Hole

AUTHOR'S NOTE - I apologise for the long delay but I assure you that I will not abandon this story. I do actually have plans all the way to the end! The updates will not be as fast for the next week or so, though, and PWP is definitely conceding space to Plot, for this post at least.



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It is going to be a long day. Draco wakes to the sounds of a house gearing up for an invasion: feet on purposeful errands, voices murmuring in the distance. Hole is creeping out of the shower, but Draco calls him back to bed, bending that supple, familiar body double to ream him thoroughly once more before it is time for Lucius' wake-up call. Buried deep in the well-used arse, Hole's knees pressed back to his shoulders and his cock rubbing against Draco's belly, Draco can forget for a few minutes that today will change everything. He doesn't slide out of the slave's arse until it is nearly time for him to go, finishing with his favourite bitemark to the shoulder and leaving the boy no time to clean up. For once, Lucius will have to make do with sloppy seconds.



The manor is a madhouse from mid-morning on, there is no other way of putting it. The overnight guests are arriving and the entertainers are beginning to mill around their allocated rooms in the old stables complex, which has been adapted for their convenience.



King Adan is being welcomed by Lucius and shown to his apartments at the far end of the West Wing. Draco insisted on a separate entrance for the king's entourage in hopes that some, at least, of the confusion resulting from scores of guests and slaves arriving at the same time could be averted, and as he considers the scene before him he is more than ever convinced that this was a sensible decision.



Narcissa, coolly calm in the center of the maelstrom, smiles endlessly at the arriving elite of the Wizarding World, smoothing their difficulties and stroking their egos.



Accustomed guests, such as MacNair and the Goyles, wear faintly supercilious expressions as they pick their way across the entrance hall to their rooms, each accompanied by one or more bodyservants. Draco is known to be in Limerick, collecting some overlooked supplies, which is why he has no hesitation in approaching Innocenza Durgan's slave as an equal.



"May I show you to your rooms?" he enquires helpfully.



The slave turns gratefully to him, casting a quick glance over his blandly forgettable features and red tunic. "Thankyou. My mistress would be grateful."



Between them they haul all the Durgans' luggage to the appropriate room, and as he is leaving Draco offers the bushy-haired girl a peppermint humbug. With a quick glance around she accepts and pops the sweet into her mouth. Draco smiles at her as he closes the door.



Half an hour later he offers more peppermints to a pair of redheads who are decoratively, if somewhat redundantly, standing guard outside Madam Umbridge's quarters. They cast a quick glance at his sweating forehead and the bulging trunk he has rested at his feet, and accept. He grins with innocent complicity and carries the trunk into the Minister of Magic's suite next door.



After a quick, furtive Tempus, Draco knocks on the door of another room two corridors away. A sharp-featured elderly maidservant answers the door and he gestures to the bouquets he carries. With a stern look she supervises as he carries them in and places them carefully on the table by the window. She is completely taken by surprise when he presses a wand into her ribs and murmurs "Stupefy". Turning up the hem of his tunic he removes a small bead from the seam and forces it down her throat before Enervating and Obliviating her.



Minutes later, dressed in immaculate afternoon robes and carrying a plebian parcel in one hand, Draco returns from Limerick. Butter conveys the required supplies to the kitchens as Draco returns to his duties as host and organiser.



By five o'clock the Manor is calmer.



The overnight guests are settled in their rooms and resting in preparation for the night before them. There will be a lull before they dress for dinner, followed by the second tier of guests arriving for the ball.



Down in the stables Draco finds a similar lull in the entertainers' accommodation. A few performers can be seen enjoying the last of the sunshine as they put the final touches to their costumes or acts. Draco strolls through the maze to the center, where he finds the werewolves already settled in their pits, the males at either end and the female in the center enclosure. Fenrir gazes up at him with clouded feral eyes, but then closes his eyes and sprawls like the predator he is over the square rock upon which he is sunbathing. Naked and unashamed, Draco can barely see anything human in him at all, even in his two-legged form.



He passes on to the female were, eyeing her curiously. She is crouched in a tiny ball under the fronds of a large fern. Golden eyes glint as she peers up at him, but otherwise he cannot see anything of her.



The final pit contains the werewolf Draco has been waiting to see. He cranes over the edge of the pit and meets the eyes he seeks with a jolt of recognition. "Lupin," he says with quiet satisfaction. His former professor nods warily.



"Have you been given Wolfsbane?" Draco enquires politely. His plan NEEDS Lupin to be sane.



"No-one has offered it," the werewolf says, and his voice is as calm as always, if rather hoarser than Draco remembers. A frown crosses his forehead as he adds cautiously, "It isn't full moon this week, in any case."



"Ah, MacNair hasn't shared the details of this evening's entertainment with you then."



Lupin cocks his head as if he is amazed to be addressed at all. "MacNair rarely converses with his beasts," he comments drily.



Draco settles himself ostentatiously on the edge of the pit, sliding a bite-sized piece of chocolate into his mouth as he wriggles. "This is the Fifth Anniversary Ball - followed by Sundry Entertainments," he informs his audience. "You, of course, are Sundry Entertainments."



"I see. Just us?"



"Certainly not! You are the low-end entertainment - there will be rope bondage, acrobats, african dancers, various floorshows... all themed around Classical Rome and Greece."



Lupin nods sagely. "The decadent ages, I presume. Fifth Anniversary of what, by the way?"



"Of the Martyrdom of Lord Voldemort, of course."



"Of course," his hearer echoes softly.



Now that Draco has the weight of worry off his shoulders he feels giddy with release. "Have a chocolate," he says cheerfully, tossing down a peanut brittle to the naked prisoner, who snatches it out of the air with ease and pops it into his mouth. Draco hums to himself as Lupin savours the treat.



"Well, must be going, lots to organise," Draco says with finality, but Lupin has one last question as Draco slides from his perch.



"I gathered that MacNair will be executing someone this evening. Do you know who?"



Draco pauses. "Harry Potter is being executed at dawn," he says, the information tossed carelessly over his retreating shoulder. Behind him the werewolf sinks trembling onto the beaten earth floor of his cage, head falling forward so that loose strands of grey and brown cover his scarred face as he weeps.