Iuga Sortis II

Three

Damn it all to hell. The bastard's out.

He glanced over at his mother and noticed she was less than thrilled as well, something that rather surprised him. For years his parents had put on a united front against the ideals his father espoused--purity of blood, the inferiority of Mudbloods and Muggles, the eradication of such taint from Hogwarts--but seeing his mother's lukewarm reception of his father made Draco pause.

"Welcome home, darling," Narcissa Malfoy said in a clipped tone, kissing her husband's cheek in a perfunctory manner.

"Narcissa . . . Draco . . ."

His eyes immediately narrowed at the drawl his father put on his name.

He knows something . . .

"Father." He followed his mother's actions and kissed his father's cheek. Lucius grabbed his neck and put Draco's ear to his mouth.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, young man. What is this I hear about you and the youngest Weasley?"

Draco controlled the gasp that threatened to sound. Who dared betray his trust? Parkinson? Goyle? Crabbe?

"She is rather beautiful, Father, and you did tell me to appreciate beautiful things."

Lucius's mouth curled in disgust. "You do not have feelings for the girl, do you?"

"Does lust count?"

Lucius raised an elegant eyebrow before letting go of his son. "Make sure it doesn't escalate from there, hmm? I cannot afford to have you cavorting with an ally of the enemy . . ."

Draco was proud that he didn't roll his eyes. "I don't like Potter any more than you do, Father. Surely you know that."

His father's smile held no mirth at all. "Good. It is as it should be." He walked from the foyer into one of their vast drawing rooms. The pair waited until he was ten paces ahead before following. As the head of Malfoy Manor, Lucius demanded the respect of a king; anything less would not be tolerated.

"Dell!"

A frail, old house-elf poofed into the room, looking every bit as pathetic as he was.

"You called, Master . . ."

"Bring me a glass of brandy."

Dell hesitated and looked at the other two briefly before doing Lucius' bidding. Draco snorted; though the elf had been there as long as he could remember, Dell still had the nerve to look to them for permission before following Lucius' orders. It was one of the most undercutting things an elf could do, and Lucius was none the wiser.

How I wish I had the guts to do that . . .

As it was, he was being ornery by seeing Ginny Weasley in the first place. And while Draco did feel lust for the redhead, it paled in comparison to the genuine affection his heart harbored for her. He scowled.

"Draco, is something wrong with what I just said?"

He did not jump, though his blood pressure raised a significant amount. He shifted his eyes to the identical gray eyes of his father.

Tread carefully, Draco. You know you just got caught; make sure you don't say the wrong thing.

"No, Father, nothing was wrong with what you said."

"What did I say, Draco?"

"Something I dare not repeat to outside company."

Lucius looked at him through narrowed eyes before a corner of his mouth lifted. "Very good answer, Draco. You're well on you way to becoming of use to the Cause."

Draco was sure he became translucent at the comment, the little color he had draining from his face. He saw his mother's eyes flit toward him in apprehension before returning to their previous state. Apparently Narcissa didn't want him to join the ranks any more than he did.

"How so, Father?"

Lucius looked pointedly at his wife. "Narcissa, darling, I'd like to have a private audience with my seed if that is quite all right with you?" The sarcasm dripped from his voice like rain from a leaf during a storm.

"Yes, sweeting. Of course." She spared a warning glance at Draco before standing to go from the room

"By the way, Narcissa, Bellatrix is as lovely as ever. You two should get together, catch up on old times . . . I know we did . . ."

Draco glanced at his mother and saw her body tense. She said nothing as she left the room and didn't acknowledge Lucius before going; Draco knew she'd pay for that slight later.

Lucius gave a mirthless laugh. "Wives, Draco, are like dogs. They need to be trained properly or else they'll think you an equal. That bitch hasn't been trained properly--perhaps I was too lenient in my harboring some little affection for her. But then again she'd always been partial to wolves . . ."

Draco wanted his mind to wrap around that bit of information, but he couldn't afford to do so in front of Lucius.

"Father? How would I be of use to the Cause?" Draco said, redirecting the conversation.

"Why, getting the Dark Lord his ultimate pawn! First you've managed to get into Miss Weasley's good graces, and since we all know Potter has a soft spot for being the hero, it will only be a matter of time before he'll be lured again. That's how we got Sirius Black . . ."

Draco's eyes bugged out against his will. "Black? You killed Sirius Black?"

"No, my son, not I. Bellatrix . . ."

Draco suppressed the shudder at hearing the foreign tenderness in his father's voice.

"So you want me to use Weasley to get to Potter? Hasn't she already been the bait before?"

"Once bait, always a bait."

"Why not Mudblood Granger, or the older Weasley--the ones closest to Potter?"

Lucius frowned. "What is this, Draco? One would think you're trying to keep you paramour away from the Dark Lord?"

Draco snorted. "Well, she is mine. We Malfoys aren't predisposed to sharing."

Lucius gave a slow smile and chuckled. "Who said anything about sharing? You'll give her up when he wants her."

Draco said nothing and clenched his teeth in anger.

"And just why is the Little Weasel so special? They're a disgrace to pureblood wizards, blood-traitors, and not to mention, dirt poor!"

"You're a little fool, Son," Lucius sneered. "Why else would I give her the diary in the first place?! She's full of ancient magic--magic that hasn't been seen in millennia! She got you in a Bat-Bogey Hex, did she not?"

Draco's teeth clenched even more, and his face turned red.

"I was caught off guard--"

"A Malfoy never gets caught off guard; not if they're worthy of the blood that flows through them. Often I've wondered if that precious wife of mine didn't taint her milk when she put you to suck."

No, it was you who tainted her.

"So how do you explain your stay in Azkaban?" The words left his mouth before he could tell his brain to stop them.

The expression on Lucius's face did not change. "Crucio."

Draco gripped the armrest of the chair tightly, vainly trying not to collapse to the floor in pain. His eyes rolled in the back of his head from his efforts, and blood dripped from his nose. His hands turned blue from his tight grip, and he let out a gasp; the only signal of his suffering--the signal Lucius was waiting to hear.

"Heed my words well, Son--do not speak unless beckoned to do so, and watch what you say carefully. Son or no, you will show me the respect I duly deserve."

I'll give you what you deserve, all right, soon enough.

"Yes, Father," he wheezed.

Lucius smiled the epitome of an evil smile and ended the curse. "Good. Now go and clean your nose. I can't have you getting blood on this carpet--it's pure unicorn hide . . ."

Draco left the room without a word, his muscles and bones protesting with every step.

Damn the carpet and damn you with it.

Draco wondered how he was ever lucky enough to get a father like his, a father with no amount of affection, except for fear, hate, and indifference.

Fate, the old hag, has some explaining to do!

Harry Potter didn't know how lucky he had it--a whole community of people who loved and adored him and all he could complain about was You-Know-Who killing his parents.

Well cry me a river, then.

Draco walked into his washroom and cleaned his face. He put down the rag and scowled at his reflection. It was a work of art, of course; the Malfoys were a very attractive family. It was as if the exterior beauty hid the ugliness inside. He could feel the hate, distrust, violence, and cruelty flowing in his blood, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it. He was a weakling, just like his father said, but for a different reason entirely.

He wanted out of the "family business," and he didn't have enough guts to tell his father so.

Behind the bravado he presented at school was a scared little boy trying to become a man. His bark was far worse than his bite, and he honestly didn't think he had the pluck to torture someone to the point of death. Teasing and inflicting minor (or not so minor) bodily harm was one thing; torturing someone to madness or killing someone was something else entirely different. Quite frankly, the idea of torturing Mudbloods and Muggles didn't hold the same potential joy as it once did, though Granger and her lot would always be an exception to that. There had to be a way to get out of this; he just couldn't figure out what.

You ain't in Slytherin for nothin'!

The scowl melted into a smile as he remembered her--Nia. The affection he held for the girl shocked even him. She was opinionated (a bit too opinionated for a twelve year old girl), bossy, loud, and yet the truest friend he'd ever had. She wasn't scared of him and didn't tell him things he wanted to hear, but the things he needed to hear. He appreciated her for it. Often he wondered why it was they met on that fateful first night of term last year.

There you go again . . . Fate . . .

The frown reappeared on his face, and he left the washroom. He'd been thinking a lot of destiny during this summer, and he couldn't figure out why. Sure he was thinking about life after Hogwarts--he only had two years left there--but this question of purpose of life was a little too deep for him to consider, or answer. And now his father had all but told him he would be a Death Eater.

Joy.

There was one thing Draco didn't do well and that was take orders from people. He barely listened to his teachers in school, and he loathed his father for ordering him around as if he was some house-elf. The very thought of having to take orders from You-Know-Who filled him with a sense of dread yet irony. Lucius often talked of being respected, and yet he prostrated himself in front of some half-human, half-snake freak of nature. Draco snorted. No wonder Lucius bullied him and his mother as he did; he needed to feel worthy somehow, and You-Know-Who wasn't going to be the one to do it.

Torturing the less fortunate. How pathetic.

Yet wasn't that what he did? Tormenting Mudbloods and younger students as a way to feel better about himself? To feel more powerful, more respected, someone to be minded?

Dear Merlin, I'm becoming like my father!

But wasn't that what every little boy dreamed of--to be as great as one's father? Draco wanted to make his father proud of him; he wanted his father's approval, but at the same time, he wanted it to be on his terms--not Lucius' and certainly not like this. It was a sick and twisted conundrum Draco faced, and each day he played a delicate hand on how to deal with it. This was the large thrust of his animosity against Harry Potter and to a lesser, yet very real extent, Hermione Granger. Granger was at the top of the class, a Mudblood no less, and she did it effortlessly. Potter caught everything quickly--from Quidditch to spells to popularity and adoration--all without breaking a sweat. The only things Draco caught were grief, hostility, and fear. Very few people knew the real Draco, and not many of them cared to know him either--which was where his loathing of Ron Weasley formed.

Ron Weasley, the poor, bumbling, weasel who had the audacity to look down upon him like crud from his shoe. According to his father, the Weasleys were worse than Mudbloods--blood traitors who fraternized with the very people who were destroying the purity of the wizarding world. While that might be, Draco couldn't care less. What he really cared about was the fact that the Weasleys were happy and he was not. For all the money Draco had at his disposal, he retained little pleasure and happiness in his existence, and that annoyed him to no end. What was the point of having the money if it didn't make him happy? Not like he wanted to be as poor as the Weasleys ever, but surely there had to be something or someone who could make him happy.

Ginger.

Draco grinned. Ginger--Ginny Weasley--the firefly from Ottery St. Catchpole whose temper and personality match the fire red of her hair. She was all passion--succulent passion that left Draco hungering for more. The end-of-term train ride was the best thing he'd ever experienced, aside from being turned into a slug--he didn't enjoy that at all! He licked his lips as he remembered the taste of hers on his. She tasted of peppermint--she'd been sucking on the candy before then--and of the sweetest cream he'd ever had. Her skin was soft to the touch and oh so pliant; it was as if he were sinking his fingers in marshmallows. Her hands were small yet strong as they tangled into his hair, and the heat that radiated from her as she straddled him was enough to make him sweat.

Which he was doing now, profusely.

Did it suddenly get hot in here . . . my pants seem to have shrunk . . .

Or rather, something else grew . . .

Shit!

"Dragon, darling, are you in there?"

Double shit!

"Yes!"

"May I come in? I need to speak with you!"

Triple shit!

"One second, Mother!" He pulled out his wand and pointed to his extensive bookcase. "Accio Book!" A rather large book floated across the room and settled on his lap. He opened it and flipped to a random page to give the illusion he'd been reading.

"You may come in now."

Narcissa Black Malfoy walked into his bedroom with a regal air. Draco cocked his head to one side as he watched her come fully into his room. Her silver hair was in an elegant chignon, and her dress robes were spun of the finest silk. If Draco looked objectively, he would say his mother was very beautiful--beautiful and sad. She rarely wore a smile, and if she did, it was never around her husband. In fact, Narcissa was rather cold to anyone she encountered. But unlike his father, Narcissa at least showed him affection, if subtly so. The most obvious was her nickname of Dragon. She was the only person in the house who called him that, as if it were a secret reminder to him that she, in fact, loved him.

She went to the foot of his bed and clasped her hands in front of her. "My darling Dragon has grown into such a handsome man . . . you look just like your father . . . ."

Draco didn't know if she meant that as a compliment or an insult, so he kept his mouth closed.

Narcissa's face mirrored one of pain and urgency. "Don't . . . don't make the same mistake I did, Draco . . . please . . ."

"Mother?"

Narcissa sighed and looked wildly about the room. "May I sit, Draco?"

He nodded, and she sat down next to him on the bed. After a moment's hesitation, she grabbed his hand and gripped it tightly. Draco schooled his face not to wince at the pressure.

"What mistake, Mother? What are you talking about?"

She squeezed his hand again, and he closed his eyes briefly to withstand the pain. "This is the only time I feel totally comfortable telling you this, for your father is away at a 'meeting'--don't fall into this life! Get out! Get out while you can!"

"Are you well, Mother?"

Narcissa laughed harshly. "Am I well? I haven't been well since my father betrothed me to Lucius! If only I had enough fortitude as Andromeda, I could be happy . . ."

"Who is she?"

She glanced at him before focusing on a spot on the wall. "She was my older sister--the middle child. The 'black sheep' of the Black Family. She went against Mother and Father at every turn; a blood traitor for marrying that Mudblood husband of hers."

"She stood up to Grandmother and Grandfather?"

"Yes. She was my favorite sister."

"Why don't you speak of her?"

Narcissa shook her head, still staring at the wall. "I was angry--angry at her for being strong enough to do what she wanted. Angry at myself for not having the strength to do the same. I was the youngest. Bellatrix and Andromeda were closer in age than Andy and I, but I looked up to Andy very much. Bella was the oldest; she had the beauty and the right socialization of proper pure wizard society. Andromeda was the stunning, edgy rebel who loved to undermine the authority of our parents. And I was stuck in the middle--not as beautiful as Bella, not as wild as Andy; just there. I thought Andy was so wonderful--she gave me sweets, played with me, read me stories--Muggle fairy tales were my favorites. Bella, on the other hand, had very little time for me, and when she did, it was to spew filth against Andy, calling her a disgrace to the Black name; just like our cousin Sirius was . . ."

"Sirius? As in Sirius Black!" Draco's eyes went wild at the revelation.

"I liked Sirius, actually; I remember tagging along as they played tricks against Bella, and they were so wonderful, but I knew I was more of a pest than anything . . . I feel so awful about his death . . ."

Draco said nothing, his mind still on the bit about him being the first cousin once removed of a convicted murderer.

Bah! Your father is a Death Eater. Your family tree is full of rotten fruit!

"But you still haven't explained why you don't like Aunt Andromeda . . ."

Narcissa sighed deeply before she continued. "When Andy announced she was marrying Ted Tonks, Mother gave her an ultimatum--him or us. She--she chose him, and she was disowned. We weren't allowed to contact her, nor she us. It was as if she never existed. I'd never felt so alone in my life. Bella took me aside after it happened and said, 'That's what blood traitors do, Sister Dear. They break up families, weaken bonds. You loved her very much, and what did she do? She walked out on you. She didn't love you, never did. She loved the Mudbloods more. Stick with your own kind, Narcissa. Stick with purebloods. Purebloods are loyal. That's the only way to guarantee keeping your family together, or else they'll walk out on you.'

"Bella played on my hurt and I believed her. I believed everything bad that was said about Muggles and Mudbloods because they took my favorite sister away from me. When your father came, it all but sealed my fate. The Malfoys are one of the wealthiest pureblooded families and among the oldest as well. It didn't matter if he was older than I; I was to be his, and there was no telling no to a Malfoy. I'll admit I was very flattered by the attention, but I wasn't naïve. Had Bella not been promised to Lestrange, Malfoy would've married her in a heartbeat. She was far more suited to be the wife of a Malfoy, and I . . . I had already given my heart to another . . ."

Draco frowned. "Who?"

Narcissa shook her head. "I shouldn't tell you. I fear I've told you too much as it is, but I just wanted you to know I would support you if you said no to your father. Nothing would make me happier, in fact. For the past eighteen years, I've lived in hell. I don't want you to spend any more time in it than you have to, Dragon. I've sacrificed too much for you to throw it away because you're too weak to stand up to your father."

Draco jerked as if she smacked him. "You think I'm weak?" He couldn't keep the hurt out of his voice.

Narcissa smiled sadly and cupped his cheek. "No, my darling boy, I think you're stronger than you give yourself credit for. Just having affection for the Weasley girl proves it." Draco's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to deny her statement. Narcissa grinned and put her finger to his lips. "Don't bother to deny it, Dragon. A mother knows when her son is in love."

Draco sputtered. "L--love? What of love? I lust after her, that's all! I'm too young to be in love! Aren't you the one who's supposed to tell me that?"

Narcissa laughed lightly. "Oh darling Dragon. Love knows no age. You love her, but you're too stubborn to admit it."

"And how do you know?"

She became sad again. "The look you get on your face when you speak of the Weasley girl is the same your father gets when he speaks of Bella."

Draco heard the despair in his mother's voice, and his heart ached. She'd been living in her own personal hell, stuck in a loveless marriage with a man who openly flaunted his affair with her sister while she apparently couldn't be with the man she loved.

It was all his fault.

Her hand came back to his face, and she locked her blue eyes with his. "I thank Merlin and the gods every day for you, Draco. You're my angel in this hell, my light."

Draco felt the unfamiliar tightening of his throat and tears stinging his eyes. "Mummy . . ."

Narcissa smiled and kissed his forehead lingeringly. "Draco Andrew Malfoy. I named you after Andromeda, for I want you to have her essence and go with the person you love. She was the only one of us who did, and that is why I believe she made her decision to leave. She trusted the love of Tonks, and his love gave her the courage. Something tells me this Weasley girl will be your Tonks, Dragon. Have faith, trust in that love you have for her. You may look, sound, even act like your father, but there is a very important difference between you and him you must never forget, Draco."

"What is it?" Draco asked, his being filled with hope.

Narcissa's smile grew softer and she framed his face in her hands. "The difference is you are not your father."