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CHAPTER 11 - BROTHERS


Lucius Malfoy was no stranger to the darker side of wizarding London - the Malfoy, both brothers, were well known on Knockturn Alley and the darker, unnamed lanes that branched off it into the shadows. While his father's interest in the Dark Arts may have been merely academic, Lucius had, in the course of an eventful life and a very misspent youth, amassed a considerable wealth of practical knowledge. Part of that knowledge, of his experience, was this house. You could find and buy absolutely anything in this part of London if you knew where to look, and if you were willing to pay the price, and that included oblivion.

Gliding gracefully up the stairs to a discreet, unassuming and unremarkable door in a row of discreet, unassuming and unremarkable doors, he rapped twice and waited on the doorstep, feeling exposed and all too aware of the eyes watching from the neighbouring windows. This house was notorious - both to the Death Eaters and the Aurors - and he and Luc had been well known customers, once. He was sure the sight of both brothers visiting within twenty-four hours of each other had set several sets of antennae quivering...

Luc would be here. He always came back here, eventually.

The spyhole on the door slid open fractionally, and was immediately slid back - his fair hair and grey eyes were instantly recognizable, as was his motive for coming now. Rumour ran on wings on Knocturn Alley, and from there it ran throughout the whole High Clan - and vice versa. And Lucius had been coming here since he was seventeen, sometimes to sample the wares, more often to pick Luc up.

The doorman, an old, gnarled man with white hair and rheumy eyes stepped aside to let him in, not saying anything, not indicating anything with eyes or body language - he'd learned his lesson since the first and last time he'd leered at either of the Malfoy brothers, neither of whom appreciated his comments, spoken or otherwise. Now he simply watched with carefully veiled eyes, waiting, growing more and more resentful towards the bright, brilliant aristocrats who thought they were so clever, so powerful, so invulnerable...a glance from cool, confident silver eyes ended his brief spurt of rebellion. No matter - their time was coming - the Malfoy couldn't stay on top forever, and when that day came...

A cool, stunningly lush woman with ancient, cold eyes looked up from her circle of admirers and recognized him, deduced his mission, and without missing a beat inclined her head towards a discreet staircase leading up to private rooms. When she saw he had understood, she turned her attention back to her clients, reaffirming the enchantments that kept them captivated.

The other clients, all of them High Clan or at least very rich, were all of them regulars at this house that had no name and other, like ones - they all had the jaded, feral eyes of human predators or victims, and they all recognized Lucius and, beyond the one, swift identifying glance, paid him no notice and went back to their own business.

In this house, the only rule was discretion - you minded your own business and no one else's. It was safer that way.

Up to the staircase and to the right lay a suite of rooms, done in discreet silks and velvets and satins, all materials calculated to increase the skin's tactile activity, and to appeal to all the other senses, all for the sake of maximizing pleasure and sensuality. However, to the left - to the left lay the darker part of the house, the rooms designed for those who preferred the darker side of sex, the more, esoteric and dangerous variations. Lucius could all but taste the cinnamon tang of dranath, and he tensed in instinctive revulsion - he'd been taught to avoid that taste, that smell, since infancy, and his one and only experience with dranath had only reinforced the lesson.

Luc, however, had come back to it again and again, drawn by some sadomasochistic tendency to the painful oblivion it delivered, as well as the helpless sensual overload. Lucius knew he hadn't had it completely easy, growing up as a bastard son - when their father hadn't been around, a young, beautiful boy had been quite a temptation - but Luc's darker side had been kept under control while Kate had been alive; since she'd died, he'd been unconsciously punishing himself.

Lucius didn't mind a little painful sex every now and then - it spiced things up a little, enlivened life and could make him forget his ice bitch of a wife - but he did prefer to wake up in the morning knowing exactly what went on with who last night, and without the splitting headache and uncontrollable nausea of a dranath hangover. Lately, Luc had been rather sober, refraining from anything self-destructive or anything that smacked of too much of the darker side of the High Clan - he hadn't come here in a very long time, and Lucius thought the suicidal drive of the years after Kate had died - the Death Eater years - had been replaced with responsibility and maturity since he'd become tai- pan.

Something had happened to send him back here. And he intended to find out what and who was responsible, and make sure they paid...

He didn't like seeing his younger brother unconscious in a notorious brothel, surrounded by whores of both sexes, glutted with dranath, alcohol and the ardeur which still lingered like perfume after the wearer has left the room, the marks of the whip and the cruciatus marking his white, white skin...

There was a change in the atmosphere, in the lingering ardeur, that let Lucius know Luc was now awake and aware, even though his eyes were closed and his muscles still lax. Coming over to stand by the bed, looking down at Luc's face, the very mirror of his own but for the colouring, he saw the grey eyes, so like his own, open lazily, full of intelligence and power - there was no wariness, none at all.

"So, brother," murmured Luc, feline in his mockery. "Have you come to kill me?" Silence reigned for an endless, eternal moment. Neither Luc nor Lucius were at all surprised that they were now on opposite sides. Lucius didn't bother to smile, didn't do anything other than steadily meet his brother's eyes.

"Not yet," he replied. "Although it may come to that, soon..."

"Ah...." Luc sighed. He stretched sensuously, displaying his lean, slender body, the white skin and the black hair, and the small, faded scar where Lucius, in a childish fit of pique, had hexed him, throwing him back through a glass window; he had a matching one, himself, where Luc had thrown a vase at him. And there, there on the left arm, on the white, flawless skin was the abomination of the Dark Mark, marring the perfect whole - it would always, he realized, remain as a blemish on an otherwise clean soul; the price of ambition, of power.

The wages of vice - hidden, intangible, and far more lasting than worldly power and influence. It had to be worth it, otherwise there would have been no point.

Unwittingly, or perhaps very perceptively, Luc spoke again. "I'm glad he's sent you, brother; you can claim it as your right as Lord - or did you surrender that as well, when you bent knee?"

Lucius winced. That was unfair. "You know what we gave, and what we gained in return; at the time, we both thought it justified.

"Once, long ago...but now? Twice?"

Lucius said nothing. Luc didn't continue - wouldn't ask Lucius to come back, to join him - that would be an insult, as well as futile, a violation of individual autonomy that Luc, not being Lucius' Lord, had no right to commit...

Lucius changed the subject. "Why?"

Luc made no attempt to misunderstand. They knew each other so well, by now, that any deception was all too obvious. "What do you know of Benjamin Greyson?"

Lucius knew his brother didn't carelessly throw out non-sequiturs - but he didn't come directly to the point, either. It was...discourteous. So he played along, shrugging gracefully. "An idealist, a dreamer, without the ambition or the strength to make his dreams reality." He flicked a hand dismissively.

Luc nodded. That had been his reading of the man, too. "And yet," he murmured thoughtfully. "He has risen quite far..."

"Oh, I'm not denying that - he's got talent, and he's got some charisma, an honesty....a sincerity." He paused thoughtfully. "But it's not enough. I would say that, rather than his determination driving him, there's a very gifted player standing behind him in the shadows..." Absently, he ran through the circle of his acquaintances to see who it might be. An influential American diplomat could be a very useful tool...but there was no one he knew who could be the puppet master. He looked to Luc, who was staring at him with unusual intensity.

"Have you ever met his wife?" he asked, too softly.

Lucius raised his eyes to Luc's, quite unable to mask his dawning suspicions. "Oh, yes," Luc purred dangerously. "I am reliably informed that she is muggle born, attended Hogwarts from 1971 to 77, and that her name is Katherine..."

"And she doesn't go out into society," supplied Lucius slowly, "because she is indisposed; not one of us has seen her..." He looked back to Luc. "But how? She looked dead..." he cut himself off.

"Snape."

Luc smiled with terrifying gentleness. "Yes. Snape." He explained, and Lucius took a moment to feel sorry for their childhood friend, but then the implications hit him. Kate was alive. Luc's one and only weakness, beyond his blood family, was alive and well and married to a prime target for assassination - and now that he had this information, Lucius was bound to bring it back to his lord so that he could topple the House and the wizarding economy with it.

A good plan, if it didn't involve Luc, and if Lucius' own finances weren't so much at risk; he'd have to see about transferring some of his money out, maybe even into the Muggle economy - their Swiss banks were one of their best inventions. And as for Luc, well - they were brothers.

Could he betray his own brother? His mirror? His blood? No, of course he couldn't.

In the Game, most things were fluid, variable, changing according to circumstances - but some rare things were absolute. A soul-bond. The Covenant between a Lord and his people. And a bond such as Luc and Lucius shared. Some things were larger than ambition, larger than the Game. In a shifting morass of loyalties, allegiances and deceptions, truth, lies and half- truths, the absolutes were sacred.

And if he should forget in the heat of the moment, in the throes of a grand plan, then there was always the cold threat in Luc's eyes to remind him. Brother or not, Lord or not, bond or not - if he even gave a hint that he knew Kate was still alive, he would find himself destroyed more thoroughly than Voldemort could ever dream of...

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She stood at the window of her hotel room and looked out at the street below, watching the world go by while she remained still and static. She was not used to such inaction, to taking a back seat, but it was an unfortunate necessity at this time.

It would not do to be recognized - it could ruin everything...

She picked up Bran's letter again, reading the words over and smiling slightly at the thought of her son, her wonderful, sadly innocent son who had, despite all Ben's best efforts, not been placed in Gryffindor - she allowed herself a small thrill of petty satisfaction. She was only human, after all.

She had thought he would find his way to either Gryffindor or Slytherin - he was intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, but without the detachment, and if he'd been placed in Hufflepuff, she would have been extremely surprised. Luckily, there'd never been much chance of that occurring. It seemed from his letter that he'd been heading headlong towards Gryffindor during his train ride - he'd fallen in with some older Gryffindor boys and had been quite taken with them - until the attack.

Closing her eyes, she sent a heartfelt thanks to the Lady that Luc had been on the train at the time - oh, he'd always been the most capable and fierce of protectors, and she supposed that fifteen years of ruling the House had more than honed his skills. Certainly if the Malfoy heir was on the train, he would do anything to keep him out of the Dark Lord's reach, as he would do for Harry Potter, his unofficial godson.

Briefly she felt a slight pang at the thought of James and Lily, whom she had never been able to properly grieve, and another at the thought of her nephew in Petunia and Vernon's clutches. But she was more concerned with her son than her unknown nephew - not that she wasn't worried, really - but she'd never met Harry, didn't know him and so, as a former Slytherin, didn't know what he was capable of, while she knew precisely who Brandon was.

He could be just as great as his father, given the chance, and the right start - she'd tried to plant the seeds to push him into Slytherin, but came smack bang up against Ben's idealism and his ideas on proper child rearing, which did not include much discipline or shaping or intense education for children under ten, but rather an unwarranted emphasis on fun and play and recklessness...

They'd engaged in a silent war for Bran's personality, and lately Ben had been winning - until something on the Express had changed him somehow, and pushed him over into Slytherin. And now, from his letter, it seemed he had a firm base, if he was accepted by the Malfoy Heir and the two dominant scions of the House.

And now he could build on it, if his father wasn't brought down first, taking all of them with him when he fell.

She would just have to ensure that that didn't happen.

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