"You're an idiot," Professor Quirrell told him.

The pub at the Three Broomsticks was busy during midday. Witches and wizards bustled about, serving drinks, trading japes and arguing in loud voices. Madame Rosmerta had served them two Butterbeers without blinking an eye at seeing a student out of Hogwarts.

"I did what you taught me to do," Hydrus said feebly.

"So you found his motivation. And then you used it against him. Very well. And has it ever occured to you that there was a different way of doing it?"

Hydrus looked down at his mug of Butterbeer. "I -"

"You could have wormed it out of him, you could have tripped him up, you could have tricked him - you could have done anything. Anything. And it would have been better than that bit of theatre." Professor Quirrell shook his head. "You had a person of high power. You have learned much from me, but clearly not enough. It is patience that you lack. Yes, I should have seen that before. We will work on that."

"I still got what I needed," Hydrus protested feebly.

"Yes, you did. But it was very short-sighted of you to lose him. No, don't open your mouth to argue. You should have let it stew. Rubeus Hagrid is a trusting old fool. He would have told you anything, if you were a good friend. But now… to threaten him, you idiot."

"I…"

"Do you think that my master thinks only of today? Tomorrow, the sun will rise, and the light will be back the day after. My master plans for tomorrow and all the dawns after that. Already, he has started threading his web. In years, many, many years, the fruits shall ripen and they will be the sweetest, most succulent fruits to ever grace the land."

There was silence for a very long time, where Professor Quirrell shook his head and sighed, and Hydrus wondered whether or not he ought to ask his question.

"Sir," he said carefully.

"Well go on, then."

"Is your master ill?"

"Ill?" He looked almost amused. "No, I assure you."

"Is he trying to blackmail the Flamels, then?"

"No," Professor Quirrell sighed. "None of that. He's a bit more patient than you are, Hydrus."

"I don't understand, sir."

"And I don't need you to, Hydrus."

Words could not dissuade his rambling thoughts. Some part of him was tingling, feeling that there was a greater part of which he knew nothing of. The stone was part of it, in a certain, odd way.

He had a sudden horrible feeling.

_(O.O)_

When March came around, the snow began to thaw, and for the first time, their thick fur cloaks were taken off, their boots discarded for lighter apparel. Rather, during the day it was warmer.

When the sun set and the stars blinked to life, cold winds swept through the empty halls of Hogwarts, and a chill unlike any other would creep through his bones. Hydrus wrapped the Invisibility Cloak tighter around him.

His legs were sore from sparring with Professor Quirrell, and in the cold, they felt like chunks of lead, plodding down a crumbling hill. The fire crackling in the common room was a slight relief. It glowed green and hot, thawing his legs.

Too tired to do anything, Hydrus collapsed on an armchair and stared at the flames for a while.

"Hydrus Malfoy."

For a moment, something cold as ice threaded through his veins. The voice - it was too gruff to be the Headmaster's, but that did little to console him. Slowly, with his heart pounding, Hydrus turned his head.

It was hard to see in this green-tinged darkness. A face, sharp and angular, tall with a sort of brooding stance…

"Marcus Flint," Hydrus grunted. Relief coursed through him. "An honour."

Very little people stopped to talk to him in the halls anymore. He supposed his brooding silence hadn't helped very much, but conversation seemed such a foreign, irrelevant thing in his life. Despite that, Marcus Flint spoke to him as a pureblood might speak to another at a stuffy Ministry Gala. Hydrus made the effort to right himself on the armchair. His back heaved in protest.

"It has been far too long since the last time we spoke," Flint was saying, "but of course, I must understand. The annulment of a betrothal is a great offense, and proper time must be given to digest the event."

Was that what people thought Hydrus was doing?

Hydrus found that he didn't care.

"And it has been very wise of you," Flint continued, "given the current events, to befriend a filthy mudblood like that. Although, one might say that the time you spend in her company has been… improper."

"Yet here you are," said Hydrus, who was doing his absolute best to speak in the archaic language of pureblood formality. "Which seems to mean that you do not condemn me for my actions."

"The others are short-sighted. They do not see the value of what you do. It is impossible to defeat an enemy of which you know nothing of." Marcus Flint, as if in a show of power, flicked his wand and brought an armchair to his side. He sat down and looked at Hydrus levelly. "In two years time, I shall graduate Hogwarts. Then, as per my birthright, I shall seek employment in the Ministry."

"Very well," said Hydrus, who thought eleven was too young to discuss such things. "And so you wish to act as a mediator?"

"Not a mediator, my Lord. A spy."

Hydrus sat back and thought of the long-term, as Professor Quirrell had insisted he do. Yes, that might work. He would need spies, to reach into the deep crevasses of the Ministry, where money may not work. And House Flint was not quite extravagantly rich, but they were not poor either.

"Alright then," Hydrus said.

For a moment, he might have fooled himself into believing he was a king, sitting on his throne, judging the requests of a commoner.

Marcus Flint frowned. It was not meant to be this easy, to be this simple to goad a great, young heir. "So you accept my services, my Lord?"

"I am no Lord, Marcus Flint. Belvina Black is the Lady of House Black."

"She's an old woman, my Lord, and will die in the coming years."

He felt his head pound. He was too young for all of this. He was eleven - meant to be playing Quidditch in green fields, eating Chocolate Frogs with friends under a clear blue sky.

"Alright," Hydrus said shakily. The thought of death was so foreign. He had been groomed, sculpted and shaped for Lordship, but never had the thought occurred to him that he might be Lord sooner rather than later. "But why did you… why wait so long before finding me?"

"The time was never right, my Lord. I needed to be sure that you would be a true and great wizard."

Hydrus regarded him carefully. With the last Wizarding War, the House of Black had almost been decimated. Theirs was an old family, and prone to madness caused from incest between pureblood branches. Aunts married nephews, cousins wed with cousins, and the seed of insanity was passed from generation to generation. The few still sane enough to hold a wand and cast spells had joined Voldemort and his league of Death Eaters. They were now in Azkaban or dead.

"The House Black shall be great once more, and when the time comes, you shall be greatly rewarded, Marcus Flint."

Marcus Flint nodded and stood. "Thank you, my Lord. If I might beg your leave -"

And suddenly, he realized Belvina Black knew as well as him that the House of Black needed to change their ways.

She knew very well when she appointed a blood-traitor as my regent. Times are changing. I couldn't see it then, but I do now.

I will hold him as an equal, and hold him with high regard, as my predecessors failed to do.

Hydrus stood tall and strong, and for a moment, his legs didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to. "You are every bit a Lord as I. There is no need for such words."

"You are kind, my Lord, but my House is nowhere near as great as yours."

Marcus Flint would be another innocent person dragged into the messy servitude of his master.

No, Hydrus thought, I will be greater than them all. I will not be a master. I will be a leader, to pave the way for greatness.

"Your house is part of the Sacred twenty-eight, is it not?" When Marcus Flint let loose a shy quirk of lips, Hydrus knew he had said the words. "Your House is just as great. Your leave is yours as you like it."

I will inspire loyalty, and inspire greatness. House Black will be rebuilt, and more powerful than ever.

"You are too kind, my Lord." Marcus Flint inclined his head and went up the stairs to the dorms. And suddenly, he stopped. "My Lord?"

"You don't need to call me that," Hydrus told him.

Flint gave a smile. "My apologies. I only wanted to know."

"Go on."

With a sudden tremble to his arms he said, "They say on Halloween evening, you set a troll afire with your bare hands."

Hydrus looked at him carefully. "I did what had to be done."

There was a sort of look of reverence on Marcus Flint's face as he bowed. "The power and magic of House Black flows through you. It shall be a great honour to serve you."

Hydrus watched him go with a quiet sort of melancholy.

And slowly, he stood from the armchair and went to bed.

_(O.O)_

The next morning, Hydrus wrote a letter to the goblins at Gringotts.

He signed his words with the flourish of his wrist and sealed the envelope with black wax.

And then, still yawning, Hydrus went down the halls and tickled the pear in the fruit bowl and clambered through the portrait. The kitchen was filled with exotic noises - the sound of blenders, the running of water and the chatter of high-pitched voices. House-elves, no taller than three feet, with pink, papery skin, were busy washing dishes. Their ears were long and floppy, and triangular in shape. They wore tea towels, emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest.

The air smelt of fried potatoes and sweet marmalades that Hydrus learned was made by hand, using a special recipe of plants grown by Professor Sprout.

A table covered with a plaid spreadcloh was laid across a wooden table set to the side of the room. Over the months, someone had set a thin vase filled with purple rhododendrons. It seemed even magic couldn't stop the rot. Wrinkling his nose, Hydrus sat down on a chair.

A house-elf was waiting for him, with a platter of toast and scrambled eggs. In his hand was a steaming mug of coffee, and on his face was a look filled with reproach. "The Headmaster says that Hydrus Malfoy needs to stop eating breakfast in the kitchen."

There were ten minutes before first period. Hydrus shoveled toast into his mouth and chugged the coffee. Wiping the crumbs from his lips, he told the house-elf, "Tell the Headmaster I don't care." When the house-elf scowled, Hydrus grinned tiredly. Two minutes to go before Transfiguration, now. "It's been lovely seeing you. Could I get a Treacle Tart to go?"

With a grunt and a snap of his fingers, the house-elf complied.

"Well, goodbye," he said.

The house-elf gave a nod, before collecting his dishes with a twitch of his fingers and disappearing in a puff of smoke.

So Dumbledore had the house-elves reporting his every step. Hydrus supposed he ought not be surprised.

But now, more than ever, it was imperative he kept his plans close to his chest.

Oh, this could be fun.

A wide grin split his face, and he hurried off to Transfiguration.

The Clock Tower in the main courtyard was chiming before he could make it to the classroom, yet as Hydrus peered inside, Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be found.

He took the last remaining seat: in the very centre, between a very irate-looking Pansy Parkinson and Garanor Galanos.

"Malfoy," he said purposefully.

It had been too long since the last time they had spoken. So long, that Hydrus almost forgot about the horrid nasally pitch his voice had.

"Galanos," he returned, just as courteously. But he turned his head soon thereafter, giving sign that he most certainly did not want to continue the conversation.

And soon, from the hallway, far away, the hissed words, "Peeves!" could be heard.

Hydrus bit back a chuckle, and thanked them silently for what they had done.

When it came time for lunch, he slipped out the door and made his way to the library. Weeks earlier, when Hermione had learned he would be staying there regardless of what she tried, she had grudgingly agreed to join him.

They met in their usual corner of the library, shuffled in between bookshelves. Hermione found him there, quill in his fingers, a thick tome in his hands.

"You've got an interesting book there," she told him.

It was indeed. 101 Magical Creatures and their Magical Properties by Belinar Magdalene, very, very dry, but it did have some ten-ish pages on dragons.

This was the seventh tome that included something about dragons that Hydrus found.

From this, he felt some sort of dread drip through his innards. Dragon eggs were meant to be incubated in roaring hot fires for two months before they hatched. Hagrid had gotten that mysterious egg... a month ago? A month and a half?

Hydrus felt a delirious laughter bubble at the back of his throat.

The black shell of the egg identified the dragon inside as a Norwegian Ridgeback. Those would start shooting fire from their mouths within two weeks of their birth. Hagrid had a wooden hut…

If Hermione had not sat directly across from him, her quill off writing her Potion's assignment, Hydrus might have burst into half-mad cackles then.

Hagrid needed him.

That thought brought tears of mirth to his eyes, for he was the only one who could arrange for the retrieval of his dragon.

And, with the dragon out of its egg and very much capable of causing student casualties, Hydrus had power.

He could make Hagrid do anything he liked.

He could make him dance to the tune of a devious fiddle, strumming a song of manipulation and authority, having Hagrid do all he wanted.

And yet, you would be no better than the Dark Lord.

His joy and his mirth evaporated quickly.

No, he would not be like the Dark Lord, who ruled through fear and terror. Nor would he be like the bright red eyes, who could breathe pain into his mind. No, Hydrus would be better than that.

But the thought of it was so tempting, to have a man, willing to shape himself to his every need…

He has a dragon, Hydrus thought to himself. A dragon, that can breathe fire, that can fly, that can kill with the snap of its jaws, with the swish of its talons.

Even, to have a dragon, to possess a creature of such beauty…

Hagrid would need to give it away one day, when it started to spew fire.

I could have it. I could have it, and train it to respond to my commands, teach it to fly in the sky.

A great feeling of excitement coursed through him, and for a moment, Hydrus forgot he was in the library, sitting with Hermione.

He was on the back of a Norwegian Ridgeback, a solid black dragon with dark purple eyes and wings so long they towered over mountains. The wind was rushing through his hair, so cold in the sky, but the body of the great beast was hot as the flames that burst from its mouth. The scales were smooth as Acromantula Silk, but they were tough as metal plates, withstanding all spells. He spun through the sky, wheeling in great circles, darting between snow-covered mountains, melting the snow on their white caps.

Two freaks, flying high in the sky, with not a single thing to stop them.

Hydrus felt his heart flutter higher and higher with the dragon, and only as Hermione snapped her fingers in his face, did he wake from his stupor.

"Well?" he said irritably. "What is it?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Lunch ends in fifteen minutes. I thought you might like to grab something to eat."

Grudgingly, Hydrus put away the thick text and followed her to the Great Hall.

He could still feel the wind rushing through his hair, the hot body of the dragon underneath him…

It was impossible to concentrate for the rest of the day, as he tapped his fingers on the desk, drew pictures of him and dragons and tried to imagine the great beast in its full glory - perhaps taller than Hogwarts, so large it could eat krakens for breakfast.

When finally, finally, Professor Snape let them leave, Hydrus tore out the classroom and ran through the hallways, bursting into the main courtyard and running on the field.

His robes were flapping and swirling in his wake, but he did not care. People stopped to watch him, but whatever they said was irrelevant - little insignificant chatterings that paled in the face of a dragon.

Hagrid was tending to his patch of pumpkins when Hydrus stopped, gasping and wheezing for air.

"Your egg," he said breathlessly. "It hatches in two weeks, doesn't it?"

Hagrid looked at him with a combination of wariness and anger. His features were twisted with disgust, and when he spoke, it was in a deep growl. "Go away."

"One day," Hydrus continued obliviously, "one day, it'll grow too big for your hut. I want it."

Hagrid glared at him. "You? Ye can't take care o' a proper dragon."

"My parents are rich," Hydrus was saying, his mouth spewing words his brain didn't approve of. "They can pay for anything - anything the dragon might need -"

"Dragons 're too great fer yer filthy hands," Hagrid spat angrily.

That broke Hydrus out of his reverie. "Filthy? You're the one crawling in the dirt, with filth between your nails."

"Watch it young man -"

Hydrus leaned in close and stared into his eyes. "If you don't give me the dragon, then I will tell the world what you've done."

For a moment, Hagrid went pale as snow and he dropped the spade in his hands. It landed on a small plant, squashing it under its tremendous weight. He was shaking now, quivering like a leaf blown by savage winds.

"Yeh can't take him," he stuttered. "He - he -"

"Means a lot to you, and will kill you if you let him live in your wooden hut."

"I -"

Hydrus couldn't say he knew what in Merlin's name he was doing. Some more words poured out of his mouth. "I'll even let you visit him. My family can buy anything he might need. Give me the dragon, Hagrid, and I'll promise you he will live a happy life."

For a moment, something crossed his face. Hope perhaps, that brightened his gruff features.

But it was gone, quickly as it came.

"You'll torture him," Hagrid hissed. "Force him to do atrocious things, to satiate the thirst of yer terrible family!"

"Well," Hydrus said levelly, "it's either that, or I write to my father as soon as we're done here, and have you arrested within the next four hours."

Hagrid slumped to the floor, clutching his great bearded face. Some more baby pumpkin plants went down under his weight. "Ye can't take 'im," he cried. "He's been my child, my baby. Would ye take a babe from his mother, Hydrus? Would ye?"

He looked at him with distaste. "The dragon will kill you before you embrace it. And soon, before you know it, the beast will be able to shoot fire so hot, it will melt the skin off your bones." As I once did to the troll.

"Swear it, then'," he cried. "Swear it to me that ye'll always look after his best interests."

Hydrus looked at him blankly. "I do."

"On ye life," Hagrid insisted, his eyes red with tears.

"I swear it on my life."

Whether he meant his words or not, he didn't know.

Hagrid's hand, large and meaty, grasped Hydrus' own. "Take care of him well, will ye?"

"You'll still see him. There's another two weeks before the egg hatches."

A new sort of fury entered his face. "And ye'll never take those moments from me. Get outta my sight."

_(O.O)_

"A dragon," said Professor Quirrell. "Is that entirely necessary?"

Hydrus didn't meet his eyes. Instead, they wandered the length of his left arm, past the elbow, and onto the metal worked into his wrist. He hadn't told anyone about the egg. No one.

Hydrus met his eyes carefully. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." Professor Quirrell smiled. "Have you ever wondered just where Hagrid got the dragon egg?"

Hydrus looked away once more. Of course.

"See?" he said. "Just another way to make a person talk. And perhaps, if you had not intervened, Hagrid might have gotten into legal trouble, when an anonymous source notified the Ministry of the dragon. Now of course, Professor Dumbledore would work extra hard to smooth the situation over, allowing a certain stone to disappear and my master to gain power."

He felt a strange flush of courage. Hydrus raised his head in challenge. "The Ministry won't take my dragon."

"Yes, yes," Professor Quirrell sighed. "You and your boy-ish fantasies. Very stupid and impulsive if I might say."

"You said so yourself. Your master will require my aid."

Professor Quirrell rolled his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you how difficult it is to tame a dragon?"

"This will be different," Hydrus said.

"Yes, yes, that sureness of the youth. Have you ever wondered just where you might keep your dragon?"

He had, sort of. Some part of him knew that despite what he told Hagrid, there were some things even money couldn't buy. There were times when Hydrus hated being a child, and now was one of them.

"There are dragon keeps in the south. Privately owned by Lazarescu in Romania."

"Romania?" he laughed. "And how do you mean for it to arrive? You'll fly there on the back of that beast, won't you?"

Hydrus flushed. "I… haven't written to him yet… but he might send riders… or something..."

"Riders? Broomstick riders?" Professor Quirrell looked close to tears as he cackled. "They're bound by oath to report you to the Romanian Ministry."

Suddenly, his shoes were the most fascinating thing in the world. "I didn't know that."

"You do now."

"So I can't do it then."

"If you have a death wish."

"You don't recommend it," Hydrus repeated thoughtfully. "So you think there's a better idea."

"Yes."

What could it possibly be? It was only in Romania that there were private dragonkeeps. Anywhere else, and Hydrus might be arrested for conspiracy and other terrible crimes he dare not think of. Gold and influence were worth much, but against damning evidence…

But someone else… some who had funding and land and plenty of spare time...

"No," Hydrus hissed.

"Oh, I think so. I do believe I'll be leaving Hogwarts earlier than anticipated, however. What a pity. Children are such a delight."

Hydrus frowned. "You said so yourself. Dragons are impossible to tame."

"Well, the words 'impossible' and 'never before done' are not the same things."

"But you just said -"

"I heard myself, Hydrus. I never said I could do it."

This wasn't making any sense at all. "I don't understand."

"Yes. You've always been a bit slow. Allow me to spell it out for you: your Hogwarts education has come to an end, I do believe."

"Hogwarts?" he blanched. "I can't just… leave."

"And why not?"

"My education -"

"Your education. Do you think being able to recite texts will impress my master?"

"I can't - I'm not good at magic."

And as much as he hated it, it was true. Some part of him still cowered each and every time he cast a spell, and some part of him couldn't… couldn't put his mind to learning that horrible and mystic art that could kill with the flick of a finger.

"Yes, well. We'll work on that. Your magical talent, and your taste in allies."

"Sir, I -"

"Marcus Flint," Professor Quirrell scoffed. "That overgrown boy can't very well tell the difference between his right hand and the left. Of all people? And to bestow upon him a Corvus? Are you mad?"

"No," he said petulantly. "Of course not!"

"Really?"

"I have a plan," Hydrus insisted.

"A plan?" he mocked. "Like the thing you did with Hagrid? Your plan?"

Hydrus flushed bright red. "It will be better than the last."

"Oh, I think anything will be better than that."

_(O.O)_

When morning came, Hydrus stopped Marcus Flint and beckoned him away from his friends. They watched with a respectful silence, and one even nodded when they left.

It felt strange, alien, odd, now, knowing just what he was doing.

The crow was made of an amethyst so dark it was almost black, with rubies in its eyes that glowed red like fire.

Carefully, Hydrus looked down both ends of the hallway. No one.

His hands were shaking as he held the crow against the torchlight.

A kaleidoscope of colours came to life; dark purples and bright reds, a touch of green and a swirl of silver.

"My Lord," Marcus Flint said quietly, carefully, with a reverent tremble to his words.

He recognized it. Any pureblood with even the slightest education in Wizarding Etiquette would have recognized it.

"I had it modified especially for you," Hydrus told him. "The talons, you see? They're opaque. Grey-brown, made with flint." He turned to look at him. "I thought it would be fitting."

Marcus Flint towered over him with great broad shoulders and hands as big as sausages. Yet still, he seemed to bow to Hydrus. His voice trembled as he whispered, "Mine, my Lord?"

"The Corvus was given to the greatest friends of House Black," Hydrus said. "At the slightest thought of disloyalty, it is said that the bird would come alive, and follow the person forever, until it picked their eyes out."

Marcus Flint's eyes widened ever-so slightly, and slowly, he took a shaky step back. "My… my Lord… I -"

"But of course," Hydrus continued, "there's more to the Corvus than curses. There are blessings, threaded into the stones. Spells to make you stronger, charms to make you faster. Incantations, so old that their words can't be pronounced anymore. And of course, the unquestionable and immediate aid of any of the allies of House Black and their vassals."

"You honour me, my Lord."

"I'm not a Lord, Marcus Flint."

And somehow, with a great, powerful crow in his fingers and the heir to House Black watching him, Marcus Flint somehow, somewhere, found the guts to smile. "Alright then, Hydrus."

He smiled back.

You see, Quirrell? He's not stupid.

"I need something from you, Marcus Flint."

He responded with an apt smile. "Anything, Hydrus."

"I ask that you keep your Corvus a secret."

Marcus Flint looked at him, willing and ready. "Is that all?"

Hydrus looked at him. His eyes were alight with awe and a sort of eagerness that could only be brought upon with a queer, deep loyalty.

Yes, giving him the Corvus had been the right thing to do.

Professor Quirrell had insisted that to give a great, treasured family heirloom to a random fifteen-year-old boy would be senseless. Part of Hydrus agreed. And yet, to leave Hogwarts next year, he would need eyes and ears in the castle, to recruit and inform, to spread the word of the grandeur of House Black and the… the master it served.

"There will be more things," Hydrus told him. "Greater, more dangerous, grander things that I will ask of you. But for now, I ask that you tell no one of the Corvus."

Hydrus looked at him with such intensity that it must have been difficult to look at him with the same friendliness as before.

"Of - of course my Lord."

"I'm not a lord, Marcus Flint," he said solemnly.

And with that, Marcus Flint closed his fist around the shining crow and bowed to his new lord.

I have won him. My first servant among the million that will come. And with each and every one that comes to my service, with each and every wizard I recruit, I will be better.

Yet, standing alone in the cold hallway, Hydrus couldn't help but think that he was too young to be binding boys to his service. He was too young to shoot a crossbow, to plot with a crazed professor. He was too young to wield a knife and too young to plot to steal a stone. He was too young, too young, too young.

I'm not a lord, Marcus Flint. Just a little boy, with cursed hands.

A/N:

Thanks for reading!

See all of you guys next week :)

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