chapter 4
A Slytherin Divided
The walk to the dungeons was a silent one. Clicks of Draco's matte black Oxford shoe heels echoed through the corridors down to the cold depths where the den was. Enchanted candles lined the way to the common room. The gray stone sweated through the growing chill the deeper they delved.
Neither of Draco's goons spoke. They knew better.
He ground his teeth.
Everything about his day was going brilliantly. Granger stormed off in her irritating way, unable to take another response of his. The more he remembered it, the more he fumed.
The damp smell rose through his nostrils as he came close to the Slytherin common room. It meant time wrapped within his bed, curtains drawn, ready to contemplate the situation he wedged himself in with Granger.
"Vipera berus," he hissed at a wall.
Bare stone parted to reveal a long, dark corridor. Draco and his friends swiftly ducked their heads and thrust themselves through the opening. It landed them inside their common room.
The common room was filled with Slytherin students of all ages. They littered the dim. Leather couches held first years huddled around new texts as they struggled through homework. Snape was never easy in his class. One boy wiped his hands down his uniform, wrinkling the dark fabric.
Huddled by open flame was another crossed-legged group of Slytherins. They were a year older. One of them of Higgs. He lounged casually as he debated amongst his friends how to gain favor for an election. It was rumored that Terrence had high aspirations within the Ministry as an ambassador to America.
Influence in the Ministry was one thing. But work? Draco scoffed at the idea of being held responsible for a daily job like a commoner.
True wizards and witches never subjected themselves to the monotony that came with employment. Brilliant minds flowed where they wished. Routine dulled the senses. It forced a sense of servitude to a being of unstoppable power, a timetable at which their brilliance was limited.
Nothing was more unstoppable than himself. Draco knew he'd conquer without plan.
Leaders were gifted power in the world. First year he was given power over his classmates without much fight at all. They drew to him. They listened. It was natural for people to listen to him.
Some drifted away from his leadership; their minds made suspicious of others. It was their own stupidity that they weren't suspicious from the beginning and acted against their own interest to abandon his troupe. After all, Draco learned more information than anybody.
His connections ran deep.
Draco sat away from the crowd within the common room in a tight corner with an overstuffed arm chair seated next to a candelabra of yellow light. He worked on his assignments quietly as students younger than him relented to their exhaustion. It was an hour later, and the room was empty except for the few fifth- and sixth-year students in rigorous studies for their upcoming exams.
O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were vital. Futures were determined by their scores. It placed undue pressure on already struggling students.
Not that Draco cared. He kept up well enough. Classes were not so hard for the intelligent. Granger only made it look that way because she lacked outside the classroom.
Granger. His thoughts boiled at the thought of her.
Ever since they met, she was a nuisance. She never stayed in line. Each statement from her mouth was a need to fulfill an oath she made to make everyone else feel inferior. And how could they not? She knew everything.
Draco was tutored by the most expensive tutors since age five. His grades followed behind hers in every subject. Every one.
Imagine the places she might have went if she was placed in Slytherin.
He exiled thoughts of the frustrating Gryffindor as he focused on his school work, happy to rid himself of the seeping hatred that was for her, made entirely of brown curls and books.
Sometime later, a clopping drew his attention to the stairwells. Their metal-rod spiraling staircases were for each dormitory; one for girls and the other for boys. The jolting sound came from the girl's.
Soon enough a voice rose over all other sounds like the roar of a dragon.
"Don't snivel, Daph. No one likes a crybaby." It was Pansy.
He saw a fluffy pink heel emerge first. It was three inches too high, topped with long frilly strands of neon pink. The gaudy shoes were the start of a blaring ensemble of giant bangle bracelets of stark white next to a mini-skater skirt of pink lycra. The black cups of her bra were visible beneath the thin white shirt.
Daph wore an oversized black sweater, taut grey shorts and a floppy pile of unruly hair atop her head. Two giant lens magnified her eyes to twice their size. Her face rested in a state of disapproval. She twisted a fly away strand around her finger.
"I'm not crying." Daph snipped. It was not often that Daphne Greengrass was in a mood. She was a calmer, quieter, peaceful type witch. Words that came from her mouth were brutally honest, blunt to a point, but she did not possess a mean bone in her body. Often her words were just taken that way. "I just do not think it is okay to do this. Not on one of our own. It's wrong."
"It is only wrong if you get caught. Now come on," Pansy said. She rubbed a line of dark red lipstick down the length of her lips. "Watch and learn how to be a real Slytherin."
The witches rounded a corner. Draco realized they were looking for him, not grasping just how much of their conversation he'd heard.
How, he did not know. The shrill, screeching sound of Pansy's throat was unappealing and overpowering in every instance. She couldn't speak soft enough to whisper. Nor did she have a voice that blended with others. It violently collided, often victorious of all others.
The witch scanned the common room. When her eyes landed upon him, there was a shift in her demeanor.
Pansy lit up when she saw him, latched a firm grip on Daphne and dragged her over while Daph covered her eyes in shame. Red flags alerted him to proceed carefully. There was no line too low that Pansy Parkinson wouldn't cross to get what she wanted. It was a dominant Slytherin trait. One that she wore with pride.
He leaned back against the button-tuffed seat as Pansy swayed her hips up to his knees.
She knocked one knee against his with a drastic sway. "Oh, Draco. What do you think of my new skirt?"
Black fingernails danced against the hem of her skirt, high on her thigh. His eyes noted the way she swirled them against the tender flesh of her inner thigh, rising them slightly higher than the edge of the skirt.
Draco impassively examined the thing. "It's Muggle."
The screeching awful sound of Pansy's giggle made his face hurt. He swallowed back the sharp desire to cringe.
Truly. Was this the type of witch he associated with?
"It is. Muggles loves their garish designs, do they not? Look at how much cleavage is left exposed by it?" She moved closer so the non-existent cleavage leveled his line of sight. He blinked back the image. "Ah. Muggles. They do have their uses, don't they?"
She ran a hand up his knee. It chased after his own, but when he pulled it away from her grasp, Pansy backed herself right onto his lap. She ground into him with a soft sigh.
Lust was not an easy urge to control. He knew it well. Any teenage guy knew the beckon toward an open girl was more intoxicating than a siren's call to death-induced sex. Draco, like any other, found himself mesmerized by the curves of newly matured classmates, freshly tanned from summer holiday and curved in the perfect way.
Had he not heard the exchange on the stairs moments before, he might have fallen victim to the charm.
Draco and Pansy had grown up together. He knew her when she couldn't even pronounce her last name. Now she was on his lap with every intention of using his cock to persuade him of something.
But what, he wondered, could be worth her time?
Lucky, she was not subtle.
"Speaking of Muggle uses, I think the mudblood's fulfilled hers, don't you?" It was a soft purr in his ear, but he recognized the calm tone of his friend. "I just adore the way you owned her. She was so clearly in it, too, the whore. I can't wait to tell everyone how their golden girl is nothing to you."
She turned in his lap, lips to his ear. "Think of how humiliated she'll be if you're done with her. That's what you should do. Make the filth bare the shame of being rejected by a pure-blood like you."
He was impressed.
Pansy was better at her manipulation than he thought. It made the suggestion to break things off with the smoking hot Beauxbaton girl from the previous year clearer. He'd fallen for the same game.
Bravo Pans.
The weight in his lap felt pleasant as a pair of hips aligned with his. He wondered what Granger's would feel like. She was thinner than Pansy. Easier to hold against his lap as he gripped each hip in hot grasping reach.
For a moment, he pictured her above him with a look of pure ecstasy on her face. Pale pink lips pulled back in cry of pleasure. Curls down her naked chest to just rest right above her little dark nipples. She looked beautiful that way. He might like to see her, if only that way.
Draco pulled back, shocked at his own mind. He braced his control over his body in a thicker armor.
No thoughts of Granger. No. No. No.
He pushed Pansy off his lap. "Get out of here, Pans. I can't deal with you right now."
"Oh really?" Her tongue ran along her top lip with a slight slurp.
He cringed. "Yeah. Get the bloody hell away from me."
Pansy snapped up, eyes narrowed in anger. "I want that mudblood gone."
"And I want that presumed opinion to fuck off, because I don't care what you want. She's my pet to do what I like with," Draco said with restrained rage. His hands balled to fists.
"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you're soft." She pushed her lips out in a pout. Her eyelashes fluttered. "What's the matter, Draco? Fancy a bit of filth, do you?"
That was it.
Draco rose to his feet. The wand in his hand snapped at the soft folds of her neck. He pushed it against her pulse with all intent to fire a few stunners, perhaps a funny hex to grow a pair of antlers out her thick skull.
It was great disrespect to any pureblood to imply they'd dirty their bloodline with a muggleborn.
The House of Malfoy was an ancient line of all magical peoples. It never had muggle blood introduced into the ranks as long as it had been documented.
Draco was proud of his lineage. His father boasted about it often at the very withstanding nature of Malfoy house, when all other families fell to dirty their blood with half-breeds and the like, the Malfoy name stayed clean. It was a feat. It warranted respect.
Respect from all. Including other purebloods.
"You forget yourself."
He was startlingly calm as he held his wand against a friend. Insult was insult. He saw nothing but a threat to his family's pride. "I am not a Hufflepuff, Pans. I won't stay my magic because we're friends."
Her eyes were enlarged. Daphne stood near, eyes blown wide.
"See, Pans? I told you." Daphne mumbled behind her hands.
Her friend rolled her eyes. "Shut it, Daph, unless you want your teeth turned black by tomorrow."
"You should have listened to her. She's smarter than you, it seems."
"I want the mudblood gone, Draco. It isn't right. She doesn't belong with us."
He was not fazed by the logic they all knew. "I want her. She's mine. Her body and all the muddy blood within it is mine to do what I will with. Whether I spill it on the ground when the time comes, or I carry it alongside me, it is my choice. And you'll do well to remember it."
"What will your father say?" She scoffed.
"I've got myself a mudblood slave. Do you truly think he will not be proud of his son?" Draco sneered. "More importantly, think of the Dark Lord's impression when he sees just how powerful I am over the self-righteous friend of Harry Potter. He'll favor me. I'll be untouchable."
Daphne and Pansy were moved to complete silence. There was still anger knit in Pansy's dark features along with a bit of enthrallment. He knew every face of hers. Better yet, he knew her well enough to understand why she hated Granger around while still respected him.
Pansy Parkinson was the only girl in an all-male household. Her three older brothers babied the witch completely. She did not like attention crowded by another witch, and Hermione Granger was one of the most impressive witches of the age.
"Fine, then. Keep your pet. I don't care what you do with it." She hurled the words out of her mouth, disgusted to be rid of them. Then she lowered it to a sound that only he could hear. "Rewards will not be reaped for the soft, Draco. I know you. Your fondness for the mudblood will betray you to the Dark Lord. He'll see right through you."
The words stung deep.
"Silencio."
He stalked toward his dorm as Pansy scratched at her mouth, unable to speak and bound to silence, the greatest curse to a witch with the last word always on her tongue.
She'd regret it.
Draco undressed quickly. His black silk pajamas were a comfort. He finally breathed out when the material caressed his woes away. The woes of his own shortcomings made him unbelievably tense.
Not that there were true shortcomings. He was perfect. He made a point of being the best. His path set him on the way to be a truly gifted wizard. There was no softness here.
Pansy. Where did she get off? He was powerful. He wasn't above cursing well-known acquaintances as he proved time and time again. His father was the right hand of Lord Voldemort which made him an elevated level of intense. Few dared to confront him so openly.
Soft. As if he could ever become soft for a mudblood.
Sure, Granger was engaging to converse with. Her mind was a sharp whip with response to every statement he ever made, in class, in duels, in unled conversation. It was more exciting than another night with Crabbe and Goyle, endlessly burping and struggling with subjects Draco mastered weeks before and questioning his reason for intelligence when cursed with mediocrity as friends.
He didn't like Granger. He could never like her.
She thought she was better than him with her own intelligence and seat by Harry Potter, a golden child of the world in the closest form of prince that wizards would have. If anything, they were equals.
Equals. Draco groaned. That meant she was right; they should have been friends.
He pictured himself and her in the library, buried in expansive research that surpassed the knowledge of seventh years, with books piled around the edges of a table, their faces near in excited debate over what they found. Ambition, a cloud over their eyes. Her hair tied tight in a braid, pulled loose by the hours of focus. She'd smile wider than he'd ever seen when she showed him it whatever it was that got her so excited in her book.
Draco fell into the daydream. He surrounded himself with the smells of the library.
A roaring fire under a thick mantlepiece. Ancient works of long-dead wizards floated above in proud display. Granger yearned to open them. He'd find her in glazed over expression as she stared at them, a clear adoration on her face. Dust of their parchments coated the tops of her dark lashes. Heavier and heavier they became. Her blinks took longer to recover from as she stared off at those priceless books.
He moved close to her. Close enough to smell the hot tea in her breath. He asked her a question. She didn't respond. Draco, again, moved closer.
Suddenly she fell against his shoulder, eyes closed, gentle breath against his neck.
She laid there cuddled against his frame as he watched flames of the fire dance their needy bodies over logs. Warmth collected on his chest. She pulled herself closer. Her lips practically rested against his throat, the closest he'd ever come to a kiss. Draco tightened his arm around her waist, so she felt flush against him. It was the limit of what he properly do.
"Draco?" He heard her murmur.
A heavenly sigh came from her lips next.
"Hm?"
Granger sighed, again. "Why can't it always be like this?" She asked.
The uplifted heart that always beat in his chest dropped to his knees with a painful thud.
Why couldn't it? It was perfect.
"Draco."
He opened his eyes, back at the Slytherin dorm in the morose tones of black and green, as a blank faced Goyle stood in the doorway. The wizard's mouth moved, but his words escaped Draco's ear.
Finally, they came to him. "When will that minger learn to shut her trap?"
"Around the time Blaise stops being a sycophant," Draco replied.
Goyle lightly laughed in that way that meant he didn't understand the word but knew it was supposed to be humorous and threw his books onto his bed. Half the silver sheets were pulled from the frame touching the floor while the bedspread was bundled at the foot of the bed. A black sweater hung over one of the bed posts. A sock was tucked between the mattress and frame.
The wizard plopped down to the mess with a relieved sigh. "That'll be the day."
Draco rolled his eyes at the idiot. How could he not know the word?
The ceiling above them shuddered as a rowdy group of sixth years marched through their dormitory like a bunch of circus elephants intent on collapsing the walls. Annoyed, Draco silenced the noise.
Last thing he needed reminded of was that slick git upstairs. Higgs.
Never in the realm of possibility would Draco Malfoy lower himself onto the plane that Terrence Higgs was. It was unheard of. But thanks to that frustrating, hardheaded, muggle born witch who had him by the balls, he constantly compared himself to the bloody man.
Higgs was no competition. Draco had to show her that.
"I want you to follow Granger tomorrow," Draco instructed.
The wizard perked up in his bed. "The mudblood? Still?"
"Think of it as a permanent duty."
Goyle curled his lip into a harsh scowl. "Great. Stuck in the library forever. The mudblood is so lame."
"Only when I'm busy," Draco corrected. "I'll have the mudblood with me otherwise. A pet is important to have close. Don't want her getting into trouble now do we?"
His friend failed to see the point. He grumbled about wanting to see the 'know-it-all' burn in detention, or worse.
Draco's voice turned cold. "No trouble will come to her, do you understand? She is my pet. An extension of me. You will prevent her from any trouble. Umbridge or any professor, I expect you in her place. She is not property of Gryffindor any longer. She is owned by Slytherin."
"Why the mudblood, Draco? I don't get it. We all hate her."
It was worrisome that he had to explain the appeal of a female pet to another wizard, but with how treacherous times were, it made sense. Association with a muggleborn was enough for suspicion be thrown on a pureblood house. Enough suspicion made Voldemort turn distrustful.
A silvery lie needed to convince everyone, Dark Lord included, what the benefit of Granger in their control was. If anyone could form one, it would be his father. He had better post him right away.
"It's Granger. Potter's brains, you wanker." His mind worked quickly. "We have his brains, he's got nothing. No one will support him without Granger. If she's owned by us, people will support us. She'll convince those commoners to follow us. The Dark Lord will rise. He'll purify the ranks thanks to this one little mudblood. So make sure you keep her protected. If she's lost, the Dark Lord won't be too happy."
It was quiet a long moment. Goyle's brain took its time to absorb the information, not in a rush to come to it's own conclusions. That'd take all night.
"Alright, Draco. I'll follow her."
