Sweet Sacrifice: First Year

Dinner at the Altus' Manor

In the dining room of the Altus’ manor, five people sat around the mahogany table. Candles were lit all around the room, and a fire was lit in the far end, casting a warm orange glow over the dark interiors of the dining room.

Seated at the head of the table is the owner of this mansion, Claudo Altus, a broad, fair-haired man with a sad smile; sat on is left was his only daughter, the eleven-year-old Macula, a tall, thin girl with curly dark brown hair.

On the left of Macula sat another eleven year old, Draco Malfoy, a boy with pale blonde hair and a pointed chin. His mother, Narcissa Malfoy, sat opposite him, an incredibly pretty witch with glossy, white-blonde hair and an emotionless face. Seated on her right was her husband and Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy; the resemblance between him and Draco was uncanny.

The five of them sipped occasionally from silver goblets; the adults present drank red wine, while the children drank pumpkin juice.

“I’m so glad you could join us tonight, Lucius,” Claudo said in a deep, slightly accented voice as he put his goblet on the table. As Lucius replied, he dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“It’s not everyday that you’re free from work, Claudo; and besides, it would be so much easier for us all to be at your house, as it is nearer to King’s Cross...”

“Ah, yes – I had to be home for my little girl to be sent to Hogwarts!” Claudo smiled broadly at his daughter, who gave him a small smile back and brushed some hair out of her dark eyes.

Lucius made a noise in the back of his throat at the mention of Hogwarts. “I wanted Draco to be sent to Durmstrang...Karkaroff, you know – good friend of mine.”

“I haven’t spoken to Ivor in a long time,” Claudo said curiously, picking up his glass again but not drinking from it. “How is the fellow?”

“Oh, he’s doing fine –”

His wife making a soft coughing sound interrupted Lucius. “Hem, hem.” Lucius grinned for a moment, and said, “Narcissa, you must show them your imitation of Delores Umbridge later.”

Narcissa didn’t reply, and instead frowned darkly at her husband. With a sigh, Lucius turned to Claudo.

“Narcissa didn’t want Draco to be sent to Durmstrang,” he explained.

Claudo cocked his head to one side. “And Draco?”

Draco looked up from his goblet: he’d been staring into the pumpkin juice for a few minutes. Macula had been watching him curiously until Lucius had mentioned Durmstrang; she wondered if Draco had been trying to see his reflection in the beverage.

“I’m not really bothered where I go, but I did like the sound of Durmstrang,” Draco said, twisting his lips around after he spoke.

“Well, I really wouldn’t want to go to Durmstrang,” Macula spoke up. She spoke with the similar accented voice of her father, but there was something different in her voice. She continued. “They teach the Dark Arts there; that’s just...awful.”

“Why?” Draco questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Narcissa sighed heavily and interrupted the two children. “That’s not why Draco won’t be going there; the fact is, I don’t trust Igor Karkaroff!”

Macula sipped her drink, and then licked her lips before speaking. “Wasn’t he that Death Eater that tried to get you and Severus sent to Azkaban, Daddy?” she asked, curiousness saturating her voice.

“The very same,” Claudo sighed.

“Bah,” Macula growled darkly. “They’re all the same. Present company excepted.” No one bothered to question Macula on exactly what she meant by this and continued with the subject; Igor Karkaroff.

“Why don’t you trust Igor, Narcissa? It’s been puzzling me since you ripped up those application forms.” Lucius raised his eyes to the heavens with a slight shake of the head. Narcissa let out an angry breath of air through her noise and tossed her hair over one shoulder.

“He’s another Severus!”

Macula raised her eyebrow. “How?”

Lucius looked to his wife as if he was wondering the same thing. “The girl has a point, Narcissa. Igor doesn’t work for Dumbledore. He works for himself.”

Narcissa was silent for a moment. “Yes, but I don’t really trust Severus either. Not since...”

Claudo laughed darkly, picking up his cup and shaking it so the wine swirled within the goblet. “My dear Narcissa, do you trust anyone? I find nothing wrong with Severus. He’s a good man. Braver than any of us, indeed.”

“Maybe,” Lucius allowed, pulling a face, “but he is very stupid.”

“Lucius, you speak as if the Dark Lord is on his way to Spinner’s End at this very moment!” Claudo shook his head and finally took a sip from his goblet.

“Well, there has been some rumoured movement –”

Claudo looked alarmed and coughed loudly.

“Please, not here, Lucius!”

“There’s been some movement involving the Dark Lord?” Macula pounced, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, all etiquette lost.

“Yes, but nothing to worry about, dear,” Claudo said, his eyes fixed firmly on Lucius, who was looking down at his goblet with a small smile on his face.

“Father-” Macula began, trying to get more out of her father, but then Narcissa interrupted in an amused voice.

“She must be annoyed, Claudo, to revert to using ‘Father’ rather than ‘Daddy’...”

Claudo sighed quietly and looked at Narcissa, speaking her name in a disapproving voice.

“Father, any movement involving the Dark Lord is something to worry about, you said so yourself,” Macula pressed.

“Is this really something to be discussing at the dinner table?”

“No dinner has been served.” Macula sat back in her seat, arms crossed across her chest. Claudo sighed again – the amount of sighing going on was beginning to annoy Macula – and he raised his hand in the air, clicking his fingers once. As if she’d been stood there all along, the Altus’ servant, Femina, drifted into the room, carrying two large plates of food that she proceeded to place in front of Narcissa and Lucius. She left, and returned a few moments later with three more plates for Macula, Claudo and Draco.

“You’ve still not got a House Elf, Claudo?” Lucius questioned as Femina placed salt, pepper and gravy upon the table. She gave him a dark look before bustling out of the room in silence.

“I see no need for one. Femina is as good as,” Claudo said with a shrug, picking up his knife and fork.

“And people who keep House Elves are cruel,” Macula spoke up, opening her mouth to launch herself into a tirade against owners of House Elves, before her father silenced her with a look and two well-chosen words.

“Macula, please.”

“So, Macula, what house do you hope to be in?” Narcissa asked after a few moments of silent eating. She spoke these words in a pause between taking a drink.

“Any, as long as it’s not in Hufflepuff,” Macula answered after swallowing her mouthful of food.

“What?” Draco looked at his friend, alarmed; he dropped his knife and fork with a clatter. “You wouldn’t mind being in Gryffindor?”

“What’s so wrong with Gryffindor?” Macula challenged.

“Everything.”

“Parroting again, Draco,” Macula said with a shake of her head.

“What?” Draco glared at her.

“We discussed what ‘parroting’ is – you’re parroting your par-” Claudo sighed heavily and frowned at his daughter.

“Macula.”

“Oh – sorry. And no, I wouldn’t mind being in Gryffindor if the hat put me there. Personally, I’m hoping for Ravenclaw...” Macula speared some food on the end of her fork and placed it in her mouth.

“Ah, the House of Wit.” Narcissa gave a small smile before cutting up some of her food.

“How fitting,” Lucius said in an amused voice.

“Do you know what I think?” Draco asked Macula, waving his knife and fork around. Macula stared at him, unimpressed.

“I’m many things, Draco,” she said, “but a mind reader is not one of them.”

Draco ignored her, and ploughed on. “You’re going to be in Slytherin,” he announced, sounding oddly proud of himself.

“I have to agree with that,” Narcissa exclaimed.

“Like I said before, I don’t mind as long as I’m not in Hufflepuff.” Macula went back to eating, and the whole table was silent once more for a few moments. In fact, it was not until dessert had been served by Femina that conversation resumed.

“Draco, what house would you want to be in?” Claudo asked while stopping a large forkful of chocolate cake from falling off his fork.

Without even thinking, Draco replied: “Oh, Slytherin, of course!”

“Now, there’s a surprise,” Macula muttered darkly, stabbing at her slice of chocolate cake. “I was expecting him to say Hufflepuff.”

“Well, Slytherin is the best house!” Draco continued as if Macula hadn’t spoken. “Everyone knows that. And anyway, everyone in this mansion was in Slytherin, so it’s clearly the best house, as they’re clearly the best.” Narcissa made a small cooing sound and reached across the table to pull at Draco’s cheek, while Lucius nodded at his son.

Macula put her elbow on the table – manners forgotten, once more – and brandished her fork at Draco. A few crumbs of chocolate cake flew off, and Narcissa winced.

“Matter of opinion,” Macula declared.

“I’m offended,” Claudo teased her.

Macula unwillingly dragged her eyes and body to face her father, before replying. “Don’t be,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I was referring to the Malfoys, not you.”

“Macula,” Claudo scolded, looking apologetically at Lucius, who just chuckled.

“Your daughter is very opinionated, Claudo,” he said quietly. “I don’t think anyone, even the Dark Lord himself, could shut her up about some of those opinions.”

Macula looked proud. “Glad you think so, Lucius. Glad you think so.”

And with that, the silent eating resumed, all talk of Hogwarts houses was forgotten, as were all mentions of the Dark Lord.