wraithvault

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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