Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. As usual, check out my author's notes at the end of the chapter to see what I've done to the story. For a version of the story without notes/edits, check out my Ao3 page, I'm AduroWrites over there.
Chapter 23
Rule number twenty: People's own minds are their greatest deceivers. Use that against them.
Draco hadn't expected Bill to keep visiting him in the infirmary. After all, he usually only saw Bill in class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then afterwards for their runes work, but the Professor dropped by Monday evening with his homework, right after Draco had tried to convince Madame Pomfrey to release him from the infirmary.
"It's been over twenty-four hours since I've had a fever," he had pointed out.
Pomfrey had only snorted. "If you'd showed a modicum of common sense and come to see me when you were first feeling poorly, I would believe you possess the ability to take care of yourself. However, passing out from delirium in the middle of class makes me think you're not interested in your health, and as I've just spent a busy few days getting you healthy again, I'd like to protect my investment."
Draco hadn't been able to argue against that. What was he supposed to say? That he'd avoided the infirmary to hide from Bill? It was hardly a logical defense. He would have sulked a bit longer, but then the professor had arrived with his schoolwork.
Draco was taken aback. He'd rebuffed Bill's attempts at reforming their friendship, but it seemed Bill was still happy to play to role of friend.
"You didn't have to," Draco said, just to remind Bill that he wasn't going to be returning any friendly gestures.
"I know," Bill said easily. He dropped into the chair beside his bed. "I just thought you might want some company."
Draco rarely wanted company. He wasn't sure if his desire for solitude stemmed from a natural propensity towards introversion, or the sense of safety he felt when he was tucked away from prying eyes. And he still wasn't entirely sure he wanted Bill to hang out with him. The decision to forgive the professor was still tempered with skepticism and unease. But Bill didn't try to start a conversation; he just pulled out his own work and they worked in silence for an hour or so until he left for dinner. There was a strange sense of camaraderie in their silence, and though Draco was loathed to admit it, it was preferable to his typical isolation.
He woke up Tuesday morning to find himself feverish again, which only made Pomfrey smug about her decision to keep him confined. And although the fever didn't last long, Draco resigned himself to a few more days in the infirmary.
Pansy stopped by at lunch, perching on the side of his bed with an assessing sort of gaze that made Draco think she'd come by for a purpose, and not just to commiserate with him.
"How are you?" she inquired.
"Tolerable," Draco said. "And you?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "As well as can be." She lapsed into silence, and Draco hid a sigh. She was going to make him ask, and he was too sick to want to deal with politics. But if she'd come all this way, it meant she had something to tell him.
"And how are things in Slytherin?"
"Surprisingly calm," she said, trailing a finger over his wrist. It was a flirtatious reward for his obedience. He wondered if her positive reinforcement was deliberate, or if it was now an unconscious response of her own. "But then again, Nott's not the best mutineer."
She exchanged a look with him. They both knew that Nott could have used Draco's absence to his advantage and claimed power for himself.
"He's still terrified," Pansy shared. "And he's not the only one. Your response was effective. If not a tad dramatic."
Only Pansy would call the Cruciatus Curse dramatic. Draco huffed out a breath and tried not to dwell on the memory that came to mind – Nott, on the floor, the feeling of his neck underneath his boot, the choking sound he'd made when he'd been unable to scream, and then the scream itself, shrieking and grating.
He curled his hand into a fist, nails biting sharply into his palm. The sensation pulled him back into the present.
Pansy flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And while you've stirred up quite the philosophical debate, it may be best to tone down any further Neutral sentiments."
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "How come?"
Pansy glanced around the room, and then cast a privacy bubble around them, a show of caution that made Draco sit up a little straighter. "There's a rumor that the Dark Lord wants more attacks."
"The source?"
"A letter from Nott's father. He told Theodore to be cautious because the Dark Lord was planning on taking action in Hogwarts. The older students think it's in retaliation to Dumbledore's propaganda."
"The debate class," Draco said.
"Precisely. Since Dumbledore is using Hogwarts to promote his cause, the Dark Lord wants to show what happens to those who oppose him, even if it threatens their children."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling an ache start in his brain. "If Dumbledore and the Dark Lord are using Hogwarts to recruit, then it forces students, and by default their families, to declare their support for one side or the other. It's a polarization tactic."
"One which appears to be working."
There was an edge to Pansy's words that had Draco glancing up and searching her face. "Your parents?"
"They've hinted that I'll be Marked, along with you."
There wasn't anything to say to her news. Draco couldn't very well commiserate with her since the Mark was supposed to be an honor. Nor could he congratulate her when they both knew it would be a lie. He dropped his gaze to the bedspread, and they lapsed into somber silence as their grim future came into better focus before them.
"It's a dangerous play," Draco said finally. "If the Dark Lord encourages attacks on the school, attacks that threaten the children of his followers, what will happen when a prominent Slytherin student is seriously injured in the chaos? Will his Death Eaters simply agree that it's collateral damage and let him continue unchecked? Or will he begin to alienate his own supporters?"
Pansy didn't answer. Draco looked up, frowning at her lack of response. Surely she'd considered the question herself.
"Draco," said Pansy, her dark eyes softening unexpectedly, "you were seriously injured in the attacks."
Draco's brow furrowed further. Well… yes, but that had been an accident.
"Your leg was shattered after the bat," she said, and there was something like pity on her face, even though he'd never seen her display that emotion before. "And you got a concussion from the fire. You, Lucius Malfoy's only son, heir to the Malfoy estate, were nearly killed on two occasions of Death Eater violence, and nothing was done about it." She leaned in, her voice dropping with insistence. "If Lucius Malfoy does not object when his only child is injured, it is tacit permission that anyone, any child, can be scarified."
Draco felt his blood run cold at her words. She was suggesting the unthinkable. She was suggesting that his father had allowed the violence to happen without regard to his safety, or that his father had no power to stop it. His stomach gave a panicked lurch. He recalled what Bill had said to him, just a couple of weeks ago, during their argument. Bill had informed him of Mirabelle's death and insinuated that Draco could be the next sacrifice. Draco hadn't believed him. He was too important, too well-known, too high in society to be a pawn, and Lucius was too powerful. And certainly Lucius would use that power to protect him. But Pansy was pointing to evidence that implied Lucius had already sacrificed him to some extent.
Draco could rationalize why his father had not objected to the attacks at Hogwarts. Lucius was in a precarious position with the Dark Lord, and he couldn't show any weaknesses. And Lucius may not have been informed of the attack, and may have only learned of Draco's injury after it had occurred. But all of those rationalizations only highlighted the issue at hand, which was that Draco had been injured by the Dark Lord's commands, and Lucius had not objected.
The realization sent a deep ache through his chest, even though on some level Draco had always known the truth. His father would never put him first. That had been evident by Lucius's long absences and missed holidays, but now it was manifesting itself in real, physical harm and pressing danger.
His eyes stung.
Not for the first time, he was grateful that he wasn't able to cry.
Pansy got up, straightening her uniform and carefully wiping any remaining sympathy from her face. "I thought you already knew." Her words were offered as an apology.
Draco met her gaze with an equally composed expression. "The knowledge was there. I was just slow to understand."
"Don't think too hard on it," she advised, and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek before leaving.
But if there was one thing Draco couldn't do, it was not think. He turned the current situation over and over in his head, and wondered, for the first time, if Lucius would sacrifice him to the Dark Lord. Draco had always thought he would be relatively safe in the upcoming war because he was a Malfoy, and because he was Lucius's heir, but maybe Bill had been right. Maybe he was just another soldier, another pawn on the chessboard for the Dark Lord to command and use as he wished until he was dead, either fallen in battle or used as bait. Or, even more pathetically, caught up in an ambush meant for someone else.
It was a troubling thought, and he worried at his dinner, which made Pomfrey frown and tut over him. Bill came in later that evening with his homework and seemed content to spend another evening in silence. Draco knew what he was doing. He was trying to prove himself to him, to show that he wasn't going to push anymore Gryffindor rhetoric. But Draco had too many thoughts to keep to himself.
He looked over at the professor. "What do you suppose made Dumbledore start now?"
Bill looked up from his work. "Hmm?"
"The Headmaster has never directly addressed politics before. What made him start the debate class now?"
Bill put his work to the side and leaned back in his chair. "A few things, I imagine. He did tell me that he regrets not taking a more active role in Slytherin. He was pulled in too many directions at once, and Slytherin, and other Pureblooded students, were consequentially neglected. I think the debate class is his way of trying to remedy that."
Draco snorted. "That's a charitable opinion."
"You have a different one?"
"Recruitment," Draco said. "He and the Dark Lord know that the endgame is coming, and their scrambling to get more soldiers for their cause. The Neutral party is the only remaining source of bodies. Because Dumbledore is the Headmaster, he can recruit through typical propaganda measures. The Dark Lord is forced to rely on scare tactics to counter that."
"I don't think Dumbledore is thinking about starting an army of students," Bill said.
"He doesn't have to," Draco pointed out. "The students already formed one for him, and your siblings are a part of it."
Bill opened his mouth to argue, but then checked himself. "You're not entirely wrong. Can I ask what brought this line of questioning on?"
Draco shook his head. He wasn't going to say it out loud. It was too soon for him to admit that he'd trusted his father too much, that he'd ignored the evidence in front of him. And he certainly wasn't going to tell Bill that – not after their last argument.
He saw a look of disappointment and guilt cross over Bill's face. He knew why Draco wasn't sharing anything.
"That's okay," said Bill.
Was it?
Draco waited for him to push, but he said nothing else. He just picked his work back up again. "My sister said you were part of an attempted mutiny in the Neutral party."
"A pipe dream," Draco said, waving him off.
"Maybe so," Bill said. "But having a place of safety is important, especially here. Let me know if I can help in anyway."
It was a generous offer, and it was clear Bill was being genuine. It was a drop of relief in an ocean of tumulus thoughts. As the next days passed, slowly and miserably, Draco knew that the Neutral party was more than just a pipe dream. It was necessary, now more than ever. For a particularly troubling afternoon, he wondered if it wouldn't be better to be an Order member, because they had never suggested or condoned attacking children, not even if those children were Slytherins.
He shook his head. That sort of thinking wasn't fair. He knew that the majority of the Noble Houses did not condone attacking civilians, much less children. And Lucius certainly did not approve of such tactics. He'd said so himself. And if Lucius had let the attacks on Hogwarts happen, it meant that there was something else going on – there was some form of danger that was preventing him from staying the Dark Lord's hand. Or the Dark Lord had kept the plans from him deliberately, knowing he would object. Yes, that was much more likely. The Dark Lord had grown impatient and had taken impulsive risks and had not informed his inner circle, as he hadn't wanted to hear their caution. Lucius would have warned him, had he known of the attacks.
Draco was still in a tricky position, as things were clearly not as safe as he would like, but things were not so dire as his darkest assumptions. Lucius still cared for him; he would still protect him.
And yet, as he and Bill worked on their runes together, he found himself wanting to ask more questions about Gryffindor morality. He knew that Gryffindors weren't opposed to making sacrifices, but he wondered where the line was drawn. When was it appropriate, in their eyes, to endanger their friends and family? If they did endanger them, was it talked about openly and agreed to or done secretly? If Draco… not that he would, but if he decided to offer information to them, would they offer information in exchange for his safety?
But he didn't ask.
Pomfrey finally released him Friday after lunch. Draco let out an audible sigh of relief, stepped out into the crowded halls, and was immediately assaulted by the noise and chaos of a typical Friday afternoon. The students passing in the halls were chattering away, already filled with the excitement for the weekend and making plans for their trip to Hogsmeade. Professors yelled after them, vainly trying to remind them of projects that were due next week, but they were drowned out by the roar of conversation.
The headache that Draco had been fighting all of last week came back with a vengeance. He promptly decided to skip his afternoon classes, and began shoving his way towards the Prefects bathroom, wanting nothing more than a good soak in hot water and to wash the scent of the infirmary off of him. He forced himself through the inconvenient intersection by the trophy room and –
His steps faltered as his brain registered something out of place. He paused and turned around, frowning at the students bustling about him, and then he spotted what had bothered him. Ernie Macmillan was leaning against the wall, right beside the trophy room. But Ernie Macmillan didn't belong there. Not now at least. None of his classes were on this floor. And while he was trying to look casual, his eyes were flitting over the hallway, watching everyone who passed.
Draco continued to the Prefects bathroom, his brain turning over that specific detail with more attention than perhaps it required. But it offered a harmless distraction from the darker thoughts in his head. Was he waiting for someone? He was known to arrive late to class because he'd wasted time chasing down his latest crush.
The Prefects bathroom was empty, as Draco had expected. He turned the tabs for hot water, adding a few scented soaps that he preferred – cedarwood and amber, a hint of bergamot and chai. The tub filled quickly. Draco pulled off his clothes and eased himself into the water, still mulling over Macmillan. He hadn't heard any rumors about the Hufflepuff's love life, and he wasn't known to be discreet. That being said, Draco had just spent the week in the infirmary. He could have missed that news.
Still, his position had been odd. He'd been right by the trophy room, and the Dark Lord had hidden a horcrux in his trophy. That couldn't be a coincidence. He turned the taps off, and his brain slotted the pieces together. The Dark Lord wanted his horcrux back; Dumbledore was setting a trap.
Draco felt a strange sense of unease, as if simply having that knowledge put him in danger. He pulled in a breath and dropped to the bottom of the tub, letting his brain think in the quiet stillness under the water.
It wasn't a bad move on Dumbledore's part. The Dark Lord had no idea that the Headmaster was aware of his horcrux, thanks to Bill's spy work. He'd no doubt send his agent into the trophy room, and Dumbledore could catch the Death Eater quite neatly. He wouldn't even have to use the horcrux as bait. He could use a fake and risk very little in this encounter. The only question was: would he catch Stevick or Jameson?
And Dumbledore's Army was obviously aware of the horcrux, which was why they were acting as additional security. That was the issue with Granger being of age now. She got all of the Order information and passed it along to the rest of the DA, who had taken it upon themselves to act as additional security. Draco was willing to bet they also had additional eyes on Stevick. He snorted his last bit of breath. Potter and his fan club were so used to being the heroes of the school, they had to insert themselves into everything, didn't they? They simply didn't trust the adults anymore.
His lungs were beginning to burn. Draco pushed himself to the surface and finished his bath. If the DA were going to skulk about, Draco was going to do his own reconnaissance of them. He didn't want to be caught off guard if, and when, a skirmish started. He could really do without another infirmary stay before the end of the year.
He summoned clean clothes from his dorm and layered on several camouflage charms and notice-me-not spells. So disguised, he spent that afternoon watching the DA as they rotated through shifts, staking out the trophy room and, as Draco had expected. trailing Stevick throughout the castle. And it continued into Saturday as well. Draco was grudgingly impressed at their coordination. They switched out spies frequently, as to not arise his suspicions, and set alarms for when he retreated into his rooms. But they weren't perfect. They watched him too intently, and they tried for invisibility when it would have made more sense for them to be loud and obnoxious, to blend in better with the other students. Draco was sure Stevick knew he was being followed, but he didn't let on – not until that afternoon when Stevick stalked down the east wing hall that was notorious for its window sweats and long curtains. Too many couples escaped here to cuddle and snog, and Draco watched as Stevick sent all the couples running, then whirled around and caught sight of Collin Creevey, who'd been the DA spy following him.
"You too!" Stevick snapped. "To your dorm, or I start docking points."
Creevey had no choice but to turn around and leave.
No one saw Draco, not with his superior disillusionment spells, and so he was the only one watching when Stevick, now believing he was alone, made a dash for the lower halls of the castle. Draco followed.
There was something appealing about the underground of Hogwarts. It was dark and damp and full of history and mystery. The stone paths were lit by flickering torches hammered into the stone walls. The ghosts here were silent and partially faded. They wouldn't talk, unless tempted with an offering. When Draco was younger, and he couldn't sleep, sometimes he'd wander these halls. He'd offer incense or coins to the ghosts, depending if they wanted to talk or if they waned to crossover. The ones that did talk weren't always intelligible. They spoke strange dialects that Draco had only read before. He learned to muddle through the basics of an archaic form of Slavic from an old woman in his fourth year.
The classrooms down here, former dungeons and cellars, were locked and warded. Not to keep anything out, but rather to keep the dark spirits in. The book, Hogwarts, A History, did not explain why some of the lower classrooms were better left undisturbed, but Hogwarts, A Dark History did. It was banned literature in the wizarding world so naturally Draco had a copy. Most of the stories in the book were false, based on rumors and legends, but there were some truths sprinkled in the myths – namely, the presence of dark creatures in the school.
All old, magical buildings had some amount of haunting. The older the building, the larger number of ghosts, poltergeists, and ghouls were likely to reside inside. And buildings of great power attracted even more. So yes, Hogwarts harbored a number of dark creatures within its walls. Most of them had been banished to these lower levels, but there were others locked up in old trunks and slant-top desks sprinkled throughout the school. It was the easiest way to deal with the creatures. If they were locked up long enough, they'd fade away into mist and shadow. Extermination was… trickier. Ghouls and poltergeists weren't easily destroyed, and most of the spells that could damage a spirit creature were considered dark magic, and as such, they weren't taught in schools anymore.
Draco kept following Stevick through the corridors, ignoring the noises behind the warded doors – some moaning, some shrieking, some pounding. Stevick stopped at a door at the end of the hall, one that was heavily warded. Draco watched as he tried a few spells. They weren't any unlocking charms that he was familiar with. He watched the shapes that Stevick was drawing in the air, and the colors of the spells that were emitted. He could always try to look them up later, but he wasn't going to learn much from this distance, and his camouflage wouldn't get him any closer. He'd have to use the direct approach. He ducked behind a corner and dropped his disillusionments spells. He raked his hands through his hair, trying to muss it up as much as possible. He unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt and tugged one side free of his waistband. He rubbed his cheeks, knowing it would cause a flush, and then bit his lips to turn them red. Then he rounded the corner and stepped into view.
Stevick immediately jumped back from the door, a sign of guilt, and Draco pulled up short, like he was similarly surprised.
"What are you doing here?" Stevick accused.
"I, uh…," Draco trailed off and rubbed the back of his neck, like he was trying to think of an excuse.
Stevick's eyes swept over his disheveled appearance, and because he'd just broken up several snogging couples, he drew the conclusion Draco wanted him to. "Never mind. Just get out of here."
Rule number twenty: People's own minds are their greatest deceivers. Use that against them.
Draco nodded and hurried past him, but then paused and asked, like he was just idly curious, "What are you doing down here?"
"I hardly need to answer that question," Stevick told him. "I'm the professor. You're a student."
Draco shrugged and gestured at the door. "The door is locked for a reason."
"What?"
"A lot of the rooms have dark creatures inside of them," Draco shared. "You wouldn't want to open it."
"I'm not trying to open it," Stevick snapped.
Draco shrugged. "Sure looked like it."
"Not that it is any concern of yours," said Stevick, "but I am examining the wards for replacement. They don't last forever."
Draco shrugged again, like he didn't really care, and headed back to his dorm.
He dropped into the chair at his desk, mulling over what he'd learned. It seemed like Stevick had been telling a partial truth. He hadn't been trying to open the door, but he had been examining the wards. But why? He needed more information.
He pulled out a piece of parchment and then paused. His initial impulse was to write Lucius, but the thought of his father made his stomach twist with a lingering sense of betrayal and anger. But Draco couldn't let something as inconsequential as an emotional reaction keep him from behaving logically. He needed to know if Stevick was acting on the Dark Lord's orders.
He set the quill to page.
Father,
I am writing you for a word of advice. I recently discovered Mr. Bryant Stevick acting rather peculiarly. The action I caught him in was not entirely legal and could prove to be rather dangerous; however, I am not familiar with his family or his acquaintances. As such, I am hesitant to respond. I believe some additional information is necessary for a correct rejoinder and so await your reply.
Your son,
Draco Malfoy
He wondered about adding a line, perhaps a post-script stating, 'Any other information regarding activities at Hogwarts would be greatly appreciated, so that I can take preparations to avoid another injury', but he didn't.
He sent the letter off Sunday morning and…
Nothing.
There was no reply on Monday, which Draco expected. Lucius prioritized his business messages over his personal correspondences. But there wasn't a reply on Tuesday, or on Wednesday.
Draco suddenly felt anxious. Had he overstepped? Was Lucius angry at him for inquiring? Or what if someone had intercepted the letter? He thought he'd been vague enough, but what if he'd gotten his father in trouble?
The thought itched at him. He slunk in his chair during the Superiority meeting Wednesday evening and anxiously tapped his fingers as he imagined a plethora of terrible situations he might have just created. He was so distracted by his worry that he hardly took note of the chaos happening around him. It wasn't until Pansy nudged him that he realized the Superiority members and Neutral party were going head-to-head in a rather heated debate about blood purity. Warrington and Nott weren't doing Superiority any favors with their rhetoric; they had resorted to propaganda and inflammatory statements. The smarter Slytherin students were glancing his way, because the Neutral party was arguing points that sounded a lot like Draco's arguments before the battle in the common room.
Draco was going to have to say something, either to walk back his remarks and prove, once and for all, that he was on the side of Superiority, or to carve out a new definition of Superiority, one that encompassed enough space to allow some separation from the Death Eaters. Pansy shook her head at him, a signal not to risk it. But Draco had finally realized that there was a risk staying with Superiority as well. He'd rather not be a sacrifice to the Dark Lord – either deliberately offered up or killed on the altar of acceptable casualties.
So he spoke up, interjecting over Nott's diatribe about Mudbloods. "The issue is the word dirty," he drawled, trying to look as bored as possible.
Nott paused mid-sentence, and the room turned to stare at him. Draco could read tension in the Slytherin students, who remembered what had happened the last time he and Nott had fought, and curiosity from the Neutral members, who had only heard rumors.
"What other word would you use, Malfoy?" Nott challenged. "You wouldn't call them Pure, would you? Unless you're turned Muggle-lover."
Draco gave him a level look. "Our use of the word Pureblood refers to the purity of our heritage, culture, and ancestry. It's a common belief that because we are Pure, then those who do not share our illustrious history must be dirty by default, as it's the opposite of 'pure', but that's an overly simplistic way of viewing it."
"You've called Muggle-borns filthy and dirty before," Isobel accused.
Draco shrugged. "Of course I have. It's an insult. I like to insult people."
The Slytherins laughed; the Neutral students looked offended. Isobel opened her mouth to argue, so Draco continued.
"But I will cede to your point that it is not a term that has usefulness in politics," he said.
"Blood-traitor!" Warrington accused, taking a step forward.
Draco pulled out his wand and Warrington flinched back. Draco placed it lightly on his desk, a visible threat, and gave him a pointed look. "There are many important wizards and witches of our era who have Muggle blood in them."
Warrington's face creased into a scowl, as did Nott's. They knew who he was referring too, as did the rest of the room.
Draco turned back to Isobel. "The Malfoy family has invested in business and political ventures with families of various purity. Some have even dined at our home, and I am sure we found no issues of filth or dirtiness in our chosen allies."
"So you'll stop using those terms," Isobel said.
"The purpose of an insult is to degrade someone, MacDougal," Draco said, rolling his eyes.
She crossed her arms. "Alright, Malfoy. If you aren't going to use terms of clean and dirty, how do you define Superiority?"
And here it was, the moment to thread the needle. He needed to say something that wouldn't have him labeled as a heretic in Slytherin, but that wouldn't alienate the allies he needed in the Neutral party. He tipped his chair back to balance on two legs, a show of carelessness, as the entire room watched him, expectantly.
"I'm Superior," he finally said. "I am descended from Superiority. The blood in my veins is the blood of kings and queens, mages and sorcerers, conquerors and heroes. When the ancient Germanic tribes of Muggles tried to root out magic from their lands, believing that wizards were cursed or devil-touched or of a wicked faith, it was my ancestors that rebuked their advances. My family saved our kind from torture and death. My bloodline rescued hundreds, if not thousands, of magical beings during those dark years. They delivered witches from the stake and wizards from the executioners' block. We were so reviled by those Muggles that they gave us our name, Malfoy, meaning 'of the bad faith'. We were abused and despised, but still we stood proud against them. Our name became our badge of honor, and we have worn it ever since."
He looked about the room. "How many of my sisters and brothers, cousins and distant relations, have similar stories? Our ancestors were the ones that breathed life into this world. We held nature and enemies at bay so that great societies could be built and be allowed to flourish. And then, when Muggles finally outnumbered us, they chased us away from the fruits of our labor. When I use the word Superiority, it is to hold myself to the standard of my lineage. That is true Superiority."
A few Slytherins applauded and cheered; others nodded and whispered to each other in agreement. The Neutral students were whispering too. Draco tried to read their faces, wondering if he'd convinced them, but it was hard to tell. Warrington and Nott looked pissed though. They thought he'd given that speech to oust them from power.
The bell rang before anyone could offer a rejoinder. The students were eager to leave, as usual. No one liked having compulsory political meetings. Isobel caught him at the door.
"So, you believe you have superiority because your ancestors did something cool?" she challenged. "That's all it takes?"
Draco sighed, not really in the mood for arguing with her. "Merlin had no known family, and he's still considered to be the greatest wizard by his feats alone."
"You're suggesting that anyone could obtain superiority. That's not very Death Eater of you."
"Yes, well maybe you haven't realized this, but it would be very easy for the Headmaster to find any Death Eater students and expel them," Draco snapped. "Therefore you can conclude that I am not a Death Eater."
"Yet," Isobel said.
Draco paused. "What?"
"You're not a Death Eater yet," she said, accusatory.
Draco stepped forward. "What is it, MacDougal? You want me to be a Death Eater, is that it?"
"What?"
"You keep accusing me, keep picking at me, keep throwing my family's connection in my face. Do you want me to be a Death Eater, yes or no?"
"No, obviously. I don't want anyone to be a Death Eater."
"You're doing a great job of pushing people away."
"I'm pushing people away?" she reiterated, laughing incredulously. "You just stated your intention to continue to use a bigoted slur just to offend people. You are a bully, by definition and by behavior, and I will not sugar-coat that truth. Your use of slurs, your taunting and fighting, your cruelty to other students and professors, all point to someone who doesn't just believe that he is superior, but that everyone else is inferior. That is why I do not trust your position on the Neutral party. You'll use it to spread the bigotry that is rampant in the Superiority group under the guise of empowering statements and heroic stories of the great Malfoys of old, like you did today."
She stepped in closer. "Let me remind you of your own family's history, since you so conveniently left it out. When the Years of Oppression came, the Malfoy family did rescue the magical folk at the time, but they rescued everyone with magic, including the magical children that were born into Muggle families. They saw no difference between the wizards and witches born into magical families, and those born to Muggles.
"But then the later generations of Malfoys realized that they could call in the life debts they inherited from their grandparents and great-grandparents. They began demanding goods and services and land in return for acts that they had taken no part in. And if a family could not pay back their life debt, they forced that family into servitude. So, I ask you, which of your ancestors showed true superiority in your mind? The ancestor who risked their life to save another and asked nothing in return, or the ancestor who built a castle from blood money?"
She was baiting him. Draco could have snarled something truly unkind, but instead he huffed a breath of laughter. "Clearly there's an obvious answer for you."
"There is," she agreed. "And if you don't agree with my answer, then you have no interest in neutrality."
"You have no idea what my interests are," Draco said, irritation pricking down his skin. "You're assigning the worst motive to my actions."
"How can I not?" she asked. "When have you ever behaved in a manner that benefitted someone other than yourself? I have seen you cheat and lie and align yourself with anyone in power, just to get away with your bullying and abuse. You want to take over Neutral group for your little protest about unsanctioned schoolwork? Then act like your truly heroic ancestors and do something for the good of everyone."
And with that, she flipped her hair over her shoulder and strode off down the hallway.
Draco seethed after her for a moment. It was all well and good for her to act so smug and saintly. It wasn't as if her family would disown her, or worse, if she decided she had different political leanings. He retreated back to the dorms and wondered if this wasn't yet another point in favor of the Gryffindors and the Order. Surely they wouldn't try killing any of their defecting members.
Would they?
No, most likely not.
But it was another question that nagged at him, another way in which it might be better to be part of the Order than the Death Eaters. Not that it should be a binary choice. There was a reason Draco wanted to make a viable third option.
Still, the thoughts plagued him until Ancient Runes, and then he was distracted by the code in the homework. 'R making a plan for the horcrux. No information yet.'
He waited until the class had left, and then asked, "No information yet because they haven't made a plan?"
He wasn't really expecting an answer, but Bill provided it easily, albeit with a grimace. "There's probably a plan, but Voldemort's not sharing it with anyone."
He pulled out the runes work, and Draco flipped through his notebook, finding where they'd last left off. But it was hard to focus. He had questions for Bill, but he was afraid to ask, afraid of opening the door for arguments again, but he'd always found it difficult to suppress his curiosity.
Bill noticed, but he didn't say anything, not until Draco translated a phrase into the wrong set of Syrian runes. "You seem distracted. Everything okay?"
Draco set the runes down. He tapped his fingers, 1 to 2-4-3-5. "It depends," he said finally.
"Depends on if I'm going to yell at you again?" Bill asked candidly.
Draco glanced up, a little surprised, because… well, yes, but he hadn't wanted to admit it. It made him feel oddly childish.
Bill sat back in his chair. He didn't seem offended at Draco's hesitation, he just spread his hands. "No yelling, I promise. What's going on?"
Draco let out a breath and mirrored his position. He opened his mouth, but wasn't entirely sure what to say. He didn't want to admit that Bill had been right, that he was at risk of being sacrificed to the Dark Lord, because… because then he'd have to admit that his father didn't care about him, or at least, didn't care enough about him, and then Bill would get angry – at Lucius, not him – and then Draco would have to defend Lucius, because he was still a good father, of course he was, he was just… caught up in a difficult situation. Things were dangerous for him right now, and Draco couldn't expect him to defy the Dark Lord on the small probability that Draco might be injured during his attack on Hogwarts.
Or should Draco expect that from him? What rights did Draco have, as his son? What privileges should he insist upon?
"When the Dark Lord makes a move for his horcrux," Draco said, instead of the jumbled mess that was inside of his head, "what's the plan for the students?"
"You're concerned about casualties," Bill surmised.
Draco nodded. It was a round-about way to get his answers.
"If we have advanced knowledge, we're planning on staging an accident and shutting down the portion of the hallway by the trophy room, to keep students out," Bill said. "And there are Aurors on standby, waiting for distress signal."
"It's still risky," Draco pointed out. "Students could still be injured in the crossfire. Maybe the Order should just destroy the horcrux and be done with it."
"There'd still be a Death Eater in the school," Bill countered. "A Death Eater who is content to attack, even outside of Voldemort's command. The danger to students would continue."
"So that's the justification for it."
Bill tipped his head to the side. "Do you disagree? I'm willing to hear if you have any alternative ideas. If you have something that can guarantee more safety, we'd use your idea in a heartbeat."
Draco shook his head. "No. I'm just… trying to understand priorities."
"For Death Eaters and the Order," Bill clarified, and when Draco nodded, he said, "I know what my priority in the Order is, and that's safety. For everyone, not just at the school but out of it. And I know that most of the Order shares my priority. One of the reasons we're working so hard to stop Voldemort from gaining power is to reduce the likelihood of all-out war. We'd like to minimize causalities, on both sides."
"You wanted to save Mirabelle," Draco recalled. Bill hadn't outright stated that he'd tried, but he'd admitted that he felt responsible.
"I would have saved her, if I could," Bill agreed.
"Even though she was a Death Eater?"
"Even then," Bill agreed. "She was, perhaps, easy to feel sorry for, because she was young and clearly coerced into joining to help her family, but any life lost in violence is tragic."
"Even if Potter kills the Dark Lord?" Draco asked. "Will you feel his death is a tragedy?"
Bill considered for a moment. "His life… yes, I think his life has been tragic. Will his eventual demise be tragic? No. I don't think I would mourn that. And if I'm being very honest, there are some Death Eaters who fall under that same emotion. I do not feel that their deaths are tragic, but there is a tragedy is losing someone to a hateful and violent rhetoric."
Draco stared at him in disbelief. "Do you just go around feeling bad for people? How are you not miserable all the time?"
Bill laughed. "Mostly, no. But having sympathy for people means I'm more likely to connect with them and understand them."
Draco made a face. It still sounded horrible, in his opinion. "You said most people on the Order prioritize safety. Not all of them."
"There are some people on the Order who look at things more like a battle. They prioritize offense over defense, which leads to more casualties."
"The Death Eaters do the same," Draco said.
"As we've seen," Bill agreed, and Draco noted that he kept his voice very neutral. Bill changed the subject. "You call him the Dark Lord."
"Yes?" Draco asked. "I mean, I was raised by Death Eaters, and that's what they call him."
"But you don't flinch, the way that most people do, when I say Voldemort."
"It's just a name."
"Say it," said Bill.
"What?"
"Say 'Voldemort'."
Draco wasn't sure why Bill was pushing the point, but he shrugged and said, "Voldemort." It was strange to say. Foreign in the way words were when he'd read them, but never said them aloud. But there was no power or mystique to the name.
Bill shook his head with a small grin. "You're the only person I know who can say Voldemort for the first time and say it without stuttering."
Bill seemed impressed, and it was easy for Draco to feel that familiar rush of warmth at the praise, like they'd never had an argument in the first place. But before he could be irritated at himself, there was a tap on the window. Draco turned and saw an express owl, flapping outside the classroom.
A wave of déjà vu crashed over him. He was transported back, those few weeks ago, when Lucius had sent word of his pardon and his and Bill's argument had erupted. He didn't realize that he'd frozen in place, and that his face had immediately gone blank, void of any expression, until Bill gave him a nudge. He started at the touch, but Bill only gave him a reassuring smile.
"I promised no more yelling."
"I wasn't –," Draco started. The rest of the sentence was going to be a denial. He wasn't scared. He wasn't afraid of yelling. But it was an obvious lie, and there didn't seem to be a point for it.
He got up, still feeling a little detached, and answered the owl. The letter was from Lucius, written in the usual fine parchment and scrolling calligraphy. He paused. The missive had taken so long to reach him, he was somewhat apprehensive by its contents. And he wasn't sure he wanted to read it, especially in front of Bill.
"I can leave," Bill said, "if you wanted privacy."
Draco gave him an irritated look. Yes, he'd like some privacy, but now that Bill had offered, it made him sound like a child. Draco broke the seal, to prove him wrong, and opened the letter. His eyes skimmed over the short reply.
Draco,
After some inquiries, it appears the person of your concern is indeed a new acquaintance, although his position has yet to be determined. It would be best if you did not involve yourself in anything that is not your business. I'm sure your studies will keep you close to your dormitory for the near future.
Your father,
Lucius S. Malfoy
Relief swept through him, and everything fell back into place. With three lines, Lucius had deftly cut through every fear and doubt that had been growing over the past week. The letter had taken so long to get to him because Lucius had been actively inquiring on his behalf. Lucius had written 'it appears' in reference to Stevick, meaning it wasn't confirmed that he was a Death Eater, and that Lucius had no other information. That meant Lucius was in the dark about the Death Eater activity at Hogwarts, and he hadn't deliberately kept that information from Draco. And Lucius had also written 'I'm sure your studies will keep you in your dormitory for the near future.' That was a warning. Lucius wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he knew something was being planned, and he was taking the opportunity to warn Draco. The relief blossomed into something warmer as he read the line underneath his father's signature.
I am glad that you are no longer ill. Do take care.
Lucius had known he was unwell, even though Draco had not mentioned it. That meant he'd been asking about him, had been concerned about him. And that last line, those three words were affectionate. Altogether, it was irrefutable proof that Lucius cared.
Draco was an idiot. An absolute idiot. Of course his father cared about him. Lucius had told him so on many occasions, and Draco could recall those moments with complete and utter clarity, and now here was further evidence. His father would protect him, as best he was able. It was ridiculous that Draco had ever doubted him.
"Good news, I take it?" Bill asked.
Draco glanced up, realizing he must have been silent for some time.
"Of sorts," he said. He crossed back to their desks, pushed together and covered in runes, and then, on an impulse he couldn't name, he handed the letter over. Maybe it was a test, to see if Bill would freak out again. Or maybe it was meant as proof, to show Bill that Lucius was a good father.
Bill hesitated, his eyes checking to see if Draco was serious, and when Draco didn't rescind the offer, he took the letter. He read it quickly, of course he did, it was only a handful of lines. His eyes paused on the postscript. He looked back up at Draco, confusion on his face.
"I caught Stevick messing about with one of the warded classrooms in the basement," Draco explained. He took the letter back, carefully folding it back up on its creases and tucking it away in his pocket. "I wrote Lucius about it. Clearly he believes Stevick is working for the Dark Lord, and I think it's safe to assume he'll be making a play for the horcrux soon."
Bill's face was still creased in confusion, but he shook his head, dismissing whatever he'd been about say, and asked instead, "What do the warded rooms have to do with the horcrux?"
Draco heaved a sigh and dropped into his seat. "I forgot you Gryffindors like to ignore unpleasant truths. There are dozens of dark creatures imprisoned in Hogwarts."
"What?"
It was hard not to laugh at Bill's shock. "The warded rooms are the locations of ghouls, poltergeists, and various other menacing entities. Stevick appeared to be trying to figure out the warding system."
Bill rubbed his face. "To what end?"
"The wards on those doors would be similar to the wards on a certain trophy case," Draco said.
"He's trying to take the horcrux," said Bill. And then he paused. Something complicated crossed his face.
Draco dropped into his seat, suddenly concerned. "What are you thinking?"
"It's just… you don't think he'd tried to bring all the wards down, would he? To cause a distraction, while he goes for the horcrux?"
"Is that possible?" Draco asked. He hadn't thought that was a possibility, but Bill was a curse-breaker. He had far more experience with wards.
"It's a common ward-breaking tactic," Bill explained. He pulled out a sheet of paper and drew out a couple of a warding complexes. "When new wards are put up in a pre-warded house, it's common practice to link the new wards into the older ones. See?" Bill drew a new ward, showing how it would be connected into the system. "If someone wants to bring down a series of wards, they can start with the newer ones, and get access to the entire complex that way. It's called a backdoor hack."
Draco felt a chill steal down him. Stevick had showed no concern for casualties when he'd planned the attacks against the school, the bat and the fire. In fact, he seemed to want to cause the most chaos and injury possible. He wouldn't put it passed him to go for the maximum amount of damage here.
"He wasn't using unlocking spells when I caught him," he said, and then he described them to Bill as best he could. Bill's face went grimmer as Draco spoke.
"Those are tracing spells," he said. "Commonly used to map out a warding system. He's going to bring them all down."
Draco pulled in a breath. "You should tell Dumbledore."
"I wouldn't keep this from him," Bill said. "Not when it involves the safety of the school. But Draco… you are helping us right now, you realize that, right?"
He was, wasn't he? But that hadn't really occurred to him. Something darker had.
"It's not the Order I'm trying to help," Draco said honestly. "These dark creatures are located all over the school, and everyone is in danger, but Slytherin is closest to the dungeons. That's where most of the wards are located."
Bill's expression fell. He understood what Draco was saying. By going after the wards, Stevick was endangering the lives of Death Eater children, and the Dark Lord wasn't stopping him.
Bill got up and dropped a hand on his shoulder. His hand was warm, reassuring. It was a strange sensation, both foreign and familiar, all at once. Draco held very still.
"Thank you," Bill said.
Draco couldn't quite meet his eyes. The sincerity felt undeserved. He was really looking out for himself right now. Bill squeezed his shoulder, not hard, just enough to make him look up.
"I'm going to talk to Dumbledore, and then we'll read in Snape," Bill said, his eyes gentle. "We'll do our best to keep everyone safe, and you're included in that. All of Slytherin is. We're not going to leave you unprotected."
Draco jerked his head in a nod, to show that he understood. He wasn't capable of much more in that moment. He watched Bill pack up and make a beeline for the Headmaster's office.
Was it wrong that Bill's reassurance gave him just as much relief as Lucius's letter?
OoOoO
The Death Eater meeting was… oddly boring. Bill had become somewhat numb to Voldemort's childish displays of power, especially now that he had re-absorbed his horcrux. The first time Bill had seen him do magic, after the ritual, he'd been terrified, even though Dumbledore had prepared him for what he could expect. Increased power to Voldemort's spells. Increased wandless casting. Small, unintentional acts of magic – a spark and crackle of electricity when Voldemort was excited, the sense that shadows were growing deeper when he was angry.
Voldemort was still showing off, even all these weeks later, and Bill was getting tired of the fawning exclamations every time he showed off his magic. The Death Eaters didn't seem bored. They reveled in their leader's power, and heaped praises on him. They brought in more and more potential recruits to watch him perform feats of power. Bill tried to keep a running tally of new names and new faces, but most of the visitors wore deep hoods, masks, or used anti-identify spells. They wanted to protect their identity and reputation.
It was frustrating and irritating and hypocritical. If they didn't want anyone to know they were attending a Death Eater meeting, they must understand that it was morally and ethically wrong. Right?
Bill scanned the crowd and realized that he might not have been the only person growing tired of Voldemort's vanity. Some of the Inner Circle was missing.
Bill crept further into the Boucher house, having grown quite familiar with the layout. He found the missing Death Eaters in the private study off of the back wing of the mansion. Bill slipped into a corner of the room as they continued their conversation, oblivious to his presence.
"I don't see the issue," Nott Sr. said, crossing his arms.
"For the thousandth time," Lucius drawled, exasperation staining his words, "it isn't an issue. In fact, I would argue you've done something reasonably intelligent."
Nott frowned, like he didn't quite believe him. He looked over at Crabbe and Goyle. The two men shrugged, not sure themselves.
Lucius gestured with his whiskey glass. It was a loose gesture, one that sloshed the whiskey inside dangerously close to the rim. "I am just curious as to what you heard."
Bill found himself frowning as well. Was Lucius drunk?
Nott's lips turned up into a smug sort of smile. "It irks you, doesn't it? That I learned something you weren't privy to?"
Lucius downed the rest of his glass, then stepped over to the cabinet and poured himself another. Nott followed, holding his own glass to be topped off. Lucius poured a hefty amount, and then into Crabbe and Goyle's glasses as well. They crossed over to the sofas by the fireplace.
Lucius took another swallow, then said, carefully, "I hardly need to be informed of every detail, but it is helpful to stay current. Especially now." His eyes flicked to the side, like he didn't want to say anything else.
Bill's eyes narrowed. Lucius had never been easy to read, not the way he was now. It made him immediately suspicious, but Nott seemed to buy the performance.
He leaned in. "Especially now what?"
Lucius heaved a frustrated sigh. "It's no secret the Dark Lord is hiding his actions at Hogwarts."
"If Severus wouldn't stick his nose into it, he might be more forthcoming," Nott said.
"He is annoyingly persistent in such matters," Lucius agreed. He took another sip of whiskey. "Still, our lord has been reticent in sharing his plans, and has cut himself off from any support we might give him to ensure his success."
"You're just bitter that you're not the Dark Lord's favorite confidant anymore."
Lucius's eyes pinched at the corners, a visible display of irritation, but he only said, "Whether I, or you, or another, is the Dark Lord's preferred counselor is hardly of note right now. What is important is that you sent a letter to your son, warning him about something that was occur that may threaten his safety. What I want to know is how you got that information. Did you receive it from the Dark Lord himself, or did you overhear something that made you worried?"
"I sent no such letter," Nott argued, but Lucius simply raised an eyebrow. Crabbe and Goyle crossed their arms.
"Your son shared the news with the other students of Slytherin," Lucius said. "I'm assuming he was meant to share that information, because certainly if you were warning your son of an upcoming danger, you would also want our sons to be safe as well." He gestured at himself and the others. Goyle took a menacing threat forward.
Nott glanced between them and gave a hasty smile. "Of course I wanted him to share that information. We all have our heirs in the same house, do we not?"
"Precisely," said Lucius. "So any information you have gleaned would be equally beneficial to all of us. It's bad enough Dumbledore is still Headmaster, and touting political propaganda at every turn, but now there are skirmishes happening on school grounds, threatening our families' future."
"You really should have gotten a spare then," Nott said with a snort. "Especially because that son of yours hasn't stood up to standards."
Lucius's eyes went flat. It was a subtle reaction, one that seemed to prove Bill's theory that Lucius wasn't as drunk as he was pretending to be, but Nott hadn't seen it. He leaned in closer.
"I heard he's spouting Neutral sentiments. Maybe that's why the Dark Lord doesn't care to warn him of the impending danger."
"You're suggesting he took the time to warn your son?" Lucius scoffed.
Nott said nothing; he just gave a grin and downed the rest of his whiskey. He stood. "It is good to see you so humbled, Malfoy." He jerked his head at Crabbe and Goyle. They looked to Lucius before following him out of the room.
Bill watched Lucius frown after Nott, then knock back the rest of his drink as well. He pulled out a letter from his inner robe pocket and stared thoughtfully for a moment. "You can come in."
Bill started and glanced over. He hadn't seen anyone at the door, but Severus was quick to appear. He shut the study door behind him.
"Well?" the Potions Master asked.
"Nott knows nothing," Lucius said. "If the Dark Lord had given him a personal warning, he would have been flaunting it in my face. Odds are, he overheard something about the Dark Lord wanting to make a move and sent the warning as a precaution."
"And the agent?"
"More evidence points to our likely suspect."
Severus gave a thoughtful hum. "And you're sure the Dark Lord won't confide in you more?"
"You're the reason we've been frozen out in the first place," Lucius said, throwing him an accusatory look. "He knows you let certain things slip to Dumbledore."
"You know I let certain things slip too," Snape countered. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and joined him in front of the fire.
"We're largely in agreement with those tidbits you share," Lucius said. "It's necessary to keep your position within Hogwarts. And I want you there if things get… dangerous again."
"Draco wrote you," Severus said, gesturing at the letter.
Bill stood up a little straighter. From what he understood about Draco's relationship with his father, they didn't typically exchange personal correspondences.
Lucius folded the letter and tucked it back into his pocket. "He's noticed things."
"He's a bright boy," Severus said.
Lucius's lips tightened. He stared into the fire for a moment.
"You could have visited him," Severus said lightly.
Lucius groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You have no children. Your advice is meaningless."
"I see him more than you do."
"Do not presume to know him better than I," Lucius snapped.
Severus put his hands up in a placating gesture and Lucius heaved a sigh, making Bill wonder if he wasn't a little tipsy after all.
"It wasn't as if I was available," Lucius said, regaining his composure. "I've been kept rather busy doing additional work for our lord, hoping that it might convince him to let me in on his plans, instead of leaving us both in dark. This is your mess I'm cleaning up."
"I'm sure I'm indebted to you," Severus said dryly.
"And," said Lucius, ignoring his sarcasm, "not that it's any of your business, but I've been planning a holiday for him. For his birthday."
Bill thought, for one moment, that there might have been a hint of guilt in Lucius's voice. But then he stood and raised an eyebrow at the Potions Master. "Shall we go marvel at the power of our lord?" he asked.
"Quite," said Severus.
They both exited the room, leaving Bill wonder what had made Draco write to his father.
He wondered if he should ask on Thursday, during their runes work, but he'd promised Draco he wouldn't push him anymore, and it was a promise he intended to keep. Although, he wasn't expecting Draco to bring up politics himself, or share the letter that Lucius had sent him. But he wasn't surprised when the teen encouraged him to share their concerns about Stevick with the Headmaster. Draco might be a Slytherin, but he didn't want to see students injured, not even to help Voldemort.
Bill sat in Dumbledore's office, waiting anxiously for the Headmaster to speak. He'd laid out the information for him. Stevick was discovered messing with the wards. Bill found himself holding his breath, hoping that the Headmaster believed his interpretation of the information. It was certainly a worst-case assumption, but one that they couldn't afford to ignore.
Dumbledore pulled on his pipe, and then said, "Who oversaw Stevick interfering with the wards in the basement level?"
"Draco Malfoy," Bill admitted. He'd been hoping to keep that part of the story to himself, afraid that Dumbledore wouldn't take him seriously knowing the source of the information.
He watched the Headmaster raise a brow. "Young Mr. Malfoy, indeed?" He took another puff, and then turned gaze to Bill. "You've been spending some time with him. Minerva says he actually seems to listen to you."
"Well, I listen to him too," Bill said, because it really was a simple as that.
Albus's mouth twitched up in a small smile. "And what sort of tales does Draco share with you?"
There was a levity to his voice that raised Bill's hackles. He was being dismissive.
"For one, he spent all of last summer alone because his father was on the run from the Ministry and his mother uses illegal pleasure potions, but I know Pomfrey already spoke to you about that."
It was satisfying, to watch the Headmaster go still, all expression of humor falling from his face. "Pomona did share a concern about his wellbeing, but she indicated that he'd shared this knowledge while under the influence of a heavy pain medication himself, and that there was no way of validating the claim." He set his pipe down. "Am I understanding that he's made such a claim to you as well?"
"And if he had?" Bill asked.
Dumbledore sighed. "It wouldn't be the first time that a student needed to be referred to wellness services, but it also wouldn't be the first time that such a claim was ultimately deemed unfounded due to the parents' position in society."
Bill nodded. Pomfrey had told him about her conversation with Dumbledore, and Bill hadn't seen the point in following up her claim. At the time, there hadn't been enough information to act on. And now, well, now things were more complicated. "That's what I thought. And why I haven't made any reports."
The Headmaster tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Are you concerned about his safety at home?"
Bill avoided the question. "I'm more concern about his safety here, and the safety of the rest of the students."
"What did he say, exactly?"
"He was late for his tutoring appointment with me," Bill said, reciting the lie he'd come up with. "He said he'd forgotten his books, and that Stevick could vouch for him, because he'd run into him while cutting through the basement to his dormitory. He said that the professor appeared to be trying to break into one of the basement classrooms."
Albus sighed. "It is suspicious."
"I'm a curse-breaker," Bill said. "If I was trying to bring down the internal wards in this school, I'd start with a warded classroom."
"You're not wrong," the Headmaster agreed. "But he could simply be trying to learn the wards to break into the trophy case."
"Are you willing to take that chance?" Bill asked.
Albus sighed again. "No. I'm not." He hummed thoughtfully, then asked, "When Mr. Malfoy informed you of this, did he seem to find anything suspicious in it?"
Bill shook his head. "It seemed like a normal excuse."
"Then he seems to be unaware of the Dark Lord's actions."
"I'd think that would be obvious by the fact that he's been a casualty in two attacks already," Bill said.
"True," said Dumbledore. His mouth twisted. "What a sorry state of affairs when no child is safe from violence. But I am glad he has confided in you, Bill. If anything is to keep him from turning out like his father, it is the power of a good friend."
"I don't know if I'm enough," Bill said honestly. He'd come close to ruining their friendship after all.
"Enough?" Dumbledore asked, looking a little surprised at his concern. "Who is to say what is enough? The same cup of water that would drown a seedling would not save a tree. We can only be what we are and give what aid we can. The rest is out of our control." He pushed up from his desk, and Bill took his cue to stand as well.
"I'll alert the Heads of Houses as much as I can," Dumbledore said. "And I'll inform the Auror team. We will keep every measure of safety."
Bill nodded. It didn't seem like enough, but there wasn't much more to be done. He headed back to his room and dropped into the chair at his desk. There was a stack of papers to grade, but his mind went to the letter Draco had shown him. When he'd watched Draco read the letter, he'd thought it had carried good news. Draco had read it, several times over, and his eyes, usually so cold and guarded, had brightened, and relaxed at the corners. His mouth had curved up, not in a smile, not exactly, but in some measure of happiness. His whole posture had changed from strained and tensed into something relieved and content.
He'd handed the letter to Bill, an act of trust or a test, Bill wasn't sure what, but he'd read it, curious to see what had garnered such a reaction. But it was just a short note, the tone curt and commanding. But it was the postscript that had really caught his attention. Two short lines.
I am glad that you are no longer ill. Do take care.
For a moment after reading it, Bill had wondered if the message had been coded. He'd even turned to Draco, wanting to ask, sure that there was some hidden message in it. There had to be. Surely those two lines hadn't conveyed any of the fatherly love that would have affected such a transformative change on Draco. But from Draco's response, there was no coded message, and Bill was forced to reckon with the fact that this curt, dismissive letter was what had made Draco smile.
Bill felt his chest ache. Draco had spent an entire week in the infirmary, for Merlin's sake, and he'd received what? Two short lines in a letter? A letter that had been a reply to his own correspondence?
Draco had asked, just a few hours ago, if Bill was miserable because he tried to sympathize with everyone. Bill had told the truth, no, sympathy didn't make him miserable. But right now, right now he hurt for Draco.
He turned to his paperwork, inwardly resolving to spend as much time with Draco as possible. There were only a few short months of school left, and Bill didn't want him to feel lonely for any of them.
OoOoO
Author's note: Sorry for the delay! I hope to get back to semi-regular updates again!
So, I got stuck on this chapter, because as I was writing it, I really wanted this to be the moment where Draco realizes that he is in danger. Voldemort would immediately sacrifice any of his Death Eaters, if it was beneficial for him, and Draco has been naïve to the fact that he'd be counted among those acceptable sacrifices. So I expanded on that with Pansy's interaction with him. However, I needed to offer a balance, something that would keep Draco from immediately running to the Order out of self-preservation. And what has made it so hard for Draco to leave? His father.
Adding in Lucius's bit was the last thing I changed. In fact, I had the whole chapter done a week ago, but I wasn't content with it. And then I realized what was missing: Lucius's response to the fact that his only son and heir was injured in two Death Eater attacks. Of course this would infuriate Lucius, and the rest of the Death Eaters, so I wanted to show that little bit of frustration of the Death Eater parents. And, in showing Lucius's side of things, the letter changed. In the first draft, it was much more dismissive because I hadn't really explored Lucius's character. This time, I was able to show much more of Lucius's reaction with the Lucius/Nott exchange. And it also proves that Draco is right in translating the letter as proof of Lucius's concern, but of course, Bill is right to recognize how unhealthy that is, because Lucius is neglectful.
The bit with the debate class is new as well. I really wanted to highlight how Draco is trying to play both sides (Superiority and Neutrality) and how he justifies it. He's not convinced by his own arguments, but he's really trying anything to get some breathing room for himself. Also, I got to explore my head-canon for the Malfoy family – how they were named, and how they became so powerful. Let me know what you thought of it!
Lastly with Bill, I decided to have him be the one to recognize what Stevick's plan is. A lot of you will recognize that I've 'nerfed' Draco a bit. He's still a genius, and still powerful, but I want to be realistic about how young he is. He doesn't have much life experience yet. A lot of his knowledge is theoretical and gained through reading. And Bill is a curse-breaker, so it made sense that he was the one to figure it out.
