on top of Tom Riddle’s head as though to remind everyone he was also sitting right there, present and listening to everything that was said (and to push his teasing hair away from her before she apparated them both up to her room). He, thankfully, didn’t feel the need to say much on this topic, though she wasn’t sure if it was because he found the whole conversation trivial, or because they both knew that as soon as it ended they were going to fall into bed and shag the living daylights out of the other. “Because I’m dating the heir of Slytherin!”