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“Sepulcrum Malfoy Aperio!” Lucius commanded. At once, the heavy chains that coiled around the wrought iron gate went slack, slithering down onto the hard-packed dirt with a dull thud and a long schink. With his right hand, he pushed the gate open, the iron cold and rough against his skin.
Standing just outside the threshold, he unfurled the fingers of his left hand and carefully directed a sharp puff of breath at the palmful of freshly ground cinnamon he held, dispersing it into the air. It was as much for protection and prosperity as it was to help distract from the less savoury aromas that emanated from within.
A generous wave of his wand lit every wall sconce and torch in the entry chamber of the manor’s catacombs. They flared — fizzling, crackling, and spitting, as they gluttonously consumed a year of cobwebs and dust. A small creature skittered out of one of the sconces. Judging by the squelching, popping, and hissing that echoed secondarily through the chamber, several more failed to escape.
Pity.
It was a chorus as familiar as the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer — one that spoke of tradition.
He entered finally, torch in hand, as he walked the perimeter of the space, blessedly finding nothing out of the ordinary that year. “The chamber is clear. Come along, you two; we don’t have much time.”
Three minutes, to be precise. Precision was critical.
The gate creaked open again. Narcissa and Draco stepped warily through, her small hands clamped over his shoulders, not so gently cajoling and steering him inside.
Approaching the altar, Lucius removed the worn leather pouch from the pocket of his robe and began to lay out its contents in preparation for the summoning.
“It isn’t fair!” Draco whinged with all the petulance his eight year old body could produce, which was a rather startling quantity, all things considered.
“Not now, we’ve been over this, darling,” Narcissa cooed as she closed his fingers around a black tourmaline stone.
“I don’t care! I’m not a child anymore. You can’t make me wear this hideous, smelly old frock every year.” He tipped his head down, allowing Narcissa to place the pungent sachet of rue around his neck. “Why don’t you wear it, Mother? You’re a girl.”
“Draco!” she snapped. “That is quite enough. We do not disparage the ancestral garments! Especially not here, and not now.” She huffed and added two more black tourmalines to his other hand and tucked a fat bundle of rosemary under the rolled cuff of his sock.
He pouted, doing his best to scratch the itchy twiglets poking into his ankle without dropping the stones that filled his hands.
“How many more times must I explain that it is an honour for you to wear Great Aunt Agata’s dress?” She smoothed her own elegant, decidedly non-ancestral dress robe with only the most minute sliver of guilt. It was hardly her fault that Agata’s figure was more akin to that of a little boy.
“But Mother…” he shrilled, face scrunched into a distasteful grimace. “She died in it…”
“Oh hush, it's only for an hour, Draco. You know how much she loves to see you wearing it, and ever since she’s taken to haunting the ballroom, it simply isn’t possible to host a New Year’s gala without appeasing her, lest we wish for the walls to bleed at midnight and the guests to run screaming into the snow again. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?” Tucking one more sprig of rosemary behind Draco’s ear, Narcissa donned her own sachet of rue and joined Lucius at the altar to lay out the rest of her quarry.
“Do you have the amulet on, dear?” she enquired in a hushed tone as near to Lucius’ ear as she could reach without straining up onto her toes.
“Of course.” Reaching beneath the draped folds of his lush black velvet robe, he freed the amulet for her inspection and reassurance. The bleached white human mandible fragment, teeth still mostly intact, hung from the gold chain around his neck.
She breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
Lowering his head, he accepted the sachet of rue and a chaste, yet endearingly opportunistic, kiss on the cheek, which he returned with due haste. And as Narcissa placed the remainder of the serpentine and skull stones, Lucius quickly assessed the altar.
The dried rosemary and tobacco bundles were burning on their silver trays. The rose petals were spread across the surface of the wood, and the rose oil taper candles were securely set into the ornate gold candelabra.
“The mugwort bundles,” he growled, turning to retrace his steps through the chamber. “They were just here a moment ago. I could have sworn it. Where is that bloody mugwort?”
“No! Not bloody mugwort, just the regular kind, dear. Remember your great-great-great-grandfather’s allergy? We will not be making the mistake of offending his spirit again. I think I speak for all of us when I say I will not survive another three months of sulphuric bathwater like we had to endure last time.” Narcissa shuddered and smoothed her silken blonde hair back at her temples.
“You know, none of my friends have to wear frilly, dead lady’s clo—” he cut off abruptly, catching the sharp edge of his mother’s glare, which promptly softened as he corrected himself. “I mean, ancestral garments every Halloween just to appease the family ghosts. They get to do fun things like drink cider and eat sweets,” Draco moaned, sidling up closer to Narcissa, growing more aware of the seconds counting down and the futility of further protestations. “Does Great Aunt Agata even realise that I’m a boy?”
“Gravy! Bring the regular mugwort bundles!” Lucius boomed, stuffing protective stones into his pockets, then lighting the rose oil candles.
“I highly doubt it, Draco, but frankly, I’m not sure she’d care either way. You can hardly blame her. It looks precious on you. And you may not value the summoning quite yet, but once you grow into your magic, I’m certain you’ll come to appreciate it.” She straightened his neckline and puffed up his sleeves.
With a soft crack, Gravy apparated into the catacombs. “Mugwort bundles for the smudging, Master. The regular kind.” He lit the end of one with a snap of his fingers before handing it to Lucius and vanishing as quickly as he came.
“One of the joys of residing in an ancestral estate is the wealth of power it offers to draw from,” Lucius added as he began the smudging, first encircling the altar, then making his way toward the door to the visitation chamber. “One tiny summoning per year is a pittance when compared to the benefits the ancestors bestow when appeased. And of course we do greatly prefer to avoid the unpleasant consequences that result from failed appeasement…” he trailed off, distance seeping into his gaze.
The sudden sound of gears turning, mechanisms whirring to life and metal shifting against metal drew all three living Malfoys upright as the door to the visitation chamber slowly opened, signalling the stroke of midnight.
“Everyone get behind me,” Lucius instructed, waving an arm insistently.
Narcissa’s bony fingers clasped once more over Draco’s lace-encrusted shoulders, and they walked hesitantly towards the door, Lucius leading the way. Sensing Draco’s unease and hoping to allay her own, she leaned down slightly to whisper in his ear, “Just think of it as a lovely family tradition, darling. Some day you’ll get to bring your children down here to visit me and your father. And when you pass on, your children and their children and so on and so forth will come visit you here as well. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Draco’s little cheeks paled beyond pale, his eyes widening with the sort of existential dread seldom accessible to children of his age. His mouth opened briefly and then closed without a word as they filed into the visitation chamber, walking at a glacial speed past each and every one of the elaborate glass coffins that lined the walls. Artisanal glasswork and decorative nameplates adorned each box containing the ghastly withered husks of innumerable generations of Malfoy ancestors.
And they were beginning to wake...
With their empty, rotted-out eye sockets and darkened, leathery skin pulled tight over bone — their gasping, toothless mouths and twisted limbs.
They were beginning to hunger…
“Remember, darling. Big smiles,” Narcissa said, her voice only trembling slightly as they stared down the vast, endless corridor of corpses in need of appeasing.