The Pureblood Coup

Sheherazade: Glad you liked the last chapter with Voldemort's displeasure. I did not even notice the '1984' touch...probably cause I read that book six years ago in tenth grade..It was certainly effortless to throw Dolohov/Rowle into isolation like that....Voldemort would do that, because I'm sure he felt like he wanted nothing more to do with them, after that mistake.

And as this story goes on...you will see more of the burden Draco carries...the poor young man...caught in the middle of it all! The next scene will be the start of the party....The party is going to be maybe a dozen updates, probably more...


Continuation and final installment of…:


Chapter Seven: Empty Spaces


Later that evening, Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix were still sitting in the Drawing Room. Earlier, Wormtail had been yelled at by Malfoy to go back to keeping watch over their prisoner, Ollivander. Voldemort had not emerged from the master bedroom.

Draco and Lucius were in the two arm-chairs in front of the fireplace. Narcissa was sitting rather gingerly on Lucius’s knee. All four of them seemed to have a mood of dreariness, and fatigue. None were too happy, except maybe Bellatrix. She was smiling to her herself, while glancing in the gilded mirror above the marble mantlepiece every other moment or so.

“We must not ever call him, unless we have Potter…The Dark Lord will surely punish even for the slightest mistake,” Narcissa crossly complained.

“True…,” Bellatrix responded, nodding profusely. “Any of us perishes if we step out of line or out of his favour. But don’t worry about me…”

Lucius bit his lip, looking deeply pensive. It was as if he was trying his best to figure out which strategy he should play to make things right with his master again.

Behind them they heard incessant scrubbing noises, and the sound of a short mop being moved across the floor. Several house-elves were in the drawing room, scrubbing the floor, working like crazy for the celebration to begin in less than twenty-four hours.

“Bella, told me…what you did to 'Dromeda, Lucius! That’s fine …Tomorrow I’ll get my share of the infedelity …So tell me, did you like having her dirty, blood-traitor lips on your cock, Lucius?”

Lucius gnashed his teeth in rage, and grabbed Narcissa’s arm rather roughly. He felt like hitting her.

Narcissa knew what Lucius, was thinking of doing, yet she eyed him defiantly. “Well, what are we as a couple going to do? There isn’t anything we can do…,” she answered her own query, resignedly.

“Yes, there is. We must persevere through this for the sake of the pure-blood progenies…and if that entails getting to unleash my desires with a little raping here and there…So be it,” Lucius growled.

Narcissa, still on his lap, swung her hand up and slammed it across his face, which appeared waxy, and yelllowish in the firelight.

“Good night!,” Narcissa announced to Bella and Draco, after rising off her husband’s lap, and with heels clicking, she departed.

Lucius did not go after his wife, he did not have the energy to. He slumped in the large armchair, staring depressed into the flames of the marble fireplace.

Draco was still gazing in the direction his mother had left, looking startled by her ourburst, and trying to figure out what the infedility was about.

Lucius felt bitter about Voldemort taking his wife for his own mere pleasure, and angry that Voldemort had even taken up his manor as headquarters. Lucius was tempted with the wild urge, to throw Voldemort out, even if it was futile, as it could never happen.

“I’ve planned a shrine for the Dark Lord tomorrow…it will be in this very drawing room, Lucius. So don’t go balking about it, when you see hundreds of candles being placed in here during the party. Do not tell…it is to be my surprise for him.”

Lucius frowned, and shook his head incredulously at his sister-in-law. “You just don’t get it do you?”

“What don’t I understand?,” she replied fiercely.

“Snape is the most faithful as of now. He is the Dark Lord’s right hand man. Not you, Bellatrix. Snape killed Dumbledore, and what did you do, other than murder your scapegoat cousin?”

“I AM-,” Bellatrix voiced vehmenantly.

“Your what?… No more useful than I,” Lucius retorted disenchantingly.

“And what about me, father?,” cut in Draco.

“You’re in it like I am, Draco. For proper ambition…and not merely for the servitude…” And Lucius eyed Bellatrix, victoriously.

“We’ll see how satisfied our Lord is with the impending, “'Festival of the Pure-Bloods,'” Bellatrix noted.

And remaining unswervingly loyal, Bellatrix left the room proudly, head held high.

Yet Lucius’s loyalty was wavering so much so, that sometimes he felt like giving up. There was only a hope that maybe this would benefit him economically in the long run. To make matters worse, he did not like how Voldemort’s punishments were becoming much more brutal than ever before….

He glanced up, looking around, thinking of all he had ever owned. His prized possessions, the best of everything galleons could buy, now seemed like junk compared to the loss of self-respect that had come upon him. Not to mention the estranged relations with his wife…He was torn between pride and greed…

He jumped from his chair, and turned to see a few of the dozens of house elves he owned, still scrubbing the floor.

"Mote!"

With a kick, the elf was hurtled across the room. "Get the others started on the ballroom! There are hundreds of wizards coming to be entertained."

"Yes, Master," the elf, named Mote said complacently.