Chapter Thirteen
On Slander and Slytherins
"Hey."
Ginny's voice was quiet.
"Hey, Gin," said Neville. "I heard Snape held you back for ages and ages! Did he give you detention there and then, or something?"
"Erm, er... Not exactly. No. I've, like, got detention tonight-"
"But we've got quidditch practice tonight!" said Sam.
Samantha Sylvester. Fellow Gryffindor chaser. Not exactly Ginny's friend. A very bitchy, competitive type, actually. More of a rival. But, well. Ginny had thought: in these times... you've got to stick close to the people you know. Even the ones you don't really like. If you're on the same side in the war.
So few parents sent their kids back to Hogwarts this year…
So many people had disappeared.
More than half of all families had preferred to keep their kids at home, after 'Lord' Voldemort's return.
The parents who still sent their kids away to school saw all that as a bit selfish, really. The fact that others kept their kids at home. When the Death Eaters came, as no doubt they would- For someone. Somewhere. At some stage. If no one quite knew when or where, or on whose say so- Maybe the whole family would be taken away, that way. Not just the parents. If the kids were not safely at the school. But, well. With Hogwarts staffed by known senior Death Eaters. Those who were not openly Voldemort supporters, and those not prepared to contemplate becoming such, would, for the most part, rather try and keep the family together. And away from Aberdeenshire, from Hogwarts, where the Death Eaters were reputed to frequently meet (Hogwarts being Voldemort's favourite place in the whole world, and all that).
"Yeah, no. I'm gonna have to miss it. Like, I can't make it to practice. Can you tell Richard?"
Carrington. The new keeper, who had been voted in as Captain. Since Harry and Ron were away, a newbie had been elected. Well, four in seven players were new that year, in fact. The other three had exams, and so hadn't volunteered to lead the team.
"God's sake, Gin!" said Sam. "Why'd you go and land yourself in detention?! Slytherin's gonna trounce us this year as it is! They're the only team that's exactly the same as last year! Like they'll benefit from the continuity and camaraderie-"
"Malfoy's really lost his mojo," said Ginny. "That was obvious last year: Slytherin did shockingly badly, coming fourth-"
"Well we can hardly rest on our laurels, we still somehow only came third, behind Ravenclaw last season! How the hell Hufflepuff won's anyone's guess- Like, Slytherin are gonna be much tougher competition this year! Their House is so massive, yet they've kept the same players. Cos they're all so much more than decent, no newbies made the grade at tryouts! They've got the best team from the biggest pool of talent- Malfoy was apparently being pressured to do this that and the other last year by You-Know-Who, so they say, he couldn't catch a thing all season- But he's much more focused and with it now, cos finally Dumbledore's dead!"
The raised voice and sensitive subject matter echoed across the Great Hall.
Almost all the hall fell silent.
Some Slytherins started to laugh, and jeer.
Dumbledore's dead!
Waa waa waa waa waa!
Haa haa haa haa haa!
Sam attempted to continue her conversation, whispering frantically. Well, she thought she was whispering-
"I just meant- You get what I mean, right- I mean I don't mean- It was what he wanted to achieve, right? Not me! Dumbledore's death! I don't support all that at all!"
"We get it. Just get on with it!" said Neville.
"I mean like, if Malfoy was crap last season, cos he was so busy and so under pressure… maybe he won't be this year! Cos that pressure's now gone!"
If being threatened with his own horrible murder if he couldn't kill the rival for the title of 'perhaps the most powerful wizard ever to have lived' could merely be called 'pressure'-
"Then again, he's got his NEWTs this year, Malfoy has, so assuming he doesn't want to cock them all up-"
Ginny gave up on trying to shut her 'friend' up. Since Sam was either oblivious. Or obstinately determined to go on.
Goyle was making v-signs at them with both hands.
A very rude gesture, with the index and middle fingers of back of the hand, for those that don't know. The equivalent of the American middle finger (which is used, having been imported, but far less common).
Dating, as it does, back to the fifteenth century (in common with 'the f-word'), 'the two-fingered salute' was not banned in lofty Slytherin society. What with pre-dating the Statue of Secrecy, and all that.
The fact that it was, and always had been, and would be, so rude, was neither here no there… Why reserve polite conduct for one's enemies?
Crabbe, the slowest of the pair, cottoned on to what Goyle was doing, and copied.
Then there was shouts of "Gryffinpoor Peasant!"
A not very inventive slur which had been devised for Ginny, since she bore the brunt of the Slytherins' ire whenever she scored at quidditch.
"Why aren't any of the teachers intervening?!" muttered Neville.
"They don't tend to bother, these days," said McLaggen, who was passing, briefly, to hunt for more plates of chicken and potatoes for his group.
"Yoink!"
He stole one of their water jugs on sighting it. Then the second, and dashed off back towards his end of the table.
"OW!"
Ginny blew on her smoking wand, and put it away, having (subsequent to her hex) retrieved both jugs.
The Slytherins were still gesticulating and hooting.
"What are they saying? Anything important?" said Luna who had, perhaps unsurprisingly, been away with the fairies for much of the discussion.
"Nasty staff about Dumbledore, and Gin," replied Neville. "Don't listen."
"I wasn't. That was why I asked. I will continue not to do so."
"It's such a bad example to all the first years," announced Ginny, determined not to show how much the Slytherins were getting to her. Well aware that the other table could hear her every word, the hall's acoustics being what they were.
More than half the First Year intake had been Slytherins that year. Getting on for two-thirds. Almost unheard of in Hogwarts history.
Parents who thought it safe enough to send their kids to the school under Voldemort's regime had, on the whole, encouraged their eleven-year-olds to ask the hat to place them in that particular House.
It was thought to offer the most protection.
Especially to all those half-blooded or 'less'…
No muggleborns had been sorted into Slytherin House that year. The same as had been the case in the vast majority of previous years.
Severus Snape had seen to it that none had received Hogwarts letters that year.
Minerva McGonagall saw this as further proof of the truth. Of his politics. His still-firm commitment to pureblood supremacy, and supremacists.
Where his loyalties truly lay.
Seeing as the Dark Lord had an official policy of exterminating all 'mudbloods'-
Severus had, of course, acted to save lives.
And could not refute Minerva's most public accusations of prejudice.
Much as he wished otherwise…
Keeping cover, as he was.
Ginny herself was thinking of pureblood politics. Of all the insults she could that would get to the enemy.
"Such improper, unseemly… indecent conduct, all that hooting and guffawing." What else? "Vulgar, common. The very opposite of setting the standard for proper, wizarding, pureblood pride-"
Draco Malfoy stood, gesturing with both hands, cutting through the air in opposite directions. Like a conductor stopping his orchestra.
Silence fell, instantly, at the Slytherin table.
"Good," said Ginny.
The Malfoys may have fallen somewhat, compared with when they were at the height of their powers. But Draco was still marked. A fully inducted Death Eater. The only one of their number, of Slytherin House's current membership at the school, who had gone all the way, taken all the steps, to join up.
Publicly, at least.
It was even common knowledge that he had taken the Vow.
The Unbreakable Vow, to serve and protect his Lord and Master, to give up his life for his, should it be required of him.
He was, therefore, deemed de facto leader of Slytherin House. First amongst the students, at least.
And his parents were, somehow, still alive. Despite his father having lost his wand. Clearly, then, they still curried some favour, the Malfoys in general, with the Dark Lord. As did Draco himself.
A great deal, in fact. By all accounts. So rumour had it.
Ginny refilled her friends' goblets of water.
"Now, as it happens, the reason I can't come to practice is-"
"He's coming over!" said Neville, alerting the group.
Draco Malfoy, of all people!
"What the hell?" whispered Ginny. "As if my day can't get any worse!"
"Weasley."
He did not smile, or nod.
His voice carried across the whole hall.
"I hear you're to dine in illustrious company tonight. But you don't have anything resembling evening dress. Nor anything decent to wear in life, in general."
He gave her faded robes a cursory glance, his distaste abundantly clear.
"Not that I needed to hear a special report to know that."
"Sod off, Malfoy!"
"I'll thank you kindly, Fat Bottom, to stay out of this. The Dark Lord isn't interested in your… attributes-"
"You leave Neville alone!" cried Ginny, desperate to deflect the conversation away from herself. And the parts of her anatomy...
"You can't even defend yourself without being rescued by a bloodtraitor, and a girl to boot. Pathetic, Big Bottom. Anyway, Weasley, I was to tell you: you are cordially invited to attend Malfoy Manor tonight." His tone indicated anything but the inviting."You are to arrive at four o'clock. You must be dressed for drinks at six-"
"But she's got quidditch at six!" said Sam.
"Kindly do not interrupt again. Jeers and sneers are not the worst that can be inflicted on your sort, by mine."
"Are you threatening my friends, Malfoy?" snarled Ginny.
He raised his eyebrows.
"Yes. You will come and meet my mother-"
"Bugger off, Malfoy, it's not happening!" said Neville.
"-and my Aunt."
Malfoy smiled, seemingly delighted, at Neville's horrified expression. And continued.
"And they will lend you something suitable- something, at the very least, slightly less ghastly- in the way of clothing. Since I doubt you would suit anything of ours. Since I am given to understand that you're so poor that you still wear your brother's hand me down briefs. That's underclothing, Crabbe, since you perhaps don't know the word," Malfoy called, in an even louder voice than before, to be absolutely sure that the whole hall could hear.
"Wha'?"
"Oh for God's- Pants, you pillock!"
"I thought they were called underpants?" said Goyle.
"That's the American word, you cretinous ignoramus!"
"My uncle calls them underpants," said Goyle, defensively.
"Would that be your American uncle who buys you a pack of pants every Christmas, Goyle? You know. The stuff you wear under your trouser?"
"How d'you guess tha'?"
"Because you get the same frigging Christmas presents every frigging year, and regale us all-"
Goyle cut over the waffle he couldn't understand.
"Yeah but like, how'd'you guess my uncle's the one 'oo says that word?"
"Mordred! You told me-"
"I've got lots of uncles," said Goyle, "Yet 'e guessed the right one! Bloody genius, 'e is, innee?"
Crabbe nodded, in admiration.
"That's why 'e's in charge, and we're not! I 'eard 'e got at least 'Acceptable' OWLs in everyfink, and everyfin'!"
"I did not get Acceptables in anything, Crabbe!"
"Oh, right. D'you fail 'em all like me, then?"
"NO!"
"Nah, your Dad bribed the Chairman of the Board of Examiners to give you all Os, dinnee, Draco?"
"Goyle." Draco's nostrils flared. "Do you still not know how to cast the Cruciatus curse?"
"Erm, like, err-"
"How about I help you learn it again. Later?" Draco snarled.
"Ah alrigh'. Cheers mate, that'd be cool, innit?!"
"I will need to demonstrate… quite a number of times. I anticipate."
"Err, Goyle? You're the clever one. What's he going off on one about now? What does 'demonstra'' mean? And ant- Ants- Anti- Whatev'a he jus' said?"
"Err, wish I could help you out there, mate. I just zone out whenever the boss starts using big words-"
"'When-eh-vah'?! Tha's a big word, tha' is! Innit?!"
"Means 'when'," Goyle explained.
The 'clever' one of the pair.
"Why d'you not just say 'when', then?!"
"I dunno! It's 'im, innit? All dem big words 'e uses. They sink into my brain somehow, I dunno! I don't like it!"
Crabbe nodded in sympathetic understanding.
"So, like, you never listen to anyfin' he says neiver?"
"Naaaah!"
"Cos 'e's always using big words?"
"Yeah!"
"Right. Cool. Like me, then."
"Crabbe. You've just volunteered to come along to my special little session on the Cruciatus, too."
"Awesome!"
Crabbe and Goyle fist-pumped.
The entire Gryffindor table was variously sniggering, giggling or gaffawing.
Draco held his head in his hand.
Professor McGonagall appeared besides the Gryffindor table.
"Whilst I am sure we are all enjoying hearing your attempts at holding court immensely, Mr. Malfoy," barked Minerva, "threatening to curse students with Unforgivables is against school rules and the law-"
Draco Malfoy rattled off in a voice which tried to hide his anger: "If you don't mind, dear lady, it's not threatening, they volunteered, it's on the curriculum. Bye now!"
"You have duped developmentally-challenged pupils into doing something they're not competent enough to understand, to agree to-"
"I advise you, woman, to stand down and stop interfering with my affairs!"
"I will give you one final warning, Mr. Malfoy. You will not torture Mr. Crabbe or Mr. Goyle-"
"Bugger off and go and sit back down!"
"Detention!"
"So be it. He told me, if you interfered with my affairs, and try to prevent my delivering his messages, or anything else: I was to give you a message."
"Which is?"
"'Tell Minny if she interferes… that I shagged her sister! And give her these to prove it!'"
Minerva McGonagall stared at the black lacy knickers with red roses and matching bow that Draco Malfoy produced. She cried out, as they were thrust into her hands, seemingly starting to cry.
"That's very good of you, Mr. Longbottom," she sobbed, brokenly. Neville had jumped from the bench, and was pointing his wand at Malfoy, trying his best to steady his shaking hand.
"But don't get yourself hurt on my account!"
She sheepishly tucked the garments away into the pocket of her robes, beneath her cloak.
"As for you, Draco Malfoy!" He was Mr. no more. "If there is somehow still a shred of decency left in Severus Snape," such that he would sign the relevant forms, as Head of House, approving so drastic a measure, "you'll be in detention every night for the rest of the school year! And sacked from your quidditch team!"
"As if! He's ours! Not yours! And who cares about a poxy quidditch team, anyway?! I've got a Dark Mark!"
"So you delight in continually telling us all!" she cried. "Well I wish you luck! He'll use you and abuse you and cast you aside like he does with all the others!"
"What, like my father, you mean, Minny? Or my Godfather? They've so clearly been used and cast aside, not! Or hadn't you noticed that they're his favourites?"
Well. Father was until recently.
Snape seems to have overtaken him in Order of Precedence...
"Yes. There is also the distinct possibility that you might indeed be so unfortunate. As to become a favourite of his."
"How is being the Dark Lord's favourite a misfortune? Minny?"
"You even have to ask, Mr- Malfoy? You haven't noticed? How miserable your father is, for example?"
"How DARE you insult my father!"
"I merely state the facts! Obvious as they are!"
"Everyone's a little glum when first out of Azkaban!"
"Ask your Godfather about- No. Don't ask Severus. Much as I loath and despise him now- He's suffered enough… I wonder, to what extent what happened- He was perhaps not in his right mind when he killed-"
"The old fool is dead, woman! Assassinated by my Godfather as our Lord and Master saw fit to command!"
"Ask your father what happened to your grandparents."
"I don't need to ask! They died in an accident!"
"That's what you were told?"
"That's all I need to know!"
"Then Lucius Malfoy has at least a smidgen of decency in him! If only the one, single, tiny little thread! In protecting you from the truth. Or perhaps he's just a coward!"
Malfoy's wand stance became threatening. But even he saw the futility of cursing so skilled a witch.
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom!"
She took the proffered handkerchief.
"You're so very kind!"
And dabbed her eyes.
She looked at the handkerchief, covered in red and white spots, in one hand. And put her other hand in her pocket. Feeling for the pants.
"I- I- Do please excuse me!"
Minvera McGonagall ran from the Great Hall.
"Budge up, Loony!"
"Hello, Draco Malfoy!" replied Luna Lovegood, pleasantly.
She had not been paying too much attention, convinced as she was that her hearing was at risk of permanent damage, from a combination of overuse and wrackspurt infestation, if she did not rest it.
"Seeing as I have to get this out of the way, I'm not going to stand around all the while."
"You delicate or something, Malfoy?" sneered Ginny.
"What?"
"Or you been getting all punished or tortured? By Him?"
"What on earth are you off on one about now, Weasel?"
"Having to sit down. Too tired to stay standing up are we? You poor dear-"
"As for you, Big Bum," Malfoy found it easier to insult a quiet bystander than to try to think of a comeback, "you got a crush on Minny Mousey-haired, or something?"
"I hope I get the chance to kill you one day," growled Neville.
"Oh. You really mean it? Interesting. Why's that, now?" Draco idly skimmed Longbottom's surface thoughts. "He- He did what now? Oh, Christ! Jesus Christ and Mordred on a tandem bicycle!"
Draco may have hated his enemies on the other side, with genuine vehemence. But he didn't 'go in for' the same sort of stuff as the Dark Lord.
"But I- I thought- I mean, the way he described it- It just sounded like a fling! You know? Sister of the Darling of the Light, with the Dark Lord? Something to laugh at, you know, how she- how she must have been all horny for him. And all that! In spite of her lefty lofty Light politics! 'Never kissed a Slytherin', and all that- I never imagined in a million years- that he meant something like- like that!"
"They were covered in blood, Malfoy!"
"Yeah but I mean- All sorts of people go in for all sorts of kinky shit in bed! It's easy enough to heal yourself, or get healed, after!"
"You speak from experience do you, Malfoy?" sneered Ginny Weasley. "Been cutting yourself down below, have we?"
"Of course not! Don't talk total bollocks! I speak purely in the realms of the hypothetical-"
"It's not a game, Malfoy!" Neville cut in. "The Death Eaters. Your working for them; being in them. Haven't you heard all about all their orgies?"
Draco had more than heard of them-
The stuff that he'd seen.
It was downright disturbing, some of it.
Much of it.
Not that it would do to try and speak up and stop all that-
"But all that's with muggles, anyway! That's different! I'd no idea a pureblood witch would be-"
"How are muggles different?!" cried Ginny. "Rape is rape!"
"I mean, they can't feel pain, for one thing-"
"Why do they scream when your lot torture them, then? And worse?"
"I dunno, some primitive reflexive response to certain stimuli, or- Look what is this, the Spanish Inquisition? I didn't do muggle studies or whatever! OK?!"
"Yet you've watched Monty Python?! And Disney films, by all accounts?"
Minny Mouse, and all that.
"Course I have! Everyone has!"
"That stuff's banned on your side, isn't it? Muggle pop culture?"
Draco shrugged.
"Surefire way to guarantee stuff gets seen is to ban it. Makes it cool. Forbidden knowledge and all, like why everyone loves the Dark Arts- and anyway, there's fuck all to do in our world, thanks to the bloody muggles that you love so fucking much, thanks to their stunting us! Our growth, our heritage- stealing all our buildings, our towns and cities and- Bloodtraitors! Mudbloods! Don't be so wet, Weasley." This on observing her flinching at the appallingly derogatory slur. "You're all conspiring with the muggles to actively suppress us wizards!"
"Yet more conspiracy theories your side's spewing-"
"If the muggles had their way, and your lot, too, the 'so-called' Light: all we'd do is spend all our time collecting crappy chocolate frog cards and playing God-damn gobstones of an evening! Maybe coupled with the occasional bout of wizards' chess, at best!"
"Well you're a bloody hypocrite who enjoys muggle stuff like Python and Disney like the rest of us, at the same time as criticising it!"
"At least I don't have a saviour complex about protecting the vile, verminous, promiscuous, precious muggles, that breed like rabbits, Weasley-"
"At least I have an advanced knowledge of biology!"
"So do I!"
"Fancy thinking muggles can't feel pain!" Ginny scoffed. "That's not advanced, even, that shows a complete lack of even basic-"
"I only know about wizarding biology, naturally!"
"Muggles have exactly the same biology as us!"
Draco stopped shouting back.
"Minus the magic. We're all exactly alike."
Draco's voice became very quiet.
Dangerously so.
Somehow, it still reverberated around the silent Great Hall, for all to hear.
"Muggles…. have…. exactly the same… biology… as…. us. Quoth she. Words that you will not utter in the presence of our Lord and Master this evening-"
Frantic whispers and mutterings broke out.
Ginny Weasley's having dinner with You-Know-Who!
"-unless you have a death wish. Or, perhaps. Masochistic tendencies."
He raised his voice again, to make absolutely sure that all could hear.
"I can't see what he sees in you, personally. Your tits are alright, I suppose."
Draco stared at them, pointedly.
Deliberately trying to hurt her. Humiliate her.
"Maybe it's because you're poor. I am told that aristocratic women have fantasies about doing it with the gardener, or the chauffeur."
Wizards have carriages. One can direct thestrals oneself, of course.
But there's something so much more satisfying about having servants. So the saying goes. Or slaves, as the case may be. As certain old pureblood families still capture the odd muggle, here and there. Into a lifetime of servitude. Very, very discreetly...
"There is something so very kinky, apparently. About people of our kind having dalliances and liaisons with your sort. The Lower Orders. And I bet you threw yourself at the chance to seduce the Master, you harlot of a-"
"I suppose you would know all about that. Wouldn't you. Malfoy?"
Ginny's voice pulsated with a confidence that she did not feel, as she tried desperately not to show how upset she really felt.
"What?" Draco snapped.
"You've got a lot of land, haven't you?"
"Something your ilk can only dream of-"
"And beautiful roses, I'm told-"
"The best in the country! Several of our breeds are utterly unique!" His voice was fiercely proud. "Specimens not to be found elsewhere in the whole wide world!"
He forgot how this topic had started, sounding immensely smug as he rattled off various Latin flora.
"Must take an awful lot of work," Ginny said, her tone one of mock concern, and sympathy.
"We have gardeners."
Ginny nodded in apparent appreciation.
Still: it hadn't sunk in!
"As many as 12 at a time! Working in shifts. 24-7!"
He was actually boasting!
"Your father was away an awfully long time. When he was arrested. Last time. Poor fellow."
She was doing her best to imitate his posh turns of phrase.
Before Lucius Malfoy had been found 'Not Guilty', he had awaited his trial for a year, remanded in custody all the while, awaiting the opportunity to plead the Imperius before the courts, concerning his 'apparent' involvement in Voldemort's cause.
"Your father was put away, what? Late '79? Early 80? And you were born- Well you were only a wee little baby, and Daddy was in prison."
Malfoy glowered.
"Must have be so frightfully difficult for your mother. To manage such a large household. And a little baby came along while he was gone- Still. At least she had all that help."
Draco's glance was questioning. What on earth was she getting at?
And what could she know of the merits of having servants?
Or slaves, as the case may have been-
"All alone. Those long, cold, dark winter nights, without her husband-"
Draco's face reddened, in realisation.
"I can quite understand, if she might have been tempted to- Such a large staff. All those gardeners- Quite big chaps aren't they, some of them? And- others. Other servants of yours. Working in your kitchens, waiting at table, and so forth. Were all on hand. No doubt. Must have been such a comfort to her. What aristocratic woman could possibly wish for more?!"
Draco cast a silent Cruciatus-
-Ginny easily deflected it. Disarmed him. And immobilised him.
"Now. Firstly… The hair."
She turned that fuchsia pink.
"Now for the face."
Permanent make up. The stuff that means you're not allowed in an MRI scanner, it's so long-lasting. Metallic ink.
He wouldn't have learnt the spells for applying that. Let alone removing it.
"Nice, thick eyeliner. Bright red lips. Mustn't forget the mascara. What else? Oh! And a red blusher, thickly applied- shaped like a little heart on either cheek! Well. Quite big hearts, actually… There we go, Drakey Wakey! I've got a little pocket mirror you can glance at-"
Draco accepted the mirror he was handed- and instantly dropped the thing in abject horror, on seeing his reflection.
It was the work of a moment for Ginny to repair and replace the mirror, continuing the torment all the while.
"Run! Run, little Drakey Wakey! Run to Unckies Voldy and Snivvy for help! See how impressed they are that you got utterly destroyed by a mere, little slip of a wee girly-wirly!"
Draco swiftly put the suggestion into action, doing a runner in double-time.
Ginny was conscious of an outbreak of scattered applause throughout the Great Hall. From every table. That is, excepting that of Slytherin House.
Even the teachers' table!
She gave a little wave, and a nod of the head, in appreciative acknowledgement.
The Carrow twins were clapping! Cheering! Jeering!
Perhaps they had never liked the Malfoys?
The room fell silent, suddenly.
There was the scrape of wooden benches on wooden floors.
As the Slytherins stood to attention (all bar a few slow Firsties, who were promptly thwacked into action by older classmates).
Every head turned to the Hall's entrance.
Voldemort.
Standing.
Staring.
Towards where Ginny stood.
He raised his hands-
Some students covered their heads.
Others dived for cover. Under benches.
Several students screamed.
Sharp intakes of breath were also audible, all around Ginny.
She adopted a defensive wand stance-
He clapped. Three times.
Rapidly.
Lightly.
"I don't know that spell. What's s'posed to happen?"
"BRAVISSIMA! PICOLINA!"
"Or that one. Is that a spell? Sounds like Latin..."
The Dark Lord winked.
And was gone. In a cloud of black smoke.
A/N:
The Italian will be explained next time! It's a mystery to Ginny and her pals at this point, after all!