Envy Engenders Spite

“So, I hear you and Alphard Black are engaged now. Alphie Black, huh? Didn’t think he was your type. He’s too. . . funny. I thought you liked the serious type.”

Natalie slapped a hand to her face and groaned as Antonin Dolohov grinned at her. He was leaning against the wall outside the team dressing room, waiting to accompany her back to the Malfoy Manor after their practice. 

“And I hear you’ve also already had an affair with some mediocre-looking bloke named Gerard Higginson? Merlin, you move fast.”

Natalie removed her hand from her face. “Oh, that was his full name.”

“Blimey,” whistled Dolohov, “you really only care about what’s important, huh. I’m assuming that would be skills in the bedroom?”

“Yes, exactly,” she sarcastically retorted. “How’d you know?”

“Guess we both look for the same thing.”

“Wow, we’re so similar,” she said, walking past Dolohov and heading towards the front exit. He fell into step beside her. 

“So have you gone through the whole team, then?” Dolohov asked conversationally. “I suspect Webster isn’t that great in bed, which would explain why he’s slept with half the witches in England, but only once.”

“Oi!” a protest came from behind them. Ricky Webster had exited the locker room and overheard their remarks. “I’ll have you know-”

“Shut it, Ricky!” Natalie barked over her shoulder, picking up the pace to avoid a confrontation. Webster had smacked Bludgers, and comments, at her all practice. She was tired of hearing his voice.

“Shut what?” Caddy bounced out of the locker room right behind Webster, confused as ever.

“Malfoy, you’ve still got a chance with this,” yelled Webster, hurrying down the hall to catch up with them.

“Bloody hell, let’s go,” she grabbed Dolohov’s arm and pulled him after her, breaking into a sprint. He laughed and dragged his feet along, being incredibly useless and doing nothing but aggravate her.

“Wait up!” called Webster.

“You’re not helpful,” Natalie muttered to Dolohov and shot a look behind them. When her eyes landed on Ricky, there was a brief flash of light and he tripped, landing heavily on the ground. 

Dolohov sucked in a breath, “woah-”

“Shush,” she said, stepping through the enchanted wall, forcing Dolohov after her. They stumbled out to find Reginald Harlowe smoking a magical cigarette. Tiny broomsticks and Snitches formed out of the exhaled gray smoke and encircled his head. 

“Nice broomsticks,” said Natalie without pausing. 

Harlowe’s gaze shot towards her, “it’s an EcceCig. Smoke takes the shape of your surroundings. Can’t say I’m pleased about it. You lot done? Can I go home?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” she told him as he drew an “X” with his wand through the magical shield surrounding the stadium. Natalie jumped through the cut-out rectangle and dragged Dolohov with her. The instant they stepped outside the shield, she turned and disapparated away with Dolohov on her arm.

When they landed, Natalie finally released her grip on him and stepped away. Dolohov took one look around and groaned.

“Natalie!” he jumped after her. She was already halfway across the pub. “We’re supposed to go to the Manor, not the Leaky Cauldron!”

“Okay,” she said, sliding into a stool at the bar. She patted the empty stool beside her and gestured for him to take it.

He grudgingly obliged, anxiously running a hand through his hair and glancing all around the pub. “You can’t be here-”

“Did you forget the Leaky’s sponsoring me?” she said under her breath, smiling as Tom the bartender hurried over to greet her.

“Natalie! Haven’t seen you in a while now.”

“I know, Tom,” she grinned, “team’s been under strict orders with the Semi-Final coming up and all.”

“Ah, of course,” said Tom, “well it’s lovely to see you, as always. What can I get you?”

Ignoring Dolohov’s insistent tugging on her sleeve to get her attention, she requested the Leaky’s famous shepherd’s pie swimming in gravy for herself, and mulled wine for Dolohov, given it was a rather chilly day. Once Tom bustled away with the order, she snapped her head towards Dolohov.

“What?”

“We can’t be here, I’ve orders from the Minister-” Natalie placed her hand upon his cheek and he fell silent, eyes wide. She could hear his heartbeat speed up and watched his Adam’s apple bob. Patting his cheek, she gave him a warm smile. 

“Then just don’t tell him.”

“I-”

“Shh. I just want some shepherd’s pie.”

Dolohov glanced behind them and surveyed the occupants of the pub. “There are some pretty dodgy characters in here.”

“Well, yeah, it’s the Leaky,” she grinned as Tom returned with her food and Dolohov’s drink that he did not ask for. She slid the drink towards Dolohov and nudged him with her elbow.

“Look, I’m even letting you drink on the job. It’s on me too.”

“You’re not my boss,” he said but took a sip. “Five minutes. Then we leave.”

“Five minutes,” she agreed and dove into the hefty portion of shepherd’s pie. 

She was halfway through it when Dolohov pulled a pocket watch on a gold chain from his robes. “It’s been five minutes.”

Natalie snorted through a mouthful of mashed potatoes and peas. “A pocket watch?”

“What, you don’t like it?”

“Isn’t it a bit. . . old-fashioned?”

“My job is about to be old-fashioned if we don’t get back to the Manor right now.”

“Fine,” she shoveled one last forkful of pie into her mouth and stuck a few gold coins under the trencher. Tom refused to make her pay for anything but she always found a way to leave a few Galleons lying around the Leaky. She checked to see if Dolohov had finished the drink and found that he indeed had. Before she could shoot a comment at him, he grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her along after him, out of the pub and into the Muggle street on the other side.

“Why’d we have to go this way?” she wrinkled her nose as an enormous Muggle bus sped past, spewing smoke and honking its obnoxious horn.

Dolohov looped his arm through hers, steering her down the sidewalk at a quick pace. “Throws off anyone following us. We’d be expected to go into Diagon Alley instead.”

“Why would someone be following-”

“You need to start thinking differently.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Dolohov laughed as he led her around a corner and onto a narrow side street. Garbage was strewn about the gutter, and the pavement was in dire need of repairs. “Do you actually think I’m just around to make sure you go back to the Manor after practice?”

“Wait — what, are you supposed to be some sort of bodyguard? Does my Uncle think I can’t handle myself?”

“There are other reasons, but yeah.”

“But. . . he knows that I-”

“He knows you can’t control your bloody emotions.”

Natalie scowled, coughing at the awful scent wafting from a sewer they passed. “Well, why you, then?”

“Your Uncle trusts me.”

“We’ve got plenty of Aurors-”

“The Aurors report to Rowle. Your Uncle can’t control Rowle, he’s too old, too used to doing whatever he wants, and can’t wait to retire. He’ll run his mouth to anyone who’ll listen.”

A mangy-looking dog scrambled away from a pile of empty cans as they continued down the street. Natalie looked at Dolohov. “Are you taking me on a tour of the Muggle slums, Antonin?” 

He glanced behind them, dark eyes scouring the street. Tightening his grip on her arm, he turned and disapparated with her.

They landed in the entry hall of the Malfoy Manor. Natalie could still smell the rotten food and unfiltered sewage scents from the Muggle street. Tugging her wand from inside her robes, she pointed it at Dolohov.

“Aquamenti.” 

Water burst from the tip of her wand and doused him.

“Really?” he spluttered, shaking water from his robes and wiping his wet hair out of his eyes. He pointed his own wand at her and she found herself soaking wet within seconds.

“What the hell, Antonin?” she said in mock aggravation, a jinx already floating into her mind. “How dare you-” she flicked her wand and his robes twisted themselves up to trip him. He hit the floor hard but fell into a roll and flung a counter-jinx back immediately.

Natalie found herself doubled over, laughing uncontrollably from his Rictusempra charm. She just managed to raise her wand to hit him with a Jelly-Legs Jinx before undoing the Tickling Charm he cast. 

“You know I hate this jinx!” he groaned as his legs stuck together and he nearly toppled over again. Muttering the counter-jinx, he raised his wand to continue their playful duel, but both his and Natalie’s wands flew from their hands and sailed down the hallway.

Tom Riddle caught both of them. He looked at them with cool eyes and the same expression one would have upon finding one’s children playing with their own feces.

“Why’d you take my wand, too?” whined Natalie.

“Because you started it,” he said.

“Actually-”

“Actually, you did start it,” said Dolohov.

“Who cares,” no longer interested in the topic once she saw what Lord Voldemort was holding, she pranced towards him, dripping water everywhere. “I didn’t know you were coming to visit today. Bye Antonin!” she called over her shoulder.

“Uh, wait, can I get my wand-”

“Oh, yeah,” she said; Tom Riddle handed Dolohov’s wand over and she tossed it down the hall to him. He waved it and dried himself from her Aquamenti charm. 

“No excursions tomorrow, Miss Seeker.”

“Fine, Mr. Babysitter.”

They watched him roll his eyes and disapparate away. When he vanished with a small pop, Tom glanced down at her.

“Excursions?”

She grinned and wiggled her fingers —  drying her robes completely. She held her hand out towards him expectantly. “Stopped by the Leaky.”

“I thought you were banned from going anywhere that was not the stadium or this house.”

“I might be.”

Irritation flashed across his face before he returned her wand and handed over the butterbeer frappe he was carrying. Ignoring his expression, she tucked her wand away into her robes and took a long sip of the frappe. This one tasted much better than the one Alphard Black had bought for her.

“So why are you here?”

“Do I need a specific reason to visit?”

“Well, no, but you had said-”

“You were the one who asked if I was allowed to visit.”

“I know.”

“So why interrogate me when I do choose to visit?”

“Well, now I’m doing it because it’s bothering you.”

“It is not bothering me-”

“Yes, it is.”

Their bickering was interrupted by the lounge door opening and Abraxas Malfoy stepping out, a glass of wine in his hand. Soft music drifted out of the lounge, filling the entry hall with a sweet, idyllic tune.

“Ah, I thought I heard an old couple arguing about something ridiculous,” he said with a smirk. 

“Really, where?” asked Natalie, making a great deal of turning around and scanning the empty hallway. 

“Did you just call us an old couple, Abraxas?” Melania called out from inside the lounge.

“Never, love,” said Abraxas before turning back to look at them. “What are you two doing here?”

“I have to be here,” said Natalie, “did you forget?”

Abraxas rolled his eyes before gesturing them forward. “At least come in. Don’t just stand out there.”

They followed Abraxas into the family lounge. It was more comfortably furnished than the study, which was primarily reserved for business affairs. Bookshelves and portraits of Hogwarts, the Ministry, Diagon Alley, and other well known locations in the wizarding world filled the walls. The color scheme, dark greens and brilliant silvers, made it reminiscent of the Slytherin common room. A fireplace roared opposite the door, the only source of light save for a few lit silver sconces.  Melania leaned against one of the couches in the center of the room, a glass of dark red wine in her hand. Soft chords floated throughout the room from the magical record player near the fireplace.

“Look who dropped by, love,” Abraxas said to his wife. “I believe they stopped to have a duel in the front hall.”

Melania glanced between Natalie and Tom. “A. . . an actual duel? Or-”

“That was Antonin and I,” said Natalie, strolling over to drop onto the couch opposite Melania.

Abraxas had been about to sip from his own wine glass when he paused. “Why were you and Antonin dueling? And in the front hall of the Manor?”

She took a long drink of her frappe before responding. “He annoyed me.”

“Shocking,” sarcasm filled Abraxas’s voice.

“I’d hardly call it a duel,” said Tom, taking the seat beside Natalie on the couch. “The deadliest curse used was Aquamenti.”

“How horrific,” continued Abraxas.

“How horrific,” Natalie adopted a high-pitched voice to mock him.

Abraxas took a sip of wine. “You’re a child.”

“You’re a-” she was cut off by a house-elf appearing in the room with a pop. The elf bowed to her before turning to Abraxas.

“Master Abraxas, Natalie Malfoy’s agent, Winky Crockett, is here.”

“Bring him in here,” said Abraxas. The elf nodded and disappeared. Abraxas sat on the couch opposing Natalie and Tom and raised his eyebrows.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” was her instinctive response.

“Really, because now is the time to tell me. Before Crockett comes in and tells me himself.”

Natalie scowled. “I’m not five years old-”

“I just said you were a child.”

“Was that not a joke?”

“Well, it was, but now it’s looking to be true.”

“We don’t even know why Crockett is here-”

Winky Crockett burst into the lounge, led by the now scared-looking house-elf. It seemed bursting into the Malfoy Manor with an angry look on his face was becoming a habit of his.

His furious gaze found Natalie immediately. “Are you incapable of taking anything seriously?”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch. The record player stopped playing its charming music as tension blossomed within the room.

Winky stormed over and flung a piece of glossy parchment at her. She snatched it from the air. It was clearly a draft of what would become an article in some gossipy tabloid. A handwritten working headline stated, “Natalie Malfoy Spotted Moving Onto Her Next Conquest?!” above an amateur photograph of her placing a hand on Antonin Dolohov’s cheek at the Leaky Cauldron.

She dropped the parchment and looked up at Crockett. “I thought we paid the tabloids off!”

“Yeah — for the last scandal you caused. What the hell, Natalie?” barked Crockett, “do you not understand what staying out of the public eye means? And what did you do — snog Antonin to convince him to go with you? He’s supposed to see you back here from practice, not go on little adventures with you!”

“It was just the Leaky-”

“That doesn’t matter! Did you ever consider that maybe Tiberius would no longer want Antonin working as his assistant if he knew Antonin let you convince him to go gallivanting all over the wizarding world, when he was supposed to be keeping an eye on you?”

Natalie dropped her gaze to her frappe. She had not considered that possibility. Across the room, Abraxas let out a sigh.

“That’s about what I expected,” said Crockett.

“Okay,” said Natalie, straightening up and waving the parchment about until Voldemort snatched it from her grasp in annoyance. “Where did you even get this?”

“I happened to be passing through the Leaky. I suppose I only missed you by a few minutes. Tom the bartender gave it to me; said he took it off a customer who had asked him for any dirt on you.”

“So it probably won’t get published then?” asked Natalie.

“Who knows,” said Crockett. “But I think you’re missing the point here.”

“Well, if it doesn’t get published then who cares? I can just donate a load of gold to the Leaky as thanks-”

“Are you sure this is you?” said Tom, holding up the parchment. “The photograph is terribly blurred. Whoever took this obviously isn’t a professional reporter.”

Natalie whipped her head over to stare at Crockett. “Yeah, Winky, are you sure that’s even me?”

“I know it’s you, Natalie, you’ve just admitted you were there!” Crockett said with fury, “again, you’re missing the point-”

“No, no,” she said loudly, “I refuse to believe that my uncle would believe that some crackpot photograph of two people at a pub is his niece and his assistant, when the Head Auror watched us leave the stadium and my boyfriend and my cousin both watched us arrive here.”

Crockett looked thunderous. “Natalie, the point is that you went to the Leaky Cauldron when you are under very specific orders — not just from your uncle and me, but from the entire Department of Magical Sports and Games, the entire Ministry of Magic — to not be seen in public.”

She shared a look with Tom Riddle before very innocently saying, “but Winky, I wasn’t seen in public.”

Fuming, Crockett looked over at Abraxas, who had covered his face with a hand in response to Natalie’s statement. “Abraxas. . . !”

Abraxas stood and crossed the room. He beckoned for the parchment and Lord Voldemort handed it over. Inspecting it closely, he shrugged before tearing it in half right in front of them.

Crockett made a strangled noise. “Seriously?”

“It didn’t look like my cousin,” he said, moving towards the fireplace and dropping the parchment into it, where the flames leapt to consume it.

Running a hand through his hair, Crockett dropped onto the couch beside Melania, who had remained silent, content with emptying her glass of wine. 

“The point,” repeated Crockett, glaring at Natalie, “is that you were seen. Even if you can maybe get away with it, if you keep up like this it’ll cause a scandal that we might not be able to hush up.”

“Antonin told me he’s also acting as a sort of bodyguard,” said Natalie, settling herself onto the couch so she could lean against Tom Riddle. His presence made her much more calm than the last time there had been a disaster of this kind. “Because the Aurors report to Rowle or something. Does Tiberius think I can’t handle myself? Were you aware of that?”

Crockett blinked and she watched something flash through his eyes before his gaze hardened and his eyes briefly dropped to the floor. A squeezing in her gut made her glare at her agent.

“Winky,” she said, it was her turn to be angry now. “Did you know about that?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly, looking back up at her. His face remained a mask and with a glance at his eyes, she could sense his Occlumency walls coming up. 

“How many people think I need a bodyguard?”

“Who would argue against that except you?” he retorted, spreading his hands and gesturing to the others present. 

Natalie glanced around the room, first to Abraxas, leaning against the fireplace. He gave her a look that indicated he thought she needed much more than a bodyguard, perhaps also a sanity check. Melania hid her face in her wine glass, and Voldemort simply laughed softly.

“Lovely,” she said under her breath and sprang to her feet. Tom fluidly did the same as if anticipating her movement. “Well, if we’re all in agreement that Antonin and I were not at the Leaky Cauldron today, I’m retiring from your presences for the day. You’ve all pissed me off. Especially you, Winky.”

“Glad we have such a loving relationship,” he remarked. 

“Me too,” she said sarcastically, sweeping out of the room to Abraxas’s sniggering and Crockett’s muttering, Tom on her heels.

They hadn’t gone halfway down the hall when he grabbed hold of her sleeve and turned her to face him, nearly spilling the frappe she still clutched.

He stared at her for a moment, his dark eyes roving between hers as though searching for something. It was evident he did not find it.

“Did you know Crockett also reports to your Uncle?”

She blinked and found she was not exactly surprised. “What do you mean?”

“That’s how the entire Ministry keeps tabs on you. Your activities. Your moods. On the team as well. The outcomes of matches. If you’ve caught the Snitch. Crockett keeps them all exceedingly informed on everything.”

Natalie was silent. She slipped her hand into his and continued heading down the hall, swirling the churned ice cream around in its cup.

“How did you find that out?” she quietly asked, leading him upstairs. “Did you use-”

“Legilimency. Before you tried to do so. Crockett’s skilled in Occlumency, but only when he’s expecting an attack.”

Grinning, she paused halfway up the stairs to reach up and kiss him. “I knew it.”

He kissed her back for a moment before asking, “you knew he's skilled in Occlumency?”

“I knew you’d probed his mind,” she laughed before growing serious as they continued up the stairs. “But. . . I can’t say I’m surprised — him reporting to Tiberius too. Despite going behind my back and being bloody sneaky. The bastard.”

“I can’t say I can blame them,” he said with a snort, “given your penchant for disturbing volatility. Today itself being a good example of that.”

“What did it seem like?” she asked, “when you snooped about his mind?”

He was silent until they reached the top of the stairs. “It seems like you have the entire Ministry working to make sure you’ll win the Cup.”

Natalie’s muscles stopped working, immobilizing her on the spot. The only thing she could keep a hold on was the frappe. Tom managed to catch her before she could fall, helping her up the last few steps to the upper floor landing. She couldn’t bring herself to speak until he steered her into her room and sat her on the bed. He tugged what remained of the butterbeer frappe out of her grasp and placed it on the table beside her bed before she grabbed his hands. She pulled him close so she could see every flicker, every flame that writhed within his eyes. 

“Did they — are they — have they fixed any of the matches?” she wheezed, “have we cheated our way to the Semi-Final?”

“No,” he said, and she believed him. 

“How. . . how do you know that?”

“They don’t need to fix the matches. They need you to be in the right mood to catch the Snitch. Why did you think you were allowed to live at the stadium for an entire month? I was under the impression that was how Quidditch matches were won — by catching the Snitch.”

“Not always,” she huffed, recalling the Russian match. 

“Are you going to say it hasn’t been convenient for you to have the Ministry of Magic on your side?” he asked, a slight smirk gracing his face. “Like when you got rid of that Muggle in Paris-”

She shuddered with a sudden flashback to the Muggle café, squeezing his hands as tight as she could until he tore them away, only to settle on the bed beside her. He pulled her into his lap and she instinctively moved to wrap her arms around him and rest her head on his chest so she could hear the steady thudding of his heartbeat. It quickly synchronized with the perpetual ticking of the horcrux around her neck, sending a wave of calm through her.

“The Muggle deserved it.”

“I know.”

Silence fell between them until she cleared her throat, gaze falling on the butterbeer frappe, recalling what he had said when she had snapped at him to bring her one. “Why did you actually come here?”

She felt him hesitate and knew whatever he had to say would aggravate her.

“What?” she demanded. “What is it?”

“I. . . don’t see you continuing with everything to be the. . . wisest choice.”

“Continuing with what?”

“Quidditch.”

She pulled back to look him in the eye. “Is this just because you don’t like me playing, and Dent, and my track record of getting injured?”

“Not particularly,” he rolled his eyes and she felt him tense. “Something. . . feels off.”

She stared; he wasn’t making any sense at all. His eyes were swirling blackholes, and she had the distinct feeling he was just as perplexed about what he was saying as she was. “So you don’t want me to play in the Semi-Final. . . because you’ve got a bad feeling.”

He shot her a glare. “Sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.”

“Is that not what you’re implying?”

“I’m implying nothing.”

She stood and he followed suit, grabbing at her wrist. But she pulled away and began furiously pacing the room as her anger mounted.

“Then what?” she turned to face him, not surprised that he was glaring right back at her.

“This whole thing,” he said through clenched teeth, “the World Cup, the contracts, the Department, the Ministry, the ICWQC. . . there are. . . a lot of factors, a lot of variables. . . a lot of people involved in everything.”

“You said so yourself that they aren’t fixing the matches.”

“I’m not talking about the matches.”

“Then, what?” she snapped, rage plummeted to her gut. She hated when he did this. His opinion was the only one that mattered to her and yet he always felt the need to attack the sport she had given her life to, that had gotten her through the darkest of times, and had now made her famous and wealthy. Just because he had a stupid feeling. “What are you talking about? Because I sure as hell am not not playing in our next match!”

He remained silent. They glared at each other across the room until the windows behind Natalie burst. She ducked under the onslaught of glass, though all of it landed harmlessly on the floor, leaving her untouched.

Lord Voldemort vanished the broken glass and repaired the windows with a lazy wave of his wand.

They burst again immediately upon being repaired.

“Really?” he asked in annoyance.

“Don’t bother fixing them again until you explain what you’re talking about,” she snarled, not at all surprised the windows couldn’t hold up — she thought her own head might burst too.

He looked much more controlled than she felt. “Dolohov’s acting as your bodyguard. . . of sorts, per the Minister’s orders.”

Her muscles slackened as she grew confused by the sudden change of topic. “Yeah. What’s that got to do with anything?”

“This isn’t just another Quidditch match anymore,” he said, eyes boring into hers. “It’s an international. . . development. . . and there’s a lot more at play. . . . And not everyone in the world loves you as much as the Prophet makes it seem.”

She frowned, recalling what Dolohov had said about her needing to start ‘thinking differently.’

“Yes, you need to start thinking differently,” he vocalized the memory he had obviously just glimpsed within her mind.

“So, what should I do? Assume everyone’s out to get me?” her anger was unwilling to leave.

“Assume that showing up at the Leaky Cauldron because you’ve whimsically decided you need shepherd’s pie is not the best idea.”

Her eyes darted to the forgotten butterbeer frappe and when the cup exploded before their eyes, he added, “or ice cream.”

“Can you get me another?” she asked quietly, staring at the remnants of the frappe until they vanished.

She could feel his surprise and confusion at the sudden drop of her voice. He remained silent, looking at her with something between curiosity and suspicion. She looked down at the glass around her feet. It flew upwards and back into the window frames, fitting itself together until it looked as though it had never been broken. Glancing back where the frappe had been, she crossed her arms.

“Can you get me another. . . like — now?”

“Are you sure your captain would like you having that much ice cream?" he turned to leave. The frostiness in his voice immediately inflamed her temper; they both knew he had no intention of fulfilling her request.

“I’m still playing in the next match!” she called as he walked out of the room.

He didn’t respond but she knew he had rolled his eyes.

“Because you can’t just leave the national team before the Semi-Final!” she yelled and the windows burst behind her for the third time.