Old Author's Note (Abridged): This is the second to last chapter. Some odd stuff happens and Lucius starts acting kind of weird; if you don't like it, too bad. I'm, quite frankly, sick of angst, and I love happy endings (even if they are mildly insane). As for the Dodge Viper, I did some research about it online, and all the info I include here is, to the best of my knowledge, accurate. I could not, despite my efforts, find out if Vipers are ever made with the driver's seat on the right (in compliance with the way cars are in Britain), so I'm assuming that some are. If not, too bad; I tried. I like the symbolism of a Viper, and it is good for what Lucius intends to use it for. That is all, and thanks for reading my fic!
Disclaimer: They're not mine. You knew that.
My Angel is a Dragon, My Devil is a Snake
-Catspook
Chapter 13: Victory and Vipers
MUGGLE TO LEAD LAWSUIT AGAINST AZKABAN!
-Rita Skeeter
In an unprecedented show of courage and righteousness, Constance Lynda Hill, the muggle who wowed the wizarding world by taking on over a dozen, fully-armed Death Eaters at the battle of King's Cross, has taken up the case of Sirius Black, wrongly imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years without a trial. "I was utterly appalled when I heard about how this innocent man had been treated," the poised and attractive lawyer replied when asked why she decided to take on the entire Ministry of Magic. Furthermore, when questioned about concerns that a muggle might not be able to comprehend the complexities of wizarding law, Hill reassured this top reporter that, "I really don't see it as a problem. I've already sorted through the case law, and there were many clear violations here. A government is a government, and I can't believe that your Ministry would be any more eager than our Parliament to be on record as having abused one of its own citizens. I trust that justice will be served.
In addition to the 500,000 galleons in compensation to Mr. Black, Hill is asking that 10,000 galleons be awarded to Harry Potter who, she says, was subjected to mental anguish by being deprived of his godfather for those twelve years. Of course, dear readers, you remember that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was tragically orphaned as a baby and left in the care of his muggle relatives; care that many have come to suspect was highly questionable. Personally, this reporter feels that 10,000 galleons could never possibly make up for what our ineffectual and massively corrupt Ministry has put our child-savior through, but it is the very least they could do.
Finally, Hill is also demanding that the dementors be discontinued as the guards of Azkaban. "Your Ministry knows that that place drives people insane, and what good does that do anybody? Those that are guilty are sure never to be rehabilitated; they are simply leeches feeding off government money. And as for those who are innocent, like Mr. Black, the violation of their human rights is absolutely inexcusable. People need to stop thinking that everyone is Azkaban is merely being served justice; that is simply not true."
When asked about concerns that the removal of the dementors will make it easier for real criminals, like Death Eater and murderess Bellatrix Lestrange, to escape and commit more crimes, Hill had this to say, "I've been to that place; it's in the middle of nowhere. If they instituted real security measures, guards, spells, what have you, they could make escape an impossibility. Besides, Mr. Black himself proved that escape is not impossible even with the Dementors."
But whether she prevails in the courtroom or not, this crack investigator is sure that Mrs. Hill will leave her mark on the Ministry of Magic. Shortly after her original claim was filed, half a dozen other lawsuits were also filed on behalf of other current and former prisoners. Clearly, many a stuffy, self-serving bureaucrat is in for rough time; perhaps the Ministry may even begin to address many of the problems concerning everyday wizards that have been ignored for so long. As usual, the Daily Prophet will bring you all the facts as they unfold, so be sure to check in every day to join Mrs. Hill and Mr. Black in their valiant struggle for justice."
Lucius shook his head in wonder; Lynda would never cease to surprise him. He admired her courage, and he greatly envied her seemingly limitless energy. It had been so long since Lucius had been able to go about his life without fatigue and fear constantly tearing at him. Sighing, Lucius folded up his morning paper and slowly stood.
He might as well write in his journal some more; he really had nothing better to do. Besides, Lucius had lately been toying with the idea of turning his writings into a fiction novel and publishing it under a pseudonym. He wanted wizards to wake up and realize that their little civilization was not as perfect as they pretended it to be, but he was not so brave as to admit that the he himself had actually experienced all the horrors that he had described in his journal.
On the way to his office, Lucius heard a suspicious banging noise coming from an ornate cabinet in the hallway. Perplexed and angry with who or what had invaded his home (he suspected it might be another over-eager Witch Weekly reader that had somehow figured out how to enter the manor), Lucius drew his wand and magically opened the door. Lucius froze in terror, his wand dropping from limp fingers.
"You disgusting, little whore!" Abraxas snarled, looking as enraged and dangerous as Lucius had ever seen him, "How dare you raise a wand to me! I am going to teach you proper respect if it kills you, you useless, stupid piece of filth! No one could ever love you! You are deluding yourself..."
And suddenly Lucius was not crippled with fear anymore; he was angry, more angry than he had ever been. How dare he? How dare that man presume to know what Lucius' precious son could and could not do? Lucius did not think; he couldn't think through the hate clouding his mind. He didn't even feel it as his body changed. He did not realize that his mouth now contained razor-sharp weapons, even as he leapt at the object of his hatred. And then all he could see was red.
Lucius tore Abraxas to shreds; he didn't even notice when the body he was mangling shifted from that of a tall, powerfully built man into a short mass of black fur and scales. Only when the exhaustion one again began creeping up on him did Lucius realize that his attacker had not been Abraxas at all.
Morphing back to his human form, Lucius retrieved his wand and put the barely breathing but still alive boggart out of its misery. "Riddikulus!"
"DIBBY!" Lucius bellowed at the top of his lungs.
She immediately popped into the hallway, bowing tremulously. "M-master Lucius, sir?"
"HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU ALLOW A BOGGART TO ENTER THE MANOR! IT ATTACKED ME! I HAD TO KILL IT! IT BECAME ABRAXAS... and I killed it..." suddenly, Lucius, oblivious to Dibby's wails for forgiveness, began to laugh, "I killed it! It became Abraxas and I killed him! I killed him!" Lucius felt lighter than air, like his veins were full of sparkling wine. He was free! Abraxas was dead; he was free! Lucius picked up a terrified Dibby and began swinging her around, "I'm free! I'm free, Dibby!"
Lucius finally set her down after he realized that he was still covered in the boggart's blood. "Clean up this mess!" he declared, "I'm going to take a bath and change, and then... I'm going to buy a car!" he decided, a huge grin on his face. He very nearly ran up the stairs to his bedroom. In his euphoria, he did not hear Dibby sobbing.
"Master Lucius sir is loosing his mind, Sir!"
O~O~O~O~O
Draco was of a similar opinion when he received a letter from his father about the boggart incident and his new 'car'. His father was not acting like himself at all! Draco wrote him back and told him so. In response, Lucius sent another latter and a parcel of chocolate frogs with the cards removed.
My Dear Draco,
I cannot explain this change that has come over me. I can do things now that I have not been able to do since you left for school. I love you, and I still miss you dearly, but I am finding it possible to find things to occupy my time now.
I'm no fool. I know that Abraxas will always be with me in one way or another, but I know now that I am stronger than he. And I can be a better father to you now. It is just you and me now; I don't have to worry about him and you no longer have to worry about me worrying about him.
As for the car, it's really quite a diverting device. I've been taking long drives in the afternoons for no reason at all; it gives me time to think. Maybe you should try it? Honestly, Draco, did you think me so weak of character that I would let a muggle machine turn me into 'another Arthur Weasley' as you put it. That man tinkers with things he knows nothing of; I understand this machine far better than he, I'm sure. Besides, there is no way that he could purchase my model of car with the pittance he makes taking care of renegade toilets. Wealth means power and prestige, to wizards and muggles alike. We are better than peasants like the Weasleys no matter what we do; remember that.
But I do appreciate your concern for my well-being, no matter how that concern is phrased. I worry about you as well; you are eating enough, aren't you? I know that OWLs are coming up very soon, but don't forget to take care of yourself. If you try your best, I know you will have no need to worry. And remember: get a good night's sleep before the tests. Whatever last minute studying you might be convinced you need - and you don't - will be useless if your mind is not well rested. I remember a girl in my year who slept straight through the history exam because she had been up all night cramming for transfiguration. Don't worry about finding time to write me if you are too busy, but take care of yourself, I mean it. Thus ends my fatherly pronouncements; I trust you are well and will continue to be so. Enjoy the frogs.
love,
Father
Baffled, but trusting that his father likely knew what he was doing, Draco placed the letter in his trunk and returned to his Arithmancy notes. Millie was at quidditch practice, and as Arithmancy was the only class he did not share with her, Draco found it the best time to study for his upcoming OWL in the subject.
But Draco was once again diverted from his studying when Blaise entered their dorm. "Good evening, Draco. How's the studying?"
The two boys had developed an understanding and a tenuous sort of friendship since Christmas. They spent little time together, as Draco refused to go anywhere near the Gryffindors and Blaise was still passionately involved with Potter, but when they were together, they appeared to get along fine. Still stewing about his father's letter, Draco decided that the tanned and, regrettably, muggle-born boy would be the perfect person to ask about the 'car'. "Tell me, Blaise, What sort of car is a Viper?"
"Uh..." Blaise looked at Draco oddly but proceeded to answer his question, "It's an American made sports car, higher performance, flashy, expensive... Why do you want to know?"
"My father bought one."
Blaise gaped at him. "You're kidding!"
"No," Draco snapped.
Blaise grinned, "I'm sorry, that's just like finding out that a fundamentalist minister collects gay porn. At least he's got taste."
"Of course he has taste," Draco replied haughtily, "He's my father."
"Of course. I just dropped in to pick up my potions notebook." Blaise rummaged through his trunk while Draco tried to imagine his father driving around in one of those tiny machines that the muggles in London were always putting around in; the image just didn't fit.
"Hey, Draco," Blaise said once he had found his notes.
"Yes?"
"Do y'think your dad might give me a ride in his car?"
Draco threw a pillow at him.
O~O~O~O~O
"Draco, might I have a word with you after class?" Professor Snape asked quietly during their next potions lesson.
"Of course," Draco answered, wondering what he might have done wrong.
As everyone filtered out after class, Draco slowly packed up his things; he still couldn't understand why Snape would want to see him. "You're not in trouble," Snape assured him, as if he could read Draco's mind. "You've just seemed rather quiet and out of sorts the past few days; is something wrong?"
"Oh..." Draco replied, relieved that he was not in trouble, "No, everything's fine..."
Snape looked at him shrewdly, "Are you sure?"
"Well... my father bought a car," Draco nearly whispered, as if he were saying an exceptionally dirty word.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "And that's all?"
"All?" Draco asked, incredulous, "Arthur Weasley had a car!"
Snape smirked, "Yes, but Arthur Weasley also has an owl; I'm sure that you would not fault your father for having one as well."
Draco gaped at him, "How can you compare that scraggly, poorly-bred creature with the Malfoy owls?"
"Well, just as with owls, cars vary in their quality."
"But cars are muggle things!"
"So is indoor plumbing; I'm sure you don't fault your father for using that."
"Muggles invented pluming?" Draco asked curiously.
"Yes. So you see, not all muggle things are useless. Furthermore, it does not always speak ill of a wizard's character to use muggle things."
Draco narrowed his eye suspiciously, "Did Dumbledore tell you that?"
Snape frowned, "Contrary to popular opinion, Dumbledore does not tell me what to think; I am intelligent enough to figure out some things on my own."
Draco hung his head sheepishly, "Sorry, Professor."
"Don't apologize. I can't fault you for being suspicious of Dumbledore's influence over me; I know that he does not have a good history of being fair to you and Slytherin house in general, but I do hope you at least entertain the possibility that he may be attempting to improve things. If nothing else, it will help you get along with your roommate."
Draco folded his arms huffily, "I still don't know why Blaise thinks Dumbledore is so all-fired great."
Snape arched an eyebrow. "Didn't he tell you? Dumbledore had been declared his legal guardian and is now in the process of adopting him."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask Blaise that. To be honest, I think the Headmaster might have certain regrets regarding Slytherin house, and is attempting to remedy them."
"Hmm..." well that certainly gave Draco a lot to think about. "Thank you, Professor. I should probably get going now."
"You're quite welcome. And be sure to get enough sleep; Lucius will have my head if you collapse in the middle of class."
Draco smirked as he slung his bag over his shoulder, "Your concern for me is touching."
"That is exactly how it was intended, Draco," Snape smirked back.
O~O~O~O~O
But as OWLs were quickly approaching, Draco had little time to consider the mystery that was Blaise Valini. Additionally, Valini was spending even more time with the Dream Team than usual; even Draco had to admit that Hermione Granger was a useful friend to have come exam time. Draco soon discovered that his time was better spent helping Millie get all her work done and still maintain a full quidditch practice schedule; the Quidditch cup was in three weeks and, as expected, it was Slytherin versus Gryffindor.
Lucius was, of course, supportive. When Draco had written him, telling him about how down Millie was about her chances at a transfiguration OWL, Lucius had sent her a large box full of all her favorite sweets as well as a list of helpful study suggestions. She had been so touched that she cried.
Finally, the day of the quidditch cup arrived, and everyone welcomed the break in their monotonous and exhausting study routines. Millie was so nervous that morning that she didn't eat a thing or say two words to Draco. A few months ago, that would probably have offended Draco, but now he knew her well enough not to take it personally.
"You're going to be great, you know," he told her earnestly in the Great Hall. "We've got a great team this year."
"Absolutely right," Flare agreed, getting up from her seat. "No need to be nervous; we're going to play a great game. But we had better get a move on so we can do some warm-up laps around the pitch before the game starts. Come on, team." And they fallowed her out.
"I'll be rooting for you!" Draco called after Millicent. She waved back limply.
The stands were totally packed. Draco left lunch early so that he could get a seat in the front row, and even then had had to scare a couple of tiny first years out of his seat. He could see Valini and his ever-growing gang of inter-house friends in their own box, some rooting for Gryffindor, some for Slytherin, and some, like Blaise, rooting for both houses.
The game began. It was the cleanest Gryffindor/Slytherin match Draco had ever witnessed. By now, the other houses had come to trust that the Slytherin team was going to follow the rules and therefore were willing to obey them themselves.
But that didn't mean that the game wasn't exiting; it was. Heading into the game, Slytherin was leading Gryffindor by a mere 30 points. Both teams were extremely talented, and Potter was not the only one on a world-class broom. But after an hour or so, it became clear that the Slytherin keeper and beaters were noticeably better than Gryffindor's; Slytherin was leading ninety to forty.
After another hour, Slytherin was still leading, at 180 to 50. But this seemed to make the Gryffindors only more determined; in the next hour, Gryffindor scored twice while keeping Slytherin at bay. The score was now 180 to 70, and if Potter caught the snitch, Gryffindor would win the cup. But Lillith Xavier (who, last September, had upset Potter's old record of being the youngest Hogwarts seeker in a century) was the first to spot the snitch. She dove madly, but Potter was hot on her tail. The entire stadium was in an uproar, everyone was on their feet, cheering for their favorite. Potter was closing in... they were neck and neck... the snitch was just in front of them... and a split second before Potter caught it, a gong sounded.
Slytherin had scored.
Potter, however, hadn't seemed to realize this, for he was holding up the snitch and waving, flushed with victory. "Gryffindor wins 220 to 190!" Lee Jordan announced, and Potter realized his mistake. "Gryffindor and Slytherin tie for the cup!" Draco's jaw dropped. A tie? That was so... unfulfilling. And from the expression on his face, Potter seemed to agree.
But then Draco became aware of the people in the stands again, and they were all... cheering! Draco looked around; almost everybody in the stands was still on their feet, cheering loudly. Blaise and his group were jumping up and down, waving their arms, and chanting, "GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! SLY-THER-IN! GO, GO, GRYFFINDOR! SLY-THER-IN!" And as Draco watched, even the people that had initially looked disappointed started clapping as well, nodding in appreciation; it had been a thrilling and incredibly skillful game.
Finally, Draco found it in him to clap too, but he insisted on yelling, "Yeah, Millie! Good show!" And after the crowd thinned out a bit, Draco made his way down to the locker rooms to wait for Millie and congratulate her.
As he walked past Blaise, he saw the tanned boy sweep Potter up in his arms, shouting, "Yeah! Double victory party!"
Well, that explained why Blaise had been so happy, at least.
O~O~O~O~O
Lucius ginned as he read Draco's ten page letter detailing the ins and outs of the quidditch final. Lucius grinned a lot these days, but there was still nothing that made him happier than hearing from his boy. And he was happy for Millicent too; from what Draco had told him, the poor girl truly deserved her chance at glory.
Lucius wrote a long response to Draco's letter and sent it off, along with a large package of sweets and a photograph of Lucius' car; he believed that if only Draco could see how different it was from Arthur Weasley's rouge Anglia he could come to accept it. Lucius then did the same thing he had been doing almost every day; driving his shiny, black Viper at break-neck speeds all over the countryside surrounding the manor.
O~O~O~O~O
"Oooh, your dad got a Viper!" Sally-Anne Perks squealed, tearing the photograph out of Draco's hand.
"Hey! Give that back!"
"But this is so cool! I love sports cars; pretty soon all the wizards will be driving them!" but seeing the continuing frown on Draco's face, Sally-Anne handed the photo back, "Here you go! I have to go meet Lavender and Susan in the library, bye!"
Draco shook his head in disgust that someone like that had ever become the queen on the Slytherin girls; if she wasn't spreading gossip all over the school, she was conspicuously bringing attention to her over-large breasts. Draco usually tried to ignore her, but one thing she had said had caught his attention; would Draco's father truly make muggle cars fashionable? Draco didn't know exactly how to feel about that. On one hand, it showed how much the wizarding world looked up to his father, but on the other hand, it seemed to go against all he had been taught about the superiority of wizarding culture.
"What was Sally-Anne so happy about?" Millie asked, entering the dungeon with a pile of books in her arms.
"She found out my father bought a car; she thought that was a good thing," Draco grumbled.
"Well... isn't it? I mean, isn't he having great fun with it?"
"But it's a *muggle* thing."
Millie sighed, "I know. You've only said that ten times a day since he told you about it. I'm sick of hearing you say that."
"But... but, it's *muggles*."
"Look, Draco, I know that you don't like muggles, and they've done some horrible things to wizards, but you don't mind that I'm part ogre, and ogres have done terrible things too."
"What are you getting at?" Draco asked suspiciously.
"Well... you don't seem to thinks that everything connected with ogres is bad. Maybe not everything connected with muggles is bad; I mean, your dad really loves that car."
Draco fumed. He did *not* like being contradicted, and he liked it even less when he didn't have a good comeback. "But Granger's still a bushy-haired, little know-it-all."
"Well, yeah. What does that have to do with your father's car?"
"Nothing," Draco pouted. He didn't say anything else for a long time.
* End Chapter 13 *