"Ambition is like climbing a ladder made of knives. It hurts, but the view gets better with every step. Just don't look down at the blood on your hands." — Abraxas Malfoy
March 27, 1970, Slytherin Common Room
Wizard's Chess was was not about the pieces. It was about the silence between the moves.
Vega sat across from Lucius Malfoy in the private alcove of the Slytherin Common Room reserved for Prefects and their guests. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, muffling the noise of the younger years. On the marble table between them, the chess set, carved from ivory and onyx, waited in a tense stalemate.
Lucius Malfoy was sixteen, and he wore his ambition like a second skin. His pale blond hair was tied back with a black ribbon, and his robes were tailored to emphasize the straight line of his shoulders. He didn't look like a student. He looked like a junior minister in waiting.
"Check," Lucius said softly, moving his white knight. The piece drew its sword and smashed Vega's pawn into dust.
Vega didn't flinch. He leaned back in the leather chair, watching the board with half-lidded eyes.
"Aggressive," Vega noted. "You're sacrificing your defense for a center-board rush."
"Control the center, control the game," Lucius replied, smoothing his cuffs. "A lesson my father taught me. Passive players get eaten, Vega. Active players eat."
He looked up, his grey eyes cool and calculating.
"You've been making waves, Vega. The duel. The Lei Shen. The dinners with Slughorn. My father is... intrigued. He asks about you in his letters."
"Abraxas is a wise man," Vega said, moving his rook. "He knows that it pays to watch the weather."
"He also knows that storms are dangerous," Lucius countered. "Especially when they have no direction."
Lucius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The facade of the casual game dropped.
"Rosier is blunt," Lucius said, his voice lowering to a silky murmur. "Mulciber is a thug. They try to recruit with threats and blood pacts. It's distasteful."
"And you?" Vega asked. "How do you recruit, Lucius?"
"I don't recruit," Lucius smiled thinly. "I align. I look at the board, and I see who has the potential to be a Queen, and who is destined to be a Pawn."
He gestured to the room beyond the curtain.
"There is a movement rising, Vega. You know this. The Dark Lord... he is not just a revolutionary. He is a force of nature. He is gathering the old families. He offers a restoration of our proper place."
"He offers servitude," Vega corrected, his voice hardening. "I saw the pin Bellatrix wears. It's a brand, Lucius. You're a Malfoy. Since when do Malfoys kneel?"
Lucius didn't look offended. He looked amused.
"We kneel to rise," Lucius whispered. "It's a temporary posture. Think of the access. Think of the power. The Ministry is rotting from the inside. This man... he is the fire that clears the forest."
He moved his bishop.
"I intend to be standing next to him when the smoke clears. And I think, with your talent, you should be there too."
Vega looked at the board. Lucius had him in a pincer movement.
He thinks he can control it, Vega realized. He thinks Voldemort is a tool he can use to advance the Malfoy name.
"You're courting my cousin," Vega said suddenly.
Lucius paused. The arrogance faltered for a microsecond.
"Narcissa and I have an... understanding. Our families are compatible."
"Narcissa is a Black," Vega said. "She is not compatible with anything. She is a statue made of ice and expectations. If you break her, Lucius, the House of Black will dismantle you. Brick by brick."
Lucius straightened up, his eyes narrowing. "I have no intention of breaking her. I intend to elevate her."
"By joining a death cult?" Vega asked brutally.
"It is not a cult!" Lucius hissed, glancing at the curtains. "It is a political elite!"
"It's a meat grinder," Vega snapped.
He leaned over the board, ignoring the pieces.
"Listen to me, Lucius. You are smart. You are cunning. But you are making a mistake that smart men often make."
"And what is that?"
"You think everyone else is playing by the same rules you are," Vega said. "You think this 'Lord' wants allies. You think he wants a partnership."
Vega reached out and picked up Lucius's King. The ivory piece struggled in his grip.
"He doesn't want partners, Lucius. He wants food. He will take your gold, he will take your name, and he will take your influence. And when he is done, he will ask for your soul. And if you have given it to him..."
Vega set the King down with a sharp clack.
"...then what do you have left to offer Narcissa?"
Lucius stared at him. For a moment, the mask slipped completely. Vega saw the fear behind the grey eyes, the fear of a boy who was being pressured by his father, by his peers, by the terrifying momentum of a history he couldn't stop.
"It is too late to stand aside," Lucius whispered. "The mark... it is already being offered to the inner circle. If I refuse..."
"If you refuse, you are a Malfoy," Vega said firmly. "You are rich enough to be neutral. Don't sell yourself cheap, Lucius. And don't sell my cousin to a monster just because you want a seat at a table that's going to catch fire."
Vega stood up.
He didn't finish the game. He waved his hand, and his pieces—the black obsidian ones—crumbled into smoke, reforming instantly into their starting positions.
"You're a Kingmaker, Lucius," Vega said, adjusting his robes. "Just make sure the King you choose doesn't eat the court."
Lucius remained seated, staring at the reset board. He looked pale.
"Arcturus will not protect you forever," Lucius warned softly. "Neutrality has a price."
"I know," Vega said, touching the Ring. "But so does slavery. I prefer to pay in gold."
He turned to the curtain.
"Treat her well, Lucius. If she cries because of you, I won't send a hex. I'll send the storm."
He walked out.
Lucius sat alone in the dim light. He picked up his White King. He turned it over in his fingers, feeling the smooth, cold ivory.
Partners or food, Lucius thought, a chill settling in his stomach.
He looked at the empty chair where Vega had sat. The Black heir was twelve years old, but he spoke with the weight of a patriarch.
Lucius placed the King back on the board.
For the first time in months, the path forward didn't look like a golden staircase. It looked like a trapdoor.