"I don't need to fight
To prove I'm right
No, I don't need to be forgiven"

Baba O'Riley - The Who

"I decree today that life is simply taking and not giving
England is mine, it owes me a living
But ask me why and I'll spit in your eye
Oh, ask me why and I'll spit in your eye
But we cannot cling to the old dreams anymore"

Still Ill - The Smiths

chapter 6: knights and pawns

Draco Malfoy knew that the incident on the quidditch pitch might have been taking things a bit far.

He had certainly never shied away from telling things as they were before, and his fellow Slytherin team members clearly found his comment hilarious, but the reaction he had received from Eleanor was… unexpected.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew in the moments before he spoke that it was likely going to cause a fight between him and Eleanor. Ever since the winter of their first year Eleanor had had some sort of weird fondness for Hermione Granger, a fondness that was only strengthened by their whole ordeal in the forbidden corridor. So, in that way, Draco was aware that calling Hermione a mudblood was likely to put Eleanor in a mood.

But it wasn't like Draco really had a choice after Hermione said what she said in front of the whole Slytherin team. From the moment she had spoken, Draco was forced to respond. Draco had to play the role expected of him. And hasn't that been the whole crux of the issue anyway?

And so Draco's response to Hermione led Eleanor to not watch Draco's first practice as Slytherin seeker, despite the fact that she said she would. In some ways, this wasn't a huge surprise. The expression that had crossed Eleanor's face was enough to tell Draco that she'd likely not talk to him again that day, or the following. But he had still been expecting that they might converge again during dinner on Sunday.

When that didn't happen, Draco tried not to read too much into it. Afterall, quidditch practice had been exhausting over the weekend, and Draco probably wouldn't have made for much of a conversationalist anyway.

He had a harder time justifying why Eleanor chose to sit with Daphne Greengrass instead of him during Transfiguration on Monday morning. Then again, in Charms.

But Draco knew how to play this game just as well. So for lunch, he took his plate of food outside onto the grounds with Crabbe and Goyle. Draco didn't mind this, he told himself, because he liked Crabbe and Goyle well enough, and, anyway, they never argued with him, not even when he tried to bait it out of them.

On Wednesday, Draco received a letter from his father congratulating him on a successful quidditch practice, and wishing him well for the start of the season. The letter came with a perfectly wrapped quill, brand new, fancy, and no doubt expensive. Alongside the quill was a tin of his favorite kind of sweets from his mother. This gift was the first he'd received at all this year, a clear contradiction from last year, where, by around this time, he had already received four.

Draco didn't need to guess as to why his parents had chosen now to end their present embargo. He only hoped that the temporary detachment he had from Eleanor wasn't playing too large of a role in it.

Throughout the rest of the next two weeks, Draco considered just explaining everything to Eleanor, in an attempt to make her understand and get her talking to him again. He could sit her down, and list it all out the way it was in his head, all about his parents, about the realization he had come to following the chess match, about the plan he had come up with. But explaining it all to her, for now, was no good, because he knew she'd argue , and tell Draco that he was wrong, and then she'd be stubborn, hung up on an idealistic fantasy that he'd never be able to talk her out of.

No, Draco needed more time. He couldn't try explaining it now, not yet, because he was still waiting to find a few more points to add to his side. And, most importantly, he hadn't yet come across an opportunity he could seize as undeniable proof. Proof that this was the only way.

The Gringott's key had nearly been his chance. If it had been revealed that Eleanor was actually left some sort of fortune from her mother, then Eleanor might finally have the sort of wealth that other pureblood families had, and she'd have much more in common with her fellow Slytherins. She could buy a wardrobe befitting of the pureblood side of her ancestry, and she might actually command some respect from it.

But, of course, that had been a bust. Ottilie Hemlock continued to prove her uselessness even in death.

Draco might have forgiven the dead woman because she had tried to leave Eleanor something, and it's not like she could leave behind what she didn't have. No, he might have forgiven her, if it hadn't been for that infernal box. The blasted thing that refused to open, and was turning out to be more useless than Ottilie herself, no better than an ugly paperweight. Draco had spent hours combing through the manor's library for all varieties of unlocking charms, then on histories of Scottish wizarding artifacts, hoping to make any headway in the mystery of the thing. But he found nothing, and, with his parents' current opinion of Eleanor, it wasn't like he could ask them.

Though Draco was coming to realize that anything left behind by Ottilie was probably more trouble than it was worth, he still couldn't help but hold out hope that this box might be the opportunity he was so sorely needing. The box and its contents could go one of two ways.

If Draco were lucky, the box could contain something that would allow Eleanor to see why Ottilie had chosen to follow the Dark Lord in the first place. It could contain the information that had made Ottilie become a Death Eater, and, when Eleanor saw it, it might be enough for her to finally see how the world they lived in was more than just the black and white she had reduced it down to. It could convince Eleanor to look at her options in a way that was pragmatic, and, with this, Draco would have the leverage he needed.

But, Draco was also keenly aware that the box could be full of all of the reasons that forced Ottilie to defect in the end. The box's contents could reaffirm the naive beliefs that already clouded Eleanor's mind. The beliefs that told her it was worth it to die for some stupid cause and that it was worth it to risk everything on some vague notion of what was good and noble. It could be the same shove forward that had put Ottilie Hemlock in the way of a man who was more powerful than any of them could ever hope to be. If the box contained something like that, Draco wasn't sure how he could move forward. It could worsen the near-impossible state in which everything was already all tangled up.

Because, in the end, Draco had realized that it was a game of chess, and if he played the wrong move then Eleanor would die. If the Dark Lord returned, and Eleanor had stuck herself on the wrong side of things, the stupid side who tried to push against the inevitable, then she and her powerless muggle father would be murdered faster than Draco could say ' goodbye' .

And the cruelest part of it all was that Draco could recognize that Eleanor really did stand a chance, though she might not realize it. If she could only let go of the fantasy that had gripped her since she first stepped foot in this castle, that had made her dread a placement in Slytherin, that made her hide who she was and run after Potter, willing to throw herself down a tower. If she could let go of this desperate ideal of good, then Draco knew she could be spared.

The Hemlocks were an old pureblood wizarding family, no different than any other, and yes, sure , Ottilie had defected, but Eleanor was descended from more than just Ottilie. If Eleanor tried, and if she could prove that she wasn't a threat or opposition, then she could probably be spared. Voldemort had no interest in the needless spilling of pure blood. And that was what gave Eleanor a chance.

Draco's parents never spoke of wartime with the fear or grief that so often laced the words of others. The Malfoys and the Blacks were ancient wizarding blood who didn't need to worry about falling on the wrong end of a killing curse. They were safe . And why should Draco ever squander that safety? The protection of his blood was more valuable than gold, and, if Eleanor thought realistically, for even just a second, then she could see that the one card she had was in her Hemlock blood. She could play it for what it was worth.

But Draco couldn't get Eleanor to see this if she continued to refuse to talk to him, so he needed to adjust his plan.

Adding to Draco's frustration were the renewed glares he had been receiving from Weasley, Potter, and Granger. After Eleanor began her stalemate and the Weasel's had had his failed attempt to curse him, Draco decided his best move was investing in the renewal of his friendship with Crabbe and Goyle. They understood the perspective Draco had, or, at least they were always ready for a fight.

And in any case, they were better company than Theodore Nott, who had taken to partnering with Draco during potions when he realized that Eleanor was no longer interested.

On a rainy Tuesday in October, Theo and Draco were sitting together in the library, working on an essay for Snape. Draco could tell that Theo was starting to get bored with the analysis of dragon scales versus dragon blood, as he had begun fiddling with his wand, and taking quick glances around at the students who wandered between the stacks of books.

"Draco – look who's arrived," Theo said, nudging Draco with the end of his wand.

Draco looked up and found Granger sitting at a table several meters away, and unpacking the endless supply of books that permanently accompanied her. Draco turned to Theo, and found his eyes looking dangerous.

Draco pulled a face that he hoped would convey disgust and said, "As if having to see her in class wasn't enough…"

Theo snickered. "Mudbloods at Hogwarts. Don't they realize how bad it makes it for the rest of us that actually deserve to be here?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, unsure of the thread Theo was currently going for.

"Don't you agree?" Theo asked, eyes narrowing. "If that filthy mudblood weren't here, it would probably put you at top of the class."

Draco knew this wasn't necessarily true. Without Granger, he might be top in potions or charms, but he'd never been good at History of Magic or Herbology, so top of the class probably wasn't in the cards. Regardless, Draco said, "That's true. They should knock her down a few grades to account for her blood if they refuse to rid us of her."

Theo grinned, his pointy incisors gleaming in the mottled light. "I wish we could rid this school of the lot of them."

Draco forced a laugh and smiled. This was the sentiment he needed to maintain his safety. To keep Eleanor safe. He could play along.

"Don't you?" Theo asked, pointed again.

"Obviously," Draco sneered, with the realization that this conversation would be making its way back to Mr. Nott surely.

"You know, I'll admit… I wasn't sure for a while," Theo said. "I mean, your friend, Eleanor , certainly seems to have no problem with the mudbloods."

Draco felt himself bristle under his collar. "She's new to it all. She doesn't understand it, yet."

"So you think she will?" Theo asked.

"She's not stupid," Draco said. "You know she's descended from the Hemlocks. Purebloods."

"I'm aware," Theo responded. "Them and a muggle."

Draco glared, his voice hushed. "As if we don't all have some muggles somewhere in our bloodlines."

"Hemlocks weren't in the twenty-eight."

"And yet it was good enough for the Dark Lord, wasn't it?"

And that seemed to work.

"Yeah, sure," Theo nodded, still smiling. "For a while."

Throughout the rest of October, Nell's icy demeanor toward Draco did begin to thaw. She was willing to sit with him again during meals, though never without Pansy Parkinson or Daphne Greengrass accompanying her. Draco figured she was probably waiting for him to bring up what had happened or for him to apologize to Hermione, but that would be counter to the plan, and therefore couldn't happen.

He stayed his course despite the fact that he was starting to get a bit jealous that Eleanor was spending this time apart from him collecting new friends. But he could tolerate it because the friends she was picking up were other pureblood Slytherins, and not more muggleborns or, Merlin forbid, Hufflepuffs . Perhaps Eleanor's proximity to Pansy and Daphne could help her case, or at least sway her away from muggle interests. And Pansy and Daphne didn't seem to be a threat to Eleanor's safety the way Theo could have been, since they clearly weren't begrudging her for her continued friendship with Potter and Granger.

Draco hoped that Halloween would raise Eleanor's spirits enough to prompt an actual conversation between the two of them. He missed talking to her, and he missed arguing over pointless things, and he really missed spending time with someone who wouldn't be relaying everything he said back to their parents. Eleanor could be annoying and stubborn, but she was never judgmental, and she seemed to understand Draco better than any other friend he had before her. He didn't understand why, or how, but it was true all the same, and he missed it all the same.

But Halloween did not give Draco the opportunity to talk with her again, because it was Theo who had attached himself to Draco's side for the whole day.

"I was thinking," he said during lunch, "we should do something. You know, to the mudbloods."

Draco eyed him, before glancing around to make sure that nobody was eavesdropping. "Like what?"

"Something to remind them that they don't belong," Theo continued.

"A prank of some sort?" Draco asked, though he was never one for pranking, as he always preferred a much subtler form of mischief.

"Maybe. Or something worse," Theo said.

Draco paused. "I agree with your motivations," he said after some time. "But I'd also prefer to avoid expulsion."

"Oh, like they'd ever expel you with your father." Theo's eyes were narrowed, as if he thought he were catching Draco in a lie. "I'll let you know when I've come up with something."

By the time the feast rolled around, the look in Theo's eyes had only gotten worse. It reminded Draco of paintings he'd seen of wolves, bloodthirsty and haunting.

It made it hard for Draco to try joining in on Nell and Daphne's conversation about some American muggle movie called Halloween which featured some sort of masked murderer who went around stalking teenagers. It was hard to laugh at Eleanor's descriptions of the supposedly silly deaths while Theo sat, absorbed in a notebook, quietly eating by himself and pausing every few minutes or so to write something down. It was clear that he was planning something no doubt related to what he had said during lunch. And this scared Draco.

Theo had always been firmly committed to the beliefs of their fathers, just as Draco was in the past, but he seemed to take his role with a level of severity that was always a bit alarming. Even when Draco's opinions were more in line with Theo's, and he was more subscribed to the black and white of bloody purity, Draco still found himself to have trouble in keeping up with where Theo's mind would go, how far Theo could take things. During visits Theo would have to the manor, they'd spend hours discussing their annoyance with mudbloods and how detestable muggles were with their lack of civility, but when Draco would tire of the same conversation, and he'd want to do something else like play chess or take out their brooms, Theo would decline and launch into another loathing speech. Draco played along, mostly to keep face, but he'd find himself worried, even then, about what Theo actually wanted and what it was that lurked behind his piercing blue eyes.

When the feast concluded, Theo was up immediately, and Draco followed with the same quickness, hoping to get a sense of what was going on inside his endlessly planning mind.

"Enjoy the feast, then?" Draco asked, taking long strides to match Theo's pace.

"It was a… thoughtful experience," Theo said, smirking. "Did you hear what Eleanor was telling Greengrass?"

"Er– about the muggle film?"

"Yes. Merlin , you'd hardly think her even a half-blood with the way she prattles on about muggles," he said.

"Well, she was raised by one," Draco defended automatically, the way he had done often over the summer with his parents.

Theo raised an eyebrow. "She's practically a mudblood."

"I wouldn't go so—"

"So you are still protective over her? The Draco I knew last year would never tolerate someone that fond of muggles," Theo sneered.

Draco's eyes narrowed, thinking. "She just needs time to adjust."

"No, I don't think so anymore," Theo said. "In fact, I'm starting to think that instead of her learning our way of things – I think she's spending far too much time spreading around her muggle-loving thoughts to places they shouldn't be. Like to you. And now to Daphne…"

Draco hid an involuntary gulp.

"She ought to watch herself," Theo continued.

"She's from pureblood, Nott. We already went over this," Draco tried. "She's not a mudblood."

"So?"

" So , I'm saying that there's worse to deal with."

"Hmm," Theo thought aloud.

But before more could be said, a strange scene came upon them.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione were standing in the corridor up ahead, the floor around them flooded, and circled around some sort of red writing across the castle's walls.

Draco and Theo continued forward to read it.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED.

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

"The chamber of… Is that meant to mean Slytherin's chamber?" Theo whispered, turning to Draco in shock. "Draco, did you…?"

It was the sudden shift of Theo's voice, the fear that had replaced the condescension, that sparked the thought in Draco's mind. The opportunity he had been waiting for to at least prove himself again to the other Slytherins, the children of his parents' friends. It was just like how it had been on the quidditch pitch, but better, the crowd around them larger.

Because, in truth, it had always been this game of chess, a game he had entered years and years before he ever realized. The game that was revealed for the first time to Draco in that forbidden corridor had never actually ended, and had started long before.

The incredible game that Weasley had played that night, the type of game that Draco would have thought enough to mean sure victory, enough to save them all, had ended in a way that it wasn't supposed to. It ended in a way that broke some belief in Draco's mind that if you were prepared enough, or clever enough, then you could win against whatever threatened you. Because even with all of Weasley's strategy, and all of his careful planning, he still ended up bleeding out on the floor, alone, save for Draco.

Draco realized that none of it mattered. It didn't matter if he was the best seeker in the world, because it wouldn't guarantee a spot on the Slytherin team. It didn't matter if he had started to see the flaws in his parents' beliefs, and started to think that maybe muggles weren't so bad, if some of them were like Kate Bush or William Capulet, because it wouldn't be enough to protect them. It didn't matter if you were the best, or the smartest, or the bravest, because none of it was enough to change the inevitable way that things would go. That wouldn't affect the game of chess that had started years before they were born, with an advantage that was impossible to overcome.

Even with Potter's stoney courage and determination to save that stone just because he thought it was right , and even with the look on his face that conveyed bravery beyond any kind that Draco had ever known — none of it was enough to prevent whatever it was that happened with Quirrell and Voldemort . No, Draco still had to watch Dumbledore carry out Potter's limp body, his skin ashen in a way that looked dead.

And Eleanor's unbelievable risk, her foolhardy attempt to fall through the air, willing to sacrifice herself for some half-baked noble cause wasn't enough to stop her fate either. Even when she succeeded and hadn't died a bloody broken mess in that room, miles below the school, Draco still found her, pale and lifeless in the hospital wing, another victim to a belief less tangible than air.

That was when Draco realized the truth. Noble sacrifice and ideology would land you in one place only. Dead. There was no strategizing through it, no guaranteed award for committing yourself to what was good or selfless.

There was only choosing the side that kept you alive. Let the noble die in their relentless pursuit for something they could never have. The world would never be right because there would always be power, open for the violent taking. The only thing you were left to do was determine where you'd fit the safest, and how you could leverage the protections you already had. How you could earn more.

So Draco, determined to save himself and continue to build that protection until he could cover Eleanor with it too, shouted, "Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"