Part the Sixth—
“The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist even in pain.”
—Lord Byron
The prophecy fell from Lord Malfoy’s hand and into Octavian’s grip. He’d gone unnoticed until now. There’d been quite a ruckus when he’d happened upon Harry and his friends leaving via thestral for the Ministry, and now he wished he had left well enough alone.
Blue eyes stared into his black ones and he saw Lord Malfoy visibly flinch. “Bella!” he called. “Take over for me!”
Octavian was unceremoniously grabbed by the shoulder and Side Apparated away… to somewhere beautiful and majestic. It was all white marble and smooth lines and he supposed this must be Malfoy Manor.
“You cannot hold me here,” he began defensively.
“Come, Mr. Prince, I take it? Let us talk as between men.” Lord Malfoy’s grip lessened and came to the bridge of his back and pushed him forward. A silver mask was held in his other hand.
Being uncertain as to what to do exactly, Octavian moved out of the floo room and toward an impressive flight of stairs. “We’ll just stop in to see Lady Malfoy first,” Lord Malfoy said quietly. “She does so worry.”
Octavian was led to a large drawing room where a single witch was sitting with her afternoon tea, reading the paper.
“Ah, Narcissa, darling, I’m home from my business meeting and just brought young Mr. Prince with me.” Lady Malfoy looked up, clearly startled and her gaze moved from her husband to Octavian in a calculating way.
“I see,” she began. “You’ll be in your study?”
“Yes, send Minxie up with a butterbeer.”
“Of course.” She went back to her paper, though she was clearly uninterested in it.
Octavian was next led down through a series of corridors that he could not hope to remember before he finally made it to a well appointed study.
“I shall not take the prophecy from you,” Lord Malfoy began congenially. “At least not yet.”
“Good, because it does not belong to you,” Octavian snapped. “Nor do I. I do not like being abducted.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would be, being the heir of Lord Prince.” Octavian noticed how Lord Malfoy didn’t say that he was the son of Lord Prince.
Lord Malfoy took in Octavian’s features hungrily. “You know, I didn’t believe Draco in the least when he told me about you. I thought he was being fanciful. Narcissa, on the other hand, was harder to ignore. I believed it mere coincidence. But this—Octavian, I cannot deny the facts any longer.”
Octavian looked at him stonily. “I will not pretend I do not know what you are talking about,” he said cautiously. “However, I would like to remind you that I am not only the heir of Lord Prince, but the son of Lord Prince. I know that you and he have become acquaintances. Surely you must see the resemblance between my parents and myself.”
“Yes,” Lord Malfoy begrudgingly agreed. “You have Lady Prince’s hair and Lord Prince’s eyes. However, the rest is pure Malfoy.”
“This is ridiculous. I am another man’s son.”
“Are you? Really? I once knew a girl with black eyes,” he picked up a piece of parchment and quill. He began to make long strokes and then smaller ones before he began to obviously shade some parts of his drawing.
He held it out to Octavian.
It was the exact likeness of Lucrece Prince. Octavian had seen her often enough in photographs.
“I did not knew you drew,” Octavian said, his only comment on the picture.
“Yes, a hobby of mine. My daughter Iolanthe also draws.”
“Draco says she’s coming to Hogwarts next year.” He had to talk about something else—anything else. He also had to get out of there, but he was practically a prisoner—a “guest,” he would be called, but a prisoner nonetheless.
“She is,” Lord Malfoy smiled proudly. “She’s the darling of my three children—by my wife. I’m afraid Io knows it as well.”
Sensing a safe topic, Octavian continued. “I am the favored child as well. Of course, Octavian Romulus was always treasured, but since he died and Lucrece moved to Italy—I have been my parents’ entire world.” There was a subtle warning in his statement.
“I’m sure all this talk of your parentage must be confusing to you,” Lord Malfoy tried again. “You may, in fact, know nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
There was a rush of wind from within the house.
“Ah, our guest is home.”
The butterbeer had appeared by now and Octavian took a sniff of it, making sure it hadn’t been poisoned with anything. It seemed to be all right. He took a sip of it.
There were steps resounding in the hall, which then halted at the study.
“Tell me you have it, Lord Malfoy,” a masculine voice said. It was deep and resonant. Haunting, almost.
Octavian jumped and turned to see a man with a snakelike face whom he assumed to be the Dark Lord. “By the old gods, Henri Jacques was right. You really are back!”
The Dark Lord looked down his nose at him. “This is not Draco. I was unaware that you had two sons.” His eyes zeroed in on the prophecy. Before Octavian could even move to defend it, it was in the Dark Lord’s hands. Too afraid to say anything to the dark wizard, Octavian just sat, holding his butterbeer. What had started out as time alone in his clearing, trying to sort out just how deeply his feelings for Harry ran, had turned into something far more sinister.
“I’m trying to determine whether he is my son, my lord,” Lord Malfoy answered. “He was at the Department of Mysteries with Potter and his friends. Fortunately, I can report that he is also under the tutelage of Draco in Slytherin, so he is not entirely without sense.”
“A Slytherin a friend with Potter. How intriguing.” The Dark Lord was now looking at Octavian with interest. “Tell me of your accomplishments, boy.”
“I—“ He cleared his throat. He didn’t doubt that the Dark Lord was a skilled Legilimens. Lying would be out of the question. “I am a Charms prodigy. I’m completing fifth year assignments although I’m only a third year.”
The Dark Lord seemed pleased.
“I’m also gifted in divination.”
“Gifted in divination? Tell me, youngling, what is your field of study? The crystal ball perhaps?”
“No,” Octavian offered carefully. “Tarot cards.”
“Lord Malfoy,” the Dark Lord ordered, “you must have a set about. I wish to have my fortune read by this littlest Malfoy. You may not know this, young one, but I put great stock in knowing the future. Pray tell, what is your name?”
“Octavian Nür Prince.”
The Dark Lord chuckled.
“And I have a pack, in my pocket. I always carry it with me.” He looked at Lord Malfoy. He wasn’t quite certain he wanted to read the Dark Lord’s fortune but he was quite happy to flex his skills. At least that’s what he told himself. He wasn’t quite certain if his status as the son of Lord Prince would save him from death from a wizard who tried to kill babies in their cradles. “Could you clear the desk?”
With the flick of the wand the desk was clear apart from Octavian’s butterbeer and Lord Malfoy’s whiskey.
“Three card spread,” Octavian said, cutting the deck. “I always prefer it for someone new or for a broad question. Past, present, and future.”
He laid down three cards and flipped the first over. His eyebrows shot up. “Your past is The Devil. A cancer from within. Something was eating from within you, some obsession.” He looked at the Dark Lord who was gazing back at him just as avidly. It seemed he was right.
The next card. “The present. Emotional and Spiritual Gain. It could be the gathering of that prophecy which Lord Malfoy said he would not touch.” He glared at the man. “Finally—“ He flipped the card. “The king of swords. You’re to be an active leader of some kind. I can’t say when and I can’t say for how long, but the cards say it’s within your future.”
The Dark Lord paused and reached over to take Lord Malfoy’s drink, downing it. “You must keep this petit diviné. I insist. Prove he’s a Malfoy. I want him around.” He reached out and petted Octavian’s hair. Octavian tried not to flinch. “Don’t worry, Octavian. I do not hurt my friends or those who are bluntly honest with their talents. You may have an association with Potter, I accept that. He is a magnetizing presence. However, as far as I am concerned, you’re a Malfoy and thus an ally in this war.” He kissed Octavian’s forehead. “You are blessed then with friends on both sides who can help you.”
As soon as he left, Octavian began to shiver. “One moment,” Lord Malfoy said, pouring a small glass of brandy. “Drink this up.” Octavian hesitated. “Come now, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. This will calm your nerves. The Dark Lord’s presence is quite overwhelming the first few times you meet him.”
The taste was bitter and Octavian did not like it, but he drank it all anyway.
“Now, we’ll just sit here and talk about inane things until you’ve calmed, and then I’ll call Lord Prince for you,” Lord Malfoy offered. “I’m sure you want to be home in your own bed. You’ve had a long day.”
“Yes,” Octavian agreed. “Very long.” He rested his head against his arm. “I think I have a headache.”
“It’s the alcohol. It will pass in a few minutes.”
Octavian nodded. “He lives here? The Dark Lord?”
“Yes,” Lord Malfoy answered simply. “He does.”
“Draco never said.”
“He wouldn’t—nor would Lacerta for all her youth. I trust you will keep this to yourself.”
“I won’t tell Henri Jacques, if that’s what you mean,” Octavian offered. “It would serve no purpose. I will, however, be telling my father. I am not the type of son to keep secrets.” He paused. “Many secrets.”
“Ah,” Lord Malfoy said knowingly. “A love interest. Narcissa’s parents were convinced that I wasn’t solid enough. We met in secret for two years before they changed their minds.”
“And you and this woman?” Octavian asked, referencing the drawing that was now to the side of the desk. “She is not your wife. Such things are frowned upon in pureblood society.”
Lord Malfoy’s lips turned stern. “No, you deserve to hear the truth. All of it, but I would prefer to tell Lord Prince first, if you would be so kind. My wife knows, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Octavian hummed and looked about the room. It wasn’t full of portraits but instead of sketches. There was one of Lady Malfoy, and then a few of Draco and Lacerta and a little girl who must be Iolanthe. “You must love your family very much,” he said, pointing to the drawings on the wall.
“I do. It’s unfashionable, but so be it.”
“Will you call my father now?”
Lord Malfoy looked at him sadly. “Of course.” He left the room and five minutes later Troy Prince followed him in. Octavian at this point had cleared up his deck and finished his butterbeer, hoping to mask the scent of brandy on his breath.
“What is this demmed nonsense about you being at the Ministry? You’re demmed well supposed to be in school!” Octavian should have known his father would react like this.
“It’s a long story, but the Dark Lord is back. I’ve seen him with my own two eyes.”
“Aye, I thought you’d say something of the kind. The Evening Prophet came out and proclaimed your Harry Potter as vindicated. But come. We can talk about this demmed nonsense at home.” He looked at Lucius. “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow about this business about Octavian.”
“There is no business about me,” Octavian argued, looking at his father hard. “Absolutely none.”
“Aye, if you say so. Now, let’s get you home. Your mother’s worried sick.”
As soon as they were through the floo, Octavian was wrapped in his mother’s arms.
“He was at the Ministry,” Troy said darkly. “I knew we shouldn’t have let him go to that demmed wedding. It gave far too much leeway.”
“How did you end up at Lord Malfoy’s?” Dionysia asked anxiously and Octavian sighed.
“Suspend disbelief,” he asked his parents as they sat down in the family drawing room. “He was at the Ministry for the Dark Lord. There was a fight over a prophecy that was made. The Dark Lord has it, partially thanks to me. Lord Malfoy saw me, I had the prophecy, and he Apparated us away. It’s just, Mother, the Dark Lord later turned up looking for the prophecy. Apparently he lives there, and I ended up telling his fortune because he asked me to and now I think I’m favored.” He put his head in his hands. “It’s all a mess. And Lucius Malfoy drew a picture of Lucrece so he must know and—and—“ He couldn’t breathe.
Dionysia was by his side in an instant. “Out—in—out—in,” she said helpfully until he had his breathing under control.
Octavian looked at her thankfully. “And I’m older now and the Dark Lord is back just like Henri Jacques said, and I’ve been sneaking out to see him all term and if you say ‘no’ I’ll just keep sneaking out to see him all of next year. I didn’t know I fancied him until I asked him to kiss me—but you’ve got to let him court me. Please. I know he’s a half-blood and a celebrity, but he’s Lord Black’s godson and presumed heir. That has to count for something, doesn’t it? And you can make him sign a contract saying he’ll take the name ‘Prince’ and that he’ll use the Gnascum Potion. Please, Father, Mother, please.” It all came out in a rush. Octavian couldn’t think straight. He just needed this—now—after his traumatizing evening.
“You’ve obviously been holding that in,” Troy said. He sighed. “His gifts have been appropriate. Let me guess. You’ve been helping.”
“And Lady Black,” Octavian admitted.
Troy grunted. He turned to Dionysia. “What do you think?”
“The children will be purebloods,” she reasoned. “We also haven’t wanted anything more than to make Octavian Nür happy.”
“Aye. I’ll see the law-wizard in the morning.”
Octavian flung himself in his father’s arms. “Oh, thank you, Father,” he breathed. “Thank you.”
“Well, you’ve obviously kept your studies up,” he reasoned, “with all your sneaking around. Better make it official. Now, off to bed. There’s dinner waiting for you in your room and then you’re off to Hogwarts first thing in the morning.”
Hugging his mother, Octavian nodded. “Thank you,” he whispered, and then he was off to bed.
Troy Prince was very unhappy. Very unhappy indeed. In his right hand he carried a file with all the necessary documents. Birth certificate, blood tests, naming ceremony. Of course, most of it had been forged, but nobody need know.
Lord Malfoy looked them over and performed a quick spell. The birth certificate and the blood tests shone red. “Well, well, well, forged documents.”
“What spell—?” Troy asked, but Lord Malfoy just flicked his hand away.
“A little something of a family secret,” he admitted. “Now. Where are the real copies?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do.” He took out the sketch. “The one that identifies her as the mother.” He held it out. “Take a look. It won’t bite.”
Troy took it and looked it over. It really was an amazing likeness.
“She had black eyes and looked like your wife,” Lord Malfoy pressed. “Does that jog your memory?”
“What do you want with Octavian anyway? You would be making him a bastard, the pariah of society. You also already have a son. Right now Octavian is loved and happy with two parents who demmed want him. He’s also the heir to one of the four houses.”
“If what I suspect is true,” Lord Malfoy began, “this witch is your daughter, which would make Octavian your heir either way. What I want is my son. All my children are dear to me. Lady Malfoy is ready to recognize him and we will even agree to him keeping the name Prince as long as he spends half of his holidays with us.”
“How generous of you,” Troy said. “But you can prove nothing.”
“I will order the proper tests,” Lucius threatened darkly. “You know the Wizengamot will listen. They only have to look at the boy.”
“What are you going to do then when his suitor comes calling? You live in a Manor House with the Dark Lord. The papers are being signed this afternoon and we both know that either way I have the legal right as long as he is mine and Octavian is willing to set a courtship in place.”
“Who is it with?” Lord Malfoy asked in curiosity. “I was aware he had an affection for someone but he never said whom.”
“Harry Potter.”
The room went completely silent.
“Well. Octavian can just visit him at Lord Black’s. I will not hinder the relationship.” Lucius’s jaw was clenched together, but still the words came out smoothly. It did bother him, then, Troy knew. He at least was being gracious about it.
Troy looked him over. “I will make a bargain with you. You tell me exactly what happened the night you believe Octavian was conceived and I will allow Octavian to visit you as his cousin. There will be no stain on his name and we will both get what we want.”
“I will agree with the caveat that within these walls he will be referred to as a member of the family. Brother, Son. Not to anyone outside of the family, of course, but I will call him my son, and when he is ready, he will call me some form of ‘Father.’”
Troy nodded. He’d just made a deal with the devil.
Lord Malfoy sighed. “I had a choice. I had just been placed under the Imperius Curse and raped a beautiful young witch I had met at the celebrations. Her.” He pointed to the figure in the drawing. “I could have let her live with it or given her a more pleasurable experience. So I put her in a bathtub and obliviated her and made love to her for the rest of the night. We parted ways in the morning. That is the truth of it. We never exchanged names. I never knew she was pregnant. I knew she had a fiancé but he had already been dishonored by the time I made my decision. I had hoped she would return to him.”
“It was too late,” Troy finally said. “He was dead. Demmed Aurors.”
“Yes, they got some of the best of us.”
“I will not have my son being terrorized by the demmed Dark Lord.”
“I assure you that Octavian will never be alone with him and when a reading is needed, then either I or Narcissa will be with him.”
“Harrumph.” Troy sighed. “We have an accord. He can come to you for July.”
They shook hands on it.
Octavian was in shock. He didn’t have time to register the fact that he was in a courtship with Harry. All he knew was that his relationship to Lord Malfoy had been partially recognized and he was to go to the Malfoys for the first half of the summer.
“Henri Jacques,” he said a little bit in desperation on the train ride home. He hadn’t spoken to him since the Department of Mysteries. The compartment was full of other students and he looked back a little wildly. Harry looked up at him with his big green eyes and Octavian melted a little. “I will try and floo you in the next few days,” he tried. “I’m to go to the Malfoys.”
“But Lucius Malfoy—“ Ron Weasley began and Octavian cringed.
“Yes, I know. But that’s something I have to speak to you about, Henri Jacques. It’s just that I can see that you are busy and I really must get back. I only popped out for a moment.” He sighed, and turned to go. He was halfway down the corridor when he heard someone behind him. He turned around and suddenly Harry’s hands were clutching his face and he was being kissed soundly.
“Sirius told me about the courtship,” Harry said. “He said that things need to be ironed out, but there’s no sense in hiding anymore.”
“No sense in hiding,” Octavian agreed with a smile, kissing Harry lightly. “Though this is strictly not allowed.”
“I don’t care,” Harry said, smiling like a loon. They kissed again, Octavian’s hands in Harry’s wild hair until a voice cleared behind them.
Octavian turned around to see Draco Malfoy. “You were gone from the compartment for rather a long time,” he said by way of explanation. “Are you coming, Octavian?” There was a glint of knowledge in his eyes and Octavian disengaged himself from Harry.
“I’ll try to floo. If not, expect my owl.”
As he walked away, Harry held onto his hands till the last possible moment, his fingers slipping through his own, until Octavian was walking away.
“Father really wasn’t joking when he said you were courting Harry Potter,” Draco said when they were further down the corridor. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.”
They entered a compartment with only Lacerta Malfoy in it. She was reading a small volume of poetry. She looked up. “Brother, Brother Octavian.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Octavian said. “It’s all rather—dreadful.”
“How is being a Malfoy dreadful?” Draco asked in clear confusion. “I would think it was wonderful.”
“How would you like to suddenly be a Prince?” Octavian questioned. “It would be strange, and confusing, I just—it’s just Octavian.”
“Father will be angry,” Lacerta said honestly. “He said we’re to treat you with all the respect due a Malfoy heir. How can I do that without calling you ‘brother’?”
“You can do it by respecting his wishes, Lacy,” Draco put in. “I would think it’d be obvious. Anyway, I’m to find out your preferences. What kind of room would you like?”
“I—there are choices?”
Lacerta scoffed into her poetry book, her platinum blonde curls falling all around her.
“Well, Father wants you in the family wing, specifically with the children’s rooms. He has one all picked out near mine.” Draco looked at him hopefully. “However, there is a wing nearby for close family who have come to visited. You could be in that wing. Our Aunt Bellatrix and Uncle Rodolphus—“
“Lestrange?” Octavian asked in disbelief.
“Yes,” Draco admitted, “are housed there, along with the Dark Lord.”
“I want to be as far away from him as possible,” Octavian decided. “Children’s rooms then.”
“Excellent. I told Father that’s how you would see it, but he frankly didn’t believe me. He thinks you’ll disappear into a wisp of smoke.”
Octavian wished he would disappear into a wisp of smoke. However, he chose to view this time as a holiday with his friend Draco and his family. He was going to ask Lord Malfoy if he could spend Sunday dinner with his parents and what with regularly visiting Harry, which he was going to convince Lord Malfoy was non-negotiable, it should all work out fine.
Except for the Dark Lord who frightened Octavian.
When he arrived only Lady Malfoy was waiting. Octavian allowed Draco to lead him forward. “Mother, you remember Octavian Prince.”
She held out her hand. “Please, call me ‘Narcissa.’ You are my son’s protégé, after all.”
Octavian smiled at her.
There was a long journey back to Wiltshire in a horse-drawn carriage on roads that Octavian thought probably hadn’t been used for several centuries. Their trunks had all been placed on the top of the carriage and Lacerta was sitting next to Narcissa happily. Prospera was in Octavian’s lap and he just focused on petting her, her purring lulling him into a sense of security.
“I apologize for my husband,” Narcissa said. “However, we thought it best not to bring Io along. She’s been told you’re her brother and although she’s eleven, she’s a little excitable. We didn’t want her saying anything in public. Also, your father does not like her around the Lestranges for long periods of time.”
“Why?” Draco asked, confused.
“Your aunt went a little—mad, I would suppose would be the word—in Azkaban. Azkaban touches every person who walks through its doors.”
The Dark Lord, of course, wanted to see Octavian as soon as he arrived. Lucius was waiting in the sitting room with a young girl with similar curls to Lacerta but in a golden color. Her eyes were also sky gray like Narcissa’s and Draco’s. She ran up to Octavian and hugged him. “You must be my new brother,” she declared, “only I know it’s supposed to be a secret. I wish you were named after the stars like Draco or Lacerta or after a flower like me and Mum.”
“He’s named after a great Roman Emperor and a dear relative of his,” Lord Malfoy said, placing his hand on her head.
“May I go and see Harry? In a few days?” Octavian asked. “It’s only—we haven’t seen each other since our courtship has become finalized and I would so like to see him.” There really was no time like the present to ask. He also didn’t want to talk about family relations.
“Yes,” Lord Malfoy sounded displeased. “Lord Prince and I discussed it and I will write to Lord Black tonight and find a suitable time. Perhaps you can spend an afternoon and stay for dinner, if the new Lady Black finds that agreeable.”
Octavian found himself smiling. “Yes. Thank you, Lord Malfoy.”
“Lucius, please,” he said, his hand raised in a placating gesture. “We’re all friends here. Now, come, the Dark Lord wishes to see you. You may mention your parents in front of him and indeed your relationship to Harry Potter. He is aware of it all.”
Grimacing, Octavian nodded.
This time he found himself in a small parlor done in dark blues and mahogany wood. Several people were sitting on divans while the Dark Lord sat at a small table, another chair opposite him. There was a cold butterbeer waiting for Octavian.
“I trust you have the cards?” the Dark Lord intoned and Octavian nodded, taking them from the breast pocket of his robes.
“Must there be so many people here?” he questioned, looking about him. He took a seat, feeling Lucius directly behind him, and took a sip of butterbeer to calm himself.
“They are my chosen. I wish them to see your skill.” The Dark Lord cocked his head to the side and Octavian could only nod. He was not going to argue with the Dark Lord over anything. “I won’t request your services that often, young Prince, but I have a question.”
Octavian took the deck out of its carton and started shuffling it.
“What kind of question?”
“You will laugh.” There were whispers around them and Octavian looked at the assembled Death Eaters. “I seek a wand—a singular wand. There has never been a wand like it. Is that enough information, young man?”
Octavian put the cards on the table. “Does the wand have a name?”
The Dark Lord surveyed him with blood red eyes. “Lean forward.”
Hesitantly, Octavian did just that.
Leaning toward him, the Dark Lord’s lips tickled his hair near his ear. “The Elder Wand.”
Octavian reared back. “You are aware—“
“Yes, yes, it’s only a legend,” the Dark Lord said dismissively. “Let us assume for the sake of this spread that it exists. I need to find it.”
“You need to know if you’re on the right track,” Octavian determined. He sighed and drank more butterbeer. He turned over a card. “Well, you’re not. Your source will prove disappointing.” He looked down at the two of swords. He turned over another card. That was unhelpful. Another one. No. Another and another.
He sighed in frustration.
“Without touching the cards, I want you to have your hand hover over the deck so that it can read your essence. You must never touch the cards, Dark Lord, for they must only ever have the energy of the reader to perform sufficiently.”
The Dark Lord beheld him and then did as he was asked. Octavian cut the deck and then drew a card. The Chariot. “You will need discipline over your emotions, which can be achieved, to reach your goal. I would interpret this that you need to go on a journey—most likely over the Ocean. The German Ocean, not the Atlantic, to find what you are looking for.” He glanced up at the Dark Lord.
He turned over another card. The Hanged Man. He breathed in deeply. “You seek one who sought wisdom by finding their own destruction. A failed Dark Lord.—I would go to Numengard, to Grindelwald. He will know something.”
A spell seemed to have been broken and everyone started speaking at once. Lucius’s hand came to squeeze his shoulder.
The Dark Lord flicked his hand and everyone fell silent.
“I am pleased, Octavian Prince,” the Dark Lord whispered, “very pleased. I would ask a boon of you. I can see the fear in your eyes when you are brought into my presence and that is why you read for me. I respect that and wish that it were not so because you are favored, young Prince. I understand that you are in a courtship with Lord Black’s godson. I would ask you not to offer the same services to Lord Black’s masters as you do to me.”
“You mean the Order of the Phoenix.”
“We understand each other.”
Lucius’s grip became a little tighter but not painful.
“I offer readings to Lord Black’s godson because of our relationship. He lets me practice on him. I foresaw our relationship, for example. However, I can assure you that the Order does not seek my services.”
“And if they do in the future?”
“Then I would foresee it, Dark Lord.”
The Dark Lord grinned at him, his teeth brilliantly white.
“Run along. I’m certain Draco would love to show you your room,” Lucius said quietly, leaning down so that only Octavian and the Dark Lord could hear him.
There were no fireflies at Malfoy Manor and that night, Octavian fell asleep to only darkness.
Excentryke's Musings 