A Plague of Legends

Chapter Five: Pedestals

Or, The Seven of Cups

It was strange, but Harry soon realized that Malfoy's attention rarely fixed on the Gryffindor table. For some reason, this observation upset Harry- he had imagined, when he had bothered to think about it, that Malfoy hated him to the point of obsession. It had always seemed that Malfoy tracked his every movement and gloated over his every mishap. Seemed. On the contrary, Malfoy seemed to regard Gryffindor, and Harry, as nothing more than an afterthought, timing his empty glares to last only long enough to be noted.

Again, the crucial word was 'seemed'. Really, all Malfoy had done over the past year was sneer at Harry and occasionally poke vicious fun at him. There had been no half-baked pranks, no stand-offs in the corridors, and no further attempts at expulsion. To be perfectly honest, there had been nothing. Nothing.

Was that all he was to Malfoy- a nothing? Why should it matter even if he was? Because it shouldn't. But it did. And it didn't. Malfoy had never been a person to Harry, just as he supposed that he'd never been a real person to Malfoy. But there had always been something connecting them, even if it was only disgust. And now it seemed as though even that was gone, bled into nothingness.

Sometimes Harry felt like he was full of nothingness, with black holes flowing out through his ears and mouth, contaminating everything around him. He wondered if it had even gone so far as to contaminate this, his last bastion of normalcy. The one thing he'd thought he could always take for granted. Because of his life with the Dursleys, Harry had always found it easy to believe in the continuity and permanence of hate. All one had to do was look at Voldemort and the Death Eaters. And, Harry had always thought, Draco Malfoy. Was this, too, his fault?

Harry looked over at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was whispering something in Zabini's ear, his lips catching at her hair. She looked surprised, almost happy. Harry suddenly hated her, had to draw in a deep breath when she tore at Malfoy's raw lips. Her mouth came away bloody, gaping wound-like as she fell to the floor. Malfoy was uncoiling, speaking to Millicent Bulstrode. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He caught the drops with his tongue, smirked. Bulstrode snarled and sent her fist flying, stumbling backwards when Goyle caught her punch and quickly returned the favor. She crumpled like a felled ox, her legs twisting awkwardly as she struggled against the floor. Dozens of snake eyes fixed on Malfoy, glittering. Malfoy waved one of those rosewater hands at Goyle, and drawled a few words at Bulstrode. She bristled, doglike. Malfoy walked to the doors, then stood there with his head half-cocked as he waited for his opponent. Bulstrode made no move to lift herself off the floor.

Snap.

Had Malfoy actually snapped his fingers at her? Looking at Bulstrode, Harry mused that he had never even seen Ron turn that red. Never. Malfoy snapped his fingers again, barking out a sharp order as he left the dining hall. Hands flexing against the flagstone under her, Bulstrode shoved herself up and followed Malfoy outside. Zabini was now on the bench, her eyes narrowed as she licked blood from her lips.

"What was that about?" Ron's voice was dismissive.

When had Ron- and everyone else, for that matter- begun paying attention to the Slytherins? Even Hermione was staring at the now closed doors, quill tapping against her Arithmancy text in irritation.

"You would think that they could at least keep their power struggles private. We didn't need to see that."

Only a few days ago, Hermione had used that same tone of voice to air her opinions on Trelawney and the walrus prediction.

"That was a power struggle?"

"Ron. What did you think it was?"

"A love triangle?"

"Ron, can you seriously see Malfoy -or Zabini for that matter- becoming involved with Millicent Bulstrode? You obviously have no concept of the meaning of 'wrong,' do you?"

Ron flushed and opened his mouth, obviously about to defend his position to its bitter illogical end.

"Um, guys? I'm going to go to the bathroom. I'll see you in class." Harry practically ran out of the dining commons, the hall doors swinging in his wake.

Hermione favored Harry's rucksack with a wry glance. "What was that about?"

Ron fiddled with his fritters. "I have no idea."

***

Harry didn't stop to think about why he followed Malfoy and Bulstrode- he just did. It was like there was an almost physical tie binding him to Malfoy, pulling him after the other boy. Harry imagined that he could even feel Malfoy's emotions, the thin shadows battering in time with his footsteps as he tripped down a flight of stairs. They clung to the roof of Harry's mouth, rushing in and out as he inhaled and exhaled. Harry didn't analyze Malfoy's anger; he breathed it.

Malfoy's voice echoed from around the corner, the tones low and saccharin. Harry pressed himself against the wall, peeked around the stone edge. Malfoy was propping up the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest in his devil-may-care way. Bulstrode snorted fire at the blond, her hands fisting and then releasing as she leaned over Malfoy, blocking him from view. Harry blinked. Bulstrode dwarfed Malfoy- was the other boy really that small?

". . . time to let Saturday go, my dear Buffalo?"

Bulstrode's shoulders flexed, tensed. "Don't call me that."

It was, Harry grudgingly admitted, an appropriate nickname.

"And why shouldn't I. It's certainly fair play after everything you said about me. Or did you think that you could say something like, 'You're assuming that Draco was ever up to it, Blaise,' and get away with it?" Malfoy mimicked Bulstrode's low tones perfectly.

Harry winced. Hello, innuendo.

"Malfoy. . ."

"It was foolish of you, my dear, to believe those rumors, let alone throw down the gauntlet. Publicly. Especially when the gauntlet wasn't even yours to begin with." Malfoy's voice dripped with disgust.

"Not even mine to- what are you nattering on about, Malfoy?"

"Ah, she can speak in complete sentences. Bravo."

The sound of light clapping filled the corridor. Harry stared at Bulstrode's white knuckles.

"Millicent, did you really believe that you acted completely of your own initiative? By Mordred, you depress me." Slowly, as if he was speaking to someone mentally incompetent, Malfoy continued, "Blaise played you, you sorry excuse for a Slytherin. She didn't want to pose a challenge to me directly, so she used you as a decoy. And you didn't even have the wits to realize that. Any other Slytherin would have turned the situation to their advantage, but you just took it like a dumb animal."

Bulstrode stood there and took it, posture tense as blood dripped from her clenched fists.

"Now let us think. What could possibly have blinded you to your situation? Could it have been your overwhelming passion for me? Mordred, Millicent, you are utterly transparent."

Harry watched as a pale hand reached behind Bulstrode's head and drew it down, long fingers caressing the fine hairs at her nape. The sounds of heavy breathing and meeting flesh made him feel sick. Bloody nails stained Malfoy's hair red as surprisingly feminine moans and pants flooded Harry's ears. They parted, Bulstrode's paws leaving purpling skin behind them.

"Now, Millicent, let's discuss why you hate me so much."

Harry started. Hate?

"You hate me because of my position, the fact that, socially, I am your better. Oh, no need to say anything unless you feel I need to be corrected. Do I need to be corrected, dear?" Malfoy's voice was like poisoned Butterbeer.

Bulstrode grunted, something that might have been a word.

"I thought not. You want to knock me from my pedestal and take my place, my power, my fame, everything. Don't you?" Malfoy seemed almost tender as he verbally ripped Bulstrode to shreds.

"Well let me ask you a hypothetical question. Could you, or I, or anyone for that matter, ever take Potter's place?"

Bulstrode was startled into answering, "No, of course not, he's Potter."

"Yes, he is. Five points to Slytherin for Miss Bulstrode's startling show of intelligence. He's the bloody Boy Who Lived, and even if the Dark Lord destroys him and the rest of the Muggle-lovers, his name will always be remembered. No one will ever be able to take that away from him, something that I am sure that he frequently regrets."

Harry pressed his face against the stone, angling his head around the corner to get a better view. How did Malfoy know?

"So what makes you think that I am any different, o brilliant one? What makes you think that you could ever take my place, assume my mantle? Let me tell you a secret, little one. You never could. Never. Not you, and not your family; even if you had a thousand years of history, wealth, and power behind your name, you still would not be able to fill the void. You will never be able to, not if you do not know what being a Malfoy truly means. Your only hope, little one, is to marry me. And let me assure you- that will never happen. I would sooner bed a Blast Ended Skrewt. You have my word as a Malfoy on that."

Malfoy stepped back and rubbed at his mouth, his lips creasing as he watched Bulstrode shatter. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a class to attend."

Malfoy's footsteps echoed throughout the hall. Harry inched up the stairs.

"Wait." Millicent grated out the word like it was torture. It probably was. "Does Blaise know what being a Malfoy means?"

"Is she a Malfoy?"

Harry turned and ran.

***

The cow had bruised him. Draco probed the blackening flesh and watched the greens, yellows, and purples ripple against each other. Not surprisingly, it hurt. Shifting his book bag out of the way, he muttered a light healing spell as he held his wand over his injuries. Clumsy disgusting brute- Draco had almost vomited when he'd kissed the thing. He remembered how Bulstrode's tongue had brushed against the back of his teeth, how her fingers had pressed into his arms and hair. He felt sick again. If he had not had class then, he would have simply headed back to Slytherin to take a shower and scrub off the filth he could just feel clinging to him.

Not that the class was important or even useful; Draco never ceased to be amazed by the fact that Dumbledore's pet giant had not been sacked. If the Hippogriffs and Blast Ended Skrewts hadn't been enough, last year's Five-Spined Colossuses had certainly gone leaping past the line of acceptability. And while they were currently in the middle of their unit on Blink Dogs (if Draco never had to babysit another Blink Pup again, it would still be too soon), the oaf had informed them that today they would be taking a break from those wretched dogs to experience something 'special'. Every time Hagrid said the word 'special' (always with insanely glinting eyes) Draco was overcome with the desire to run and hide. Preferably very far away. Very very far away.

Draco poked again at his fading bruises. Hopefully whatever Hagrid had in store for today wasn't too physically violent. Draco just was not in the mood to do battle with more than one oversized beast before lunch. Bulk-strode. . . had been even easier to break than anticipated. Draco had expected to be about ten minutes late for class (not that it mattered), but as it was he was going to be just in time.

Draco grimaced and hurried his steps, thankful for the passage that directly linked the dungeons to the creature pens. The students called it the 'Great Lane,' but Draco's private name for it was 'Torture Row'. Concrete proof that Hogwarts had a hidden dark history, as Draco saw it. After all, the only reason one would make a shortcut (specifically, a corridor large enough to admit the Hogwarts Express) from the animal pens to the dungeons was if one was going to do something with said animals in the dungeons. Not that there was even a hint of anything in the text or history books; but Draco was well acquainted with camouflaging and deceit. It was a PR issue. This specific instance had been handled extraordinarily well: the passage wasn't hidden or even enchanted. In the minds of most Hogwarts students, the open existence of the passage meant that there could be no secret.

However, Draco could have told any of them that the best secrets were not always those hidden in unplumbed depths and guarded by vicious spells (although those, too, had their uses). Sometimes, the most important secrets sat in plain view.

***

"An' today we'll be studyin' Veelas." Hagrid's boomed out over a group of suddenly very interested students. "Yes, Hermione?"

"But shouldn't we be studying them in Defense Against Dark Arts?" Hermione asked as she scanned the crowd for Harry- then shook her head at Ron. He hefted Harry's bag and bit his lip.

"Well, usually, yes, but a group of them gave notice they were coming fer a visit teday and Dumbledore gave permission, so ye get a break from yer Blink Dogs. Puur pups, bet they're feelin' right lonely now." Words could not have expressed the sad look on Hagrid's face. Apparently Veela didn't rank very highly in Hagrid's esteem.

"Now, afore we start can anyone tell me about Veela?"

Hermione's hand shot up.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Veela can actively entrance people of the opposite sex with their dance. To a lesser extent, they do so passively just by their presence." Hermione shot a look at Ron, who blushed.

"Annathing else?"

Blaise Zabini raised her hand.

"Yes, Miss Zabini?"

"They can throw fire. When they are angry their faces become bird-like and they sprout scaled wings."

"Annathing else?"

"They can have kids with people," Ron's blush deepened.

"Verra good. Annathing else?"

Silence. Hermione shifted nervously. That was all that was mentioned about Veela in their textbooks. She hadn't found anything more in any of her extracurricular reading, either. She was about to flip through her bestiary when Harry jostled her elbow.

"Harry! What took you so long?" Hermione dipped her face behind her hair as she scolded.

". . . tried a shortcut. . . got lost." Harry was panting and his face was pale.

"Crikey, mate- did you tussle with the Bloody Baron on the way as well? You look terrible!"

Ron, Hermione mused, had the tact of a raging Norwegian Ridgeback.

"No, I. . ." Harry was staring at the entrance to the Great Lane. Hermione pursed her lips. Malfoy had arrived. Why was some of his hair red?

"Annathing else?" Hagrid was looking at her.

Damn. She'd known that she should've gone over her text more than twice. Maybe if she just peeked at it. . .

"Veela are actually low level demons," Malfoy sneered his contempt at the class's ignorance, and then flashed at smirk at Hermione.

Hermione winced. How could Malfoy have known that? She was sure that piece of information wasn't in the assigned textbooks. Then again, of course Malfoy had known. Malfoy Manor was the de facto capital of all things Dark.

"Verra good. . . Mr. Malfoy." Hagrid almost seemed to be in shock.

Hermione squirmed in guilt. She should have known that, not Malfoy! And it wasn't as if she'd really betrayed Hagrid, even though he did look upset.

It was then that the Veela came into view. They were all female (Hermione had only ever seen photographs of male Veela), so Hermione was a bit disappointed until she realized that while she'd experience less, she would be able to observe more. Hermione grinned. She doubted that even Malfoy could take coherent notes while there were Veela around.

The introductions and question and answer sessions held together remarkably well. Hermione only had to pinch Harry and Ron about four times, which was really quite impressive considering there were ten Veela present. And they were all. . . shining. Looking at them made Hermione's head hurt with all of the flowery adjectives that sprang to mind. 'Golden waterfalls,' (their hair) 'sparkling jeweled windows,' (their eyes) and 'dewy rose petals' (their lips) were only a few of the thoughts cluttering up her brain. Hermione brooded that they probably never had to deal with tangled busy hair in the morning. They probably didn't even know what a comb was. And Ron was starting to drool again. Hermione poked him in the ribs.

It was at that moment that Millicent Bulstrode made her move:

"Aren't you going to dance for us?"

Several students gasped, Hermione among them. As stupid as she might possibly be, how could Millicent even consider asking the Veela to dance? She had to know what would happen, didn't she? Hermione looked over at Millicent and found the girl smirking at Malfoy. So that was it. An attempt at revenge. The strange thing was, Malfoy didn't seem at all perturbed (unlike Ron and Harry, who looked as though they were about to make a break for it). Actually, if Hermione hadn't known better, she'd have said he was amused.

One of the Veela stepped forward after an impromptu conference, "We have decided to grant your request, as it is for the sake of education." The Veela's smile was almost feral. "We only ask that the females in this class share their observations with their male counterparts once the lesson is over."

Hermione didn't blame Hagrid for giving in. At least, not much. She doubted that even Professor Dumbledore would last long under the loving beaming of ten Veela. She only hoped that there wouldn't be a stampede. Well, and that Ron and Harry didn't get burned too much by the Veela. After all, a girl did have the right to protect herself.

One Veela stepped forward, shaking out her hair and twisting her body in ways that just had to hurt. Then another came forward, and another, and another until the group of them were dancing. The Veela were like gold sex coiled in upon themselves, sending off colored sparks like sweat and tears. Hermione imagined that she had blinders on and that the only thing she could see was the dance. She didn't look at Ron or Harry, didn't want to see their faces, didn't want to see them when they broke.

The first person to break was Seamus. Hermione heard a low groan behind her, a brief scuffle, and then had cold grass flung in her face as Seamus pulled away from Parvati's grip and scrambled down to the dance circle. Parvati swore.

Seamus' defection was like the lifting of a floodgate that the rest of the boys streamed through. Hermione didn't even bother to try and restrain Ron and Harry- she'd only end up with a black eye and more grass in her face. So she stood and watched as her boys ran off to consort with demons. She was busy trying to ignore the spectacle in front of her when the person beside her spoke.

"Pathetic, isn't it," Malfoy's voice was cool and dry, like he was commenting on the weather.

Hermione stumbled backwards, "Malfoy. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be down there," she waved at the morass of bodies, "with the other boys? Or aren't you a boy?"

Hermoine had sometimes wondered about that. It was just- Malfoy was a very pretty boy.

"Of course I'm a 'boy,' as you so elegantly put it," Malfoy scoffed. "Don't you think my roommates would have noticed before this if that wasn't the case?"

"Well, Crabbe and Goyle aren't exactly known for their towering intellects. . ."

Had she ever heard Goyle speak in anything but grunts? Hermione wasn't sure.

"Think what you will, Granger."

Hermione bristled at the dismissal in Malfoy's voice. How dare Malfoy imply that she was some sort of bigot? Malfoy was the one qualified to conduct seminars on how to be a closed-minded fanatic.

"Well, then, why are you here? Don't tell me that your amazing powers of restraint are keeping you tethered to my side." Hermione slid her eyes over to where Millicent had been. Millicent was staring at Malfoy, her eyes black. Were the other girl's palms bleeding? Was that blood in Malfoy's hair?

Malfoy shrugged. "Veela have never had any effect on me, or my family. We're not sure why. And before you say anything, all of the gossip about Veela blood and intermarriage is completely false. Veela blood does not equal Pure Blood."

So Malfoy was familiar with that particular rumor.

"As for why I am here- well, Mudblood-"

Hermione bristled.

"-you have to admit that the view is extraordinarily amusing."

Hermione admitted no such thing.

"Ah. Your weasel just got burned rather badly. So sorry," Malfoy sounded anything but sorry.

Hermione's hand was itching to smack that smirk off of his face, but all she did was sniff and walk away. They were in sixth year now, and someone had to act like an adult. Besides, it wouldn't behoove a prefect to smack another prefect. Instead, she walked over to a Veela who had broken off from the main group and stopped dancing.

"Ah, excuse me?" Hermione would not look at the mass of bodies to the right. She would not.

"Yes?" The Veela sent off a shower of sparks as she turned to Hermione.

"I wanted to ask one of you a question. You see that boy over there, the one with the girls?" Hermione pointed at Malfoy.

The Veela stared at Malfoy, her eyes suddenly red and elliptical. "Yes, I do." Her voice was like clover honey, but her eyes burned."

"Could you tell me why he isn't affected by the dance? He said that he never has been, but that doesn't make sense if he's a boy, right? He's too young to control his hormones, isn't he?" Hermione just couldn't ask, 'Is he really a she?'

"Well, yes, traditionally one his age is not mature enough to withstand the dance. However, neither his sex nor his hormones are the issue at hand."

Hermione blinked. They weren't?

"You will recall, Miss. . ."

"Granger." How surprisingly polite.

"Miss Granger. You will recall, Miss Granger, that we Veela are actually demons, yes?"

Hermione nodded.

"This is important to remember. You see, our dance -and physical appearance, to a certain extent- are actually a low level form of possession. You have heard of incubi and succubae?"

Hermione nodded again.

"Veela are distantly related to such demons. Hence, our type of 'possession' is expressed sexually. However, you would be wise to remember that not all possessions operate thusly. There are as many types of possession as there are demons in existence. And, of course, I am sure you know that not all possessions are of demonic origin."

Hermione couldn't believe that Ron and Harry were missing this absolutely stimulating conversation. And the Veela was quite good at lecturing. But then, she had the perfect voice for it. She probably had the perfect voice for just about anything.

"Your young friend over there-"

Hermione managed to stop her face from contorting.

"-is already claimed."

"What do you mean, 'claimed'? By whom?"

The Veela's eyes flashed red again, and for a moment feathers rippled across her face. Hermione stepped back, wondering how it was possible for a beak to snarl, her heart thumping a staccato beat.

"That, Miss Granger, is none of your concern."