The grounds immediately surrounding Hogwarts didn't have a direct path from the Quidditch pitch to Hogsmeade, so our immodest group had to head toward the castle first anyway. There, by the gates, Hannah and Ernie split off, having decided they didn't want to burden their lives with the company of adult wizards of questionable reputation. That's what I appreciate about our thirtieth-generation pureblood 'Puffs: their sense of tact. Ernie, for example, harbored no ill will towards Malfoy, even though the MacMillans had always supported Dumbledore and essentially belonged to the camp opposing the Malfoys. And the result? "Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Parkinson, but I must take my leave. Have a good day."
And so, turning onto the path leading to Hogsmeade, we were down to five—Daphne, Pansy, Mr. Malfoy, Pansy's father, and me. The conversation naturally didn't flow easily, simply due to the differing spheres of interest of each wizard present.
"I suppose," Mr. Malfoy began importantly, striding alongside us, "I should congratulate you, Mr. Granger, on a successfully completed affair?"
Yes, "striding" was the right word; simply "walking" didn't quite capture this wizard's somewhat excessive self-importance, and the resulting slight exaggeration of his manners.
"Perhaps, but what exactly do you mean?"
"The result of your actions regarding Dolores Umbridge."
The path meandered, and a gusty but mild wind repeatedly bent the grass to the ground. It was already on the verge of "dying" anyway—autumn had fully taken hold, and the recent snow, though melted without a trace, was a clear indicator, despite the occasional appearance of the sun.
"That wasn't my doing," I shook my head, "it was the effort of all the students."
"There's no need for false modesty," Mr. Malfoy offered a faint smile. "It was precisely because you, one way or another, steered the entirety of Hogwarts toward a specific course of action that the goal was achieved."
"I merely voiced obvious thoughts and arguments."
"Sometimes that's exactly what's missing," Mr. Parkinson interjected. "What is obvious to one person might not even be noticed by many others."
"If you choose to view it from that angle," I shrugged, "it's not my place to dissuade you."
Through meaningless conversation about the weather, we arrived at Hogsmeade. The village streets couldn't boast a flood of students yet—many had gone to the castle first and would arrive later. The fact that there was no desolation indicated that this place was quite popular among adult wizards as well.
We entered the Three Broomsticks, and among the few patrons, we easily spotted Draco. He was sitting proudly and relaxed at a table near the fireplace, all alone, which didn't seem to bother him in the least.
"Well, daughter," Mr. Parkinson addressed Pansy, "aren't you going to tell your father about your affairs at school, and in general? I'm sure you have plenty to share."
So, Mr. Parkinson led Pansy and Daphne to a table. However, it felt more like he was giving Malfoy the opportunity to talk with me, and, as it turned out, with Draco—Mr. Malfoy and I joined his table. The boy immediately straightened up, adopting a more "proper" posture, while I, with an imperceptible flick of my wand, cast a series of anti-eavesdropping charms around us, earning a nod from Mr. Malfoy.
"Son," the elder Malfoy immediately addressed the younger. "Excellent game."
"Thank you, Father."
"Yes, excellent," I joined in the congratulations.
"It was surprisingly simple," Draco nodded. "I just had to focus on winning, rather than on overcoming Potter."
"Focusing on the ultimate goal, rather than on people, is the path to superiority over them," Mr. Malfoy declared importantly, then turned to me. "Mr. Granger, we've strayed slightly from the topic."
"You could say that. You didn't start this conversation for nothing, did you?"
"Naturally..."
A waitress approached us. She was clearly new—she hadn't been here last year—but she stopped just outside the barely visible dome of privacy charms. Waiting for a nod from Mr. Malfoy, the eldest in our group, she stepped across the boundary.
"Will you be ordering anything?"
"I think we'll stick to Butterbeer. A mug for each of us."
"Right away," the waitress left quickly. After ten seconds of silence, she returned with the order, placed the mugs of beverages in front of us, and departed.
"I've already noticed that you, Mr. Granger, are not one to beat around the bush."
"That is true." Taking my mug, I took a sip, as did both Malfoys.
"Nostalgia..." Lucius offered a tight smile. "Then I will ask directly—what drives you?"
"What drives me?"
"What are your ultimate goals, Mr. Granger? It's not just obvious to me that you are rapidly gaining influence among the students and even some adult wizards. Yes, those few are merely observing for now, not listening, but even that is already a great deal. Especially considering your... background."
Draco didn't interject, he just listened, although he clearly wanted to boast about his achievements on the Quidditch pitch. Perhaps his intuition about important matters kicked in, or something else. But since Mr. Malfoy decided to speak with me in Draco's presence, he must see some point in it.
"Ultimate goals... In truth, I simply want to be a Healer. Like everyone else, I want to secure my place in the sun, ensure the safety of those dear to me, and all those other clichés. The fact that I sometimes have to deal with outside issues is merely a means to create an environment and atmosphere around myself that suits me."
"Not the simplest goals, but not the most unusual either. Don't you think it would be more appropriate to use your growing influence for, say, political purposes?"
"Oh, no," I shook my head with a smile. "I have not the slightest desire to flounder in that foul cesspool. Leave that to those who enjoy such things. Like you, I would rather buy 'votes' than be one of them."
"Granger..." Draco frowned.
"Cool down, son," the elder Malfoy stated drily. "Mr. Granger... An accusation of bribery is very serious and requires proof."
"We are not in a courtroom, Mr. Malfoy," I simply smiled, tilting my head slightly. "And I consider money to be merely a tool. If it sits gathering dust, it means the owner of the tool either doesn't know how to use it or doesn't know what to apply it to. And boasting about money is like boasting about a golden screwdriver. You might have it, and it might indeed be golden, but honestly—it's utterly ridiculous."
Draco frowned slightly and even looked a bit indignant, but Mr. Malfoy smiled.
"However," Lucius said, "such boasting brings pleasure when you see the faces of those who haven't lifted a finger to earn anything, wasting their time only on envy, twisted in jealousy."
"Everyone finds their own pleasure in life. Why shouldn't there be such a thing as well? I suppose I've answered your question?"
"I believe so. In that case, allow me to inquire about something else. How is your progress in mastering Dark Magic? Is Professor Snape competent enough in explaining complex concepts?"
"A very strange question, I must say," I smiled and took another sip of beer. "But I don't think the answer will put me in an awkward position. Mainly theory. I understood the concept of Dark Magic and its fundamental problem. So far, I hardly need Professor Snape's consultations on this matter. However, he approaches teaching Miss Greengrass and me the art of Potions with the utmost responsibility."
"Wait..." Draco leaned forward slightly. "You're apprenticing under our Head of House?"
"Yes. I didn't think it was a secret."
"Bloody hell..."
"Watch your language, Draco," Mr. Malfoy cut off the nascent curse.
"Sorry, Father. It's just that our Head of House absolutely refuses to work with me on potions beyond a simple: 'I'll clarify one point'."
"That means, Draco," Mr. Malfoy looked at his son, "that you are not showing enough diligence, desire, and talent."
"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy," I drew his attention, "but what prompted your question about Dark Magic?"
"I have heard of your little adventure this summer."
"I'm not surprised, frankly."
"And certain aspects of that adventure leave me puzzled. You unhesitatingly killed one of the attackers, and turned another into a life force source to heal the injured."
Draco's eyes widened. It seemed Mr. Malfoy had decided to reveal a little of the unsavory side of magic to his son. But why at my expense? He could have gone and diced up some werewolves in front of him himself.
"Self-defense is like that," I smiled. "But, I think what's bothering you is the question—will I dice up any students if they show excessive aggression? Am I a threat to, say, your son? Especially considering Draco's quick temper and haste in some matters."
"I'm right here, actually," the individual in question drew the attention of both of us.
"That as well," Mr. Malfoy nodded seriously, looking at me with his steel-colored eyes. "I care about the safety of the students, no matter what anyone says."
"You shouldn't compare werewolves under a partial transformation potion, whose goal was to tear me into many small, dead Hectors..." A smirk naturally crept onto my face. "...and underage school students. Even malicious pranks remain just malicious pranks, and the maximum I'd respond with is an equally malicious prank. Though, I understand the true reasons for such concern."
"Do you?"
"Dark Magic. You received, albeit from your wife's words, proof of my mastery of certain aspects of this art, didn't you?"
Mr. Malfoy merely nodded, while Draco looked puzzled and displeased simultaneously, after all—how could this be? He didn't know something, and what's more—he didn't know it within his own family.
"And, as an adult wizard intimately familiar with Dark Magic," I gestured with my eyes toward his left arm, from which the faintest trail of that magic emanated, just like Professor Snape's, by the way, "you understandably worry—has it eroded my mind? I assure you—no."
Mr. Malfoy barely betrayed any slight surprise at the fact that I sensed the "Mark"—I'd overheard the exact fact of its existence from Potter's quiet conversations with his friends in our Defense Club, and the rest was just simple logic.
"I hope that is indeed the case. Although, is there really any reason to doubt it, considering your connection with a certain interesting Dark Wizard?"
"Excuse me?" I wasn't the least bit surprised by this lead-in. "As I said, I prefer more direct communication, even though I am capable of playing such games myself. And you are hardly the one to talk about connections with 'interesting Dark Wizards'."
Draco was extremely dissatisfied with this attitude towards his father, which caused him to lose control:
"Watch yourself, Granger..."
And immediately received a tap on the shoulder with a cane.
"Calm yourself, Draco," Mr. Malfoy continued to smile faintly. "You are clearly far from understanding the essence of such dialogues. Perhaps years of trying to outdo the unrefined and unrestrained Mr. Potter have left a mark on your worldview, son. I can assure you—you have a busy summer ahead."
"Wonderful," Draco paled slightly, his arrogance evaporating.
"Don't despair," I smiled at the guy. "Your triumph during the match did not go unnoticed. You just need a better sense of timing."
"I already figured that out. Now, anyway," Draco frowned, though his posture betrayed a reawakened pride in his success.
"The question remains open, Mr. Granger."
"Even if I possessed any specific information—what benefit is there for me to share it?"
"Benefit?" Mr. Malfoy was surprised. "I thought you enjoyed sharing your knowledge with those seeking it."
"My knowledge in the field of magic, my conclusions, thoughts, and vision on various issues, but not secrets. I don't ask you why you joined the Dark Lord back in the day, or why you, being free, with connections, money, and influence, still haven't broken the other Death Eaters out of Azkaban. For instance, your sister-in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange..."
Draco wanted to protest again, but restrained himself.
"Indeed," Mr. Malfoy nodded. "Some questions sound better left unasked."
"Truly so," I fully agreed with this simple play on words. "I suppose the ultimate goal of our conversation is to understand how I see myself in this world, and how useful I can be to you."
"Your interpretation, Mr. Granger, makes me feel like some sort of hypocritical villain," the elder Malfoy smiled. "But I cannot disagree with that phrasing."
"Aside from the fact that I want to and will become a Healer? I could, of course, declare that I will absolutely become a powerful wizard, but that might sound like the banal boasting of a young Muggle-born."
"That would sound like boasting coming from absolutely any wizard. I would prefer to see politicians among my good acquaintances and allies."
"As I said—I'm not interested in that. Politics is full of lies, deceit, bribery, intrigue, blackmail, and dirty manipulation. It disgusts me. I believe I've already spoken on this topic with Mrs. Malfoy, if my memory serves me right. Lies, deceit, all this filth—that is the path of a weak wizard. Do you know why Dumbledore will always come out on top?"
It seemed Malfoy's dislike for Dumbledore was something beyond the pale. For the first time during our conversation, Mr. Malfoy showed his true feelings about something, grimacing.
"He doesn't lie or deceive," I finished the rest of my beer. "He might withhold information, play with facts—that's inevitable when you have so many years and such a wealth of experience behind you, whatever that experience may be. Lies and deceit can give a temporary advantage, but any lie will sooner or later be exposed. Right now, for example, everyone thinks he's a senile old liar..."
Draco smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.
"But tell me..." I leaned forward slightly. "How sharply, how drastically will public opinion change when the Dark Lord reveals himself? Everyone will say—Dumbledore was right, Dumbledore isn't senile, Dumbledore warned us, and we didn't believe him... And he'll be on top again, and everyone who tried to sink him—will be crushed. Like Fudge, for instance. He's already a political corpse, and when the Dark Lord reveals himself, and he will..."
I truly believed this because it couldn't be otherwise. Why? Simply... Even I would find it hard to drop everything and go live quietly somewhere, after all the things I would have done, were I in his place. At this point, you either have to push your ideas and plans through, whatever they may be, or fake your final death in a direct battle, and, having become a completely different person, ride off into the sunset, planning some other action of grandiose proportions. But as a completely different, new person.
"...Fudge will definitively be barred from the Ministry, even from the most trivial position—society will devour him. And anyway, how did we end up on this topic? It's not rosy at all."
"Not rosy, but necessary."
"I'm flattered, Mr. Malfoy, that you converse with me not as an unreasonable youth."
"You have no idea, Mr. Granger, how useful such a conversation can be sometimes, understanding the vision of the youth. And since we're talking about the Dark Lord... What do you think his next steps will be?"
"Unfortunately, I can't even hazard a guess on this topic. I don't know the true state of affairs from those times. I don't know the motives behind his actions and decisions, nor the motives of those who followed him. It's definitely not power or money—too banal. It's definitely not 'power to purebloods, death to Mudbloods'."
"Why not?" Mr. Malfoy was surprised, and Draco was right there with him.
"Too superficial. Too petty. Purebloods already have the power. Only a fool thinks otherwise."
The Malfoys either genuinely thought about it or pretended to.
"As for Muggle-borns—really? Death to Mudbloods?"
"You don't understand," Draco shook his head, but Mr. Malfoy didn't stop him.
"...They, you," Draco corrected himself, "come into our world with your rules, you don't honor traditions, you try to establish your own order..."
"Oh, stop it," I brushed aside such nonsense, causing a quickly suppressed flash of irritation in the boy. "How many of us are there? Just count. Or name a single Muggle-born of any significance. Alive. Nobby Leach doesn't count. They made him Minister as an experiment. They didn't like the experiment—they buried Nobby Leach. End of story."
Mr. Malfoy snorted at this exactly the same way Draco usually does—relatives, what can you say?
"The mere fact of our existence makes no difference to anyone. We are few and far between. Our existence is just an excuse for the richer and more influential. Dividing spheres of influence, finances, a reason for intrigue to sink opponents. That's why I say—I can't say, I can't assume what the Dark Lord's next step might be. I simply don't know his true motives. I'm certain that the talk of him being the most powerful Dark Wizard is not an invention."
"You have no idea how 'not an invention' it is," Mr. Malfoy nodded grimly, while Draco's face even brightened a bit. It seems the younger Malfoy is a bit of a fanboy of the Dark Lord. I think a personal encounter with this individual would severely shake Draco's psyche.
"For me, it's an axiom—a wizard's power is equal to their mind. Even if the matter concerns Dark Magic. A wizard bearing the title of Dark Lord, and deservedly so, simply cannot be guided by such petty goals chanted by some fanatics, or those considered the truth by the majority of the population. Take Grindelwald, for example. He, no more and no less, wanted to establish a new world order. On the entire, Mordred damn it, planet! One country, one government, united for all. And without exterminating ordinary people, Muggle-borns, and other nonsense. And after this, someone will say that the Dark Lord wants to exterminate Muggle-borns? That's it? I don't believe it."
"There is sense in your words, Mr. Granger. But the Dark Lord's goals and motives have always been a mystery to everyone," Mr. Malfoy nodded.
"Father..." Draco looked at his father in surprise, because the family had always maintained the legend that they served the Dark Lord under the Imperius Curse. True, what Mr. Malfoy said didn't exactly contradict that legend.
"But, since we're talking about such things," Lucius finished his Butterbeer. "What will you do if the Dark Lord has indeed returned, and if he continues the policies he pursued before his... disappearance."
"Many options. I could temporarily leave the country, or something of that sort. Will I get involved in the fight? No, thank you," I dismissed the thought with a smile. "And I don't recommend it to anyone. Do you know what I learned from Umbridge's example?"
"No, but it seems I'm about to," Mr. Malfoy smirked.
"One man is no warrior in the field. Umbridge had real power. She could have divided us students into different camps, achieving her goal. But we simply didn't fall for it, remaining a unified collective with a common goal. And the harder she pushed, the worse it was for her. The situation here is little different. Alone—a wizard is weak. Yes, you can go and slaughter the undesirables one by one, or even in droves, but sooner or later, you'll be crushed by the mob. You know..."
I leaned back in my chair.
"Nowadays, even ordinary people can fight back. If they set their minds on destroying the Dark Lord and wizards—a couple of targeted nuclear strikes based on a tip-off from wizards, and that's it. A few runes, and nuclear warheads will penetrate the lacunas and hidden territories. It only takes one wizard to simply set such a goal. Will one appear? Undoubtedly. All it takes is backing wizards into a corner. War is stupidity. I'm sure the Dark Lord understands this perfectly well. This goes back to the question of exterminating Mudbloods, ordinary people, and so forth. And once again we arrive at the same question—so what exactly is the Dark Lord's goal?"
"Sometimes I think..." Mr. Malfoy was clearly preparing to end our conversation. "That the Dark Lord wants us all to go bankrupt and the entire wizarding world to kill each other off."
Mr. Malfoy stood up from the table, and Draco and I followed suit.
"Well, Mr. Granger, this was an interesting conversation. Even if many questions remained unasked and unanswered."
"I agree, Mr. Malfoy."
"Draco," he turned to his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You really did a good job securing the victory for your team. Well done."
"Yes, Father." Although the boy tried to look indifferent, copying his father's mannerisms, he was glad to be praised.
Mr. Malfoy placed a few coins on the table to cover our small purchase.
"All the best, Mr. Granger, Draco."
And he left the establishment, walking out the door.
"That was... Weird," Draco watched his father go, and when he walked out, literally collapsed back into his chair. "And what were you even talking about? How did you even arrive at such topics for conversation."
"I have no idea how it happened," I scanned the room for Pansy and Daphne, who were still sitting in the company of Mr. Parkinson, but as soon as the elder Malfoy left the establishment, he also began saying his goodbyes and getting ready to leave. "One word led to another, and here we are, having such conversations."
"My father doesn't talk to me about things like that," Draco frowned.
"He's your father. He already knows what you're thinking and what your opinions are."
"True..."
Students started entering the establishment. Just a couple for now, but it was a signal that lunch at Hogwarts was over, and all the students had set out to have fun.
"Well, done talking?" Daphne and Pansy walked over to us, and Pansy spoke first, with her usual smirk. "And what kind of secrets were you whispering about here, if it's not a secret?"
"Did you even realize what you just said, huh?" Draco arched an eyebrow questioningly, doing a not-very-skilled impression of Snape.
"Stop clowning around, Draco," Pansy waved him off. "It's not working."
"Tsk... Menace."
"It is what it is. Shall we go for a walk?"
"Indeed," Daphne approached, taking my arm. "Pansy's father tells interesting stories, of course..."
"Yeah," Parkinson nodded, "it's just a shame it's the exact same story for the tenth time."
"Well, Malfoy," I looked at the guy, who had already spotted someone entering the establishment. "We're off."
"Yes, yes, go already," he waved us away. "Look, our lot has already arrived, I won't miss you, Granger."
"Mutual, my slippery friend, mutual."
"Pfft," Pansy snorted. "I'm with you."
"Oh, really?" Daphne and I both looked at the girl simultaneously, even tilting our heads slightly at the same time.
"Oh, nightmare, they're already acting in sync!" Pansy exclaimed indignantly. "But that doesn't diminish my resolve! First—sweets. Then—stationery. Then—the clothing shop. They have a gorgeous pink hat there."
"Pink doesn't suit you," Daphne couldn't help but point out.
"Do you really think, friend, that I care?"
And so began another stroll through Hogsmeade. It's just a shame the weather wasn't going to get any better. I wonder, actually, what was the point of all those conversations with Malfoy? No, I understand that he wants to better understand the wizard he promised to assist in various matters, should the need arise, but still... Interesting. Very interesting.
And in the evening, at dinner in the Great Hall, I received a letter via owl—some English businessmen had finally decided to meet and discuss the possibility of trading artifacts in more detail. They are all so... slow. I hope the meeting, scheduled for the eleventh of November, almost a week from now, will be productive. And not a setup. Though, is it worth expecting an honest business approach from wizards with an inflated sense of self-worth? Unlikely.
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