Chapter 14
Young Theodore Nott was not, by any means, the most dangerous thing Draco would have to face in his life; standing behind Nott Jnr was his far more formidable father, as well as those others who supported him (or simply opposed the Malfoy) but always, above all, loomed the grim spectre of the Dark Lord, overshadowing the whole path of his future. And yet Snape was almost ridiculously pleased of his young protégé, with the almost giddy pride of a man who had never had any children of his own, yet who considered this bright boy to be his.
Intellectually, he knew that regaining face in Slytherin to the point where he had established himself as a serious rival contender to Nott was only the first step in a very long journey; that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a serious achievement that sent a very real message to the players outside the bounds of Hogwarts.
Draco Malfoy had left his father’s protection, had tried to continue as he had always done before, and had been beaten within an inch of his life. Recovering from this, he had learned to stand on his own and to be a power in his own right, not as Lucius Malfoy’s son. It was the most important thing he would ever have to learn, and now that he had grasped it, now that he knew the extent of his own strength and what he was capable of, he would begin to grow in confidence, in power, and in stature.
If, Snape knew, and only if, things were allowed to develop naturally. They were so, so close to everything he and Lucius had ever worked for, to the culmination of a hope, a dream, a wish…and it could all be taken away, if things went awry.
Even so, it was a glorious thing, to see him once more as a major player in Slytherin.
And as for the interaction with Miss Weasley…? Well, he was certainly watching that situation with great interest. Miss Weasley’s unexpectedly Slytherin bent was an entirely new development that no one could possibly have foreseen; perhaps, perhaps it would be of great significance in the future…
She was certainly far better for the boy than Parkinson’s whore of a daughter.
**************************************
Others were less pleased by the news that the Malfoy boy had found his feet again. Dark eyes narrowed grimly, huge, heavy hands clenched, white knuckled, and stocky body all but shivering with rage, Alexander Nott looked to be in a particularly bad mood as he read his son’s rather hastily penned missive.
Narcissa thought it best not to interfere.
She had learned, in the course of her relationship with Nott, that there were certain lines that should not be crossed, certain buttons that shouldn’t be pushed, in the interests of keeping the peace, or in the interests of her own safety. Nott had none of Lucius’ fine, inborn manners – while Lucius certainly had no compunctions about harming women, he would not have harmed his own wife; he would have thought it…distasteful.
Alexander Nott had no such scruples; she had learned through whispered rumour and hurried warnings. She had known this entering into the liaison, because she never entered into such affairs without first conducting a thorough investigation. Forearmed, she had known just how to manage him without offending his ego to the point where he had to reassert his masculinity – the point where he would lash out, attempt to control her through violence and other means.
If Lucius was a consummate political intriguer, then Narcissa was brilliant at sexual intrigue. They had always cooperated fairly well, until she had thought him a failure, and therefore a liability to be coolly and efficiently discarded. She was beginning to wonder whether she had been just a little hasty in her judgement – certainly, she had completely alienated Draco when she had committed herself to Nott, and had lost all chance of joining herself to his star, which now seemed to be rapidly on the rise. Unfortunately, she couldn’t use her wiles on her son…
Draco.
He’d been a loud, squalling, tiresome thing that she’d had absolutely no use for; she hadn’t even been able to use him as a social accessory, as a trophy in her eternal wars with the other ladies in her circle, because Lucius had put his foot down in one of the few times in their married life. After his birth, it had taken her nearly four months to get her figure back, and after that, it seemed as though Lucius had had no further use for her, devoting all his attention and affection to his son and Heir. No, she’d never loved or even liked the boy, and in return, he’d never loved or even liked her.
Perhaps it had been a mistake. But if so, it was the unfortunate truth that she had no way of rectifying it. Her true strength lay in her sexual allure, and Narcissa may have been and done many unpleasant things, but she was not, and never had been, a woman who could cold-bloodedly lie with her own son – there were some things that were simply not done. Besides, she doubted that it would work.
Her chance at power carefully lay his son’s letter down on the desk, pushed up out of the chair, and turning around, pinned her with furious eyes. She fought the instinctive desire to freeze, to flee; instead she made herself smile, softened her eyes, and reached out to him with one white, entreating hand. “My dear Alexander,” she purred sympathetically, not throatily because he was not looking for sex now, “how is Theodore?”
He looked at her, distinctly cynical, but smiled indulgently, willing to pat her on the head and go along with her games – the ultimate condescending, patronising bastard…but a powerful one, nonetheless. She smiled back at him, reinforcing the image she had so carefully cultivated since they had begun living together – ambitious, but desperately willing to please, and most important of all, less intelligent, less ruthless than he.
“Theodore is very well,” he said, with a false smile, which faded almost immediately as his voice sharpened. “But it is your son, my dear, who is causing us some trouble…”
She didn’t like the way he classed Draco as her son, as if he were identifying her with the Malfoy once more. But what could Draco have possibly done to cause the Dark Lord’s right hand concern? She hadn’t thought him capable of so much, yet. She moistened her lips, widened her eyes in concern. “Trouble…?”
“Yes,” he said grimly. “Trouble. It seems that not only has he regained the loyalty of many of his fellow students, but that he has gained support from their parents as well, and from…various others, who have an interest in him…” He looked up at her, face twisted with rage and ancient hatred. “How did he do it? How did he manage to worm his way back into power, despite all the odds against it, despite everything Theodore had to work with?” He slammed his fist on the desk, thoroughly enraged.
Narcissa thought it best to remain silent. She wondered, as she had wondered for a very long time, just what was really behind this vehement, bordering on obsessive hatred for the Malfoy. Lucius had always refused to tell her, dismissing Nott as unimportant and beneath his notice, and she had simply not had the courage to approach Alexander.
“It appears,” Nott said reflectively, deliberately submerging the frightening passion beneath the languor he aspired to but could not quite achieve, “as though I have underestimated him. Perhaps,” he paused, savouring the word and the thought of causing Lucius Malfoy more harm, “perhaps it is time we upped the stakes…”
He smiled, and Narcissa shuddered.
*********************************************
They had all underestimated Draco. Hidden behind the arrogance and the bravado and the conceit lay the instincts of a true Malfoy, the fundamental strength of the descendants of Brandon Malfoy. It had simply taken him longer to discover it, longer to understand the true meaning of the phrase ‘worth fighting for’. He had reached the point, now, where he was in a perfect position to go after Nott himself, to take back the premium position that had been taken from him.
And with every one of Nott’s hangers-on who defected to Draco, with every influential Slytherin who joined him, believing that not only was Draco the more dangerous, and therefore the more likely to win, but that he was also the better choice for a leader, he grew in power. With their support, with every step closer he came to genuinely earning the place he had once held because of his father, he was growing in confidence. With every challenge, he was growing in cunning and experience. And with every day that passed, he knew that this was only the first step, that gaining control of Slytherin was only the prelude to another, much greater test…
But that was still some time away. There was time, yet, to become established. Time to tighten what hold he had on Slytherin, to gain more supporters against the day when he would seek to pay Nott back – oh, in kind, and with interest – for that humiliation in the Mirrored Hall. Nott had taught him a lesson with that experience – a lesson on the true impact of real, brute force and the brutal reality that underlay the Game – but even so, Draco had not appreciated Nott’s methods. Not one little bit.
During this busy period of consolidation, of constant challenge and testing, taunting and probing, there was time for things that were not strictly political, not directly related to gaining power or forging alliances, although that was how Draco justified his brief indulgences. Woven through the stark politics and the almost secondary priorities of schoolwork was a bright thread, an innocent curiosity, a voracious hunger for knowledge and understanding that he had never encountered in anyone else before. It was almost a pity that she was a Weasley, really…
His twice-weekly rendezvous with Ginny Weasley were indulgences that would certainly cost him immensely, if the Slytherins or the Gryffindors found out, and yet it seemed as though he could not bear to give them up, to relinquish the only bright, pure pleasure he could take in this hellish year. It was entirely innocent; he had no designs on the Weasley girl. Twice a week, they would meet, and he would teach her something of his world, and she – by attempting to put the knowledge he gave her into a context she could understand – taught him something of the world she inhabited, which was not, he had discovered, quite as simple as he had once thought.
Draco had never believed in absolutes. He had been taught not to believe in them. It was not fashionable, it was not good politics, and most of all, it was extremely dangerous. But somewhere in between collapsing, broken, on the floor of the Mirrored Hall, and finally standing up for himself in the Common Room, he had glimpsed the edges of a fundamental truth, a concept that ran counter to the teachings that had been ingrained in him all his life.
Beyond the business of the Clan, beyond the bounders of the Veil, beyond the responsibilities of upholding the Covenant and defending his people, not all was grey…
There were some things that were absolute, some things that should be absolute. And they were worth everything he could give them…
This idea, this concept, was something that his father – his father, who knew everything there was to know about life, the High Clan and the Game – had never, ever mentioned to him, not even in passing. But evidently he knew of it – he must know of it – because it was such a fundamental idea, even on tentative examination. So why hadn’t Lucius told him of this? Why had he allowed Draco to discover it on his own, at such a high price? Why had he been left to learn it from a Weasley, of all people?
It was a question he refused to contemplate, to even face – he didn’t want to think that his father might be still be pulling his strings, even in this. Especially in this.
But the novelty of teaching a Weasley, of learning from her and their combined knowledge and understandings – despite the occasionally uncomfortable revelations on both sides – was not what thing that drew him back, again and again, to her company – it was the simple, undeniable fact that she had no designs on him, either. Oh, she wanted him to teach her about the darkness, true, but that was the extent of what she wanted of him. She did not want to embroil him in her intrigues; she did not want his favour or his protection or anything from him at all. She was not attracted to him, and nor did she seek to ensnare him – she had no designs upon him, his body, his skills, his position, his power, or anything else at all.
He felt safe in her presence.
And that, he had discovered, was a very rare and precious thing.
***************************************
After Narcissa had gone, Nott sat down at his desk again, reached for pen and parchment and the heavy, dark seal engraved with the skull and serpent. It seemed as though young Malfoy was more like his father than he seemed, and if that was so, he could become a very real threat, one that would have to be eliminated, and sooner, rather than later. Nott knew that Lucius had accepted the Dark Mark reluctantly, knew he would counsel his son not to follow in his footsteps. And Draco, who worshipped his father and had his own share of the Malfoy pride and arrogance, would not willingly bow his head to the force that had caused so much trouble for their House…
It followed, then, that all of the Dark Lord’s cunning manoeuvring would not create a willing servant out of young Malfoy – and therefore, instead of these…games they played, he must be destroyed before he found his feet, amassed a following, and turned everything he had against them. Because, if he committed fully to his cause, the Lord of the Malfoy would be a far, far greater threat to the Death Eaters – if not the Dark Lord – than the Boy who Lived would ever be. Potter would never understand Slytherin, and the High Clan, and the darkness; but Draco had been born and bred to it…
But Nott did not think that he was that dangerous…yet. He was still growing, still learning, and he was still not completely independent – he still needed the support his father arranged for him, and that he had won in his own right. But if they could destroy that support, take away everyone that he relied on, leaned on, and drew strength and reassurance from…
Perhaps then they would see a wavering in that newly formed resolve…
And perhaps then they could break him.
*****************************************
Young Theodore Nott was not, by any means, the most dangerous thing Draco would have to face in his life; standing behind Nott Jnr was his far more formidable father, as well as those others who supported him (or simply opposed the Malfoy) but always, above all, loomed the grim spectre of the Dark Lord, overshadowing the whole path of his future. And yet Snape was almost ridiculously pleased of his young protégé, with the almost giddy pride of a man who had never had any children of his own, yet who considered this bright boy to be his.
Intellectually, he knew that regaining face in Slytherin to the point where he had established himself as a serious rival contender to Nott was only the first step in a very long journey; that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a serious achievement that sent a very real message to the players outside the bounds of Hogwarts.
Draco Malfoy had left his father’s protection, had tried to continue as he had always done before, and had been beaten within an inch of his life. Recovering from this, he had learned to stand on his own and to be a power in his own right, not as Lucius Malfoy’s son. It was the most important thing he would ever have to learn, and now that he had grasped it, now that he knew the extent of his own strength and what he was capable of, he would begin to grow in confidence, in power, and in stature.
If, Snape knew, and only if, things were allowed to develop naturally. They were so, so close to everything he and Lucius had ever worked for, to the culmination of a hope, a dream, a wish…and it could all be taken away, if things went awry.
Even so, it was a glorious thing, to see him once more as a major player in Slytherin.
And as for the interaction with Miss Weasley…? Well, he was certainly watching that situation with great interest. Miss Weasley’s unexpectedly Slytherin bent was an entirely new development that no one could possibly have foreseen; perhaps, perhaps it would be of great significance in the future…
She was certainly far better for the boy than Parkinson’s whore of a daughter.
**************************************
Others were less pleased by the news that the Malfoy boy had found his feet again. Dark eyes narrowed grimly, huge, heavy hands clenched, white knuckled, and stocky body all but shivering with rage, Alexander Nott looked to be in a particularly bad mood as he read his son’s rather hastily penned missive.
Narcissa thought it best not to interfere.
She had learned, in the course of her relationship with Nott, that there were certain lines that should not be crossed, certain buttons that shouldn’t be pushed, in the interests of keeping the peace, or in the interests of her own safety. Nott had none of Lucius’ fine, inborn manners – while Lucius certainly had no compunctions about harming women, he would not have harmed his own wife; he would have thought it…distasteful.
Alexander Nott had no such scruples; she had learned through whispered rumour and hurried warnings. She had known this entering into the liaison, because she never entered into such affairs without first conducting a thorough investigation. Forearmed, she had known just how to manage him without offending his ego to the point where he had to reassert his masculinity – the point where he would lash out, attempt to control her through violence and other means.
If Lucius was a consummate political intriguer, then Narcissa was brilliant at sexual intrigue. They had always cooperated fairly well, until she had thought him a failure, and therefore a liability to be coolly and efficiently discarded. She was beginning to wonder whether she had been just a little hasty in her judgement – certainly, she had completely alienated Draco when she had committed herself to Nott, and had lost all chance of joining herself to his star, which now seemed to be rapidly on the rise. Unfortunately, she couldn’t use her wiles on her son…
Draco.
He’d been a loud, squalling, tiresome thing that she’d had absolutely no use for; she hadn’t even been able to use him as a social accessory, as a trophy in her eternal wars with the other ladies in her circle, because Lucius had put his foot down in one of the few times in their married life. After his birth, it had taken her nearly four months to get her figure back, and after that, it seemed as though Lucius had had no further use for her, devoting all his attention and affection to his son and Heir. No, she’d never loved or even liked the boy, and in return, he’d never loved or even liked her.
Perhaps it had been a mistake. But if so, it was the unfortunate truth that she had no way of rectifying it. Her true strength lay in her sexual allure, and Narcissa may have been and done many unpleasant things, but she was not, and never had been, a woman who could cold-bloodedly lie with her own son – there were some things that were simply not done. Besides, she doubted that it would work.
Her chance at power carefully lay his son’s letter down on the desk, pushed up out of the chair, and turning around, pinned her with furious eyes. She fought the instinctive desire to freeze, to flee; instead she made herself smile, softened her eyes, and reached out to him with one white, entreating hand. “My dear Alexander,” she purred sympathetically, not throatily because he was not looking for sex now, “how is Theodore?”
He looked at her, distinctly cynical, but smiled indulgently, willing to pat her on the head and go along with her games – the ultimate condescending, patronising bastard…but a powerful one, nonetheless. She smiled back at him, reinforcing the image she had so carefully cultivated since they had begun living together – ambitious, but desperately willing to please, and most important of all, less intelligent, less ruthless than he.
“Theodore is very well,” he said, with a false smile, which faded almost immediately as his voice sharpened. “But it is your son, my dear, who is causing us some trouble…”
She didn’t like the way he classed Draco as her son, as if he were identifying her with the Malfoy once more. But what could Draco have possibly done to cause the Dark Lord’s right hand concern? She hadn’t thought him capable of so much, yet. She moistened her lips, widened her eyes in concern. “Trouble…?”
“Yes,” he said grimly. “Trouble. It seems that not only has he regained the loyalty of many of his fellow students, but that he has gained support from their parents as well, and from…various others, who have an interest in him…” He looked up at her, face twisted with rage and ancient hatred. “How did he do it? How did he manage to worm his way back into power, despite all the odds against it, despite everything Theodore had to work with?” He slammed his fist on the desk, thoroughly enraged.
Narcissa thought it best to remain silent. She wondered, as she had wondered for a very long time, just what was really behind this vehement, bordering on obsessive hatred for the Malfoy. Lucius had always refused to tell her, dismissing Nott as unimportant and beneath his notice, and she had simply not had the courage to approach Alexander.
“It appears,” Nott said reflectively, deliberately submerging the frightening passion beneath the languor he aspired to but could not quite achieve, “as though I have underestimated him. Perhaps,” he paused, savouring the word and the thought of causing Lucius Malfoy more harm, “perhaps it is time we upped the stakes…”
He smiled, and Narcissa shuddered.
*********************************************
They had all underestimated Draco. Hidden behind the arrogance and the bravado and the conceit lay the instincts of a true Malfoy, the fundamental strength of the descendants of Brandon Malfoy. It had simply taken him longer to discover it, longer to understand the true meaning of the phrase ‘worth fighting for’. He had reached the point, now, where he was in a perfect position to go after Nott himself, to take back the premium position that had been taken from him.
And with every one of Nott’s hangers-on who defected to Draco, with every influential Slytherin who joined him, believing that not only was Draco the more dangerous, and therefore the more likely to win, but that he was also the better choice for a leader, he grew in power. With their support, with every step closer he came to genuinely earning the place he had once held because of his father, he was growing in confidence. With every challenge, he was growing in cunning and experience. And with every day that passed, he knew that this was only the first step, that gaining control of Slytherin was only the prelude to another, much greater test…
But that was still some time away. There was time, yet, to become established. Time to tighten what hold he had on Slytherin, to gain more supporters against the day when he would seek to pay Nott back – oh, in kind, and with interest – for that humiliation in the Mirrored Hall. Nott had taught him a lesson with that experience – a lesson on the true impact of real, brute force and the brutal reality that underlay the Game – but even so, Draco had not appreciated Nott’s methods. Not one little bit.
During this busy period of consolidation, of constant challenge and testing, taunting and probing, there was time for things that were not strictly political, not directly related to gaining power or forging alliances, although that was how Draco justified his brief indulgences. Woven through the stark politics and the almost secondary priorities of schoolwork was a bright thread, an innocent curiosity, a voracious hunger for knowledge and understanding that he had never encountered in anyone else before. It was almost a pity that she was a Weasley, really…
His twice-weekly rendezvous with Ginny Weasley were indulgences that would certainly cost him immensely, if the Slytherins or the Gryffindors found out, and yet it seemed as though he could not bear to give them up, to relinquish the only bright, pure pleasure he could take in this hellish year. It was entirely innocent; he had no designs on the Weasley girl. Twice a week, they would meet, and he would teach her something of his world, and she – by attempting to put the knowledge he gave her into a context she could understand – taught him something of the world she inhabited, which was not, he had discovered, quite as simple as he had once thought.
Draco had never believed in absolutes. He had been taught not to believe in them. It was not fashionable, it was not good politics, and most of all, it was extremely dangerous. But somewhere in between collapsing, broken, on the floor of the Mirrored Hall, and finally standing up for himself in the Common Room, he had glimpsed the edges of a fundamental truth, a concept that ran counter to the teachings that had been ingrained in him all his life.
Beyond the business of the Clan, beyond the bounders of the Veil, beyond the responsibilities of upholding the Covenant and defending his people, not all was grey…
There were some things that were absolute, some things that should be absolute. And they were worth everything he could give them…
This idea, this concept, was something that his father – his father, who knew everything there was to know about life, the High Clan and the Game – had never, ever mentioned to him, not even in passing. But evidently he knew of it – he must know of it – because it was such a fundamental idea, even on tentative examination. So why hadn’t Lucius told him of this? Why had he allowed Draco to discover it on his own, at such a high price? Why had he been left to learn it from a Weasley, of all people?
It was a question he refused to contemplate, to even face – he didn’t want to think that his father might be still be pulling his strings, even in this. Especially in this.
But the novelty of teaching a Weasley, of learning from her and their combined knowledge and understandings – despite the occasionally uncomfortable revelations on both sides – was not what thing that drew him back, again and again, to her company – it was the simple, undeniable fact that she had no designs on him, either. Oh, she wanted him to teach her about the darkness, true, but that was the extent of what she wanted of him. She did not want to embroil him in her intrigues; she did not want his favour or his protection or anything from him at all. She was not attracted to him, and nor did she seek to ensnare him – she had no designs upon him, his body, his skills, his position, his power, or anything else at all.
He felt safe in her presence.
And that, he had discovered, was a very rare and precious thing.
***************************************
After Narcissa had gone, Nott sat down at his desk again, reached for pen and parchment and the heavy, dark seal engraved with the skull and serpent. It seemed as though young Malfoy was more like his father than he seemed, and if that was so, he could become a very real threat, one that would have to be eliminated, and sooner, rather than later. Nott knew that Lucius had accepted the Dark Mark reluctantly, knew he would counsel his son not to follow in his footsteps. And Draco, who worshipped his father and had his own share of the Malfoy pride and arrogance, would not willingly bow his head to the force that had caused so much trouble for their House…
It followed, then, that all of the Dark Lord’s cunning manoeuvring would not create a willing servant out of young Malfoy – and therefore, instead of these…games they played, he must be destroyed before he found his feet, amassed a following, and turned everything he had against them. Because, if he committed fully to his cause, the Lord of the Malfoy would be a far, far greater threat to the Death Eaters – if not the Dark Lord – than the Boy who Lived would ever be. Potter would never understand Slytherin, and the High Clan, and the darkness; but Draco had been born and bred to it…
But Nott did not think that he was that dangerous…yet. He was still growing, still learning, and he was still not completely independent – he still needed the support his father arranged for him, and that he had won in his own right. But if they could destroy that support, take away everyone that he relied on, leaned on, and drew strength and reassurance from…
Perhaps then they would see a wavering in that newly formed resolve…
And perhaps then they could break him.
*****************************************
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