The Secret's In The Telling by Sakuri

chapter 27

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one

Chapter 27: Fallen Prince

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Draco couldn't summon the energy to go to the library, though he knew he really should. Potter had dropped by his room later the same night of the DA meeting, only to inform him in an oddly reserved tone that he didn't believe that Dumbledore was responsible for this new curse afflicting the Slytherin. Naturally, Draco had accused him of defending his saintly Headmaster through utter denial, but Potter had explained with such conviction and calm reason how he hadn't yet ruled Dumbledore out, but was intent on looking into other possibilities.

Of course, that meant research. He'd refused to let the Gryffindor share his humiliation with anybody else who didn't already know, so that meant no outside help. He'd have to do his own work – for once. Bitterly, Draco cursed his own unfortunate circumstances.

He longed for the simplicity of that evening back in September, just before he'd been bitten. Back then, he could have ordered one of the lesser Slytherins to do the boring research on anything he needed. Back then, he would have been enjoying the French chocolates his mother owled him and flipping through a wizards' catalogue, picking out the latest designer robes to buy with his father's money.

That was a long-ago fantasy, now. Used to treating his expensive clothing almost carelessly, safe in the knowledge that he'd be updating his wardrobe within the month, every month, he was now reduced to brushing up on such menial magic as cleaning and mending charms, frantically trying to keep his robes in decent condition ever since Lucius had firmly cut him off. Worse, he found himself wearing muggle attire more and more frequently, if only to preserve more presentable outfits.

And if clothing was his biggest worry, he would have counted himself lucky. No, he was too preoccupied wondering about the schedule of the full moon, his father's increasing punishments, Potter's persistent presence and odd new power of persuasion, the fact that Granger knew far too much, his dwindling status among fellow Slytherins, and whatever new alarming hiding place he'd find Vanima in today…

Sighing, Draco rose to his feet. At least there was something he could fix. His housemates had simply forgotten the power of his presence since he'd started retreating to his own room so often, rather than deign to haunt the Slytherin common room.

He just had to remind them, was all.

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"Pureblood," he murmured to the portrait which guarded his House. It swung forward obediently to allow him access. Self-consciously, he straightened the line of his robes and checked that his hair hadn't fallen out of place during the walk here. No, still perfect. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted his chin in a manner he'd learned gave him an air of superiority and also added to his somewhat small stature.

Full of the obnoxious pride he'd found was the best method of keeping upstart Slytherins in line, he swept past the portrait and into the domain he'd always been at home in.

He saw Blaise and Pansy immediately, hovering near the fireplace in secluded conversation, obviously whispering about something or other. When the other boy turned toward him, it seemed for a moment a shadow of a smile crossed his face, as if by habit, before all expression was completely dropped. For a Slytherin such as Blaise, that could only mean true anxiety was surging away beneath the mask.

Draco's step faltered as he felt the atmosphere shift, and he came to a stop in the centre of the room, feeling suddenly foolish. Experience had refined his skill at sensing the collective mood of a room, and he felt his welcome was far too chilly to mean anything good.

It was Nott who spoke up first. Amidst a flurry of sudden whispers, his voice was loud and clear and challenging. "How the mighty do fall, Malfoy."