My other current HP Fanfictions:

A Night Unfettered (Dramione [One-Shot, Lemon])

Distractions (Dramione/Harmione/Hints of Drarry [PwP, only on AFF. Net]),

NEW! Lessons in Hedonism (Draco/Hermione/Blaise [PwP, only on AFF. Net])

Nights at Malfoy Manor (Dramione/hints of Harmione/bits of Lumione),

The Scavengers (Dramione [AU]),

Teach Me (Dramione/Scormione [18 year old Scorpius, tyvm])

Chapter Three

Fortuitous Things

Lucius Malfoy's cold, grey eyes swept over the Great Hall—signs of the battle's destruction largely undone by magic—as he sat in the gilded chair, once occupied by the great Dumbledore.

Hogwart's was a grand castle, after all. The grounds held a place in the history of not only Wizarding Britain, but the entire Wizarding World, it was isolated . . . and—most importantly—a spoil of war. The perfect place from which to carry out the much needed changes Lucius saw possible for them, all.

"It has been nearly three days," he said, his muttered words tumbling out, low and even. "Draco's body has yet to be found."

Furrowing her brow, Narcissa wrung her hands. "I don't understand this. Where could he be?"

He heaved an exasperated sigh. "I am beginning to think your eyes deceived you, dear wife."

"No," she whispered, her voice taking on a frantic note. She wanted to believe her son was alive, yet not by her side; but after all this, she felt she simply couldn't. She didn't have it in her to hope, only if that hope would later be dashed. "I won't consider anything else until every nook of this castle has been searched."

Lids fluttering with the restraint it took to keep from rolling his eyes, Lucius said quietly, "Every nook? Do those struck down by the killing curse often wander into secret crevices after the fact?"

Her pale cheeks flamed with embarrassment at his scornful tone, though she understood how ridiculous she sounded.

"You must face reality, Narcissa. Either his body was stolen, or it was never here to start. I had thought you would find the possibility that he is alive somewhere as welcome news."

She shook her head, "I . . . ." Her words trailed off as a commotion outside the Great Hall met her ears.

Goyle, Sr. rushed into the room, approaching the dais. His gaze flicked toward Lucius before he motioned Narcissa close.

A frown gracing her thin lips, she stepped up to him and angled her ear toward his mouth.

Sitting back, Lucius propped his elbow upon the armrest and pillowed his chin against the heel of his palm as he watched his wife's expression. Her lips pulled into a tight line and she shook her head, making him wonder what, exactly, she was being told.

She straightened up, fixing Goyle with a hard stare, one perfect, arched brow inching upward. "Why should that be reason for such—"

"Because there is something wrong with him," Goyle said, flicking his gaze over his shoulder, back toward the doors.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Lucius asked finally, already tired of such cryptic foolishness.

Narcissa pivoted on her heel, meeting her husband's gaze. "Fenrir has returned."

"Returned?" He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Huh. I was not even aware he'd gone."

Goyle cringed as a growling howl rumbled outside.

Understanding rather suddenly how an angry werewolf might pose a concern, Lucius addressed his former confidante directly, "What, exactly, do you mean something is wrong with him?"

Before Goyle could respond, the doors flew open and Fenrir stepped through. A young, and very confused-looking, wizard followed at his heels.

"What do you mean you don't remember?" The wizard's voice was high and tight as he demanded the information. "And what is wrong with your eyes?"

Halting mid-stride, Fenrir turned toward the wizard, silencing any further questions by gripping a hand around the young man's throat. Fenrir dragged him closer, breathing the words in his face, "There is nothing wrong with my eyes!"

Shoving away the wizard, Fenrir boomed as he continued up to the dais, "I want to rip that Potter boy to shreds. Unless you need him for something, I'm hunting him down!"

Lucius hid a chuckle, gaze flicking up toward the ceiling for a moment. "Hunt down the Potter boy? We've won, why would you bother—" He cut himself off as Fenrir finally drew near enough that Lucius could see the werewolf's eyes.

Unnoticing of the startled look flitting across their new Lord's face, Fenrir thundered on, "That . . . that half-blood whelp attacked me!"

The wizard behind Fenrir —wasn't his name something like Thane, or . . . Thadius? Lucius could never keep track of those deemed inconsequential to him, and there were so many of them. Tha-whatever-his-name-was lifted his brows in surprise, but remained silent.

Seamlessly regaining his composure, Lucius shrugged. Only Narcissa had noticed his slip, anyway, and no one present appeared to know what the beast-man's silver eyes meant, other than that the new, metallic hue carried with it a deep sense of wrongness that he knew they could feel in the pits of their stomachs, just as he did.

"And that explains why you've been missing for, what, two and a half days?"

Fenrir's rage drained from his expression instantly, replaced by blank gaping. "That's can't be! I woke up in the Forest . . . couldn't have been more than an hour ago."

"Wait, wha' happened to the girl?" Tha . . . something-or-other asked.

Heavy brow furrowing, Fenrir threw up his hands. "What girl?"

Lucius exploded from his seat at the glimpse of silver coating the werewolf's fingers. "Is that unicorn blood?" he demanded as he strode across the dais to stand beside Narcissa; was this fortuitous event meant to come at such a price?

Fenrir looked at his hands, as though seeing them for the first time. "Must be. I don't remember killing the unicorn, but when I woke up, there it was on the ground and I had silver on my hands."

The young wizard's face scrunched in disgust. "Were you dying? You said the Potter boy attacked you."

Lucius allowed a smirk to grace his lips—Potter attacking the werewolf, and a girl Fenrir suddenly couldn't remember? Oh, he had a good notion what happened. "Potter may have ended the Dark Lord, but the boy is no killer."

Grey eyes settled on the young man, who gave a start when he realized himself the center of Lord Malfoy's attention. "So . . . Thadius?"

"Thayer, my lord," the wizard said, averting his gaze.

So respectful and easily cowed . . . . Yes, Lucius was going to keep this one close—this Thayer showed the makings of a perfect underling. "My mistake, Thayer. Tell me of this girl you mentioned."

"W—well, I saw Fenrir before he vanished, my lord. He had that pretty little mudblood girl with him."

Thayer's words confirmed Lucius' suspicions. As far as he was aware, there was only one girl over whom The Boy Who Lived would attack someone. Well, there had been two, but he'd tripped over the Weasley girl's body, himself, so she hardly counted, anymore.

"What would I want with a mudblood?" Fenrir spat the words, unnoticing of the Malfoys' brief looks of amusement. That a werewolf would show disgust over something his affliction made him no better than was quite humorous to the purebloods, indeed.

Thayer's wide, dark eyes rolled upward as he offered a shrug. "Well, she was very pretty. And innocent-looking."

"Innocent-looking, hey?" Fenrir uttered a chuckle. "That explains it."

Narcissa glanced away, setting her jaw. The twisted creature's laughter made her stomach turn; she thought if she allowed herself more compassion, she might be glad the girl managed to get away.

"Big brown hair," Thayer went on, "brown eyes. Looked like she'd put up a pretty good fight before he got his hands on her. Said he was going to break her and then bite her, maybe."

Lucius' gaze darted to his wife, but a moment too late to catch the distaste in her expression. Not that it would have mattered; he needed to focus on the werewolf, on keeping the beast neatly under his thumb, for the time being. "I do believe they're describing Miss Granger."

Fenrir showed no sign that he recognized the description, or the name.

"So a boy attacked you, causing you to lose the girl you were going to make into one of your kind, and left you so gravely injured you had to drink unicorn blood to survive the encounter?" The corner of Lucius' mouth curled, smirk widening so that his cheek dimpled. "And in the midst of all that, the mudblood managed to cast a memory charm on you?"

Fenrir blanched, realizing how weak that chain of events made him sound, however . . . it was all that made logical sense. He couldn't recall the last time he'd cared for logic, but then, he also couldn't recall the moment Thayer stepped up beside him and clapped a hand around his leather-sleeved elbow—couldn't recall it because he hadn't felt his touch.

The dim notion occurred to him that there was something wrong, very wrong, with him, yet he couldn't bring himself to care. He only wanted to feel anger again, to work himself up into a froth and be loosed in the Forbidden Forest to find that boy and rend his flesh.

Yet, now that he'd relinquished the grip on his wrath, he couldn't seem to reclaim that precious, familiar rage. That should upset him, he realized—anger warmed his heart the way he often heard love warmed others—but that, as well, was something about which he seemed simply unable to care.

"I think maybe you need to eat something," Thayer said as he tried to pull his comrade away from Lord Malfoy.

When once the easily-riled creature would have snapped at such a condescending gesture, Fenrir merely nodded and allowed the young wizard to lead him away by the arm.

Lucius narrowed his eyes as he watched the pair take their leave. He did not like this turn of events; not in the slightest.

The mudblood could not have been the one to cast the memory charm. No, if the Granger girl had a wand, Fenrir would never have stood a chance. And, while he believed Potter had, in fact, attacked the beast-man, the boy probably hadn't the presence of mind in the moment to cast something so tame.

He squared his jaw, gaze settling on the Hall's wide doubledoors. As he considered what might have happened, he came to like the theory unfolding in his mind even less than he had a moment ago.

Though a memory charm did give him an idea.

"I see the wheels turning, husband," Narcissa said in a whisper.

He turned his head to find she'd drawn up close beside him. Yes, with her he would share his thoughts, but only her. His attention shot to Goyle, who'd stood by, silent and immobile during Fenrir's entire episode.

How had he never before noticed what a cowardly individual his old friend was?

"Goyle," Lucius said gently, forcing a smile as he crooked a finger, beckoning the other man closer.

Goyle frowned as he rolled his shoulders to stand perfectly straight. A flicker in Goyle's expression brought Lucius to believe the other wizard only now realized the spineless behavior he'd just exhibited.

"Yes, my lord," he said, his voice gruffer than usual as he stepped nearer.

"Go find this fallen unicorn. Take full note of the scene, I want even the tiniest detail."

"Yes, my lord," he repeated before turning on a heel and hurrying out of the hall.

"This is a fortunate day, Narcissa," he began once they were alone. "I have often thought it an injustice that the brightest witch of this new age is a mudblood. But if she could be made to believe she is one of us . . . ."

Narcissa's eyebrows inched upward. "You can't be serious!"

He shrugged. "I'm not suggesting we adopt her. I'm suggesting that with the correct discipline applied, that girl could be a useful weapon to us. She could even be made to accept her station; she would only need to forget everything else, first."

"Even were that the case, Potter is with her, he'd die before letting anyone close to that girl."

"Not just Potter, I fear."

Something in his tone made her swallow a gasp, though she didn't want to admit she understood his implication. "I'm not certain I know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Draco isn't here. I saw him fighting against the Death Eaters—so did you. When we had Potter at our mercy, he refused to identify him. Potter rescued the mudblood girl in the woods . . . perhaps Draco was the one who cast the charm on Fenrir and then—"

"And then what? He left with them, bossum companions?"

Once more he offered her a shrug, his expression drifting back to his customary cold and unconcerned manner. "Why not? War makes for strange alliances."

"There's something more, isn't there?" She met his gaze, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Something you're not telling me."

His face scrunched unpleasantly as he debated whether to indulge his wife's curiosity—after all, was he wrong, such would prove dreadfully embarrassing. "When I was a boy," he said quietly, leaning close so that he could drop his voice further, still, "I happened across a tale. A prophecy, from a time before they were recorded in orbs."

"This prophecy comes to mind now because . . . ?"

"Because it tells of a time when those of the silver eyes will again walk amongst us."

"Again?" Narcissa's heart thumped wildly in her chest, though she wasn't entirely certain why. She could not recall any text, or history lesson—nor even a fable, for Merlin's sake—which spoke of silver-eyed beings. "What do you mean,again?

"Exactly. Whatever became of them was so long ago, it's been forgotten. I believe I may be the only living soul to have laid eyes upon the tale." His words became rushed and breathless, a nearly child-like wonder lighting his eyes. "The prophecy stated that those with the silver eyes would hold the key to a great secret."

"So that is why you subdued Fenrir? You mean to use him to unlock this great secret?"

Lucius frowned, the bridge of his nose crinkling in distaste. "What other purpose would there be to keeping such a creature alive? Though, truthfully, I am not fond of anything so auspicious hinging on a beast like him." As though suddenly remembering something, his features smoothed as he continued, "Oh, but he is not subdued. Controlled, I believe, yet not subdued."

"I'm afraid I don't follow," she said as she furrowed her brow.

He smiled, withdrawing his wand to touch the tip to his throat. "Greyback, come here," his voice boomed, echoing through the Great Hall.

Narcissa recoiled inwardly at the idea of that beast being near her once more. She stepped lightly around her husband, placing him between herself and the entrance.

The doors eased open, Thayer in the lead as he coaxed Fenrir to follow him. "I'm sorry, my lord," he called across the Hall, "he seems . . . distracted."

Lucius only shook his head dismissively at the young man as he waited for the werewolf to approach the dias.

The beast was still chewing something, gravy dribbling down his chin as he closed the distance.

"Merlin's beard, man, wipe your face," Thayer pleaded in a loud whisper.

With an exhausted roll of his those alarming metallic eyes, Fenrir drew his sleeved arm across his chin. He couldn't care less for his appearance, he simply hoped the act would get Thayer to shut up.

"I have decided," Lucius said, keeping his wand at the ready, in case this backfired, "I will allow you to hunt down Potter."

An enraged growl exploded out of Fenrir at the mere mention. The creature's entire demeanor changed, shoulders hunching, fingers curving as he bent low to the ground, as though he would leap upon any one of them at the slightest provocation.

Lucuis flicked his gaze over his shoulder, toward Narcissa. "You see? There is no was to truly subdue him, only to remove him from that which ignites his fury for a time."

Narcissa drew her wand, as well, but shrank further behind him. "How did you know?"

"I actually didn't. I was . . . how does the term go? Following a hunch."

She pursed her lips, eyes rolling. "Of course."

Lucius opened his mouth, but the doors opening once more silenced anything he might have said.

Fenrir started, snarling and bracing for an attack as he spun toward the sound.

Lord Malfoy looked to the back of the Hall, his instant aggravation turning to mild confusion.

Goyle dragged along behind him a half-conscious house elf. The wrinkled, gnarled creature looked like it had been beaten within an inch of its life.

"Found him by the unicorn," Goyle said in explanation as he slid the thing toward the dais and let its arms fall to the floor. "Pretty sure the centaurs got to him, first, must've thought he was responsible for killing the beast."

Once more, Lucius let his disgust be visible in his expression. "Why bring it here instead of letting it die in the Forest?"

"Because of what he told me. Go on," Goyle prodded the elf, "tell our Lord what you told me."

"Kreacher . . . rejoices to see the purebloods in charge," the elf's gravely voice spilled out, barely audible, as his gaze flicked—sightless, it seemed—about the Hall. "But Kreacher cannot betray his master."

Lucius gave a short chuckle, pointing his wand at Kreacher. "Oh, I think I can loosen your resolve. Crucio."

Narcissa cringed, biting her lip at the guttural screams tearing from the elf's throat. The pitiful shrieks seemed to last forever, causing her to finally give in and clap her hands over her ears.

Truly, winning this war had awakened terrible things in them. She couldn't recall caring for the pain of the servants, before.

"Kreacher was deep in the Forbidden Forest," the elf rasped, finally. "Master is there, in a house!"

Goyle grinned in triumph before giving the creature a hard kick in the stomach. "Go on!"

"The Malfoy heir is with him . . . and the mudblood girl. But she's not mudblood no more!"

Narcissa's hands slipped from her ears, her body sagging in relief and she let her weight fall against Lucius' back as she silently thanked whatever was responsible. At that contact, she noticed his posture had changed, as well. The confirmation of Draco's survival strengthened something in Lucius, causing him to stand straighter; to naturally become a sturdier support for her.

"A house in the Forest, a mudblood no more? What sort of nonsense is that?"

Kreacher tried, again, to look around, to focus on the faces gathered around him. "Kreacher speaks the truth. She's something, now," he muttered, his voice getting lower, more difficult to understand with each word that passed his lips. "She's got eyes like-like . . . him."

The elf's eyes rested upon Fenrir. Lucius looked from Kreacher to the werewolf, stepping over the elf, even as its enormous eyes slid closed and its breathing stilled.

"Fenrir," he murmured, catching Greyback's gaze with his own. "Go now, track Potter, he has your prize!"

Fenrir nodded, letting loose an elated growl as he launched himself toward the doors.

"You two, follow him," Lucius said in a venomous whisper, conveying his seriousness to them. "I don't care if he kills Potter, but you bring my son and the girl here to me."

Both wizards nodded before turning to take off after Fenrir.

When the Great Hall was again silent, Lucius pivoted on his heel, catching Narcissa by the elbows as the sudden move set her off balance. She tried not to look at the lifeless house elf.

"A fortunate day this is turning out to be, indeed," he said, unable to help the smile curving his lips. "To think, we were just discussing turning that girl into something useful to us, and now . . . ." He chuckled, "Now she bears the silver eyes!"

"How did she get them?" Narcissa couldn't disguise the revulsion in her voice this time. "Greyback I can understand drinking from a unicorn, but her?"

Lucius gave a careless shrug as he released her and returned to the gilded chair. "I'd wager that was Fenrir's doing, for . . . some reason or other. That doesn't matter." He sat and once more dropped his chin against his palm as he met her gaze. "What matters is that once we have the girl, we will no longer have need of Fenrir Greyback."