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THE LAWS OF LUXURY - PART 2
Look But Don’t Touch
Touch But Don’t Use
Use But Don’t Enjoy
Enjoy But Don’t Show It
~~•~~
"Mummy?"
Narcissa looked up from her plate at the inquisitive tone.
"Why don’t we ever use those?" Draco pointed up at the China cabinet from where he sat, or rather, knelt on his chair. At eight years old, Draco was still rather small for his age, and in order to reach the table comfortably, he had to perch atop his calves.
Narcissa tossed a brief glance in the direction Draco pointed, even though she already knew what he was referring to. "They’re expensive, Draco," she explained, twirling some pasta around her fork. Her tone was blunt and tired sounding, as if she were bored of hearing the phrase, even from her own mouth. "That’s why."
"But you like them," he pressed, "You never let the house elves touch them, even for polishing. And I see you look at them all the time."
His mother sighed and offered him a soft smile "Yes, they’re very special to me," she admitted.
"How come?" Draco asked before slurping up a whole spaghetti noodle in one go, splattering his cheeks with marinara in the process.
Narcissa shot him a look for his lack of manners. "We used them at my wedding."
Draco sheepishly ran his napkin over his face, but most of his mental attention was still focused on the fancy dishes. "You mean you and father’s wedding?"
“Yours and father’s,” she corrected, lifting her fork off the plate, "But, yes, that’s what I mean."
Draco watched her eat the helping of pasta without getting even a drop of sauce on her face, and waited until she’d swallowed it before continuing. "Would you like to use your wedding dishes, mummy?"
She seemed to ponder his words for a moment, absently twisting the fork atop the small pile of noodles again. "Perhaps someday. When you grow up and have children of your own," she said at last.
Draco frowned at her answer. "Why do you have to wait so long?"
"Merlin, you are just full of questions this evening, aren’t you?" she remarked, though not in an unkind way. "Are you finished?" She received a vigorous nod in reply. "Very well. Go see if your father is home yet," she encouraged. Her son bounded off his chair at the suggestion and eagerly sped into the front parlor.
"Draco, no running in the house!” she called after him, even though she knew it was in vain.
~~•~~
After much blundering about, Draco finally managed to complete the new song on the piano, and he tossed his mother a proud smile upon hitting the final note.
“I’ve finished,” he announced, “Can I go now?”
“May I go now,” she emphasized, though there was a smile tugging on her lips, “And yes, you may. But remember, we have a guest coming over tonight. You need to be ready in an hour,” she added before he could scamper off.
“Mum, Severus isn’t a guest,” he remarked, his tone indicating that it was silly she would even suggest such a thing.
Narcissa merely sighed. “What have I told you about calling him that?”
“He said I could!” Draco shot back in defense. “What else am I supposed to call him anyway?”
“Well, he is a professor,” Narcissa pointed out.
Draco wrinkled his nose. “He’s not my professor. And father wants to send me to Durmstrang for school, so he probably won’t ever be. Plus, he and father have been friends for years, and I’ve known him since--”
“All right, Draco...” Narcissa conceded. She knew which battles were worth fighting and which ones were not. “Go upstairs now and put on something nice.”
Upstairs, he found that the elves had already laid something out for him on the bed. Begrudgingly, he slipped on the dinner clothes and kicked the old ones into the corner before galloping back down the staircase and heading for the kitchen. He planned on requesting dessert if the elves weren’t too far along already. Now if only he could decide which one he wanted…
As he passed through the dining room, still debating whether to ask for pie or pudding, his eyes landed on the China cabinet again. He halted, lips parted softly as he gazed into the pleated glass windows. If anyone had been watching him in that moment, they would have recognized the distinct expression on his face--one of an eight-year-old with a master plan.
The boy looked about himself for a moment before grabbing a dining chair and dragging it in front of the cabinet. Then, with all the agile grace of a feline, he climbed up onto it and stood to his full height. Gingerly, he took both of the little knobs and tugged the cabinet doors open. The dishes were even prettier in the light; they sparkled brilliantly, as if celebrating the fact that someone had freed them from their mahogany prison. He grinned at the sight, but there was no time to admire how beautiful they looked on the shelves.
Two by two, he took the items out of the cabinet and set them out nicely on the table, starting with the lower shelves before moving upward. After several painstaking trips, he had four beautiful place settings fit for a king. He smiled, perfectly with his work. That is, until he spotted the two glistening crystal glasses on the top shelf. Somehow, he knew that those glasses, unlike the others which were smaller and plainer, belonged to his parents. They were his favorite pieces out of them all, he decided, and he simply had to have them on his table. He scaled the chair again and reached as high as he could, but his hand barely brushed the edge of the shelf on which the glasses sat. Disappointed, his eyes fell to his shoes. Well, at least he would have most of the dishes out…
Just as he was about to climb down, a light bulb went off in his head. Testingly, he pressed his foot against the moulding that lined the bottom of the cabinet, slowly adding more and more pressure as he did. The lining jutted out slightly from the rest of the wood, and it seemed to hold his weight, but he would have to be quick. He grabbed one of the lower shelves to brace himself and pushed off the chair, balancing on his toes as he struggled to grasp his prize. His fingers managed to close around the stem of the first glass, but the brief moment of triumph was cut short. His foot suddenly gave out from under him, and he was sent crashing to the floor in a heap. His head collided with something rock hard.
Everything went black.
~~•~~
He could hear breathing, as if someone’s mouth was right next to his ear. The sound was so close and so loud, yet it was muffled as if by a blanket. And there was a ringing—an awful ringing! He managed to open his eyes, wanting to see who was making the sounds, but his vision tossed and turned and blurred before him. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, willing the world to stop spinning, spinning, spinning so he could get up. He lifted one hand up to rub his eyes, thinking it might help clear his sight, but his coordination was off, and he ended up brushing the side of his head instead. Pain flashed to life on the spot, and he hissed at its sharp greeting. What happened? he wondered.
Eventually, his vision cleared enough for him to see straight, and though his head was still pounding, he forced himself to sit up and assess the situation. But once he saw the mess around him, he wished he could go back to seeing blurry.
“Oh...” he breathed into the silence, panic rising higher and higher in his chest until he thought it would swallow him. He’d broken an entire shelf in half on his way down, causing it to spill the remainder of its contents all over the floor. Some pieces remained intact, but judging by the bits of broken glass littering the rug, not all of them had made it through unscathed. The worst part of all was that Draco didn’t spot his parents’ special glasses anywhere...
A sudden chorus of voices sounded from the hall, just outside the door. Draco stared at it in horror. Even if he had been able to move without feeling sick to his stomach, there was no time to run or hide. He was done for.
“Now you know very well, Severus, that I—“ Lucius’ words were cut short as he appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene before him with wide eyes. Severus stood just behind him, and Narcissa, looking over her husband’s shoulder, had her hand clasped over her mouth in shock. All three of them stared at Draco in silence as the boy struggled to find an apology. But Lucius, as per usual, was the first to speak.
“What in MERLIN’S NAME have you done, Draco!?” his father exclaimed, glass crunching underfoot as he waded further into the room. “Do you have ANY idea—!?”
“Oh, Lucius, please,” Narcissa begged, close to hysterics upon realizing what Draco had been trying to do. Her husband tossed her an icy look for her interruption before stomping over the remainder of the glass and drawing Draco up by the arm. The boy’s head lulled to the side for a moment as his dizziness returned, but Lucius didn’t seem to notice.
WHAT made you think you could get into that cabinet!?” he demanded of his son, grip tightening on his arm. “Answer me!”
Draco’s breath came out in short, terrified gasps. His headache had intensified, and his father’s harsh tone did little to lessen it “I—“ he choked, “I just wanted to make mum happy,” he whispered.
“Well you’ve done a splendid job at that,” Lucius shot back, dragging his son away from the mess and sending him toward the other open door. “I don’t want to see you again for the rest of the night, am I clear!?” he barked.
Draco didn’t give an answer. Instead, he ran blindly until he reached the staircase, feet stumbling halfway up the first incline before giving out beneath him. He lay there for a moment, thinking the pain would pass if he did, but it pressed on, unrelenting. Draco hardly ever let himself cry, but it hurt so much, and he was so afraid of what his father would do--
Suddenly, he felt a firm grasp on his shoulder, and for a moment, he feared that his father had come after him. He quickly swiped a hand over his face, not wanting anyone, least of all his father, to know he’d been crying. But even through his blurry vision, he could make out a familiar crop of raven black hair that definitely didn’t belong to Lucius.
“You don’t look well,” Severus noted in his never-changing monotone.
Draco sniffed. “It’s my head,” he managed. “It hurts.”
He heard Severus make a low humming sound in his throat. “I suppose we’ll have to fix that then, won’t we.”
Draco felt himself being lifted up by the potion master’s thin hands and carried to another place in the house. He didn’t really pay attention to where they were going. The slow sway of Severus’ gait made him feel oddly sleepy, and though his shoulder was a rather uncomfortable pillow, he found himself beginning to drift off…
“Don’t,” Severus ordered, a warning in his voice, “Don’t fall asleep.”
When Severus finally put him down on the bed in his parents’ room, he was tempted to lie down, but at Severus instinace, he remained upright, watching as the man went pouring through all the drawers and cupboards in the bathroom. A few moments later, he returned to Draco’s side with a small glass bottle in hand. It was filled a quarter of the way with a shiny red liquid.
“Go on and drink all of it,” Severus told him as pressed the bottle into his hand. “And remind me to tell your father to restock his store. He’s gotten lazy about keeping necessary brews on hand.”
Draco twisted the cork off the bottle and tipped the contents into his mouth. The liquid didn’t taste great, but the moment it touched his lips, his headache began to lessen. Eventually, it ceased to exist altogether. Severus took the empty vial from him and set it on the nightstand.
“You shouldn’t feel any more pain, but the dosage is a bit low to completely fix everything,” he noted. “You should probably avoid climbing precarious pieces of furniture in the future.”
Draco nodded. “Thank you, Severus.”
The man paused briefly but didn’t otherwise respond to the gratitude. Instead, he bent low in front of Draco, his dark eyes roving back and forth between the boy’s blue ones.
“I’ll be alright, won’t I?”
Severus straightened, seemingly satisfied, and gave a curt nod. “You’re fine. You’ve had a concussion is all,” the man informed him, as if he were relaying the weather. “You should probably lie down for a while. I have to get back to the dining room before your father comes searching for me,” he announced, pacing around the bed to take his leave.
“Severus.”
The man stopped in his tracks, though he didn’t look happy about it. To be fair though, he hardly ever looked happy about anything. “What?”
Draco swallowed. “Can you please tell father that I’m sorry?”
Severus’ expression shifted into something Draco had never seen on the potion master’s face before. The man took in a fleeting breath and looked away.
“I think he knows...”