Father and Son

~Chapter 13~

The fine Difference between Slytherins

December 1997

The next morning started with Defense against the Dark Arts. David, who had been breakfasting at the Slytherin table, followed Blaise Zabini to the classroom like a professional infiltrator. David had learned that Defense against the Dark Arts wasn't something you could spare. It was a mandatory subject these days. The Ministry expected every student to be prepared. So it was one of the few subjects where the students were still divided into Houses.

David expected a boring, old professor like the one they had. But instead, a small, chubby witch with black skin and black hair entered the classroom, wearing a bright purple robe with golden runes on it.

'Medora Inkspell is an Ex-Auror from South Africa,' Hermione had told him the previous day, when she'd helped him with his homework; or else, his father's homework. 'Don't underestimate her. She can be a Dragon. In South Africa, the Aurors are military forces. She's been the Commander-in-chief, and while she's been in office, this army's reputation has gone down the plughole.'

'An army?' David had asked. 'Isn't that illegal? I thought the World Wizarding Community had agreed to banish military....'

'That's the crucial point. South Africa and a few other countries insist on keeping their armies. Medora Inkspell's command of her troops is very controversial. She's known for her cruel and drastic methods.'

'What do you think of her?' As a Malfoy, David knew how much credit to give on things that are 'said' about people.

Hermione had thought about this for a while before she said, 'I think she's of vital importance, as much as I despise what she did.'

'Today,' Professor Inkspell began the lesson without a good-morning, 'we'll stop with that wishy-washy stuff we have been doing up to now.'

David thought that she spoke to them like they were one of her army troops.

'Today, we'll establish the three major rules of fighting troop against troop.'

'Fighting?' a Slytherin girl piped up. 'I thought this was about Defence against the Dark Arts!'

Professor Inkspell slowly turned from the blackboard and fixed the girl with an icy glare.

'Parkinson, right?' she barked.

'Miss Parkinson,' Pansy dared to say, looking stubbornly at her teacher.

Pansy Parkinson?! This ugly pig-nosed girl was supposed to be Pansy Parkinson, the top-model and girlfriend of the famous Quidditch player Owen Michaels?

A smirk spread across his face. So the rumors about her face-lifting and her permanent nose transfiguration were true. Pansy was Diana's godmother along with Uncle Ron, but she constantly denied that her beauty was anything but natural. No wonder they'd never seen pictures of Pansy when she was young. She was certainly well-advised to hide them.

Professor Inkspell's eyes had narrowed. 'How do you think you can defend yourself if you don't learn to fight? Perhaps you'd like to invite your enemy to your mother's afternoon tea party and discuss with him what he'd like to do with your life, Missy?'

'For some people, the enemy is her mother's afternoon tea party,' Blaise put in, causing the Slytherins to laugh.

Inkspell smirked at Pansy who looked as furious as a Hungarian Horntail with toothache.

'Coming back to the rules: I want you to learn them. I want to be able to wake you in the middle of the night and hear those rules from you!'

'I bet she will!' Blaise muttered next to him.

'Rule one: Strength Through Discipline!' Professor Inkspell announced and pointed to the blackboard, where the rule appeared.

'With discipline, I mean physical and mental discipline. Let me give you an example. Malfoy!'

'Yes, Professor,' David said and rose from his seat.

'This is one form of discipline,' Inkspell said. 'Respect for your superior and appropriate behaviour as a consequence. Now tell me, Malfoy, Professor Snape told me you're Quidditch captain for Slytherin...'

If Professor Snape had told her that, it should be true, David thought and nodded. In the back of his mind, he recalled hearing something like that from his father.

'You'll surely agree that on a broom, a disciplined body is what counts.'

'Of course!' David concurred.

'And if you're out in the pitch, a disciplined mind is vital as well,' Inkspell continued.

'Yes.'

Inkspell smirked. 'I thought you'd say that. You see, that's the way Slytherins are: they are disciplined!'

Many of David fellow Slytherins smiled as if they'd received a compliment. David wasn't sure this had been one.

'The Gryffindor captain didn't agree with me,' Inkspell said. 'Potter thought that passion for the game and will power to win was more important.'

David snorted.

'A typical Gryffindor, isn't he?' Inkspell remarked, having noticed David's reaction. 'Let's just assume he's wrong and I'm right....' She looked around the class as if she dared anybody to contradict her. 'Then why did Gryffindor win against Slytherin last game?'

David was taken aback. Not only because Gryffindor had won the Quidditch game, but also because she had a point.

'Perhaps, they were just lucky!' Pansy suggested.

'Luck, Miss Parkinson, is something I don't believe in. It's like fate and destiny: a poor excuse for those who are weak, for those who've lost!'

'So why is the first rule strength through discipline?' David asked. 'Why not strength through passion?'

Inkspell nodded approvingly. 'Very good question, Mister Malfoy; you may sit down now. Ten points for Slytherin.'

'So why am I telling you about discipline? Because fighting is not something one should have a passion for. Only someone that is mentally sick could have a passion for torturing and killing.'

'Aunty Bella,' Blaise singsonged quietly.

'That's why discipline is one of the rules. Discipline means organisation, concentration, and firm morals! If you find yourself in a situation were you have to decide whether you want to kill your enemy or just knock him out, you'll find that your wand reacts much sooner if you already know what you want to do. Make your morals clear to yourself! What can you bear and what can't you bear? I want you to prepare yourselves. I want you to know that for the next lesson.'

Inkspell turned to the blackboard once more.

'The second rule is Strength Through Unity! It's a bond between people who fight together for a common goal, a goal that can only be reached if everybody works together,' Inkspell told them. 'You practise this unity every day. It's just that you're united against the wrong enemy. You are united in your Houses, but you're a much bigger group of people that wants to fight the Dark Lord. And this group is divided in Houses. Unity is the key to success. Let's get back to the Quidditch example. A team that doesn't play together will fail. Am I right, Mister Malfoy?'

'Yes, Professor,' David said. He was fascinated by her. What she taught them was more than vital for them. Especially now. David had to remember leaving a note for his father to ask somebody for notes on this lesson.

'The Death Eaters are so dangerous, because they both know discipline and unity. They all follow the rules of their Master. That unites them. Unity demands either a leader or a good organized system. Take Democracy for example. People noticed that it's nearly impossible to control a country without a leader, so they elect a leader; or a few leaders. The Minister for Magic has the duty to lead the people, to unite the nation. And this is where rule number one comes into action. Unity demands discipline; discipline to follow the rules and the leader. I want you to think about this as well.

'The last rule is Strength Through Action. And this is why we're going to practice now. I want you to form two equal groups. Now!'

After a lot of discussions, the class was divided into two groups.

'You are going to start at opposite ends of the castle. The starting point of the first group is the finishing point of the other group. You have to get to the finishing point before the lesson ends. You may put your opponents out of the running, but no curses or jinxes that will cause severe injuries. Remember, these are your House mates you're attacking. Group One, start at the Hospital Wing. Group Two, you'll stay here. In ten minutes you may start. Now, off you go! I want a nice fair fight!' Inkspell barked.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

'I hate this witch!' Pansy cursed. She held a tissue under her nose to stop the bleeding.

Blaise sniggered, and even David couldn't hide a smirk.

Pansy had been hit with a Bat-Bogey Hex, and though Professor Inkspell had removed the bats, Pansy's nose was still in a sorry state.

'Are you coming with us?' Blaise asked. 'You have a free-period, haven't you?

David nodded.

'Me, too,' Blaise continued. Crabbe and Goyle might be in the dungeons as well. No wait, they have Divination. But Nott's with us.'

'I don't know....' said David. The only place he felt truly safe in this time was the Head Boy and Head Girl quarters.

On the other hand, there was always the chance of running into his mother. In the Slytherin common room she couldn't reach him.

'Come on, Draco. You're always locked up in your private rooms, studying. Give it up, mate, you're never gonna beat that Mudblood.'

'Who?' David asked. He was aghast at hearing the old-fashioned insult. It wasn't something you used in everyday language sixteen years after the end of the second Wizarding War.

'I meant Granger. Where are you with your thoughts? You seem odd today.'

'Perhaps that last Stunner hit me a bit too hard,' David said, rubbing his head. 'Thanks for the counter-curse, by the way.'

'No problem. You have the hell of an Impedimenta-jinx, mate. If you hadn't brought down Millicent, she'd pulverized me. So, are you coming?' Blaise asked.

'Tonight, okay?' David suggested. 'I don't have to care about curfew, so I don't have to go at nine o'clock.'

'All right, but don't think you can get out of it!' Blaise growled.

'Nine o'clock.' Pansy snorted. 'That's definitely your fault, Draco. You let that Mudblooded, know-it-all bitch and your... girlfriend talk yourself into supporting this early curfew!'

'Hey, I have to share a room with her!' David said in mock irritation.

Secretly, he was more than furious at Blaise and Pansy. How could they even look into his mother's eyes when they thought so badly of her and her friends?

'I still think you should compromise her in any possible way. If Dumbledore had to demote her, I'd probably be made Head Girl!' Pansy complained. 'Such a shame for the wizarding race to put a Mud....'

'Call her that once more, and I'll Scourgify your mouth!' David's temper had blown away all caution. He had pushed Pansy against the next wall and pointed his wand at her.

Pansy looked at him with wide-open eyes.

'I think that Stunner really hit you too hard!' Blaise barked and pulled him at his sleeve. David, who was a few inches shorter than the broad-shouldered, tall Blaise, had no chance but to be dragged along into a broom-closet.

'I'll ask it slowly so that your obviously damaged brain will get it: Are - you - MAD?' Blaise roared. 'I know you like her, and I understand that you stopped calling her a Mudblood because of Ginevra and because of the Order, but for Merlin's sake, if you risk your cover once more because of something this trivial, I'll jinx you to the hospital wing so Pomfrey can deliver you to St. Mungo's right away!'

'What?' David blinked.

Blaise looked at him quizzically. 'What the hell is going on with you? Did Ginevra snog your brain out? Is there any chance she'd return it if we ask her nicely?'

'No, I mean, yes... I mean... you know of the Order?'

'Bloody hell, Draco! Do you know who you are?' Blaise asked slowly.

'Yes, I'm... I'm Draco Malfoy.' David had just realized that this was his chance to get off the hook.

'My head!' he said and grimaced.

'You're really not well. Should I get you to Pomfrey, or will your girlfriend suffice?'

'My quarters. I think I'll lie down for a while.'

'Okay.' Blaise opened the door of the broom-closet.

Pansy was still standing outside.

'He's not well, Pans. I'll get him to his rooms,' Blaise explained.

'I'll come along,' Pansy said, looking at him with concern.

'No!' Blaise snapped. 'What... what if he has another attack and you get hurt? And you have Arithmancy now, don't you?'

Pansy sneered at him and went off in a huff.

'Thanks, Blaise,' David said. 'So what did you say about the Order?'

'Shhh!'

'I'm sorry,' David whispered.

'I have asked you if you're still all right with spying for the Order. I mean, you told me that it bothers you, and I know you can't tell Ginevra because she'd be too worried. So, if you need someone, you know where to find me. I'm your cousin. We have to stick together!'

David nodded.

'Thanks, mate. I'll get back to that tonight.'

'The password for the common room... what was it again?'

'Ebony,' Blaise said.

'I hate changing passwords, I always forget them!' David said, knowing his father kept the same passwords at the Manor for over a decade.

'I know,' Blaise chuckled. 'You told me you'll never change the passwords once you're Master of the Manor.'

David smirked. He had just hit the Hippogriff's eye.

'Talking about Malfoy Manor - what do you think of this ball your mother gives?'

'A bloody bad cover,' David said quietly, so the passing students wouldn't hear him.

Blaise nodded.

'I'll be there with you. Dumbledore made a few exceptions for some students.'

'For whom?' David asked, curiously.

'Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson...' He made a face. '...Rookwood and the Jugson twins.'

'Why did he give so many permissions?'

'I think he didn't want anybody to notice that he just wants us to be there. It would cast suspicion on us.'

They had reached Draco's room.

'I expect you to be well tonight. We need to talk!' Blaise said seriously, and then went off in the direction of the dungeons.

David went through the portrait to find the sitting room he shared with Hermione empty. He was rather grateful she wasn't there. She was still suspicious that he'd perhaps turn out as dangerous, and he always had to be careful with what he said, either to raise no further suspicion or to keep things from the future to himself.

And Hermione really could be... strenuous at times.

David sighed and went into his room.

He really was tired and wanted to lie down, but he still had to do some homework for later. He was torn.

Finally, he settled for writing a note into his father's planner and then lay down on the bed.

His eyes wandered through the room while he was slowly drifting off.

Suddenly, something caught his attention. Something gleaming.

He wondered what that might be and why it was lying in such a far corner of the room.

Then he fell asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When he woke up, he caught Hermione watching him from the door-frame.

She realized that he was awake, and her cheeks turned red before he'd even said a thing.

'You're still suspicious aren't you?'

'Some people talk while they sleep,' Hermione stated, sobering her face.

'Well, I don't. Malfoys don't talk in their sleep nor do they snore,' he said haughtily and got up.

'You overslept Potions. Don't think Snape forgives you everything just because you're a Malfoy,' she warned him.

David groaned.

'What time is it?'

Hermione looked at her watch. 'It's half past seven.'

'What?' David asked, shocked. He'd never, in his entire life, overslept so long. 'Let me guess: I'll have to learn everything you did today on my own plus loads of homework?'

Hermione nodded.

'Bloody hell! I never missed a lesson because I slept too long.'

'You're obviously not used to NEWT standards. But I concur with you. I'd like to lie down for a while, too. We shouldn't have studied so long yesterday night.'

'I probably can't expect you to do this again tonight, can I?' David sighed.

'No. I'll meet up with Harry and Ron later, but I left you my notes and my homework for Potions on your desk. Just make sure Snape doesn't notice you copied it.'

'I'm really starting to like you.' David smirked.

'Merlin forbid!' Hermione said mockingly. 'A Malfoy liking a Mudblood!'

'Shut up. I heard enough people call you that today,' he grumbled and passed a hand through his hair.

'I researched time-travelling again, today,' she informed him matter-of-factly and moved into the room. 'I found an entry about Time-Turners that said only the Time-Turner that brought you somewhere can bring you back to your time without causing too much damage. Taking another one would cause a time-collapse. And anyway, you need to take a Time-Turner that already exists in the year you want to travel to.'

'You mean I need my own Time-Turner to go back in time? I mean... go forward...?'

Hermione nodded.

'But I don't know where it is! I'm not even sure I took it with me! What if Diana still has it?'

'Then we can only hope that she'll turn to my future-self, and I can tell her that she needs to fetch you with the Time-Turner.'

David was taken aback.

'I considered letting you Obliviate me so I won't know you were here, but someone needs to help Malfoy in the future. If I knew that in 2015 you and Malfoy would switch, I could help at both times,' she reasoned.

'I never thought about that,' he admitted, blinking.

'So you don't think it's a bad idea?' she asked cautiously.

'Anything that gets me back to the future is a good idea!'

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

'Draco? Draco! Are you listening?'

Pansy's voice snapped David out of his thoughts.

He was down in the Slytherin common room, sitting in a corner with Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and two chunks of stone called Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. They were talking about the Christmas dance tomorrow evening, but David's thoughts always wandered off to the conversation he'd had with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Harry and Ron had informed them what David was supposed to do.

David had learned that everything the famous Headmaster wanted him to know was delivered by Harry; never directly. After spending an evening in the Slytherin common room, he knew why. There were only a few who didn't think Dumbledore was an old fool and a madman.

'I don't think Draco's so interested in what you'll wear tomorrow,' Blaise put in. 'You know, he's got a girlfriend. He has no reason to pretend to listen.' He grinned at her.

'Shut up, Zabini!' Pansy snapped. 'Everybody knows that you just listen to a girl when you want to get into her knickers. But Draco has more class.'

'No, he just hides it better, because he only shags one girl and not ten,' Blaise retorted, unimpressed.

David glared at him. He absolutely hated it when anyone mentioned his parents and shagging in one sentence.

'Is the Dark Lord going to be there?' Crabbe grunted out.

David looked at Blaise, expecting him to answer, but Blaise was looking at him as well as anyone else.

'I don't think it's probable. I mean, Dumbledore knows we're hosting this ball. Do you really think he would show up there?' David hoped his answer was convincing. To his ears it sounded more than unconvincing.

'If he'll be there, it has to be about something really important,' Blaise agreed.

David had the feeling that Blaise wouldn't like it either, to face Lord Voldemort. David was horrified by the prospect. On the other hand, he was strangely curious. Like one is curious for what it feels like to die. You don't want to experience it, but you want to know.

Blaise looked at his watch. 'Draco, we need to talk.'

'Yeah.'

Pansy glared at both of them, and Crabbe and Goyle looked from one to another as if they were trying to comprehend who was talking to whom.

'Let's go to the Quidditch pitch, then,' David suggested. He and his best-friend Darius often went to the pitch to have men talks, even after curfew, although they'd gotten detention for being caught coming back in the middle of the night often enough; one of the reasons why David worked hard for becoming Head Boy next year.

'The Quidditch pitch?' Blaise asked, surprised.

'I need some fresh air, and we'd be alone there,' David pointed out. 'Or are you scared?' he asked. That was the magical sentence that Darius always used against him. And it seemed to work with Blaise as well.

Leaving the others in the common room with a protesting Pansy to calm down, they made their way to the big, oak doors that led outside the castle.

The air was freezing, but it woke David up again.

They settled on the highest bench of the stands.

'So why did you make such a fuss this morning? You know how Parkinson is.'

'She was really a nag about it. I mean did she have to call Granger a Mudblood more than a dozen times?'

'That's the way Slytherins are. Until just a while ago, you were like that as well. You always used to call Granger a Mudblood, too. And you have to pretend to be still like that. Draco Malfoy hates Muggles and Muggle-borns! What are you going to do tomorrow? Tell your father to shut up and threaten the Dark Lord as soon as they announce their plans of killing and torturing those people?'

David looked away. He didn't want to be part of this play. And he couldn't understand how his father had coped with it.

Draco Malfoy hates Muggles and Muggle-borns! Blaise's words echoed in his mind.

It was true. In a way, his father still thought that pure-bloods were better than non-magical people or wizards and witches with mixed blood. But he treated them equal. An employee who had pure blood but messed something up could be fired as soon as a half-blood could.

David guessed that it was his mother's influence on him.

Being in his father's place made it clear to him what sort of person his father must have been. He was like the people in his House, tormenting people because of their origins.

'Come on, Draco. What is this all about? Do you suddenly have any problems with your double part in this war?' Blaise asked.

David kept silent.

Then he said, 'Blaise... did I ever tell you how I feel about the prospect of having to torture or kill somebody?'

'You told me, you wear another face when you're a Death Eater.'

David nodded.

'I hope I'll never have to do it. I couldn't look into... into Ginny's face again, I guess.'

'Mate, she knows, what you might be doing. That's what it's like to love a Death Eater!' Blaise said.

Yes, but would she want her son to become a murderer?

Blaise laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it. 'You'll be fine. And Merlin be merciful, we will never come into such a situation. I mean, this is going to end in a war. There's little chance of getting around killing people.'

'But if I have to kill somebody, it should be someone of the Dark Lord's people, not of our side,' David said.

'So you would rather kill your family and the people you grew up with than a stranger that's against Voldemort?' Blaise asked, taken aback.

'I would always rather kill someone who's guilty and spare the innocent. Family or not!' David said stubbornly.

'You just say that because your parents don't mean so much to you. My mother supports Voldemort as well, but I love her all the same. I couldn't lift my wand against her.'

David thought about that. What if his family had turned to Voldemort's side? Could he really be indifferent to the fact that this was his family? The words he'd said came out easier than they should have.

And suddenly, David understood the inner conflict his father must have had.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~