Morbidus

Facta, Non Verba

Draco took a seat on the damp grass, letting the cold air beat against his body as he wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself. The wind that howled around him and turned his hair into a cloud of blond and silver seemed indignant with his enduring presence, and circled him with a flood of whistling anger. Draco looked back at the lake he had walked around all morning; the relentless currents of air set in motion a mass of ripples and waves that reminded him of something that was too distressing to focus on. Here and there he could see the evidence of the snow that had fallen earlier and then melted away, leaving behind muddy suggestions of the approaching winter. His cold hands clasped the morning's newspaper tautly as he turned his eyes on it, his jaw clenching at the sight of the headlines. He looked away, his gaze sweeping the sides of the mountains that rose around the school, emitting a sense of calm security. However reassuring, it wasn't enough to soothe his thoughts, or the lack of them. The wind slashed his face, a few dead leaves stuck to his hair and he shivered.

He had woken up much too early again, a fact that had managed to make him tense every time after the illusion Yaxley had drawn him in several weeks ago. Restless dreams had haunted him throughout the night, nightmares from which he had woken up to the hollow echo of his own laughter as it had sounded in the shack in the woods. He had escaped the dormitory as soon as he had realised the warm shower would not ease any of the strain that had accumulated on his shoulders over the past two days, and fled to the windswept yard. He hadn't been able to enjoy or stand the presence of people; the staring and whispering, though lessened now, had turned from flattering to a fraught objectification. The few lessons he had attended before the weekend had been a dull, distorted blur of words that didn't catch his ear or eye, and the foggy emptiness his brain was sustaining had guided him to the safety of the dormitories immediately following dinner on both days. There he had fallen on his bed and drifted to sleep, only to be awaken hourly by either his dreams or his house mates.

The wind rustled the paper in his hand and he glanced down at it again. The front-page was the first thing that had been able to draw his attention in the past sixty hours, but the thought was by no means comforting. He pressed the back of his hand on his forehead, grimacing with the start of another headache caused by the rigidness of his shoulders before folding the paper under his arm and leaving his place near the lake's oscillating shoreline. When viewed from a distance the spot he had been sitting on looked like a dark scar on the dead grass, even more brown and dull than the rest of the sward that framed the grey stone walls of the castle. Draco turned his eyes from it, and walked up to the large oak doors, opening them to the usual hubbub of breakfast. Pursing his lips tightly, he turned away from the Great Hall and continued down the stairs to the common room, which he was grateful to find empty save for a group of third years busily scribbling word after word for what looked like a piece of Transfiguration homework.

Draco let out an exasperated sigh and threw himself on one of the sofas, unfolding the newspaper from the economy section, which he eyed with an unusual lack of interest. The market had been in turmoil for months, and as expected the few businesses that seemed to benefit from the circumstance had either to do with defensive or pharmaceutical lines of magic. During his summer holiday, he had invested a sum on a company that specialised in healing potions and protective charms, and had already earned double the amount he had released. His intentions then had been to augment his savings for the Grand Tour he had planned to take after his time in the school would run out. He had thought it to be the start for his financial independence, a gesture for coming of age and finding freedom from Hogwarts and his parents, a beginning of his own life in the fashion he saw fit. As of now the plan seemed foolish, a childish expectation of everything falling into place with him being able to come and go as he pleased. When he had thought about the ongoing hostilities beforehand, he had imagined there to be a decisive battle after which a state of status quo would take hold and there would be no need for forceful actions.

He lost himself in the scores of the Hippogriff races, another thing he had intended to look into once he was out of school, unaware of the students who had started to return from breakfast. Many of them gave him and his paper a curious glance before retreating to a location further from his presence. It wasn't until someone took a seat on his immediate left that Draco stopped evaluating his gambling opportunities and folded the daily under his arm again, turning his eyes on the fireplace across the room.

"Blaise," he greeted the other, who responded with an extensive yawn.

"Up early again?" Blaise inquired, stretching his legs out on the soft plush rug.

Draco let out a sound that was neither confirming nor refuting and Blaise sniggered lazily.

"It's hard work, isn't it?" he laughed. "Doesn't really leave time for much else."

Draco repeated his previous means of response stiffly as his jaw set to a severe degree of malocclusion. He looked around in the room with a frown, only now noticing how crowded it had become.

"Still," Blaise went on despite Draco's obvious unwillingness to engage in conversation, "I wouldn't mind being a bit busier myself. All this waiting around is getting on my nerves."

"You might get your wish soon enough," Draco muttered inaudibly, refusing to repeat his words at Blaise's request. His eyes squinted as he saw Colin Gray casting a glance in his direction before turning back to his essay. The lines by his nose grew deeper as he observed the other giving his mousy hair a strong tug while muttering something under his breath to his parchment.

"Did you hear about Urquhart?" Blaise asked now, but before Draco could admit he hadn't, the door to the common room flew open and Pansy stormed in, evidently put out by the sight of Draco.

"I've been looking all over for you," she huffed as she pulled an armchair closer to the sofa before taking a seat. "I thought we agreed to meet at breakfast."

"I must have forgotten," Draco fibbed evasively, keeping his eyes on the old textbook the girl had pulled out of her bag. "Is that the book?"

She nodded, handing the tome over. "I only have it for another week so try to be quick," she explained, her hand disappearing into her bag again. "I also brought you some breakfast, you hardly ate anything at dinner last night."

Draco glanced once at the sandwiches the girl was holding before refusing, stating that he wasn't hungry. Instead he concentrated on the book, a 17^th century history manual he needed to look into for his homework.

"Come on, you have to eat," Pansy persisted. "How else are you going to be able to study with me in the library all day like you promised?"

Draco closed his eyes for a second and breathed deep. He couldn't even remember having made such a promise, and now that he was reminded, it seemed like the worst possible idea.

"I'm sure I'll manage," he said, forcing a strained smile on his lips as he browsed through the book, thoroughly uninterested with its contents.

"Will you just have one?" She waved the piece of bread in front of his face. "I brought your favourite."

"Just drop it, alright?" Draco told her, his smile spreading to an unnatural width. On most days he would've found Pansy's rarely surfacing mother hen qualities amusing, but on that particular day he saw nothing funny in her attempts to force-feed him anything.

"I missed breakfast," Blaise suddenly pointed out. "Why didn't you bring me any?"

Pansy's face grew sour as she handed over the sandwiches without a word to Blaise, her furious eyes still on Draco who did his best to ignore her irksome glare.

"I see Anatole brought you your mail then," she uttered, nodding to the paper, crossing her arms across her chest in a sign of her discontent.

"What about the mail?" Blaise asked, his mouth full of wheat and tuna after Draco made no sign of speaking. He handed over the Daily Prophet, gluing his gaze firmly to the chapter of the book titled Fundamenti Rei Scholasticae when the other boy faced a near-death experience courtesy of his sandwich as he saw the headlines.

After most of the coughing and gagging had subsided, Blaise patted Draco on the back and laughed. "I guess congratulations are in order," he grinned. "Though to be honest you could've let slip that it was going on. You know there are no snitches here."

Draco felt his pulse quicken and his vision blur with anger but despite it he nodded and muttered, "Confidential. I'm sure you understand."

Blaise's nod was highly accentuated. "Right," he agreed and took another bite of the sandwich. "Do you know where they've gone then?" he now asked, putting Draco's nose even further out of joint.

"This might surprise you, Blaise," he retorted, raising his voice enough to draw the attention of the people closest to them, "but if I did I wouldn't be in a rush to tell you."

With this he got up and left the room with Pansy stubbornly following him, catching up with his fast pace at the top of the stairs leading to the Entrance Hall.

"Guess it's not good news then," she snapped, "since it puts you in such a foul mood."

"What do you want, Pansy?" Draco huffed, annoyed beyond expression with the girl's persistence. He crossed the floor swiftly, hopping up the stairs two at a time.

"I want you to help me with my homework," she snapped. "Why else would I be following you around?"

"Why indeed?" Draco muttered to himself as he reached the top of the stairs and turned to his friend. "You don't need my help, Pansy, we both know you're better than I am." He took a pause but continued as soon as he saw Pansy opening her mouth to reply. "I mean, what is this obsessive need you have to have me do things for you anyway?"

"I haven't asked you for anything in months!" Pansy exclaimed, clenching her hands into tight fists as was her habit.

Draco rolled his eyes and turned away again, but Pansy wasn't willing to give up that easily. Her frail hand closed around his arm as she spun him around with impressive strength.

"Well if I am better than you then why won't you let me help you?" she protested in an edged tone. Draco clutched her arm and threw it off him so violently a look of pain entered the girl's face.

"Just drop it, Pansy," he growled before turning again and continuing on his way to the library.

"But I just-"

"Drop it!" he shouted back at the girl who had called after him.

He guided his steps quickly to the fourth floor, surprised with how full and noisy it was. Besides the few exceptions the student body went on about their daily lives like nothing had changed, like their lives were still heading toward such mundane destinations as a job in the Ministry or a quiet life in the idyllic milieu of Godric's Hollow. Draco felt thoroughgoing discomfort when he looked at them, so unwilling to get their heads out of the sand and think for themselves. Most of them would go their whole lives without ever knowing the meaning of grandeur, dying with nothing to show for the fact they had once been alive. Watching them walk by made him feel unwell, but more than that he worried about the way he couldn't help wondering what twist of fate had chosen him to be so different.

He directed his steps toward the library, craving for the comforting silence that left no room for idle gossip or wicked rumours that travelled by whispers when all ears were turned. He could feel many of their eyes following him when he walked by; Blaise was apparently the only one in the castle who had been able to sleep through the news.

He stepped inside, losing himself in the endless lines of books without bothering to pay attention to the names of the tomes. After the steady clicks of his shoes on the polished wooden floors had helped his thoughts to allay, he took a seat and opened the book Pansy had lent him, forcing himself to understand the words on the pages. It didn't come easy; his Latin was more than a little rusty and after a while he was forced to return to the shelves in search of a dictionary. Before he could conclude his quest his concentration was broken by three unpleasantly familiar voices, hushed words oozing to his ears from several shelves down as clearly as though their speakers had been standing a mere foot away.

"I just wish it hadn't happened so soon," said Granger, most likely the only one of the three actually paying attention to the books. "It feels more inescapable now."

"Well," Weasley started, "it was only a matter of time, wasn't it? At least now we know who we're up against."

Draco pulled the largest English-Latin-English dictionary out of its place among the others and walked closer, making sure to step only on the tips of his shoes.

"You're right, Ron," Potter agreed with a mumble. "It's important to know who's out there."

"And in here as well," Weasley added. "With the way Malfoy's been behaving it's only a question of how long he's been one of their lot."

Draco could see a flash of Granger's bushy brown hair from the gap formed by the hardbacks and the thick oak of the old ledge as he snuck forward, his hands gripping the dusty leather binding.

"He must be pleased," Potter snorted, "getting closer and closer to his lifelong dream. I'd imagine."

"Have you seen how ill he's looked lately?" Granger asked the two without expecting an answer. "He's been doing terribly in class. It's like he's lost all interest."

"I'd lose all interest too if I thought I'd be killing Muggles for a living," Weasley noted quietly. "I mean, you don't really need many N.E.W.Ts for that."

Draco's teeth dug to his lower dental arch as he turned away and walked back to his desk, slamming the book down so audibly he earned a distant hush from Madam Pince. The Gryffindors murmured among each other for a moment before leaving, and Draco turned his full attention on his homework, translating chapter after another, forgetting each of them before he could start the next. The anger and frustration he was feeling had filled every cell in his body, leaving no room for reasonable thinking. He worked for hours without a single thought occurring to him, until he reached a sentence that didn't make sense no matter how many times he turned to the lexicon to verify the words. After the seventh failed attempt, his fist closed rigidly around a frail page of the dictionary, which ripped noisily and scrunched up into a ball in his unyielding hand. Quickly Draco closed the book with a loud thump and shoved the piece of paper in the pocket of his trousers, justifiably nervous about the keeper of the library finding out about the maltreatment. He left the room soon after and joined the flow of people headed for the Great Hall, noticing again the throbbing headache that had beleaguered him throughout his stay in the midst of the school's vast collection of books.

The irregular sounds of the student body bounced off the large stone rafters of the Great Hall, creating a forest of noise through which Draco wished he didn't have to navigate. He glanced once at the Gryffindor table, not fooled by Weasley's head jerking swiftly back toward the location of his house mates. He rolled his eyes as he took a seat, the veins under the fine skin of his arms visible as large amounts of blood came pulsing through at an accelerating speed. His breathing turned shallow as he noticed Pansy, not on her usual seat opposite of him, but among a group of fifth years to his left. A shudder of resentment dashed through him and gave his hands a slight shake as he reached for a white porcelain serving dish for a bowl of leek and potato soup. When someone's elbow collided with his shoulder blade, the bowl slipped from the reach of his sweating hands and landed on the table with a loud shattering crash that for a moment seemed to silence the whole Hall. The dish had broken into several pieces and smashed a slice off a plate it had landed on. The creamy soup had formed a puddle on the table through which the drops of the same liquid sent ripples as they fell off the sleeve of Draco's robes and ran along his hand, the shade a light pink due to the heat of the broth.

"My apologies," muttered Colin Gray nonchalantly, taking a pew on Draco's right. He folded open the morning's Daily Prophet in one grand gesture and cleared his throat audibly as Draco gritted his teeth and cleaned up the soup and the shards of china with a silent wave of his wand.

"No matter," Draco uttered from behind the strained smile he had drawn on his face again. "We can't go expecting too much poise out of you, can we?"

"Speaking of poise," the other stretched complacently, "I think we all got a reasonably clear reminder of how much of it your family has demonstrated of late." He was peering down at the front page. "Though I have to admit your father does wear those robes rather well." He turned the paper so Draco could take a look, but his eyes never strayed from the bowl he had filled again. "Almost like bespoke tailoring, wouldn't you say?"

"How would you know?" Draco snorted, feeling a blush of anger rising on his cheeks as he stirred his soup over and over, keeping his eyes on the formless swirls of steam that rose upward with every turn made by his piece of cutlery. "It's been so long since your family has been able to afford getting anything tailored even you great-great-great-great-grandfather didn't know the meaning of the word." Focusing on keeping his hand stable absorbed so much verve he nearly missed Gray's following words.

"Money isn't everything, Malfoy," he hissed. "There's things that can't be bought, not even with your money. Us Grays have something you Malfoys-"

"Will never have?" Draco let out the first genuine laugh of the day. "You're right about that, Gray, but I wouldn't exactly boast about it if I were you. If you catch my drift."

Gray's eyes narrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked in a tone that was probably supposed to approach dangerous.

Draco laughed again. "That you Grays certainly have attributes that none of the rest of us do." His smile widened into a malicious smirk as he continued. "But the rest of us aren't exactly dying to get infected by them."

The other lad's eyes had widened again and Draco could see the multitude of little red veins that gave his stare the hysterical air that wasn't uncommon with his family. When he spoke his voice resembled a growl of a beaten dog. "I don't know-"

"What I'm talking about?" Draco finished the other's sentence again and laughed, too loudly and too long. "Well everyone else does!" he exclaimed. "It's no secret, Gray. We've all had a good laugh about it more than once."

"Don't-" Colin started but Draco cut him off again.

"Oh, yes, there are several good jokes about your family, but my absolute favourite would have to be the one I heard from Pansy's father, d'you want to hear it?" Draco paused and looked expectantly at Gray, who was shivering with anger.

"I-" he started, but Draco continued before he could get a second word in.

"Well, the joke goes, 'What does a Gray and a well-trained dog have in common?'" He paused before the punch line, which he uttered dramatically in a low voice. "Both only bark when necessary."

Colin Gray's eyes seemed able to pop out of his scull as the look of pure rage took over his features. His voice was even more unstable than it had been a few years earlier as he breathed yet another word that would have no successors.

"Oh, there are many of you personally. Don't worry, you won't be left in the shadow of your predecessors in that aspect. What are all those little potions for, eh? To keep away the crazies?"

"You-"

"Me? No I don't need them, see, I'm not completely insane."

"You're failing your training!" Gray hissed poisonously with a triumphant expression.

Draco's heart stopped beating for what felt like a whole minute before it started a race so insane he felt like his head might explode. His blank gaze was fixed on Gray's small and inexplicably unpleasant teeth.

"What?" he breathed incredulously. Colin Gray's smile grew wider as he glanced around hastily. Few people in the hall were paying any attention, and those who did realised quickly it was for their own best interest to look the other way.

"See?" The word was a mere ecstatic gasp. "My father knows things, things you will never know. Yaxley will see to that. And he tells me things. In the end he will realise who's more fitting to his purposes, and that's me, Malfoy, not you! You can't even finish off one pathetic Muggle! Probably because your whore of a mother slept with one around nine months before you were born."

Draco's teeth gritted to the edge of breaking point as the fury that took over him drained his mind of all rational thinking. His breath clutched painfully in his chest and his body started to shiver as the tip of his wand, unstable in his infuriated grip, was pointing at Colin Gray's throat. As soon as he noticed it, the smug grin cleared from his face.

"Ooh, hit a nerve did I?" He let out a manic cackle. "No one said your dear mum's standards were high. I mean, just look who she ended up marrying."

A curse parted from the tip of Draco's wand and landed on the other boy's jaw, throwing him back on his seat. Indistinctly aware of everyone's eyes on him, Draco got on his feet, still pointing his wand at Gray, whose chin had already started to swell up.

"Come on then!" he exclaimed, lighting a fire of resistance behind Colin's eyes. "Get up and fight, you little shit! I'll give you exactly one chance before I finish you off, you brainsick bastard!"

The other had barely uttered the spells when Draco's wand cut the air, sending Shield Charms between him and his opponent. The curses bounced off the protections, passing over the heads of increasingly alarmed students, many of whom were already hurrying out of the way. Without stopping to think, Draco sent another two curses flying through the air but only one of them met its target; the other missed narrowly and destroyed a salad bowl further down the table. As Draco watched Colin Gray clutching his aching chest he felt a forceful pull on his left hand, and his wand slipped through his fingers, leaving him feeling not only unarmed, but suddenly exposed to everyone's prying eyes.

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, you hear?" he shouted at Colin Gray as a strong hand grabbed a hold of his robes and started pulling him away, toward the entrance hall. "I'm warning you, Gray, don't you ever speak to me like that again!"

It wasn't until they reached the stairs leading to the dungeons that Draco saw who had interrupted his expressions of disagreement with Gray and as the realisation came over him, the anger made him yank his arm from the man's resilient grasp almost instinctively. As soon as he had freed himself, Draco felt a hand landing on his back, pushing him past the professor's study and toward the dungeon they had been using for spell practice for the past several weeks. He stumbled in once they reached the shallow room and the door closed behind him with a loud, resolute bang. The cool air of the corridors carried its echo throughout the ground floor of the castle.

Draco staggered onto his feet, turning towards his Head of House with a defiant expression fixed on his face. The older wizard didn't look at him, however, merely walked toward him with downcast eyes. Draco could see his own hawthorn wand in Snape's hand and felt defenceless again. The position the man put him in made him angrier still; he felt like he was being treated like a child, scolded for some abstract wrong he had allegedly committed.

"I don't regret it," he declared before Snape could get the chance to speak. "He was begging for it, talking to me like that. He should know the consequences."

The man glanced at him impatiently but remained silent. Something about his reluctance to speak made Draco increasingly alarmed.

"Who does he think he's dealing with anyway?" he asked, turning his eyes to the floor. "I'm his superior now. Especially now." His gaze swept the damp walls of the dungeon as his voice lowered to a mumble. "Someone needs to teach them some respect."

"And I suppose you're the one to do it," Snape remarked irritably, casting a Silencing Charm on the room. "Stupid boy!" he snapped. "What do you think you're here for, to carry out some personal vendetta?"

Draco's teeth gritted and he turned away, slamming his fist against the desk.

"I've continued to overlook your self-aggrandizing attitude, Mr. Malfoy, and even closed my eyes to your constant warmongering among you fellow students but your desperate desire to highlight yourself has pushed you to cross the line of my patience," Snape lectured in a stern voice. "Your fascination with personal gain is exactly what keeps you from excelling, not to mention your familiarity with getting things done for you."

For the next few moments the only sound Draco could hear was his own shallow breathing and the grinding of his teeth as he kept decidedly silent. Snape's words repeated themselves in his head until his mind had come up with a way to explain all of them into oblivion.

"The events taking place here are no more about Mr. Gray's family as they are about yours," the professor pointed out, raising Draco's defences at once.

"I'm not a child, Snape, so stop treating me like one," he snapped, earning only a scornful sneer from his teacher.

"First you need to stop acting like one."

"I'm not acting like a child!" Draco spat angrily. "Gray deserved it! It was his fault!"

"This is exactly what I mean!" the man countered. "You're afraid of responsibility when you should be accepting it!"

Draco's hands flew to his hair which he smoothed down anxiously before placing them on the rough surface of the solitary desk again, letting out a heavy sigh.

"There's nothing that makes you superior besides the ability of others to trust you with responsibilities that would be overwhelming for most."

"And what if they don't?" Draco shot back. "What if they don't trust me with said responsibilities in the first place? How exactly am I supposed to prove myself then?"

The Potions master's expression changed briefly to a shadow of a frown before going decidedly blank; it looked to Draco almost like the effects of a very powerful Memory Charm. An abrupt silence fell on the room, loudening the sound of Draco's own breathing into a gusty hiss.

"The Dark Lord appreciates the virtue of patience," Snape suddenly uttered, lowering his voice. "He has enough servants who act on impulse. Those who know when to provoke attention are held in high value."

Draco snorted loudly. "Patience," he repeated. "That's the only thing anyone ever says to me. 'Have patience, Draco. Good things come to those who wait.'" He turned to face the man seditiously. "Well I am sick of waiting! I'm ready!" he snapped, starting to pace back and forth. "The only thing unsettling me is this damned uncertainty." His hands flew to his hair again before settling, the other on his waist and the other to his mouth where a nail found its way between his grinding teeth. "I wasn't even informed about the break out!"

"There was no need for you," Snape countered swiftly. "Sending a word for you would've served no purpose."

"He's my father!" Draco argued, trying to ignore the drop of sweat falling down his temple. "I had the right to know even if it had nothing to do with my training."

"Which is exactly what you should be concentrating on right now," the wizard reminded him. "You're not the only one who grows impatient, Mr. Malfoy."

What colour was left on Draco's face faded instantly. For what felt like eternity in a heartbeat he walked back and forth with no other thought occurring to him. "Don't think I don't know what happens if I fail," he finally noted, casting a glance at his teacher from the corner of his eye.

"That is a risk we all take," Snape replied monotonously. "This is war, Mr. Malfoy. Casualties are to be expected."

Draco snorted again. "That's not going to be me," he swore quietly, not sure whom he was trying to assure. "Gray's wrong. It won't be me."

Snape remained respectfully silent before returning to the events that had set off the discourse. "As for now," he stated matter-of-factly, "I suggest we make good use of the detentions your behaviour has earned you."

Draco rolled his eyes. A punishment like detention felt beyond trivial; during the past few days he had almost managed to forget he was still at school. "Fine," he murmured compliantly.

"Your Shield Charms are getting better," the professor complimented him insipidly, "but we need to focus on your attack. It seems to me your defences are in place for now."

The lad nodded indifferently and took his leave without further remarks. He directed his steps to the Slytherin common room, hoping to be able to sneak into the dormitories without provoking attention, as Snape had put it. No sooner had he stepped in than he was approached by the two people he wished he didn't have to deal with until the day had changed.

"Malfoy!" Colin Gray shouted from across the room, not failing to draw everyone's attention. Draco's brow knitted as he saw Pansy had also stood up, but fell back to her seat as Gray made his way to the entrance before Draco could take another step. "What the hell was that? You damned near broke my jaw! Don't think you're going to get away with this!"

"Oh, but I am," Draco breathed loudly. "It's about time you learned your place, Gray-"

"Learned my place?" the other lad exclaimed incredulously. "What about your place, Malfoy? Who voted to put you in charge of anything anyway?"

Draco let out a derisive laugh. "And what exactly am I in charge of, Gray?" he asked mockingly. He could see people around him looking at each other hesitantly, as if only now realising how valid a question it was.

The look of anger on Colin's face left room for a hint of uncertainty. His eyes darted across the room, looking for support, but no one was willing to make eye contact with him.

"Well?" Draco asked again expectantly. "According to you I'm obviously the leader of something. Could you tell me what that is, please?"

Colin Gray's under-developed jaw seemed to disappear almost entirely as his teeth found the soft skin of his lower lip. His eyes seemed to have given up hope and were now directed to the floor. "Us," he finally mumbled somewhat incoherently.

Draco looked around the room, raising an eyebrow and a few timid laughs. "Us?" he repeated. "Who's us?"

Colin seemed to have several answers on the tip of his tongue, but in the end he settled for an evasive shrug.

"Us Slytherins?" Draco ventured a guess. "Or maybe us purebloods. Is that the group I'm leading to battle?"

Gray shrugged again, making the displeasing shape of his shoulders painfully obvious.

Draco looked around the room again. "Who here recognises me as his or her personal guideline in life?" he asked, raising his own hand but being left alone in doing so. He looked around for a little while longer before turning back to the other lad. "Looks like I'm on my own here," he said, raising another flock of laughter from the crowd.

"Well if you're not any type of leader then where do you get off telling the rest of us how to act?" a tall, athletic-looking boy asked from an armchair across the room. Draco recognised him as Urquhart, the new captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Draco weighed his words for a moment before uttering, "I don't make the rules I simply follow them." His voice was calm, but his pulse had quickened with this questioning of his authority. "And I do a better job at it than most, might I add." He walked over to a sofa where people yielded to make room for him. Colin Gray mumbled something to himself before drawing to a distant corner from where he cast vicious glares in Draco's direction, all the while massaging his aching jaw.

"And what does that make you then?" Urquhart asked now, but this time Draco didn't have to stop and think.

"It makes me an example, Urquhart," Draco declared logically. "To follow my example is optional, however."

The lad sneered. "But those who know what's good for them choose to, right?" he assumed, and Draco shrugged.

"I'm sure it remains to be seen," he said, not sounding like there was any doubt about the matter what so ever. "You see, Urquhart, in my world - and I'm sure many others would agree with me - there are certain boundaries and divisions. Many of these are understood to be in place without ever having to be discussed. I consider myself a reminder of that."

"So all these boundaries that you're here to remind us of," Urquhart continued with a frown, "they're not real?"

Draco snorted quietly. "Only if you believe you need to say things aloud before they exist," he expressed confidently. "I'm quite sure you've never had an actual discussion about the head master's study but that doesn't mean the school doesn't have such a room."

Urquhart's frown stayed in place for another moment before he shook his head apathetically. "I don't know, Malfoy," he said. "Sometimes it seems like you're talking completely out of your arse."

"Well maybe you shouldn't talk at all," Daphne Greengrass suddenly joined in from her seat by the fireplace. "I don't think anyone here is very surprised to hear that's your opinion when you take recent development into account."

"I told you, Daphne, what's going on between me and Tamsin is none of your business," Urquhart snapped, looking genuinely angry.

"Oh it has a name does it?" Daphne ridiculed, causing the lad to clench his hands into tight fists. Draco followed the dialogue intently, failing to understand the reason for Daphne's discontentedness until his mind made the connection between the name Tamsin and a certain member of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team with a less than desired heritage. "She looks so much like a gnome I often forget her parents are supposedly human."

Urquhart jumped up from his seat, wand at the ready; Draco suspected it was against his principles to hex a girl, but he looked eager enough to do just that and probably had if his friends hadn't held him back. Daphne barely laughed, remaining in her queen-like pose in the armchair.

"I do believe seeing the pair of you would make me unwell if you weren't such a sad specimen of what this country's going to," she drawled, shaking her head erratically. "I feel for your parents. They deserve better than a son like you."

Urquhart's nails seemed to be digging so deep into the palms of his hands that seeing blood dripping on the rug would not have surprised Draco. Daphne's eyes turned even colder, still keeping that spiteful twinkle that the Hufflepuff's name had lit in them.

"Come on, Daph." Blaise stood up and walked over to the girl, laying a protective hand on her shoulder. "He's not worth your attention."

Glancing around the room Draco could see Pansy's frowning face directed to Blaise and Daphne, and he wondered if his friends' encounters had crossed the lines of common courtesies. The dissolved nature of the situation gave Draco a chance for a swift escape; he didn't want to hear a word from Pansy or Colin Gray, whose flashing eyes followed him through the common room.

Meeting the calm of the dormitories with an air of relief, Draco's mind seemed to wipe the events of the day from his memory as soon as he had taken a seat on the soft four-poster bed. He leaned his head tiredly against a fold of dark green velvet covering one of the wooden poles that ensured the refuge found behind the hangings. Suddenly it seemed not a moment had passed since he had woken up, exhausted and confused after the night spent with Yaxley and the seemingly arbitrary selection of company. Draco's brow furrowed in unease and he fell back on the bed, sitting back up instantly as he heard a soft rustling noise follow his collapse. He thrust his hand in his pocket; his fingers closed around the smooth and vulnerable substance of an extremely thin piece of paper. He pulled it out swiftly and straightened it, finding a list of words in Latin, all beginning with the letter m, side by side with their English counterparts.

"Morator, moratus, morbidus," Draco followed the list absently. He felt the first one was the most likely to apply to him. He folded the page neatly and placed it between his copy of Harry Was A Harlowe Beast before standing up and starting the practice of his Shield Charms again.

***

Draco felt he had barely laid himself to rest when his head flew off his pillow again and he let his bare foot fall on the cold stone floor. Not sure what had woken him up - for he couldn't remember if he had dreamed or not - he pressed the sweaty palms of his hands on his eyes and threw off his covers, feeling their comforting warmth had turned into stifling stillness of the air. Longing to escape the all-consuming silence of the dormitories that made his housemates sound like lightly sleeping predatory animals Draco pulled on a clean robe and tiptoed his way out of the room. The quiet pop his ears detected at the closing of the dormitory door told him a house-elf had just Disapparated, and for the first time in his life he was grateful for the work they did as the crackling of the fireplace made sure the muteness of the dormitories didn't reoccur.

He reclaimed the seat he had held some hours earlier, letting his fingers crawl nervously through the strands of his platinum hair. Crossing his legs and leaning his head back he stared up at the dark ceiling where the boisterous flames created little pools of light. He sighed as he realised his mind was starting to resemble it; what had once been an open clearing of certainty was now darkened with doubt. Only here and there, it seemed, unequivocal facts remained. It was during those sleepless nights that Draco questioned his very foundation in a way that made him wonder if he had lost sight of who he was as well as who he was meant to be. The thought of his father's return to civilization flashed through his mind; the notion was confusing in that it was merely remotely pleasing.

He closed his eyes, wondering how long he could last in his constant sleep deprived state. He couldn't even remember when he had slept through the night uninterrupted. The little drops of light played on his eyelids, reminding him of the glass of hors d'age brandy that he so desperately craved. He sighed again, desolated by the knowledge that no nerve-settling smoke would escape his lungs along with it. He pictured a calm day in early August, when the scents of freshly cut grass and tobacco had melted into each other in the drawing room, clinging to the upholstery of the furniture. His fingers had pattered over the keys of the piano, tempting out one of those newfangled simplistic melodies he found too dull and ascetic. Pansy had lounged on the teal blue divan, her pale complexion perfected by the shimmering fabric on which she was reposed. She had leafed through a book of archaic poetry, stopping every now and then to cast the ashes of her cigarette in the ivory ashtray. Suddenly he had gotten up, kissed his friend on the cheek and exited the room. Draco could see it all so clearly now; the image was so vivid he could smell the aged pages of Pansy's book and feel the cool silver cigar case in his left pocket.

He left the room, turning once more at the door to make a joke which - he now remembered - Pansy didn't find amusing. He closed the door behind him, but the hallway he expected to see was no longer there. The oil paint portraits had disappeared; the discolouring of the walls behind them was alarmingly unconcealed. Draco continued toward the stairs, his feet even more half-hearted than his mind. For a moment he mistook the clanging sounds from downstairs as the staff preparing for dinner, but the consistency of the resonance countered this argument. He plodded shakily down the stairs, sometimes skipping a step, sometimes stepping on the same one twice, and somehow he knew if he turned back the stairs would go on forever. At the foot of the stairs was a corridor of stone with an unpaved floor which had been hastily covered with old straws. Draco could hear them crumbling under his feet as he walked on, increasingly aware of where he was going. The corridor opened up to a room which was neither a kitchen nor a sitting room, littered with dead leaves and grime. And on his left the banging continued to get louder and louder, followed by a savage yell that made Draco's head jerk forward and up from the sofa in the common room, which had turned dark and obscured as the fire had died out.

He didn't know how long he had dozed off for, but judging by the coals still blazing in the fireplace it couldn't have been too long. He looked around feverishly, but nothing had changed since his eyes were last open. As always after a nightmare he felt upset with his inability to sleep like he used to: sound and undisturbed. Draco wondered where the logs burning in the fireplaces around the school came from; the room felt too tenebrous for his dispirited thoughts.

Like an answer to his wish the darkness shifted, but the source of the unexpected luminescence was not the fire. Instead of the warm dim light of fervent flames it was a bright, silvery glow that flooded the room. Draco's hand flew to his wand as he turned to see the source behind him; all his eyes encountered was a distorted shape of magnificent brilliance that forced him to shield his sensitive eyes. As he watched the shape seemed to shift and change, as if acquiring a new form every time Draco came close to figuring it out. Something in his stunned mind recognised the thing as a Patronus, but only remotely so. Bitterly he remembered his own feeble attempts at casting one, but the resentment didn't extend to the luminous creature he was beholding; the longer he kept looking the more inviting it became.

Without fully understanding why, Draco got on his feet and took a few apprehensive steps toward the door. As he got closer the creature vanished, leaving the room pitch black except for the faintest silvery glow still penetrating the small cracks between the door and its frame. Draco opened it silently; the thought of breaking the school rules never entered his mind. Again he was taken aback by the haloed beauty of what had now become his leader through the somnolent, abandoned hallways. He was still trying to fathom its form as he walked on; at times it seemed to flutter like a bird, other times it looked like a prowling beast.

He crossed the Entrance Hall floor swiftly without a glance to the thickening shadows on his left and right; their engulfing of the surrounding air was absolute. As he got to the large oak doors he gritted his teeth, pushing them outward in the total darkness that followed the Patronus slipping effortlessly through the solid hardwood. He expected an alarm of some sort to go off as his hand touched the surface of the wood, but the silence around him remained unwavering until the hinges cried out in protest of their midnight disturbance. Draco slid through the crack he had managed, closing the door behind him and cringing at the echoes the action left circling the castle's lower floors.

As he followed the Patronus across the damp grass the wind caught his robe again and he wished he had had the sense to grab a cloak before exiting the common room. He pulled a hood on his head as far down as it would go, wondering quietly where the thrill and expectation he had felt before had wandered off to. When he came to the edge of the Forest he was forced to revisit the thought; the wind rustled in the trees that seemed to be talking to one another, discussing Draco's undesired presence. As the Patronus glided through the woods Draco thought he could see eyes flashing in the darkness and hear fast-paced steps disturbing the dead leaves on the forest floor. He tried to swallow down the lump of fear from his throat as he walked faster; even more than he wished to get out of there, he hoped the Patronus would not depart. After a hundred yards of veering to keep away from the trees he had lost his sense of direction.

For Draco's great relief the Patronus stopped even sooner than he had dared to hope. Beneath it he could catch a glimpse of a dull shimmer, but before he could evaluate it further his relief turned into sheer panic; the Patronus was hastily growing dim. Pushing aside twigs and low-hanging branches Draco leapt forward, falling on his knees on the mucky grass. In the rapidly disappearing light his hands fumbled and groped the earth around him, until they caught hold of a metallic brim. Just as the last remaining flicker of light disappeared, so did he.

He hit the ground with a loud thud that left his lungs empty of air. He gasped for breath and groaned as he sat up slowly, massaging his aching back reluctantly. His hand found a hold on the grimy sand underneath him and he got up, dusting his clothes before looking up at the large wrought-iron gates of the Malfoy Manor. The elm trees bordering the old road swayed gently in the wind in great contrast to the trees of the Forbidden Forest. Draco sighed wearily.

"Took your sweet time as usual didn't you?" Yaxley's brutish voice greeted from the shadows. "Stopped to retch from fear again I suppose."

Draco bit his tongue to hold back a response, turning on his heels and marching on through the gates that turned to black smoke as he approached.

"You probably think you're here for the Mark," Yaxley continued his monologue, landing far from Draco's own expectations. "Well guess again! If it were up to me you'd never receive as much as a scratch from the Dark Lord, and after what I've told him I wouldn't be too surprised if that was the case."

"You can lie about my doings all you want, Yaxley," Draco snapped, "but I have infinitely more right to be here than you do. But then again I suppose you already knew that."

"You have shit!" Yaxley growled, catching up with the fast pace Draco was keeping. "You haven't done the first thing for him, you little twat!"

"Oh, but I will," Draco boasted confidently despite the growing uncertainty that had bothered him since the last time he had made contact with Yaxley.

"We'll see about that," the man barked, obviously not sharing Draco's confidence. "He wants to have a little chat with you, see, to find out whether you're even remotely cut out for this."

Draco's heart stopped in an instant; it seemed to melt into a puddle of lead that found its way to the pit of his stomach and down his legs, which turned numb and heavy, unwilling to take another step. His mouth felt dry, but the thought of having something to drink felt revolting. He was heedless to the fact he was still walking, not realising it until the Manor loomed above him; it looked as sinister as Azkaban, defying all the warm feelings Draco had for his home. He stopped to stare at the neatly cut stones rising above and in front of him; they had an air of silent peril.

"What's the matter?" Yaxley asked vindictively. "Don't you want to prove yourself now?"

Draco glared at the man and started climbing the stairs to the large double doors; his steps seemed steady to him, but anyone else watching could've easily perceived the tremble that seemed to originate deep in his bones. The strangling feeling of disgust in his throat got instantly worse as he wrapped his hand around the cool metal of the handle; the spell that had been forged into it centuries earlier recognised him without delay, and yielded to let him in the grand hall. The marble was just as polished as ever, and the scents of wealth that greeted him hadn't faded, but his senses held to none of that. He either heard or imagined a soft mumbling sound that told him the house was full of strangers, and for some reason it made Draco feel almost violated; like someone had touched him without his permission.

"Up the stairs then," the man snickered from the door. "He'll be waiting for you in your father's study."

A shudder flashed through Draco as soon as he had placed his foot on the first step of the wide stairs that led to the upper floors of the Manor. In an instant he remembered the last time he had been to the room of Yaxley's mentioning; he had spent several hours of the last day of his holiday leaning seemingly carelessly on the backrest of the large leather chair, looking up through the glass of the domed ceiling at the gathering clouds until the weight of the accumulating humidity became too great for them to bear. It had felt like the skies had been weeping for the ending of a milder season, or perhaps for the bitterness of those which lay ahead.

When Draco reached the room it seemed the emotions he had imagined for the rain had been right; the mild, grey light of that August day was gone; the sky the ceiling revealed was a deep black. Not a single star could pierce the clouds, and blacker than the night was the cloak of the Dark Lord as he sat on his father's chair in the dim light of a solitary candle; the new master of the house.

The fear Draco had tried to keep at bay during his long climb overwhelmed him. Panic drowned him; it turned into icy water that filled his lungs, barred his breathing and persuaded his blood to leave his limbs. He sank into an armchair upon request, his hands shaking violently, and tumultuous jolts coursed through his body. The Dark Lord's words went unheard by his ears, filled with the distant murmur of his own petrified mind. His hands clutched the armrests like trying to break the wood into tiny splinters, and with all his strength he forced himself to listen, turning his eyes to meet the burning red for a fraction of a second that seemed to steal years off his life.

"You know why I've asked you to come here tonight, Draco," the Dark Lord said softly and the light of the flickering flame made his face look dead and menacing.

Draco let out a sound he meant to be a respectful reply; in the end it was hardly more than a strange, high-pitched grunt that squeezed its way through his blocked throat.

"I've called you here so we could have a word in private."

The boy nodded shakily, pushing his hand through his hair as he did. His eyes were fixed on the fringe of the rug; the soft ruffles lay on the floor in abnormally neat lines, like someone had combed them. He could hear people walking in the corridor outside the door, and for a second the violated feeling re-emerged.

"It seems my expectations for your furtherance have been greater than your potential for meeting them," the Dark Lord continued in a calm, controlled tone, "and hopefully tonight will tell whether they have been entirely misplaced."

The absence of sound that followed turned Draco's attention to the panic that was taking over his body. His chest seemed to be pulsing with heat that spread through him and made him sweat excessively. He felt as though someone had held a hand in front of his mouth and nose, and his breath left him in shallow, fitful gasps. His mind was racing with one impossible aim: to disappear from the situation. So aggressively was this compulsion captivating his mind that he needed to force himself to listen again as the Dark Lord continued.

"Yaxley informed me of your... shortcomings during your latest assignment," the wizard told him, leaving his seat and turning to the window behind him. "You disappoint me, Draco."

These words left the weight of death pressing on Draco's mind. For a second the thought of absolute and interminable non-existence that would some day follow the ending of his own life flashed through his mind, a petrifying realisation of the abstraction of nothing, and as he understood how close to it he had gotten, his heart started beating madly, like trying to catch up before its untimely but inevitable cessation.

Draco cleared his throat nervously. "M-My Lord," he stammered. His voice sounded hoarse and weak. "It's no secret Yaxley has a grudge against my family, my Lord. I wouldn't be too surprised if-"

"Yaxley has not lied to me, Draco," the man interrupted him. "No one lies in my presence." His voice was so cold it seemed to Draco able to cause the momentary diminishing of the candle's bright flame.

"Of course not, my Lord," Draco agreed quietly, letting go of any other excuses he might have been able to conjure. The silence that took the place of his words seemed to carry on endlessly, and the darkness of the room seemed to come alive as the light grew stronger, making the shadows dance across the walls like the skeletons of medieval frescos.

"I sense you have doubts," the Dark Lord finally uttered. "Your father had them too. Such an uncharacteristic thing for a Malfoy to do - to share their loyalties. But even your father eventually understood the profit in joining me."

A dry, slithering sound swept the floor behind him; Draco didn't need to turn to know what approached him in the dark. Hearing the incessant hissing he imagined the forked tongue tasting the air in search of him, reading more deeply into him just through his scent than anyone had managed through the use of words. The snake crossed the room from the dark corner in which she had been lurking, brushing Draco's shoe as she passed. She rubbed her flat head against her master's leg almost affectionately.

"Nagini likes the way you smell," the Dark Lord told him almost absently. "It makes her hungry."

Draco, whose mind still struggled with keeping away the ideas of death, had a sudden image of himself halfway engulfed in Nagini's duct-like entrails. He shuddered at the thought and cast a thoroughly disgusted glance at the serpent, who had returned to circle at Draco feet. He felt sorry for his mother for having to put up with that thing in the house. After all, she even hated the dogs.

"Having doubts can be very dangerous for someone like you," the wizard noted, suddenly returning to the subject. "Your mind is strong, but easily subjected to new ideas. Your concentration is seldom unwavering."

Draco weighed these words, wondering if he recognised himself in them. He had always considered himself rather stubborn, not easily abandoning his preconceptions even after he'd been proven wrong. This was clearly not the time to argue, however, so he stayed silent, resisting the urge to step on Nagini's head as she moved her muscular body on the tips of his shoes. The darkness of the room seemed to close in on him as the flame of the candle danced in some invisible breeze that didn't even cool his forehead.

"You cursed Yaxley instead of the Muggle," the Dark Lord declared harshly. "Why?"

The words hit Draco like a whip. He flinched, and the shake returned to his hands. "The Muggle?" he asked, his voice quivering like a child's.

"Did you feel he didn't deserve it?" the wizard demanded. His voice was calm but he had raised his wand.

Draco's eyes shot to the wand and back as he cried, "No! Certainly he deserved it, my Lord-"

"Did your personal dispute with Yaxley make him more deserving of your attention?"

Draco remembered his discomfort with this exact matter, but he shook his head strongly nonetheless. "Surely no wizard could deserve such attention more than a Muggle, any Muggle, my Lord," he fibbed hastily, still eyeing the fringe of the hand-woven rug. "Though the Muggle, naturally, had done me no wrong, it's a matter of what they are, not what they do."

The boy could barely see the pale, spider-like hand fall back behind the surface of the desk that stood between them. "Your words are well rehearsed," the Dark Lord whispered, "but they lack conviction."

Every second of silence felt poisonous to Draco; his head started spinning, and he started to feel strangely detached from his body. His light-headedness increased by every beat of his heart, until he felt the quiet alone could kill him. The blood in his heart seemed to be ripping the muscle surrounding it, and he wondered if it could actually explode in his chest. He pressed his hand on his ribcage, trying in vain to take deeper breaths.

"How did it feel?" the Dark Lord hissed, and Nagini echoed the sound with her tongue.

Draco's eyes shot up for a fleeting moment. "F-feel?" he replied stupidly, this time unable to look away. There was no question even in his numb mind of what the Dark Lord had meant.

"Killing."

The tone set for this lonely word was so unambiguous even the snake seemed to understand what had been said. She broke into a fit of hissing and rasping that sounded joyous in Draco's ears. His longing to end the reptile's life was so strong now he needed to clench his hands into fists not to grab his wand and be done with it.

Draco ripped his eyes off the face that the darkness and his own terrified mind had now turned into the cloaked and hooded figure of death itself. He felt the remnants of his childhood clinging desperately to his features at this of all moments; in less time than it had taken him to lose his boyhood, he had regressed to the level of some common brat being reprimanded for misbehaving.

"It was..." His voice was rough, and he cleared his throat. "It was... unexpected, my Lord," he settled, at a loss for better words.

The snake hissed again at Draco's feet, twisting herself around his legs. The weight felt constricting, and it made Draco want to start kicking with his legs as hard as he could.

"You reek of guilt," the Dark Lord interpreted, his voice almost as toxic as Nagini's.

Draco could feel another drop of sweat gliding down his neck. "No!" he exclaimed, grabbing the armrests of the chair. "What I meant was...It was-"

A bright, red light slashed the surrounding darkness; it blinded Draco for an instant before disappearing into his flesh. From where it pierced his skin, the tissue that formed his body seemed to get ripped off his bones, lacerated piece by piece until only a bloody, unrecognisable mass would remain. The feeling spread to his back, his legs, his arms; Draco screamed, his shattered hands tried to shield him from the pain, still clinging to the impossible hope it might stop. The mutilation advanced to his eyes, burning needles passed through them and carried the pain with them inside his head. He cried. The pain became all the world had to offer, it would never stop, never cease, never lessen, and he would never die to be free from it, no matter how desperately he wished for it. And somewhere beyond it he heard an unbreakable chain of hissing in his ear.

When he emerged back into reality he found himself lying on the floor, Nagini's body wrapped around his. He jumped up, pushing the snake aside; she revealed her fangs in a fit of anger, but didn't bite without her master's command. Draco scrambled to his feet and sat down on the chair at once; his legs wouldn't carry his weight. Tears were still falling down his face. He wiped them away with his shaky hand, letting it fall uselessly down by his side. When he looked down he was surprised to see himself still in one piece.

Suddenly the room started spinning in front of Draco; the books barely visible on their shelves in the dim light blurred, the man in front of him disappeared and something else took his place. Flashes of his memories swam across Draco's eyes: a Quidditch match, swirls of green and silver chasing bronze and blue, a fresh, cool breeze hit his face and he could smell the trees of the Forbidden Forest; Arithmancy O.W.L.s, a long string of numbers on a piece of parchment and a sudden realisation of how to finish the equation; a sweltering midday promenade in the midst of grapevines whose neat rows carried on as far as the eye could see, the dusty red soil coloured the pale skin of his bare feet.

Like a veil had been drawn over his eyes, the real world returned to him, and the sweat that the last vision had raised on his forehead started to run down his left temple. He tried to hide the hysteria that made him sweep the room with his frantic gaze and wonder if the pain had made him mad.

"What's happening?" Draco gasped as soon as the room came back to his view. A part of him knew the answer even before the Dark Lord got a chance to tell him.

"People are eager to lie, Draco."

He raised his wand and pointed it at the boy again; the movement was barely detectable in the dark.

The room vanished again and more visions pierced Draco's consciousness: horses galloping through a misty forest following a pack of fox hounds, the vivid scarlet of the hunters' riding robes blurring with the speed; the taste of bergamot in the breakfast room, the tangy smell of a sliced grapefruit mixing with the flavour; Pansy tilting her head back as she laughed, almost spilling her fourth drink on the teal blue divan; Draco addressing his house mates after Vaisey's expulsion, the first-years exchanging bewildered glances; Tobias Pennock squirming on the floor, the grimy chain scraping the stones, the unbreakable screaming getting louder and louder...

"Please, my Lord," Draco pleaded as soon as the room sharpened in front of his eyes. "Please, if you would just let me explain-" Like summoned by a spell, the thoughts and memories he didn't want to reveal had started rising out of the back of his mind, sharp and accurate as if they'd happened only yesterday.

"Your words are unnecessary, Draco," the Dark Lord said. "Your actions are bound to speak louder."

For the third time the world of his past took over his present, and Draco shivered as he saw which of his memories the wizard could see. A cold breeze entered the room, cooling his neck and in his state of paranoia Draco knew it was Death literally breathing down his neck. He could feel it extending a long, bony finger and running it down his spine and across his shoulders; it felt almost like a caress, the loving admiration of an object you've decided to collect for your own. Beyond the visions Draco felt the darkness behind him condensing and becoming more alive by the second.

The moment the vision of his quarrel with Gray had passed, another curse had dug into his chest; his body was burning, flames peeled off his skin excruciatingly slowly, ravens of fire pecked his face, pulling out his eyes and his tongue. No amount or volume of screaming could describe the pain. The shadows were full of foul creatures with no name or shape his mind could recognise, but all their thoughts were turned on him, and they feasted on his suffering. He wished for death to collect him, for the pain to end and be replaced by anything, anything at all, but when the scavenging birds scattered and the attention of the fiends faltered and a bitter coldness cooled down the flames licking his body, the boundaries of Draco's mind closed in on him and he knew his worst fear was not to suffer but to not exist.

The darkness around him breathed in his ear, he heard distant sounds that grew fainter and fainter as his mind struggled to stay intact. His body grew heedless to the cold - soon, he felt nothing - and still there was no calm in his passing, no feeling of accomplishment about the things he'd done. His mind was painfully alert of the way he was being ripped from his existence, taken by force beyond the rightful realms of his life, thrown into a place that wasn't, to a time that wasn't, extinguished, forgotten, without existence. Little by little his consciousness dimmed, like candles in a room going out, one by one. A stabbing whisper slithered in his ear but there was no one left to understand it - no one left to ache for life.

The curse lifted so suddenly Draco felt a surge of sick move up to his oesophagus. The acids burned his throat as he made himself swallow hard. Disgust and relief battled for control over his body as Draco's mind fought to differentiate between what was and what had been. Shifting through his mind were the images he had registered as the last things he had adhered to in the unreality that he had gone through mere seconds before. He was panting heavily like he'd nearly escaped drowning and the dim light of the candle was piercingly bright to his eyes. He could still feel the revulsion he had suppressed and despite himself his eyes were filling with tears. Slowly he was taken over by the revelation of life's fragility.

When he noticed the Dark Lord's hand tightening its hold of his wand, Draco hurried around the table and threw himself at the wizard's feet, grabbing the hem of his coal-black robes with his aching hands. He could still feel the presence of the end all around him, circling him, reaching for his neck to impose its compelling hold over his life. He relived a flash of green as his eyes caught a glimpse of the wand that was still pointing at his throat.

"Please forgive me, my Lord," he sobbed, beside himself with the thought that everything around him, the domed ceiling, the lonely candle, the snake and the Dark Lord could disappear in the shortest of moments to be replaced by absolutely nothing, not even darkness, a thought of terror, or a world of pain. Everything that made up Draco's life, the good and the bad, would merely cease to exist. There was nothing that could ever frighten him more, absolutely nothing that could be as tormenting as feeling everything that was him gently ripped apart. "Forgive me my arrogance!" He raised the cloth to his mouth, still shaking like a leaf. He could feel an icy hand falling on his head almost soothingly; but the wand wasn't lowered. "I promise to be your most humble servant, my Lord. I promise anything you want!"

The hand on his platinum hair grew more rigid, but the man said nothing. Nagini slithered closer expectantly, like sensing some change in the air invisible to Draco's limited perception.

"I'll never let my arrogance get in the way of my service, my Lord," he hurried to vow, looking desperately at the harsh yet distant face above him. "I will never let myself think a task you grant me is beneath me. I swear on my life!"

The silence continued, barricading Draco's breath and making him shiver with the transcendental presence still caressing his neck. Finally the hand on his hair relaxed, and Nagini hissed disappointedly. Draco let out a weary sigh, freed at last from the icy grip.

"This pledge will be put to the test," the Dark Lord told him grimly. "Should you pass, your situation should also be re-evaluated."

"Thank you, my Lord," Draco exclaimed, pressing his forehead against the blissfully cool surface of the marble floor. His pride was broken, and he sensed this pleased the Dark Lord; not even the thought of displeasure for this potentially humiliating circumstance entered his mind, however. The man was merciful, Draco saw it now. "Thank you!" he repeated once more, getting to his feet but keeping his eyes on the floor.

The Dark Lord extended one long-fingered hand and placed it under Draco's chin, lifting his face to meet his; the grip was so tight it resembled pincers more than a human touch. No decipherable emotion could be seen on his features; the red eyes had grown dim with the passing anger.

"Should you fail," he said, his voice devoid of all sentiment, "you'll find my clemency does not extend to those I have no use for."

The hair on Draco's arms stood up with the chills that this monotonous statement set coursing through him. He couldn't avert his eyes, nor prevent his fear from showing.

"Of course, my Lord," he muttered submissively. "I understand."

The metallic clutch on his face loosened and disappeared.

"Go," the Dark Lord ordered indifferently. Draco turned on his heels, and exited the room.

He walked along the corridor, his mind empty of all thought, full of grey mist and a soft static. Down the stairs and into a parlour where the empty frames of portraits hung tastefully on the walls, reflecting Draco's thoughts with their lack of substance. He took a seat on one of the sofas.

Suddenly the clouds of the night sky grew thin, and like through a misty veil, a slip of moonlight fell on the side of the leather sofa, painting a lattice-window of shadows on the hardwood floor. Draco glanced at it, and the encounter rushed through his mind, leaving him gasping for breath. His body relaxed at long last and he leaned, sighing, on the backrest of the chesterfield, brushing his fingers through his hair. A quiet bark of laughter woke the attention of the only present occupant of the frames.

"What's there to laugh about?" said one of Draco's ancestors, as vigorously blond yet more robust man than Draco or his father. "All these strange people wandering around. In my house!"

"What's there to laugh about indeed. That's what I'd like to know."

Draco sat up, his brow knitting instantly as he saw Yaxley standing by the door. The adrenaline this sight sent pulsing through him made his head spin. He breathed so easily now, his limbs felt strong enough for anything and his eyes seemed to notice things that had never caught his attention before; the smallest details of the hand-carved furniture, the tiniest signs of use on the backs of the books on their shelves around the room, every aspect of Yaxley's appearance down to how long it had been since he'd last shaved his face.

"Your luck just won't run out will it?" the man snapped in annoyance, walking further into the room. Draco got up from the sofa; he didn't like having the man hovering over him like his superior. "I was hoping the bloody snake would've eaten you for supper but here you are."

Draco snorted. "It seems I'm bound to disappoint someone," he stated offhandedly, returning to his quiet confidence with the greatest of ease, "and quite frankly I'd rather it be you. See, your opinions and expectations are worth nothing to me."

Yaxley scoffed amusedly. "You hold on to you precious little life while it lasts," he advised. "Sooner or later you'll run into something your luck can't handle. And if you don't watch your back it might even be me."

The man turned back towards the door, hissing at the portrait before continuing his rant. Draco had pushed his hand in his pocket, and was now wrapping his fingers slowly around his wand.

"I heard even your useless mome of a father is joining the game," he went on, picking up something from a polished side table, weighing it disdainfully before putting it back, "and that no one cared to mention it to you. That says more than enough about how much your effort is valued here-"

The Stinging Jinx Draco had aimed for the back of Yaxley's head missed scarcely when the man turned to face him again. Instead it hit a vase of dried roses that exploded with a loud shatter.

Faster than Draco could see Yaxley had pulled out his own wand; his hasty Shield Charm barely blocked the curse the man had sent his way. His blood was now boiling with all the anger he had had to keep subdued, the insults to his family echoed in his mind. Ridiculing him was one thing, he would show Yaxley eventually, but slandering his parents crossed the line grossly. His blood was overflowing with adrenaline, and fighting the man made him feel so intoxicatingly alive. His wand cut the air, but Yaxley blocked his curses easily.

"You'll be sorry for starting this, boy!" the man shouted, his eyes bulging slightly. Three flashes of red light crossed the room, but two missed, disappearing inside the cold and empty fireplace. The third hit Draco's defences hard, forcing him to take a step back. The setting moon hit a mirror by the door on Yaxley's right, and before he could even guess at the success rate of his attempt, Draco had fired another Stinging Hex which bounced off the surface, leaving the looking-glass on the floor in pieces. Yaxley had turned instinctively to see what had caused the noise; the burst of white light hit the side of his face, which started to swell up immediately.

Yaxley screamed and raged, grabbing the part of his face the curse had injured; his right eye had already vanished behind the swollen flesh. Draco sneered, a self-satisfied smile spreading across his face. It faded before long, however, when Yaxley's next curse met his Shield Charm; the flash of light that had broken away from the tip of his wand had been bright green. The speed the man now acquired was impossible; more than once Draco escaped retaliation solely because he happened to side step at the right fraction of a second. His Shield Charms stayed strong, but Yaxley kept getting closer. He backed away, step at a time, almost falling over on another ornate side table. A curse hit the bookshelf behind him, filling the air with ripped paper.

Suddenly the man leapt towards him, throwing his wand on the floor and grabbing Draco's arm with both of his hands. The force of his muscles was staggering as he pointed Draco's hand away from him. After a feeble curse it fell on the floor as the strain on his elbow and shoulder became unbearable. Draco cried out in pain, fearing the man might break his arm; he certainly seemed able to. When he felt the hold on his limb weakening, Draco pulled back with all his strength, crouching down instantly to reach for his wand. This was a mistake; Yaxley's knee, aimed at his stomach, crashed into his chin and it threw Draco back on the floor. His teeth sunk into his lip and he could taste blood. The pain was hazing his mind.

Before he could get on his feet, Yaxley had grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him up. With an outraged roar he lifted the boy several inches off the ground and threw him violently against the bookshelf. Draco fell on the floor, shielding his head from the falling books. A large leather tome collided painfully with his left shoulder blade and another fell on his neck as his hand crawled across the floor, reaching for the wand he saw lying mere feet away. Before he could acquire it, a loud wheezing grunt came from above, and he saw Yaxley staggering backwards. The thick dusty velvet of the curtains had caught him by the throat and was half carrying, half dragging him across the room. His legs kicked aimlessly as he gasped for breath, pulling in vain at the strangling fabric, knocking over the furniture that got in his way. Turning toward the door Draco saw his father, looking scrawny and unkempt but pointing his wand at Yaxley with an unyielding look on his face. Snape was at his side, looking thoroughly uninterested, as usual. Draco grabbed his wand swiftly before getting up and walking to them.

Yaxley's swollen face had turned purple before the curtains unfolded. He fell on the floor, coughing and gagging with his hands on his throat, still struggling to breathe.

"How dare you behave like this in my house?" Lucius spat at the man with a look of pure revulsion on his face. "You lay your filthy hands on my son again and next time you won't be so lucky," he hissed lividly. His wand made an aggressive arch over the slouched figure, but instead of more harm falling on the man, the curtains merely returned to their previous positions by the window. The master of the house turned on his heels, and the two other men followed him. Out in the hall Draco swore he could hear a loud thud when Yaxley's fist met the floor. He caught up with his father's quick pace, but before he could utter a word, the man had addressed him.

"There will be no more of such episodes under my roof, Draco," the man expressed sternly without casting so much as a sideway glance at his son. "Understood?"

Draco gritted his teeth, the momentary joy of reunion melting into childish shame. "Yes, Father," he muttered unassertively. He could sense there were many things his father wanted to say but decided not to, perhaps because the list was too long for such an early hour of the day. They walked back to the study in silence that was full of the weight of things left unsaid.

"Use the fireplace in the library," his father said to Snape, still not turning his eyes on Draco as they reached the door to his office. The professor nodded without a word and led Draco away by the shoulder. Before they turned a corner, the boy glanced back, only to catch a glimpse of his father's robes disappearing through the door.

Snape and Draco didn't exchange so much as a good night as they returned to the school. He left the office in a hurry, dissolving into the wall for the way back to the common room. When he finally reached the dormitory, he was exhausted and distraught once more. The pain he had managed to ignore on his way back to the castle now returned and he wished he had had the sense to ask Snape for a potion to relieve the strain on his throbbing muscles. No potion would've helped him with the thought of his father, however; it was like a Stinging Jinx in his brain.

"Where've you been?" a low hushed voice asked as Draco was undressing to go to bed a second time.

"Go back to sleep, Crabbe," Draco murmured tiredly, pulling off his socks and crawling between the sheets, closing his eyes without delay.

"Yeh, I guess I should," Crabbe chuckled drowsily. "Or else Morbid Billy will get me."

Like a bucket full of water falling on him, something Draco had been trying to remember for weeks washed over him like a wave of recognition. That something that had been itching at the back of his mind had finally emerged on the surface to be examined after weeks of evading his every attempt.

"What did you say?" Draco gasped, sitting up in his bed and staring at Crabbe's sleepy face.

"Didn't you ever hear about him when you were a nipper?" the other boy asked, yawning as he turned to face Draco again.

"Something tells me I'm about to hear it now," Draco declared, suddenly feeling very much awake.

8