HI! I did promise you a new chapter- and here it is!
BY THE BY: I have a tumblr now! The link for it can be found on my homepage- otherwise it's the same username ( .com) as it ever is, if you want to check it out. I'm slowly working around it, but I plan to start putting up teasers, snippets and drabbles from Great Expectations up there, as well as my art projects. So check it out, if you're interested :)
This chapter goes through several weeks after the last. You'll also notice it has a slightly different formatting from what I normally use- I felt like shaking things up a bit, and it suited the tone of this chapter. Also I think it's valid to note here, that Draco is (in parts, at least) what we writers would call an unreliable narrator. What he tells us, or shows us isn't necessarily 'true', or 'real'. Think Humbert Humbert from Lolita. He may exaggerate things, or underplay things to suit his purpose. Which is not to say that you should disbelieve everything he says- just... be critical. :)
Anyway, that's all I have to say- read on and enjoy!
Part Three: In Which
Chapter Thirty-Two: Amiable Alliances are Made (or According to Everyone Else, Malfoy Stops Being a Total Arse)
"Oh," A voice states and the sound of scuffing feet halts, "I didn't realise you knew were the library was." Draco looks up from his novel indignantly; Potter stands awkwardly in the doorway. He fights the urge to roll his eyes and angrily mourns the loss of his peaceful hiding spot for a moment (only Banner and Rogers used the room, and both chose to largely steer clear of him. He didn't mind. Really).
He glares instead, "I didn't realise you knew how to read, Potter."
The other 'man' scowls, "You don't have to be a twat, Malfoy. Jesus." He moves forwards, indignance superseded by curiosity, "What are you reading?"
He closes the novel self-consciously, not entirely sure why he needs to hid it. The Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Die sighs heavily as he stands abruptly and stiffly walks past him- holding the front casually against his thigh, "We're all in this for the long-run, you know."
"I don't have the energy to deal with you today. Your voice grates on my nerves."
He splutters behind him, "We're the only magic-users left! We should be sticking together!"
"Fuck off."
The lift doors close behind him with a silent fwish.
"Morning Malfoy."
"Granger."
She holds out a mug, "Coffee?"
"No." He says, despite his only purpose for coming up here being for the coffee. For some reason, all the coffee that was supplied to his room was bloody awful, and nothing he did could change it. He curses inwardly.
Granger refills her mug and continues buttering her toast.
"Planning on doing anything today?" She asks lightly, and takes a bite from her toast.
"Given my indefinite incarceration, no."
The witch purses her lips at the terse statement, "We're in the same boat, you know."
He sneers, "Oh really? Doesn't seem like when the two of you are off gallivanting Merlin knows where all the time with you best pals."
Her lips thing further, "We can't leave without a chaperone- none of us can. You were briefed on the terms of our probational status, just as we were."
He raises a contemptuous eyebrow, "Yes, a chaperone. Do I look like a fucking twelve year old to you?"
She smiles at him- all teeth, "Well maybe you should have thought about that before you threw us through the Veil."
He snarls, "It was the only way! You're alive, aren't you? And free from those bloody psychos! In the circumstances I'd call that a pretty good result!"
"A good result?! Malfoy, we lost everything because of you!"
He just barely restrains himself from hitting the benchtop, "You think you're the only one who lost everyone, Granger? You think the only stateless bastard stuck in this fucking tower like bloody Rapunzel?"
She draws back, affronted "Excuse me?"
"That's right Granger," He sneers, ready to dig into her with the anger that always seems to boiling, just below the skin, "Happy to sit up on that high horse and paint me as the villain, like you're the only one who lost." He grips the edge of the counter, stopping his hand from going for a wand that isn't there, "Well guess what sugar-pie- you're not. I had friends and family too, you bitch. My mother-"
His breath hitches and he stops abruptly. There were many things he would never speak of to the others, and his mother was on the very top of that list.
Granger's eyes soften and he already regrets the slip of the tongue, "Malfoy, I-"
"Forget it Granger." He sneers, backing off, "Just stay the fuck away from me."
"Malfoy!" The witch calls out as he withdraws (flees). He ignores her- fuck it, he'll just deal with the shitty coffee in his flat.
Right after he trashes half of it in anger.
(thinking of his mother has that effect on him)
Life at the tower is, above all, boring.
Up to this point, the last half a decade or so of his life had been spent working towards a single goal. With that now up in the air (and launched irretrievably into fucking space), he was left with the inevitable realisation that he had no idea how to live; how to be a normal person. He'd certainly forgotten how to get along with others. Life now was a constant struggle between playing nice with others in the hopes of getting off SHIELD's Possibly Naughty list before he turns forty, and remembering that he needed to play nice with the others. Mostly he failed at both- particularly with Potter and Granger.
Because one of the things he'd found, now that he was free of the psychopaths he'd been infiltrating in Britain, was that he was angry. All of the time.
It was exhausting, trying to decide whose fault it was- his; the Golden Duo's; the Neo Death Eaters. The blame shifted according to his mood, but the anger was a constant; boiling in his veins and twisting his words in ways he doesn't want. Not really. He can barely stop himself from snapping and snarling at the lot of them, regardless of how good a mood he'd been in moments before they speak.
In a way, it scares him. He hadn't always been like this. Sure, he'd been a twat in school, and the War hadn't exactly given him or his family a shining reputation, but he'd always been able to have a laugh and find enjoyment in something. But here… nothing. Nothing but anger and petty bitterness. He can't even remember the last time he smiled- or laughed- let alone have a polite and civil conversation- not without constantly checking himself. It's like he's forgotten how.
It's not a comforting thought.
He has no supports here. No one he can trust. The Golden Duo disliked him almost as much as he did them, and he wasn't exactly motivated to make nice with them.
Barton and Romanoff were alright- Barton was a bit too crass for his tastes, but Romanoff was all dry and sardonic wit that reminded him of Blaise. But he knew neither of them well enough to say he trusted them. And the rest of their team… well, Stark appeared to be paired off with Granger, the Captain practically oozed righteousness from his pores and he'd heard that mild-mannered Banner turned into something like a werewolf on command.
And Thor…. Well, he was weird. Most of his interactions with the man involved unsettling, sad-eyed staring matches, as though the alien could see straight into his soul. Draco tried to stay as far from that nutbag as possible.
At least Jarvis was alright- for a more loquacious and wilful version of a house-elf.
Without any friends, or allies, he had no idea what to do with himself. He spent most of his time reading, or watching a seemingly infinite supply of films through something called 'netflix'. Ideally, he would have like to get out, see the city, but nothing short of an Imperius could convince him to go out with a fucking escort. Consequently, he found himself mostly bored and restless, wishing desperately to find something to break up the endless stream of days, but unable to hold a decent conversation with anyone but the Widow and Hawkeye.
Romanoff had noticed his apparent aimlessness. Quite quickly, she'd offered to spar with him. He'd refused on principle; wizards as a general rule were not physical creatures, and resorting to physical violence was considered poor show- especially amongst purebloods (not that many Death Eaters had appeared to remember that, he'd noticed). The idea of pointlessly beating on another person (especially when he'd had minimal training in the area) was about as appealing as traveling with an escort outside was.
Apparently, the memo hadn't been given to the Widow, because she'd taken to surprise tackling him instead.
How she managed to move so quietly without the use of magic was beyond him, but that was the least of his problems. If Draco had to tap out one more time, once again suffocating between the tight press of that woman's thighs, or experience another 'demonstration' of the double shoulder lock, he was going to turn her into an actual black widow, first chance he got. Because being pressed between the thighs of a beautiful woman sounded far better in theory that it did in practice. At least Potter or Granger were never around to witness the indignities.
And if he actually managed to toss her off him after the third surprise attack? Well… he could take some solace in that.
"Tea, Malfoy?"
He feels his upper lip curl back- by this point he's come to recognise it as a reflex reaction to contact with Granger or Potter. The woman stands beside the kettle, a jar of loose-leaf tea in hand; she looks warily sympathetic, like she's expecting him to cry at any minute.
"No."
Her lips thin- press together in an unhappy line. She mercifully stays quiet and he takes it as his cue to leave. He nabs a banana as he does so.
"Bruce is making dinner tonight." She calls after his retreating back.
He ignores the implied invitation and disappears into the lift.
He makes sure not to turn up to dinner that night.
"You're only making it harder on yourself." Romanoff purrs behind him. He swears, and slops hot tea over his shirt and book; it incites more cursing. She moves around his chair to sit adjacent to him, crossing her legs elegantly even as she lounges in the high-backed armchair.
"What do you want?" He snarls, trying viciously to remember that muggle or not, the woman could still strangle him with her thighs.
She smiles, as though reading his mind, "That's for me to know, человек-призрак."
Draco refrains from mentioning that he finds her use of Russian disturbingly attractive. He's pretty sure there's something going on between her and Barton, anyway.
"All this biting." She continues, plucking his tea out of his hands and taking a sip with a straight face. Draco knows for a fact it's scalding hot, "It does you nothing but harm. You're like a dog, gnawing at its own leg."
He snorts, "And what, you want me to stop?"
"It would help. Hermione- and ultimately SHIELD- has control of your custody. She won't let you go if she thinks you're a threat."
"And you expect me to play nice with them?" He makes a sound of disgust in the back of his throat.
She shrugs; rolls her eyes, "You played nice with the Death Eaters. Why not them?"
"It was different with them; low-lives like that… I knew I was better." He grimaces, debating whether or not to open up to the woman. In the end, he decides to go along; Romanoff had ways of finding out these things, he knew, "But those two; they're so pure. Standing in front of them makes everything I do feel lacking."
It's like all my insecurities and fears are thrown in my face.
"Then you do not see them so well." She hands him back his tea.
"I've known them far longer than you have, Romanoff."
That funny smile of hers returns, "And yet you cannot see them clearly. I don't know the history that lies between the three of you, but I see enough to know your animosity blinds you; all of you." She recrosses her legs and Draco admires the way her body falls immobile, as though on pause; waiting for action, "If you chose to let go of your childish hatreds, you would realise the three of you have more in common than just your universal displacement."
The smirk grows, "And perhaps it would pay for you to recall that all three of you are technically at SHIELD's mercy. I would think that fact would merit the procurement of allies, no?"
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. The woman smiles- a smug twitch of the lips that is unfailingly attractive.
"I'm not asking you to become friends with them. But it wouldn't hurt to at least play nice, don't you think?"
He sighs and rubs his face tiredly. There was wisdom in her advice, to be sure.
"I'll think about it."
She smiles properly this time, and unfolds from the chair in one fluid movement. Draco's not sure he's ever seen anyone move the way she does. Not for the first time he wonders if she has just a drop of magic in her veins, "That's all I'm asking for."
He rolls his eyes, knowing that it's not really all she's asking for at all. She gives him a wordless wave of her hand as she saunters out of his apartment.
He does think about it, after she's gone.
Mostly he wonders how the bloody hell she even got into his apartment without using the front door.
"You had a choice, you know."
He looks up from his tablet he was slowly typing away at (none of the letters were where they were supposed to be. It was driving him mad) and arches a brow- mindful of his conversation with Romanoff, "I did, did I?"
Granger nods, "You had a choice. You had every chance to bring them down from the within, before we were kidnapped." She takes the liberty to sit in the armchair opposite and he glares at her in irritation.
"And you and Potter had every chance to bring them down from the outside. You let them grow, when you had every chance of nipping them in the bud long before they had a chance to grow influential."
She swallows. He fights the urge to roll his eyes- he'd thought she was smarter than this.
"Harry was-"
"What, too busy hiding away his freakshow?"
The witch draws herself up defensively, "Harry's not a-"
"A freak? The guy can't bloody age. We're not talking about some Nicholas Flamel shit here- he's completely frozen. It's easy enough to check with the right diagnostic spells. That isn't normal- even for us."
She frowns at him, "Yes… it made him a target. It made fighting back difficult."
"Made him a target? Granger, he was the target. He was the reason they restarted. Bloody Rosier and his ilk would have been quite happy remaining bigoted assholes with no agenda were it not for the realisation that Potter was somehow now immortal. Potter restarted their faith."
She looks away. He gives a startled laugh, "You knew?" She nods reluctantly. Draco shakes his head, "Of course you did. And here I was thinking the pair of you were as naïve as they get. Does Potter know?"
Granger shakes her head, "If he does, it's not because of me. I suspected from the beginning- as time went on I only grew more convinced."
"And you didn't tell him, why?"
She frowns at him, and he can see the need to confess warring with her typical close-lipped policy. He raises a brow and she gives in, "I just- after the war- years after, things were supposed to be different, you know? Things were meant to be better and brighter and fairer. Instead we inherit a world happy to continue plodding down the same path it always has, and we were… well. We were fed up. What was the point of all the fighting? All the death if nothing changed in the aftermath?"
He keeps his mouth shut, though he sorely wants to make fun at her hopelessly idealistic view of the world. But this is the longest speech he's ever heard from her, and he hadn't even needed to prompt it. She'd come looking for him. And it wasn't as if he was surprised civility did wonders to the woman's temper… he just hadn't expected it to ever actually happen (or for him to allow it to happen, honestly).
"And then of course," she carries on, frowning into the distance, "It turns out that nothing really changed. The Ministry is as bigoted as ever, and the Prophet," here she spits out the word as though it leaves a bad taste in her mouth (perhaps it had), "was still unashamedly classist and unprofessional, and Hogwarts remained woefully as unequipped for introducing muggleborn and half-blood children into the community's fold as it had ever been.
"It was so disheartening. Harry could barely stand it as it was- nothing any of us did ever changed anything. So when the Neo-Death Eaters emerged… well I just didn't have the heart to tell him, truthfully. We were both so tired, Malfoy."
"So what? You just left it all be?"
"Well… yes."
"How very un-Gryffindor-like of you."
She shrugs, "And what could we do? Harry had lost almost all of his political power by that point. He was- well God knows what they thought. The Prophet tried to sell him as a vampire for a good long while- especially in the later years. Then management in the DMLE changed hands and he lost his job… the people feared him. There were plenty that thought he was the one leading the 'rebellion' in the first place."
Draco snorts in derision, "It still astounds me that people honestly believed that."
"People believe what the Prophet wants them to believe."
He smiles, "Granger, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were being unfairly cynical about the wizarding world."
The witch gives him a flat look, but her lips twitch in a way that he knows must be hiding a smile. It's fascinating, really- he'd never even contemplated the thought of enjoying a conversation with the muggleborn woman, "I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about, Malfoy. The wizarding world is a paragon of righteousness and equality."
"Indeed." He remarks dryly, "But you were saying?"
She does smile then- though it's a touch on the sad side. He feels disconcertingly close to doing the same, "Well, with little to no political allies there wasn't much we could do- most of the original Order were dead, and those left of the DA had families of their own- we weren't about to ask them to put their necks on the line for what we thought were just a small sect of Death Eaters. We'd figured the Ministry would do its job and stamp them out."
He rolls his eyes, "Rule one, Granger- never trust the Ministry. It's as rotten as they come."
"Yes, well more fool me."
They fall silent for a time. Draco half wishes he had a glass of wine to mull over- mostly for the atmosphere it invoked than anything.
"Why did you do it?" Hermione blurts out, after a time. He looks up, "Why did you spy on them? Why did you save us?"
He scowls, "I told you Granger, I-"
"No, you didn't. See, you're like Tony- you hide behind a façade- only for you it's a mask of spitefulness."
He swallows; feigns amusement, "Looking for my hidden depths, Granger? You might be searching for a while."
She rolls her eyes, but leans forwards- rests her elbows on her knees, "Why did you join them at all? Why stay with them in the first place? You could have clued in the DMLE early on- cut it all off at the source."
He frowns, debating the benefits of throwing her a bone. She'd confided in him- in a way- and it made sense to him to do the same. But it feels wrong- speaking so honestly- so candidly- to the woman. They'd been angry at each other for so long… everything about this morning felt weird and skewed- but to show her a part of his life before the Veil seemed only fair. And it was like Natasha had said; they were stuck together in this world. And they were the only people he could ever manage to relate to ever again.
"At first?" He says eventually, when her wide, expectant eyes become too much, "Revenge. I joined them because I wanted them destroyed- but it had to be done right… after the War- my father's mistakes- the Dark Lord's mistakes- everything was so clear. How misguided it all was. And then-" he stops. Finds himself unable to speak of his mother again, of what those bastards had done to her after the war. Even so, Granger nods in understanding- the attack on Narcissa Malfoy had hardly been common knowledge, but it was never exactly a secret, either. No surprise the witch knew about it.
"Well." He clears his throat- pushes down the anger and the residual grief, "To know they were still out there- the Aurors never even bothered looking for them, you know- and to be aware of that, made my blood boil. At first I only joined them to insinuate myself into their circle of trust. The Malfoy name didn't hold enough power after the War, but there was enough sway for them to think me useful."
He stops- calms his growing anger at the thought of everything he'd put up with, in the name of vengeance, "Every day I was with them- every moment- every second- I wanted to tear those bastards apart. Knowing what those pureblood fanatics had done… It was a trial every day to stop myself from turning on them and killing the lot of them."
"Why didn't you? After your-"
"Don't speak of her." He snaps at the woman in anger. She flinches- taken aback- and he almost fears that he's gone too far. But he couldn't abide the idea of the muggleborn talking of her- of anyone talking about her. Especially not now- not now that she was alone- he only prayed the house elves were smart enough to find her help now he was gone.
Granger presses her lips together, but she doesn't flip out. He grits his teeth, "Sorry-" he pushes out the apology- it feels like glass in his throat, "I just-"
"It's fine." Granger says sharply. She looks surprised. Draco can't say he blames her, either, "I get it, really."
He watches her warily. He faintly remembers hearing some mention of her parents going missing during the war- Bellatrix had been keen on getting the witch back after the escape from the Malfoy estate, but had ranted about never being able to find them. Part of him wonders now- from the sad look in her eyes- if it had been more than just an excellent hiding job that had saved them.
"Yeah," he says slowly- cautiously, "I'm sure you do." He opens his mouth to say more, but finds the words are lost to him. He stays quiet.
Granger looks at her watch- a gift from Stark, he assumes- and sighs, "I best be going. Natasha wants to go shopping- again." She stands- smoothing down her clothes as she does so. She smiles at him; it doesn't quite reach the eyes, "I'll see you later, Malfoy."
The words feel like a promise. He wonders, absently, just what it is he's gotten himself into as he watches the witch leave.
"You never finished explaining to me why you stayed with them."
Draco pauses mid-sip into his cup of tea. It takes him a good long moment to recall what she's talking about- that conversation had been over a week and a half ago, "Didn't I? Ain't that a shame."
Granger rolls her eyes. She sits without bothering to wait for an invite. It's a common trait of the people in this tower, Draco's noticed, "I want to hear your side of it all."
He frowns at her, "Wouldn't we be happier disliking each other the rest of our lives? Everyone needs an enemy."
The witch gives off a drawn-out, long-suffering sigh, "It gets so tiring, don't you find?" He shrugs, "I'd rather we be friends- and if not that, then at least amiable allies."
He gives it some serious thought- really, he does. He's shocked to find that the idea is not immediately aberrant to him, as it used to be. He rolls his shoulders, "I wouldn't be opposed to an amiable alliance, I suppose."
Granger gives him a knowing smile he immediately finds he hates, "And in alliances, it's important to share information."
It's Draco's turn to roll his eyes, "I don't know what alliances you've been in before Granger, but in my experience they're an even greater reason to keep secrets."
"Humour me."
He takes a long drink of his tea- it burns all the way down. He places the cup carefully on the table- he's sure at some point he'll knock it over elsewise, "I stayed with them at first because I wanted them dead." Granger sucks in a breath to speak and he holds up a hand to pre-emptively shut her up, "It was purebloods who hurt my family- the Ministry may have known nothing, but I knew exactly who was responsible. And they had to pay- in the very worst ways possible.
"And the first few did, you know. It felt like vengeance, in the beginning… but after a while it started to feel hollow." He sighs heavily and leans back in the low-backed chair. He doesn't want to have to admit his doubts to the woman, but the Slytherin part of him knows that if he ever wants out of Stark's tower, he had to play nice with Granger, "The longer I stayed in their ranks- the more I saw of the corruption that ran through everything- the more I became convinced that there was more of a problem than just another group of fanatics. The fault lay in the system."
He stops then. He's had these thoughts for a long time, but has never vocalised them. It takes him several long moments to compose his thoughts into words with meaning, "The Ministry, the Wizengamot- the entire notion of purebloods and muggleborns and halfbloods. It was all so flawed- the whole thing needed to be torn down. I'd bring Britain to its knees and rebuild it all from scratch. And Merlin- with the Death Eaters as a front, the Ministry would bloody let me." He's grinning by the end of it- it was far more complicated than all that, but he wasn't about to let Granger, of all people, know the worst of it.
The witch stares at him. She looks uneasy (he's not sure whether to count it as a victory, or a failure), "That's what Voldemort wanted, in the beginning."
He crosses his legs coolly, "Something along those lines I've heard, yes. But dark magic has a way of polluting one's mind- rewiring your brain. By the end of it all, all he was looking for was power."
"It never would have worked. People would have stopped you."
He barks a laugh of disbelief, "You think? After all we saw in the war, do you really think the public would have opposed anything the Prophet or the Ministry fed to them? Wizarding Britain wanted to be lied to."
The Mudblood Queen looks away angrily and he rolls his eyes again, "Oh come on- would it really have been so different from the changes you'd wanted to reap straight out of the war? I wanted a better world, Granger. And it was the system I hated- not the people- not really. And to me, owning the new system would have been the best revenge of all."
"I don't believe you."
He pushes down the flash of anger. Feigns an enigmatic smile instead. "Then I guess it's a good thing that I'm stuck on the other side of the looking glass now, isn't it?" He picks up his cup of tea and stands. The muggleborn watches him with wary eyes, "You wanted an explanation- that's what you got." He sighs and moves away towards the door.
"Malfoy."
He stops. Granger is smiling at him. Granted, it's small, but it's the first genuine smile he's received from the woman. He's stunned into silence at the novel sight- he's not quite sure he deserves it.
The smile turns wry, "This was nice. You should come down to my lab sometime. There's something I's like to show you."
He swallows, but finds himself unable to say anything in response to her. He nods dumbly, and turns to leave the room.
Romanoff may have been right.
(It didn't hurt to play nice with the others.)
человек-призрак Ghost man
There is something quite glorious about the image of Natasha crash tackling Draco as he's walking down a corridor. Don't say you don't wish to see that too.
I have mixed feelings about this chapter. I really love some parts, but there are other parts that I'm not so keen on. Malfoy is one of my favourite characters to write, and I wish he'd turn up more often than he does. :I That said, I feel like there could have been more snark.
Also, please remember that Draco is not going to suddenly tell the whole truth to someone he's always held some level of animosity for. Some of what he's said is the truth, and some of it is a lie, and I am not going to tell you either way. HA!
Anyways, I don't know when the next chapter will be up- hopefully within the next three weeks- I have comic reviews that I have to do, and some other things. Look forward to it though- I love what's been written so far.
So, until then, I'll see ya'll later! PLEASE REVIEW!
Cinna