Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own Harry Potter. Nor am I profiting from this work. It's just a lot of fun to write.
So, let's talk about this chapter. I am moving a couple of bits around in these next chapters to get a better flow. For example, originally I had Draco suggest that the attack was an unauthorized attack in the previous chapter (while in the infirmary). However, I wanted to keep him very uncertain with Bill in that chapter. He's just getting to know Bill. He's not going to offer that piece of useful information just then. I saved it for this chapter to explore Draco's concept of friendships. He's really excited at the prospect of the Persian Runes, and he's aware of the 'cost' of Bill giving him this opportunity. Therefore, he feels the need to 'pay him back' in a way with that information. It felt like a more genuine character moment this way. I also put a little bit more in this section about the divide in Slytherin, which is a concept I want to explore this time around. When I first wrote this book, I was not equipped to handle that much of a plot, mainly because I didn't take the time to properly plot it. This time, I'm hoping to inject a bit more plot, and also explore more nuanced characters instead of making them all bad or all good. Oh, also, that journal with the 'live, love, learn' inscription that Bill gives him is absolutely a play on the 'live, laugh, love' craze that went through years ago. In my headcanon, Bill is a sucker for cheesy things like that.
Speaking of Bill, I gave him a full new section. In the first draft, I just repeated the scene but from Bill's point of view. At the time, I thought it was cool, but honestly, it's actually rather boring. Also, fanfic seems to have lost my chapter divides, so it all just blends in together.
Part of the reason this took so long to upload was because I did not know what to do with Bill this chapter. Should he have family dinner with Ron and Ginny? Should he have a discussion with Dumbledore? Then I realized the most obvious answer was a Death Eater meeting. Draco had just given him insight into the fact that the attack on Hogwarts was likely unauthorized, so it makes sense for him to explore that. But then, any time there's a Death Eater meeting, I have to write Lucius Malfoy. Don't get me wrong, I really like him as an anti-villian. He's one of the characters I'm most proud of in this story. He's just so hard to write. Like… I want him to be subtle, but also I can't make him so subtle that I leave my readers completely confused as to what he's thinking/feeling. But I do want some confusion about him and his motive. So, yeah, anything new with Lucius Malfoy is just going to take a while. Plus, I had a case of writer's block. Like... yeah. Real bad. This chapter was like carving the words from stone. But ultimately, we're here. Huzzah!
Chapter 10
Rule number eight: Avoid pain medications. If they must be used, do so in privacy.
Fail the test.
Why would Bill ask him to fail the test?
Draco frowned and slowly hobbled his way towards the Ancient Runes classroom, the crutches feeling awkward and unwieldy under his arms. Pomfrey had released him from the infirmary this morning with a strict instruction not to put any weight on his healing leg. She wanted to ensure that the bone had time to knit properly. If Draco had been alone, he would have just cast a levitate spell on himself. But most sixth years, hell, most professors, couldn't continually cast a spell like that for a full day, much less a full week. And so, he was given crutches. They were an annoyance, but they came with a surprising side-benefit. Draco looked over at Darla Burgess, keeping the slow pace beside him. She was carrying his books.
Darla was a sixth year Ravenclaw with deep brown skin, honey-colored eyes, and a mess of black curls that bounced attractively about her face. She was in all the advanced classes with Draco and was one of the top students of their year, although not many people would know it. She was quiet about her intellect and rather reserved, although she, like many other girls, charmed her skirt to be several inches shorter than regulation. Draco appreciated the modification. She had lovely legs.
She caught his gaze. He gave her grin and she ducked her head a little, hiding her own smile.
Draco could have ordered Crabbe and Goyle to carry his books, but they didn't share many classes. Plus, he rather enjoyed the attention from the female students. Many of the girls fawned over him, and even the quieter girls offered their assistance. Draco had accepted Darla's offer because he wasn't in the mood for talking. He was still trying to figure out why Bill had asked him to fail the test.
Darla opened the Runes door and held it for him. They were late, due to Draco's slow pace, and the other students were already seated. The tests had been distributed. Darla walked him to his seat, relinquishing his books.
"Thank you," he murmured.
She smiled again and left for her own seat. He watched her leave, her short skit about mid-thigh, and then turned his attention to the test page on his desk.
Fail the test, he thought again. Obviously Bill wanted to have the opportunity to talk with him. A failed test usually met remedial work with a professor, and that would give them an excuse to meet, but why? What surprise did Bill have planned? Draco just hoped it wasn't just the opportunity for Bill to lecture him about equality and justice. He didn't think that was the reason, but what else could it be?
He frowned at the test. The questions seemed standard enough. He glanced up at Bill, currently seated at his desk, busy doing grading work while the students took the test.
Of all the people to discover his secret… a bloody Weasley.
He picked up his quill and hesitated. Should he do it? Should he fail the test in order to spend more time with Bill Weasley, an Order member and a spy?
A voice that sounded like his father rang through his head. What, on this earth, could compel you to even consider this idiotic course of action?
Draco put his quill down. It was lunacy, wasn't it? It wasn't as if a Malfoy and a Weasley could just forget about their family feud and dueling politics and just… be friends. It was surely some rule of nature that shouldn't be broken. Draco only had himself to blame for his predicament. He'd been far to chatty with Bill in the infirmary. He blamed the pain medications – both for slipping up in the first place and the thoughtless way he'd simply admitted that he was a genius. They'd kept him off balance, made him act like a fool.
Rule number eight: Avoid pain medications. If they must be used, do so in privacy.
But that rule didn't help him now. He was in a mess and he needed to think his way out of it.
He felt a stab of pain behind his eyes. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His life, which had been complicated enough, suddenly became exponentially more complex. He was used to keeping his secret from the world, used to monitoring his every word and interactions, used to wearing his disguise. Now there was someone far too close to him.
Draco looked down at his test. Part of him wanted to regain his usual distance with the world. He was accustomed to being alone, not just accustomed, he was comfortable in it. He wrapped himself in isolation like a blanket as he wandered the empty halls of his home. At Hogwarts, he wore it like a cloak to keep everyone at arm's length.
Draco put his quill to the page, ready to pass the test with flying colors, screw what Bill wanted. The idea of letting someone get close was terrifying. It was safer to be alone.
But what was the surprise?
He pulled his quill back. He wondered, for a brief moment, if the professor had piqued his interest on purpose. Draco had an insatiable curiosity. Once a question had been posed, he felt the need to answer it. He wanted to answer this one.
Bill left his desk and started a slow circumference of the room. He stopped whenever a student had a question. He was a fair professor. He wouldn't give the answer away, but he would give direction if the wording of the question had caused confusion.
Draco had to admit it wasn't just the surprise he was curious about. Part of him was also curious about the professor. Why had he decided to risk his life spying on the Dark Lord? Did he believe that strongly in his convictions, or was there another reason? And were his convictions as naïve as Lucius made them out to be – all equality without merit, denying the self for the gain of others, pumping life into the weak when they should have died?
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, feeling the pain in his head return.
"Hey," Bill said softly. He'd rounded the corner and now stopped at his desk. He crouched and gestured at his blank test. "Anything I can help you with?"
Draco gave him a flat stare. The professor knew he didn't need any assistance.
"You look a little pale. Do you need to go back to the infirmary?"
Draco shook his head. "No."
"Well, if you're not feeling well, you can take this another day. There's no need to rush."
Bill's voice was gentle; his expression sympathetic. Draco knew what he was saying. Bill was giving him an out. It was simple thing, but it immediately eased the tension thrumming through his body. Bill wasn't going to rush him; he was willing to wait. Oddly enough, that reassurance was the only thing he needed to make his decision.
Draco let out a breath. "I'm alright."
Bill gave him a reassuring smile. "Okay."
He stepped away and Draco put his quill to the page. Bill wanted him to fail the test? Draco could have some fun with this.
He felt oddly drained at the end of class. He wasn't sure what to attribute it to, either his injury or his inner turmoil. Regardless, he was grateful to head back to the Slytherin dorms. Pansy was already there, seated on the tufted leather sofa in front of the fireplace that was Draco's unofficial spot. He settled in next to her, propping his leg up on the nearby ottoman and letting himself relax, just for a moment. But then he noticed the changes to the room.
The Slytherin Common Room was, in Draco's opinion, the best thing about Hogwarts. It had once been the dungeons, and as such the walls and floors were carved from dark gray stone. Ancient silver chandeliers hung from the lofty ceilings, lit with hundreds of charmed candles that cast a soft glow through the room. One side of the room was lined with ceiling high bookshelves made from black walnut wood. Matching tables were set in front of them, offering students a place to study. On the other side, large windows offered a stunning, underwater view of the Great Lake. This far below the surface, the lake glimmered with the strange aquatic magic of the Grindylows and Selkies. It cast rippling reflections onto the floor, making the stone seem to sway and drift in time with the water. The center of the room held the massive obsidian fireplace and a collection of tufted black-leather chairs and sofas. The spots closest to the fireplace were reserved for the unspoken leader of Slytherin. Draco could have claimed the seat his first year. The Malfoy family was the richest of the noble families. But Henrietta Walworth had been in her seventh year and they were as close to equal standing as a family could be. As she had seniority, Draco hadn't challenged the position. He'd instead waited until his second year.
Draco was used to seeing a collection of students in the chairs and sofas in the center of the room. It seemed the furniture was always being arranged in new configurations as students wanted to play games in huge groups or tell secrets to a few confidants or study with a single partner. Now the chairs were largely empty. Some had been pulled over to the bookshelves where Warrington and Nott sat with their cronies.
On the other side of the room, along the window seats, was a smaller group of students. It appeared they'd been exiled there. Some of the decorative pillows had been charmed into large cushions and beanbags to provide more seating. Blaise was in that group.
Slytherin had the greatest number of Death Eaters, but the house was only half Pureblood. The rest were Halfbloods and the odd Muggleborn. There was a tentative truce in the dormitory. Civility was expected. Incidences of verbal aggression were frowned upon and physical attacks deemed inappropriate. It allowed for a certain amount of mingling between blood status. But now, Warrington and Nott seemed intent on excluding those students from their ranks. They had all the members of the Pureblood Superiority group and the majority of the neutral members. The odds weren't in Blaise's favor, although – Draco tipped his head to the side and considered Warrington's roster – a large number were students who wouldn't provide him any active support. They would just keep their heads down and avoid as much of the conflict as they could.
Pansy caught his gaze and leaned in, her hair sweeping over her shoulders to brush against his face. Her painted lips tickled his ear as she whispered, "What are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing yet."
"It's not like you to be so indecisive."
Draco felt a surge of irritation that she was questioning him. He turned his voice cold. "You think I'm being indecisive?"
She read the threat and backed off with a disarming smile. "Forget I said anything. I guess I read your inaction as indecision. But if it's all part of the plan…," she trailed off with a shrug.
He watched her uncurl her legs and get up from the sofa. She made a slow round of the room, making a point to chat with students on each side. Pansy's family was political. They weren't particularly wealthy, but they were very well positioned in the Ministry. Pansy was being groomed to follow in their footsteps. It meant she wouldn't have to pledge to the Dark Lord and that she was allowed to pursue connections on either side of the divide. She used it to her advantage in the school, acting as a courier or negotiator between feuding students. Draco knew that she played the role of spy for herself, hoarding the best bits of information for her private use. She had a lot of secrets on Draco; but then, he had a lot on her. And the things she had on him weren't that terrible. Embarrassing, to be sure, but hardly dangerous.
He pulled out his books and settled in to get some work done before dinner. It was hard to concentrate, being the only student in the middle of the room. It meant he was being watched from either side. But remaining in his position of power also meant he didn't have to outwardly declare a side, at least, not yet. That would change at the end of the year, when he'd be forced to join the Dark Lord. He might grasp at what little freedom he had now – the Neutral Party for debate class, the weird, still-developing quasi-friendship with Bill – but at the end of the year, it would all vanish.
That dark thought plagued him for the rest of the day and into the night. When he woke the following morning, it was there to greet him, just as bleak and crushing as the day before. He released his frustration by being as much of a snot in all his classes as possible. He blamed his ill-temper on his injured leg and feigned helplessness. Either Snape was humoring him, or he had his own demons to exorcise, because he made Potter and Granger fetch all his ingredients for his Dreamless- Sleep potion and even stir his cauldron.
"Maybe next time you'll think twice before yanking me off my broom," he sniped at Potter, not able to keep the vicious pleasure off his face.
Harry had been staring at him for the past few days, his brow furrowed, no doubt still questioning if Draco had deliberately saved his life or not. But by the end of potions class, after suffering through all of the worst comments Draco could think of, any lasting curiosity had faded behind glaring eyes and red-faced anger. Draco smirked and felt his own poor mood drift away.
He was back to his usual self on Thursday, although anticipation curled in his stomach and stole his appetite. Ancient Runes was the last class of the day. While typically he enjoyed Bill's teaching, he itched to get through the class, wondering at the surprise he'd promised.
Bill passed the tests out at the end of class. Draco wasn't surprised by the red T that marked his page, nor by Bill's casual comment of, "Stick around after class for a few, alright?"
Draco nodded and slumped in his chair, playing the role of frustrated student. Hermione hid a giggle behind her hand and hurriedly packed up her things, no doubt eager to inform the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio that Draco Malfoy had failed a test with a T. In actuality, all of the correct answers were on the test. He'd just answered in reverse, so that none of the translations aligned with the correct dialect.
He glanced up at Bill, who was lounging at his desk, occasionally glancing at the clock as the rest of the students filed out. It was the last class of the day and it seemed the students were taking their time comparing test grades with each other. Draco drummed his fingers on the desk, impatient and agitated. The students finally trickled out of the classroom and the door swung shut behind them.
Bill waited a moment and then grinned. "I got you something. Come up here."
Draco slowly got to his feet and crossed to the front of the room. Bill handed him a gift wrapped in blue paper.
Draco stared at it. "Is there a holiday I'm unaware of?" It was clearly a book; it was the weight and shape of a book. He wondered why Bill had even bothered to wrap it. And was this the surprise Bill had planned? Just a book wrapped in cheap paper? He looked up at Bill. "What is it?"
"You're supposed to open it to find out."
Draco turned it over in his hands, feeling suddenly awkward. How should he open it? At home, all the wrapping was done in the shops and would come off at the tug of a ribbon. It was a safe way to unwrap a gift. No need to look too eager, just politely interested. Displays of overt excitement were frowned up. There was no such ribbon here. Was he supposed to tear the paper?
He settled for sliding his finger under the spell-o-tape and pulling the paper away as neatly as possible. It was, as expected, a book. The cover was soft, brown leather with tiny gold runes along the edges in four different dialects. They read 'Language is the means by which we live, love, and learn." In the middle of the cover was a small imprinted dragon. Draco ran his fingers over the script and then flipped it open. Inside was an index of the six major ancient runes and their alphabetical code along with the basic grammar rules. There was a section of transfer paper to allow tracings of original scripts and the rest was comprised of blank pages, faintly lined in gold, for writing. It was a translator's journal.
Draco looked up to see Bill studying him with an unreadable expression on his face. He realized that the polite thing to do would be to thank him for the journal.
"I, uh," he said, casting around for the words.
Bill interrupted before he could make a complete arse of himself. "I suppose you're wondering why I wanted you to fail your test, and why I gave you that." He gestured at the book. "As of now, you're taking extra sessions after class on Thursdays because your summer class didn't cover all of the necessary dialects, which is why you failed the test."
"Is that so," said Draco, having no idea where Bill was going with this instruction.
"That's the official story, at least. But I thought it would give us the time to work on a little project of mine."
"Which is?"
Bill got up and pulled out a rolling blackboard from the corner of the room. He flipped it over, revealing a set of runes that Draco hadn't seen before. "This."
Draco stepped closer, scanning over the glyphs. He didn't recognize them. "Untranslated?"
"Untranslated."
"When were they discovered?"
"Three years ago."
"That recently?"
"I found them myself while on a gig in Egypt. I copied them over, planning on taking a crack at them, but I haven't been able to give it as much attention as I'd like."
Draco quirked an eyebrow at him. "And now that you're a teacher and a spy you expect the free hours to roll on in?"
Bill raised an eyebrow right back. "Well, I've got this genius kid in one of my classes. He's a bit of a prat at times, but I was hoping he might be interested in lending a hand."
Draco was silent for a minute, thinking it over. The thought of translating a completely new set of ancient runes was thrilling, and already he could think of four different algorithms he wanted to throw at the glyphs to see if it would provide a clue in the translations, but it would mean working with Bill. Working closely with Bill. The professor had already admitted that he wanted to recruit Draco for the Order, and Draco already found him annoyingly good company. He should say no. He didn't need anything else to make his choice at the end of the year any harder. And yet, the refusal stuck in his throat. Merlin help him, but he wanted this.
"Does it count as extra credit?" he asked finally.
Bill broke into a grin, obviously relieved that Draco had said 'yes' and Draco felt strangely pleased that Bill had cared that much.
"Do you really need extra credit?" Bill countered.
"No," said Draco shrugging. "But I had to see if I could get something out of it."
"Ever the Slytherin, huh?" asked Bill, and it was evident that he didn't mean it as an insult. Draco felt his lips twitch up in response to Bill's smile, and he immediately turned back to the runes, hoping that Bill didn't catch the slip.
"Do you have a basis of translation?"
"Yeah." Bill pulled a notebook out of his desk and tossed it to him.
Draco caught it and flipped open to the first page. He skimmed the contents, flipped a few pages, and then realized what Bill was suggesting. He blinked at the page and then at Bill. "Are you serious?" He sat down on the nearest desk and hurriedly flipped through the next few pages. He looked back up at Bill. "Do you know what you're proposing?"
Bill smiled at the look of incredulity that must be on his face. "How about you tell me."
"You think that this set of runes is a key to deciphering the eleven Persian runes. It would be the largest translation of the decade."
"Of the century," Bill corrected. "So I take it you're interested?"
"Does Snape hate Potter?" Draco asked, still flipping through the book.
Bill snorted.
Draco stopped at a section about halfway through and frowned. "What dialect is this one? It seems important to your translation, but I don't know it."
Bill crossed over to join him. "Ah, that's a really obscure set of Slavic runes."
Draco squinted at it. "Are you sure? The characters look too square to be Slavic."
"Who's the professional here?" Bill asked, feigning insult. He jumped up and crossed over to the chalkboard. He flipped it over to the blank side. "So, think of these runes as the predecessor to the ones you know, but with a great deal of Prussian influence."
Draco put the notebook down and spent the next two hours learning the most absurd style of cuneiform he'd ever seen. But Bill had a knack for teaching. He started from a wide perspective, focusing on the formation and influence of the runes, and then went into the more specific laws of the language. He ended with the details, explaining the exceptions to the rules and common phrases. By the end of the lesson, Draco had a good grasp of the language, but he'd need to study it a little more.
Bill pushed the notebook over. "Here, read up on it, and we'll pick up next week, same time."
"Okay."
In fact, it was more than okay. Bill was offering a project, a genuine piece of academia, something actually meaningful to do with his intellect. And if he was right and this was the key to the Persian runes, then he was offering the chance at scholastic renown, even if he never put his name on it. In short, Bill was offering something valuable. And for what? For Draco's help, certainly, but he'd also be putting a lot of work into Draco to catch him up to speed. That all evened out in the end. What else was he getting out of this interaction with Draco?
The answer was nothing. It wasn't a fair exchange. It seemed that Bill wanted to be… friends, of a sort, with Draco, and was familiar enough with the concept to know that Bill was short-changing himself.
"Hey, you alright?" Bill asked.
Draco belatedly realized he was glaring at the notebook Bill had handed him. He nodded once, jerky and abrupt, and then, before he could think twice about it, blurted out, "The Death Eater attack during the Quidditch game wasn't a sanctioned attack."
He looked up to see Bill's face go through a myriad of emotions. It would have been comical, had Draco not been so preoccupied with identifying them. Surprise and confusion. A few others he couldn't name.
Bill's face settled into gentleness, an expression Draco was getting used to seeing on him. His voice was equally gentle. "Before you tell me anything else, understand that if you give me actionable intel, I will follow up on it. So, take a moment and think if you really want to tell me something."
Draco felt his own confusion. His brow knit; his fingers sped through their 1 to 2-4-3-5- pattern.
Bill continued. "It's not that I don't want the information you have. I just don't want you to feel pressure into telling me anything. This," he gestured at the board, "isn't my way of bribing you for dirt on the Death Eaters. And it isn't to make you feel guilty or obligated. If you share information with me, I want it to be your choice. Do you understand?"
Draco didn't, not fully. "Theoretically, yes. Practically, no." He shrugged. "Favors for favors are a pretty well-established guideline for forming alliances in old Pureblood society."
"Our work together isn't a favor. It's just for fun. Free of charge."
It didn't feel free, because Draco had never encountered anything truly free before. But he was aware that there were some people who gave without expecting a return. Fools and dreamers, Lucius said. Bill wasn't a fool, but he very well could be a dreamer.
"Consider this free then," Draco said, still feeling obligated to give something back. "It's a deduction I'm making, not an actual piece of information, but I think it holds merit. The Death Eater attack on Hogwarts was not a sanctioned assault. In fact, I don't think many Death Eaters were aware of it."
"What makes you say that?"
"The obvious fact that Slytherin was playing. There were four children of Death Eaters in the air during that game. They wouldn't have approved it, or rather, they would have picked a different game."
"Are there many Death Eater attacks without the Dark Lord's knowledge?"
"The attack during the Quidditch World Cup comes to mind. That was a revel by Death Eaters for the sake of gaining attention. I think this is similar. Someone wants the Dark Lord's attention."
Bill looked thoughtful. "It's a good theory. One that I hadn't considered."
"Don't make the mistake of thinking that the Dark Lord is omniscient. He is powerful, yes, but many of his followers are ambitious in their own right. They will take actions to suit themselves, sometimes to his detriment. It would…," Draco paused for a moment, wondering how much he should reveal, but then he inwardly shrugged. Bill would figure it out for himself eventually. "It would be a good idea to notice who gets in his good graces and who falls from them. You may not always know why, but the who is equally important."
"I will," said Bill. "Thank you."
Draco nodded, a little uncomfortable at the gratitude. "Well, I'll see you later. And I'll learn this for next week." He held the notebook up.
"There's no rush," Bill said.
Draco slipped the book into his bag and grabbed his crutches. "I'm a genius, Bill." He gave him a smirk. "I won't have to rush." He swung out of the room, leaving Bill gaping after him.
OoOoO
Bill watched Draco swing out of the room, his mouth hanging open. He wasn't serious, was he? There was no way Draco could learn an entire runic language in a week. But then he remembered their conversation in the infirmary, and the list of feats he'd already accomplished. Suddenly it didn't seem so impossible.
"Well… shit," Bill announced to the empty classroom.
He packed up his room for the evening, stacking his translations' work back in the desk drawer. He was excited to finally work on it again. Curse-breaking didn't leave a lot of free time, and if he were being honest, he'd gotten a bit stuck in places. It was time to call in a partner, but he didn't have any contacts that he trusted in the translating community. Bill had tried working with translators before, but many times his contributions had been waved off or his ideas co-opted. That's why he'd kept these runes to himself. But now… now Bill had fresh hope, even though he'd never expected to find a translating partner at Hogwarts. Much less a student. Much, much less a Malfoy.
Bill finished putting his things away and sank back in his chair for a moment. Draco had given him a good piece of information today, one that Bill appreciated. He wondered what other pieces of information Draco knew just by being the son of Lucius Malfoy. He had an insider's view of the Death Eaters. As tempting as it was to want to push Draco for more information, he knew that patience was key. Draco had to make his own decision. And if today was any indicator, Draco appeared to be… well, reachable. He hadn't expected that. He'd expected him to be far more entrenched in his family's prejudices.
But Draco seemed almost starved for positive attention. He remembered Draco's expression when he'd presented him with the translating journal. It was like he'd never received a gift outside of a holiday before, even though his parents could buy him all of London. And he remembered Draco's surprise when he'd told him the runes weren't a bribe for information on the Death Eaters.
Bill knew how high Pureblood society worked. The Weasley's were poor, but they were an old family. They still had interactions with the wealthier families, were still invited to certain society events. After Bill got his job, and after he established a decent living for himself, he'd been invited to more events. He went, on occasion. He watched and observed and realized that the entire society was built on favors. It was a system of debtors and debt-collectors and Bill despised it. Draco had expected that system with him. Bill was going to show him something different.
Mind made up, he headed back towards his office to drop off his things before dinner. He'd just unpacked his bag when pain flared up on his arm. Voldemort was calling.
Bill swore. With feeling. He'd had enough of Death Eaters for the week. But he still threw on his invisibility cloak and took his concealment potions and met Snape in the woods. They Apparated to a house Bill hadn't seen before. It was to be expected but frustrating none-the-less. The Death Eaters often changed locations of their meetings for secrecy and privacy. It made Bill's job more difficult. He had a new layout to learn, new hideaways to find. It increased the chances of someone accidentally bumping into him.
He cautiously moved through the house, trying to find an out-of-the-way location that would let him overhear the most important information. He settled on crawling half behind, half-under a chaise lounge in the parlor where the Death Eaters were gathering. It was the first meeting since the attack on Hogwarts. Bill had expected the Death Eaters to be celebrating a successful attack at Hogwarts or bragging about their prowess. There was some celebration, but no bragging. It lent credibility to Draco's hypothesis, that the attack was by a rogue faction of Death Eaters.
This meeting was smaller than usual. There were no recruits outside practicing their dark spells. There were no spouses or relations mingling about. The mood was somber and focused. The members were taking turns speaking, updating the group on certain funding measures or the newest recruiting numbers. It appeared to be strategy session. Bill committed everything he could to memory, especially the suggestions that were thrown out for more dark revels. It was in the middle of this that Voldemort himself appeared. He strode into the room and conversation halted. The members stood and bowed.
"Milord," Severus said. "I was hoping I might have a word?"
Voldemort's gaze locked onto the Potions Master and something in the red eyes seemed to ignite. His lips stretched over sharp teeth. "But of course." He stretched out his arm. His long fingers uncurled in the direction of a side room, indicating the professor should join him there. His manner was overly polite; his expression was cruel glee.
Bill's skin crawled. He immediately knew that Severus was in trouble, but the Potions Master didn't show any trepidation. He followed the Dark Lord into the study. The door shut.
The Death Eaters reclaimed their seats and resumed their conversation. It was only a matter of minutes before the screaming started.
Bill had the childish urge to cover his ears. The Death Eaters paused. They exchanged glances with each other, and Bill could read a variety of expressions – pity, unease, fear, relief. Only Lucius Malfoy was inscrutable. That wasn't to say he was expressionless. His lips were slightly pursed and one manicured finger tapped at the head of his cane. He looked impatient, almost annoyed. Bill couldn't tell if he was truly stoic in the face of the torture or if it was a well-practiced affectation.
The screaming stopped. Bill let out a slow breath and tried to focus on what was being said. MacNair was talking about a trade route or something to that effect. He'd clearly lost his train of thought when Snape had started screaming. Bellatrix Lestrange – the only one looking entertained at the sound of screaming – tore the notes from his hand. She read them aloud, skipping through the passages she found boring or unimportant. The resulting presentation was disjointed and incomprehensible. No one asked her to stop.
The screaming started again. A few Death Eaters squirmed in their seats. Some looked a little pale, like they were afraid they might be the next target. Bellatrix kept reading.
Lucius Malfoy let out a testy sigh and flicked his wand, gathering up the pages that Bellatrix was discarding on the floor when she'd finished with them. He made no move to interrupt her poor recitation of the facts and figures in the report. He simply straightened the partially crumpled pages and set them in order. Then he started reading, silently. He read quickly, his eyes only seeming to skim the page before moving to the next. Bellatrix finished her read-aloud. Lucius finished his silent study and then handed the pages back to MacNair.
"Do we know what customs points are friendly?" he asked.
MacNair pulled out a map and began explaining the best travel routes. Lucius asked a barrage of questions about tracking packages and what shipping businesses offered the best security. After Lucius interrogated MacNair, he turned to Boucher and asked about their progress in firing a High Court judge that was giving them trouble. And after he'd raked Boucher over the coals, he quizzed Nott about the tax cuts he was supposed to be pushing through the British Ministry.
It was clear Lucius had a sharp mind, but he wore his intelligence differently than Draco. Lucius wielded his intellect like a weapon. He used it to cut down those around him and elevate his own position. He used it to prove his superiority. Bill couldn't detect any glimmer of curiosity about him, not at all like his son. Draco was eager to learn. He was excited at the prospect of puzzles to solve and codes to decipher.
Bill suddenly realized that he never outright asked Draco if his father knew about his genius. It was heavily implied that he didn't know, but now Bill wasn't so sure. Lucius was highly perceptive, and his recall was terrifyingly accurate. How could he not realize that his son was a genius? Surely Draco couldn't hide for that long.
The screaming started again. Bill swallowed hard. He was sure Voldemort was using the Cruciatus Curse on Severus. How much more could he take?
Lucius stood. "If no one has anything further to add, I'll inform our lord of these updates."
"Don't interrupt him when he's having fun, Lucius," Bellatrix scolded.
"Our lord understands that work must come before pleasure." Lucius' tone was light, and as he walked over to the study door, his gait was even, measured. Bill followed because no other Death Eater was getting up. In fact, they seemed frozen in their seats. Some were watching in dread; others seemed to have a faint light in their eyes, as if they were hoping Lucius would also be tortured.
Lucius raised a hand to knock and held that position. Bill wondered if the hesitation was out of fear or if he was simply waiting for Voldemort to finish the Cruciatus. The screaming abated, slower this time, and Bill could hear ragged breathing through the door.
Lucius rapped twice on the door and then partially opened it. "If I may be so bold as to interrupt, milord?"
Bill couldn't see Voldemort from this angle, but he could hear the voice, "Only you would be so bold."
Lucius opened the door fully and stepped into the room. Bill paused, not knowing if he had the chance to follow before the door shut, but Lucius left the door open. Bill slipped inside.
The room was a small study, lined with bookshelves and simply furnished. There was a wheeled cart with a beverage service beside the fireplace. Lucius crossed to it, not sparing a glance at Severus, currently on the floor. Bill moved further into the room. There was a statue in one of the corners, one of the inert kinds, so he wedged himself behind it.
"We've decided to move ahead with the smuggling route through Calais." Lucius picked up a decanter, lifted the stopper, and gave the drink inside a cursory sniff. He wrinkled his nose and put it back down. He reached for the bottle beside it. "It will be vastly more feasible once Nott gets the tax cuts pushed through in the Ministry. We'll need liquid assets for this endeavor." He sniffed this option, a golden-colored whiskey, and seemed to find it more palatable. He poured two fingers in a glass and turned to Voldemort. "I can walk you through the funding if you'd like. Perhaps over a glass of whiskey? This appears to be a rather fine vintage." He proffered the glass.
Voldemort took a moment to respond, his chest heaving slightly. Bill knew it wasn't exertion. He'd learned enough of Voldemort's stamina to know that a few minutes of the Cruciatus Curse wouldn't tax him. His agitation was pent up anger. He was never out of anger.
"No." Voldemort's voice was cold. The red eyes flicked to Severus who was, quite wisely, remaining motionless on the floor. Severus had been one outlet for him tonight. Bill watched as Voldemort's gaze turned to Lucius, still holding the glass out to him. For one moment, Bill thought Voldemort was going to crucio Lucius. The Malfoy patriarch didn't seem frightened. He simply raised an eyebrow in wordless question.
"You handle it," Voldemort said, and then he strode from the room, malevolent energy rolling off of him in waves. He confronted the other Death Eaters, his voice carrying into the study, half-hissed and enraged. Some of the Death Eaters try to respond. Their attempts were cut short with screams.
Lucius waved his wand twice. One spell shut the door, the other muffled the screams. Lucius stepped forward and placed the tumbler of whiskey on the coffee table in front of Severus. He made no move to help the Potions Master up, just watched as he hoisted himself up and drop into the nearest armchair. Severus sucked in a breath, reached for the whiskey, and tossed it back.
"Another?"
"No." Severus shifted and winced. "Yes."
Lucius took his glass and poured more. He handed it back and then poured himself a glass. He settled into the chair across from Snape and took a small sip. "What did you say?"
"I inquired about the attack at Hogwarts."
Lucius snorted. "You did not. You never inquire when it comes to Hogwarts. You insinuate that you should be in charge of those matters and get peeved when you're passed over. You forget that our lord has very good reasons not to trust you. Your loyalties have always been divided."
Severus gave him an unimpressed look. "This coming from the man whose true loyalty is to himself."
"I'm not the one suffering the Cruciatus shakes." Lucius gestured with his glass at the Potions Masters trembling hands.
Severus didn't respond. He took a healthy swallow of the whiskey.
"Well?" Lucius prodded.
"He didn't say who was behind the attack. He just said that he has agents who are better prepared to deal with Hogwarts than I am."
"Who do you suspect?"
"I'm not sure. He didn't even say if his agent was in Hogwarts or not."
"You used the plural before," Lucius pointed out. "Which did he use? Agent or agents?"
Severus paused a moment. "Agents, plural. But I am unclear if he was using the term in a specific sense or general."
Lucius gave a thoughtful hum, his eyes narrowed. "We certainly don't need multiple unknown agents running about Hogwarts. Particularly if they seem intent on using blunt force tactics."
"Especially if Slytherin students are being harmed."
Lucius' eyes flicked over to Severus. "Don't pretend your only concern is Slytherin. If you had your way, all of Hogwarts would be off limits."
"And you disagree?"
"A war cannot be bloodless. If the situation demanded, I would target Hogwarts."
"Just not while Draco is there."
"Certainly not." Lucius' voice was sharp. He took a larger swallow of whiskey and then contemplated the glass, turning it around in his hand. "I trust you've been keeping an eye on him."
"It's been difficult with recent developments."
"The bugs in your office." Lucius nodded. "Still nothing more?"
Severus shrugged helplessly. "The Dark Lord isn't giving me any actionable information, but neither is the Headmaster. I'm not entirely sure who placed them, although I suspect Stevick, and I am not sure who he is working for, the Dark Lord, the Ministry, or Dumbledore."
"A challenging position."
"I will weather this storm like I've weathered the others. But you might a receive a more expedient response if you write Draco and inquire after his wellbeing yourself."
Lucius brushed the suggestion away. "The owls are at risk of interception. It's not safe."
"You've written him before."
"When the matter is pressing, yes."
"I'd think a severely broken leg qualifies."
"You said his leg was healing." There was something accusatory in Lucius' voice now.
"And it is, but he was still involved in a traumatic accident. He was flung from his broom during an attack on himself and his classmates."
"He will understand that he was not a target."
"That hardly helps."
Lucius gave Severus a dark look. "He's a Malfoy. I will not coddle him."
"How do you equate writing a letter to coddling?"
Severus' question was Bill's as well. How could a man as smart as Lucius arrive at such a false comparison?
Lucius' expression turned dark. His voice dropped low. "I will raise my son in the manner I deem best. As he has met every expectation that I have set for him, I conclude that my methods, although apparently controversial to you, are quite satisfactory. And Draco himself has voiced no complaints. I will thank you to remember your place, Severus."
He drained the rest of his whiskey and set the empty glass down. He stood, taking a moment to straighten his robes, and then he strode from the room. Bill followed, glancing back at Severus, who seemed content with staying put for the time being and nursing his drink.
Voldemort was no longer on the premises, but he had left a wake of destruction. A few Death Eaters were half-collapsed on the sofas, looking pale and unsteady. More victims of the Cruciatus. Bill wondered what Voldemort's excuse was for torturing his followers, and why they continued to be his followers.
Lucius concluded the meeting, wrapping up the stray details and handing out orders to be completed by the next meeting. This must be why Lucius hadn't discovered Draco's genius. He'd missed all the signs because he'd been too wrapped up in business and politics and gaining power for a madman.
Bill watched Lucius and confirmed what he had already suspected. Lucius was smart, cold, and callous. He suffered no fools and had no patience for mistakes or excuses. He was ruthless, but Bill had known that when he'd heard how Lucius had planted the cursed diary in Ginny's bag her first year. A diary that now Dumbledore believed had actually been a horcrux. His little sister, an eleven-year-old girl, had been possessed by the soul of Tom Riddle all because Lucius's pride had been hurt.
Bill looked at Lucius Malfoy and knew him for what he was. A villain.
And if he could do what he did to Ginny, Bill wondered what he might do, and what he might have already done, to his own son.
OoOoO
Well, if you liked it, please review! As always, I am cross-posting this story (the edited version, sans author's notes) on Ao3 for ease of reading. I'm AduroWrites over there, if you want to check it out.
