Chapter Thirteen: The Crack in the Façade


Chapter Summary: Draka finds out that Henri is not only learning with third years but he saved the day.


Draka was sitting in the Slytherin common room, contentedly sucking on a lemon drop. Things had begun to look up. She had accumulated four consecutive victories over Potter and his Weasel. Nothing major, but it was only a matter of time—she had the momentum.

Her Influence in Slytherin was steadily growing. Draka was no longer upset that Henri, the Mudblood, was MIA. In fact, she was flattered that he was hiding from her. Draka had looked at the situation from a different perspective: she had set out to torment him, to show him his place, which was beneath her, cowering at her feet. She had achieved this, and though he wasn't quite at her feet yet, he was cowering, and soon enough, he would be.

She wasn't done with him. No, not by a long shot. But she was no longer afraid that their near-friendship would come to light. Even if he told anyone, no one—well, no one of worth—would believe him. Draka had unequivocally demonstrated how much she hated him. No one would believe they were ever friendly. Still, it stung that he was excelling in classes, and she was second to him. That would not go unforgiven.

She had changed her plan. Crabbe and Goyle were no longer on Henri-watch; they were useless there. Besides, they served a better purpose as her bodyguards. No matter how brave Gryffindors thought they were, Potter and Weasel were always hesitant to start something with her when Crabbe and Goyle were around.

Instead, she had put Pansy and Blaise on Henri-watch. They were perfect for the job because they had a knack for gossip like no one else Draka had ever met. If anyone could ferret out Henri's hiding place, it was those two. For now, though, she was fine with Henri being missing. It meant she could focus all her attention on Potter and Weasel. She smiled, thinking of her latest victory: she had tripped that bumbling idiot Neville during Potions, and he had fallen into Potter and Weasel's cauldron. Not only had Snape yelled at them for half an hour, but they had also collectively lost Gryffindor 100 points, received three weeks of detention, and ended up in the hospital wing for mild burns.

"Guess what, Draka?" Pansy's voice pulled her from her musings.

"What?" she asked. Had they found Henri already? That was fast, even for them. "Have you found the Mudblood?"

Blaise and Pansy hesitated.

"Well, spit it out! Have you found him or not?"

"Well… yes and no," Blaise said.

Draka was getting frustrated. She hated ambiguous answers. "It's either you've found him, or you haven't."

Blaise placated her, "Perhaps it's best if Pansy explains."

Draka sighed, then nodded and motioned for Pansy to go on. She secretly enjoyed the power she held over her friends—they all deferred to her.

"So, I was chatting with Arabella Swindon…" Pansy began, and Draka sighed again, ready to interrupt, before thinking better of it. The problem with Pansy was that she was a talker. It took her 25 minutes to explain a three-minute story. Draka's mind drifted away from Pansy's babble as she started plotting.

"… anyway, the potion exploded, and Snape lost his mind. He yelled at the twins, nearly hexed them, and deducted 1,000 points from Gryffindor. Then he went to Dumbledore and told him he would no longer accept any Weasleys in his class. Dumbledore will just have to find someone else to teach them Potions." Pansy finally finished.

Draka hadn't been entirely listening, but she caught the important part. Somehow, the Weasel twins had managed to anger Snape enough that he now refused to teach them. This was good news.

"Well, it was only a matter of time. Whoever thought allowing Weasels into Hogwarts was a good idea?" Draka smirked at the turn of events. "Wait, what does this have to do with the Mudblood?"

Blaise answered, "Guess who saved the day?"

"The Mudblood?" Draka asked.

"Mhm," Blaise hummed.

"What was he doing in a third-year Potions class?" Draka furrowed her brows in confusion.

"That, my dear Draka, is the right question." Blaise moved to sit next to her on the couch and bopped her nose. She slapped his hand away. Of all her friends, he was the least afraid of her. He'd learn.

"Well?" she barked.

"He was learning," Blaise answered nonchalantly, unfazed by her tone.

"Learning what? Blaise, don't mess with me," she warned.

Pansy interjected, "But he's not messing with you, Draka. The Mudblood was learning with the third years. Apparently, the professors made an exception for him. I heard from Bella that they say he's so smart, he'll take his OWLs next year."

"What?!" Draka exclaimed. "You mean to tell me the Mudblood is now learning with the third years?"

Pansy and Blaise shrugged.

Draka turned to Pansy. "Tell me everything."

Pansy started, "Well, Bella told me that Ari told her that Amanda said she had been talking with Alicia from Gryffindor…"

"Get to the point!" Draka snapped, losing her patience. "What exactly happened in that class?"

"Well, the Mudblood was learning with the third years. They were making some kind of explosive potion or something. One of the twins made it explode, and the Mudblood leapt and protected Katie Bell from Gryffindor. They say if he hadn't, she'd be dead. Even now, her condition isn't stable, and she was rushed to St. Mungo's," Pansy explained.

"What did he do?" Draka asked.

"What?" Pansy looked confused.

"The Mudblood. What did he do to save the day?" Draka spelled it out.

"Oh, I heard he cast a really powerful spell. Bella told me that those near the dungeons when he cast it could see its glow," Pansy said brightly. Nothing made Pansy happier than sharing gossip—well, except fashion and bullying Mudbloods, but gossip was a close second.

Draka exploded. "Of course people saw a glow! There was a bloody explosion!"

"Oh! I never thought of it that way," Pansy said, mood still high. She was getting used to Draka's explosive temper, she never got too offended these days.

Draka scoffed, "Of course you didn't." She stormed off, fuming. It was bad enough that the mudblood was ahead of her in every class, but now he was taking third-year classes and casting powerful spells?


Draka stormed into Snape's office. "Is it true?"

Snape looked up from his desk, his expression darkening. "Don't barge into my office like that. This is not an outhouse! Get out! Were you raised in the bush?"

Draka blushed deeply, quickly retreating from his office. She knocked this time, and after a long pause, she heard his drawl, "Enter."

She stepped back into the room, waiting for his nod before sitting. "Now," he said, his voice icy, "what is it that has you forgetting your manners and barging in like a wounded hippogriff?"

"Is it true, Uncle?" Draka only called Snape 'uncle' in private, as he was her godfather.

"Is what true?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Is it true that you let the mud—," she caught herself. Her uncle hated that word. The last time she'd used it in his presence, he'd yelled at her so fiercely she had cried. She cleared her throat. "Is it true that you let Henri take classes with the third years?"

"Yes, it's true," he said calmly.

"Why?" She couldn't help but moan in frustration.

"Why what?" he asked, his tone still measured.

"Why did you let him?" she repeated, stressing each word.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It wasn't solely my decision, Draka. The staff was concerned that the boy wasn't being challenged enough, so we all agreed to push him further."

"But did you allow him to take third-year classes? I heard the other professors just gave him extra homework," she said, her voice rising.

"Because he's capable, Draka. Just as I know you're capable, if only you'd focus," Snape said, his voice firm but not unkind. Draka lowered her gaze, remembering that he'd told her the same thing just last week. "It's not just extra homework. They're assessing him to tailor a curriculum. And I know you won't like hearing this, but I doubt you'll be in the same year as him for much longer."

Draka wailed in frustration. "But why him? What makes him so special? Why all this fuss over a mudblood?"

Her uncle was silent for a moment, his lips tight with suppressed anger. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but the words cut deep. "Because he has proven himself. He spends his time at Hogwarts learning, not engaging in petty squabbles with Potter or sneaking around at night to cause trouble. Oh yes, I know about your little trophy room escapades." He sighed, his disappointment evident. "You're smart, Draka. I know it, and you know it. But no one will stick out their necks to help you if you continue acting like this. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm busy. Get out of my office."

Draka rose from her chair, stung and silent, and left the room, the weight of his words heavy on her.


Draka didn't have the heart to go to dinner that evening. She couldn't bear the thought of hearing how precious Henri had saved the day. Her uncle's words echoed in her mind, cutting deeper with each repetition. No one will stick their neck out for you if you continue like this. The thought gnawed at her until she couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

She cried for what felt like hours, the frustration and pain washing over her in waves. But when the tears finally stopped, something else surged within her—anger. How dare he? How dare he tell her she wasn't focused? How dare he tell her that her behavior was wrong? Did he expect her to bend over backwards for mudbloods? For filth? Should she stand by and let people like Weasel think they were her equals?

No, she thought, her resolve hardening. He might be her godfather, but he didn't understand what it meant to be a Malfoy. He didn't understand the burden of upholding such a prestigious name, the expectations of maintaining the family's values. She couldn't just mingle with anyone, couldn't lower herself to their level.

Yes, he might be her godfather, but he was only a half-blood. He couldn't possibly understand the importance of blood purity, the stakes involved. He didn't know what it was like to be a true Malfoy, a pureblood.

After all, she had overheard her father tell her mother once that Snape had fallen for a filthy mudblood when they were in school. Of course he still has those misguided feelings, Draka thought. Why else would he hate the word mudblood so much? It's probably some twisted loyalty to her memory.

Her uncle might be a great Potions Master, might be skilled at many things, but as a half-blood, he would never truly understand. He didn't get the weight of blood purity, the stakes they lived under.

Let the mudblood take third-year classes. Draka clenched her fists, her mind buzzing with determination. She would show him his place sooner or later. And one day, she vowed, she would make her uncle swallow every last word.