|In Shadows Part 5 (Draco, Antonin, Borgin)
||[Dec. 2nd, 2011|02:05 am]
Title: In Shadows
Regulus, Filch, Severus, Evan, Avery , Draco, Antonin, Borgin, Horace
Slughorn, Cassiopeia Black, Lucius, Andre Rosier, Theodore Mulciber
Summary: The shadows hide some of the most significant (though they may not always
be identified as such in that instant) moments in our lives.
Notes: This is a cycle. That is, these are ficlets/drabbles that are unrelated
to each other aside from having a common theme, in this case, dark
potions and/or places. These ficlets were originally written as entries
for darkarts_ldws. This is a cumulative header, each part will be posted with its own title, word count, rating and warnings.
Title: The Uses of Blackmail
Word Count: 675
“I don’t think he can be trusted for much longer. The slimy git is ready to bolt every time he sees me. Despite all the things I have bought from him. I’m afraid he won’t be cooperative,” Draco says calmly, hands clasped behind him back. He’s itching to hold his wand, but it remains formally clasped to his best, perfectly in sight.
The small meeting room at strategic headquarters where Draco is having his meeting with Dolohov is warm and well lit. The fire crackles softly in the hearth and the young Malfoy forces himself to relax as he faces his commanding officer with a feeling that is fear and distaste and awe all at once. Antonin rises slowly and paces the length of the room before speaking. “Mr. Malfoy, perhaps on the given date we could persuade Mr. Borgin to not put up a resistance. I doubt he will, really.”
“No, sir, You don’t understand. He knows too much. Besides, I need to run one more test with the cabinets…” Draco falters. The air here is oppressive despite the light and warmth, saturated with tension and alarm, blood plans and night vigils. It’s both better and worse than Malfoy Manor.
Antonin considers this, running one hand over his face and into his hair. Finally, he waves his wand, summoning a file-folder. The folder splays itself out on the table and Dolohov proceeds to extract a wizarding photograph from among the other papers. “We just brought in some new recruits,” he says evenly, sliding the photograph over the table to Draco. On it is a scrawny boy about Draco’s age with a pudgy face and thick, coarse hair. He is dressed in the Durmstrang uniform with a black, Death Eater cloak hanging over his arm. “Titanius Borgin. Borgin’s nephew and ward.” Antonin gives Draco a meaningful look.
The young Malfoy hesitates, then picks up the photograph and quickly stuffs it into a pocket of his robes. “Understood, sir.”
Draco apparates to downtown London, then to Diagon Alley, then to Borgin and Burkes. They had all been taught to make several jumps before arriving at a mission destination. Draco’s bright blonde hair is covered with the heavy hood of his cloak as he pushes open the creaking door of the shop and slips inside.
He takes in the interior, a sneer of distaste curling his lips at the gruesome, amputated limbs, pickled in jars and displayed along the walls. The light is dim and cold, somehow too bright and white to be normal candlelight. His boots leave imprints on the dusty floor as he walks to the back of the shop, toward the cabinet.
Borgin appears before him, hunched and crawling with something – lice, Draco thinks sometimes – as he always does, in silence and with a sycophantic, tremulous expression. Draco drops his hood. He can almost see the silent wail that the shopkeeper’s mind releases. “Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure,” Borgin simpers out in a falsetto that betrays him. “Have you come for another item?”
Draco sneers. “I need to run an experiment on the vanishing cabinet. I also want to re-establish with you that you are to remain cooperative and stay in the shop with the closed sign on the door on the date we have discussed.” Draco watches the man’s face falter and twitch.
“Why don’t you just buy the cabinet, Mr. Malfoy. I would gladly sell it to you.”
“No,” Draco snaps. The wind outside howls and beats against the cobweb covered windows.
“I really do not feel…my shop is not…” Borgin stumble all over himself and practically jumps when Draco reaches into his pocket.
Draco extracts the photograph that Antonin had given him and waves it at Borgin. “Could this, perhaps, change your mind?”
Borgin reaches out and snaps the picture from his hand. Draco waits a moment before speaking. “Your ward is one of our new recruits, Borgin. He will fair better if you cooperate.” Draco stares the man down, and finally, with a small, hesitant bow, Borgin steps aside.