A/N – In this chapter: unlikely alliances, confrontations, consequences, and converts. And even some Churchill, because he was a cool dude, and made an immortal speech.

Disclaimer – I don't own anything. Don't sue me.

Chapter 11

The doorbell rang at about half-past four, just as Richard and Elizabeth Evans were sitting down for their afternoon tea. They had not been expecting a visitor, especially at this time of day, and so Richard got up to answer the door himself, telling his wife to be careful, just in case. Lily and Kate had told them some wild stories about terrorist wizards on a crusade for pure blood, and however much they might have liked to discount them as fabrications, exaggerations, they knew that their daughters would not lie to them – not on such an important topic.

So it was that Richard was pleasantly relieved to find that their unexpected visitor was a middle aged man, dressed in a standard – if very expensively cut – business suit and tie. But not even he could have mistaken the man for an ordinary, conventional businessman – the everyday trappings of respectability simply did not suit him, it looked as if they were trying to cloak a personality that could not be concealed, even by the conventionally discreet pinstripes.

Perhaps it was the shoulder-length white hair, caught back in a queue, or the keen, penetrating silver eyes. Perhaps it was the confidence, the bone deep assurance of a man used to controlling the world around him – or of a man who had shaped and created that very world, through his own efforts.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said politely. "How do you do?"

Marcus Malfoy – for so it was, surely – looked briefly amused, before the fleeting expression was replaced by what had to be his usual sardonic mask. Young Lucien had told them stories of his father, leaving him and Elizabeth with a somewhat confused impression of a sophisticated, cultured man with positively feudal ideas of responsibility and obligation.

An anachronism? Perhaps, in some ways, he might be –

But anachronism or not, he was here, on their doorstep, in full view of the neighbours and any passers-by.

"Won't you come in?" Richard asked politely. "You're just in time for afternoon tea."

A pleasant man, thought Marcus Malfoy about half an hour later. A pleasant couple, if rather unassuming; Luc had perhaps been overly harsh in his assessment of them as mediocre. Richard was obviously intelligent enough, but he lacked ambition; he was happy with his lot, with his suburban house and lifestyle – the mother, too, was content with her social circles and small committees, and had none of the modern muggle notions of feminine empowerment and equality.

Their two changeling daughters must have come as quite a shock.

However, the visit had been necessary – he had found out just how much Kate had told her parents, and how much Lily had told them, and could now make an educated guess at the truth that lay in between the two highly subjective accounts. He had delivered a warning of his own, and he had taken the chance to place some safeguards around the house – Richard Evans had told him that he had also received a visit from James Potter, Snr, and the evidence of this could be seen in the wards already in place. Marcus had strengthened and reinforced them, privately amused at the thought of this unprecedented act of cooperation.

"My son James is becoming very partial in his attentions towards the muggleborn, Lily Evans. I understand that her sister is very close to your two sons, Malfoy – in this, at least, we share a common interest..."

A common interest with James Potter.

A mudblood twisting his son around her little finger.

And he, Marcus Malfoy, paying a call on her muggle parents...

"Their blood makes them vulnerable, but unlike their daughters, they have no way of defending themselves from anonymous enemies from an entirely different world."

To his knowledge, such things had never mattered – he had learned of death's absolute impartiality the hard way, fighting the Germans and Grindelwald both – but evidently Potter thought it unfair. Marcus thought it only reinforced the fact that muggles had no place at all in wizarding society, but in the end he was too much of a pragmatist to believe they could be wiped out. Just as he was too much of a pragmatist to believe that the Evans family would not be attacked, or that Luc's association with them would go unnoticed.

"My daughters have told me about these Death Eaters, Mr. Malfoy. What could we possibly do if they do come? I am not a soldier, and I know nothing of magic..."

"I gave my word, Father!"

Augustus Snape waited on the other side of the street from the Evans' house – and a small, boxy little muggle hovel it was – and waited for Malfoy to emerge. He himself was dressed in ordinary black robes, blending into the shadows, but Malfoy was wearing – of all things – a muggle business suit, and a tie.

He knew the man had a partiality for muggles – he treated them as if they were worthy of his time and consideration – but he hadn't thought the interest went this deep. He tolerated his son's scandalous connection with a mudblood, and if this visit was anything to go by, he was checking out the parents – and that could mean only one thing.

Marriage.

Malfoy was actually considering allowing his bastard to marry the girl. Thinking of joining the pure, ancient Malfoy blood to an unknown bloodline that could be a carrier for anything – any taints, any curses, any diseases. Granted, the boy was illegitimate and so he and his were forever barred from the succession, but even so...

Tainted blood was a permanent affliction – it did not suddenly cease after the seventh generation. And once the taint entered a bloodline, it could never be removed.

Marcus noticed him from the corner of the eye as he walked out of the small picket fence, and allowed himself a small trickle of wariness – no, Snape would most likely not try to kill him tonight, but nevertheless it paid to be alert. The man was subtle, cunning, and slippery, and no doubt loaded with an arsenal of lethal poisons, although Marcus was by far the better dueler and more experienced combatant. It would be an interesting match, if – when – the warring with words turned to actions and the rivalry they had always shared turned lethal.

But it was not to be this night.

As he crossed the street, the shadow detached itself, resolved itself, and Marcus Malfoy faced Augustus Snape in the half-light in the middle of a quiet muggle street. The antagonism crackling between them was all but tangible.

"Well, Malfoy, tell me it isn't true. Tell me you have not betrayed all of our principles and ideas for a mudblood." Tall, saturnine and sharp tongued, Snape had always had a taste for cruelty and a hatred of muggles – Marcus had heard rumours that he had been able to fulfill both of those desires in his new Lord's service – and a particular hatred reserved for the Malfoy.

"It is not I who has betrayed our principles and ideas, Snape. You are the one who bent knee to a half-blood son of a third-rate House."

Snape bridled automatically, but then subsided; he was no stranger to hypocrisy. "The accident of his blood does not matter –" but he continued, riding over the retort he knew Marcus was thinking – "it only makes him more determined to carry out his ideals. But if we must speak of bloodlines, he can prove his descent from Salazar Slytherin himself..."

Marcus' expression was unimpressed. What did he care for Salazar Slytherin – although a great wizard to be sure – when he could trace direct descent from an older, far more terrible legend? And so could Snape, for that matter. Knowing this, Snape's voice had not risen to the ringing shout he might have used had he been speaking to other, more average wizards; despite their rivalry, they had always understood each other well enough.

"You should not underestimate the extent of his influence, Malfoy," Snape said with more conviction. "He is a dangerous man to cross."

Marcus, still standing calmly in the middle of the road, lifted his eyes to meet Snape's. "And so am I a dangerous man to cross," he said very softly. "If it becomes necessary."

But Snape ignored the sudden change in tone. "You cannot keep yourself apart forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to become involved, commit yourself, just as we had to with Grindelwald – and you know how much that cost, even though we actually won ..."

Yes, Marcus remembered the fight against Grindelwald, how terrible it had been –

We shall never surrender...

Remembered how long it had taken for England – muggle and wizarding both – to recover afterwards, having expended so much of itself.

But they had won the war.

"Join us, Malfoy. Get rid of the mudblood, your son can be brought to see sense. You could be one of the highest in our Lord's esteem; you can raise your fortunes higher than they have ever been. You need never again pander to muggles and muggle lovers, nor will their affairs ever backlash on us like last time..."

Goddamn Hitler and Mussolini and Chamberlain all, for being deceived by Grindelwald, for taking us all to the very brink, and beyond...

But...

There had been justification for that fight. He had no wish to run around in black robes terrorizing innocent civilians and non-combatants, trying to tear down the very society he had fought so hard to preserve. This...this half-baked crusade for pure blood was nothing more than an excuse to regain positions and power long lost. And he wanted no part of it.

Slowly, knowing full the consequences of his actions, he shook his head. "No, Snape. I have no love for muggles or their presence in our world, but I will not join your crusade – or your revolution."

Snape's mouth twisted. "So be it." He turned his back, melted back into the shadows and apparated away.

Marcus stood there a while longer, under the glow of the newly lit streetlights, a queer mocking not-smile playing around his lips.

Kate woke to a new day, and knew immediately that something was wrong.

Walking towards her usual place at the Slytherin table for breakfast she could hear the whispers, the speculation; there were always rumours in Slytherin, but today was unusual in that the whisperers did not lower their voices as she went by. And that was never a good sign.

...Refused to join...

...Authorised their destruction...

...Must be very cautious – dangerous reputation...

...And the mudblood?...

...get rid of her...

What had happened? Had Marcus Malfoy refused to join?

She caught sight of Luc and Lucius, and went over to join them. They looked up as she approached and let her in to their conference. There was a letter lying on the table between them and when Luc indicated that she should read it she picked it up, scanned it quickly, and then put it back, very carefully, her face grim.

The offer we long predicted has been made and refused. There is no going back now.

Hold true to your oath, Lucien, if you can – if not, Potter will give assistance. They are watching her parents.

And, Lucius, be on your guard for anything. Do not underestimate them...

Severus Snape had also received a letter.

Allowing it to fall back to the table, he let his hair – shoulder length, just long enough to mask his features – fall forward over his eyes, over his face, so that he was hidden from the others, from those he had once honestly called friends...

Everything that he had most dreaded had come to pass.

But then he had always known it would.

Most of the children of influential families in Slytherin received letters at breakfast that day; almost certainly, most of those letters contained the same information. The teachers noted that the whole House was unusually subdued, the atmosphere tense, calm – almost too calm – and that the students had somehow drawn together along political lines, the small number of cross-boundary friendships had become very, very distant and formal, as if they feared the consequences of becoming too close, or too closely associated, which were not at all the same thing.

Kate clung to Luc and Lucius, as if she were wary of being caught alone.

But somehow, there was an odd association that survived even the ominous tension pervading Slytherin.

Dominic and Michel de Sauvigny, the two cousins that had somehow found their way into Slytherin – although even now, no one quite knew why – were lazing under one of the trees on the grounds, talking with some of their other de Sauvigny cousins from the other Houses. For most of their time at Hogwarts they had been doing this, every now and then, meeting with their family members and talking of Caine, of Anne his mother, and of the future of the House.

And in six years, they had managed to make quite a few of them – at least half of the de Sauvigny children at Hogwarts – listen to what they had to say.

They spoke of changing times, of increasingly complex markets, and of political influence. They spoke of strength, power, capability, of control – and of Caine's recklessness and hot-blooded temper. They spoke of Anne's unpopularity, and of Aethan's conservatism, and of the need for a stronger, surer, yet more progressive hand...

They spoke of Luc Malfoy.

And then, when they had said what they had to say, they would introduce those who would hear more to their alien, unfamiliar cousin, and some of them would see a stranger, a Malfoy, but some of them...

Some of them would see an answer.

A/N – More Marcus Malfoy (sighs dreamily...) You know, I have thought that it would be very interesting to make him an Auror – that would lead to very interesting situations, especially for Lucius – but it's too late now. You will all have to speculate, or I will have to write another story.

And welcome back the de Sauvigny plot thread. I thought I had lost track of it there, but I found it again.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Feedback of any kind is welcome.