The Stars are Projectors

THE STARS ARE PROJECTORS

Chapter One: Wild Packs of Family Dogs

I'm sitting outside by my mudlake, waiting for the pack to take me away.

Once every other year, on a date that had remained unchanged for years, a family reunion of sorts was held at the stately Malfoy Manor in Cheshire, England.

Perhaps, though, it wasn't really appropriate to call it a "family reunion." The Malfoys were by no means loving to those in their bloodline, despite their pride in being part of it, and the Malfoys were rarely sentimental, so this occasion was not often joyous, compared to other family reunions. In fact, it was more often uncomfortable, with the distinct feeling of constant stiffness. Every man wore robes of incredible expensiveness, and every woman came with great amounts of priceless jewelry, while every child (though there were few) acted on strangely proper behavior. From afar, the event might seem spectacular, with mixes of dark blues, greens, and gold with the flashing of precious jewels. From within the walls of the mansion, though, the air was stuffy and awkward to breathe, and upon close examination, one may notice that all of the faces were drawn into tight frowns and scowls, as though the beauty was actually not up to standards. Nonetheless, on July fifteenth, a blonde teenaged boy named Draco Malfoy stood poised and ready to greet his family members as they Apparated one by one in the entrance hall.

"Good evening, young Draco," said Anguis Malfoy. Draco nodded politely as the image of his uncle appeared suddenly to his left, followed immediately by his aunt.

"You look especially dashing tonight, Draco," she said with a strange smirk.

"Thank you, Aunt Potentia," Draco replied, choking back some sarcasm. "You look lovely yourself."

Anguis and Potentia nodded as though Draco somehow satisfied them, and began to walk away. All of Draco's family members, he noted, moved with a beautiful grace that allowed even not-so-attractive people like Anguis and Potentia Malfoy to be a mildly breathtaking sight.

It was not to Draco to ever question tradition. Draco was indeed aware of the great honor in being of the Malfoy name, and enjoyed all that came with that honor. Draco had even inherited the infamously snobby ways of his family, added with some of his own innate sarcasm. Still, Draco couldn't help but think that this little get-together was no more than a way for his family members to show off their enormous wealth to each other every two years. Draco was a little ashamed of this thought, and allowed his Malfoy pride to quickly shove it out of his mind. Even if that was true, he thought, no one would ever be able to touch the wealth of Lucius Malfoy, his father. Draco considered his father, who was standing quietly with his wife and nodding stiffly to his guests, with a slight grin.

Draco felt lucky, mostly, to have Lucius as a father. When Lucius married Narcissa, Draco's mother, the Malfoy name had already provided them with enough money to last them and a family for the rest of their lives. Lucius was greedy in all respects, though, and on the constant look-out for things to make his wealth grow even more. Malfoys were often indifferent to current events, but Lucius heard that the powerful wizard Voldemort paid his loyal followers well, and so he readily joined. Lucius, like all Malfoys, was also indifferent to the pain and suffering of others, which made him perfect for the job. This is how Lucius Malfoy became a very active Death Eater and a ridiculously rich man while beginning a tradition that Draco was expected to follow.

Tradition.

The word echoed painfully in Draco's mind, but failed to stir any thought. Draco attached no emotion to the word.

Draco honored his father as he knew he should, as tradition told him he should, and yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, Draco knew his father was a terrible, greedy pig. Actually, in the back of his mind, Draco quietly hated all of his relatives. He just refused to listen to that voice there that said so.

The voice seemed even harder to ignore as he watched his grandmother hold up her hand adorned with an enormous diamond ring for one of his aunts to study with blatantly fake admiration.

"Draco." The very voice of Lucius Malfoy cut through Draco's thoughts, or lack thereof.

"Yes, Father?"

"I believe your great aunt and uncle are waiting for your greeting."

Draco was quite startled to see an elderly and overdressed witch and wizard standing on his right and frowning down upon him.

"Hello, Aunt Castanea. Good evening, Uncle Arborel," said Draco calmly. His eyes burned from the urge to roll with annoyance.

His great aunt and uncle huffed in reply and turned away quickly. Apparently years of Malfoy parties were finally getting to Arborel and Castanea. Or perhaps years of being Malfoys had made Arborel and Castanea even more insufferable than two years before.

Draco could still feel the eyes of his father on him and fought back the need to squirm appropriately.

"Everyone has arrived, Draco," Lucius said, his voice slow and even. "You may join your relatives."

Draco met his father's eyes reluctantly.

"Actually, Father, could I be excused for a moment?"

There was a slight raise to Lucius' eyebrows, as though the question was really quite inappropriate.

"I suppose. But do not take too long; your relatives are impatient."

Draco knew his relatives could actually care less. Teenaged boys rarely showed jealously for designer robes and diamonds.

Draco felt both relieved and awkward as he turned away from his father's gaze and walked quickly down the long hallway. He wasn't sure what he excused himself for, so he felt himself soon wandering through the maze of hallways aimlessly. He watched his feet and the carpet fly underneath them, but soon his pace slackened and he lifted his head. The hallways were lavishly decorated, and priceless works of art were framed and hanging on the walls. Draco barely acknowledged the paintings. Years of watching his mother purchase them and hang them thoughtlessly on the walls had made him indifferent to nearly any kind of art. Draco slid his hands causally into his pockets and lowered his head back to the carpet and his slowly moving feet.

When Draco finally looked up again, he found himself just outside the library. He entered with the slightest shrug of his shoulders.

Draco was actually the only person who ever utilized the library, and it was where he ended up spending most of his time. Literature was one art form that Draco was definitely not indifferent to, and he read passionately. The library itself was incredibly large and bursting with books. Although Draco read a lot, he knew that not in a million lifetimes would he be able to even touch all of the books that library contained.

Draco strolled in slowly, taking in the familiar walls and shelves. Actually, every bit of wall not occupied by a bookshelf was covered in old framed portraits of dead Malfoys who peered suspiciously at him and studied the covers of the books he read as though he was always getting into something he wasn't supposed to. Thinking he had had enough of being surveyed by his family members, Draco avoided their eyes and took a seat on a nearby sofa right next to Nita, who was bathing herself quietly.

Magical animals were often bred for high prices in the wizarding community. They were thought to be much smarter than "average" animals and held a few magical abilities of their own, much to the entertainment of those who owned them. When Draco was a small child, Lucius had bought a magically bred cat for his son, who Draco affectionately named Nita. Lucius bought Nita for Draco out his duty as a father, unaware of joy the cat would actually bring his son. Nita had never shown any obvious evidence of possessing magical powers or unusual amounts of intelligence, but Draco loved his cat nonetheless. Lucius had taught Draco that loving, caring, or showing affection for anything or anybody was both disgraceful and unnecessary, and so Draco was forced to care about his cat in a very secretive manor.

"How's is going, Nita?"

The cat acknowledged the blonde boy by momentarily lifting her head from her own fur.

Draco watched Nita with a sad smile and sighed.

He sat in silence for several minutes, petting Nita absent-mindedly. It was after these few minutes that Draco faced the pictures of his relatives, who looking at him as if he was doing something very wrong. Draco began to feel the tiniest bit guilty.

Draco felt as if his family was always haunting him.

And yet, he didn't really get too tired of it.

He was rich, handsome, and probably envied by wizards all over the world.

As Draco watched the faces of his late family members, he suddenly felt very ashamed for abandoning his living ones. Standing up gracefully, he puffed himself up with his Malfoy pride and left the library with a quick pace.

It was Draco's duty as a Malfoy to be proud, and he quite aware of this fact.

------------

Draco Malfoy was not afraid to admit that he was stunningly beautiful.

It was not as though he spent hours admiring his own features in a mirror, but he was aware, so to speak, of them, and knew them to be beautiful as a fact. He was aware of his tall, thin frame and smooth, pale skin. He was aware of his delicate facial features and blonde hair that hung perfectly at his jaw line.

It wasn't as if Draco Malfoy made a habit of bragging about his beauty or anything, but he certainly wasn't going to live in ignorance about it.

When Draco woke on the morning of July sixteenth, the first thing he remembered was the comments of his cousin, Luna Malfoy.

Her eyes had first widened at the sight of Draco in his elegant black (and slightly tight-fitting) dress robes.

"Fucking hell, Draco, if you weren't my cousin, there's no telling what I would be doing to you right now," said she, her face twisted into a sadistic grin. "Or what I'd be letting you do to me." She winked.

Draco could not suppress a grin.

It was probably a rule somewhere that every rich and prestigious family had to contain at least one complete outcast, and so this is how Luna fit into the Malfoy family. She was a twenty-one year-old French rebel in the form of unconventionally gorgeous femininity. Her behavior was never formal, much to the disapproval of her relatives, and her antics had even gotten her expelled from Beauxbatons in her sixth year. Draco couldn't recall exactly why, but he believed it was a combination of drugs and sex in inappropriate places. Indeed, Draco found he could relate more with Luna than anyone else in his family, but he kept his rebellious nature away from the eyes of his relatives and teachers, quite unlike his cousin.

"Seriously, Draco, how old are you? I always forget." She peered at Draco over the top of her wine glass.

"Seventeen."

"Oh." She set her glass down carefully on the table her and Draco were situated at. "So you'll be starting your seventh year next term."

"I suppose."

Luna studied Draco carefully.

"I never made it that far, you know. I'm disappointed. I've failed in corrupting you properly."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Corrupting me properly? Has this been a goal of yours?"

Luna laughed. Draco narrowed his eyes slightly to study her in return. Draco's standards in beauty of girls were high, but Luna seemed to pass. It was funny, though, because Luna had even failed to inherit the normal Malfoy hair color of platinum blonde, and had black and very curly hair. Draco hated dark hair. It reminded him of a boy he'd rather not be reminded of.

But Luna somehow didn't remind him of that damned boy. Her features were bold, sharp, and perfect. He was really quite the opposite.

Luna suddenly leaned forward, lessening the distance between her and Draco's faces.

"It's still a goal, Draco. I've got hope in you yet. Boys like you need to see the world and have new experiences, not be stuffed into expensive robes to spend day after fucking mundane day in some goddamned rich-family world."

Luna's breath smelled strongly of alcohol. Draco had grown to love the smell over the years; for two years before, Luna had shown Draco how to drink, and Draco continued to partake in the activity even after the night of the family reunion had passed.

Luna gathered a bit of Draco's hair coyly into her hand, stroking it gently between her fingers.

"I have something for you."

A few minutes later, Draco found himself sitting on his bedroom floor in front of his cousin as she slowly began to draw things out her pockets.

"This is marijuana," she said, holding up a small bag. "A Muggle drug, actually, easily attainable through --"

"I know what fucking marijuana is, Luna." Draco broke in impatiently.

A look of surprise flashed briefly over Luna's face.

"Of course. Sorry I doubted you, cousin."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"And this..." She reached into her pocket and slowly pulled out her hand out, drawn into a fist. When she opened her hand slowly, Draco could see five pills laying peacefully in her palm.

"...is Valium."

The name seemed familiar to Draco, but he wasn't sure, so he said nothing.

Luna seemed satisfied to have stumped her cousin at last.

"Valium is not illegal or anything. It's a prescription drug." She rolled the pills gently around her open palm. "It belongs to a family of drugs called Benzodiazepines - they're depressants. Tranquilizers. They're used to relieve anxiety, mostly. Some are like muscle relaxers."

A pause. Draco could feel Luna's eyes upon him, waiting for him to break under the pressure she was slowly easing onto him.

But Draco never got nervous and rarely felt pressure. He knew it would not be very becoming if he ever did.

"So?" Draco said the word with a tone that did not betray his boredom and shifted his gaze from the pills to his cousin's eyes.

"So? Well, potheads like me are bound to try every drug on the market, and this is one of my favorites. A couple of these, well..."

She grinned.

"It does the trick."

Draco watched her calmly as she allowed the pills to slowly, one by one, fall through her fingers and hit the carpet in front of her. But Draco hadn't been listening to what she had to say, really, because three words she had said previously had been echoing in his mind.

A Muggle drug.

Draco wondered briefly how he ever gained knowledge about something that was so purely...non-magical....nonetheless -

He refused to let such disgusting Muggle habits leak into his life.

"Luna, I don't think this is the place for that."

Luna's eyebrows raised in some momentary perplexity.

"Excuse me?"

Get it away from me. Get it out of my house.

"I'd hate my parents to discover us."

Luna's lips formed a tight line. For a moment, she nearly looked like a normal Malfoy.

"You weren't afraid last time when we drank alcohol."

Firewhisky. Wizard alcohol.

"I'm afraid that my parents would be much less approving of this." He paused. He considered his next words for a moment. "As would I."

Luna stared at Draco with an utterly vacant expression. Then, with one graceful movement, she swept everything in front of her back into her robes pocket and stood up.

"If this how you want to live your life, fine, Draco. If you want to act like the things in your little world are the only things that exist or matter, then fine. There are other things, you know. Different things; outside the Malfoy Manor, outside the Slytherin House, outside the entire fucking wizard community! And they could make you happier than any of this could!"

She stood there in indignation for a few moments, waiting, Draco thought, for a sign - any sign - that may show the beginning of thought or emotion from her cousin. Draco did not give in to her wants. Right before the door slammed, Draco could barely hear her mutter, "Obdurate piece of shit."

As he found himself alone in his silent room, Draco cleared his throat (the closest sign of nervousness he had ever shown, he noted). Then he shook his head, gave a small chuckle, and left his room to bid farewell to his relatives as they Disappated one by one out of the entrance hall.

As Draco recalled the night's events, he became aware of a small piece of paper sitting next to him on his bed.

Everyone gets one last chance, I reckon. I left you a bit in your bottom dresser drawer.

-- Luna Malfoy

Draco's mind was momentarily blank.

After a few more minutes of staring at the paper, Draco threw aside the blankets and jumped out of bed. A few steps brought him to his dresser, and he kneeled down to open the bottom drawer.

It took some digging, but he eventually extracted the small bag of pot and beneath it he could make out paper, a bag of a few pills, and a lighter. Despite himself, Draco's heart raced wildly in his chest.

He realized that there, in his hand where the little bag lay, Luna had left him her definition of the meaning of life.

Rebellion.

New experiences.

Silence hummed lightly in Draco's head.

He decided he would ponder all of this later.

------------

A few weeks later, on an early Thursday morning, a high pitched scream tore through the halls of the Malfoy Manor.

A house elf had the unfortunate experience of discovering Margaret Nichols, Draco's nanny since infanthood, dead in her bathtub.

And screamed for nearly two minutes straight.

Draco missed this, of course, since he was sleeping soundly in his bedroom on the third floor. He was slightly surprised then, and even irritated, when he received the message from another house elf (the one who came across poor Madam Nichols would be in shock for several days) that his father wished to see him immediately in his study.

Lucius Malfoy's study was always where he did "business" and had meetings with "co-workers." It was a very large room occupied by desks, sofas, bookcases with boring books such as "Arithmancy for the Extremely Advanced Mind" that were only for show and never touched, and a very large fireplace. Draco was only allowed into the room if he was personally invited by Lucius himself.

Draco found his father at a desk, writing elegantly on an envelope with a large snowy owl perched nearby and watching him impatiently.

Lucius acknowledged his son with a terse, "sit," without looking up. Draco situated himself in a large cushioned armchair and stretched his legs out lazily in front of him. He could see his shiny black shoes from below the hem of his robes this way, and admired them. He'd put them on in subconscious hopes of impressing his father; a small thing, perhaps, but years of failing to get any kind of reaction from Lucius had made him stoop to desperate levels - or as desperate as the lackadaisical Draco Malfoy was ever going to get.

At last Lucius tied his letter to the owl's leg and let it fly out the open window before standing and facing Draco.

"Draco," said he. "I am unsure if you are aware, but Madam Nichols is no longer with us."

Draco's mask of placidity dropped temporarily.

"She died?"

"Indeed."

This news did not come as too big of a surprise to Draco. Margaret was so old that she could barely get out of bed, let alone watch over Draco constantly or even ascend the stairs to Draco's room on the top floor, and her purpose as a nanny had thus been lost. Still, Margaret Nichols was a constant in Draco's life for as long as he could remember, like a piece of artwork that was always in your home but you never paid any attention to it, and it surprised you when you realized it was still there. In this sense, Madam Nichols was a piece of artwork that was always yelling at Draco about his dress, posture, speech, or cleanliness. Draco paid no attention to her nonetheless.

There had been a time, though he could hardly remember, when Draco was an infant or toddler or small child that was completely in Madam Nichols' care because his real parents were too "busy" for their son, or in some cases, too lazy. Draco had been raised with Madam's Nichols' constant criticism and sarcasm, where he probably gained his own from. Draco had no feelings for the surly Margaret Nichols, nor did Margaret show any for him, which Draco sometimes wondered at - a women showing no love for someone she had been as much as a mother to.

"She was very old, father."

Lucius sat across from Draco. "I am aware," he replied.

At Lucius sitting, Draco realized this was not all he had to say.

And sure enough, Lucius drew in a breath, as though preparing for a speech.

"It came at an opportune time, you see, Draco. She was very old, and no longer in any shape to care for you."

"Though it's not like I'm still in need of the care of a nanny," Draco broke in.

Lucius suddenly looked very grave.

"And this is what I'm beginning to doubt."

Draco's eyes widened.

"But - what? I'm practically an adult, and I don't need someone to 'raise' me anymore! She hasn't been fulfilling her job for years! Obviously I'm demonstrated that I'm fine without her care."

Lucius shook his head.

"I disagree. Do not think that I'm in the dark about your doings, Draco. I was informed about your detention in your first year at Hogwarts."

"It was given unfairly!" Draco's breathing had sped up considerably. "I saw Harry Potter breaking rules, and didn't know I was as well when I went to turn him in."

"That's not all, though, Draco. I also saw you being quite friendly with that indocile Luna Malfoy at out party." "Luna Malfoy" seemed very difficult for Lucius to pronounce, as though the name was even viler than the actual person.

Draco was unsure of how to respond.

"She is of Malfoy blood, just like all of us."

"Yes, but this blood has apparently rotted in her very veins."

Draco fell into silence.

"Then," - Lucius stood suddenly and began to pace - "I noticed that both of you had mysteriously disappeared. I will not ask what she tried to get you into, but I trust that you are clever enough not to get involved with the insubordination of Mademoiselle Malfoy."

He eyed his son suspiciously.

"Regardless, your actions have not made me think you are ready for independence. I've taken the liberty to begin a search for a new child caretaker. I will inform you when I've made a choice."

Draco left without another word between them.