Status: A life in snapshots

The Silver Three

Happy Christmas

The sky is pale and bleached of color. I suppose that is how every winter in London is: colorless, bitter and sharp. My breath fogs the window, the tip of my nose almost pressed against the icy glass. I’m watching guests as they walk through the large black gates. Mother has created a spell to keep the swans to the back yard- they’re a nasty bunch.

This year my family is holding a Christmas party. Even though I am only thirteen, I feel older than that, like age has crept into my bones and made peace with my marrow. Mother has instructed me on every word, breath, step and bat of an eyelash for tonight. She is extremely particular on these types of things.

Not even a hair is out of place on my head.

In the yard, I see them walking in. They are a pair of three, rigid and cold as the dangerous sickles of ice clinging to the trees, ending in lethal points. All three of the Malfoy’s have hair the color of the moon and they walk with pointed purpose. Despite the dress that makes it hard to breath or the soreness in my shoulders from tension, I smile.

Turning from the window, I rush across the room. I can hear the swell of the strings down stairs, the buzz of chatter. I know that I must make small talk. I know the names and faces, I have practiced topics of conversation. Draco is the only person I have not practiced talking to. I don’t have to, not with him. Not ever.

My dress is simple enough, black and quarter-sleeved. I have a corset on underneath, a requirement by my mother. She says it’ll help keep my posture perfect and my waste shapely. I don’t want to look shapely and I do not care about my posture, but mother insists.

When the Malfoy family enters through the large, black door of my manor, I have to fight the urge to streak across the foyer and hug Draco. Instead, I walk over with my chin held high. Mother is in the sitting room to the left, standing tall and watching me from the corner of her vision. I do not miss a single step as I smile and incline my head a fraction- just a fraction- of an inch.

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, welcome to our home.” I smile beatifically and make sure to acknowledge the head of the household first. I clasp my hands behind my back as a house elf takes their scarves from them. The Malfoy’s don’t spare the elf a glance. “We are thankful you could attend our Christmas party this year. Shall I give you a tour of the home?”

Lucius smiles in his own way. It is a twitch of the lip, only a tiny curve to his usually straight mouth. “What a gracious young hostess,” he says. I smile. “I’m sure Draco would love a tour. As for myself and Narcissa, we will feel fine to mingle.”

“Of course, sir.” I now turn to Draco. I’ve been trying not to look at him when addressing his father. He has his head bowed slightly trying to fight a smile. I notice he has something wrapped elegantly in black in his hands. There is a fine, velvet ribbon of the color crimson tying it in a bow. “Are you well, Draco?”

“Very. This is a gift on behalf of our family,” he says as formally as he could manage. He held the package out to me and I take it delicately. It is weighty, and I wonder what dark artifact is inside. “A gift to remind us of the long history between our families.”

Lucius and Narcissa both seem pleased with the exchange. I gesture for Draco to accompany me and he does, pressing against my side as we turn to walk out of the foyer. I steal a glance at my mother. She is smirking into her wine glass and I know that I have passed one test of many.

The corset prevents me from breathing a sigh of relief.

I lead Draco to the music room. There is a large piano with a polished, wooden stool. Shelving holding sheet music stands against one of the walls, and there are fine, leather couches to sit and listen to the piano. I play expertly, though I almost never touch the ivory keys anymore. It was something to do as a child before school.

The couches are filled with gifts. I place this one among the many. It is a tradition to exchange gifts as these sorts of parties. I know many of them will range from exotic wines and brandy to strange pieces of dark magic that I do not understand, but can feel the importance of.

“It’s a vanishing box,” Draco murmured quietly as I set the gift down. I look up at him in surprise. “Not quite as glamorous as a vanishing cabinet, but you can hide many possessions in one. My father was told your mother owns another.”

I think of the black, iron box that she has on her dresser. It is also heavy and carved with roses. I nod to Draco. “I’ve never opened it. I don’t touch her things anymore.”

Draco’s face tells me he understands more than anyone else could. He understands what I mean when I say I no longer touch her things. He knows why, because he has undoubtedly been there before with his father.

“Do you really have to give me a tour?”

I smirk. “Nope. I know where we can get some truffles and hide from the rest.”

“Sounds ideal. Lead the way.”

Together, we find a house elf in the kitchen and I threaten her until she gives us two boxes of truffles. Draco ensures that she won’t inform snooping parents of where we’re going. It isn’t hard to do, especially because I know which house elf this is. I do not know her name or how long she’s been working at my house, but I know that she is the most afraid of them all. She is the one who makes sure mother doesn’t find me when I’m reading.

We leave the house and go into the backyard. It is large with two separate gardens, an orchard, a found with a maze and a gazebo. Somewhere, the swans are surely watching us with beady black eyes, ready to attack.

I lead Draco past all of these stretches of things. We walk by the gardenias that are frozen, past the fountain that still spouts water despite the cold, enchanted to do so. We move past the gazebo that is painted black and has twinkling lights hovering about it to make it look like the night sky.

There is a small gap between the buses that we push through. We’re beyond the limits of my yard and quite a distance from the house. The grounds are extensive, and walking across them is a project but we make good timing.

I lead Draco down a small hill to where there is a frozen stream beyond a copse of trees. There is a large boulder there, my own personal sitting space. We climb up onto it and sit down, our feet hanging off of it as we rip open the delicate wrappings of the chocolate.

Balling up the wrappings, I hold them in my hand and remove my wand. “Wingardium leviosa,” I whisper. The papers hover in the air and I grin before lighting them to a slow burn after whispering, “Incendio.”

Warmth floods the space between Draco and I as the papers heat and burn at a slow rate. They’ll last at the very least an hour. By then Draco and I will have had to make some sort of appearance and show that we’re at the party. Neither of us wants to be there, of course.

“What’s it like being home?” Draco asks, biting into chocolate and staring out at the stream. It’s dark as pitch around us, but the blue fire lights his face. He glances at me from the corner of his eye. “Everything you’d hope it would be?”

I grin at the sarcasm. “Depends,” I answer, unwrapping a chocolate. “It’s nice to be at home and not deal with Parkinson’s whining voice. Though perhaps you quite miss her clinging to you with her pudgy fingers and breathing down your neck.”

Draco makes a face and I throw my head back and lean on him. “Draco,” I whine, making sure to press my face as close to his as possible. “Don’t you haaate Potter? Draco, have you ever seen a Dementors kiss? I’ve seen a Dementors kiss, Draco.”

His body shakes with laughter and I can’t help but laugh too. Pansy Parkinson cannot help but be annoying. It’s somehow hardwired into her brain, though I often point out that at any moment she can decide to stop being a proper moron. “You do that too well, Blackburn.”

“One must know her enemy from the inside out,” I quote, hearing my father’s voice as I do so. “Once you know your enemy, you can become them, and in doing so, you may destroy them.”

“How poetic. Which reminds me.”

Draco reaches into his jacket pocket and I lean forward, interested in what he has. He produces a small, black book. It’s made of fine velvet and there is a single, gold ribbon that keeps it bound shut. He hands it to me and delicately, I take it. It is only slightly heavier than it looks, and I turn it over in my hands.

“A book to write your potions in,” he explains. “I always see you cramming them in the corners of your study parchment. They’re good. You should save them.”

I open and close my mouth, looking up at him. He nods as though to encourage me. I feel speechless for many different reasons. The biggest one is that he takes notice at what it is I’m cramming in the sides of my parchment in class. Short cuts, better ways to make potions. Sometimes new ones. Draco sees this.

The second reason I’m speechless is because he wants me to save them. He wants me to do something with them. Professor Snape has surely noticed them as he walks around class, but has never encouraged me. Mother has surely seen me bent over a cauldron in my time off at home, but has never once given me advice. But Draco wants me to do something with my talent.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I look up at him and I can only manage a tender smile. “I haven’t got you something quite as amazing.”

He furrows his brows. “You didn’t have to get me anything at all. What do you get a boy who has everything?”

“You don’t have everything. Not yet.” I reach into the small pocket of my dress and remove a smooth stone. It is polished black, and almost swallows the space with its dark color. Draco looks at it with curious eyes. “It’s a detection stone, very rare. You can touch your fingers to your drink and brush it across the stone and it’ll smear white if it’s poisonous. It’ll stay the same if it’s safe.”

It was Draco’s turn to open and close his mouth. He takes it from my hands and turns it over his long, delicate fingers. He then closes his palm around it and looks at me in a new way, one that I do not recognize. I hesitate and I am surprised at the ferocity in his gaze.

“Thank you.” His voice is deep and throaty. I have the sudden urge to touch his cheek, but I don’t. “I know how rare these are, and I can only imagine how you came by it. And I can’t imagine why you would think I need it, but I’m grateful”

Draco knows I took it from my mother’s things. She has more than one, and I believe she won’t notice that it’s gone. But if she does, I do not care. I want Draco to have one, and I don’t know another way to give him one.

“Happy Christmas, Draco.”

“Happy Christmas, Eleanor.”

The warmth on the paper starts to run out. We both agree that it’s time to hurry back to the manor. Dinner will be served shortly, a mighty table that mother had set up in the ballroom. We find that we’re just on time as we hurry in through the doors, our cheeks tainted pink and our lips cracked.

Narcissa sees us come in and for a moment, my heart freezes. I believe she’s going to be angry we were skipping out. Instead, she turns and draws my mother’s attention father away from our direction and asks about a chandelier. Draco and I both breathe a sigh of relief as we joined the nicely dressed people in moving into the ballroom.

A magnificent table is set up for guests. There are thirty plates all set, and place cards that hover above plates in glowing writing so that people know where to sit. My father is at the head of the table, standing and waiting for his guests to be seated. He talks animatedly with people, gesturing to chairs and such.

I hurry to my seat beside him. My mother is to sit across from me. On my other side, is the head of the Dandry household, a man who mother never speaks highly of. He has a wife and no children, and despite mother’s distaste about his behavior after the fall of the Dark Lord, he is invited to our party. And given a very nice seat close to us.

Everyone begins to settle and sit in his or her seats. My mother takes her seat lithely, looking at me over the table. I do not smile or look away. I just look at her and she nods. I’ve done fine for the night. I have been polite and I have spoken with a few of the guests, or not many at all. Either way, they all tell her I am a delight.

It is enough.

Everyone’s cups are filled with wine. No one touches the cups yet, knowing that they are for a toast. When my father stands, everyone in the room quiets. He welcomes everyone to our house and tanks them for their attendance. He gives well wishes, and then proposes a toast to good bloodlines and a prosperous year.

Next to me, Marcus Dandry looks at his empty cup in confused. My mother notices and quickly says, “Those wretched house elves, forgetting to put wine in a bloody cup!” Everyone shares a laugh, except Marcus Dandry who doesn’t know if the empty cup is meant to insult him. “Eleanor, would you kindly lend Dandry your wine.”

I hesitate only for a second before nodding and holding my cup to him. “It’s my pleasure. I apologize for the inconvenience of the missing wine, sir.”

“Thank you, young lady. You’ve raised a most polite daughter, Anaximander.”

My mother’s forehead creases in annoyance only for a second before everyone agrees and raises their cup. I remain sitting and staring at my plate, somehow feeling insulted that my mother has taken me out of the toast for someone she dislikes. Around the room, everyone sets their cups down and my father sits.

With a smile, father pushes his glass over to me. I grin at him and take it, stealing a sip of his wine. It is bitter and dry, but I am thankful that he makes me feel included. I thank him with my eyes and not my words, as I push the glass back to him.

Suddenly, Marcus Dandry starts coughing next to me. I flinch away as he brings a hand to his chest, hitting lightly to clear his lungs of the cough. But he continues, his coughs wracking through his body and clutching his chest. People watch in surprise, horror and some panic as his wife grabs him and begins asking what is wrong. I’m leaning away from him, my blood going cold.

Blood spatters his plate as he heaves another cough. Several people, including my parents have shot out of their chairs. Dandry stands, continuing to cough and I lean away from him in terror, watching his face lose color from lack of oxygen. Everyone is reeling, calling for help but no one knows what to do.

It’s over in a matter of seconds. Dandry falls backwards over the chair. His wife’s screaming is the symphony to the start of our dinner. When Dandry stops coughing, he is staring at the ceiling, only, it isn’t staring at all. Staring implies that someone’s gaze is fixated on something.

A gaze cannot be fixated if one is dead.

This is what Dandry is. He is dead. No one says it at first, but I already know that his cup was poisoned. My cup was poisoned. Somehow, I'm not surprised that my mother gave me poisoned wine and simply hoped on a whim I didn’t drink it early. Because no one would give their child poisoned wine, right? No one would have the audacity to do that, so he must have had something happen before the party. Perhaps a sickness.

I look at Draco and he is on his feet, staring at me. I remain sitting in my chair, but I see it. He knows now. Draco finally understands why I gave him the detection stone, and why I was willing to risk the wrath of my mother for it.

It is because no Death Eater trusts another Death Eater.
♠ ♠ ♠
The wrath of Seraphine Blackburn is like no other. And yes, Eleanor's middle name is her mother's first name, in true pureblood fashion almost.

-N