Disclaimer - I don't own Harry Potter. Don't sue me.
CHAPTER 14 - THE BEGINNING OF THE END pt I
There was only one fireplace in the whole of Hogwarts that gave out onto Diagon
Alley, and Harry, Ron and Hermione came face to face with Draco, Nick, Marc and
Brandon when they arrived at the fireplace in the third floor dueling corridor.
Eyeing each other warily, they decided that they were in too much of a hurry
for the obligatory spat, and so agreed to wait in line for each other - in
fact, Draco and Harry went together, because they couldn't agree who would go
first.
When they came out on the other side, they found Lucius Malfoy waiting for
them.
"Hello, children," came the soft, aristocratic voice - very much like
a cat, playing with a mouse, sure of its victory.
*********************************
The rumour seemed to have gone out from the Ministry of Defence, out onto the
street, and from there through the whole of the London shopping district. As he
passed, Luc could feel eyes following him, watching, judging...word was that
the tai-pan had been called in to the Ministry, that the aurors had found solid
proof of his actions and his crimes.
They came out to watch, to bear silent, respectful witness - to see the tai-
pan walk through the streets and to his possible doom. Some of them would be
gleeful, delighted to see him brought down, and others would be secretly hoping
for his acquittal...but no matter what they thought, everyone had an opinion.
Either they loved him or they hated him, but no one was indifferent to him - he
took a perverse pride in that fact.
*********************************
Snape cursed viciously under his breath. Of all the possible times for this
call to come...he was not prepared for this, not prepared for what might come
of it. For what would inevitably come of it.
For years, he had thought of the first time he had given into temptation and
allowed his uneasy alliance with the Malfoy brothers to progress to a higher,
more intimate level, as probably the worst mistake of his life. It had bound
him to them, body and soul - but he had never thought that it might work in the
opposite direction, too.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the physical act and the magical power it produced had
bound them to him, as well. Perhaps just as he had never been able to forget
them, to let them go, they had never been able to let him go, either?
He'd lied for them both, when he'd turned himself into Dumbledore and had begun
to play informer. He'd said that he couldn't recognize any individual Death
Eaters, such as Lucius, under their masks and robes, and he'd flatly denied any
knowledge of Luc's involvement in Caine de Sauvigny's death.
It had only been recently that he'd thought of their actions towards him - he'd
begun to have suspicions that they, in turn, had known full well he was a spy
and had covered for him when he slipped...
But even that was not enough. Too much lay between them - his father, their
father, Kate, Voldemort...too many lies, too many hatreds, too many shadows.
Too much sex, too much intimacy, too many memories...it was a tangled trap that
had bound both of them in silken, drugged webs stronger than steel, stronger
than his own guilt and self disgust and hatred.
No matter how strong their ties, he had an obligation to fulfill, a debt to
repay - his duty to Hogwarts and Dumbledore outweighed the bond between he and
the Malfoy...
He had to go through with Voldemort's plan, and hope that they could come out
of it alive, and that when it was over, the already strained relationship would
not be shattered beyond repair.
He didn't have enough friends that the loss of Luc and Lucius would not be
felt...
**********************************
Harry Potter regarded Lucius Malfoy, tall, aristocratic,
feline and far too amused for his liking with acute suspicion and dislike. He
knew that Malfoy had tried to kill him last year, knew that he had been the one
to kill Cedric, and he burned to wipe that unholy smirk right off his inbred,
far too pretty face.
How could he be Professor Malfoy's brother? They were completely different.
He asked his friends this, put his concerns to them as they walked in Malfoy's
wake, unwilling to leave when the alternative to following was being tied up in
the alley...Ron agreed with him, but Hermione shook her head.
"They're almost completely alike, Harry," she said, sounding as if
she were puzzled that he couldn't see it. "If they're brothers, they would
have had the same tutors, learned the same things, been taught the same
values...any difference between them would come from experience, not from
attitude."
Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and then looked at her incredulously. She
sighed.
"Look," she said patiently. "Professor Malfoy was Lucius'
younger, illegitimate brother. He had no power at all, and yet within five
years of leaving school, he became the tai-pan of the House after at least six
other, more legitimate heirs killed in the Dark Times." She lowered her
voice. "Can you imagine what it would take to pull that off? It would take
as much ambition and ruthlessness as joining the Death Eaters and then getting
away with it by claiming you were under Imperius the whole time...The only
difference between them is that Lucius doesn't mask his cruelty, or his High
Clan status. He doesn't try and make himself acceptable to society."
Ron scowled. "Professor Malfoy is much nicer than Lucius, and that makes
him more dangerous, is that what you're saying?"
"Yes!" She nodded. "That's exactly what I'm saying. He's nicer,
so he is more liked, more welcome...and he fools people into thinking that he's
not as ruthless, or as potentially deadly as Lucius."
"Dumbledore wouldn't accept him if he were dangerous," said Harry
doubtfully.
She sighed. "Dumbledore accepted him precisely because he was dangerous.
If he hadn't been on the train when the Death Eaters attacked, we'd have all
died. Don't you think that was a superb illustration of just how deadly he
really is, and how useful that could be? We were outnumbered and horribly
vulnerable, but he found a way to kill them all - not one of the students on
that train died, Harry. Not one. Dumbledore wanted a weapon, and he got
one." She looked at them, at their stunned faces.
"And besides," she summed up. "Just how dangerous do you think
Professor Lupin could be, if pushed? Or Professor Snape? He's a Death Eater,
and a Potions Master. If he wanted to, he could slip something into the pumpkin
juice and kill every one of us..."
Ron looked horrified. "But that's...that's..."
She finished for him. "That's Slytherin?" Her brows were raised as
she did when she had a particularly obvious point to make. "It's no good
being honourable when it'll get you killed, Harry. If I were Dumbledore, I'd
use everything I possibly could to keep the school safe, too."
They didn't like it, but there was no arguing with Hermione when she was right.
They conceded the point.
**************************************
Draco walked with his father, striding along beside him as he had done so often
before, feeling the heady pride of knowing that this splendid man was his
father. Ever since he'd been young, his goal had been to be just like Lucius,
and failing that to be just like his uncle Luc. As he'd gotten older, he'd come
to see that they both had their flaws and their shadows, their secrets and
their mistakes, but that had in no way diminished the love he bore for them
both.
He'd always known they'd once been Death Eaters. He'd always assumed that one
day he would follow them if it became necessary - but lately, certain subtle
things they'd said had given him the impression that they were trying to
discourage him from joining.
They'd said nothing outright, but they'd explained how they'd first become
Death Eaters, and for what reasons, what they'd hoped to gain, and what the
price had been...Draco had understood from all this that joining Voldemort
hadn't been part of their plans, and that, in fact, his presence and his
crusade had caused them no end of inconvenience, no matter what they had gained
from it.
He'd begun to rethink his decision when Voldemort had first been defeated by
Harry Potter in their first year, and gradually, over all the unsuccessful
plots, had come the decision, crystallized last year when Cedric Diggory had
died, that he didn't want to become a Death Eater, or to be granted the supreme
honour of serving the Dark Lord.
However, by then Lucius had been told in no uncertain terms that Voldemort
looked forward to the day when Draco would enter into his service, and that he
expected great things from him...oh, yes, Voldemort wanted to make it three
generations of House Malfoy bending knee to him. Three generations would make
it a family tradition and cement them permanently in High Clan minds as loyal supporters
- everyone knew Marcus Malfoy had joined unwillingly. But Draco's joining would
go far towards erasing that fact...
And so it seemed gracefully backing out, or even politely refusing his offer
was no longer an option.
He looked up at his father, who had always looked as if he could take on the
world and not lose a mite of his composure. "Father?" he asked
softly, for their ears only.
His father made no reaction, didn't even acknowledge that he'd spoken. But he
did answer in Welsh, looking straight ahead as they walked. "Talk. We have
very little time."
He took a deep breath, remembering his carefully prepared speech - but the
necessity of translating into Welsh hampered things a little. Finally he just
said, "I don't want to be a Death Eater." He flushed, completely
mortified at such a lack of delicacy or tact.
His father only nodded, smiling slightly, proudly. "I know. I'm trying to
keep you away from him, but you'll have to trust me..."
Draco blinked. Of course he had complete trust in his father...but how did he
know what Draco would decide? He knew better than to ask, though. Lucius had a
bad habit of ignoring questions he thought foolish. "I trust you,
father," he murmured, heartfelt. It was enough, and it was all that could
be said without becoming maudlin.
Lucius stopped walking and looked down at him, into the grey eyes they shared.
He didn't smile, but Draco could see it in his eyes. Casually, he rested a hand
on Draco's shoulder - an almost unprecedented show of public affection.
"Listen to me, Draco. No matter what happens, remember that you are the
Malfoy Heir. You are irreplaceable." He sighed at the confusion in his
son's eyes, and then tightened his hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it as
he had seen Luc do so casually to the children under his care.
"Ah, Draco..." he paused, and then went on, "I am...very proud
of you." Draco's eyes went quite round with shock. "I will keep you
from Voldemort's service, if it is at all possible. You'll simply have to trust
me...and remember that, no matter what happens," his voice sharpened and
became implacable, "no matter what happens you are not to surrender
yourself. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded wordlessly. It was not enough for his father. "Your word on
it, Caius Draconis Malfoy." Sensing the seriousness of the situation, if
not what prompted it, he drew out a slim, ornamental dagger and drew it across
his palm. "I swear," he whispered. "I will not surrender."
After one last, hard look at him, Lucius nodded, squeezed his shoulder one last
time, and said quietly, fiercely, "Remember that I love you," before
walking off ahead, leaving a bemused, speechless son to follow wordless in his
wake.
**************************************
The Ministry of Magic was housed in an imposing, ancient building first built
in 1070 on the explicit orders of the Conqueror's first advisor. Since then
there had been several alterations and renovations, but the core of the
arrogant, Norman architecture remained.
As did the purpose - it was built solely to curb the power of the High Clan,
and for no other reason.
The original founders would be absolutely delighted by today's proceedings, Luc
mused. The chance to bring down the Lord of the de Sauvigny, to shame both the
House and the Malfoy in one...and to do so in such a public manner, was an
incredible opportunity.
Oh, Benjamin Greyson was going to pay, and pay, and pay - it had been a very,
very long time since Luc had been this angry...this cold rage, not the hot
outrage he'd felt the night before. That had been a pale shadow compared to
this.
Insults and threats against his person he could stomach, but insults and
threats to his Clan, both of them...that was another matter entirely.
The gathered crowd, perhaps sensing his mood in the way that crowds and mobs
could, all fell deathly silent as he walked past and into the building. He
almost smiled. They were far, far wiser than their representatives in the
Ministry, who had dared to waken the sleeping tiger of the Malfoy wrath...
His eyes were heavy lidded, cold and cruel, his mouth curled sardonically and
his whole body language insolent as he made his way through the corridors
towards the room to which he had been so cavalierly summoned.
Anyone who had ever judged him to be nicer and tamer than Lucius was going to
find themselves in for a rude, rude shock. Lucius had never had to fight off
amorous, intoxicated suitors who thought that because he was illegitimate, he
was anyone's meat...Lucius had never lost some of those battles, and paid the
price. And Lucius, dangerous as he was, had never felt the dark, feral
satisfaction of plunging his knife into flesh that had once been used to hurt
and humiliate him - Lucius was a creature of the mind, of discipline and
manipulation...Luc was far too much a creature of passion, of hot blooded
emotion. It was just that his control was normally good enough to mask it.
And for one of the very, very few times in his life, he deliberately took the
mask off his emotions, let them have free reign restrained only by tenuous self
control.
Someone was going to pay. And he didn't care about the consequences.
***********************************
They followed Malfoy into the Ministry of Magic, into the governmental centre
of wizarding England - and then noticed just how much at home Lucius Malfoy was
in here, how all the faceless wizards and witches who made up the public
service treated him with respectful, almost fearful awe.
Of course, some of the Ministers made a show of defiance - the Ministers who
believed that he was a Death Eater working to undermine them from within, or
those who, because of their origins, simply disliked him...but even then,
underneath the defiance and the sneering was a very real wariness.
Harry had never seen this particular behaviour turned towards Professor Malfoy
- he had seemed to be genuinely liked, not feared and resented...perhaps
Hermione was right. Perhaps because they thought him tame, thought him safe,
their very lack of fear and wariness could make him all the more dangerous, if
he chose to reveal his true nature?
Following in the Malfoy Lord's wake, they headed towards the main hearing
rooms, where inquiries and hearings were heard on all manner of things. As they
walked, the air temperature seemed to drop a little, the normal bustling
activity slowed as workers eyed each other warily, and frozen silence seemed to
spread outwards from the figure they could see striding up ahead, clothed in
black muggle clothes and a very, very cold and menacing aura.
Nick, Marc and Draco exchanged wary glances when they first caught sight of Luc
- watching this, Harry himself became a little wary, a little apprehensive
about whatever it was that they were going to watch. Lucius Malfoy hadn't said
it - in fact, he hadn't said anything other than "Come with me," -
but he seemed to be grim, rather than amused, as he so often was...
Perhaps that wasn't such a good sign.
Exchanging a glance of his own with Ron and Hermione, they hurried on to face
whatever had made Lucius Malfoy wary - with only one detour along the way.
*********************************
The hearing room was quite large, with a dais at the head of the room, where a
panel of judges sat in a row, impassive, stern faces all focused on the small
bench where the person being questioned would sit, the focus of all eyes, with
perhaps one or two advisors. Behind him there was seating for the interested
public, the press, and anyone who wished to either support the accused or watch
gleefully as they fell.
As he entered the room, Luc could see the judges - all of them influential and
well respected, all of them completely biased against the High Clan and
Slytherins, and against the Malfoy in particular.
Obviously someone was taking no chances...
But there were only seven of them, out of a possible thirteen - it was a
quorum. The bare minimum needed to convict and ruin him, because if it were a
full bench sitting, there would be at least some balancing voices among them,
and the decision must be unanimous, to send a man with no prior convictions to
Azkaban.
Especially someone of his influence and power.
And, looking around, there he was - the architect of all this - Benjamin
Greyson, brushed and well-presented, looking particularly honourable and
trustworthy in his formal robes as official liaison, supported by Alastor
Moody, who had always hated Luc and Lucius, and by the deputy ambassador, whose
cousin owned the American trading house that was Luc's nearest competitor.
There was no sign of the official ambassador, who if he didn't quite like the
system, nonetheless recognized the truth of the situation and the benefits to
keeping the balance of power stable and secure.
This didn't look good at all - and suddenly the cold rage abated enough to let
reason back in.
Entering insolently and arrogantly would only put the judges' backs up further,
and it would do nothing to endear the public's opinion of him, so in the blink
of an eye he masked it, dropped the aristocratic manner and the edge to his
accent, and fell back into the wealthy upper class role he had learned from
James Potter and his esteemed father.
He did nothing about the anger - let it simmer as irritation, just visible
under the mask.
It would be justifiable anger - after all, he had been summoned from his own
business with no notice, with a cavalier lack of any tact or subtlety...even
the most biased of judges could understand that kind of irritation, if he
didn't let it get too obvious. After all, if he masked it completely, showing
no reaction, it would be too much a reminder of the High Clan, and he was
aiming for a balance, here.
So with that in mind, he walked in confidently but not arrogantly, and looked
around impassively but with a hint of impatience that was credibly hidden and
visible only to the more observant among them. The impatience became very real
as he saw Anita Skeeter in the crowd. Merlin's balls, he thought that someone
had finally done the world a favour and killed her last year...obviously not.
He walked to the small bench and sat down with elegance, arranging his muggle
clothes with ease that spoke of long practice - a fact he was sure that some of
them, the muggle borns among them, would have noticed. He hadn't brought any
counsel with him, ostensibly because the summons had not given him enough
notice, and in reality because he didn't want to bring anyone else down with
him, if he fell, or if he was forced to drastic measures.
He could hear the crowd murmuring as the benches filled up behind him - looking
out of the corner of his eye he saw most of them were aurors, or ministry
workers famous for their prejudice against the High Clan...there were none of
the moderate ministry workers, none of the higher members who were interested
in maintaining the status quo.
It appeared he was to become a fait accompli.
And there, at the back, was a most unusual group of spectators who had not come
to witness his downfall. Crabbe. Goyle. Parkinson. Nott. Bulstrode. Flint.
Wilkinson. Death Eaters, all - and it seemed that no one else but he could see
them. He began to have serious doubts about this - suddenly it was more than an
ineffectual attempt to bring him down legally by Greyson. Suddenly it was more
- and unless the Boy Scout was in league with Voldemort, either he had played
right into their hands, or the Dark Lord had arranged this from the very
beginning.
Shit. Why hadn't Lucius told him of this?
And there was Snape, seated among his peers and companions - obviously on
official Death Eater business, deep under his cover...sometimes Luc pitied him,
the things he was forced to do so that he could continue his spying for
Dumbledore. Would he sacrifice even Luc for the headmaster?
Of course he would, although he would no doubt take agonise about it long
afterwards, down in his deep dungeon in the darkness of his tortured, guilty
soul...really, Snape did tend to make mountains out of molehills...he'd never
learned to get on with his life, as he and Lucius had.
Luc suspected that one of Snape's very earliest mentors had been a Christian of
some sort, and had filled his mind with their teachings about sin, and penance,
and punishment...He himself believed that if an act was justified, then he
would gladly pay the price when it fell due. Until that time, he wouldn't worry
about what could no longer be changed.
And it seemed that his deeds had finally rebounded back on him. If Greyson
could provoke him into anger, then it would be a sign of his disloyalty to the
Ministry and further evidence against him, if what he already had wasn't
enough...even if he stayed calm and was acquitted, the Death Eaters would be
waiting for him when he came out. They might even attack during the hearing,
and invisible, the blame would be passed onto Luc.
Damn, damn, damn...
And then suddenly, disconcertingly, he felt a wave of exhilaration well up in
him from the odd, carefully hidden, de Sauvigny, Gryffindoric part of his soul
that delighted in challenge, in danger. He hadn't been in this sort of a
situation in years - he'd thought he'd put danger and excitement behind
him...non-Slytherin as it was, he found himself smiling slightly, crazily.
This was going to be fun.
**********************************
Severus saw the slight, almost...reckless grin on Luc's face, an eerie echo of
the one Sirius Black had almost constantly worn...and suddenly he was very
afraid. Luc's very carefully hidden reckless side invariably led to trouble,
whether it was at Hogwarts or under Voldemort's rule...
He edged closer to the door, ensuring he had a clean exit, and began to finger
his wind nervously. It paid to be prepared, especially when a Malfoy began
preparing to let all their control go...
***********************************