Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. I don't own Sun Tzu. Don't sue me.

CHAPTER 7 - MIND GAMES


Dumbledore reclined in his favourite, overstuffed armchair in the staffroom and watched in considerable amusement and some wariness as his newest professor very slowly, very deliberately poured himself a very stiff drink and tossed it back in one go - placing the glass very carefully back down on the table with a distinct, icy click. His silence and his controlled movements were icy with an awful tension - the very air seemed to hold its breath around him.

He knew - they all knew - that the High Clan were at their most dangerous when they were quiet and controlled, when the air hummed around them with the force of their aura and their control...when the very lack of expression was a blatant sign on its own. He wondered how many people had seen that face just before dying...

But half a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhisky seemed to have a mellowing effect - soon enough Luc lost some of his stiffness, and flopped down in an armchair (gracefully, always gracefully), leaning his head back and wearily closing his eyes.

Snape was also watching, he saw - watching with a small, secret smile and eyes that were almost warm. Not for the first time, he wondered at just how close Snape and the Malfoy brothers had really been at school - well, High Clans were notorious for their more...relaxed attitudes...

Not, of course, that it was any of his business.

"So, my dear Luc, how did you find your first day of teaching?" Snape was in an almost mellow mood - he seemed more than willing to bait his fellow Slytherin.

One grey eye opened lazily, balefully glaring, while a small smile flirted with the edges of his mouth. "I don't think I'll answer that, Mr. Snape..."

Snape tutted sympathetically. "As bad as that?" The small smile widened.

Both eyes opened now, and he sat up straight. "I control an international trading empire, and the unruly, independent family that goes hand in hand with it. I can turn most people, both Muggle and wizards, to my will, and I can even intimidate Death Eaters and aurors alike, if I try hard enough." He was scowling outright now. "So why can't I control and intimidate a classroom of twenty adolescent children?"

Snape gave up and grinned. "Because you treat them like equals." Luc raised an eyebrow and poured himself another drink, sipping it slowly this time.

"Oh?"

"Don't ever, ever treat students like equals - you have to be the one in control, the lord and master. A classroom is not a democracy - and if you try to treat it like one, they will take terrible advantage...as I'm assuming they did."

Almost unwillingly Luc smiled. "Oh yes...tell me, were we ever as bad as that, when we were young?" He addressed that straight faced to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had been teaching back then. Dumbledore merely smiled and chuckled silently, and McGonagall pursed her lips, but didn't say anything. She didn't need to - they all knew the answer to that. Their year had been notorious, and they had earned every bit of that reputation genuinely. The Marauders had not been alone in their infamy.

Luc grinned, and then sobered. "They are hopelessly inadequate - so far it seems the only good teacher they've ever had was Lupin," momentarily both he and Snape wore fleeting, identical expressions, "and they've gotten used to disruptions in the routine and continuity of the course. That is to say..." he looked Dumbledore straight in the eye, "that they've come to take the situation for granted, and have learned to dismiss Defence against the Dark Arts as a joke. Which we absolutely cannot have - especially not now."

McGonagall looked outraged on Dumbledore's behalf - but the man himself seemed thoughtful. "Can you do anything about it?" he asked gravely.

Luc only sighed. "I can try...but as I'll only be here for a year, there's a limit to what I can achieve in such a short time. I think," he steepled his fingers and touched them to his lips thoughtfully, "I think I'll focus more on mental preparation than actual spells, which can be learned for oneself..."

"Which explains the rather...eclectic reading list you've requested for this year..." Snape said in amusement. "Tell me, have any of them actually heard of half of those books?"

Suddenly, Luc's scowl came back full force. "No. And that's the heart of it," he said darkly. "Three-quarters of them can't even read Latin properly, and as for Greek...well, the less said about that, the better. Some of them have never even read the English translations..." and here, it seemed, was the heart of his outrage. "And some of them have never even heard of Sun Tzu!"

Only Snape displayed the appropriate shock.

Dumbledore couldn't help himself. "Who's Sun Tzu?"

Luc snarled and slammed the glass down on the table so hard it shattered. Ignoring their laughter and smiles, he slowly held up his hand, watching crimson streams of blood run slowly downwards towards his wrist. In a completely unselfconscious gesture, he licked the blood away, closing his eyes respectfully as he tasted the warm, coppery liquid. One should never partake of the sacred wine carelessly, no matter where it came from.

The staff members fell silent for a moment as they realized just how far removed from mainstream society the High Clan really was - there were times when they forgot and treated him just as they would each other, but then he would do something like that, and it would all come crashing back. With Snape, who kept such a self-imposed distance, one never forgot the difference because he enforced it - but Luc blended in so well...

"I am trying to teach them about mind games," he mused thoughtfully. "The Ravenclaws are intelligent, perhaps the only House where they've actually gone through the reading list," he continued on, fully composed now. "They have the knowledge, but not, I think, the full understanding of the implications; other than on a theoretical basis..." His hand was now completely healed, so he flicked his wrist, wandlessly, and the shattered glass pieces coalesced back into their former shape.

"The Hufflepuffs read because they are required to, but I don't think that any of them would understand or even take seriously the reasons behind it all - they have no knowledge of power, or ambition, or the lengths to which people will go to fulfill them. Gryffindors understand tactics and strategy, but not cold patience or the...certain ruthlessness needed to employ them to their fullest."

He tapped his finger against the table slowly, lost in thought. "And the Slytherins...this is all too easy for them, so it makes them somewhat hard to control." he paused. "They are contemptuous of anyone who doesn't understand the Game."

"As are we all," interjected Snape. "That is not something restrained to students."

"Yes, it is, and no doubt that prejudice will carry over into my teaching; but in order to defeat your enemy, you must first understand him. Anyone can learn hexes and curses, shields and wards, but it's more important to know how your opponent thinks, how they react - to learn how and why."

McGonagall scowled. "You propose to teach them about Death Eaters. Their methodology and their ideology. They're children, Luc. They shouldn't be exposed to that...that evil."

Luc shook his head. "But they were exposed to it, Minerva. Last year, at the Triwizard Tournament."

She flinched, but acknowledged the point. "I only hope the board doesn't get word of this..."

He grinned suddenly. "Relax, Minerva - I've got friends in high places, remember?"

She sputtered. Dumbledore broke in soberly, reluctant to break the mood, but it had to be done. "I think that's exactly what we're afraid of, Luc. And that's exactly what we need to discuss." He combed his fingers through his beard while he thought. "Tell me everything that you know of the current situation, please - and perhaps, with Severus' information, we might be able to understand what's going on."

Luc sighed, but nodded. It was time for serious talking. "As far as I know, most of the old guard have rejoined him - that is, those who are not in Azkaban and have not turned coat like myself. So we are talking about Goyle and Crabbe, Avery, Rosier, Wilkes, McNair, Parkinson...all the old names. There are probably others from overseas, and others who are too small in the organization for me to have noticed them before, but I would say that most of the people who supported him before have come back."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at Snape, who nodded, confirming the statements. "They have spies, I'm sure," he murmured in his velvet voice, "within the Ministry, within the Aurors, in other strategic places...undoubtedly within Hogwarts. By now they would have heard of Luc's change of allegiance, and Voldemort will no doubt make it an immediate priority to hunt him down and make an example of him and of everything and everyone he loves..."

Here he looked at Luc, who smiled somewhat cruelly. "He can try," he murmured far too softly. "By all means, he can try his luck against me...no," he held up his hand, "it's not overconfidence. I've made preparations and arrangements. No member of the House goes anywhere without specially trained shadows, and the Dark Lord's inside spies are well and truly covered and nicely feeding him false information."

"I'm not worried about the House," said Snape softly, quietly, intensely. He raised his black, black eyes towards one of the most beloved friends he'd ever had. "But what of the Malfoy?" His words fell like stones into still, still water - they had an intensity all of their own. Black eyes stared unblinking into silver - they spoke soul to soul, no masks, no camouflage, no dissembling. It was so intimate that it made Minerva uncomfortable, so much so that she had to look away.

Luc's face was absolutely, utterly impassive. "If Lucius comes against me, I will kill him." His voice was soft, stripped of all its usual velvet civility to expose the iron beneath, and his words, too, had palpable weight. "He will never, ever have Draco." Silver, implacable eyes revealed the strength of will and the ruthlessness of twenty-five centuries of absolute power - and his next words shattered any illusions that he was in any way part of mainstream society.

"I will kill him myself, if it becomes necessary."

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Harry and Ron, in the cozy, fire lit Gryffindor common room, idly discussed their day over a friendly game of wizarding chess. Ron was winning, as usual - but Harry was having difficulty concentrating, probably too preoccupied with the attack on the train yesterday to worry about chess.

Hermione, in her favourite chair, was studying - reading the book Professor Malfoy had given them each that day, "Sun Tzu's The Art of War - a young reader's edition, with explanations and famous examples" - she had actually read the original, but hadn't been able to understand much of it at the time. Now she was puzzling through it, with a slight frown between her eyes as she read and made notes and fiddled with her quill. It was fascinating, but rather cold. It seemed to be something more suited to the Slytherins or to politicians and aurors than children - but Malfoy (the younger one, that is) had bitched that he'd had to read the real book in the original Chinese before he'd turned ten, and after that he'd been expected to discuss it intelligently and apply it to real life.

Perhaps he was not as stupid as she'd thought...

After his heroics on the Express yesterday, she'd imagined Professor Malfoy as a rather heroic man, brave and determined and, well, rather Gryffindoric. In the five minutes she'd spent with him on the train before the attack, she hadn't had the time or the inclination to get more than an impression of composure, of cool amusement, and of the respect with which Nick, Marc and Draco regarded him.

But in the lesson today, when she'd been expecting a famous auror or at least a confident, courageous alpha male, she'd rather got the impression that he preferred intrigue to action, and mind games to outright conflict. He was a manipulator, a plotter - she could quite easily imagine him as a puppet master, pulling strings in the shadows...

Oh, yes, he was an alpha male - there was no doubt of that - but he didn't act like any of the older students she knew as authority figures, or any of the male teachers. Of course, considering the male teachers at Hogwarts right now - old, wise Dumbledore was too old to be an alpha male, although he controlled the school well enough; he just seemed too old and too...detached from real life. Flitwick - well, Flitwick was...he was not a dominant figure, no matter how good a dueler he was; he was just too...small. Filch was a squib - end of story. Hagrid was...well; Hagrid was too weak, too nice...too soft.

And that left Snape. Sour, bitter Snape, with his sarcasm and his insults, his temper and his melodrama - he controlled his classroom and his students with an iron fist, and his Slytherins, so unmanageable for anyone else, seemed to obey him without question. But even he deferred to Professor Malfoy, if not outright then it was there, perhaps even an instinctively. She thought that was probably because the Malfoy were the first among the High Clan - even now, in the tail end of the 20th century, that held weight. And probably more than in the Muggle world, seeing how old- fashioned the wizarding world was.

And yet Professor Malfoy didn't lord it over Snape, didn't undermine his authority with the Slytherins - perhaps that delicate balance of power that she had heard Marc de Sauvigny call the Game extended to more than just politics and power...perhaps it permeated every aspect of their lives.

She had been rather surprised when at their first DADA lesson he had talked not of curses and hexes, but of mind games - he hadn't ignored the practical side, every week he'd give them a list of spells, shields and counter-spells that he wanted them to learn by the end of the week - but he'd said he would teach them how to think and how to plan, how to anticipate the enemy's move and block it.

And for this, he needed them to learn about the Death Eaters. Their history, their methods, and their beliefs - the Gryffindor students had looked stunned, the Slytherins were divided between outrage, fear and blank impassivity, which meant that they were hiding whatever they were thinking. Nevertheless, he had said, next lesson they would begin to learn about what had been plaguing their world for so long - and would be the better for it, Mr. Longbottom, because the unknown is always so much worse than the familiar.

And that was that - the tai-pan of the House had spoken. She wondered how she had ever thought he could be in the least Gryffindoric. He was a Slytherin to the core - accent and manner, cool, mocking amusement and unquestionable authority all radiating the ideal of the High Clan that Marc had once described when he'd talked to her about his ambitions for the future.

Luc was Marc's idol, but he was undoubtedly a Death Eater, or at least a former one - the Death Eaters on the train had recognized him and their faces, before he'd thrown a Killing Curse at them, had reflected relief that he'd come. Then the relief had turned to shock, horror, and outrage...when they realized he'd turned against them.

She wondered how a man could be a Death Eater, an earnest Gryffindor's and a cool Slytherin's idol at the same time. Why, when the House had remained determinedly separate from their parent Clan, had they chosen a Malfoy as their leader? How could he be a Malfoy and a de Sauvigny too?

How could he be so popular with mainstream society and hold so much power in the High Clan, when there was such a huge gulf between the two?

How had he become a bridge?

Perhaps he might have something useful to teach them, after all...if Voldemort didn't kill him first. Somehow she doubted the Dark Lord accepted traitors philosophically.

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