Chapter 26 The Raft September 25th, 1998 Mos Mordre School of
Magical Might In a preternaturally chilly classroom
of the castle's old astronomy wing, 15 children of varying
ages SAT morosely in their wooden pews while Narcissa
spelled out the Lesson plan on the standing chalkboard.
She stood tall, shoulders aching from the effort, dark circles
blooming under her glassy blue eyes.
Despite the magical ointment she'd applied, it had been weeks
of poor sleep, and each restless night was beginning to show.
Her hair was tucked up in a bun furled into the shape of a
sleeping dragon, and a single black shark fell in a seemingly
effortless curl beside a black winged eye that she used to
appraise the students. Narcissa's gaze fell on young
Miss Avery, the niece of a late Death Eater whose face, she
noted with some relief, had filled out slightly in the weeks
since term had begun. Thanks to Hermione's quiet tip
about the kitchen's entrance and the steadfast few households
who'd stayed on, students could occasionally indulge in more
comforting fare than the bland protein heavy rations served in
the Great Hall. A small kindness, perhaps, but
it brought a hint of normalcy and warmth back into the daily
routine. She had, however, urged caution
to the students who dared traverse the corridors after
dark. The Caro's brand of punishment
had grown increasingly unscrupulous, indiscriminately
affecting Death Eater progeny and Muggleborns alike.
Avery shuffled uncomfortably under Narcissa's watchful eye
and buried her head in the pages before her, eyeing the textbook
with a hollow expression. In the endlessly drawn out three
weeks since the start of Term feast, several Death Eaters had
gone missing, including Rosier and Selwyn, with what they
assumed was a new targeted approach of the Order picking
off the enemy one by one. In response, the Dark Lord
ordered the Manor wards to be partially dispelled, regaining
the ease of access that himself and his loyalists had previously
taken advantage of. Yet leaving her family's
stronghold, Hermione and her son, who still lay comatose in
bed, all but defenseless. Each new pressure point was a
pinprick through fine glass about to shatter.
Not to mention the damp, musky canine smell that had permeated
her brand new sitting room cushions just the weekend prior.
Having that beast and his hounds back within her walls made her
want to burn the place down to the ground.
Hermione had taken to staying in The Cave that Draco and she had
rather miraculously manifested, leaning on Theodore to supplied
word ahead of time of expected visitors.
Whenever her presence was questioned by the brute Greyback
or by another of the Dark Lord's servants, they were reminded of
Miss Granger's continued protection for the safety of the
pregnancy. Thankfully, due to the Dark
Lord's particular interest in her unborn descendants, his
servants did not press. Despite this, Nessissa had still
been in awe that Theo managed to assuage the werewolves need to
track Hermione's scent around the Manor and moreover, she was
immensely grateful that her rejection of his affections
hadn't led him to withdraw his protection of her family.
It had been an unkind concern and she knew that she need not
have had such questions of his loyalty.
He had been resolutely by Draco's side for 15 years, more
loyal to him than even Lucius had in the end.
Perhaps even more loyal to her. Nurses across the room, heels
clicking sharp as a knife against the stone floor, and
scrutinised her audience. A true wielder of influence
knows how to keep allies close, but enemies closer.
She began, her voice ringing out like a tuning fork in the
stillness. Can anyone explain to me three
ways to control and manipulate rivals without revealing your
true intentions? Not one child raised their hand.
Sallow, she intoned, honing in on a dark haired boy with the
uncanny expression of the recently haunted.
Your grandmother is an esteemed member of the Sacred House of
Royal Elite Witches and assures me that you have read the course
books in preparation for the new school year.
The boy visibly gulped, his classmates shifting tight lipped
side glances his way. Are you to make a liar of her?
Nasus affixed the trial with a wetted Flint glare.
She despised having to play this role, but it was necessary for
her safety and theirs. Eyes were everywhere.
Portraits, ghosts, faculty, even students indoctrinated by their
parents. She couldn't afford the
slightest hint of disloyalty. No, Madame Black, then please
explain for the class 1st. Salo started with a tremble.
You should umm offer favours that place rivals in your.
Debt. Yes.
Go on. This creates an obligation that
they must repay. Umm second, spread rumours
indirectly shape their reputation or status without
appearing involved. The classroom door crashed open
and heads whipped around to the imposing figure of Headmaster
Moody and his unspeakable puppeteer.
Don't mind me, He said throatily, dragging himself
along the edge of the room, the faint shimmer of magical tether
linking him to his hooded master, who remained by the
arched doorway, barely visible in the dim light.
Continue, Master Sallow. Narcissa's gaze swept over the
room, landing pointedly on each student.
Why am I not hearing quills on parchment?
The class reanimated back into motion, dipping school issued
black and green quills into ink pots and hurriedly scribbling
their dictated notes. The headmaster had taken to
these displays of control, appearing unannounced in classes
at least once. A week.
An act of intimidation aimed at both the students and the staff
alike. A reminder of his, or moreover,
the Dark Lord's grip on the school.
Moody came to lean against the desk by Narcissist's side, his
magical eye spinning wildly over the students.
He crossed his bulky arms and sniffed, Hocking back mucus. 3rd
Control information flow. Salo questioned, to which
Narcisson nodded for him to continue.
Is this sensible material to be teaching our soldiers, Madam
Black? Moody asked under his rancid
breath. Social manipulation tactics.
From this close, she could see the thin flesh of his blue lips
peeling and could still not fathom what kind of magic the
Unspeakables had unlocked to perform such a feat.
She had encountered the real Alastair Moody only on a few
occasions during the home raids of the First war, raids Lucius
had been well prepared for owing to his Ministry contacts.
But this? This was a vile distortion of
the persistent aura, a twisted parody that mimicked his
mannerisms and intonations with repulsive precision.
He couldn't have been less himself, even if he'd been under
Imperious. Now he was no more than over
Intriloquist's doll, a hollow shell manipulated by the will of
another. Allowing rivals to feel like
they're in. The know, the boy continued, but
only. Telling them part of the truth.
This. Keeps them reliant on you.
As they continue to seek your guidance and approval, allowing
you to pull their strings without ever overtly.
Acting against them, Narcissa was cognizant that she was yet
to respond to Moody's remark. Very good, Salo.
She smiled at the boy class. Open the page to 142 of Laws of
Magical Might and answer the five questions written on the
board in silence while I speak with the Headmaster.
Once all the heads were down, Narcissa turned her back on the
room and addressed Moody directly through tight lips.
I am deaching from texts approved by the Dark Lord
himself. If you have an issue with the
material, I suggest you take it up with him.
He chuckled and held his hands up in mock surrender.
My, my, the kitten's got claws today.
Narcissa adjusted her robes and drew in a steady breath.
Not at all, Headmaster. I would simply prefer my time
not to be squandered while I'm educating the soldiers of
tomorrow. His silver eye narrowed, the
glassy orb fixated on her. Did you know, he sneered, that
this eye of mine can detect your pulse spiking each time you
speak with me? How beneficent have the Dark
Lord to grant you such a boon? She replied, her voice cool and
unwavering. Hmm.
He appraised her beadily and began to exit, some of the
students tracking his movements down the pews with their eyes
alone. Oh, and before I forget.
He stopped short in the centre of the room.
The Hawks have intercepted a Malfoy family owl.
On his. Way to the office this morning.
Poor thing didn't make it, I'm afraid.
Torn to smithereens, Nasus's skin turned to stone.
News from home. Her mind fell to Draco.
Had he succumbed to the dark magic coursing through him?
Had he fought through it and awoken?
The Headmaster made his way to the door to stand beside his
cloaked chaperone and shot her an unheimlich smile, a case of
mistaken identity. Sorry about that.
I feel great, honestly. Draco declared, pushing past
Granger, who stood rooted by the kitchen counter, chewing the
inside of her lip. The rich aroma of Poppy and
Kip's culinary effort swirled through the room, teasing his
empty stomach. Whatever curse all ritual Moody
performed, I don't think it worked.
I think I fought it off. In the hours since he'd awoken
from what was admittedly an indulgent recovery period, Draco
had clocked no fewer than 14 fretful glances exchanged
between Knot and Grainger, each look charged with an unspoken
worry that prickled at his nerves.
Hermione had been sitting at his bedside, her burgundy shirt
dress snug over a growing bump, the fabric straining gently
against its buttons. Her hair was slipped into a
loose side braid, and her expression, equal parts relief
and something unfamiliar, lingered in his mind, a glowing
softness. As Draco sat up, running a hand
through his greasy hair and clearing his throat, he
instinctively reached for her touch, but she was already gone,
having moved to the corridor to yell for Theo, her voice sharp
and fraught. He became acutely aware of the
dampness clinging to the bed sheets beneath him.
The ghost of unwellness painted his skin in mottled patches of
alabaster and rose. Ignoring Granger's protests, he
forced himself out of bed, taking a few and steady steps on
legs still weak from just use, and locked himself in the
bathroom for a much needed shower.
By the time he emerged cleaned, refreshed and much more like
himself, he was promptly read of the riot act.
He endured her admonishments without complaint, knowing full
well that she wouldn't relent until he allowed her to tend to
whatever nurse like tasks she deemed necessary.
Perhaps he should share her concern though.
After all, he had been pulled from his duties for the better
part of a month, unable to protect Granger nor guide his
mother and Theo through the quagmire of regime politics.
They had been left to fend for themselves, forced to chart the
safest course in his absence. But he was alive, as were they,
and apart from the insatiable hunger clawing at his stomach,
he felt steady, like a coiled snake waiting to strike its
prey. It is so good to see Sir awake.
Came Gregor's rasping voice. The elf emerged from the
greenhouse, a basket of winter vegetables piled so high it
almost obscured his face. Thank you, Greggy.
Said Poppy, planting the lightest of kisses on the tired.
Elf's cheek. And he handed the basket to her.
Indeed. Draco said brightly, swinging
open the fridge door with a little too much vigor.
He reached for the milk, ignoring the continued uneasy
glances exchanged behind him. And is the young Lord feeling
well? Greggor asked.
Never better, Draco replied smoothly.
The elf bowed deeply, retreating in his customary grace.
Yet Draco noticed the deepening shadows under Gregor's eyes,
nearly Crimson where they were once pale.
Had Draco's illness taken its toll even on the manners most
stoic of residence? I am ravenous.
Who wants pancakes while we wait for dinner, Theo Granger?
Draco asked. If Sir cannot wait, keep can
provide some crudite. The small elf chimed in while
hopping down from her stool by the stove and hurrying to the
freshly picked carrots. Mate, do you even know how to
make pancakes? Theo laughed, but the quiver in
his voice gave away his apprehension.
Draco chuckled. I guess not not.
He said, tossing the milk down on the island.
Holding his hands up in supplication.
Draco let out a sigh of exasperation.
Can the pair of you stop looking at me like I'm uninfurious,
risen from the dead? I feel fine, I am fine.
This is a good thing, Draco. Hermione said sternly, giving an
air of Madame Pomfrey in her address.
I need you to stop tearing around the kitchen and sit down
while I run some diagnostic spells.
Draco sauntered over, resting his hands lightly on her tense
shoulders. You performed a slew of them
upstairs. He reminded her with a faint
smirk. And what did you find?
Nothing as yet. She admitted primly.
Exactly, don't you find that odd?
Theo asked, his tone guarded. No more odd than everything else
these days. Draco replied with a shrug.
He leaned casually against the counter, watching as Kip set
down a platter of crudite. Did you send an owl to my
mother? I thought she'd be home by now.
Hermione hesitated. I tried to explain.
She's teaching. It's complicated.
Everyone's loyalty is under scrutiny, even yours.
Draco straightened, an idea blooming in his mind.
Pulling his wand, he swished it through the air with purpose,
the thought of victory, the intoxicating surge of dominance,
control, and unerring self belief coursing through him.
Expecto Patronum. From the tip of his wand erupted
plumes of spectral blue smoke, rippling like mist on a morning
tide. Theo cursed, and Hermione gasped
audibly. The clatter of the kitchen elves
halted entirely, their eyes fixed on the unfolding magic.
The smoky tendrils coalesced in mid air, swirling with an energy
both gentle and fierce. Draker's heart thudded in his
chest, the thrill of success washing over him like a hot
shower on a bitter winter's day. The ethereal form twisted and
solidified, revealing a delicate yet undeniably lively creature
outlined in blue light. The Patronus, a sleek, small
creature with shimmering fur, paused as if waiting for
instruction. Without hesitation, Draco spoke,
his voice clear and steady despite the rapid beat of his
heart. Mother, I'm awake.
Please visit home when you are able.
The creature dipped its head with a dutiful nod, then bounded
across the room in three graceful leaps.
With each pounce, the smoke around it began to dissipate,
vanishing entirely as it darted into the air.
For a moment, silence reigned. The occupants of the kitchen
exchanged looks. The air thick with cooking steam
and stunned disbelief, Draco stood tall, savouring the weight
of the accomplishment as it settled warmly in his chest.
Draco. Hermione whispered, her voice
tight with astonishment. You just cast a Patronus, so I
did. He replied, feigning nonchalance
but unable to suppress the grin tugging at the corner of his
lips. And it's a Beaver platypus
ferret. Theo quizzed, his tone dripping
with mockery, aiming to cut the tension.
An Otter. Draco and Hermione said in
perfect unison. Hermione's eyes flicked to Theo
before boring into Draco's once more.
Draco. She said cautiously.
Voldemort said the ritual might change him in some way.
He took the time to turn her words over in his mind to let
her think he was really considering them.
I am the Dark Commander, my mind is my own.
He repeated the grounding mantra inwardly.
I hear your concern, and I don't want you to worry.
How did you conjure it? Hermione interjected suddenly,
her features marred with a complex myriad of warring
emotions. What was your happy thought?
I thought of you. Draco lied, the untruth spilling
off his tongue like water over stone, and offered Hermione a
small smile, bringing a hand to her belly.
And them. For a moment, he thought that he
caught a flash of mistrust in her expression, before it
softened, her features a mixture of pride and again, something
else, a sentiment Draco wasn't quite ready to name.
It matches mine, you know. Draco faltered, a flicker of
realization sparking between them.
The room grew quieter still, as if the universe itself had
paused to acknowledge the gravity of her words.
You're Patronus. Well.
Theo said with a smirk. A match made in ethereal blue
smoke. Romantic, really.
I'm going to start calling you guys the Raft.
Just make sure there's enough room for us mere peasants on it
before you 2 set off downstream. Draco rolled his eyes, but the
corners of his mouth switched upward.
He cast a glance at Hermione, whose gaze lingered on him as
though he were an algebraic equation.
She stepped towards him as Draco took an even greater step back.
I should go to him. Hurt and confusion flooded
Granger's features. Draco, he can wait.
You've only just woken up. Don't you want to get your
bearings? We have a lot to catch you up
on. The regime.
The Dark Lord can debrief me himself.
He interrupted firmly. His tone broke in no argument.
Both Hermione and Theo stared at him as though he was speaking
gobbledygook. What I mean to say is that it
will arouse less suspicion if I announce myself directly to him.
I can't imagine he will be pleased to have lost his
commander during such perilous times.
Draco reached for an hors d'oeuvre, taking a deliberate
bite, relishing his last moment of calm, and prepared to
Disapparate. A storm churned within him,
anger and purpose intertwining to forge a steel resolve as he
turned on his heel. The weight of the room seemed to
settle around him, a silent understanding.
Draco felt A reckoning brewing, a resolve painting a picture in
his mind as clear and crisp as the dawn of a new day.
Death was coming for the Dark Lord, and Draco would deliver it
no matter the cost.