Please see Chapter 1 for disclaimers, warnings and other information.
Warning: This chapter will be upping the rating to 'R', which I'm sad to do, but there's a bit of squiky blood in this part. Nothing kinky, just a bit creepy. The light-heartedness will soon return, I promise.
The next morning Harry slept late and woke groggily. This was a very bad way to start the first day of his sixth year classes, but unavoidable. He felt as if he'd been kicked in the head by a mule.
He'd never been kicked in the head by a mule, but he imagined it would feel something like this.
He completely missed breakfast; Ron saved him a piece of toast; but was only five minutes late to his first class. His pounding headache followed him into Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he gave thanks for the utter silence in the room.
"And you must be Harry Potter," came a smooth voice from the front of the room, breaking the silence and startling Harry into dropping his book loudly to the floor. He reached down to pick it up and turned to face the front of the class, feeling uncomfortable as he always did when put on display.
At the front of the room stood a man, perhaps in his early thirties, with dark brown hair and skin considerably paler than most. His eyes were a dark brown, nearly black, and the gaze was deeply guarded. The voice had been rough with use, and had boomed throughout the room.
"Yes, sir," Harry answered. "I apologize for my tardiness-"
The professor waved a hand dismissively toward an empty chair next to Ron. "I believe Mr. Weasley saved you a seat, but please don't let it happen again. You've missed the introduction portion of our class today. I am Vincent Periday. I was just apologizing for not arriving until this morning. The Headmaster was not pleased that I missed this year's welcoming ceremony, but some things cannot be helped."
Harry quickly moved to sit beside Ron and nodded his head meaningfully at their instructor. Ron shrugged at the silent question. They'd been curious as to the identity of this year's DADA instructor, but no details had been offered from the staff to any of the students. The man looked harmless, although a little stiff and rough around the edges, and obviously uncomfortable. As Harry sat, he began to pace and talk to at once.
"I hear that you've run through instructors for this class the way most children run through candy, and I must wonder if teaching is a more dangerous profession than I had originally believed. Should I worry?" The question was without humor and the delivery was a bit dry, though Harry had a suspicion that it had been meant as a joke.
No one laughed.
The man ceased his pacing in front of them and raised one dark eyebrow. Then he hummed in the back of his throat. "Interesting," he murmured.
He shook his head and forced a smile. It came off as a sneer. "I won't ask you what you hope to learn from this class, for I believe I might venture to guess that what you hope to learn is how to survive. They say He Who Shall Not Be Named has returned to blight us all again, and your generation hangs in the delicate position of being just old enough to kill, yet not old enough to protect yourselves."
Neville squeaked and the whole first row of students straightened, but the man went on with his rapid speech.
"The first rule you should always remember is-" he halted and looked around at them. "Have you got quill and parchment ready?"
There was a general scrambling as bags were searched and desks were readied, and Harry rubbed at his temples, beginning to feel his headache ease. Ron elbowed him and he grudgingly pulled parchment free from between the pages of one of his books. He had to turn in his seat and muster up a sufficiently pathetic, pleading look for Hermione before she would roll her eyes and wordlessly hold out a spare quill, it's end bent tragically.
Ron wordlessly shoved his ink bottle between them when Harry redirected his pleading eyes on his best friend.
"The first rule you should always remember is to know your enemy. Know as much about him or her as you possibly can. Whether they be wild animal, ferocious beast, or the wizard you once called friend."
Hermione's hand went up, but the Professor was gazing out the window, not making eye contact with any of the class. He had spoken as if he was reading from a book, and the students scribbled along faithfully. Hermione hesitated for a moment before losing patience. "Professor Periday?"
He turned back to the class, as if surprised that he wasn't alone in the classroom after all, and then sought out Hermione's hand waving in the air. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
"Suppose you can't know anything of your enemy? What then?" The question was eager, and Periday nodded shortly.
"That brings us to rule number two, Miss Granger. Know your own defensive capabilities. If you can't tell what your opponent will be throwing at you, the very least you can do is know how you'll react to it. Have something on backup, in case you lose your cool. Or your wand. Can any of you use actual weapons?" He looked from one student to the next, causing many of the brave Gryffindors to squirm in their seats.
There was a short silence.
"Have any of you ever actually held a real weapon?" he sounded exasperated.
"Harry's held a sword," Hermione offered tentatively.
Professor Periday looked questioningly at Harry, who shrugged and edged away from the looks of the rest of the classroom. "Yes, well. Swords are a bit cumbersome in the midst of battle, but I'm sure we're all sufficiently impressed. Pocket knives? Daggers? Anyone?"
Ron grinned and raised a hand. "I've got a knife in my boot."
"Good," Periday nodded at Ron, "Do you know how to use it?"
Ron sunk a little in his chair and mumbled, "Mum asked me not to play around with it."
Several of the class snickered, and Dean snorted. Ron shot him a glare. Dean mimicked Ron mercilessly and batted his eyelashes girlishly. Ron mouthed back an angry, 'Later, Thomas.'
Dean rolled his eyes, and behind them Harry heard Hermione sigh wistfully and murmur, "Boys."
Professor Periday ignored the scene and continued with his lecture. "This year, we'll be learning basic defense, not only with your wands, but with your hands and any weapons available to you. Chances are, you'll be in dangerous positions throughout your lives, and I'd be remiss if I didn't teach you to protect yourselves. Rule number three…"
The days continued thusly, and they settled once again into the steady routine of schoolwork and research. Somewhere in the world Voldemort planned his evil plans, but Harry began to push that particular problem to the back burner in the face of more immediate concerns.
Hermione had tried several different charms to hide the ring. One of them had caused Harry to speak German for twenty minutes (Hermione was having trouble figuring that one out), and another had caused his whole arm to disappear with the ring. He'd had to wear the long sleeved robes that day, and keep his left hand shoved in his pocket at all costs.
He'd accidentally stretched it out to catch a third year who'd tripped on the lush hallway carpeting, and had needed to think of some hasty excuse as to why he had no left hand. Thankfully, the truthful, "Hermione was working on this new charm…" had satisfied the bemused girl. Ron later pointed out that it did have the added effect of making the ring invisible along with his arm.
Hermione said that Ron's sort of help wasn't really helping and would he please try to be serious.
Harry privately agreed that an invisible arm was easier to explain away than another boy's engagement ring.
Soon, Ron came down with a cold. He was adamant that it was caused by the dusty books Hermione and Harry had been forcing him to pore through, and declared himself ineligible for any further studying sessions into the history of the Malfoy Ambition.
This was fine with Hermione, who'd found Ron a distraction anyway, but annoyed Harry to no end. The Boy Who Lived had no such excuses, and so ended up spending hours reading about the family history of the person whom he hated most in the world. The Malfoy bloodline was peppered with intriguing mysteries and scandalous affairs.
In the late first century a penniless wizard by the name of Daimon Malfoy had chosen an aristocratic pure-blooded woman named Nyx for his wife, and despite his meager circumstances, she had agreed to wed him. Nearly five years after their marriage, Daimon quite suddenly fell into his fortune.
This was the first hazy point in the Malfoy Family History. No one quite knew from where the money that comprised the bulk of the Malfoy fortune had originated.
Soon after they'd established themselves in the most influential circles of the wizarding community, Nyx had found herself with child. They soon welcomed to birth a beautiful ice blond boy named Loki.
Loki had later gone on to befriend an up and coming charms master by the name of Salazar Slytherin. And here was the first mention of the Malfoy Ambition. Apparently, not more than a few years before Hogwarts had been constructed, Salazar had helped Loki's mother craft the ring as a gift to his best friend. A gift that would ensure the Malfoy line was always pure, proud, and illustrious.
The book then skipped a sizable chunk of time to focus on Loki's son, Liam. Liam had married a beautiful witch by the name of Maened, and the couple had been the toast of every party, always warmly accepted by any hostess. Liam and Maened had a son named Willison Malfoy, who went on to marry a very charming, yet demure lady of the Wizarding court by the name of Nereid.
The pages detailing the life of that couples' son, Evan Malfoy, were missing.
The book then settled out and soon every page began to bleat on and on about how great the Malfoys were. How pure they were, as evidenced by the always shockingly pale good looks of every male born to the family and quite a few of their wives. Blond hair and blue eyes were the norm with this bunch. Oddly enough, there were no natural-born Malfoy women.
The seat of Malfoy power had moved around quite a few times, from castle to townhouse to summer cottage in Devonshire, until they had settled a little over a hundred years ago in a sprawling, majestic manor house they had named, quite appropriately, Malfoy Manor.
The Manor had been the epitome of all Wizarding envy, and eventually became focus of much suspicion after the defeat of the Evil Lord Grindelwald in the mid-forties. The Malfoys had then been suspected of treason against the wizarding world, but had eventually been found innocent.
Harry read and wondered over all of this information over several sessions of study in the library with Hermione, but didn't feel he'd learned much at all about the ring.
"Look at it this way," Hermione told him brightly when he'd complained, "if we can't get rid of the ring, at least now you know as much as can be expected about the family you're marrying into."
She got a withering look from the Boy Wonder with that statement, and offering up an unapologetic shrug, excused him from the library for the evening. "Why, thank you Professor Granger," he retorted dryly.
"Don't mention it," she said, adjusting her glasses, lost already in another advanced Charms manual.
He gathered up the Malfoy Family History and a few other heavy books that Hermione had dubbed 'light reading,' and headed in the direction of Gryffindor tower. He ignored his smirking, smug best friend and trudged up the stairs to his dorm. Depositing his collection on the trunk at the base of his bed, he settled into the covers and plumped his pillows and once again picked up the Malfoy Family History.
He was re-reading the one, brief mention of the Malfoy Ambition in the entire book, but was gleaning no new facts from it:
"The Malfoy Ambition is a tradition that has stood the test of time and generations of change in the Malfoy family. Salazar Slythin, who helped to create this unique piece of jewelry, said that it would help the young Loki Malfoy (the first bridegroom to employ the use of the ring), to 'reveal his deepest of ambitions for once and all.'"
This did little to help him. Still, he couldn't help but think on and re-read the passage until his eyes grew heavy and his breathing evened. The pages crinkled under his fingers as he fell deeply to sleep in his studies.
Moments later he was woken by the soft click of a closing door, and his head whipped up. He blinked and blearily looked around the room, re-adjusting his glasses and wishing he hadn't fallen asleep in them, and then froze at the murmuring of voices outside the dormitory door.
In the bed across from him, Neville was settled asleep. After a cursory look around the room he realized some time must have passed, for his dorm mates were safely tucked into bed and were sleeping soundly.
The voices outside their door quieted, but Harry began to feel uneasy. He slid off of his bed and picked his wand up from his nightstand, stuffing it in his pocket, and headed towards the sound.
He pressed his ear up against the heavy oak and, hearing nothing, twisted the knob and opened the door.
The hallway had once again disappeared, but in his dream this time a drawing room had appeared. Rows of books lined two of the walls, their shelves broken by stretches of wall decorated by gothic artwork and dying potted greenery. The hardwood floor he stepped out upon was waxed to a gleaming finish, and every piece of ancient furniture looked much too weak to sit on. Chairs and settees were scattered around darkly woven rugs, and white, tapered candles lit the somber room and its inhabitants.
A man sat in a corner, shoved between a door and a wall, shoulders slumping in defeat. There were only a few other people in the room, most darting concerned looks toward the man and then falling into whispers. Nearly ten feet from the man stood an austere looking woman, with the same platinum blonde locks, her face a picture of stoic calm. Her fingers twisted worriedly in the folds of her dress for a moment, and her face pinched in apparent pain before smoothing out at the sound of one man's voice.
"Darling, is he… alright?" This man had the same blond hair, if a bit darker, but his features were harsh where the woman's were flawless. He was dressed in aged Wizard's robes, cinched and pulled in a style that Harry had only seen in the moving pictures of his History of Magic textbook. All the men in the room were, upon closer inspections, dressed thusly, and the women wore extravagant robes that seemed to resemble classy dresses.
"Alright?"
They were speaking in hushed tones, but Harry guessed the man they
spoke of wouldn't have noticed if the world had fallen on his ears. "After all that's happened? At least he has Liam-"
"Harry." Harry whirled at the immediately recognizable German accent. The same woman from his earlier dream; the woman who'd screamed in pain and given him only riddles for answers, stood in front of him, deathly pale. She was dressed in the same bed gown she'd been wearing in his last dream, stained with blood from the waist down.
The corners of her mouth kicked up in a smile.
"We had no chance to speak last night," she haltingly explained.
The ring on her finger gleamed as she turned to look at the door beside the grieving man. Moments later, there was a rapt knock.
No one in the room paid the knocking any mind, and the man sitting beside the door made no move of surprise.
"I have been waiting so long for you."
Blood trailed down her ankle and dripped onto the floor, but she paid it no mind.
"What is going on?" Harry reigned in his horror at the sight of the woman bleeding from bits he'd rather not even think about.
She shook her head, her gaze fiercely trained on the door in front of her.
"It's going to be so difficult for him, to raise Liam alone," the woman they'd turned away from murmured.
"Salazar will be back," the man beside her quietly rebuffed.
At the name, both Harry and the man they spoke of stiffened.
The knocking had grown louder.
"Aren't they going to answer that?" Harry ground out.
"They cannot hear it."
"Daimon…"
After reading the Malfoy History for so long, Harry began to put names to the faces around him. The flawlessly beautiful woman who worried over the mourning man in the corner was Nyx Malfoy, her husband, Daimon stood beside her. Loki Malfoy sat, drenched in helpless agony.
"Who are you?"
"I am the first bride of ambition," she murmured the answer to his question, "and you will be the last. I have waited so long for you."
"Salazar won't return after all that's happened. He's not the same man-" Nyx's voice was full of regret. "Would that I had never forced Loki's hand."
The knocking had become a pounding, and Harry felt pulled between realities for a moment.
"I will speak to him," Daimon murmured and finally Loki looked up. Across the man's cheek was a deep slashing scar that the book had described as the byproduct of a fencing accident from Loki's youth. His nose was broken, too, which hadn't been mentioned at all in Harry's readings. Despite the rumpled appearance, which was strange for a Malfoy, Harry could tell that this was obviously what he was. He had the signature white-blond hair and everything.
"Please…" Loki interrupted them, and all conversation in the room stopped as people turned to stare. "Don't bother him. He's got so much going on now, with the school and his missing cousin."
Nyx hesitated, "Loki, darling, you shouldn't go through this alone."
"His presence will solve nothing."
"It might have solved everything," the bleeding woman said, but no one heard her. One by one, the others in the room began to disappear, until at the last Loki broke from his mother's gaze and they both faded into nothingness.
The pounding stopped.
"I died in childbirth, and they never spoke of me." She turned to Harry and he kept his eyes firmly about waist level, not flinching from her stare. "They still don't speak of me."
"They're all long dead," Harry explained.
She smiled, "in the end, we will be at peace."
"Will you please tell me what is going on?" Harry demanded hotly.
"Very well. Once, a very long time ago, two people fell in love. For several reasons, which were valid at the time, they did not find their ending a happy one."
"You and Loki-"
"Loki and Salazar."
A soft knock was once again heard at the door.
"I beg your pardon?" Harry choked out.
"Loki and Salazar loved one another, but chose to let their love be tested. They failed each other and went their separate ways. Loki married and became a father, a widower."
"And Slytherin went on to preach hatred and violence to anyone who would listen, imprison a monster whose sole purpose was to kill people he hated, and disappear from the history books forever," Harry finished darkly for her.
She nodded, and then glanced over at the closed door when the knocking was heard again.
"Am I meant to answer that?" Harry asked tightly.
She shook her head. "I am meant to guard that door until you can lock it forever."
He rolled his eyes and spat back, "I'm quickly getting tired of these riddles."
"Most Riddles are difficult to defeat," she quipped. "I have waited for you."
"So you said. I'm here now, what do you want?"
"I want you to make things right."
"Make what right?"
"Find a happy end."
A loud noise sounded through the room as the wood of the door bulged inward. Wood cracked and she winced in pain, then turned panicked eyes on him. "Leave."
"What? I'm not through-"
"Leave. Now!"
His eyes shot open and the Malfoy Family history fell to the ground as he jumped from sleeping to waking in one quick moment. Neville made a sound of panic at his abrupt movement and finished working his robes off quickly.
"Sorry, Harry. Didn't mean to wake you," he blushed hotly, "sorry. I'll go now, you look a little washed out."
Draco found himself on the Quidditch pitch. He was months early for the season, but had needed somewhere to go to escape the questions constantly being thrown at him.
"Heard from your true love lately?" He mimicked in a high voice to the empty field, and then huffed.
Blaise was becoming incorrigible, and were it not for his reluctance to bruise his knuckles, Draco would have liked to test out his newfound interest in fisticuffs on the teasing brunette. His DADA class had been learning about how to throw a proper punch from his newest Professor.
He had gotten an odd look from the Professor on their first day of class. He'd almost made out a note of panic in the man's dark gaze, but had dismissed it when the session had been called to order and he hadn't been looked at again. While he didn't exactly approve of the new instructor, Draco had nothing against the man, either.
But he had this nagging feeling at the back of his head…
That hadn't been the only weird thing that had plagued him in the first few weeks back from Summer hols. Potter and his two little friends had been scuttling about, and were most definitely up to something, but Draco hadn't been able to prove any of his theories.
Even the Weasel hadn't bothered him about the bride business, which was strange in and of itself. He'd thought the dirty red headed boy had grown used to squabbling with him over the years, and Draco had even begun to look forward to the verbal sparring and the victorious feeling he got whenever he'd tortured the freckles into blending in with the rage of red on Weasley's face.
It was strange that the glorious heroes of Hogwarts hadn't been rubbing his face in his humiliation, and it made Draco almost suspicious.
Draco shook his thoughts loose and went back to worrying about his future. His mother had cut off contact with him, having sent him a letter to inform him she'd left the country to visit relatives in France.
He consoled himself with the thought that she'd be supported until the issues with the family fortune were sorted out with the Ministry. Everything was currently being looked over with a fine toothed comb for any signs of dark magic. Hopefully, they would be proven innocent and allowed to return to their former station with only the smear of his Father's imprisonment and involvement with Voldemort on their family name. It wouldn't have been the first time the Malfoy's had overcome allegations and embarrassing entanglements with shady characters.
A buzzing sound near his ear distracted him, but when he turned to look for the source, he found nothing.
At least his situation was serving as a distraction. The world seemed now obsessed with the Malfoy family's future bride. Polls running in the Daily Prophet had several young ladies wondering what sort of girl would eventually claim the title of Mrs. Draco Malfoy. He'd turned down several interviews, though his mother had done a few, and his reluctance to speak of it was making several journalists work even harder to fill in the missing details with wild fabrication.
He'd read somewhere that he had already found his bride, but that "young Mr. Malfoy has decided to keep his new bride's identity mum because of her delicate condition." Apparently, he'd already gotten the chit pregnant.
With a thwack, something small and compact connected with the base of his skull and his whole world went fuzzy for a moment. When he finally gathered his wits, he twisted on the ground to search for the weapon that had taken him out… to find a Golden Snitch fluttering happily away. It turned lazy circles in the air in front of him before shooting forward to bop him in the nose.
"What in Merlin's name?" He reached out quickly to take hold of the ball and forced its wings to a halt, and then turned it over in his fingers. "Has this thing been out here since last… season…"
There, engraved in the golden hollow beneath one feathery wing, were his initials.
Property of D.M.
Author's Note: I am so sorry to everyone for how long this chapter took. I've been fighting writer's block and a new job and several things that keep popping up and taking away my attention. Most of that is resolved now, and the work should begin to flow more smoothly. Also, I'd appreciate some feedback from anyone who happens to read and can answer a few questions for me. I'm okay with this being confusing, but I must know if it's interesting-confusing or boring-confusing. Are the original characters too much? Is the plot getting too thick? Did this chapter give you any clues to add to the story line? Let me know what you think, please.