Stormseeker: Borrowed Destiny

Chapter 36: Slaves and Servants

---

"Professor, I've retrieved the dagger," I say, pulling it out of my bag and passing it over to Snape. I'm alone again, Neville and Hermione having opted to return to the common room and not being overly eager to spend more time with Snape than necessary.

Snape takes it and looks at me appraisingly. "I'm surprised, Potter," he says. "I did not expect you to actually bring this back to me."

"Which did you doubt?" I ask. "My ability to find it, or the sincerity of my promise?"

"Both," Snape says wryly.

"If I intended to break a promise, I would not have made it," I say, chuckling softly. "I'll trust you to take care of that however you deem fit, then. I should get back to my common room and help my friends with their Defense homework."

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione says, "Oh, Harry. Neville's been filling me in on house-elves. Why didn't you tell me about the horrible enslavement situation before?"

"It's not really any big secret," I say. "Wizards just don't talk about them much, anymore than they frequently discuss the carpet."

"That's terrible!" Hermione says. "We should really do something about this. Slavery is awful!"

"I agree with you completely," I say. "And I've already been making an effort to alleviate the situation. Just, other things have been taking up my mind lately."

"Thank you for introducing me to Rispy," Hermione says. "I'll be certain to visit and speak with him regularly. Perhaps we can coordinate efforts."

"Um..." Neville says sheepishly. "I wouldn't mind helping, too, if I can, I suppose."

"We can start a group for it!" Hermione says. "And we can hand out pamphlets and make buttons for it."

"Sure, alright," Neville says. "What should we call it?"

"Hmm," Hermione says. "Let's call it 'Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status'."

"Well, I suppose that would make a decent slogan," I say. "But for a name, we need something snappier."

Hermione thinks for a few moments. "How about 'the Society for the Promotion of Elvish Welfare'?"

"That's still not really snappy," I say.

"Spew?" Neville says, raising an eyebrow.

"S.P.E.W.," Hermione says, carefully enunciating each letter.

"Um..." I say, working up my face. "Maybe we should try to think of something else. But right now, why don't we get our homework out of the way first?"

---

"Ravenclaw's secret heir is mad, I think," Draco says. I've slipped over to the Slytherin table for dessert today, and am munching on a slice of rich cherry pie.

"What, the SPEW thing?" I say.

"Yeah," Draco says.

"That reminds me." I pull out a SPEW button from my bag of holding and toss it over to him. "That one's for you."

"You don't expect me to wear this thing, do you?" Draco says, looking at me incredulously.

"Yep," I say.

"I really do hate you sometimes, Harry," Draco says, smirking as he flips it around in his fingers. "You'll totally owe me for this, though."

"I don't intend to mistreat my minions," I say lightly.

"You... gah," Draco says. "You talk all about how you don't intend to be a Dark Lord, but sometimes you say these things..."

I snicker softly. "What can I say? Everyone already thinks I'm evil anyway."

"You don't have to encourage that sort of thinking, though," Draco says. "It's far preferable to not be overtly evil, after all."

"Oh, by the way," I say, pulling out a bag of SPEW buttons and handing them over to him. "Hand these out to your friends."

"Seriously?" Draco says, sighing and taking the bag. "Alright, alright."

"Hermione was going to charge for them, but I just tossed her a bag of galleons and started handing them out to people," I say, smirking. "I didn't manage to convince her to choose a different name, though, sadly. At least we didn't let Rispy name it, though. He suggested calling it the Elvish Liberation Front."

"Bah," Draco mutters. "Why do I have to be your lackey, anyway? I'm the one that's supposed to have lackeys. And why do you care so much about house-elves? Are you going to start promoting Muggle welfare next, too?"

"Nah," I say. "Elves are magical creatures, just like us. I don't really care what happens to Muggles."

"So you don't want people to mistreat house-elves, but you don't mind if they slaughter Muggles?" Draco says.

"Sure, why not?" I say. "Killing is nice and clean." Far preferable to torture, rape, and enslavement.

"You're a very strange Dark Lord," Draco says.

---

One Sunday in March, I come to Quirrell's office for our weekly session. Lately, he's been giving me at least as much propoganda as dark magic practice. Today, however, he asked me to come straight after breakfast, rather than in the evening after dinner. Is he planning an all-day session?

"Good, you're here, Potter," Quirrell says. "There are important matters I must discuss with you. Have a seat."

"Are we not having a practice session today?" I wonder.

"Such an eager pupil," Quirrell says with a small grin. "I'm afraid not. But I have something else here that may interest you."

He pulls out an object wrapped in cloth and sets it upon the desk. Pulling forth the cloth reveals a roundish black object that I immediately recognize.

"A dragon egg!" I breathe, eyes widening.

"I thought that might catch your attention," Quirrell says. "So, do you want it?"

"I-- what?" I say. "Of course I want it!"

"It's yours," Quirrell says. "If... if you do one small task for me."

My heart sinks as I look away from the egg up at him. "What is it?" I ask, dreading whatever the answer might be.

"The Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell says. "I'd like you to go retrieve it for me. You might not be interested in it, but I am. And I am concerned about what Dumbledore might do with such an object."

"Why me?" I ask.

"You are my most competent pupil," Quirrell says. "I am certain that you will succeed where others might fail."

"Why not just go yourself, I mean?" I wonder.

"I will if I must," Quirrell says. "But I fear Dumbledore may have placed traps around it specifically with me in mind. You, however, are an unknown factor. He would not be expecting you. In fact, he may well have intended you to be the one to obtain it, given your status."

I keep my face neutral, but I look at him with hard eyes. "I think you just don't want to risk yourself," I say. "You want to send me instead, because whether I succeed or fail, you still win. If I succeed, you have the Philosopher's Stone. If I fail, you have Harry Potter dead."

"Why would I wish you dead, Potter?" Quirrell says. I feel a sharp thrust against my Occlumency barriers.

"I don't even need to answer that," I say with a snort. "I won't do it."

"Don't you want a chance to prove your skills?" Quirrell says. "To demonstrate everything you've learned?"

"I will not do it," I say, gritting my teeth. "If you want the Stone, you'll just have to get it yourself. Or find another sacrificial lamb. I'm not dying for you."

"You disappoint me, Potter," Quirrell says coldly. "I had really thought better of you. Here I have taught you and aided you for months. I have gone out of my way to obtain a dragon egg for you, in order to fulfill your greatest desire. And this is how you repay me?"

"Don't act like I'm the villain here," I say.

"Why do you think I'm the villain?" Quirrell says. Another attack at my barriers. "What have I done to deserve that?"

"You..." I clench my fists, then release them, steadying my breath. I must remain calm. I must not allow even the slightest gap in my defenses.

"You know?" Quirrell says, eyes widening as he looks at me incredulously. Something must have gotten through before I strengthened my shields again. "How did you find out? How long have you known?"

"Does it really matter?" I ask. "I'm not resurrecting the Dark Lord for a dragon egg."

"Very well," Quirrell says, giving me a look of pure ice. "We'll just have to do it this way, then. Imperio."

My mind clouds for a moment. What a wonderful sensation. I feel light, worry free, without a care in the world.

You want to help me, hisses a voice in my head. "You want to help me, don't you?" Quirrell says aloud. "I offer you so much... There's this lovely dragon egg, waiting to be yours."

"Yes... of course..." I murmur. "Of course I want to help you."

Then go and bring me the Philosopher's Stone, whispers the voice. "Then go," Quirrell says. "When you have retrieved the Philosopher's Stone, bring it back here. Bring it to me."

"I will do so, sir," I say. I give a bow and head out of the room. I'm excited at the prospect of pleasing him. I would do anything for him. Nothing else matters.

I arrive at the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor, and pull out my wand. "Alohomora," I cast. The door unlocks with a click, and I step inside.

Fluffy, the enormous three-headed dog, waits for me on the other side, slavering at the mouths. My mind whirls for a moment as I remember how to get through this place. There are many traps down here, but I already know the solutions.

I sing, "Once in the starriest land of the Tavers / Yor was the king and the dragon of might / frightening golden-red Scregor o'er Taverak / filled all of the daytime with night."

Fluffy quickly falls fast asleep, allowing me to slip past into the trapdoor. I jump through into the Devil's Snare, cast an Incendio, and move on into the room with the flying keys.

"Accio key," I say. Nothing happens. Well, I didn't think it would be that easy. "Accio ornate silver key with blue wings," I try. That might have caused one of the keys to twitch a bit for a moment. I'm not very good at this charm yet. I grab a broomstick and fly up into the air. "Accio ornate silver key with blue wings," I repeat. At least that makes it move enough that I can tell where it is. "Immobulus!" I cast at the key in question. It freezes in place, allowing me to swoop in and grab it easily.

I pass through the door and into the chess room. I'm still not very good at chess, especially with not having practiced with Ron recently. I go to take the queen and start to play. I think I might need some help with this one.

Move the knight, suggests the voice in my head. I diligently follow my master's instructions. Now the rook. Soon enough, I've won the game and passed into the next room.

This room, however, does not contain a troll as I was expecting. Instead, it appears to be some sort of maze. This is different. I step inside, and immediately slip and fall onto my ass. The floor is slick as ice, and no matter what I try, I can't get any grip on it. My flailing about only sends me spinning around in circles. Well, this is troublesome. I must find a way through to the Philosopher's Stone. I don't want to disappoint my master.

"Wingardium Leviosa," I cast on myself. That doesn't really help, though, since I can't actually manage to lift myself. "Thermos," I cast at the floor. "Incendio." No help, it's not actually ice, it seems. "Spongify," I cast. The floor becomes soft and springy, so I try to bounce down the corridor. My movement is completely uncontrolled, however. I'm not going to get anywhere like this.

In irritation, I start flinging offensive spells at the far wall. "Flipendo!" As I cast it, I find myself sliding backwards a bit, and bump up against the wall behind me. That's strange. There must be some very peculiar magic at work here. I point my wand to the wall behind me and cast, "Flipendo!" This time, I'm pushed forward. I don't really understand it, but whatever works, I suppose.

I make my way through the maze and into the potions room. I don't even bother looking at the scrap of paper. I remember which was the correct one. I pick up the smallest bottle and drink it down, and head through into the final chamber.

The Mirror of Erised sits in the center of the room, and I approach. Within the mirror, I see the image of myself kneeling before the Dark Lord, handing over the Philosopher's Stone to him. Oh, right. This isn't going to work. I'm under the Imperius Curse. My greatest desire at the moment is to do my master's bidding. But in order to do my master's bidding, I'd need to not be under the Imperius Curse.

The spell snaps, and the image in the mirror shifts. Now it's showing the usual image of myself as a powerful adult, surrounded by my family and friends. Did I shake off the spell, or did he release me?

My blood chills and my stomach knots as my mind processes what just happened. That bastard was controlling me! He was forcing me to do his bidding against my will. He enslaved me so thoroughly that I could only be happy about what was done to me. I thought I understood why Rispy was so angry before, but now it's personal.

I don't want the bloody Philosopher's Stone. I turn around and go back the way I came. Which one of these potions will take me out of here again? I don't know. Oh, right, I never actually made it out of here last time. I grab one at random and take a drink.

Immediately, I feel like I'm being burned from the inside out. Crap, that one must have been poison. I collapse, gasping. Wait, there's a bezoar in my pocket. I fumble around, trying to grasp for it. There it is! My hands are shaking. I drop the bezoar. I can't see where it went.

I die, thinking myself incredibly stupid.

---

I wake in the Gryffindor dormitory. I wish that was only a nightmare. Dying a horrible death is bad enough, but that? I will not forgive him for this. I'm going to kill him. To the Abyss with the consequences. Rage burns in my veins. I barely remember to get dressed, then I grab my wand and head straight for the Defense office.

"Potter?" Quirrell says as I come inside. "You're here early--"

"Expelliarmus!" I cast. Quirrell's wand goes flying across the room. "Petrificus Totalus!" I have the element of surprise, but the spell only barely manages to affect him. I press my attack. "Tentacula Tenebrae!" Black tentacles spring into existence, grasping at him, holding him in place.

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?" Quirrell demands.

"Killing you, what does it look like?" I say.

"Finite Incantatem," Quirrell murmurs. Even without his wand, the spells affecting him vanish. He snaps his fingers, and my wand flies out of my hand. "You are nowhere near the level required to play this game, Potter."

"Damn you," I snarl. "Fulgoris!" Even without my wand, lightning shoots from my fingertips. It slams up against an invisible shield a foot away from him, and dissipates.

Quirrell's wand flies back into his hand. Ropes appear around me, holding me tightly in place. "Foolish boy," Quirrell mutters. "Now, praytell, why do you want to kill me?"

"I hate you!" I snarl. "I want you to die!" I feel something slip through the storm of raging emotions around me. Legilimency? I'm out of control. I can't keep him out like this.

"I see," Quirrell says, his lips twitching. "Most intriguing."

"Shit," I mutter. My anger cools, and I push him out of my mind again, but it's too late. He's seen too much already.

"You are a most fascinating young man," Quirrell says. "It would be a shame to let your talents go to waste. But this simply won't do. I'll just have to put a Memory Charm on you."

"No." My blood runs cold in dread.

"No?" Quirrell says mockingly. "And why should I not?"

"I'd rather die," I say. "Kill me first. Or Imperius me. Or I'll even help you willingly. Just don't Obliviate me."

"Do you value your memories that highly, Potter?" Quirrell asks. "Even above whatever principles you may have?"

"Yes," I say. "If you're going to threaten me with that, then I'll do anything you want."

"Anything, Potter?" Quirrell says with a small grin.

I sigh and close my eyes. "Yes. Anything. I wouldn't say 'anything' if I didn't mean it."

"Then bring me the Philosopher's Stone," Quirrell says.

"Very well," I say. "If that's the price I must pay, then I will do it. But if I do this for you, may I request that you please kill me afterward?"

"If that is your desire, then I will grant your wish," Quirrell says, releasing me from my bonds and returning my wand to me.

"Thank you," I murmur. "I'll be back shortly."

"See that you do," Quirrell says.

I head out to the Forbidden Corridor again. This was my own mistake. I must pay the price for it. And as tempted as I am to betray him, I will not be an oathbreaker. I make my way in past the traps, only the chessboard giving me any real headache, and arrive at the Mirror of Erised.

So, how is this supposed to work? It's obviously not going to let me have it if I just want to give it to the Dark Lord. But I really don't want to give it to the Dark Lord. I don't want to use it. I don't want anything to do with it. But I must get it, nonetheless.

I should just go drink poison and be done with this. But I made a promise, and I won't back out on that. Still, is it merely cowardice to request to die afterward so that I don't have to face the consequences of my actions What would happen if I were to live? I would wind up having to serve the Dark Lord for the rest of my life. I'd be serving a man I despise, as surely as if he were controlling me. Tears sting my eyes unbidden at the thought. I'm sorry, everyone, but I can't do that. I've made a terrible mistake. I need to undo this.

I look into the Mirror of Erised. Please, show me the Stone. Give me the Stone. Even though I really don't want it. Inside the mirror, the image of me pulls a reddish object out of his pocket and gives me a grim smile. He drops it back into his pocket, and I feel a sudden weight in my real pocket. I look, and see, there it is. I've got the Philosopher's Stone. Too bad. I suppose I'll have to go give it to Quirrell now.

I return to the potions room. I still don't know which is the right one to get back out of here. It won't really be my fault if I try my best and inadvertently drink poison anyway. I grab the round bottle on the far end and take a swig, hoping for poison. But no such luck. The potion feels cold going down, and I realize that I wound up picking the correct one this time. What a time to guess right.

I make my way back out past the previous rooms and out of the Forbidden Corridor. Right outside the door, Quirrell is waiting. Clearly, he didn't trust me to keep my promise all that much.

"There you are, Potter," Quirrell says. "Did you get it?"

I pull it out of my pocket and hand it over to him. "There," I say. "Take it."

"Excellent!" Quirrell says, eyes practically lighting up as he takes the Stone. "Now, for your reward... I'll give you a choice. How would you like to die, Potter?"

I think about that for a few moments. "I'd like to die fighting, sir," I say. "I know I don't stand a chance against you, and I really don't deserve an honorable death at this point... but it's terrifyingly beautiful to watch you in action."

Quirrell chuckles softly. "Very well," Quirrell says. "You have served me well, so I shall humor you. You are a unique individual, Potter. Perhaps in another life, you might someday serve me of your own free will. But for now, let us duel."

We take our positions and bow to one another. The entire school is at breakfast at the moment, so little danger of anyone noticing us, although I imagine Quirrell probably cast a spell to discourage anyone from wandering into the area for the moment anyway.

Quirrell is not a handsome man, but the way he moves when he's serious about battle. The Dark Lord's deadly grace really shows through. I can tell he's holding back, however. He's not immediately incapacitating me, but rather drawing it out and letting us trade curses for a bit. He must be very happy with me at the moment.

Then, a curse strikes me across the torso, splitting my insides open diagonally. I collapse to my knees, then to my face, clutching my chest and abdomon in pain. It's over now. He steps up over my dying body.

"Thank you," I murmur.

"Farewell, Harry Potter," Quirrell says.

---

I wake with a sigh in the Gryffindor dorms. I'm a bit tired, but I ignore it. I'm not going to be so foolish anymore. I'm not going to die again today.

As I'm getting dressed, it occurs to me that he kept calling me Harry Potter right up to the end. Even though he penetrated my Occlumency barriers, he didn't figured out that I'm actually Lexen Chelseer. I don't know how much he managed to learn, but what does it mean if he didn't learn that, even though he obviously discovered my time travel powers? Does it mean that I've actually started to think of myself as Harry Potter?

No matter. I have other things to worry about at the moment. Like what I'm going to do about Quirrell. Thinking more calmly and logically, the best thing to do would be to simply go and tell Snape or Dumbledore about what he has planned. Or, Abyss, even just tell Hermione. She could figure something out, I'm sure. There's really no need to stubbornly try to solve everything myself, especially when I've already died twice today.

Still, I consider going to him to try to negotiate or something. Convince him to put off his plans for a bit and at least wait until the end of the school year before making his move, for good or ill. But that's merely a selfish desire to get a few more months of teaching out of him.

I head straight for Dumbledore's office before breakfast. If he decides that being stupid is a good idea, then that won't be my fault.

"Headmaster," I say. "Quirrell's planning to make a move today."

"What have you learned, Stormseeker?" Dumbledore asks.

"He's got a dragon egg in his office right now," I say. "He wants to use it to try to bribe me to retrieve the Philosopher's Stone for him."

"I see," Dumbledore says. "Is that all?"

I stare at him. "Is that all?" I say incredulously. "I just died twice because of this!"

"What happened?" Dumbledore asks.

"After I refused the first time, he used the Imperius Curse to try to force me to do it," I say. "But I couldn't get the Stone out of the mirror in that state, and the spell broke, and then I drank poison in the potions room."

"I see," Dumbledore says, stroking his beard thoughtfully.

"So, what are we going to do about this?" I ask.

"Nothing," Dumbledore replies. "You should avoid spending time alone with him, however. But we must make him go after the Stone himself, if he wants it."

I frown deeply. "I'm assuming that whatever trap you laid for him there is only going to work if he goes himself, right?"

"Indeed so," Dumbledore says.

I refrain from commenting that whatever this trap he has planned didn't seem to work last time. But it's hard to say, as I didn't get a chance to see everything that happened there. I rub my temples. I should really trust Dumbledore. After all, at least Quirrell would still be teaching Defense for a few more months, then. And yet, I'm not willing to just let this go.

"Headmaster, I'm not willing to risk this," I say. "He killed me, he used the Imperius Curse on me, he even tried to Obliviate me. Even though none of this has actually happened in this timeline, this is all good indication that he won't hesitate to do such things to me in the future, given the chance."

"You were willing to put yourself at risk in order to help to defeat Voldemort before," Dumbledore says. "You said as much when you first came to me. Are you going to back out now?"

"Don't pull that on me," I say, narrowing my eyes. "It's bad enough that you've risked the safety of innocent children in hopes of luring the Dark Lord into a trap. Is it really worth it?"

"Yes," Dumbledore says. "You have no idea what he did during the last war. If there's any chance of stopping that, then I must take it, no matter the risks. It's regrettable if someone winds up hurt because of it, but so far you are the only one who has been harmed."

"And I'm expendable, because I can't die," I say with a smirk.

"Whatever you did, you've successfully attracted his attention and prevented him from turning his focus to any of the other students," Dumbledore says.

"But no, you're right, I don't know all he did," I say. "And yet I can't help but think that nothing is worth this."

"I am not Voldemort," Dumbledore says. "I will not force you to do anything against your will. I can only give you advice and support. Ultimately, you must do as you see fit, even if I disagree with it. I won't discount the possibility that you may know something I do not, or have realized something that I have not seen, after all."

I let out a deep breath. "I'm going to have Quirrell removed. And I won't tolerate any scheme that risks the lives of children again." Or more importantly, my own mind.

"Do as you feel you must, then," Dumbledore says with a heavy sigh.

I turn and leave Dumbledore's office. Breakfast is starting by now, but rather than going to the Gryffindor table, I head for the Slytherin table instead and take a seat next to Draco.

"Good morning, Harry," Draco says. "Eating breakfast with us today, are you?"

"Draco," I say casually as I start munching on waffles. "I need to speak with your father as soon as possible."

"You could always just send him an owl," Draco says.

I shake my head. "Not fast enough," I say. "Floo?"

"Alright," Draco says. "Should we go now?"

"Act normal," I murmur. "Don't draw his attention. Don't tip him off."

"Who?" Draco asks.

"Shh," I say. I quietly take a couple minutes to eat, and then stand up. "Come on."

"Alright..." Draco says, abandoning his half-eaten breakfast and following after me. "We can use the Slytherin common room, I suppose."

"You'd let me in there?" I say.

"You're practically a Slytherin anyway," Draco says. "This way." Draco leads me off into the dungeons. "Pureblood," he says when we come to the entrance, and the way opens up into the Slytherin common room. It's been quite a while since I've been in here. Since before first year, my first time around. "So, what's this about?"

"I want to get Quirrell arrested," I say. "Immediately."

"Quirrell?" Draco says, raising an eyebrow. "I'm not going to ask why right now, but do you have anything he can be pinned with offhand?"

"He's got an illegal dragon egg in his office right now," I say.

"Hah! Seriously?" Draco says. "Yeah, that'll do the trick. Let me just call him up. With any luck, he'll be in Azkaban by lunchtime."

A quick firecall later sets things in motion. We return to the Great Hall afterward, where breakfast is still going on. The two of us return to our seats and continue to eat as if nothing happened.

I hope that someone shows up by the time Quirrell expects to see me in his office after breakfast, but apparently things didn't go through that quickly. Too much to ask for, I suppose. Quirrell casts a meaningful look to me as he leaves the Great Hall when breakfast ends. I linger where I am, however. There's no way I'm going to give him another chance to fuck with my mind.

"Nervous, Harry?" Draco says.

"I just think Quirrell would kill me if I give him the chance," I say.

"Why now?" Draco says. "He's been giving you detentions all year."

"Just call it a hunch," I say with a smirk.

I try to do some homework while I wait, but I can't concentrate. Not now. So I wind up killing some time with a game of Exploding Snap with Draco. I'm not entirely certain how to play and am not very good at it regardless, but I imagine it wouldn't make much difference given my current state of mind.

And then, mercifully, a group of wizards arrive. I think they must be from the Ministry. Aurors, or DMLE, or something, I'm not too sure. They quickly make their way toward the Defense office. They seem to know exactly where they're going. I have to think that Quirrell is hardly the first Defense professor to have been arrested.

Hermione and Neville come over to where I'm sitting. "What's going on, Harry?" Neville asks.

"We're losing our Defense professor, hopefully," I say.

"It's kind of a pity," Draco says. "He's awfully competent."

"Of course he is," Hermione says. "I'd expect no less from the Dark Lord."

"Wait, what?" Draco says.

Hermione blushes fiercely and glances around hurriedly, but Draco's the only one in earshot. "You mean you didn't tell him, Harry?"

"Heh, no," I say. "But I suppose it doesn't matter now, anyway."

"You can't be serious," Draco says.

The wizards return through the Great Hall, Quirrell in tow, and thoroughly bound up and unconscious. Lucius apparently arrived with them as well, and he comes over toward us.

"Father!" Draco says. "We just arrested the Dark Lord!"

Lucius looks at him strangely. "What's that now?"

"Quirrell's possessed," I say. "I've been keeping an eye on him all term."

"I... see," Lucius says.

"But thank you for your assistance," I say. "I do appreciate it." I realize that Lucius Malfoy is a valuable ally to have, if I can stomach the price of his aid.

"I suppose you would not wish competition," Lucius says with a smirk.

"He was going to try to kill me," I say. "I rather take offense to that."

"I see," Lucius says.

"We don't have a Defense teacher anymore now, though," Neville says.

"Say, Father, couldn't you do it?" Draco says.

"I don't--" Lucius begins.

"That's a great idea," I say.

"I'm certain you'd be brilliant at it, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione offers politely.

Lucius sighs, and says, "I'll think about it."