Sinking Ship
by JadedDana
The slender boy--man, really--stood at the full-length window, gazing out at the perfectly sculptured lawn below him. The silvery moonlight transformed the sculpture garden into an otherworld, where pixies and dreams dwelt. It also made the boy, already unnaturally pale, positively unearthly--whether he appeared more angel or devil depended on the viewer. The expression on his face, one of uneasy pensiveness, did nothing to make him appear more human.
He had been standing there for the better part of an hour, musing. He had heard, direct for the Dark Lord's third-hand man, exactly what had transpired after the Champions entered the maze. And it disturbed him profoundly. Not that Lord Voldemort had risen--this he had known was coming virtually from the day he was born--but what Potter had managed to do.
From before he had been able to remember, Draco had learned that the unofficial family motto was "at all costs, survive." He had been fed the understanding that the Dark Lord was THE side to be on when the looming war erupted again, alongside his bean sprouts and chocolate frogs. And for fourteen years, Draco had never questioned it.
But now, he had nothing BUT questions. No less than twenty of the Dark Lord's loyal followers were scouring the libraries, looking for anything useful regarding the unexpected 'wand-trick' which Potter had used. A brief thought of how similar that Mudblood Granger's reaction would be flitted through Draco's mind, causing a reluctant whisper of a smile to form momentarily on his lips. Apparently it was tied to the two wands' cores, but it was unknown whether or not there was any way to prevent it from re-occurring. And somehow, this simple uncertainty had shaken his beliefs to the core.
Unquestioningly, Potter had always been a problem. But his defeat of Voldemort as a baby was passed off as a result of his mother's sacrifice-- something that could never happen again. First year, it had been explained away as a fluke, the result of Quirrell's incompetence and the Dark Lord's own weakened state. Similarly, in what very little Malfoy the elder had been able to discover about the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, Potter HAD defeated the basilisk, but only due to a great deal of help from Dumbledore and that damned familiar of his. And the even more secret knowledge, of what the Weasley girl's diary contained, was defeatable precisely because it was simply a shadow of a schoolboy. But this last year, no excuses could be made. The Dark Lord had risen again, and still a schoolboy managed to survive (and, although the knowledge was kept highly confidential, actually injure) his full powers. Nor did the Dark Lord 'let' him get away, of that Draco was certain.
Aside from this thorn being far more formidable than he had been taught, the "Muggle-lovers," as his father called them, had a few more pros to their side which Draco felt were not properly accounted for. Dumbledore, for one; although he was sometimes stalemated by the Minister, he was a very powerful wizard. Draco had always thought that Voldemort could match him, but now he was uncertain, if even blasted Potter could escape relatively unscathed. Also, that Mudblood Granger always sent his danger sense flaring. Not only was she genuinely intelligent (something he couldn't say for some of his fellows) but she had a disconcerting tendency to think 'outside the box', so to speak, approaching things with a hybrid of Muggle and Magic theories which, should they decide to take advantage of, could catch the more traditional Death Eaters unprepared.
Moreover, the Death Eaters that Draco knew where rather concerned with climbing the Dark political ladder. An excellent pursuit in peacetime, but rather counterproductive during a war. Whether you were number four or number six in the Dark Lord's chain of command would hardly matter if the other side came out tops--which Draco was beginning to suspect it might. The thought had hit him as he tossed in bed, turning over on his side, and he had sat bolt upright. He had been standing at the window for the ever since.
A shadowy form flitted across the sky in front of him, headed no doubt for his father's study. Probably another dead end library, Draco mused. His gut instinct, which was rarely wrong, told him that there was no way around the wand thing. Which meant that there might not be a way around a lot of obstacles. Which meant, this ship was going to go down. And if Draco had learned one thing about his family traditions, it was that Malfoys did not go down with the ship.
Which left him one choice: jump. Jump now, while the other ship is still in sight. The trick would be not to be shot for deserting, and hoping that the other side recognized him as a refugee, not a spy. How could he do that? You have all summer to figure it out, Draco, he whispered to himself. After all, he was not fool enough to try joining the 'light' under his father's roof. But when the next term began.well, then he would think of something. He drew his robe tighter about him, gazed once more at the dreamlike landscape, then walked slowly back to his four- poster. Although he laid down, it was a long time before his eyes closed, and even longer before sleep took him.
The slender boy--man, really--stood at the full-length window, gazing out at the perfectly sculptured lawn below him. The silvery moonlight transformed the sculpture garden into an otherworld, where pixies and dreams dwelt. It also made the boy, already unnaturally pale, positively unearthly--whether he appeared more angel or devil depended on the viewer. The expression on his face, one of uneasy pensiveness, did nothing to make him appear more human.
He had been standing there for the better part of an hour, musing. He had heard, direct for the Dark Lord's third-hand man, exactly what had transpired after the Champions entered the maze. And it disturbed him profoundly. Not that Lord Voldemort had risen--this he had known was coming virtually from the day he was born--but what Potter had managed to do.
From before he had been able to remember, Draco had learned that the unofficial family motto was "at all costs, survive." He had been fed the understanding that the Dark Lord was THE side to be on when the looming war erupted again, alongside his bean sprouts and chocolate frogs. And for fourteen years, Draco had never questioned it.
But now, he had nothing BUT questions. No less than twenty of the Dark Lord's loyal followers were scouring the libraries, looking for anything useful regarding the unexpected 'wand-trick' which Potter had used. A brief thought of how similar that Mudblood Granger's reaction would be flitted through Draco's mind, causing a reluctant whisper of a smile to form momentarily on his lips. Apparently it was tied to the two wands' cores, but it was unknown whether or not there was any way to prevent it from re-occurring. And somehow, this simple uncertainty had shaken his beliefs to the core.
Unquestioningly, Potter had always been a problem. But his defeat of Voldemort as a baby was passed off as a result of his mother's sacrifice-- something that could never happen again. First year, it had been explained away as a fluke, the result of Quirrell's incompetence and the Dark Lord's own weakened state. Similarly, in what very little Malfoy the elder had been able to discover about the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, Potter HAD defeated the basilisk, but only due to a great deal of help from Dumbledore and that damned familiar of his. And the even more secret knowledge, of what the Weasley girl's diary contained, was defeatable precisely because it was simply a shadow of a schoolboy. But this last year, no excuses could be made. The Dark Lord had risen again, and still a schoolboy managed to survive (and, although the knowledge was kept highly confidential, actually injure) his full powers. Nor did the Dark Lord 'let' him get away, of that Draco was certain.
Aside from this thorn being far more formidable than he had been taught, the "Muggle-lovers," as his father called them, had a few more pros to their side which Draco felt were not properly accounted for. Dumbledore, for one; although he was sometimes stalemated by the Minister, he was a very powerful wizard. Draco had always thought that Voldemort could match him, but now he was uncertain, if even blasted Potter could escape relatively unscathed. Also, that Mudblood Granger always sent his danger sense flaring. Not only was she genuinely intelligent (something he couldn't say for some of his fellows) but she had a disconcerting tendency to think 'outside the box', so to speak, approaching things with a hybrid of Muggle and Magic theories which, should they decide to take advantage of, could catch the more traditional Death Eaters unprepared.
Moreover, the Death Eaters that Draco knew where rather concerned with climbing the Dark political ladder. An excellent pursuit in peacetime, but rather counterproductive during a war. Whether you were number four or number six in the Dark Lord's chain of command would hardly matter if the other side came out tops--which Draco was beginning to suspect it might. The thought had hit him as he tossed in bed, turning over on his side, and he had sat bolt upright. He had been standing at the window for the ever since.
A shadowy form flitted across the sky in front of him, headed no doubt for his father's study. Probably another dead end library, Draco mused. His gut instinct, which was rarely wrong, told him that there was no way around the wand thing. Which meant that there might not be a way around a lot of obstacles. Which meant, this ship was going to go down. And if Draco had learned one thing about his family traditions, it was that Malfoys did not go down with the ship.
Which left him one choice: jump. Jump now, while the other ship is still in sight. The trick would be not to be shot for deserting, and hoping that the other side recognized him as a refugee, not a spy. How could he do that? You have all summer to figure it out, Draco, he whispered to himself. After all, he was not fool enough to try joining the 'light' under his father's roof. But when the next term began.well, then he would think of something. He drew his robe tighter about him, gazed once more at the dreamlike landscape, then walked slowly back to his four- poster. Although he laid down, it was a long time before his eyes closed, and even longer before sleep took him.