"There's no need to compare Mr. Malfoy to You-Know-Who, Minerva," Snape interjected, his voice carrying a distinct metallic edge. "Arcturus Malfoy is not a Dark Lord! Their motives and characters are fundamentally different."
"Severus, don't forget what his father was," McGonagall parried, throwing Snape a quick, meaningful, condescending glance. "And who else was…"
She almost directly called Severus Snape a Death Eater and only held back at the last moment out of respect for the complex role he had played during the war. But the hint was clear as day. Snape paled and grew even angrier — and he had been pale since childhood. His fingers clenched into fists, hidden in the folds of his robes. He understood everything and silently swallowed this reminder.
"We should not judge children for the sins of their fathers," Dumbledore raised his hand, stopping the argument between the two professors.
His voice carried an unshakeable conviction that silenced both sides. Then, he began his monologue, imbuing each word with his wisdom and deep understanding of the issue.
"I have just spoken with young Malfoy. And I saw in him something that never was and never could have been in Tom Riddle. A sincere, albeit hidden behind a wall of snobbery and family conditioning, concern for his comrades. A desire not to divide, but to unite — albeit in his own, very peculiar way. He is concerned with the well-being of his house, not a thirst for personal power. He is absorbed by magic, by knowledge, not by finding ways to subjugate others."
He looked at Minerva, making it clear that this was the end of it and she should not object.
"I ask you, Minerva, to set aside your prejudices. Watch him, of course. As you should all students. But without bias. The boy deserves a chance to prove he will not repeat the sins of others. And he certainly will not become You-Know-Who, if we do not pressure him. On that, I believe, we can end this."
His tone left no room for discussion. Snape had agreed from the start. McGonagall, who usually would argue in such situations, merely snorted but ultimately agreed. Just like back then, on the night of November 1st, 1981, when they left an infant with a scar on his forehead on a doorstep.
However, if McGonagall had seen the violations herself, she would have insisted on punishment. The fact of creating a kind of extracurricular club where a closed group of students gathered to discuss something was not prohibited by the school charter.
"You may go," Dumbledore said, and his smile became serene once more.
When the door closed behind them for the second time, Albus Dumbledore's smile slowly faded. Dumbledore needed to think, and he needed to think a lot.
For Dumbledore, of course, knew the boy had lied. That same "sincere" attempt to justify himself, the embarrassment and youthful ardor… a pure performance that others might not have seen through, but due to his experience in this matter, Albus saw these attempts. Young Malfoy was trying to appear an innocent idealist, but he was overacting.
Experience measured by nearly a century of intrigue and deceit, coupled with innate perceptiveness honed in thousands of conversations with a wide variety of people, allowed him, Albus, to catch the slightest notes of falsehood. And this was even without the aid of Legilimency, which he, of course, would not use crudely. Perhaps… with barely perceptible touches, to sense the overall emotional background and read surface thoughts, but pulling that off with the heir to an ancient and noble house, whose mind possessed a very strong natural defense, was a difficult and nearly impossible task for any Legilimens.
The Headmaster recalled Sirius Black in his youth, whose mind was also a fortress; it was then that Albus realized that even his advanced skills were insufficient for such subtle mental games against centuries of heredity.
However, while pondering, Dumbledore kept catching on to inconsistencies at the end of their private conversation. When Arcturus spoke honestly and without deceit, about his goals for uniting the house, and then mentioned his father… it seemed there was more to it than just playing to expectations, and Dumbledore believed the boy, but something scratched at his consciousness.
The heir of Lucius Malfoy knew how to create a mixture of truth and lies that was the most dangerous and the most interesting. But a fourteen-year-old boy, even incredibly intelligent and cunning, would hardly have thought to construct such a multi-layered deception: first skillful lies, but not so skillful as to be able to deceive the Headmaster, and then a more refined layer, protected from exposure by the previously shown level of lies that Dumbledore had seen through. No, that couldn't be a calculation of that level!
Dumbledore did not want to believe it and tried to dismiss such foolish thoughts, for it must have been simply the natural behavior of a bright, contradictory mind that lies but cannot fully hide its motives.
Dumbledore decided that at the end, young Malfoy had been honest, even if he had slightly flattered the Headmaster. In any case, it was no longer that important. The main thing was that Lucius had not been able to completely occupy his son's mind and opinion. There was fertile ground there. And into that ground, other seeds could be sown.
Ideas persistently sounded in Dumbledore's head that there was a good chance to raise him properly. To wrest him from his father's clutches and channel his mind, his ambitions, his undeniable strength in the right direction.
He simply needed to invite him to tea more often, take an interest in his progress, gently guide his reading and his interests.
Yes, this would require time and attention from the Headmaster. And also frequent, confidential conversations. He could make him his… protégé. But was this the first time the Headmaster had pulled something like this? Of course not.
"He is smarter than Sirius was at his age. Colder and more cautious… he will be both more difficult and easier to handle simultaneously," Dumbledore thought. More difficult because he could not be so easily emotionally attached and given the right friends. And easier because with such a mind, one could speak the same language without embellishment.
But the Headmaster would be even busier, within a year. So he dismissed the thought for the moment. All because, within a year, Harry Potter would be starting school. The Headmaster would have to spend extra time on the future protégé. And for others, less important, there would certainly not be enough time.
It was then that the Headmaster realized he no longer knew what to do with Lucius's son. If he didn't take Arcturus under his wing now and try to turn him in the right direction… he could become, if not a second Tom Riddle — no, something else. Something more dangerous than his father. A cold and calculating, brilliantly educated leader who would build his power so firmly that it could not be shattered. And that was something the Headmaster did not need at all.
Dumbledore decided to prepare the ground, for he already doubted he could free Sirius by the end of the year. Lucius and his supporters were proving too adept at throwing spanners in the works. Fudge was turning out not to be as pliable as he had initially thought, but that was nothing terrible, for Albus had already decided on a gambit during the next full Wizengamot session on the Sirius Black case.
Meanwhile, the Headmaster decided, just in case, to spend time on young Arcturus, for if the final hearing dragged on until next year, it would be wonderful to alienate Arcturus from his father.
Yes, Albus was short on time as it was, with Sirius's retrial looming, but until the end of the school term, he was prepared to forgo sleep. And then the value of the heir to two noble houses would either diminish by half or remain, and only then would it be worth considering.
"It will be better this way. For him, for the school, and for the greater good!" Dumbledore convinced himself, watching the dancing flames in the office fireplace.
The Headmaster decided to give Arcturus what the boy had been missing: understanding, trust, and an alternative path. And he would choose his side. He must choose the light!
True, only the Headmaster and his supporters considered this side "light."
Albus Dumbledore, the great manipulator who deceived the best politicians and aristocrats, was at this moment deceiving himself as well, sincerely believing that he was doing it all solely for the greater good, and for the boy's good, whom he had just dismissed with a light heart and a hidden hope. And deep, deep down, beneath all the layers of noble motivation, lurked the cold calculation of an old spider, accustomed to eliminating threats before they could raise their heads. And this spider had decided to hedge his bets, in case he failed to free Sirius.
For no matter how naive Dumbledore had pretended to be today, he understood that Arcturus Malfoy had ambitions commensurate with being the heir to two noble houses, and Lucius would certainly insist on not fully accepting the headship of the house, instead appointing a temporary regent. And that would definitely not please his son.
The Headmaster, who would be kind to him at school and, at the right moment, would be right there — as befits the Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengamot — to offer advice in a difficult time.
Thus, Dumbledore could, if not gain the entire inheritance immediately, at least move it all to a neutral field, where he would have a greater advantage than Lucius. And then, he could appoint the freed Sirius as regent, as long as young Malfoy was on his side.
The situation was somewhat reminiscent of the one he had woven for Sirius in his youth, and the fate of both claimants to the House of Black was thus even more ironic.
But the old spider, in his advanced age, did not notice that Arcturus Corvus Armand Malfoy was counting on precisely this outcome, in order to free himself from all the bonds his relatives and non-relatives had woven around him, and become what he was born to be.
***
December 12th, 1990.
The week started worse than the previous one. After Saturday's private conversation with Dumbledore, everything turned upside down. Sunday was merely a respite before it all began. On Monday, after Potions, where, by the way, Amanda and I had received another "Outstanding," Snape kept me behind for a talk. Everyone around was certainly praying to Merlin, especially considering the rumors surrounding the "Slytherin Council" affair and my summons to the Headmaster. Such things happened very rarely.
The Weasley twins, who were in their second year, drove all their peers and the first-years crazy with their pranks, yet they had never been summoned to the Headmaster. Only my close circle knew that nothing serious had happened, and we had discussed this at the Council.
I reassured everyone and simply explained what and how we would do next. Of course, under the watchful eyes of the professors and my ill-wishers, we decided to quiet down, and the recruitment of first-years stalled — well, the semi-secret recruitment. But indirect recruitment, through those first-years we had already managed to bind to us, continued, but it was slow, and due to the limited information flow, it couldn't even be called recruitment. The first-years were simply subjugating others to later be woven into the Council's system.
Meanwhile, other Slytherin years had begun to actively take an interest in us and our affairs, and some even hinted at joining us. But no. I would not let older students in — the risk of discord was too high.
And so, on the one hand, McGonagall's actions led to our quieting down, but on the other hand, certainly not to the dissipation of the rumors circulating around Hogwarts. In fact, it attracted even more attention, especially when we brushed off questions with the simple statement that the "Slytherin Council" no longer existed.
In the end, Snape reprimanded me in his typical… belittling style. Then he warned that on his watch, I was the first to have so disgraced Slytherin with such audacity and stupidity. Although the latter was just for show — because within the framework of Slytherin, I had done nothing reprehensible… except that I was exposed, but that was due to the scale. However, within Professor McGonagall's framework, I had apparently become a villain.
She must have been told a great deal, and what they didn't know, they made up and told. So she looked at me with a disapproving gaze for two lessons in a row on Tuesday.
But that was tolerable. The constant looks from McGonagall and losing points for any little movement was still bearable. Even her ignoring me when I tried to answer a question by raising my hand was bearable. Answering without raising my hand immediately lost a point.
What truly infuriated me was the morning before Transfiguration. After my training session in the Room of Requirement, near the stairs on that floor, Dumbledore was waiting for me, just like when he stole my poor Map.
Firstly, yes, I had started visiting the Room of Requirement again, because I needed a place for proper training, and I missed it terribly. Secondly, I wanted to try even harder to find the Diadem, even though I didn't know what I would do if I found it.
But I thought it over and realized I didn't know what to do. Unfortunately, there was no way to absorb the Horcrux or steal its power; this wasn't a fanfic, after all.
A Horcrux is generally something best not approached, especially if it's the Horcrux of an intelligent person who knows Malevolence. So the only thing I could do was hide it somewhere to easily find it later, once I had a way to safely transport and store it… or destroy it. Although the latter was unlikely, because according to my current plans, the Horcrux would more likely be a bargaining chip or a joker for extreme cases… a very unpleasant joker for someone.
I also quickly remembered that Dumbledore could be watching me even in that pile of junk in the Room of Requirement, so I decided to stop the pointless search and focus only on training. No matter how much you watched training, you wouldn't find anything condemnable.
And so, I'm walking out calmly, going through the corridors towards the stairs, and good old Grandpa Dumbledore, smiling, meets me literally in the same spot. And how am I supposed to react to that!? At that moment, of course, I was quite furious, especially when during the conversation he again said "my boy." What, was I his Harry Potter version 0.5!? Let him wait for his orphan! And I would have said so, but I have some intelligence, so I endured.
Then he suggested we go down to breakfast together… TOGETHER! My attempts to plead friends again failed, because he said he wanted to talk to me.
In short, many students that day could observe the strange sight of the Headmaster chatting with me as we went down to breakfast. It was hard to imagine, because I had never before seen him move between floors via the stairs!
He mentioned this, by the way, saying he hadn't walked the moving staircases in a long time, and then, with a wave of his hand, he turned a staircase that had been trying to change direction at the last moment. He even laughed, saying that back in his school days, it really annoyed him that the stairs had "personality" and always turned where you didn't need them to.
As we walked to the Great Hall for breakfast, he talked about literally everything. He even expressed thoughts about needing to buy some lemon drops. We also discussed the marvels of the castle — a conversation I supported, gratefully recalling the book "One Thousand and One Facts about Hogwarts Castle," by the way, from the same publisher that released other books with the loud title "1001..." just fill in the blank.
Only at the end of the walk did he ask me if everything was alright in my lessons, to which I, of course, said everything was fine, although Professor McGonagall was deducting an excessive number of points from us. At which the old bastard just laughed. Oh Merlin, please give me more patience! I beg you!
But the terrible week didn't end there, because this morning the Headmaster caught me near the stairs again… Aaaaaaah! I hate it! I especially hate it when he switches from the polite "Mr. Malfoy" to "my boy" and then back again. With each passing day, I became more convinced that this couldn't go on. Because besides the interest of all of Hogwarts, including the Headmaster, I hadn't gotten rid of the heightened "love" for my person from my ill-wishers. Namely, a motley crew led by the Head Boy, and the Slytherins in it were really needling me as they passed by, taking advantage of the fact that I was helpless under the increased attention from all sides. Oh, they clearly weren't afraid of a response… well, today I would fix that. They might expect me to snap, but they shouldn't hold their breath.
I couldn't do anything to them myself, and neither could my Council, because I tried not to publicize the Council members. They had fallen out of the spotlight, since no one had really spilled the beans on their identities, but the Rings could give them away, even though only the recruits knew about that sign.
So I had to act quietly, not to draw attention to them. Now I had a backup plan that had popped into my head on Saturday during my private conversation with Dumbledore. But it was for an extreme case, when I realized it was the best way to break free from this cocoon… but it all depended on the actions of Dumbledore and the motley crew of my ill-wishers.
And in this situation, I knew someone who could, alone and openly, explain that you can't torment a poor, defenseless third-year student like that. Yes, I was simply snitching. But they started it!
"So what are these two called?" Merula asked after I had complained about the trap I'd fallen into.
We were walking to the Slytherin common room after a long and extremely exhausting training session, and I had found a way to put two people in their place, while simultaneously testing Merula Snyde's willingness to do something for me, for nothing.
"Corvin Rookwood and his friend Crone."