+ + + +
"Helga Hufflepuff had a golden goblet.
It shimmered with the bright gleam of pink gold,
Red-golden like her hair,
As great a beauty as was she, the stories told.
But the cup, with shining gems impressed,
And mighty gleaming badger crest,
Did stand empty till her final rest.
For she filled it not with wine,
Rather filled her heart with pine,
For love, for joy, for days gone by.
For things unsaid in youth, which long remained suppressed.
Till the day of very last, when she lay upon her bed,
She held the empty goblet overhead,
And spoke - 'My cup doth run over, I am spent!'"
- Author unknown.
So runs a poem which was written after Helga Hufflepuff's death. Out of all the relics left of the legendary witch, the cup remains by far the most enigmatic and alluring to historians. It was said that in the presence of pure heart and good company, the cup had the power to fill itself with any drink the holder desired, and was frequently seen at Hogwarts during Hufflepuff's time as co-founder. But many years later, when she fell ill, she left the school and took the cup with her.
The significance of the goblet to Hufflepuff's life remains one of the many mysteries surrounding the witch, who, despite her warm, company-loving nature, kept her secrets close to her chest and rarely voiced her innermost thoughts. It is said that she originally created the cup as a gift for an admirer, but after his unexpected death, she kept the cup for herself and never left it unguarded.
Before her death, Helga bestowed the cup to her niece, Krista, who studied its properties with her relatives in great detail. Perhaps the most illuminating glimpse of the goblet's nature is given by Rodrick Smith, who remarked that where before the goblet had filled with any sort of drink, now it had been modified to fill only with a thick, dark liquid, but not like wine of any sort. Rather, it was the liquid of memory - the memory of the holder - which would fill and fill until it seemed to become as wide and deep as a sea, a Pensieve through which the user could glimpse their past.
"In a single moment, I saw everything -- all of my greatest joys, all the troubles and sorrows that had plagued me most - all of them so vivid with sensation that it felt like I was experiencing them all over again. It was as if I were on my deathbed and glimpsing my life flashing before my eyes."
The cup was passed down through the female line of the Hufflepuff family, but eventually vanished from historical records. Its current whereabouts are unknown.
- Excerpt from The Hogwarts Founders: A History of the Four, vol 2.
With the fall of the Dark Lord in 1981 came the end of an era. In the years that followed that fateful October night, the wizarding world slowly began to stir awake from its nightmare. The only remnants of Lord Voldemort's reign were a crumbling house in Godric's Hollow and a boy with a lightning scar on his forehead.
By the time Lucius's and Narcissa's son had reached early childhood, it appeared that the family's troubled times were finally behind them. No longer under the scrutiny of the Ministry, Lucius felt free to pursue his interests at work again, and Narcissa restored contact with old friends, many of whom had also barely pulled through the interrogations. Aside from a few artifacts locked up in their manor and the Dark Mark that Lucius always kept hidden, no evidence remained that the Malfoys had once supported Voldemort.
Still, the plight of the past several years had changed them. Lucius used his influence as a school governor to monitor current events, cavorting with prominent Ministry figures and making sure his opinions were represented in the Wizengamot council. Narcissa kept out of the public eye, staying close to her circle of friends, no longer harboring an interest for what lay beyond it. For she had seen the world and it had chilled her. Now she knew that there could be no conciliation between pure-bloods and the rest of wizardkind, and knew the fate that would await them if they ever stepped out of their bubble of seclusion. She regretted that she had ever doubted her parents' principles, and had ever dared to think that the world could be anything else but what they had defined it as. The principles of society were etched permanently in blood. The only people that could ever understand her were those that shared her situation and heritage, and Narcissa vowed that from that point on, she would stick to her own no matter what.
Their son grew up amid a peaceful time. His hands traced the branches of their family tree mural, and he eagerly listened in whenever his parents had a long-winded conversation about a relative or distant ancestor. He easily absorbed their lessons about magic and society, because those principles were already reflected in his life. He had never laid eyes on someone who wasn't a wizard, and couldn't imagine why anyone would place a magic-deprived world over this one.
By the time Draco Malfoy turned eleven, Lucius began to consider sending him to Durmstrang. Lucius was acquainted with Igor Karkaroff, who had also been pardoned in the Death Eater trials and had been reinstated as the school's headmaster. No doubt, Draco would find a good place at Durmstrang in light of Abraxas's legacy. But Narcissa had refused.
"Lucius, think about what this would mean!" she said. "Bulgaria is unimaginably far. Are you ready to say goodbye to your son for years at a time and only see him during the summer?"
"Narcissa, you have to understand," said Lucius. "The curriculum at Hogwarts is completely influenced by Ministry politics. The governors constantly press for requirements to be changed and classes to be restructured. They want to turn the whole school into a bastion for progressive education. Look at their Muggle Studies curriculum. Just this month, Beckett wrote a proposal to make it required for all students up to their third year, and it was only by a narrow margin that the rest of the council denied it. In the meantime, they think nothing of cutting subjects like Dueling, which is a basic skill that every wizard ought to know!"
"Is the curriculum at Durmstrang so different?" said Narcissa. "After… the Dark Lord... haven't all schools in Europe done some reforms to ease suspicion?"
"Yes, but I think Durmstrang will be the last to go under. It's one of the few schools left that still teaches the fundamental concepts of magic, not the prepackaged wandwaving nonsense that our Ministry tries to substitute for it. Durmstrang has a solid curriculum in the Dark Arts. They truly teach the students what they are, and the objective risks and uses of each branch of magic. But most importantly, they teach the students history." Lucius looked Narcissa in the eye. "I want our son to grow up to be not only a great wizard, but one who's proud of his magic and knows what it means to possess it. He must know the genealogy of wizarding blood and the philosophical justification for its importance. But he won't be able to do that if he's surrounded by a pro-Muggle crowd, which will only teach him that magic was historically dangerous and that it's a good thing for wizards to dilute it in their bloodlines. He will be made to disregard his abilities, to want to suppress them, when he should in fact be cultivating them."
Narcissa gave a smile. "You're talking like a politician, Lucius. Can't you see that Draco is already everything you want him to be? He is proud, he keeps his honor, and is fair and just to everyone. What you fear is impossible."
Lucius shook his head. "I say he's still too young to know what's good for him. He spends too much time fooling around with his friends. He is rash and easily swayed. He has no idea what the real world is like."
Narcissa looked askance. "I'm not so sure..."
There was a moment of silence, then the parents met eyes. Narcissa pressed a hand to her chest. "Lucius, just think for a moment. Suppose we send Draco away to Durmstrang. Then what? He'll be in a completely different world. He'll have abandoned all his friends, all the places he's familiar with. He won't get to see us for years. I won't get to see him for years, and neither will you, and don't pretend that doesn't matter." She lowered her chin, gazing up at him matter-of-factly. "Think of why Abraxas left Durmstrang. He knew that he needed English connections, didn't he? But put Draco in Bulgaria, and he'll sever all ties with England. When he graduates, he'll be getting job offers from the Bulgarian Ministry, he'll have made Bulgarian acquaintances, and try after all of that to convince him to come back to his family's house, in a country he'll long have left behind. Is that what you want?"
Lucius let out a long sigh, looking down at the Hogwarts letter. Narcissa learned forward and folded her arms on the desk.
"If he goes to Hogwarts, he'll be in Slytherin. If he goes to Hogwarts, he'll have all his friends and family with him. That's what Draco needs. He doesn't need an elite curriculum to teach him anything, because he'll discover it all by himself. You put too little faith in him. Everything he needs to be happy, he already has." She reached out and touched Lucius's hand. "We went to Hogwarts, didn't we? And if I recall, it was enchanting."
A smile tugged at Lucius's lips. "Those were different times, Narcissa."
"Draco is not a child of those times. And we shouldn't try to force him to be. Look how many Malfoys went to Hogwarts. And look at all the things they've achieved! Things that still linger in people's memories today. The point isn't to despair that their glories can't be repeated, but to take up their spirit and win even more today."
Lucius considered this for a while, then nodded slowly. A few days later, he mailed their reply to Draco's acceptance letter and confirmed his son's admission. Draco Malfoy would be attending Hogwarts.
By the time Draco turned eleven, he had heard so many stories about school that he couldn't wait to enter it. His family on both sides had a long legacy of excelling at Hogwarts, and Draco was utterly resolved to continue it. Moreover, he decided that he would follow in his father's footsteps and become the head of his own social sphere, surrounding himself with equals.
And so, when Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express that September day, he did so with the intention of meeting as many people as possible, if not to befriend, then at least to know, so that he could establish a respectable place in the pecking order. He knew from rumors that Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, would be among his first-year group. Draco knew that there had been sense in the Dark Lord's aims, but nevertheless, he was intrigued at the prospect of meeting his vanquisher. Someone who could deflect a fatal curse from the most powerful wizard in history had to be a great wizard himself, so a friendship with Harry Potter would doubtlessly prove interesting. And possibly, Draco hoped, mutually rewarding.
After parting with his parents on the platform, Draco boarded the train and walked down the aisle, venturing all the way to the back where the first-years were. They were a nervous lot, unlike the older students, and slightly rowdier because of it. Draco began to scan the crowd for a person he could talk to, and by chance, his gaze alighted upon a girl, one of the few who was not sitting alone, head bent passively in surrender to fate. Quite the opposite. She strolled with calm authority, eyes inspecting the interior of the train, as if looking for something that was out of order in it. Hardly a second had passed, and already Draco knew that she wasn't someone who would be told what to do. She took her time, observing various points as she passed by, then noticed an opened compartment and poked her head inside.
"Excuse me, I believe you're in my seat!" she said to somebody.
Draco heard a shuffle, and the person inside the compartment grunted in response: "It's not yours if you keep leaving it!"
"For your information, I was doing someone a favor," said the girl. "And besides, my books happen to be in there, and if you look closely, you'll see I've written my name in them, so that would make this my compartment."
At that point, Draco had approached the compartment door, close enough to see who the girl was talking to - a stout, beady-eyed boy. Draco smiled.
"Crabbe!"
The boy looked up, and his face broke into a smile. "Oi, Draco! I was wonderin' when you'd show up." He lifted himself from the seat.
"Where's Goyle?" Draco asked.
"I thought I saw him somewhere in the back."
"Well then what are you skulking around here for? Let's find him."
"Thank you," the girl cut in. Her arms were crossed. Crabbe gave her a scowl, to which she responded with a roll of her eyes, and he hobbled out of the compartment. Despite getting what she wanted, the girl turned again to leave on her errand, and on her way out she stopped before Draco.
On occasion, his father could tell someone's family simply by looking at them. Despite his efforts, Draco had not quite mastered it, but something in that moment compelled him to try. He began to study the girl's face in detail. She was definitely not a Black; her hair was too light, and her features were too soft to be compared to those in his mother's family tree - stoic and regal. It struck him that she might be a Rosier. He recalled seeing some relatives of his grandmother, Druella, who had brown hair and perhaps the same sort of eyes…
Draco decided that he had been staring too long to remain silent, so he spoke up, asking a question that only a pure-blood could respond to: "You're from Evan's side, aren't you?"
The girl frowned. "What are you talking about? I'm from London. My parents live in Bromley."
That hadn't been the response Draco was expecting. Feeling heat rush to his face, he lowered his gaze. "Never mind..."
The girl looked at him in puzzlement. Then she walked off, her hair bouncing in neat, puffy bunches on her shoulders, and the meaning of her words rushed in like a flood. She was a Muggle-born. Draco began to walk away from the spot, moving quickly, as if distancing himself would erase that moment from the history of time. But his cheeks still burned with shame. If his father had seen their exchange, he would have laughed.
Nevertheless, Draco was able to regroup. He looked into some compartments and met several other first-years with whom he had things in common. He reunited with Crabbe, who had found Goyle and completed their trio. Together, they worked their way through the back section of the train, peering into compartments and talking to every first-year they met. Draco knew that he could be separated from any of them when he was Sorted, so he played it safe and talked to as many people as possible, repeating his introduction, offering to hear theirs. Some shied away when he approached with the two bigger boys by his side and spoke about his family, but others listened in curiosity, sometimes even respect.
The Muggle girl, in the meantime, seemed to be following the same line of thought. She flitted in and out of the compartments like a seasoned matron, a team of one, a smile of ever-present greeting glowing on her face.
And so, by the end of that day on the train, nearly every first-year at Hogwarts had met Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger.
Hours later, the train arrived at the Hogsmeade Station and the first-years were taken to the castle. From there, they were led by Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall, where the Sorting Hat was perched on top of a stool. Draco stood among the crowd of students as the headmistress led the Sorting ceremony. Crabbe and Goyle were made Slytherins, but many others he had gotten to know on the train had been whisked off to other Houses. A few seconds after Goyle had taken his seat, McGonagall cleared her throat and called out another name.
"Granger, Hermione!"
There was a rustle of robes behind him, a flash of familiar brown hair, and Draco saw the girl from the train step up to the pedestal. She sat down on the stool, looking excited, but focused.
So that's her name, Draco thought. The revelation was utterly useless to him now, but nevertheless he registered it.
McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on the girl's head, obscuring the top half of her face. Though nobody saw it, Hermione had closed her eyes.
Draco waited.
The hat did not speak.
It sat on her head for what seemed like an eternity, its leathery folds creased into an expression of deep thought. After a minute had passed, Draco felt a flutter of shock. The girl was a hatstall. The Sorting Hat rarely took more than a minute on any person, so whenever it did, it always meant something significant.
Maybe I was wrong, he thought. Maybe she's a half-blood. There's no way she could be a--
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The table to his left erupted in applause. The girl's eyes flew open and she descended with an elated rush, all smiles, disappearing into the crowd of pointed hats. For some reason, seeing that expression on her face made him grumble.
A few minutes later, his own name was called.
"Malfoy, Draco!"
Draco bowed his head in acknowledgment and meandered to the stool. At the sight of his blond hair and pale skin, many faces in the Great Hall seemed to flicker with recognition. Draco smiled.
He saw a shadow descend over him as the hat grazed the tip of his head…
"SLYTHERIN!"
The table to his farthest right began to applaud. With a smile, Draco rose and walked over to his new House table. He had neither expected nor wanted to be Sorted anywhere else, but the speed with which the hat had placed him made him ponder. He watched as several others were Sorted, and noticed that for each student, the hat took its time, often three seconds, sometimes five. But his own Sorting had hardly lasted for the space of one. The hat hadn't even said what qualities it saw in him that the founder of Slytherin House would have admired.
Was I really that easy? Draco wondered. He thought back to the girl Hermione, and felt a flare of irritation. What made her so special?
He went to sit next to Crabbe and Goyle, and a while later, another name rose above the cheers.
"Potter, Harry!"
The Hall stirred with a rush of whispers.
"… Potter, did she say?"
"… The Harry Potter?"
People around him twisted and turned in an attempt to see the stool. Draco glumly tapped his finger on the table. Moments later, McGonagall placed the hat over Harry's head, and the hall fell silent.
Two seconds grew to five.
Eight.
Ten.
Finally, the hat's mouth opened: "GRYFFINDOR!"
The roar of applause this time was perhaps the loudest. Draco found himself sneering. Of course the famous Harry Potter, vanquisher of dark wizards, would be sorted into the House of the brave and bold. He had no idea why the hat had taken so long to decide.
Several others were Sorted, and then Ronald Weasley was called up. He sat down on the stool, and the hat just barely grazed the top of his flaming-red hair when it shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!"
Relief washed over Ron's face, and he went to sit with the Gryffindors, who by now were mad with glee. The last few students were Sorted, and finally the feast began.
Over the first weeks of the term, Draco branched out into his Slytherin first-year group and solidified his ties with them. But occasionally, he mingled with people he had met from other Houses. And whenever he ended up in a double class with the Gryffindors, his gaze would find the brown-haired girl Hermione.
At first, he had tried to consider other options, but eventually, the facts began to point overwhelmingly in favor of his earlier conclusion. There could be no doubt that the Muggle girl really was who she was, for she did not even try to hide it. And from that point on, Hermione changed for him. Draco observed her in class with disdain, rolling his eyes whenever she piped a response to a professor's question, wondering how long it had taken her to figure out something that to any wizard would have been second-nature. Still, her arrogance wasn't entirely unjustified, for it did not escape his attention that she was better at magic than most of her classmates. She mastered spells quickly and seemed to have a genuine knowledge of the material. Draco half-expected the Gryffindors to fawn over her just like they fawned over Harry, but to his surprise, he noticed that almost none of the first-years seemed to like her. They acted either cynical or intimidated.
On Hermione's part, it was the sort of treatment she was used to. In her old school, she had been readily dubbed a know-it-all, though for some reason the other girls in her class had never pestered her about it. When they whispered, they did so from afar, never daring to express their disdain to her face. Now that Hermione was a witch, she understood why. She had frightened them. Even then, she had displayed telltale signs of her powers without knowing it, making pencils budge on her desk and causing wind to pick up when she was upset.
But now, she was surrounded by people who could do the same things. Hermione figured that it would be easier to make friends with them, but many of the people she met had either gone to a different House or were repelled by her. Ron and Harry, the two boys she had met on the train, had struck her as goofy, but kind. She was secretly comforted to have them in Gryffindor with her, but to her surprise, they adopted the same distrustful attitude towards her as did many of her other housemates. Ron never hid his displeasure when she made a witty remark, and though Harry was more reserved, he did not speak up for her. And so, during her first month at school, Hermione became one of the few students who did not love the famous Harry Potter.
Draco Malfoy was another, but for a different reason.
It wasn't because that Harry hadn't shaken his hand that day on the train. It wasn't because he had gone to Gryffindor, whose persona of glory only enhanced his own. It wasn't even because Harry had chosen to befriend the Weasley boy instead of him. The reason was so simple and clear to Draco that, for a long time, he suppressed it, for fear that it was so obviously written upon his face that it would take only a moment's closer look to pry it from within him - envy.
Envy at the fact that Harry had succeeded where he had failed, which was in winning the school's love and respect. And Harry had done it without even trying. Friends and admirers clung to him like nettle leaves, and teachers fawned over his every accomplishment, which in reality were on the same level as everybody else's. His Sorting had blasted the Gryffindors straight to cloud nine, for with the Boy Who Lived on their side, they were practically blessed.
But in an ironic twist of events, the incorruptible Harry Potter, who to the Gryffindors stood for all things true and righteous, ended up falling prey to the same tradition that his house was notorious for: drawing a distinct line between his friends and his enemies. From the beginning, Harry had made it clear with whom he got along and with whom he didn't, and increasingly often Draco found himself fulfilling the role of the latter. He did it first in retaliation, then let it consume him to such an extent that he could do nothing else. He sought every way to crash the Gryffindors' parade, every chance to wake them up to the real world in which only he seemed to live. But his actions only fueled their fire - the midnight duel; the Remembrall. Every little thing Draco did to put Harry in his place ended up working out, somehow or other, in Harry's favor. It was as if the universe itself was eager to prove him wrong.
There was only one time when it seemed like the Potter and Weasley duo had gone too far. It had happened at Halloween, when a mountain troll had somehow found its way into the castle. That day, Hermione Granger had been driven to tears by her own classmates and had been hiding from them in the bathroom, when the troll wandered inside. Harry and Ron went looking for her, and found the troll smashing sinks while she hid in a corner, unable to escape. Tales of the events that followed varied, but it was known that the boys had ended up knocking out the troll and saving the day. Only this time, they were caught in the act by Professor McGonagall, who deducted a large amount of House points and issued detentions. With their Gryffindor pride in shambles, and having ruined the clean record of their volatile classmate, it finally seemed that Potter and Weasley would learn their lesson.
But what happened instead was more shocking and infuriating to Draco than anything else. The girl became their friend. For the rest of that year and onwards, Harry, Ron, and Hermione existed as an inseparable trio, sharing notes, stories, and triumphs. Never had Draco seen a union that was more perfect, more impossible. All their motives were instantly justified, all their deeds fabled. Their futures were sealed, and so - whether Draco liked it or not - was his.
His former interest towards Harry Potter was eaten up by a poisonous spite, which spread to swallow his friend Weasley, and stopped at its pinnacle of focus in Hermione Granger.
She was everything his parents had taught him to avoid, the kin of a society that had repressed wizardkind for millennia, and was supposed to be ignorant of everything that had to do with magic. She should never have shared their talents and certainly should never have been accepted into their fold. And yet there she was, the shining star among them, brimming with happiness even as she coldly beat them at their own game. She did not seem to care what anyone thought of her; she proceeded with a relentless drive towards her goals and for the first time had friends who supported it. And so Draco hated her. He hated her and her blood as the inevitable consequence of his parents' lessons, but also, paradoxically, because they had let him down with her. Because she had ended up being the Mudblood, and that injured and outraged him more than anything she could ever do to him.
As the year passed, Draco's thought circled around Hermione without him realizing it. Everything he despised in people he managed to find in her -- her smile, her stance, the boldness of her attitude. In her very existence he saw the embodiment of the world's unfairness, and he fought incessantly to resist it. He fortified himself, conditioned himself, and with nothing else left to see in them, declared the Gryffindors his enemies.
But still, Draco couldn't shake the feeling within him that something was wrong. Because everything was.
The Granger girl should have gone to Ravenclaw. She should have split off with some other friends who were of her own kind, and Potter and Weasley should have remained alone, their borrowed glory dwindling as their lack of ability belied their charm. The girl should never have joined their group, for they had rejected her, hadn't they? They had made it clear to her that she was disliked, that they were bothered by her very existence, and had even said so to others on several occasions. Saving her life was hardly a sign that they had changed their opinion of her; much less was it an invitation to join their group. But she had.
And that made them formidable.
As time passed, little changed. Soon, the mutual enmity between Draco's crowd and Potter's no longer needed justification. It built upon itself.
One year later, Draco was walking through Diagon Alley with his father. The new term was only a few days away, but for some reason, the baskets of new items and the glittering coins that spilled from Lucius's palm held none of their former charm. All Draco could think about was Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, who soon would ruin another year for him.
Draco stared glumly ahead as Lucius walked through the street, then made a sudden turn to enter the dimmer, narrower lane of Knockturn Alley. The familiar sign of Borgin and Burke's appeared on a corner, and Lucius approached the shop door, holding it open.
"Touch nothing, Draco."
"I thought you were going to buy me a present," Draco said.
"I said I would buy you a racing broom."
Draco felt a flash of anger. "What good is that if I'm not on the House team? Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's famous… famous for having that stupid scar on his forehead… Everyone thinks he's so smart… Wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick--"
"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," Lucius cut in. "And I would remind you that it is not… prudent… to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear… Ah, Mr. Borgin."
Lucius turned as the shopkeeper approached, and the men began to talk. Meanwhile, Draco busied himself with the objects on display, his mind still buzzing. He saw a withered hand on a shelf and began to inspect it. Mr. Borgin looked over to him with a smile.
"Ah, the Hand of Glory! Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir."
"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or plunderer, Borgin," said Lucius.
"No offense sir, no offense meant…"
Lucius cast Draco a brief glance. "Though if his grades don't pick up, that may indeed be all he is fit for."
Draco felt another flare of anger. "It's not my fault," he retorted. "The teachers have their favorites, that Hermione Granger…"
"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam."
Draco turned away with a scowl. He was ashamed, but more than that, he was scattered. He knew that Hermione Granger was preoccupied with success, but for some reason that hadn't urged him to best her. Had he really been afraid she would beat him? And possibly even find a ground to poke fun at him? Suddenly, Draco felt very stupid. He had allowed himself to slip before someone who was supposed to be inferior to him. Perhaps her talent had only been a projection of his weakness...
Draco's thoughts continued to circle as he followed Lucius out of Knockturn Alley. They stepped back into the blinding sunlight and headed for a Quidditch supply store, but Draco continued to protest.
"… it won't do any good, I've told you, what's the point of me having a broomstick if I won't even be able to use it?"
"Enough, Draco," Lucius snapped. "There are more effective and less impudent ways of getting what you want than whining. Allow me to demonstrate."
He led Draco into the shop, where he summoned the nearest shopkeeper and pulled him over to a deserted corner of the store. And he ordered seven Nimbus Two-Thousand-and-Ones - six for the members of the Slytherin team, and one for Draco, their new Seeker.
Draco watched as Lucius thrust a bag of Galleons into the speechless shopkeeper's hands. "Send the broomsticks to Hogwarts immediately, along with a letter that reads thus…"
Vengeance.
Spite.
Old hate that never died.
That was all Lucius knew now, all he operated by. The Dark Lord was dead, but Lucius Malfoy was alive and well, and he would make them all pay for the way his kind had been shamed…
He was standing in the middle of Flourish and Blott's now, facing Arthur Weasley and his family of likewise-redheaded children. Lucius hadn't seen Arthur in person since he had left the Ministry, but from the first glance, he saw that the man hadn't changed a bit. His family was a gangly bunch, huddled close to each other like a den of ferrets. And today, there were two others accompanying them. The first was Hermione Granger, who needed no introductions. Up close, Lucius quickly matched her stern, attentive face to the characteristics Draco had given her. And beside her was Harry Potter, the shining hero who had saved them all. How fitting that the Weasleys should have befriended them…
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Lucius said, looking at Arthur with a smile. "All those raids… I hope they're paying you overtime?"
Arthur did not respond. Lucius looked down at the youngest girl, Ginny, who was clutching a cauldron full of books. He reached in and pulled one out, examining the tattered cover. "Obviously not… Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?"
Arthur's face flushed. "We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."
Lucius's eyes tailed over the Granger girl's parents, who were standing in the distance in plain, Muggle clothes. He sneered. "Clearly…" Lucius let himself turn, and unnoticeably, slipped the thin spine of Lord Voldemort's diary into the large Potions text. "The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower-"
But before he could continue, someone rammed into him at full speed and tackled him into a bookshelf. Lucius fell back, barely opening his eyes before he felt Arthur Weasley's fist ram into his face. Lucius eagerly retaliated, grabbing Arthur by the collar to punch him back, and the two men began to brawl amid the mess of falling books. The people around them backed away and gasped, before the enormous Hagrid stepped in and pulled them both apart. Lucius regained his footing, dusting himself off, and took his walking stick back into his hands. He went back to Ginny and proffered her Potions book.
"Here, girl, take your book. It's the best your father can give you." He slammed the textbook into the girl's cauldron.
Within a few months, Ginny Weasley would be possessed.
The whole school would be plunged into terror.
And Lucius would be in his office, safe from scrutiny, smiling at the results of his work.
…
But he was a fool…
… Yes, a fool! thought Draco Malfoy. He had been a fool for not listening to his father. He had been a fool for letting down his guard and not seeing the simple answer when it had been staring him in the face. If Potter had wheedled his way into the team through sheer dumb luck, then he, Draco, should obviously have countered back and showed him the way it really was to be done: through deliberate choice. Lucius hadn't stopped at buying a single broom for Draco after all; he had donated them to the entire team, showing them that his son's presence would benefit everyone.
And only now did Draco realize the perfection of his father's logic, as he strolled out onto the lawn of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with the Slytherin team, grinning broadly. Who knew that so much could be changed with such a simple move? From now on, he would play his game with much more cunning.
From now on, everything would be different.
The procession of green-clad Slytherins marched into the field, meeting the confused party of Gryffindor players. Even from a distance, Draco saw the Gryffindor captain's eyes widen in surprise, and saw Marcus Flint smile as he held up Professor Snape's permission slip and read it aloud.
"I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker."
The Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, squinted at the note. "You've got a new Seeker? Where?"
Draco stepped forward, and the Gryffindors gawked at him.
"Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?" asked Fred Weasley.
"Funny you should mention Draco's father," said Flint. "Let me show you the generous gift he's made to the Slytherin team."
The Slytherins held up their broomsticks. The brooms were sleek and black, bearing a pristine, never-used glow. Flint began to recite the details and capabilities of the Nimbus Two Thousand and Ones, when in the corner of his eye, Draco noticed two other people making their way to the field. It was Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Upon seeing the Slytherins, their expressions clouded.
"What's happening?" asked Ron. "Why aren't you playing?" He looked at Draco. "And what's he doing here?"
"I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley," Draco said. "Everyone's just been admiring the brooms my father's bought our team."
Ron looked down at the brooms, and his expression became streaked with awe.
"Good, aren't they?" said Draco. "But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them." He smirked as the Slytherin team began laughing behind him. He saw Harry's eyes narrow, saw Ron's face drop into the same furious expression as the rest of the Gryffindor team's, and right then, Draco felt like things were finally going his way.
But there was one Gryffindor who wasn't fazed. Hermione Granger crossed her arms, and she looked at Draco, narrowing her eyes. "At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," she snapped. "They got in on pure talent."
Draco turned to her, and for an instant their gazes met. Spite bubbled up inside of him.
"No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood."
The Gryffindors erupted with rage. They lunged at him as one, a flood of red robes and brooms, and the Slytherins rushed to pull Draco back. Ron Weasley took out his wand and shouted a hex, but the spell he cast backfired, and everything drowned in a chorus of laughs…
One year later, Draco was still laughing. He had just come out of Care of Magical Creatures class, where the oaf-professor Hagrid had been sobbing the whole time over his prosecuted hippogriff. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had lingered behind to comfort him, and Draco kept casting backward glances as he walked to snicker at the sight. He reached the castle doors with Crabbe and Goyle and waited, watching as Hagrid finally went back into his hut. The trio of Gryffindors approached them.
"Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?" Draco said loudly. "And he's supposed to be our teacher!"
Harry and Ron both turned on Draco and prepared to lunge. But someone else got there first. Moments later, a hand struck him across the face with a stinging blow, and Draco felt himself reel to the side. He looked up, opening his eyes in horror to find Hermione Granger standing hardly a foot away from him. Her eyes were narrowed in fury. Ron tried to pull her back, but she broke away from his grip and pointed her wand at Draco.
For a minute, Draco stared at her dumbly. His gaze flitted around the field, then he stepped back and turned away. "Come on." He beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and they followed him into the castle.
Three seconds later, Draco regretted it. 'Come on.' Was that really the best he could do? He hadn't even given her a glare! He could have acted like it hadn't hurt, or taken out his own wand for God's sake and taunted her. Anything would have been better. But no. His eyes had just slipped down like a boy slapped by his mum. Granger probably thought he was weak... forget about Potter and Weasley, they'd probably torment him about it until seventh year.
Draco quickened his speed again, though by now he knew it would do nothing to make him forget. Fleeing only made the memory stronger. Soon, Hermione flooded his mind, and the longer Draco pictured her face, the more his own began to redden.
Third year passed into fourth. While Draco was at school, Lucius spent the months getting his business done at the Ministry, paying visits to Cornelius Fudge, donating money, and carefully counterbalancing the influence of Albus Dumbledore.
But then one day, without warning, his left arm began to burn. Lucius lifted his sleeve to find that the Dark Mark had darkened and was beginning to pulse with movement, just like it had done thirteen years ago. The message was almost too wild to believe: The Dark Lord was alive.
And yet, the signs had been everywhere. People from all over the world were coming together for two monumental events -- the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament -- which could provide the perfect distraction for a Death Eater gathering. Was it really a coincidence that both were happening in the same year, in the very same country? No, it had to mean something…
Amid the chattering crowds leaving the World Cup Quidditch Pitch and celebrating Ireland's victory, no one noticed Lucius slip away. Several others followed suit, and in the outskirts of the grounds, a crowd of dark, masked wizards coalesced. Lucius felt a strange premonition pulse through him as he conjured the silver mask over his face and lifted his hood. He stepped forward to take the lead, and the other Death Eaters wordlessly followed, as he lifted his wand to levitate the family of Muggles into the air.
They marched towards the campsites, and slowly the merry, excited atmosphere dwindled into a mess of screams and smoke. Tents collapsed, and people rushed about, some attaching themselves to Lucius's group and others staggering away at the sight of the floating bodies. Minutes later, Lucius heard a loud rush of air, and looked up to see something large, glittering, and green spread across the sky. The contours assembled into the image of the Dark Mark, which hovered over the campsites with its deathly grimace.
And right then, Lucius felt a flicker of fear.
No one had seen the symbol in the sky in thirteen years. During the war, it had always been conjured to commemorate a triumph of the Dark Order, and so it rightfully caused a panic whenever wizards saw it. But what if it had been a joke? No doubt, some Death Eater had cast it to cause a greater panic. Lucius knew that he would be much safer if he ran, if he disassociated himself a little while longer. If Voldemort was truly back, he would no doubt forgive him for all the errors he had made.
But for once in his life, Lucius was wrong.
…
So fatally wrong...
Scarcely a year later, Lucius was standing in a ring of Death Eaters in a dark graveyard, cloaked in black, watching his resurrected master pace around them. Voldemort, now flesh and bone once more, stopped before him and met his gaze.
"Lucius, my slippery friend. I am told you have not renounced the old ways, though to the world you present a respectable face. You are still ready to take the lead in a spot of Muggle-torture, I believe? Yet you never tried to find me, Lucius… Your exploits at the Quidditch World Cup were fun, I daresay… but might not your energies have been better directed toward finding and aiding your master?"
"My Lord, I was constantly on the alert," Lucius said. "Had there been any sign from you, any whisper of your whereabouts, I would have been at your side immediately, nothing could have prevented me-"
"And yet you ran from my Mark, when a faithful Death Eater sent it into the sky last summer? Yes, I know all about that, Lucius… You have disappointed me… I expect more faithful service in the future."
"Of course, my Lord, of course… You are merciful, thank you…"
Lucius gave a bow, closing his eyes, and did not open them until he heard Voldemort move on to the next person. The other Death Eaters around him stood still, their silvery faces winking in the twilight.
For a long time, Lucius had wondered why the Death Eaters wore masks.
Back when he had been a Junior Undersecretary, he had seen it as a political tactic, a way of using fear and uncertainty to break the Ministry's morale. When a Death Eater wasn't torturing or killing, he could be holding the door for you or bringing you your letters. And when you least expected it, he would strike you.
When he had joined the order himself, Lucius saw the masks as a clever way to maintain discipline, directing Death Eaters' loyalties not to each other, but to their master. The feeling that Lord Voldemort and no one else was privy to your identity forged an intimate bond between you and him, one that was wholly independent of his relations to his other followers. It made each Death Eater feel valued and useful, causing even the lowliest, newest recruit to bow low and declare himself the Dark Lord's most faithful servant. It didn't matter what jobs he fulfilled or even if he could cast a proper curse. It was true because he felt it. The Dark Lord's acceptance made him feel valued, to want to please him, and also let him know that if he failed, he failed not only his comrades, but foremost, the Dark Lord himself. Which was why many Death Eaters who snitched or defected disappeared off the face of the earth before the Ministry could get to them.
But now, isolated, thrown back into a world he thought had been a relic of his past, Lucius uncovered the final truth. The Death Eaters wore masks to link themselves together. This was the very thing their leader desired.
Because when you were part of an army, you could do anything.
No matter who you were or what social position you occupied, once you put on the mask, you were transformed. You were no longer an individual, but part of an indivisible whole, which instantly magnified you power and influence. And it had nothing to do with your skill level; it changed the very way you carried yourself and the way other people saw you. Wearing the cloak, you became the image of Lord Voldemort himself, and became enchanted in simply playing the part with your comrades. This was how Voldemort kept his army together while sending them to do his bidding. This was why the Death Eaters were so terrifying. When no one could see your face, everything was permissible.
Ironically, it was also the reason why Lucius had fallen.
From the day he had joined the Death Eaters, he had plunged deep into their fold, fulfilling his master's orders without reserve and devoting himself to them as if to a second life. All of it had been done to convince himself that the real mask wasn't the one he put on for his master, but the regular face he had to wear everywhere else. That the real Lucius Malfoy didn't exist - that he was just a temporary body, a vessel that carried an entity melded with hundreds of others in the Dark Lord's service.
But no matter how much Lucius liked to pretend otherwise, he wasn't. He did exist, and had existed on his own for all those years when he thought Voldemort was gone. While the Dark Lord flew around as a mere wisp of essence, Lucius had to face the daily grind of human existence, making compromises with his enemies, rationing his distaste for pro-Muggle policies, and agreeing with the other governors simply to make a hearing pass smoothly.
And now, for the first time, Lucius realized that life was more grueling of a punishment than death. He stood alone before the Dark Lord, in a dark room of the Riddle House, just like he had done all those years ago. Only now, Lucius felt a tension in the air, an invisible rift that separated them. And Voldemort knew it. He could smell fear.
A high hiss issued from within the shadowy cloak.
"Where is the diary, Lucius?"
Lucius met his red-eyed gaze.
"My… my Lord?"
"The diary I gave to you fifteen years ago, which you were to guard with your very life, if necessary, and wait until my command to utilize. I give the command to you now. It is time to open the Chamber of Secrets at Hogwarts once more and begin the purging of Muggle-borns. Where is the diary?"
Lucius froze. "The diary is… it's been… taken from me."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, a painful hand plunged into Lucius's mind, prying open his memories and scanning through them.
The bookshop. The cauldron. Ginny Weasley. Albus Dumbledore, with the tattered diary on his desk, smiling up at him. Dobby, the house elf, freed from service and blasting him backwards...
"… You have betrayed my trust, Lucius," hissed Voldemort. "You believed me dead. You sought your own gain in defaming an old enemy and disposing of an incriminating object that would reveal your association with the Death Eaters. You sought to bury the past. Why, one could almost say you wished to renounce me-"
"Never, my Lord!"
"Silence! Crucio!"
Haze.
Flashing.
Red and black, sharp and dull, knives and needles, alternating with dizzying frequency and blinding light. Lucius was sprawled on the floor like a broken toy, feeling every inkling of his master's rage burn like fire inside of him. He couldn't even hear himself scream; he was sure that at any moment, the world would simply explode.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pain stopped.
Lucius was lifted to his feet and made to stand. In the haze of his still-swimming vision, the cloaked figure looked like an apparition, a demon of his mind that had come alive to possess him.
"Freedom has spoiled you, Lucius," the figure said. "It has taken your focus from the goal of the Dark Order and put it instead on your own selfish interests. But now, I hope, you have seen the error of your ways."
"Yes, my Lord…"
"I have an important mission for you. You shall lead the Death Eaters to the Department of Mysteries and use your knowledge of the Ministry's inner workings to recover a prophecy about myself and Harry Potter. The boy escaped from me last year due to my own negligence, but now I see a way in which we can proceed more intelligently. Harry Potter will no doubt come to you if the life of one of his closest friends is threatened. When he does, he must be captured - but not killed. He is to be brought to me alive. Do you understand?"
"Yes my Lord."
"Then proceed. And may your faith never waver…"
Bangs of curses mixed with screams. Sounds of battle echoed all around in the vast confines of the Department of Mysteries, where in the center of a large room, a single beam of skylight shone down on a tall stone archway. In the space beneath the arch, there was a glittering veil of ghostly auras that swayed like tangible fabric in the air.
Once again, the Ministry had been infiltrated.
But this time, Lucius was on the other side of the battle. He whipped his wand through the air and cast a flurry of spells, fighting away Aurors and dodging Death Eaters who dueled in furious blurs around him. Finally, his eyes locked on the glass orb in Harry Potter's hands, as the boy was trying to heave Neville Longbottom up the stone steps to the exit. Longbottom's legs were convulsing from the effects of a curse, which prevented him from standing straight and made Potter's journey slow and labored. Lucius lunged at them, but Harry held the orb out of the way, and before Lucius could grab it, Harry threw it to Neville. Seconds later, a spell blasted Lucius back into the air and he landed on a stone dais.
Lucius tried to sit up, brandishing his wand at Neville, but right then, Remus Lupin jumped between them and fired a blast of light at him. Lucius barely managed to deflect it, blasting the Auror aside, when he looked back at Neville and saw the glass orb fall from his pocket. It struck the tip of his shaking foot and sprang high into the air, sailing over the steps, then with a loud crash, it exploded into hundreds of tiny shards that sprinkled over the stone floor.
Lucius's gaze stuck to the spot as the contents of the prophecy evaporated in a white mist. And with them, so did his final hope for forgiveness. Now, everything was over.
Lucius sat motionless on the floor, looking down while his surroundings flashed and thundered. From behind, Bellatrix give a scream of triumph. Someone else screamed in anger and agony; surely the world was ending. Then, a chorus of frightened voices echoed through the chamber: Voldemort had come. He was dueling Dumbledore.
Walls shook. Statues crumbled.
And in the end, everything went silent. Voldemort had vanished. Minutes later, the doors to their chamber were thrown open, and the Death Eaters who were still fighting froze in their tracks as a new crowd of people approached.
"There! Over there!'
"It's them!"
"It can't be!'
Ministry staff poured in by the dozen, flooding the dark chamber in a tidal wave of wandlight. In his delirium, Lucius felt himself smile… He was saved…
Hands lifted him to his feet. Someone picked up his wand from the floor. In the haze of flickering light around him, Lucius saw a crowd of faces… Aurors.. saying something to him… motioning towards the stairway that led to the exit. In the corner of his eye, Lucius saw several hooded figures struggling to get to their feet, hands waving as they attempted to flee, and he pointed weakly at them. Yes, yes, look - over there, there are still a few more of them, perhaps you can get them. I can help, I am a Ministry employee, I arrived in the nick of time, how fortunate that I managed to hold out -
But before Lucius could make a sound, a sudden weight fell over his body, lowering his arms to his sides. A Stunning spell hit him seconds later, and he was levitated into a horizontal position, assembled into a line of Death Eaters that drifted after the Aurors like a black caterpillar.
Something was wrong.
They were after him.
And only then did Lucius realize what had happened and where he was. The shock flooded him like a rush of cold water, and Lucius's frozen eyes followed the moving roof, watching the stone archways pass by as they ascended from the Department of Mysteries. A door opened, and suddenly the bright light of the Main Atrium spilled over everything, bathing the roof and walls in flickering fire, washing over him and revealing the thin silvery strings that bound his ankles and wrists. And right then, Lucius felt a faint, irrational panic flicker in his mind. His wife. His son.
So far away…
(Do you, Lucius Malfoy, take Narcissa Black to be your lawfully wedded wife…)
…fading, blurring... slipping away...
(I do…)
…swallowed by a howling torrent of darkness, and extinguished.
Gone.
Ruined.
Hundreds of miles away, Draco Malfoy lay on his bed in the Slytherin dormitory, looking up at the ceiling.
He had read the Prophet. He knew what had happened. Something had gone wrong, and what was supposed to have been his father's triumph had ended up a failure.
But not only for him.
In that moment, Draco felt as if his entire world had collapsed around him. Voldemort had returned, but his family wasn't in the position of honor it was supposed to be. It was because the Dark Lord was angry, because Lucius had cavorted far too long with the side of the good, mistakenly thinking that he would find security there. But he had been wrong. He had allowed himself to be fooled, just as Draco had been fooled a long time ago.
But Draco was wiser now. He alone saw the lie behind Harry Potter's guise of gallantry. And he swore that he would make them pay.
All of them.
Draco lifted himself from the bed and stood up. He would go straight up to Potter. He would make him sorry for the day he had crossed his path, that he and his friends had ever dared to laugh in his face, and that they had ever made him think, for a single moment, that there was something more to them. To anything.
…
…
…
"You are a wizard, Draco. A pure-blood Malfoy. Heir to untold riches, bearer of a fabled legacy. Don't forget that."
…
"Never heard your parents say Mudblood, eh? I don't see why they bother to hide it from you. It's just a word. I'm not afraid of people thinking I'm low-class; if I see 'em for what they are, I call 'em what they are."
…
"I believe Professor Snape has taken a liking to you. He's even written to your father, and from what Lucius told me, Snape has high hopes for your future. And you said that the teachers don't appreciate you, what nonsense!"
…
"Granger with Krum - I don't believe it either, Draco! He probably doesn't even know she's a Muggle. Though I honestly don't think I'd ever mistake her for a pure-blood!"
...
"So, it's true? The Dark Lord's really returned? But then, that's good for your family! He'll get your father out of prison, and then everything will be all right! Right?"
…
"Stop. Don't speak. Turn around slowly. I have orders from the Dark Lord himself to take you with me. He's making you a Death Eater. The Malfoy family's carelessness has caused it to lose favor in the Dark Lord's eyes, but he's decided to give you the chance to redeem it. If you succeed, your deed will begin the creation of a new world, one where all past wounds will be healed and all your and your ancestors' struggles rewarded. It will be your triumph, Draco. Your dawn..."