![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hells_half_acreTitle: Vile Violent Vacations 16/30
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hells_half_acre
Fandoms: Harry Potter, Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Spoilers for all Harry Potter books, spoilers for Supernatural until 5x10.
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction for entertainment purposes only.
AN: Sequel to Damned Demented Demons and Bobby and Hermione - An Epistolary Fic . Updates every Wednesday (PST).
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
Summary: In which the dinner between the Winchesters and the Malfoys runs about as smoothly as one would expect.
Ron followed them out to the car with the excuse that he should check Harry’s spell work. They all knew it was an excuse and that Ron was fidgeting a bit more than usual.
“So, um, have a good dinner,” Ron said. “Call if you need anything.”
“Yes, mom,” Dean said rolling his eyes. Ron frowned.
“Just...watch yourselves, alright?” Ron said. Again, Sam started to wonder just how bad this feud was between the Weasleys and the Malfoys.
“We’ll be fine,” Dean said, his tone low and warning. “It’s not the first time we’ve met the guy, after all.”
“Yeah, but his Dad’s a git,” Ron said. “I’m all for you hitting him or something, if it comes to that – but you might want to disarm the room first.”
“Noted,” Dean shook his head. “See you around, Ron.”
With that they lowered themselves into the car and Dean carefully eased his way onto the road. Sam held the map that Draco had provided them, and told Dean the general direction to head in order to reach the highway.
Sam had to remind Dean only a few times to drive on the left side of the road. Dean complained the entire way out of the city, and they both only started to relax once they got on the highway. Until, at least, Sam realized that with the steering column on the left side of the vehicle, Dean needed Sam to tell him whether or not he could pass the car in front of him. It was oddly like driving by voice-command, Sam thought, and then promptly decided that he didn’t like it at all – if he were going to be concentrating this hard on the road, he’d prefer to have the steering wheel under his own hands. The worst were the roundabouts. Sam knew that they were technically more efficient and supposedly prevented more accidents than traffic lights – but it certainly didn’t feel that way.
Finally, they were driving down the country road that led to the Malfoy’s house. Sam looked out the window at the high stone wall that followed the road a dozen feet away. It was covered in patches of vines, or hidden behind shaggy trees and thick brush occasionally. Sam was just starting to wonder what could possibly be behind it, when the stone was broken by a large ornate wrought iron gate. Behind the gate, Sam could see a long laneway leading to possibly the biggest house that Sam had ever seen. It was more like a palace than a house. Dean had slowed the car down, Sam figured he had probably been curious about what was behind the wall too – until he parked in front of the gate.
“Why-”
“He could have left the gate open,” Dean muttered. “Sammy, see if you can open that gate.”
And then Sam clued in.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam said.
“What? You want me to say please? Get over yourself.”
“This is where Draco Malfoy lives? Seriously?!” Sam said, picking up Draco’s driving directions, and read: My home is the first on the right. We have a rather nice wrought iron gate. “Fuck,” Sam concluded.
“Sam, the gate?”
“Alright! Fucking... keep your pants on...” Sam said as he flung open his door. He walked up to the middle of the gates to try to see where they clasped together. Only, he couldn’t see a clasp, so he reached out his hand to see if he could just push them open, and his hand passed through the iron as though it were only smoke.
Sam looked back at Dean, who raised an eyebrow in question, and then Sam shrugged and walked through the closed gate. On the other side, he stuck his arm back through the gate and waved Dean to simply drive through. Instead, Sam heard the driver’s side door open and close.
“Oh hell no,” Dean said. “I am not driving my baby through some wacky magic gate. Come on, we’ll walk in.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t point out that Dean didn’t seem to have a problem with walking through the magic gate on his own.
“So, Drake said to go to the coach house,” Dean stated.
“Right,” Sam said, and took his attention off the main house long enough to spot the matching cottage-sized house with an empty car port attached, just off the laneway to the left of them. “That would be it.” Sam glanced once more at the huge manor as they made their way over.
“Hey Dean?” Sam asked. “You remember what the Weasleys house looked like?”
“Yup, pretty hard to forget something like that,” Dean said.
“Do you maybe think that the conflict between the Weasleys and the Malfoys might be a case of socio-economic confict, rather than being caused by a particular event or issue?” Sam asked. Sam waited for response, and when he didn’t get one, he turned to find Dean staring at him. “What?”
“Sam,” Dean said slowly, “money is no excuse for being a douche. Ron’s brother died in a war that was caused by someone that the Malfoys supported. It doesn’t really matter what issues they may have had before that or how much they apologize now...there’s no making up for that.”
Sam nodded.
“Anyway, here goes nothing,” Dean said, as they arrived outside the coach house door. “Is my magic crystal pendant showing? God, that makes me sound like a girl.”
Dean’s pendant was sufficiently hidden under the black t-shirt that he wore, and the popped collar on his blue shirt hid the chain where it looped around his neck.
“No, mine?” Sam asked. Making sure he buttoned the plaid shirt he was wearing one hole higher than he normally would.
“You’re good,” Dean confirmed. He then rapped sharply three times on the door. A moment later, they heard a lock click and the door opened to reveal Astoria who smiled widely at them.
“Sam, Dean, so pleased to see you,” she greeted, “please come in, let me take your coats.”
Sam stepped over the threshold after Dean, and slipped his heavy jacket off. Astoria hung it on a hanger as though it were delicate and placed it in a small closet next to the door.
The coach house was small. They were basically standing in the living room the moment they entered. It was a combination living room/dining room, and Sam could see a very small kitchen attached through an open door frame. Draco was sitting on the couch with a large plastic dump-truck on his lap. Scorpius stood next to him, running what looked like a small plastic cement-mixer back and forth on the coffee table while he made engine noises. Sam spotted a toy fire-engine, double-decker bus, and police car on the floor. Draco quickly placed the dump-truck on the coffee table and stood up to make his way over, blushing slightly and looking a little nervous.
“Hello,” Draco greeted, “I’m sorry for...” he waved his hand briefly behind him at his son and the toys. “The coach house doesn’t have a separate playroom.”
Scorpius seemed to take interest in who was actually at the house then, and looked up and smiled widely at Sam. Sam smiled and waved at him.
“That’s ok man,” Dean said, then he too turned to Scorpius. “Cool toys, Scorp!”
“Scorpius,” Scorpius corrected, rolling his eyes.
“He, uh...as an love for Muggle vehicles...my father doesn’t approve,” Draco stated.
“So you bought him every toy vehicle you could find, right?” Dean winked.
“Of course not,” Draco said. “Passive-aggressiveness is beneath the Malfoys. I simply bought them so he could see for himself how truly unremarkable they are.”
“Right,” Dean said.
Sam huffed a laugh. He was beginning to see why Dean seemed to like Draco, even though he came across as a bit of a stuffy prick.
“Perhaps, after dinner,” Draco suggested, “You might want to show Scorpius how unremarkable your own vehicle is. I heard...somewhere...that it was quite...”
“Unremarkable?” Dean finished.
“Yes,” Draco smiled, and then turned to his son, “Scorpius, please go upstairs and tell your Grandfather and Grandmother that our guests have arrived.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Scorpius said, and then he disappeared down a narrow hallway off the living room, and Sam heard the sound of little feet on wooden stairs.
Astoria disappeared to the kitchen. Sam could see the table was already set. Draco ushered them into the living room, moving a few more toy trucks off a chair so that there was room for all of them.
“I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place,” Draco said. “I admit, I had never had to write out driving directions before.”
“No trouble at all,” Sam said. “We um, parked just outside the gate, because we didn’t know you could just go right through it.”
“Oh,” Draco said. “Sorry, yes...it actually allows in only those we have invited, but other than that, it is harmless. I should have included that in the directions.”
Before either of them could respond, the sound of several people coming down stairs was heard, and Draco’s father entered the room followed by Draco’s mother, who carried Scorpius on her hip. Sam and Dean both stood along with Draco upon their arrival.
“Father, mother,” Draco said, “I would like you to meet Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy, and my mother Narcissa.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Sam said, shaking the elder Malfoy’s hand. He could see the resemblance to both Draco and Scorpius immediately, though while Scorpius was young and sweet-faced, Lucius was old with what appeared to be a permanent down-turned mouth, and while Draco came off as aloof and reserved, Lucius appeared haughty and condescending. Sam had the distinct impression as he shook Lucius’s hand, that Lucius had also sized him up and found him to be lacking.
Draco’s mother, who Sam greeted next, did not come across much better. Although she was beautiful, and actually seemed to resemble Andromeda a little despite her blonde hair, she held none of Andromeda’s warmth – and that was saying something, given how poorly Sam and Andromeda had gotten along. Sam suddenly felt as though this dinner were being treated as some sort of chore.
Astoria called for everyone to come to the table, and Sam took the moment when everyone was distracted to shoot a glance at Dean, who raised his eyebrows in response – yeah, this was going to be a long night.
*
It started off well enough, Dean thought. Lucius sat at the head of the table, with his wife on his right-hand side, and Sam on his left. Draco sat beside his mother, and Astoria sat next to Sam with Scorpius beside her. Dean sat at the end of the table, across from Lucius.
Dean explained, when asked, that they were experts from America, who Harry had brought in to run a special training session with the Aurors. Lucius had asked what sort of thing it was that the American Aurors did better than the British ones, but Dean informed him that what they had taught was classified. They were honest about how long they had known Potter – a year – and only partially honest about how they had met – explaining that they had met during the Dementor activity in America.
When Narcissa, (and seriously, what sort of name was Narcissa?) asked how they had met Draco. Draco simply said, “Department of Mysteries business,” which had launched Lucius on a rant about how annoying it was to have an Unspeakable for a son because there was never anything they could talk about. Dean had to wonder if maybe not having anything to talk about had less to do with Draco’s job, and more to do with obvious tension between the two of them.
It was obvious, when talking about Harry, that neither Lucius nor Narcissa liked him. Not that Dean was surprised; they had been on opposite sides of a war after all. Still, Dean had been under the impression that, like Draco, the elder Malfoys had realized their mistake in supporting Lord Voldemort and would be more repentant. Instead, it was clear that whether or not they realized their past mistakes, the mention of Harry’s name caused them both to look as though someone had shit on their food. Draco and Astoria, in contrast, talked about Harry as though he were someone they didn’t have an opinion on one way or the other.
Scorpius was too young to pay much attention to the conversation, though whenever anyone looked at him, he would smile at them broadly – even when he had broccoli in his teeth. He seemed excited to have other people besides his family around, and would stare at Dean and Sam with great concentration every once in a while. Dean wondered if it was because Sam had won him over by taking him into the Weasleys’ shop, or whether there was something else going on in his head – because at times he looked concerned, rather than happy.
“Astoria tells me, Sam, that I have you to thank for the Weasleys allowing my grandson into that store of theirs?” Lucius asked. Dean honestly couldn’t tell if Lucius thought it was a good or bad thing with the way he said it.
“Yeah,” Sam said, leaning over his plate a little so that he could smile down the table at Scorpius. “Did he show you the trick wand he bought? It’s really cool.”
“Yes,” Lucius replied unenthusiastically. Scorpius seemed oblivious to his grandfather’s tone and beamed a broccoli filled smile back at Sam. “Both Astoria and my wife assure me that this is actually a step up in social standing for our family – but I loathe to believe society has really regressed so much.”
“Father...” Draco said. “The Weasleys are well respected members of society. Hermione-”
“Oh please, tell me all about how wonderful the mud-” Lucius said overtop of Draco.
“Hermione also happens to be a friend of ours,” Dean stated, “and your son is right. Plus, there isn’t a kid alive who wouldn’t want to shop in the Weasley’s store. I bet Scorpius would feel pretty left out if he were the only one in school not able to go in.”
“Right, well, like I said, apparently I’m to thank you for that,” Lucius said.
“Yes, you made Scorpius quite happy,” Narcissa added.
“So tell me, Mister...I’m sorry, I don’t remember getting your family name,” Lucius said.
“That’s right,” Dean stated.
“Father,” Draco said, “I told you, their family name is confidential.”
“Right,” Lucius waved his son’s words away, “you know, there was a time when confidentially wasn’t a concern when people spoke to me...especially my own son.”
“Really?” Draco drawled, matching his father’s haughty condescending tone perfectly, “and then what happened, Father?”
Dean didn’t think anyone dared breathe during the father-son staring contest that took place in the silence that followed. Then Lucius took a sip of wine, and made a show of turning towards Sam.
“So, tell me, Mister Sam, what Wizarding territory do you and your brother call home?” Lucius asked.
“Um, we, ah...we moved around a lot as kids, actually,” Sam stated. “We’ve really lived all over.”
“Oh, so what school did you attend?” Lucius asked.
“We were home-schooled,” Dean stated.
“Well, moving around or no, you two must have been born somewhere...” Lucius said. Dean tried to think of the map of the Wizarding countries and territories of North America that Harry had left them, but he wasn’t sure where Lucius was going with this anyway, what did it matter where they were from. The brief silence seemed to be enough to have Lucius draw conclusions of his own.
“More confidentiality, is it? Well, maybe I can guess...” Lucius said, and Dean watched as Draco ran a tired hand down his face. “You aren’t from the savage-”
“Father” Draco interrupted. “Is it too much to ask for you to watch your language? The native territories have full-blooded wizards just as we do.”
“As I was saying,” Lucius said, “you obviously aren’t native, nor do you have the accents indicative of the French or Spanish regions...so, that leaves the Eastern seaboard, or Canada. I know the O’Shaughnessys are quite a large Wizarding family who have a tradition of producing fine Aurors-”
“We aren’t related to Phil,” Dean interrupted, “and this will really get you nowhere. What does it matter where we’re from anyway?”
“If I knew where you were from, it’d be quite easy to figure out your family name – after all, you must be fairly important given how nervous my son has been since you’ve arrived in town.”
“Father...” Draco cringed.
“That’s enough, dear,” Narcissa said, though she said it to her plate, so Dean couldn’t actually tell who she was addressing. To Dean’s right, Astoria bent over and whispered something to Scorpius, who unapologetically grabbed a handful of broccoli off his plate and left the table.
“Why does our family name matter so much to you?” Dean asked. Scorpius disappeared behind him towards the stairs, and Dean figured that was the go ahead for the gloves to come off.
“According to my daughter-in-law, being associated with you is a good thing. If I knew what family you were from, I’d know whether you deserve our respect or not, or if you’re just some sort of American riff-raff. I mean, for Merlin’s sake, look at the way you’re dressed.”
“Lucius please...” Astoria said, and Dean could tell that she was embarrassed that he had pointed out the true intention of her dinner invite. Sure, Dean didn’t usually take kindly to being used – but Astoria and Draco had at least been polite and kind about it.
“Well, luckily for your son and daughter-in-law, respect is earned, not inherited,” Dean said. “If family names really mattered that much, Sam and I certainly wouldn’t be eating here.” Dean watched as Lucius’ jaw clenched and his body tensed. Dean kept his focus on Lucius, but he could see Sam shift in his chair, and Narcissa glare at him. Draco didn’t seem to move at all.
“How dare you-” Lucius started.
“No!” Dean said. “How dare you! Draco and Astoria invited us over for a nice family dinner – which is delicious by the way...” Dean winked at Astoria, which did the trick of briefly removing the distressed expression from her face. “...and then you ruin it by being a dick. You are the last person who should be talking about family and respect. You sold yours out to support a crazy racist mass murderer. How did that turn out for you? Your son’s a social pariah; your grandson can’t go into a joke shop-”
“I never approved of the Dark Lord’s methods, Narcissa saved-” Lucius said.
“Oh, but you approved of his goals?” Dean said. “And what? Narcissa saved Harry? Right, well great for her, but I have to wonder what her motivations were for turning against your precious Dark Lord at the last minute instead of when her teenage son was holed up in school bathrooms crying his eyes out because of the fate you laid out for him. So, no, I will not tell you my family name – but I will tell you that I feel sorry for Draco. I mean, my father made a lot of mistakes, but at least he taught me and Sammy how to kill evil bastards, instead of teaching us how to bend over for them.”
In a split second, there was a wand in Lucius’ hand and he was standing up in rage. Dean’s own hand flew to his butter knife.
Before Lucius had time to say anything, two things happened at once: the knife collided with his hand, causing him to drop the wand; and the back of Sam’s chair hit the ground as Sam leaped to his feet and pointed his pearl-handled handgun at Lucius’ temple.
“Sit down,” Sam commanded. Lucius sat.
To Dean’s left, Draco was holding his mother’s right arm tightly and both were staring at the gun with wide-eyed fear. To Dean’s right, Astoria was much the same.
“Now shut-up and finish your dinner,” Sam said, and Dean watched as Lucius picked up his fork with a shaking hand. His right hand was actually bleeding a little.
“Astoria,” Sam said, “could you please fix my chair?”
Astoria jumped a little, and then quickly set Sam’s chair back on his legs. Sam sat down without taking the gun or his eyes of Lucius.
“Are you going to try anything again?” Sam asked.
“No,” Lucius muttered.
“Speak up!” Sam commanded.
“No, Sir,” Lucius said.
“Good,” Sam said. “I’m going to lower the gun now, but if you make one wrong move, it’ll be the last thing you do – understand?”
“Yes,” Lucius replied.
True to his word, Sam lowered the gun, placing it in his lap for easier accessibility, and then carefully showed his empty hand to Lucius before he picked up his fork and started to eat.
“It really is delicious, Astoria” Sam said into the silence. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Th-thanks for coming,” Astoria said.
Chapter 17
Additional A/N: I may have to skip next week's update. Because of VanCon I've gotten a bit behind in writing, and I don't want to post chapters that I'm not 100% happy with or that were rushed. So, depending how much time I get to write this weekend, there may or may not be an update next week. Don't fret if there's no update though, I'll return to updates the week after come hell or high water.
Author:
hells_half_acre Fandoms: Harry Potter, Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Genre: Gen
Warnings: Spoilers for all Harry Potter books, spoilers for Supernatural until 5x10.
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction for entertainment purposes only.
AN: Sequel to Damned Demented Demons and Bobby and Hermione - An Epistolary Fic . Updates every Wednesday (PST).
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15
Summary: In which the dinner between the Winchesters and the Malfoys runs about as smoothly as one would expect.
Ron followed them out to the car with the excuse that he should check Harry’s spell work. They all knew it was an excuse and that Ron was fidgeting a bit more than usual.
“So, um, have a good dinner,” Ron said. “Call if you need anything.”
“Yes, mom,” Dean said rolling his eyes. Ron frowned.
“Just...watch yourselves, alright?” Ron said. Again, Sam started to wonder just how bad this feud was between the Weasleys and the Malfoys.
“We’ll be fine,” Dean said, his tone low and warning. “It’s not the first time we’ve met the guy, after all.”
“Yeah, but his Dad’s a git,” Ron said. “I’m all for you hitting him or something, if it comes to that – but you might want to disarm the room first.”
“Noted,” Dean shook his head. “See you around, Ron.”
With that they lowered themselves into the car and Dean carefully eased his way onto the road. Sam held the map that Draco had provided them, and told Dean the general direction to head in order to reach the highway.
Sam had to remind Dean only a few times to drive on the left side of the road. Dean complained the entire way out of the city, and they both only started to relax once they got on the highway. Until, at least, Sam realized that with the steering column on the left side of the vehicle, Dean needed Sam to tell him whether or not he could pass the car in front of him. It was oddly like driving by voice-command, Sam thought, and then promptly decided that he didn’t like it at all – if he were going to be concentrating this hard on the road, he’d prefer to have the steering wheel under his own hands. The worst were the roundabouts. Sam knew that they were technically more efficient and supposedly prevented more accidents than traffic lights – but it certainly didn’t feel that way.
Finally, they were driving down the country road that led to the Malfoy’s house. Sam looked out the window at the high stone wall that followed the road a dozen feet away. It was covered in patches of vines, or hidden behind shaggy trees and thick brush occasionally. Sam was just starting to wonder what could possibly be behind it, when the stone was broken by a large ornate wrought iron gate. Behind the gate, Sam could see a long laneway leading to possibly the biggest house that Sam had ever seen. It was more like a palace than a house. Dean had slowed the car down, Sam figured he had probably been curious about what was behind the wall too – until he parked in front of the gate.
“Why-”
“He could have left the gate open,” Dean muttered. “Sammy, see if you can open that gate.”
And then Sam clued in.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam said.
“What? You want me to say please? Get over yourself.”
“This is where Draco Malfoy lives? Seriously?!” Sam said, picking up Draco’s driving directions, and read: My home is the first on the right. We have a rather nice wrought iron gate. “Fuck,” Sam concluded.
“Sam, the gate?”
“Alright! Fucking... keep your pants on...” Sam said as he flung open his door. He walked up to the middle of the gates to try to see where they clasped together. Only, he couldn’t see a clasp, so he reached out his hand to see if he could just push them open, and his hand passed through the iron as though it were only smoke.
Sam looked back at Dean, who raised an eyebrow in question, and then Sam shrugged and walked through the closed gate. On the other side, he stuck his arm back through the gate and waved Dean to simply drive through. Instead, Sam heard the driver’s side door open and close.
“Oh hell no,” Dean said. “I am not driving my baby through some wacky magic gate. Come on, we’ll walk in.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t point out that Dean didn’t seem to have a problem with walking through the magic gate on his own.
“So, Drake said to go to the coach house,” Dean stated.
“Right,” Sam said, and took his attention off the main house long enough to spot the matching cottage-sized house with an empty car port attached, just off the laneway to the left of them. “That would be it.” Sam glanced once more at the huge manor as they made their way over.
“Hey Dean?” Sam asked. “You remember what the Weasleys house looked like?”
“Yup, pretty hard to forget something like that,” Dean said.
“Do you maybe think that the conflict between the Weasleys and the Malfoys might be a case of socio-economic confict, rather than being caused by a particular event or issue?” Sam asked. Sam waited for response, and when he didn’t get one, he turned to find Dean staring at him. “What?”
“Sam,” Dean said slowly, “money is no excuse for being a douche. Ron’s brother died in a war that was caused by someone that the Malfoys supported. It doesn’t really matter what issues they may have had before that or how much they apologize now...there’s no making up for that.”
Sam nodded.
“Anyway, here goes nothing,” Dean said, as they arrived outside the coach house door. “Is my magic crystal pendant showing? God, that makes me sound like a girl.”
Dean’s pendant was sufficiently hidden under the black t-shirt that he wore, and the popped collar on his blue shirt hid the chain where it looped around his neck.
“No, mine?” Sam asked. Making sure he buttoned the plaid shirt he was wearing one hole higher than he normally would.
“You’re good,” Dean confirmed. He then rapped sharply three times on the door. A moment later, they heard a lock click and the door opened to reveal Astoria who smiled widely at them.
“Sam, Dean, so pleased to see you,” she greeted, “please come in, let me take your coats.”
Sam stepped over the threshold after Dean, and slipped his heavy jacket off. Astoria hung it on a hanger as though it were delicate and placed it in a small closet next to the door.
The coach house was small. They were basically standing in the living room the moment they entered. It was a combination living room/dining room, and Sam could see a very small kitchen attached through an open door frame. Draco was sitting on the couch with a large plastic dump-truck on his lap. Scorpius stood next to him, running what looked like a small plastic cement-mixer back and forth on the coffee table while he made engine noises. Sam spotted a toy fire-engine, double-decker bus, and police car on the floor. Draco quickly placed the dump-truck on the coffee table and stood up to make his way over, blushing slightly and looking a little nervous.
“Hello,” Draco greeted, “I’m sorry for...” he waved his hand briefly behind him at his son and the toys. “The coach house doesn’t have a separate playroom.”
Scorpius seemed to take interest in who was actually at the house then, and looked up and smiled widely at Sam. Sam smiled and waved at him.
“That’s ok man,” Dean said, then he too turned to Scorpius. “Cool toys, Scorp!”
“Scorpius,” Scorpius corrected, rolling his eyes.
“He, uh...as an love for Muggle vehicles...my father doesn’t approve,” Draco stated.
“So you bought him every toy vehicle you could find, right?” Dean winked.
“Of course not,” Draco said. “Passive-aggressiveness is beneath the Malfoys. I simply bought them so he could see for himself how truly unremarkable they are.”
“Right,” Dean said.
Sam huffed a laugh. He was beginning to see why Dean seemed to like Draco, even though he came across as a bit of a stuffy prick.
“Perhaps, after dinner,” Draco suggested, “You might want to show Scorpius how unremarkable your own vehicle is. I heard...somewhere...that it was quite...”
“Unremarkable?” Dean finished.
“Yes,” Draco smiled, and then turned to his son, “Scorpius, please go upstairs and tell your Grandfather and Grandmother that our guests have arrived.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Scorpius said, and then he disappeared down a narrow hallway off the living room, and Sam heard the sound of little feet on wooden stairs.
Astoria disappeared to the kitchen. Sam could see the table was already set. Draco ushered them into the living room, moving a few more toy trucks off a chair so that there was room for all of them.
“I hope you didn’t have trouble finding the place,” Draco said. “I admit, I had never had to write out driving directions before.”
“No trouble at all,” Sam said. “We um, parked just outside the gate, because we didn’t know you could just go right through it.”
“Oh,” Draco said. “Sorry, yes...it actually allows in only those we have invited, but other than that, it is harmless. I should have included that in the directions.”
Before either of them could respond, the sound of several people coming down stairs was heard, and Draco’s father entered the room followed by Draco’s mother, who carried Scorpius on her hip. Sam and Dean both stood along with Draco upon their arrival.
“Father, mother,” Draco said, “I would like you to meet Sam and Dean. Sam and Dean, this is my father, Lucius Malfoy, and my mother Narcissa.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Sam said, shaking the elder Malfoy’s hand. He could see the resemblance to both Draco and Scorpius immediately, though while Scorpius was young and sweet-faced, Lucius was old with what appeared to be a permanent down-turned mouth, and while Draco came off as aloof and reserved, Lucius appeared haughty and condescending. Sam had the distinct impression as he shook Lucius’s hand, that Lucius had also sized him up and found him to be lacking.
Draco’s mother, who Sam greeted next, did not come across much better. Although she was beautiful, and actually seemed to resemble Andromeda a little despite her blonde hair, she held none of Andromeda’s warmth – and that was saying something, given how poorly Sam and Andromeda had gotten along. Sam suddenly felt as though this dinner were being treated as some sort of chore.
Astoria called for everyone to come to the table, and Sam took the moment when everyone was distracted to shoot a glance at Dean, who raised his eyebrows in response – yeah, this was going to be a long night.
*
It started off well enough, Dean thought. Lucius sat at the head of the table, with his wife on his right-hand side, and Sam on his left. Draco sat beside his mother, and Astoria sat next to Sam with Scorpius beside her. Dean sat at the end of the table, across from Lucius.
Dean explained, when asked, that they were experts from America, who Harry had brought in to run a special training session with the Aurors. Lucius had asked what sort of thing it was that the American Aurors did better than the British ones, but Dean informed him that what they had taught was classified. They were honest about how long they had known Potter – a year – and only partially honest about how they had met – explaining that they had met during the Dementor activity in America.
When Narcissa, (and seriously, what sort of name was Narcissa?) asked how they had met Draco. Draco simply said, “Department of Mysteries business,” which had launched Lucius on a rant about how annoying it was to have an Unspeakable for a son because there was never anything they could talk about. Dean had to wonder if maybe not having anything to talk about had less to do with Draco’s job, and more to do with obvious tension between the two of them.
It was obvious, when talking about Harry, that neither Lucius nor Narcissa liked him. Not that Dean was surprised; they had been on opposite sides of a war after all. Still, Dean had been under the impression that, like Draco, the elder Malfoys had realized their mistake in supporting Lord Voldemort and would be more repentant. Instead, it was clear that whether or not they realized their past mistakes, the mention of Harry’s name caused them both to look as though someone had shit on their food. Draco and Astoria, in contrast, talked about Harry as though he were someone they didn’t have an opinion on one way or the other.
Scorpius was too young to pay much attention to the conversation, though whenever anyone looked at him, he would smile at them broadly – even when he had broccoli in his teeth. He seemed excited to have other people besides his family around, and would stare at Dean and Sam with great concentration every once in a while. Dean wondered if it was because Sam had won him over by taking him into the Weasleys’ shop, or whether there was something else going on in his head – because at times he looked concerned, rather than happy.
“Astoria tells me, Sam, that I have you to thank for the Weasleys allowing my grandson into that store of theirs?” Lucius asked. Dean honestly couldn’t tell if Lucius thought it was a good or bad thing with the way he said it.
“Yeah,” Sam said, leaning over his plate a little so that he could smile down the table at Scorpius. “Did he show you the trick wand he bought? It’s really cool.”
“Yes,” Lucius replied unenthusiastically. Scorpius seemed oblivious to his grandfather’s tone and beamed a broccoli filled smile back at Sam. “Both Astoria and my wife assure me that this is actually a step up in social standing for our family – but I loathe to believe society has really regressed so much.”
“Father...” Draco said. “The Weasleys are well respected members of society. Hermione-”
“Oh please, tell me all about how wonderful the mud-” Lucius said overtop of Draco.
“Hermione also happens to be a friend of ours,” Dean stated, “and your son is right. Plus, there isn’t a kid alive who wouldn’t want to shop in the Weasley’s store. I bet Scorpius would feel pretty left out if he were the only one in school not able to go in.”
“Right, well, like I said, apparently I’m to thank you for that,” Lucius said.
“Yes, you made Scorpius quite happy,” Narcissa added.
“So tell me, Mister...I’m sorry, I don’t remember getting your family name,” Lucius said.
“That’s right,” Dean stated.
“Father,” Draco said, “I told you, their family name is confidential.”
“Right,” Lucius waved his son’s words away, “you know, there was a time when confidentially wasn’t a concern when people spoke to me...especially my own son.”
“Really?” Draco drawled, matching his father’s haughty condescending tone perfectly, “and then what happened, Father?”
Dean didn’t think anyone dared breathe during the father-son staring contest that took place in the silence that followed. Then Lucius took a sip of wine, and made a show of turning towards Sam.
“So, tell me, Mister Sam, what Wizarding territory do you and your brother call home?” Lucius asked.
“Um, we, ah...we moved around a lot as kids, actually,” Sam stated. “We’ve really lived all over.”
“Oh, so what school did you attend?” Lucius asked.
“We were home-schooled,” Dean stated.
“Well, moving around or no, you two must have been born somewhere...” Lucius said. Dean tried to think of the map of the Wizarding countries and territories of North America that Harry had left them, but he wasn’t sure where Lucius was going with this anyway, what did it matter where they were from. The brief silence seemed to be enough to have Lucius draw conclusions of his own.
“More confidentiality, is it? Well, maybe I can guess...” Lucius said, and Dean watched as Draco ran a tired hand down his face. “You aren’t from the savage-”
“Father” Draco interrupted. “Is it too much to ask for you to watch your language? The native territories have full-blooded wizards just as we do.”
“As I was saying,” Lucius said, “you obviously aren’t native, nor do you have the accents indicative of the French or Spanish regions...so, that leaves the Eastern seaboard, or Canada. I know the O’Shaughnessys are quite a large Wizarding family who have a tradition of producing fine Aurors-”
“We aren’t related to Phil,” Dean interrupted, “and this will really get you nowhere. What does it matter where we’re from anyway?”
“If I knew where you were from, it’d be quite easy to figure out your family name – after all, you must be fairly important given how nervous my son has been since you’ve arrived in town.”
“Father...” Draco cringed.
“That’s enough, dear,” Narcissa said, though she said it to her plate, so Dean couldn’t actually tell who she was addressing. To Dean’s right, Astoria bent over and whispered something to Scorpius, who unapologetically grabbed a handful of broccoli off his plate and left the table.
“Why does our family name matter so much to you?” Dean asked. Scorpius disappeared behind him towards the stairs, and Dean figured that was the go ahead for the gloves to come off.
“According to my daughter-in-law, being associated with you is a good thing. If I knew what family you were from, I’d know whether you deserve our respect or not, or if you’re just some sort of American riff-raff. I mean, for Merlin’s sake, look at the way you’re dressed.”
“Lucius please...” Astoria said, and Dean could tell that she was embarrassed that he had pointed out the true intention of her dinner invite. Sure, Dean didn’t usually take kindly to being used – but Astoria and Draco had at least been polite and kind about it.
“Well, luckily for your son and daughter-in-law, respect is earned, not inherited,” Dean said. “If family names really mattered that much, Sam and I certainly wouldn’t be eating here.” Dean watched as Lucius’ jaw clenched and his body tensed. Dean kept his focus on Lucius, but he could see Sam shift in his chair, and Narcissa glare at him. Draco didn’t seem to move at all.
“How dare you-” Lucius started.
“No!” Dean said. “How dare you! Draco and Astoria invited us over for a nice family dinner – which is delicious by the way...” Dean winked at Astoria, which did the trick of briefly removing the distressed expression from her face. “...and then you ruin it by being a dick. You are the last person who should be talking about family and respect. You sold yours out to support a crazy racist mass murderer. How did that turn out for you? Your son’s a social pariah; your grandson can’t go into a joke shop-”
“I never approved of the Dark Lord’s methods, Narcissa saved-” Lucius said.
“Oh, but you approved of his goals?” Dean said. “And what? Narcissa saved Harry? Right, well great for her, but I have to wonder what her motivations were for turning against your precious Dark Lord at the last minute instead of when her teenage son was holed up in school bathrooms crying his eyes out because of the fate you laid out for him. So, no, I will not tell you my family name – but I will tell you that I feel sorry for Draco. I mean, my father made a lot of mistakes, but at least he taught me and Sammy how to kill evil bastards, instead of teaching us how to bend over for them.”
In a split second, there was a wand in Lucius’ hand and he was standing up in rage. Dean’s own hand flew to his butter knife.
Before Lucius had time to say anything, two things happened at once: the knife collided with his hand, causing him to drop the wand; and the back of Sam’s chair hit the ground as Sam leaped to his feet and pointed his pearl-handled handgun at Lucius’ temple.
“Sit down,” Sam commanded. Lucius sat.
To Dean’s left, Draco was holding his mother’s right arm tightly and both were staring at the gun with wide-eyed fear. To Dean’s right, Astoria was much the same.
“Now shut-up and finish your dinner,” Sam said, and Dean watched as Lucius picked up his fork with a shaking hand. His right hand was actually bleeding a little.
“Astoria,” Sam said, “could you please fix my chair?”
Astoria jumped a little, and then quickly set Sam’s chair back on his legs. Sam sat down without taking the gun or his eyes of Lucius.
“Are you going to try anything again?” Sam asked.
“No,” Lucius muttered.
“Speak up!” Sam commanded.
“No, Sir,” Lucius said.
“Good,” Sam said. “I’m going to lower the gun now, but if you make one wrong move, it’ll be the last thing you do – understand?”
“Yes,” Lucius replied.
True to his word, Sam lowered the gun, placing it in his lap for easier accessibility, and then carefully showed his empty hand to Lucius before he picked up his fork and started to eat.
“It really is delicious, Astoria” Sam said into the silence. “Thank you for inviting us.”
“Th-thanks for coming,” Astoria said.
Chapter 17
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-09-07 04:19 pm (UTC)With the metric system, I had just assumed since Canada usually follows Britain's lead that they used kilometers too...I mean, continental Europe uses kilometers as well. Very odd, Britain, get with the times!
I think I'll have an update this week. I'm not sure I can guarantee next week, but I think I'll have one this week...
no subject
Date: 2010-09-08 09:11 am (UTC)Basements are very uncommon in Australian homes, though office and apartment buildings tend to have them (often for car parks). If people have wine cellars, they tend to be a small space under the house. I don't think newer homes in the UK tend to have basements either. Some of the older homes might have 'cellars' that were build as aid raid shelters for during the wars.
I think the two terms are interchanged a bit in the US, though I probably think of cellars more as either still an actual wine cellar, or in the mid-west as a tornado shelter.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-08 04:29 pm (UTC)But yeah, I think of cellars as "root cellar" or "wine cellar" - as in, they're used for a specific function...whereas, let's say in Malfoy's place where the basement was used as a dungeon...well, that'd just be a basement. Still, I'll look and see what Jo called it.
Basements are very common in Canadian homes for some reason. It's actually more strange if you don't have one than if you do...well, depending where you are in Canada anyway. If the ground is too rocky and/or frozen, than you don't have a basement.