Trophy

Author's Note: A bundle of thanks to Robert and Angel for their beta work on this chapter.

Chapter 16 A Dining Experience to Remember

Narcissa guided Harry through the foyer, a large sitting room filled with antique French furniture and large, moving paintings -all with her delicate hand at the small of his back- before depositing him in another, smaller, sitting room. It was, if possible, even more elaborate than the first.

The common color in this room was a deep gold accented with powder blue that reminded Harry of Marie Antoinette’s rooms in Versailles. There was no one else in the room once Narcissa glided out with a raised finger indicating that she would be back in a moment, so it gave Harry time to study his surroundings. He’d only been in the Manor a handful of times and on each occasion it seemed as though he uncovered a new side of the family he’d never seen before.

This room for instance, with its ornate furniture and rich glass vases overflowing with fresh cut lilies, made him anxious. He’d always known the Malfoys had wealth and the traditional class that would allow them good taste and a preference for the finer things in life, but never before had he realized how much grander the Malfoy family was than Harry would ever be.

Sure, he could match the Malfoy’s vault nearly Knut to Knut, but even if he spent it all, he would never be able to include items that portrayed the opulence and sophistication that the Malfoys had achieved in even an intimate sitting room like this one. It wasn’t the fact that one of the gilded clocks sitting on a small mirrored end table would have no doubt cost a week’s salary, not even to mention the table it sat upon; no, it was more that Harry just didn’t think this way about material things. He’d fixed up Grimmauld Place to his liking, making it comfortable and habitable, but any new piece of furniture he had purchased had simply been from a common store, not imported directly in from Paris, or handed down through generations of Potters to end up in his home.

It was rather intimidating.

Most of the portraits in this room were of rolling green landscapes and picturesque gardens and Harry very much enjoyed watching the breeze flow through the painted trees, so much so that he didn’t hear Draco enter. His back was facing the entrance because he had turned slightly in his chair to study a particularly nice piece; he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt warm breath on his neck and a soft kiss pressed into his cheek.

“Harry,” the blond greeted with a chuckle. “I’m glad you could make it.” Draco’s words mirrored that of his mother’s when she’d greeted him at the entrance. It seemed the Malfoy family had a book on proper guest etiquette, one Harry wished he had borrowed before arriving.

“Of course,” Harry replied, thinking that the formality of the occasion was already overdone and he hadn’t even begun eating yet. He was used to Weasley dinners where everyone gathered in the kitchen to chat about their day or what they’d been doing since they last got together, all while drinking in the smells of Molly’s delightful cooking. Their casual charm helped Harry feel at home, whereas the Manor made him feel like he was visiting a mausoleum where he wasn’t permitted to touch anything or even look at it the wrong way.

“Would you like a tour?” Draco asked him, following Harry’s gaze as he took in the room around them.

“Actually, yes,” the brunet replied, beaming slightly. Dean Thomas had once told him that there were rumored to be more than a hundred rooms in Malfoy Manor, and Harry wanted to know if that were true. He stood and Draco looped his arm through Harry’s and began to lead him through the illustrious Manor halls.

He pointed out paintings of his favorite ancestors as they walked, because portraits were littered all over the corridors and rooms. The Malfoy family line was ancient. He met Phillippe Malfoy, a young man who had what Harry now considered the trademark Malfoy gray eyes –most of the men he saw in the paintings had a various shade of that gray- Claire Rapaport, a distant cousin of Draco’s that had only recently passed away, and several other family members Harry would never remember the names of if he lived there a hundred years.

It was quickly observed that the older the ancestor was, the darker their hair was, as if something had shifted at some point in the Malfoy line to make them the golden blond Adonis’ they were now. When he pointed this out to Draco, he got an indulgent smile in return. “Would you like to know a secret?” the other man whispered and Harry nodded emphatically. “Now, this is a heavily guarded Malfoy secret, so if you so much as mutter it in your sleep, we’ll deny it to the death.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he wondered if Draco was trying to pull one over on him or if the mystery was really so detrimental to the Malfoy family that they felt the compulsion to defend it so adamantly. He quickly realized it was the latter when Draco led him into a locked library on the topmost floor. The room was made of diamond-paned glass, arching into a glistening dome at the top. Bookshelves lined every wall and Harry realized with a glance that they were all books on dark magic –many of them quite illegal.

“You do realize I’m the Head of the Auror department, Draco. I’m obligated to turn you in for all this,” Harry whispered, marveling at the rich leather tomes with titles like ‘Rituals of the Dark Moon’ while some of them just had ominous looking symbols for titles.

“They’re heirlooms, Potter. We can’t simply toss them out with the rubbish, but they are warded against use,” Draco informed him. “Go on, try to read one,” he added when Harry shot him a rather skeptical look.

Harry did, and he was mildly electrocuted for the effort; the shock only worsened the more times he tried to grab one of the books until he gave up and stared down at his tingling fingers. “Okay,” he muttered at last, feeling his duty as an Auror had been satisfied enough to move on. He’d have to be careful not to mention this to Ron who would have a field day with such information and Harry wouldn’t even be able to count to ten before the redhead arranged a raid on the Manor.

“This is what I wanted to show you,” Draco called, summoning Harry over to a fireplace in one half-circle of the room. Above it was a large painting of a couple who stared down at them with haughty smiles. The man had thick black hair and piercing blue eyes, while the woman had glowing white hair, eyes so silver they were practically molten and the fairest features Harry had ever looked upon, though he felt as though he recognized her, he just couldn’t place where he could have seen her before.

After staring for a moment, he realized why she looked so familiar. She bore a striking resemblance to Fleur Delacour. “A Veela,” Harry whispered in awe.

“About a century ago, our ancestor, Dominique Malfoy, married a full Veela, Violette St. Claire. Since then, our bloodline has been tainted and Malfoy men are encouraged to marry blonde women in order to hide our defect, however minor it might be by now. Personally, I don’t see Veela blood as inferior to ours; it would be like having a trace of Vampiric blood. It still holds magic, just a different brand than we, as wizards, have in our blood. Still, it goes against our pureblood propaganda for people to know that there was ever something besides ancient wizarding blood running through our veins,” Draco explained in hushed tones.

“I can’t believe you were such an arse about being pureblood and all this time you’re not,” Harry huffed, crossing his arms over his chest even though he knew he looked like a petulant child.

“To be fair, by the time I was born the blood was nearly pure again,” Draco mused. “Although I think I might have their uncanny allure.”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to leave the room. “I think you also inherited the Veela arrogance.”

Draco chuckled darkly and followed Harry from the room. They saw two opulent studies, several guest bedrooms, a bathroom finished entirely in solid gold, a kitchen any five star chef would sacrifice their first born for and a beautiful sunroom before Harry complained that his feet were sore. It certainly didn’t look this expansive from outside, but he assumed that, like his own house, the Manor was made larger inside using magic. “I don’t know how you do this every day.”

“I don’t,” Draco laughed. “My quarters have anything I could possibly need aside from food, which I can have the house-elves bring me if I so desire. So, I usually just go from my quarters to the dining room or to the Floo.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t offered to show me your room,” Harry quipped. “I thought for sure that would be first on your list.”

“No one outside of my parents has ever seen my room,” Draco replied quietly.

“Why not?” Harry asked, assuming that couldn’t be true considering how often he took home lovers.

“It’s a very personal and private space. I prefer not to share it with anyone,” he remarked, as if the answer were quite obvious.

“Like your heart, you mean?” Harry replied, his eyes locked on Draco’s molten orbs.

No words were exchanged while they simply stared at one another. Harry hadn’t realized how right he was until he said the words aloud. No matter how kind and genial this new Malfoy was, he was still keeping his heart out of their relationship or whatever either of them may have thought this was. Not that Harry could blame him; he had his own walls erected around that fragile bit of flesh.

“Exactly,” Draco admitted at last.

Harry let the subject drop, refusing to pry and demand Draco show him his private quarters. It was his home, his tour and his decision what Harry did and didn’t see. “So, where do you bring your conquests?” Harry asked, segueing into another question that had been percolating.

“We have thirty-one guest bedrooms in this house,” Draco replied and Harry shook his head in dismay.

“One for every day of the month,” Harry noted and watched Draco’s lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Indeed,” he answered.

“So, how many rooms do you have total in Malfoy Manor?” Harry asked, no longer wanting to think about Draco with other lovers.

“Let’s see,” the blond mused, clearly never thinking about it before. “Well, there are the thirty-one bedrooms, each of which have a private bath, plus the private quarters for myself, Mother, Lucius and a shared suite they have on the upper floor,” he continued, counting it all up in his head. “Six sitting rooms, two kitchens, two ballrooms, three formal dining rooms and two casual ones, one library and ten private studies, a Quidditch supply room, a potions lab, a pool room, the house-elves chambers –there are five of those- so a hundred. There are a hundred rooms in the Manor,” he announced proudly.

So, Dean Thomas was wrong, there were exactly one hundred - no more, no less - Harry thought to himself. Still, what any family of three needed with so many rooms was beyond him, and he said so.

“Well, you must keep in mind that this Manor has been in our family for over three centuries. At one time the Malfoy family was very prosperous with children and those children would stay here bringing their spouse to live here as well and then their children would grow up in the Manor too,” he explained, and then it made more sense to Harry. He could imagine this hall holding several generations of Malfoys all at once, every room filled with beautiful blond family members.

Harry wanted children, though he knew he would have to adopt, but he didn’t know if he could see them here. The Manor seemed too cold and uninviting. The thoughts running through his head made him blush. Here he was having his first dinner with a man he wouldn’t even classify as his boyfriend and he was daydreaming about where they would raise their children. Sometimes Harry didn’t know why his brain insisted on being masochistic.

“Dinner’s probably ready by now,” Draco informed him, taking Harry’s hand and leading him downstairs to the dining room.

Narcissa and Lucius were already seated at the table when the two arrived. Harry had no idea where to sit at the long table, so he was grateful when Draco pulled out a chair for him across from his mother and to the left of Lucius, who was sitting at the head of the table. Draco sat directly beside him and his pale hand immediately went to Harry’s knee under the table. The gesture seemed intimate somehow and Harry couldn’t help the smile that curled on his lips.

“Your home is beautiful,” Harry declared, trying to break the awkward silence that had drifted into the room upon their arrival. It seemed the elder Malfoys had been arguing but they had on their best fake smiles now.

“Thank you, Harry,” Narcissa beamed. “I see Draco gave you a thorough tour.”

“I saw quite a bit, yes,” Harry replied with a soft smile.

“Did he show you his bedchamber?” Lucius asked, his tone indicating that he knew good and well Draco had not.

There was a distinct movement under the table across from Harry and he saw a flash of pain cross Lucius’ face before it was schooled into a careful mask again. It seemed Narcissa had kicked him sharply beneath the table. “Manners, Lucius,” she warned in a biting tone that made Harry flinch, grateful he was not on the receiving end of her words.

“No, Father, I did not,” Draco answered for Harry. “I also explained why I didn’t show him my private rooms.”

“I’m amazed there are a hundred rooms here in this Manor,” Harry admired, trying to change the subject.

“One hundred and two,” Lucius corrected and Draco shook his head.

“No, there are one hundred,” he refuted and began listing them all as he had for Harry.

“You left off the dungeon,” Lucius told his son.

Draco winced and nodded. “That’s true. I always forget about the basement, but what’s the last?”

“Your trophy room of course. I can’t believe you forgot about it,” Lucius replied, his face a mask of calculating charm.

Beside Harry, Draco paled, which was a feat in itself, and his hand clutched uncomfortably on Harry’s knee. Another sharp look drifted between Narcissa and her husband and Harry began to wonder what he was doing here. “Trophy room?” he asked, brows knitted together in confusion. “You mean, like Quidditch trophies?”

“Something like that,” Draco muttered.

“It’s filled with trinkets from Draco’s favorite accomplishments,” Lucius informed Harry.

“Lucius,” Narcissa hissed with more venom than Harry could imagine coming from that delicate mouth, “I thought we discussed this. You’re to be on your best behavior tonight. We have company.”

Harry couldn’t imagine why everyone was getting so up in arms over a silly room. Unless….

“Does this room have…live trophies?” Harry asked at last, fearing the answer. He liked the Malfoys enough not to want to see them in Azkaban but they were all beginning to give him the creeps.

A throaty chuckle escaped the mouth of the eldest Malfoy and he shook his head. “No, Potter. Nothing like that.”

“Harry and I had the oddest lunch,” Draco remarked without preamble. It was clear he was trying to steer the topic away from this trophy room, which only served to make Harry more intrigued.

“Oh?” Narcissa replied, seemingly interested, but Harry could tell she was simply playing along with the change in topic. “Why is that?”

“A strange man knocked into our table, in fact, I swear he was familiar, but I couldn’t get a good look at his face,” Draco explained.

“We were wearing our lunch,” Harry agreed, remembering the moment very clearly. He’d been about to lean over and kiss Draco and was thankfully interrupted.

“How peculiar,” Narcissa mused. “Isn’t that peculiar, Lucius?”

“Peculiar,” the elder Malfoy agreed with a thoughtful nod.

They were busy making idle chitchat -Narcissa had some ladies from the garden club over for tea and Lucius was doing some research on Slander beetles - a hard to get potion ingredient - when the first course arrived, or what Draco informed him was the amuse-bouche.

It was a tiny crostini with crispy cabbage and a basil flower and it was only a little larger than a Sickle. Harry watched the others and popped the tiny bite into his mouth, happy that he didn’t have to spit it back into his napkin. It was actually quite good. It was at that point, however, Harry began to panic.

The house-elves were bringing in the next course, which based on the china bowls was going to be a soup dish. It was then that Harry looked down and saw that he had more silverware than he knew what to do with. There were three forks, three spoons and two knives. It was ridiculous, how was he supposed to know what to use?

Draco caught onto his frustration and leaned into his date, whispering against the shell of Harry’s ear. “You start with the utensils on the outside and work your way in,” he informed Harry.

“And the ones on top?” Harry asked in an equally soft whisper.

“Dessert,” Draco explained and Harry nodded in understanding. Just to be sure, Draco picked up the smaller soupspoon from the far right and held it aloft as he waited for his bowl to be set down. Harry followed suit, feeling quite grateful for the blond once again. Looking foolish in front of Draco was nothing new for him, but he didn’t want to embarrass himself too much in front of Draco’s parents.

Dinner progressed nicely; no more arguments and no more scathing looks, but Harry couldn’t forget about the trophy room mentioned earlier.

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Draco could get used to having Harry join him for dinner. After a bit of coaching Harry was a natural at such a formal meal. His posture was good, his conversation pleasant and his leg kept brushing against Draco’s all through dinner. Any hang-ups the man had at first Draco simply found adorable and was eager to assist Harry with something he didn’t know -it didn’t happen very often, so Draco made the best of it.

As the evening progressed and dessert was finished, Draco’s parents thanked Harry once again for coming and retired for the night. Draco knew instinctively that Lucius would linger and keep an eye on them but he tried to ignore that fact and enjoy Harry’s company instead.

“So,” Harry began as they strolled the rose gardens hand in hand, “I’m thinking that you should show me this trophy room of yours.”

The contentment Draco had felt at Harry’s side quickly drained away, along with the color from his face. “Why is that?”

“I’m curious what could be in a room that the three of you made such a big deal over,” Harry replied and Draco made a mental note to murder his father for this.

“Maybe next time,” Draco murmured.

Harry stopped in their lazy pace and stared at Draco, his eyes full of skeptical curiosity. He knew Draco was trying to hide something. The man was an Auror for Merlin’s sake; of course he could tell when Draco was trying to hide something. So, with a deep sigh and very little choice, Draco led the man inside and to the third floor. They stopped in front of a door at the end of the hall and Draco took out his wand, flicking it with several silent spells before pushing the door open.

“Complicated locking charm?” Harry asked and Draco nodded. He couldn’t bear to lie to the man with his tongue any more than he would already have to do. He didn’t understand why it felt so unnatural to weave untrue tales for Harry, but it did.

They stepped into a small room, sort of like a closet. Frames lined each wall and in each frame was a silver or gold medal. Harry stepped up to scrutinize them and laughed out loud. “No wonder you didn’t want me to see these,” he teased. “Ballet?”

Draco rolled his eyes. The medals were his, true enough, but the room had just been constructed that instant with the series of spells he’d used at the door. Previously it had just been a broom closet. “Mother thought it would be prudent for her son to learn dance, and I happened to excel at ballet,” he told his date. He had a tall lithe body, a dancer’s body, the instructor had said and his mother had been quite proud. “Okay, so now you’ve seen them. Can we move on?” Draco asked, holding his breath.

“I suppose,” Harry replied glumly. Apparently he would have gladly gawked at the medals for longer, memorizing each one if he could.

Draco let out the breath he’d been holding as he led Harry downstairs, his conscience gnawing guiltily in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t understand it though. He’d been a master of deceit for years and never lost a wink of sleep over it, and the fact that his insides squirmed over one tiny fib made Draco worry.

Was he losing his Malfoy touch or was it something else? Might his father be right for a change? Was he falling for the beautiful brunet? Harry’s hand certainly felt warm and soft within his own and his eyes were completely captivating. Draco sighed as he led Harry downstairs and to the door. It was getting late and he would be compelled to request more than Harry was willing to give if he remained in the man’s company much longer.

“It seems to me that my humiliation should be rewarded,” Draco chimed, leaning into Harry as they stood in the doorway leading to the front gate, the massive oak door swinging wide into the night air.

“Does it, now?” Harry asked, his eyebrow lifted in question. He knew what Draco was suggesting, and by the looks of it, he just might concede.

“Yes, it does. In fact, I think I’ve been a good host, do you agree?” he asked and Harry nodded. “And a good date?” he pressed and once again Harry nodded as a shadow of a smile formed on his face. “I think that means I should get a goodnight kiss.”

“I think you’re right,” Harry whispered and leaned further into Draco’s loose embrace. Their lips touched, just a simple chaste graze of flesh. Then without warning, someone cleared their throat behind them, causing the pair to break apart at once.

“Draco, you’re letting all the cool air out,” Lucius warned, gesturing to the open doorway the men occupied. Harry blushed and gave Draco a swift kiss on the cheek before departing with a wave to the elder Malfoy.

When Draco shut the door behind his retreating date, he whirled on Lucius, who smirked down on him like some sentient gargoyle. “I hope you’re happy,” Draco hissed.

“Delighted,” Lucius replied, the smirk twitching in his mirth as Draco stormed by him without another word.

Author's Note: I'm so fond of Lucius, even when he's keeping our two favorite boys apart. Now, back to Ron and Harry's scandalous past!!