The Pureblood Coup

Sheherazade and Lilith: Thanks for reviewing. There are more crazy details, XDXD. And I hope you enjoy Draco's presence in the story. He will continiue to play a bigger part now.


Continuation of….


Chapter Ten: Festival of the Pure-Bloods


Draco Malfoy entered some kind of sumptuous wizard form of a billiard room. Over his shoulder was hoisted an old-fashioned brown wooden radio. The white-blonde haired young man carried it over his shoulder like it was a boom box. His friend, Theodore Nott, whose elderly father is a Death Eater followed him. Theodore was a tall, thin weedy looking young man. The two of them had spent the first hour of the party, after the muggle sporting wandering aimlessly around the mansion, stopping in Draco’s bedchamber and retrieving the cheap radio, which is virtually the only inexpensive object in Draco’s room.

The voices rose and fell with sudden odd fluctuation, and mixed with the dozens and dozens of conversations was an ominous echo. Ancient pure-blood wizard music lilted from several magical devices, which resembled wind chimes. It resonated throughout the atmosphere. The chimes were magical devices resembling spades with a similar effect that the music box in the Black’s house that induces sleep has. Yet this instrument made one experience both bloodthirsty urges to be violent, and sexual arousal. The chimes were set up at intervals, in corners throughout most of the party’s action in the house.

Despite the erotic, violent music, Draco could still hear the radio waves buzzing into his ear. “There is also an ambitious, wonderful plan to construct loudspeakers for our newly improved program. Soon the speakers will be in Diagon and Knockturn Alley and even in Hogsmeade...all arranged for your entertaining shopping experience…” It was the voice of the announcer, listing the latest events in the Wizarding world of Great Britain, which of course is not being accurately reported. The Death Eaters, besides taking over the Daily Prophet, had also subordinated all indepdendent regional stations now under a central authority run by imperiused wizards. This taken over company, is called The Wizarding Wireless Broadcasting Company.

The room was full of over a hundred witches and wizards, mingling, and between them in spaces floated bottles of a diverse array of alcohol. None of the house-elves served as bartenders, for it is Wizarding custom for drinks to float through the air at parties, in which one could simply grab whatever.

Not only alcohol was rife but plumes of smoke spiked the atmosphere in an array of colors and shapes, as several people were smoking everything from cigarettes to cigars to other more lethal substances. It seemed like they were all oblivious to the reality of the horrors going on in the real world, like they had all forgotten about Voldemort’s take over at the ministry, for tonight all they cared about was their own pleasure.

A couple, making out, with passion, the man nibbling on the earlobe of the witch, under her pointed hat, flitted past Draco and Theodore. It seemed the enchanted wind chime music, might have increased their libido. Without even noticing, the boys they darted past them.

“Let’s go to the Malfoy’s baths…” the witch purred to him.

In the center, between a line of golden shaded lamps, making the room sparkle through the smoky haze, was Lucius Malfoy, confident, and in his element. Colliding onto the table with a pile of galleons was an opened treasure box of his wife’s jewels some of them as large as coconuts. Lucius’s smooth hands ran energetically over the items others were putting down bidding for Narcissa’s treasures. He grasped the pimp cane, his wrist twisting as he held it up, using it to attract more attention about to announce the asking prices. He was acting as a shrewd auctioneer, clad in silver robes with black velvet embroidery.

“This evening I’m selling…this beautiful encrusted ruby and sapphire mirror and comb set for…one thousand galleons…Or how about these diamond perfume bottles for just three thousand galleons?”

Behind Lucius, was a display case of obsolete weapons that wizards had once fought each other with centuries ago: as assortment of knives and swords within the case. Lucius was actually even considering of parting with that, too.

It was most peculiar for Lucius to be selling; his own benign material things without a presumed reason, and some of the witches gaped at him. A young woman jumped at the offer, vying for the accessories, and manipulating, and cajoling who was her fiancée to buy them for her this instant.

The man agreed with her desires, and pulled out an enormous sack of gold galleons, crashing them to the table next to Narcissa’s things. He had obviously magicked the pocket of his robes to be deeper, for the party tonight, for he had wanted to impress others with his own money.

“I’ll pay the rest later… Through a bank note to get inside my vault, Lucius,” and he slapped onto the ebony counter what looked like a check with the Gringott’s seal.

Lucius smiled icily, and held the bank note up to the light, checking to make sure it was not a counterfeit seal. Crinkling the bank note, he placed it in his waistcoat pocket under his robes. The woman grabbed the comb set greedily, magicking them to fit inside her tiny satin purse.

Draco was prowling around the room, and he picked off a bottle of butterbeer, floating around at a languid pace.

“New codifications of laws include a campaign against the muggles…If interested contact the Ministry of Magic, Department of Muggle Sporting and after a selective interview process, you may be hired to be a Snatcher!,” spoke the Minister for Magic, Pius Thickness, disseminating his speech to the whole country. He was unknowingly, making Voldemort’s propaganda infiltrate every magical home. What was worse, listening to other broadcasts was now illegal and all foreign broadcasts had been banned.

He opened the can, listening cheerfully to the broadcast, and the frothy warmness of butterbeer swilled down his throat, a pleasant sensation for his senses. Theodore, after much examination of the variety of alcoholic beverages found the mulled mead he was looking for.

“Now we got the drinks, let’s go somewhere quiet to listen to the broadcast,” Theodore nudged his friend quietly.

“In a minute, Nott,” rasped Draco. Draco’s gray eyes narrowed in the direction of his father, as he watched him selling some of their prized possessions.

Meanwhile, more of the guests were at card games, in a style of Wizarding poker. Some of them were gambling off fistfuls of silver and gold unicorn hair or Aromantula venom, as well as other valuable commodities. Fenrir Greyback was situated with Yaxley, Jugson, and the two Avery men, playing a deck of self-shuffling blood strained cards. Fenrir’s robes were still coated with blood, now dried, and so dark was the blood, his ceremonial robes gleamed purple. Yaxley, shook his head with deep disgust, smelling the blood on him, and resisting the urge to spit on the werewolf, he whipped his wand out, and the blood was suctioned like a vacuum into oblivion.

Voldemort suddenly entered the room, his presence really did give off a draft, as he stood in those sweeping green and black robes, with the tapestry-like cape trailing him like he was a king. Many of the heads turned, some scurrying into the crowd, afraid to be singled out by him. Draco was too intent on listening to the radio, whilst swilling on the butterbeer to notice Voldemort. The Dark Lord just stood there, cast like the exalted god, without anyone interacting with him, just holding his wand like a scepter. It was just too noisy, too many distractions, not to mention a lot of them were getting drunk. So it was really impossible for any of them to care to acknowledge him. Some of the people, who spotted him, glanced over their shoulders, and turned their backs, pretending they had not noticed him.

A moment later and as quickly as Voldemort had entered, he was gone. Lucius continued making his deals. Draco and Theodore ran out of the room.

Draco complained, irritably to something Theodore had said, “No, we’re not kids anymore!” Passing some of the Snatchers patrolling the corridors he added, “…But that doesn’t mean we can’t have any fun…I’ve got an idea…,” Draco said in that same nasty drawl he had inherited from his father.

Draco and Theodore continued through a maze of short passages, all the while listening to the marching tune, coming out of the Wizarding Wireless, as the evening’s daily show now ended with this rousing beat.