The Fall of the House of Malfoy

A Malfoy Tale.

Part One:: In Which All Who Come Bearing Apples Are Not Evil.

There was once a magical kingdom far away, where sorrow was never an ending and where magical creatures roamed the lands alongside both man and fairy; a land in which enchanted forests whispered ancient tales of love, greed, hope and despair; a place where curses that were cast in the name of revenge survived centuries unbroken, whilst some blessings saw others bind an endless love in a single perfect rose, long after its object had faded away. It was a place in which many a young prince rode towards the hidden lands of the east, in search of glory and high adventure; in which princesses of unsurpassed beauty lay captive under spells and enchantments, dreaming of a time when their princes would return from the lands of the east and rescue them from themselves.

In this land, where fortunes were made and lost as fast as the wind blew, there lived a young lord with hair as white as snow and lips as pink as the first spring rose. He lived in a world of never ceasing motion, each day bringing a hidden jewel of knowledge for him to discover or new games for him to invent. He lived in a magnificent castle with seventeen turrets, rooms for every mood in which he found himself, and even more rooms for the moods he did not yet know he could feel.

All day long, the young lord ran in rolling green fields that had no end and climbed the trees of the surrounding forests that were so tall, they cut patterns into the sky. As a dying sun placed its final strokes of purples and pinks on the sky, he would climb into the strong arms of his papa and recount all his daily adventures, before watching the first stars wink merrily at him to sleep from the safety of his mother's warm lap.

The young lord was as happy as a boy who had not yet seen seven summers could be. Love softened the unforgiving stone walls of his home, his mother's cool kisses could vanish away any hurts whilst his father's silver laughter could mend a pride that, moments before, had lain damaged beyond repair.

All in the castle loved him dearly, trying all they could to make the dimples appear in his round cheeks. Deloutier, the butler, would show him hidden rooms in which to play games, the maids would feed him the tastiest sweets and even the hot tempered, sharp tongued cook oft took the time to spin him tales of what the world was like in the days when she had but one chin. He was never in want of anything, a hundred arms reaching out to do his every bidding. But one day, whilst perched on the loving arms of an old oak, he discovered that all in his delightful world was not right.

He had been amusing himself by playing with a young deer, running amongst the strong trees until the shadows had slowly begun creeping up on him. Suddenly another young deer had bound into the clearing, looking for its friend.

"You must come now, for you are wanted." it insisted, playfully nudging its brother with its nose. The young lord was dismayed, for he had enjoyed his day in the forest and did not want it to end.

"Stay, friend!" he cried. "Stay here a moment longer!" But the deer gravely shook his head.

"I will be missed," he said. "Perhaps another time, my lord." And with that, he gave one great bound and disappeared into the shadows of the wood, his brother following close behind.

The forest became very quiet after they had gone, and the young lord tried to think of a way to amuse himself until a servant was sent to fetch him home. He tried catching butterflies, but they were too quick for his small hands. He tried building a castle of rocks, but they were too heavy for him to carry. The very forest that had once held innumerable pleasures suddenly became cold and unforgiving. The young lord seated himself on the warm ground and tried not to cry, for the princes in the maid's tales never cried when they were left all alone. A sudden feeling of sorrow possessed his small being and his small mouth began to pout. His throat began to dry and his stomach began to writhe like a pit full of snakes. In dismay he looked down at his now shaking hands.

"What can this be?" the young lord wondered to himself. "Perhaps I have eaten something that has not agreed with me." But even his young mind knew this was not the case.

"Perhaps I have been poisoned!" And so the troubled mind of the young lord began spinning wild possibilities, each more unlikely than the rest. He asked the bluebird had been with him that afternoon.

"Come, Bluebird!" he cried, "Can you not say what ails me so?"

But it just shook its feathers and flew away, singing, "I know not, my lord!"

He asked the elm trees, for their wisdom was great, but they shook their limbs and sadly whispered, "We cannot say. We cannot say."

Was this because he had fallen into the old oak table the previous evening? Was it because he had lied to his nurse when she asked him if he had eaten any chocolates before his tea? Or was he, the young lord thought in panic, was he dying?! The young lord was very troubled at this. How could he be dying? He had not yet met his Lady, he had not yet learnt of any quests or unfulfilled prophecies; now with a trembling lip, he rued the hours he spent ignoring his lessons, wishing he had learnt how to wield a sword.

He was aghast. Without being able to use a sword, how would he smite down the evil that came unto him and save his lady love? The thought was too much for him and he burst into tears, hugging his cloak tightly around himself.

"What be wrong, young sahr?" a wizened voice asked.

He looked up and saw not one of his serfs, but an old lady covered in shawls, with the slanted eyes of one of the South. Warnings against such untrustworthy folk rose into his mind, unbidden, and the wary lord wiped away his tears and prepared to leave. But as he looked into her large, kind, dark eyes that were marked by the gentle hands of Time, he could not help but forget all the tales of theft, kidnap and murder that clung like a lover to the caravans of the Gypsies.

"I th-think I may be dying!" he sobbed, with the heartfelt grief of one who has no hope left in his young life. The gypsy woman seemed slightly taken aback at this show of emotion, not the least shocked at the reason for it.

"Why ye look parfectly spry to mine old eyes!" she exclaimed.

"Ah, it is but only a few hours since I became afflicted." He grieved. The old woman let out a tiny sigh of relief before settling down on the huge fallen oak he was on.

"And what gave ye this mortal blow, young master?"

The young lord took a deep breath and painfully began recounting a tale of his afternoon that was as embellished as an imaginative young mind could make it. The old woman smiled to herself under her colourful scarves, her wise mind sifting through tales of robbers stealing his friend away to use as ransom, and her eyes softened in pity as she saw the young lord for the lonely young boy that he was.

"Well, young master," she tied another scarf tighter around her arm. "I'm not just any o' the Wandering folk. I've also got special healing powers." She felt the young lad squirm with curiosity as she pulled a basket of ripe apples towards her. "These be my special apples that have been magicked to cure anyone who eats them." she continued. She felt his eyes on the basket and smiled to herself again.

"I- I don't suppose I could have one, could I?" he asked hesitantly.

"Oh, no." His face fell and he stared moodily into the woods, preparing himself for his ultimate demise. "Oh, no, they be far too valuable for an old woman like me to give one to ye. Ye must grant me a favour if ye wish for an apple."

The young lord creased his head in worry. 'Good will is a myth', he remembered his papa saying, 'The world is full of people who would wish to do you harm, my son.' She could easily be a hag who ate children, or she could be after a great sum of money. But he was dying.

"Alright." He took a deep breath and began again, remembering his manners. "I shall grant unto thee, good lady, one wish in exchange for a gift of a single magical apple."

The woman smiled and passed him one. "My wish, young sir, " she said, "is that every afternoon, ye shall come to this very clearing and keep my young daughter company until the Wanderers must leave again." She saw the relieved, almost disappointed look that settled across his fine features. "She has been quite lonely of late, and in need of a companion."

"And is this all you ask of me?" There was definitely disappointment in his tone. She smiled again, for after seven sons, she knew how the mind of a young boy worked.

"Ah, but ye must swear to protect her from any harm that may befall her," she continued gravely. "And no one must ever know of this arrangement."

The young lord brightened and with a solemn bow, replied, "I swear," before returning back to his castle, his heart singing at his new found quest.

"Have your lessons put that wide smile on your face, son?" his papa asked, removing his ebony cloak before throwing the young lord into the air and catching him again.

"No, sir," he replied. "I have received my first quest, which I must not tell you about, as it is a secret, and I must begin tomorrow to fight any villains that come."

A shadow passed across his father's face as he seated his son on his knee and rang for the young lord's maid.

He frowned at the girl "I thought I ordered no more tales of mouth to be told in this manor."

"B-but my Lord - it was just one simple little fair-"

"There must be no more tales in this house. Is that understood?" His voice was quiet but rang with power that would not be disobeyed. The nursery maid nodded, frightened, and backed out of the room. The lord gave a heavy sigh and turned his awe struck son back towards him.

"You must not believe what you hear, my son," he said, a sadness filling his eyes. "Heroes and villains only exist in idle minds." His silver hair flowed about his face glowing in the moonlight, and in that moment the young boy could only see the angel seated before him.

"No," he continued, "villains are simply men who do what others are too frightened to do."

He smiled at his son and lifted him up to his bed. "But even villains must sleep." He winked.

The young boy was suddenly exhausted and closed his eyes.

"But I'm to be a hero, not a villain, papa." he murmured sleepily before drifting off.

"No," whispered his father. "You aren't."

::*::