Next week's chapter may be a tad late, but for now, here's this chapter. Enjoy~!
Chapter Seven: Ill Will
"Why, Uther," Cepheus Black practically gushed (had that sort of thing not been unbecoming of a man of his stature), "How wonderful it is to see you again after all these years."
"Likewise," the king replied, easily taking the bait. "It has been quite a while. And yet, what a strange coincidence," he added, "That your grandson should show up here so soon before you yourself visit."
"I must confess, I am caught off-guard as well," said Cepheus. For a moment, Harry was prepared to panic, thinking that, perhaps, the man was going to blow their cover after all. But he continued, "To see my grandson here is a pleasant surprise, however."
Uther smiled. "Oh, and which of your grandchildren is he, may I ask?"
"Well, you do know I have so many," Cepheus oozed. "He is my third daughter's fifth son," he mock-explained, "One of the youngest of the brood I might add." If Harry hadn't known any better, he might have described the patriarch's tone as affectionate. Draco gave a false smile when the king turned to look at him.
Uther and Cepheus continued their greetings for a while as the other occupants of the throne room stood by to watch. Harry eyed the head of the Black family suspiciously. He was a tall man, proud-shouldered, with a sweeping nose that any artist would love to paint in profile. Harry couldn't tell if his long hair, held back by a ribbon, had always been such a white color as it was now, or if it had once been another color and changed to the color of moonlit snow. Cepheus's eyes were the same cold grey of Draco's own, and he had a smile that could only be described as poisonous, which he directed at Uther in an almost friendly way that belied his true devious nature. In short, he was a Slytherin.
And Slytherins, as any who had ever met one knew, were always planning ways to get themselves on top.
"I've upheld my end of our little deal. I should hope you'll be upholding yours."
It was a pleasantly worded threat, but not to be taken lightly when it came from Cepheus Black. Harry took note of the way his voice had dropped all pretenses of having emotion and become what he knew from those such as Snape and Malfoy Senior.
"Of course," Draco replied easily in this same tone. "We'll tell you all you need to know about the future of magic and, naturally, that of the Black family line." They were in the old man's current chambers and Draco held out a hand to indicate a chair by a desk in the room as he prepared to launch into what would surely be a very long explanation. "But you may want to sit down for this."
Cepheus black was smiling again, and that alone would probably be enough to make a small child cry. Harry was not a small child, and therefore he was not physically crying. But he sure did feel like he should be. Draco, however, didn't notice the way his ancestor's venomous smile seemed close to melting the stone wall behind them as he gazed at it, a look of pondering coming over his features. He was planning something, and Harry shuddered to think what it could be.
"Quite amazing," he commented, "That the world of magic has risen so far."
"It's still a secret from the muggles," Harry broke in, hoping to discourage him from having the wrong idea. Both Cepheus and Draco sneered.
"Regardless," the old man brushed him off, turning his attention back to Draco, "It is apparent from your presence that the Black family is still one of the most prominent of all the purebloods." An odd look drifted over Draco's features, but he pushed it aside.
"Of course," he lied. Harry had noted that, while Draco had been explaining the future of the history of the Black line, the Malfoy boy had conveniently left out many details that Harry knew, and, the Gryffindor was certain, many more details that he didn't know for sure. But Cepheus wouldn't know the difference.
Draco continued to explain all kinds of things that Cepheus asked about― that had been the deal after all. In exchange for his telling Uther that Draco was his grandson, Cepheus would be told anything he wanted to know about the future of magic and his family. And he wanted to know a lot. Curiosity was one thing but this… well, this seemed like more than just curiosity. Harry just couldn't be sure what the man wanted to do with this information.
A few days passed, and the castle and its inhabitants once again settled into a normal routine, bringing the current guests along for the ride. In the absence of his magic, Draco took quite nicely to ordering Harry around like he really was a servant, both when they were around other people and on the rare occasions that they were alone. Harry usually obeyed when it was for appearances' sake, but told Draco to sod off when it wasn't. Cepheus made very few appearances, choosing instead to remain in the large room that had been provided for him for the majority of the day.
Arthur continued his usual routine of training with his knights nearly every morning (not that he had ever stopped for a break). Thus, when the light was still new and the air fresh with dewdrops, the sound of steel on steel could be heard echoing over the awakening city.
Several hours later, Arthur and his men were still at it. Merlin yawned as he handed the prince a rag to wipe his sweating brow. It didn't seem like he'd be stopping any time soon.
"Wake up, Merlin," Arthur drawled, "Honestly…" The sorcerer nodded, as if agreeing to obey, and continued to fight against his lids falling closed. Once, just once, he'd like to sleep in…
He rubbed his eyes when he saw two unexpected figures approaching the training area. Draco was leading Harry as they came, looking, even from far away, like he was barking orders or simply ranting at the dark-haired boy. Said boy was obviously not listening. Arthur spotted them by following his manservant's glazed-over gaze.
"Hm, perhaps that Draco kid really does want to become a knight of Camelot," he commented in a bemused tone. When the two were close enough, Arthur called out to them, "Come to try your hand at some swordplay?"
A look of disgust flitted over Draco's features as he glanced at the blade in the prince's hand. Harry could clearly see what he was thinking; muggle weapons, how primitive…
"No, I prefer to be… behind the scenes," Draco replied as they stopped in front of the group of knights. "We're just here to learn. You understand the importance of strategic knowledge, of course." Spoken like a real Slytherin, thought Harry. Before the two of them could commence with their veiledly-pleasant smirking contest, a servant that Harry had seen a few times around the castle ran up to the group of young men.
"Sire!" he cried, coming to a stop before Arthur and giving a short bow, "Your presence is needed immediately!"
"Why?" asked the prince, duly concerned, "What's happened?"
"It's your father, sire," the servant's urgent words shocked the son of the king, "He's fallen gravely ill!"
This is quite the cliffhanger-laden story, hm?
Reviews will be used to put pillows at the bottom of the cliff.