Morbidus

Rem tene, verba sequentur

The first snow wrapped Scotland in its icy folds early on a Thursday morning. Its appearance came as no surprise to anyone, as the temperature had dropped increasingly over the past few weeks. When the first soft flakes fell on the castle's high towers, Draco found himself remarkably discontented by the approaching winter. The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling was the recipient of many peevish glances as he filled his cup with golden amber. The steam rising to meet his olfaction had a strong scent of bergamot that for a moment drowned all the other smells of breakfast in the long House Table.

He listened inattentively to the discussion flowing freely around him, not taking part in the excitement the opening of the belated Quidditch season had planted in most of the school's young students. For the first time in years, he had decided not to place a wager on the Slytherin team's victory and was actually starting to question his desire to follow the match from the auditorium after being such an imperative part of the team's foundation. When Potter and Weasley passed the table, he did not join in the whistles and insults his housemates let fly through the draughty air of the Hall. Instead, he folded open the Daily Prophet, heading for the usual economy section when the headlines of the front page caught his eye. He quickly found himself mouthing the words of the piece of news in the incessant noise of the Great Hall. His absorption remained unbroken until someone leaned in to his ear and spoke in a soft voice that made Draco flinch nonetheless.

"Attackers of Upper Flagley still at large - fuming Howlers flood Ministry of Magic," Pansy whispered calmly. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

He restrained himself from glancing at her, and turned the page to the ever-altering numbers of the magical stock market. She took a seat on his right, leaning her elbow on the long table's rough wooden surface.

"So what did you figure of the History essay?" she changed the subject effortlessly. "I think I concentrated a bit too much on the provisions and such. I mean, the wars of Muggles have probably had more significant effects on wizarding society than that."

Draco agreed absently. His own hastily composed homework lay at the bottom of his briefcase waiting for a grade no better than Acceptable. It wasn't his lack of interest toward the heading that kept him from concentrating but the fear of it all being a mere creation of his mind. Though he enjoyed studying, he wasn't inclined on doing all his homework twice.

"I suppose you're going to bury yourself in the library again then," Pansy suspected monotonously, continuing after Draco grunted as a reply, "You should come up for air every now and then. People are starting to forget you exist."

He cast a slightly amused glance at Pansy, finding joviality in her exaggerated words.

She leaned in closer before her following words. "Look, I know this Quidditch thing is making you melancholic. Don't you think you should try to distract yourself from it every now and then?" Something about the stress she laid on certain words suggested she wasn't talking merely about Quidditch.

Draco glimpsed at the girl again, a passing thought of the truthfulness of her words piercing his mind. He rolled his eyes a little but nodded all the same.

"I suppose," he muttered and emptied his teacup, leaving the noisy Hall with his friend by his side.

In the manner of the previous weeks, Draco found himself unable to withstand the anaesthetizing effect of professor Binns' monotonous lecture. His thoughts shifted between subjects freely as he leaned his chin on the palm of his hand and let his eyes stare into space. The problems of generations past felt more irrelevant than ever when put side by side with his own, and Draco wished harder than ever before that he had had the distraction of weekly Quidditch practice to keep his mind from trying to understand all the information he had gathered during his long stays in the library. In the past fortnight, he had read more books than the entire past summer, and the knowledge he had collected was by no means altogether consoling in the light of his current situation. More than anything, it had made Draco sleep with one eye open, waiting to fall into the web of another illusion at any given moment. He was always on guard for anything out of the ordinary, as the books had suggested things might appear abnormal, though the most skilfully created illusions were near impossible to tell apart from reality.

The professor's voice called his name through the haze of boredom and concern he had allowed his mind to create. His head jerked upward from the desk it had sunk onto as he asked Binns to repeat the question.

"I was merely wondering if you were paying attention, Mr. Malfoy," the ghost retorted, "and I already got my answer. Ten points from Slytherin."

Professor Binns' words straightened Draco's posture. He turned his eyes back to his book, deciding to at least pretend to read it for the rest of the lesson.

"Is there something more important for you to keep focusing on during these lessons, Mr. Malfoy? This isn't the first time I see you lacking in attention."

"No, professor," he replied lazily, his mind buzzing with thoughts as remote from the lecture as Slytherins were from Gryffindors.

"I better not catch you daydreaming again, Mr. Malfoy. I trust I don't have to remind you this is a NEWT level class."

"No, professor," Draco repeated and turned the page on his book. From the corner of his eye he noticed Granger giving him a glance lined with a deep frown.

***

Granger's prying eyes followed him to the Great Hall, where they shared all they'd seen with Potter and Weasley, making them direct their attention toward the Slytherin table as well. Draco could feel their gazes as nerve-wrecking prickling on the back of his head, but he kept his own eyes strictly on his Arithmancy book. The subject was among the few things he still trusted to be true, because he knew his own affection to numbers was far greater than any warm feelings Yaxley had toward contorting the realm of reality.

The Hall, that moments before had been droning with the sound of hundreds of students enjoying their lunch, fell silent in an instant when two loud consecutive explosions emanated from the Entrance Hall. Many seemed frightened, but Draco among others sprung to his feet, relinquishing his half-eaten salad by marching, wand at the ready, to the source of the explosions that had continued ever louder. He could sense the professors were already making their way across the Great Hall to solve whatever problem had occurred in the school's large atrium, and hastened his steps to beat them to it. As expected, Potter had not remained seated, but exited the Hall concurrently with Draco with his loyal subordinates by his side.

He recognised the source of the more sinister curses as Vaisey, the Chaser of the Slytherin Quidditch team, and the object of his revulsion as Jimmy Peakes, a Gryffindor Beater. The two had engaged in a duel in the middle of the Hall, resulting in a broken window, several black burn marks on the marble staircase and a complete chaos among the younger students, who were now making their way to the safety of the neighbouring rooms, slowing down the professors trying to fight their way through the throng. The vim of the spells drew Draco's attention so powerfully that for a moment he did nothing but stared at the two, hoping in his mind that Peakes' reflexes would falter just once as a strong Conjunctivitus curse parted from the tip of Vaisey's wand. He didn't realise to raise his own until Potter's Shield Charm flew past him to protect the fellow Gryffindor from the unpleasant effects of conjunctivitis. He aimed a strong Disarming Spell on Peakes, hitting him on the left shoulder and making his wand cross the hall in a high arch. He caught it effortlessly, making Potter's attention waver for one decisive moment that left Peakes unprotected from the Stinging Jinx that Vaisey shouted out at that exact moment. The spell hit Peakes' on the neck, causing him to fall on his knees on the floor, holding his neck as red welts and bruises started appearing on his skin. The Slytherins in the Hall cheered out their approval even after Vaisey lost his wand to Granger.

"Don't touch my wand, Mudblood!" Vaisey shouted, notably unaware of the applause he had earned. "Don't touch it, you hear?!" he started pacing toward Granger with a look of pure revulsion on his face. "Don't foul it, you disgusting piece of Muggle scum!! Give it back to me now!!"

Granger's lips had tightened but she made no move toward hexing the lad approaching.

"DON'T CALL HER THAT!" Weasley shouted furiously, pointing his wand at Vaisey, but before he could cast a spell, Draco noticed Potter stepping forward again. He let his reflexes take over as the Stunning Spell hit his own Shield Charm an inch before it reached Vaisey's fuming figure. The boy kept walking toward Granger despite either until he was eventually stopped by his own Head of House. Snape had reached the boy and was now escorting him toward the staircase leading to his office.

"I won't go until you take my wand from that filthy cunt!" Vaisey's shouting echoed clear above the uproar of the Hall.

"Detention, Mr. Vaisey!" McGonagall screamed from Peakes' side, looking more outraged than ever. A swift flick of her wrist put an end to the Stunning Spell Potter had cast in Draco's direction.

"That blood traitor deserved it! He and all you blood traitors deserve a lot more and trust me, that's exactly what you'll get!!" The boy kept bellowing his insults. "You're scum and filth! You're nothing!!"

"Get that boy out of here, Snape!!" McGonagall yelled, treating Peakes' injuries all the while. "Get him out of here right this instant!"

The door to the stairs that led to the dungeons closed with a loud bang, reducing Vaisey's rudeness a notch from the ear-splitting volume he had kept up earlier. His words were still audible for a long time, making McGonagall's face grow grimmer by the second.

"Give me that wand, Malfoy," Potter growled at Draco angrily. He hadn't even noticed the other approaching.

Draco looked at Peakes' wand he was still holding in his hand, and then at his fellow Slytherins clearly waiting for him nearby, and even though he had sworn to play nice with Potter that year, he was all but inclined to giving the wand up without a fight of some variety.

"Don't you think it would be better if I gave it to Reeks - I mean, Peakes myself?" he said, making his attempts to hold back his laughter obvious. The Slytherins listening to them didn't bother to smother theirs. "You don't strike me as the most reliable type, you see, and we wouldn't want little Jimmy's wand getting lost, now would we? Not in the times we're living."

Potter's whole face seemed to tense with bottled-up rage. "Give. Me. That. Wand," he repeated slowly, gritting his teeth so tightly the words were barely perceptible.

Draco glanced again at his House mates before he sneered. "No, I don't think I will, actually." He smiled malevolently at Potter's rage, knowing what any attempt from his part to curse Draco would look like in McGonagall's eyes. "I think I'd very much like to see you fetch it," he declared before throwing the wand up to the second floor.

Potter seemed to be at the verge of exploding as Draco turned on his heels, joined his House mates and headed to the Slytherin common room for the remainder of his lunch break.

"What do you think they'll do to Vaisey?" someone asked quietly as they reached the large dungeon-like room.

Draco shrugged. "Probably just take points and give him detention," he ventured a guess. "Or then they'll expel him, which will of course be a scandal and an outrage, and cause many complaints among the Board of Governors and result to Vaisey's expulsion doing more harm than good. I'd consider it a win-win situation," he explained his opinion as he took a seat on one of the sofas. "The main focus here is that Vaisey had a right to say and do what he did. Why should we respect other people's views on the expense of our own anyway?" He pulled the morning's Daily Prophet from his bag and eyed it lazily. "Those people have spent so long talking about equality the word has lost all meaning."

People around him seemed to agree as they took seats around him again.

"Mark my words, Reeks will get a far less severe punishment than Vaisey." He then muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, "That's just how these people work. The cruellest punishments always fall on those with the strongest convictions."

The others mumbled in accord, several of them eyeing the Prophet's headline anxiously. Draco turned the page and glanced at it himself.

"That alone proves it," he snorted deridingly. "The Ministry is meddling with things it should just accept as a given in this world."

He turned to the economy section, very pleased to find that had he followed his business instinct and invested a hundred Galleons on the pharmaceutical company of his choice, he'd have tripled the amount by lunchtime.

"They say they have a source," Bletchley interrupted Draco's self-satisfied thoughts.

Draco snorted loudly. "I highly doubt that, Miles," he voiced with an air of finalising certainty, "and even if they did, I'm sure the problem would be mended in no time."

The truth was Draco didn't know any better than his House mates what the situation with the Attackers of Upper Flagley was. It had been a fortnight since any word from his ordained allies had reached him, but still he drew a knowing smile on his face and leaned back on the sofa, seemingly at ease with everything surrounding him. Many in the Slytherin house were deeply unnerved by the events, and worried for the well-being of their relatives who had participated in the attack. Draco didn't share their worries. His only fear was that the commotion caused by the episode might thwart the development of his status.

"Have you heard something then?" Miles kept pressing the matter. "Something the rest of us haven't?"

Draco sneered. "I just might have, Miles," he fibbed calmly. "I just might."

The other lad seemed convinced by this, and the subject changed for the remainder of their lunch hour. Draco's attention faltered again, and his thoughts remained in the fight he had just witnessed in the Entrance Hall. The outbursts of discord that sometimes occurred in the school were usually not quite as violent, and Draco knew it was only the beginning now. Things would culminate before long, maybe even sooner than anyone anticipated, and the tension that had been gradually building for years was about to condense and implode, and he wasn't altogether sure how close to the centre he wanted to be when it happened.

***

When he got to the dungeons after his Arithmancy lesson, Draco found his spirit elevated by the challenging and highly practical examples they had worked on with professor Vector, the one teacher other than his own head of house toward whom he still felt any respect. Even Granger's continuous curiosity toward his doings hadn't disturbed him as he wrote down number after another, counting interests for loans and deposits. To him there was little in the world as reassuring as figuring out how much he could earn by doing absolutely nothing. His smile didn't fade until someone hit him hard on the back with a school bag.

"Out of my way, Malfoy," Thomas grunted and made his way in the classroom. Without a moment's hesitation Draco pulled out his wand and cast a jinx that left the Gryffindor lying flat on the cold stone floor. His housemates patted him on the back on their way in the dungeon.

"Settle down," Snape called from the front of the room, causing the commotion among the students to subside.

Draco took his usual seat in the second row of desks on the right side of Pansy's, who had failed to materialise with the rest of the class. He looked at her empty seat and felt a rush of anxiousness surging through his body. His thoughts revisited the earlier hours of the day as he looked for anything else out of the ordinary. Pansy's nonattendance had been the indicator a fortnight ago and instantaneously Draco's thoughts took a route of reversed psychology and back and forth arguments. He could feel his armpits starting to itch from sweat as he glanced around disconcertedly to see what else about the circumstances was incongruous. When he noticed Granger too hadn't joined her fellow Gryffindors to grace the dungeon with her disputed womanly charms, his breath waned to the point of being as absent as the two. Without further reflection Draco raised his hand and excused himself to the nearest lavatory.

He leaned his sweaty hands on the edge of the washbasin and left the water pouring out of the silver spigot as he fixed his eyes on the cold grey ones of his likeness.

"This isn't real," he told his image, closing his eyes in anticipation of a change in the milieu. "It's just a test, it's not real."

He opened his eyes to the same copy of his countenance he had observed earlier. His hands struck the basin goaded by his discontent and a whispered swear fled his mouth in a silent hiss drowned by the sound of the running water.

"Contemptible," he denounced forcedly. "Is this how you prove yourself worthy?"

The enquiry went unrequited. Draco's teeth sunk into his bottom lip as his wand plugged up the gushing water and he left the bathroom, incensed by the unwavering situation and his own incapability to control it.

"Talking to ourselves, are we, Malfoy?"

Draco turned on his heels the second Potter's voice started straining his ears.

"I'm actually surprised it took you this long to reach that stage of psychosis," the Gryffindor remarked, abandoning his previous place behind the bathroom door. "Or is it something you have to do to be able to -"

"Is there a reason you're stalking me, Potter?" Draco interrupted the other. "Beside the fact that you're deranged and pathetic beyond any verbal expression."

In his mind Draco was wondering how much of his words the other had heard.

Potter snorted, continuing like Draco's words never existed. "I'm going to find out what you're up to," he told him in a matter-of-factly way. For a moment Draco considered asking Potter how he knew Draco was up to anything at all, but it seemed pointless.

"I have no business with you, Potter," he informed the other and started walking toward the dungeon again, "so I've decided to learn to ignore you. I suggest you do the same."

The arguing voices from further along the corridor made him stop before he could take another step. Potter had remained in his previous position by the lavatory door, and was looking for the source of the sounds as well. The loudening quarrel led to the appearance of Pansy and Granger, deep in disagreement as they made their way toward the classroom.

"As I said before, Granger, you have no idea what you're talking about," Pansy spat the words to the other girl behind her back, coming to a halt at the sight of Draco and Potter.

"What are you doing here?" she asked Draco, who nodded toward the bathroom without a word. Seeing her put his racing mind at ease but with it came a sense of disappointment. If there was no illusion, it meant the persistent silence of his allies hadn't abated.

"Come on," he told her and gave Potter a glare before walking back to the dungeon. He waited until they were back on their seats before asking her where she had been.

"Granger," she whispered when the two Gryffindors entered and had points taken for being late. "She came to talk to me in the library."

"What did she want?" Draco murmured back while adding the lionfish spine to his concoction.

"Not here," Pansy replied quietly, glancing around the room. "I'll explain it later."

Draco nodded in agreement, resisting the spike in his curiosity Pansy's statement had caused. He could almost hear Potter and Granger going through the motions of the exact same conversation.

***

In Draco's opinion the lesson didn't end a second too early. As soon as the bell rang, summoning all student body to dinner Draco took Pansy by the arm and led her not in the direction of the Great Hall, but toward the Slytherin common room. He chose their usual seats in the corner by the fire and sat the girl down, ignoring her weary sigh and mumbles of discreetness.

"I went to the library after the History lessons to find that book Binns told us about," she started, sounding almost indifferent about the matter, "and I ran into Granger. She started talking to me right out of the blue, about the homework at first, but then she started insinuating things."

"What kind of things?" he asked, not incorrect in anticipating it had something to do with him.

"She told me she had read about the lives of pure-blood witches and she didn't think it right that I should end up like one," Pansy explained, gazing around the room. "She said I had too much of a brain to end up as a trophy wife. And then she let me understand there might be other options open for me."

Draco let out a laugh a bit louder than he had intended. "What did you say?" he asked, amused by the mere thought of such an encounter between the two house rivals.

"I told her to bugger off and mind her own business," Pansy informed, leaning her back on the green velvet of her chair. "Of course she kept pushing it, you know what those people are like."

"Yes, no sense of decency what-so-ever," Draco mumbled almost more to himself. "If she approaches you again-"

"Don't you even think about giving me orders, Draco!" the girl suddenly exclaimed. "I have too much of a brain not to think for myself."

She got up and exited the room, flashing a grin before pushing open the door. Before she could disappear from his eyes her shape was replaced by Blaise's which made its way straight to the chair Pansy had left empty.

"Quite a wrangle at the Entrance Hall earlier I hear" he laughed. "Too bad I wasn't there, could've given Reeks a bit more than just bruises."

"Your attendance wasn't required," Draco sneered, picking his bag up from the floor as he got on his feet. "Though some of us might wonder where you were this morning."

"Yeah, I was-"

"Did I say I was the one wondering?" Draco asked amusedly before leaving the room.

He made his way back to the centre of the morning's aggravated assault and joined Pansy for dinner in the Great Hall. He took a seat on her left, peering at the cover of the book she was reading.

"Testimonies on Levitation?" he asked incredulously. "Wasn't that book just on The New Longside Gazette's list of the worst books of the 20^th century?"

Pansy nodded absently. "It's the book Binns was talking about," she reminded him. "A fact you would know if you bothered to pay any attention these days."

Draco grabbed a nearby dish and mounted a generous helping of fried mushrooms on his plate before reaching for the fish.

"He said he's considering it to be among the obligatory books for the course," the girl went on with her forkful of lamb still in mid air. "He said you shouldn't even dream of an O if you're not bothered to do extra-curricular reading in your spare time."

"I'd rather get an E than read that," Draco scoffed. "Neil MacHammond wrote that book is impossible to read while remaining conscious."

Pansy sneered. "I hate to be the one to tell you this but your hero exaggerates in most of his writings," she assured. "It's not impossible to read. Just a bit tedious."

Draco shook his head. "Neil MacHammond cannot be wrong about things," he claimed. "Every book he's raved about has been amazing. I refuse to accept that his good taste could falter."

"Yes, all three of the books he's raved about that you've bothered to read," Pansy laughed. "Admit it, it's about Harry Was A Harlowe Beast again, isn't it?"

"It's seven, thank you very much, and I don't understand why you won't just admit that it's the greatest book ever written," he went on while filling half of his plate with green beans.

"It's a too long, rambling, overly extravagant book with a confusing plot and a dissatisfying conclusion," she repeated her usual arguments. "It's extremely difficult to relate to the protagonist and the thousand pages of not-so-impressive philosophical arguments make the book almost as interesting as this one." She emphasised by waving her library finding in front of the lad's face. "How you managed to go through it five times is beyond me."

Draco gathered a collection of all food groups on his fork before continuing, "It is the most imaginative and detailed description of what life has been like for pure-blooded wizards during the past four centuries," he protested. "Not only is the protagonist highly relatable, he's also an inspiration in his evident manifestation for self-improvement and untiring sense of morale."

"All it manifests is irresponsible use of a Time-Turner," Pansy shot back. "Besides, it completely ignores all historically important events and dwells on some irrelevant mythological phenomena that can't even be proved to have happened."

"It does not completely ignore-" Draco started, but a thought flashed through his mind that changed his focus completely. The word mythological had awakened some notion in his mind and a passage of his favourite book suddenly emerged from the depths of his subconscious. His fork fell on his plate with a loud clang as he grabbed his briefcase and sprung to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Pansy shouted after him, but he just waved a hasty good-bye before descending back into the dormitories. He pulled open his trunk, pushing aside the extra parchment and quills he had brought with him until he found his copy of Harry Was A Harlowe Beast. He flipped through the pages frantically until he found the chapter he had been looking for. Without any awareness from his part his mouth moved along with the words on the page as his eyes searched the sea of letters and words for the sentence he couldn't help reading aloud.

"And in his infinite need and yearning he expanded his quest to the commencing of an early age, but what he there found were only morbid men with morbid names, striking down the joys of mankind with their indulgences, that appeared to him atrocious and unnatural, and so he averted his gaze and left, until the end of his days scarred by what he had heard and witnessed."

He got up from his kneeling position on the floor and sat on his bed, the book still open in his lap. "Morbid men with morbid names," he repeated, his mind swarming with realisations. He reached for his schoolbag, pulling out his history book and opening it in a random page near the end. He turned the pages until he found the timeline, which he followed with his index finger all the way to the heading "Early Age".

"An era of growing interaction with Muggles (mostly in the form of witch hunts) and between various wizarding communities in an incipiently international level," Draco read aloud again. "Often seen to have begun with the witch hunts of 1480s and ended with the passing of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1692."

Something in Draco's mind adhered to the word morbid in an almost desperate attempt to remember why it was important.

"Something morbid," he thought aloud. "Why does it seem to matter so much?"

He closed both of the books in his lap hesitantly and returned them to their places, his head still ringing with the ill-omened word. He had a feeling it had more to do with him than one might think but no matter how hard he tried the question did not unravel.

He walked back to the common room he had rushed through earlier, noting only now how tense the atmosphere had become. Even the youngest students seemed to have abandoned their homework and were instead sitting in formless discussion groups, deep in conversation. They all kept glancing at the middle of the room where Draco's eyes next directed themselves.

Vaisey was sitting on one of the dark green leather sofas leaning his elbows on his school trunk. Around him had gathered a mass of pupils Draco quickly joined. The conversation was much quieter here, and walking toward the miserable figure in the middle of it all felt strangely like walking into the eye of a storm.

"They expelled you then?" Draco asked gravely and the other lad nodded.

"I'm just waiting for Snape," Vaisey grunted. "He'll escort me out of the school grounds." There was blatant mockery in his voice. "But you know what? Fuck this," Vaisey spat, leaning his back on the sofa. "My folks have already made a complaint. I'll be back before Potter faints, just you wait."

Draco scoffed at the undeviating inside joke and held out his hand which Vaisey took, slightly surprised by the gesture.

"It's been great having you here, Vaisey," Draco noted courteously. "And remember, there's always Durmstrang."

The lad laughed benevolently and let go of Draco's hand. The two of them had had very little dealings during their previous years, but the recent events seemed to have made Draco a representative for the whole House and it felt like his duty to be there for this sort of events.

"Pisses me off to leave the team though," Vaisey told him. "There's not a lot of time to find a replacement."

"I'd say Quidditch is the least of our concerns," Draco sighed as he realised that most of the Slytherins present didn't understand what had happened along with Vaisey's expulsion. "You do realise that along with this the authorities of this school have practically announced that there is no room in this establishment for our opinions and our beliefs." These words were addressed to the entire room. "Not only are they evicting a vital member of the single most important group inside our House, the group that beyond any other shapes the way this House is being viewed by outsiders, they're also telling us to assimilate." The last word came out as a poisonous hiss that astounded even Draco himself. Most of his House mates were now facing him, wearing nearly identical frowns. "They're ordering us to adapt to their ideals, their conceptions of the world," he went on, his voice loudening from irritation. "I for one won't stand for that," he announced. "I'm telling you now for as long as I live and breathe, I will not conform, I will not adjust and I will not assimilate."

The sneer that followed these words seemed to echo in the quiet room, making Draco swing around to face the lanky form of the potions master. "Admirable fervour," Snape commented on his words as he walked further into the room, "but unfortunately quite beside the point."

Draco felt a sting of displeasure that was directly related to being interrupted. Having everyone's attention felt more important than ever, and he was afraid Snape would say something to crush his argument.

"I suggest you all calm down," Snape said in that magical tone that could quieten even the Quidditch pitch during a game between Slytherin and Gryffindor. "Mr. Vaisey's expulsion is only temporary, and I wouldn't advise anyone to read too much into it."

"Why? Did Peaks get expelled?" Draco inquired defiantly, setting off a sea of murmur among his peers.

"Mr. Peaks was seen to be less culpable when it comes to this day's events," Snape explained, and the murmur grew louder. "Mr. Peakes was less aggressive in his attack and therefore detention was considered to be a more appropriate punishment."

"Considered by whom, exactly?" Draco now asked. "Our dear headmaster and deputy headmistress, no doubt, both of whom, might I add, are former Gryffindors." His accusations found resonance in his fellow Slytherins.

"Professor McGonagall is the Head of Gryffindor House. Her presence was of the essence."

"Is it just me or does this school suddenly seem unable to treat its students in an equal and rightful manner?" Draco asked. Some of the crowd voiced out their agreement in his support.

"What may appear as unjust is merely the direct consequence of your own actions," Snape lectured sternly. "Not least of all yours, Mr. Malfoy, since I remember seeing you participating."

Despite his relentless effort, Draco couldn't prevent the emerging of the pale blotchy blush that soon covered his cheeks.

"I suggest you all seek for other ways to express your frustration," the professor expressed in his most authoritative tone, "before you lose the remaining members of your Quidditch team."

Vaisey, who had remained silent on his seat, got up and shook Draco's hand again. He looked almost as thoroughly disappointed as Draco himself felt.

"Maybe you were right," he said before switching his grip on the handle of his school trunk. "About Durmstrang, that is."

Draco nodded slowly. "I'd give it some thought if I were you," he advised. "Anywhere seems better than here at the moment."

Vaisey agreed with a mumble before picking up his things and following his Head of House out of the common room, for all everyone knew for the very last time. After the door swung closed without a sound, the silence of the room remained unwavering. Draco took a seat on the spot that Vaisey had left empty and sighed. Regardless of their disagreement Draco knew not to place blame on Snape. There was no question about whether the professor had done all he could to revoke the retribution. No, the one to blame could not be of Slytherin association.

Slowly the chatter of the room recurred in a hushed version of its glory days. Draco leaned his elbows on his knees, covering his face with his hands. For the first time during his years in the school the castle beyond the green and silver chambers seemed uninviting even to the point of appearing openly hostile.

His hands remained in the position of covering his eyes until the sofa bent under the weight someone laid on the cushion on his right. He looked up at Harper who patted him on the shoulder in what seemed like an attempt of camaraderie.

"I just wanted to say that I totally see eye to eye with you on this," the lad spoke and for Draco's great relief removed his hand before he needed to demand it of him. He had held a slight dislike for Harper ever since he had replaced him as Seeker in the Quidditch team.

"Glad to hear it," he snorted.

"If you ask me, we really need to start standing up for ourselves. You know, even the ones of us who aren't quite as lucky as you." The lad winked. "Everyone's still talking about it. Some of the first years are completely terrified."

Draco let out a laugh. It didn't come as a surprise after all the evasive action the youngest students had taken not to cross paths with him.

"You're right about what you said about assimilating," Harper went on. "It's obvious that's what they really want. A world where we all just marry Muggles and produce the same filth they themselves have become. I think it's our number one goal to make sure that doesn't happen."

Draco looked at him, his aversion slightly surpassed by what he had heard. "You should discuss this with your friends, make sure they all agree," he recommended as he got on his feet.

"They do," Harper told him, "and they look up to you. We all do."

Light wrinkles appeared on Draco's forehead with the frown he couldn't help wearing. As he glanced around the common room before exiting, he noticed many eyes were still on him, observing him from a respectful distance.

***

The overwhelming stench of mould, rotting timber and dust invaded his dreams, filling them with living forests and things that followed him in the dark, always staying behind his back, hissing and rasping. The cold breath of air that kept slashing his face was a living thing, and in his mind somehow connected to whatever it was that would not be seen by him. The trees moved closer and closer with every turn he made to prepare for the attack he knew was being planned against him, and as the hissing reached the proximity of his right ear, he woke up so suddenly it took him a while to recognise he was no longer asleep, and that he had omitted the obscure space between reverie and reality. His heartbeat had fastened so unexpectedly he feared the organ might explode in his chest.

The first thought in his racing mind was to find out what time it was, but when his twitching fingers reached out and wrapped themselves around a bouquet of dead leaves instead of his silver pocket watch he started to come in terms with his resting place no longer being the tidily made bed he had crawled into at the end of his habitual spell and curse casting practice. He dropped the damp leaves back on the table, rubbing his tired eyes with the back of his hand before taking another look at the place he had ended up in without any initiative. Firstly he noticed being fully dressed in neat robes that smelled of home, completed with black leather shoes he usually wore paired with his dress robes. He didn't want to stop and think how his nightwear had suddenly turned into that unsuited ensemble, and so he got on his feet and reached for his wand, lighting the tip of it as soon as it was out of his pocket.

The spell hit the edges of a small room that as far as the furniture went had no decipherable purpose. A worn out armchair had been pushed over beside the undersized table on which Draco's head had been resting mere moments before. Behind the shaky chair he had been sitting on were a small stove and above it a broken shelf with a few grimy and rusty pots and pans still providing evidence that the area had once been used for cooking. The leaves of summers past littered the floor, covering everything the residents had left behind. The cold breeze blew in from the shattered window, going around the room in a swift gush that left Draco shivering in his robes. After the rustling of the leaves faded, the house fell dead silent.

He followed the light of his wand to a narrow doorway on the right of a soot-drenched fireplace, the hem of his robes making a hissing noise on the dead leaves as he walked toward it. The sound made him remember the dream he had had earlier and he shuddered again. The cold air had chased off his exhaustion and as he sneaked forward, wand at the ready, he could feel the intoxicating rush of adrenaline surging through his body. He quickly reminded himself what he was there for, and that absolutely anything could be waiting for him in the dark, kept silent only by the instincts of a born predator. His hold on his only weapon tightened automatically as he passed the frames, setting his foot on the door that had been ripped down from its hinges. Slowly he let his eyes scan the room, but beside the lump of stalk and feathers barely distinguishable as a former bed, the room was empty.

A soft clinking sound rose out of the silence so unexpectedly Draco needed to wait for its recurrence before following it through the only other doorway leading away from the room in which he had come round. He was expecting illuminating the razor-sharp teeth of a hungry beast or the spotless white loins of a Unicorn, waiting for him to drink from it to obtain some sort of powers he didn't already possess. Instead the bright beam hit the bolding head of a man whom Draco couldn't say to have met before. He was in his sixties, streaks of grey among the remainder of his dark hair, sporting a chestnut-coloured waistcoat over a white collar shirt with trousers identical in tint to the stone wall to which he had been chained. The light of Draco's wand bounced of his bifocal glasses as he moved it from one shackle to another, his brow lined with a deep frown of uncertainty.

"He-Hello," the man stammered. It was difficult to determine from his tone whether it was a greeting or a question.

Draco let the spell sweep the edges of the miniscule room. Only two pieces of furniture had survived the shack being abandoned, an unsteady chair similar to the one in the kitchen, and a badly beaten cabinet that missed two of its three drawers. An assortment of candles had been laid on top of it, and without thinking twice Draco passed his hand in front of them, making the small flames appear to the strange man's ultimate horror.

"Y-You!" he exclaimed, backing as far away from Draco as he could without sinking into the wall behind him. His voice was thin and breathless, like he had been going too long without a sip to drink. "You're one of them!"

After this fearful articulation he started screaming for help, banging the shackles against the stones for a while before his voice broke into violent coughs that had him crouching down on the floor. Draco returned to the kitchen, reaching for one of the grubby pots that had stayed on the cracked shelf. He quickly rinsed it with the Aguamenti Charm before filling it halfway, and taking it to the man, who drank greedily with large gulps, grimacing when he finally laid the pot down. This act of decency from Draco's part seemed to have assured him he was in no immediate danger, and he leaned to the wall, breathless but collected.

"I don't suppose that'll do me much good in the long run," he scoffed. "Not once you lot get started."

Draco took a seat on the chair, still equally perplexed by the situation as he had been on entering the last of the three rooms. The candles cast their soft, dim light around the room, making their shadows flicker on the walls. Draco reached for his other pocket, pleasantly surprised in finding a watch. He examined the clock face in the insufficient light. It was a quarter past midnight.

"You," said the man now. "What's your name?"

Draco glanced up, unsure whether to answer the question or not. His indecisiveness seemed to show on his face, for the man let out another laugh.

"Much harm it could do you, telling your name to a dead man," he countered, his head hitting the wall in exhausted despair. "This is the end of the line for me, and I don't even know why."

Draco gritted his teeth as his undersupplied pool of empathy proved its existence. This man had been brought there purposefully, and it didn't take Draco a lot to figure out what the outcome of the night would be. So he decided to remain level-headed and as taciturn as possible, resting his back on the chair that protested discordantly.

"I've had a good life," the man went on. "There were times when I thought it could've been better but as years went by I learned to appreciate it, the hardships."

Another gush of wind reached the interiors of the house, making the door swing miserably on its hinges and creak downheartedly.

"Such a lonely childhood," he kept sharing, his eyes staring into space and it seemed to Draco he was talking more to himself now. He took another glance at the pocket watch even though he knew only a few minutes had passed. "My mother raised me by herself. There were a lot of us those days; the war had taken so many fathers. But I was the only one who had never known his. It took my mother ages before she told me anything, anything at all, even when I was the one most harmed by his absence."

"Who brought you here?" Draco suddenly inquired, hoping it would help him make sense of the situation. "What did they look like?"

The man turned his dark, moist eyes at him, staring at him for a long time, so long in fact that Draco didn't think he'd get a comprehensible reply out of him. The man cleared his throat, however, and explained astonishingly calmly what had happened.

"It was just one man," he muttered, "dressed like you, in those weird cloak-like things. I was taking my evening walk when he came toward me, and everything went dark. I must've fainted, but for what reason is beyond me. I believe he drugged me, for I remember a magnificent feeling of euphoria taking over me before I woke up in here, chained to this wall and he was sitting there on that chair, pointing at the candles with a twig and they just lit up."

"What did he look like?" Draco asked again, but the man didn't react.

"I swear, I saw no light on that stick he was holding but somehow the fire just appeared. It was like magic, he just pointed at them and they-"

"What did he look like?" he repeated louder, his suspicions on the man's non-magical status confirmed. The Muggle turned his eyes on him again, looking bewildered, like he had forgotten he wasn't alone in the room.

"Tall," he rasped, "dark and rugged. As soon as I saw him I knew he was up to no good."

"Yaxley," Draco hissed. The man looked at him inquiringly. "Did he say anything?" he now asked, and the other nodded.

"He called me names," he huffed, "but I didn't know what they meant. He told me to be quiet, and that he'd be back with someone who'd deal with me."

Draco sighed in annoyance, taking a look at the time again.

"It's you, isn't it?" His voice quivered restlessly. "You're the one who's supposed to deal with me."

Draco got up and left the room, the vulgar turn of phrase fixed to his mind like a fly to a Sticking Charm. He walked outside to take in the frosty air and to wait for Yaxley in silence. A few flakes of snow fell through the bare branches of the surrounding trees that the wind swayed gently back and forth. He took a few steps away from the surprisingly whole front door, eyeing the shack in a displeased manner. He tried to imagine it in its former glory, but even with the vision of fixed windows and a fresh coat of paint, it was difficult to imagine people living there. Draco wondered whose house it was, and why he had been brought here of all places, when he heard a soft rustling of leaves from around the corner. He pulled his wand at once, but before he could take a step to meet his opponent, a scrawny fox sprinted to the light and hurried past the yard. Draco cursed quietly as he pushed his wand back in his pocket.

"Didn't Barty teach you something about constant vigilance?" The voice spoke out so abruptly it mad Draco jump.

"For fuck's sake!" he blurted, grabbing a hold of the chest of his robes. "Why the fuck do you have to sneak around like that?" he snapped at the man, who laughed vindictively.

"Seems the word on the street is accurate, you're much too lily-livered for this," Yaxley voiced his opinion, earning a death glare from Draco.

"You're late," he muttered, eyeing the watch again. "I got here half an hour ago."

"You must mean you came round half an hour ago," the man pointed out, "because the truth is you have no way of knowing how long you've been here, or what's happened to you while you've been having your little lie-down."

Draco gritted his teeth, looking daggers at Yaxley who let out a bark of laughter, making his way into the shack. Draco followed him reluctantly, visualizing a curse leaving his wand and digging a hollow in Yaxley's back.

"Get up, you scum!" Yaxley spat at the Muggle as soon as he reached him, placing a kick in the man's soft abdomen. The old man bent over, gasping with tear-filled eyes. "Honestly, these animals..." he muttered while taking a seat on the chair that nearly cracked under his weight. He pulled an old, moth-eaten handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tip of his shoe ferociously before throwing the cloth away and setting it on fire with a well-aimed spell. The blaze of it burning lit up the room, making Yaxley's eyes glow in the shade of light ochre as he turned them on Draco, looking expectant.

"Well?" he asked demandingly, nodding at the Muggle.

Draco stared back at him, guessing well what was expected of him, but reluctant to act without orders.

Yaxley let out a frustrated groan. "He's a coward and an imbecile," he muttered to himself, getting up from his seat and raising his wand. The old Muggle tried to escape to the corner, but the chains would not reach that far.

"Please!" he shouted hysterically. "Please don't hurt me, I'll do anything-"

"Shut it!" Yaxley bellowed. "Why would I want anything from you, you little shit?" He cast three violent explosions on the floor near the man's feet. He backed away, howling in panic as he did. "Settle down, and shut your mouth before I shut it for you!"

The man's high-pitched whimpering made Draco screw his face up. It reminded him of the way babies cried in the sole purpose of drawing anyone's attention.

"Now," Yaxley started, sounding so calm it seemed he had switched personalities, "there are things you don't learn at school, and turns out it's my job to teach them to you."

Draco's pulse quickened instantly, and his hold on his wand tensed. Many of the critical moments in his life had gone by unnoticed, but this time he was painfully aware of the barrier he was about to cross. After this night he would be a delinquent, no longer a blameless onlooker of the events. This was the night he shook off whatever remnants of his childhood he had left, tying himself even more irreversibly to the ongoing battle. If any authorities found out about it, he'd be sent to Azkaban for the remainder of his life which, given the prison's appalling conditions, wouldn't turn out to be very long.

"Won't the Ministry be notified?" he asked, his voice sounding hoarse.

Yaxley shook his head. "They won't find us here," he answered, looking around the room almost absently. He kept quiet for a moment, deep in his thoughts about some matter or another, before turning back to Draco. "You know the incantations, right?" he asked, and the other nodded, slightly insulted by the question. "Good," Yaxley muttered. "Saves me the trouble."

He turned back to the Muggle with a look of loathing on his face. "How 'bout a little demonstration then?" he asked and lifted his wand, shouting out the word that made the curse split the darkness before landing on the old man stooping on the floor. At once his eyes went blank, like someone had turned a switch in his brain. Draco watched as the man got up from the floor and started banging his head against the wall as calmly as if Yaxley had ordered him to write a letter or drink a glass of water. He counted eleven hits before Yaxley lifted the curse and the man fell down on the floor, holding his head and wiping the trickle of blood that had started running down the length of his nose.

"Your turn then," the wizard instructed, taking a seat on the chair again.

Draco stepped forward, trying his best to hide the trembling of his legs as he positioned himself in front of the man, who turned his pleading eyes on him.

"Please," he started. "I beg of you, my children-"

"Quiet," Yaxley ordered firmly. "Go on then," he persisted. "Show us there's some use for you."

Draco cleared his throat. His heart sent his blood racing through him so fast he was starting to get light-headed despite the deep breaths of air he tried to pull in. He lifted his wand, gluing his eyes on his target. A rush of terrified excitement surged through him with the power of a train in full speed and he closed his eyes for a second as a euphoric smile curved his lips.

"Imperio!"

As soon as the curse landed on the sagging chest of his living mark of practice, Draco's consciousness filled with an enthralling mixture of dominance and supremacy. The concrete power he had over another living thing trapped him in a shell of ecstasy from which he wanted to find no escape. He could feel his core being loosely linked to another, an essence so much his inferior he felt like laughing, amused by the pitiful state of existence the other was bound to. The curse flowed down his veins to the tips of his fingers, using his wand of hawthorn and unicorn hair as a gate into the lesser human now completely at his mercy or, should he so decide, the lack thereof.

"Get on your feet," his mind formed the command that the Muggle followed instantly without even dreaming about the possibility of resistance. "Bow."

The old man bent his body obediently, a sight that sent a pleasurable shiver charging down from Draco's neck, which he then stretched, letting out a long sigh that seemed to oust all the tension and unpleasantness he had carried on his shoulders for weeks.

"This is good," he whispered aloud. "I want to keep doing this."

He could hear Yaxley making a sound, but he didn't care to resolve the feeling or thought behind it. Instead he focused on a new command.

"Tell me your name."

"Tobias Pennock," the man replied in a monotonous tone. The blood pouring from his wound had reached his chin, dividing his face and making him look like a gruesome marionette.

"Tell me your date of birth."

"October 14^th 1934."

Draco let out a chuckle as his mind came up with another demand.

"Tell me you're a subhuman and a complete waste of space," he ordered, the other's degradation his ultimate contentment.

"I'm a subhuman and a complete waste of space," the man repeated obediently.

"Alright, you've had your fun now," Yaxley informed him, his voice coming to him like from deep underwater. When the curse faded from him, Draco was left with the lingering sensation of authority that made him stretch his shoulders again. The experience had made him so blissful he didn't even care to feel ashamed of the effects of it on his body being relatively inappropriate.

"Can I do it again?" he asked Yaxley at once, his eyes lighting up with the mere thought. The Muggle looked at him, visibly revolted by his request, and Yaxley snorted.

"We need to be moving on," he said. "There's no point in practising something you can already manage."

Draco felt his heart sink. For the first time in his life he was made melancholic by the aspects of his personality that made him a natural leader.

"What are you doing to me?" the Muggle whispered. "Why me? What have I done?"

Yaxley laughed malignantly. "You should be grateful!" he mocked the man. "You're here by personal request, and not a many of your kind can say that."

"But why?" he sobbed. "What have I done to you?"

Yaxley shrugged indifferently. "When I get my orders I know not to ask any questions," he declared matter-of-factly. "Now shut it. Some of us want to get their bit done and get out of here."

"But I just want to know-"

Yaxley jumped up from his seat and the man tried to disappear among the shadows in the corner. The wizard sat back down and spat on the floor.

"You know what's next, don't you?" he asked Draco without turning his eyes away from the man called Tobias Pennock, who snivelled miserably, leaving dark stains in the fabric of his waistcoat. "But you've already had a taste of that, haven't you?" Yaxley's voice was thick with ridicule.

"No. Please don't," the Muggle whined, raising a sadistic smile on the wizard's lips.

"Don't worry, he's still in training," Yaxley taunted. "You'll have plenty of time to get used to it before it comes unbearable. Trust me, this one won't accomplish much on the first try."

Yaxley's words made Draco grit his teeth defiantly. To him the thought of himself performing an adequate Cruciatus Curse on first attempt sounded far from the ludicrous Yaxley obviously believed it to be. The blissful aftertaste of the Imperius Curse had started to wear off, and Draco was already impatient for his second fix.

"Crucio!" he shouted excitedly, but instead of sending his involuntary target writhing in agony he merely flinched, letting out a quiet yelp.

Yaxley's expressions of amusement sounded like an explosion in the quiet house and Draco was almost sure they could be heard by anyone in a five mile radius. The man fell about, wiping the corners of his eyes as his laughter finally diminished into a less audible cackling.

"Now this I'll be sure to report back!" he howled in his fit of hilarity. "Greyback's always saying you'd be more use as his packed lunch but he's never had anything to prove it with!"

Draco's teeth pushed into each other so forcefully he could feel his gums giving in and his fist closed around his wand so tightly he was surprised it didn't snap in half. He waited for Yaxley to regain hold of himself, trembling with the rage he wasn't allowed to express.

"This one's not about you feeling good, you brat," the wizard preached, the corners of his mouth still twitching from the memory. "It's about that piece of scum there feeling as much pain as you choose to make him feel."

Draco frowned, fighting away the awareness that the man on the floor was a living thing who had never consciously done anything to deserve his resentment.

"That's the real thrill," Yaxley assured, a mad light nesting behind his dark eyes. "The Imperius Curse is nothing compared to this. You'll see."

The lad took his previous position again, staring at the hunched figure of Tobias Pennock.

"Just look at it," Yaxley remarked loathingly, his eyes like Draco's fixed on the being that was so unlike the two of them. "Just seeing them turns my stomach. So weak and pathetic." He spat on the floor again. "All you have to do is take one look and you know they're a perversion of nature. The whole species should be annihilated."

Draco closed his eyes to concentrate. His mind was droning with everything he had ever been told about Muggles, the stories from his childhood where they were always coming up to the Manor from the nearby village to take him away and raise him in a perfect absence of magic if he didn't behave. He remembered the first time he had ever really encountered them, mere weeks before his eleventh birthday. He had set off alone on his horse, straying closer to the town from his path than he had intended. He had stopped to rest under the shade of a young oak where he had been discovered by a group of youngsters, all five of them a few years older than him. They had been laughing with each other and carrying around a large silvery box that had made the strangest noise, like an orchestra had been stripped of its most vital aspects and turned into a quartet where only one of each groups of instruments had been allowed to play. The noise they then had produced had been overlapped by singing like Draco had never heard before. Instead of performing a sophisticated harmony, the person had been screeching and howling in the most displeasing way imaginable. One of the boys had carried the box right by his ear and Draco couldn't till that day understand how he hadn't lost his mind in doing so.

They had all stopped walking at the sight of him, gathering around uncomfortably close to ask him questions about his person. Draco had told them he wasn't allowed to speak to Muggles, but they hadn't understood the meaning of the word. They made fun of his robes, which Draco had even then thought to have been pretty rich coming from people clad from head to toe in worn-out denim. Something about his appearance had made them fathom that he lived in the Manor, and they had insisted he take them there so they could have a swim in their pool. To Draco it had sounded beyond peculiar, since he had never even considered swimming in the garden pond, but the Muggles had refused to take no for an answer. One of them had even pulled out a knife to threaten him. If it hadn't been for his blooming magical talent that had conjured a violent wind to shake the trees around them Draco probably hadn't survived unharmed.

As he waited there now to cast the curse, the fear and anger he had felt in that moment rose to the surface. Yaxley was right; the whole concept of Muggles was unnatural. Their lack of magical ability could not be seen as anything else than a lack of mental capacity. They were a different species, one that should've been coerced to serve their superiors from the start. But instead it was the Muggles who had the upper hand, forcing the wizarding community to exist in secret, like thieves and beggars, invisible to the majority of the planet's population. His anger flared up into fury, a rage he wanted to take out on the first of those who had done him wrong.

He opened his eyes to meet Tobias Pennock's. Whatever sympathising effect those wet, beseeching pools of despondency had had on him earlier was gone. The stare was now solely irritating, like another indication of their inadequacy. When Draco thought about those pure-blooded witches and wizards who chose to turn from the centuries of traditions to lower themselves to the level of those spineless creatures, he wanted nothing more than to punish this ambassador of weakness, to see him suffer for what his species had done to him.

Slowly he raised his wand again, pointing it right between the Muggles eyes.

"Crucio," he pronounced again, the word a mere whisper this time.

The curse flew, landing right where Draco had intended, and the second it touched his skin the man's head flew back and his mouth flew open in a scream inaudible to Draco's ears. He could only hear the blood rushing through his body and recognise the way every cell in his being seemed to activate, awoken by the case of Dark Magic he had performed. His nerves grew so sensitive the feeling soon became unbearable and he had no choice but to break the connection. The whooshing sound that had filled his world disappeared and he leaned on his knees, panting heavily.

"What was that?" he gasped, and Yaxley chortled.

"Hit you pretty hard, did it?" he asked, amused. "You should learn to control it."

Draco looked at the man sobbing on the floor and breathed heavily, the weight of his robes nearly intolerable on his aching skin. He tried comparing the feeling of casting the curse to being the receiving end of it, but it didn't make the experience feel any less unpleasant.

"Again," said Yaxley. "And put some thought into it this time."

Draco heaved another breath before straightening his posture and following the man's order. The thoroughgoing throbbing didn't ease, however, making it impossible for Draco to hold the curse for longer than a minute. Yaxley's eyes followed his every move, a fact that made him both self-conscious and frustrated. The pain got more intense after every whish of his wand until his head started to feel like it could blow up, and instead of getting stronger his efforts seemed to produce a weaker curse every time. Finally his irritation condensed to the point where he turned to the battered cabinet and gave it a firm kick that turned over one of the candles that went out with a hiss.

"You know what I think?" Yaxley yawned. "I figure you're being too nice." He took a pause, leaning back on his chair and picking his teeth. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were feeling sorry for that thing."

"I'm not!" Draco snapped. "You forget who you're talking to."

The older wizard snorted noisily. "Your heritage proves nothing," he barked. "Except that you're just as useless as your dear father."

"My father is not useless!" he shouted. "And neither am I."

"Prove it!" Yaxley yelled, his face contorting with aversion. "Do you want to cause that Muggle pain?"

"Yes!" Draco replied angrily, running his sore fingers through his platinum blonde hair.

"Do it then! Stop wasting my time!" the man roared. "Quit acting like some incompetent squib who doesn't want to get his hands dirty! 'Cause believe me, your lack of effort has already gotten you into a load of trouble."

Draco sighed again heavily and pulled his hair. The thought of failing his task should've given him motivation inspired by fear, but instead it made him even more uneasy. He looked again at the Muggle who was hugging his knees closely to his chest, muttering to himself and crying uncontrollably. No matter how pitiful, undeserving and irritating Draco found the man, he couldn't find the pleasure in seeing him suffer. His dislike of people usually came out in a very different way, and giving someone like the Muggle so much of his undivided attention seemed to go against his nature. He had always agreed that when it came to punishments, varying forms of humiliation usually out-lasted physical pain, and therefore he didn't find much point in the Cruciatus Curse.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Yaxley breathed out. "Do I have to come and hold your hand, you big baby?"

"Shut up!" Draco snapped. "I'm trying to concentrate."

"'I'm trying to concentrate'", Yaxley imitated. "Just the fact you have to take effort tells me everything I need to know." Another splatter of spit ended up on the floor. "I've never met anyone as boneless as you. I didn't think it'd be possible but you're a disgrace even to the snivelling sack of muck that is your family."

Draco felt rage boiling up in him. "Don't talk about my family like that," he whispered, his trembling hand lifting his wand to point at Yaxley's chest.

The wizard looked at the tip of it and laughed. "Ooh, I'm so scared," he ridiculed. "What are you gonna do, eh? Levitate me? Use the Leg-Locker Curse? Or maybe some other bit of magic for eleven-year-olds? It's obvious you haven't moved ahead from that."

Draco took a step forward, pressing his wand against Yaxley's throat. His cheeks were burning with the blush his anger had raised on them, and his veins were popping with the force of his speedy circulation. The other's quiet laughter made him shudder with aggression.

"But then again that's all you need to know, isn't it?" Yaxley whispered hoarsely. "Little prince Malfoy, all you have to do is be born and then you can just sit around like the mindless, spoiled brat that you are. Let dear daddy and mummy do all the work, and a fat lot of use they are, still being on the level of infants themselves."

"Shut it," Draco hissed, the words barely audible.

"No need to grow up and start thinking for yourself, is there?" the wizard kept retorting. "I'd bet anything that you never actually figured anything out the last couple of times, it was all just a lucky coincidence after another-"

"Crucio!"

The second the curse slashed Yaxley's neck, Draco knew it was different. The unpleasant sensitivity and awareness was still there, but this time it seemed outward bound, like his whole body had been radiating pain toward his enemy. Yaxley screamed, falling off the chair and on his knees as Draco watched, his eyes tearing up with the cold dry air and his inability to look away. He drew more strength from within his mind, intensifying the curse until the man was silently twitching on the floor. Every muscle in his body was rigid, and violent jolts charged down his nerve tissue, making his skin prickle until it was numb. His eyes remained unblinking as he let out a laugh that sounded strained and unhinged beyond the abrupt noise.

"That's it!" The Muggle imitated his insane laughter at a louder volume. "Keep at it, boy! Give that bastard a piece of your mind!"

Draco turned to look at the man, breaking the curse along with his concentration. Before either of them could say a word, he had cast it again, this time on Tobias Pennock. The force of it caressed his neck, reminding him of the Imperius Curse multiplied by a hundred. The satisfaction he got from the Torture Curse was incomparable, so extreme in its uniqueness it could hardly be described as pleasure. Draco knew he needed to bring it to an end before long - he could feel the stinging numbness climbing up his neck toward his face - but he didn't want the man's ear-splitting screeching to stop. He was forced to finish nonetheless by a spell that hit him on the ribs, sending him flying across the room to collide with the wall to his left. His wand fell out of his hand and he slid down the surface beside it.

"Rubbish, you are," Yaxley spat at him. "Finish off that cretin and let's get out of here."

Draco stumbled back on his feet, holding his hurt shoulder. The Muggle had begun sobbing again, begging him to spare his life. The words came out as panic-struck mumbling, scattered among the pathetic whimpers. Draco's lip curled with inaudible resentment as he prepared for the final curse. Looking at the man and listening to his deranged babbling it seemed almost like the most merciful thing to do.

"Avada Kedavra!" he shouted. A bright green light discharged from his wand and landed on the figure, which relaxed instantly, falling down on its face on the cold stone floor. Draco looked at it, almost expecting the man's back to move with respiration, but the body remained still and soundless.

"Come on," Yaxley sighed, sounding tired. "Let's go."

Draco tore his eyes off the corpse that used to be a man named Tobias Pennock, trying hard to grasp the concept that the concluding change in his life had been initiated by him. He followed Yaxley out of the shack, his head spinning with the slowly dawning realisation of his actions. A sickening feeling made his stomach lurch, and he vomited, leaning to the grimy wall between the door and the broken window.

"I should get a reward for this one," he heard Yaxley mutter as he wiped his mouth, straightening his posture weakly. The world was still whirling in front of him as he walked toward the wizard, trying to get away from the gaping doorframe as quickly as possible.

"There," said Yaxley, pushing a rusty old bucket in his hand. "It'll take you to the school grounds. I trust you don't need anyone to escort you from there."

Draco's teeth clattered quietly as the frosty air penetrated his clothes, and he tried pulling the robes tighter around himself. Yaxley waved his wand in front of him and Draco jumped, but as he looked down he realised it was only a Disillusionment Charm, like the kind he had been practicing with Snape a few days ago. The wizard kept checking his wrist watch every few minutes, clearly in a hurry to get rid of the lad. When the time finally drew near he snorted.

"I'll be reporting this back to the Dark Lord," he declared, "and trust me, I won't leave any of it out."

Draco glared at him one more time before the yank behind his navel carried him back to the castle in a flash. He sneaked across the dark yard, yawning with the fatigue that had returned as the levels of adrenaline in his body started to plummet. By the time he reached his dormitory he was more asleep than awake, diving into his four-poster bed without even bothering to change. He slipped off his robes and shoes and slid under the covers, the light snoring of his housemates soon going unnoticed by his slumbering shape.