#shematriarch

ʺ  come  on  ,  narcissa !    ʺ    she  taunts  in  a  high  voice  ,  hurling  another hex  at  her  sister’s  feet.  the  longer this  goes  on  ,  the  more  severe her  every  spell  becomes.  from  tickling  spells to  those  that  had  the  ability  to  inflict  serious damage.  ʺ  fight  back  !  ʺ

 Stay still. Maleficent almost feels insulted by the request but the pain cursing through her body forces her to keep quiet. The burning feeling on her hand has cursings forming on mouth, hanging on the tip of her tongue. Whoever thinks it’s proper to have so many iron around goes beyond her capability of understanding   ( her apprehension towards it not helping on the cause )   How she managed to get her hand tangled into a chain of iron is also a story she won’t be telling anytime soon. She hisses once more, pulling her arm towards herself hasty, bringing nothing but more pain to her hand as her eyes fixed intently in the lady in front of her, working with elegant fingers on the chains to take them away. She has to give it to Narcissa for being so incredibly patient and calm when her staff kept bursting with magic.     “ last time i stayed still I had my wings chopped off my body like a price to claim.”     said wings twitch on her back, opening wide behind herself, her voice is as sharp as her eyes, never weavering from the delicate features of the blonde woman.     “ why on earth is taking so long to take ----hss... now must you be so brute ?.”

SMALL HANDS REACH OUT APPREHENSIVELY, grabbing at the bag in his mother’s palm.   everything about her radiance warmth, and love ; the smile on her face telling more than her words even have to.   he’d been quite upset they had left him home as they visited the city, but it was one of his father’s work trips and draco was to stay home.  there’s a little run of the mill shop near the outskirts of town, paved by cobblestone and overgrown weeds.   it’s far too outdated, a monstrosity of a place, but draco’s curious will led him there the last time they were in town.    it’s got the best candies, made from a witch straight out of a horror story.  she’s old and rigid, but she’s made the best lemon tart pastries draco has ever tasted.  

Leontius Nott had always had standards when it came to the children with whom he permitted Theodora to associate. The children’s families had to be sufficiently wealthy and pure of blood, their homes had to free of the absurd Muggle-created fads that sometimes swept the Wizarding world, and the children themselves had to be intelligent enough and considerate enough that his quiet, clever daughter found them neither boring nor overbearing.

Draco Malfoy was near the top of the list of acceptable candidates for Theodora’s friendship, and given Leontius’ own long acquaintance with both Abraxas Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy, arranging for Theodora and Draco to spend time together had proven to be easy.

Theo didn’t mind. True, Draco could be a bit of a show-off when in a group, but he was a perfectly pleasant companion when he was on his own, and Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had long ago given Theodora permission to explore the family library at will whenever she began to feel overwhelmed by Draco’s boisterous gaggle of friends.

That was why she was inside on this particular afternoon; Draco and the other children had begun zooming about the garden in a game of shuntbumps, laughing and yelling as they tried to knock each other from their brooms. Theo had never been a confident flyer, and the noise was beginning to grate on her, so she had left her playmates behind and made her way through the manor halls to the library instead.

She had expected to find the room empty when she pushed open the door, so she was surprised to see Mrs. Malfoy browsing one of the shelves. Perhaps all the noise from outside was bothering her as much as it was bothering Theo.

Dealers choice = 9.  …desperately.

Draco hadn’t realised just how much he craved his mothers touch, for some reassurance, for someone to whisper in his ear, to hold him close and tell him that everything would be alright. He stood stiff like a brick when he felt her arms wrap around him. Dumbledores still, opened-eyed face stared back at him whenever he closed his eyes. He felt himself pushed against her bust as though he were a child and he tried so desperately not to cry, he shook so fiercely.

he hates this.  it’s a game, it’s all a game ; they all know it, as well.  they congregate in grimmauld place, and sit at the long, elaborately set table, and drink wine and chat, and pretend they aren’t evil.  and sirius is caught in it still, caught in this web, because it’s the summer holidays and he hasn’t the luxury of being able to leave when he wants.  he’s never had that luxury, but his mother had made it very clear that morning that he wasn’t to start arguments, wasn’t to draw attention.

and perhaps sirius would fight, normally, but he’s so tired.

it’s not as though the rest of them don’t know.  he goes to school with most of the cousins present here anyway ; they know he’s in gryffindor, know what he thinks, know who his friends are.  he doesn’t make it a secret.  and yet there’s a charade here, and all sirius can do is keep his eyes on the table and pretend as though he’s already eaten, because his mother can’t control much about him anymore but this she can control.

later they retire to the sitting room ; the adults.  the rest of them are sent to the front room, large enough to hold them all either sitting upon the sofas, the couches, or lounging on the floor.  sirius tucks himself into a corner for as long as seems appropriate before he finds it in himself to rise, feigning exhaustion, moving tot eh door.

he hadn’t expected narcissa, of all people, to follow.  she catches him in the hallway, and he’s ready with a sharp word, but there’s something in her expression that gives him pause.  it’s simple, quiet - she presses a hand to his shoulder, and it means something he can’t decipher, but the fight floods out of him.  all he does is nod in return, watch her move back towards the room ; to their family, to the performance.