A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long with this. I can tell by the reviews that people have already lost their patience with me, for which no one can be blamed, but I'm afraid it couldn't be helped. I do appreciate the reviews, though, and the fact that people like this enough to ride my sorry arse about it. And even after all that, all I give you is a filler chapter. A disjointed, confusing filler chapter of questionable quality, written at three in the morning. Shame on me.
The patter of feet disrupted the silence of the Manor as a throng of house elves appeared around a bend in one of the upper corridors. They dispersed, running through the hall in a panic -- hopping into suits of armor and behind tapestries -- their wrinkled simian hands wringing in distress as they scurried about. A moment later, the reason for their panic came tromping down the hallway, growling and spitting curses like a dragon spits fire.
There was more anger and force in his heated steps than should have been possible for such a lithe young man. One unfortunate elf -- which the boy had dubbed Potty (the wrinkled little creature had reminded him of his most favourite schoolmate) -- had failed to hide in time and stood frozen in the middle of the corridor, awaiting the impending doom as the angry body hurried closer and was finally upon the nervous little creature.
Draco stopped just long enough to swing his foot back and give the elf a hard kick -- causing the tiny thing to tumble head over bitty heal, across the hall and into a full suit of armor. He cursed as the clamor of falling metal rang throughout the foyer, and the nearby tapestries fell as the impact set them off like dominos, before he was off again without a second thought, leaving the house-elves to deal with the mess. Potty the Elf shook his head free of concussion and looked after the boy, his large green eyes growing a lash larger. "Young Master is not happy."
The others nodded, wringing their hands and scurrying about to re-hang the tapestries and repair the armor as Draco's harsh language continued to reverberate through the hollow halls of the great stone Manor house.
By the time he reached the main west corridor on the third floor, Draco was panting and in disarray -- his shirt wrinkled where he had twisted the fabric angrily in his fists, his normally neat hair spun into a tumult, his robes long discarded somewhere behind him, sweat making his trousers cling uncomfortably to his thighs, and his cheeks and forehead flushed pink as his long stride carried him along fast and furiously -- hardly the calm, collected individual he was raised to be.
But he didn't care as what the man had said stuck within his thoughts, setting his restless blood coursing through his veins, racing for revenge. The Impudence! The Outrage! And in his own house -- in his dungeon! Heads would roll! Of course, Draco had one particular head in mind, and this thought brought him directly to the threshold of his father's door.
His initial enthusiasm for revenge dulled slightly as he looked up at the monstrous double doors that formed a dark gilded Curtain, rising nearly to the ceiling, to block his path. The doors were shut tight, as they most often were. He bit his lip thoughtfully as he went through a mental checklist.
One, was his father busy? Answer, doors closed...yes, as always.
Two, was his father in a bad mood? Answer? Draco thought back to the man's behavior during breakfast. Oh yes, now he remembered. Lucius hadn't been at breakfast. That didn't bode well.
Three, was this important enough to risk interrupting a moody Lucius in the middle of his work? The prisoner's cocky grin flashed briefly across Draco's mind's eye and he frowned. Yes, it was important enough.
There were two main imperatives within the Malfoy family. One was to gain power, by any means necessary. The other was to, once you've obtained the power, exact revenge on those who stood in your way and anybody and everybody who had ever humiliated or wronged you.
There were imbeciles a 'plenty in the wizarding world, who thought that they were smarter or better than the Malfoys. And the Malfoys were never lacking in people to have fired, maimed, or killed for trying to play a false hand with them. A Malfoy's duties were to gain power and settle scores. It was about god-given superiority and honour. This was no different. Draco would do his duty by his name. That man would pay!
Draco raised his hand and knocked timidly, twice on one of the huge slabs of carved mahogany.
He listened for a moment, before finally, his father's voice came to him soft and gravelly, buffered by the thick wood. "Come in."
Draco took a breath and cautiously pushed the door open. The room was fairly dark and hardly welcoming. The only light in the room emanated, diffuse and hollow, from a single lamp on the table where Lucius Malfoy was sat, bent over some parchments. He was writing something, pausing every other two seconds to look over his pince-nez to check something or another in a large leather bound book laid open beside him.
Draco walked forward and stood before the desk, hoping he hadn't interrupted anything too important. Lucius could get grumpy when he was bothered from something important. Well, grumpier, as it were. Draco rarely bothered his father in his study.
"What is it, Draco?" asked Lucius, without drawing his eyes from his work.
Draco shuffled nervously. "Umm...."
"Speak up!" The elder Malfoy still hadn't looked up, and Draco could feel his palms getting balmy.
"Er, Father I was curious. Who is that man down in the dungeons? The one in holding cell three."
The scratching of the quill on parchment stopped abruptly. Lucius looked up at his son, removing his glasses. Draco gulped.
"What were you doing down in the dungeons?"
Draco blanched slightly. "Nothing! I was just looking around. I thought you'd have all the prisoners cleared out by now, and I was bored, so I was just looking around, and then that man was there, and I left right away. I didn't touch anything, I swear, and I didn't stay down there too long, and I didn't know we'd gotten any new arrivals, and Clive said that there was a really nasty Boggart down there, and I thought maybe I could find it, and I wasn't going to do anything, I was just bored and--"
"Enough!" Lucius massaged his forehead with one pale hand and sighed as Draco's ramblings trailed off. "What have I told you about that Pengree boy? What have I told you about consorting with those below you?"
"Not to do it?"
"That is correct," said Lucius. "I suggest you stop talking to Clive, and start acting the upbringing you've been given. That boy lies through his crooked perverted teeth anyhow. You know better than to trust a word that comes out of his mouth. Is your judgment so poor? Have I taught you nothing?"
"I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again. I didn't think it would do any harm to go look though, and I was bored, so--"
"Draco, you are not to go down there again. Do you understand? It is off limits from now on." Draco nodded, and Lucius looked up at him with consideration gleaming in his ashen eyes. "Why are you bored? Don't you have any work to do? If I'm not mistaken, you had a session with Marcus today. Don't you have any assignments to practice?"
"Yes, Sir, I was doing them, but I just wanted to take a break and--"
"Wandering about the manor does you no good. Dawdling and wasting time are the occupations of layabouts and vagabonds, degenerates. I swear you're getting as lazy as those brainless Gryffindors. I'll not hear of you shirking your responsibilities again, do you understand. And I want to hear no excuses."
There was only one possible response to that. "Yes, Sir," Draco said stiffly.
Lucius seemed assuaged for the moment and relaxed back in his chair, lacing his fingers as he looked over his son. Draco stood tall and proud inviting the inspection, raising his chin slightly with all the confidence in his manner as he could muster in his present nervous state. His father nodded his approval. Draco felt a crooked smile welling up, but remained impassive as was expected of him.
Lucius, on the other hand, held no such standards for himself, and a smirk formed suddenly on his face. Draco's brow creased slightly with curiosity.
His father often threw about dashing grins and clever smirks when out and about around the Manor or in public, but in the formal setting of his study, the look was somewhat misplaced. He looked as if he were a schoolboy with a wicked secret. Draco was quite fond of secrets. They made him feel important and rightly so.
Never would Lucius waste anything of brilliance on someone un-important. To be in his father's confidences was a position of great privilege. Anyone would be honoured. Only recently had Lucius brought Draco deeper into his world of secrets, and it made Draco giddy to think that his father trusted him so. The boy trained his focus on his father, waiting patiently for whatever tale was occupying Lucius' thoughts to spill forth.
"But since you did go down there, I suppose it won't do any harm to tell you that the man in the dungeons is Sirius Black," Lucius said simply, his lips twisting even more.
Draco gasped. "The murderer? What's he doing in the dungeons?!"
Lucius narrowed his eyes. Draco checked his curiosity and shifted back into the well-bred impassivity that his father demanded. Lucius had often in the past reminded him that such affectations were coarse to his person, the old family heir apparent that he was. Shock and surprise were unbefitting of someone of his stature. Bored intelligence was the more proper projection. Normally, at home it didn't make much difference.
Lucius could give stern lectures, but he was hardly a slave driver, and of course, the man was busy or away at least one half of the day and fairly unconcerned throughout the other. Draco often got away with acting according to his instincts, as ill bred as they could be at times. But Lucius seemed in an irritable mood at the moment, making everything fair game.
"I remind you that the world belongs to us. Nothing in it should come as a surprise to you. And if something does, no one should ever know about it. It's those kind of weaknesses," Draco cringed slightly at the word that he knew his father uttered always specially for him, "that will be used against you. Do you understand?"
Draco nodded, "Yes, Sir."
"I think you've asked enough questions for today. Now stop wasting time and get back to your studies. Your mother will be leaving shortly for Madrid so we will dine early this evening. I expect to hear that you've made some decent progress by that time." Lucius turned back to his parchments, effectively ending the discussion.
"Yes, Father." Draco turned with a sigh and left dejectedly, his father's soft grumbly mumbles -- something to do with summer holidays being too long -- seeing him to the door.
Safely out in the hall, he took a moment to curse himself for trying his father's patience. He hadn't really quite done anything, but he should have known better, anyway. If only he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. That was always one of his biggest problems. Lucius was always saying.
And now he'd gone through all that for hardly anything at all. What did he have? Nothing! He hadn't even a chance to bring up beheading or any of the numerous tortures he'd had in mind for the man in the dungeons -- Sirius Black, Draco now knew.
Well, at least he knew that one piece more. Sirius Black. Now, when he went back, the man wouldn't be able hold Draco's ignorance over his head in mockery.
When he went back?
Should he...his father had said--but then, he could be sneaky this time. Lucius wouldn't have to find out. And he was curious; surely, his father would rather he discovered this shit for himself instead bothering Lucius again.
Draco's fists clenched and pumped in frustration. He didn't even get to tell his father what the man had said! But now it looked as if it would be up to Draco himself to make Black pay. And he would pay, severely, for not only the insult, but also, for getting Draco in trouble with his father. He wasn't sure just yet what his plan would be, but he'd think of something soon enough. Something special. He'd show Black. And maybe impress his father too, while he was at it. He crossed his arms over his chest and set off back down the hall.
Next Chapter: This 'next chapter' of which I speak will be out sometime in the distant future. I'm sorry, that's all I can say. It's nearly done but needs a bit of editing. Oh, in case you're wondering, 'Clive' is meant to be just some servant's kid, he's not important at all. Slashiness begins fourth chapter. Once again all apologies for the holdup. Thanks for reading.