alone together {d.malfoy}

ᴛʜᴇ ꜰʀᴇɴᴄʜ ɢɪʀʟ

Devon stated this, but both witches knew that the Malfoy's had no choice but to let the Death Eaters into their home.

"Of course! The pleasure is all mine." Narcissa nodded with a soft smile gracing itself on her face. "In your week of being here, have you had the opportunity to meet my son yet?"

Narcissa waved her hand beside her, to the boy two seats from her right. Lucius was in the middle of his wife and son.

Devon turned her gaze. The boy was around her age, if not a year or two younger than her. He had hair like his father, except shorter and more platinum than yellow. From what she could see, his facial features were defined and taught. Years of living as a rich boy reflected off of him like a mirror.

At his mother's voice, the boy turned his head towards the woman, then quickly to Devon.

The boy nodded before beginning to speak. "Draco Malfoy, it is a pleasure to meet you," he robotically droned. Like it was a phrase repeated often nowadays.

"Devon LaBlanc. The pleasure is all mine." The platinum-blonde woman twitched the corner of her mouth upwards.

Draco made the complete gesture to stand from his large chair, stand almost directly beside his mother, reach across the table and extend his hand. She reacted instantly, holding out her own. He leaned forward quickly, placing a swift kiss on the top of her hand. He moved back to his seat, getting comfortable once again.

Lucius watched on from his chair, eyeing his son approvingly.

"Your accent. It's French?" Draco questioned her further, deciding to not immediately end their conversation.

Devon smirked, interest peaking. "Oui," she teased.

"Which part of France?" He investigated more.

"Normandie," her accent strung. "My family was from there. I grew up there for the first fifteen years of life. Then, I moved to England with my brother. I was summoned by the Dark Lord not a couple weeks ago, and now I reside in your home."

"That's fascinating. I know a bit of French, actually. There's a bit of French in my bloodlines," Draco explained. "Tu es ravissante ce soir."
Translation: You look lovely this evening.

Devon's eyebrows raised, impressed. "Eh bien, merci, Monsieur Malfoy. Votre flatterie est ornée," She responded smoothly.
Translation: Well, thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Your flattery is adorned.

Footsteps echoed across the floor as a strong presence entered the room. The fireplace crackled throughout the silence as Voldemort took his seat at the head of the table.

The room remained silent. Only the sound of quiet murmuring carried indistinctly across the room.

A scratching noise entered the room as Peter Pettigrew entered through one of the entrances, wand in hand as he levitated a woman— a muggle. The rat-man moved the muggle to the center of the table, letting her hover over the heads of some Death Eaters just a few seats from Devon.

Devon sat there, unfazed and unimpressed by the show. She turned to continue her conversation with the well-mannered boy, but she noticed he was stiff. In fact, all three of the Malfoy family members had grown unbelievably stiff. Devon travelled her sight to her Dark Lord that sat at the head of the table, silently petting the head of his snake.

Seems the Malfoy's aren't too fond of the company they keep in their home.

"We are waiting on one more member, and then we will begin. Thank you all for joining here today," Voldemort hissed, not even caring to meet any of their eyes.