Just Desserts

Quote: if I have to crawl across the floor

come crashing through your door

baby I can't fight this feeling anymore

"Draco, darling!" Narcissa Malfoy swept down the long staircase, hands outstretched for a hug, as Draco came crashing through the front door of the Manor. "Hasn't anyone been feeding you? You're thin as a rail."

He kissed her affectionately, shaking off the cold from outside. "You always say that, Mother."

"I've had the house elves make a batch of desserts for after the meeting. I want you to make sure to eat something, dear. You need to keep your strength up for your O.W.L.S. next month." Then she was gone, swirling out of the hallway toward the kitchens in a flurry of golden hair and billowing robes. He watched her go, smiling faintly.

"Wand," a voice grunted behind him. Draco turned to find Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr. standing guard at the door of the War Room, Crabbe's burly hand extended toward him.

"You want me to turn over my wand?" Draco sneered. "But it's my house."

"That's the rule," Crabbe replied. "Nobody but Himself gets to keep his wand at the meetings. It's called security."

"Of course. Security." Draco grumbled under his breath, but surrendered his wand reluctantly. Naturally, he never went anywhere without a spare tucked into the back of his robes for emergencies. Neither of the Neanderthal Twins would ever think of such a thing, so they wouldn't think to check. He put on a sulky pout anyway, just in case, as he walked past them into the meeting room.

It turned out that he was the last to arrive, but he had at least managed to be on time. Being late to a meeting was one of the fastest ways to end up on the wrong end of Voldemort's displeasure. That wasn't a risk Draco was inclined to take, especially when it was his first meeting since receiving the Dark Mark. There was enough risk inherent in spying for the Order, anyway. No need to press his luck.

The Malfoy War Room was decorated with many rare and antique weapons, heirlooms and acquisitions that had been handed down within the family for generations, with a long wooden table in the center as the focal point of the room. There was only enough space around that table for five men on either side, with Voldemort at the head. Lucius, Parkinson, Flint, Crabbe and Goyle sat together on one side while Pettigrew, McNair, Avery, Nott, and Zabini sat on the other side. Lucius and Wormtail had long been at odds over who could curry the better favor from the Dark Lord, and each had slowly drawn a number of the other Death Eaters to their respective sides. Snape had managed to slip into a chair against the wall, cleverly avoiding any declaration of loyalty to either faction, and Draco quickly took the empty seat beside him as the meeting began.

As expected, the meeting was tedious and boring, full of bouts of less-than-subtle politicking punctuated by short intervals of thinly-veiled insults being passed back and forth between Lucius' and Pettigrew's minions. Draco nearly had trouble staying awake. But at long last, strategy was decided, plans were drawn up on parchments, and dessert was served. Unfortunately the paltry presence of pastry didn't do much to dissipate the tension that had been slowly building in the room all night.

As Draco picked disinterestedly at a slab of coconut cream cake, Snape made his way over to the table and began to examine the parchments more closely. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw his father go over to Snape and whisper something in his ear. Snape blinked, then turned to Lucius with a sneer. Draco couldn't hear Snape's reply, but he was good enough at lip-reading to know that the comment probably wasn't G-rated. His father turned the most delightful shade of purple.

"Why you -" Lucius lunged at Snape, and the two men fell in a heap. They rolled around on the floor, wrestling and shouting, until they were pulled apart by the rest of the group.

"What is the meaning of this! How dare you fight like this in the presence of our Lord and Master!" Pettigrew shouted at Lucius.

The elder Malfoy was unfazed. "He's a spy, a traitor! I caught him red-handed trying to steal our plans!" Lucius pointed at the torn parchment that lay on the floor where they had been wrestling. "He was trying to hide that inside his robes!"

"You are a delusional freak, Malfoy," Snape snarled. "I did no such thing! I was merely reviewing the plans to ascertain if there were any weaknesses. We cannot afford to make even the smallest mistake at this critical juncture. It's my job to ensure that we cover ourselves where Dumbledore and the Order are concerned, which is exactly what I was doing!"

"My Lord," Lucius said to Voldemort, who was watching the whole scene with mild amusement, "my years of experience in espionage cause me to be more sceptical than the average Wizard about these matters. I am certain that Snape was planning to steal these documents and betray us! He may have other of our secret plans hidden in his pockets even now!"

Lucius grinned sadistically at Snape, Crabbe and Goyle looming ominously behind him. "With your permission, Master, my assistants and I will personally 'search' this traitor thoroughly. We'll make doubly sure not to overlook any of the seven major bodily orifices."

If the situation hadn't been so tense, Draco might have laughed at the expression on Snape's face as the irritated wizard mentally calculated those orifices with an expression of great annoyance. But there wasn't time to laugh, because right at that moment, Snape temporarily lost his mind. In one swift motion the Potions Master picked up a large lemon meringue pie from the table and flung it at Lucius. Fortunately for Lucius, he was able to duck in time so that it sailed over him. Unfortunately for Voldemort, he wasn't as fast as Lucius.

The deadly dessert hit the Dark Lord squarely in the head, the edge of the heavy metal dish glancing off his temple. Momentarily stunned, Voldemort crumpled to the ground in a heap. Snape turned pale. "Oh, shit. I'm a dead man," he muttered.

Good grief, Draco thought in disbelief. The most powerful wizard in the whole bloody world gets taken out by PIE?

"Our Lord has been struck down by treachery! I call for massive retaliation!" Lucius cried. Swooping to the table, he picked up a chocolate cream pie and hurled it toward Snape, but his angry throw went wide and it hit McNair instead.

"You've gone too far this time, Malfoy!" McNair roared furiously, throwing a pie himself, which hit Parkinson, who, of course, also retaliated. Within seconds, a monumental food fight ensued. The warring Death Eater factions drilled each other in rapid succession with cookies, custards and cakes, finally unleashing all their pent-up frustrations. The kitchen elves ran about in the hallway, clutching their heads and shrieking in dismay.

Draco quickly ducked behind a large potted houseplant in the far corner of the room. A few moments later, Snape crawled across the floor over beside him, wiping what appeared to be vanilla frosting out of his eyes.

"A fine mess you've made of things now," Draco whispered.

"As if it were my fault!" Snape snapped back. "Your father, and his political ambitions - he was trying to blackmail me into joining his 'side', and when I said I wouldn't, he attacked me! The man's a bloody menace!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You'll get no argument from me there." He pulled the hidden wand out of his robes and passed it to Snape. "Get out of here, before they decide to kill you for allegedly being a spy and having bad aim."

As Snape spelled himself to safety, Draco watched the epic pastry battle rage on. He was greatly amused when Flint got Avery in a headlock and smeared an entire plate of blackcurrant tarts, one at a time, all over the other man's head.

After a few minutes, Voldemort came back to his senses. He tried to get up, his feet slipping repeatedly in the slick mess that now covered the stone floor. When he was finally able to stand, the furious Dark Lord raised his wand and yelled, "Crucio!" The sound reverberated throughout the room, freezing the combatants in their tracks for a moment before they all fell to the floor, crying out in pain.

"Disgraceful," Voldemort spat. "All of you! Fighting amongst yourselves like petty children! Never in all my days have I seen such deplorable behavior! Lucius, Wormtail, Severus - wait, where is Severus?"

"Perhaps their minds have simply snapped under the strain of all this war planning, my Lord." Draco kept his voice as neutral as possible, stepping out from his hiding place. "They may all have to be institutionalised."

"Ah, and as for you, young Malfoy," Voldemort said, turning toward him, the missing Snape momentarily forgotten. "I see you have managed to come out of this melee unscathed."

Draco wisely knelt on the pastry-covered floor before the Dark Lord and bowed his head, though doing so rankled his pride. "Yes, my Lord."

"Had this been a real battle, you would obviously be one of the few left standing. Such cleverness might be thought to be an admirable quality."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"What is that Muggle saying I learned as a child? Ah yes - 'he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day'. But 'the valiant only taste of death but once', they also say." Voldemort's voice had turned cold and hard. Draco closed his eyes for a moment. It seemed that this wasn't going quite as well as he had hoped. He was either going to find himself in Cruciatus, or worse, if he couldn't think of a way to appease Voldemort, and quickly.

"I hadn't thought you a coward, Draco. I would have been more impressed if you had stood by me and protected me in my momentarily weakened state. I prefer that loyalty to me should be the top priority of my followers. You would have been wiser to remember that."

He couldn't fight this feeling of dread any longer. There was only one thing he could think of to do that would distract Voldemort from his anger. He looked up at the Dark Lord from underneath his long, silvery lashes, then reached out and took Voldemort's whipped-cream-covered hand in his own. Draco raised the bony appendage to his lips, and with a deliberate, careful slowness, licked the smooth cream off of each one of Voldemort's skeletal fingers.

"My Lord," he said softly, "You're all sticky. If it pleases you, I could draw you a bath, in the guest chambers, while this room is set back to order."

"I see," Voldemort said. "That's - a very, very good idea."

The screaming stopped abruptly as the other Death Eaters were released from the painful curse. Draco felt himself tugged to his feet as Voldemort tightened his grip on Draco's hand.

"Come, young Malfoy," Voldemort said with a salacious grin, pulling him toward the door. "You can scrub my back."

Draco sighed as he followed. Snape was so going to owe him for this one.

~fin~