Chapter Two: Open House Day

Tuesday

The last day of term is always a bad one, and this year proved to be no different. After an inauspicious start, the day proceeded to go downhill quickly.

This morning at breakfast the Headmaster spent the whole meal humming some awful tune through his cornflakes, stopping every now and again to regale us with the catch line, "Viva Espana". Perhaps he is planning some type of military action against the French; I find that little surprises me these days.

I noticed that Lockhart has appeared back in the Great Hall. He gave me an extremely wide berth (thank Merlin for small mercies), and kept casting flitting glances towards Lupin, coy flitting glances.

I need to lie down, undisturbed in a dark room, and think about this; I am becoming extremely concerned about the Lockhart situation. Only last night Black handed me a book in which he had discovered what he thought was a fascinating observation. It read more like the crack of doom to me. The writer, some mediaeval witch of uncertain bloodlines, scribbled some gibberish to the effect that if a disappearing spell were cast on a subject which had already disappeared, the reverse effect would happen. Black went on to apply this logic to my fiasco with the Wolfsbane Potion and the aforementioned Lockhart ... my mind refuses to contemplate what he was getting at. I did notice Lockhart casting worried looks at the sky though. I must let the idiot know that the moon is the white one which comes out at night.

***

All morning Malfoy Manor has beckoned ominously; the thought of the holidays hangs over me like the ruddy Sword of Damocles ... and I haven't a thing to wear. In the absence of any other colour, excepting black, in my wardrobe (apart from a nifty little number in leopard skin), I shall pack black for the holiday. Lucius likes me in black (please note the lower case letter 'b'; he has yet to give his opinion on the canine version). But there are positives too; it is a forgiving colour, and saves me pulling my gut in every time I stand in profile.

Hopefully Lucius will have decided against the wigwams after last summer's fiasco when Draco, his first and last born (so he would have us believe), severed the guy ropes, and the live totem pole suffocated before it could be cut free. I am also hopeful that we shall be spared the catering disasters which we were subjected to last year, when we had to contend with the twin gastronomic delights of the devilled kidneys turning out to be devilled gall bladders, and Lucius's Beluga Caviar having been replaced by frogspawn, a neat trick carried out by the fruit of his loins (so he thinks everyone believes), the cursed Draco.

Black has decided to come with me, a fact for which, I confess, I was extremely grateful ... until he made passing mention of the fact that Harry would be good company for the awful Malfoy fils. He just slipped that in, hoping I wouldn't notice; I began to wish it were the first of September. He will sleep in Malfoy's ruddy kennels; in fact both of them will.

***

Tuesday

Narcissa was just leaving as we arrived; in fact, had I managed to be just a few minutes later I would have missed her completely. She seemed even more frosty than usual. Perhaps she still has not forgiven me for the potion which I gave to Lucius when I was doing a certain experiment. It must have come as shock to a woman of her stature to have her husband of twenty years suddenly at the door of her bedchamber demanding his conjugal rights ... especially when he is likely to require a map to point him in the required direction, never having travelled the road before. I believe her bed mate was quite put out about the whole episode too.

She glared at the dog and the two boys who accompanied me as though they were inhabitants of another planet, before the dawning of vague recollection passed over her sculpted features as she frowned at Draco. I wasn't entirely sure that she remembered who he actually was as she patted him on the head, muttering something about making sure the dog didn't go inside the house unless Lucius specifically wanted to play with it ... she knows her man, does that one.

Draco and the Potter boy disappeared quite quickly, which was good, with Black frolicking around their heels like some ridiculous great puppy, which was not so good. I was beginning to have some serious misgivings about the whole situation, and I now had to keep a steady eye on the sodding moon as well. It was one thing to leave Lupin his own Wolfsbane to attend to, but I had been loath to alert anyone to the "Lockhart Situation" ... damn, I had even given it a title now.

***

I was alone when the master of the house and all it contains, if one forgets about Narcissa and the sizable dowry over which she has managed to maintain total control, Draco and everything to do with him, and just about everything else, the aforementioned Narcissa having spent the last twenty years transferring the whole sodding lot into her own name ... in fact, the only person who thinks Lucius is the master of all he surveys ... is Lucius ... anyway, all that aside, he walked down the central staircase to greet me. What, in the name of all that was holy, was he wearing, I wondered.

When he reached the bottom of the grand staircase he twirled once, the effect was ... dazzling ... in fact I had to shield my eyes. He seemed to have sprayed himself with gold paint and then studded himself, presumably while the paint was still wet, with rhinestones. My mouth must have been hanging open in horror, because I felt it snap shut. He looked at me eagerly, never a pleasant sight when one is dealing with Lucius, and said, 'This will knock them flat, don't you think so?'

I swallowed hard, not daring to think who, where, what or when, they might be, but I had to acknowledge the truth ... they would be knocked flat.

It turns out that the hopelessly inbred idiot thinks that he and I are going for what he described as "a night on the town", to London ... to mix with Muggles ... to show them how to really enjoy themselves. Of course, I absolutely point blank refuse to be drawn into this lunacy, and heard myself muttering something about not having suitable clothes for such an occasion. But, Lucius, being Lucius, brushed my objections aside with aplomb, offering me the dubious delight of pillaging his wardrobe.

He glided up to me, I can only assume that he was having difficulty walking properly in the ridiculous outfit he was wearing, took my arm confidentially, and began speaking in low tones to me about the heart-stoppingly horrifying plans he had for the next two months ... I began to yearn for Narcissa's return.

***

Thursday

As disasters go, I made the mistake of thinking it had not been too terrifying so far. I seemed to have managed to at least delay the awful night out in London, although I suspect that it will come back to haunt me soon. My eyes felt gritty this morning, a combination of the fact that Lucius seemed to have boundless energy last night (and, I have to admit, some very novel ways of spending it), and the fact that when he did eventually nod off, in the early hours of the morning, he began to ramble on in his sleep about something or someone called "disco mania".

I was just about to drop off myself, for a well-earned kip, when I heard the clip of canine toenails on the polished wood floor. A cold wet nose nudged my reluctant arm, and suddenly we were three. I spent a slightly nervous but none the less entertaining two hours with Black. Lucius only woke once at what was, admittedly, a very lively part of the proceedings, but was put back to sleep immediately by Black, who lifted him off the bed and slammed his head against the wall. As a wizard, the man has no finesse, although I have to say the sound of the Malfoy head being cracked against a wall was even more satisfying to me than anything else the same Malfoy had done that night.

***

As we sat having breakfast at around lunchtime to much tutting from his elves, Lucius flicked idly through the "Daily Prophet", touching the back of his head and wincing every now and again, muttering about strange dreams. He kept frowning and flicking back through the paper, obviously looking for something ... it was obviously the same thing as I was reading in open-mouthed horror across the table. The banner headline on the front page of his open paper read, "MALFOY MANOR OPENS TO THE PUBLIC".

What, for the love of Merlin, was he playing at? I tried to think, just as a troop of children in brightly coloured robes filed through the dining room, led by one of Lucius's elves. Lucius let the paper drop slightly and gazed over the top of it with something akin to horrified fascination as one of them carefully but deliberately began to unscrew a very expensive metal sculpture.

'Stop them,' he hissed at me. 'This isn't what I meant at all.' The house-elf made an attempt to screw the sculpture back together again, not terribly successfully, and ushered the children away to another part of the house.

I listened with growing concern for his sanity as he explained that he had paid for a small but discreet article in the "Social and Personal" column of the "Daily Prophet", as he wanted to allow access to Malfoy Manor to the upper echelons of wizarding society, to allow those who had not visited the manor socially to enjoy the art and architecture and good taste of the great house. I took this to mean that he wanted to show off his vulgar excesses and couldn't be bothered to entertain. He shied away violently when I asked if Narcissa knew of this little escapade.

We were still arguing over the finer points of the matter when Draco put in an appearance; he was with the Potter boy and the Black dog. 'Father,' he started, looking at a space about halfway between Lucius and myself (it seems Narcissa's discretion has been wavering somewhat over recent years), 'what is the Knight Bus doing spewing people all over the front lawns?'

Lucius stumbled to his feet as an owl swept in through the dining room window and dropped a scroll on the table. He picked it up, ripped it open, read it with what appeared to be some degree of consternation, and flung it at me. It came from the agent he had engaged to market the opening of Malfoy Manor. It seemed that the Puddlemere United Quidditch team had arranged to come to the manor for a fortnight's stay whilst they were playing in a tournament nearby, and would he please arrange to have fourteen rooms ready by two o'clock this afternoon. Three meals per day would be required.

Lucius was, of course, apoplectic by this time. 'Stop this insanity,' he hissed, pointing at me accusingly as the Knight Bus passengers began to troop through the dining room in threes and fours, stopping to touch things. The elves had by this time spelled a large buffet table along the back wall of the dining room, and to Lucius's greater chagrin began serving the masses with a picnic lunch to carry out into the grounds.

It all came to a tearful end as Lucius began to hurl hexes at his visitors, whilst kicking the offending elves hither and thither. I felt quite at a loss as I tried to quieten him down, but he would have none of it. He proceeded to line up his guests and submit them to a body search as Stan Shaunpike ushered them back onto the bus, which was parked in the middle of Narcissa's rose garden. Admittedly the pile of souvenirs which he confiscated was impressive.

I sent a hasty owl to his agent cancelling the booking for Puddlemere United (and all future bookings until further notice), with regret, saying that the master of the house was indisposed, and was likely to remain that way for quite some time.

***

The Next Friday

I suppose I should have known by the amount of owl mail which began to arrive in the early part of the week that Lucius had another plan up his sleeve, but if the truth were to be known, I was a bit loath to ask. He had been smirking in that awful anticipatory way he has when one of his grand plans is about to come to fruition. If only the fool took time to notice that they always went wrong (always, in this case, really does mean, without exception).

I gathered my courage. 'What have you got planned for this weekend, Lucius?' I asked, hoping to be struck deaf as the words tumbled from my mouth.

'I'm glad you asked.' He grinned maniacally. 'It's my birthday, and I've arranged something really special this year.'

I groaned inwardly; he arranged something "really special" every year and, as I recall, the clean up process normally involves the Magical Reversal Squad and a great deal of hush money. I have to say he had outdone himself this year though, the list of things which could (and probably would) go wrong was nothing short of titanic. He had invited his friends (you should search the dictionary under T for toadies), for a "Grand Birthday Stag Hunt and Barbeque" at Malfoy Manor. The first stag caught would be barbequed in the huge pit the elves were enthusiastically digging at that moment. I considered asking them if they would dig a six foot pit for me beside it.

As it turned out, death would have been the lesser of two evils.

***