Troll: 44. Winter Gala III (Patreon)

Chapter 44: Winter Gala III

Lucius Malfoy
Longbottom Manor, Great Britain

“You know, Lord Malfoy. There is only one book that would be worth a king’s ransom,” Blaise Zabini said with a knowing smirk. If nothing else, he had more of a spine than most of the fools I dealt with regularly.

I felt myself stiffen with surprise. At first, I entertained this meeting out of curiosity. I’d taught Lyra well, but she was young. She could be deceived. Perhaps young Zabini was just a cunning fraud. Or perhaps his abilities weren’t quite as extensive as she’d been led to believe.

No more. All my doubts as to his divination talent evaporated like morning mist. He was the genuine article, a seer with full control over his abilities, at least his ability to peer into the past. Only one other person knew about that diary, the man who gave it to me.

I eyed him as if seeing him for the first time. He was no longer just Lyra’s schoolmate, but a player in this game. Suddenly, his claims didn’t seem so farfetched. He might well be able to convince that idiot, Sirius. 

He met my gaze with his own, a calm smile on his face. It was as if he found all this amusing. For a moment, I was tempted to imperio him, to coax the answers from him no matter what it might cost me in the future. But he’d chosen the venue well. 

Oh, I’d been the one to call him tonight, but how much of that was my own decision? He already read Lyra like a book. And if he was able to discern the workings of the Dark Lord, at least in part, then I had to conclude that I was not free from his Sight, either.

“The Dark Lord’s legacy? That sounds like quite the dangerous item. What makes you believe that such a thing is in my possession?” I asked. Next to me, my daughter breathed sharply in surprise.

She didn’t know. Had I my way, she would have never known. But I had to be sure. I was the Dark Lord’s right hand; he could just be fishing aimlessly. It wouldn’t be a poor guess to assume I had something left over from those days.

He picked up a pastry. Delicate wafers glazed with honey and sprinkled with almonds. “When is the last time you visited the Leaky Cauldron, Lord Malfooy?”

“I don’t see what that pub has to do with anything.”

“Not the pub, the owner. Old Tom. He’s got quite the marvelous recipe for scones. This pastry reminded me of it.”

I considered his words, and nodded in acceptance. “And you say you don’t like riddles.”

He returned my nod with that same, placid smile. “What can I say? Some riddles draw the eye, don’t they?”

He knew exactly what he was asking for. Seeing his smiling mug, I was filled with an emotion I hadn’t felt in a long time: Curiosity. The Dark Lord gifted me the diary, but to this day I knew very little about it.

One day, he called me in for a private audience, where he told me that the diary had the power to open the fabled Chamber of Secrets. He said nothing about exactly how this could be done, only that I was to guard it for him. At the time, I dared not ask further.

But the Dark Lord was dead now. His time had passed, and I was now left with a legacy I could not decipher. The cause that he championed died with him. There were plenty of my peers who thought otherwise, but the momentum was gone. Truthfully, I was not sure that I would enjoy a resurgence of the good old days.

It was said that war was for young men. I was neither infirm nor frail, but I had plenty worth cherishing in my life. I had a beautiful wife and an equally beautiful daughter. I was the wealthiest man in Magical Britain. I had the ear of the minister. A return to those days could potentially disrupt all of that, destabilize the power bloc I’d formed, and put my family in danger.

I shivered under my robes. I’d gone through great efforts to protect Narcissa from the Dark Lord’s dealings. Mostly, I’d succeeded. She was not naive of course, no Black could truly be called that, but she didn’t know all the worst that I’d done as a Death Eater. She was wise enough not to ask.

If those dark days returned, Lyra would leap at the chance. I knew her. She was ambitious, eager to prove herself, but also woefully ignorant of what those days had truly been like. She didn’t know that the Dark Lord’s tyranny was not reserved for mudbloods and blood traitors alone. The thought that she might have to see the same things I’d seen, or worse, become like her aunt, Bellatrix, made me ill. 

No, those days were long behind us. I dearly wished that they would remain so.

I eyed the young seer. I’d accepted that there were secrets about the Dark Lord I would never uncover. Tom Marvolo Riddle, the name he’d been alluding to, had been one of them.

It was on the cover, presumably the owner. The only match was a halfblood from father’s generation, a man who promptly vanished after Hogwarts. He’d most likely been killed by the Dark Lord, probably in one of the many rituals that empowered his rise.

That left more questions than answers: What was so special about Riddle that the Dark Lord saw fit to keep and enchant his diary? How exactly would it open the Chamber of Secrets? What did a halfblood have to do with Slytherin’s legacy? And, ultimately, was the diary an opportunity, or a curse best left forgotten?

That wasn’t right. Of course it was an opportunity. Everything could be, from the right perspective. The diary was important enough to draw the eye of a seer. For that alone, I was tempted to refuse. It was surely valuable in its own way. Even if I’d failed to discern its inner workings, that did not mean I would continue to fail in the future.

And yet, I suspected that this trade was quite fair. The Black vault for a few tomes was a trade most would make in a heartbeat. Zabini would undoubtedly use the diary for his own ends, but did I mind? I couldn’t even visit Hogwarts without official business these days, never mind go hunting for Slytherin’s Chamber.

After a moment of consideration, I decided I didn’t mind. Getting greedy over an opportunity I could not seize myself was foolish. It was better that I take this chance to claim the Black fortune and be rid of an incriminating dark artifact at the same time.

I had but one concern.

“You will keep my daughter from your machinations, Mr. Zabini. That is not negotiable,” I stated firmly.

No room for doubt or misinterpretation. This was an absolute condition. Lyra was all I cared about in Hogwarts. As useful as he was, as powerful an ally as he could be, not even he was irreplaceable when compared to my daughter’s safety.

He eyed me, then Lyra. For a moment, I entertained the possibility of a union between them. Magical talent. Limitless wealth. Excellent pedigree. They could be this generation’s power couple. 

Marriage contracts had gone out of fashion sometime during my youth, but it was not entirely unheard of. Narcissa was most certainly considering the match; social maneuvering was her bread and butter. Perhaps, if he succeeded in manipulating Black into foregoing his house’s vault, I would have to seriously consider this.

“I would never intentionally endanger Miss Malfoy with this matter,” he said. For all his air of casual confidence, I noticed that he chose his words carefully.

“With this matter?” I asked, putting an edge to my words.

“Indeed, she has challenged me before. I’m sure you remember how the games in Slytherin are played.”

“So long as they remain schoolyard games.”

“Of course. This and that are different matters entirely. And thus, ‘in this matter.’”

“You speak shrewdly.”

“As all ought, especially Slytherins. Especially, especially seers.”

“Then we have an accord, Mr. Zabini. Should you prove successful, you may take the Dark Lord’s legacy.”

“Thank you, Lord Malfoy. I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” he said, holding out a hand for me to shake.

I was Lord Malfoy. I was the one with power here. And yet, as I took his hand, I felt a shiver run down my spine, as if I’d made a deal with the devil.

X

Lyra Malfoy

I led Zabini back inside. He’d changed. It had been apparent ever since the start of term. He was always handsome, with a healthy, bronze tan and wavy, brown hair that framed a roguish face. A regular, Italian heart-throb who’d gotten all the best of his mother’s looks.

But he’d also been timid and passive. On the odd occasion that I saw him, he was always shy and reserved, as much of a wallflower as Greengrass’ pet halfblood. Seeing a pureblood from an ancient line behave like that, I once asked mother why we never spoke with the Zabinis.

That was how I learned about Madame Zabini’s “hobbies.” Not only were the Zabinis too pedestrian for us–they weren’t noble nor had any influence in the Wizengamot despite their ancient lineage–mother disdained Madame Zabini with a passion. She said she was an “insane, gold-digging murderer with loose morals and looser legs” and would undoubtedly be a horrid influence on me.

It took me several years to learn what she really meant by that. Hearing about his mother, I understood how a respectable pureblood might grow up to be so timid. It made me appreciate my own parents, parents who were upstanding, respected, and didn’t saddle me with a reputation as the daughter of… that kind of woman.

Then, Hogwarts began and Blaise Zabini arrived like a storm. Rumors followed him like a raincloud. He was the son of a murderer, and a murderer himself. He was a seer, a cripple. Rather than let the whispers bother him, he chose to embrace the whispers.

And now, here he was, someone who even father saw fit to speak with. He was far from the timid boy fearful of his own shadow that he used to be. I studied him out of the corner of my eye.

His dress robes were fashionable, if inoffensively white and gray. They fit him perfectly, broadening his shoulders while giving the illusion of a bit of extra height. He looked better than most of those so-called noble heirs. Held himself better, too.

My mind whirled at what I’d heard. The Dark Lord’s legacy. I didn’t know what it was, but it had to be valuable. Powerful. Just hearing that it existed at all made me feel as if I’d eavesdropped on a great secret. Odds were, there were less than five people who knew about it, and I was now one of them. That… That made me feel something, though I hadn’t decided what.

And Zabini had purchased it with a vault that wasn’t even his. Father had a treasure of incalculable worth and he’d allowed him, my schoolmate, to negotiate for it as if he was a fellow lord, as if he was a peer. 

That didn’t happen. I couldn’t remember a single wizard who spoke to father like that. Zabini had broken decorum on at least four separate occasions without so much as a stern word from father. He did what even Minister Fudge wouldn’t dare to do.

I was starting to understand just how valuable Zabini’s Sight truly was. We walked side by side, but I couldn’t help feeling as if his strides were longer than mine.

No. Bugger that. I refused.

I was Lyra Malfoy, heiress of the wealthiest, most powerful house in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Zabini was talented, but I refused to let that be the end of it. I refused to fall behind. I was supposed to be the best, the one who led our generation, not him.

Maybe he had advantages I didn’t have, but that just meant I needed to win him over. That was what mother would do. She said that the best way to win wasn’t by crushing your enemies. It was by turning your enemies into your allies. When their assets became your assets, it was like winning twice, all while convincing them that it was in their best interest.

I took his hand in mine and tugged him towards the dance floor. It was a little improper, but it felt like the right move. Zabini didn’t care for proper etiquette so I figured he’d be receptive. By the glimmer of surprise and curiosity in his eyes, I knew I was right.

“Dance with me, Zabini,” I said imperiously. It wasn’t quite a command, but as close as I dared.

He eyed me with that same, smug smirk, like he knew exactly what I was thinking. “As you please, Miss Malfoy.”

I wrapped one arm around his neck as he placed a hand at my hip. To my annoyance, he was one of the better dancers I’d danced with tonight. Though to be fair, the only real competition was Theo.

We swayed with the music. Slowly, I led us towards a more isolated corner of the dance floor.

“What is it?” he asked, probably knowing the answer. “You obviously have thoughts on your mind, Malfoy.”

I wasn’t sure how to ask, so I decided to be forthright. “The legacy. What is it?”

“Hmm?”

“Don’t act dumb. The legacy. His legacy.”

‘Ah, that legacy.”

“What were you speaking with father about?”

“Have you considered, Miss Malfoy, that if you do not know something, it is because you are not supposed to know it?” he asked. He wasn’t smiling anymore. There was a sternness in his eyes that I associated only with father, or maybe Professor Snape.

Still, I pressed forward. I had to. I felt that if I didn’t demand answers now, I’d fall further behind. “I was at the meeting, too. I deserve to know.”

“You don’t. You deserve to live a privileged life as the heiress of the wealthiest house in Magical Britain. That is your birthright,” he spoke softly. Each word sounded like a condemnation, like being wealthy was a crime in his eyes. Hypocrite. “But this? This is not your birthright. Enjoy your privilege and wealth, Miss Malfoy, and don’t dig where you shouldn’t.”

“I want to know. Tell me,” I said. My eyes narrowed into a glower. My hand clenched, digging my nails into the back of his hand.

It didn’t work. I huffed in annoyance at his placid smile. Figured that Zabini would be the one person I couldn’t intimidate on a whim.

Rather than retaliate, he pulled me closer, until my body was pressed flush against his own. I felt heat crawl up my neck as he gently swayed us with the music.

“Is it not enough that your father thinks it is dangerous?” he said gently, almost whispering into my ear. His thumb rubbed circles into my lower back. Comforting, almost. “Caution is the better part of wisdom, my lady.”

“I… I don’t need to be protected.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“I’m agreeing with you.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“You think I don’t believe that,” he smiled that same, infuriating smile.

I’d never wanted to hex someone more in my life. “I don’t! You think you’re the only one in our year good with a wand?”

“Of course not. You’re good. Great, even.”

“Then tell me!”

“I just promised your father I would keep you out of this,” he reminded me. He squeezed my hand gently, as if I was a child to be placated. “You know my rules regarding contracts.”

“I… It’s not fair…”

“Tell you what? Ask your parents. Your father is the only one who can tell you what he did during those days, or how he came upon the legacy.”

“He… I’ll get him to tell me,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. Still, I’d ask. He was never very good at denying me anything.

“You do that, Malfoy.”

X

Blaise Zabini

I was annoyed. Not at Lyra, she was just a fourteen year old girl. She behaved like a bratty teenager because that’s exactly what she was.

Lucius though, that fuckwith should have known better. He obviously wasn't as brilliant as people said he was if he was willing to blurt out Voldemort’s involvement with the diary. I wished I could have gagged him then and there. Unfortunately, his loose lips weren’t a physical threat to my person so he’d blurted it out before I could act.

Now, Lyra knew that there was an important dark artifact in her home. She knew that it had belonged to the Dark Lord, a man she damn near idolized. Worst of all, I couldn’t do anything about it. She had a pretty, little ring that kept me from fucking with her mind, even were I so inclined.

At this point, I couldn’t retrieve the diary immediately, either. It wasn’t as if Lucius would be okay with a downpayment. The best thing I could do was to point Lyra towards Lucius. With a bit of luck, her respect for her father would keep her from asking once Lucius brushed her off.

He would brush her off, no matter how much he typically indulged Lyra’s whims. He had no choice. I saw it in his eyes, the way he probed for information. He didn’t know what the diary was.

If he wanted to preserve that aura of competence he’d built around himself, he’d have to act like he knew, but simply refuse to tell her. And, of course he did. No father wanted to look ignorant in front of his daughter, especially not a proud man like him.

This was… This was outside my predictions, but not necessarily ruinous. My plans were still intact. Lyra knowing about the diary didn’t immediately fuck me over. It was just frustrating.

Hell, I didn’t even plan on using the diary to open the Chamber. Truthfully, I wanted to get rid of the damn thing as soon as possible because there was zero reason to keep the damn thing. If I ever needed the Chamber, I’d pretend to be amazed at Violet’s parseltongue ability and ask for “lessons” in common words.

“You’re not a terrible dancer,” Lyra said stiffly. She shuffled back half a step and I realized I hadn’t quite let her go. “B-Better than most boys, at least.”

Her face was red and I realized she was trying to compliment me. It was adorable; she really was a gorgeous girl, when she wasn’t sniping at everyone, anyway. “Don’t say that. Parkinson will get jealous.”

“I should say it more, then.”

“Besides, I’ve been using the Sight to dodge your feet.”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t!”

“I’m agreeing with you.”

She scoffed, half a laugh and half something else. “This sounds familiar.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” I smiled. She smiled back. It reminded me that she wasn’t irredeemable. If Draco could turn things around, then I wanted to believe she could, too. 

“Y-You did well tonight.”

“Hmm?”

“With my father. Most people can’t even look him in the eyes. You… You did well.”

I squeezed her hand gently. She really was cute. Alas, if this was her attempt at flirting, I had to shut it down. “Sorry to break it to you, Malfoy, but I’m into older women.”

“Who’d be interested in you?” she demanded, face flushing. “A-And aren’t you and Potter supposed to be a thing?”

“No? I told you, I like older women.”

“L-Like who?”

“Hmm… Well, your mother’s got a hell of a figu–”

“You’re disgusting,” she cut me off with a derisive scoff. “I don’t know what I expected from you, Zabini.”

She broke off our dance and stormed off with a flip of her hair. It was the height of impropriety. Drama was to be kept to whispers and gossip, not such overt displays of scorn.

I chuckled as I watched her leave. I didn’t mind. As beautiful as she was, she really was too young for me to see her as anything but a child to be protected. Maybe that would change in a few years, but for the moment, this was my arbitrary, maybe hypocritical line.

I rejoined my mother as Augusta Longbottom gave the closing remarks. She talked about the unity of Magical Britain and our sense of community. It was a nice speech that echoed her opening remarks, only undercut slightly by her animated vulture shooting death glares at known Death Eater families.

People stuck around to mingle and thank the Longbottoms for hosting us. There were more desserts and dessert wines floating about. Truthfully, I was pretty sure most people remained because the foyer only had one fireplace. Better to grab a final bite and say your social niceties than stand in line like lonely, middle-aged wives at a Lockhart book-signing event.

Mother and I found Lowell and bid him a good night. He’d wanted to spend New Year’s Day with his family. She gave him a kiss sloppy enough to make a pubescent boy’s balls drop before ushering us towards the fireplace.

As the green fire consumed us, I felt a pressure ease off my shoulders. Lyra learning about the “Dark Lord’s legacy” aside, things had gone well.

I’d made, if not peace, then tentative armistice, with my new niece. Hopefully, Lowell could set the story straight. I doubted Lily would ever accept his reasoning, she was too Gryffindor for that, but it might go a long way to putting her mind at ease.

I’d negotiated for the diary while also keeping Lucius from contesting Sirius’ choice of Black heir. Of course, I would be sure to get a binding contract later. I wasn’t fool enough to trust Lucius at his word.

But for now, I was content.

Author’s Note

End of the gala. Finally. Is it just me or did it feel rather long? It’s only three chapters, ~10k words, but it felt a bit much. Maybe it was the stuffy tension.

Like with most people who encounter seers for the first time, Lucius gaslights himself. It’s never quite clear how much Lucius knew about the diary. For this story, I’ve decided that he knows the Chamber will open, but little else.

Blaise doesn’t know everything. He can’t know everything. He tried to be subtle, but that subtlety doesn’t matter if Lucius decides to just say the quiet part out loud. Like with Terence, the problem isn’t necessarily the lack of knowledge of future events, but an unfamiliarity with the people involved.

Animal Fact: Let’s talk more about crocodile hunting habits. I know I’ve touched on this in the past, but it’s really worth revisiting. They’re so much smarter than people give them credit for, so here’s a quick speedrun of shit we’ve seen them do:

Some crocodiles will cover their snouts with twigs and branches around nesting season to attract nest-building birds.

A crocodile once chased a pig into a lagoon, where two more were waiting. This is the kind of cooperative hunting you expect from a pride of lions.

Another group of crocs drove a school of fish into the shallows, using moored boats to corner the fish. A second group waited and watched. When one of the first group grabbed a fish, it would "retire" to the waiting group while a croc from the waiting group would feed.