Bellatrix_Lestrange
10-07-2003, 03:27 AM
WHEN ALL THE SHIPS HAVE SAILED: THE FIRST SHIP
(part one)
It didn’t take much to get Draco talking. One thing certainly hadn’t changed: he was still one of his own favorite subjects.
“Well, it all came to a bit of a head in sixth year. Mother was, of course, able to convince the right people that Lucius Malfoy was too respectable and charitable to have ever engaged in criminal activity of his own free will…but this time it wasn’t cheap. The Malfoys remained wealthy and influential by most standards, but our fortunes were temporarily at something of an ebb. This did not go unnoticed by certain elements of the penultimate tier of society. There was a time when Iris Parkinson would have fawned and begged for an invitation to one of Narcissa Malfoy’s events; now, Mother was obliged to come to her parlour. Iris was quick to press her advantage. Suddenly, after years of allowing Pansy to tag along with me – more out of pity than anything else – I was receiving sharp hints from Mother to ‘treat her appropriately’. I could see the match that was in the making. So could Pansy; oh, how she gloated! She was like a dog that had been tossed a fillet steak. It was humiliating, and the pain was doubled because I had just fallen in…”
Draco paused, arresting his sentence. He actually looked a bit reluctant to speak further. He stared down at his feet, which had begun to sink through the floor. A moment later, he lifted his chin (and himself) and continued.
“Well, it wasn’t actually love; I realize that now. More of an obsessive schoolboy crush, mixed with a desire to possess, to conquer through passion what I’d been unable to conquer in battle. I knew she was far beneath my station, that our families hated each other, that we were fighting on opposite sides – we’d even dueled personally once or twice – but that only increased my ardour. I’d spend every meal staring at the Gryffindor table, forcing myself to keep scowling so that everyone would assume I was thinking up some vengeful scheme to spring on Potter, but in truth my eyes were fixed on long red tresses glinting in the candlelight.”
This was unexpected. “Ginny?”
Draco’s silvery lips twitched sarcastically. “No, Ron…of course Ginny, you silly bint! I dreamed up so many impossible schemes – an official relationship was out of the question, but it occurred to me that once our side had won the war, I could arrange clemency for her, and deliver her out of the squalor she’d grown up in and bring her to Malfoy Manor. An estate that size requires quite a staff, especially without a house-elf, and besides, my father’s health had been poor ever since his wrongful imprisonment, he could probably use a caretaker – I could just picture Ginny in a little manor uniform, picture myself telling Pansy that I regrettably had to work late again, and not to wait up…oh don’t look at me like that!”
“I’m sorry, Draco,” I apologized quickly. “You must realize, though, that it’s a bit…”
“I know, it was pathetic! It was a hopeless infatuation! Still, it proved to be a fortuitous folly, since it indirectly led to…oh, hullo dearest. I was just getting to the good part.”
His last words were directed over my right shoulder. I turned around and nearly jumped out of my skin. Mrs. Malfoy giggled wickedly as she drifted over my head and settled down next to Draco. He returned her adoring gaze with what seemed suspiciously (for Draco, anyway) like sincere affection. I hated to interrupt their moment, but I needed the rest of the story.
“Erm, Draco…”
“Yes, yes. Anyway, it seems that my attempts at camouflage didn’t quite fool everyone. Takes one to know one, I guess; it turned out that someone else was nursing a hopeless obsession over little Miss Weasley. A most lethally jealous obsession.”
Mrs. Malfoy giggled as if he’d just told a joke.
Draco’s tone became more serious. “It was three days after the end of Christmas break. Professor Snape had called a prefect’s meeting in his office, and it had run late. Everyone else gave up on making it to the Great Hall in time for dinner and resolved to hit up the kitchen elves for a meal later that evening. I, however, knew of a little-used shortcut, a narrow staircase called the Winding Way. I’d used it before, and I reckoned I had good odds of getting some dinner if I made a dash for it. I was famished; I hadn’t eaten since breakfast – skipped lunch, had plotting to do – and so off I went. But two and a half floors up, I found my way blocked.”
Draco paused again, and took a deep ‘breath’ (he had, of course, no actual need or ability to breathe; it was simply a gesture of dramatic emphasis).
“Mind you,” he continued, “Bulstrode wouldn’t have had much trouble blocking a normal sized corridor, let alone the Winding Way. At first I thought she was just loitering, or perhaps lost. ‘Excuse me, Millicent,’ I said, ‘but I really must get by; I’m in a hurry to get to dinner’. Not my usual commanding manner, I admit, but I suppose having to cozy up to Parkinson had instilled a little gentleness into my demeanor, that and not having Crabbe and Goyle along with me.”
“She didn’t budge, and when she spoke she used that low, dangerous tone she uses when she’s getting ready to squash someone. ‘Is that so, Malfoy?’ She took her hands off her hips and cracked her knuckles. ‘Thought you might maybe have your mind more on dessert. Perhaps a bit of vanilla trifle with strawberry topping?’ I was caught a bit off my guard; I hadn't seen that coming; ‘Please, Bulstrode, I really am in a hurry and I have no idea what you’re-‘ I never got to finish my sentence.”
“The next thing I knew, I was shoved off my feet and went skidding all the way down to the landing on my back; I must have knocked my head against half a dozen steps. Bulstrode leapt after me, bellowing like a graphorn. She swept that meaty left leg of hers back and...launched a savage kick into a rather sensitive region of my anatomy.”
“Ouch.” Bad guy or not, I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for anyone who’d been on the receiving end of Millicent Bulstrode's anger. I knew that Draco’s mob and Harry’s friends had been hexing and jinxing each other for years, but for some reason turning someone into a newt just didn't seem as brutal as simply bashing the stuffing out of them. As it turned out, I hadn’t yet heard the half of it. Draco kept speaking; his voice had become toneless and his eyes distant, as if he were reliving that terrible evening.
“All the time she was howling. ‘NOT FOR YOU, MALFOY! SHE’S NOT FOR YOU!!’ At that point, I realized that Bulstrode was not in her usual casually-violent mood, out to bully and terrorize. She meant to seriously hurt me. I went for my wand. I was half dazed and I suppose I was a little slower than usual on the draw. She stamped down, broke my wand, nearly broke my fingers as well. That’s when she went completely mental.”
“She grabbed me by the hair with both hands and hauled me up. She was screaming into my face: ‘YOU'D PULL YOUR WAND ON ME, WOULD YOU, MALFOY? I’LL DO YOU FOR THAT!!’ Then she dragged me up here and pushed me through the lavvy door and into that stall there.”
He pointed backward with a phantom finger. His voice returned to its usual nonchalant drawl as he addad, almost as an afterthought:
“And that’s the toilet she drowned me in.”
I'll confess; I was taken completely aback. “That’s, that’s horrible!” I meant it; for all Draco’s villainy, that was an abominable fate to suffer. “I hope she was at least brought to justice?”
The Malfoys both chuckled spectrally. "Actually," she cut in, "Miss Bulstrode had worked herself up into such a lather that she decided that very night to seek out the Death Eaters and demand to be granted membership. She gatecrashed a gathering she'd gotten wind of and declared that she was ready to prove her worthiness against any member present."
"That was...bold of her. What happened next?"
Draco took the thread back up. "Her challenge was accepted by Mrs. Lestrange. After that, there wasn't enough left of Millicent to 'bring to justice', so I suppose she technically got away with murdering me. Still, I see no need to hold a grudge. Enough about her. As fate would have it, that evening would prove to be a turning point for me."
(to be continued)
(part one)
It didn’t take much to get Draco talking. One thing certainly hadn’t changed: he was still one of his own favorite subjects.
“Well, it all came to a bit of a head in sixth year. Mother was, of course, able to convince the right people that Lucius Malfoy was too respectable and charitable to have ever engaged in criminal activity of his own free will…but this time it wasn’t cheap. The Malfoys remained wealthy and influential by most standards, but our fortunes were temporarily at something of an ebb. This did not go unnoticed by certain elements of the penultimate tier of society. There was a time when Iris Parkinson would have fawned and begged for an invitation to one of Narcissa Malfoy’s events; now, Mother was obliged to come to her parlour. Iris was quick to press her advantage. Suddenly, after years of allowing Pansy to tag along with me – more out of pity than anything else – I was receiving sharp hints from Mother to ‘treat her appropriately’. I could see the match that was in the making. So could Pansy; oh, how she gloated! She was like a dog that had been tossed a fillet steak. It was humiliating, and the pain was doubled because I had just fallen in…”
Draco paused, arresting his sentence. He actually looked a bit reluctant to speak further. He stared down at his feet, which had begun to sink through the floor. A moment later, he lifted his chin (and himself) and continued.
“Well, it wasn’t actually love; I realize that now. More of an obsessive schoolboy crush, mixed with a desire to possess, to conquer through passion what I’d been unable to conquer in battle. I knew she was far beneath my station, that our families hated each other, that we were fighting on opposite sides – we’d even dueled personally once or twice – but that only increased my ardour. I’d spend every meal staring at the Gryffindor table, forcing myself to keep scowling so that everyone would assume I was thinking up some vengeful scheme to spring on Potter, but in truth my eyes were fixed on long red tresses glinting in the candlelight.”
This was unexpected. “Ginny?”
Draco’s silvery lips twitched sarcastically. “No, Ron…of course Ginny, you silly bint! I dreamed up so many impossible schemes – an official relationship was out of the question, but it occurred to me that once our side had won the war, I could arrange clemency for her, and deliver her out of the squalor she’d grown up in and bring her to Malfoy Manor. An estate that size requires quite a staff, especially without a house-elf, and besides, my father’s health had been poor ever since his wrongful imprisonment, he could probably use a caretaker – I could just picture Ginny in a little manor uniform, picture myself telling Pansy that I regrettably had to work late again, and not to wait up…oh don’t look at me like that!”
“I’m sorry, Draco,” I apologized quickly. “You must realize, though, that it’s a bit…”
“I know, it was pathetic! It was a hopeless infatuation! Still, it proved to be a fortuitous folly, since it indirectly led to…oh, hullo dearest. I was just getting to the good part.”
His last words were directed over my right shoulder. I turned around and nearly jumped out of my skin. Mrs. Malfoy giggled wickedly as she drifted over my head and settled down next to Draco. He returned her adoring gaze with what seemed suspiciously (for Draco, anyway) like sincere affection. I hated to interrupt their moment, but I needed the rest of the story.
“Erm, Draco…”
“Yes, yes. Anyway, it seems that my attempts at camouflage didn’t quite fool everyone. Takes one to know one, I guess; it turned out that someone else was nursing a hopeless obsession over little Miss Weasley. A most lethally jealous obsession.”
Mrs. Malfoy giggled as if he’d just told a joke.
Draco’s tone became more serious. “It was three days after the end of Christmas break. Professor Snape had called a prefect’s meeting in his office, and it had run late. Everyone else gave up on making it to the Great Hall in time for dinner and resolved to hit up the kitchen elves for a meal later that evening. I, however, knew of a little-used shortcut, a narrow staircase called the Winding Way. I’d used it before, and I reckoned I had good odds of getting some dinner if I made a dash for it. I was famished; I hadn’t eaten since breakfast – skipped lunch, had plotting to do – and so off I went. But two and a half floors up, I found my way blocked.”
Draco paused again, and took a deep ‘breath’ (he had, of course, no actual need or ability to breathe; it was simply a gesture of dramatic emphasis).
“Mind you,” he continued, “Bulstrode wouldn’t have had much trouble blocking a normal sized corridor, let alone the Winding Way. At first I thought she was just loitering, or perhaps lost. ‘Excuse me, Millicent,’ I said, ‘but I really must get by; I’m in a hurry to get to dinner’. Not my usual commanding manner, I admit, but I suppose having to cozy up to Parkinson had instilled a little gentleness into my demeanor, that and not having Crabbe and Goyle along with me.”
“She didn’t budge, and when she spoke she used that low, dangerous tone she uses when she’s getting ready to squash someone. ‘Is that so, Malfoy?’ She took her hands off her hips and cracked her knuckles. ‘Thought you might maybe have your mind more on dessert. Perhaps a bit of vanilla trifle with strawberry topping?’ I was caught a bit off my guard; I hadn't seen that coming; ‘Please, Bulstrode, I really am in a hurry and I have no idea what you’re-‘ I never got to finish my sentence.”
“The next thing I knew, I was shoved off my feet and went skidding all the way down to the landing on my back; I must have knocked my head against half a dozen steps. Bulstrode leapt after me, bellowing like a graphorn. She swept that meaty left leg of hers back and...launched a savage kick into a rather sensitive region of my anatomy.”
“Ouch.” Bad guy or not, I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for anyone who’d been on the receiving end of Millicent Bulstrode's anger. I knew that Draco’s mob and Harry’s friends had been hexing and jinxing each other for years, but for some reason turning someone into a newt just didn't seem as brutal as simply bashing the stuffing out of them. As it turned out, I hadn’t yet heard the half of it. Draco kept speaking; his voice had become toneless and his eyes distant, as if he were reliving that terrible evening.
“All the time she was howling. ‘NOT FOR YOU, MALFOY! SHE’S NOT FOR YOU!!’ At that point, I realized that Bulstrode was not in her usual casually-violent mood, out to bully and terrorize. She meant to seriously hurt me. I went for my wand. I was half dazed and I suppose I was a little slower than usual on the draw. She stamped down, broke my wand, nearly broke my fingers as well. That’s when she went completely mental.”
“She grabbed me by the hair with both hands and hauled me up. She was screaming into my face: ‘YOU'D PULL YOUR WAND ON ME, WOULD YOU, MALFOY? I’LL DO YOU FOR THAT!!’ Then she dragged me up here and pushed me through the lavvy door and into that stall there.”
He pointed backward with a phantom finger. His voice returned to its usual nonchalant drawl as he addad, almost as an afterthought:
“And that’s the toilet she drowned me in.”
I'll confess; I was taken completely aback. “That’s, that’s horrible!” I meant it; for all Draco’s villainy, that was an abominable fate to suffer. “I hope she was at least brought to justice?”
The Malfoys both chuckled spectrally. "Actually," she cut in, "Miss Bulstrode had worked herself up into such a lather that she decided that very night to seek out the Death Eaters and demand to be granted membership. She gatecrashed a gathering she'd gotten wind of and declared that she was ready to prove her worthiness against any member present."
"That was...bold of her. What happened next?"
Draco took the thread back up. "Her challenge was accepted by Mrs. Lestrange. After that, there wasn't enough left of Millicent to 'bring to justice', so I suppose she technically got away with murdering me. Still, I see no need to hold a grudge. Enough about her. As fate would have it, that evening would prove to be a turning point for me."
(to be continued)