Draco Malfoy and the Heir of Slytherin (DM2)

by leahrocky

(or Eleanor Capulet and the Locked Box) Eleanor and Draco are back for their second year at Hogwarts. Eleanor, terrified after learning that Voldemort isn't as gone as she believed, is committed to understanding her mother better, hoping the knowledge will help prepare her for the future. Draco had a horrible summer, and all he wants is to forget the last year. (Drarry long-form)

11. Chapter 11: the first duel

Draco Malfoy wasn't quite sure what it was that happened between Eleanor and her favorite Gryffindors.

It was during the dinner following Goyle's little potion mishap when Draco saw Nell across the hall sitting beside Hermione, directly across from Potter and the Weasel. He would have been put out by it, if he hadn't seen the look that had taken residence on Nell's face. It was a look that didn't happen often, and, when it did, it usually was aimed at Draco alone (other than that one time he saw it at Lockhart, right after he had maimed Potter's arm – Had Draco been even a second later in pulling Nell away, he was certain what would have come next would have resulted in her immediate expulsion).

But, now, that murderous expression of fury was directed at the three he thought could do no wrong in Eleanor's eyes. Then she was shouting, loud enough he could hear from all the way over at the Slytherin table, before she stomped away, her face red, her eyes storming. Draco would be lying if he said the sight didn't please him.

Eleanor sat down with a huff beside Daphne and across from Draco. "Daphne, you've got to promise to stay away from Hermione Granger, alright?"

Daphne, who Draco knew never took anything seriously, giggled and said, "Alright. Should I ask why, then?"

Nell shook her head. "And it wouldn't hurt for you to avoid Harry and Ron while you're at it."

"Yes, ma'am," Daphne laughed with a faux salute.

"The Gryffindors being less than chivalrous?" Draco asked.

"Let's just say this rotten Chamber madness has left no stone unturned."

Draco looked over for himself and caught Potter staring at him again through the murmuring dinner crowd. When Draco's eyes met his, Potter looked away, feigning a sudden fascination with his sticky pudding. Draco rolled his eyes.

It wasn't the first time in the past few weeks that Draco had caught Potter staring. He had taken on the habit ever since Halloween. It wasn't exactly surprising, afterall, as the whole Chamber of Secrets ordeal had affected nearly every student's behavior to the Slytherins. However, where most students balked and tried to avoid Draco's eyes like timid shrews, Harry had taken the opposite approach. He was entirely focused, it seemed, endlessly watching Draco the way a lion watches its prey.

It was funny at first. Catching the flash of Potter's green eyes through the haze of a Potions lesson or seeing that horrid mess of black hair that only barely covered that stupid famous scar over Nell's shoulder in the library. But it was all getting rather distracting. Potter's eyes lingering on Draco's back began to burn and Draco started to catch himself staring back, wondering what was going on inside of that thick scarred head.

Draco didn't need the distraction of it all, didn't need to get sucked back into Potter's orbit. All it would serve to do would be to pull him away from the focus of his most important goal.

Draco had switched gears about the whole keep-stupid-Eleanor-alive objective for several reasons. For one, the Pandorette had turned out to be anticlimactic. Instead of giving Draco the evidence he needed, it had only served to sway Eleanor away into a new lunacy of absurd theories, which, when revealed, never failed to throw Draco for a loop.

There was the one time over breakfast when Draco's Daily Prophet was delivered and Nell asked him if the Prophet was the only wizarding newspaper. He was right in the middle of an article discussing the Quidditch Federation's prospected top team, when Nell peered over his shoulder, wondering aloud how accurate it could be if it had no competition. Luckily, Pansy Parkinson was there to suggest Nell read the Quibbler if she wanted a take on Flubbering Numzits, and the likelihood of their population increase causing a new round of Dragon Pox. Nell's blank face made Draco choke on his pumpkin juice.

Then, there was that time in the library when they were meant to be studying the Dancing Feet Spell, when Nell got distracted with a whole bunch of revealing charms she found in a textbook that had been left on the table they had sat at. Draco realized she hadn't done a single line of homework when he stole a look at her paper halfway through the hour, and discovered she had instead been using the time to write down the spells on a bit of parchment that was rapidly filling.

It all became clearest, though, when Nell wondered aloud in the common room, during a particularly snowy evening, if people's assumptions of Slytherins being evil just because of their house took precedence over the truth of what was happening. If there had been other times where similar things occurred and produced similar results. If wizards cared at all about objective truth.

Draco didn't really know how to handle this. On one hand, it was good in a way because it was distracting Eleanor from her other foolhardy interest that came up from time to time where she was convinced she ought to interfere with the whole Heir of Slytherin business. If Nell weren't off looking for trouble there, then Draco knew she'd be safe since she wasn't a muggleborn. So, the less she thought of that, the better.

But, on the other hand, Draco knew that Eleanor was playing a losing game. Despite her black-and-white view of good people versus Death Eaters, she couldn't change history just by wishing it so. Ottilie Hemlock's decisions were simple in Draco's mind, and he didn't share the same opinion of the rest of the wizarding world that what had happened was so unbelievable.

Ottilie Hemlock had chosen the side of power and safety until it wasn't safe anymore. She ran off, failed, then got cocky. Then she died. The end.

There was no sudden goodness that rushed forward and baptized her of her sins. There was no change in morals like the story declared, and Ottilie Hemlock did not realize the error of her ways . She wanted something new and played a losing hand to get it. Simple.

And, even if Eleanor was right, it didn't make Ottilie any less dead, so Draco figured it didn't matter. Who cares if Ottilie was good and noble if she was nothing more than worm food, rotting in the ground?

But Draco couldn't just tell Eleanor all of this. For one, she was far too stubborn to listen. And, for another, it could threaten the new peace they had entered.

In the end, Draco knew that Eleanor would eventually understand, or, at least would eventually get over this spat of denial. And, from there, Draco could help her come to terms with what they needed to do to avoid the same fate that Ottilie had met.

So when the notice went up about the upcoming dueling club, Draco couldn't have been more thrilled. They could both get some experience in protecting themselves, and, who knows, maybe Nell would turn out to be an excellent dueller and Draco could finally allow himself a moment of peace.

His good mood was dashed when they arrived in the Great Hall and learned that their teacher would be none other than the blithering Gilderoy Lockhart, or Professor Bonehead, as he and Nell had secretly begun to call him.

"Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!" he boomed to the hall full of students, his tanned skin shining in the flicker of the enchanted night sky above them.

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works."

Draco heard Nell scoff from beside him.

"I wonder if I'll get a chance at him," she whispered, her voice venomous.

Maybe all hope was not lost then.

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"If Snape knocks Lockhart on his arse, I'll never complain about Potions again," Nell said, and Draco snorted into his hand.

And, in Draco's opinion, it looked very well like Snape might just do exactly that with the glare he was leveraging at Lockhart.

They watched as Snape and Lockhart turned to face each other and bowed, Lockhart with a dramatic flourish, and Snape with a brutal swiftness.

Then, together, they raised their arms in the proper dueling stance that Draco recognized from late nights he spent sneaking away from his bedroom in the manor to watch his parents, drunk on firewhiskey, laughing through informal duels with their friends, red faced and joyous. Or from times his father brought him to the garden, correcting his posture and aim with his walking stick, face firm, but eyes proud when Draco would let off a hex, hitting his target exactly dead-center.

Watching Snape and Lockhart sent a similar little thrill through Draco and he felt himself holding his breath, an unconscious smile turning up the corners of his mouth. He couldn't help it. This was one of his favorite kinds of magic.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

"One - two - three -"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent; Snape cried: " Expelliarmus !" There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Draco and Nell cheered, both unable to hold back, though for likely quite different reasons. And they weren't alone, with the rest of the Slytherin classmates breaking into thunderous applause around them.

"Alright, I'm good now," Nell said, laughing. "That should be enough to get me through Defense for the rest of the year."

"Well, there you have it!" Lockhart said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm - as you see, I've lost my wand - ah, thank you, Miss Brown - yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy - however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . . ."

Snape was looking murderous. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me -"

Draco and Nell immediately looked at each other, and Draco might have felt worse about the fact that he was about to absolutely destroy her if it weren't for the vicious mischief that was so clearly plastered across her face.

"Oh, I've been just waiting –" she started with an evil grin, but was interrupted.

"Mr. Malfoy, come over here," came the voice of Professor Snape over the milling students. "Let's see what you make of the famous Potter."

Nell pouted, but smiled again when she saw Daphne migrate to her, while Snape led Draco away, a bit downtrodden to not get a chance to duel with her.

But when he saw the look of challenge written across Potter's face, all worries he had over Eleanor melted away like snow in the sun.

He would finally get the duel they had set over a year ago. He could finally knock Potter down from his insufferable high horse. Draco knew how to duel. He knew how to duel well .

He hadn't felt so giddy all year.

"Face your partners!" called Lockhart, back on the platform. "And bow!"

Their heads barely inclined, and Draco's eyes stayed trained on Potter's, adrenaline pumping through his veins like Fiendfyre.

"Wands at the ready!" shouted Lockhart. "When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents - only to disarm them - we don't want any accidents - one ... two ... three -"

Draco jumped the gun, too ravenously excited to hold back. Every bit of that jittery adrenaline exploded through his wand and the spell landed true, knocking Potter back and filling Draco with riotous satisfaction.

He was so thrilled, his eyes so tunnel vision trained on succeeding that he hadn't noticed Harry's return.

" Rictumsempra!"

The jet of silver light hit Draco in the stomach, filling him with an uncomfortable twitchy tickling, ghosting along his skin and digging into his muscles. He wheezed, doubling over, the sensation no doubt only magnified by his own fevered excitement, swarming butterflies in his stomach all on its own.

But through his streaming tears of laughter, he could just make out the smug expression on Potter's face, so similar to the one he wore when he caught the snitch from right beside Draco's head.

So, with all of his effort, he thrust his wand forward and shouted, " Tarantallegra!"

Immediately, Potter began a ridiculous wonky dance, and the laughs that had consumed Draco from the spell began to turn earnest.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

"Finite Incantatem! " he shouted; Harry's feet stopped dancing, Draco stopped laughing, and they were able to look up.

A wave of green smoke was fogging up the hall. From a few paces away, he saw Nell and Daphne giggling with each other, no doubt having been annoyingly gentle, and certainly having practiced nothing. Draco figured he might need to give Eleanor private lessons at some point. See if she's still laughing when she realizes what she's bound to face.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go, Macmillan ... Careful there, Miss Fawcett ... Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot."

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. "Let's have a volunteer pair - Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you -"

"A bad idea, Professor Lockhart," said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. "Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We'll be sending what's left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox."

Neville's round, pink face went pinker.

"How about Malfoy and Potter?" said Snape with a twisted smile.

"Excellent idea!" said Lockhart, gesturing Harry and Draco into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

Draco's face broke into a grin automatically, the giddy adrenaline now doubled. He sought out Potter's eyes again, which reflected the same bloodthirsty challenge no doubt emanating from him like heat. Draco wished all days at Hogwarts could have this.

"Now, Harry," said Lockhart. "When Draco points his wand at you, you do this." He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops -my wand is a little overexcited -"

Draco watched Harry's face fall, and that giddiness rose even higher.

Professor Snape bent down to Draco and whispered, "Attack first. Potter's slow on the jump. Do something he hasn't seen before."

Draco ran through a list of jinxes and hexes his father had taught him as Snape walked away, trying to land on something that Potter wouldn't have heard of before. He watched Potter's eyes narrow coldly, and the green of them was all the inspiration he needed.

Potter must have seen the idea land in Draco's face, because he turned to Lockhart and said, "Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?"

The hesitancy in Potter's voice thrilled Draco.

Quietly, Draco muttered so only Harry could hear, "Scared, Potter?"

Those green eyes landed on Draco's again as he whispered back, "You wish."

It was like petrol to a fire. Draco's very skin buzzed with the thrill.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. "Just do what I did, Harry!"

"What, drop my wand?"

Draco snorted into his shoulder so Potter wouldn't hear him laugh.

"Three - two - one - go!" Lockhart shouted. And Draco was ready. He'd been ready for this since Harry refused his hand on the Hogwarts express ages ago. For his whole life, in a way.

With the whole hall's eyes on him, a test of skill, just Draco and Potter, against each other, Draco raised his wand with the speed of familiarity and shouted, " Serpensortia!"

Just as Snape had predicted, Draco had beaten Potter to the punch, and the long black snake, an ode to Slytherin, erupted from his wand and reared threateningly at Potter.

There. Let Potter remember the power snakes hold.

Draco distantly heard frenzied screams from his classmates, but he was only focused on Potter's startled face watching the snake advance. Draco relished it.

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape lazily, clearly also enjoying the sight of Harry standing motionless, eye to eye with the angry snake. "I'll get rid of it..."

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack. Enraged and hissing furiously, it slithered straight toward that Hufflepuff, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and raised itself again, fangs exposed, poised to strike.

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter's ability to pawn off his challenges on those around him. He was meant to duel Draco back, but he hadn't looked his way once since Draco's spell.

In a million years, Draco never could have predicted what happened next. As the enchanted snake advanced on the Hufflepuff, Draco watched Harry step forward, advancing just the same and hissing .

At first, Draco was pretty sure Potter had finally lost it. But when the snake turned its head, rapt attention on Potter, still hissing, but with a frenzied order to it, Draco realized exactly what was happening.

Potter was a parselmouth .

The realization sent another weird unidentifiable rush of emotion through Draco, similar only to when he had witnessed Potter's flying abilities in their first year. A mixture of seething burning jealousy and something else entirely. Something near admiration. Or awe.

An emotion Draco didn't understand. An emotion he loathed.

Then Potter's face morphed into its stupid grin, no doubt excited for having had another chance to show off yet another unbelievable ability, and Draco felt himself seething all over again. At least he knew that emotion quite well.

"What do you think you're playing at?" Finch-Fletchley shouted before he turned and stormed out of the hall, reminding Draco that there were other people in the room again.

Snape stepped forward, waved his wand, and the snake vanished in a small puff of black smoke. His face looked shocked, like the rest of the students around them, but also calculating, quite unlike the rest of the students.

Draco watched the Weasel and Granger as they yanked Potter out and away, speeding from the hall with the same panicked pace shown by Finch-Fletchley.

"That will be all. Return to your common rooms at once," Snape commanded with his steady booming voice, and the hall split up immediately, nervous chatter resuming and frenzied.

Daphne and Nell were on Draco before he could even put his wand away.

"Did you know that Harry was a parselmouth?" Daphne asked with a grin, no doubt entertained by Potter's little spectacle.

"No. Did either of you?" Draco asked, though he watched Nell only.

She shook her head. They walked out of the hall together and back to the dungeons, splitting off from the rest of the student body, and from their fellow Slytherins who were hanging back, laughing and gossiping.

"Was it just me… or did everyone get really weird about all of that?" Nell asked.

"Oh! Of course – you wouldn't know. Parselmouths are usually associated with dark wizards," Daphne explained in a way that itched at Draco's skin. He was supposed to be the one explaining things to Eleanor.

"No. They're not," Draco argued. "People just think that because Salazar Slytherin was a parselmouth. It's rubbish."

Daphne rolled her eyes but smiled. "Same thing."

But Nell remained quiet. She looked up, her eyes all creased with a familiar worry that Draco knew quite well. "Is that why that Hufflepuff ran off? He thought Harry a dark wizard?"

"Maybe," Daphne said with a shrug. "It did sort of look like Harry was telling the snake to eat him, didn't it?"

"But… it's Harry Potter," Nell said. "How could anyone think that?"

Draco groaned. Of course Nell still thought this of him, despite the evidence that built constantly, the evidence only Draco seemed to see.

"I mean, you've seen how everyone's been these days. They're all a little mad with the whole Chamber ordeal, aren't they?" Daphne suggested. "With all of that going on, it was quite bold of Harry to reveal that little trick so publicly. I mean, really . Who could have guessed it from him?"

"Not me," Draco said. "Bloody Potter. A parselmouth . He's not even in Slytherin." As he spoke, Draco felt his anger build, his thoughts all swirling fast around everything that had happened that night. Nobody had even acknowledged that he had won the duel, all far too focused on yet another thing from the boy-who-lived. Even when Draco won, it was nothing to Harry's mere existence, the only kid who seemed to matter in the whole sodding castle.

"I wish I had some cool little trick," Daphne said, oblivious to the rage building in Draco. "Like a metamorphmagus, or something. I'd love to try out a new hairstyle everyday! Or maybe a new eye color…"

"Well we can't all be Potter , can we? A parselmouth . The bloody show-off scarhead. You know, it's almost worse than you, Nell."

Daphne stopped short. Nell stopped short.

And Draco realized his slip. "Bugger."

"Draco!" Nell shouted so loudly her voice cracked.

But Daphne looked absolutely giddy. "Oh, Nellie! What does Draco mean, then? Are you a parselmouth too? Tell me, what was Harry saying to that snake?"

"I'm not a parselmouth," Nell said, glaring daggers at Draco in a way much more terrifying than that snake had been.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted back. "It was an accident!"

"What, then, a metamorphmagus?" Daphne squealed. "But, I swear, you've never done anything to your hair that I can remember…"

Nell sighed. "No."

Daphne's eyebrows furrowed as she thought, before they suddenly shot high, her blue eyes wide. "You're not a werewolf, are you?"

Draco snorted involuntarily, and Nell hit him in the arm with an unnecessary amount of strength.

"No! No… I'm not a werewolf," Nell sighed. She took a deep breath, peered down the hall to make sure they were alone, and finally said with a quiet low voice, "I'm an Icari."

Daphne gasped, her hand shooting to her mouth. "Oh, how fascinating! I've never met an Icari before! Or, well, I guess I have, actually, haven't I?" She laughed, her hand moving to her cheek in delight. "Tell me, is it true that you're banned from the Floo network?"

Confusion swept over Nell's face. "What? No… I don't think so. But, Daphne, please, you can't tell anyone, alright?"

"Why not? It's wonderful!" Daphne said.

"That's what I've been saying," Draco said quietly.

Nell shot him another glare.

Draco continued, "Nell thinks it makes her a dark witch or something. She doesn't want anyone to know."

"Oh," Daphne said, her excitement dropping. "Yes, I suppose, I guess I have heard that."

"What have you heard?" Nell asked, curiosity replacing the rage.

"Oh… you know. This and that. There… there's that whole association with, er, cave-dwelling…"

"Cave-dwelling?!" Nell demanded.

At this, despite Nell's angry stare, Draco couldn't help but double over in a laugh.

"Oh, Nellie! It's just a stereotype!" Daphne tried, but her own voice choked with hidden giggles. "Some wizards think all Icaris live in caves, that's all!"

Nell went red as she shouted, "I don't live in a cave!"

And, at this, both Draco and Daphne couldn't help but be consumed by fits of hysterical laughter.

Draco gave himself a headache the next day with all the eye-rolling he was doing.

Not only had the story of Potter's little hissing conversation spread throughout Hogwarts, but it came with the start of even more rumors suggesting that it was the final piece of evidence to confirm Potter as the heir of Slytherin.

And, despite Draco's perfectly logical assertion that the heir of Slytherin was, oh, wouldn't you assume, probably a Slytherin themself, nobody seemed to agree. Or even listen. Or mention the fact that Draco had won the bloody duel.

It appeared the only logical students left were the Slytherins themselves, as not one of them seemed to buy into the ridiculous notion that Potter could be behind the attacks. It was curious though, Draco had to admit, that the only person attacked so far had been the boy demanding Potter's photograph. But that boy was annoying to everyone with his clicking camera and ridiculous hero-worship, so Draco barely paid the thought any mind.

He did ask Nell what she made of it (after he had gotten her to forgive the Icari slip by promising to write both of her Potions and Transfiguration essays), but Nell's opinion was just what he expected. She gave the very predictable 'but Potter is good, so it's clearly not him ,' followed by the yet even more expectable ' Well, I don't think it's fair to judge someone as evil just because of how they're born! '

Draco nodded along, only satisfied by the reminder that Nell remained as predictable as ever.

And, after Draco got over his annoyance at the stupidity of his classmates, he did get quite a bit of entertainment in watching the Gryffindors get a taste of the medicine that the Slytherins had been dealing with since Halloween. Potter was no longer being revered as he usually was, a wonderful turn of events. The Hufflepuffs now paled in terror at the sight of him , in a nearly identical way to how they had around Draco.

It all reaffirmed Draco's most steadfast belief, that it was better to be feared than to fear.

The day continued its descent into absurdity when lessons were canceled due to the onslaught of heavy snow blanketing the castle and the grounds, blocking out window light, collecting around the frames.

Draco was walking with Nell to get some celebratory hot cocoa from the Great Hall when they heard it.

"ATTACK! ATTACK! ANOTHER ATTACK! NO MORTAL OR GHOST IS SAFE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! ATTAAAACK!" bellowed Peeves from a distance.

Nell's eyes widened, frozen for only a moment, before she dashed forward to the sound, and Draco had to follow hot on her heels.

They rounded a corner and found Potter kneeling over the petrified body of that same Hufflepuff who had yelled at him during the duel. Beside him floated the Gryffindor ghost, horizontal and smoking, something done to him that Draco had never seen before.

They were not alone in their rush to see what had happened. The hall filled quickly with the stream of students from nearby classrooms, all coming upon the sight, all horrified and yelling.

"Caught in the act!" yelled another Hufflepuff, Ernie Macmillan, his face stark white, pointing his finger dramatically at Harry. He stood beside Tracey Davis, who looked surprisingly frightened for a Slytherin.

"That will do, Macmillan!" said Professor McGonagall sharply.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly, surveying the scene. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song: "Oh, Potter, you rotter, oh, what have you done, You're killing off students, you think it's good fun -"

"That's enough Peeves!" barked Professor McGonagall, and Peeves zoomed away backward, with his tongue out at Harry.

As Professor McGonagall carted them away, Nell turned to Draco and asked in a quiet voice, "Could we have been wrong?"

And Draco, for once, didn't quite know.