Nothing Like A Good Sneer
For Jonquil
Based on this livejournal icon:
Lucius—nineteen, devilishly handsome, and newly wed—sneered at the
shopkeeper. On arriving in the France, he had rapidly begun to understood why,
when invited to participate in a game of charades, his great-great-grandfather
had chosen to purchase a châteaux instead.
"Fool. All I want is a hat and two pairs of socks." The hapless Muggle
shopkeeper—why couldn't Old Iron-Bones Malfoy have chosen a wizarding
village?—stared at him and made a distinctly French shrugging face. At least,
Lucius assumed it was distinctly French. Nobody at home would have dared to
shrug at him.
He gave the snippet of French Narcissa had taught him one last try. "Deux
livres de ladies' ; sous-vêtements et une grande saucisse, svp."
Again, the shopkeeper shrugged, looking bemused and slightly amused. Lucius
scowled, and the man started to look worried, which was a distinct improvement.
"Damn you and your children," he declaimed, sensing that the only way
to save his dignity was a dramatic exit. To that end, he swept his black robe
close about him, leant threatening over the counter, and muttered, "May
your kidneys rot and your wife suffer incurable itching."
The shopkeeper cowered satisfyingly. Lucius allowed the magic to spark between
his clawed fingers, but did not cast it; instead, he strode out of the shop. The
hat and socks could wait until he could see Madame Malkin—who was, if not pure
blood, then at the least not foreign, and he really would cast an Unforgivable
at Narcissa if she complained.