Fog, Ice and the Green Earth

Somewhere there were families spending a joyful Christmas Eve, but the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were not among this lucky number and neither was their guest.

Corrina looked around the elegantly-appointed quarters and shivered. The house had faint echoes of death and blood and pain. Demented laughter lingered softly in the corners where only her ears could hear it. Piteous begging whimpered below the cultivated and mannered discourse that took place in the drawing room. It was as if the house was full of questions answered wrongly, of decisions gone awry.

And yet the Malfoy family seem blissfully oblivious, carrying on their day to day activities with all the overweening pride of a family that feels it is at the top of the social ladder. Not that being at the top of that ladder came by chance. No, calculation and planning had gotten them there. And money. Lots of old money.

Funny, the visit had seemed like such a good idea when Scorpius had asked her last autumn.

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It had all started when Zwarthart had dropped a scroll of parchment onto her bed on All Hallows morning. It was from Scorpius, of course; there was no one else who would write her. And even if there were, owls wouldn't come near Corrina, not even to drop a letter. Zwarthart condescended to transfer letters back and forth between Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts, although how he did so was a mystery.

Corrina read the missive and then hugged her familiar so hard that he squalled at the insult to his dignity.

"He is going to meet me in Hogsmeade!" she exclaimed. "He's going to be able to make it! And he is going to stay for the feast after; his family is making some sort of donation to the school and he is representing them!"

"And why in the world are you shouting about it so early? Couldn't you wait until breakfast at least?" Nadine's sleepy voice grumbled from the next bed.

Corrina laughed as she looked through her robes. She had missed Scorpius' presence in the common room and his steadfast support ever since he had graduated a year and a half ago. They hadn't been able to meet nearly as often as they had wanted - his training had taken too much time.

Their day together in Hogsmeade had been blissful. Scorpius had invited her over for Christmas, a holiday she still, after seven years in the mortal world, knew little about.

"I would be honoured to meet your family."

"And they want to meet you too. I've talked about you over the years, you know. They were asking me loads of questions, but after all this time I still don't know much about where you are from, so I couldn't really answer." His own question had been full in his voice, but it was a question she pretended not to hear.

Now, too, she understood why the donation that Scorpius had announced at the Halloween feast had caused such a stir.

"As many of you know, my father was a student under the late and still lamented headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and my grandfather was a school governor during his tenure.

It is with great pride that the family foundation has decided to endow a programme dedicated to his memory, for the purpose of providing tutoring and training for students who have decided to pursue the profession of Auror.

I am here tonight to announce the programme to the school, in advance of our press announcement tomorrow. As an Auror-in-training, I can honestly tell you that I wish this had been in place while I was a student! Thank you."

But when Scorpius sat down amidst general applause, a hiss of whispers slithered around the room.

"Auror? A MALFOY?"

"Ooooh, clever, that. . . . Gets them in good with all the right people."

"Lamented? Not from what I heard, let me tell you. . . ."

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Malfoy Manor had looked every bit the patrician abode that it was when she arrived. The precisely-manicured grounds with its flock of pampered albino peacocks and graceful fountain were matched by the restrained elegance of the richly-furnished entry hall.

She had been led to the room where she now stood by a house-elf neatly clad in a black damask tea towel. Her robes had been arranged for her in the wardrobe and freshly brushed. And for the first time in this world, she had a servant to help her with her lacings.

A slender girl with raven dark hair and pale eyes looked back at her out of the mirror. Confident in her green brocade and black silk, she surveyed her reflection, preparing to meet Scorpius's family at last.

As she descended the stairs she was ushered by a rapidly-bowing house-elf to the entry. The family waited to formally greet her, their fair hair and features shown to best advantage by the dark purple velvet of the walls and the richly-shining crystal chandelier.

Scorpius introduced her to his grandparents first. She sank into a respectful curtsey.

"Miss Corax, how lovely to meet you at last. Scorpius has told us so . . . much . . . about you," said Lucius Malfoy, bowing slightly, his silver hair gleaming in the light. His eyes never left hers. Narcissa's murmured greeting was even more coldly formal.

"May I present you with a guest cup?" offered Draco as he handed her a slender glass of amber wine. His fine skin was slightly marred by tiny scars, as if it had been sliced by a thousand minute shards. His look was a frank appraisal.

Astoria greeted Corrina with a gentle handshake and a wry smile. As she glanced fondly at her son, her smile deepened, and Corrina could see that for all he bore the Malfoy name, Scorpius was at heart hers, the son of a Greengrass.

Dinner that night was a study in gracious coolness.

As Corrina daintily ate the first course, she noticed a pool of silence expanding. She looked up to see herself at the centre of genteelly horrified regard. She slowly put down her knife and wiped her fingers on her serviette.

"My dear girl," said Narcissa, her nostrils pinched as if she smelled something, "you really must share with us the name of your governess. I can't remember when I have seen such manners."

Corrina was nonplussed.

"Did you drop your fork?" whispered Scorpius.

Only then did she notice the array of gleaming silver beside her plate.

It was spells, not rules of wizard etiquette, which were emphasised at Hogwarts. There, students from disparate backgrounds ate with abandon and gusto and somehow over the years no one had ever taken note of the way she ate, nor had she bothered much with the manners of others.

Now she regretted that she hadn't paid more attention.

She had eaten in the manner of the Faerie court with her right hand and a knife. There it was considered elegant to use the thumb and forefinger to gracefully transport morsels to the tongue without soiling the lips, but clearly this was not the mode in Malfoy Manor. Her cheeks burned, humiliated.

The snick and clink of fine silver on bone china resumed, as did the restrained, polite conversation. Narcissa's mouth tightened as she watched Corrina hesitate at the beginning of each course before she imitated the family's selection of silverware.

After dessert had been cleared away, Narcissa arose gracefully and nodded when the men half rose as politeness dictated. As Astoria stood to join her, Scorpius nudged Corrina.

"Coffee," he murmured, "in the drawing room. I have to stay here for brandy."

Things were no less awkward in the other room. A stilted conversation failed to distract Corrina from the ceiling above the polished table at the room's centre. It seemed as if some memory lingered there, coldness emanating from its slowly spinning form.

Coffee gurgled as Narcissa poured from the silver pot and presented the cup to Corrina, formal and correct and glacial.

"Now, do tell us about yourself," she commanded.

"And what would you like to know?" Corrina asked, not bothering to disguise her haughty tone. In retrospect, she thought later, it would have been better if she had been meek and acquiescent.

But I don't think I could have played that role very convincingly.

Narcissa's expression could have frozen fire.

"Corax is such an unusual name. Certainly not one that I have heard of before. At least not amongst Wizarding families." She sipped her coffee delicately. "Although perhaps I would recognise your mother's maiden name?"

She waited.

Yes, it would have been better to have spoken softly and smiled more.

Head held high, looking down her nose at the still-beautiful grandmother of the man she loved, Corrina replied calmly.

"I should think that you would not, madam. My parents were from the north of Scotland, that I know, but little else."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Silence ensued. Corrina did not feel at all compelled to share what little she could remember with so chill and hostile an audience. And even if she had wanted to she could not share her knowledge of the world of Faerie. Strong spells of concealment and mystery bound her, and if she had tried, nothing sensible could have been understood.

I don't think Narcissa and I are fated to be friends.

"Well," said Astoria, breaking the rapidly-solidifying silence, "Scorpius tells us you are quite the musician. Perhaps you would favour us with a song later? I see that your harp is here."

The raven-headed harp stood gleaming in the corner. Corrina met Astoria's eyes and saw sympathy.

"I would be honoured to play for you. Would you mind very much if I make sure it is in tune?" Any excuse to escape was welcome to her.

By the time the men rejoined them, Narcissa was discussing the upcoming social season with Astoria, pointedly ignoring Corrina as she tuned the harp as slowly as possible.

"Ah, very good, music," Draco said all too heartily as he took his seat by his wife, squeezing her hand. Scorpius looked upset, and his grandfather, angry.

"Do play for us, Miss Corax," Narcissa said frigidly.

Eyes half-closed, Corrina swept her fingers across the silver strings. Softly sound built like waves lapping the shore. As she lost herself in the music that told the tale of home and family betrayed for love she felt knots of tension loosening.

This is where I belong, amidst the magic of the music. This is what home feels like.

As the harp strings sung the crescendo and the notes crashed down like waves booming against the gates of a doomed town, Corrina could almost see the halls of the Black King behind her eyes; almost feel like she was where she belonged. It was a feeling she knew she would never otherwise have in this house.

The spell of the music lingered for long moments after the last note died away. Corrina could see the enchantment had an effect on even Narcissa and Lucius. Draco had a look of deep sadness and regret in his eyes and Astoria was smiling tremulously.

"That was lovely," said Astoria.

"I wonder if you have considered this as a career," asked Draco. "I have some contacts with the producers of the Weird Sisters. . . ."

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Later that week Corrina and Scorpius were alone together on the grounds.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't think they would be like this."

On the first night of Corrina's visit Scorpius had found himself at the centre of an inquisition over brandy.

"You know nothing of her family after seven years? How can that be? Where is she from?"

Scorpius squirmed, resenting being made to feel like a truant schoolboy.

"Grandfather, is it really that important in this day and age? You might believe in 'Toujours pur' but that's your generation, not mine."

"You know I have nothing against Muggle-born; some of my friends are Muggle-born, but. . ." interjected Draco.

Scorpius had given him a look of frank disbelief, and Draco had had the grace to look embarrassed.

"You're talking about Hermione Weasley at the Ministry? You are calling her a friend? It hardly seems like 'friendship' if all you do is support her reforms. And I know that Grandfather doesn't even do that."

"You're too young to understand - you didn't live through it," said his grandfather with finality.

"Father, you told me you didn't care who I married, as long as I was happy." Scorpius's pinched nostrils bore a striking resemblance to his grandmother's. "If you care, then perhaps it's not too late to get another child?"

"Scorpius!" His grandfather had been horrified by the impropriety. But Scorpius held the trump card: the only son, the only grandson, the only chance to continue the Malfoy line, pure or not.

The rest of the week had been as full of subtle and not-so-subtle slights and insults. Clearly, a musician girlfriend of enigmatic - and therefore most likely questionable - background, no matter how talented, was not what the Malfoy family had envisioned as the proper mate for their precious offspring.

Now, as he walked next to Corrina hand-in-hand, Scorpius felt he had hurt her in a way he had never expected.

"I knew it might be kind of awkward. I had told them about us, years ago. That I love you." He squeezed her hand tighter in apology. "At the time they thought I might grow out of it. But you know and I know that will never happen. Corrina, they don't know you yet; you have to give them a chance."

Angry tears stood in her eyes.

"And if I do, do you think they might like me better once they have known me longer? That I might seem more . . . pure-blooded . . . later? Do you think I might forget the humiliation they have been heaping upon me all week?"

They had reached the edge of the grounds where it merged with the surrounding woods. As they stopped, Corrina turned to face him, her expression full of suppressed rage and hurt.

"Who are they to judge me?"

"They are my family. Don't think I don't know what they are like." Scorpius sighed. "I have heard the rumours about them. I know . . . something . . . happened in the house."

He stopped to face her and folded both her small hands in his.

"Corrina, I have never asked why . . . but . . . why won't you tell me about where you are from? Was it so bad that you can't even talk about it? Don't you know, after all this time, you can trust me with anything? Please, I need to know. I need to figure out how to make this work. Because I can't just turn my back on them. It can't be a choice between them and you. This is where I belong, and I want you to belong here too."

Could I ever belong here?

Corrina looked at him, fresh tears welling in her eyes, because now she knew where she belonged, which world she belonged to, and it wasn't his.