Of Silver and Green

Ch. 15 Uncertainty

As Draco headed down the corridor to the dungeons and his common room, he reread his father's letter, silently cursing. He crushed the leaf of parchment in his fist, wishing he could be sure that everything would work out. With the events of last year and the Dark Lord's return, he couldn't have chosen a worse time to rebel against his father. Lucius was already pressuring Draco to present himself in unswerving loyalty to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Draco liked to act sinister and evil, but deep down he knew he was all talk. He would gloat to Potter about the growing power of Voldemort and the Death Eaters whenever he got the chance, but he didn't actually want them to succeed in killing Potter. Draco really wanted nothing more than for Potter to finish them off, so that he could drop the charade. He by no means liked potter, he just didn't hate him as much as he seemed to. It was merely jealousy. Lucius Malfoy paid more attention to Potter than he did his own son.

Draco snarled. Except when it came to upholding the family "honour". Lucius wanted to prevent anything from occurring that would make him look bad in Lord Voldemort's eyes, and this would make him look bad. His son denouncing the son of fellow Death Eaters? Not the great Lord Malfoy.

Draco was at a loss. He had no idea what he was going to tell his father. The truth seemed a bit too blunt. If Lucius found out that it had ultimately been Brynne that had convinced Draco to abandon Crabbe and Goyle and the rest, then he surely wouldn't look favourably on their relationship. Draco stopped at the trapdoor and said the passphrase without it really registering where he was. He passed through the corridors, his silver eyes never focusing on his surroundings. When he sat down in the plush armchair, still thinking about his father, Draco was a little surprised that he was already in his room. He looked around for a few moments, wondering he had gotten there before deciding that there were more important matters to think about and forcing the trivial thoughts aside.

Draco got up abruptly and crossed to his smooth, dark mahogany desk and sat heavily in the accompanying chair. He plucked a rust-coloured, hawk-feather quill from his collection and twirled it thoughtfully in his fingers. Then, reaching for a leaf of parchment, he decided what he was going to say. He dipped his quill into a pot of silver ink and began to write his letter.

Father,

The girl's name is Brynne Dharielle. She is a Slytherin and a pureblood of respectable lineage. As for the problem with Goyle, he brought it upon himself. He insulted Miss Dharielle and, in so doing, me. This is unforgivable, as I'm sure you will agree. In your last letter, you mentioned the necessity of powerful allies. I couldn't agree more. However, the individuals you have selected have proven less than adequate, which has forced me to seek more reliable alternatives elsewhere. I have found three so far that meet my standards as well as those you've set for me. The aforementioned Miss Dharielle is one, and Blaise Zabini, to whom I believe you have already been introduced, and Blair Richelieu, another pureblood, are the others. In the next several weeks, I will be looking for others worthy to align myself with. Your disapproval is duly noted. ~Draco L. Malfoy

Draco sat back triumphantly and grinned at his handiwork. He had succeeded in trapping his father. He hadn't expected it to be so simple, but Lucius had left himself wide open, really. There was very little he could argue. Draco had agreed with him for Merlin's sake! No one could dispute the fact that Crabbe and Goyle were idiots, or that just about anyone would be a suitable replacement.

Draco looked over to the cage containing his eagle owl. 'Such a beautiful animal,' he thought, gazing at it fondly. He could never bear to see his owl sent to the owlery with all the common school owls. He got up and opened the cage, extending his arm. The owl looked at him quizzically, but then perched on his arm all the same. After Draco had extracted the gold-plumed bird from its cage, he stood beside his desk scratching the owl's ear tufts, thinking hard. 'He really should have a name as well,' he thought to himself. 'But what to call him?'

His mind was drawn to Divination last year. The fourth-year's curriculum covered star charts and basic knowledge of the constellations as well as Astrology. After studying the constellations a while, he had realized most of them derived their names from Greek and Roman mythology. He had gone to the library a lot after that, reading up on some of the stories. He had found them fascinating.

"Apollo," he murmured. The golden sun god who flew a chariot pulled by winged horses. He glanced at the owl. The golden part was right. "Do you like that?" he asked it. The owl hooted softly and hopped up to Draco's shoulder and nipped his ear affectionately, if a little hesitantly. Draco laughed. "Apollo it is. I've got a job for you." He picked up the parchment and rolled it up. Apollo held out his left leg, which carried a dragon-hide pouch. Draco put the letter into the pouch and said, "Take this to my father and leave straight away. Don't wait for a reply. I expect he will be quite angry with what I've written." He pushed the window beside the desk open wide and Apollo took flight, soaring majestically towards the Quidditch pitch and out of sight.

Draco gazed at the pitch a few seconds longer, before his eyes traveled up to the deep blue of the cloudless sky. The weather was flawless. "A perfect day to schedule an extra practice for the Quidditch team," he mused. It would have to be during the afternoon break they received before dinner. Two hours would suffice.

Draco reached into his desk and retrieved several more sheets of parchment. He took up his quill and dipped it again into his silver ink well. He chewed the feather thoughtfully for a few seconds before deciding what to put down.

Attention: The Slytherin Quidditch team will have a mandatory practice at the pitch at 4:00 PM today. Warning, attendance is mandatory. ~D. L. Malfoy

He then made three more copies of the message. These would be posted on the Seventh- Sixth- and Fifth-year boy's dorms. Two of his Chasers, Montague and Warrington, were Seventh-years, the other Chaser and his Keeper, Rosenbaum and St. Paul, were Sixth-years, and one of his Beaters was none other than Blaise, a fellow Fifth-year. As for his other Beater, well, he was a mystery. He called himself Bry. He was probably a Third- or Fourth-year, judging from height, but no one was really sure. Not that Draco really cared about name or age of his players. All he was concerned about was ability. If Bry wanted to keep his identity to himself (and indeed it seemed as such; the boy never talked or removed his hood), then it was just as well really, as long as his performance on the pitch never faltered.

As a matter of fact, Draco could not think of a time when Bry had missed his target. He may not have been very strong, but his aim was impeccable, with the most skillful Backbeat Draco had ever witnessed. So that while most of the time, Bry's Bludgers did little more than throw the opposing team off their courses, there was no doubt in any player's mind that if it was Bry's bat that hit the Bludger, the person it was aimed at better be dodging.

Draco glanced at the clock on his desk. Quarter to one. He had Arithmancy in fifteen minutes, and here he was, obsessing about Quidditch strategies. It hadn't turned out to be a total waste of time, however. He had actually remembered something he had been meaning to teach his Beaters...but he would think about that at practice this afternoon. Now he had to get to class.

He grabbed the announcements and put them into his pocket. Then he shoved the books for Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures, the class he had after, into his book bag, as well as some parchment, a bottle of black ink, and a quill. He shouldered the bag and strode out of the room, closing the door firmly. He turned and pulled one of the sheets from his pocket and some Spellotape from his bag. He taped the announcement to his door. Draco then moved down the corridor in this fashion, putting the slips of parchment on the appropriate doors.

Draco glanced at his watch as he stowed the Spellotape in his bag. He had ten minutes before he was due in Arithmancy. Plenty of time. Draco climbed several flights of stairs and made his way down a few different corridors before he found himself in front of the Arithmancy classroom.

He stepped in and gazed around the room. Blaise and Blair were already seated together at the front of the room, embroiled in a heated discussion. He smirked, not bothering to get their attention. There was no point in trying; they were too busy with each other at this point to notice him. He looked around for Brynne, but instead his eyes found Pansy and Millicent Bulstrode glaring contemptuously at him. He sneered at the two girls and then his silver-grey eyes searched out Brynne.

They found her at the back of the room, seated by herself with her head resting on her arms. She looked asleep. Draco walked to the back of the room and moved behind her. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed gently before taking the seat beside her.

"Cinco minutos mas, por favor," she mumbled, not opening her eyes. The Spanish sounded strange with her Irish brogue.

"In five more minutes, it will be Professor Vector waking you instead of me," Draco replied teasingly.

Brynne's eyes shot open revealing emerald pools swirling with confusion. She lifted her head to look Draco full in the face. "I fell asleep in class?" she asked.

"Look around, you tell me. And since when do you know Spanish?"

Brynne grinned sheepishly. "Instead of House-elves, my parents hired a Spanish nanny. But anyways, I guess I didn't get enough sleep last night."

"Nor will you be for quite a while if you maintain the lessons schedule you've set up for us," Draco replied smirking.

Brynne cocked an eyebrow. "Now I understand perfectly. You're worried that you won't be able to keep up and catch up on sleep!"

"Oh really? I am not the one who fell asleep on her desk."

Brynne opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again, deciding it better to remain silent. He had her there. Then a thought occurred to her. "What are you doing after Care of Magical Creatures? We can start on some of the Transfiguration work so we can get more sleep tonight."

"That's not possible," he replied. "I called Quidditch practice for the Slytherin at 4:00 on account of the weather."

Brynne attempted to keep her face neutral. "Oh? Well, maybe I'll come. At the pitch, right?"

"Yeah," Draco replied. "Are you sure you want to? It will be terribly boring for you."

"Really?" she asked thoughtfully. "I didn't think so, but if it does get boring, then you'll just have to make it more interesting for me."

Draco hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about, but before he could ask her, he noticed Professor Vector had begun to lecture the class. He knew there was no way he could tear Brynne's attention away from her work now, so he took up his quill and began taking notes.

Needless to say, by the end of class Draco had completely forgotten about their previous conversation. In Care of Magical Creatures, they had the most uneventful lesson ever. The class had taken notes on Pixies because the bumbling oaf, Hagrid, had lost the specimens he had captured earlier in the week. (To Draco's relief...he remembered the little beasts from Second-year Defense Against the Darks Arts class with Gilderoy Lockhart. They were almost as horrible as Lockhart's teaching skills.)

As the lesson concluded, Brynne began walking briskly back to the castle. Draco hurried to catch up with her. "Where are you going?" he asked. "I thought you were coming to Quidditch practice."

Brynne looked around, noting that Potter had stopped to watch them. "I am," she replied nonchalantly. "I just need to drop some stuff in my room. Go ahead with out me. I'll be there in ten minutes." That had been only half the truth. She also needed to change into her Quidditch robes. She didn't ever use the change rooms. That would eliminate the whole keeping-a-secret-identity thing. She smiled at Draco's retreating form and turned around to find herself staring at a scarlet and gold crest.

She narrowed her eyes and glared up at Potter. "You're in my way," she stated.

"He doesn't know, does he?" asked Potter, ignoring her comment.

"No," she snapped. "He doesn't. But I'm showing him today, so let me pass," she said, brushing past him.

"And what of the rest of your team?" asked the raven-haired boy, coming up beside her to walk with her.

"They will find out too, obviously!" she shouted.

"What will they think? Even better, what will they do?"

"Nothing. Only the Captain and the Head of House have any say in how the Quidditch team is run."

"What will Malfoy think?" Potter asked in a low voice.

Brynne stopped, mid-step. "I-I don't know," she whispered, and then hurried into the castle.