wraithvault

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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