Death Eater's Child

Death Eater's Child--Chapter 3

I rose the next morning, feeling as if I hadn't slept at all. That was understandable; after all, I didn't get back to the school until three in the morning. I checked my watch; it read nine AM. While I would have liked to lie in bed all morning, I had a fair bit of homework that needed to be done.

My O.W.L.s weren't until next year, but my teachers were already piling on the homework, probably to prepare us for the workload that was to come next year. I also had a tutoring session with a second year, Malcolm Baddock, later in the afternoon. He was a quiet, morose twelve year old who was a lot like myself and the closest thing to a friend I had.

I quickly jumped into the shower, turning the water on cold in an effort to wake myself up. I then dressed in my too-large clothes and made my way to the Great all to get some remnants of breakfast. I knew that there wouldn't be very much on the table at this point, but I had to get what I could. I was skinny enough as it was.

On my way to the Great Hall, someone emerged from the shadows and pulled me in with them. My imagination began running wild as I was slammed up against the wall and a hand was held over my mouth.

"Hello William, fancy meeting you here," said a mocking voice. I couldn't see the speakers face, but I knew exactly who it was: my cousin, Draco Malfoy. I had heard that voice throwing insults at me so many times over the past three and a half years that I don't think I could ever forget it. On either side of him I could hear the sound of knuckles cracking threateningly. Crabbe and Goyle.

"Let me go, Malfoy," I said. "I have things to do."

"Things like what, dear cousin?" asked Draco. When I didn't answer immediately, he changed his tone. "Look, William, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Do you think we could, I don't know, call a truce or something?" I knew that something was definitely out of whack, and I was getting suspicious. Why, after almost four years of jeering and insults, would Draco want to make peace? I had a feeling that Voldemort or Lucius had something to do with this, most possibly both.

"You really think I'm going to believe that?" I asked. "For once, Draco, you're going to have to try hard to persuade someone to your line of thinking." I tried to get past my cousin, but I was slammed against the wall again. Draco stepped into the light, and I could see the feral, predatory glint in his cold grey eyes.

"Oh, I do, do I?" he asked, his voice now downright frosty. "Trust me, I have my ways." He then released me and began to walk away. I was a little puzzled at this, but I tried to take advantage of the situation and make a quick exit. However, before I could take one step, Draco turned around. "Crabbe, Goyle, convince William, will you?"

The two trollish thugs closed in on me, laughing stupidly as they cracked their knuckles menacingly. I back up against the wall, my wand drawn. Before I could even cast a spell, Goyle (or was it Crabbe?) swung his arm around and hit me with a powerful right hook. I was out before I even hit the ground.

***

I tried to get up off the cold stone floor. As it turned out, I couldn't; I was in too much pain. I couldn't remember what Crabbe and Goyle had done to me. Judging by how much I was hurting, the two big lugheads had probably gotten a few hits in while I was out in la-la land. I tried to get up again, and despite my body's protests, I managed to get to my feet. Holding onto the wall for support, I tried to decide what to do next. I knew I should go to Madam Pomfrey, but then she would ask a few awkward questions that I would be reluctant to answer. I put off that option for a while and put a few concealing charms on myself.

The charms I used aren't usually taught until sixth or seventh year; I just had a lot of time one afternoon and decided to check out a few books from the library and teach myself them. I've been compared to the Granger mudblood once and only once. I didn't appreciate it, and the person making the comparison ended up getting an anonymous letter filled with Bubotuber pus. I had a great laugh over that, and no one has compared me to the Granger girl since.

I checked my watch; it was ten minutes to lunch. With some difficulty, I stopped leaning on the wall and stood on my own. In some respects, I wasn't surprised that no one had found me; this part of the dungeons was rarely used. The only other people who knew about the corridor were some older Slytherins, obviously including Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, and possibly Professor Snape. Since none of them liked me all that much, I wouldn't expect them to mop me up.

I slowly shuffled up to the Great Hall so I could get something in me. I hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday, so of course I would be hungry. I had been too nervous the previous evening to eat anything.

I sat at my usual spot at the Slytherin table. Before I could get a singe bite of my beef casserole into my mouth, Draco and his cronies entered the Great Hall. Much to my surprise, they headed, not to the center of the table where all the action was, but right across from me.

"Fancy meeting you here, William," said Draco with a smirk. Crabbe and Goyle snickered stupidly.

"I could say the same to you," I replied coolly, taking a bite of my casserole. "Don't you usually sit over there?" I pointed to where Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode had there heads bent over a magazine, mist likely Witch Weekly.

"Variety is the spice of life," replied Draco. "Besides, and I'm sure you can agree with this, they're irritating and about as intelligent as a couple of Flobberworms. So, how are you doing, dear cousin?"

"Pretty good," I began sarcastically, "considering I had the shit beat out of me and was knocked out for two and a half hours. Of course, beating me up isn't the way to get me to see your way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fair bit of homework to do, and I would like to get a good start on it so I won't have so much to do tomorrow." With that, I got up and left the Great Hall, toting my bag behind me. I made my way to the library and sat at the back table that Malcolm and I usually sat at during our study sessions. I pulled out my books and began my long afternoon of studying.

***

"You look like shit."

I looked up to see Malcolm standing over me with a grin on his face.

"That's a nice greeting," I replied sarcastically. "Could you have at least said 'hello' first?" Malcolm sighed.

"Okay then," he said. "Hello Will. You look like shit."

I rolled my eyes. "Didn't your mother tell you not to swear?" Malcolm shrugged as he sat across from me.

"My mother really didn't care about me," he replied. "She never really wanted children, and she left the house elves and a nanny to raise me."

"Well, we're not here to talk about how we were raised, are we? We're here to keep your grades up," I said, getting back to the task at hand.

I had stumbled on this tutoring job by accident. Professor McGonagall had seen my aptitude for Transfiguration was well above normal, and had asked me if I would like to tutor a struggling fellow Slytherin a few years below me. I had a feeling that she would have asked a member of her own house, but didn't because she knew that a Slytherin would respond better to one of their own kind. I took the job, if only to get the self- satisfaction of helping another person. I know, I know, not very Slytherin of me, but it gets better. After a couple of weeks, I got a letter from Malcolm's mother, asking me how much I would like to be paid for tutoring her son. I took the offered five Galleons a week without any questions, and while it wasn't much, it was something. I was planning on getting my own place right out of Hogwarts, and I needed to get as much saved up as possible. Of course, you don't want to hear about that, now do you?

"Exactly," agreed Malcolm. He extracted his most recent piece of Transfiguration homework for me to look over. I carefully explained what he had done right, and made suggestions on how it could be made better. He was getting much, much better; at the beginning of the year, I had to pretty much rewrite the entire thing so he could get a passing grade. Because of my work with Malcom, and my ability to keep my own marks up, McGonagall is already after me to take the N.E.W.T. level Transfiguration class. I was planning on it anyway, whether or not McGonagall asked me.

Malcolm and I worked together, making sure all of his work was correct before moving to an empty classroom to work on the practical aspect of the course,