Like Ripples In a Pond

Title: Like Ripples In a Pond

Author: Chickalupe

Feedback: ooh, makes me feel all tingly… chickalupe@juno.com

Site: http://talulahjellybean.tripod.com/writings_on_the_wall … which hasn’t been updated in like three years because of no internet and loss of my site updating program. Ugh. If I were less of a slacker, I’d do something about it…

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: DM/LM, HP/DM, HP/DM/LM

Rating: NC-17- Let’s just go ahead and say it right from the get-go.

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF… but we are heading off in completely AU directions here, and spoilers are just for little tidbits from all the books I might incorporate.

Warnings: slash (duh), anal, chan, incest, threesome, DP, fisting -- possibly more to come.

Disclaimer: J K Rowling, literary goddess of all things HP, owns everything you see here. I just make the pretty boys do naughty things without her permission, but the boys secretly enjoy it.

Summary: Everyone knows that if you change one little detail it all turns out differently. See how the ripples spread continually outwards, growing and growing…

Author’s Note: First off, let me just say this will not be the average re-write of all the books. I have no intention of going through every single little detail of the books all the way up to GoF (the only ones which I care about). I don’t have the time or energy required for that kind of undertaking. This story will be an exploration of what might have been, and I plan to hit the highlights along the way. The beginning is rather detailed, but after we set the stage, there’ll be a lot of jumping around. Some things may bear a familiar resemblance to canon, but only as a base to jump off. Okay?

So really, it’s good to be writing again. I’ve been dealing with some massive personal problems for the past three years, the least of which is having to trek all the way to the library just to get an hour of internet time a week. This is hard to do when you’re working full-time and have no car. Can you say withdrawal? I thought you could. To the five or so people out there who actually might care: I truly apologize for never updating my old stories. I’m sorry, but at this point they’re probably not going to get finished anytime soon, because the muses have died painfully. I’m not saying never, but just think of them as ‘On Hiatus’ for the indefinite future.

And yes, I am aware that the butterfly becomes the Deus-Ex-Machina in this story.

Acknowledgements: Before I go on, I feel I have to blame- sorry THANK!! Of course, thank!- some writers of certain stories out there for inspiring this thrice-be-damned fic. None of you know me, but let me thank you all the same. Thanks specifically for: ‘Overdosed On Love’ by MissiAnne; ‘Excerpts From On the Plethora of Uses For Zingiber’ by Ophiuchus Malfoy; ‘Five Minutes’ by Draeconin; ‘Breaking the Fever’ by Vera; ‘Something Impossible’ by Cassandra Claire; and ‘The Final Showdown’ and ‘Quantum Xander 1 & 2’ both by jameschick (I know ‘Quantum Xander’ is BtVS fandom, but it really seemed to fit).

Also, thanks to two of my favorite novelists in the world: the late great Douglas Adams for Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency; and last but far from least, to wonderful Terry Pratchett for the entirety of his Discworld series.


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~ Prologue ~


There is a famous Muggle proverb. Like so many common adages, no one can seem to remember, or even agree on, its origins. The saying goes something like this: ‘A butterfly flaps its wings, and the breeze is felt around the world.’

This is a metaphor, of course, meant to teach the interconnectedness of all things, how the smallest of actions can bring forth the greatest consequences. Each and every single event acts as the catalyst for yet another and another; setting off chain reactions akin to rows of dominos tumbling down, or like ripples in a pond retreating from a carelessly dropped pebble. Each decision, in its own way, changing and reshaping the world around it.

But, what of those decisions not made, the paths not taken? How would one minuscule occurrence alter the course of destiny? Some say it is pointless to argue ‘what-ifs’ and ‘maybes’; that what’s done is done.

However, in an Infinite Universe, all possibilities must exist as reality somewhere…

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~ Chapter One ~

August 1986, London, UK-- Diagon Alley


Narcissa Malfoy was on a shopping expedition, and as was her habit, was making an occasion out of it. Presently, she was taking a break at a quaint outdoor café, sipping a chilled glass of wine to regain her strength for the next round of intensive purchasing.

Young Draco was with his nanny, and Lucius was conducting important business at the Ministry which would likely drag on late into the evening. There was nothing in the world to keep her from enjoying herself all day long, if she chose to do so.

A tiny frown marred her flawless forehead. Except, possibly, for Lucius and his infuriating new attempt at an allowance, she thought peevishly. He insisted that she spend less on clothing than 500 Galleons a month- Honestly! As if you could get a decent gown for less than 750!

It was not as if they could not spare the money; Merlin knew there was more wealth in the various Malfoy vaults than she could spend in a dozen lifetimes. But Lucius would get very cross with her, and narrow his eyes in that unsettling way. Not that he would ever do something so uncouth as to raise a hand or wand against her. He would just sit her down and they would have a little talk full of significant pauses, touching on such subjects as… moderation… and… public image. Possibly the topic would eventually turn to Narcissa going to one of their estates in the country, for a little… sabbatical.

Of all these, the latter had not been broached for a long while; not since last year when she had carried on a dalliance with a minor Ministry official she had met at some function or another. Narcissa knew that they had never been indiscrete. Nevertheless, a month into the affair Lucius had felt the need for a serious discussion with her. Never elevating the volume of his voice above a whisper, he had simply reminded her of the tender age of their son, and how Draco did not require a mother who insisted on making a spectacle of herself. Did she feel the need for some time away? Perhaps Narcissa would find it refreshing to take a brief… holiday… to compose her thoughts. Nothing longer than a year or two, five at the very most.

The poor clerk in question, whose name had long been lost in the depths of Narcissa’s mind, found himself unexpectedly transferred to New Zealand on a ten-year goodwill mission.

Malfoys never got divorced. It was not the done thing.

These days, she amused herself with luncheons for her various clubs and committees; and, of course, the current shopping that she shouldn’t be doing, having run through her allotment before the first week of the month was out. Narcissa’s lovely, immaculate face began to resemble that of someone who had smelled something fowl. Damn the man, she sneered inwardly, he will insist on taking every ounce of pleasure from my life! Well, no more. She would do as she liked, no matter what Lucius might say!

With a defiant nod, Narcissa downed the rest of her glass of crisp Chablis. In an inherently graceful, if slightly unsteady, motion; she pushed herself up from the table, gathered her many bags from her earlier patronage of local stores. She began to stride briskly down the street to her next destination, full of purpose.

All along Diagon Alley, wizards and witches alike made way for the fuming blonde woman who was in such a hurry.

Suddenly, an intense wave of dizziness overtook Narcissa, and she had to lean against the nearest building for support. Drinking her wine so quickly before exerting herself might not have been the wisest thing on such an overly warm day…

…High above, an exquisite butterfly delicately fluttered hither and thither over the Apothecary Shop where Narcissa was currently leaning to clear her head. Its wings flashed in the sunlight, an iridescent blend of precious gems; now sapphire, now emerald, now turquoise, now amethyst. Softly, so softly, it touched down; landing on the peak of the twisting, crumbling chimney that dominated the structure’s roof. The wondrous insect flapped its wings languidly-- once, twice, three times-- and then was aloft again. The perilously balanced stones began to shift…

…Shouts and screams around her pulled Narcissa from her introspection. As she looked up and saw the large amount of masonry bearing down on her, she found herself frozen, unable to move, unable to draw her wand from the depths of her expensively outfitted sleeve. As she watched her fate draw nigh, her last thought was; Oh dear, that smug bastard couldn’t have planned this any better himself.


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Malfoy Estate, Two Days Later


The funeral was lovely, everyone agreed; understated, the most fashionable candles and white roses everywhere and only the best people invited. Just how Narcissa would have liked it, had she had any say in the matter.

Throughout the graveside service, Lucius’ face remained impassive; despite those who watched like vultures, eager for his smallest tear or sign of grief. Or much more probable, actual joy! After all, the gossips whispered, everyone knows they’ve both been very unhappy these last few years…

Young Draco stood by Lucius’ side dressed in his own tiny, somber black robe. Taking a cue from his father, he too kept his calm throughout it all. Every few minutes however, he couldn’t seem to help glancing up at Lucius with wide eyes, as if searching for reassurance. Each time, he would swiftly return his attention to the funeral, expressionless mask falling back into place with an ease of long practice that belied his tender years.

Back at the Manor, the last mourner had finally gone, and the last sympathy had been expressed. Oh, so sorry for your loss - too young-- such a beautiful witch-- poor son without a mother to care for him-- how will you manage?

Lucius did not feel the need to explain that Draco had been without a mother to care for him since the day he was born.

Now, the Manor was empty save for the two of them. Lucius found himself in his study, seated on the couch staring into the fireplace with no recollection of how he had gotten there.

One would think that it would be much too hot for a fire in August, he mused, half absently, but then again, these large rooms are draughty all year round.

A sound caught his attention, and he turned to see the heavy oak door creeping inwards, the hinges creaking with age. Solemn grey eyes peered around at the level of the doorknob, but nothing else seemed likely to show itself.

“Come in, Draco,” Lucius said very gently.

A small pale face came into the room almost hesitantly, until necessity required that the door be opened wider to allow the body to follow. In he came, the young Malfoy heir, taking small steps onto the plush carpet like a skittish animal poised for flight, his hands clasped tightly at his waist as if to prevent from touching anything.

Lucius noticed that Draco had at some point changed out of his robes and into a simple short-sleeved shirt --white, with buttons-- and light blue shorts. Who could have gotten Draco that almost Muggle-looking outfit, Lucius wondered. One of his many nurses?

He was also, Lucius could not help but observe, completely barefoot. The small, naked white toes looked almost obscene against the dark burgundy of the rug, reflexively curling and uncurling in the thick texture.

“I-I couldn’t f-find Nanny,” Draco admitted, uncharacteristically stumbling over his words with something like… fear?

Why would Draco be afraid in his presence? Surely he didn’t expect that Lucius would turn him away, on today of all days. He might often have important business, but unlike Narcissa, he always wanted to make time for his son.

Suddenly, Lucius knew it was just that. Narcissa, in her never-ending spite and pettiness, had managed to train Draco to never bother his father, who would be much too ‘busy’ to spare time for his own child. Draco might look up to Lucius, but he feared him much more. The cold hateful bitch had ingrained Draco with the belief that his father had no desire to be around him. Could Narcissa have stooped so low as to imply that Lucius would punish Draco for speaking out of turn? Perhaps- he really had no way to be certain. Lucius would simply have to show Draco how much his father loved him; that Draco would always be welcome, no matter what.

For now, he settled for opening his arms and reaching out towards his son, who wavered for a brief second before rushing headlong into the hug. Lucius gathered Draco into his lap, embracing him as tightly as he could. Draco wound strong little arms sinuously around Lucius’ neck and up under the heavy weight of his hair.

“I gave Nanny the day off,” Lucius said quietly. “You don’t mind it being just us, do you?”

His answer was the rapid shaking of the small head pressed against his shoulder.

“Perhaps Nanny might go away more often, and we could spend more time together,” Lucius said carefully, testing the waters.

“I’d like that,” was Draco’s muffled reply.

For a while they sat like that, silently enfolded in the cushioned depths of the couch. Draco was the first to break the reverie.

“Do you think Mummy will come back as a ghost?” Pensive eyes lifted up to look at Lucius, who he considered an expert on everything. If anyone knew what mysterious forces governed the afterlife, it would be his father.

Lucius looked down at the little face that looked so much like his own, and paused. Wizarding ghosts were facts of life. When a witch or wizard had been powerful enough; or had particularly pressing unfinished business, or even just didn’t feel like moving on, they stayed behind. Their shade or spirit continued on in the areas dearest to their heart. His own Great-Aunt Mnemnosyne haunted the attic of the Manor, happily dusting and organizing her collection of Quidditch figurines that had been the true joy of her life. Somehow, he could not picture Narcissa spending eternity in her spacious walk-in closet.

It was on the tip of his tongue to craft a comforting lie, but Lucius found himself compelled to speak truthfully, Draco’s trust weighing on him like a geas. “I don’t think so. I think Mummy probably wouldn’t want to… come back… at all.”

The small pointed chin wobbled for a minute, and finally the silvery eyes filled with long overdue tears that began to spill down. Draco burrowed deep into his father’s chest, clutching Lucius’ neck like a limpet, sobs wracking his tiny body.

“Hush, hush,” Lucius whispered tenderly. “Oh, my precious boy, my Dragon, my lovely child,” he murmured into silky fine blond hair, his lips resting atop Draco’s head. One hand rubbed up and down on the petite back as it moved with huge spasms of grief.

While Narcissa may not have been the best mother in the world, she was still the only one Draco had ever known.

Lucius found himself filled with more love for his child than he had felt since finding out that he was to become a father. I must be all and everything for Draco now, he decided. I have been neglectful in my duties as a parent, but I shall make amends. No longer can other matters distract me; my son will come first.

His gaze was drawn inexorably down towards his left forearm, where underneath the black fabric an old tattoo grew more faint with each passing day. Between one breath and the next, a decision was swiftly made.

I know my priorities now.

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