Snapshots: First Impressions

[toujours_nigel]

“May I sit here?” A petite little red-head, hauling her trunk, staring, nervously, at the near-identical faces.

 

“Depends,” drawls the blonde lounging by a window. “What’s your name?”

 

“Lily Evans,” she answers, “I’m a first-year.”

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts, Lily,” a kinder voice says. An older girl, pale oval face framed in long black hair. “My cousins are firsties too.” She points at the two young boys huddled near the other window. Neither bothers to look up.

 

“Are... are you a prefect?”

 

“No, but I am a seventh-year. Why?”

 

“No reason.”

 

“Are you related to the Prewetts?” The blonde again, voice just a little harsher. “Two of them are around here somewhere. Go sit with them.”

 

“I don’t know any Prewetts. I’m not… my parents weren’t witches,” she mutters.

 

“Well, I’d certainly hope your father wasn’t a…” the blonde starts, but the other girl cuts through.

 

“Then welcome to the magical world, child. How did your parents take the news?”

 

“They were OK with it, I guess. My sister,” she shrugs, “not so much.”

 

“Hmm.” She looks around as if trying to check whether there are any spare seats to offer. “Well, Lily, the thing is, we’re expecting another of my cousins, so…”

 

“Oh. It’s fine. Just, the trunk’s a bit… and everywhere else seemed to be full…”

 

“Tell you what, one compartment down, there’s an almost empty one with a fat boy and a thin one in it. They looked like first-years. Why don’t you go sit with them?”

 

She nods in agreement and leaves.

 

“Meda,” James asks, “are we expecting anyone?”

 

“Frank’s travelling with his friends, but Lucius will be back from the prefects’ compartment any minute. You know that.”

 

“Yeah, but aren’t there a couple of extra seats?”

 

“Why, did our ickle Jamiekins want the dirty Mudblood to stay?” Narcissa laughs.

 

“It’s not her fault she’s a Mudblood, Cissy. And the trunks are heavy.”

 

“Arthur rex,” Andromeda laughs. “Always riding for justice.”

 

James blushes, ducking his head.

 

“Or is it that you think you’ve spotted Guinevere?” she teases.

 

James turns redder than a Quaffle.

 

“That wench Camelot’s queen?” Narcissa shrieks. “Surely, surely you’re joking, Vivian. What say you, Lancelot?”

 

Sirius looks around for the first time since the Mudblood intruded. “I say, my lady, that Lord Arthur must be sorely mistaken if he imagines that girl could be his companion.”

 

“Well spoken. Morgana would be proud.”

 

“Proud of what?” Lucius Malfoy strolls to her, claiming a kiss, before sprawling across the length of one row, head in her lap and feet next to Sirius’ seat. “Proud of what? Sirius?”

 

“James wanted us to give one of your seats to a Mudblood,” he answers easily, smirking at the embarrassed boy facing him. “Meda thinks he has a crush on her. Cissa and I were telling him off.”

 

“What’s this, Potter? In love?” He grins, satisfied that James cannot possibly turn a darker shade of crimson. “Red-head? Somewhat pretty?” Cissa nods, smirking. “Hmm. Well, I’ll have to inform Dorea that her son has found a…”

 

“Lucius, did you ask them?” Silly, kind Meda, spoiling their fun.

 

“Ah. Yes. The deed is done.” Lucius sits up, shaking back his blond mane. “Listen, pups. Fabian Prewett will help you out if you land in Gryffindor. If you become a Ravenclaw, same with Caradoc Dearborn. Understand?”

 

He nods. James grins. “What if we’re in Hufflepuff?”

 

Andromeda stares at him, speechless with shock.

 

“If you’re in Hufflepuff, Potter, I’ll kill you myself,” Lucius growls.

 

“You’re giving our boys to Prewett and Dearborn?” Narcissa glares at both of them, aghast.

 

“Well, yes. Lucius and I have been plotting all summer,” Meda says, puzzled.

 

“Cissa, don’t,” Lucius says.

 

“But they’re…”

 

“Prefect and pure-bloods.”

 

“And perverts. Meda, how could you?”

 

“The same maybe said  about Roxana Lestrange, Cissa,” she reminds her, infuriatingly calm.

 

“Roxie was…”

 

“Caught with a second-year, Cissa,” Lucius says, voice iron bars. “Leave be.”  

 

She subsides, still glaring.

 

“You will not tell any of our parents, boys,” Meda warns. “Nor Bellatrix, nor Roxana’s brothers.”

 

“I’d think Bella already knows, Meda,” Lucius smirks. “Her husband is hardly ever at home.”

 

Narcissa glares daggers at him, but he turns to the boys, kicking his feet up on her lap and lowering his head on Sirius’.

 

“Perverts?” he asks, fingers carding through the golden hair spilling over his thighs.

 

“Lovers.” Lucius shrugs. “What’s it matter? They’re nice enough, and they both know better than to molest my relatives.”

 

“Cause you’ll slit their throats?” he asks, ignoring James’ gaze.

 

“Cause I’ll shell their balls,” Lucius answers, voice a caress, ignoring Narcissa’s sneer.

 

“And feed them to Thestrals?”

 

“An entire herd,”  Lucius promises, as he follows a golden lock down to the carved mouth.

 

“That’s nice, he whispers, wishing, not for the first time, that the nights spent with Lucius could be untainted. That Lucius was something closer than first cousin to his first cousin.

 

“We’d best dress,” Andromeda says tensely.

 

***

 

An hour later, he wishes he could disappear.

 

“Breathe, Lucius,” the tall, slender boy behind him counsels. “You knew this was a possibility.”

 

“I know it’s a possibility that Rita Skeeter may give me her virginity. Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be shocking, Fabian,” Lucius snaps. “Are you lads OK?”

 

James nods, supremely OK. He gulps.

 

“Fuck.” Now he knows he’s in trouble. Lucius prides himself on being too self-controlled to swear. “James. Congratulations. Write to your parents tonight. Give them the good news.” He frowns, rubs the space between his eyes. “Sirus. Write to Alphard. Tell him. I’ll write to your parents tomorrow morning. You lie low for a week. And for love of Merlin, don’t argue with them.”

 

“Even if they make me get re-selected?” He would like to be in Slytherin with Lucius and Cissa, but not if he has to leave James.

 

“Can’t be done, Black,” Fabian Prewett says soothingly, putting a surprisingly large hand on his shoulder.

 

“Even if they try to take me to Durmstrang, Lucius?”

 

“They won’t. We won’t let them.”

 

“Well spoken, Mr. Malfoy.” Albus Dumbledore is bearing down on them, smiling benignly. “And what instigates this rebellion?”

 

“Black here is worried his parents won’t let him stay in Gryffindor, sir.” Prewett answers for Lucius, who is gritting his teeth, trying to calm down.

 

“Ah. A rebel with a cause, eh, Mr. Malfoy?”

 

“He’s rather nervous, Headmaster.”

 

“All the first-years are. Nothing a couple of Chocolate Frogs and a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” He winks at Sirius, who thinks he might puke. “See to it, Mr. Prewett.”

 

“Yes sir. C’mon,” he mutters to them. “Rest of your class is near gone.”

 

James trots behind Prewett obediently, but he dawdles just a bit.

 

“Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore says, “obscenities are not allowed in the Great Hall, where more innocent ears might pick them up, and definitely not within earshot of professors. This is Slytherin’s own rule, is it not?”

 

“Minor slip, Headmaster. I can assure you it won’t occur again.” Then Lucius frowns, the façade slipping just a little. “Just…he’s the Black heir and now he’s in Gryffindor. I wasn’t expecting this.”

 

“Sometimes, Mr. Malfoy, our juniors are assured by an emotional outburst.” Dumbledore smiles at the incredulous look. “It reminds them that their elders are human. You did well tonight. It’s the mark of a leader to deal efficiently with unexpected events.”

 

“Thank you, Headmaster.” Lucius is not blushing, mostly because Lucius does not blush, but the smile is easy to spot even from half-a-table away.

 

“Now, see to your own house. And Mr. Black, off to bed with you.”

 

Maybe, he thinks, those nights needn’t mean anything more. They already mean that Lucius is his hero.