Murder at Malfoy Manor

Chapter Three

The Dinner

Ginny's guest room was bigger than her entire house. Vaulted ceiling, arched windows, massive king-sized bed, sitting room, balcony, large marble bathroom...all in elegant green and gold. She tried her best not to feel intimidated or envious. Ginny could only imagine the distress of her brother Ron, for whom their family's economic situation was already a sore point.

She, however, could get used to this. Ginny had never lacked self-confidence, a necessity when standing up to her elder brothers, and she usually took a page out of the book of the twins, Fred and George: be memorable, daring, never boring. Anything is possible if you have the nerve to do it. And Ginny had nerve in spades. She put on her stunning multi-tonal brown evening dress and stood in front of the full-length gilt mirror, gathering her poise. In her imagination, the dress was one-of-a-kind, made just for her; perhaps she had rare blue diamonds around her neck instead of a simple gold heirloom chain. 'You belong,' she whispered to herself. 'You can do anything.'

Throwing her shoulders back, Ginny slipped into the hallway. She turned the corner toward the grand staircase, only to run straight into a tall, thin, but strong male figure. Fingers gripped her arms and pushed her back, and Ginny looked up into the pale face of Draco Malfoy.

'Well, well. If it isn't the littlest Weasley,' he sneered.

'Let go of me, Malfoy,' Ginny hissed impatiently.

He obeyed, stepping back, appraising her as though she were an object, not a person. 'You clean up nicely. Who would have guessed?'

'You've always lacked imagination,' she retorted.

'I assure you, my imagination is in working order,' Draco said, lips turned up as he looked somewhere south of her face.

'You're revolting. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm obliged to attend this little dinner.'

To her surprise, Draco held out his arm with a smirk. 'Allow me to escort you.'

Ginny narrowed her eyes, wondering how to respond to this obvious challenge. She decided to call his bluff. 'I would be delighted,' she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they walked down the hall and descended the stairs together. Ginny was a little surprised how natural it felt; Draco undoubtedly had a lot of practise with girls on his arm.

When they entered the opulent dining room, Ginny saw Hermione and Pansy, already seated, at opposite ends of the gleaming ebony table. Ron, Harry, and Dumbledore stood together, Dumbledore sipping on a brandy with an absent smile on his face. Narcissa was not present, nor was Professor Snape. Ginny anticipated odd dinner conversation with such a mishmash of guests.

Pansy glared at Draco and Ginny as they came in, as did Harry. Ginny recognised the flash of jealousy in his green eyes, and saw Harry nudge Ron with his elbow. Great, she thought. With Ron on the case, he'll have me marrying Draco Malfoy and betraying the whole family before the second course of dinner. She removed her hand from Draco's arm and found her seat, between the place-cards of Professor Snape and Harry.

Snape entered the room a few moments later, in his usual black robes, and he stood behind his chair, long fingers clasping the top of it. He was followed by a house-elf who rang a bell.

'Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy,' the elf squeaked.

The double-doors opened once again, and Lucius swept into the room, Narcissa on his arm, both extraordinarily elegant in dress robes. It was the signal for supper to begin, and the remaining men stood behind their chairs, as well.

'Welcome,' said Lucius, cold voice echoing across the glittering dining table. 'I am honoured to host this hunting week-end, and pleased you all could come.' He so lacked sincerity, Ginny wondered why he even bothered to try. Lucius left his wife at one end of the table, and walked slowly to his seat at the head chair, a throne-like piece with the Malfoy crest engraved into it.

Ginny watched the elder Malfoy, loathing him. He was the reason she had been traumatised, scarred for life, when she was eleven. He had planted Tom Riddle's diary in her school things. He had tried to destroy her, and her family. The thought made Ginny's blood boil. If only she could curse him with impunity -- she would not hesitate to kill Lucius Malfoy if she got the chance. He was the sort of person who did not deserve to live.

*****

At the other end of the table, Narcissa Malfoy regarded her husband with a steely gaze. The humiliation, the pain, the anxiety, the danger...none of it was what she had bargained for when she married into the Malfoy family. Lucius had disgraced her; he was not even an effective Death Eater. She doubted the Dark Lord held her husband in very high esteem. If only Lucius were out of the way, Narcissa might be able to turn things around, let her darling Draco take over the name of Malfoy. If only.

*****

Harry looked at Lucius Malfoy with deep mistrust. It seemed that Lucius had been involved in most of the horrible events of his life; he was there when Voldemort was reborn, there to put Riddle's diary into the possession of his best friend's sister, there at the Department of Mysteries to lead the Death Eaters. At this last, Harry felt real hatred rise within him; Lucius had been partially responsible for the death of Sirius. Harry was without his godfather, left alone again, and Lucius sat there, calm and unharmed. It was infuriating.

*****

Draco refused to look at his father when he sat down. He had seen the dismissive look Lucius had given his mother, the way he cast her feelings aside. Draco knew that he himself would never be good enough, not even if he became the Dark Lord's most loyal Death Eater. It was no use. As long as Lucius was alive, Draco would face disapproval.

All Draco had ever wanted was to be loved and admired; what he got from his father was scorn. Lately, Draco had begun to think it should be the other way around. Lucius had been the one to get caught as a Death Eater and sent to Azkaban, frittering away the family's fortune to support Lord Voldemort's cause. Draco had begun to think that perhaps it was time for a change.

*****

Severus Snape kept his face carefully blank when he met Lucius's eyes across the table. He could feel the disapproval, the snobbery, oozing off the man. It was only Snape's position as the Dark Lord's trusted spy, and his position as head of Slytherin House, that allowed his invitation to Malfoy's home. Snape despised Lucius, especially now that Narcissa was suffering for her husband's sins. A brief fantasy floated through Snape's mind, with Lucius out of the way and he, Snape, taking his place next to Narcissa. Protecting her, loving her, guiding her son Draco...He snapped out of it. It was not possible.

*****

Hermione raised her wine glass politely when Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of the table, and decided to focus on her meal rather than dwell on the nasty character to whom she owed it. As a dainty sip of expensive sauvignon blanc slid down her throat, the front bell chimed.

The guests at the table looked up, around each other. 'Who could that be?' Lucius growled.

Narcissa intervened by ordering a house-elf to send the visitors away. To Hermione's surprise, the house-elf came scurrying back in almost immediately. 'It is the Dark Lord,' the elf piped.

Every single person at the table stood with a great clatter. Harry and Ron had their wands brandished; Snape looked alarmed; Dumbledore had that calm, serious look on his face. Then, as one mass of very well-dressed people, the company poured and tumbled into the front hall.

Hermione gasped when she saw Lord Voldemort, in person, for the first time. He was very tall, thin, cloaked in black. But she stared at his face: flat, serpentine features and glowing crimson eyes. She could see his once-handsome bone structure beneath the stretched white skin, marred by the terrible warp of his brow and eyes. Voldemort's eyes flashed over the dinner party with interest, noting Harry, and even Dumbledore. Hermione was puzzled that Voldemort did not show any upset. I thought Dumbledore was the only wizard he ever feared...

Next to her, she could feel Harry tense, noticed his jumpy fingers clutching his wand. Hermione groaned inwardly, and drew her own wand. Was this the end? Would Harry and Voldemort fight to the death, right here, right now?

'Expelliarmus!' Harry screamed.

Voldemort did not attempt to move, did not attempt to block the spell, did not even blink. Hermione realised why; no jet of red light had issued from Harry's wand. It was as though they were in a magical dead zone.

'Tsk, tsk, Potter,' Lucius Malfoy drawled. 'I would ask you to refrain from duelling in my home.' He turned to Voldemort. 'My Lord,' Lucius said, bowing. 'Greetings.'

'Lucius,' Voldemort said softly. 'I see the Aurors have placed a spell fog upon your house. How lucky for Potter.'

Hermione understood immediately. Of course, she thought. The Ministry has placed limits on the kind of magic done at Malfoy Manor. That means no offensive spells, or anything considered to be duelling. She had read about this sort of thing. It meant that Lucius Malfoy was essentially under house arrest. It also meant that Harry, Dumbledore, and Voldemort were all shackled by the same magic. Hermione felt suddenly relieved. No one would have to die tonight.

'What can we help you with, Tom?' Dumbledore said, moving in front of Harry.

Voldemort hissed with distaste. 'Always protecting your precious students, Dumbledore? Doesn't stop you from using them as bait, though, does it?'

Dumbledore shrugged. 'No,' he said simply.

This apparently angered Harry once again, and he jumped forward, trying to get around Dumbledore's figure, attempting to curse Voldemort once again.

Hermione reached out with her hand to snatch Harry's arm, pulling him back. 'No, Harry!' she said through ground teeth. 'We're under spell fog. It won't work. You can't harm him, and he can't harm you.'

'Listen to your clever friend, Potter,' Voldemort said, peering curiously at Hermione. She shrank back; the last thing she wanted was to bring the Dark Lord's attention to her. Then, as if things could not get worse, Hermione noticed another figure standing behind Voldemort, who now stepped forward.

'Bella?' Lucius said.

It was, indeed, the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange, dressed in fine black robes, her dark hair scraggly about her hollowed face. She grinned broadly at Lucius, inspiring a look of mania. On the other side of Hermione, Ron now tensed, and she had to grab his arm, too.

'Greetings, dear brother-in-law,' Bellatrix cackled. Her voice was low and hoarse, as though still out of use from her years in Azkaban, or perhaps she smoked too much. 'And Cissy!' The witch stepped forward to embrace her sister, who had not lost her poise in the face of the unexpected visitors.

'Good evening, Bella,' Narcissa replied, pulling away from her sister to dip a bow to Voldemort. 'My Lord.'

Voldemort inclined his head.

'Please,' Narcissa said, for the first time sounding a tiny bit desperate, 'won't you join us?'

Hermione did her best not to gape in shock. Dinner with Lord Voldemort? This night kept getting stranger and stranger. She felt sure the man (or monster) would decline, but she was in for another surprise.

'We would be honoured,' said Voldemort smoothly. Bellatrix looked sharply at her master, astonished. She was not the only one; there were expressions of bewilderment on everyone else's faces, as well. Hermione thought that Voldemort had done it on purpose, just to cause discomfort.

'Er, right, yes, very good,' Narcissa said. She snapped her fingers, summoning a house-elf. 'Two more places at the table! Immediately!' The elf sprang into action, and Hermione felt sorry for it. The Malfoys must be a horrible family to work for. 'Let us retire to the dining room,' Narcissa called out, authority in her voice as the lady of the house.

In tremendously uncomfortable silence, the guests filed back into the dining room, to find two more place settings, near Lucius, fortunately. Hermione sat, smoothing her rose-coloured robes of any wrinkles, between Draco Malfoy and Albus Dumbledore. She met Ginny Weasley's eye across the table, and raised her eyebrows. This was, without a doubt, the dinner party from hell.

*****

Narcissa was on the verge of a mental breakdown. She held her features in calm strength, let no fear into her blue eyes, and stayed in command of herself at her end of the table. But inside, turmoil reigned. Everything had gone wrong, and it was Lucius's fault. His association with the Dark Lord had wreaked havoc on her carefully planned party, and now (Narcissa blinked rapidly, three times) she had Voldemort himself at her dining table, along with her crazy sister Bellatrix, along with Albus Dumbledore, along with Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Narcissa never thought she would live to see the day.

The gentle clinking of silverware and goblets, the shifting of chairs, the little noises of a silent supper grated on Narcissa's nerves. No one dared to say anything. It was horrible. She did not have the reputation of the wizarding community's most gracious hostess for no reason, and she was unaccustomed to awkwardness in all its forms. Gathering her social courage, Narcissa spoke.

'Lucius, dear, is this wine from the vintage cellar? It's an excellent choice.'

Eleven pairs of eyes turned to stare at her, but Narcissa's composure did not crack.

At his end of the table, Lucius swallowed and nodded. 'Yes, my dear, it is the vintage. I was saving it for this auspicious occasion.'

'The low notes of vanilla are a fine complement,' spoke up another voice. Narcissa saw with another slight shock that young Ginny Weasley was speaking. 'I would say it was a rainy year for the harvest.'

Narcissa felt like cheering the girl. Although she was a Weasley, and hence a lower form of life, Narcissa had to admire her gumption, as well as her fine taste for wine.

'To discern that sort of thing, you must have a sensitive tongue,' Draco said.

'You have no idea,' Ginny replied.

There was another awkward silence. Narcissa felt the mood floundering, and again made an effort. 'Albus,' she addressed Dumbledore, 'is it not true that Hogwarts has a vintage cellar, reserved for the use of the staff?' It was an old rumour that had circulated in Narcissa's schooldays, fuelled primarily by the constant intoxicated state of the then-professor of Muggle Studies.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Indeed, it is true, though I have only seen it for myself four times in all my years as a teacher. The first time it was opened was the nine-hundred year anniversary...'

Narcissa felt her muscles relax as Dumbledore continued to speak. She had successfully manoeuvred the subject to Hogwarts Castle and its many magical features, something which every single person in attendance had in common. The subject was innocuous enough, and from then on the dinner went almost smoothly. Narcissa was even able to taste the food that went into her mouth.

When the company adjourned to the drawing room for tea and brandy, Narcissa felt her confidence as a hostess rise. She had gotten them all through dinner without arguments, curses, or anything worse. In a burst of self-pride, she rather thought there should be some sort of award or recognition of her valiant efforts. Surely no one else in the wizarding world could claim to have hosted Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter at the same dinner party.