November 7th, 1991
The response to my letter arrived without fanfare from a common owl without any distinguishing marks. It came at breakfast with all the others —a stack consisting of Mother, Father, Grandfather, and a few missives from acquaintances that went off to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Many were letting me know that they received word they would be coming into the Manor for Yule and they were looking forward to it. Some had not received such an invite to the mansion but were still coming to the ball itself. Even fewer had owled about not receiving an invite to either.
The letter in question was unlike the rest, as instead of my name it was addressed to Madame OM in refined, professional script. Only one wizard would use that address —and use such a common owl to send it. And that meant the breakfast table was not the place to read it. Discreetly, I tucked it inside my robes and went about the morning sniping at my snakes and catching an increasingly obnoxious look from a particular black haired menace at the Gryffindor table.
Why Tibble was looking my way was anyone’s guess, really. I had done the duel bit —and there were several minor hexes sent his way, but I remember from elsewhere he wasn’t one to go out of his way to speak with Draco. So it’s odd he would be challenging me at all, this way. But then again, I am forced to remind myself, the book did not cover every interaction in his life. And Tibble didn’t shy away from any of the fights.
I was already regretting ever getting involved. The hassle of a nosy golden child is that it always works out for them and never who they are against. But I will finish it, whatever comes, even if I shouldn’t have started it.
I took the first chance that day to slip away to the owlery and read the odd letter.
I had maintained my composure throughout the morning, my mask up —as always, when away from the snakes— as I had left the lot of them in the common room. After I had tucked away the letter, I had to kept conscious control over every movement. I had to steady my hands and slow my mind.
I felt the thrill of the unknown throughout every vessel in my body.
So, it was with great restraint that I walked with a slow, graceful gait as I held three letters in my palm to owl out. The letter for Madame OM was still tucked within ny robes.
Once I had climbed up the top of the owlery —all nine floors of winding and crossing stairwells— I waited for an older Hufflepuff to finish up before I settled down on a bench to read.
-
Dear Madame OM,
It is with great curiosity that I write to you. Your house elf arrived at my office days ago with your letter —he is a rather odd one, that elf.
Upon receiving your letter and retainer fees, I performed the transaction as requested.
All 6,789 galleons —after my fee, has been converted into muggle currency of 33,809 pounds. Upon your advisement I promptly invested in the muggle company Biomedico. In the seven days since then, the value of the stocks have seen an increase of 22% —just as you said.
I would like to respond to your request, Madame, in the affirmative. I will happily take you on as a client.
As you well know, our firm is full service and maintained with Wizarding Britain’s best privacy wards. Please feel comfortable to request any business you need handled, I will be your exclusive retainer.
Should you not feel comfortable coming into the office, I will forward on all paperwork to your house elf as I have this letter.
We are looking forward to a prosperous relationship and eagerly await your reply.
Sincerely,
Marshal O. Millwood
Solicitor, Financier, Wizard
Millwood, Markel, & Co.
-
My hands were not shaking, my mind was not racing, my muscles were not bunched. The only change in my demeanor was a cold, sharp grin that spread across my face.
Millwood never made an appearance in elsewhere, no. Why would he? Tibble had never cared much about his funds. I, however, am greatly invested in the growth of my personal wealth. As they say, you can never have too much money or power. Plus, should I fail to keep the Ministry from seizing our funds after the war I refuse to live on the streets —and when you remember every stock value from the past eighty years, growing wealth is trivial really. Especially when you are a scion of a wizarding house that is richer than god.
I hadn’t even had to ask for those galleons. Mother gave me access to a miniature vault at the Manor where I could send out for items —Draco had got one the same size. It wasn’t even a tenth of the vault. 10,000 galleons was nothing.
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The greatest boon, however, was that this money would be untouchable in muggle bank accounts. The Ministry barely communicates with the muggle government—and so long as Gringotts is goblin owned, they will allow us to transfer it back to galleons if we need it.
-
Dear Mr. Millwood,
May our relation be prosperous indeed. Please send all correspondence direct through this owl. He will know where to find me, and is to be used solely for our work together.
I would begin by asking you to find at minimum three proxy solicitors to work on my behalf. They must all match the initials of M. O. M, much like yourself Mr. Millwood.
I would ask you sign your correspondence as if you were me.
You will be hearing from me soon.
Madame OM
-
I was sending off the common barn owl when I realized now was a great opportunity for one of the spells father had sent this term. So, before the owl took off I stroked its head and gave it a treat, having it stay for another moment. Plus, it would be working hard from now on, it deserved something nice.
I pulled out my wand and lined it up with the pad of my index finger. With a single movement I whispered a light diffindo. Within seconds blood began to pool and drip from my finger and I let three drops fall onto the wax seal without a crest I had placed on the letter.
“Blood burn, blood bind, blood find Marshal Millwood.”
As power filled my voice, my blood was absorbed into the wax and I felt the working click into place. The magic had worked. The blood ward Father had sent would allow only Millwood to release it.
The owl had stood still during the spell and I gave it another treat. Dobby had done well sending it to me. Over Yule I will have to ask him it’s name and give Dobby a reward.
Once the owl took off, I attached the other letters to Apollo and gave him his own treats, “Don’t forget to fleece Father for all his treats, Polly. You deserve them.”
As I was affixing the letters to him, a snort came from the doorway. My body froze in shock and I schooled my expression before I turned my head and met a pair of narrowed green eyes and a mop of hair.
“Potter,” I sneered, feeling darkness snake through me at the sight of the boy that would lead my family to ruin.
“Malfoy,” he faux-sneered in mocking, “Didn’t know you could make a face that soft.”
I swore internally and sent off Apollo. His monstrous claws tightened around the metal stand as he shuffled, then spread his wings —reaching nearly two meters across— before launching out of the tower in a single swoop. The force of his movement rustled my hair as he left.
“I’m sure I’ve no idea what you mean,” I gave a Malfoy smile, a smile that said ‘and even if I did I wouldn’t say so to you.’
“I’m sure,” Tibble stared at me another moment, opened his mouth again —and then closed it.
It seems he was debating if he should say something.
My eyes flicked behind him, where another shadow was licking the wall in the hall. It seems Tibble didn’t come alone.
“Is there something you want?” I said as I took several steps towards the door, my steel eyes meeting his bright green, “Or will you be the Boy Who Moves Out Of The Way so I can pass?”
He clenched his jaw for a moment before finally gritting out, “Why are you messing with Neville? Pretending you care.”
Well, that’s out of left field. I nearly huffed —but my mask was too firmly in place.
“How about it’s fun?” I sniped, “How about I want to? How about it is no concern of yours.”
“So you are just pretending,” and there was something in his voice, something angry. The sound of outrage.
“Take it as you please —now step aside,” As I pushed past him, I tilted my head to the side, my eyes flicking once more to the shadows on the far side of the wall, flickering in the candle light. When my eyes met the shining blue of Longbottom I understood.
Neville had said Tibble hadn’t known. It seems he does now —and he decided to show Neville not to touch a snake. The look on his face said he took it like Tibble had. An admission of guilt rather than protecting a weakness.
Well.
Sometimes, it seems, the short end of the stick is the sharpest —as I’ve just stabbed Neville with my own misfortune.
It’s a shame a Gryffindor wouldn’t understand a snake's affection —it is much the same as an actual snake. The same movement that comforts also kills. A snake constricts the same no matter the intention. It is the very reason Slytherin cannot accept the faint of heart.
Even I cannot trust the other snakes too much —our loyalties only stand as tall as the most ambitious of us.
It is better, I suppose, that Neville learns it now rather than later —when it will hurt more.
I couldn’t help it. I saw the pain on Neville’s face and I laughed. It was a laugh of disbelief, of offense, and of a hundred other things that had nearly nothing to do with the comedy of the situation—but it was a laugh. And his face crumpled. His eyes held my for only a moment before they flicked to the ground, becoming watery.
I knew what he wanted me to do. Or, rather, what I should do. Usually one would defend themselves. Make their meaning clear. A good person would say ‘Neville I have never pretended with you.’ They would give reassurance.
But that isn’t me. I am not the type to defend my decisions. Not the type to shy away from the dark road. Not the type to offer soothing words in soft tones with care and compassion. And I’m most definitely not the type to let Tibble see me do any such thing.
I put my mask back on, looking over my shoulder at Tibble with a Malfoy smile on my face.
I am the antiseptic poured on an open wound. Painful.
“What a friend you have been.” I didn’t hiss, or sneer, but the sincerity in my tone was every bit the sarcasm it warranted.
Looking back to Longbottom, I never let my expression waver. I took a half second before continuing past him, making my way casually down the stairs —the hard rubber of my shoes echoing whenever the heel of my boot landed on the stone