Chapter 18 Tenderness for the Mudblood.
Fuck. Greyback could have ripped out
Percy's throat as easily as taking a bite of a Peach.
The squelch of the muscle under the werewolf's teeth festered in
Draco's thoughts. He hid the invasive new memory
in a dark room in his inner mind.
The young man's body lay lifeless on the tiled floor.
Horrified screams tore themselves from Arthur and
George, and the air reeked of the Tang of iron as blood pooled
from the gaping hole in Percy's mangled neck.
Draco couldn't allow the Weasleys to be taken in, that
much he knew. With no occlamacy training,
Voldemort would instantly see in their memories that he had been
working with the Order. Perhaps with their reinvigorated
hatred of him, the Dark Lord would assume he had been
conspiring with them purely as strategy for the regime, but the
fact that he had hid it from his master would sow enough seeds of
doubt for it to put Hermione under threat.
Still, the question remained. How was he going to get them out
of this? That's enough.
Draco boomed, drawing in as much aristocratic superiority as he
could muster. We will let them live to tell
their precious rebels what happens when they cross us.
Release them from their binds. The younger wolves complied with
his instruction after a glance to their own master, who must
have conveyed his approval in some way.
Mulciba was shaking his head in disagreement, and there were
mutterings behind him from his Death Eater companions.
Draco was going to have to pay for this mercy.
Go now. Draco cast the command out to
Arthur's mind first, then Georges, who gave Draco a glare
that said You're fucking dead, Malfoy.
Draco imagined that if he had the gall to stay longer in the
lone twin's mind, he would have heard much worse Tears rolling
down their cheeks and fury burning in their eyes, they
observed the fallen body of their own flesh and blood one
last time, and in the single second later they disapparated
from the ruined daily profit office.
Draco's chest hurt from the strain of holding himself
steady. He wanted desperately to
breathe, to release all the emotion he was holding.
Instead, he folded up the emotions like they were bed
linen and tucked the piles of shock, grief, and guilt into a
hidden airing cupboard in his mind.
It felt as though any moment those same cupboards could burst
open and spill all his thoughts, feelings, and trauma into the
world. Pushing the fears further into
his mind, he squared up against the leader of the pack.
There will be repercussions for this disobedience.
He seethed at the man who was much more beast than human.
His bulky chest heaved against Draco's steady fall, the wet dog
aroma evoking waves of nausea of Draco's esophagus.
Take it up with your own pack. Greyback snarled at him,
indicating his head toward Mulsibur.
You do well to remember who is in charge here, dog.
Draco threatened, then slowly extricated himself from the
man's breathing radius and turned to his brethren.
You did well today. He panned the room to lock eyes
with each of them. The Dark Lord rewards those who
stand so resolutely by his side. Some of the men stood up
straighter at the praise. Mulsibur only cleared his
throat. Draco chose to ignore the
sentiment, avoiding provocation of further open defiance.
He would address Mulsibur separately.
Losses. He questioned.
There was a delay as Mulsiba refused to respond to his
request for Intel. Non commander.
A female from the back spoke in Mulsiba's place.
Very good. Draco blinked once to bat away
the rising disappointment at the news that Avery had lived.
McNair, Yaxley, Rosia, stay behind to clear up and ensure
any injured are safely transported to Saint Mungo's.
Yes, Sir. They leaped to attention.
At least some among him are still mindful of the hierarchy
of pallor. He grimaced to himself.
Miss Skeeter, this event is not to be published in any capacity,
Draco warned the writer, who remained cowering in the corner.
As always, you are only to report on approved content,
especially in the run up to September 1st, is that
understood? Her ghostly bruised face gave a
childlike quiver, Skeeter's chin dimpling against oncoming tears.
Not. He said, addressing the late
arrival. The Dark Lord isn't interested
in displaying any more blood at traitors in his hall.
You can dispose of this filth. Draco spat out the words with as
much vitriol as he could muster. Why is yo?
Said Theo, rolling up his sleeves and coming to Crouch by
Percy's body. Draco gave an eye roll of
exasperation and his jaw twitched at the easy tone of his
friend, clashing so paradoxically with the mood of
the room to the manner he impressed into Theo's mind and
not knowing whether the thought had landed, not cracked away
from the scene. Mulsiba, a word outside, if you
will. Draco intoned, and without
waiting for an answer, strode through a parting of his
so-called fellows to Diagon Alleys St., passing Avery on
route, who was nursing a sore neck at the base of the
reception desk. The alley was still devoid of
shoppers, most having fled to safety, and the two men walked
out of earshot of their peers, stepping into a Ginil at the
side of Whizhard Books. As an additional measure, Draco
cast Mufliato in a Dome around them.
Got secrets, Malfoy? The Death Eater said with a
snare, gesturing to the weave of magic around them.
Plenty. Mulsiba.
Draco's intense eyes were narrow slits.
You would do better giving your disdain for me to yourself.
The Dark Lord will not be pleased once he hears that your
open obstinance led to the death of another pure blood Wizard of
his new world. Maybe I'll tell him of your
delicate nature. The man sneered loudly, his
rough voice only dampened by the audio shield around them.
Doubt he'd back you as loyally as he's been so far if he knew
what a wet fucking blanket you are.
I like you, Mulsiba. Am a merely following orders.
Draco reminded flatly. The Dark Lord is eager to
maintain as much order as possible in the lead up to the
school's unveiling. That includes the de escalation
of raids such as these. Mulsuba crossed his arms
indignantly like an overgrown toddler.
Do you disagree with our masters directive?
Think sparing as much magical blood as possible, Blood,
traitors included, is a poor strategy to maintain magical
might. Think that you could run things
better, do you? He remained silent and seething.
That's what I thought. Assume to override me again, and
you'll have to start practising wandless magic for your
believing without a tongue. Mulsibur fumed before him, lips
pursed and pressed together, nostrils flaring.
And believe me, I know a curse that will ensure it can never
grow back. Or perhaps you would prefer A
use such a curse on other bodily regions.
He flicked his gaze downward. Shortly, a green hue discoloured
his opponent's face. That won't be necessary.
He muttered. What was that?
Draco toyed with a man some more.
Morcerbars stubbled Adam's apple Bob slightly.
That won't be necessary, Commander.
See that that is the case. His threat was fire and ice,
Weasley vapour that choked and rendered the man speechless.
Draco dropped the Muffliato, bid the man adieu and disapparated
from the alley. His master would require a post
raid report before Draco could return to the Manor and
hopefully to a safe Hermione. Late afternoon, Malfoy Manor.
Theo found my Foy manner much less inviting when neither Lady
nor Lord were present in its wards.
As he arrived at the gates, the bloody body of the ginger
Gryffindor at his feet, a chill set into his bones, and he had
cast hominem revalio to ensure he had not been followed, which,
gratefully, he had not. Momentarily, however, the air
shifted around him, followed by a crack of Apparition and a Yelp
as Hermione tumbled over Weasley's form.
As she tripped, she fell on her knees and whipped around on her
backside to understand what had interrupted her landing.
Colour drained from her face instantly.
She let out a horrible choke and scuttled backwards along the
stone path on her palms and the heels of her boots.
This is not ideal, Hermione. He said softly to her while her
eyes were still transfixed on Percy, a SOB escaping her lips.
Theo stepped around the body and crouched low in front of her,
shielding her from the macabre visual.
I'm sorry, who? She rasped, bringing her hand to
her side braid and twisting it anxiously.
Who did it? Greyback is.
Is anyone else? She stammered, eyes not focused
on Theo as though she were looking through him to the still
body of her friend. No, Draco did everything he
could to get Mr. Weasley and George out safely.
She nodded shakily and brought her knees to her chest, hiding
her tears between her legs. Where is he?
She asked. Is Draco OK?
He's dealing with the fallout. Come on, let's get you up.
Theo stood and held his hands out to her.
Do you think we can get his body back to the Order?
She asked insecurely taking his hands.
Oh, I think we need to wait on Draco for that.
Go and get yourself cleaned up. He gave her muggle jeans a
cursory glance, which were half covered in clotting blood and
chalk from the path stones. I'll stick around until he gets
here. Late afternoon Hogwarts.
Ah, Draco, how good of you to. Join us, Voldemort hissed at
Draco upon his entry into the Slytherin common room.
So the Dark Lord was making his chambers beneath the Black Lake
his new office and abode. Something about that twisted a
knife in his gut. This had been a safe place
growing up, and Voldemort taking it as his own cast a malevolent
shadow over the comforting memories he had managed to save
of his school years. My Lord and mother.
He faltered slightly on his approach toward the long sable
that had been recently procured in the centre of the room.
At the far end, the Dark Lord took the head of the table were
Draco's mother at his side. A rejuvenated glow coloured his
pallid translucency, and it soaked Draco's senses in
foreboding. Had the Unicorn blood potions
begun to take effect, or was there some new magic?
The pair were reviewing layers of large parchment sheets.
I had not expected to see you here, Draco remarked.
I asked Miss Black given her ponchonce.
For. Planning grand society events to
organise the welcoming feast of our new school.
She will oversee the continued construction work throughout the
month and. Beyond Voldemort answered
Draco's open question, and it sparked concern enough for Draco
to reinstate his mental walls. Nasisa beamed at her Master
slyly. It was a sickening expression to
witness on one's own mother. I was also telling the Dark Lord
of my experience tutoring the Beau Baton girls in France, she
added, while Draco stood as still as a soldier, hands behind
his back, sleeves still rolled. Up he.
Has graciously requested that I lend my skills to help educate
the next wave of students at the new school.
Draco's eyebrows raised at that, an amused smirk on his lips.
Something funny, Draco. The Dark Lord cut in with
piercing snake like eyes. Not at all, Sir.
I always knew my mother's talents were wasted on being a
housewife. Draco, sensing the energy of the
room was much more collaborative than his usual audiences with
the air of Slytherin, took a seat at the other side of the
table, opposite his mother. What, may I ask, will she be
teaching wizarding studies, Etiquette and might?
Narcissa shared with a black lipped smile.
It will be replacing that atrocious Muggle Studies course.
I don't like this one bit. Well, in that case, I'm
completely in favour. He lied, rather convincingly
he'd wager, and took a non committal glance at the
paperwork strewn across the surface of the table.
The parchment sheets illustrated various architectural plans
along with class timetables. Harnessing Ancient Magic and
ancient duelling strategies were among the proposed classes, with
some of the core subjects of Potions and History of Magic
still making the cut. No doubt with doctored
curriculums. The Dark Lord was training the
next generation for war. Why stop at Britain?
What trouble today, Commander Voldemort inquired, playing with
the knobs of his Elder Wand. With long black fingernails,
Dricker's eyes trailed the length of the wand, the power
from it calling out to him like a siren's song.
Its power was wasted on the Dark Lord.
Nasysa held her frame tight and looked to her son, elegant hands
resting on her knees. 3 Weasleys attempted a siege on the Daily
Prophet and a kidnapping of the lead writer.
We thwarted their attempts, but. Show me he.
Interrupted, batting away Draco's rehearsed response.
The breath in Draco's lungs fell stagnant.
My Lord, He asked to buy himself time, his heart beginning to
race. I wish to see for myself, Draco.
Voldemort had not entertained the prospect of peering into
Draco's mind, not since before the battle, which had been a
merciful relief. However, it seemed with whatever
new found vigour his master had discovered he had the energy for
such magic now. The revelation was one of deep
concern. If his mother had a reaction,
she did not show it. He was glad that their mental
training over the recent months had at least been marginally
effective. Of course.
Voldemort raised the death stick high above his head and pointed
it down to Draco. Legitimens.
The Dark Lord was not methodical, deliberate, or
exacting in his invasion of Draco's mind.
No, he was an untamed whip, flailing and slicing a Viper
intoxicated by his own venom. Striking with no real aim, Draco
swerved the haphazard strikes in the dark and offered up slices
of scenes from the raid. Avery's weakness, the Weasley's
ingenuity, Fenrier's ferrality, Percy Weasley's mangled body,
Mulsibur's insubordination and a flash of Grainger.
A sweet kiss to the forehead. Fuck.
Crinkled warm chocolate eyes. No.
Panicking, Draco tried to RIP the memory fragment away and
thrust a new one forward of Mulsiba, questioning him in the
alley. But in his fleeting frenzy, the
glowing snake eyes in the darkness marked their prey.
What is this? He heard echoing in his mind.
Do I detect tenderness for the Mudblood?
There was nothing for it. Draco was in a corner.
He had to give Voldemort something.
He gingerly presented the possessive and heated memory of
their bodies pressed together against the bookshelves.
I want you, Grainger, here, where I can keep an eye on you.
You are mine now. Dricker's own fingers twitched,
recalling the feel of her neck under his fingertips, pulse
thumping in desire and fear. The memory appeared to satisfy
curiosity, and in a moment of instant relief, the Dark Lord
ejected from his mind. Draco was panting and his elbow
pained. He had toppled from his chair
with the onslaught and lay fetally on the cold stone floor,
regulating his breathing. Getting to his feet and patting
down his robes, he collected himself and rejoined the table.
Voldemort continued to watch him, scrutinising, not without
suspicion. His next words would be Draco's
ruination, and he braced himself.
Very good, Draco, very good. His master considered, and Draco
persisted in the steadying of his beating heart, casting a
steel glaze over his mental defences.
You have identified. The strength of this?
Unity, I can see her infatuation with you.
This will serve us well in the New World.
Draco stopped his throat from bobbing.
I am hoping to use her as a symbol for the fall of the
rebels. She is a smart witch.
She understands that the cause is lost.
She is also eager to protect the unborn child.
Humph. You have done well.
So much better than I had expected.
He stood up then, black cloak billowing, his stature stronger
and more stable than he had been in the months previous, and
raised a Bony hand to pat Draco on the cheek.
Be mindful though, Mr. Malfoy, I am told.
That matters. Of the heart.
Can easily lead one to ruin. Voldemort trailed over to the
fireplace. The shadow casting behind him
from the flames stretched out like tendrils of spindly spider
legs, reaching past Draco and covering half of his mother's
face in its. Void This is an important
development. He mused darkly to the burning
embers. Yes.
Yes, I can see this working very well.
She is not hideous, at least I wonder I.
Wonder, Voldemort vocalised to himself softly.
Draco gave a short glance at his mother, whose prim mask had
slipped into a disquieted frown, A glare from her son flinching
her mask back into place. The grand doors of the common
room opened once more and two figures marched in.
Ah, amicus electo. So good of you to join us.
You have news I trust. Just what we need, Draco scowled
inwardly, the torture twins standing side by side, identical
in their charcoal grey robes and nearly matching height.
The only striking difference between the androgynous pair was
their hair. Electo's fiery red hair was
pulled into a tight bun, while Amicus sported a dull brown
mane, spiked at the top and marked by a prominent widow's
peak. The Unspeakables are ready, my
Lord. Excellent.
We are done here for now. He praised, dismissing Draco and
Narcissa, who began compiling her various documents and sheets
together in a case file and transfigured them away into her
robe pocket. They then made their exit, Draco
offering a sharp bow to his master and a polite yet guarded
smile at the pair of Death Eaters.
Considering their loss, the cease-fire may remain intact.
Draco. Voldemort offered as he and his
mother reach the door. But no further chances shall be
granted after this. Sparing magical blood can only
go so far until it begins to threaten our new world.
That also goes for disobedience within our.
Ranks the Dark Lord's scorching gaze burned into Draco's retinas
from across the room. See to it, commander, that you
quell. The unrest.
On both sides. Yes, my Lord.
He agreed and gave another pointed dip of the chin, letting
the doors close behind them. Neither released their breaths
until they were spinning through the air and Apparating home to
the Manor.