Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned
in this story so don't sue me. May contain references to Anne Bishop,
Greek Mythology, Egyptian Mythology, Laurell K. Hamilton, and Anne Rice.
Author's note: To answer some of your questions...yes, I'm still alive. Just v. busy...also sort of procrastinated on this chapter so I'm sorry it took so long. *sweat drops* Ah well, the important thing is that it's finished. This chapter takes you into the wonderful world of Malfoy. *grins evilly* It does not feature Harry, and for those of you who are pure Harry fans, I'm sorry. RikuNghts, I've been meaning to finish reading your fic...but things keep coming up. Hope to do so soon though ^_^. Next week will be kayaking in Barrier Islands so I will make no promises about next chap.
Chapter 8
"Master," said Lorenzo simply as Lord Voldemort entered the small sitting room and took a seat on one of the several velvet upholstered armchairs.
"Is everything ready?" hissed Voldemort impatiently as he poured himself a glass of red wine.
Lorenzo smiled confidently, "Do not worry. The brat is young. He will be no match for Lineas."
"I've told you not to underestimate him!" snarled Voldemort angrily, his nostrils flaring slightly, "The boy is not what he seems. Remember, I want him dead!"
Lorenzo shrugged and ran a hand through his long, black hair, "It shall be done, my Lord. Do not worry. I will not fail you."
Voldemort rose swiftly from his chair and stalked over to where his companion was seated. Slowly, he ran his long white fingers under Lorenzo Malfoy's chin, forcing him to look up into Voldemort's glowing red eyes. A small smile of cruelty played on his pallid face as he studied his new servant.
"Such passion," he hissed softly, "Such power and fury. It is a pity that a child of dark blood such as your own cannot inherit the House of Malfoy."
Lorenzo trembled ever so slightly as Voldemort slowly drew his fingers back. His black eyes filled with anger and his voice shook with it as he replied, "Those born to inherit the House of Malfoy are fools. They shall bow before you again, my Lord, before this is done."
Voldemort laughed, "Such passion, such anger. Be careful that you do not let it blind you, Lorenzo."
***
Lorenzo Malfoy glared defiantly at his reflection in the mirror and took another large swig of brandy. Angrily, he smashed the bottle into the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand tiny pieces. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and his body shook with silent sobs. Furiously, he wiped at his eyes. Why should he care? Why did it even matter to him? After all, was he not used to the jeers? The whispers that followed him wherever he went? How he, the illegitimate bastard of Ricardo Malfoy, had inherited his father's titles and lands?"
"Not a Malfoy!" the words burned through him, leaving behind a dark fury. How often had those words been uttered to him! He, the son of Luciana de Sol and Ricardo Malfoy, a child of Malfoy blood born to the daughter of a rival House. Rejected by his mother's people, he had been raised by his father as a servant, a playmate and whipping boy to his legitimate brother Lucian. Then that "Accident" had happened. The "Accident" that left Lucian dead and the Venetian Malfoys without a heir. Overnight, Lorenzo had gone from whipping boy to the privileged heir of a Malfoy Lord. A month later, on Lorenzo's sixth birthday, he had been sent, like all Malfoy heirs, to the Paris Motherhouse to be kept hostage. For six years, he lived among his father's people in France, and everywhere he went, he was marked by his inheritance. Even his black hair and golden brown skin that bore more resemblance to the coloring of Luciana's House than the blonde Norse coloring of the Malfoys' set him apart. It was a cruel trick of fate that he, more than any of the others, would inherit the family's legendary magical abilities. All Malfoys had a certain measure of earth magic, passed down through their founder, Artemis. But Lorenzo had just enough power to be considered the first Lord of the Woods in centuries. He could converse with animals, build the Black Chapels, summon the wild Magicks of the forest, and even call the wolf. Granted, he was nothing compared to such wizards as Artemis, but his abilities should have least guaranteed him some respect among the House. But then, Lucius Malfoy had come to power and he had been forced to keep his Gift secret for fear of assassination by his more powerful cousin.
So Lorenzo had waited, biding his time until the opportune moment. While he waited, he began to study the Dark Arts in earnest, digging through the ancient, crumbling Archives of the Malfoy Libraries, studying the ritual magicks of the necromancers, and finally, conversing with demons. Now, with Lucius Malfoy finally dead, and his sixteen-year-old son in line to become the Master of the House of Malfoy, Lorenzo was ready to strike. By using his puppet Lineas Malfoy of Florence to destroy Draco in a duel, he would then use Lord Voldemort's power to gain control over the House of Malfoy. It was a perfect plan, and then he, Lorenzo Malfoy, would finally have his revenge.
Straightening his robes self consciously, Lorenzo confidently walked down to the Great Hall to greet his visitors.
***
Draco arrogantly strode down the Great Hall, his eyes passing carelessly over the faces of people whispering excitedly in hushed tones. Let them talk; they were of no consequence to him. They did not have the power or the means to rule the House of Malfoy.
Draco's eyes narrowed as he spotted his uncle, Lorenzo Malfoy enter the Hall. So this was the man who would usurp the power of Malfoy. Draco sneered with contempt as he examined the man's long, curling mane of black locks and tanned skin. How could someone of such obviously mixed blood be under the delusion that he could control the House of Malfoy? The Patriarchs would never allow it!
"Draco!" called a voice behind him. Draco spun around and smiled with genuine pleasure as he watched his cousin, Fleur, run down the stairs towards him, her periwinkle blue, satin robes flying out behind her.
"Ma cherie!" he called as she flew into his arms. Draco laughed and spun her around before gently setting her down.
"Oh Draco, I was so worried when I heard what happened!" exclaimed Fleur, "Will you be alright?"
"Oh quite," replied Draco with a dismissive gesture, "I didn't know that the Delacours' would also be in attendance. I'm afraid I have no proper gift for you."
"You shouldn't bother," Fleur laughingly, "And we aren't the only ones here, you know. All of the representatives from the different vassal families are here to swear allegiance to the new Master." Fleur looked at him meaningfully.
Draco frowned. "You mean it's that serious?" whispered Draco furtively, "What do you know?"
"Not here," replied Fleur just as quietly, "somewhere private." Draco nodded curtly.
Out loud he said, "Tu es beau mon amour. Tu me fais caquer. Je t'embrasse partout, mon amour. Je te bois des yeux. Come to my room, ma cherie!" Firmly, he took her by the hand and drew her in for a soft kiss. Quietly he whispered, "Good enough?"
Fleur giggled, "Oh, mon amour, such sweet things you say. Come, let us go!" Gently tugging at Draco's hand, she quickly led him out of the hall and up the stairs to the private quarters of the guest wing.
A minute later, they were in Draco's temporary bedroom. Quickly, Draco cast a silencing charm about the room and checked the walls for spy holes. Satisfied at last, he turned to Fleur. "Well what news do you have?" he asked impatiently as he took a seat on the bed.
Fleur frowned and shook out her mane of silver blonde hair, "There are two Lords who have challenged you. Since you are Lucius' son, they will duel each other first for the honor of dueling you. In this you have an advantage. They see you as weak and will most likely focus all their energies into defeating each other. I worry about you, mon amour. Your challengers have more experience than you. These are no school children, these are experienced wizards! Your first challenger, Lineas Malfoy, is definitely the one I would worry about first. The man himself is weak, however, with the support of Lorenzo Malfoy, he will definitely win round one. Be careful of him."
Draco frowned, "And who is the other challenger?"
"Carlos Malfoy of Cordova," replied Fleur dismissively, "he will not win though. We must talk of Lorenzo Malfoy. You should be aware already of his designs on you. He is very cunning however, and he will not have missed the real reason why you invited me to your room. He knows of my friendship with you. He offered me money to work for him against you."
Draco leaned back against the pillows. "And why didn't you accept?" he asked curiously, "You must realize that he is probably the better wizard. The odds are against me, ma cherie."
Fleur snorted and lay down beside to Draco, "Why do you think? We might have our separate dalliances with others, but in the end, that doesn't change reality. I'm your betrothed. Besides, I know you, and I know you wont lose to either Lorenzo or Lineas. I trust you, Draco, against all odds, I trust you."
Draco's face grew serious, "Fleur, do you love me?" Fleur looked flustered.
"What are you talking about?" she asked sharply, "It is not our place to question the dictates of Fate. I like you Draco, and it is a very good match. We could be very powerful together."
"But you do not love me in that way, do you?" asked Draco penetratingly, "Fleur, I love you, but I don't want to marry you either."
"I could learn to love you, and don't even try to say that you aren't attracted to me. I know you are," said Fleur desperately, "Draco, stop this madness! It is not within our control to dictate Fate!"
"Is it not?" asked Draco angrily, "I shall become Master Malfoy soon. Will it still be out of my power to decide what I shall do with my own life then?"
"I don't know," whispered Fleur softly, "Draco, I know it might not seem like it, but I've always lived on the belief that one day, we'd be together. If we don't get married, what will I do? With out you, I am nothing."
Draco smiled dryly, "I think you will have no problems, ma cherie. After all, you attracted plenty of attention during the Triwizard Tournament. I believe you even went to the Yule Ball with Roger Davies."
"Draco, you know the only reason I didn't go with you was because you didn't want the other Slytherins to get suspicious," pleaded Fleur imploringly.
"I'm not jealous, ma cherie," replied Draco gently, "It's just that, well, I think that we could find something better than each other; something that would make both of us happier. I'm not saying I won't be happy with you. It's just that I think we could be happier apart."
Fleur's smile was sad as she gently reached up to cup Draco's face, "I think I understand now, mon amour. But regardless of what becomes of us, I shall always be your friend. On that note, I'll try to find out more about Lorenzo's plans for you."
Fleur got up to leave, but Draco's voice at the door made her pause for a moment, "Je t'aime, ma cherie."
***
Draco sighed and breathed in the heavy night air as he stood on the bridge overlooking the Grand Canal. How he loved Venice! Paris was fashionable, London was modern, but Venice, Venice was beautiful! Draco felt a pang of regret as his thoughts wandered to Harry. How he wished the other boy were here. Behind him, a Muggle couple chattered happily as they made their way across the bridge. Draco sighed and slowly began making his way down to the Piazza San Marco.
Being the pureblood wizard that he was, Draco didn't really hold with Muggle architecture. But as he slipped into the Doge's Chapel, San Marco, in the quiet of the early evening, even he had to wonder at the magnificence and splendor of it all.
Rising high above him were gold tessellated walls. All around the chapel, gold sparkled and the light of a thousand candles cast their intricate shadows on the glimmering walls. Stark, somber paintings of saints stared down at him. Draco shuddered involuntarily as his eyes wandered over the paintings. Carefully, he advanced to the front of the pew till he stood just a few feet away from the altar. Draco had never understood why the Muggle artists of the Middle Ages chose to paint their subjects in such rigid and imposing styles. Then again, he never understood why anyone would worship such a depressing religion as Christianity. Yet the beauty of the place was not lost on him. Indeed, he had always made a point of visiting the chapel every time he came to Venice.
There was something about the place, despite the utter sombrerity mixed with the overdone gaudiness of the chapel, which kept drawing him back to it, something utterly magical about the entire scene. As he stood there, staring up into the almond shaped eyes of the Saints, Draco realized that there were certain things that defied all human understanding. Things that even his cool Malfoy logic could never explain. This chapel, for all its utter pomposity, was one of those things, a thing that transcended time and beauty to become immortalized. He didn't have to understand it, didn't need to understand. His thoughts drifted to Harry. Harry, the hardheaded Gryffindor' Harry, the Boy Who Lived; Harry, the one person Draco could never understand. Yet there was something about Harry, just as there was something about the Doge's Chapel, which called to him. He didn't need to know how he could love a scrawny, black haired boy, only accept it as one of those inexplicable, yet utterly beautiful, things in life.
***
Fleur sighed and ran her brush listlessly through her already sleek and shiny silver blonde hair. Setting the brush down on the table, she stared for the umpteenth time at the silver satin, crystal encrusted Versace gown that had been made especially for tonight. Lightly, she reached out her hand and gently ran her fingers over the cool silkiness of the fabric. Again, she wondered if she really should wear the dress. After all, the one person for whom it had been made to please had already made it clear that he felt nothing but brotherly affection for her. The sensible thing to do was to sever all ties to Draco and quickly find another strong ally to protect her. Yet Fleur still found herself thinking about the British boy. She knew that he did not expect her to help him. To do so would be social suicide for her. If Draco would not blame her, then why was she so reluctant to abandon a boy who, by all common sense, would soon be killed in a battle for succession?
Yet she could not think this situation through with her normally cool logic. Despite everything, she had grown to love the cool, blonde, arrogant boy. It wasn't just because of his stark beauty or elegant manners; all Malfoys had those qualities. It was because, unlike the others, Draco actually cared about her as a person and did not think of her as a mindless gold digger or pleasure slave because she was a vassal. He had understood her, listened to her problems and had been there for her when she needed him. Hell, he had been the one who had kept her hopes up during the Triwizard Tournament and not Madam Maxim who had dismissed her as worthless, after the first task.
Fleur tightened her fingers around the fabric of the gown. She might not owe Draco anything as a vassal to a Lord, but she did owe Draco something even more special. She owed him her friendship, because he had been there for her when she needed it most.
Gently, she removed the gown from the manikin and stepped into the bathroom to change.
***
Draco squared his shoulders and stiffened slightly as he came to a stop beside the huge, open doorway to the formal dining room. For the first time since he had arrived in Venice, he realized how utterly alone he really was. What allies he had when his father was still alive had all deserted him. He needed to impress tonight at the formal banquet if he had any hope of getting the House to accept him as their leader even if he did win his duel tomorrow. Tonight, right before dinner, the first duel would take place. The banquet afterwards was a chance for the rest of the House to choose sides for the primary duel. Draco was just about to go in when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around and stared uncomprehendingly into Fleur's big blue eyes.
"Ma cherie—"he began quickly. Gently, Fleur hushed him.
"You were supposed to pick me up at my room before dinner, my Lord," she said gently, "Come, let us go."
***
Lorenzo stood at the northern cardinal point of the glowing spell circle. Across from him, stood Lineas, shivering from the aura of Dark Magic that permeated the Black Chapel. Lorenzo sneered slightly. Fool, what else did he expect? Closing his eyes, Lorenzo silently summoned the dark power of the altar, calling to the lesser demons that dwelt there. The black tapers surrounding the altar flared to life and a cold wind blew through the chapel. Lorenzo opened his eyes and smiled with satisfaction as the spell circle burst into black flames. Something dark slithered out form behind the altar and landed with a dull thud on the altar steps. Lineas gasped and stumbled back. Two tendrils of black flame shot out from the circle and wrapped themselves around Lineas' body. Effectively cutting off any chance of escape. Slowly, the thing on the floor uncurled itself.
Dark, black wings unfurled themselves from around a black furred body that seemed disproportionately small compared to the size of the wings. It hissed angrily and spittle hung in long tendrils from its lips. The creature was small, only the size of a cat, but it had a vaguely humanoid body. Drops of black blood dripped from numerous small wounds on its back and wings and the fur was ripped away in some areas to reveal shiny black skin. Glowing red eyes stared out of an intelligent but cruel face. Slowly, the creature slithered towards Lineas. A scared whimper escaped the man's lips and he began to struggle against the fire that held him captive.
A small smile of cruelty played on Lorenzo's lips. "Get him!" he hissed. The demon pounced, catching Lineas in the chest. The circle flared brighter, and, for a moment, dark flames surrounded them. An anguished scream filled the air and a low growl rumbled through the Chapel. A moment later, the flames died and the spell circle faded, leaving Lineas lying, shaking on the floor.
"Get up," ordered Lorenzo coldly as he walked over to the fallen man, wand in hand.
Awkwardly, Lineas climbed to his feet. He looked up at Lorenzo and there was something dark in his light blue eyes. Something evil that wasn't there before. "Master," he gasped, "Thank you for this beautiful body."
Lorenzo smiled, "Serve me faithfully, and you shall have this body for your own."
***
Draco took his seat at the head of the Patriarch's table and tried not to glance nervously at the nine, stony faced Lords of Malfoy that sat on the Council of Patriarchs. Even he was aware that the true power of Malfoy lay in the hands of the Patriarchs. His father had once said that the Master Malfoy may lead, but the Patriarchs ruled. In the end, all power flowed from the hands of the Patriarchs and even the Master Malfoy walked softly amongst them lest he be executed.
Draco smiled as Fleur reached under the table and gently squeezed his hand. Turning his attention to the center of the room, Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Lineas and Carlos enter by a side door and take their places on the dueling floor. The dining room fell silent and, at a nod from Draco, the duel began.
"Crucio!" cried Carlos, moving fast before Lineas had a chance to react. Lineas doubled over, gasping for air.
"Stupefy!" Lineas managed to whisper between spasms of pain. Carlos swore and jumped back, breaking the spell he had cast upon his opponent. It was enough, and a moment later, Lineas had crawled to his feet. Darkness filled the room as black flames flared to life around him. Overhead, the great chandeliers had all but faded. Draco shivered; there was something evil about Lineas. Something inherently wrong about the man that was almost demonic in quality. Slowly, Lineas slowly raised his eyes and looked straight at Draco.
"Shit," swore Draco softly.
"What is it?" whispered Fleur urgently.
Draco turned back to stare at the dueling floor, but Lineas had already looked away, "Nothing."
Carlos twirled his wand expertly and shouted, "Imperio!" A beam of light shot from his wand and straight at the other wizard. Lineas didn't flinch. The black flames rose to become a solid wall, swallowing the curse even as it shot towards Lineas. Carlos gasped and began to back away. The darkness deepened until the room was swallowed in blackness so solid, Draco could almost slice it with a knife.
"Avada Kedavra," hissed a low, masculine voice somewhere from the floor. Green light filled the room, momentarily blinding Draco and everyone else around him. The chandeliers flared back to life, revealing the triumphant figure of Lineas Malfoy standing over the body of his opponent. Slowly, Draco rose from his seat even as Lineas approached him.
"Well met, my uncle," said Draco coolly as he eyed the corpse of Carlos Malfoy lying on the floor, "It seems that it shall be an honor as well as a challenge to duel against you."
"I should hope so," replied Lineas smoothly, "After all, the son of Lucius Malfoy is not an opponent to be taken lightly either. However, are you sure, nephew, that you wouldn't rather step down? After all, it would be a pity if such a bright and powerful young boy was to die by accident tomorrow."
Draco's smile had an edge to it now. Slowly, he began to release his shields, filling the room with his own, natural aura of power. "Do not patronize me, uncle," said Draco coldly, "I am not what you think I am."
Lineas shrugged nonchalantly, "If you are certain, Draco. I'm sure you understand how it is. I would rather not have to duel someone as young as yourself. It really does go against my own honor code.'
"Age is not an issue for one born to inherit the House of Malfoy," remarked Draco icily, "I am sure that you will agree that some of our greatest leaders came to power at very young ages."
Draco stared defiantly at Lineas. The room fell silent as all eyes were riveted on the two wizards standing in the center of the room. Once again, Draco felt something evil rise in Lineas' eyes. It seemed to him that the evil was trying to possess him, turn him into its tool. Draco fought back, slowly pushing at the evil with his own power. A moment later, Lineas blinked and stumbled back, confused by the power Draco had released. He frowned but did not retake the steps he had fallen back.
"It seems that it shall also be a challenge to duel against you," said Lineas, "I look forward to it."
He turned to go, but Draco called after him, "A word of advice, don't mess with the demonic."
***
Lorenzo frowned as he watched the young brat returned to his seat at the Patriarch's table. So he knew, did he? Not that it mattered. After all, what could a mere boy do against the power of a demon? Still the fact that Galien had backed down did worry him. Lorenzo shook his head; he would talk to the demon later. Draco's little demonstration of power will have gained him a few allies from his father's supporters. It was Lorenzo's job to convince the House that between Lineas and Draco, Lineas was the better- qualified leader.
***
"Draco, what—?"gasped Fleur as Draco dragged her down the hall and into his room. "Draco, what's wrong?" she asked gently. He shook his head and quickly locked the door behind them, casting his protective charms over the room.
"I want you to leave, now!" he said in a steely voice as he turned to look at her, "Ma cherie, this is no place for you anymore."
"Draco what do you mean?" asked Fleur, "If I leave, then what will you do?"
"That man, you don't understand, he's being possessed by a demon!" snarled Draco urgently, "You've got to get out of here! Let me deal with this Fleur, this is my problem, not yours, get out while you still can."
"No," said Fleur very quietly, "You can't make me leave. I stay because I love you and I trust you to be able to beat Lineas in a duel. I'll be okay, mon amour, I wasn't chosen to be a Triwizard Champion for nothing."
"This is different," pleaded Draco desperately, "You cannot fight against the demonic using conventional magic!"
"Then how are you going to duel Lineas, then?" asked Fleur, "I am a vassal. Technically, he cannot hurt me. If you lose the duel, I still wont be helpless. The Council of Patriarchs has a duty to protect me. The real problem is how you are going to go up against a demon and win."
"Don't worry about me," sighed Draco emptily, "I can take care of myself."
"And so can I," said Fleur firmly, "Trust me, Draco., It will be all right, I promise."
Draco turned away from her and leaned heavily on the bedpost, "I don't know who to trust anymore, ma cherie. I don't even know how to react anymore. So much has happened in the past few days, so much pain and suffering that I can't even keep track of it all. I am sick and tired of people underestimating me, sick and tired of everything! I need to get away when all this is finished and just rest."
Fleur cupped his face in her hands, forcing Draco to meet her eyes. After a moment she stepped away. "The Ministry switches Aurors off duty every few years even if they don't want to leave. Then, after a break, they can come back," said Fleur, "They do it because, otherwise, the Aurors would just crack under all the horrible things they've seen and done. They need a break so they can digest it all and put it behind them. Those who stay on eventually crack and go crazy. I've seen it happen during my internship with the French Ministry. Their eyes just seem to fill up like a cup until something in them gives. I've seen one wizard kill himself after only three years of duty. Your eyes are like that, Draco, so full of horror and fear. You've got to get out while you still can. While there's still a part of you that's still clean, still able to want something better than this. Being a Malfoy, you've probably seen things a hundred times worse than what Aurors usually see in the field, but even you have a limit."
"Draco smiled tiredly, "I don't see myself committing suicide anytime soon."
"No," said Fleur bitterly, "Strong ones like you aren't the type to commit suicide. The strong ones become like empty shells that can no longer feel happiness or love. They live for nothing else but the kill, the feel of fresh blood and the smell of fear. Don't become like that, Draco, don't become a mindless killer without a conscience."
"And what if," asked Draco emptily, "What if, I've already become one?"
***
Acknowledgements: Again, thanks to all who reviewed. Fu-Kun, this chapter is for you...after all, if you hadn't forced me to continue writing, I might still not have finished with this chapter....^_^
Author's note: To answer some of your questions...yes, I'm still alive. Just v. busy...also sort of procrastinated on this chapter so I'm sorry it took so long. *sweat drops* Ah well, the important thing is that it's finished. This chapter takes you into the wonderful world of Malfoy. *grins evilly* It does not feature Harry, and for those of you who are pure Harry fans, I'm sorry. RikuNghts, I've been meaning to finish reading your fic...but things keep coming up. Hope to do so soon though ^_^. Next week will be kayaking in Barrier Islands so I will make no promises about next chap.
Chapter 8
"Master," said Lorenzo simply as Lord Voldemort entered the small sitting room and took a seat on one of the several velvet upholstered armchairs.
"Is everything ready?" hissed Voldemort impatiently as he poured himself a glass of red wine.
Lorenzo smiled confidently, "Do not worry. The brat is young. He will be no match for Lineas."
"I've told you not to underestimate him!" snarled Voldemort angrily, his nostrils flaring slightly, "The boy is not what he seems. Remember, I want him dead!"
Lorenzo shrugged and ran a hand through his long, black hair, "It shall be done, my Lord. Do not worry. I will not fail you."
Voldemort rose swiftly from his chair and stalked over to where his companion was seated. Slowly, he ran his long white fingers under Lorenzo Malfoy's chin, forcing him to look up into Voldemort's glowing red eyes. A small smile of cruelty played on his pallid face as he studied his new servant.
"Such passion," he hissed softly, "Such power and fury. It is a pity that a child of dark blood such as your own cannot inherit the House of Malfoy."
Lorenzo trembled ever so slightly as Voldemort slowly drew his fingers back. His black eyes filled with anger and his voice shook with it as he replied, "Those born to inherit the House of Malfoy are fools. They shall bow before you again, my Lord, before this is done."
Voldemort laughed, "Such passion, such anger. Be careful that you do not let it blind you, Lorenzo."
***
Lorenzo Malfoy glared defiantly at his reflection in the mirror and took another large swig of brandy. Angrily, he smashed the bottle into the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand tiny pieces. Hot tears ran down his cheeks and his body shook with silent sobs. Furiously, he wiped at his eyes. Why should he care? Why did it even matter to him? After all, was he not used to the jeers? The whispers that followed him wherever he went? How he, the illegitimate bastard of Ricardo Malfoy, had inherited his father's titles and lands?"
"Not a Malfoy!" the words burned through him, leaving behind a dark fury. How often had those words been uttered to him! He, the son of Luciana de Sol and Ricardo Malfoy, a child of Malfoy blood born to the daughter of a rival House. Rejected by his mother's people, he had been raised by his father as a servant, a playmate and whipping boy to his legitimate brother Lucian. Then that "Accident" had happened. The "Accident" that left Lucian dead and the Venetian Malfoys without a heir. Overnight, Lorenzo had gone from whipping boy to the privileged heir of a Malfoy Lord. A month later, on Lorenzo's sixth birthday, he had been sent, like all Malfoy heirs, to the Paris Motherhouse to be kept hostage. For six years, he lived among his father's people in France, and everywhere he went, he was marked by his inheritance. Even his black hair and golden brown skin that bore more resemblance to the coloring of Luciana's House than the blonde Norse coloring of the Malfoys' set him apart. It was a cruel trick of fate that he, more than any of the others, would inherit the family's legendary magical abilities. All Malfoys had a certain measure of earth magic, passed down through their founder, Artemis. But Lorenzo had just enough power to be considered the first Lord of the Woods in centuries. He could converse with animals, build the Black Chapels, summon the wild Magicks of the forest, and even call the wolf. Granted, he was nothing compared to such wizards as Artemis, but his abilities should have least guaranteed him some respect among the House. But then, Lucius Malfoy had come to power and he had been forced to keep his Gift secret for fear of assassination by his more powerful cousin.
So Lorenzo had waited, biding his time until the opportune moment. While he waited, he began to study the Dark Arts in earnest, digging through the ancient, crumbling Archives of the Malfoy Libraries, studying the ritual magicks of the necromancers, and finally, conversing with demons. Now, with Lucius Malfoy finally dead, and his sixteen-year-old son in line to become the Master of the House of Malfoy, Lorenzo was ready to strike. By using his puppet Lineas Malfoy of Florence to destroy Draco in a duel, he would then use Lord Voldemort's power to gain control over the House of Malfoy. It was a perfect plan, and then he, Lorenzo Malfoy, would finally have his revenge.
Straightening his robes self consciously, Lorenzo confidently walked down to the Great Hall to greet his visitors.
***
Draco arrogantly strode down the Great Hall, his eyes passing carelessly over the faces of people whispering excitedly in hushed tones. Let them talk; they were of no consequence to him. They did not have the power or the means to rule the House of Malfoy.
Draco's eyes narrowed as he spotted his uncle, Lorenzo Malfoy enter the Hall. So this was the man who would usurp the power of Malfoy. Draco sneered with contempt as he examined the man's long, curling mane of black locks and tanned skin. How could someone of such obviously mixed blood be under the delusion that he could control the House of Malfoy? The Patriarchs would never allow it!
"Draco!" called a voice behind him. Draco spun around and smiled with genuine pleasure as he watched his cousin, Fleur, run down the stairs towards him, her periwinkle blue, satin robes flying out behind her.
"Ma cherie!" he called as she flew into his arms. Draco laughed and spun her around before gently setting her down.
"Oh Draco, I was so worried when I heard what happened!" exclaimed Fleur, "Will you be alright?"
"Oh quite," replied Draco with a dismissive gesture, "I didn't know that the Delacours' would also be in attendance. I'm afraid I have no proper gift for you."
"You shouldn't bother," Fleur laughingly, "And we aren't the only ones here, you know. All of the representatives from the different vassal families are here to swear allegiance to the new Master." Fleur looked at him meaningfully.
Draco frowned. "You mean it's that serious?" whispered Draco furtively, "What do you know?"
"Not here," replied Fleur just as quietly, "somewhere private." Draco nodded curtly.
Out loud he said, "Tu es beau mon amour. Tu me fais caquer. Je t'embrasse partout, mon amour. Je te bois des yeux. Come to my room, ma cherie!" Firmly, he took her by the hand and drew her in for a soft kiss. Quietly he whispered, "Good enough?"
Fleur giggled, "Oh, mon amour, such sweet things you say. Come, let us go!" Gently tugging at Draco's hand, she quickly led him out of the hall and up the stairs to the private quarters of the guest wing.
A minute later, they were in Draco's temporary bedroom. Quickly, Draco cast a silencing charm about the room and checked the walls for spy holes. Satisfied at last, he turned to Fleur. "Well what news do you have?" he asked impatiently as he took a seat on the bed.
Fleur frowned and shook out her mane of silver blonde hair, "There are two Lords who have challenged you. Since you are Lucius' son, they will duel each other first for the honor of dueling you. In this you have an advantage. They see you as weak and will most likely focus all their energies into defeating each other. I worry about you, mon amour. Your challengers have more experience than you. These are no school children, these are experienced wizards! Your first challenger, Lineas Malfoy, is definitely the one I would worry about first. The man himself is weak, however, with the support of Lorenzo Malfoy, he will definitely win round one. Be careful of him."
Draco frowned, "And who is the other challenger?"
"Carlos Malfoy of Cordova," replied Fleur dismissively, "he will not win though. We must talk of Lorenzo Malfoy. You should be aware already of his designs on you. He is very cunning however, and he will not have missed the real reason why you invited me to your room. He knows of my friendship with you. He offered me money to work for him against you."
Draco leaned back against the pillows. "And why didn't you accept?" he asked curiously, "You must realize that he is probably the better wizard. The odds are against me, ma cherie."
Fleur snorted and lay down beside to Draco, "Why do you think? We might have our separate dalliances with others, but in the end, that doesn't change reality. I'm your betrothed. Besides, I know you, and I know you wont lose to either Lorenzo or Lineas. I trust you, Draco, against all odds, I trust you."
Draco's face grew serious, "Fleur, do you love me?" Fleur looked flustered.
"What are you talking about?" she asked sharply, "It is not our place to question the dictates of Fate. I like you Draco, and it is a very good match. We could be very powerful together."
"But you do not love me in that way, do you?" asked Draco penetratingly, "Fleur, I love you, but I don't want to marry you either."
"I could learn to love you, and don't even try to say that you aren't attracted to me. I know you are," said Fleur desperately, "Draco, stop this madness! It is not within our control to dictate Fate!"
"Is it not?" asked Draco angrily, "I shall become Master Malfoy soon. Will it still be out of my power to decide what I shall do with my own life then?"
"I don't know," whispered Fleur softly, "Draco, I know it might not seem like it, but I've always lived on the belief that one day, we'd be together. If we don't get married, what will I do? With out you, I am nothing."
Draco smiled dryly, "I think you will have no problems, ma cherie. After all, you attracted plenty of attention during the Triwizard Tournament. I believe you even went to the Yule Ball with Roger Davies."
"Draco, you know the only reason I didn't go with you was because you didn't want the other Slytherins to get suspicious," pleaded Fleur imploringly.
"I'm not jealous, ma cherie," replied Draco gently, "It's just that, well, I think that we could find something better than each other; something that would make both of us happier. I'm not saying I won't be happy with you. It's just that I think we could be happier apart."
Fleur's smile was sad as she gently reached up to cup Draco's face, "I think I understand now, mon amour. But regardless of what becomes of us, I shall always be your friend. On that note, I'll try to find out more about Lorenzo's plans for you."
Fleur got up to leave, but Draco's voice at the door made her pause for a moment, "Je t'aime, ma cherie."
***
Draco sighed and breathed in the heavy night air as he stood on the bridge overlooking the Grand Canal. How he loved Venice! Paris was fashionable, London was modern, but Venice, Venice was beautiful! Draco felt a pang of regret as his thoughts wandered to Harry. How he wished the other boy were here. Behind him, a Muggle couple chattered happily as they made their way across the bridge. Draco sighed and slowly began making his way down to the Piazza San Marco.
Being the pureblood wizard that he was, Draco didn't really hold with Muggle architecture. But as he slipped into the Doge's Chapel, San Marco, in the quiet of the early evening, even he had to wonder at the magnificence and splendor of it all.
Rising high above him were gold tessellated walls. All around the chapel, gold sparkled and the light of a thousand candles cast their intricate shadows on the glimmering walls. Stark, somber paintings of saints stared down at him. Draco shuddered involuntarily as his eyes wandered over the paintings. Carefully, he advanced to the front of the pew till he stood just a few feet away from the altar. Draco had never understood why the Muggle artists of the Middle Ages chose to paint their subjects in such rigid and imposing styles. Then again, he never understood why anyone would worship such a depressing religion as Christianity. Yet the beauty of the place was not lost on him. Indeed, he had always made a point of visiting the chapel every time he came to Venice.
There was something about the place, despite the utter sombrerity mixed with the overdone gaudiness of the chapel, which kept drawing him back to it, something utterly magical about the entire scene. As he stood there, staring up into the almond shaped eyes of the Saints, Draco realized that there were certain things that defied all human understanding. Things that even his cool Malfoy logic could never explain. This chapel, for all its utter pomposity, was one of those things, a thing that transcended time and beauty to become immortalized. He didn't have to understand it, didn't need to understand. His thoughts drifted to Harry. Harry, the hardheaded Gryffindor' Harry, the Boy Who Lived; Harry, the one person Draco could never understand. Yet there was something about Harry, just as there was something about the Doge's Chapel, which called to him. He didn't need to know how he could love a scrawny, black haired boy, only accept it as one of those inexplicable, yet utterly beautiful, things in life.
***
Fleur sighed and ran her brush listlessly through her already sleek and shiny silver blonde hair. Setting the brush down on the table, she stared for the umpteenth time at the silver satin, crystal encrusted Versace gown that had been made especially for tonight. Lightly, she reached out her hand and gently ran her fingers over the cool silkiness of the fabric. Again, she wondered if she really should wear the dress. After all, the one person for whom it had been made to please had already made it clear that he felt nothing but brotherly affection for her. The sensible thing to do was to sever all ties to Draco and quickly find another strong ally to protect her. Yet Fleur still found herself thinking about the British boy. She knew that he did not expect her to help him. To do so would be social suicide for her. If Draco would not blame her, then why was she so reluctant to abandon a boy who, by all common sense, would soon be killed in a battle for succession?
Yet she could not think this situation through with her normally cool logic. Despite everything, she had grown to love the cool, blonde, arrogant boy. It wasn't just because of his stark beauty or elegant manners; all Malfoys had those qualities. It was because, unlike the others, Draco actually cared about her as a person and did not think of her as a mindless gold digger or pleasure slave because she was a vassal. He had understood her, listened to her problems and had been there for her when she needed him. Hell, he had been the one who had kept her hopes up during the Triwizard Tournament and not Madam Maxim who had dismissed her as worthless, after the first task.
Fleur tightened her fingers around the fabric of the gown. She might not owe Draco anything as a vassal to a Lord, but she did owe Draco something even more special. She owed him her friendship, because he had been there for her when she needed it most.
Gently, she removed the gown from the manikin and stepped into the bathroom to change.
***
Draco squared his shoulders and stiffened slightly as he came to a stop beside the huge, open doorway to the formal dining room. For the first time since he had arrived in Venice, he realized how utterly alone he really was. What allies he had when his father was still alive had all deserted him. He needed to impress tonight at the formal banquet if he had any hope of getting the House to accept him as their leader even if he did win his duel tomorrow. Tonight, right before dinner, the first duel would take place. The banquet afterwards was a chance for the rest of the House to choose sides for the primary duel. Draco was just about to go in when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun around and stared uncomprehendingly into Fleur's big blue eyes.
"Ma cherie—"he began quickly. Gently, Fleur hushed him.
"You were supposed to pick me up at my room before dinner, my Lord," she said gently, "Come, let us go."
***
Lorenzo stood at the northern cardinal point of the glowing spell circle. Across from him, stood Lineas, shivering from the aura of Dark Magic that permeated the Black Chapel. Lorenzo sneered slightly. Fool, what else did he expect? Closing his eyes, Lorenzo silently summoned the dark power of the altar, calling to the lesser demons that dwelt there. The black tapers surrounding the altar flared to life and a cold wind blew through the chapel. Lorenzo opened his eyes and smiled with satisfaction as the spell circle burst into black flames. Something dark slithered out form behind the altar and landed with a dull thud on the altar steps. Lineas gasped and stumbled back. Two tendrils of black flame shot out from the circle and wrapped themselves around Lineas' body. Effectively cutting off any chance of escape. Slowly, the thing on the floor uncurled itself.
Dark, black wings unfurled themselves from around a black furred body that seemed disproportionately small compared to the size of the wings. It hissed angrily and spittle hung in long tendrils from its lips. The creature was small, only the size of a cat, but it had a vaguely humanoid body. Drops of black blood dripped from numerous small wounds on its back and wings and the fur was ripped away in some areas to reveal shiny black skin. Glowing red eyes stared out of an intelligent but cruel face. Slowly, the creature slithered towards Lineas. A scared whimper escaped the man's lips and he began to struggle against the fire that held him captive.
A small smile of cruelty played on Lorenzo's lips. "Get him!" he hissed. The demon pounced, catching Lineas in the chest. The circle flared brighter, and, for a moment, dark flames surrounded them. An anguished scream filled the air and a low growl rumbled through the Chapel. A moment later, the flames died and the spell circle faded, leaving Lineas lying, shaking on the floor.
"Get up," ordered Lorenzo coldly as he walked over to the fallen man, wand in hand.
Awkwardly, Lineas climbed to his feet. He looked up at Lorenzo and there was something dark in his light blue eyes. Something evil that wasn't there before. "Master," he gasped, "Thank you for this beautiful body."
Lorenzo smiled, "Serve me faithfully, and you shall have this body for your own."
***
Draco took his seat at the head of the Patriarch's table and tried not to glance nervously at the nine, stony faced Lords of Malfoy that sat on the Council of Patriarchs. Even he was aware that the true power of Malfoy lay in the hands of the Patriarchs. His father had once said that the Master Malfoy may lead, but the Patriarchs ruled. In the end, all power flowed from the hands of the Patriarchs and even the Master Malfoy walked softly amongst them lest he be executed.
Draco smiled as Fleur reached under the table and gently squeezed his hand. Turning his attention to the center of the room, Draco's eyes narrowed as he watched Lineas and Carlos enter by a side door and take their places on the dueling floor. The dining room fell silent and, at a nod from Draco, the duel began.
"Crucio!" cried Carlos, moving fast before Lineas had a chance to react. Lineas doubled over, gasping for air.
"Stupefy!" Lineas managed to whisper between spasms of pain. Carlos swore and jumped back, breaking the spell he had cast upon his opponent. It was enough, and a moment later, Lineas had crawled to his feet. Darkness filled the room as black flames flared to life around him. Overhead, the great chandeliers had all but faded. Draco shivered; there was something evil about Lineas. Something inherently wrong about the man that was almost demonic in quality. Slowly, Lineas slowly raised his eyes and looked straight at Draco.
"Shit," swore Draco softly.
"What is it?" whispered Fleur urgently.
Draco turned back to stare at the dueling floor, but Lineas had already looked away, "Nothing."
Carlos twirled his wand expertly and shouted, "Imperio!" A beam of light shot from his wand and straight at the other wizard. Lineas didn't flinch. The black flames rose to become a solid wall, swallowing the curse even as it shot towards Lineas. Carlos gasped and began to back away. The darkness deepened until the room was swallowed in blackness so solid, Draco could almost slice it with a knife.
"Avada Kedavra," hissed a low, masculine voice somewhere from the floor. Green light filled the room, momentarily blinding Draco and everyone else around him. The chandeliers flared back to life, revealing the triumphant figure of Lineas Malfoy standing over the body of his opponent. Slowly, Draco rose from his seat even as Lineas approached him.
"Well met, my uncle," said Draco coolly as he eyed the corpse of Carlos Malfoy lying on the floor, "It seems that it shall be an honor as well as a challenge to duel against you."
"I should hope so," replied Lineas smoothly, "After all, the son of Lucius Malfoy is not an opponent to be taken lightly either. However, are you sure, nephew, that you wouldn't rather step down? After all, it would be a pity if such a bright and powerful young boy was to die by accident tomorrow."
Draco's smile had an edge to it now. Slowly, he began to release his shields, filling the room with his own, natural aura of power. "Do not patronize me, uncle," said Draco coldly, "I am not what you think I am."
Lineas shrugged nonchalantly, "If you are certain, Draco. I'm sure you understand how it is. I would rather not have to duel someone as young as yourself. It really does go against my own honor code.'
"Age is not an issue for one born to inherit the House of Malfoy," remarked Draco icily, "I am sure that you will agree that some of our greatest leaders came to power at very young ages."
Draco stared defiantly at Lineas. The room fell silent as all eyes were riveted on the two wizards standing in the center of the room. Once again, Draco felt something evil rise in Lineas' eyes. It seemed to him that the evil was trying to possess him, turn him into its tool. Draco fought back, slowly pushing at the evil with his own power. A moment later, Lineas blinked and stumbled back, confused by the power Draco had released. He frowned but did not retake the steps he had fallen back.
"It seems that it shall also be a challenge to duel against you," said Lineas, "I look forward to it."
He turned to go, but Draco called after him, "A word of advice, don't mess with the demonic."
***
Lorenzo frowned as he watched the young brat returned to his seat at the Patriarch's table. So he knew, did he? Not that it mattered. After all, what could a mere boy do against the power of a demon? Still the fact that Galien had backed down did worry him. Lorenzo shook his head; he would talk to the demon later. Draco's little demonstration of power will have gained him a few allies from his father's supporters. It was Lorenzo's job to convince the House that between Lineas and Draco, Lineas was the better- qualified leader.
***
"Draco, what—?"gasped Fleur as Draco dragged her down the hall and into his room. "Draco, what's wrong?" she asked gently. He shook his head and quickly locked the door behind them, casting his protective charms over the room.
"I want you to leave, now!" he said in a steely voice as he turned to look at her, "Ma cherie, this is no place for you anymore."
"Draco what do you mean?" asked Fleur, "If I leave, then what will you do?"
"That man, you don't understand, he's being possessed by a demon!" snarled Draco urgently, "You've got to get out of here! Let me deal with this Fleur, this is my problem, not yours, get out while you still can."
"No," said Fleur very quietly, "You can't make me leave. I stay because I love you and I trust you to be able to beat Lineas in a duel. I'll be okay, mon amour, I wasn't chosen to be a Triwizard Champion for nothing."
"This is different," pleaded Draco desperately, "You cannot fight against the demonic using conventional magic!"
"Then how are you going to duel Lineas, then?" asked Fleur, "I am a vassal. Technically, he cannot hurt me. If you lose the duel, I still wont be helpless. The Council of Patriarchs has a duty to protect me. The real problem is how you are going to go up against a demon and win."
"Don't worry about me," sighed Draco emptily, "I can take care of myself."
"And so can I," said Fleur firmly, "Trust me, Draco., It will be all right, I promise."
Draco turned away from her and leaned heavily on the bedpost, "I don't know who to trust anymore, ma cherie. I don't even know how to react anymore. So much has happened in the past few days, so much pain and suffering that I can't even keep track of it all. I am sick and tired of people underestimating me, sick and tired of everything! I need to get away when all this is finished and just rest."
Fleur cupped his face in her hands, forcing Draco to meet her eyes. After a moment she stepped away. "The Ministry switches Aurors off duty every few years even if they don't want to leave. Then, after a break, they can come back," said Fleur, "They do it because, otherwise, the Aurors would just crack under all the horrible things they've seen and done. They need a break so they can digest it all and put it behind them. Those who stay on eventually crack and go crazy. I've seen it happen during my internship with the French Ministry. Their eyes just seem to fill up like a cup until something in them gives. I've seen one wizard kill himself after only three years of duty. Your eyes are like that, Draco, so full of horror and fear. You've got to get out while you still can. While there's still a part of you that's still clean, still able to want something better than this. Being a Malfoy, you've probably seen things a hundred times worse than what Aurors usually see in the field, but even you have a limit."
"Draco smiled tiredly, "I don't see myself committing suicide anytime soon."
"No," said Fleur bitterly, "Strong ones like you aren't the type to commit suicide. The strong ones become like empty shells that can no longer feel happiness or love. They live for nothing else but the kill, the feel of fresh blood and the smell of fear. Don't become like that, Draco, don't become a mindless killer without a conscience."
"And what if," asked Draco emptily, "What if, I've already become one?"
***
Acknowledgements: Again, thanks to all who reviewed. Fu-Kun, this chapter is for you...after all, if you hadn't forced me to continue writing, I might still not have finished with this chapter....^_^