PANSY'S OBSERVATIONS
Theodore Nott leisurely strolled into the Malfoys' house, hands jammed in his robe pockets and his sharp eyes intaking the luxury of the place with an air of disenchantment. He was half-hidden by Blaise whom he lurked behind like a homely shadow, his steps painstakingly precise in following Blaise's. The Slytherin kept up appearances despite his father's outing as a Death Eater where many failed, and Draco supposed Nott deserved credit for that. Nott also happened to be Blaise's ex-lover. Therefore, on that principle alone, Draco had a certain aversion. What was more bizarre however was the fact that Nott was also not clued in to the fact that he and Blaise were no longer an item. He was not completely clueless though - he was smart enough to understand that Draco was a threat to whatever Nott thought he could get from Blaise and therefore treated him as such. For that, Draco considered him interesting enough to hate.
"Welcome, Sirs and Dame!" Pippy squealed happily, collecting each of their coats and Pansy's elaborate hat, which featured roses routinely growing and dying around the rim. He turned towards Draco with an obedient bow. "Anything else, Master?"
"A bottle of Nymphonia's Wine," Draco drawled, leading the small party to the informal parlor. "And four glasses. That'll be all, Pippy."
After a bow, the house-elf Disapparated with a muted crack.
"To what do I owe this honor?" Draco asked, collapsing mock-wearily onto his chaise. He reclined himself lazily to emphasize his place as Master of the house, like Pippy eagerly reminded him. Speaking of him, already the wine and glasses were placed neatly on the table. Blaise began pouring some for each of the guests, which Draco supposed he should have done, especially from the way Blaise's dark eyes scorched him from under his lashes.
Draco ignored that fact, quite mesmerized with the view of Blaise intentionally bending over in front of him to pour the wine. He was wearing despicable muggle clothing – but for the view of Blaise's fit arse in those denims, and the way his Slytherin green jumper stretched across his chest, Draco made an exception.
"Besides the fact that we missed you terribly, Dray," Pansy cooed, sharp eyes noticing Draco's enticement, "we've heard from your mum you've been holed up in this house for the past week." She tickled his arm with her nails as she spoke until Draco pulled away highly repulsed.
"We also wanted to invite you over to Theo's for the Pre-Hogwarts Celebration," Blaise said coolly, never once giving away an action suggesting he was antagonized by Pansy's worship. Blaise was too good.
"So it's at yours, this time?" Draco questioned. "I am actually delighted to hear this. I had heard rumors that your abode was unfit for even a muggle, but I suppose gossip is purely gossip, isn't it?" He was careful to sound drawling but Pansy noted his aggravation and pet his hand once. Since joining the Hogwarts' student body, people clamored and begged for the Pure Blood Celebration to be hosted at Malfoy Manor. This year wasn't the case. Having been completely humiliated by his father's failure, the community seemed to shun the Malfoy family except for the closest of few. And even from those, Draco suspected that they would turn the other way in certain company.
"I'm trying to separate myself from my father's shadow - the Death Eater outings have ruined many a Slytherin and I wish that to not be my fate as well." Nott said this with such venom that Blaise cocked an eyebrow.
Touche, the blond congratulated the infuriating ginger. So he did have bite.
"So what is your stance on the matter?" Draco probed, inspecting his nailbeds.
"Personally, I'm impartial." Draco expected that answer. "My family would neither gain, nor lose, from following the Dark Lord. Therefore, I'll merely allow the others to struggle in finding their footing."
Draco smiled patronizingly. "If I did not know any better, Nott, I'd accuse you of plebeian assumption. The Dark Lord will most certainly call on you because of that Slytherin crown you are coveting so. However I am sure you have weighed the option of denying the Dark Lord and have contingency plans for your family and friends [for he must put emphasis on this, to subtly bring Blaise into the conversation] and the such."
Nott sputtered then quieted, glaring at the youngest Malfoy with a look that would have made a weaker man guilty. Instead, Draco merely kept his pasted-grin, making sure not to glance at Blaise who was most definitely staring.
"Ahh, you boys and your in-depth conversations," Pansy said, cracking the ice. "I'd rather talk about more cheery topics than our mortality rate in this foolish war."
"I agree," Blaise sighed. What was that tenor in the sound however, Draco mused. Anger? Oh how the facade cracks when Nott is threatened. Interesting.
"Actually," Pansy said her pale face alight. "I was thinking that we should be getting our letters soon, don't you think so? Then we'd have to go down to Diagon Alley." Draco felt her shiver as if it rolled out of his own skin. "It's rather creepy there."
"That's something I agree too," Nott said, trying desperately to find himself back into the good graces of the Slytherin hierarchy (or what once was the hierarchy; Merlin only knows how far back Draco was shifted in the Dungeons). "What do you suppose the Dark Lord is interested in Ollivander for?"
Blaise was smart enough not to expect an answer from Draco, yet the other two glanced inconspicuously at him with unblinking eyes. Did they honestly think just because the flesh of his arm was virgin, that he would gladly spill the secrets he picked up? Not saying, of course, he knew exactly what the Dark Lord was up to. They were lucky Draco wasn't going about and squealing how the three were in such a crux over which side to choose when all of Slytherin is guaranteed to be with Salazar's heir.
"Inquiring where your nose doesn't belong, Nott, is unbecoming," Draco drawled cheerily.
"Indeed," Pansy murmured, shifting towards Draco. He could feel the heat of her arm against his. "It's a quite depressing prospect, you know, that we actually have to talk about this. Make choices. Makes me feel old. Do you know we've only a year left at Howarts? Well, beyond this year."
Draco darkly sipped his wine; he wasn't concerned with the fact time was progressing. He waited all of his life practically for a moment to break out of routine – to follow his ambitions.
"Merlin," Blaise groaned, lighting up his cigarette. Draco watched the way his mouth formed around the butt, then the ring of smoke he exhaled. The room smelled like methanol. Draco shifted, his cock rising a bit in his trousers. That's another thing Draco had over Nott; he made sure to fuck Blaise right.
A crack sounded in the room, and Draco was glad Pippy decided to interrupt. "Excuse me, Sirs and Dame and Master! Dinner is to be served soon. Mistress wants to sup in the gardens by the apple trees."
"Tell my mother we will arrive shortly," Draco ordered regally with a small nod that meant thank you. He learned from the past that a few courtesies given to the house elves would keep them loyal, unlike his father's harsh treatment to Dobby. That brought in undesired images of that wretched Prince Potter and his unruly hair.
"Pippy will, Master!" the house elf said enthusiastically before bowing so low his nose touched the carpet. He then Disapparated from the room.
Pansy stood daintily, and flipped her long hair behind her back. Blaise stood fluidly as well, talking about the garden with Nott. He caught Draco's attentions and tilted his head gently in acknowledgment before leaving the room first. Nott seemed a bit pleased by that, his acne-scarred skin turning a bit red. Draco only rolled his eyes; he was sure that it wouldn't be Nott's bed Blaise warmed tonight.
"He's jealous," Pansy tittered quietly in Draco's ear as she wound his arm around hers.
"I don't understand of what," he grumbled, pulling away from her. "I know you understand that I am not your property, Pansy – this show you put off is aged. We're not together and I severely doubt we will be again."
"That's what you always say," she said, leaning in to kiss underneath his chin. Draco dodged her expertly.
"What about that Irishman you had locked between your legs?" Draco prompted, watching the two boys disappear (more specifically, Blaise's tight arse) behind the large doors into the garden. "Or did he run screaming?"
"Draco," Pansy said, stopping. She grabbed his chin and forced him to view her. "Think of it logically. Do you honestly think your parents are going to let you marry some sort of man? You're lucky that your parents and mine are so close. You know they've been speaking about marriage sense we grew close, and the time is quickly arriving for bonds."
Draco halted and ran through all of his plans, trying to remember where he penciled in marriage - especially a marriage to Pansy of all people. It seemed he did not. Relieved, he shot a smile which he knew was handsome.
"You're being ridiculous. I doubt my mother has the interest to marry me off."
"You're not being practical. Your parents were married young – fresh out of Hogwarts, just like every other pure blood family," she said darkly.
"Arranged marriages are going out of style."
She sighed. "With the Dark Lord rising, a lot of old pureblood traditions are as well. And don't tell me they're going out of style. Haven't you heard? Bulstrode and Crabbe might tie the knot soon enough. That Greengrass girl…Astoria has her sights set on you too. Well her family." Pansy rolled her eyes. "Perhaps you need to step out of the Dark Lord's shadow long enough to realize what's happening in front of your face."
Draco rolled his eyes, but kept his voice lowered. "Don't think that your new argument is going to change anything, Pansy."
She shrugged. "Just don't be surprised when you and Blaise will have to end your little exploits. And don't cry on my shoulder over it."
He opened his mouth to retort, but chose not to. She was being pigheaded of course. Instead, he strode into the garden where the rest of the party awaited him. For the first time he was unnoticing of the way the sun hit the leaves like liquid on glass – it gave the light a density, seeming almost palpable.
Narcissa sat daintily at the oblong dinner table. Her white-blonde hair was piled upon her head in intricate ringlets, framing her pale face delicately. She must have finally used a potion to keep it pale. There was a certain firmness in her face, however, and a gentle insanity in her eyes. Yet she sat composed amongst Nott and Blaise.
"Draco," she greeted somberly. The boy kissed his mother's paper-thin cheek before sitting across from Blaise. The dark-haired boy arched his brows in question, but let it rest. Perhaps they heard Pansy and his argument in the hall; Draco sorely doubted it, but was careful – they need not know Pansy's desperation.
Ω
"Salazar," Draco groaned, trying to steady his breathing. Each inhale sucked in more of Blaise's Italian citrus flavor – a clean, sweet, erotic scent that smelled so lightly heady and contradictory it made Draco's head spin. His tongue was minty, like peppermint and nicotine, as it swept in the paler boy's mouth, trying to map each corner and print it to mind. His hands, mobile, rubbed against Draco's growing erection, eliciting a moan from the blond.
"You should wear these more," Draco gasped, pulling at Blaise's denim belt loops. He grinned freely, glancing at the brunette who was beautifully debauched and barely even touched - his jumper was shed, his curls frizzed and splayed over the crimson pillows. Draco dropped his lips to a dusky-rose nipple, sucking it until he earned a squealing gasp."I was barely able to keep my attention on your face."
"Pansy seemed adept at creating a distraction," Blaise grumbled, his hand flexing more tenuously than needed.
The wretched girl's words came back into his head and Draco growled. "What are you trying to get at? Are you jealous of her denseness?"
Blaise nipped at Draco's bottom lip, sucking on it. His dark lashed eyes fluttered shut, fingers coming up to caress the blond's ribcage.
"I understand that we're simply lovers," Blaise said slowly. "I'm not asking for a change in that, just to be exclusive. I don't want to share something of mine with someone else."
Draco glared. "I don't appreciate being called property. If anything, Blaise, you belong to me."
"It's not I who sought you out, Malfoy." His dark eyes turned dangerous. "I believe you owe me something in this partnership, if not fidelity."
"You heard Pansy," Draco finally sighed, libido quelled. "And you're jealous."
"Of course I am," the darker boy sighed. "Why shan't I be? I knew what I was getting into from the beginning, but would it be inhuman of me not to want more. You have given Pansy so much more than me. I'm not asking for love…," he paused. "But I wouldn't mind loyalty."
He then thought of Nott, the way Draco's treatment of the pleb brought out a strange emotion in Blaise, then kicked away the thought; Draco fucked him thoroughly enough that Blaise need-not go elsewhere for the service. "You ask for this as if I've been seen with others."
Blaise seemed astonished by that, his brows furrowing, then shrugged.
"Damn you, Blaise," Draco cursed, pushing himself away from the bed, then gave his patented sneer. "You can kindly leave."
Blaise stared at Draco, his dark brow raised. His voice remained impassive however. "And then who do you have, Malfoy? Who? No one. No one. You don't have Pansy, and you don't have your mother. You don't have Crabbe and Goyle. Your father never loved you. Your godfather is a joke. Who do you have besides me?" The voice lowered. "Who?"
A growl ripped itself from Draco's throat. He pounced viciously on the Italian, pinning him into the mattress. His hand formed manacles on the Italian's wrists, which he held over Blaise's head. Draco's mind was narrowed in revenge; he would show just how exactly he owned him. He murmured a wandless spell that ripped the denims from Blaise's arse. Fuck the ministry, he scowled internally, biting at Blaise's lips. The brunet fought gallantly, kicking his legs and trashing. It didn't stop Draco from trusting in the tight coil of muscle, however, making Blaise cry out in a heady mix of pain and pleasure.
"You bastard," Blaise gasped when he caught his breath. However, the Italian was barely phased - he was soon thrusting downwards like a wanton whore, his masochistic eyes glowering through ecstasy.
Draco chuckled humorlessly as he rocked into a violent momentum, barely registering Blaise's laden moans. "I know."
Ω
Spinner's End was a maze within a maze, Draco mused, as he strolled along the memorized streets. Every structure was like a dot on a grid, a specific block that took up land. However, over the years more buildings were added or destroyed, leaving gaping holes and dead ends; streets didn't necessarily go in parallel lines, but curved in s-shape forms. The numbering system was not for ease of finding a house in terms of walking down a street and having them in perfect order, but instead created solely for the purpose of keeping track of how many times the building was destroyed. For instance, number 37 Morea Way would be in-between 1,951 and 2. Charms hid certain streets, normally where convicts found shelters. The fumes from specific drugs wafting from chimneys gave off illusions. The lack of the sun created an immortal darkness, which gave a sense of panic; therefore, it was easy to get lost if one did not know the way.
More interestingly, however, was what was supposedly underneath Spinner's End. A maze, within a maze. Underneath the concrete ground, there's a mythical prison which was supposed to have been used to rid communities of squibs and mudbloods. To destroy them, in the ancient times, wizards thought they needed to throw the creatures into the center of the earth to clear their karma. In other stories, the subterranean labyrinth was used to test spells during the rejection of magic by muggles. Others say it was a place to sacrifice for rituals pertaining to pagan gods (though Draco didn't particularly believe any wizard in their right mind would believe in the gods of all things).
However, each time Draco stepped into Spinner's End, he felt an immense rush of thrill and hesitancy.
Merrywit was quiet as usual – the more dilapidated housing was tucked in a corner where none would care to loot. He grasped the familiar knocker and banged it once tiredly. The door opened as usual, when Snape was home, swinging closed behind him. Draco hung his cloak on a peg, and then began to inspect the quiet room he remembered spending years in.
A silver doe appeared down the stairs, opened its mouth, and Snape's terse voice came out. "Draco – I am defusing a delicate potion that involves my complete attention."
The boy only frowned, watching the patronus turn into a silvery smoke. But then again, who was Draco to come running to Snape when he wished for guidance?
Snape was a long-time friend of the Malfoys, and therefore became close to Draco. Although he wasn't technically a godfather, he was just as well, and often considered as an adopted godfather of sorts. His real godfather, Rodolphus Lestrange and his godmother, auntie Bellatrix, were imprisoned until very recently. It was Snape who had seen Draco's first usage of magic (although he will be quick to hastily deny that in front of Narcissa) and Snape who had watched after Draco since appearing in Hogwarts. He was the one who wrote letters inquiring after the boy's health, instead of Draco's own father, even though he was a few rooms away.
Yet, Snape was held at arms' length by Lucius because of Snape's dark demeanor and parallel ambition.
The parlor of 30 Merrywit Street was impulsively clean, something unlike the innards of Snape's office at Hogwarts. It seemed the man was used to visitors, and decided to take out all of his personal belongings, leaving behind only those important, such as the coffee table and sofa. Draco found it odd – he was used to jars and chalices and books strewn across the floors, showing marvelous, beautiful, scary items for potions that could destroy a person wholly or bring them back to life.
"Malfoy? D-D-Draco Malfoy?" a voice hissed from the staircase. The round figure of Peter Pettigrew was slinking down the stairs with jerky steps – some say he never quite got over being a rat for so many years, and now Draco understood. His nose was scrunched up, as if he was trying to catch Draco's scent with his human senses.
"Wormtail," Draco said. "I assumed you were attached to the Dark Lord's feet; it's great to see you've gained legs of your own."
"Like your father, you are." Wormtail squeaked like the rat he was. "Maybe you won't fail the Dark Lord like he has."
Red crossed Draco's view, but he remained composed. He even gave a perfunctory smile. "Quite observant of you, Wormtail. They do say that I am very much alike my father, although I have one defining feat; I am not quite as compassionate as he. So I dare you, Wormtail, to speak against my family and insult me to my face once more. I will not hesitate to hex you." His wand was bared, yet in a relaxed angle, which was all the more threatening.
Wormtail immediately stopped breathing, like a cornered animal, his eyes darting towards Draco and then the door. Draco flexed his wand arm once, just to see Wormtail flinch, to see the fear jump into his eyes.
"I think that is enough, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said silkily, as he stepped down the stairs. He as well, held his wand aloft. Although he scolded Malfoy, his piercing black eyes were focused on Wormtail. "Pettigrew, I have a meeting with Mr. Malfoy, and I would wish you to depart as quickly as possible."
"Oh…ohyes, yes, yes, Snape. I will...mhm…," Wormtail stumbled, grabbing at his cloak. He barely mumbled farewell before stepping outside of the house, closing the door closed with a click.
"You need to keep your head clear, Draco," Severus snapped, walking to his kitchen. He spelled two mugs to be filled with water before warming them to a boil. "The Dark Lord will hear of your weakness and exploit it."
"Wormtail could be lurking outside of that door listening to us," Draco muttered.
Snape smiled. "Quite naïve of you, Draco, to think that I have not placed several appropriate enchantments on my home. There are many who wish to spy on me."
"I apologize," Draco said, raising his chin, and accepted the mug of mint tea. He took a seat on the sofa, glaring enviously at Snape as he flounced into his chair regally, reminding Draco that although this place might be his safe harbor, it was also Snape's domain.
"So, will you speak to me what has been bothering you? I have not seen you in months, yet have heard of your… plight…. Children your age are just filled to the brim with gossip." He smiled darkly.
"What have you heard?" Draco probed, trying to keep his cheeks from reddening. Draco knew he was speaking about Pansy.
"Your dear friend was worried about you. She thinks you're forgetting your societal duties to pure bloods to pursue your Dark Mark, something I heavily disapprove of, as well as your mother." Draco tried to remain nonchalant, but his lips turned sour. "I cannot agree with Pansy more."
"You take her side?" Draco asked.
"The Malfoy name garnered respect until your father's repeated failure – Bellatrix barely saved your honor. And now you remain exclusive to the manor, except when the Dark Lord calls upon you. They look at it as a defeat, Draco, and you know this. You're forgetting that although you need to gain entrance into the hierarchy of the Dark Lord, you also need to maintain your control over the Slytherins. I doubt your place as the head Slytherin at Hogwarts will remain. Perhaps Crabbe and Goyle will remain by your side, because of their inability to think for themselves. Parkinson and Zabini are truly your only confidants, so they will remain faithful. However, all those who you once called your "sheep" have turned to greater pastures, and I fear that may be Theodore Nott."
Draco shuddered at the idea. "Their choosing to host the pre-school gathering at Nott's means noth-…."
"It was not that long ago I was a Hogwarts' student," Snape interjected sharply. "The Pure-Blood Celebration is not hosted at a house chosen out of a hat, Draco. You know this as well as I. They choose the most powerful of their year and force him to expose his home, connections, and wealth. It's a test. Should he pass, he will succeed you. And I don't have a doubt that Nott will. He embodies the ability to choose neither the Dark Lord or Dumbledore if one wants."
Which is exactly why it means nothing, Draco thought, giving Snape a smirk of misplaced content. "The Dark Lord is not going to allow Nott to poison the Slytherins against him."
"He's also not going to allow a failure," Snape said quietly, gesturing to Draco with an unapologetic sweep of his hand, "to rule the minds of his future Death Eaters. He views the fact you can't keep control of your people against you. In his time, when he was merely a boy at Hogwarts, he was the center of the Slytherin world – even the other houses admired him for his brilliancy. Only few knew of his true colors. And so you must do the same, if you desire to climb the ranks of the Dark Lord's army."
Draco's smirk slipped away, his shoulders aching from an intangible weight. Yet he sat silently. He pushed away the part of his brain that registered his emotions, and began analyzing the situation, producing plans to recapture the Slytherin "throne." Everything led to one answer.
He couldn't hesitate on his test. He needed to kill Harry Potter.
Snape cleared his throat loudly, forcing Draco to look up. Oddly, the professor's face became pinched, as if uncomfortable."Miss Parkinson also expressed her…view on your relationship with Zabini."
Draco scowled openly: if Pansy was that desperate that she would speak to Snape, than the bloody wench would need a firm speaking to. "Of course she would, the jealous cow. There is no relationship between Zabini and me. We are purely lovers, and nothing more. I have no qualms with abandoning him, if I must."
Snape frowned, caressing his chin, where he had allowed a sharp, curled beard to grow. "That's unusually cold of you."
Draco sneered, feeling every bit the overindulged noble that he was.
"She also informed me that you have not been keeping up with reappearing pureblood trends," Snape added. "This is dim of you. For someone who has looked so far ahead in their future, you're leaving out important variables."
"My mother wouldn't – she's not in her right mind, nor has the time to arrange such."
Snape smiled sadly. "Draco. Your family has been shamed. Do you think your mother, out of her love for you, or because Lucius is directing her to, will not arrange a marriage to serve the better of the Malfoy name? Consider yourself already engaged."
"There's no proof," Draco growled childishly.
"Oh really? Have you wondered where your mother has gone as of late?" He clasped his hands and leaned forward, eyes desperately trying to force Draco to understand. "She has long questioned me for advice, and I gave it to her. She is now seeking engagement to Astoria Greengrass."
"Astoria Greengrass?" Draco balked, slightly amused, slightly amazed. The red-haired girl looked so delicate, like a pixy…. And her nose happened to be so upturned that he could see her brain, which was wrapped around her riches and Draco's love-life. She watched him like a hawk, never once tiptoeing towards him, hidden behind her sister. Perhaps she knew already that she would be forced into marriage with Draco. Perhaps she wanted it.
"Greengrass does not have the same prestige as the Malfoy name or even the Parkinson, yet her older sister Daphne is becoming quite accomplished at wizardry. I expect the Greengrass name to become eventually famous, if not infamous by the end of the war." Snape said quietly. "I also pushed the importance of keeping you away from Parkinsons. Unless of course, you chose once again that she is in your good graces."
"Never," Draco snapped. "I don't know where you get off meddling in my life. Merlin only knows what damage you've impacted. Arranged marriages! Of all things. This is probably a plan you cooked up in hopes I'd refrain from the Dark Arts. I'm not, even with this Greengrass girl attached to me, saying I consent to such things."
Snape's flint eyes turned into a menacing glare. "I apologize that I'm trying to keep you safe, Draco."
"I apologize to you, for you're going about it completely wrong."
"Insolence, insolence," Snape said, his voice growing in anger. He calmed himself instantly however, letting rage ooze out of his obsidian eyes. "One day you'll learn, Draco, that you're not always correct. One day you'll accept my assistance, especially when you ask for it."
Draco stared coolly ahead feeling shame mount in his chest, pile after pile until he could barely breathe.