—[
The roar of the crowd was a distant sound, a constant, muffled thunder reaching the Astronomy Tower like the echo of a storm on another continent.
"GRYFFINDOR! GRYFFINDOR!"
Draco Malfoy leaned against the cold iron railing, his back to the Quidditch pitch that looked tiny hundreds of feet below. The November wind ruffled his platinum hair, but he didn't flinch.
"Opium for the masses," he muttered, listening as the stadium erupted in cheers for a Keeper save.
While the rest of the school screamed for a leather ball, Draco held something infinitely more valuable in his hands.
It was a long, dense parchment, filled with moving anatomical diagrams and columns of text in an archaic calligraphy that the System had automatically translated and compiled.
[FILE: BLOOD CURSE (MALEDICTUS)][Subject: Astoria Greengrass.][Status: Degenerative - Phase 2.][Prognosis without intervention: Systemic collapse in 38 months.][Suggested Action: Runic Magic Treatment.]
Draco reviewed the data with the coldness of a coroner. There was no pity in his eyes, only calculation. Astoria Greengrass was an innocent girl, yes, but on the chessboard, she was the King keeping the Ice Queen in check.
"Draco."
The voice cut through the freezing wind.
Draco rolled up the parchment with a fluid motion and tucked it into the inner pocket of his robes before turning around.
Daphne Greengrass stood in the tower's archway. She wore a grey wool winter cloak with the Slytherin crest in silver, and her arms were crossed over her chest in a perfect defensive posture. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun that accentuated her aristocratic cheekbones.
She was beautiful, in that untouchable and fragile way ice statues are.
"You're punctual," Draco said, offering a slight inclination of his head.
"I'm annoyed," she corrected, walking toward the railing but maintaining a safe distance of three meters. "The whole school is watching the match. Slytherin is winning. And you summon me up here with a cryptic note about 'the future of our House'."
Daphne stopped and looked at him with her blue eyes, cold and calculating.
"If this is a courtship attempt, Malfoy, it's abysmal. I'm not impressed by the view, nor the mystery, and I don't believe Pansy's delusions about you killing the Troll."
Draco let out a soft, dry laugh.
"Courtship implies I have to convince you of my romantic worth, Daphne. And believe me, I have no interest in chasing you."
He pushed off the railing and walked toward an old work table in the center of the tower, covered in stardust and celestial maps. He leaned against it, crossing his ankles.
"We are here because the castle is empty. Because there are no prying ears. And because what we are going to discuss is worth more than the House Cup."
Daphne arched a brow, skeptical.
"Oh, really? And what is worth more than Slytherin's honor?"
Draco looked her in the eye, dropping the mask of cordiality.
"Blood, Daphne. Specifically, the blood rotting inside your little sister."
The effect was immediate.
Daphne's posture broke. Her arms fell to her sides. Her face lost its color, turning as white as marble.
"What did you say?" she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fury and panic. "How dare you...?"
"Save your indignation," Draco cut in, pulling out the parchment again but not opening it. "We are not here to play secrets. The entire inner circle knows the Greengrasses are hiding something. People say Astoria is 'frail.' That she has a 'delicate constitution'."
Draco took a step toward her. Daphne stepped back instinctively, hitting the railing.
"But you and I know the truth," Draco continued, relentless. "We know it's not the flu. We know the healers at St. Mungo's have been charging you fortunes for palliative potions that don't work."
"Shut up," Daphne hissed, her eyes filling with tears of rage. "You know nothing. It is a private matter. If you mention Astoria again..."
"I will tell you exactly what I know," Draco said, raising the parchment like a death sentence. "And when I finish, you will decide if you want to keep watching Quidditch or if you want to save her."
The roar of the stadium rose in volume again in the distance, celebrating a goal, but in the tower, the silence was absolute and terrifying.
The tower was freezing, but the temperature dropped ten degrees more when Draco started speaking. He was no longer using the tone of a classmate; he was using the tone of a surgeon reading an autopsy before the patient had died.
Draco didn't open the parchment. He didn't need to. The System projected the data in bright blue text directly over Daphne's trembling figure, turning her into an open book of family secrets.
"You say I know nothing," Draco began, taking a slow step around the work table, circling her like a shark. "Let's test that hypothesis."
Daphne clenched her jaw, knuckles white on the railing.
"If you say one more word, I swear I'll hex you so..."
"Patient: Astoria Greengrass," Draco interrupted, his voice monotone and clinical. "Born December 8, 1982. First symptoms manifested at age five: spontaneous bruising on the lower limbs unresponsive to Dittany."
Daphne froze. Her mouth snapped shut.
Draco continued, counting on his fingers.
"At age seven, Healer-in-Charge Hippocrates Smethwyck of St. Mungo's was consulted in secret. Official diagnosis: 'Constitutional weakness.' Real diagnosis: Blood Malediction, Strain 4-B."
Daphne spun toward him, eyes wide.
"That... that is confidential information. Smethwyck made an Unbreakable Vow..."
"Vows protect against betrayal, Daphne, not against omniscience," Draco said coldly. "But let's continue. The details get worse."
He stopped two steps from her.
"Astoria doesn't sleep well, does she? She wakes up, almost religiously, between 3:15 and 3:30 in the morning. She screams that her legs are burning. She says it feels like her bone marrow is molten lead."
Daphne's breathing became erratic. That was a detail that never left Greengrass Manor. Not even the house-elves knew; only the direct family who ran to her room to soothe her with analgesic potions.
"And speaking of potions," Draco proceeded ruthlessly, "her body has started rejecting the Blood-Replenishing Potion. The last time you gave it to her, three weeks ago, she vomited black bile for two hours. Your parents said it was an 'allergic reaction'."
Draco leaned toward her, lowering his voice to a confidential whisper.
"It wasn't an allergy. It was Etheric Necrosis. Her magical channels are collapsing. The potion tried to replenish blood, but her cursed veins attacked it as if it were poison."
Daphne was visibly trembling now. Tears pooled in her eyes, not from sadness, but from pure terror. It was as if Draco had been invisible at her sister's bedside for years.
"And finally... the mark."
Draco gestured vaguely to his own lower back.
"She has a discoloration on the fourth lumbar vertebra. At first, it looked like a mole. Now it looks like a rune, right? An inverted Uruz rune. Your mother applies a glamour charm every morning so Astoria doesn't see it in the mirror, because the mark is spreading upward, toward her kidneys."
Daphne let out a broken sob, bringing a hand to her mouth.
"Stop... please, stop..."
"The healers told you she would make it to twenty if she avoided magical stress," Draco said, ignoring her plea, driving the final nail into the coffin of her denial. "They lied to you. They did it to keep charging you fees and to give you a false peace."
Draco activated the System's final projection in his mind, reading the death prognosis.
"At the current rate of cellular and magical degeneration, her kidneys will fail next winter. Then the liver. The curse toxin will reach the brain before Christmas of 1993."
He took one more step, eliminating the physical distance.
"Astoria will be dead at fourteen, Daphne. And she will die screaming."
Daphne collapsed.
Her legs gave way and she dropped to her knees on the cold stone floor of the tower, covering her face with her hands. The mask of the "Ice Queen" had evaporated. What remained was a terrified big sister who had just heard the death sentence of the person she loved most in the world, confirmed by someone who knew too many details to be lying.
Draco looked down at her. There was no triumph on his face, only the satisfaction of an architect watching the foundations give way exactly where he planned.
"Now tell me," Draco said softly. "Does the Quidditch match still seem important to you?"
—[
The Astronomy Tower became a frozen confessional. The distant roar of the crowd celebrating the capture of the Golden Snitch rang hollow, irrelevant in the face of the silent tragedy unfolding on the stone floor.
Daphne Greengrass, the untouchable Ice Queen of Slytherin, was broken.
Draco watched Daphne for a long moment. He didn't mock her. He didn't smile in triumph. He simply waited for the reality of Astoria's imminent death to finish settling into her bones.
When Daphne's sobs turned into ragged, silent breathing, Draco moved.
He crouched in front of her, ignoring the dust on the floor against his tailored robes. He pulled out his silk handkerchief—a clean one; he always had a clean one—and offered it to her.
"Dry off," he ordered softly. "A Greengrass does not cry where just anyone can see her. Even if 'anyone' is me."
Daphne looked up. Her blue eyes were red, mascara slightly smudged, ruining her usual perfection. She looked at the handkerchief as if it were a peace offering and took it with trembling fingers. She wiped her face with jerky movements, trying to reassemble her armor, though it was useless. She was already naked before him.
"You said..." her voice cracked, and she had to swallow to continue. "You said the healers lied. Does that mean... there is a cure?"
Draco didn't answer immediately. He extended his hand, palm up.
"Get up, Daphne. I do not make deals with people on their knees. At least, not yet."
She looked at his hand. It was pale, elegant, but Daphne now knew that hand had killed a Troll and held her family's medical secrets. She grabbed it. Draco pulled her up with surprising strength, steadying her when her legs threatened to fail.
"There is no 'cure' in the traditional sense," Draco said, not letting go of her hand, keeping her in his gravitational orbit. "The Blood Malediction is genetic. It is woven into her DNA. You cannot simply erase it with a potion."
Daphne felt the world crashing down on her again.
"Then... then you just wanted to torture me with the truth?"
"I said there was no traditional cure," Draco corrected, bringing his face closer to hers. "But my lineage has access to knowledge the Ministry considers... forgotten. Blood Alchemy. Etheric Restructuring."
Draco's eyes shone with the blue reflection of the System.
"I can stop the degeneration. I can build a magical dam inside her to contain the curse. Astoria will not die at fourteen. She will live. She will be able to marry. She will be able to have children. She will be able to grow old."
Hope is a dangerous thing. Draco watched it bloom in Daphne's eyes, violent and desperate.
"Can you do it?" she whispered, grabbing the lapels of his robes. "Do you swear?"
"I have the knowledge," Draco confirmed. "And I have the power."
"Anything," Daphne blurted out, desperation overriding her pride. "I'll give you anything. My vault at Gringotts. My mother's jewels. I have a dowry..."
Draco let out a short, cold laugh, releasing her hand to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers.
"Oh, Daphne. You are so... transactional. Do you think I need your gold? We Malfoys swim in gold."
Draco stepped away, walking to the tower railing. The wind whipped his cloak.
"Gold runs out," he said, looking toward the horizon. "Jewels get lost. I am looking for something more lasting."
He turned to face her. His silhouette cut against the grey sky looked like that of a young king passing sentence.
"I want House Greengrass."
Daphne blinked, confused.
"What?"
"Your father has a seat on the Board of Governors. Your grandfather has influence in the Wizengamot within the Neutral faction." Draco began walking toward her again, each step a hammer blow. "The Greengrasses have always stood on the sidelines. Not Dumbledore, not the Dark Lord. Always safe. Always lukewarm."
He stopped in front of her.
"That ends today. I want your father's vote. I want it so that when I propose a motion in the future, House Greengrass supports it without reading it. I want your trade connections, your potion smuggling routes, and your absolute political loyalty."
Daphne stared at him. He was asking for her family's sovereignty. He was asking to turn one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight into de facto vassals of the Malfoys.
It was an exorbitant price.
But then she thought of Astoria. She thought of the screams at 3:00 AM. She thought of the small coffin she had already imagined so many times.
"My father... is stubborn," Daphne said weakly. "He won't listen to me."
"He will if you are the conduit," Draco said. "You are the heiress. You will convince him. Or I will tell Astoria exactly how much time she has left, and I will tell her that her big sister could have saved her but chose politics."
Daphne closed her eyes, defeated.
"You are a monster."
"I am efficient," Draco corrected. "Do we have a deal, Daphne? Astoria's life in exchange for Greengrass loyalty."
Daphne opened her eyes. They were cold again, but it was a different cold. It was the resolve of sacrifice.
"Yes. You have my word. Save my sister, and the Greengrasses will stand behind you."
Draco smiled.
"Words are wind, Daphne. And in Slytherin, promises are broken when convenience shifts."
He reached out and took her wrist, his fingers closing like a shackle over her racing pulse.
"I need a down payment. A physical guarantee that your body and your will are as committed as your mouth. A sign that there is no turning back."
"What... what kind of guarantee?" she asked, though from the darkness in Draco's eyes, she already suspected.
Draco didn't answer with words. He pulled her gently toward the tower door.
"Let's go to the seventh floor. There is a room there... the Room of Requirement. It will give us the privacy this transaction requires."
"Draco..." Daphne tried to slow down, fear mixing with a strange anticipation. "What are you going to do to me?"
Draco paused at the threshold and looked at her over his shoulder.
"I am going to take the first installment of my payment, Daphne. And you are going to give it to me, because you know that every second you waste hesitating, Astoria's blood turns a little blacker."
Daphne looked toward the stairs leading down to the safety of the castle, and then at Draco's back.
There was no real choice. Love for her sister was the chain Draco held.
She lowered her head and followed him.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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