House of Malfoy

Djjing, said the bell.
Draco looked up sharply at the door. 'Do you think it's him?'
Before I could answer, Pansy walked into the backroom followed by Nott.
'It's only Theodore.'
'Some welcome,' grumped Nott and he sat down at the long drawing/conference/lunch table. 'When's he supposed to get here?'
'He didn't say.'
'Honestly,' Pansy pouted, 'I don't see what all the fuss is about.'

But she did. We all did. The fuss was about a man named Thimbleberry, the man who could make or break the House of Malfoy fashion line. He was a style and glamour specialist who contributed articles on the esoterica of trendsetting to all the more snobbish publications.
Horace Slughorn had put me in contact with him and I had exhausted all my most charming manoeuvres just to get Thimbleberry to deign to meet Draco for even half an hour.
By this time we all had a great deal invested in the bizarre scheme to make House of Malfoy a focal point in the war of wizard fashion, though none so much as Draco himself. The youngest Malfoy was staking his very life on the success of this clothing line.

Djjing.
Pansy opened her mouth again but thought better of it. Instead she left to see who had come into the shop.
'Bet it's him.' Nott re-arranged his fuschia cravat and rubbed at imagined dirt on the tip of his glossy white shoes.
'Nice shoes.'

Pansy screamed suddenly and the door burst open. If the figure who rushed in was Thimbleberry, I decided, fashion was in a very poor way indeed.
He was dressed in a smelly robe and had a tangled beard that resembled nothing so much as a hag's second-best wig.
He looked at us each in turn with a mad and baleful eye before shouting, 'Oh ye faithful servants of the Dark Lord, aid me now! Succour! Sanctuary! Safe passage!' He grabbed Theodore with his filthy hands. 'By the Dark covenant, hide me!'
'Jaysus!' cried Nott, so shocked as to let his natural accent sneak through.
'Oi, no public restrooms here!' yelled Draco, pulling his wand.

The lunatic looked at Draco and snarled. Pulling back his sleeve, he revealed the Dark Mark.
Draco blanched. 'What do you want?'
'I am on a mission for the Dark Lord, but I have been betrayed. The Aurors are closing in on me. I need a place to hide.'
'Well, you can't do it here, you git!' I complained. 'Nigel Thimbleberry is coming tonight!'
The Death Eater ignored me. Speaking directly to Draco, he said, 'You live by the Dark Lord's generosity. You will hide me, boy.'
Nott peered through the door to the shop front. 'The mad bastard's stunned Pansy!'
Draco seemed frozen for a moment.
'I...quick, get upstairs. Blaise, check on Pansy. Nott, send an owl to Crabbe and Goyle's flat. Tell them to drop everything and get over here.'

I revived Pansy and helped her into a chair. From upstairs we heard muffled shouts, threats and what I assumed to be the breaking of furniture.
Letting go the messenger owl, Nott fumed, 'You'd think that nutter would have shown a little respect. We're on his side, after all.'
'Speak for yourself, Theodore. We're not all on his side.'
'Right,' scoffed Nott. 'You're here for the great pay, Blaise.'
'Does your dad do visiting hours at Azkaban, Theodore?'

Pansy stepped between us.
'No, Theodore's right. We've picked our side whether we like it or not. There's no going back at this point. Just look at him.' She jutted her chin towards the ongoing scuffle upstairs. I couldn't decide if she was referring to the Death Eater or Draco.
Nott glared but said nothing. For the next quarter hour we helped Pansy set to rights Draco's sketches and designs which had been scattered on the floor.

Djjing!
'I'll get it.' Pansy ran off again, perhaps a little more cautiously this time. She came back looking perplexed.
'Who is it?'
'I think it's Blaise's dad.'
Nott smiled. 'Which one?'
I drew my wand.
'Are you saying something about my mother, Nott?'
'I'd do Blaise's mum,' announced Draco, who had just come down the stairs. He went straight to look out onto the sales floor.

I was about to hex him when he turned whiter than usual and quickly closed the door.
'Christ! It's a bloody Auror!'
'I thought it was Mister Zabini,' explained Pansy.
'You thick cow! That's Kingsley Shacklebolt!'

'Shacklebolt?!' came an unbalanced voice from the stairwell. 'The Dark Lord will reward me beyong imagining for slaying Kinglsey Shacklebolt.' The ratty beard peeked over the bannister.
'Get back upstairs, you mad bastard!' shouted Draco as he fired off a curse.
'Traitor!' declared the now smoking beard.

'What do I do?' asked Draco with wild eyes.
'Go find out what he wants.'

Kingsley Shacklebolt studied a roll of elf-made thistlecoat with an intensity that only added to the bad-assed aura already suggested by his fine black coat.
'Hello, welcome to the House of Malfoy. We're not officially open yet--'
Shacklebolt looked down into Draco's face.
'You must be Malfoy.'
'Yes. I am.'
'You know who I am.' It wasn't a question.
'Yes.'
Shacklebolt tossed the cloth carelessly over his shoulder. 'Not open yet? Not behind on You-Know-Who's plan, I hope.'
'I don't think I know what you mean.'
Shacklebolt nodded. ''Course not. Nice place you have here, incidentally. I was just passing thorugh the area and thought I might stop in. You don't mind, I'm sure, if I have a look around.'
Draco grimaced. 'As I said, we're not actually open.'
Kingsley Shacklebolt smiled coldly. 'That's all right, I'm not actually shopping.'

Nott, Pansy and I had our ears pressed to the crack in the door, straining to make out every word. We didn't notice that we had company until the smell of rank Death Eater filled our nostrils.

'You see, Malfoy, the Ministry has received a report of a Death Eater roaming the neighborhood a few hours ago. He seems to have exposed himself to a group of hags and one old witch walking her Puffskein. You wouldn't happen to have seen anything?'
'Seen a flashing Death Eater? Of course not! I...' Just then Draco caught sight of a gnarled hand aiming a wand from the backroom. 'Look, there he is!'
Draco grabbed Shacklebolt's arm and pointed out one of the grimy windows.
'There, behind the dust bin!'
A jinx shot across the room only to be deflected by a nonverbal shield spell from Draco. The greenish ricochet destroyed a tea pot.

Immediately Shacklebolt spun around, wand out.
'What was that?'
Draco tried to look confused, 'What? Oh, that? Erm, mice.'
'Mice?'
'Well, rats really. Knockturn Alley and all.'
'I think I'll have to search this shop.'

By this time Nott and I had stunned the mangy Death Eater after only suffering a poked eye and two bites.
'Bet he's got a disease.'
'Quick, we've got to get him upstairs.'
Levicorpus!
The unconscious prat floated slowly upwards, anchoring accidentally on the chandelier.

Shacklebolt threw open the door and scanned the room. Nott was arranging his cravat. Pansy was organising Draco's colour-changing ink quills by size. And I was cutting paper dolls.
He said nothing, staring at us all in turn. Then he ran up the back stairs, taking them two at a time.
'Where is he?' whispered Draco.
I pointed to the ceiling with my scissors.
Draco gasped. The Death Eater's robe was beginning to smoulder from contact with a candle.

Shacklebolt walked slowly back down the steps. 'Any other entrances to this shop?' 'No. And I think you've wasted enough of my time already, really. We are expecting an important visit. Any minute now.'
As if on cue, an explosive double crack announced the Apparation of Crabbe and Goyle into the back room. They stood dumbfounded atop the drawing table holding wands and wearing nothing but short bath towels around their waists.
'My God.'

Shacklebolt looked at the two stunned oafs with disgust before turning on Draco. 'You make me sick, Malfoy, you and your kind. Playing your perverted games whilst honest people fear for their lives.'
Shacklebolt stormed towards the door. 'I wouldn't walk home alone if I were you, Malfoy. These are dangerous times.' He stopped and turned for a moment. His eyes were filled with barely controlled rage.
'We wouldn't want anything to happen to the man who helped kill Albus Dumbledore.' The Auror slammed the shop door behind him and with an explosive Djjing the little bell gave up the ghost at this final insult and dropped heavily to the floor.

Draco looked as if he were about to be ill. We all sat speechless.
'You two,' he snapped at Crabbe and Goyle pointing at their modest towels, 'what the hell do you think this is? Ancient Rome?'
'Well, we...'
'That's very odd.' Draco stared closely at Crabbe. 'You're wearing the wrong towels.'

Crabbe and Goyle looked down with dismay. Sure enough, Crabbe wore a towel with the letters GG embroidered near the hem. Goyle's was marked with an equally disheartening VC.
They looked at each other with fear in their eyes.
'Must be an Apparating...er...accident.'
Goyle nodded.

A swath of flaming robe dropped to the table.
'Almost forgot about him.'
'Will someone get that burning freak off my ceiling?' requested Draco in a remarkably civil tone.