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ACT3CH30 - Blood In The Water
🕑 Added 2023-12-05 15:29:09 +0000 UTCEverything was going according to plan.
It had all been such a brilliant idea. Draco had trusted Chang to get Potter to sign his wealth away, but there was always something that could go wrong in the end. When he had seen Potter bring Greengrass into the mess, Draco inwardly knew that the situation would plummet.
But the way it did… he had never imagined it to happen like that.
Greengrass had outmanoeuvred Chang, forcing both of them into taking the secrecy oath, with Chang promising to give up the evidence while getting absolutely nothing in return. Draco had seen the satisfaction on Greengrass’s face, confident in her utter victory, and the downright insanity and fear on Changs, as she proved exactly why she was such a worthless failure. It was during moments like these that he praised his own intellect — the idea to steal Chang’s memory vial, and put it in his own pocket, to be released before an international audience. Greengrass’s oath had forbidden him from talking or writing about the evidence, but she said nothing about showing the actual memory to others.
And within moments, Fleur Delacour’s reputation would be in pieces, and no one, not even Saint Potter would be able to help her.
“Oh! Merlin! Yes! Harder!”
Draco folded his arms, and grinned at the stupefied audience all around him. They could hear every single one of Delacour’s moans. Every groan. Every grunt. Every heavy, fleshy collision. They could even hear the table whining with every heated thrust. The sounds bounced and reverberated all around the courtyard, bouncing on every spectator’s mind.
His eyes found Potter, and a burst of glee rushed through him, seeing the utter confusion on his face. Maybe they weren't able to see her full face, but surely he could identify her voice? Seeing her aggressively take that french boy should’ve already paralyzed Saint Potter. Draco wondered if Potter’s relationship with the veela would even last the night, and that was assuming the French DMLE even took that long to take the creature under custody.
“What’s going on?” someone asked.
“Iz this some kind of joke?” asked another.
Draco only grinned triumphantly. “Find out for yourself.”
He looked at the growing horror in Pansy’s eyes, followed by the revulsion, and he knew what she was thinking. For all her claims, Pansy was a lightweight. She didn’t have it in her to see true depravity. If seeing the veela have sex with another guy was making her look that revolted, just how was she going to satisfy him, the unchallenged Master, in his own bed?
His gaze then flickered at Greengrass. Daphne looked at him, mischievously, as if conveying a message. And Draco looked at her. There was definitely some kind of weird, heated tension in the crowd that he wasn’t understanding. Daphne gestured to him to look back, telling him that she knew what he was thinking, and confirming his worst fears. He looked at her, his heart sinking, but her expression was one of amusement, and not shame or horror.
If Draco didn’t know better, he’d have thought that something had gone wrong.
Something weird was happening. Something was off.
“I cannot wait for it!”
That sound. A male voice. Very, very familiar. But it couldn’t be —
“This will destroy Potter. He will never see it coming! And I know Greengrass. She will not stand this, and their engagement will break down! HAH!”
Sounds of a hand slapping against raw flesh reverberated all across the courtyard. But that — that was — wasn’t that his voice?
“And Parkinson?”
“She’s like a puppet. My nice little trophy wife. Too eager to please, too eager to destroy her friendship with Greengrass, she’s like a little puppy you keep along for the ride.”
The first dredges of panic arose.
“Merlin, Chang! Did you have to squirt everywhere? You just soiled my robe. I swear if you weren’t helping me rob Greengrass from Potter, I’d have never even touched you.”
His brain went on lockdown. Could it… could it be? No. Oh, Merlin! No! This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be true. Was it — was the projection playing a memory of him and Chang having sex?
Hearing the girl talk in English instead of French should’ve been a clue in itself. He could’ve stopped it right then. If there was any doubt, they were quickly erased as he turned around.
He wished he hadn’t.
It was like watching a seeker fall for a Wronski Feint. You knew that the other guy was going to crashland in the most horrific way possible, but you simply couldn’t look away. Seeing himself standing there, his trousers down to his ankles, enthusiastically rutting with Chang, while blabbering about his plans of stealing Greengrass, about his fantasies about Hermione Granger and Fleur Delacour, about his….
There was a lot of footage. A lot more.
And it got increasingly worse.
A part of him whispered that he needed to stop this, shut this device down. Another part of him was shell-shocked with abject confusion as to why he was seeing a memory of himself and Chang, when it should’ve featured Delacour committing that dastardly deed. The remaining part of him was simply rooted in mindless horror that everyone at the wedding — purebloods of the highest pedigree, guests, politicians, reporters, even his own mother, was watching this happen before their own eyes. He wanted to act immediately, wanted to destroy that damn device, wanted to cast a mass Obliviation on the world and pretend that none of this had happened, but he knew that the Hit-wizards would instantly be all over him if he so much as tried. But most of all, he wondered, just how could his plans go horribly wrong?
But what could he do? WHAT COULD HE DO? WHO COULD’VE DONE THIS TO —
He acted. He raised his wand. And bellowed.
“FINITE INCANTATEM!”
It did nothing. Nothing?
His rage doubled. He would not — could not allow this travesty! He could control this. He raised his wand again, a blasting curse at his lips.
“REDUC—”
Snikt!
His wand was instantly yanked out of his hand, and two more spells slammed into him, binding him with ropes, and dropping him like a sack of potatoes, as two Hit-wizards appeared promptly out of nowhere. Disillusioned, Draco’s addled mind offered. He yelled at them to stop it, to do something — anything — but they didn’t. The feeling of sadness, of rage, the utter feeling of impotence and emasculation… It was too much to take.
Finally, someone did something.
“Finis Ilusio.”
It wasn’t the Hit-wizards. It wasn’t even his mother. It was… that french witch, something something Devereaux. His mother had introduced them earlier. She was — he had seen her talking to Potter earlier.
“Zat,” said the French witch, “was quite ze spectacle, no?”
As if a spell had been cast, the entire crowd sprung into motion. Flashes of light from their cameras went off one after another. There must have been dozens of them. Cameras that belonged to reporters of international news agencies that just saw….
Draco felt a growing wetness beneath his abdomen. The witch twisted her wand, and the bindings fell off, and he stood up, his entire body shaking with cold sweat, his mind blank, as he kept staring at everyone around him. Even his mother was just standing there, like a mannequin, doing nothing.
“This — that was not me,” he managed to speak out.
“Zut! Of course!” came the sceptical response.
“I — I’m telling the truth. I — I had nothing to do with this.”
Why couldn’t they believe him? Why wouldn’t they believe him?
“Ze way it appears, Monsieur Malfoy,” said Devereaux with a smile. “You ‘ad everyzing to do with zis. You played zis memory, no?”
“Really Draco,” drawled Greengrass. “It’s pathetic enough that you fantasise about someone else’s betrothed. But admitting that while in the arms of another? That just pisses a girl off.”
Draco gritted his teeth. Had this been Hogwarts, he could’ve used Madam Umbridge’s help. Or at least Professor Snape. But here, in front of all these people, just how could he possibly….
“I — I really had nothing to do with this. My memory vial was substitute — substituted by that. Yes, that! Someone —” his crazed eyes scoured the audience and centred on Greengrass. The bitch had outmanoeuvred him and Chang, forced them into taking the secrecy oath, and to give up the evidence while getting absolutely nothing in return. The frustration, the downright insanity followed by the submission that preceded Cho’s agreeing to Daphne’s sharp commands, while Draco stayed pinned to the statue, rendered silent through a wandless silencing charm — it was unbearable.
She had beaten them both. And Draco knew it.
How he hated it! But yes, she must have been the one who did it. He was sure of it.
“Greengrass! She switched the memory vial! I’m sure of it! She — she orchestrated this entire thing! I — I’m Draco Malfoy, and she did this to me! I — I want her arrested. I want her arrested RIGHT NOW FOR THIS!”
“Zat iz a very zerious accusation, Monsieur,” said the woman. Turning to Fudge, she said. “Really, Minister Fudge, iz this ze son of your chief supporter, ze Malfoi?”
That jerked the man up into action. “This — this is all a misunderstanding,” said Fudge, who had just realised that standing with Malfoy’s support also meant taking hits when the family’s name suffered. “Just a silly prank, no doubt.”
“As much as I’d like to believe that’s the case, Senor Fudge,” claimed the Spanish Minister of Magic. “I’m forced to accept the situation as it is. I doubt the child planned to reveal his… privates out for the world to see, but it is still the truth.”
“This! This is all a lie! I’m being set up!” yelled Draco.
“By whom, you duplicitous windbag?” demanded Pansy Parkinson, shocking Draco completely.
“Pansy —”
“Don’t Pansy me,” yelled the girl. Her knees were shaking. “We are to be wed, Draco. We were supposed to be true to each other. I knew you wanted Daphne, but you promised — you promised that you wouldn’t touch anyone until we were married. You promised that I’d be your first. And you — You — you sanctimonious sonofabitch —”
She slowly stepped back.
“Pansy!” Draco screamed out. How did things go so wrong? “Pansy! Hold on! I can — I can explain!”
“You — you have been fucking that slag Chang all this time behind my back, haven’t you? I — I broke my friendship with Daphne for you, I drew lines between us and did everything you wanted because I thought you loved me and you… you —” She put her hand over her mouth, as if nauseous.
“Pansy —”
“How could you, Draco? I’m just a useless puppy for you, is it? It was about Daphne, always. And then about that veela. Even that Gryffindor mudblood. I — I just can’t believe this! I sowed discord between Daphne and Potter on your commands, and you — you’re a sick bastard! I — I did everything you wanted me to do, but in the end, you never cared one bit for me, did you?”
“Pansy! You don’t understand,” Draco said, stepping down the dais towards Pansy who was stepping away out of instinct. Her father Quintus and mother Eleanor were already stepping in between, bodily shielding their daughter from him, their faces cold and judgemental.
“I — I loved you, Draco! How could you do this to me?” pansy sobbed, her body shivering.
“Pansy!” Draco panicked. “Pansy, look, I’m sorry! I — I didn't mean to.”
“To what? To fuck Chang? Did you dick just accidentally fall into her cunt? Merlin, I guess I shouldn’t have kept talking about how Potter mooned over that slag Chang last year. But that’s what you’re always about, isn’t it? Taking what Potter wants, you sick fuck?” She spat out. “Well, guess what, Draco? Potter ended up stealing Daphne right under your nose, and you did nothing, because you can do nothing. You’re a loser, a wimp that is nothing without Daddy helping him out.”
“I will not have you talk about me that way,” Draco yelled, all panic blown away by the rage that tore through at her words. “I’m Draco Malfoy and I —”
“Are nothing! Because you can be nothing! Can do nothing! You’re nothing more than a sick, cold-hearted bastard that only had me because your Daddy got that for you.” Her voice went down into an almost-whisper. “Well guess what, Draco, Daddy will hear of this. He will hear it from every news tabloid out there, how his son messed up!”
“Pansy…” Draco begged, trying to get to his sobbing fiancee.
“Don’t come any closer,” snapped Pansy, glaring daggers, stepping back even further. “Go back to your slag. She could’ve had Potter, but she got greedy and went for Diggory, and when Diggory died like a little bitch, she slept with you to get Potter back! You two losers deserve each other!”
“Panys, please, listen to me—”
“Go fuck yourself, Draco!” Pansy screamed. “I don’t ever want to fucking see you again, you piece of shit! I — I’ll leave Hogwarts if needed. I — I —” She pulled her betrothed ring, one that Draco had put on her when they were five, and threw it at him. It hit his shirt and fell down to the grassy floor. Sobbing, Pansy ran away.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Draco,” said Quintus Parkinson. “My daughter was obsessed with you, and you…”
“We’re done,” said his wife, giving Quintus a glare. “End this thing, now. I’m done.”
“Quintus, Eleanor,” said Narcissa, swiftly walking up. Draco saw his mother stride up to the Parkinsons and try to convince them otherwise, but from the constant shaking of heads, there was no patching things up any time soon. Finally, she staggered back, and Quintus coldly glared at Draco.
“Tell your dad we’re through. My lawyers will see him soon.”
And with that, he spun around, his wife following shortly behind. Narcissa stayed behind, looking like she wanted to either apparate away, or have the earth swallow her whole, than to face the humiliation. Finally, she turned towards Draco and hissed.
“Enough with this nonsense! Come’n, walk with me. Now!”
Easier said than done. Mother wouldn’t understand. She didn’t face those stony faces. She didn’t have her naked form projected in front of the world audience. She didn’t feel the shame and humiliation of seeing his pride get crushed and seep out of his fingers like sand.
“No— No,” he babbled.
“Draco,” Mother hissed. “Come with me, right now. Your father will take care of this. The lawyers —”
“Yes, Draco,” said Potter. The infuriating bastard. He was strolling up to him, hand in hand with the Greengrass bitch. “Listen to your mother. You’ve already revealed enough.”
“I — This is your doing! This is your doing! I know it!”
“Oh really?” Greengrass, the crafty bitch, laughed callously. “You've got some nerve, Malfoy. You just got caught rutting with Chang in front of… well, everyone. Oh, and talking about your fantasies about me, and Delacour. And this is somehow our fault?”
“YES!” said Draco. “You did this! You did this to — to —”
He kept trying to speak, but an invisible force clenched his throat. The Vow! He realised in horror, as a strangled cough escaped his throat. The Secrecy Vow would not allow him to say anything even remotely connected to the secret.
“Really?” drawled Elizabeth Rosier, sister to the bride. “That’s what you’re angling for, after everyone here’s seen you plotting against Potter, Greengrass and Delacour, while rutting with Chang of all people?”
Her eyes were filled with smug satisfaction, Draco wondered if she too hated him. Rosier had supported Greengrass over himself in the House Assembly, and she had been the one to invite Greengrass and Potter to the wedding. Rosier was one step away from sucking Potter off, just like those jackals that were wagging their tongues to incur Potter’s favour. BItch had forgotten that Lucius Malfoy led the Dark Alliance all these years. The basilisk money or not, Black Lordship or not, Lucius Malfoy had all the power. But he’d teach them. His father would teach them a lesson when he heard about this.
His eyes scoured through the crowd and centred on Delacour.
“It — it wasn’t my fault!” He yelled. “It was the veela. She made me do it.”
“What is zis nonsense?” Said another French woman that looked just as much if not more sensual than Delacour. A goddess on earth. The veela’s cousin perhaps?
“She’s — she’s so beautiful,” Draco went on. “She enchanted me at Hogwarts with her allure. She’s approached me so many times over the last months, complaining about how Greengrass was stealing Potter away from her. I just wanted to impress her. I’d — I’d do anything to get close to her. She’s an angel. It’s like — like she’s trapped me with her allure.”
The French veela glared at him, but Draco didn’t care.. The crowd was still watching. Vultures all of them, but he knew how to use them in his favour. Minister Fudge too was proving why his father gave him so much time. Even Mother had jumped on that straw and was using it to twist the situation.
“Really Malfoy, that’s the best you can come up with?” Potter asked out loud. “My father was a weak-willed idiot that got turned into a Death Eater excuse? Guess I was right. It’s really all about blood and poor breeding.”
“Watch your tongue, Potter, you filthy son of a —” Draco began, but a glare from his mother shut him down.
“Clearly my son wasn’t at fault in this,” She claimed. “The girl’s a veela that has been prancing around at Hogwarts. Knowing that Potter is betrothed to Greengrass.”
“I’ve not been anywhere close to that cochon,” snapped Delacour. Draco did his best impression to look star-struck and enchanted by her allure. It wasn’t exactly difficult. She often featured in his nightly dreams. Half the time he was with Cho, he fantasised Delacour in her position.
“Are you certain of that?” Mother butted in again. “You’re already of age, and yet you’ve enthralled young Mr. Potter who’s clearly younger than you.”
Draco saw Potter about to react, but Greengrass stopped him. Before he could even wonder why, the French veela from earlier voiced. “Madame Malfoy, zis isn’t L'Angleterre, and not your Wizengamot. Zis is Spain. You understand, Oui?”
Mother stiffened. As did several other people. Draco scowled. He hated it when he missed the subtext.
“It’s the truth. That veela enchanted me. Why else would I go after Diggory’s widow? I’m betrothed to Pansy Parkinson, so why would I want to go after Potter’s seconds?”
“So… you’re telling me that Fleur, a veela, is making you fuck Diggory’s widow?”
The question had come, surprisingly so, from Potter. Draco had expected him to lose his shit and react out with that Gryffindorish pride. Instead, he had… this.
And the effect was just that devastating.
“I — yes,” stammered Malfoy. “She’s a succubus. Who knows what or how her twisted mind thinks?”
Again, Potter didn’t react. Instead he turned to the Spanish Minister of Magic. “I apologise, Minister Pizarro. Draco here just doesn’t know how to deal with this, and is lashing out to pass blame on whoever comes to his mind. Lady Santos, Lady Devereaux, I apologise. Please do not let this… unfortunate incident marr your opinion about us Britishers.”
“It’s not your fault, Senor Potter,” began the Spanish Minister. “Though I am quite surprised that your Minister is still supporting this… liar.” he gave Minister Fudge a dark look. “That brat slandered House Potter and Greengrass —”
“And Delacour,” snipped the French veela. “My lawyers will be stabbing zem with defamation lawsuits ze moment I get home.”
Draco looked around for support, panic rising within him. He knew defamation suits. His father often used it to drive weaklings out of business.
“Defamation?” asked Minister Fudge, alarmed.
“Oui,” said Devereaux. “‘Ouse Malfoi ‘as slandered ‘Ouse Delacour. A lawsuit, or a duel, to ze death.”
This woman was getting more and more dangerous by the second. And as if things weren’t worse enough, Potter had to open his blasted mouth again.
“If House Delacour wishes it,” said the smarmy bastard. “Then I, on behalf of House Potter and Greengrass, would offer to be your Champion for this duel, Lady Delacour.”
Delacour sent him a proud look. And the other veela, likely her mother, nodded graciously, before throwing a sweeping look at the audience, before finally settling on the Spanish Minister. “Zat will do, Oui? Zis is España, not ‘L'Angleterre.”
“What?” asked Draco, absolutely confused. “Why would that matter? I’m a citizen of Wizarding Britain.”
“But you did this on Spanish grounds,” spat Rosier.
“Indeed,” said the Minister, feeling emboldened by the support. “As this has happened on Spanish grounds, our nation’s laws hold priority. As the aggrieved party, both ladies are allowed to select between filing a defamation lawsuit against House Malfoy; settle matters with a duel between them with the terms defined by the aggrieved party; have Mr. Malfoy to serve them for a period of at least one year, or compensate monetarily for his actions.”
“Now see here,” stammered Fudge. “This is all an overreaction. Pensieve memories are not accepted as evidence in court.”
“In Wizarding Britain perhaps,” shot the Spanish Minister. “Here in the República Mágica de España, Pensieve memories are perfectly acceptable evidence, so long as they’re backed by veritasero.”
“Zere is always ze option of a lawsuit,” suggested Delacour’s mother who looked like she wanted nothing less than to bleed the Malfoy fortune dry.
“Or an honour duel,” suggested Potter. “Believe it or not, Malfoy challenged me to one recently. Thanks for teaching that to me, Draco.”
Mother was giving them all withering glares. And that included him. Draco winced as he remembered that everything, even death and maiming were acceptable outcomes of an honour duel. But this was Potter. He was Dumbledore’s stooge. He didn’t have it in him to kill.
Yes, that was perfect.
He sneered at Potter. “I choose the duel. I’ll fight you whenever You — Ghhh!”
He tried to speak, but found himself at the mercy of a gagging charm, this time cast by Mother herself. The Hit-wizards were instantly on alert, their wands pointed at his mother, who looked utterly unfazed. “No. You’re not fighting Harry Potter, Draco. Have you forgotten what happened the last time?”
“Mother —” said Draco, cancelling his gag with his own wand. Clearly the no-wands rule had been pushed under the rag. “I can take him. I can —”
“You can’t,” Narcissa hissed. “Did you forget what he did to all those people earlier?”
Potter groaned. “The only time I get some respect, it gets pushed into fear-mongering. Oh well, isn’t there a saying about it being better to be feared than respected?”
“Careful dear,” said Greengrass with a fake giggle. “Or people will be saying that you’re trying to be the next Dark Lord.”
“Yeah, Riddle might take offence to that.”
Draco was already thinking ahead to even bother commenting. Seeing the Parkinsons break pact like that was nothing short of damning. Mother had all but declared him weak by refusing Potter’s challenge so openly. Everyone seeing him make out with Diggory’s widow was equally mortifying. Being rammed with so many defamation suits from so many Houses on Spanish grounds would be equally crippling. And if that wasn’t enough, when the news hit home, House Malfoy's reputation would be hit hard.
There was blood in the water, and the sharks were all over him. He couldn’t deal with this by himself. And neither could Mother.
He needed his father. He would know what to do. He always did. Father was a great man after all.
“I — I need to talk to my father —”
“Oh don’t worry, Draco,” said a sadistic Daphne Greengrass. “I’m sure your Daddy has already heard about this.”
Comments
TigerSwarm9122
Damn! That was one of the most amusing chapter I have ever read regarding this story! Draco had just got royally spanked by several high ranking individuals and exposed as the weak frightened child that he really is.
FicFinder
If anyone from Britain ever called themselves a Britisher they’d get laughed out of the room…. or called a cunt xD
