High Society

In the length of his tenure at Hogwarts Peter Pettigrew had associated more than he would have liked with Narcissa Black and her sisters, due mainly to his close friends Sirius and James' unflinching devotion to making the girls' lives as unpleasant as they were physically able. But when at last all three sisters had completed school Peter assumed he had bid good riddance to Narcissa and the rest of her immediate family. At sixteen, however, he had not counted on the paths his future would take - paths that had today brought him to Lucius Malfoy's door to take afternoon tea with him and his new wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had been married about six months ago with great fanfare and fuss. Since her oldest sister Bellatrix had insisted on a small, quiet ceremony and her other sister Andromeda had eloped, Narcissa's parents, twice thwarted, lavished upon their youngest daughter a wedding ceremony fit for a princess. It was the talk of the society pages for weeks, and even Witch Weekly had done a tribute to the young couple, calling it "the wedding of the decade."

"You'd think she was Princess Grace," Lily had said in disgust, throwing down the magazine, which had described Narcissa as "luminous" and "dazzling."

He arrived at the house promptly at two, ringing the bell and smoothing the front of his robes nervously. Standing in front of the stark spectacle of Lucius Malfoy's mansion, he knew it had been a dreadful mistake to come, but he couldn't back down now - he had already owled that he would be coming.

A house elf ushered him inside, took his coat, and led him out onto the veranda, where Lucius and Narcissa were relaxing over a bottle of brandy. The porch had been charmed against the January cold, and the sight of Narcissa in a long flimsy white dress while there was snow on the ground out in the garden gave him the bizarre impression that she was, indeed, cold-blooded.

She barely glanced in his direction as the elf introduced him, taking a sip of her brandy and giving a small, distasteful little sigh. Lucius however looked up from his paper and stood to shake Peter's hand firmly.

"Pettigrew!" he exclaimed. "Good to see you, good to see you. How are you?"

"Fine," he said, a touch nervously, eyeing Narcissa.

"Hello, Peter," she said in a cool, distant voice, still not looking at him.

"Hullo, Narcissa," Peter replied. He had a sudden urge to spit at her.

"Care for a drink?" Malfoy asked. "Tea will be ready in a few moments."

"Thanks - I'll just wait."

Malfoy gestured for Peter to have a seat. The cushions had been charmed to give off warmth and he found himself relaxing into the seat despite himself.

"So," Malfoy asked, folding his paper neatly. "How have you been? I haven't seen you in - what has it been, two years now? How are all your - your friends?"

Narcissa sniffed. Peter ignored her.

"They're quite well," he told Malfoy. "Lily and James - friends of mine - they just got married."

"Oh, did they! James - Potter, wasn't it? And ... Lily. Of course. Well, how lovely." It was clear that Malfoy hadn't the faintest idea who Lily was.

"Lily Evans, do you mean?" Narcissa asked, turning to look at Peter for the first time. In a white dress, reclining on a white sateen chaise longue, she looked ghostly. Her eyes were very large and clear and the blue irises stood out starkly in her pale face.

"Yes," he said warily.

"Oh, dear," she murmured softly. "That muggleborn girl, darling, you remember her," she added to Lucius. His eyes widened.

"Muggleborn! Really!" He seemed surprised. "Jack Potter's son married a muggleborn? Will wonders never cease," he said to Narcissa.

"Well, she's - very nice," Peter said, limply.

"Yes," Malfoy said. "Very nice, I'm sure."

A moment later a pair of house elves came out onto the veranda bearing two porcelein trays, one bearing a delicate china tea pot and cups, the other with a small plate of tea cakes and sandwiches. There was a silence while the elves cleared the table, served the tea, laid out the cakes and sandwiches and bowed their way out.

Peter took a sip of tea. He found he was nervous and sweating but could not say way. Lucius commented offhandedly on the cold spell and Narcissa gave a protracted sigh, gazing off into the distance.

"I do wish we had taken winter in Nice," she said. "You had said we might."

"Yes," he agreed. "It's a pity that didn't work out. It's a lovely city," he told Peter. "Narcissa's family has a villa there. I haven't been to it myself, but Narcissa often stayed there as a child. It's practically right on the Riviera."

She sighed again, morosely, clearly indicating to her less-privileged guest that the French Riviera was a beloved part of her childhood, roughly akin to a well-worn stuffed toy or visits to Grandmother's house on Christmas day.

"But tell me about yourself, Peter," Malfoy continued. "You've hardly said a word. What are you up to these days? Where are you working, anyhow?"

Peter was working in advertising, and told them a bit about his job. Malfoy listened intently, nodding and asking questions, his pale eyes wide with interest - real or feigned - but Narcissa continued to stare off into the garden, occasionally yawning or sighing. Her gold rings glittered and glinted each time she reached up with her thin pale fingers to cover her mouth. Finally, with some irritation, Malfoy waved her inside. In one langorous, fluid movement, she slid off the chaise, glided across the parlor and slipped through the French doors into the house, her long white muslin dress whispering out behind her.

"It sounds like very fascinating work, Peter," Malfoy said, as the doors shut behind Narcissa. "But I'm curious - why didn't you go out for a job at the Ministry? They say that's the only place in the Wizarding World for the truly ambitious." His eyes glittered oddly and Peter hesitated a second before responding.

"Well, it - I - it seemed like, well, I didn't really know anybody," he said awkwardly. "And it's pretty - well, it's not exactly easy to break in, is it? And my dad offered me a good enough job in his company, so - "

"Yes, yes," Malfoy said dismissively. "Peter, if I had known - why didn't you come to me? I could have set you up easily if that's all you were worried about."

"I - ah - " Peter didn't know what to say. Since when were he and Lucius Malfoy on such friendly terms?

"Peter, come on," Malfoy said softly. "We've known each other for years. You should know you can always count on me for something like that."

Peter nodded, utterly baffled. He heard a queer buzzing in his ears and wondered dizzily if he was under an enchantment of some sort.

"Besides, I - well, you do want a place in the Ministry, don't you?"

"Of course - "

"Then it's no trouble," Malfoy said, beaming. "I'll have you set up in a corner office by Monday. Where would you like to work?"

For a moment Peter could only stare at him. Malfoy had to be joking. This was completely unreal. The idea that he, Peter, would be well-placed in the Ministry - with a leg up from no less than Lucius Malfoy - in a matter of days, when scarcely a half-hour ago he had thought himself destined to rot away in his father's small advertising corporation for years, if not life ... it was surreal.

Scarcely believing this was really happening, Peter told him in a voice that sounded oddly far away that he had always had an interest in foreign relations.

"Fantastic," Malfoy said. "International Magical Cooperation, then. I think my mother has a friend who chairs one of the trade committees. I'll see if I can't secure you a place there, since you already have some business experience."

Peter nodded. By next Monday he might never have to edit another proof or write out another invoice to Monsieur le Fay's Fine Cakes and Sweets again. He shook his head, trying not to let himself get his hopes up. Malfoy was probably just showing off, he thought. Once Peter left he and Narcissa would probably have a good laugh about how naive their guest had been. The thought made Peter uncomfortable. Maybe it was all just a joke. He didn't know Malfoy, after all, and from what little he did know of him, this warm camaraderie and eagerness to please was rather out of character. What if Narcissa and Lucius did laugh at him?

But Malfoy just seemed so damn sincere. And Peter had always known him to be friendly enough - certainly he was quite popular and well-liked, enough that he had managed to make Prefect in his fifth year despite poor marks. Sirius had always acted very dismissive of Malfoy - privately, of course - but a comment he had made once came back to Peter now.

"Malfoy's not a really charming kind of guy, but he can get things done alright," he had said. "I don't know how he does it - money, whatever - but he always does it, everytime."

Malfoy was smiling at him in a contemplative sort of way as he took a long drink of tea. There was silence for a moment. Peter could feel Malfoy's pale, glittering eyes studying him.

"I like you, Pettigrew," Malfoy said at last. "You're a good sort. Well-bred, pleasant, mannerly - you've got a good head on your shoulders." He took another sip of his tea. "You're not like your friends, you know," he added. "Oh, I don't mean anything against them - they're quite decent fellows in their own way. But they don't - well, Peter, I'm no great hand at dissecting people. Either a man's successful or he's not and I couldn't tell you why or how. But sometimes a man really sticks out to me - there's something special about him - something clicks, and I can see that this is a man, here is someone with a future ahead of him. This is a man who is driven, and resourceful, and clever - who's willing to do what it takes to get where he wants to go. This is a harsh world and nowadays it takes that sort of man to succeed, someone who's not afraid to be a little - competitive. You, Peter - whether you realize it or not - are that sort of man."

Peter licked his lips. Suddenly his mouth was very dry.

"These friends - good, kind fellows that they are - are holding you back. They think you're someone you aren't. They ignore you, they don't recognize the specialness in you. They may be popular and talented but I can see as clear as day that in the end only you among you truly has what it takes to be someone in this world."

He paused here, folding up his paper neat and placing it on the table with a light pat. Peter said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

"Not long ago, I was in a position similar to yours," Malfoy continued after a moment, in a quiet voice. "I was drifting, aimless. I didn't know what I was here for - I felt useless, purposeless. You and I, our sort of people feel useless if we haven't got a goal in mind, don't we, Peter? We need an end to work towards. Something tangible, worthwhile. Something great. Something that really makes an impact in the world. You're not cut out for advertising, Peter, because you know why? Because you're bigger than that. You're ibetter/i than that. You know that nothing you do in that tiny little office makes a difference, that not a single paper that passes by your desk has any impact on anything that goes on outside that tiny little building. And that makes you feel small, helpless, worthless - doesn't it?"

Peter gave the barest of nods.

"I know it does. Because you can see the bigger picture, and you see the rest of the people, so caught up in their tiny minute little existences they barely even notice you, and you feel disgusted. Because you know how meaningless they are, and they don't, and you know you aren't one of them but here you are, wasting away in your stuffy little office, just like them.

"I don't want that for you, Peter. You've got so much - so much specialness and talent to give to this world, it's just - it's ludicrous, totally ridiculous to think of it going to waste. You have so much to give, Peter. So much that you want to give to the world and you're just, all you need is an outlet. That's all you need, just some place in the world that will let you be of use and make a difference. A real difference - something that will affect not just today, but always."

Peter went to take a sip of tea, but missed, and the tea spilled down his front. Neither he nor Malfoy paid any attention.

"I'm making a difference, Peter," Malfoy said, very softly and intimately. He was leaning forward now and Peter stared into the thin pale oval of his face, cast into shadow, the grey hollows of his eyes as they bored intently into Peter's own. "I'm leaving my name in the history books. The impact of my actions will be felt for generations to come. Your grandchildren, mine - our great-grandchildren - they will come of age in a world I helped create. How many people can say that, Peter?"

"How?" Peter asked.

And Malfoy smiled. He leaned back in his chair, contented, shaking his pale hair out of his eyes. With his right hand he drew up the sleeve of his left robe to reveal a bold black tattoo.

"His name is Voldemort," Malfoy said. "Probably better known to you as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We call him the Dark Lord among ourselves." He paused for a moment, then continued, examining the mark on his arm.

"We need you, Peter," he said quietly. "We need you desperately. You're an insider - you can give us very valuable information. We can reward you handsomely. Your new job in the Ministry would be only the beginning. Money, property - girls - whatever you desire, it would be yours, and more, beyond your wildest dreams. But material goods are only the least of the rewards for serving under the Dark Lord. You can have glory - fame - power. I know you, Peter - you lust terribly for these things, as I did. Your friends have never appreciated you - they can give you nothing. The Dark Lord can give you ieverything/i."

Peter's eyes wandered out over the snow-covered garden. The sun was hidden behind the clouds and the lazy white parlor was cast into a grey shadow.

"You don't have to make any decisions now," Malfoy told him. "Wait until you're set up at the Ministry. See how you like it there. Imagine what your friends will think! We'll talk about it later, after you've had a little time to think it over."

Peter nodded. He felt oddly remote. Malfoy stood and he followed suit, Malfoy leading the way into the house. On their way to the front door they passed Narcissa, sprawled elegantly on a long divan in the parlor reading glamour magazines. Peter paused to stare at her.

"'Bye, Peter," she said, gazing straight into his eyes.

He walked past. Malfoy showed him to the door, helped him into his coat and they shook hands, agreeing that it had been a very good tea and that they would have to meet again soon.

The door closed behind him softly. The cold outside came as a harsh shock and Peter hurriedly cast a warming charm over himself. It had been a very interesting tea.