Hellfire in New York

Hellfire in New York

Chapter 4: The Diplomacy of Draco Malfoy

"Holy Mother of Kazan!" Ginny exclaimed. Hermione's eyebrows shot up, while Harry and Ron exchanged an amused glance. For the last two weeks, The Burrow had been the setting for a Molly Weasley crusade. Ginny, raised among six brothers, had acquired the perfectly natural habit of cussing like a trooper when the mood took her. Molly had suddenly realised that her youngest child and only daughter was shortly to come of age, and had absolutely no concept of ladylike behaviour. Harry and Ron had privately agreed that the situation had been further aggravated by the interjection of Bill's new girlfriend, Nymphadora Tonks, into Weasley family life. The forthright young Auror also had a penchant for turning the air blue when she felt the occasion merited it.

Whatever the reason, Molly had suddenly and absolutely forbidden both her daughter and putative daughter-in-law to swear in the house. Tonks had responded by employing expressions like 'poot', 'sugar' and 'fudge', with a heavy sarcasm that Molly chose to ignore. Ginny, rather more subtly, had fallen back on a few Russian phrases she must have picked up during her relationship with Peter Rasputin - Colossus - the year before. Harry suspected that some of these were a good deal ruder than any of the English equivalents Molly had banned.

Harry hid his grin by taking a pull of his pint, then asked, "What was that in aid of, Gin?"

Ginny was leafing through that day's Prophet (disguised for the occasion as the Muggle Daily Mail). Now she rattled the paper exasperatedly and asked, "Who the blazes writes this cr...rubbish? I mean, why does a paper need a society page anyway?"

Hermione laid aside her copy of Cosmopolitan and asked, "Why? What does it say?"

"Oh, you'll love this!" declared Ginny. "It seems that our Mr Potter here has been named Most Eligible Bachelor in the seventeen to twenty-five age group!"

"No surprise there," stated Ron. "Harry was the Boy Who Lived. Now, he's the Man Who Won!"

"Oh, yeah, like that's news!" replied Ginny. "But, apparently, number two on the list is - are you sitting down, Hermione? Number two is Mr Ronald Weasley!"

Harry nearly spilt his beer and Ron went crimson. Hermione stared for a moment, then threw her head back and howled. When she could speak again, she grabbed Ron's hand tightly and said, "Oh, love, I'm sorry! It was just the look on Ginny's face - and yours and Harry's! Of course you deserve it, darling, you're as much a hero as Harry, and since your dad's promotion...."

"I know, I know," Ron said, having more or less recovered, "but it's not as if I'm actually a bachelor! I mean, we're engaged and everything, pet. We even announced it in that paper!"

"You're still a bachelor till you actually do the deed, mate," Harry pointed out. "There's still time to plot your escape, you know."

That caused more laughter. The four were sitting on the terrace of a nearly fashionable pub overlooking the Thames. Harry was aware, at the back of his mind, that both he and Ginny were under age in Muggle terms, but the manageress had not seen fit to challenge them. Apparently, she had been more interested in Harry's potential in other areas than his age, flirting relentlessly with him as he waited at the bar.

It had all been Hermione's idea - a day in Muggle London to celebrate their reunion after a couple of weeks apart. They had sent their luggage ahead to Grimmauld Place that morning, and met up in the Leaky Cauldron. There, Hermione had supervised their kitting out in suitable Muggle clothing. Hermione wore jeans and what she called a 'strappy top' that made the most of her slender, small-breasted figure. Ginny had a mini-skirt and a v-neck top that displayed her ample cleavage to advantage. Harry was wearing jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt. Ron also wore jeans, and a white 'wrestler's vest' that showed off his brawny shoulders and powerful arms. Rather than conceal or Transfigure their wands, Hermione had cast an illusion that made them look like the mobile phones almost every young Muggle carried.

They had window-shopped until Ron complained that his feet were falling off and his stomach falling through, so Hermione had brought them here. Now, Harry relaxed at the table supporting a plate containing a few crumbs of a substantial ham salad baguette and a glass with the last few mouthfuls of a pint of bitter. Ron had also had a pint, while Hermione and Ginny were drinking bottles of imported lager.

"So," Hermione enquired, "is there any actual news in there, Ginny?"

"Not a lot," Ginny told her. "With Voldemort gone, it's all just stuff about reuniting wizard society and repairing the damage. There's this leading article, though." Ginny cleared her throat and read, "It would be both naïve and foolish to think that the demise of You-Know-Who has removed every danger from our world. Wizards would do well to remember that we are a relatively small community within a much larger world, one that is also changing and developing.

"It is distressing to note how few wizards have heeded rumours filtering out of Hogwarts and the Ministry concerning these so-called 'Mutants'. Mutants, for the uninformed, are humans, neither Muggle nor wizard, who possess purportedly strange and powerful abilities akin to, but different from, magic.

"While it is not the policy of this journal to give credence to every tall tale coming out of the recent conflict, it is also not our policy to ignore them entirely. There is a certain consistency in stories of Mutants aiding wizards in the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. We have heard that Harry Potter, the Man Who Won, is himself a close friend of a number of these Mutants. There are even whispers that Miss Ororo Monroe, the American witch and constant companion of Mr Sirius Black, is not only a witch, but also a Mutant.

"But just as there have been dark wizards in our world, so surely there must be Mutants less virtuous than those the stories tell of. If this is the case, our community has a right to know the truth. The Ministry is being, at best, non-committal. Mr Arthur Weasley, Head of the Department of Muggle Affairs, had this to say: 'The Ministry is investigating the question of the Third Community as we speak. A full report will be submitted to the Wizengamot in the autumn. It would be improper to give more details before their deliberations.'

"So, it appears we must wait. We can only hope that the current leadership of the wizarding world will learn from the example of those who went before. It was their failure to act quickly and decisively that led to the avoidable rise to power of You-Know-Who, and its tragic consequences."

"Politics!" snorted Ron, and Ginny nodded. But Harry wasn't so sure. "Y'know, they have a point," he said pensively. "We know the X-Men, of course. At best, they're loyal friends; at worst, they'll leave us alone. But we also know there are other Mutants.

"What about the Hellfire Club? What about Magneto? Professor X told me at the Memorial Service that while we were all celebrating Ginny's birthday last summer, Magneto had paid a visit to Voldemort. Imagine that! Magneto just waltzed into Riddle's stronghold, threatened him - apparently he tossed him around like a toy - and then strolled out! Do we want to face that kind of power without any warning? If it comes to that, do we want to wake up one day and find twenty or so Sentinels making their way along Diagon Alley?"

"You may be right, Harry," Hermione agreed. "On the other hand, though, neither Magneto nor the Hellfire bunch has any real interest in wizards. Voldemort did a lot of damage, and perhaps the Ministry is right in thinking we ought to set all that straight before we start looking for new threats. Enough of the right people know about Mutants for now; we don't want to go scaring people just when they finally feel safe."

"You're right as usual, 'Mione," Ron put in. "And my dad agrees with you, too. Now, who's for another drink?"

Ron's motion was carried nem con, and he ambled off in the direction of the bar, to return shortly with more drinks and a huge bag of dry-roasted peanuts, which he set about munching with enthusiasm. Hermione went back to her magazine, and Ginny to her paper. Looking out over the river, Ron and Harry chatted quietly.

After a while, Harry said, "I fancy a bag of crisps. How about you, Ginny?"

"Ooh, yes, please. Prawn Cocktail if they have them!"

"Hermione?"

"No, thanks."

"Sure?"

"I'm fine."

"Leave her be, Harry," Ginny told him. "If she gets peckish, she can always have a nibble at Ron's nuts!"

Hermione sighed, put down her magazine, and thumped Ron deftly between the shoulder blades. Ginny took her hands away from her mouth and said, between concern and laughter, "Ron! Are you OK? I'm sorry, it just came out wrong!"

Red-faced, Ron wheezed, "How much have you lot got me insured for?"

Hermione said to Harry, "Honestly, Harry! Between her verbal yoga and his dirty mind, what are we going to do with them?"

"Lock the pair of 'em up in cupboard," suggested Harry, "and only let 'em out when we fancy a bit of nookie!"

"Ah," said Ron, "that's me out every hour on the hour, then."

"Me, too," said Ginny slyly, "but only for a couple of minutes at a time."

"Oof!" said Harry. "Wounded, or what?"

"Anyway," Ginny asked curiously, "what's verbal yoga?"

"The ability to stick your foot in your mouth effortlessly," Harry replied. "It's one of your special talents, my love!"

*****

Dartmoor is one of the few remaining truly wild areas in England. Though criss-crossed with cycle and bridle paths, it remains remote and unfrequented. Perhaps this is due to the grim reputation of its high-security prison, or the ominous atmosphere of the great Grimpen Mire. In any event, the sight of a silver Land Rover Discovery drawing up outside a ruined mansion was an unusual one, had there been anyone nearby to observe it.

A tall, slim, dark-haired woman stepped out of the car and surveyed the house. Baskerville Hall had once been the centre of a thriving rural community, but that had been over a century ago. Now it was remembered only as the scene of a famous detective's greatest triumph. Like so many aristocratic families, the Baskervilles had sent their sons to fight in the First World War, only to have all of them perish in the trenches. Their graves lay in Flanders; their names were carved on war memorials in the nearby village - almost uninhabited now - and another noble family had come to an end.

The Australian cousins who had, after a long search, inherited the house had never even come over to inspect it. Too far off the beaten track to be of interest to the National Trust, or profitable as either hotel or conference centre, the house had been allowed to decay. But recently, a British aristocrat named Baron Malfoy had made the antipodean owners a very generous offer, which they had accepted at once. From the outside, though, nothing seemed to have changed. The Hall still loomed, ivy-clad and clearly empty.

The woman walking between the Hall's crumbling gateposts was carrying a slim attaché case. She stopped just beyond the gate, and a small pendant at her neck glittered briefly. The scene in front of her changed. The house was still ivy-clad, but the shattered windows were now intact, and the crumbling walls and roof were whole and sturdy. "Remarkable," she murmured as she strode down the sweeping drive to knock imperatively at the front door.

A hulking brute of a man in a dark business suit opened the door. His face was set in an expression of petulant gloom, and his eyes showed not a flicker of intelligence. "Yeah?" he greeted her.

"Raven Darkholme to see Baron Malfoy. I have an appointment." She handed him a card. He stood aside and motioned her into the hall with a jerk of his head. "Wait here. I'll tell him you've come," the lackey grunted. As he moved off, his suit flickered and became a dark robe. So much for suave English butlers, thought Raven as she watched him go.

Draco Malfoy was sorting through his post when there was a tap at his study door. "Enter," he called. Vincent Crabbe shouldered his way into the room and tossed a card on Draco's desk. "Some bird called Darkholme to see you, Draco."

Draco despaired of ever instilling manners or culture into either Crabbe or his other bodyguard, Gregory Goyle. Not for the first time, he envied Harry Potter, who had a counterpart to those two in Ron Weasley - every bit as formidable, but with the advantage of being presentable!

He should have gone to his meeting with Raven Darkholme straight away, but Draco lingered at his desk. The envelope he was holding in his hand, sealed with a complex coat of arms, was of vital importance. "Show her into the morning room, Vincent," he told Crabbe. "Tell her I'll be there in a few minutes, and get her some coffee. And Vincent," Draco added as Crabbe turned to go, "our guest is an American, so give her the good coffee, will you?"

Alone, he broke the seal on the envelope that had arrived by owl that morning, sent on by Theodore Nott from Draco's Muggle post office box in London. The letter inside was written not on paper but on hand-made vellum, in a firm, Gothic script:

Malfoy,

It is fortunate that I keep informed of events in your world. Had I thought that your letter came from your father, it would have been cause for his instant and painful demise; however, I am not disposed to treat the callow impertinence of youth with the same severity as the studied insolence of adulthood.

You speak of "alliance" or "agreed neutrality". You are naïve.

Alliances imply a partnership between strong equals, or a seeking of mutual protection by the weak. You are not, and never will be, my equal. I have no equals. As to protection, I protect my own people. Should you offer me your oath of allegiance, you would become entitled to that protection.

Neutrality implies that each party is a threat to the other. You are no threat to me, for I could crush you with my little finger.

For now, my plans are confined to the Muggle world. When I turn my attention to the wizard world, I will summon you and accept your service, should I deem it worthy. Until then, have a care. Do not irritate me, or you will die.

Farewell,

Viktor von Doom

Draco shook his head. The arrogance of the man! It even surpassed Voldemort's. What right did von Doom - a man so horribly scarred that he had a metal mask permanently fused to his face, and so paranoid that he was never seen in public without his hi-tech armour - have to be arrogant?

And, Draco reminded himself, Dr Doom was not as infallible as he supposed. The monarch of Latveria little suspected how much Draco knew about him. Doom ruled his tiny country with an iron fist, though he exercised that fist with restraint most of the time. Still, Doom's several attempts to rule to the whole Muggle world had been foiled by a handful of so-called 'superheroes'.

At least Doom would let Draco alone for now, which just left one more question mark - one that this meeting might resolve. Draco made his way to the morning room.

His guest was seated gracefully on the couch, sipping at a cup of coffee - the rich aroma told Draco that, for once at least, Crabbe had carried out his instructions to the letter. "Miss Darkholme - no, don't get up - I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm glad you could come. I apologise for the delay in receiving you."

Draco could be smoothly polite, even charming, when he chose to be, but Raven was not so easily taken in. Her host was a tall, slender, young man wearing a grey suit with a Mandarin jacket. He was blond, very pale, and handsome in a cold way. The grey eyes studied her, not as a man studies a woman, but as a scientist studies a specimen. Nevertheless, she would play his game; deception was Raven Darkholme's stock-in-trade, after all.

"No problem, Baron Malfoy. You didn't keep me waiting too long. But you might as well call me Raven if we're going to work together."

Draco poured himself a cup of coffee. "As you wish, and you must call me Draco, unless, of course," he looked directly at her, "you prefer me to call you Mystique?"

The woman smiled, and changed. Her exquisite features did not change shape, but the fair skin was suddenly indigo blue, the eyes were yellow, and the dark hair became mahogany red. She took another sip of coffee and said, "Either name is fine. Would you prefer Number One?"

Draco smiled coldly. "So, we have established our bona fides, have we not? To business, then: Do you have a reply for me from Mr Lensherr?"

Mystique nodded. "It's the same reply Magneto gave to Riddle last year. The Brotherhood of Mutants has no interest in an alliance with the Knights of Walpurgis. Your wizard world has nothing to do with us yet."

"Apparently, Charles Xavier thinks differently," Draco contradicted.

Raven made a dismissive gesture. "Neither Xavier nor Magneto speaks for all Mutants. What happened last summer was necessary because Voldemort was stupid enough to try to enslave the Hulk. If the X-Men hadn't stepped in, it would've been the Avengers or SHIELD or the Fantastic Four who intervened. As to this spring, those were acts of friendship - individual choices by individual Mutants. Cyclops and Dazzler both have wizard lovers; no one would expect them to stay out of the battle. Sunspot and Psyche are close friends of Hawk - Harry Potter - so they came to his rescue. Wolverine went his own way, as he always has. And Storm, well, she's joined your world.

"Your Wizengamot has yet to acknowledge the existence of Mutants. Erik believes that when they do, it'll be on a live-and-let-live basis - no official alliance - unless, of course," she looked meaningfully at Draco, "someone makes it necessary!"

Raven studied Draco, appraising him. "Was that what you wanted, Draco? We know you've contacted Doom - a brave, but rather foolish, act. I hope you survive it. Are you trying to forge a Grand Alliance of wizards, flatscans and Mutants? Bring us all together under your benign rule?" she sneered.

"Why not?" he countered coolly. "The Mutants are fragmented between your group, Xavier's and the Hellfire Club. Muggles suffer under the ill-conceived concept of democracy, and my world hangs on in the midst of near anarchy. All of us need a single, clear voice of command. Humans are sheep - they must be told what to do, and what not to do!"

"By Pureblood wizards, of course," Mystique added.

Draco snorted contemptuously. "That was my father's dream. He wasted his life manipulating a lunatic, and ended up being murdered in Azkaban because of it!"

"I understood he hanged himself."

"Under Lestrange's Imperius Curse!" Draco growled. "As for pure blood, that's meaningless. Pureblood, Half-blood, Mudblood - what matters is power and vision!"

Draco leaned forward, asking, "Do you know why the Knights have no Number Two?" Raven shook her head. "It's because that place is reserved - by me - for the one wizard who could help me unite our world: Harry Potter! Together, he and I could bring order, prosperity and peace. All it would cost is for people to give up their overrated, dangerous, and misused freedom!"

Draco sat back. "But that's for the future. For now, I think you have some other news for me?"

Mystique nodded, and reached into her case. "These are the files, but I'll sum it up for you: Bellatrix Lestrange, Augustus Rookwood, Peter Pettigrew and Fenrir Greyback have taken refuge in the Hellfire Club, under the protection of the Black Queen. Selene has some sort of plan. She's summoning dark American wizards and minor demons, as well as trying to recruit more Mutants. She has complete control of the Inner Circle now.

"Our source in the Inner Circle tells us that the Black Queen went to your mother's house to recruit her. Your mother attacked Selene, and was shot by a flatscan bodyguard. So Selene is responsible, indirectly, for your mother's murder. So, Draco, quid pro quo , what can you tell us about Selene?"

Draco steepled his fingers. "The full account will be on the hall table for you to pick up as you leave. The history - especially of her early life - is vague and semi-mythical. Selene is almost a thousand years old. According to legend, she's the daughter of the vampire demoness Nevan and a wizard. Some sources say the wizard was Salazar Slytherin. Selene lives by draining energy from Muggles. It seems she's unable to feed off wizards or Mutants.

"She was driven from Britain by King James I, and then vanished for a while. Next we hear of her is in the 19^th Century, under the name Ayesha, when she encountered a Muggle explorer named Allan Quartermain in Africa. Later still, there are rumours that she surfaced in the South American jungle but was driven out by an individual who called himself 'The Phantom' - the locals called him 'The Ghost Who Walks'. Last record we have of Selene is in New York, where she encountered, and was apparently killed by, someone called The Shadow, who may or may not have been a wizard.

"As I say, the full report has more detail, but that's the bare bones. Is there anything else, Raven? Much as I enjoy your charming company, I have other commitments."

"Just one thing...." Mystique leaned forward and said confidentially, "We know you're planning to meet with Selene. She's looking for an alliance with your Knights. You're smart enough to have figured out that she intends to take them over as she took over the Hellfire Club, so you don't need a warning about that. But I'm to tell you that Erik will take it very badly if you compromise our agent infiltrator for some imagined tactical advantage. He suggested that I remind you a visit from Sabretooth or Toad wouldn't be as pleasant as our little chat has been!"

Draco shrugged. "I can see no advantage in betraying your spy. I'm not looking for an argument with Magneto. Sooner or later, I'm going to cross swords with Harry Potter again, and that's likely to put me at odds with the X-Men. I've no wish to have two lots of Mutants after me! My caution, I think, will count for more than my word, but tell your spy to stay out of my way when the time comes.

"By the way, you can keep the pendant. The spell on it is only good for one use. I'll send another if we need to meet again. Good morning, Raven. Have a safe journey home."

They rose, shook hands, and she left. Draco returned to his study, where he took up another letter. This one was on expensive cream parchment, delicately perfumed, and written in a slanting, feminine hand.

My Dear Draco,

I was so thrilled to receive your kind letter! Of course we must meet, as soon as you can come over to New York. I'm really looking forward to showing you this wonderful city.

True, we shall have to talk business. The Knights of Walpurgis are wonderfully placed to achieve the same great things in Britain that the Hellfire Club plans to undertake in the United States. We shall share our visions and our plans to make them reality.

But I hope, dear Draco, that we shall have time to get to know each other. I feel that we have so much more in common than simply our vision for the future. I'd like us to become warm, close, personal friends, as well, so I hope you don't mind that I've enclosed a little photo of myself with this letter. I'm a terribly vain creature, and it makes me happy to think you might look at it often until we meet in person.

Write back soon, and we'll arrange a visit. Will you use a Portkey or Apparate in? My security people are very protective of me, and an unexpected entry would upset them terribly, so you must let me know.

I'm looking forward so much to your next letter, and to actually meeting you!

With warmest regards,

Selene Slytherin

Draco shook his head as he read the letter for the tenth time. Hades! he thought. The woman's a worse minx than the Weasley slut! He picked up the wizard photograph. It showed dark, sensual Selene curled sinuously on a couch. The gown she wore was not, in itself, provocative, but Selene had a way of wearing it that made it seem so. As Draco considered the picture, the woman gave a slow smile and stretched out on the couch, pulling the thin material of her garment against every curve of her figure, making it quite clear that she wore nothing underneath.

Ye gods! Draco tossed the photo onto his desk, then picked it up and shoved it into one of the drawers. It wouldn't do for Crabbe or Goyle to see the thing. Perhaps he'd send it to Millicent at St Mungo's - Selene was definitely her type! Theodore's Secrecy Sensor had immediately picked up the Allure Charm placed on the photo, just as Draco had recognised the mild aphrodisiac in the perfume the letter was covered with. For some reason, such things had no effect on Draco; he was aware that his total lack of interest in sex had worried his mother somewhat as he grew up, but he saw it as an advantage. It kept his head clear to concentrate on more important matters.

For instance, the woman had signed herself 'Selene Slytherin', which meant one of two things: Either she was aware of the myths about her and wanted to encourage them, or she actually was Salazar Slytherin's love-child. Whichever was true, she obviously thought that she was being clever in emphasising the point to Draco, knowing that he was a pureblood wizard and member of Slytherin House. This was a mistake, since Draco had long ago come to despise Salazar as a narrow-minded fool who had abandoned the pursuit of power for its own sake in favour of an idiotic crusade.

Nonetheless, Draco would have to deal with Selene for a number of reasons. She was responsible for his mother's death, for one thing. Draco had not loved his mother - the emotion was foreign to him - but a Malfoy did not leave such insults unavenged. Selene was also sheltering Bellatrix, who had murdered Lucius Malfoy and must pay for that. Finally, with Selene out of the way, Sebastian Shaw - the Black King - would resume his dominance of the Inner Circle. Doom and Magneto might have rejected Draco's overtures, but Shaw was a practical man, not a blinkered idealist. Draco could do business with the Black King, and he needed Mutant allies to offset Potter's links with the X-Men. As for Muggles, perhaps the crime-lords of HYDRA, or the technocrats of AIM, would be less arrogant than Doom.

Draco Malfoy was a young man with large plans, but he was aware that he had a lifetime in which to achieve them. First things first: Disposing of the Black Queen was his current priority!