In Bad Faith

by Slayer Anderson

I never pretended to know what I was doing in my last life. Why should I pretend to know anything about this one? Well, the other option is a horrific and bloody death, so...I better start learning how to be a witch. OC Self-Insert/Draco's Younger Sister. [DEAD]

2. Chapter 4-6 Rewrite

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 4-6 Rewrite

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

04/08/2014

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Chapter IVb – Wheat & Chaff

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I was three years old before my parents allowed me into the Malfoy library alone.

Draco would not be allowed into the space, unsupervised, until he was five years old.

There were several reasons for both of these facts, but mostly it boiled down to maturity. Draco was not, and would not be for some time, able to understand the inherent danger of magical knowledge. In my past life, I understood that knowledge was power; any student of history does. In this life, that analogy was more literal, especially when there were several books that wouldn't let you put them down after you picked them up.

Mother and Father were also likely tired of carting books to and from my room on a regular basis. I was a voracious reader, after all. Even wizarding fairy tales were terribly interesting given my complete lack of exposure to 'real' magic. Given that I probably cycles through a dozen books a week, Lucius and Narcissa likely granting me access to such a large store of books would halt any further requests for new reading material.

And boy, were there books.

And boy, was I irritated that I could only read a small fraction of them.

Here's the thing that no one thinks about when they're writing a story about Harry Potter getting access to an awesome library with esoteric magical tomes of immense power: pureblood family libraries are old. How old, you may ask? The Malfoy Estate predates the United Kingdom of Great Britain, the Malfoy family library predates William the Conqueror.

Now Modern English, that is, English as we know it, only dates back to the late-fourteen hundreds, before that people spoke Middle English. Middle English bears some passing familiarity with our modern tongue and written word. If you don't think about what you're reading or care about spelling much, you can parse most of the meaning without too much trouble...of the words that you can recognize...which might be about half. If you were reading a text that you'd already known the details of, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch, but dissecting something you'd never even encountered before? Like magical theory?

For all of its close kinship, Middle English is still a different language.

If you go back further, to before the time of William the Conqueror, you run into the gem of a language known as Old English...and its dialects. A disproportionate number of books in the Malfoy library were looted from various families at the time of the Norman Conquest of Britain, therefore roughly a third of the books in the library were completely unreadable due to their being written in a language nearly a millennium old.

When you factored in those written in the older variants of Middle English, those which had been carried over from France at the time of our family's infancy, which were written in Medieval French, those which had been inherited through the years, and those which were bequeathed through marriage and other circumstances...this assortment being in languages ranging from High Latin, Medieval to Modern versions of German, Dutch, Spanish, Norse, Arabic, and (though I couldn't be sure of these) Hindi, Albanian, Greek, and...what might have been Russian.

I had access to maybe, maybe less than a tenth of the books.

And that was just unacceptable.

So, the first order of business, before I set to reading the relatively meager stockpile of material I could, was to learn how to read the others. So, being the good and eager daughter I was, I picked up one of the older, slimmer volumes which was in the 'safe' section of the library (where none of the books were cursed, or hexed, or jinxed) and brought it to my mother.

"I can't read this book, mommy," I said plaintively, holding up the leather-bound object.

"Dezzy stupid," Draco determined, sneering a childish mimicry of father's expression.

"Am not," I replied with great dignity.

"Are too," Draco responded, his small speech displaying all the tact of a master debater.

"Children," Mother interjected sternly, taking the proffered object and flipping through a few pages as Draco and I stuck our tongues out at each other.

I have spent way too much time as a child. This can't be good for my mental health.

"Desdemona," Narcissa said gently, "This book...is written in another language. I'm sorry honey, but you can't read it without knowing how."

I nodded the concession, enjoying mother's slight relief that I wasn't going to get upset and throw a fit. "Can mommy read it?"

"No sweetie," Narcissa replied and some of my surprise must have shown through, because she smiled, "Mommy doesn't know everything."

"Daddy can read it," Draco affirmed with all the wisdom of his age. "Daddy can do anything."

Gee Draco, thanks...you've both helped me and reminded me that you're a hopeless daddy's boy.

"Actually, your father can't read Old English either...I'm afraid you'll have to read something else, Desdemona," Narcissa said softly, smiling at me encouragingly.

I cocked my head, trying my best to look plainly curious, "Can't mommy do magic to let me read it?"

Narcissa laughed softly as she handed the book over to me, "Dezzy, I'm sorry, but magic can't do that. If you wanted to read a book like this, you'd have to learn to do it the hard way."

I took my book back, frowning intently.

This was...unexpected. Neither Narcissa nor Lucius could read the books in their own library. Granted, it shouldn't really be that much of a surprise. Countless 'intelligent' rich people probably had libraries full of books they'd never bothered to open. Even I had been guilty of it, to a certain extent...

...I wonder if Jim Butcher is around in this reality? Even if he is, I'm going to have to wait a good three decades to finish Ghost Story.

"Can I learn?" I asked, deciding to chance it.

Narcissa looked at me, surprised then wary, "Desdemona...are you sure? This would be a lot of work?"

I nodded resolutely.

Beyond the fact that I had almost nine full years to fill, I would need an 'edge' eventually and I might as well start now. Besides, I wouldn't only be reading magical theory and ancient spellbooks. A great many of the tomes in the library were probably fiction or medieval cookbooks or something equally inane. Language was the gift that kept on giving, in a way.

Ultimately, the thing which swayed my decision the most was the moral outrage of thousands of books, sitting on shelves, and lying derelict for centuries. I wondered how long it had been since a Malofy had bothered to read them, bothered to impose any sort of order on them...

"I want to learn," I said seriously.

"I want to, too," Draco cut in, having been quietly watching mother and I.

I rolled my eyes, "Draco's just whiny, you don't really wanna' learn."

Draco made a face, crossing his arms impetuously. "Will too! Just 'cause you're a smarty-doof doesn't mean you get to know everything!"

I wondered at Draco's language. Sometimes it seemed a bit...advanced for a three year old, but...we did share a playroom and spend a necessary amount of time around each other. Maybe my older brother was picking up words from me?

Should I be worried about this? On the one hand, this is probably changing things...on the other, what possible actions can I take, without seeming to be willfully malicious, to keep Draco a stupid, ignorant pureblood elitist?

And more to the point...why should I want to?

I was so concerned with my behavior that I nearly missed the piercing look my mother was giving myself and my brother. Finally, she sighed and nodded, "I can't promise anything, but I will talk to your father about it."

I smiled brightly and looked over at Draco, contemplating doing something which I generally held off on: initiating physical contact. Deciding to go for broke, I lunged at my brother, hugging him.

"Mommy, help! Dezzy's hugging me! She'll get book-stuff on me!" Draco squealed, trying in vain to dislodge me.

My mother's eyes bulged, allowing her to spend approximately five seconds gaping like a fish before she collapsed into laughter.

I honestly couldn't care less at that point. I was going to school! Or get a tutor, or something! I was going to get mental stimulation!

Life couldn't get any better!

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In Bad Faith

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I admirably refrained from concussing myself on the table.

I reminded myself that I was only three years old, my skull was still undergoing development and any violent force applied to the brain pan might have negative effects down the line. The brain was, after all, a very important organ which probably played a pivotal role in the use and/or direction of magic. It was all I could do not to fatally injure that very important organ in a fit of impotent rage.

Where did it all go so wrong...

"...and once you go beyond 'nine,' you carry over to 'ten.'" Alexander Mackenzie, a dark-skinned adult in what looked like his mid-twenties (but considering how a wizard ages, might have been significantly older) explained, helpfully pointing to a large slate board with his wand.

I felt part of my soul wither and die.

"Now," Prof. Mackenzie smiled, "I want you to finish your worksheets for Thursday and we'll move on to...I think we're continuing our discussion on vowels today, aren't we?"

I perked up, suddenly interested in anything that wasn't the most basic precepts of math. "Yes sir. We were talking about...those things you said people don't use anymore." Here, I carefully obfuscated my abilities, "Archy Chars?"

"Achey Chairs," Draco said authoritatively.

"Archaic Characters," Mackenzie explained carefully, with an air of patience that I recognized as part-resignation, part-amusement. He was a good teacher, someone who had the demeanor and attitude to wait for students to answer and gently correct them if needed. "These letters are common in Early Middle English, but they start disappearing as you get closer to Modern English."

Draco's gaze was beginning to grow vacant as the child's attention span reached it's limit.

The man sighed quietly and tapped his wand against the board. Immediately, a series of chalk marks appeared. "Here are the most common: Ash, Eth, Yogh, Thorn, and Wynn. These will be on next week's quiz, so copy them down as I give them."

Draco and I obediently picked up our quills, holding them in the imprecise and pudgy hands that childhood hadn't quite stripped from us.

I had to hand it to our father, he'd found a very competent individual to begin our early lessons. I didn't think that the Ministry actually had someone like him on payroll, but he not only knew his material, he...well, I'd thought the entire wizarding world was ignorant of anything but magic. It was refreshing to meet someone who could explain something that wasn't tinged with the superiority of 'magic' or the racist undertones of 'pureblood.'

It struck me that my 'tutor' might not be merely a Hogwarts graduate.

As he was leaving that day, I watched Draco flee the room to play in the yard on a training broom that father had gotten him for his last birthday. Turning a curious eye on our tutor, I decided to chance it. "Sir?"

He looked up from where he was shuffling papers into his briefcase. "Yes, Desdemona?"

"How do you know so much?" I asked, trying to play the curious child.

He smiled, "Ah...well, I went to school, I suppose...and read a lot."

I nodded, pretending to think. "Where did you go to school?"

"Hogwarts," He answered easily. "Where you and your brother will go when you're old enough."

"Can I take language classes at Hogwarts? Mommy said there's lots of languages, like French and German and stuff...can I learn those at Hogwarts?" I asked, visibly excited. "And what books did you read? Can I read them too?"

The tutor chuckled, "Well, I'm afraid Hogwarts doesn't teach languages, that's why you're learning it now. I suppose if you really wanted I could get you some books to help you learn..."

I affected confusion, having already guessed the answer to my next question, "If you didn't learn languages at Hogwarts...did you go to another school, sir?"

There was reticence as he looked away from my inquiring gaze. He definitely didn't want to tell me something as he shuffled papers about pointlessly.

I pressed him lightly for another few minutes before he caved as I walked with him towards the front door. "Okay you little rascal, I surrender," he muttered. "I went to a school called Oxford, but its not a magic school, so you probably wouldn't like it. Hogwarts is much better because there aren't any muggles to deal with."

There was something...a lie, that I could see in his eyes as he avoided my gaze again, smiling at my father's appearance.

I decided not to push further.

But it was something to remember.

Oxford, huh? I suppose it takes a special kind of wizard to enroll at a mug...non-magical university. Still, I wonder how many presumed magicals go on to university? Something to keep in mind...it wouldn't be good to underestimate wizards and witches merely because I assume they're ignorant...

The ultimatum from father had dictated, it was 'all or nothing,' for our schooling. Either Draco and I committed to being taught the full course of subject matter: arithmetic, writing, etiquette, dance, music, and language...or there would be no formal education until we were six and seven, respectively.

As such, both of us were obliged to sit for most of the day with an accredited Ministry of Magic Educational Tutor, the office of which catered almost exclusively to purebloods, droning on about various subjects. Then we were given homework. Then we were given quizzes, which we were expected to perform nigh-flawlessly on.

And I'll admit, some of it was interesting.

For instance, I had never been a 'music person' in my old life. Granted, I had adored music throughout my life, but I'd never had the skill, temperament, or desire to take up an instrument. In the high society circles my father traveled in, it was considered bad form for your child(ren) to not be fluent in the use of at least one instrument.

"Any respectable member of magical society should be willing to broaden their abilities to deal with any number of unpredictable situations," Mother would say.

Which...I didn't really understand, to tell the truth. When I translated it from 'pureblood' into English (or at least American), it came out something like, "If a situation ever needs you to be able to play an instrument to properly resolve it, well you'll be glad you know how, won't you?"

Ultimately, it was easier just to agree to music lessons than fight my parents on the subject.

I also learned two other interesting things on this occasion: I liked making my parents proud of me and there was something fundamentally different in regards to my body...

I'll cover the first point since its easier to make sense of.

Up to this point in my life, I had merely been 'talking' or 'walking,' things that I had done nearly my entire prior life. As a result, being praised for doing those things felt...odd, undeserved at the very least. I tried to ignore anything positive my mother said regarding my achievements, not as a matter of humility, but out of embarrassment and...a little shame. That, even though no one could possibly know, I felt like I was stealing something from Draco by merely existing.

But...when I started learning, really learning musical theory...the notes, scales, measures...it was for something that I, that Desdemona Malfoy did. When mother (father wasn't big on the whole 'praise' thing) told me I had done well, or that I was a good student...well...

It made me happy...and I didn't understand why, at least not at first.

Then, I realized that she was my mother, and it was okay to feel good when she praised me.

And, yes, that might sound simple, and intellectually it is relatively simple, but taking the matter to heart and really understanding it? It's...profound, in a way that changes how you think of life. It was, in hindsight, another important step between 'living with the Malfoys' and 'living as a Malfoy.'

Then, there was the fact that I could do any of this, at all.

Among other things, my prior body...'I' in some sense, had been tone deaf, had no sense of timing, and a few other things that made me particularly unsuited to being a musician. All of these things could probably be overcome, but I'd never tried to nor needed to.

Desdemona Malfoy, though, seemed to have a particular ear for music. Sounds were...not sharper, necessarily, but...deeper? Somehow, a C Sharp was now a musical note, rather than merely another noise. It was another one of those disconcerting little realizations that brought home the fact that, now matter who I had been before, I was someone else now.

Like the fact that I had a better eye for color.

Or the fact that I was able to taste and smell things more discerningly.

I didn't know whether or not to chalk all of these differences up to my reincarnation, or alternatively, to my new physical sex. As much of a cry as there is towards 'equality of the sexes,' man and woman have always been very different; the two different genders had different hormones, obviously, but their physical brains also worked differently, as did many of their senses. The question became, then, was my sense-brain-mind interface different merely because of my different body or because of my different sex?

I deliberately avoided thoughts of puberty.

---

In Bad Faith

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Both Draco and I are loved by our parents.

But...Draco has always been more my father's son and I've always been more my mother's daughter. I don't mean that they 'play favorites' exactly, but its something of a natural inclination for them...father spends more time with Draco in the study, presumably teaching him important pureblood things, like politics, awareness of your peer group, and whatnot. On the other hand, mother spends far and away more time with me, grooming me to inherit...well, I'm not exactly sure, but she often lectures on the ins and outs of society in general, paying special attention to how to conduct oneself in high profile settings.

I think she was a bit disappointed that I turned out to be such a bookworm.

That...may have had something to do with my current situation. I'll admit to feeling a bit guilty regarding my overly-bookish nature when Narcissa clearly had envisioned me as a social butterfly.

"Oh Desdemona, you look simply perfect," mother cooed as I showed off another dress, prancing about as I'd seen some models do in both my past life and when mother had dragged me to Madam Malkin's on a few errands.

"Thank you, mother," I said shyly, not having to fake the emotion.

This is so terribly embarrassing...

"She's gorgeous," Madam Malkin smiled, anticipating another sale.

And...I couldn't blame her, casting a fleeting look towards one of the mirrors which had been strategically placed. I looked...good, at least as adorable as any five-year-old had any right to. The dress and robe combination I was currently wearing were custom-made garments, fit for a child of an Ancient and Noble House.

And isn't it just hilarious to learn they actually refer to themselves that way?

"What do you think, Desdemona?" Mother asked, smiling.

Light gray eyes narrowed in my reflection as my gaze turned critical. Although it was slow going, I was picking up the various 'dos' and 'don'ts' of Wizarding society. For instance, I was probably never going to be allowed to wear pants unless I sneaked out into the muggle world.

I ignored the vague feeling of 'wrongness' at my last thought, opting to voice my critique.

"I'd only be able to wear it at informal functions," I said slowly. "The cut isn't right for a holiday celebration, the trim isn't proper for mingling with proper society members as it doesn't have the right stitching, and...something about the hem?"

Drawing a blank, I turned to my mother, who was wearing a decidedly pleased and proud expression, though the proprietor seemed slightly disappointed.

"Very good, daughter. The hem is too short for anything but an informal setting. Do you think you would like it?" Narcissa asked curiously.

"The colors are complimentary, the fabrics are comfortable, and I have more than enough freedom of movement for when brother and his friends decide it is time to play with the Carrows and myself," I nodded, running a hand over the doubtlessly expensive fabric. Not Acromantula Silk, but equally fine...

Madam Malkin suddenly perked up.

"Excellent," mother nodded, turning to the proprietor and taking out a bank draft, "I will be ordering another set of robes and dress clothes for my son, his father will bring him by sometime next week to appraise the outfits...Tuesday, at nine?"

"We have an appointment block open, I'll reserve it for Lord Malfoy," the Madam nodded eagerly, signaling one of her assistants.

I shook my head, used to my parents' odd insistence that my brother and I go shopping at different times on different days. Instead of object, my voice rose slightly. "Dobby!"

The house elf appeared with a 'pop.'

"Yes Miss Dezzy?" Dobby asked, wringing his hands.

I gestured to the stack of dress boxes in the corner, "Take these to my room and leave them on my bed. Do not hang them up, I'll see to ordering my closet when I come home."

"Yes, Miss Dezzy," Dobby nodded, "Will that bees all?"

"No," I replied, trying to keep any politeness out of my tone. "Retrieve my red and black notebook from my writing desk and bring it to me. You're dismissed."

With a final nod, the elf popped away and mother granted me another approving gaze. "Excellent Desdemona, you're conducting yourself very well with the help."

I smiled politely, "Thank you mother." Otherwise, my expression was the chill distanced haughtiness that my position demanded of me. "Shall we be off to Flourish and Blotts?"

"I suppose," mother sighed, affecting a slightly-annoyed, but affectionately-tolerant expression, "but first I must excuse myself to powder my nose. I'll just be a moment, daughter."

As my mother moved away, I stepped off the side of the shop, seating myself on one of the waiting benches. A moment later, Dobby reappeared, holding a thin, bound notebook with high-quality parchment pages. Casting a suspicious eye towards the waiting staff, I decided they were out of effective hearing range and smiled gently.

"Thank you, Dobby," I said quietly.

"Yous always welcome, Miss Dezzy," Dobby smiled.

"Tell Nitzy and Itzy to have dinner ready by five, mother and I will return to the manor by then," I said in a louder voice, affecting my haughty expression once again. "Also, I will call on you again when we are through at the bookstore, be ready to assist us."

"Yes Miss Dezzy," Dobby nodded and popped away.

Resigning myself to a lengthy wait for mother I reclined slightly, but no more than my station would allow me in public. Cracking my notebook open I perused my notes, written in the precise and almost artistic scrawl that was far superior to the blocky print I'd used in my past life. Now, each letter was beautifully shaped and rolled in a tight cursive which had been whipped into me by my tutor. The quill and ink pot was now coming as naturally to me as any ballpoint pen or muggle writing instrument I'd previously used.

Another twinge of unease ghosted across my consciousness, usually indicative of the weird contrast between my prior life and my current one. I pushed the thought away and dismissed it with the ease of long practice, no longer caring about the oddities of my wizarding life. There was little I could do but accept them. Instead, I focused on something with more substance, like the notebook in my hands. Titles of books that I had discerned were, at least, worth looking at reading.

Barbery Smith's Worldly Wizarding World

Practical Runework for Practical People

Elder Woods and Other Magical Treasures of the Magical World

The Arithmancer's Guide to Intermediate Calculation (and the advanced version)

There were more titles, of course, pages of them. Books that I had found references to in other books. Recent books, books that had gone out of print long before I was born, books that had fallen through the cracks of the few publication magnates of the Wizarding world and had such short print runs that there were scant few copies still lingering about. Still, they all had something in common with each other: they were unpopular.

The author, the content, the blood heritage or political ideology it espoused, take your pick.

None of them were 'mainstream' works, all devoted to 'revisionist' or 'alternative' theories of history, magic, politics, blood...the list went on and on. After two solid years of digging through the Malfoy library, I had noticed the obvious trend of 'scholarly research' either covertly or overtly supported the ideology of my family, but...

Certain authors had the habit of deriding and disproving their ideological counterparts, which meant mentioning their work.

Which, in turn, meant I had amassed a list of titles which would give me an alternative (if not necessarily correct) viewpoint on wizarding culture.

"Ready to go, Desdemona?" Mother asked, approaching me quickly, her steps tap-tap quick on the hardwood floor.

"Yes mother," I nodded, getting to my feet and following her out, swinging my feet faster as I struggled to keep up with her longer strides.

"I have business in Gringotts, child," Narcissa explained, unusually serious in tone as we ventured out into the alley. "I'll be leaving you to peruse the shelves in Flourish and Blotts. You are not to leave the store, not even to go to that plebeian little used bookstore you are so in thrall with for some inexplicable reason. I will return within two hours and, if you have behaved yourself, we might have time to stop in at Fortesque's for a treat. If I find you've disobeyed me, this will be the last of your Diagon Alley trips for some time."

She paused a moment, looking at me as we stood beside the entrance to the bookstore.

"Am I understood, young lady?" Mother asked, her voice brokering no argument.

Briefly, I weighed the costs and benefits of a quick trip to the smaller, more dusty bookstore down the street, but ultimately decided against it. There was the outlying chance that an hour or so spent sorting through the disorganized stacks and shelves would yield one of my long-sought treasures, but the weight of a possible punishment countered that thought. If I couldn't get to Diagon, then I probably wouldn't be able to acquire anything for the foreseeable future...

"I understand, mother," I replied carefully, locking eyes with her cheekbones (I was reasonably sure Narcissa wasn't a leglimens, but it was a good habit to get into), "I won't leave Flourish and Blotts until you come to retrieve me."

Narcissa held me under scrutiny for another long moment, before nodding. "Very good, I expect nothing untoward to happen in the meantime."

And then I was through the doors and she was gone.

Part of me thought it was a tad irresponsible to leave a six year old, even one who was almost seven, alone in a store while the parent went off to a bank. Another part of me was grateful that my mother perceived the combination of the Malfoy name and my own maturity as enough insurance against possible calamity. The Wizarding world could be delightfully 'small town' in some ways, I'd learned. They lacked the paranoia, worry, and globilization that modern muggles were infused with...I couldn't think of exactly the right word, but wizards possessed a fundamentally different mentality from their counterparts.

Meandering towards the used books section, I began to peruse it, every so often comparing various titles to ones I had scribbled down in my notebook.

The Malfoy library already had a sizable selection of contemporary works as well as the enormous stock of older volumes, though I was planning on looking at a few of the newer books as well. Still, older books, especially used ones, had a 'flavor' that was lacking in others; they often came with notes, scribbles, and highlights...rarely were they so insightful as the Half-Blood Prince's notations, but they were still interesting.

And sometimes they're dirty limericks...who knew Medieval monks fantasized about anal sex so much...

Then my eyes alight on a certain book.

"The Charging Rune: Mastering the Misunderstood," I read aloud with relish, taking the slim hardback from the shelf and opening it up. It was still in good shape, very little wear and tear, and the previous owner hadn't written in it at all, merely dogearing a few pages. Nodding, I slipped the text under my arm and made a note to scratch the book off my list after I got home.

"Aren't you a little bit young to be reading something like that?" A voice asked from my right.

I turned, and was assaulted by the flamboyant red of a teen's shockingly bright head of hair. He looked to be a good decade older than I was, wearing slightly scruffy Hogwarts robes, and probably just home for the year. He was obviously a Weasley, though the verdict was out on whether this was Bill or Charlie...I'd always gotten the two confused in my prior life and six years of fading memories hadn't done me any good.

"Yes, yes I am," I said gravely, then turned back to the stacks.

There was a beat of silence where I admirably refrained from grinning.

I could very nearly hear the pin drop inside the Weasley's head as he stared at me. "I'm sorry, let's try this again. Are your parents here?"

"No," I replied curtly, pulling out another text and flipping through it idly.

There was another beat of silence.

"Okay...where are your parents, then?" He asked, a hint of impatience in his tone.

I finally turned to look at him, my own patience wearing thin as I sighed, "Look, I realize that you're just trying to be nice and I appreciate that, but mother is at the bank and will be returning shortly. I also realize that this book seems advanced for me, but my reading habits aren't really any of your concern, especially when you haven't even introduced yourself."

I smiled as his eyes glazed over slightly in shock.

That was a bit wordy for an almost-six year old, and a little arrogant, but I'm relatively sure that it won't get back to anyone who matters. Even if it did, I'm pretty sure my father wouldn't be too irritated with my mouthing off to a Weasley. Besides, Draco gets just about as pompous with Crabbe and Goyle...if not quite as well-spoken.

"Sorry," the Weasley said, shaking his head and looking as though he was trying to fight off a grin. "William Weasley, call me Bill."

I sketched a quick and relatively sloppy bow that would have my mother nearly fainting, "Desdemona Malfoy, charmed."

"Malfoy?" Bill asked, blinking in apparent disbelief.

"Yes, yes," I dismissed, casually glancing at the few wizards and witches in the store and satisfied that they were far enough away to not hear a politely quiet conversation. "I know, I should be crouched in an overstuffed recliner in the shadows cast by a roaring fire and wickedly plotting my next evil scheme, but it is summer...and, therefore, a little warm for fires right now. I'm sure you understand."

Bill bit his lip, looking like he was about to burst into laughter at the slightest provocation.

I waited obligingly as he gathered his faculties.

"That was pretty good," he admitted somewhat warily, looking me over and assessing...something. "So you're one of Lucius Malfoy's brats? I'd have thought the way dad talks about your father you'd have cloven hooves and pointed tails or something."

I extinguished the brief and confusing flare of anger at the presumptuous and galling tone of the-

Shaking myself, I raised an eyebrow and attempted to hide my unsettled demeanor. "It's amazing what one can cover up with a simple glamour these days."

Bill barked a laugh that had a few patrons sending odd glances their way and flushed in embarrassment. Turning another odd look my way, he shrugged, "You know...you're really eloquent? Is that the right word? You don't sound like you're...what seven?"

"Six," I replied, still with one eye on the shelves. "Mother has been giving me elocution lessons, as befitting someone of my social position."

You've got to love it when you get an excuse handed to you on a silver platter. It helps that mother and father expect me to walk, talk, and act as close to an adult as I can manage.

"Elocution," Bill repeated, the word looking as though it tasted sour in his mouth. Shaking his head, he looked back to the book under my arm. "Anyway, are you sure something like that is what you're looking for? My sister's still reading those Harry Potter storybooks."

I shivered.

"Those books are...bad. Terrible, really," I said, my eyes back on the shelves.

"Oh?" Bill...well, he didn't quite ask, but there was some hint of inquiry behind the monosyllabic response.

"They're just so...unrealistic," I settled on. "I'm six years old and I've never beaten a dragon using Merlin's wand. I don't really have anything against...child exploitation, but I do hope Harry Potter is at least getting a cut of some of the money."

Bill's eyes glinted with something I wasn't quite sure of...his expression told me I'd just done something very good, or very bad. "You know...you're nothing like what I expect when someone says 'Malfoy.'"

I couldn't think of anything to say to that which wouldn't incriminate me more than I already had. Instead, the book in his hands caught my eye.

"That's Glyphs, Guards, & Wards isn't it?" I asked, looking at the thicker tome more closely...and a bit longingly. "That went out of print years ago."

"Yep," Bill grinned, "Professor Flitwick, he teaches Charms at Hogwarts, recommended it for anyone who wanted to Curse Breaking." He paused here. "I can't believe someone your age would know about a book like this...I think all my younger siblings were running around playing pranks and talking about Quidditch at your age."

I tried to shrug, but my tightly reigned in posture fought against the motion. Instead I said, "I'm thinking about Curse Breaking too, but I find Ancient Runes interesting more than anything. I mean, I thought it was simple, but-"

"-Simple!" Bill barked out, grinning as I tried to fight my bristle of irritation at being interrupted. A civilized person in polite society would never- "They're way more than just pretty little pictures, Miss Malfoy."

"I know that," I snapped curtly before recomposing myself briefly, "But its still fascinating how runes, chants, and ligatures can create the same results as spells, without any wandwork."

Bill nodded, "I suppose you're right there, at least, but you'd have to memorize all of the long-form chants, have the spell completely written out using runes, and be able to charge the entire array..." Again, the teen gave me a measuring glance, before being interrupted by-

"Bill, I'm ready to go!" A streak of red hair, freckles, and worn clothing shot by me and into Bill Weasley. If the feminine yet childish voice hadn't been enough to clue me in, the family resemblance was the last nail in the coffin.

"Ginny! You shouldn't interrupt people when they're talking," Bill chastised lightly as he picked the bundle of energy up and held her close. A tinge of longing, followed by irritation, followed by anxiety. I pushed aside the turmoil of emotions to listen as Bill introduced me.

"...and this is Virginia Weasley, my little sister. Actually, she's your age...you might end up in Hogwarts together," Bill smiled, completely oblivious to my own concerns.

Virginia Weasley?!

"Charmed," I repeated. "I'll be...looking forward to it. Now, I really did have a few books I wanted to pick out." Breathe slowly, don't panic...

"We should get going too," Bill nodded and, as he walked off, I could hear Ginny start to blather on about the Harry Potter book in her arms, gesticulating wildly about how awesome and wicked he was and about how she was going to marry him one day and-

I stepped behind an isle, sighing deeply as I tried to gather my thoughts.

Another difference...granted, the most major and noticeable one I've spotted so far. Ginny's name is supposed to be, canonically, Ginevra. If her name's Virginia, which was popular with the fans, as I recall...crap.

There had been little things I'd been noticing up to now, things that didn't really interact with the story so much and could, at least partially, be due to my own impact on the world around me. 'Virginia's' name was not one of those...or could it be? Was I born before or after the youngest Weasley? Was it possible my birth had, through some Butterfly-Hurricane series of events triggered a different name being selected for Harry Potter's canonical girlfriend?

Still, it wasn't something I could ignore...

The tiniest differences were stacking up, mounting towards a pile of evidence that I wasn't in the world of 'Harry Potter' that had been documented by J.K. Rowling, which meant I would need to continue my cautious observation. The timeline itself, though a painstaking study of dusty history books, checked out...

...from what I could remember.

And that was another danger I hadn't expected, though thankfully I'd caught it before it was too late. Even now, a carefully concealed book held a series of oddly-worded 'journal entries' that would hopefully give me enough reminders and names that I could reconstruct the 'canon' events if necessary.

"Bugger," I groaned quietly, shaking my head and looking towards the shelves again.

This mess was going pear-shaped.

I just knew it.

---

In Bad Faith

---

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as the door to my room shut.

"Dobby?" I called, even as I sagged to the floor, making a visible effort to throw off the pureblood facade I'd worn for the outing while I drummed my fingers on my notebook, resting on my lap.

"Yes Missy Dezzy?" The elf prompted, appearing with a quiet pop.

"Could you please bring me..." I paused, thinking.

What do I need? What do I want? ...a nice, simple life for one thing, but let's be realistic here...

"...a butterbeer?" I finished finally, lamely, my thoughts still racing. "And get yourself something, too...water, or even a butterbeer if you want it."

"Oh, noes, Missy Dezzy, Dobby shouldn't be drinking those," Dobby admonished me lightly, "And Missus Cissy will not be liking me spoiling your appetite for dinner, no she won't. Youse is a growing witch, Miss Dezzy, you should not be-"

I held up a hand, motioning for silence from my...friend. "Dobby, I've had a...well, not 'bad' necessarily, but certainly taxing day and would very much like a butterbeer. I promise you I will eat two full servings of dinner, so please?"

Dobby bit his lip and did an anxious dance before disappearing, then quickly reappearing with a frosty butterbeer which I gratefully accepted, taking a long swig and then resigning myself to smaller sips. I stared off into the distance, still leaning up against my door and eyed my room as I tried to gain perspective on this new wrinkle in my...plans?

I don't know...do I have plans? Schemes? Plots?

What exactly am I trying to accomplish here? Stay the course? Change the world for the better? Become the new Dark Lady?

I eyed the reconstructed copy of the "Evil Overlord's List," sitting innocuously on my bookshelf with a dozen other slim notebooks, my 'journals,' which were filled with various things I remembered from my past life that I might, one day, find useful. They ranged from possible ideas that might, one day form the basis for a plan to strike back against Voldemort to odd ideas that about centaurs and the need for a sizable, sustainable population in the Forbidden Forest, which meant that place was probably a lot bigger than-

I slapped myself.

"Not the time," I muttered aloud. "Not the ruddy time."

Okay, focus. I have a fairly good outline of wizarding history...at least, what can be verified to any reliable extent. I know the rudiments of a possible future which will occur over the next decade or so. I've seen signs that my 'future knowledge' may or may not be reliable. I need to ascertain the veracity of certain events...while maintaining my cover as a six year old child. These won't be things I can necessarily look up in the Family Library...I'll need a backlog of Daily Prophets from the last fifty years or so, birth and death records, as much factual information on the last war as I can get...and the one before that...

After all, it wouldn't do for everything in Britain to be the exact same as I remembered save for the Dark Lord Grindelwald maintaining a Wizarding Kindgom somewhere in Europe. Granted, from what I knew that was unlikely, but it was possible that he had escaped Numengrad and gone on a comeback tour.

...and nothing in the library would have mentioned it. I'm pretty sure that relatively new edition of the Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts would have given it a footnote, at least. Let's face facts, this world is functionally identical to Harry Potter canon, but...

"The Devil is in the details," I muttered, sipping my butterbeer again, then swirling the sweet liquid thoughtfully.

Raising my eyebrows, I contemplated the bottle. "So...how to get those details. I'm studious, detail-oriented, but I don't really have an excuse to try to retrieve this kind of information...let alone any idea where it would be."

Another long silence.

"So I need to ask mom...or dad for help." I granted, not seeing anyway to discretely owl-order that type of information nor request it from Dobby...even if I knew where to look.

"I need social history...birth and death records..." I stopped, freezing as the thought percolated. "Birth and death records." I nodded. "A genealogy."

It made sense. I was curious, fairly independent, studious...and I'd given every indication of being a faithful daughter, adhering to pureblood ideology word-for-word, even when it made me sick to my stomach. It would make sense for me to want to do this kind of project whether for school or personal enjoyment.

Standing up I emptied my butterbeer and slammed the glass bottle on my desk with a satisfying thunk. With a grim smile I began to pull books from the various shelves and stacks around my room and forming a new series of stacks near my workspace.

This was going to be...dare I say it?

Fun...

---

In Bad Faith

---

Dinner was, by and large, a quiet affair.

That was not to say it was tense, but the Malfoy family was, as a rule, tranquil. Much like the pureblood facade we wore outside the house, we also wore masks while at the table. Mother donned the cheerless and cool expression of a Matron of an Ancient and Noble House, while father was the detached, aristocratic pureblood which society had come to expect.

"...and then Crabbe and Goyle ran into each other on their Cleansweeps."

Draco...still had a bit to learn.

"Patience, Draco, not everyone can be as gifted a flier as you are," Narcissa admonished.

My brother directed a haughty sneer my way.

Honestly, does he think we're actually competing for parental affection? Or anything else, for that matter. Harry...how did you put up with this for seven years? I'm at my wit's end after six!

I diligently ignored the traitorous flare of jealous that my brother's comments kicked up.

"If Draco is done regaling us with his adventures," I said carefully, trying to show visible effort in pronouncing the word 'regaling.' My mother favored me with a smile, even as Draco's sneer soured. "I wanted to ask..."

Mother and father looked towards me even as I paused. Even Draco, who was normally disinterested in my whims, focused on me. I coughed into my hand, trying to convey being visibly nervous.

It wasn't hard.

Directing my request towards father, I tried for my bravest face. "Mother bought me a book on great wizarding figures in history, today...and our ancestor Armand Malfoy was in it."

Lucius nodded, interest crossing his cool features. "As well he should be. Armand, your many-times great-grandfather, helped William the Conqueror establish his rule over Britain in 1066. I believe there are even a few biographies written by your other ancestors within the family library."

I nodded, though I hadn't come across any of the aforementioned books.

"...and I, well...I was wondering about doing a genealogy," I admitted, blood rushing to my cheeks as my parents' attention sharpened. "But I don't have many of the new books or...newspapers or things that would tell me when people were born and died in the library. I was wondering..."

My father's elegantly trimmed eyebrow hitched upwards.

"...if you could tell me where to look, father?"

Lucius took his time answering, taking a few bites as I hung on his silence. Finally, instead of replying, he turned towards Narcissa. "Wife, I am given to understand that Draco is to begin his dancing lessons in the coming week?"

"Yes, husband," Narcissa nodded. "Desdemona is already competent in a few of the simpler waltzes and two-steps. I had wanted to educate Draco to a comparable level so that they would have partners of more equitable size for the more complicated maneuvers."

The words took a moment to penetrate, but when they did, my head snapped towards Draco.

His did likewise a second later, pale horror etched across his visage.

It was an expression that likely mirrored my own.

I have to dance...ballroom dance, with Draco? With my older brother?

Mutually, silently, we agreed to avoid this eventuality for as long as possible.

"Then in the meantime, Desdemona may accompany me to the Ministry and I will determine if she is sufficiently determined to pursue this course of study," Lucius decided, giving me an evaluating glance. "Daughter, if you prove adequately resolute, or obstinate as the case may be, then you may search the Ministry Records Department for what you desire."

"Th-thank you father," I managed, surprised, pleased, anxious, and unnerved all at the same time.

Pear-shaped, I couldn't help but think, Completely and utter pear-shaped.

In Bad Faith

To be a Magus is to walk with death.

I wish I could remember exactly where I'd heard or read that...and my journals probably have a clue or two, but they're badly organized and I don't always have time to ferret out one-liners that pop into my mind. Shaking my head, I turn back to my work, which had prompted the odd thought.

What people don't understand is that magic is dangerous.

The less structure around your magic, the more dangerous it is.

That is, more or less, the purpose of a focus, a wand...stave...staff, to make magic safer.

Much of magic is trappings; the wand, the words, the spell itself...they're crutches. You don't actually need an incantation, a complex series of motions, or anything else. Ultimately, it comes down to will and intent. For a master of the magical arts, one need not even set eyes on a given target, merely a piercing focus to alter reality to their whim.

For a master...

...which I am not.

Acknowledging that, for all the theory I might have packed into my head in a few short years, for all the wild ideas and fantastic concepts I might have developed in my past life, for all my enthusiasm to finally begin working with real, honest magic...acknowledging that despite all of this, I was a gross amateur was not easy. Regardless of all of my eagerness, though, I was not about to jump into things too quickly. In spite of the fact that I was chomping at the bit to begin my practical studies in magic, I took my time getting ready.

Knowing that I wouldn't receive a wand until I was eleven, I had looked into alternatives.

Potions was my first thought, though I dismissed it for various reasons.

The discipline of potions is extraordinarily dangerous, a fact which so many people overlook and one which explains some of my Godfather's constant irritation at his students. Looking at it objectively, it should be fairly simple, but...this discounts the fact that it is very difficult to direct the whole of your attention to a cauldron for more than an hour. Then there is the precise and demanding nature of ingredient preparation, which can radically effect the outcome of a given potion. Even if one manages all of these various intricacies, random and unforeseen complications can arise.

One must take into account room temperature, humidity, the age and freshness of ingredients, the purity of base solutions, air circulation, impurities such as dust, pollen, molds, spores, fungi, then there are the contaminants which a person might drop in like sweat, skin flakes, hair, and a thousand other things. These facts were probably either left out of the books due to their boring nature, or they're merely another example of how things are different in this world. I'd probably need to check Snape's Potions classroom to determine if he had taken precautions.

I resolved to cut Severus a bit more slack, but only a bit, in the future.

If I had to teach a class full of eleven-year-olds how to handle large quantities of dangerous substances, I'd probably be nearly homicidal as well.

After a month of research, I decided that Potions would have to wait until I had a competent and, preferably attentive, tutor.

Disregarding potions, I decided to look into Ritual Magic...first to see if it existed, then to see if I would be able to attain anything approaching competence in it.

The short answers are yes, then no.

Yes, Ritual Magic does exist in this reality. No, I will probably not attain competence in this field anytime soon. Anytime 'soon' as in the next decade.

Spending three months cross-referencing various tomes, asking a discreet question here and there, and composing a fairly impressive analysis on the subject, I learned a few things about Rituals.

The long answer to the earlier question is that Rituals are a complex combination of potions, Alchemy, Arithmancy, Charms, and Ancient Runes, requiring at least advanced proficiency in all of the above (if not outright mastery) to even contemplate performing a Ritual. Consequently, the few rituals I managed to find mention of were mouth-wateringly impressive and, if I find myself adequately prepared one day in the future, might be worth looking into.

What at first appeared to be my second failure in attempting to find a way to do magic without a wand lead me, ultimately, to a success.

Ancient Runes.

Although actually using the intricate runic alphabets required a background in Arithmancy, it was the safest (for a given measure of the word), easiest (after years of study), and fastest (taking hours to write out simple spell constructs) method of working magic without wands.

There were other possibilities which I perceived tantalizing clues of during my readings; schools of elemental conjurations, Summonings, weather magic, and even more exotic and esoteric branches of arcane knowledge. Still, information on these was...preciously rare, given my current ability to read only Old, Middle, and Modern English. Thankfully, I was starting Gaelic and Welsh in a few months and would hopefully have more of the library open to me afterwards.

And on a side note, my prior estimation of the library containing 'only' some twenty-odd languages?

Not even close.

...but, I digress. Ancient Runes was a topic which both fascinated me and showed boundless promise in application and theoretical exercises.

I started with the Elder Futhark, which seems to be the basis for European rune work, originating in Scandinavia and propagating throughout the British Isles and most of continental Europe by way of the Vikings. A full half of the total runes (which can be used in magical rune work, but are not exclusively 'magical' in nature) have been documented by muggles, the other branch having purely magical uses and therefore covered by the Statute of Secrecy.

I had started out simply, with a ligature of Sowilo and the Charging Rune, combining the two runes into one using a binding that looked like Celtic knots intertwined in a circle bordered by four Control Runes, one each on of the cardinal points.

Sowilo was technically the 'Sun' Rune, though that was just the uppermost meaning; it was also tied into things that were associated with light, day, and health. Depending on the precise meaning of the Rune which you wanted to invoke, you were supposed to use a particular (and personalized, in many cases) chant.

I looked over the design in front of me for the seventh time, checking that each angle of the ligature was mathematically perfect. Then I checked the border, making sure that it was a perfect circle, widely regarded as the safest and most 'stable' of shapes. The Control Runes, too, were perfectly aligned to North, South, East, and West. The large sheet of parchment was secured to my writing desk, one of the heavier pieces of furniture in my room.

I nodded, I was ready.

Pressing my two pointer fingers onto the ligature in the center, I opened my mouth to begin the chant-

-and the door slammed open.

"Dezzy!" A pair of voices cried out.

I closed my mouth, breathing in deeply through my nose before releasing it in a long sigh. "Flora, Hestia...I thought you weren't coming for another few hours." I didn't really trust myself to look at them, so hot was the irritation burning beneath my skin.

"Our mommy needed to meet with your mommy, so she brought us over early!" Hestia smiled, clearly excited at getting to spend time with me.

"Isn't it great! We get to play all night tonight!" Flora enthused.

Ahh yes...an intercultural staple of childhood: the sleepover. Keep calm, they're just six years old, they don't understand that you'd be angry at seeing them early...breathe.

"Excellent," I smiled, forcing my tone to match my expression, then paused. "Why are we having a sleepover again?"

The other girls stared at me, surprise warring with disbelief.

"Did she forget?" Flora asked, her eyes wide.

"How could she, though?" Hestia replied.

My eyes narrowed in thought, an imaginary calendar forming in my mind as I counted off the days. Closing my eyes briefly, I shook my head. No. I refused to believe it. It was entirely too cliché and I was not going to be a living stereotype.

"Tomorrow's my birthday, isn't it?" I asked, deadpanned.

"We knew you'd remember!" Both twins enthused.

I facepalmed, "I'm the Absent-Minded Professor...Merlin save me."

The Carrows giggled as Flora hugged me, "You're weird, Dezzy!"

"But a good weird!" Hestia said quickly, sharply, glaring at her sister even as Flora nodded.

"Yeah! You always know awesome games and you're even smarter than Draco! And he's older than us!" Flora grinned.

"Even if you do use too-big words and act way too much like a grown-up," Hestia added.

I frowned, trying to ignore the sudden upwelling of confusing feelings within me. There was a bit of alarm that they had noticed my...oddness, relief that they didn't care, and...well warmth, affection, that they showed every intention of actually trying to be my friend. I understood that they were being pressured to befriend me by their parents, but I'd also heard them talking about other friends, children who they'd had over to their house.

Those children were normal, those children probably didn't need to be pushed and coerced into playing games.

Despite that, I'd never detected any indication that they didn't want to be here.

With me.

I swallowed a lump in my throat.

...and now I'm getting choked up because a pair of six-year-olds have decided to be my friends. They probably don't even realize their parents are brainwashing them to be chummy with me.

I didn't quite convince myself of that.

"Thank you," I said quietly, wrapping both my arms around them, ignoring the odd looks they gave me.

"Dezzy...are you okay?" Hestia asked, sounding worried.

"Fine," I said wetly.

"Dezzy's sick!" Flora announced, though I couldn't see her face through the dust in my eyes (which were not tears), but her voice sounded panicked. "Get Auntie Cissy!"

"I'm okay!" I coughed, even as Hestia pulled away and went running down the hallway.

Moments later, Mother had arrived with Alecto Carrow, who had ushered the twins out so that my mother could soothe me. All of the attention hadn't helped my disposition and I ended up shedding a few tears into Mother's blouse. It was the first time I'd cried since infancy and mother was looking understandably upset and frazzled.

"Honey, Desdemona...what happened? I thought you'd be happy with your friends over? Is there something wrong? Are you worried about the party tomorrow?" Mother asked in rapid succession, her voice unsteady as she tried to rock me gently.

Eventually I managed to force back my emotions enough to answer her.

Although the words that came out of my mouth weren't what I had intended.

"I'm weird," I murmured.

"Oh sweetie," Narcissa whispered. "You're not weird, you're-"

"-yes I am!" It wasn't quite a shout, but close to it, mixed with the whining voice of child that I hated hearing use my words. Though, just like that, it was like a damn was broken. "I'm weird! I'm too smart, I spend all my time reading and I don't like playing dress up or tea parties with Hestia and Flora and I'm not-I'm not normal."

They were all true, but-

Why am I saying these things!? I know I'm not normal! I know why I'm a freak! I shouldn't care! The Malfoys aren't my real family, they're just-

"Why do you and father even put up with me?" I asked, crying in earnest know. "Draco's... better than I am. He's-"

Oh god...I don't really say that, did I? I can't really believe that, can I? I mean, I know I'm not really their daughter, but...

"Desdemona Malfoy!" Narcissa hissed, clutching me tightly. "I will not listen to you talk about yourself like that! You will conduct yourself in a manner befitting yourself, in a manner befitting a daughter of House Malfoy. Your brother is not, in any way 'better' than you, do you understand me? You are my child, just as he is...and while it may be that you are smarter than many of your peers, that is a good thing. If anyone ever disrespects your intelligence by calling it 'weird,' then they are not worthy of your consideration. Am I clear?"

I was quiet for a long moment, then I nodded.

"What if the kids tomorrow are mean to me?" I asked, hating myself for being so...childish. Still, I couldn't stop my mouth as it moved...and I was worried, just a tiny miniscule amount, that my peer group would reject me.

"Desdemona, these are other children of Ancient and Noble Houses, not mudbloods. Their parents will have conveyed a proper sense of decorum for such an event, and they will observe it. No one coming tomorrow can afford to disrespect the Malfoy Family by alienating you." Narcissa explained. "It's part of the reason we haven't had too many dinner parties at the Manor. Children of our society must know how to conduct themselves in a public setting so they do not start a childish feud that might escalate into something...untoward when they become adults."

Appearances are Important.

Rule #1 of Proper Pureblood Society.

I listened with rapt attention as mother explained our world, trying to commit each word to memory.

Children of allied families couldn't be seen to fight with each other, so children were generally kept...not exactly 'apart,' but out of easy reach of each other. Save for certain festivals, like Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane, and Lughnasadh (which usually allowed for some kind of costume or disguise), there was no time pureblood children were put in close proximity with each other. This meant that they were only allowed to formally mix and mingle with their peers after a certain age so that, as mother intimated, nothing 'untoward' would happen.

In other words, one didn't want ill-behaved children starting a blood fued that would last generations. The way this was communicated lead me to thinking that it was a hard-earned lesson indeed. After a certain age, though, children were allowed to interact with the larger pureblood community, invited to parties, and expected to conduct themselves with decorum. The age of 'learning to behave yourself' wasn't standardized, but it was almost always between six and eight.

It was both very, very odd...and made a disturbing amount of sense.

"Thank you Mother," I said softly. "I'm sorry for behaving like that, I don't know what came over me."

Narcissa looked down at me, worry plain in her gaze. "Desdemona, while your father and I are proud of your maturity, keep in mind that you can act your age occasionally, especially when something scares you."

I hugged my mother, "Yes mum."

Narcissa gave me a blinding smile and set me on the floor, giving me a few deft swipes of her wand which left me completely immaculate. Doing the same to herself, she took my hand and lead me out to where Alecto Carrow was comforting her daughters. When they saw me, their downtrodden expressions instantly brightened in a way which no six-year-old could fake.

I felt oddly, disproportionately, happy.

---

In Bad Faith

---

"Salutations, Lady Harper. Thank you for allowing Justinius to attend my birthday celebration," I said politely, bowing with a stiff back and eyes that remained locked to my guest's cheekbones.

"What a polite young lady," Elizabeth Harper smiled, her dark face broadening even as she bowed in return, her right hand on her son's lower back forcing the now seven-year-old to bend at the waist. "Narcissa, you simply must tell me how you've engendered such good habits."

"I'm afraid I can accept little of the praise myself," Mother smiled, though there was something sharp beneath it. "Desdemona has always been exceptionally mature for her age; simply the result of a good match in myself and Lucius. Blood will tell, I always say."

The other woman's eyes narrowed imperceptibly and I got the impression that a subtle barb had been placed within the answer. After a moment, I remembered that Mother had been to the Harpers' house and, most likely, seen exactly how 'well behaved' their son was.

Merlin, I hate politics...but I suppose I can see the appeal of insulting people without y'know, actually insulting them.

"I suppose that is true after all, I remember you and your sisters as such well behaved children as well...and look at where such fine breeding has gotten you," Elizabeth's voice was sweet, though the words had a two-faced quality about them.

Three Black Daughters...one in high society, one as a psychopath in Azkaban, and one 'dishonoring' herself by marrying a muggle...or muggle-born, I forget which. Very subtle, Mrs. Harper.

"One should not forget her Malfoy lineage as well," Narcissa replied. "Why I would be hard-pressed to buy such an illustrious history for any sum."

This one took a bit more thought as I tried to decipher exactly what my mother had meant. Eventually I decided it was probably a shot at being an uppity minor house trying to finance their way to 'pureblood' status.

"Yes," Mrs. Harper nodded, apparently pleased with herself. "It would be a miscarriage of justice for gold to be used in such a way."

Okay lady, that was a low blow...hell, I can do better than that and I'm six, er...seven. Watch...

"Mother," I interjected, before she could respond, "I should introduce Justinius to our other guests. It would be bad form to allow such a minor matter to overly occupy the host's attention."

I smiled as if butter wouldn't melt in my mouth.

My mother's eyes lit up with ill-concealed pride even as I felt a bit of shame trickle down my spine at such approval. "Excellent point, Desdemona. Take Justinius to meet your other guests while I converse with the other adults."

As the dark-skinned boy and I walked away from our parents, I shook my head, "Adults can be such children sometimes."

Justinius cocked his head, "What do you mean?"

I decided against the futility of explaining the situation when I observed the plain confusion on his face. "Nothing important. Now, Justinius, have you met Hestia and Flora Carrow?"

He shook his head, "No...there aren't only going to be girls here, are there? Mum said it was important to come, but I don't wanna' spend all day doing tea parties or something."

I snorted discretely. "They might like to have a tea party sometime, but I'll make sure you don't have to."

As my new acquaintance and I started making unimportant small talk, getting to know each other, and exchanging niceties (the last of which was mostly on my part) as I went about and introduced him to the various guests and played the good hostess.

Yet another reason I hate parties.

I was able to leave the Harper boy talking to Astoria Greengrass and Quentin Avery, who seemed to be getting along, talking about Quidditch as they were. As no one was looking, I made a face at the thought. I'd never been a big sports person in my prior life. In fact, one of my favorite jokes if someone asked if I followed football or baseball was to ask:

"Oh, you mean that game with the bat and the bases? They still play that? I thought it was a fad!"

People make the funniest faces when you trip them up like that.

In short, I didn't really 'get' sports, even Quidditch...especially Quidditch, actually. I've actually been up on a training broom a few times when my parents insisted I was spending too much time reading and it was nice...horrifyingly dangerous, but nice.

I can't help but think Wizards are socially conditioned to accept a certain insane amount of danger in their lifestyle. It comes down to the fundamental difference in muggle and wizarding society wherein wizards live much closer to life-threatening forces than the average modern muggle. Therefore, it isn't 'crazy' to want to fly a piece of wood and straw through the sky, hundreds of feet and one mistake from plummeting to your death.

So, while I might have the makings of a reasonably competent recreational flier, after I got over a tiny, rather insignificant fear of heights, but I'd never be a competitive Quidditch star.

And I could live with that.

Although, if Draco keeps bragging about how much more awesome he is on a broom than me, he might not be able to live with the fact...'cause I'll take that broom of his and show him a good old lumberjack 'timber!'

Mother interrupted my idle fantasy of fratricide and called me over to where a pair of children my age stood near an austere man who looked much younger (only if one looked very carefully because wizards aged oddly compared to muggles) than my mother. He looked nervous, as though he wasn't quite sure why he was here or how it had come to this.

"Desdemona, I'd like you to meet my dear cousin Regulus Black and his children Virgo and Sagittarius. They've been taking an extended vacation on the continent and have just returned this past month," Narcissa enthused as I contained my shock.

Okay, stay cool...you've been expecting this. Sometime sooner or later someone who was 'dead' was going to show up alive and kicking, just chill and introduce yourself. Worry about the implications later.

I put on what I hoped to be a beatific smile even as my mind worked furiously. "Enchanted to meet you cousins. I'm always happy to become acquainted with family. My name is Desdemona Malfoy and I'm very glad you could make it to my birthday party."

Regulus eyed me with the distrust common to those who had grown up in a politically-minded family. He seemed a bit confused that he could detect no disguised ill-will in my posture.

The boy, Sagittarius, and the girl, Virgo warmed a little as I introduced myself, though I could tell they were both deeply unnerved by their surroundings. It was almost like they weren't used to being around this many people, which meant...

What, exactly?

I chalked it up as something to remember even as the two (maybe twins?) exchanged awkward, unsure bows with me.

I looked at both Virgo and Sagittarius, examining them more closely. They had their father's gray eyes, an aristocratic trait that would serve them well in pureblood society, though their hair was brown rather than black. Rather than the paler Regulus, they had discernible tans...although that might just mean a more Mediterranean heritage rather than hours in the sun. Their clothes were of fine quality, though they looked...subtly off. Maybe a foreign cut?

The boy had a timid voice, still unsure despite the warm welcome. "Hi, I'm Sagittarius Black, but everyone calls me Tarry. This is my sister Virgo."

Although they looked like twins, their faces spoke of personalities that were night and day. Virgo Black had the kind of fire in her eyes that I instantly respected. Her entire posture, as much as any six-year-old's could, screamed 'don't fuck with me.'

"Desdemona, why don't you show your cousins around while I see to reintroducing Regulus to polite society," Mother prompted.

"Of course, Mother," I smiled politely, leading the way for my new compatriots. As we left the adults and their extravagant lawn party in the front of the manor, I turned an eye towards Virgo and Sagittarius.

"So...your father is Great Aunt Walburga's son, right?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I could legitimize that much of my knowledge by way of my genealogical research...which was moving at a snail's pace. Still, I knew Walburga was suppose to die sometime before fourth or fifth year...might she have already passed? I remember seeing her a year or two ago, but...hmm, come to think of it, why hadn't we seen her more recently?

"Grandma doesn't really get on well with dad," Tarry admitted, even as his sister shushed him.

"Tarry, dad said not to talk about family business!" Virgo snipped, casting me a suspicious glance.

I frowned.

Okay...time for an explanation. Walburga Black was known, canonically, to dote on Regulus as opposed to Sirius. Regulus was the stereotypical 'good son.' If Walburga doesn't 'get on well' with Regulus, then there should be a reason, which means...

I have no idea.

Shaking my head, I reversed the approach. What did I know about the Black Family that might explain the reversal of good relations?

Not much...at least in terms of current news or interpersonal relations. Just about everything I've got is a load of blood purity nonsense-

My eyes shot wide as everything suddenly made sense.

Well, if I was right, at least.

"You know, I don't really care if you're half-bloods," I said with practiced nonchalance as we entered the thin stretch of our walk in which we would not be observed by either the adults or our peers.

Which was good, because the two other kids had frozen mid-walk.

"How did you-!" Virgo started, her hands turning into fists. Sagittarius looked on nervously, erring towards the flight side of 'fight or flight.' Both, however, wore varying shades of shock as I smiled in a hopefully encouraging manner.

"How did I know?" I asked, forcing myself to relax a bit as I leaned up against one of the Malfoy Manor's porticoes.

"We didn't say anything!" Virgo nearly ranted, looking more and more irritated. "I knew dad was right and this was just a trap to make fun of us! Purebloods are just-urgh!"

"Wait!" I cried, losing my cool a bit as I stepped around to follow them. "Look, I'm not going to tell anyone...honestly, I was just curious. I didn't even know you really were half-bloods until you confirmed my guess."

Virgo and Tarry turned wide eyes at me before exchanging the type of glance I had seen Hestia and Flora share. Virgo stepped in front of her brother, moving into my comfort zone to examine me closely. I forced myself not to step back from the aggressive move.

"What do you want?" Virgo asked. "Dad said the Malfoys are...tricky and liked to make deals, so what do you want for not telling everyone that our mom's a muggle-born?"

I hesitated...part of me honestly wanted to say 'nothing,' but Virgo probably wouldn't believe me, so...what could I ask for that was important to me but would be of little value to them?

"Do you know French?" I asked suddenly.

Tarry nodded, stepping up to speak, no doubt emboldened by his sister's overt presence. "Yeah! We know French and Spanish and Portuguese and Italian! Our mom's Italian, so we speak it really well."

My mouth watered at the prospect. "Teach me."

Both kids blinked. Virgo looking at me askance, "What?"

"I've already finished most of my Old and Middle English lessons and Father's let me start on Gaelic and Welsh, but he won't let me start on French or German because he doesn't think I can handle so many languages at once, but so many of the books in our library aren't in any of the those languages and..." I shrugged, somewhat amazed that all of that mess had poured out of my mouth so quickly. It was one of the longest stretches of words I'd ever said in this life, I realized with a jolt. I'd always been a quiet child, but I guess I just needed the right prompting.

Both children stared at me strangely.

"I guess," Virgo said suspiciously, eying me oddly, as if waiting for the other foot to drop.

Suddenly, I got a rather wicked idea.

"Look, you don't have to agree right now, but Mother will probably want to meet with your father again and I'll try to tag along. I know you don't trust me, but...I really would like to be friends, if we could. I'll even introduce you to my other friends, Hestia and Flora Carrow. They're twins like you."

"Okay," Tarry nodded with an unsure expression. "Are they nice?"

I nodded, smiling, as they fell into step with me. "The Carrows are friends with the Malfoys, so I'll make sure they won't be mean to you, even if they do find out you're half-bloods."

Both Blacks wore dubious looks even as Virgo frowned thoughtfully.

I tried to give them a reassuring grin before turning back in the direction of my birthday party.

---

In Bad Faith

---

The party had been...tiring.

Still, I'd performed favorably to my parents' expectations and father had dropped in to make nice with the guests even as I coordinated a series of children's games and other inanities. It wasn't as boring as I'd expected and even...'fun' to a certain extent. It was interesting trying to match up some of my guests to the known families of my foreknowledge and those that I had been learning about in my research.

Still, it was also one of the more mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting experiences of either lifetime.

Justinius proved to be an arrogant little toerag after he became more sure of his environment, which set the standard for my various guests. They were, to a lesser or greater degree, exceptional purebloods, proud and vain of their family legacies, boasting and sneering like they had any right to names that were less than a fraction as old as the name Malfoy!

"Pissants," I spat, rubbing a hand over my eyes tiredly.

It had been worth it, though.

Why? Because presents.

The best part of being a Malfoy is probably the presents. As one of the oldest contiguous Wizarding family lines in the British Isles (predated only by the Olivanders and a few others, none of which [save possibly the Potters] are as politically powerful), the birthday of a Malfoy family member is an occasion to show off wealth by giving the most ostentatious or meaningful gift.

Many of them had given me books, which was a useful gesture if fairly unimaginative.

Others had presented finely crafted instruments (mother had spread the word that I was musically and artistically gifted as well as studious), though the most interesting of the lot was a beautiful set of brushes and paints of incredible quality. I resolved to take a bit more time on the thank-you note for the Blacks. Hopefully, I could use the occasion to ask myself over and get to know the twins and...Regulus.

R.A.B. is still alive...that's just great. On the one hand, he didn't deserve to die merely for being taken in by Voldemort. On the other, that means I might have to fight a horde of zombies to get to a shard of a Dark Lord's soul.

I sighed.

"I hate zombies...inferi...whatever they are," I groaned. "At least...if they're not mine. There was that one time I played the Desert Lich-Thing in 3.5...I wonder why they didn't let me play a Wizard for a while after that?"

I shook my head, banishing the random thought as I looked over my...well, it wasn't exactly a 'schedule' so much as a to-do list...which grew longer by the day it seemed. I'd already packed most of my day full of research, tutoring, reading on various esoteric subjects, practicing runework, it just never seemed to end...

-knock knock-

"Come in!" I said promptly, standing to receive whoever was at my door. I expected my mother, but the second figure who appeared behind her was a surprise.

My father very, very rarely visited me in my room.

The austere figure of Lord Malfoy cast an appraising eye over my disorganized and chaotic room. The 'sleepover' hadn't helped matters, though the space hadn't exactly been spik and span before. I tended to let things go a bit when I was working on something like a school paper or a large project.

It wasn't exactly dirty, everything was near-spotlessly clean at Dobby's insistence, but between the towers of centuries-old books strewn carefully about the room, the massive scrolls of parchment upon which long family trees were beginning to form, an assortment of decades-old Daily Prophets, and various gifts still laying about the room.

I blushed deeply and cast a discrete glance to where my first Runic circle was thankfully camouflaged under an open text.

"I apologize for the state of my room, mother, father," I said, my eyes dropping even as my father complete his examination.

"I will expect better care to be taken of your room in the future," Lucius admonished. "Draco is getting older and has been allowed the use of the Children's Playroom to store his Quidditch equipment. Likewise, I will be allowing you, daughter, custody of the East Wing Study for your continuing efforts in educating yourself about our family history."

My eyebrows shot up, "Thank you Father."

Lucius's lips twitched upwards. "Despite the fact that I am very proud of you, daughter, both Narcissa and myself feel that you have over-devoted yourself to your studies and would like to see you taking up more...physical pursuits to balance your education."

I bit my lip, but couldn't hold back from objecting.

"But father! I very much like my current arrangement of studies. If I were to take up something as you suggest, it would cut into the time I've allotted for other things," I argued, trying to ignore the way my legs locked so they wouldn't shake as my father's eyes narrowed.

"Such was the idea, child," Narcissa explained, not unkindly.

"Indeed," Lucius stated dryly. "I am given to understand that you do not appreciate Quidditch like Draco, so I decided that, as a reward for your skillful maneuvering amongst your guests this past afternoon, you would be given a choice as to what pastime you could pursue."

"Well, Desdemona?" Mother asked, eyes expectant, "Is there some physical exercise you would enjoy?"

On the one hand, I could see the necessity of exercise and even admit that I probably needed to 'get out' a bit more. On the other hand...I really didn't want to. I had other things to do! I'd even just found a rudimentary guide to Occulmency buried behind fifteenth century romance novels.

I have to wonder at the thought that the Middle Ages were prudish when every other book I find has pornography scribbled in the margins or reads like a bodice-ripper. I swear if I have to stomach one more paragraph of graphic innuendo about 'swords and sheathes,' I'm gonna'-

I blinked.

Now there's a thought.

Mother was not amused at my request. It was, after all, not very ladylike.

Father gave me another appraising glance before nodding and informing me that my first fencing lesson would take place in a week, after my hour of tri-weekly Gaelic instruction.

Crud, now I'm gonna' have to cut something...probably my library reading, or at least cut it down to a book or two per week. After all, reading every book in the library isn't practical...and its really a means to an end. I'd still rather be reading than getting my arse kicked with a blade every other day, though.