𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

Chapter 7

Chapter 7: "Chapter Seven"

The very next day, Draco made his way to the library, and spent every moment of his spare time researching the actual specifics surrounding the war. He and his father had rarely spoken of it, and, when they had, it was only in passing, and as a result, he didn't know very much about it at all. He knew the basics, of course, the Light versus the Dark, equality for all versus Pureblood domination, but that was the extent of his knowledge. However, the library was well stocked with history books, and, as he was ahead in all his lessons, that afforded him the opportunity to learn as much as he could about the war.

As his mental library of knowledge expanded, so did the material he could use to weave a story of which Nott was the hero, a misunderstood and much-abused prince, or a brilliant prodigy who had been unfortunate enough to have been born into the wrong family. The more he read, and the more he learned, the angrier he was about the strong barriers that had been set up between 'good' and 'evil'. He was a very moral child, to be sure; Lucius had raised him well, and his Ayah had made certain that he felt everyone should be considered an equal, regardless of social status. After all, it was only chance that he had been born into a rich, Pureblooded family with an adoring father rather than a family of drudges where he would have been forced to take care of his ten younger siblings while his parents scrubbed chimneys for a living. However, his morality often put him in direct conflict with several of his peers, as he didn't really believe in 'good and evil' or 'right and wrong'. Those absolute concepts, to him, were worthless. It was all about circumstance.

And, all things considered, Draco was very much the image of his father. Once he'd come to a better understanding of the war, he felt very strongly that neither side was actually correct in their arguments. The ideal situation would involve a compromise. However, he knew that sharing an opinion like that would be tantamount to revealing sympathy for the Death Eaters, and would likely earn him nothing but disgust and anger. He might have been opinionated, but he certainly wasn't stupid. Therefore, any opinions he had on the matter, he kept to himself, sharing them only with Cliodne.

As far as Nott went, Draco didn't see him again for a long time after that evening, but one day, when he entered his sitting room, he found himself confronting a rather pathetic picture. In his favorite armchair in front of the blazing fire, the boy sat curled up and quite fast asleep, his mouth slightly open as he snored quietly. The flickers of light that licked across his face revealed very dark circles under his eyes, pale, thin skin, quite visible blue stripes where his veins lived, and hollowed, sunken cheeks.

Nott was a sad, tired little boy whose job was to tend to the students' rooms. Since the House Elf Liberation Program some years ago, house elves were to be paid wages, and a school like Fudge's couldn't afford to keep too many of them on. There were four or five that worked at the school, but they mainly worked in the kitchens. That left the cleaning up to Nott.

Since there were upward of a hundred students at the school, the cleaning took him a very long time, often six or seven hours. In addition, Nott was only about Draco's age, and, as a result of malnourishment, was very skinny and small for his age. So, since Draco's room was quite the nicest room in the school, he'd taken to leaving it for last so he could at least feel that he was enjoying himself a little whenever he went in there, even if it was only to clean. This particular afternoon had been a trying one; a virus of some sort was going around the school, and he'd been saddled with the responsibility of cleaning up after the sick children. So he was very much looking forward to the short time spent in Draco's room. Unfortunately, he'd been more tired than he'd anticipated, and, when he'd sat down just for a moment to rest his aching feet, the fire had been so warm and the chair so soft that he'd fallen into a very deep sleep.

That particular afternoon, the boys had been outside playing Quidditch, and Draco was still energized, rosy-cheeked and grinning from the exhilaration of flying and the sensation of wind through his hair. When he entered the room, gliding in as gracefully as a dancer and with a slightly longer stride than usual, almost a stalk, in fact, Nott had only been there for ten minutes or so, but he looked as if he had been sleeping for a hundred years at least. Draco, kind-hearted soul he was, did not feel at all cross to see his favorite chair occupied by a little drudge; in fact, he was quite glad to see the boy there. When the ill-used hero of his story wakened, he could finally talk to him, in the privacy of his own room.