Harry Potter and PureBlooded Truths

Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths


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Chapter 4


Presents and Parties


Sitting in his room, Harry was watching his birthday present zip around the room in exaggerated wide sweeping motions, darting near him but always staying just out of his reach. It wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that Pigwidgeon was flying about the room trying to keep pace with his present. A passing thought occurred to Harry that she was jealous, it was probably the first time she had been confronted with an object that was as fast and smaller than he was and he was determined to be the victor in this perceived challenge.

After the small owl crashed into the hanging lamp, Harry decided that he had to put a stop to the owl’s antics before the Dursleys were awakened. Not interested in starting out his birthday with rants from his uncle, Harry picked up an oversized t-shirt, and held it up between his outstretched arms, creating a make-shift barrier to catch the tiny owl in. Unfortunately Pig was not interested in making Harry’s life easy, as he easily skirted all attempts made to catch him.

After several failed attempts, Harry finally relented and accepted the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to catch the owl; so began plan B, bribery. He walked over to Hedwig’s cage where he kept a pouch of treats and retrieved a few. Firmly pinching a treat between his finger and thumb, Harry tried to coax the overly active owl to land on his outstretched arm in exchange for the treat. Pig saw the treat and started towards Harry but was waylaid when the tiny object darted in front of him, stopping in mid-flight, the tiny owl rotated his head several times between the boy and his nemesis. Harry chuckled to himself when he saw the dilemma he was in, his stomach or the opponent.

With great reluctance, he abandoned his pursuit of the tiny enemy and landed on Harry’s outstretched arm. Not wanting Pig to feel bad about his decision, Harry immediately plied the tiny owl with plenty of treats, a drink of water, and lots and lots of praises. After eating his fill, Harry settled him into Hedwig’s cage for a nice quiet nap.

With one flying menace having been taken care of, Harry picked up the operating instructions that came with his present, with the hope to see how to stop it or at least slow it down. Harry quickly scanned the instructions, and then whispered, “Temporus Subsist,” and the small object slowed down. Now, hovering at eye level, Harry got his first look at the present Ron and Hermione had owled him. It was a golden snitch that had been converted into a clock.

The snitch alarm clock was something that Ron and Hermione had created by chance, a golden opportunity, as it were, presented itself to them and they seized it as determinedly as a vampire given carte blanche to a blood bank.

It had all started when Mrs. Weasley insisted that Ron clean his room shortly after he came home for summer break. Begrudgedly cleaning out his closet, Ron had unearthed an old wooden snitch, one that he had practiced with prior to attending Hogwarts. Looking like it had seen better days, Ron still couldn’t discard the snitch as it held fond memories for him. This was when the idea hit him, to refurbish the snitch and give it to Harry for his birthday, a present his meager budget could afford.

In a letter to Hermione, Ron had mentioned his idea to her, and several brain-storming posts later, the two collectively decided on transfiguring and charming the snitch into a unique present for Harry, one that would benefit Ron as much as Harry.

Through Hermione’s urgings, that teetered close to Ron’s definition of nagging, aided with the help of the twins, he repaired the battered, broken down snitch. The broken and mangled wings were restored and they now fluttered better than when it was first gifted to Ron, a hand-me-down from his brother Charlie. George suggested a few more charms, and it no longer appeared wooden, rather, it now had a reflective metallic, golden luster. Ron’s exuberant response to his brother was a single word, wicked.

While Ron was refurbishing the snitch, Hermione had donned her research cap. While they had been owling one another ideas, exhausting poor Pigwidgeon, Ron had suggested that the snitch turned alarm clock have multiple settings. That if the owner wasn’t out of bed within a predetermined time frame, the clock would engage in a battle with the sleepy wizard.

Initially, multiple settings sounded like an excellent idea. Harry had been known to turn his alarm off, roll over and go back to sleep which invariably resulted in his missing breakfast, arriving to class out of breath, wearing horribly wrinkled clothes, hair in complete disarray, in short, looking like something the cat had dragged in. So, after Ron and Hermione had decided to create an alarm clock, Harry’s perpetual tardiness became Hermione’s personal mission to remedy. After all, they would be starting their NEWT level studies, so it was imperative that they not lollygag in bed when the time could be spent reviewing.

It had been quite the challenge, even for the intelligent witch, but she had finally managed to understand the precision of layering charms. Through some summer tutelage, she had discovered that the true challenge in properly layering charms was to prevent one from warping the effects of another. The failure most wizards had in compiling permanent charms was due to their ignorance regarding the compatibility of spells. Hermione’s rudimentary knowledge of runes helped her out in her understanding the significance of the roots behind each incantation and it was her understanding of arithmancy that aided her in choosing spells that would be mathematically compatible with one another, yielding the result she desired.

Nodding her head in personal satisfaction, Hermione had decided to take a five minute break. Stretching her arms forward and rotating her shoulders, she put her quill down and started flexing her right hand, opening and closing it in rapid succession, an effective deterrent she had learned that prevented cramping. She had just completed her 9th page of instructions, detailing the first two of the seven specific charms she wanted incorporated into their joint birthday present.

While she would have preferred to have performed the charms herself, she had accepted the twins’ offer of help, provided they follow her instructions, without deviation. Hermione had bitten her bottom lip raw from worry that she hadn’t stressed enough the importance that Fred and George follow the exact process and incantations. Having not reached their age of majority, both Hermione and Ron were restricted from performing magic outside of Hogwarts, hence their reliance on the twins to help them complete this project.

Up a bit earlier than the other occupants of the household, Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, starring at a stack of parchment a school owl had recently delivered. Blimey, a bloke can’t even sleep in during the summer holidays. Hermione’s a real nutter, putting this much work into figuring out sequencing charms to get Harry’s birthday present to work the way she wants it to.

Bleary eyed from his early morning rise, Ron had just finished reading Hermione’s latest letter to him, wishing he had stayed in bed. His face held a blank expression, giving no clues to his inner turmoil, and then he slowly slumped across the table. With his arms fully extended, holding the parchment in both hands, he began softly smacking his forehead on the table in a display of mild frustration.

It would be a lot easier if we just admitted defeat. ... Harry’s always in need of a broom waxing kit. Pulling himself back to an upright position, Ron released the letter from his death grip and scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips. Throwing his head backwards, he let out an audible grunt of frustration. He then started to stare at the ceiling, until he noticed some cob webs in the far corner. Not wanting to think about what those cob webs indicated, he brought his attention back to the letter innocently sitting in front of him. Dejectedly slumping his shoulders, he picked up the parchment and began to read Hermione’s instructions again, desperately hoping that this time the directions would make some sense.

He rolled his eyes when he spied the paragraph where Hermione described how thrilled she was that Professors Vector, Babblings and Flitwick had been impressed with her independent project. And then the letter droned on about why layering charms were not taught to students, as the precision required was beyond even NEWT level classes and that only those going on for a Masters in a combination of the three subjects, Charms, Arithmancy and Runes would a person learn the artistry entailed. Ron groaned, he was getting an imaginary headache just thinking that he could hear her lecturing him on the topic.

Ron was unaware that Hermione had panicked after she had initially begun researching the charm work needed to create the would be alarm clock. She had frantically poured over every charm book in her possession, before she realized that her warehouse of material was wholly inadequate. Being deprived of the Hogwarts library did not deter the young woman, she sought out the next best thing to a book, her professors. As soon as Hermione had realized that she would need help, she had owled the professors, explained her plight, and had politely asked for their assistance.

In a letter addressed jointly to her three professors, she had outlined what information she had been able to obtain and what conclusions she was able to extrapolate but that she needed more guidance and was hoping to garner their assistance. The three professors had been so impressed with the young witch’s preliminary work, and her rudimentary understanding that, along with a few books on loan from the school library, and helpful suggestions regarding her current project, they had offered to jointly mentor her on a new project when she returned to Hogwarts, if she was interested. This had thrilled Hermione more than what one would ever consider normal for a teenager, to be happy with the knowledge that additional assignments and hours of research would befall her the following school year was unconceivable to Ron, as it would be to most teenagers. Once she had descended from her academic high, she had started to panic, the thoughts racing in her head ran the full gambit of how was she going to properly prepare herself before her return to how many more books she would be able to get on loan from the school library over the summer to help herself in her preparation. Fortunately she had already completed the summer assignments so that at least didn’t plague her thoughts.

With the aid of her professors, Hermione had meticulously devised an array of charms, that combined, would not allow the owner easy access to shut the alarm off or to easily ignore it. At the onset of the alarm, the snitch would fly about the room chirping, not hovering close enough for an able body to catch it from a prone position. Being forced out of bed to disable the alarm, guaranteed, in Hermione’s mind that the owner would then be ready to begin his day.

It wasn’t until Ron had finally come to understand all that was involved with phase two, that he groaned. What’s this rubbish? I cannot believe Hermione’s this clueless. If a bloke’s determined to stay in bed, he’ll succeed with these types of lame deterrents. So caught up in his reading of Hermione’s instructions, he had failed to notice when his brothers had entered the kitchen.

When they had noticed that their younger brother hadn’t looked up, the twins knew something was seriously wrong; Ron was sitting at the kitchen table and wasn’t shoveling food into the black hole some referred to as his mouth. Then, spotting the papers in their younger sibling’s hands, they smirked at one another in secret code before George broke the silence.

“Oi, what’s this you got there Ronnikins, an early morning love letter?” Lunging across the table, George tried to grab the parchment out of his brother’s hand, and missed.

“Oooooooo, looks like you might be right, little brother,” Fred added.

With the amount of time he’d already spent pouring over Hermione’s letter, Ron was not in a playful mood. Throwing the stack of parchment at his brother George, Ron began verbally lashing out, releasing his pent up frustrations on those nearest him.

“The barmy woman turned an excellent idea into a complete disaster.”

The twins, having already been apprised of the project, knew instantly what Ron was blathering on about. And being wise elder brothers, they knew to tread lightly when dealing with Ron’s explosive temper, so they kept their tongues occupied with spoonfuls of porridge rather than spewing out cheeky retorts.

After a few short moments of awkward silence, Ron abruptly stood and started pacing the small kitchen. Without preamble, he began describing phase one to his brothers, occasionally stopping to make sure he still had their attention. The occasional nods of understanding were the only prompts Ron required to continue.

All was relatively calm during his explanation of phase one, however, when Ron began describing phase two, his demeanor radically changed. He let out an audible huff and his voice hitched. In a final show of agitation, he flailed his arms about as he finished describing his personal thoughts on the effectiveness of phase two.

“I don’t have a problem with phase one, the hovering snitch chirping and making a right pest of itself is perfect, but if that isn’t enough to get a bloke out of bed, Hermione’s ideas for phase two falls flatter than the greasy git’s hairdo.”

Slumping back into his vacated seat, Ron continued his rant. “The snitch should be going in for the kill, not blowing puffs of air at Harry like some love struck fairy.”

In an effort to calm himself before he got even more wound up, Ron closed his eyes and paused a moment before he continued. “Knowing Hermione and her dislike for anything violent, it’ll probably have as much punch behind it as a girl blowing kisses at a bloke from across a crowded room.”

Being all keyed up, Ron had completely missed the looks of longing his brothers shot one another. Unlike their younger sibling, the twins would not mind being on the receiving end of a few kisses blown their way. Silence reigned over the room while the three boys pondered the merits of being awoken up in such a fashion, with Ron’s being radically different from Fred and George’s musings.

George was caught up in his own fantasies of waking up every morning to soft kisses when it dawned on him that, his innocent, naive brother was spot on. Any normal teenaged boy would purposefully stay in bed to receive such a morning greeting. The goal of getting a bloke out of bed would completely fail. Ron was right on the mark but far from the target, in George’s opinion.

It was Ron who broke the lingering silence, “Honestly, if that’s all that’s needed to get a bloke out of bed, then Mom made it hard on herself for nothing.”

All three boys broke out in huge grins and a lingering silence reigned over the kitchen as they began to reminisce.

After a short trip down memory lane, Fred was the first to break the silence, “Yea, where’s the fun in that? I mean, every morning was a real adventure around here, not knowing what goodies mom would pull out of her apron to spring on us.”

The three of them then started recanting some of the more creative ways their mother got them out of bed, stories about the mattresses growing hundreds of feelers and tickling them when they were young, to the mattress throwing them onto the floor before it ran off and disappeared. And as the boys aged, so grew the methods Molly used on them. Being a mindful mother, Mrs. Weasley did not employ the twirl-a-bed method until she was sure they were old enough to not sick up on the mattress.

“Yea, I remember that one. The best part was that mum was convinced that she had found the perfect method of getting us out of bed with the least amount of effort.”

An enormous face splitting grin appeared on Fred’s face before he added, “Who could ever forget your whimpers the first time mum sent you for a spin?”

“Hey no fair bringing up that one episode. A bloke being tossed about with morning bladder is quite unpleasant.”

“Yea, I remember you were quite green around the gills when mum said that you’d better hold it or sleep in your own mess. Don’t rightly remember what had her panties in such a twist that morning but she was battle ready before she even entered our room.”

All three boys broke out in snickers reminiscing about the good old days around the Burrow. The twins still felt rather proud of themselves for having been able to deceive their mother into thinking that she had finally found a way to get them out of bed with little effort on her part. What they had never let on to her was that the twirl-a-bed was their favorite way to ‘wake’ up in the mornings, but only if they got to the loo to relieve their bladders before she stormed in the room to rouse them out of bed. George having wet the bed at age eight was not forgotten in the Weasley household for several years.

Ron always knew his brothers were mental, but hearing how they would wake up early to visit the loo and then pretend to have a lie in on the outside chance that they’d get a twirl-a-bed ride removed any doubts he might have had regarding their sanity. Definitely mental, those two.

Stories aside, the three boys started reading Hermione’s dissertation. Even having been warned about Hermione’s obsessive behavior, Fred and George were still overwhelmed with the sheer number of pages Ron had presented to them. However, after they had started reading Hermione’s instructions regarding layering charms, their interests grew and they no longer loathed the idea of trudging through the lengthy explanations. In fact, the more they read, the more eager they were to lend their services for such a worthy cause.

While the three boys were quietly discussing some of the finer points of Hermione’s research, another Weasley male entered the kitchen. Leaning against the counter top fixing himself a cup of espresso, Bill half listened to his younger siblings’ animated conversation. Bill was silent, waiting for the caffeine to clear the remaining morning fog residing in his head. While pretending to be solely interested in emptying the dregs at the bottom of his cup, he began to actively listen in on the conversation between the three miscreants.

Half way through his second cup, Bill had pieced together enough snippets of the running conversation to determine that they were designing a gift that was going to be layered in charms, and this peaked his interest. Few wizards understood layering charms, an ignorance Bill did not share. Being a curse breaker, Bill dealt with the intricacies of layered charms on a daily basis.

Having spent the previous two years in Egypt as an apprentice curse breaker, Bill had become quite adept at disarming cursed objects that were charmed in various layers of nasty repellents. Some of the more ingenious artifacts Bill had been ‘introduced’ to were charmed in layers of rotating hexes. Those were some of the more challenging artifacts to nullify, as the artifact would have to be triggered enough times to expose all the hexes it harbored. And all too often, this turned out to be a dangerous game of roulette, as most curse breakers sported injuries when delegated one of these specialty items to disarm.

Once Bill had been brought up to speed regarding the charms Hermione had created and how they were layered, Bill began suggesting a few enhancements that could augment the project. Unlike Hermione’s, Bill’s ideas were laced with a bit more, ...bite. The innocent wake up call Hermione had originally devised, now had the potential to become one of calamity, if the owner ignored the order to rise. Bill’s ideas were not only plentiful and innocently devious, he also provided his skills to personalize the snitch-clock to Harry’s magical signature, ensuring that Harry’s dorm mates would not be bothered by the persistent wake-up call. With Bill’s modifications, the snitch-alarm got the Weasley seal of approval from the twins.

With Bill’s help, the three younger Weasley men finished charming Harry’s present with time to spare before his birthday. The unspoken agreement between the four of them was to not inform Hermione of their alterations. With an acknowledged nod to one another, they had officially adopted the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ motto, often used by the Weasley children as a parental shield. The boys had all learned early on in life that it was often beneficial to their bottoms if they took precautions to kept certain information from reaching their mother, and in this case, the same thoughts applied to one Hermione Granger. Ron involuntarily shuddered when the thought of the lecture he would endure should Hermione learn of their enhancements.

It’s a wonder Harry’s facial muscles didn’t hurt from the enormous grin that never slackened from his face as he closely examined his present. After admiring the snitch for a fair amount of time, turning it this way and that, Harry finally picked up the letter that his two best friends had attached to the package. The letter that had for the most part gone unread as capturing the snitch had consumed Harry’s attention as soon as it had escaped it’s boxed confines.

With the now read birthday greetings in his lap, signed by not only Ron and Hermione, but by Fred, George and Bill as well, Harry felt happier than he had in a long while. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself as he glanced at a stack of unanswered letters, Harry was truly happy that his best friends hadn’t abandoned him after he had ignored them all summer. Relieved that his friends were not irritated with him for his neglectful behavior, Harry continued to admire the birthday present, marveling at it’s uniqueness and practicality.

Harry chuckled when it occurred to him that his present had been given one of his best friends’ personality traits. Charming in it’s own way, it was a complete and utter nag. Only Hermione would think it a good thing to charm an alarm clock into pestering him until he did as he was bid, to get out of bed. I guess I should be thankful that Hermione didn’t think to charm it for ‘study-time’. The thought sparked a shiver of fear that ran down Harry’s spine but didn’t break his good mood.

All in all, Harry’s birthday was looking up. He repackaged the little snitch along with the activation instructions, taking great care to not initiate any settings until school started, as per the instructions before he headed down to the kitchen to have some breakfast. Grabbing a quick bowl of cold cereal, he sated his meager appetite. He then quickly cleaned his bowl and put it away before he started to head outside.

He hadn’t been out of the house much since he’d arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive for the summer and his complexion showed it. Not only was his complexion sallow, his eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, yet he was sleeping and eating better than he had been. Having spent most of the summer in his small bedroom with the light switch off, Harry had a severe reaction to the bright sunlight when he took his first step onto the stoop. In an involuntary action his hand shot up to shield eyes from the intensity of the sunlight. Electing to not move while being temporarily blinded, Harry stayed on the porch, giving his eyes time to adjust. It took only a few moments for his eyes to adjust before he took his first step.

Harry got as far as the driveway, when he heard his Aunt calling his name. “Boy, if you think you’re going to sneak out of the house before doing the laundry you’ve another thing coming,” came the voice from the kitchen window. In an effort to keep nosey neighbors ignorant to the goings on in her house, Petunia had perfected her voice to project just enough so that Harry would be able to hear the command but her voice would not carry far enough for the neighbors to hear her berating her nephew.

Shrugging his shoulders and kicking his foot at an invisible object, Harry turned around and headed back into the house. Abandoning any teenaged rant as to why it was unfair to do chores on one’s birthday, Harry elected to keep his thoughts to himself, resolving to sneak out later that evening.


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Shortly before Harry went home for the summer, Dumbledore had paid Mrs. Figg a visit, and with as few details as possible, he had revealed that Harry had witnessed the death of his godfather, a man whom Harry regarded as a father figure. Mrs. Figg didn’t need wizarding powers to conclude that Dumbledore was torn between sending Harry back to the Dursley’s or keeping him in an environment that would be more emotionally healing. Unfortunately, Dumbledore did not have the luxury of an option other than sending Harry back to the Dursley’s; he was not of legal age and, like it or not, the Dursley’s were his guardians and his best source for protection against a possible attack.

Once Dumbledore had finished filling Mrs. Figg in about Harry’s recent experience at the Ministry and his resultant state of emotional frailty, he began to unfold the real purpose of his visit.

Locking eyes with the woman, the elder wizard quietly began, “It is my hope that you will be able to keep close tabs on Harry this summer and send me updates regarding your sightings, personal observations, and opinions. Harry returns this summer in a fragile emotional state. He needs time to heal his wounds and not have them exasperated.”

From his pocket, Dumbledore removed a small jewelry box and placed it on the table between them. “And it is my hope that this trinket here should aid you in your endeavor.”

Having followed his movements with her eyes, the woman glanced up from the box on the coffee table, she tentatively moved her hand towards the box, paused and looked the wizard in the eye, and asked hesitantly, “May I?”

His response was a simple, please.

She reached over, picked up the small rectangular box, paused briefly and then flipped the hinged lid up. Inside she gasped when she saw a bewitchingly beautiful golden bracelet. The bracelet was a delicately woven golden chain, sporting multiple precious gemstones of various sizes dangling in a patterned array of larger to smaller, from one color to the next.

Noticing her hesitation in touching the bracelet, Dumbledore leaned over the coffee table towards the woman and began, “I would like for you to wear this bracelet while Harry is living with his relatives.”

Not taking the box from the woman sitting across from him, Dumbledore reached over, touched the bracelet with his finger and began to outline the usage of the trinket. “This bracelet is embedded with charms that are attuned to you and only you. You need not fear wearing it or having a Muggle touch it, for only your touch will trigger the charms to activate it.”

Pointing at the largest of the blue stones, the wizard began explaining specific details of the bracelet. “This sapphire is directly linked to my office at Hogwarts. Hold it between your thumb and forefinger for three seconds, then place your palm firmly on a sheet of charmed paper from this stack here,” the wizard patted the top sheet of a stack of parchment that had magically appeared, “and your written account will appear on an identical stack of papers in my office.”

Arabella immediately understood the unsaid conversation and meaning behind such a charm. Communication by this method would eliminate the risk of an owl being intercepted. With information traveling back and forth detailing Harry’s health and state of mind, as well as his location, an interception of such information could put Harry’s life in great peril. And living amongst muggles, it would be best to keep owl post to a minimum for fear of drawing unwanted attention as owls were not common in muggle neighborhoods.

Looking between the bracelet and the stack of papers that magically appeared on her coffee table, the woman nodded her understanding. “Squeeze for three seconds, and then press my palm on the paper, understood,” came the woman’s confirmation of the directions.

“I would like to receive frequent updates on Harry’s condition this summer. No matter how trite you may think they are, I would like to hear from you and to read your observations.”

Sitting back in his chair, the wizard continued, “There are charms that I could place on Harry, but eyewitness accounts are preferable. While the charms would alert me to any radical changes in Harry’s health they have their limitations in that they are only useful in dire circumstances Harry may find himself involved in. Charms are not in of themselves sentient therefore, they do not convey information regarding the emotional state of health of the person the charm is monitoring.”

The mood in the room sobered as the aged wizard said, “It is imperative that you keep me abreast regarding Harry’s state of health, mental as well as physical. Should it deteriorate further, I will bring him back to Hogwarts and make other arrangements for the rest of the summer.”

The woman looked at the man sitting opposite her and was about to speak when he interjected first, “I don’t anticipate that things will come to this but it is best to have multiple plans ready to enact should there be a need.”

Opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, she wasn’t sure how to voice what she was feeling, mostly because she didn’t know what she was feeling other than unease.

“In truth,” he said, “I expect things to be a bit smoother for Harry this summer. He’s understandably depressed right now, but he will be helped this summer in various ways that will ease his pain.”

And with this statement, Arabella looked at the man and noticed what she could have sworn was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Not missing a beat, he then moved his fingers and pointed to the largest ruby. “This gem is charmed in layers for different warnings. If Harry’s life is in peril, hold the gemstone between your thumb and forefinger for a minimum of fifteen seconds before releasing it and members from the Order will apparate to your side, ready for battle.”

“If Harry’s life is not in any immediate danger but you feel that things are amiss and would like some back up, press the same ruby in several rapid successions. This motion with activate the alarms differently. Members within Order Headquarters will be alerted that you are in need of some help in assisting Harry but that his life is not in immediate danger.”

The last gemstone that she was instructed about was in regards to the largest emerald on the bracelet.

“When this gemstone is activated by your touch, the Ministry will be alerted that Harry is in need of immediate attention and the Ministry will be in charge of any rescue attempt made,” began the last instructions Dumbledore enumerated to the woman regarding the bracelet. “The alarms will sound at the aurors headquarters in the Ministry rather than at the Order.” He did not voice his desire for her to avoid touching the emerald gemstone, yet his eyes clearly transmitted this message to the woman.

While many members of the Order worked at the Ministry, some as aurors, it would be difficult to move quickly and stealthy with Ministry involvement. And with ex-Minister Fudge having publicly declared Harry as good as insane for his claims that Voldemort had been resurrected, Dumbledore felt that it would be best to keep Ministry involvement away from Harry as the child had little faith in the system at this time.

At the close of their brief meeting, Mrs. Figg placed her hand on the wizard’s arm and told him that she would be extra vigilant this summer and would keep him abreast to any changes she might observe in Harry.


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The perfectly controlled pitch and volume of his father’s trademark oration came from the direction of his bedroom door, “Draco, your mother has a few last minute details to tend to, so I have been sent to retrieve you in her stead.”

Briefly pulling his eyes from his son, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small vial of a green potion. Prominently displaying the small vial between his thumb and forefinger, Lucius made slight motions with his wrist, swinging the bottle in a small pendulum-like arc. Well aware that his son had noticed the vial of potion, he felt no compelling need to verbally announce its existence.

“For specifics unknown to me, she also wanted me to check with you to see if you were in need of a vial of pepper-up potion as it would be most unbecoming for you to fall asleep or be less than attentive during a dinner given in your honor.”

The voiced message was innocuous in of itself, but the family was proficient in delivering a tome of nonverbal messages within a few carefully chosen spoken words. In this instance, Draco was aware of the following: that his mother had sent his father and not a house elf to deliver the potion and that his father would not leave before he witnessed that he had indeed ingested the potion.

Draco inwardly sighed to himself, understanding with clarity that the true unspoken message conveyed that his mother was concerned about him. Concerned enough that she sent Lucius to personally tend to her bidding, making sure that he ingested the pepper-up potion rather than place it untouched on a side table, as he would have been done had an elf been sent on the errand.

Returning his gaze to his reflection in the full length mirror where he had been preening himself all afternoon, then flicking at an imaginary piece of lint on his lapel, all in an attempt to delay an orchestrated response his mind was racing to think up. Having carefully settled on a proper retort, Draco responded in his own icy drawl, “Father, I have no intentions of embarrassing myself nor the Malfoy name. Of this you and mother have taught me well. I will not allow the guests to catch any glimmer of a less than perfect presentation of myself.”

Not allowing his son to gain control of the exchange, the man spoke while walking towards his son, “Admirable intentions all too often come up short and plague those fool hearty enough that not heed valuable advice and assistance. At this juncture, I respectfully request that you put aside your pride and personal assurances, and do as you are told. I have been instructed to deliver this pepper-up potion to you, to make assurances that you’ll last well past the last course, making certain that all matters of protocol are met.”

Draco hesitated to reach for the vial his father was holding out to him as he had been feeling better this past week, not taking to his bed nearly as frequently. When Draco’s persistent lethargy had been exposed, he’d been subjected to a very thorough checkup. The family medi-wizard had found nothing unusual in his scans but as a precaution had prescribed some bone strengthening potions as well as nutritional supplements to counter any adverse effects his sudden growth spurt might have had on his body. It wasn’t until a family friend had assured his mother that fault could not be found with the doctor’s findings and he offered to supply the potions prescribed.

Knowing his parents’ traditional stance on split marital responsibilities, Draco felt reasonably secure that his mother had not informed his father regarding the extent of his sleep induced behavior. This safeguard afforded him the luxury to behave justifiably cocky for his father’s intrusion and insistence that he drink the potion.

“Father, I don’t believe I need this, and I view this as an affront to my character.” Hitching his chin in a slight show of petulance, he then continued, “However, I willingly ingest the contents of this vial for your peace of mind and not mine as proof that I am honor bound to not bring shame to the family name.” And in a display of defiant pride, Draco took the vial from his father’s hand and downed the contents in one gulp, steam erupted from both his ears seconds later.

A child brought up under lesser conditions, in a household expecting less than perfection in manners of personal conduct would have simply stuck his tongue out, and this was Draco’s way of doing so, an act of acceptable defiant compliance perfected through years of practice.

Having noticed the slight sting of resentment from his son, Lucius raised one eyebrow before responding. “I am glad to see that you do not take your responsibilities lightly. We are purebloods and as such we conduct ourselves with dignity at all times.”

“Now, if you are quite finished with your primping,” Lucius looked at his son with a teasing smirk on his face, “you should head downstairs as the guests will be arriving shortly.”

Draco looked at the time and noted that he had at least fifteen minutes before he would be needed downstairs. “I shall be down shortly, father.”

Not feeling slighted by his son’s dismissal, the elder Malfoy excused himself, and slipped into his own bedroom chambers to make a few last minute adjustments to himself. When entertaining, a Malfoy must always be the belle of the ball.


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Draco was half way down the staircase that spilled into the middle of the grand foyer when he noticed the first of the guests arriving. He relaxed and shot a smile to Pansy as she entered through the double doors with her mother. He’d grown up with Pansy as well as a few of his other dorm mates since the time that they were in nappies, and because of this familiarity they did not subject one another to false airs as they all had far too many embarrassing secrets on one another.

Pansy nudged her mother’s arm while tipping her head towards Draco, who was still descending, now being a few steps from the landing. “Oh Draco, darling. You’ve grown since I last saw you. And your longer hair makes you look absolutely delicious. It’s no wonder Pansy constantly talks about you,” came the familiar greeting from Pansy’s mother, along with the usual greeting of an air kiss on each cheek.

“Why thank you Mrs. Parkinson, you’re looking rather ravishing yourself. I’ve no doubt you’ll be receiving compliments all evening, as that particular shade of blue in your gown accentuates your eyes splendidly.”

Exhaling an overly exaggerated sigh, Draco continued with his theatrics, “But it’s such a shame that all your admirers will be staring into your lovely eyes when they should spend time admiring that gown. Another original creation of yours?”

In a game they’d perfected over the years, Draco crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his head to one side and hiked a thin eyebrow; he was not leering at the woman in an illicit manner, rather he was projecting his approval in a manner she expected and delighted in. This ritual of playfully exaggerated compliments was then followed by a quick smile and hug between the woman and the boy.

“Always the flatterer. A Malfoy through and through.” After being betrayed by the flashes of delight that had registered in her eyes, the woman coyly glanced down at her gown pretending to smooth away a nonexistent wrinkle, all the while reveling from the bold compliments.

Having been widowed at an early age, the beautiful woman was a bit obsessive about her looks and went to great lengths in grooming her outward appearance to one of perfection, an obsession that was emulated by her daughter, Pansy. Having grown up around this woman, Draco knew that the seemingly shallow woman’s preoccupation with fashion was really a facade, a means to mask the grief and insecurities that had an iron grip on her heart. She had never fully come to terms with her feelings of abandonment and the loss of her husband and so she found supercilious distractions welcome for they served as a temporary release from the pain she suffered in silence.

Reverting back to his perfected languid drawl, Draco injected, “I can guess that by your early arrival time, mother had planned on spending some time with you before too many guests arrived.”

“I had assumed as much when I saw the time on the invitation,” came her cheerful reply.

When Camilla had received her invitation and noticed the early activation time of the portkey, she was delighted that Narcissa had set aside time for the two of them to visit before the throngs of guests would make their appearances.

For parties that entailed guests numbering greater than a dozen invitees, Narcissa would preset arrival times. The invitations served a dual function; in addition to serving as an invitation, they also served as temporary portkeys that activated at the precise time indicated on the invitation. If the recipients of the invitation were not ready at the designated time, holding onto the card when it activated, then, they missed out on the affair entirely.

Affairs hosted by the Malfoy’s never allowed guests to arrive via a floo connection. Knowing that every transport used in a floo connection was registered within the Ministry, both the origination and destination locations, the Malfoy’s preferred other means of travel and always disengaged all floo connections to the manor when hosting a party. The inaccessibility of floo travel combined with extensive anti-apparation wards surrounding the manor also prevented uninvited guests from gaining access to the premises.

Only those foolish enough to believe the world was full of good intentioned people lowered their protective wards during parties, allowing guests to apparate in at random; the Malfoys were not of this breed. Because of the caliber of influential people often invited to their soirees, the wards were in fact strengthened during their parties, as a show of honor and security for their guests’ wellbeing and comfort during their engagement.

Uninvited guests were not bounced off the wards, as was the norm, rather, during such affairs hosted by the Malfoys, the intruder would be encased in a magical, apparation-proof cell that was then transported by house elves to the dungeon of the manor. After spending the night in the dungeon, the intruder would be questioned the following morning by Lucius; this most likely being the strongest deterrent of all in keeping unwanted guests at bay. These wards were also effective in keeping occupants in the home until they were granted permission to leave, as Draco had found out in his earlier teenaged years when he was trying to sneak out while grounded.

In addition to the distrust of the Ministry knowing who she invited to her home, the thought of having a guest arrive to any affair she hosted via the floo network was not an option Narcissa considered acceptable. Aristocratic pureblooded witches with any proper upbringing would never consider arriving to an affair, soot covered. So, an apparating gazebo was erected for each and every party the manor hosted. The apparating gazebo was not a permanent fixture and it’s location varied from one event to another for fear that a stationary object’s coordinates would cause a breech in security.

Each invitation issued also carried with it a designated time of arrival for it’s intended. It would do no good for guests to feel insulted by their assigned arrival time as it was a necessity and carefully orchestrated. For a witch or wizard of a lower class status to arrive simultaneously with a foreign dignitary would be a breech of etiquette and highly insulting, or if a guest were to apparate on top of another because of poor planning or open arrival times, the resultant effect could dampen the mood of the gala. Narcissa would never allow such an oversight to occur, hence her meticulous chartings were always checked and double checked before invitations were ever sent out. Her personal attention to every detail resulted in the appeal to receive an invitation to any of the parties Narcissa hosted as her affairs were flawless, tasteful and always enchanted partygoers.

Feeling righteously smug for his successful foray with Pansy’s mother, Draco positioned his elbow in an unspoken offering to escort the woman to his mother. The witch playfully tapped his forearm and replied, “You two young people need time to get reacquainted; I’m sure I can find my way without an escort.”

Knowing that Mrs. Parkinson knew her way around the manor well, Draco called to her retreating form, “Mother should be in the Ancestral Hall.”

Leaving the two story formal greeting foyer, Camilla left the entry and headed toward the east wing. Few residences could compare to the Malfoy Manor, while always elegant, Narcissa had skillfully transformed the once ostentatious manor into a home, one that warmly welcomed it’s inhabitants. With an exactness that was uniquely her own, Narcissa had transformed the Manor into a place that reflected her style; decorated in rich colors that radiated warmth and comfort, providing an inviting atmosphere, cherished by the few rare individuals granted access to the family’s true living quarters.

Narcissa made sure to never embody her personality to the east wing, as this was where formal gatherings, dignitaries or business associates and their dealings, of all sorts, would assemble. The east wing had been refreshed and moderately updated but never altered from it’s intended provision; it was purposely left as a symbol that radiated the family’s status and stature.


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