Fic: at the foot of these mountiains [1/?]

[quillpunk]

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Chapter 1

The morning after he'd arrived at Hogwarts, Draco was still fuming. He'd spent a whole night stewing in his rage and even in his sleep, he'd been reminded of the utter fool he'd made of himself. To think, that Harry Potter would reject him. Choosing a Weasley over a Malfoy was like, like—it just wasn't done! Didn't Potter know who Draco was? Didn't he know the families Draco came from? The connections he had? The wealth and prestige he would have in the future?

Didn't he know what he was giving up?

Or had that stupid Weasley deceived him?

Draco absolutely refused to consider that the problem could be him. There was no way. No, Weasley must have said something, done something, to convince Potter that Draco was... what, unworthy? Hah, Draco had never been unworthy of anything in his life. He was the worthiest person to have ever worthied.

"Will you stop brooding, Draco? You're going to tear a hole in the carpet," Blaise drawled, not even looking up from his stupid girly magazine.

Draco spun around on his heel to face him, "This is serious, Blaise! I have to come up with a plan to fix this."

Blaise just shrugged, "You're far superior to Weasley. Eventually, Potter will realize this."

"I don't want him to just realize it, I want it to knock him senseless. I want him to regret ever rejecting me!" Draco got mad again just thinking about it and went back to pacing in their dorm room.

"It's not like you confessed your eternal love to him," Blaise said. He sounded completely disinterested.

Draco scoffed. He decided not to argue with Blaise about the validity of his outrage anymore. The point was; he'd been rejected in favor of a Weasley, of all people. Merlin, his father would never let him live it down. Even his mother would be disappointed about this. And the plan had been so good too, flawless even. All he'd had to do was to just befriend Potter, nothing complicated. Not even any scheming involved, just friendship. But no, he wasn't good enough for that, apparently. Potter would rather have a stupid Weasley. Uughh, he shuddered in disgust.

He had to fix this. Before his mother started sending him letters full of her disappointment—before his father could punish him. There must be a way to show off his utter superiority over Weasley. There had to be a way to get rid of this shitty embarrassment that followed him whenever he thought about the way Potter had looked at him when he'd rejected Draco. Like Draco was dirt beneath his boots.

Draco wasn't ever going to settle for that. He was so much better than Potter and Weasley and anyone else Potter might choose to give his time to. He'd show them.

He would.

He threw himself down on the fluffy armchair next to Blaise's and crossed his arms. Leaning his head back against the backrest, he stared up at the stone ceiling. He refused to be ridiculed like this; made a fool of in front of all their year mates. It wasn't going to fly. Merlin, he shuddered just thinking about the letters his parents were probably already in the midst of writing.

He sighed dramatically. Predictably, Blaise was too busy with his magazine to pay attention, and there was nobody else in the dorm room that he could lure into asking him what was wrong. He wanted to vent. He wanted to rant about how stupid Potter was and how he was sure to regret this, and how Draco was going to utterly destroy him for this humiliation. But he couldn't well do that on his own.

Draco was absolutely, on every conceivable scale, better than Weasley. Any Weasley. (Except maybe that one who ran off with dragons, because dragons were cool, okay. But nobody else!) He just had to show this to Potter, to everyone, so that this whole thing could be put behind him. Then Potter would beg to be his friend like he was supposed to.

Hmph, he just had to come up with a plan. He uncrossed his arms and let one lay on the armrest, his finger tapping distractedly on in. On the other hand, he rested his chin and grumbled below his breath. He just had to show how superior he was and this would all be fine again. His parents would even congratulate him on a job well done, and he would be able to forget that horrible memory.

Draco wasn't stupid. He could extrapolate why Potter had rejected him, why he thought Weasley was better. It, uuugh, probably had to with that one conversation he'd had with Potter and Weasley before he got rejected. In his defense, how was he supposed to know that they had already become friends, or whatever? It had only been a few hours. Potter must have known Weasley beforehand, to already be attached to the thing.

So what had he said or done that was so upsetting? He'd mocked Weasley's hair or freckles or something, probably. He couldn't be expected to remember all his brilliant words, alright. It wasn't like he'd thought it mattered.

But if Potter had already known Weasley beforehand, then he must be on the Light side. He must be a Light wizard; Draco's father had hypothesized that Potter might be a Dark wizard, to be able to kill Lord Voldemort, but evidently not. Not if he was hanging out with Weasley's, of all people. So. What did Light wizards consider to be virtues? What did they exalt as superior?

Prejudice against Dark magic, prejudice against all magical creatures in existence, prejudice against wizarding traditions, politics, holidays, and basically everything to do with their history.

And, of course, their coddling of mudbloods and those half-bloods who were basically just mudbloods in disguise.

Draco sat up straight on his seat. "Had a flash of brilliance?" Blaise sarcastically asked. He wasn't paying any attention to Draco though, so Draco just ignored it.

Of course. He should have seen this before!

Mudbloods was the answer! Draco just had to show that he was better than mudbloods and it would all be fine. All he had to do was find a way to completely lord his superiority over them; it couldn't be hard, he was a Malfoy, after all. His superiority was unquestioned. It was obvious. No, he just had to think of a plan and this could still be fixed...

But, ugh, he didn't want to have anything to do with mudbloods. He didn't want to spend time with them and "understand their point of view" or whatever it was Dumbledore was always saying. He didn't want to know stuff about muggles or their silly inventions to survive without magic, or whatever stupid history it was that they got all caught in. He didn't want to bend to their shitty traditions and holidays that were literally taking over the wizarding world with Dumbledore at the front, leading the troops. He didn't want to bend to their whims; sacrifice his pride in order to make them feel "accepted" and "welcomed".

Unfortunately, he would need mudbloods around him in order to show how much better than them he was. Draco flopped his head against the backrest again and groaned loudly. Blaise didn't take the bait, and so Draco just rolled his eyes. He could absolutely do this, no matter how much it disgusted him. All he had to do was make sure the mudbloods knew that he was better than them, and he could... tolerate them. Just for however much time it took to make Potter understand how superior Draco was! Not a second longer!

He shuddered at just the thought, goosebumps rising on his skin. No, no, this had to be a quick plan. If it dragged out too long, Draco might just self-destruct out of sheer disgust. And then he'd never hear the end of it from anyone.

So. He had the bare bones of the Plan™. Now he just had to put it together into something that would work.

"How do you show you're better than mudbloods?" Draco mused, not actually expecting an answer.

"Maybe don't call them mudbloods?" Blaise drawled, his voice amused. He wasn't looking up from his magazine, but the fact that he kept answering him told Draco that Blaise was paying attention to him. As he should; Draco would take over Slytherin soon enough and then everyone would have to pay attention to him.

Still, he had a point. Mudblood was the kind of word that made Light wizards bristle, like he'd called them squibs or something. Not that being a squib was an inherently bad thing—one could still be useful. And the pureblood lineage could still be kept intact and chances were actually pretty good (as long as you married a pureblood from another country) that the kids would be able to use magic.

"Good point," Draco acknowledged, because it was important to acknowledge your minions' successes.

Blaise turned the page in the magazine, pretending like he wasn't paying Draco any attention at all. Draco decided to allow him this delusion; Blaise was a very good ally/minion, which afforded him more perks than the vast majority of the people that Draco spent time with.

Draco spent another couple of hours perfecting the plan. At one point, he retrieved an unused notebook from his trunk and started getting the plan down on paper. He carefully organized it into categories and sorted out what needed to be done to accomplish this. He swept all his lingering doubts to the side and concentrated on making sure that the plan was flawless. He wouldn't allow failure again.

By dinner-time, he thought he had made significant progress. Not as much as he might like, no, but enough that he was full of pride. Naturally, he had constructed most of the plan during one day—planning was his forte, after all. Nobody could deny that he was good at it.

He scarfed down his dinner as quickly as possible, ignoring the slightly queazy feeling this gave him. As soon as he was done, he swallowed the drink that sat untouched in his cup and rose to his feet. He waved away Greg and Vincent when they moved as if to follow him; for this, being without them would be easier. It was important to give off the illusion of vulnerability. It would make him more relatable, or something (according to his mother).

Draco knew who he was looking for. There had been a very annoying mudblood on the Hogwarts Express. She'd barged into his compartment looking for a toad of all things. And then she'd started rambling about all the things she'd read and how excited she was and honestly, Draco had stopped listening two minutes in. But for this plan, she was the only mudblood he was even vaguely aware of existing and so she would just have to do. He didn't even know what her name was, but he thought he would recognize that crazy hair of hers.

He was right. She was easy to recognize. The fact that she was a Gryffindor almost made him turn right back around and find somebody else, but he was committed now, okay? He wasn't going to give up at the first sign of trouble. And at least it seemed like she'd actually done research on the wizarding world—there was an insulting number of mudbloods who didn't.

"You," he said when he was within hearing range. For some reason, she was hidden in a dark corner not far from the Great Hall. She twitched when she heard him, peeking at him with a weird expression. Naturally, she must be grateful that he was even speaking to her. "Come with me," Draco ordered and clicked his tongue when she didn't immediately start moving. He walked past her, waving as he went. He made no effort to slow down for her, but she was following along anyway on hesitant footsteps, so he didn't see the need to.

He wasn't going to slow down for her. Then it might look like they were walking together and he wasn't going to be seen with a mudblood, alright. She would just have to catch up on her own.

Eventually, they reached an abandoned classroom. Draco stepped through and turned around, his foot tapping on the ground to unsettle her. She'd be more likely to agree to his proposition if she was unsettled. She scurried in after him, and with a wave of his hand, she closed the door.

Darkness enveloped him. She peeped and he rolled his eyes. Pulling out his wand, he flicked it and light lit up the end.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to sound serious. It'd be more intimidating if he hadn't heard her take a huge breath beforehand.

He rolled his eyes again. Walking over to a desk, he propped his hip against it and stared at her with the most disappointed expression he could make. "You're a mud-muggleborn, right?" he asked, trying to sound pitying and like he cared.

"Yes," she said and drew herself up, crossing her arms over her chest. She was trembling though, so it didn't do much. "What's it to you?" she spat out. Evidently, she'd been starting to realize that being a mudblood wasn't a good thing and was feeling sore about it.

"You seem smart," Draco said, blatantly lying. She seemed like a know-it-all. But he was trying to make her feel special and chosen. He continued, "Surely, by now you're realized that muggleborns aren't treated well. You're ignorant of our customs and culture and you'll always be seen as outsiders because of this."

She harrumphed weakly, "Is there a point to this?"

"Don't you want to fit in?"

"I..." her arms dropped back down to her sides. She worried her bottom lip, looking at him doubtfully. "That's none of your business," she said. She wasn't able to look him in the eye anymore though, and she was leaning like she wanted to get away from this conversation.

Well, he supposed it was hard for a know-it-all to fit in anywhere, even among muggles.

He pressed off the desk. Approaching her slowly, he kept his hands in play sight, the wand pointed away from her. "I can help you fit in. I can help all the muggleborns and half-bloods fit in. Don't you want to get a good job when you graduate? Make a difference in the world? Or do you just want to sit around and hope a pureblood will fall in love with you, and maybe his connections will land you a job as a secretary somewhere?"

She reeled back and bit out, "No."

Draco nodded and smiled at her. He softened his body-language. "Good. I'll teach you, then."

A beat too long. "...what?" she said, her eyes big as saucers. She took a half-step toward him before she seemed to realize they were already pretty close. She stopped and demanded, "What do you mean? Teach what?"

"How to fit in," Draco shrugged. "You know, holidays, traditions, customs, history; all that stuff. You'll be a true witch in no time."

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest again. "Why would you do that? Aren't you a pureblood? And you're in Slytherin, too. Don't you hate all muggleborns?"

"Assuming that I hate muggleborns just because I'm a pureblood and in Slytherin is prejudice," said Draco flatly, no inflection in his voice. She reared back as if struck. He shifted the foot he leaned his weight on and said, "Look, I'm not doing it for free. So it's not out of the goodness of my heart or anything. My parents heard I didn't make friends with Potter and they've limited my allowance. I just want some extra money. And it'll benefit you too, so what do my intentions or my feelings on muggleborns matter?" Draco smoothly lied.

"How much money?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Just a Galleon a month."

Her eyes narrowed. She glared at him. "Isn't that a little expensive?"

Draco looked at her weirdly, furrowing his eyebrows and giving her another pitying look. "No? It's perfectly respectable for tutoring."

It wasn't, of course. Not unless you were a full-time tutor of pureblood children and you had impeccable recommendations from high society. Then, you could probably get away with taking even more money, but Draco wasn't going to be completely unreasonable. Honestly, he'd seen Galleons get converted to muggle money and had gone to a muggle store with it. He was pretty sure they had completely different monetary systems because a single Galleon was a lot more than five pounds.

At the very least, the way things were priced was completely different. Probably because (at least in part) magic meant the production costs of most products were considerably cheaper. So yes, a Galleon a month was "a little expensive".

Which was why this plan was so funny.

"I'll think about it," she said. From the little he'd listened to her talk on the train, he was pretty sure she had an obsessive need to know absolutely everything, so he didn't doubt that she'd agree. But she was a muggleborn and Draco knew what was written in the books and even textbooks. She'd probably already started idolizing Dumbledore—like all muggleborns did.

But her thirst for knowledge would win out and Phase 1 of his wicked plan would succeed.

Still, what an utter fool. Wizarding traditions? Holidays? Customs and culture? You could find that stuff anywhere. Draco knew way more about it than even he was interested in (who honestly wanted to know about that time that Agneta Holmes almost married a dementor?). There were plenty of books on all of those things, though admittedly written in a seriously condescending tone. Paying a Galleon a month for stuff that could be found in any library? Yeah, mudbloods were idiots.

Really, they deserved Draco tricking them. In fact, they should be grateful he wasn't asking for higher compensation.

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Fic: at the foot of these mountiains [2/?]

[quillpunk]

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C2

The mudblood girl was weirdly insistent on being called ”Granger” of all things. He supposed it was probably a name, but it was certainly a very poor one in that case. Still, since she had finally agreed to help him with his genius plan, he gracefully made this concession.

”Come with me, Granger,” he said, leading the way to the abandoned classroom he’d found in the dungeons. It was in the middle ground between the Slytherin and Hufflepuff dormitories, which was great considering that Hufflepuffs had lots of mudbloods. There were no paintings nearby either, which meant that Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to spy on them (everybody knew that the portraits did that, seriously, use your common sense).

Granger huffed something behind him, but followed him in. He’d already gotten the place ready with the help of Greg and Vince; there was plenty of light to see the many tables and chairs and the cleaned blackboard at the front.

”Did you do what I asked?” Draco asked, walking up to the great, big desk next to the blackboard and hopping up on it.

Granger wearily looked around and sat down on the nearest chair when she was satisfied that there was no danger. ”Yes,” she said and pulled up a sheet. ”This is a list of all the muggleborns in Gryffindor.”

She handed the list over to him. Grabbing it with a hum, Draco read it quickly, his eyes skimming over the long list of names. Some were just as nonsensical as Granger, but others could almost be mistaken for proper wizard names. He put the list down after that cursory glance and looked squarely at Granger, ”How many do you think would be interested in our lessons?”

He added the word our simply to make her feel included, and thus more likely to give him unpaid labor.

”I added a star at the end of every name who I think would be,” she said, humphing at little.

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm not gonna give you a discount just because you worked hard." Strangely, this made her light up,her grin small but noticeably. She even ducked her head and Draco tilted his head in confusion. What did that mean? Was it... shyness? Girls were shy, right? Pansy was always accusing him of not understanding girls' hearts and misunderstanding girls' need for validation and encouragement.

"So what now?" Granger cleared her throat. She sidled up next to him—Draco hid his shudder at having a mudblood so closer—and looked over the sheet of paper. "Are you going to talk to them?"

"No," Draco quickly decided. He absolutely could not be seen voluntarily talking to mudbloods. His parents would hear about it instantly and he'd probably be disinherited within minutes. "You do it," he said instead, handing the piece of paper back over to her. "You're my second in command, anyway."

"Second in command?"

Draco nodded. "Right. It means you get the shit done while I give directions."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You mean... that I'm going to talk to everyone alone?"

"I'm a Slytherin," Draco gave her a pitying look that instantly made her straighten up. "I can't be approaching Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs out of nowhere. I'll probably just scare them to death," he pointed out. She did nod at this, a slow movement that sped up as her mind worked and she realized he was right. He messy hair bounced around her shoulders at her movement, striking against his cheek, and he sneezed.

"I see," she muttered, finally stepping back. She shoved the papers back into her book-bag and gazed at him silently with a serious expression for a long moment. "Is this where you want to keep meeting up?" she finally glanced around.

"Yes, at least to start with." Draco pointed to the blackboard and the abandoned desks littering the ancient classroom. "When you recruit somebody, tell them to come here on Sundays. We'll sart off once a week with some introduction to normal wizarding culture, you know the day to day stuff. Just a basic class so people get a chance to see what they're paying for, and then I'll do more classes specializing in the different aspects." Narrowing his eyes, he added, "Each class will cost 1 Galleon a month."

Granger said,"Alright. I'll do my best."

"I'm sure that will be more than good enough," said Draco, trying to sound kind and selfless and nice. "Your best is doubtlessly amazing. Otherwise you wouldn't have been my first choice for this."

"First choice?" Granger's eyes widened.

"Yes," Draco smiled.

She blinked rapidly. "Oh," she said. She took a step back, her hands clenching on the book-bag's strap. She looked at the floor for so long that Draco couldn't even bear looking at her, the awkwardness palpable in the air. Finally, though, Granger cleared her throat and said, "Right. I'll get right on this. Right." She nodded and then ran right out of the room.

Draco rolled his eyes as soon as the door shut behind her.

Then he pulled out his notebook, ticking off another box in his Master Plan™ To-Do List™. Humming to himself, Draco scooted up on the desk and sat upon it with his legs crossed, looking over his whole list once more. He thought it looked pretty nice all laid out so properly, with his beautiful handwriting being the very cherry on top. Smiling, he then put away the notebook again.

"Alright," he said to himself, standing and dusting off. Glancing around, he pondered on all the things he'd need to get ready. First of all the classroom was super dank and dusty and smelled hideously. Somebody had definitely made potions in here without the proper ventilation.

Sighing, Draco wondered off.

Since he was already in the dungeons and pretty close to the Hufflepuff dorms, he might as well go straight to the kitchens and get the next box on his Master Plan™ To-Do List™ ticked off. He hummed once more as he went, an old lullaby his mother used to sing to him when he was a little kid. It had been stuck in his head all morning, and he checked the time with a quick swish f his wand as he walked.

The hallways were empty this far below the castle. The lights flickered, the stonework immaculate despite the old age. Draco's steps echoed, proceeding his every turn.

At the kitchen door, he gained entrance easily. The secret password had been revealed by an older Slytherin as soon as he entered the school but it's the first time he used it. Draco glanced around before he entered, making double-sure that nobody was around. Exhaling, Draco then entered.

A couple hundred house-elves turned to look at him.

"Bloody—!" he bit it off. Taking a deep breath, he counted to three in his head and smiled beatifically. "Hello," he greeted them perfectly, kindness practically bleeding off of him. Look at him, being so kind and gracious and magnanimous (whatever that meant). "I'm looking for an house-elf to help me with a personal project, if it's not too much trouble." So much kindness. So much graciousness. So much grace.

Draco preened.

Most of the house-elves turned away from him then. They went back to their chores and Draco stepped further into the room, studying all the elves closest. A couple of them were studying him in return, muttering between them. Draco smiled kindly, projecting gentleness like a magical shield.

Eventually, a single house-elf stepped forward. "What cans we be doing for Young Master Malfoy?"

"I'm a very kind person," Draco said, bending down so he was at the same height level, making sure the elf could really see how kind and selfless his eyes were . He'd worked hard on them, even using little eye-drops so they'd have extra shine! For the impact to be missed would be utterly infuriating, and so he even bent forward a little. Once he could see his own reflection in the house-elves' eyes, he smiled at them. "I'm going to be helping a few fellow students studying but the classroom we found is very, very dirty. If I could trouble some equally kindhearted house-elf to keep it clean for us?" Widening his eyes, Draco held his breath.

(Maximum hopeful and innocent young student image™achieved. 100 points to Draco.)

The house-elf's eyes widened, beginning to glisten. "Young Master Malfoy be helping Hogwarts?" they asked, twiddling their thumbs. (Draco did not realize that house-elves had thumbs. Huh.)

"Yes," he said, smiling super kindly like a super kindhearted student.

Super kindly.

The house-elf jumped on their toes. "Young Master Malfoy be helping Hogwarts!" they exclaimed, bouncing up and down. Draco discreetly scooted back a little, but thankfully the house-elf was too busy to notice. "Young Master Malfoy be needing help to keep room clean?" they then clarified, ears twitching.

"Exactly," said Draco, finally standing. Legs aching from the unexpected exercise, he dusted off his thighs. "I'll be so busy helping the other poor students improve and so I won't have time keeping the classroom clean and in order..." here, a suitably mournful expression.

The house-elf rushed to say, "Me help Young Master Malfoy!" even raising their hands above their head.

"That's so kind of you," Draco said, truly dragging out the smile over his face until it hurt. Only then did he freeze, but now it felt odd and strange on his face. Finally, he said, "And if you don't mind, I hope that you can keep this a secret for me. Especially which room we're using," here, he winked.

With both eyes.

Winking was hard, okay!

The house-elf nodded frantically. "I keep secret!" they practically yelled, and Draco scooted another step back. Now that the most critical conversation here had taken place, he was starting to realize exactly how much was happening in here. There were hundreds of house-elves running around to get dinner ready, and the noise was cacophonous. Looking around, he spotted so much food it almost made him sick.

"Come find sometime when I'm alone and you're not busy, and we can work out the details," Draco told the house-elf, barely waiting for a nod before he was running out.

Bloody shit.

Outside, Draco wheezed for a moment. House-elves were so ugly, none of them measuring up to Libby's objective perfection. Libby, of course, being his personal house-elf since his childhood.

Of course, at eleven, Draco was no longer so reliant on Libby.

He could clean his room on his own now, just like an adult.

"Ugh," Draco sneered as he walked away, disgusted that he had fallen so low. To think, this was what he was doing during his first week at Hogwarts instead of befriending Potter. Now he was just... some kind of common conman; a failure trying desperately to cling onto some dignity.

Draco frowned as he returned to the Slytherin dorms. Blaise and Theo were playing exploding snap in the common room and Draco joined them for a few rounds before he said, "My plan is coming along perfectly." Blaise and Theo hummed in unison. Draco sighed, rolled his eyes, and added, "The plan to become the most brilliant student at Hogwarts."

"Oh that one?" Blaise murmured, attention still on the game.

Draco rolled his eyes again and slouched in his seat, sinking into the cushy sofa. "Yes, that one."

Theo looked between them and finally shrugged, evidently uninterested in Draco's devious and nefarious Master Plan™ which really just showcased his bad taste. Draco's plan was a thing of beauty, of expertise never before seen at Hogwarts. He had no doubt that he was going to turn the whole school upside down with his masterful scheme, his cunning mind surely a gift from Merlin himself.

"Draco? Your homework?" Blaise waved his hand in front of Draco's face, and Draco shoved it away.

"It's fine," he said, "I've found some naive minions who'll be doing most of the work for me."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Great, but that's not what I asked." At Draco's put-upon expression (not a pout!) he added, "Will you help me with the Potions homework? I assume you're already done with yours."

"Of course, I'm not a loser," Draco said. At Blaise's unimpressed stare, Draco rolled his shoulders and said, "Fine, I'll help you. What do you need assistance with?"

Blaise smiled, scooting closer and dumping the Potions textbook on the table. Theo asked, "So are we not playing anymore?" and Blaise waved his question away. Theo, in turn, rolled his eyes and threw the cards on the table, picking up his own textbook and instantly ignoring them both. Draco didn't say anything about this, focusing instead on helping Blaise before the boy had a chance to complain.

It was, in the end, quick work. Blaise wasn't stupid and Draco was a pretty damn good teacher and even better at Potions, so it was really just rephrasing things from the textbook so they made sense to Blaise.

"Okay," said Blaise when they were done, shutting his notebook with a quiet bang that made Theo flinch. "Are you really going to do your strange plan to, what did you call it, make the mudbloods realize how much better than them you are? Like, you're really really doing it?"

"Yes, I am," Draco frowned. "I've already put it in motion, I told you. I can't back out now, then Granger will think I'm a coward."

"Who's Granger?"

"The bushy-haired mudblood from Gryffindor." Draco smugly said, "I tricked her into doing all the work for me."

Blaise took a deep breath. He looked over at Theo. "It's time for dinner," Blaise declared, directly bypassing everything Draco just said and if he wasn't still riding high on his success, that might have pissed him off. But today, and today only, he's still pleased with his hugely successful manipulation tactics and so he's in a forgiving mood.

"Yeah, let's go." Draco stood and looked around for Greg and Vince, finally spotting them hiding away in some remote corner. The fireplace in the center of the common room was in full swing, scattering flickering lights and creeping shadows around the whole room. Snake motifs were everywhere, a couple of portraits hanging on the high walls and gazing down on them with thinly veiled disdain.

Draco headed right for his minions, curtly saying, "Dinner time," and heading away again before he even got a response. As predicted they followed right after him, walking up on either side of him as they left the dorms and headed for the Great Hall.

With his usual posse of minions surrounding him, Draco walked into the Great Hall with his head held high. His gaze instantly shot to the Gryffindor table, noting that Granger was in the middle of talking to some other kid almost as bushy-haired as she was. Pleased that she was presumably taking her duties seriously, Draco then searched out Potter—who was sitting with a bunch of Weasleys.

Clicking his tongue, Draco scowled and looked up at the main table at the head of the hall. Severus discreetly nodded at him and Draco just as discreetly nodded back. Blaise snicked beside him.

Draco stomped to his seat and flopped down ungracefully. Pansy asked, "What's got your knickers in a twist?" while sipping pumpkin juice from a elegant teacup because she was a heathen. He made a disgusted noise at her, and she scowled in reply and said, "It's only a question, you know."

"Questions are what leads us down stray paths," Draco responded, ignorant of the meaning but his father had said it a few times so he figured it was an elegant and meaningful phrase. Certainly it was more elegant than Pansy.

Pansy, though, failed to realize this and said, "This is why you're never gonna get married."

"You're just resentful mother nullified our marriage contract," Draco swiftly retaliated.

She scoffed. "Please, that was five years ago."

Before Draco could make another clever, witty comment to win the argument (at least he thought they were arguing, he honestly wasn't very sure) Dumbledore swept into the hall from a tiny nook somewhere, dressed once more utterly horrendously. Draco quickly averted his eyes before he could become infected by whatever strange disease Dumbledore was so obviously afflicted with.

Thankfully, Dumbledore didn’t feel the need to hold another speech this evening and they were ale to et right to the foo. Draco found himself far more starved than he’d thought, his stomach empty to the core when he actually thought it. He nearly tossed (in a very elegant manner as befitting of a pureblood, obviously) the food into his mouth, swallowing before he was even finished chewing.

Scheming took a lot more energy than he’d thought.

But that was just another sign that he was onto something great!

”Do you know what Draco is doing these days?” Blaise asked Daphne, the girl sitting beside him and peering at a fashion magazine together with him under the table as they ate. Draco supposed that fashion nuts would be fashion nuts and didn’t do anything.

Besides, she was a Slytherin. She wouldn’t blab about his genius plan to the wrong people.

While Blaise regaled Daphne with Draco’s geniuses, Draco finished his meal and swallowed the last of his juice, slumping down over the table as soon as the dishes disappeared. Stomach now bloated and uncomfortable, he groaned into the ancient wood. ”You totally deserved that,” Pansy said beside him, and Draco flipped her off distractedly.

Instantly, he winced. He couldn’t believe he lost self-control so easily! With bated breath, he waited to see what Pansy would do in retaliation.

”I’m telling your mother,” was what Pansy ended up saying.

Draco shot up straight and grabbed her by the shoulders. ”Don’t and I’ll owe you a favor.”

”Deal,” Pansy smugly smiled.

---

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Fic: at the foot of these mountiains [3/?]

[quillpunk]

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---

C3

"Thank you very much for all your effort," Draco elegantly told the house-elf he'd cleverly tricked into helping him. He smiled—beautifully, gracefully, kindly, and a bunch of other synonyms—down at the house-elf who was in turn looking up at him sparkling eyes inside the equally sparkling newly fixed-up classroom.

Just in time, too.

"It was no problem, Young Master Malfoy!" The house-elf squeaked, excitedly flapping their hands. Draco discreetly stepped out of the danger zone.

Granger said, "Just a couple of minutes left."

"Great, we're all set," nodded Draco. He smiled at the house-elf again and thankfully they didn't need him to actually say anything; they skedaddled on their own. Draco's smile grew and he turned to face Granger. "And they know about the prize? I'll graciously let them join this first class for 10 Sickles, but I'm not going lower than that."

"They know," Granger confirmed. She looked back at her list and hummed, hair extra bushy from her excess energy. Draco walked up to the door. He'd toyed briefly with the idea of getting Granger to open it, but then it felt like she'd be stealing his good impression. He was supposed to have an air of a helpful, knowledgeable student kindly sharing his wisdom, and the show started as soon as the door opened.

The clock struck seven in the evening. Draco pulled the door open and flicked his wand so all the candles in the room lit up at once. (Totally worth the two late nights of secret practice!)

"Welcome," Draco said in a smooth and aristocratic voice. The five fellow first years standing separately and tensely outside the door jumped at seeing him, one of them pointing right at him with a stupid look on her face, blubbering something he couldn't understand. Draco gracefully ignored it, instead stepping back and making a sweeping motion with his arm. "Come in," he said regally.

After a pause, they did. They dawdled through the doorway, avoiding each other eyes and spilling slowly into the room. After some more hesitating, they settled into different seats, every single one of them surrounded by empty chairs. Draco closed the door behind them all, the students jumping again.

"First, an introduction," said Draco at the front of the classroom. He wrote his name on the blackboard like all proper professors did in their first class and cleared his throat. He turned back to the students, nodded at Granger so she'd still feel included, and said, "My name is Draco Malfoy. I'll be teaching some basic things about Wizarding Britain and then at the end of today's class you can decide if you want to keep learning. All my classes will be 1 Galleon a month, which is a very competitive rate and you should feel lucky that I'm offering you this chance."

A kind smile.

"Now then," Draco clapped his hand and nodded to Granger. "Granger will be collecting today's discounted fee and then we'll get started."

On cue, Granger walked over and held out a scraggly old hat she'd apparently found somewhere in her common room and promptly stolen like the barbaric mudblood she was. There was no grumbling, Draco staring unceasingly at every single person until they gave over the money. Only then did he smile, beaming from his position at the front of the room.

Someone winced but Draco took that to mean that they were sick.

Weirdos.

Draco hummed. "Let's start off with something simple. Who knows who's the Minister of Magic?"

A boy said, "Cornelius Fudge."

"Correct," Draco said and then gave the boy the stink-eye. "And raise your hand like a civilized person." He looked out at the rest of the class, lording his knowledge over them as he asked, "And what does Minister Fudge think about muggleborns?"

Nailed it.

"Why does that matter?" a girl asked.

Draco gave her a severely judgmental look. "It doesn't matter that the leader of your country thinks you're a cute little doll?"

"Doll?" Granger interrupted. At some point she'd sat on a chair like the rest of them. Her eyes were glued to him, and a few of the other students looked to her. He wondered if they also thought she was a know-it-all.

Probably. She had that kind of 'air' about her.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Minister Fudge is an incompetent moron-" according to Draco's father, "who doesn't think anyone not a proper wizard can even think for themselves. He's making things better," ugh, Draco couldn't stop a grimace, "for muggleborn because that's the Wizengamot's decree, but he basically thinks you're stuffed animals he can move around as he pleases. It's just like playing with dolls- Ergo, he thinks you're dolls." Draco couldn't stop a haughty sigh, arms crossed over his chest. He watched their reactions; observed Granger's disappointed look, the others' frowns and scowls.

Granger said, "But Headmaster Dumbledore is close with Minister Fudge, right? And he advocates for muggleborns."

"He is and he does," Draco gracefully acknowledged.

"So then is Minister Fudge really that bad?"

"Minister Fudge is just in it for the power. He likes good press, that's all. He doesn't respect Dumbledore." Draco kept in a few other choice words that couldn't be repeated in polite company—not that this was 'polite company' by any means but it was good practice. Granger opened her mouth as if ti protest, eyebrows deeply furrowed, but Draco stared her into silence. He was pretty good at that, actually.

Silence momentrarily falls over then, Draco gazing out with nothing short of contempt at this gaggle of ignorance. It would never do in his home, or among his people. To not even want to know if the man ruling the country is on your side? Lunacy. No wonder muggleborns can't get anything done without Dumbledore and must depend on him for absolutely everything. They have no brains.

"Do you also think that muggleborns are dolls?" Somebody, shockingly not Granger, asked.

Draco scowled, "Of course not. Muggleborns are-" scum he thankfully didn't say, or he'd surely never hear the end of it. "just like purebloods. It's only that your ignorant of our ways and culture, and so you inadvertently alienate yourself from polite society. This causes a cascade affect that ends with you feeling excluded and discriminated against, and you retaliate by wanting to change our society so you'll 'fit in'. But changing something you don't understand just means that you'll piss people off and alienate them even more, and then you've created an evil circle."

Draco felt so damn smart. That sort of made sense!

Granger had a thoughtful look on her face, while the others were looking at the floor. Draco showed no mercy, going straight into a much needed proper explanation about Lord Voldemort. "Alright," he started, "So there once was a Dark Lord so evil—"

About two hours later, Granger and Draco were the only people left in the abandoned classroom. Granger hadn't looked at him once since the others left and Draco, who didn't particularly want to be looked at by muggleborns with weird hair, left her to it as she scribbled something on a piece of paper. Instead, he concentrated on counting the coins in the hat again. It wasn't a lot, naturally. Didn't even make a dent compared what was locked in his personal vault at Gringotts. Or, for that matter, what he had in a piggy bank in the bottom of his trunk.

But it was a promising start.

"So that went well," Draco said after the third time he'd counted them, rising and sauntering to the door. Granger flinched. Draco tossed her a lighthearted, "Let me know if anybody signs up for the full class experience and we'll take it from there."

Then he left.

Like a champion.

Whistling, Draco headed straight for his dorms. He greeted a few upperclassmen on the way, allowed himself to be led into conversations with a couple of senior Slytherins who wanted to pick his brain about his father's plans—lunacy, like his father actually told him what he planned—but Draco was always willing to leverage hypothetical knowledge into real power. He even ran into Severus in the dungeons, which was as always awkward because his godfather had no idea how to not berate people, so it meant he just said things like, "I hope you're keeping up with your studies," and "I've spoken with your mother about your grades," and even "Stay away from Potter."

"I haven't spoken to Potter since I got sorted," Draco defended himself, expertly not mentioning his genius scheme.

His godfather narrowed his eyes and looked down at him over his hooked nose, Draco also expertly not wrinkling his nose at the rather disgusting smell emanating off him. "You've already antagonized him on the train," his godfather said. "See that it does not escalate."

Draco nodded, hands clenching behind his back. He wasn't escalating anything at all; it was Potter that had rejected him. In favor of a Weasley. It if had been anybody else—Theo, Blaise, even Lovegood or Longbottom—Draco would have sort of understood and allowed things to stand. But it was a Weasley. And it wasn't even the cool one!

It was only natural that Draco got revenge.

His godfather studied him for a long moment, eyeing him from top to bottom as if Draco would leave physical evidence of his indiscretions. He was a million times better than that and honestly? It was kind of offensive that Severus didn't know how bloody amazing Draco was. Severus had known Draco his whole life, and yet he still seemed to think that Draco was some kind of simpleton that would go around cursing people without first checking for witnesses.

"Go to bed," Severus said, swishing away in his long robes. Draco glared at after for a second, then schooled his features into something resembling haughtiness and hurried onward.

Greg and Vince were right where he'd left, lingering at the door to the dorms and perking up when they saw him coming. Hastily, they cleared the game of exploding snap they'd obviously been playing—that's all they do when Draco isn't supervising them—and greeted him with proper bows like the knights did in those plays that Greg was super into right now. "Everything went well, my liege?" Greg asked, deepening his voice and trying to sound cool.

"It did," Draco confirmed, letting Greg's oddness go. Some concessions could be made for loyal minions, after all. (And besides, Draco deserved proper knights of his own. It was only right that Greg had let him take the role as Lord.)

Greg and Vince followed him inside, and they settled at the optimal seating area in the common room. It was perfectly situated to have a good view of every nook and cranny in the room, allowing Draco to keep an eye on everybody gathered here. The seating area was also naturally left unused, the previous occupant having been knocked down with Draco's admission into Slytherin. It was only natural that he'd take over; he was the only direct descendant of the Black family here right now and that outweighed anything else. It even outweighed his rather unfortunate display of emotions right after arriving at Hogwarts, when the rage at Potter had been at its strongest.

But that was thankfully ancient history now, and nobody protested his movements.

Blaise joined him at the armchairs, strolling down the stairs and settling on the chair beside Draco's. "So how did it go?" Blaise asked, for once not hiding his curiosity. "Did you manage to display your wealth of knowledge and successfully trick them?"

"Naturally," Draco drawled. He gave Blaise a stinking eye. "And you don't have to sound so eager for my failure, you know."

"Oh, I know," Blaise smiled, and it was kind of unfair how pretty it was. Draco would never hesitate to call himself the prettiest in any given room, but Blaise gave him a run for his money when he smiled. Something he'd gotten from his mother, no doubt. The woman was always ruining things for Draco's family.

Draco pulled his thoughts back together into proper order and said, "It went well. Granger asked moderately clever questions and I think I've got them hooked. Things should evolve on its own now."

"Hmm," Blaise purposefully hummed out loud, no doubt just in an effort to annoy Draco. Well, Draco would never give him the satisfaction, so he hummed as well. Blaise hummed louder. Draco retaliated with grace, humming louder still.

"What the bloody fuck is wrong with you?" Theo interrupted the humming battle. "Are you sick?" he sat down beside Vince on the couch and raised his wand, on the verge of casting some kind of diagnostic charm because Theo was predictable like that. Normal things made him odd, and he never really seemed to understand it when Blaise and Draco were... well, being Blaise and Draco.

"We're fine," Draco said, kicking Blaise. There was no table to hide this from sight, so he didn't bother with false subterfuge.

Blaise glared at him. But after a second, he collaborated, "Yes, we're fine."

Theo looked between them, blatantly not believing them, but he nonetheless let it go. He furrowed his eyebrows and plopped what had to be like fifteen book son the coffee table, spreading and taking it entirely over without a second's hesitation. "Homework," he defended himself from their horrified looks.

"It's only been two weeks, you can't have that much homework already," Draco said, horrified.

Theo rolled his eyes. "I like being prepared."

"There's preparation and there's insanity," Blaise pointed out. Theo glared at him until Blaise looked away and pulled out a magazine, probably literally from his ass, and ducked his head as he read. Draco watched it happen in slow motion—it was always fun to watch Blaise being shut down and forced to hide. He did such an incredibly bad job at it; Blaise lived for attention, albeit it in a very different way from Draco. Even when he was just sitting there and reading, he still had a kind of charisma—every person who passed by glanced at him at least twice.

Draco hid his laughter in a cough, politeness winning out over his amusement for once, and he asked Theo, "What are you studying?" trying to sound interested and not like he had spent hours explaining basic concepts to muggleborn and now his brain was on the edge of shutting down.

In his opinion, he did a pretty good job.

Theo didn't seem to agree, though, if the glare was any indication. "I'm contemplating the history of integrating charms and potions together to form a spell."

"That's a stupid way to say 'ritual'," Draco said after a second, once he'd parsed through the bullshit and come up with the right answer.

"That's because I am not studying 'rituals'," Theo glared at him. "That would be illegal."

"Ah," Draco eloquently said. Theo continued to glare at him. He was in a very glaring mood today, Draco observed. Something must not be right, but Draco couldn't think of what that would be. Aside from his scheming, it had been a ridiculously uneventful day. Nothing of any note had happened, not like the already infamous flying lesson where Potter had managed to cheat his way into the Gryffindor Quidittch team. Draco had already sent four letters to his parents about the travesty and the fragrant rule breaking. On his fourth letter, he'd even progressed from just complaining to pointing out how dangerous it was to put a first-year on the team. A first-year who, by his own admission, had never flown a broom before Hogwarts.

He hadn't gotten a reply yet but that was alright. His parents were busy people and just because he was at Hogwarts, that didn't mean that the rest of the world stopped. There was still events to throw, go to, people to bribe and blackmail. That Draco couldn't be there for it was kind of a bummer, though.

He was pretty damn good at bribing people. Blackmail, too. He was practically a master.

Draco let Theo bury himself in his research, instead commandeering a part of the table so he could play exploding snap with Vince and Greg. The minions were always eager to play games, and they settled into the rhythm soon enough. The rest of Slytherin came and went, stayed out of their way, and Draco was even able to ignore the sinking feeling he'd set something in motion he wouldn't be able to control.

At bedtime, Draco laid down on acromantula silk sheets and stared up at the stone ceiling.

It was beautiful stonework, naturally. Nothing like the cheap, simple labor the rest of the castle was mired in; no, the stonework in the Slytherin dorms was of the highest possible quality, the runes etched in still working as intended. They might be robbed of light, being so far underground, but the runes more than made up for it. Draco had studied them every night before sleep since he'd gotten here, and he studied them now, as well. Let his eyes drift from stone to stone, mouthed the runes' names to himself. Memorized them so he could find them in the Malfoy library later, figure out how they worked.

It was a shame that he didn't have access to the restricted section of Hogwarts library, but he would make do. The Malfoy family wasn't particularly old or noteworthy on their own, but they still had a sizable library.

And one day, he'd get access to the Black Family's libraries.

Closing his eyes, Draco ruminated through his daily Occlumency practice and once that was done, peacefully fell asleep.

It was a shame that waking up wasn't nearly as peaceful, but Draco was a kind person who didn't hold people's nightmares against them, even when they were so chaotic it broke the silencing charm on their bed. Rather, he just cast a new charm in Theo's direction, without ever truly waking up, and rolled over on his side. Fell right back asleep as he hoped he hadn't been snoring.

That would be so embarrassing.

Draco's following morning was as peaceful as ever. Breakfast was nearly a literal walk in the park, the food outrageously good. Pansy poked him in the back until he finally paid attention to her, and all she said than was, "Professor Snape is staring at you," as if Draco hadn't been aware of that, thank you. He wasn't blind, and his godfather was a lot of things but subtle wasn't one of them.

Pansy muttered, "Just thought you should know," under her breath, and he poked her in revenge until she stopped paying attention to him.

After breakfast, Draco went to the days first class. It was one shared with Gryffindor because the Headmaster was not so secretly a sadist, but Draco persevered. He kept his head high and got through the lesson with only one mildly annoyed comment about Weasley which nonetheless generated a perfectly timed, "You think you're better than me?!" by Weasley just as Granger was getting into hearing range.

Potter held Weasley back from doing something profoundly stupid, but Draco crossed his arms over his chest and leveled Weasley with his best 'bullshit' look. There was about four dozens word on the tip of his tongue to retaliate but for once, this wasn't mindless antagonism. There was an actual plan, and he couldn't ruin it just because Weasley was so ridiculously good at getting on his nerves. Or even if Potter was once more taking Weasley's side without doing any research or thinking for himself whatsoever.

Ugh.

But Granger said, "What are you doing? We're in class," and pointed to the professor who was looking right at them.

Weasley clicked his tongue and glared at Draco, as if this was all Draco's fault. And like. Yes, it kind of was but Weasley really needed to learn some self-control. He was entirely ruining any sympathy his classmates might have for him, which just meant none of them would point to Draco as the instigator. As planned. Because Draco was a planner. Definitely.

Granger asked, "Are you alright?" when Potter had dragged Weasley off, and Draco gave her a weirded out look due to, well, being weirded out.

"Of course," he said, leaving her behind so he wouldn't have to look at her strange brand of pity or whatever. It was entirely unneeded and he didn't appreciate it. Nor did he appreciate Blaise patting him on the shoulder with the fakest expression of sympathy Draco had ever seen in his life.

Draco shoved Blaise off and pretended he couldn't hear his minion's snickering, focusing instead on the lesson.

---

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Fic: at the foot of these mountiains [4/?]

[quillpunk]

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C4

"So four people have signed up for the monthly fee," Granger said two days later, huddled together with him at the abandoned classroom. She pointed to the paper on the table, hand moving over the list of names as she for some reason actually read them out, "Justin Finch-Fletchely, Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins and Terry Boot. Three Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw."

Draco hummed, trying to sound wise and sagely. "Better than I expected," he said, patting her shoulder after a second's hesitation that he hoped she'd miss.

She flapped her mouth uselessly then cleared her throat and said, "I've been talking to a few others and I think they're on the hook." Then she gave him what she doubtlessly thought was an expertly manipulating expression but in actuality just made her look kind of cross-eyed, "I'm sure they'd be a lot more interested if they got the preview lesson as well."

"You thought that thing worked?" Draco couldn't help wrinkling his eyebrows and giving her a condescending look.

"Yep," she chirped, like a lunatic.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Alright, I suppose it's a least some money. Tell them same time same day next week," he allowed. He paused for a moment, then added, "So we need to put together a schedule for the regular lessons."

"Oh, I'm already working on that," Granger grinned.

Score, Draco thought.

He stepped back from the table, at last somewhat free of her muggleborn presence, and started to pace along the length of the classroom in the tiny path between the tables. He stroked his chin; his father always did that when he was considering serious problems like what stupid things Fudge had said and how to hide it from the press. Or when his mother was mad at him and Lucius had to find some new creative way to grovel before that got out to the press.

But he digressed. The problem he was currently musing on, very elegant in his pacing, was what the bloody Merlin he could actually teach these peasants. He'd tutored Greg and Vince enough to know he couldn't just jump into the deep end; all knowledge required a solid foundation.

Hence Longbottom blowing up another cauldron at Potions today.

Giggling at the image of an utterly befuddled Longbottom covered in soot and gross animal innards, Draco snorted air through his nose until some of it got down the wrong pipe and he started coughing.

"Are you alright?" Granger ran over and hovered.

Draco waved her off, coughing until his chest contracted and he felt like he was on the verge of some very unpleasant vomiting. "I'm fine," he assured her in an extremely hoarse voice, patting at the air until she stopped trying to rub his back like an infant. "I'm fine," he stressed again, shooing her off, "Go back to planning, or whatever it is I'm paying you for."

"You're not paying me," Granger reasonably pointed out.

Draco blinked. "I'm not?" he furrowed his eyebrows. "Then why are you helping?"Apparently the coughing fit broke his brain because two seconds after he'd said that he remembered that it was the result of his very careful expert manipulation and he should probably not be compromising it by reminding her of her unpaid labor status.

But Granger said, "Don't worry about it."

Draco blinked again. "Sure," he said though, never too silly to look a gift-horse in the mouth. If she wanted to do unpaid labor, who was he to stop her? It clearly made her very happy! So in fact, it'd be crueler of him to stop her.

Pleased with his reasoning, Draco found that he'd stopped coughing at some point and regained the ability to breathe, so he shook her off and resumed his pacing.

But really, what was he actually going to teach?

Traditions, obviously, that was what he wrote on the sign-up sheet. But what traditions and how much foundational knowledge that did that need? Was it enough to just launch into a lecture about Yule or did he need to add in the historical context? How much historical context did he know? What was historical context? In fact, what the bloody fuck was context?

And politics, too, of course. The organizational rules and how voting worked, but did require going into depths of the Ministry's inter-politics between departments? Did he need to explain the actual departments?

Merlin, did they know what the Wizengamot was?

Shuddering, Draco stopped walking and rubbed his eyes. After a deep breath, he checked the time on his wristwatch, an ancient thing he'd gotten from his mother on his last birthday. Noting the time to be nearing the end of dinner, he clapped his hands and announced, "We're done for tonight. Let me know when you have the final schedule, and keep working on signing up new students." Then he softened his voice and added in a very bashful manner, "I really appreciate your help."

"It's no trouble," Granger said, stepping closer like she was going to hug him. She stopped when he twitched, though, and merely said, "I enjoy organizing things." She grinned brightly, and Draco politely smiled back.

Locking up the classroom behind them, the house-elf (wait, did it have a name?) subtly hiding it and making it look unused when they're not there, they headed toward the Great Hall. After traversing a few floors Draco glanced out a window and spotted the Gryffindors doing loops in the air, and he scowled fiercely.

"It's lunacy they're actually letting Potter stay on the team," Draco muttered, but sadly Granger was still in hearing range and she hummed in interest. Which, fair. Draco was very interesting and naturally his thoughts were of great importance to his minions! So he didn't actually mind explaining to Granger; "Father tried pointing out that Potter has no prior experience riding brooms and that no matter how much natural talent he has, he still needs far more practice than a week or two before he can play competitively without breaking his neck."

Draco shook his head, "Not even talking about the lawsuits if Potter dies on the pitch, it sets the kind of precedence that is dangerous, and it's also just plain favoritism. Like," he rolled his eyes, "This is the kind of favoritism that even blind people can spot. It's bad sport etiquette."

"You make very good points," Granger agreed. She peered out on the pitch as well, watching as Potter (easy to pinpoint as the smallest person in the air) flew upside down for a bit before he regained control. "Potter shouldn't have even been offered a spot on the team in the first place," she frowned.

Draco beamed. Then he hid that in a cough and played at magnanimousness, "I suppose if they just guaranteed him a spot for next year and spent this year training him up to standards, that could be... acceptable."

"Right, but they're not doing that. Potter will be competing," Granger muttered.

"Right."

He had the feeling they'd come to some kind of agreement, but he wasn't quite sure what that agreement was, so he swiftly changed the subject. "Have you finished your homework?"

"Of course," it was Granger's time to give him an odd look and he thought he might even deserve it. He hadn't known her long, only a few weeks now, but he already knew that she was nearly fanatical about homework. He kind of wondered if she saw their illicit scheming as homework as well, and that was why she was so gungho about it.

Or maybe she was just weird.

Yeah.

She was just weird.

Reaching the entry-level to Hogwarts, Draco subtly sped up. Thankfully Granger was smart enough to take the hint without him spelling it out for her, and she stayed back as he veered off toward a herd of Slytherins. He greeted them politely "Good evening," and pretended not to hear the mutterings of where he'd been.

So it was possible his absence was getting noted. So what? He was Draco Malfoy, heir to the both Malfoy and Black families (well, unless that half-blood contested it) and he could damn well go where he pleased.

"Evening, Draco," Theo greeted him, coming from the other side. Pale and sweaty, he had dark circles under his eyes, and he coughed a little but even that was enough to make Blaise turn right back around and heartlessly ditch them. Draco glared at his fading back, then shook his head and nodded to Theo. Theo coughed again, some soot dusting his hand when he lowered it, but the other Slytherins were falling away from them so nobody else saw it.

It was a matter of respect, really. One should respectfully pretend not to see compromising things, and one should respectfully step back when ones superior is having a conversation with a favored minion. Otherwise one might be caught knowing dangerous things, and one might not wake up the following night.

"Are you dying?" Draco asked Theo, falling into step with him toward the library.

Theo shook his head, but his shoulders were shaking so Draco simply took that to mean that he was blatantly lying. "I'm fine," Theo tried to insist but quite frankly they'd known each other since they were infants and Draco wasn't about to be fooled by such a pathetic facade.

Clicking his tongue, Draco scowled. "Try harder."

"I am fine," Theo glared at him below sweaty bangs.

Draco stared at him for a full ten seconds, and as always, Theo folded first. It was only to be expected, really; Draco had grown up getting stared down by his mother and he might not be able to beat her yet but he was still a force to be reckoned with.

"I will be fine," Theo amended, glancing around. "It may or may not be related to the charm and potions combinations that I've been researching."

"If you're doing rituals on Hogwarts grounds I'm going to have to stop talking to you," Draco very logically pointed out.

"It's not a ritual," Theo hissed. He glanced around again but really they were the only ones in this hallway and the portraits were no competition for Draco's wand. A quick muffling charm and nobody could hear a thing, and really, Theo should know this by now. "Rituals are illegal," Theo hissed between clenched teeth, glaring at him. "So I am not doing a ritual."

"Alright," Draco said, buying time while he worked through what Theo said and translated it to something making sense. "But you'd better not be doing those non-ritual things on Hogwarts grounds."

Theo stared at him for a long second, then tossed his hands in the air. "Why do I even talk to you?"

"Because I'm a mastermind secretly bending the wills of thousands to my evil ways so I can take over the world." A pause, and then a very pointed, "Duh."

Theo screamed into his hands.

Rolling his eyes, Draco patted his back. "There, there," he said, channeling Blaise, "I'm sure whatever you're worried about will work out. And if doesn't, I can give you some money for you to hide out somewhere. Like muggle London. I bet nobody could find you in muggle London." Another pause, then, "You could hide out with Granger's parents, pretend to be their kid."

"I'd rather die," Theo muttered into his hands. Draco patted his back again.

Once Theo had something resembling self-control again, they continued onward. Draco had actually only been to the library twice so far despite having been here for weeks. There was absolutely no need to go yet; all the lessons were still stuck on utterly rudimentary topics, and he wasn't about to voluntarily subject himself to that boredom outside the classroom. Besides, he had dozens of books with him from the Malfoy library that more than covered all the bases.

But still; big, old, and stately, the Hogwarts Library was a verified historical site. Well, Hogwarts as a whole was a verified historical site with all the associated paperwork, but Draco had the sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore didn't know that.

Theo headed right for the charms section so Draco tagged along. He nodded to some of the respectable people they passed, like Diggory and that spazzy captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team. They each, being respectable as they were, nodded in return.

Draco waited until Theo had settled in with his books and notebooks, and then subtly looked over his minion. It was starting to get annoying, waking up every night because of Theo's nightmares. While his silencing charm was obviously the highest possible quality and he was getting a lot of practice at casting it half-asleep, Draco still disliked the disruption.

Theo truly did look sick, was the thing. And if he was actually sick, and that was the cause of his nightmares? Then they probably wouldn't stop any time soon.

That was unacceptable.

There was no way in hell he was taking Theo to the infirmary. Theo's father might be old and losing his marbles, a rotting relic more than anything, but he was still a Death Eater and Madam Pomfrey was still a known agent of Dumbledore's little club.

Or so Draco's father said.

Anyway, the point was that Draco wasn't taking his minion to somebody who'd doubtlessly report it all to Dumbledore. And sadly, that ruled out Severus for the same reason.

But his minion couldn't break.

The shame.

(Everybody would know that his minion broke! Everybody would know that Draco failed at protecting him, at fixing him! Everybody would talk, and point fingers, and everybody would know that Draco was a failure.)

(Draco would never fail.)

"I can actually hide you away, you know," Draco at last said. Theo twitched, freezing, and then exhaled deeply. Draco saw him open his mouth, and before Theo could get a word in, he added, "If you're really in trouble, I could hide you away. Nobody would know where you are. You'd be safe."

Theo looked at him. "You couldn't," he flatly stated.

Draco rolled his eyes. "If nothing else, I can lock you in my vault at Gringotts for a while. I'm certain it could be made livable if required."

"Gringotts?" Theo furrowed his eyebrows.

Rolling his eyes for the second time in just as many seconds, Draco drawled, "It's the most secure place in the world."

Theo blinked. Finally, he said, "I don't understand you. But sure, if I ever need it, I'll let you lock me in your Gringotts vault."

"Great," Draco grinned. "So stop having nightmares" -- cue the expected glare -- "and fix your horrid appearance. You're starting to look like Peeves, and it's not a flattering look on you."

Theo took a deep breath and went back to his studies without another word but his shoulders were markedly more relaxed than two minutes ago, so Draco counted it as a victory. Naturally. Draco was the best minion-keeper and it was only a matter of time until his parents folded and he got a snake of his own.

Something big, he mused. Something magical, too, not a stupid muggle snake. Though, of course, even muggle snakes were snakes and thus were better than non-snakes.

But magical snakes were still superior.

Nodding, he thumbed through his textbook for the transfiguration class and drolly read through the last few chapters. At the very least, McGonagall actually took care to teach her students, though she was still willing to put them in danger for Gryffindors glory -- as evidenced by the fact that she pulled Potter onto the Quidditch team without any hesitation.

Still, Draco got bored soon enough, and he elected to wander off before he annoyed Theo with his fiddling and the boy jinxed him.

Walking between the tall shelves, Draco pulled down a few books and settled into a hidden alcove with his loot. Humming to himself, he pulled open his notebook and attempted to work his way backward to identify the basic concepts he'd need to start with during his lessons. Thankfully, he'd figured out a devious trick; the more detailed he got, the longer he could justify the lessons continuing!

If he spent an hour going over the effect Gringotts had on the economy, he had to first spend an hour on what goblins were, another hour on why they were running Gringotts, another hour on how Gringotts functioned in theory, yet one more hour on how it functioned in practicality, and so on. He could probably get a dozens lessons just out of Gringotts using this method.

Genius.

Grinning, Draco huddled over his notebook and laid out his scheme in black and white, jotting down every minute detail he could possibly find. He was going to get so detailed, it was going to take so much time, and if anybody called him out on it he'd say he was being thorough!

"House-elf," Draco muttered beneath his breath, checking quickly to ensure no-one saw that. But no, he was well-hidden, well squared away. And the elf he meant popped right into existence beside him.

"Young Master called for me?" the house-elf stared up at him with sparkling eyes.

"Yes," Draco directly said, thoroughly tired of subtlety. He'd spent the whole day playing nice with people, using the utmost of his manners to advance his Master Plan and he getting rather sick of the fake smiles and polite tones. He'd much rather just hex people until they agreed to whatever he wanted.

The house-elf jumped on his toes. "What cans I be helping Young Master with?"

"What's your name?" Draco asked, annoyed when the house-elf's eyes widened and it peeped, covering its mouth to not be too late. Draco rolled his eyes. "I need to know what to call you or one of these days some other house-elf will get it into their heads to pop up when I call and they'll ruin everything. So spill. What's your name?"

"Dorry," the house-elf, apparently named Dorry, said. "I is Dorry!"

"Okay, good. So you'll come if I call for Dorry?"

Eyes sparkling, jumping on its toes again, Dorry squeaked, "Yes! I will always come when Young Master calls!"

Draco nodded. "That's good. But for now, I need more notebooks and ink."

"I will find some!"

With Dorry gone, Draco went back to his scribbling, still trying to nail down even more details for Gringotts. This, he thought, would be the cream of the crop, the best part of his scheme. Nobody would be able to call him out on him bullshitting; they were muggleborns, how would they be able to deny that all this detail were absolutely necessary? Absolutely deal-breaking?

Feeling an evil laughter bubbling up his throat, Draco coughed softly to hide it. He grabbed the notebooks that magically appeared on his table and continued with his wicked scheming.

Hours later, nighttime had already fallen and Draco was still hunched over his table, hand cramping from how much he'd written. Eyes tired, eyelids falling shut every few seconds entirely on their own accord and without his permission (the heathens) Draco groaned when Greg grabbed him and lifted him out of the chair. "No, I'm not done," Draco protested, trying to keep writing until the last possible moment.

"It's bedtime," Greg solemnly announced.

"No."

Greg placed him on the floor and held on until Draco's legs accepted the added weight and deigned to hold him up. "It's bedtime, my liege," Greg repeated, and Draco sighed. He held out his hand and gracefully accepted his wand, putting it away in the holster.

"If it means that much to you, my knight, I can allow myself to go to bed this one time," drawled Draco in a voice rather reminiscent of Severus'. Greg grinned, motioning to Vince who immediately pulled open a large bag and dumped all the books on the table into it.

"Some of those are the library's," Draco pointed out.

Vince shrugged.

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, much like his father did when Minster Fudge did something stupid again. It happened a lot, particularly after the Minister held interviews.

After they'd correctly borrowed the few books Draco didn't have with him in trunk, they returned to their dorms for another yet another night of restless sleeping, Theo predictably waking Draco up in the wee hours of the night with his screaming. Draco tossed one more silencing charm his way and burrowed deeper into his pillow, content to know that Theo was a stubborn little bastard operating mostly on spite; if he said he was going to do something, he'd do it or die trying.

Which meant the nightmares should soon be a thing of the past.

The rest of the night remained undisturbed.

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