The next time he saw Potter was on Platform Nine and Three-quarters on the first of September. Draco stood next to Scorpius. The boy tried to act calm and unruffled, but Draco knew his grey eyes were darting about, seeking familiar faces. The billowing steam prevented them seeing much of anything, but the Potter clan was heard long before they were seen. Draco recognized Ron Weasley's voice just as a familiar dark head emerged from the white cloud. The ginger shrew walked beside Potter, and their three children were in tow. Draco noticed his son lock eyes with Potter's middle child, and Albus grinned in sunny abandon. The smallest grin quirked Scorpius's lips.
Martinique stepped closer, but made no move to touch her son. Draco's jaw clenched. It had taken him three owls to remind her that she even had a son, and two more to persuade her to leave her latest boy-toy in Singapore and join them for Scorpius's sendoff.
The Potter-Weasley children thundered about, tugging at their parents, yelling boisterously, and generally behaving like the blood-tainted uncultured louts they were. Draco was relieved to note an exception was Albus Potter. He stood next to a small version of Hermione Granger (Weasley), and seemed quite subdued.
Ron Weasley suddenly noticed Draco, and moved over to Potter with a comment. The green eyes slowly turned toward Draco, who waited. Potter's face remained utterly expressionless, and Draco longed to drag the Auror away, out of the public light, and provoke some emotion from the git. Even anger was preferable to indifference.
Draco kept his own features still as marble, and gave Potter a cold nod before turning back to his son, dismissing the annoying man. The steam billowed, obligingly obscuring the Potters once more. Scorpius stuck out his hand toward Draco.
"Well, goodbye, Father," he said formally. Draco grinned at the stiff jaw of his son, trying to hard to be an adult. Draco knelt and scooped the boy into a hug.
"Idiot boy," Draco said affectionately, and squeezed Scorpius nearly to the breaking point. His son laughed in delight and squeezed back. "Write me often, and do not let me hear of any antics from the staff."
Scorpius nodded solemnly as he drew back. Any antics would be reported immediately to Draco from Scorpius's own hand. His son well understood that. Unpleasant surprises were not to be tolerated.
Draco released him. "Next time I see you, you'll be wearing Slytherin green, no doubt. If not… well, we will take that as it comes."
A minute look of relief crossed his son's fine features, and Draco realized the boy had been quite worried about facing the Sorting Hat. Draco was not worried at all. Scorpius was Slytherin through and through.
"Goodbye, Mother," Scorpius said as Draco stepped back. Martinique obediently leaned down and placed a cursory peck on her son's cheek. She moved away, duty fulfilled, and Scorpius turned and hurried to the train. Draco did not stand around like Potter and the other sentimental fools, waiting for the train to leave. He needed a drink. The Manor was going to be wretchedly empty without his son. Draco did not plan to face his first night of solitude sober.
Martinique was barely out of sight of the gathered wizarding families before she sneered at Draco and Disapparated. For a moment, Draco hoped never to see her again.
Dear Father,
You might want to sit down before you read the rest of this letter.
A shard of fear slipped into Draco, and he nearly sat, until he sternly reminded himself that he was a Malfoy. Besides, Scorpius was eleven years old, and it was the second day of school. How much trouble could he have gotten into?
I hope you will not be disappointed in me, but I was not sorted into Slytherin. In fact, I've been sorted into Hufflepuff.
Draco sat down. So great was his astonished horror that he nearly missed the seat.
Hufflepuff. He read the words again, hoping his eyes had deceived him. I've been sorted into Hufflepuff.
Draco got to his feet in a seething rage and paced the room like a caged puma. My son, a Hufflepuff. He nearly incinerated the letter, but Scorpius had written more. Draco could not bring himself to read the rest.
My son, the Hufflepuff.
Draco froze. It was Potter's doing. The Potter boy had gotten to Scorpius. All of those secret meetings that Draco had condoned had come back to haunt him. The Potter boy had somehow turned Draco's beautiful Slytherin son into a fucking Hufflepuff. In fact, it had probably been an elaborate plot engineered by Potter himself.
Draco Disapparated.
Draco marched into Potter's office at the Ministry, bypassing the hoard of underlings and clerical types that tried to stop him. Everyone knew where Potter's office was located—Draco had not even needed Teddy Lupin for that information.
The Super Auror was actually at his desk. Draco assumed there was a momentary shortage of people to rescue.
"You are responsible for this, aren't you?" Draco demanded, thrusting Scorpius's letter under Potter's nose.
Potter's eyes—unspectacled again—flicked from Draco to the crowd of ineffectual minions hovering about the door. Potter waved them away casually, as though Draco was no threat at all, and they needn't worry for his safety. Draco glared, and itched to turn that assumption into a lie. Draco had over twenty years of pent-up need to be seen as a threat to Potter.
The Auror sighed, and his attention returned to scratching a quill to parchment.
"Responsible for what, Malfoy?" he asked in a tired tone.
"This!" Draco gritted, and shook the letter again. "My son has been sorted into Hufflepuff."
The green eyes rose to his, and Potter dared to smile. "I know. I was quite shocked to hear it—though not as shocked as you, obviously. My son was, also."
"I knew it was a plot!" Draco yelled.
Potter stood up and leaned over his desk. His green eyes flashed.
"That's enough, Malfoy! I cannot believe you're this hung up on something so trivial!"
"Trivial?" Draco bellowed, and then forced himself to lower his voice. He had already caused a scene. There was no sense in making it worse. "Trivial?" he hissed, planting his hands on the desk and leaning across to meet Potter halfway. "This is not trivial, Potter. The Malfoys have been in Slytherin since the founding of Hogwarts! Ravenclaw I might have accepted, Gryffindor perhaps, but Hufflepuff?"
Draco's voice throbbed with intensity as he sought to convince the Auror of the importance of the situation. Potter did not seem impressed.
"You know, Malfoy, I think you are entirely too fixated on labels. You insist on pigeonholing everyone you meet into neat little categories. Slytherin, Gryffindor, Pure-blood, Mudblood. People cannot be boxed, Malfoy, they resist. It's human nature. You, of all people, should know that."
Potter's sincere voice was mesmerizing. His eyes were like deep mountain pools, and his lips were close enough to kiss, if only Draco leaned forward a bit.
"What do you mean by that?" Draco asked softly, seeking meaning in Potter's words where perhaps there was none.
Potter shook his head, and then seemed to realize the nearness of their faces. He drew back. "Never mind. Besides, Albus said the Hufflepuff thing was your son's idea."
Potter sat back in his chair and picked up his quill. Draco reared back and pondered which of a dozen hexes would cause the Auror the most pain, and yet allow Draco to escape the Ministry without arrest. Potter watched him coolly, and the hint of a smile touched his lips, as if daring Draco to do just that.
Draco went home.
Draco felt like something of an idiot when he finally finished reading his son's letter. He poured a drink and sat in his favorite chair to ponder the news. He skimmed the parchment once more.
Before you destroy anything in a rage… Draco smiled grimly. He had not destroyed anything, but he had made a complete arse of himself in front of Potter. …allow me to explain. I was informed that the Sorting Hat will take a student's choice into account… Draco had scowled and wondered why the brat had not chosen Slytherin, if that were the case. …and it occurred to me that spending seven years in Slytherin would involve constant effort, scheming, swindling, and maneuvering for position. Well do I recall your tales and advice, Father. Draco nodded. He had tried to prepare his son for the intrigue and politics involved in being Slytherin. It seemed a far easier route would be to infiltrate the weakest House, dazzle them with my brilliance, and lead them out of their sheeplike existence. I shall become the greatest Hufflepuff ever, and I shall lead them to victory. Draco had actually stared at the page like a loon, and had been heartily glad that no one was nearby to witness the expression. They are like plums ripe for the plucking, Father, and the effort shall be minimal, especially when I have a faithful champion at my side who is no more Hufflepuff than I. Draco's lips curved. Albus Potter, no doubt, coerced into Hufflepuff, but having the soul of a Gryffindor. I shall rule Hufflepuff, for as you told me once, it is better to rule in hell than serve in heaven, and is not Hufflepuff House Hogwarts' version of hell? I await your response with hope of your understanding.
With love, Scorpius.
Draco sipped at his Firewhiskey, and thought about his son's brilliance. Truly, the boy was Slytherin beyond even Draco's wildest imagining. He had taken cunning and scheming to a new level. The Hufflepuff King.
Draco thought he might burst with pride.
ConfessionAfter a month, Draco realized he was slowly going mad. He actually lived for the weekly visits from Teddy Lupin, who was now a full-fledged Auror. As Teddy worked directly for Harry Potter, he was a veritable plethora of information. Draco knew every bloody move the Auror Hero made. In detail.
"…and then Harry let fly with a hex I've never even seen before!" Teddy's face lit with a brilliant glow as his hands flashed in the air. He was describing a case he had recently been on with Potter—something involving a serial rapist who would Obliviate his victims. "He's so bloody fast, it's like watching a… a dance, or something! He's amazing, really amazing…" Teddy broke off, flushing. His worship of Potter had stopped irritating Draco long ago. In fact, he now found it rather endearing.
Teddy raised a hand to tug at his platinum hair in a gesture so reminiscent of Potter that Draco had to grin. Teddy smiled sheepishly.
"Well, here I am again, going on about Harry," Teddy said. "He's just so…"
"Yes, yes, everyone adores the bloody Savior."
"Everyone but you."
"Oh, never fear. I adore Potter in my own way," Draco admitted.
"Draco, why do you always ask about Harry? I mean, you seem to hate him most of the time. At first, I thought you plotted his downfall, and later I thought you were simply curious about a life so different from you own… But now, I just don't know."
Draco sighed. He had known the day would come when Teddy would ask difficult questions. He was simply too smart.
"Let's walk in the garden and I'll tell you."
The garden path was immaculate, as always, and Draco walked quickly to the lavender roses that had been his mother's favorite. He breathed in their heady scent for a moment, and allowed himself to be swept into boyhood memories.
Teddy waited patiently, and Draco sighed as he straightened.
"I've been obsessed with Harry Potter since I was eleven years old," he said, possibly admitting it to himself for the first time. He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Ask anyone who knew us back then. In sixth year, he was equally obsessed with me… although that was solely for the cause, of course." Draco laughed. "A long time to carry a torch, I'll admit."
Teddy sucked in a breath. "Carry a—? You mean you are—?"
Draco grimaced and waved a hand airily. "Yes, Teddy, but you need not worry. I've barely seen Potter in the past twenty years, and I realize he is happily married, and straight, and despises me, etcetera, etcetera."
Teddy still looked mortified, and Draco's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
"Erm… Well, you are married, too…"
"Don't remind me. I married Martinique to continue the Malfoy line. She is perfectly aware of that fact, and has been since my proposal. I performed my duty, as did she. We have no intention of spending one moment longer than necessary together."
"Then what do you do for—?" Teddy seemed unable to form a complete sentence.
"What do I do for companionship?" Draco finished for him. Teddy nodded. His face was quite red. "What did you do before you took up the gauntlet of abstinence in preparation for your impending engagement?"
Teddy's blush darkened. "Ahem. Never mind. I was simply surprised, is all. I never would have guessed."
Draco smiled. "It's nice to know my poncy behavior is not excessive."
Teddy laughed and visibly relaxed. "Definitely not. So, your fascination with Harry is motivated only by… personal interest?"
"Of course. I keep hoping he will leave his wife and rush into my waiting arms."
Teddy choked a laugh and Draco pulled a face.
"What? You're saying it's impossible then?"
Teddy stopped trying to hold it in, and burst out laughing. Draco smirked, but the boy's laugh was infectious. Draco could not stop himself, and the awkwardness between them dissolved as Draco's laughter erupted. They bonded in mutual hilarity for a few minutes.
"I never thought I'd be able to call you an idiot," Teddy said when he could speak without chuckling.
"Don't let it go to your head," Draco warned. He slung an arm around the boy, and they started toward the Manor. Teddy glanced at him sideways.
"Draco, you've never been interested in… well, me, have you?"
Draco snorted. "A homely lad like you? Honestly." He laughed when Teddy's punch caught him in the midsection. "No, Teddy, you're barely older than Scorpius. And you're not exactly my type."
"Not heroic enough?"
"Not enough of an insufferable arse."
Teddy slugged him again and Draco winced. The boy huffed, "Stop maligning my idol."
"He's my object of unrequited lust. Object trumps idol, so I shall malign him all I like."
"You're so weird."
Draco scrubbed a knuckle through the boy's hair as vengeance for the punches. "You don't know the half of it."
When Teddy had gone, Draco walked in the garden alone and wondered when the lad had stopped being Draco's informant and had turned into a genuine friend.
The Pureblood ClubPansy dropped in later in the month, appearing uninvited in Draco's bedroom at an ungodly hour one morning. She tore open all the curtains to admit a ridiculous amount of light.
Draco flung an arm over his eyes.
"You are a hellish bitch, Pansy. Remind me why I have not adjusted the wards to block your ingress."
"Because I'm one of the few people alive that will still talk to you, Draco. It's almost noon, you selfish, lazy prat. Now get up and take me to lunch. I'm famished and bored."
Draco yanked the blankets over his head. "Go downstairs and tell the house-elves to feed you. Let me sleep for another hour."
Pansy tried to pull the covers back, but Draco had a good grip on them. He smirked at her effort.
"No, damn you! I want to rub elbows with the unworthy, and show off a gorgeous man on my arm. I also want to go shopping."
"I am not going shopping," Draco huffed.
"You will buy me a new pair of boots, or I will come back tomorrow morning, even earlier. And the morning after. And the morning after that. Now, get up this instant."
Draco threw his covers back with a snarl and sat up. Pansy's eyes slid over him appreciatively. Draco smiled lazily and stretched, having no problem whatsoever with being admired, even by an evil succubus with no sense of propriety.
Pansy dragged him to a café in Actu Alley, a part of wizarding London with several businesses that bordered the Channel. Draco thought the food was substandard, and the coffee was wretched. He nearly switched to tea, but he thought they might screw that up even worse.
Pansy kept her hand over Draco's for nearly the entire meal, and made fake happy greetings to several other patrons.
"Pansy, you are not going to impress anyone by being seen with a former Death Eater."
"No one cares about that anymore," she said. "All they know is that you are a beautiful man."
"Can we finish this endless meal? I have business to attend to."
Pansy pouted. "That is all you do, Draco. You never have any fun any more."
Draco grimaced. "Your idea of fun and mine are leagues apart."
"Not so far, I think. I've joined a new club, and I want you to come with me tonight. I think you'll be properly entertained."
Draco rolled his eyes and Pansy slapped his hand lightly. "Don't be that way. Come for a drink, at least. You want to know the fun part? It's a pureblood club."
Draco burst out laughing. "What is fun about that? How many members are there? Six?"
"You would be surprised," she said. Something in her tone made Draco's eyes narrow. He waited expectantly. "Your little obsession's wife is a member."
Draco did not bother to ask to whom Pansy referred. Pansy always had known Draco better than he knew himself. He sat back, contemplating her information. So, Ginny Weasley-Potter had joined a little pureblood club. Draco wondered what her hero husband thought of it. If he even knew. Pansy would not have brought it up at all unless Draco would find the information useful. Asking Pansy would gain him nothing. She would just smile at him cagily.
"All right," he said. "I'll come with you."
Draco was annoyed before they even arrived. Pansy had appeared with an idiotic uniform for him to wear, in an effort to provide anonymity, or some such nonsense. It consisted of a white silk shirt, buttonless, that fell open to his navel, topped with a hooded black cape. Black trousers covered his legs—thank Merlin—he would have balked completely at loungewear. A white half-mask concealed his face. Only his mouth and chin were left exposed.
"This is ridiculous,' Draco said. "Although you look fetching."
Pansy's mask and cape were the same as Draco's, but instead of shirt and trousers, she wore a white corset with a wisp of black silk skirt. A smile curved her red lips. "You look gorgeous, darling. I would suggest staying in, if only I were your type."
Draco smiled winningly. Pansy had known Draco's preferences nearly as long as Draco himself.
She added, "Perhaps I'll find a new boy toy tonight, and you can find a… Potter look-alike?"
Draco rolled his eyes. "Stop, already. I'm not that obsessed with Potter."
She arched a brow. He could tell, even though her mask hid it. "Really? So you don't actually pay Greg to keep you posted on Potter's whereabouts whenever he is at the Ministry?"
Draco flushed. Damn Goyle and his inability to keep his fucking mouth shut. Then again, Pansy could pry state secrets from the Minister himself, if she so chose.
"I just like to keep an eye on the obnoxious git, in case he decides to fuck with my life, or something."
She smiled knowingly. "Or something. You had best take off your rings. They are fairly recognizable."
Draco sighed, but obediently plucked off the diamond and emerald ring that was his favorite, his grandfather's antique ring formed of snakes entwined in a complicated Celtic knot, and the plain platinum wedding band. The Malfoy signet could not be removed without dire consequences; instead he twisted it around so the emerald and the stylized M faced his palm, leaving the platinum band exposed.
He handed the cast-offs to a house-elf, who disappeared to deposit them in Draco's bedchamber. "Shall we go?" he asked.
Pansy Apparated them to a large house that bore a remarkable similarity to Malfoy Manor. It sat in the midst of what seemed to be deserted acres of land. Draco studied the area carefully, but the place could have sat nearly anywhere in Britain. The weather was still warm, and it was a clear, perfect night.
The house was opulent on the exterior, with colonnades and bEricwork, wrought iron and elaborate scrollwork. Light spilled onto the manicured grass through several windows as they approached the front steps.
There were two hooded and masked wizards flanking the front doors. They cast several spells on Draco and Pansy—the first to detect their pureblood status, the next to detect weapons or malicious spells. Two others had a purpose unknown to Draco, but he quickly memorized them in order to look them up when he returned home.
Once past the gauntlet, they entered a dimly lit room that looked like a converted ballroom. Several tables had been set up for cards, dice, and other games of chance. A roulette wheel spun lazily at one end of the room, flanked by a number of cheering witches and wizards dressed the same as Draco and Pansy. Trays floated about the room, laden with an assortment of drinks and hors de oeuvres.
Pansy snagged a glass of champagne for herself, and a snifter of cognac for Draco. He sipped at it and was reluctantly impressed with the quality.
"Who funds this club?" he asked.
Pansy shrugged. "We all do, for the most part. The dues are bloody insane. But the original patron is unknown. News and events are posted in the front parlour."
"What sort of events?"
"Costume balls, alternate locations for meetings, that sort of thing," she said, but her voice carried the evasive tone that Draco recognized at once. He looked at her sharply, wondering what she was hiding, but she nudged him with an elbow.
He followed her gaze across the room. A dark skinned man glided down the winding staircase, and made his way straight to Draco. Mask or not, Draco recognized him immediately. The particular caramel-bronze shade of his skin was fairly unique.
"Draco Malfoy," the man murmured and leaned forward to place a light kiss on Draco's lips.
"Zabini," Draco replied.
Blaise traced a finger gently over Draco's chest, following the faint line of the Potter-induced scar, barely visible after all these years. "So formal, Draco? After all we've been through? Good to see you, anyway. I had hoped Pansy would talk you into joining us one day."
Blaise stopped touching Draco, although his amber eyes held Draco's gaze as he moved closer to Pansy. He looked away and kissed Pansy on the cheek.
"Pansy, darling, you look lovely, as usual."
"You're charming as ever, Blaise."
Blaise stepped back and chuckled. "All right, that's enough with the names. We're supposed to be anonymous here, right?"
"You started it," Pansy muttered and sipped her champagne.
Blaise reached out and touched Draco's jaw with a cool hand. He slid his thumb over Draco's lower lip. "I hope to see you later," he purred. Draco smiled like a predator and watched Blaise stride across the room to accost his next victim.
"Fucker," Pansy hissed.
"Broke your heart, did he, Pans?" Draco murmured.
She snorted. "What about yours?" she countered. Draco shrugged. It had been a near thing. The bastard was still gorgeous, with his caramel skin and perfect smile. Draco had nearly fallen… but Blaise had gotten careless. Draco demanded exclusivity in his lovers. Blaise had known that, and had promised quite fervently that he would be faithful. Naturally, he had lied like a Death Eater. Draco had not allowed affection to cloud his natural distrust of all things Slytherin, and he had caught Blaise in no less than three affairs. It had been disappointing, but not unexpected. Draco thought it unlikely that Blaise even understood the concept of fidelity.
Draco allowed Pansy to coax him into a game of wizard whist, playing a hapless couple that was completely outclassed by the ruthless Slytherins. Draco was quickly bored once the game ended. Pansy caught him edging toward the door more than once, and finally she murmured, "Patience," in a singsong voice. Draco sighed and resigned himself to waiting for Pansy's grand revelation.
His patience was rewarded when Pansy straightened. Draco casually got to his feet and shifted until he could see the person arousing Pansy's attention. The newcomer was instantly obvious.
She was dressed much like Pansy—white corset, white mask, and voluminous black cape covering her head nearly completely. The freckles dotting the pale skin of her chest gave away her identity, at least to Draco. Ginny Weasley-Potter.
Draco was curious, so he left Pansy and sauntered over to Potter's wife. Her small breasts were pushed nearly out of the corset top, and her lips were bright red. Draco checked his own hood to ensure his hair was fully covered.
"Bon soir, Mademoiselle," Draco said softly, altering his voice slightly and affecting a French accent.
Ginny smiled prettily. Draco could not see much of her face, but she looked to have aged well. Her body was in fine shape, at any rate.
"Good evening, sir," she said pleasantly. Her blue eyes sized him up, and her smile widened.
"This is my first time here," Draco said. "I feel a little out of place."
She put out a hand to touch his arm. "Would you like me to show you around?" she asked. Draco smiled and nodded, mentally patting himself on the back. She was far too relaxed to have recognized him.
She ushered Draco around the room, pointing out the various gaming tables and points of interest while asking him questions about himself. Draco made up a colorful history about a life in France and the possibility of moving to Britain. He allowed his fingers to trail up her arm now and again, and was disappointed when she drew away each time. She finally frowned at him when he leaned close to her.
"Excuse me, Monsieur," she said, "but I have monopolized enough of your time. It was nice to meet you."
She patted his hand in a friendly gesture, and moved away into the bustle of bodies. Music had started in one dark corner of the room, and several couples were dancing. Draco made his way back to Pansy.
"Bludger to the head?" Pansy asked dryly.
"Nearly," Draco replied, somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to lure Mrs. Potter… if not into his bed, then quite close to it, merely for the opportunity of breaking the news to the Chosen One. Apparently, the little vixen was only here to play cards and mingle with the other happy purebloods. Maybe it was time for Draco to stop obsessing over Potter and get on with his life. The thought made him want to retch. "Can we go now?"
"Certainly," Pansy said instantly and stood up. She fussed with her cape for an inordinate amount of time, until Draco was ready to snatch her wrist and drag her bodily from the building. She finally started for the doors, only to stop just short of freedom. She turned. "Draco, dear, I think I left my handbag in the powder room."
Draco scowled. "You did not bring a handbag."
"I'm certain I did."
"You did not."
Her lips tightened obstinately. "I did. Go and fetch it for me."
He glared at her, knowing she could argue long into the night. "What does the nonexistent thing look like?" he snarled. She described a tiny, black beaded, bejeweled, Merlin-knew-what else, bloody handbag, and Draco stalked down the hall toward the alleged powder room. Halfway there, he halted in shock.
Blaise Zabini and Ginny Potter were locked in a heated embrace, kissing madly against the brocade wall of the dark hallway. Draco made an apology in French, and turned away. Ginny had stiffened and tried to push Blaise away, but Zabini did not even pause. His hands were beneath the corset, and his lips moved to Ginny's pale throat. Draco looked back once, to find her hands wrapped in Blaise's dark hair—apparently satisfied that her anonymity was safe.
Pansy waited with her arms crossed. Her lips were curved in a smirk. "Well?" she asked dryly.
"You're such a bitch," Draco said, but took her arm to escort her outside.
"Seeing is believing," she replied. Draco had to agree. He might not have believed her if he had not seen the proof with his own eyes. Potter's wife was having an affair with Blaise Zabini.
Rather than the expected elation, Draco found himself curiously depressed.
