In Bad Faith Chapter 7-9 Rewrite, a harry potter fanfic

Slayer Anderson

In Bad Faith Chapter 7-9 Rewrite

A Harry Potter Self-Insert

04/11/2014

Chapter VIIb – Sibling Rivalry

Draco played Quidditch.

I Fenced.

Draco played Exploding Snap.

I Read.

Draco indulged in the meaningless run-around games common to young boys.

I sketched Runes.

The point I am trying to get across, of course, is that my brother and I spent little time together. I don't think our avoidance of each other was...intentional, exactly, but if either of us noticed (and I'm sure we both did on occasion), neither of us addressed it. Outside of our daily tutoring, which had diverged to the point where we were now working with separate teachers, the only time we interacted more than a few words was at meal times.

That had begun to change, though.

I'm not sure exactly what set it off. Perhaps it was the time I spent with Father and he was left at home with Mother. Perhaps it was the fact that I had been edging forward in our lessons, demonstrating competence with division when he was still on multiplication. Perhaps it was the fact that I had disdained the traditional wizarding sport he so loved. Perhaps it was the dancing lessons.

Personally?

I believe it was the dancing lessons.

Starting a few months after my seventh birthday, Mother had started giving us our dancing lessons together. Remarkably, Father also took to attending to serve as a demonstrative partner for our mother. The way they both nearly floated over the ballroom floor, gliding effortlessly as if they had used a hovering charm...

I was more than a bit envious.

I'd never learned to dance in my previous life...my attitude concerning the pastime had been largely the same as music. I appreciated the dedication and ability of those individuals who did so, but either I hadn't believed I had the aptitude or I always perceived something else as a more pressing issue.

There was also a certain...softness which crept into my parents' faces while they danced. The chill in their eyes and the grim tightness in their jaws melted slightly, leaving them looking more human than I'd seen them in a long time. During those fleeting instances where they visibly forgot they were instructing their children and lost themselves in the sweeping motions of a spin or dip...I could believe that they might actually love each other.
Dancing was also one of those odd subjects that Narcissa and Lucius taught us personally.

For mathematics, writing, language (both native grammar and learning foreign ones), elocution, music, art, sports, and several other basics Draco and I had tutors. For subjects like family history, manners, dancing, politics, and etiquette our parents took the time to instruct us personally. I got the impression that this was a traditional separation of education: what was 'necessary' and what was 'important.'

It was taken as 'necessary' that we would both need to learn how to manage our own finances in the future, therefore we were taught math.

However, it was 'important' that we be able to carry on our cultural heritage as adult wizards and witches; therefore, our parents wanted to make sure, personally, that we learned what we needed to.

It was an interesting dichotomy, though I wasn't sure if it meant our parents cared about Draco and I as their children or continuing tradition more. I would have ruminated on the subject further, but our parents parted at that moment, stepping away from each other and moving Draco and I into position, adjusting our arms and limbs before slowly pushing us into motion.

Then Draco stepped on my foot.

My eyes shot upwards from where they had been positioned on my feet, locking with my elder brother's eyes even as my jaw clenched to keep from crying out. A mirror-image of my own silver-gray orbs reflected a knowing smugness even as he murmured an apology.

Even as we moved back into formation, I felt Mother and Father's gazes on us.

"Draco," Father chastised, "do be more careful. It would be unsightly if such actions were repeated in a formal setting."

"Yes Father," Draco demurred.

We made it through the first waltz without further incident.

"Excellent," Mother smiled. "Now, try to keep up as your Father and I show you something a bit more complicated."

As we stepped to the side and our parents began to demonstrate, I glanced towards Draco, who replied with a silent sneer.

"Stop stepping on my toes," I hissed quietly.

"Make me," he replied, eyes sliding back to watch our parents as my own did likewise.

"If you mess up, we'll have to spend more time dancing together," I reasoned, trying to appeal to my brother's common sense. If he wanted to duke it out, fine, but this wasn't the time or place.

It occurred to me too late that 'common sense' and 'reason' had never been Draco's strong suit.
Rebellion and irritation flashed in Draco's gaze, "You're lying. You're just afraid of me stepping on your feet. Scaredy-cat."

I bit my tongue, not wanting to inflame the argument further.

Instead, I focused on memorizing the steps of the new dance; it was a faster two-step, though, and was rife with Draco's 'missteps.' Although Lucius and Narcissa took turns correcting us, by the time the lesson was over my feet were starting to swell under repeated and painful 'accidents.' When, by the final round, Draco moved to crush my right foot again, I had had enough.

As his foot came forward, mine slid around to the inside and hooked his ankle.

With a deft yank, I offset Draco's balance, sending him crashing backwards.

Unfortunately, I underestimated the hold he had on me, bringing my own form down on top of him. We settled onto the hard, dark wood of the ballroom floor in a resoundingly loud noise in the quiet space. As he pushed me aside roughly, I nearly snarled in Draco's direction even as he looked ready to spit fire. My fists balled and I took a deep breath to keep from punching the little snot in the face.

There is fury, but within, peace.

I felt the red haze begin to recede as my Occlumency exercise began to take hold.

There is weakness, but within, strength.

My muscles began to relax as I began to stand slowly, keeping my focus.

There is wrath, but within, grace.

I exhaled, my face relaxing into placid calmness before frosting over in a chilly mask.

People misunderstand the point of Occlumency, a mistake I had only truly begun to understand after several weeks of study. Occlumency isn't really the art of 'defending your mind,' although it lets one do so in the event of Legilimency being used upon you. Instead, I was beginning to realize that to 'master' Occlumency, I needed to master my own mind, body, and emotions.

...although, even that was a flawed ideology.

You didn't ever really 'master' Occlumency. You couldn't 'master' it any more than you could 'master' painting or the violin. It is, in a very real way, an art. You can be a Master Occlumens, just like someone could call you a Master Painter, but...

There was no point at which an individual could 'finish' Occlumency, just an ongoing and never-ending struggle to attain mastery over oneself.

It was a terribly abstract discipline which demanded both long-term study and an individualized approach. Remembering Severus' demanding 'clear your mind,' was confusing when the book recommended nothing of the sort. After my first few steps, though, I had formulated the theory that my Godfather was teaching Harry Potter the only way he knew how...the way he had been taught. Of course, that meant Serverus' education on the subject had likely been life-or-death, with a steep learning curve.

The realization made Severus a bit easier to handle at holidays.

He still doesn't understand how to let go of a bloody school-yard grudge, though...

"I'm all right, Mother," I soothed Narcissa as she frantically looked over me, then my brother.

As Mother was occupied, Draco's eyes snapped to mine, promising revenge.

I felt bitter anger rise up within me, threatening to burst forth in a crescendo of violence.

There is a storm, but within, stillness.

I'd read stories were people used the 'flame and void' or whatever it was called, but I'd never read whatever series it came from and didn't really know the reasoning behind it. Instead of any real 'visualization' tool, I kept my mind abstract. I didn't really need to picture or change my thoughts into some kind of anthropomorphic representation to keep them focused.

I think my passive disregard of my brother's anger only stoked those flames.

Lucius, our Father, looked on impassively, something dark and calculating in his eyes.

I looked away almost as quickly as I met them, not trusting myself to even be able to sense a mental probe yet, much less deflect it.

"You're both probably tired," Mother consoled us, looking as though she believed her own explanation, "We'll pick your lessons back up on Thursday. Be ready."

In Bad Faith

Since that faithful day, relations between myself and Draco had degraded rapidly from a cold war to thinly-veiled open conflict. Verbal sniping was commonplace, as was insulting each others' taste in everything from entertainment, to recreation, to favorite music. For those who are actually interested, I preferred Blues and Jazz (which was considered a 'cutting edge' trend on the Wizarding Wireless) while Draco had taken a liking to the louder and more violent symphonies of Bach and Beethoven.

It was, perhaps, one of the few arenas that I let myself be 'out-pureblooded' in, given that Draco's tastes were more 'proper' than my own. Well, music and Quidditch, at least...

I'm all for 'Moonlight Sonata' or something that speed, but I can only take the 'Surprise Symphony' so many time before I snap...

I shudder to think what my brother and I would have done with wands.

As it was, we managed to get pretty creative even without the ability to cast spells.

For instance, did you know Floo Powder is also a very effective agent by which to induce sneezing?

Draco does, now at least.

My brother, though, was prone to fighting 'harder' rather than 'smarter' and as a result I would often be hiding a new bruise or two from our parents. Draco took care not to actually hurt me, knowing that the consequences of getting caught in our little 'game' was a removal of privileges and pocket money. He would merely trip me from around a corner or discretely elbow me when an opportunity presented itself.

Looking back on it, I admit the trials of our covert war was a great test of my burgeoning self-control and meditation mantra.

Sadly, each time my brother failed to coax a reaction out of me, it only drove him to new heights.
And well, I learned that I can get really...creative when pushed far enough.

The conflict had escalated to the point where both Draco and I began visiting friends as much as possible merely to get a little peace, quiet, and security. The knowledge that I couldn't get back at him while he was over at Crabbe's or Goyle's and that I wouldn't be assaulted by him when I was at the Carrow's or the Black's gave each of us some breathing room...

...and time to regroup.

This week, under the pretense of an on-going game of chess with Tarry, I had leveraged my way into Grimmuald Place to continue my exploration in French. I had to admit, after a thorough grounding in Early Middle English, which had a great many French loan-words, it was significantly easier to pick up the tongue than I had thought. The benefits of my preparation, though, were counteracted by the fact that my 'teachers' were the same age as I...at least until Father had finally granted me permission to start formal tutelage in the tongue. Now conversing with Tarry and Virgo was merely extra practice.

"Ready to go, Desdemona?" Narcissa asked, looking me over. Even though it was a largely informal visit, I was still expected to maintain a certain level of propriety regarding my appearance and decorum.

My head held high, I gave the older woman a barely-there smile, "Of course, Mother."

"Very good child," Narcissa nodded as her inspection ended. "Be sure to remind Cousin Regulus that he has promised to visit for dinner next week."

"Absolutely Mother," I replied, accepting the pinch of Floo Powder and called out the name of my destination loudly and clearly before stepping into the green flames.

An extremely disconcerting moment later, complete with motion sickness-inducing spinning, I stepped free from another fireplace carefully holding down my gag reflex.

Rollercoasters? Sure. Dead Drop rides? Great. Spinney Carnival things? No. Just effing no.

Taking a deep breath and running through my mantra again, I opened my eyes to the not-terribly-surprising figure of Regulus Black standing imposingly in the center of the Drawing Room.

"Lord Black," I intoned carefully, bowing the proper measure and lowering my eyes to the floor.

If you bow to an equal, keep your eyes on them. If you bow to someone of significantly higher station or an individual who demands respect, they'd be able to kill you anyway so don't bother trying to watch them.

It was a code of behavior left over from the Dark Ages, when Family and Clan meant significantly more than it did today, respect as well. The idea was that if you were already in front of someone who could kill you almost without repercussions (or someone you couldn't afford to offend for any number of reasons), then you were to throw yourself fully onto the host's mercy by showing them the nape of your neck.

It was archaic, rigidly unbending tradition.

It was the defining characteristic of Pureblood society.

"Desdemona Malfoy, welcome to my home," Regulus replied, his tone even and blank. "Virgo and Sagittarius aren't due back for another two hours, but sit please. I would find it relaxing to have someone to talk to other than my mother for once."

The hairs on the back of my neck rose as a tendril of unease crawled up my back.

There wasn't anything...wrong, necessarily with Regulus' request, but something nearly instinctual objected. I shrugged it off and stepped over to the chair I had been offered. "Thank you, Lord Black, though I have to wonder what conversation I could offer that the esteemed Lady Black could not."

'Lady' and 'Lord' didn't exactly have the same meanings for wizards as they did for muggles. For instance, there was always the perception that applying either appellation promoted the individual to some level of nobility.

...which wasn't quite true, though any proper pureblood would affirm the myth

The idea behind these titles, when they were used in the wizarding world at least, was that the head of a wizarding family (male or female) was the defacto sovereign of their lands with an authority that superseded (theoretically, at least) the king or queen of the country. The actual practice of 'Occult Exclusion' (in that magical land holdings are legally removed from the muggle domains) really ended centuries ago...and was re-instituted after the Statute of Secrecy.

The original power of wizards to consider themselves sovereign rulers of their own family lands dates back from a time before the Wizards' Councils, which was the predecessor of the Ministry of Magic. The Wizards' Councils slowly subsumed this authority from the Family Heads (or stole, depending on your interpretation of history) and, subsequently, the Family Heads who retained significant political power in the late 1700's tried to retake that power.

This is the root cause of an enormous amount of the friction between the wizarding governments of the world and the traditionalist pureblood communities (at least, from the countries I've been able to read up on). When the Statute of Secrecy was actually signed by international committee, the language they used to define how this 'Secrecy' would be enacted was...vague.

Just like the various constitutions and treaties of the muggle world, wizards argue over the intentions of those who wrote the document. The fundamental argument goes something like this:

Is it the responsibility of the national wizarding governments to uphold Wizarding Secrecy?

Or, is it the responsibility of the traditional Heads of Families to do so, owing to their Ancient and Noble Rights as Sovereign Landholders who should, therefore, be in charge of the national governments?

In the muggle world, you don't mention religion, taxes, or politics in polite conversation.

This holds true for the Wizarding World as well, for different reasons.

All of this amounted to the fact that it was a grave insult and terrible rudeness to refer to a head of family or adult heir or heiress by anything other than Lord or Lady unless you are very familiar with them.

"You would be surprised at how few kind words or sage advice the Lady Walburga has for me these days," Regulus said quietly, sadly, as his eyes began staring off into the distance.

I could imagine. The woman was likely a harpy to anyone who got on her bad side. "Lord Black, it should not be her fault, I think...she is very ill."

The verbal admission brought a shallow nod from the man, acknowledging what we both knew to be true.

Walburga Black was not long for this world.

"Where are my manners?" Regulus suddenly asked aloud, "Mother would have my skin if I should be so rude to family. Kreacher!"

At the bark, a house elf appeared, dressed in a customary pillowcase and bowed politely. "Master Regulus wishes something?"

"Pumpkin Juice, please Kreacher?" Regulus asked politely.

I froze slightly, though I think I covered the faux paus well enough. Even as the elf disappeared, I pondered the fact that Lord Black had asked one of his house elves to do something, instead of ordering it.
Him! Kreacher is a HIM. Dobby is a HIM. Elves deserve that much at least. Fucking Pureblood brainwashing! Ugh!

"So, you and my children have become quite close," Regulus observed, sipping at his drink moments later.

"I would not wish to assume overmuch familiarity," I replied neutrally. "Your Lordship's children are what I would consider friends, though."

Regulus peered at me steadily, his eyes sharpening as I spoke the word 'friend' aloud.

"When I was a child, my father told me that to a proper member of our society, friends do not exist. You are either family, an ally, an expendable resource, or an obstacle. I would have your opinion on this, young Malfoy," Regulus ordered.

I didn't let myself react, forcing my breath to remain calm and unhurried. Inside, I was nearly panicking. There were so many ways this could go badly.

"I think," I began and paused to collect my thoughts, "That there is wisdom in your father's words. It is sound advice from a politician as skilled as Orion Black, although..."

Regulus was staring at me, not quite invitingly, but...challengingly?

I decided to brave whatever test or whim this was. "...there is more to life than merely politics."

Although Lord Black tried to meet my eyes, I deftly avoided the probing orbs. An oppressive silence weighed in after my completed answer.

"So you believe my father's advice to be merely...incomplete, rather than wrong?" Regulus asked, though I wasn't entirely sure the question was wholly directed at me.

It seemed as though Regulus was looking for something...more than just an answer to his question.
I obliged him regardless of whether I was right or wrong in my assumption, starting out with surety, but quickly listening to melancholy seeping into my own voice, a tumult of unexpected emotions rising up within me. "Life without someone to call a friend would be...difficult. Lonely. Friends are...important; they are people who shield you from harm, comfort you when you are sad, hold you up when life becomes to much."

I'd lost myself, thinking of old and new faces, somewhere along the way and cleared my throat, which had suddenly constricted. "Friendship is...complicated, but worth it."

I let my eyes, suspiciously wet, shift back to Regulus from where they had drifted to watch the roiling fire.

The look on Regulus' face was...

...so many things I couldn't possibly begin to describe.

"You know...your father was a seventh year when I started Hogwarts," Regulus eventually said, his voice contemplative. "I remember him...and I can't say he's changed that much from his school days. Your mother and I knew each other quite well when we were children, too...despite the age gap."

Leveling another unreadable gaze at me, he frowned thoughtfully.

"I cannot begin imagine how they managed to raise a child like you."

My fists balled, despite the fact that I was fairly sure it wasn't intended as an insult.

"And then again...you're as proud as Lucius and Narcissa combined, when I look at you the right way. You're cunning and intelligent, just like your parents. Perceptive, shrewd, and cold...I can see them in you...but at the same time you don't act anything like them. If Draco had learned that the mother of my children was a mudblood, I think he would have run to your father faster than a broom in flight. Why didn't you?"

Ah...so that is what all of this is about.

I relaxed a bit as the reason behind the probing became clear. I'd actually been awaiting this conversation, this confrontation, for months. When Regulus failed to say anything, merely watching me like a hawk when I came over to play Virgo and Sagittarius, I relaxed my guard.

And that'll show me. Point to you, Lord Black.

I swallowed, knowing this was the moment of truth. Instead of making a terribly forward proclamation about pureblood and muggleborn equality, I had already decided to (months ago, when Regulus could have asked me this question at any time) go with something a little more neutral.

Something safe.

Something that wouldn't actually get me punished if it got back to my parents, merely a stern conversation about dangerous ideas.

"If there was something wrong with muggleborns," I emphasized the term carefully. "then it would be self-evident. If there was something wrong with a muggleborn's blood, then you would be able to notice it in their children. If my parents and their guests couldn't notice anything wrong with your children, then I can hardly be blamed for misunderstanding the situation, can I?"

Another long silence as I drained my Pumpkin Juice.

"For someone who doesn't think much of politics, I think you'd be awfully good at it," Regulus eventually said, his gaze speculative, "You're very good at answering a question without saying anything."

"I must politely disagree, Lord Black...I believe I said a great deal," I replied, feigning an obtuse misunderstanding.

Regulus snorted, "I suppose you did at that, Desdemona Malfoy. I think I've kept you long enough, though. My mother wanted to speak with you."

My eyebrows rose even as I stood to follow the older man out of the Drawing Room. On the cusp of exiting the doorway, though, he stopped abruptly, but did not turn to meet my gaze. "I don't think I have to warn you that this conversation is not something your father or mother needs to be made aware of, do I Desdemona?"

"I would have to inform my parents of anything untoward," I replied ambiguously, "but a conversation concerning my interactions with Lord Black's children wouldn't be anything unusual even if they should ask."

At this, Lord Black shot me a long look over his shoulder, before turning and continuing towards the stairs.

I decided to brave a question for myself. "Are Virgo and Sagittarius visiting their mother?"

Another silence stretched between my question and his answer, so much so that I occupied myself with watching the portraits as they moved about. Finally, Regulus spoke.

"Yes, she's staying with family in Italy. She, much like my mother, is ill," Regulus answered.

"I'm sorry," I replied honestly, catching the undertone that intimated it was not a temporary kind of sickness.

"From what they've told me of her, she sounds like a good woman."

"She is," Lord Black answered quietly.

We didn't speak to each other further.

I kept my own counsel as I pondered mine and Lord Black's exchange.

In Bad Faith

Walburga Black was, at one point in time, a beautiful young witch.

I'd seen pictures of her in the society pages of a Daily Prophet from forty years prior, when her marriage to Orion Black was announced. It was evidently the talk of the pureblood upper crust for months and I'd kept a copy of the front-page wedding photo for my growing genealogy.

Through pure coincidence, the year she and Orion had gotten married was also the year a certain Dark Lord graduated from Hogwarts and, as Head Boy, had a small picture of his own placed in the society pages as well. As I collected information by luck, coincidence, and other covert means, I added the a certain stack of papers buried under a mass of inconsequential birth certificates in my room: a slowly growing file on the life and times of Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Enough of his life had lined up with what I already knew that I felt fairly certain of his identity as Lord Voldemort. Still, I was irritated that there was so little in terms of paper records regarding the mysterious child who would become the most prominent figure short of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter in recent history. Riddle had been careful, leaving just the barest dregs of records.

I had the Prophet article which recorded his Special Services Award.

I had the news clippings from the theft of supposedly valuable artifacts from Borgin & Burkes.

I had a few other documents scrounged up (and a few outright stolen from the Ministry archives) that were related to Riddle and the Gaunt Family...the Prophet articles concerning the arrest of his uncle and the subsequent death record, but not much else.

This was the kind of frustration Dumbledore had felt when trying to track his wayward student down, I knew.

Even with my head start, it had taken me nearly an entire year to find barely anything.

Then again, Dumbledore had the advantage of not needing to maintain the cover of a seven-year-old. I was terribly limited in what I could sneak and thieve without doing something or being somewhere that would arouse suspicion. After all, one could only 'get lost' so many times without it getting back to my father (or without them calling my father to come get me, which would be bad).

I banished these thoughts as we stepped up to the dark oaken door and Regulus knocked.

Grimmuald Place hadn't deteriorated quite to the extent it had under Kreacher's watch and, without the trauma of Voldemort's potion and Regulus' death, the Elf seemed much more inclined to actually 'clean' rather than merely sort and categorize the decay of the building.

"Enter," a weak voice, trying to be strong, called out.

The Walburga Black of today was a wizened wretch of her former self. She had deteriorated a bit from the last time I'd seen her nearly a month before, but it had been obvious for years that the sexagenarian was living on borrowed time.

She was slowly dying.

I bent at the waist again, showing her the respect of a Lady of the House even as I noted Regulus closing the door behind me, leaving me alone with the older woman. "Lady Black, you asked to see me."

A wheezing sigh escaped her as she swept back a few locks of graying black hair, "Desdemona, such a well-manner girl. You have much of your mother in you, child."

After what Regulus had said, the compliment tasted bitter, but I took it for what it was. "You honor me, Lady Black."

She was quiet for a moment, studying me as I righted myself. Her steel-gray eyes flickered over me, searching for imperfections and I mentally thanked Mother for being so exactingly demanding in my preparations.

"Kreacher!" The woman barked suddenly, and I barely kept myself from jumping in fright. When the Elf appeared, Walburga speared him with a gold gaze and demanded, "Tea."

The Elf bowed and disappeared after a quick, muttered, "Yes, Mistress."

With the instruction given, Lady Black looked back towards me, giving me a cool glance. "Kreacher has been ordered to inform me when any guests arrive, child. It told me when you arrived...yet even though I had informed Regulus you were to be sent to me immediately, he kept you for some time. What did my son speak to you of, Desdemona?"

Loaded question, much? Okay, how best to answer her...of course, she probably knows exactly what we talked about if that ruddy elf was listening...or the portraits were spying. Damn it, I've got to be more careful. So...salvage the situation, damage control.

"We talked of my reasons for consorting with his children, Lady Black," I said, completely honestly if entirely misleading. "Lord Black-"

"That disappointment will never be Lord Black!" Walburga spat and devolved into a coughing fit. As tea arrived I hurried myself in pouring the ill woman a cup before easing it to her mouth.

"Kreacher! Potion!" Walburga ordered the Elf through her hacking.

After her fit had settled down and a drought of some glimmering substance had been emptied, the woman regained her stately reclining posture. "Thank you, Desdemona...and please, call be Aunt Walburga, child."

"Thank you, Aunt Walburga...and I apologize for exciting your condition so," said with honest grief. She might have been a terrible person, a bitter old soul with little left in the world but stubborn meanness, but...she was also family.

And an old woman in pain.

The decapitated Elf heads on the staircase flashed in my mind and I pushed the thought away.

Why can't life ever be simple?

"Not your fault child...and let us dispense with the fiction that I am unaware of the specifics of Regulus' discussion with you," Walburga ordered imperiously, as if she had not been on the verge of collapse moments before. "You are a mudblood sympathizer."

Expecting the allegation, I showed no response even as my insides twisted in panic.

"The only sympathies I have are with House Malfoy and House Black," I answered honestly, though incompletely. Unless Harry Potter turned out to be possessed by the shard of Voldemort's soul in his scar (or some other dark magic) I was going to covertly back him against Riddle.

"And what of your words to my son?" Walburga pressed mockingly, derision in her gaze. "That a pureblood could not notice a halfblood or mudblood in their midst? That you would not be telling you parents of my son's...indiscretion?"

"I would not presume to air my family's dirty laundry to those who might allow the information to leak in...more public ways," I explained, rationalizing my choice as best I could. "As to your earlier observation, I believe that a pureblood's superiority is self-evident...there is little point in deriding and insulting those who are already beneath you...especially if you are tied to them by blood."

There was something like a smile on Walburga's face as I finished.

It wasn't what anyone sane or rational would call a smile...it had too much cunning and cruelty in it...to much resentment and anger at the world.

All of the reasons I had given were technically true. My Mother, for all of her virtues easily apparent to me, was a terrible gossip when she held her court of lovely little pureblood wives. I was actually a bit surprised at the way they pandered to the latest bit of titillating news trickling down from the newest scandal...though I suppose I shouldn't have been. Gossip was currency in those circles, just as with muggles.

Which reminds me...I have to think up a new excuse to get out of this week's Tet-a-Tet.

"What Hogwarts House do you believe you will be in, Desdemona?" Walburga decided on asking, tearing the conversation away with whiplash speeds to a new subject.

"Ravenclaw," I answered without hesitation, proud of the fact and having put a lot of thought into it. Seeing as how my 'strategy' for life so far consisted of hiding and not drawing attention to myself, it was the perfect house. I checked all of the requisite characteristics and it would allow me to stay in good standing with my parents while flying 'under the radar' so to speak.

Although...maybe I should have been less honest? Maybe for...I don't know? That exact reason?!

"It would be a tragedy if you are not sorted into Slytherin," Walburga commented dryly, staring at me intently. "Though...I suppose children do end up in unexpected places..."

Her voice faded as she went on, probably thinking of her oldest son, even now rotting away in Azkaban, and the surprise of his own sorting. Guilt at knowing I might be able to get him out burned in my throat even as my imagination painted the misery of his existence. I stilled my tongue, though. Even though the 'crime' he was imprisoned for looked exactly like the one depicted in the books...I couldn't be sure. I had to be sure before I got a criminal out of jail...someone who might be a raving lunatic in this world...or a bloodthirsty Death Eater.

I have to be sure.

Suddenly interrupting the silence between us, two people lost in guilt for different reasons, Kreacher popped into the room. "Master Regulus' spawn have arrived, Mistress."

Walburga and I snapped out of our respective trances, the old woman looking at me once more before nodding, as if she had come to a decision. "Do take care dear...and tell your mother I expect her to visit soon. I trust that you will take care of my grandchildren Desdemona? Halfbreeds as they are...they are dear to Regulus."
I wondered at the request, but nodded before bowing on my way out. "Of course, Aunt Walburga...I'd do anything for family."

Then the door closed and I heaved an explosively silent sigh of relief as I sagged against the opposing wall. Then, paranoia creeping in, I straightened as my eyes snapped around, glaring at the portraits and paintings.

The walls have ears!

The half-hysterical thought made me undeniably and deeply thankful that Malfoy Manor was somewhat less bedecked with ancestral portraits as Grimmuald Place. Even then I resolved to reexamine my usual routines and determine if I was being 'watched.'

Its only paranoia if they aren't out to get you...Constant Vigilance!

Breathing deeply to calm the welling panic, I pondered the conversation I'd just had. It was unlikely that Walburga or Regulus was going to allow Mother or Father to be privy to our conversation, given that it was an embarrassment for the Black family...so much so that Walburga was evidently set on leaving the family Headship to Sirius, even though he was still in prison.

That was...relieving in some ways.

Worrisome in others.

I did wonder at the fact that Narcissa and Lucius hadn't caught on to Sagittarius and Virgo's mixed heritage, but...well I think they were already a little bit scandalized by the fact that Regulus had married an Italian 'pureblood,' rather than come home. Granted, I wasn't sure of the circumstances behind that 'extended vacation' of his either, so he probably obfuscated things well enough for it not to be an issue.

Merlin dammit...I am too young to be worrying about these things! I am not going to get anywhere with this mess anyway...besides, I'm not sure if changing the situation would be beneficial...and I can't do that without explaining why I kept my mouth shut so long anyway...and then there's the knock-on effects!

Palming my face, I took a deep breath and released the tension that had been building, using my mantra to still my thoughts as the tumultuous ocean of my mind became quiet once again. Exhaling once more, I went down to meet Tarry and Virgo. Hopefully they would be better company than their grandmother.

In Bad Faith

The Ministry Archives are a special kind of hell.

I imagine if you took the worst parts of several different professions...librarian, theme park help desk worker, public service individual, and cubicle slave, you would have the kind of job description which most Ministry Archive positions held.

In explanation, it was not so much that the work the archivists did was difficult, it was that the work was unbelievably tedious in nature. In a world without magic, there would be a certain level of difficulty implied in maintaining a functional library of government documentation that spanned centuries...

...but, in a world of magic, it was reduced to a simple 'swish & flick.'

Evidently, there was a whole suite of spells related to categorization and organization of books, forms, papers, etc... Much like the Ministry's inter-office mail used a very specific charm to fold and animate paper airplanes out of memorandums, the archive's spells focused on keeping every document in line with their organizational system.

It was a marvel of modern bureaucracy.

It was literal acres of shelves upon shelves, upon shelves housed in immense, magically-expanded rooms. If one had the time, patience, and willingness, it was conceivable that you could find literally anything processed by the wizarding government of the United Kingdom.

As such, the majority of the archive's employees spent their time answering simple questions and solving simple problems for people who couldn't be bothered to read simple instructions. Well, that, and lazily waving their wands to send various documents back to where they should have been after idiots laid them down in the wrong places.

I sighed and resolved myself to the search materials before me.

"Close, close, close," I tutted under my breath, the sound of my own voice comforting in the noiseless void between the isles. "I've been 'close' for a month..."

Theoretically speaking, I was nearly done researching the last hundred years' worth of Malfoy family members and the extraneous pureblood relations associated with our line. Really, I had already picked over the last three-hundred-years' worth of information on my family and condensed it into a fairly comprehensive guide to everything 'Malfoy.'

At this point, my 'genealogy' was largely a fiction to allow me continued access to the Ministry archives.
But something is bugging me, something is bugging the buggering hell out of me...

It was the specific point in history at which things went 'off the rails.'

What served as the hypothetical point where the canon Harry Potter timeline diverged from the one in which I lived and, to the best of my ability, I had tracked it down to between 1930 and 1950. Sure twenty years might seem like a long stretch of time, but compared to the millennia I'd started out with, I'd come a long way merely by working backwards.

Of course, I hadn't found the point of divergence itself, but I was fairly sure it had something to do with Tom Riddle's birth or Gellert Grindlewald's rise to power.
Which was all kinds of Not Good.

It was also a bit of a relief.

On the one hand, it meant the horcruxes might be completely different and I might not be able to lend any appreciable aid to the Golden Trio, which would be bad. On the other hand, it meant that I, Desdemona Malfoy, was not the cause of a potentially disastrous departure from a 'safe' timeline.

It meant that my potential knowledge of the future might be worthless.

It meant I was able to sleep soundly at night again.

But what is it?!

I was so occupied by my thought, gazing at the general area where I thought a clue might lie, that I almost didn't hear the footsteps. They were quiet, barely there even against the numbing silence of the archives room. Restraining myself, I mimed looking at my pocket watch (wristwatches were terribly muggle devices according to Father) to get a glance behind me using the mirrored surface on the inside of the watch cover. My lips twitched at the upside down figure reflected in the concave surface.

"You know, your brother is probably out harassing a flock of birds right now," a snide, disdaining voice drawled. I smothered a grin, knowing he wouldn't appreciate it.

Okay, so Godfather has grown on me a bit...granted, he's still a foul obnoxious greasy bat, but...well, he's also an incredibly snarky, witty, and intelligent adult that actually listens to me on occasion. Mother and Father...they're good parents, but they are still my parents.

"Godfather," I said, enunciating the word clearly and cleanly while maintaining an austere calmness on my face. "This is a pleasant surprise...did the closing ceremonies at Hogwarts go well? I assume Slytherin won the House Cup again?"

It had been one of the many things Severus liked to subtly gloat over in my presence. It had taken a few months to piece it together, but I'd come to the conclusion that my Godfather was trying to push me towards 'choosing' his own house rather than Ravenclaw. I think he hoped that I would make up for the the rather...unintelligent sibling who was nearly predestined for green and silver.

"As well as the Quidditch Cup," Severus said pointedly. "Of course, the old fool attempted to sabotage the award as he does every year, but a dunderhead Gryffindor provided liberal excuses to cut the legs out from under his argument."

Idly, I wondered who he was talking about since, if memory served, the Weasley Twins wouldn't be at Hogwarts until the next year. "Congratulations, Godfather...though I can't help but wonder what it is that brings you to the Ministry Archives."

It wasn't a question, since it was rude to so directly pump my elders for information, but it was a fairly neutral prompt for an explanation.

In other words, what brings you to this neck of the woods, Professor Greaseball?

"Your birthday is approaching," Severus said with equal neutrality. "I was in the Ministry on business with your father and he mentioned you were still plumbing the depths of the archives after I inquired as to what you desired as a gift. I've looked at some of your work on tracing the Malfoy lineage and thought that it might be perhaps worth my time to look at your research process...though I wonder what you are doing in so recent a set of documents as opposed to an older group of resources."

I took a moment in composing my reply.

I'd gotten significantly less nervous and anxious around Snape over the past few years, though he still tended to make my neck hairs rise with his presence. Finally, I smiled, "Actually, I've found a divergent line of my family which separated in the late seventeen hundreds, but they seem to disappear during Grindlewald's reign."

Snape nodded once and likely disregarded the matter. As long as I didn't give him reason to pry, he'd respect my privacy, thankfully. It didn't hurt, of course, that I took care to always be scrupulously honest with my godfather...as well as my parents, but I made sure to always give the authority figures in my life a perfectly, completely, and misleadingly honest answer whenever the situation called for it.

Some people defined a lie as 'an untruth told with the intent to deceive.'

I defined a lie as 'an untruth told to deceive with malicious or harmful intent.'

So, yes, I did deceive my parents, my godfather, the parents of my friends...I never shared the full truth with anyone. I imagine I even felt guilty about it from time to time when I fell into a ponderous mood over the moral difficulties present to me in this life.

...but, regardless of what I did, I pursued those courses of action which I believed would ultimately have my friends and family survive the next wizarding war.

So, when I told Severus that I'd found a branch of the Malfoy family living in Germany which disappeared around Grindlewald's time, I was being perfectly honest, but not completely so.

Because, even though I knew far too much about Severus Snape to call him a decent human being, sometime over the course of the last several years he'd become a person that I enjoyed having around and considered something of a surly and disgruntled 'uncle.' Maybe it was because he was actually protective of myself and Draco. On the rare occasion he'd taken either of us to Diagon Alley on a day trip or been charged with babysitting duty, he took the position with deadly seriousness. He never let Draco or myself put ourselves in any position which might, in any way, become threatening or dangerous, ever. He was terribly overprotective.

It was actually kind of endearing.

So, of course I couldn't tell him that I was researching Voldemort, Dumbledore, Harry Potter, and the Dark Lord Grindlewald.

He would be...perturbed at my rather worrisome hobby.

I blinked suddenly, my mind having wandered while Godfather was speaking. "I'm sorry Godfather, could you please repeat that...I'm not sure I heard you correctly."

Severus frowned as his eyes cut across the row of files and archives we stood in. After a long moment, he took out his wand and made several complex movements. I shivered slightly as I felt the spicy, electrical tingle of magic trickle over and through me before settling around us in a circle. Though he cast silently, I had the odd hunch that the spells he was invoking were aimed towards secrecy and concealment. It made sense that if Godfather was going to discuss a sensitive topic, he'd take measures against being overheard, but to be so blatant about it...

"...I dislike repeating myself, Desdemona, but on this one occasion I will accommodate you. I asked you: How much do you know of the Prince family line?" Snape pressed.

I pursed my lips in thought, swallowing as I contemplated my options.

"Admittedly little, Godfather. I've come across mention of a few members during my readings, but nothing detailed." I eventually stated, my tone cautious and wary.

Snape pinned me with a narrowed gaze before nodding judiciously. "There is a significant amount of galleons as well as family memorabilia relating to the Prince line resting in a Gringotts vault. Due to a series of difficulties in tracing the genealogy of the Prince family, I find myself unable to claim my rightful inheritance."

The unasked question hung heavy in the air.

"Godfather...aren't there more qualified individuals who could accommodate your request better than I," I asked with a calm tone. Had Godfather really just commissioned a documentation of his family line from an eight year old?

Severus' face soured and his head turned away from me.

"...more qualified? Certainly. Willing to do so without a very large bribe? None in the British Isles. Should you continue to pursue this line of research, Desdemona, you will likely find that such skills are in dire demand among the pureblood upperclass. There are few individuals among our society who are willing to devote the time and energy necessary to properly document a family line and the fees they charge are exorbitant in nature. Family lines are often called into question by individuals seeking to degrade another line's 'purity' and, therefore, their social standing."

I nodded slowly, pieces slotting into place.

It was just another aspect of the complex game of one up-man-ship that purebloods were fond of. "But Godfather...I thought the ministry didn't have control over Gringotts?"

Which had been...a bit of a shock, to be honest. Intellectually, I understood that having what was effectively a foreign nation control your currency had been done before in history, by empires and kingdoms of all shapes and sizes. Even Rome had had something similar in place and Renaissance-era nations had owed tremendous sums to privatized Italian bankers, but the idea of a national currency not being controlled by a modern government was...startling. Although, it could be that the goblins maintained an international currency by way of-
I shook myself. Something to look up later.

Snape had grimaced before explaining, "True enough, though if I were to remove gold enough to use, Desdemona, or any of my family's belongings, then I run the risk of having them confiscated by overzealous ministry workers without an adequate proof, or at least a bluff, of my lineage."

I narrowed my gaze, thinking furiously with a sudden intensity.

Severus Snape was worried about ministry workers knocking down his door and confiscating anything he couldn't 'prove' he owned. Snape was, presumably, in both Dumbledore and my father's pockets for various reasons...and he could probably go to either of them to get the items or money returned, but that would also incur debt to the person he asked to intervene for him. That was likely the real reason he was asking me; anything I asked for was likely a lot less painless than a favor for Dumbledore or Lucius Malfoy.

But...there was also the fact that the ministry could just 'raid' a house.

Did they need a warrant? I scanned my hazy recollection of the books, but didn't find any indication of such. Was it truly possible that the magical ministry could conduct groundless, or rumor-based (which was worse), searches and seizures if the family was not powerful enough to resist?

The idea was simultaneously horrifying and...

...it explained so much.

The implications were vast. If it was entirely possible for a ministry team to enter and search a private domicile without any real grounds for suspicion merely to seize goods and wealth...well, it was true that I'd never heard my father mention any form of estate, income, or inheritance tax, but...

Did that mean the ministry essentially ran on fines, estate seizures, and the like?

I would...need to look that up, soon.

Even if it meant asking father.

My gaze still distant, I nodded to Godfather, "I'll need time...a few months? If I'm to make it a good enough forgery to pass ministry examination."

His sneer twitched slightly, satisfied, as he turned to idly peruse the shelves, "...and your compensation?"

I blinked as my mind switched gears to another subject. Obviously Godfather was equating my birthday present to whatever payment I demanded for services rendered.

Options, options, options...let's see, I've always wanted a Bag of Holding, but I'm pretty sure I've dropped enough hints about that to Mother, even if she doesn't understand why I could possibly want something like that. Hmm...there's no way Mother or Father are getting me Omnioculars seeing as how they're so close to 'carnival fare' in terms of gifts...but I can buy one of those myself at a Quidditch game. Okay, this is Snape we're talking about...there's probably something on my long list of things I'd love to have that he can get me...

The hardest part of answering his question wasn't coming up with something, it was narrowing down my options. There were a great many just plain nifty toys that the magical world treated as everyday appliances and even, or especially, the unusual and hard-to-get ones were endlessly useful. Still, there was something which I wanted, mainly for future use and...

"Vanishing cabinets," I said shortly, very little of my ingrained politeness showing.

Snape blinked, his expression turning a bit mulish as he contemplated the rather expensive nature of the gift.

"I'll think on the matter," Snape finally said, even as I struggled not to break out in a grin.

In Bad Faith

My journals had been a particularly inspired move on my part.

Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was quite proud of remembering a little 'trick' I'd learned during my last childhood. Even as an adult, but especially as a kid, I'd loved keeping secrets; the idea that I could ferret away information or treasures where no one else could find them was extremely enticing. To that end, I'd used 'invisible ink' to write out...

...well, during my last childhood, it hadn't been anything particularly important. Little doodles and a few biting remarks about an irritating teacher that I hated...but the important part of it was that I could hide them at will from my parents or my friends or siblings at will.

It had all been in good fun back then.

Now, it was a way to keep my mind straight.

In the stack of slim notebooks my mother had given me, I'd devoted the fronts of pages to my everyday life, dreams, and various things that Desdemona Malfoy needed to keep track of. On the backs of the pages, using a fountain pen I'd had Dobby procure for me, I wrote down my real secrets...

Vinegar is just about the best, cheapest, most common invisible ink someone can easily get their hands on. Its a little watery, but it reacts to heat and red cabbage water, both revealing agents that are easy to acquire, but unlikely to be exposed to the paper accidentally. If you really want to get a good result, though, mix the vinegar with egg whites and, not only will the result be thicker and easier to write with, but it will react under black light.
No muss, no fuss, no magic.

Take that purebloods.

Carefully dipping the corner of a hand towel into the bowl of shredded red cabbage leaves and water, I wiped the excess fluid on the edge before sliding the slightly damp cloth over the page, my eyes drinking in the crude Old English scrawl that was my final level of 'encoding' and protection. It was sloppy, the spellings irregular and the letters warped to create what was very nearly my own 'dialect' of the language.

"...The First Magic: Denial of Nothingness, application of True Sorcery to violate laws of thermodynamics and create 'something' from 'nothing.' Relation to Conjuration/Advanced Transfiguration? 'Magic' used as substance, like plastic in a mold? Or magic used to induce creation of stable material?"

I shook my head and wiped the page using another cloth, this one with the faint 'tingle' of magic. This piece of fabric had a minor enchantment to clean spills and excess drips on parchment. After a little testing, I'd determined it worked well enough to remove my revealing solution while leaving my 'ink.'

...although I wasn't sure why, given that my ink wasn't really ink at all, but a homebrew concoction that should rightfully categorize as an accidentally spilled fluid and, therefore, be removed from the pages.

Magic...I will never understand magic. Oh well, if it ain't broke, don't fix it.

Shaking my head again, I selected another of my notebooks to search. I was looking for a specific section that I'd written years ago. I remembered the general idea of the few paragraphs, but I needed details if I was going to figure out my current problem. Ever since meeting Godfather in the Ministry Archives a few days prior, I'd had to move a few things around to make time for his 'project.' Add that to the fact that I was still having my normal tutoring sessions, my fencing practices, and a few final etiquette lessons from my mother, my week had been far too busy for my liking.

I yawned.

So sue me, I do need sleep...at least mother is cutting my etiquette classes soon. Its good to see that some problems will actually solve themselves if you let them. Now, let's see...this might be it.

I focused in on the revealed passage.

"...look into Grindelwald-Hitler connection. How intertwined was G.G.'s organization with the Nazi party or German muggle military? Goals? Overt or covert cooperation? Check into Thule Society and Nazi occult leanings. Canon events do not delineate about degree of involvement, but speculation concerning G.G.'s preoccupation with the Hallows points to 'no,' unless using Ahnenerbe and Himmler to search for Stone/Cloak. If so, what was Nazi benefit? Imperius used on/for?"

I bit my lip softly, rereading the short paragraph before pulling out a front-page picture from the Daily Prophet, dated August 3rd 1935. The photo was of a middle-aged Gellert Grindelwald standing next to someone I easily recognized as Adolf Hitler. The two were shaking hands amicably even as the understated figure of Heinrich Himmler lurked in the background near a group of black-robed wizards.

The headline read: German Minister of Magic lays groundwork for Wizarding-Muggle Relations to Improve.
Looking closely, one could just make out the tiny badge of a sword and runic circle pinned to the wizards' cloaks. Sliding the photo into the book with a shaking hand, I wiped away the cabbage-water and shoved the notebook back into its place.

This was not good news.

As 'fun' as I remember it being to speculate about Grindelwald's involvement with the Nazi regime in Germany, there had been nothing to canonically prove such. In fact, given the way I remember the books being written, it was extremely doubtful that such a connection existed. The bulk of Grindelwald's character was his infatuation with Albus...it was probably his devil-may-care attitude about the use of Unforgivables in his search for the Deathly Hallows which earned him the moniker of Dark Lord.

Although, Grindelwald as a historical figure has little enough written about him that its difficult to draw conclusions as to his motivations. This is...just great.

"Why is it always Nazis?" I groaned dejectedly, rubbing a hand over my eyes. "Next thing you know its going to be aliens, demons, Atlantis, and Shangri-La."

I threw myself onto the bed of my much cleaner room. Ever since Father had allowed me to use the West Wing's study for my own purposes, I'd been able to store and organize a great deal of my research materials much more effectively. Now, only a few sets of books which I was currently reading adorned my shelves in addition to my journals and assorted reference tomes. My room had become less 'workplace' and more 'sanctuary,' though I was still cautious of what I left laying about. Really, the only things truly incriminating were my notes on the original 'timeline'...and I was sure enough of their relative safety given my precautions.

"Does this mean anything, though?" I asked my ceiling. As usual, it declined to respond.

It looked as though I had reached the limit of what my non-invasive research could accomplish. Unless I wanted to begin pilfering Auror files and breaking into the Hall of Prophecies or something like that, I was out of luck. Which meant...I didn't have anything to, well...'do.'

There was no way to prepare for the storm I was sure was coming.

Anxiety stirred in my gut even as I called up my Occlumency exercise. Even though the mantra had begun to become second nature to me, the comfort it brought was brittle and chill.

In many ways, I had been clinging to the hope that there was some...pardon the pun, but 'magic' solution to the problems I was facing. I wanted to be able to find that one hidden solution that no one else had thought of...that would solve everything; Harry's imprisonment with the Dursleys, Sirius' at Azkaban, prevent the second rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and give everyone a happy ending. I wanted to be able to prove I was 'special' in some way, something that made be better than even the fantastic world I now lived in.

"I want to be a Mary Sue," I realized, unsure whether I should laugh or cry. "And I call Draco arrogant...he's not trying to take down a Dark Lord all by his lonesome. He's not whining that he's not 'special enough' or some other tripe."

I was silent as the point sank home, a phantom tune from another life lilting through my head.

"Is this real life?...Not just fantasy," I whispered, feeling that I was probably butchering the lyrics. "Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality...heh." Acting on a whim, I stood and snatched my violin from where it was resting, its bow freshly shining with rosin.

Pressing the strings to each other, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting a song I hadn't heard in years flow through me. Even as the notes sang out, truer than I'd though myself capable of, I pondered on my earlier thoughts.

I'm not going to be an entitled ponce in this life. I spent my last life going with the flow...I never broke ranks and did something weird and cool with myself. I kept waiting to 'become special,' for someone to come up to me and hand me fate's wining lottery ticket. So what if I can't magic up a solution to all of life's problems at age eight.

The last note rang free and clear and I exhaled, a half-smile on my face.

I'm Desdemona Malfoy...and I'm going to be the best witch I can be, on my own merit and on my own ability.

I felt...somehow lighter at the though, nearly serene, though the sound of subdued clapping shattered my fragile moment of bliss.

Mother, Narcissa, stood with a beaming smile next to the open door of my room. Obviously, she'd come in at some point during my impromptu solo and merely observed me silently instead of interrupting. An embarrassed, self-conscious flush rose to my cheeks...I really didn't like performing in front of people, at least not with music...or dancing...or flying. Oddly enough, I was okay at public speaking.

"Mother!" I squaked, my voice a few octaves higher than usual, my eyes flickering about as instinct pushed me to 'fight or flight.'

"Oh, hush child," Narcissa smiled, and I was astonished to see her dab at her eyes with a handkerchief. "That was an excellent performance. I dare say you've no more need of lessons if that is the extent of your ability. I shall have to see if Draco's skill is up to par...perhaps we shall arrange a summer duet for the two of you! Yes, out in the gardens...and all of your little friends can come, with their parents, of course!"

I paled.

"A summer equinox brunch? Or maybe a dinner soiree? Yes, I should think that much better. Oh, wait until I tell Lucius, he's been trying to arrange a way to show up that stuffed-shirt Jacob Bones and his wife Helen. I think they even have a girl Draco's age...and a boy your age, Desdemona, if memory serves."
It was like a broom-wreck, I couldn't look away as the situation spiraled out of control. I had seen Mother like this on occasion, usually when she was nattering on with her friends at some afternoon brunch, but...I opened my mouth to object.

"Oh, but look at me, I came to remind you of your fencing lesson, which you are now quite late for. Though I don't know why you insist on that ghastly pastime, Desdemona, you shan't be late; it is unbecoming of a Malfoy. Now, off with you!"

And with that last flurry of words, Mother vanished from whence she came.

I blinked, staring at my empty doorway.

"What."

Happy place...go to the happy place.

In Bad Faith

Thrust.

"Watch your footwork."

Parry.

"Better, left foot a bit more forwards, though."

Riposte.

"Good response, work on your follow-through."

Fencing was an oddity of the Wizarding world, though there were numerous strange aspects of our culture for those who cared to look. Ostensibly a muggle sport, its popularity with the upper class before the Statute of Secrecy was invoked meant it had largely survived the purging of muggle intrests from Wizarding society. There were several theories on why, as numerous other pieces of cultural exchange (such as firearm use, human hand-servants, and Christianity) had died out over the generations since 1689.

Personally, I subscribe to the theory that fencing reminds wizards and witches of the Romantic aspects of the Medieval age, wherein we, as a culture, were considerably more powerful (and relevant) with the world at large. For whatever the reason, though, fencing has survived in Wizarding culture as a niche sport, much less popular than Quidditch, but with a somewhat considerable fan base, especially among the upper echelons of pureblood society.

It's detractors considered it less of a sport, though, and more of a recreational pastime for those with the money and energy to expend on a 'worthless' activity. It's supporters touted it as a way to improve coordination, grace, strength and precision in you wand hand and casting, and a way to measure your dedication to a taxing and exacting art.

I liked it because it meant I got to play around with sharp pointy things.

Father had secured the services of a fencing grandmaster, Enrico Sevelle, from Spain, who had retired to Britain a few years before. The man spoke with slightly accented English, occasionally veering into a biting Spanish retort when I made an especially bad mistake or misstep.

His lessons were grueling, torturous affairs with no indication that he was pampering or babying me...and I appreciated the man for it.

"Stop!" He barked, my body freezing in position, as I had been trained to. Pacing to the left, Master Enrico turned his burning blue gaze on my extended sword arm, then my posture, footwork, and finally, my right hand holding the small defensive dagger.

"I do not know why you insist on the Rapier," He spoke finally, his words coming out in a low growl which I had become accustomed to. "You would suit Epee, Foil, or Saber much better. Body type is...not yet right; your arms do not quite have the strength they need for an extended bout."

I breathed in through my nose, controlling the air flow and expanding my diaphragm into my abdomen.

"I prefer the Rapier," I said stoically, looking down the length of my straight blade.

"As you say, again and again," Master Enrico derided lightly. "Though your body does not. Still, far be it for the master to offer advice when it will not be heeded. Switch guards!"

I spun the blade in my right hand, leaving the Rapier to the air as I flipped the main-gauche into my right hand, grabbing the longer blade in my left.

Master Enrico rolled his eyes, "To have a student so obsessed with theatricality, what has become of me?"

I refrained from smiling. Though he might look like a particularly gruff and no-nonsense instructor (and was in many respects), much like Snape he had a witty and sarcastic side which only someone familiar with the man could pick out. Although he derided my 'theatricality' in the way I switched my blades, I could pick up a faint approval of the deft action in his eyes. He had proved tolerant of my quirks as long as they were performed with the same speed and surety as the more standard prescriptions of fencing.

Standing with the Rapier in my left hand, my off-hand, had been odd at first, though I'd grown used to it. The main-gauche in my right was more comfortable, though, even as it reminded me of the particulars of this 'style.'

"Better," he murmured appreciatively. "Does student remember why we practice off-guard positions?"

I bit back a sigh. "After I get my wand, I'll be holding it where the main-gauche is now. I need to get used to maneuvering my right hand independently of my left. This will also strengthen my off-hand grip so that I can strike more surely."

"Good," Master Enrico nodded, adjusting my position slightly. "Every time you block with main-gauche today, you lose point, yes?"

My eyes widened. Points and 'grades' weren't as important here as in my standard tutoring sessions, but a bad review would spell trouble with Father. "But-"

"-wand is not sword. Wand is not dagger. Wand is not main-gauche. Wand is wand," Master Enrico reprimanded sternly. "If you try to block with wand-snap-no more wand. Student understands?"

I cringed. "Yes sir."

As the bout began, I throttled back on my instinctual block with my right-handed weapon, instead maneuvering the longer Rapier in an awkward motion to deflect the blow. In the muggle schools of fencing, the rapier was no longer considered among the accepted blades, primarily because it was less of a 'sport' blade and more of a lethal instrument. It amused me sometimes, when I considered my derision of a wizard's sense of danger on broom-stick and applauded their lack of caution when it came to the conventions of sword-play.
Because of the 'sword and wand' style of fencing wizards had developed so mimicked the play of rapier and main-gauche, the blade had been adopted as the blade of choice in wizarding culture. With the combination of a dulled tip and dragon-hide robes (another reason the sport was considered expensive and unnecessary), the blade very seldom penetrated flesh...

But that doesn't mean it can't leave a nasty bruise!

I flinched from the impact of the weapon on my lowest right rib, which had probably missed breaking by a near margin and bowed with excruciating slowness to my teacher. As I did so, I soothed my mind with my Occlumency exercise and the pain, or at least my awareness of it, slowly ebbed away.

"You miss two openings. Should have lunged when I gave you chance. I am curious...why did you not?" Master Enrico asked, his eyes piercing.

I took a gasping breath, sweat trickling into my eyes. "I didn't want to overextend myself."
The older man frowned, an odd look in his eyes. "Lunge is not overextension. Lunge is killing blow, final strike of the bout. You cannot overextend when bout is finished."

"But someone else could strike, even if you've finished off your opponent," I explained, my rationale obvious...to me, at least.

Master Enrico eyed me through narrow slits, "Curious...you approach the blade like no other student I have taught. For most, the blade is art, to some it is merely amusement, to others still, it is a chore. You approach it as matter of life and death. You show intent to kill even though you have never needed such, to my knowledge."
I would have frozen had the pain in my side been less. As it was, I was exhausted enough for my 'cover' not to matter so much to me. "Swords-gasp-are for killing. Anything less is a sweet and naïve lie. Using a sword is something that-gasp-deserves to be treated with respect, to be taken seriously."

The fencing grandmaster turned away from me, concealing his face either intentionally or unintentionally. "You are strange child, Desdemona Malfoy, very strange. I see problem, though...you will not understand the sword as you wish to. Not until you use sword as you think it should be, at least. That will also be last day I teach you, I think."

My eyes widened, "But Master Enrico-"

"No interrupting!" The man growled, spinning sharply to pin me with a harsh look. "I applaud your tenacity, determination, and discipline...all very good. For me, though...sword is art, beauty...beauty that should not be used to kill. Still, I see much art in your skill...flourishes that are unnecessary, but beautiful. You are contradiction...treat sword as instrument of death, but use sword as something graceful and fluid."

"If you can't do something stylishly, why bother?" I asked, my chest heaving painfully as I struggled to keep upright. "Appearances are important."

That was part of why I liked learning how to use a sword, after all. I knew enough about the real world to treat the discipline with respect and caution, but I also loved the noise a blade made flashing through the air and the shimmer given off by a piece of honed steel as it caught the light just right. My eyes glazed as I imagined a particularly awesome sword-fight from a few different media in my past life.

No matter how you cut it, swords are just cool...and that was an awful pun.

Master Enrico barked out a laugh, a faint smile on his face. "I think...that is all for today. I will see you...Thursday, yes?"

"Yes sir." I nodded, trying to find the least-painful medium between breathing deeply to satisfy my body's need for oxygen and breathing shallowly so as not to aggravate my injury.

In Bad Faith

My ninth birthday came and went.

The party was another exercise in frustration. I suppose I kept sane by interacting with the few individuals I called 'friends.' The Carrow twins were my shadows, at once diligently catering to my every whim and holding me in a certain state of awe due to a combination of my intelligence, maturity, and insight into 'adult' activities and motivations. The Black twins, Sagittarius and Virgo, had become the first real 'friends' I'd made on my own impetus. Tarry was a competent, if not particularly gifted chess player...much like myself; we'd played an enormous number of games, though he was leading by a small margin.

Virgo was...

My friendship with her...

Let me put it this way; I'd once wondered at the meaning of, 'getting along like a house on fire.'

Needless to say, I don't anymore.

Virgo and I liked to argue. We disagreed on everything from tea to music to art to favorite subjects in our respective tutoring. It actually amazed me that we hadn't come to blows over one thing or the other. Despite all that, though, we tended to be each others' staunchest defenders when faced with an external threat.
Much like Draco and myself.

"So what's this one do?" Virgo asked, her eyes intent on the shape taking form before her, even as she jarred me from my reminiscing.

"Its a runic levitation circle," I explained, my paintbrush flowing through the elegant curves. I wasn't quite good enough to free-hand the shapes yet, so my eyes and hand were tracing the thin ink sketch I'd crafted to mathematical perfection. "Pretty basic stuff, really."

"I think you're the only person I know who would call that 'pretty basic,'" Virgo sneered lightly.

"Well, pretty basic for me at least, but then again...we can't all be me, now, can we?" I smirked, keeping my gaze on the celtic knotwork.

"Why do you do that, anyway?" Virgo questioned curiously, ignoring my seeming arrogance.

I hummed lightly, replying to her query.

"That winding...stuff. I've seen pictures in those books of yours, none of the runes or the...bindings? None of what you do looks like looks like what's in the book." Virgo explained, her eyes darting awkwardly over to Tarry, Hestia, and Flora who were playing (or learning how to play in the case of the later two) Go Fish, with a set of muggle playing cards which had the various images on them enchanted to move.

Tarry was passing it off as a secret 'Italian' card game they'd learned from their mother. This served the dual-purpose of explaining where the game came from and pressuring the Carrow twins to keep the muggle-designed cards and game from our parents.

I finished the final section of the outer ring and relaxed, leaning back in my chair and working out the kinks in my back before I answered. "Well...how the runes and the bindings look isn't really important. They're...how did that book put it? 'Representations of magical anchoring sigils used to enact particular effects on the physical plane.'"

"And that means..." Virgo asked, rolling her eyes at the intricate technical terminology I preferred.

"What it looks like doesn't matter," I repeated heedlessly. "You're not supposed to copy the diagrams perfectly...at least, not if you really want to learn anything or create designs in the future. What's important is that you draw them to symbolize what you think of as 'strong,' if that makes any sense."

"And this is what you think of as 'strong,'" Virgo asked, her finger hovering over the curves of black paint. I trusted her not to actually touch the design, she knew that was one of the few things which could actually get me angry.

"The design is Celtic knotwork or braid work. Its what I think when someone says the word 'strong'...flexible, but powerful. A lot of people prefer solid lines, but I've always thought that made the shapes a bit too...brittle. Inflexible, but moderately more powerful." I explained.

Virgo shook her head, "I guess it doesn't hurt that it looks really brill."

I blinked, stumbling for a second on the word before I remembered the oddities of British slang. I was getting better at it, but British was still my second language, as opposed to American. "What does it looking good have to do with anything."

Virgo sneered again, her eyes reflecting good-natured mockery. "Like you don't know...who was it again that spent like three hours trying to get their robes to do that thing Mr. Snape's do?"

"Billow," I corrected quietly, my face heating at the reminder.

Urg, I can't believe I couldn't get it right...I still wonder if it has more to do with your height or if there's some kind of charm or something on the fabric...

"So?" I asked, irritated that the subject was being brought up.

"Do you have to look good doing everything?" Virgo pressed, half ridiculing and half curious.

"What's the point of doing something if you can't look good doing it?" I replied, crossing my arms. "If you want to be blinding, you've got to look badarse." The second my mouth closed, I regretted the sentence I had just spoken.
Argh! British slang is infecting me! Get out of my head!

"I still say you're nutters," Virgo shook her head, dropping back into her chair.

I decided not to argue on the topic. My sanity (or lack thereof) was a constant source of legitimate worry for me; after all, how many people have survived dying, infancy, and the complete obliteration of everything they'd ever known without a few cracks in their brain pan? I'd eventually determined that, should I actually be insane, it was far too late to do anything about and I should enjoy my unusual state of mind.

"Ouch!" Flora cried from her position on the floor, drawing Virgo and my attentions towards her. A hand of discarded playing cards lay on the ground, the seven year old clutching her finger as a tiny cut oozed blood slowly.
Tears welled in the younger girl's eyes even as her sister tried to comfort her.

I gave an imperceptible sigh as I picked up a small white case no bigger than a shoe box from it's resting place next to my nightstand. Stepping up to the injured twin I nestled the box between us and wrapped an arm around Flora, pulling her closer to me.

"Shush," I whispered lowly and gently, meaningless and comforting soft noises coming from my mouth, examining the paper cut. She'd probably never handled the type of finely cut, mass-manufactured paper stock which playing cards were made of. The result was actually a fairly bad papercut, one which went all the way down her finger.
To an eight year old...especially one who only rarely skinned a knee or suffered from other childhood injuries, this was more than enough to cry over.

"Who's a brave girl?" I whispered massaging her arm as I slowly worked my way to the injury. Kids could be twitchy when they were hurt, especially if you just grabbed the part of their body that was hurt and tried to force medical attention on them.

Flora whimpered and I began to hum under my breath, some decades old lullaby that only my subconscious remembered. Even as my right hand tried to persuade Flora to let me see the injury, my left deftly began to pull a potion, salve, and bandage from my box.

In moments, the wound was cleaned with a potion, closed with a salve, and bound with bandages to heal. The whole ordeal had taken less than minute. To top off the incident, I wiped Flora's tears away with my handkerchief and kissed her softly on the forehead. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," Flora whispered, her voice tiny as she and Hestia looked over my patch-job and I put away the healer's kit.

"So that's what your mom gave you," Virgo said quietly, realization rather than curiosity in her words.

"Yeah. Mother is a Healer...or at least, she could be if she wanted to. She takes care of Draco and I when we're sick. She noticed that I was getting a lot of bruises...I told her it was just me being clumsy and tripping over books. She gave me a Healer's Kit, or at least a lot of salves and potions in case I ever got hurt and she was out. Mother's been teaching me how to use them," I explained, closing the box's lid with a 'snap' and looking up.

Virgo's eyes were...curious? Intrigued? Confused?

Something like that.

"What?" I asked.

"You'd make a good Healer," she said solemnly.

I smiled, though my expression was a bit bitter. "Maybe...but, I couldn't imagine doing that every day."

Virgo grunted, an ambiguous noise of understanding, even as I noticed Flora standing in front of me. I raised my eyes further, concerned, and looked at the girl's finger. "What's wrong Flora? Does it still hurt? The salve should have-"

And then I was hit with three stone of flying child.

I stiffened initially, then forced myself to relax. I couldn't quite help the reflexive response, having never been 'touchy-feely' in either of my lives. Still, I didn't want to offend the fragile girl, especially right now. Bending to the inevitable, I wrapped both hands around her and hugged, just as she was doing to me.

Warm...

Something in me relaxed, like a tightly coiled spring finally releasing tension. Even as I felt Hestia silently join in the hug, I wondered at the...contentment that had suddenly consumed me. There was an abstract sense that this might be related to my childhood body affecting my adult mind, but...I couldn't bring myself to care. By chance, my eyes flickered open and saw Tarry and Virgo sitting on the fringes, envy plain on their faces. I sighed...
In for a penny...in for a pound.

"If you two don't get over here right now and help, I'm giving you clothes for your next birthday," I threatened.

Their eyes widened. They knew, even from our relatively short association as friends, that I was vindictive enough to remember that grudge. As they made to pull Flora and Hestia off me, I whispered something into the Carrow twin's ears and shared a dark grin with them. I can't be quite sure what happened next, but the end result was the same.

Five children nearly rolling on the floor in a group hug, giggling...well, childishly.

It was inevitable that the tickling began.

Some indeterminable amount of time later, a voice rang out even as we all took heaving breaths, flushed and still snickering with subdued laughter.

"What are you all doing?!"

My brother, Draco, stood in the doorway.

I was the first to come to my sense enough to give a coherent response, "Its called having fun, Dray-Dray, heard of it?"

Draco colored at the name, "Don't call me that! Besides, you're not acting like a Malfoy! When Father hears of this-"

Good sweet Merlin, this child has a stick up his arse.

"-but Father's not going to find out," I warned, sitting up on my elbows. "Because if he did, I might have to tell him who really broke the greenhouse window last week after you blamed it on a gnome."

Honestly, why Mother doesn't just enchant the glass to be unbreakable, I'll never know. Wizards and common sense are like oil and water...

Of course, I only knew because Draco had done so on his broom and, subsequently, received a few fairly bad cuts. He had come to me, amazingly enough, in favor of avoiding punishment by Mother or Father and I had, ironically enough, used the Healer's Kit Mother had given me to tend to injuries primarily inflicted by my brother in our little prank war.

The combination of pale fear and red anger on Draco's face wasn't appealing.

"Fine," Draco growled, huffing. "I was just coming to see if you wanted to practice our duet pieces for tomorrow, but if you're too busy..."

I sighed, then nodded. "Fine, just let me get my violin. You all may stay in my room while Draco and I adjourn to the West Wing Garden Gazebo to-"

"-we'll come along," Hestia burst in, interrupting me rather rudely. I repressed the urge to chastise her in favor of a light flush of embarrassment.

"That's not necessary-" I began, though I was interrupted again.

"-as a gracious host, of course it is," Draco overruled me snidely. "A Malfoy would never be so gauche as to leave his guests without due entertainment. Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott will be my guests as well, at any rate, so it would only be fair."

The ponce had the gall to smile at me, dark amusement at my stage fright bright in his eyes.

"Of course, Dear Brother," I replied coolly, retribution promised silently in reply.

In short order, Draco and I had taken our places outside, the summer sun already setting for a cooler afternoon. I had to admit, this was one of the 'perks' of my new life. Having been born at a much lower latitude last time, I had always tied summer to feelings of appallingly hot and humid weather. British summers, by contrast, were positively chill.

As I stepped onto the Gazebo and Draco positioned himself on the Piano, I took a moment to appraise myself in one of the many tall mirrors inset into the supports of the Gazebo. Strategically placed, they blended the 'inside' with the 'outside' of the structure, creating the illusion of a much larger space which seamlessly flowed into the outdoors.

The girl reflected in the mirror was thin and lithe, even moreso than a normal eight year old. Though I ate my fill at each meal, I was beginning to suspect I'd inherited a body structure which could only be described as 'willowy.' My eyes were somewhere between steel gray and silver, depending on how the light caught them, while my hair shone either platinum blond or white gold under different conditions. The cascade of pale hair was now down to just beyond my shoulder blades...once it got a bit longer I'd consider braiding it.

My face was what polite society would call 'austere' and a low-class individual might describe as 'pinched.' I was wearing one of my favorite sets of robes, black trimmed in white, with a long skirt which interchanged the colors. My blouse contained both white and black in equal proportions, tracing a snowflake pattern which danced over the silken fabric.

I tried not to think of how many old biddies would insist on praising me as 'cute' on the marrow.

In Bad Faith

The pieces we had picked out had taken nearly a month of compromise.

Draco had wanted only classical pieces, according to his rather brass taste. I had wanted more modern music, faster paced and flecked with jazzy beats. Narcissa had eventually come down on Draco's side of the argument, which disappointed but did not surprise me.

Part of Tchiakovsky's "1812 Overture."

Wagner's "Die Meistersinger."

Von Suppe's "Light Cavalry."

Although many of the pieces weren't really made for our instruments, or had supplemental instruments necessary, I think our renditions worked well enough. I did, though, manage to sneak in a copy of "The Piano Man," which amused me to no end after it got a standing ovation.

Music was a cultural oddity in the Wizarding World. Although it tended towards the conservative, I think there were enough influential people with more progressive tastes (at least secretly), that there was always one or two stations on the Wizarding Wireless playing more modern pieces. I'd yet to find anything like the Weird Sisters from the Goblet of Fire movie, but I retained hope that Wizarding Rock was a recent occurrence. Still, the fact that no one really bothered repressing the various musical trends meant that it was probably the most 'muggleborn-friendly' aspect of our culture.

I still wondered if it was possible to modify a Wizarding Wireless to pick muggle radio...

...though likely not, given that, if it were true, muggle radio might be able to pick up Wizarding Wireless transmissions.

As the last note of our last piece rang out, Draco and I exchanged...well, not quite smiles, but...neutral expressions of respect and appreciation that our ordeal was over? Somewhere between relief and respect, certainly.

"You were both absolutely magnificent," Narcissa gushed, while Lucius eyed us approvingly from where he was involved in a conversation with Minister Fudge and-shiver-The Thing In Pink.

Well, can't go over there right now...hmm, I wonder what's in the opposite direction?

Marvel of marvels, the opposite direction turned out to hold the very individuals Mother and Father had staged this affair to impress so. Three adults and two children stood together as the crowds mingled around them. Without much choice, I made my way towards them and escaped once again from the horrid Pink Thing.

"Lord Bones, Lady Bones, Madame Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I am gratified that you were able to attend my parents' gathering. I don't believe we've been properly introduced: I am Desdemona Malfoy, Lucius and Narcissa's youngest child." I stated with a serene and slightly vacant smile; it was the kind of placid, nonthreatening, expression that put people at ease.

Jacob Bones pinned me with the kind of authoritative stare I'd come to expect from the adult crowd of witches and wizards...or at least, 'proper' witches and wizards. His wife Helen and sister Amelia were likewise standing proudly at his sides.

The Bones family was...a little bit odd, to be honest.

Simultaneously staunch conservatives and apologist for anti-muggleborn pureblood doctrine, they were counted as acquaintances by both extremes of the political pond, forming the head of a strictly neutral cornerstone of our society. As much as they were respected by both sides, though, they were also looked down upon, just a bit, for their refusal to weigh in their considerable influence on matters that didn't effect their family's personal interest.

They espoused no ideology, bowed to neither the Ministry, Father, Dumbledore, nor any of the other power groups, and they could bring any raucous faction to the bargaining table for proper negotiations.

In short, they were not a family one made light of annoying or irritating, on general principle.

Jacob Bones bowed slightly as I returned the gesture to him and his family.

"Well met, young Desdemona, well met. As you are astute enough to already be acquainted with the identities of both my wife and sister, I believe that leaves only my children to be introduced. This is my eldest daughter Susan Bones and her younger brother Richard." The two children were both approximately my age, though I 'remembered' Susan would be a year ahead of my at Hogwarts. Richard, though...

...would be in my year, but I couldn't remember ever seeing mention of him.

Maybe he was Not Particularly Memorable Hogwarts Student #187?

The snide thought was quickly brushed aside as I bowed to both Bones children. Helen Bones smiled at me as she swept her arms around her spawn, "You're quite the musician Desdemona. I've been thinking of starting Richard and Susan on an instrument apiece, though they're so busy with their studies I wouldn't begin to guess where they'd find the time. How often do you practice?

Translation: 'You may have some smidgen of talent, but my little darlings are intelligent dears who actually bother to crack a book rather than swoon over pointless music all day.'

My smile widened. "That is a concern," I nodded, "though now that my Mother has judged me to be competent enough in the violin, I believe she mentioned she would allow me to continue practicing under my own judgment. Given my four hours of daily language studies in French, German, and Italian...and my two hours of advanced mathematics three times a week, as well as the independent genealogical research I do and my self-study readings in Middle English, Old English, Welsh, and Gaelic, I'm generally spread quite thin. Of course, I also have to make time for my fencing lessons, social gatherings Mother wishes me to attend, and visiting with my own friends and relatives such as the Blacks and Carrows. Sometimes I wish there were more hours in the day."

I probably shouldn't mention the work I do on ancient runes, given that I generally shouldn't be doing magic before Hogwarts...that means not mentioning Occlumency or Legilimency either. Gah, sometimes I wonder if I actually sleep or just occasionally pass out at my desk...

Helen Bones blinked oddly as her husband and sister-in-law stared at me with equal queerness.

Susan and Richard looked almost...queasy at the thought of my schedule.

"That is...most impressive," Amelia Bones complimented in a slightly strangled voice. "Especially for a child as young as yourself. I've known Hogwarts graduates with apprenticeships who were not so devoted to their studies."

"You're too kind, Madame Bones," I smiled congenially. "Though my parents deserve much of the credit for arranging lessons with the necessary tutors. I am merely a product of their concern for a successful future for both myself and the Malfoy line."

"Talented, eloquent, mature, and humble as well," Jacob Bones complimented, though his eyes did not quite mirror the expression as I risked a quick glance to them as his gaze turned speculative while looking at his own children.

I had the feeling they would probably be starting a more...aggressive series of private lessons themselves...
After exchanging a few more empty pleasantries with the Bones adults and children, I politely excused myself to continue moving about the guests. Several dozen shamefully pandering compliments regarding everything to my father's politics to my musical talent, I'd resorted to actively avoiding the Pink Thing...which seemed to be hunting me for some no doubt terrible and fiendish reason.

I spotted another large crowd of wizards and witches and made a beeline towards it, only belatedly understanding what the group had congregated around.

An aged and withered Walburga Black, making her first social appearance in nearly a decade evidently drew quite the crowd. Her skin was as sallow and wizened as it had been when last I saw her, almost a month prior, when I had gone over to see Tarry and Virgo and been obliged to chat with the aging widow. Now, she was reclining on a chaise lounge, which had been moved underneath a large and complicated umbrella, blocking the sun from where it stood at the height of its daily journey.

The old woman looked as I would imagine a Buddha did underneath a pagoda.

A throng of visitors was slowly congregating now that our performance had finished, all of them looking much like supplicants waiting to bow before their aged goddess. As I waded through the crowd, allowing the compliments and greetings to flow over me, I was consumed by relief that my part in the entertainment was over.
It had been hard to get up in front of so many people and play.

In the end, I had closed my eyes and allowed the memorized motions of the music to take control of my hands. My fingers knew where they needed to be. My hand knew where the bow needed to be. The problem was the eyes on me. The entire affair had seemed to pass in one long blink of the eyes, finishing when I opened my eyes again at last.

Walburga's dark eyes caught my own as she extended a weak hand, beckoning me forward.
I bypassed the line of purebloods and wanna' bes, showing the proper disdain to the mass as I approached the older woman.

"Lady Walburga," I bowed, not quite as deeply as last time, though still quite low. "You honor our house with your presence today, though I must express concern for your health. Are you sure it is best for you to be out in this hot weather?"

The woman gave me a cold smile, "Such concern, Desdemona...and I had thought I told you to call me Aunt Walburga? Nevertheless, I thought I might get out one last time before I pass."

The group around us gave up a faux-plead of denial and disagreement, trying to assure the woman that she had years and years yet to live. I looked her over once again, noticing that even what little sun she was getting showed her to be in more ill health than I had first thought. Rather than the healthy flush most people showed, her skin was even paler and more callow by contrast.

I swallowed the lump of sadness in my throat.

Walburga might not have been a great person...or even a good one, really, but she was family and she was dying...and she knew it. I saw no reason to not acknowledge the fact if she already had as well, especially when it was plainly apparent.

"Did Draco and I do well enough for such an honor as the Lady Black's last social appointment?" I asked, thickly. Despite the fact that I had tried to swallow my sorrow, I hadn't quite succeeded.

There was something in Walburga's eyes as I spoke, something impossible for me to define or explain, but I had the feeling it was important.

"More than enough, child," Lady Black whispered. "Why, it reminded me of when Orion, my husband, and I would go to those lovely little outdoor concerts. It was such a gay old time, back then...but listen to me ramble, you probably aren't interested in hearing about this."

"I..." Here I hesitated, wondering best how to ask her to continue, because I was interested, but I also didn't want to look like a sycophant. "I don't suppose they played anything of a more modern bent? Draco adores the classical, but I tend towards the recent occurrences in music."

"I'm afraid not, child," Walburga chuckled lowly. "I think the most 'modern' thing I ever heard was...Moonlight Sonata, actually. That was the night Orion proposed to me...a concert under the stars. It was so beautiful..." Her gaze was distant, more focused on the past than on me.

I picked up my violin case from where it lay by my side.

Moonlight Sonata was one of the pieces I had tried to compromise with Draco on, but he'd felt it didn't have enough 'umph.' It wasn't loud or brass enough for his taste, but I'd discovered that it was quite soothing to play, a 'cool down,' if you will after the work out of the harder pieces.

My bow slid across the strings easily, heedless of onlookers as I started in on the piece.

The melody was easy, a beautiful and sweet piece that I enjoyed playing and listening to, something that was just difficult enough to require my attention. The true difficulty was...well, the French call it je ne sais quois. It was a quality of the music that needed something more than mere skill or ability for it to sound proper.

It needed heart.

It needed soul.

It needed pain.

It was...a terribly sad piece, now that I thought about it...on this occasion, I think I was able to do it justice like never before.

In Bad Faith

Winter in the Malfoy Manor was my favorite time of the year.

Not Christmas (or Yule, as was proper in the Wizarding World), mind you, just winter. It was a beautiful season, the entirety of the estate covered in pristine white down. Although so many people thought England and the greater part of Britain (which were not the same thing) were large cities or quaint villages, it simply wasn't true. Malfoy Manor was in the countryside, geographically fairly close to Stonehenge and possessed large tracts of land on every side, insulating it from the various muggle properties which surrounded it.

But none of that mattered, really.

Snow had been a rare and infrequent fluke in my past. In the present day, though, with warming charms and other applications of magic, snow was even more wondrous than it had been before.

If only I could find an excuse to go skiing...ah well, can't be helped.

I've said it before and I'll probably say it again, but magic is amazing.

As Yule approached, both Mother and Father began spending more time at home, enjoying the winding down of the holiday season. Even the Ministry, notorious for drowning its employees in bureaucracy, did less and less work during the month of December. As a result, it was a time Draco and I treasured. Even our still-frequent combative behavior took a backseat to the enjoyment of the winter season.

The stillness of the Malfoy estate was rapturous that particularly bright winter morning. It was treacherously cold, though I only felt a bit of the nip as I walked about the grounds, a fur-lined hat pulled low to block out as much sun as possible. It was a beautiful, crystalline moment that stood, flawlessly silent for a timeless eon-

-and then a snowball struck the back of my head.

Toppling arse over elbow, I found myself facedown in the snow before I knew it. Pushing myself out of the powder, I turned my head to see Draco standing a dozen feet away, arms crossed, and giving me the most superior smirk I'd ever seen violate his face. Standing, I affected a detached expression when, truly, it was all I could do to keep from grinning madly.

"You realize, of course," I intoned grimly, "This means war."

Draco blinked, unused to that manner of response from me as I used the lull to scoop up a handful of snow and compact it in one easy motion. Although I had never been practiced at making snowballs, I managed well enough and aimed for the central mass of Draco's body.

Although the impact caught him off-guard, it was not enough to actually topple him.

What began that day as a childish bout of mock-violence transcended our ages into an epic battle of wills that would resound through the eons. In truth, it was one of those 'pure' childhood moments I'd recalled from idyllic sitcoms and Norman Rockwell paintings and thought wholly fictional. There was nothing mean-spirited or foul-tempered about that day, none of our usual vitriol infected our actions. For all that Draco and I could be at each other's throats, it was moments like these that showed me the brighter, happier side of my sibling.

Lucius and Narcissa watched us from their positions on the veranda, a large pitcher of some steaming liquid between them. They poured us each a cup as we came in from the snow, now filled with furrows and mounds created by our childish antics.

The deep, rich cocoa was vastly enjoyable, as Mother's warming charms had begun to dim and the cold had started to seep into our fingers and toes.

Father, always the more enigmatic of our parents, removed his wand and began to see to the melting snow and chilled extremities, his face more expressively gentle than I'd seen in a long while.

As we finished our drinks, he stood, sparing our Mother a pleased glance before turning to us.

"Draco, Desdemona, come along now, I think its time to impart a few important lessons," Lucius intoned, a small smile playing on his lips.

It said something about the rarity of the occasion that neither I nor my brother argued about the other accompanying us and, instead, fell into line. Walking out into the winter scenery, Father angled towards a large field which had been left untouched by our playing and began fluid motions with his wand. My eyes, as well as Draco's I'm sure, widened as the snow shifted and formed up into pillars, climbing seemingly of its own accord.

"Do you know what sets us apart from the muggles, children?" Lucius asked softly as the snow continued to mount, some structure beginning to take shape.

I don't think Draco nor I could have answered him, even if we had wanted to, the spectacle had thoroughly entranced us.

Magic...is amazing.

"We, those of us from established magical families and bloodlines, stretching back centuries, have an obligation. The French had the right of it when they called it Noblesse Oblige; Desdemona, am I correct that you have heard of such in your readings?"

I found my voice at the direct address, and nodded. "Yes, Father. I believe...'It is the obligation of Nobility to conduct themselves as befits their station, both amongst peers, and those of lower standing.'"
Lucius smiled, and I ducked my head, hiding my own pleased smiled and flushed cheeks.

"Draco...we have talked about this subject in depth, I believe. What are the responsibilities of those of our station?" Lucius prompted, turning to my brother.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Draco stiffening to attention before he spoke, carefully. "It is the burden of the ruling class to maintain the order of society, both lawfully and culturally. We maintain the government, magic itself, and secrecy from the unwashed muggle horde."

Lucius smiled again, definitely pleased.

"And in return for our governance," Father spoke softly, his attention still partly on his wandwork, "we ensure the health, safety, and prosperity of those we govern. Never forget that even those misguided blood-traitors should be counted among our flock. We are the guardians of the magical world, even to those who do not see us as such. We are the foundation upon which our world stands on."

As he finished, Draco and I gasped. The intricate movements of his wand had crafted a castle of ice and snow, more than twenty feet tall. I felt my jaw hang open and had to remind myself of how uncouth it was to look so unconcerned with my appearance.

"As the bulwark of defense for our world, we must be wary of those who come into our world from their humble and squalid origins," Lucius warned us, his eyes intent. "They are simple children, unaware of how our world works, and it is our duty to educate them, show them the light, and make them productive members of Wizarding Society."

Draco and I both nodded on cue, unable to do otherwise as we stared at the enormous structure.

My eyes unfocused, a fragment of an epic poem emerged from the darkened recesses of my mind. I'd memorized it during college, though I'd come across a copy in the Malfoy Libraries mere weeks ago. Nostalgia had consumed me as I flipped through the yellowed pages. My mouth opened of its own will and the words tumbled out.

"'Tis ours, the dignity they give to grace
The first in valour, as the first in place;
That when with wondering eyes our confidential bands
Behold our deeds transcending our commands,
Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state,
Whom those that envy dare not imitate!"

My head ducked again, the creeping tinge of embarrassment thankfully camouflaged by my childishly flushed cheeks, as Draco turned wide eyes on me. Father's eyes were alight with an impossible mixture of approval, curiosity, intrigue, and wonder.

"Well recited, daughter," Lucius smiled, raising an eyebrow. "And from what work do you quote such a sagacious and pertinent passage?"

I licked my lips before swallowing and raising my voice just above a whisper. "The Greek Bard Homer, Father...the passage is from the King of Lyrica spoken to his friend."

The actual content of the copy I'd found of the Illiad I'd found, had surprised me, though. It had been notated and scribbled in by someone using an older form of Middle English, speculating on the exact magics worked on the individuals in the work and the tales of 'divine magic' used by the gods and goddess during ancient times.

I'd dug around the same area and found another book, handwritten and more like a journal than a traditional text, full of salient points and references about Homer's works. It had ended with the conclusion that the epic poems

The Iliad and Odyssey represented true, factual, history.

I'd taken the books to my personal study and still pondered over whether or not to believe them.

I shook myself as Father gave us permission to play in the ice 'miniature' ice castle he'd crafted, while he retired on the veranda with Mother. I, myself, moved to stand on the 'tower' of the castle, looking out over the wooded forest to our lands' South.

I wondered at Father's words.

Did I believe them?

Did I want to believe them?

I met my eyes in the distorted reflection of the ice castle's walls, watching as the mirror-like substance twisted and deformed in strange whorls and warped surfaces.

Who am I?

It wasn't the first time I'd had the thought, but it was the most poignant. I felt at war with myself, a strange sensation that threatened to tear my mind and soul apart at the seams. Because...

If I was honest with myself?

I want to believe Lucius...Father. I want to believe that I...that the world had an 'order' to it and wasn't just the chaotic floundering of man against man which was so common in history. I want to believe that there is a 'right' way for things to be.

It was an insidious thought, pleasantly cloaked in sweet, enthralling words.

I sighed and tried to put my mind at ease.

It didn't work.

Are these my Father's words? Or Tom Riddle's? The war, in this world...was bad, terrible even...but can I say the Death Eaters were evil? If they thought they were defending their way of life against a cultural assault of degenerate muggle values?

Voldemort...did so much damage. He destroyed so much of the truth. I don't think anyone even cares what the 'truth' is anymore...just that their loved ones died and nothing will make it better again.

I swallowed.

This was what Noblesse Oblige really meant.

I had grown up in the lap of luxury, clothed in silks and given the best education. If I turned my back on the coming conflict...I would be dishonoring my heritage. If I tried to stop the fires of war, though...I'd be, however indirectly or unintentionally, upholding an ideology I wasn't sure I approved of.

I also had an obligation, not just as a 'noble,' but as a person...

I was so preoccupied that I almost missed Draco coming to sit next to me. He was quiet, for a change, as he watched me. The moment of silent camaraderie was quick to end, though, as my brother finally worked up the courage to ask what he'd sought me out for.

"What...what was that?" Draco asked tentatively.

I tried to shrug, but gave it up for lack of practice in the motion. "Something I read...really wordy. You probably...I don't know if you'd like it."

Draco looked about to retort, to throw some angry comment back in my face, but he swallowed the impulse with visible difficulty.

I was impressed.

"Father liked it." Draco said quietly.

I nodded, hesitantly, not making eye contact, but agreeing with his assessment. "It was written a long time ago...someone wrote that they thought wizards and witches were part of royalty and nobility back then...even among the muggles. The king who said those words was said to have divine or magical lineage."

"But what does it mean?" Draco asked persistently. "Father looked proud of you when you said it."

I grimaced. "It means that...if you live well, are honored by those who live on your lands, and hold lofty position in society...you are obligated to be chivalrous and valorous in defense of those people. You're supposed to be so brave, and good, and smart, that even people jealous of your station have to admit you deserve it, because they can't do what you do."

"Oh," Draco nodded, his face setting grimly as if coming to some decision. "Teach it to me."

My cheek twitched, partly in amusement and partly in irritation. I turned to my brother and raised an eyebrow.

The silence stretched.

"Please?" Draco finally asked, looking pained as he spoke.

I smiled and opened my mouth, then paused.

Noblesse Oblige...is not only to those 'below' you, its also to those who need you. The debt you owe society for your privileged upbringing should be paid forward...so that others benefit from your education and learning granted you by your station. Draco...what right do I have to mold you, shape you to my whims, when even I don't understand my own aims and goals properly?

I decided to start where I would make the most impact.

Draco hung on my every word.