Invictus

Light. I screw up my eyes, try to focus. So tired...

Light... Does that mean he's here?

I don't actually care that much.

I gaze blankly at the green canopy above me. All this time I've been here, and this is the first time I've been able to look at it.

No great loss, really.

I close my eyes and roll onto my side, facing the wall. Every aching muscle protests the movement.

The rustle of cloth. Footsteps. So he is here then.

I don't have the energy to care.

Silence.

I suppose if I opened my eyes and rolled over, I'd see him standing over me, watching, or whatever else he's doing so quietly.

But why would I want to do that? I wish he'd just leave me alone.

He rips the blankets away.

"Get up!"

I don't respond. What else can he do to me after what... after...

"Don't ignore me, you filthy little Mudblood! Have you still not learned your place?"

Oh, sod off.

An evil chuckle. When he speaks again it's like he's spooning out treacle.

"38, Riverside Close."

Oh God. No.

I roll onto my back. Open my eyes. He's leaning against the bedpost. His horrible pale face is twisted in an even uglier grin.

"Leave my parents out of this."

One eyebrow arches.

"They haven't done anything to you!" I say desperately.

"Hmm." He makes a show of examining his fingernails. "They spawned you, Mudblood. That's enough, as far as I'm concerned."

My blood runs cold.

He smiles.

"Yes," he drawls, "sometimes the only way to deal with a problem is to dig it out by its roots. After all, it's easy enough to find out when a Mudblood child is born – I fail to see the point in letting it live long enough to pose a threat. Or to let its parents repeat the mistake."

I should be shocked, but I just feel a dull weariness. That kind of talk is sick, but it's stupid and tedious and I've heard it all before.

"So why don't you just kill me and have done with it?"

He purses his lips. "Do you want me to?"

Our eyes meet. I shiver. He smirks.

"No," he says, "I didn't think so. And perhaps I'll indulge your foolish desire to stay alive for a little while longer – you're safely under control here, after all. Your parents, on the other hand... Well. One of you is more than enough, Mudblood. Why should I let them live to produce another?"

Oh God... Mum, Dad, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't know... no one told me I'd be bringing this down on us when I answered that letter...

I stare up at the velvet folds of the canopy, mind whirring frantically. But how can I possibly counter 'logic' that is based on such blind hate? And he has all the power, the bastard. He could do what he likes out there, and there'd be nothing I could do about it, and I'd still be trapped here at his non-existent mercy. God, I hate him.

"But in this case," he says, "I'll make you an offer. If you can maintain a properly obedient attitude from now on, I'll let your pathetic Muggle parents live. What do you say to that?"

What can I say?

"Why should I believe you?"

"Oh, there's no reason why you should. But I can promise you, Mudblood, that if you ever again fail to show me the respect to which I'm entitled, I will see to it that they pay the price. And somehow I don't think you want to test me on that."

There's a nagging voice at the back of my mind, insisting that Mum would never want me to give in to him for her sake. But this is my choice to make, not hers. And there is no choice.

"All right." Somehow I drag out the words. Even to me, my voice sounds low. Lost.

The slightest of smirks, but other than that, nothing.

He raises an eyebrow, expectantly. But I've no idea what it is he's expecting. What am I supposed to do, in this situation?

"W- what do you want?"

"I've already told you what I want."

What... oh. Well, getting out of bed isn't the worst he could ask of me, I suppose. Though I'm aching so much that it rather feels like it.

I swing my feet onto the floor and stand up, swaying. I almost fall across the small table that he left beside the bed yesterday – but he grabs my arm and shoves me across the room. I reel against the chair in front of the desk, and cling to the back of it. I suddenly feel rather light-headed. My mind just feels numb.

He walks around me, heels clicking on the stone. He peers at me, eyes travelling down... and lingering at the level of my heart. His lips twitch slightly. I glance down.

Bastard. I'd forgotten about that.

There's a hole in my robe where he cut it yesterday, and it's gaping slightly open. I clutch the fabric together with my left hand. I can feel myself start to blush. I don't know why – it's not as if he hasn't already seen much more of me than that.

"Hmm... it looks as if I'm going to have to get you another robe, doesn't it? But in the meantime, you really shouldn't worry about that." He lays his wand lightly on my left forearm.

Why the hell can't he leave me alone? I raise my eyes to glare at him before I remember, and drop my arm.

I hate you.

He smiles. "Good."

The smile vanishes. He strides round to the other side of the desk, and points at the chair I'm leaning on.

"Sit."

That's something I'm all too willing to do, even though I'm bristling at his tone. I'm starting to feel really faint now.

He Summons the goblet and pours in more of the thick potion that he gave me last night. When he hands it to me I take it and drink it without a word. It tastes slightly metallic and it's hard not to gag on the stuff, but it pushes away the dizziness as if it's coating my veins with supporting steel. I put the goblet down.

Perhaps a little too firmly – he frowns and leans across the desk.

"Now, let me make one thing plain, Mudblood," he says coldly. "As far as I'm concerned, you've served your purpose. It's nothing to me whether you live or die. For the moment I may find it more – amusing – to keep you alive, but it would be very, very easy to change my mind if you turn out not to be useful after all. And in the meantime, I certainly see no reason not to punish you, should I need to, in any way I see fit."

My gaze wanders along the dark grain of the desk. I don't understand. Why did he bring me back here if he hates me that much?

"Yes, little one," he hisses, "there are things I could take from you so much more – painfully – than mere blood."

I shudder, as Harry's hushed description of Wormtail slicing off his hand flashes across my mind. I can't look at him. I feel like I've walked into a grotesque nightmare far, far blacker than what went before – at least there was some sort of purpose to that, however hideous. But now... No limits, is what he's saying. He doesn't have to answer to anyone – his little tiff with Macnair made that quite clear. If he's only keeping me for his own sadistic amusement...

Unless that's just what he wants me to think?

"But you needn't worry about that for the moment," he says silkily. "I have a different task for you today."

I look up at him cautiously. He reaches down behind the desk. When he stands up, he's holding a large book. It's old and dusty and has spidery purple writing on the spine: Mastering the Darke Arts ~ An Introduction to Thanatonic Magical Theorie.

But I don't need to read it – I recognise it. It's the book I've been berating myself for touching ever since it landed me here.

So what does he want with it now?

"Now Mudblood, don't tell me you're not curious about our work together," he says. "And after you performed so well, it would have been such a waste to let Walden... dispose of you. So now I'm giving you a chance to prove your worth." He puts the book down in front of me.

I look at it. I look back at him. He laughs.

"What, you're worried it's going to whisk you off somewhere? Do you mean to say you'd rather stay here? I'm touched."

As if after yesterday I'd choose to go anywhere he wanted to send me! Why does the bastard have to twist everything?

"No, Mudblood," he continues, "you're safe enough to read it, for now. I'll give you twelve hours to work it out. I suggest you start with Chapter Three."

He glances around the room. With an arrogant wand-flick, he moves the small table into the empty corner of the room and conjures up the usual bowl of soup and two slices of bread. This time there's an apple beside the bowl.

Fruit. I've never seen any fruit in this place. Just to sink my teeth into something fresh...

He smiles, a malicious gleam in his eye. "Just in case you feel strong enough to eat, Mudblood... and I do expect you to clean yourself up before I come back. You're covered in blood. It's really not very pleasant to look at."

And whose fault is that, exactly?

"And just to show you that I'm not asking the impossible, I'll leave you some light."

He pauses, waiting for a reply.

"Thank you," I answer, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

He smiles with vile satisfaction, and Disapparates.

And I draw my feet up onto the chair, put my arms around my knees and rock back and forth, staring at the wall. It's as hard and grey and bleak as the future.

How long is he going to keep me here? What does he want from me?

Maybe I'd feel better if I could cry, but I can't. It's too awful.

The chair is creaking slightly as I rock. I stop. God knows what he'll do if it breaks.

Silence. Emptiness. I feel hollow, and it's not just from Repudiating my wand.

You should never have done that.

But what choice did I have? He was about to cast Cruciatus at me!

He did that anyway.

And? And the fact that the bastard can do that to me anytime it takes his fancy means I should volunteer for the experience? I don't think so!

I shiver. Not only can he do whatever he likes, with that hanging over me he can make me do whatever he likes, even without the threat to my parents. It's nothing more than the harsh clear truth.

It doesn't bear thinking about.

I put my feet on the floor, lean my elbows on the desk and bury my face in my hands. What am I going to do?

What is he going to make me do?

I could just sit here and let the numbness creep over me, I could just keep staring at the shapes of the stones to keep my mind occupied so I don't have to face this dreadful situation I'm in.

I don't even need to think about the stones, actually. I don't have to think about anything.

Yes, you do!

Why? I could just withdraw so far into my head that he couldn't reach me.

And then he would go after Mum and Dad. He told you to look at that book, remember?

Oh God. I suppose he'd even see death as disobedience, if for whatever twisted reason he wants to keep me alive.

I'm fenced in, any way I turn. I have to do what he wants, I can't see any way to avoid it. I hate him, I hate him!

"Damn you!" I shout into the room, jumping to my feet. "Damn you!"

I throw myself at the wall and hit my fist against it.

Ow!

I slide down and curl up on the floor.

Get a grip, Hermione. You have to deal with this!

Deal with it? How can I possibly deal with it?

You can hope.

Hope. Right. I gave up on that when he shut the door of that tower. When hope gave up on me.

If you don't hope you'll go mad. And if you want to give your parents a chance, you have to stay sane!

Meaning I have to keep enough of a grip on my mind to force myself to do what he wants? Like that's going to give me any hope...

This is impossible. Maybe if I provoked him enough he'd just kill me and have done with it. Surely the Order must be protecting my parents!

But I don't really believe that – they obviously aren't that bothered about what happened to me. Well, I'm only a Mudblood, aren't I? My parents don't count for anything in their world – why would they care what happened to them? Has anyone even told them I'm missing?

No. I'm on my own.

And no way am I just going to give in. When it comes down to it, hope isn't a belief. It's a choice.

I push myself to my feet. Okay. So I have twelve hours – probably more like eleven-and-a-half hours, now – to eat, have a bath, and figure out whatever it is he wants me to figure out. A bitter laugh echoes through my mind – well, I might as well read the damn book. I've already paid the price for that bit of curiosity a thousand times over.

I rub my head. I don't really feel that hungry, but I suppose I should eat. I'll clean myself up first, though...

My eyes fall on the apple and for a moment I long to bite into it. But no, I can wait. I turn away into the bathroom, and turn the taps on full.

He's probably put some kind of spell on it, anyhow.

Yeah, right. What do you think this is, Hermione? Snow White?

That'd be good – maybe I should just eat the thing, pass out and wait for the handsome prince to come and rescue me.

I grin to myself: it's better to laugh than to cry. And it's true, the idea is absurd – why would he need to trick me into eating anything when he could just put me under Imperius or threaten me with Cruciatus... or with going after my family...

Though the bastard did say that he couldn't stand using Imperius on a Mudblood.

He did it though, didn't he? Twice now.

True, but the first time he just did it to show me he could.

And the second time?

I don't know. I was hardly in a fit state to remember much. But... but... he almost seemed human for a moment. Almost.

Oh really? Would that be before or after he drained your blood, made you Repudiate your wand and tortured you into unconsciousness?

After. After. I don't want to think about that.

I pull off my robe, breathe in the fragrant steam and sink into the bath. The enveloping warmth brings tears to my eyes. It should hurt more, my ankles and wrists should be screaming where the ropes rubbed them raw...

But they aren't. The skin there is slightly pinker than it should be, but not that vicious weeping red. I touch the top of my head where he almost- no, where he did pull my hair out. It's a little tender, but nothing like it should be.

The potion? Judging by the taste of it, that was to restore the blood I lost – that he took – but I suppose it could have had a wider Healing effect. Or perhaps he cast some Healing Charms while I was asleep.

Oh, how very charitable of him.

But the thought nags at the back of my mind. He could have just threatened me with Cruciatus when I refused to drink that stuff, he could have probably physically poured it down my throat-

He did threaten you with Cruciatus.

But he didn't do it.

Only because he knew it would kill you.

Okay. Maybe that's true. But he still didn't have to keep up the spell once I'd drunk the stuff. And he did, I remember that. He just held me in that blissfully pain-free state...

Oh, for God's sake, Hermione!

I splash my face and scrub myself vigorously, until nothing is left of those marks he smeared on my chest and my feet except for red patches where I've rubbed the skin too hard.

But... if there's even the slightest sign that he might start to see me and not just some symbol of something he hates... it's something to hope for, isn't it? And I do need to hope.

There is a difference between hope and hallucination!

I dunk my head in the water and knead the suds through my hair.

I wasn't hallucinating. I'm not saying he wouldn't have preferred to do something horrible to me, but he didn't seem to be... certain about it. And then, he didn't, in the end.

Well, he made up for that just now, didn't he?

Mmm. I don't get it. Maybe he's just trying to be unpredictable.

If that's the case, he's doing rather a good job of it.

Or maybe he's trying not to be unpredictable? Maybe he was such a complete bastard just now because he wanted to make me forget his dithering yesterday. To convince me that he could kill me without a second thought. Or... or maybe he just wants to convince himself...

Yeah, right.

Oh, I can't think about this any more, I'll just go round in circles. And why am I worrying so much about what he thinks, anyhow? I need to get on with looking at that book so he doesn't go mad at me when he gets back.

I haul myself out of the bath and reach for a towel. There's a new robe lying next to it, I see with relief. Even down here, I feel a tiny bit better for having a bath and clean clothes. Every little thing helps...

So, first I'll eat, then I'll tackle that book on a full stomach.

I close the bathroom door behind me and walk towards the table with the soup and the bread and the apple.

You can't go over there!

What?

I shake my head. Where did that thought come from? There's nothing in the corner except the food.

But... I don't know. I just have this feeling that something dreadful will happen if I go any closer to it. Better to stay where I am.

This is stupid. I have to eat.

NO! It's not safe!

That's ridiculous.

But it doesn't feel ridiculous. My hands are clammy with sweat.

Damn him! Is this another of his twisted little games? What kind of spell has he put on me? Now I know why he was smiling at me so evilly when he mentioned the food.

I hate him. I will not let him do this to me!

My anger allows me to push forward another metre before the hysterical screaming in the back of my mind forces me to stop.

I'm shaking. And I know that if I take two steps further...

What I know is that this has to be his doing. The bastard is trying to mess with my mind, and I can't give in to it. I know I'm hungry, and I know there's no reason for me to be afraid to walk over to the table and pick up that juicy apple...

But as I step forward, liquid fire lances up my spine and a scream rips through me. I fall to the floor, gasping.

I can't do it, I can't. It's not worth it. Nothing's worth that.

A steel whip lashes across my hands, my wrists, my arms-

I back away on my hands and knees. No visible sign of anything. I rub my arms, shuddering.

God, I wish I was safe at home...

And suddenly I catch sight of a dark line on the floor between the table and me, arcing from the wall in front of me to the wall on my right, its smooth curve clear against the angular flagstones. That wasn't there before, I'm sure of it.

I peer at it, keeping my distance. It seems to be some kind of... powder?

I crawl closer, wincing at the spasms juddering up my arms. Yes, it's definitely some kind of powder, a dark red-brown colour. The closer I get, the more overpowering is that terrifying sense that I need to go back.

I blow at it, hard, but it's stuck in place. No way to avoid stepping over it, then, if I want to eat.

But I can't. It's as if the tendrils of the Cruciatus Curse are reaching towards me again, to pull me in and devour me...

I scramble backwards. I just want to get as far away from that line as I can.

I'm glad he's not here. I'm sure this would really appeal to his warped sense of humour.

So... well, why isn't he here, then? Considering what he's been like before, I'd have thought he'd have wanted to watch me discover his little trick.

Though perhaps that would have made the trap too obvious. He must have meant for me to encounter it completely unprepared.

Why?

"I'll give you twelve hours to work it out," he said.

I frown: has this got something to do with what he did to me yesterday?

It must have. If I can go over everything he did, perhaps I can work it out...

I can't go there. All I want to do is forget that.

What was it he said, then? Nothing but his usual vicious condescension when he was talking to me, but what about what he said to Macnair?

"Of course, we won't really know until we see how it affects the Mudbloods. But it's certainly boiled down as it should."

Boiled down... Is that stuff on the floor...?

"...until we see how it affects the Mudbloods."

It has to be the residue from that damned potion. Somehow, it's radiating all the horror and pain and despair I was feeling yesterday.

A slow-burning rage wells up inside. He's testing it on me! Damn him!

But... if that fear, that excruciating pain, is connected to the powder, not the food, that means I'd be okay once I crossed the line, doesn't it?

Does it? Why take the risk when you're better off where you are?

I have to try. All I have to do is get across that line and I'll have proved that his vile spell won't work.

Oh, and then he'll be happy with you, won't he?

I- I don't know. He did leave me the food, after all. He could just as easily punish me for not eating it if I don't cross the line.

What does he want me to do?

"Work it out," is what he said.

Right. And he left me a book and a line of dried blood to work from. So he can't criticise me for investigating that line from every angle, can he?

I swallow. I really don't want to go anywhere near it. And... it doesn't want me anywhere near it, either.

Perhaps if I take a run at it, I could be past the line before it has a chance to affect me?

I walk back to the bathroom door, but even here I'm trembling and my throat is dry. Almost as if focusing on the line is giving it more power, letting it extend its reach...

Stop thinking like that!

And I run, I run as fast and as heedlessly as I can towards the food.

But if I do it I'll have that fire slicing through me and those hooks tearing into my limbs and I know I can't bear that, wasn't yesterday enough I can't I can't I can't!

I skid to a halt just short of the line.

Damn!

I sink to the floor and bang my fists on the stone. I can't do it, I can't do it! But I can't let him win...

He already has. He won yesterday when he used you to make that bloody potion.

No. There has to be a way round this.

I grab the goblet from the table, march to the sink and wrench the tap. Goblet filled, I approach the line again.

– but blood is thicker than water, don't you know that? And there's nothing you can do about it...

No!

I throw the water across the flagstones to sluice away the powder

But a cloud of rusty steam engulfs me and it's fire and ice and pain and I can't breathe and I run back into the bathroom and slam the door because it's not safe out there

It's okay, it's okay, it didn't do anything.

But I'm not going out there!

It takes a few minutes for the panic to subside. I'm okay, okay, okay. No lasting damage. I can get through the bathroom door. I can. But I'm not going anywhere near the line. Not without seeing what that book might have to say about it first.

I sit at the desk – his seat, but the light is a little better in this position, and he didn't say I couldn't – and stare at the cracked leather cover, etched with the faint flourishes of a faded silvery crest. It's pretty battered for a wizard book – either it's been used so much that the usual preserving charms are wearing off, or there's some powerful magic bound within the book itself.

I know he said it was safe, but, well, that was him, wasn't it? It doesn't make me feel any better about opening it.

But I can't just sit and stare at it until he comes back. He'd kill me.

Poor choice of words, Hermione.

I shake my head and quickly open the cover before I can think about it. Nothing happens.

He wasn't lying about that, then.

I examine the title page. So, this is an 'Introduction to Thanatonic Magical Theory', whatever that is. I smile ruefully – I recognise that sort of statement. I've spent enough time in libraries to be more than familiar with disingenuous academic claims that a 1247-page tome written in language that only experts understand could be an 'Introduction' to anything.

But this is the sort of thing I'm good at.

So, let's get started. Chapter Three, he said.

I push back my sleeves and pull the book towards me.

I have to laugh, bitterly, when I see the chapter title. On the Use of the Revenge Response to Drive Second-Derivative Hagalaz Vectors. It's one of those I flipped through when I was desperately searching for a way out in the few minutes before he turned up. If only I'd looked at it properly, tried to make sense of the runic scribbles, perhaps I'd have had some warning about what he was trying to do...

And perhaps he wants me to think that, wants me to turn that frustration in on myself. I would never have had the time to read it then, let alone work out what it was on about. It still looks like gobbledegook. And I have – what? – ten, eleven hours to figure it out.

Better get on with it, then.

I plough on.

A Note on The Application of Hagalaz Vectors, I read.

Hagalaz ~ The Power Of Deep Reshaping, Having The Potential To Transform Or Destroye. It well behoves the serious student of Thanatonic magic to familiarise herself with the multitudinous uses of the Hagalaz Field and its Vectors. For she who seeks Mastery of the Darke Arts, a sound understanding of the manner in which the Desyres and Emotions combine to determine the Vector state will enable her to command the forces of Order and Chaos. Those fearless soules who walk the bridge between the Dark and the Light must understand that the slightest imbalance of the mind can alter the Vector Derivatives to unexpected and parlous effect. The moste common emotional conjunctions are given below, in Dolohovian Notation.

It doesn't make a lot of sense. But then these things never do on first reading.

I scan the text for concepts I do understand: Transform or 'destroye'... Imbalance of the mind... Parlous effect?

I don't like the sound of that at all. And I have no idea how it relates to that potion. But perhaps that will start to become clear, if only I can work out what this is going on about.

I screw up my forehead and examine the runic equations. My mind is sluggish – it's been too long since I've had this sort of problem to work on, and I wish I had a quill. But it is rather a relief to lose myself for a while in the clear abstraction of trying to balance Isa against Ehwaz instead of weighing up how to avoid provoking him.

It takes me a while to get them all straight. I'm definitely out of practice – they don't allow this much time when sitting OWLs. But then they don't set this sort of problem at OW-Level, either. I feel a familiar thrill of achievement at the thought – it's so satisfying to have solved a problem, especially one that people don't expect you to grasp. I bet that smug bastard wasn't expecting me to work it out – I can't wait to see his face when he finds out that I have.

Well, actually I'd be happy never to see that ugly sneering face again. And I still need to figure out how he applied this.

Assuming he's not just sending me up the garden path.

From what I can make out, what the book refers to as a Hagalaz Field is the potential range of reactions someone can have to a traumatic experience, and the Hagalaz Vector controls what the actual reaction will be. As it's a vector, it has both a size – the more intense the experience and the more receptive the person's mind, the bigger the vector – and also a direction, which seems to indicate whether the experience is more likely to destroy or transform.

Destruction is noted as the positive direction, I notice. What else would you expect from a Dark Arts book?

Although... isn't the same thing true of physics? I've been reading around the GCSE syllabuses when I've been at home, though last summer there wasn't much time for that, of course. But I remember my know-it-all cousin John going on about how the Universe is gradually running down into a more disordered state – because entropy always has to increase, or something. Anyhow, the point being that moving towards order is the 'negative' direction, and it has to be offset by greater disorder elsewhere.

Well, having seen Ron's room and Harry's trunk, I'm not going to argue with that one.

But... I screw up my forehead. Going back to Hagalaz Vectors, if they're at all like entropy, would that mean that Dark Magic – or this type of Dark Magic, at any rate – just taps into a natural tendency towards decay?

Taps into... and hastens along. Or twists out of all recognition.

But whereas entropy is a property of physical systems, Hagalaz Vectors work on the mind.

But how? I stare at the lines of equations.

And I feel my understanding shift, as if dawn is breaking over a broad valley and only now bringing light to how everything fits together. The sudden rush of clarity is exhilarating – it always is – but there's a murkiness to it, as well. Not in the logic, but in the meaning of it.

The 'First Derivative' shows the rate of change of a basic Hagalaz Field – basically how quickly an experience – or, more accurately, a person's reaction to the experience – moves her towards destruction or transformation. And the Second Derivative... that represents the rate of change of change, as it were. In other words, it's the second derivative that can slow or speed the path to destruction.

And that's what this chapter is about : now I understand what it means when it talks about the 'Use of the Revenge Response to Drive Second-Derivative Hagalaz Vectors'. That list of 'emotional conjunctions' is simply a list of how to manipulate someone's emotional responses to destructive effect.

Well, a lot of Dark Magic does run off negative emotions, I already knew that. Probitaserum, for one, wouldn't work if it weren't for that principle. Not to mention Cruciatus.

Revenge, according to the equations, always tends towards destruction, no matter whether it arises from ruthless ambition or, say, a maternal protective instinct. But its strongest complements – the emotions that drive the Hagalaz Vector most surely towards destruction – are fear and hate.

Hate.

But hate is all that's kept me sane since the day he brought me here!

A cold chill creeps over me, a chill that has nothing to do with the absence of a fireplace.

"See how much she hates me?" he said to Macnair yesterday. So smug, so satisfied...

Oh God.

He wanted me to hate him.

"Don't you want revenge, little one?"
"Revenge is so sweet – don't you agree?"
Chapter Three: On the Use of the Revenge Response...

No wonder he always looked so bloody smug! All that time I thought he was just indulging his stupid pureblood prejudices, but he was deliberately manoeuvring me into the exact state he wanted for his bloody spell. All those snide remarks about what I know and what I don't, his mocking condescension every time I reacted to what he did to me, the way he held back from crushing me with Cruciatus at the start, so that I wouldn't despair and lose the will to hate him...

Now you know why he's been such a complete and utter bastard.

Or maybe that was just because he is a complete and utter bastard.

Is that a logical assessment, Hermione, or are you just saying that because you hate him?

Stupid question! Of course I hate him!

Oh.

Oh shit.

I was lost before I even entered that tower. I hate him for what he's done to me. Hate him. But that exactly how the bastard wants me to react. He's trapped me in my own reactions – and I hate him for that, as well. How could I have been so stupid?

Yeah, well, everything's clearer with hindsight, isn't it?

But I don't understand why. If he wants to destroy me, there are far easier ways to do it.

Or is that all part of what he said he wanted to use me for? Can he do something else by putting me in that state? But what? I can't see it... and even if I could...

What on earth am I going to do?

I twist my hands in my hair as if the pain will help me to think clearly. But I don't want to think about it, I just want to scream and scream until the sound bounces round the walls and drowns out the chatter in my mind. Anything I can do plays into his hands. Screaming probably plays into his hands. There's nothing I can do. Completely bloody powerless.

You are NOT powerless.

But what can I do?

Look at the stupid book, you idiot!

But the book only describes what drives the Vectors towards destruction, not how to stop them, or push them back the other way. Strange.

Well, maybe not so strange, for a book on Dark magic.

But it must be possible, surely? What was it that Professor McGonagall said once? "Remember, class, any transformation is possible, given enough skill or power. Some workings just take a little more effort than others."

Transfiguration is less subtle – well, more tangible, anyhow – but I would think the same principle holds. It's just a question of reversing the direction of the Hagalaz Vector, so that it tends towards transformation rather than destruction. Which means reversing the Second and First Derivatives to drive it that way.

It has to be possible.

I stare at the equations in front of me. If those are the kinds of emotions that drive towards destruction, presumably it's their opposites I need to harness.

Oh, come on. Don't say this is all about the transforming power of love, or something stupid like that. Like if I don't hate him, he'll suddenly decide that Muggleborns aren't so bad after all, betray Voldemort and we'll all ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after?

Right. Back in the real world, the only thing he's going to transform into is worm-food, and unfortunately that doesn't seem about to happen any time soon. And anyhow, the Vectors I'm concerned with act on me, not him.

Besides, the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference – hours of listening to Ginny obsessing about Harry has taught me that much.

So what is the opposite of hate? And what sort of 'transformation' would it lead to?

Well, that's inherently hard to predict, isn't it? As the book says, the 'slightest imbalance of the mind can alter the Derivative to unexpected and parlous effect...'

I shiver. But what choice do I have? It's either that or let him force me down into a spiralling pit of hate until I tear myself apart.

And when it comes down to it, if I do manage to reverse what he's doing, I'm not exactly likely to live long enough to worry about 'transformation', am I? And even if he lets me live, it's not as if I'm going to come out of this completely unchanged anyway. No. It's stopping the destructive aspect of it that I need to focus on. On not letting him use me any more.

So. It's not really an exact opposite I need, just something that'll have the opposite effect. Acceptance, is the first word that comes to mind.

Oh, wonderful. It's not as if I've ever shied away from difficult tasks, but that one is frigging impossible.

It's a choice, that's all. I chose to focus on hate. I can choose to react differently now.

And maybe I'd be playing right into his hands again. Maybe that's what he wants me to do.

But he couldn't use trying to understand against me, if I was acting with integrity, could he?

I don't know.

I didn't think that focusing on hate to try to get through the pain would rebound on me either. How can I work out what he's up to?

Hmm. Looking at it logically, his gloating over my hatred of him – and especially the way he goaded me about revenge when I had his wand – makes me think that he does want me to hate him, that he's showing me the book to make me understand the trap he's forced me into, so he can use my awareness to stoke up yet more hopeless, powerless hate. Anything else would be too complicated – and why would he want to reverse everything he's done up till now?

But then, logic and simple explanations aren't exactly defining characteristics of the wizarding world. Certainly not when it comes to the purebloods.

Perhaps I should just act as if I really am reacting that way. Then I could watch him to see if he tightens the net or pushes me to escape it.

But wouldn't he just pretend to react in the way he wants you to think he's reacting?

Then at least I'd know what he wants me to think – and what he wants me to do.

Or what he wants you to think he wants you to do.

This isn't getting me anywhere. He's only going to fake his reaction if he knows I'm being dishonest, isn't he? He can't read me that well!

He's done a pretty good job so far.

But I didn't understand what he was trying to do, before.

And you do now? What on earth makes you think you can read him?

Well...

He's been manipulating people since before you were born! Do you really think you can match him at his own game?

But there has to be some advantage to hiding what I'm really up to! What he doesn't know, he can't make use of.

That's a Slytherin way of thinking.

Well, this horrible manipulative game is a Slytherin situation, isn't it?

What are you on about? There's no such thing as a Slytherin or Gryffindor situations! There are only situations, and Slytherin or Gryffindor ways of dealing with them.

Oh God. Is that the trap he's setting? Is he trying to make me mirror his own snake-like tendencies? What can I do?

Use Gryffindor strength, not Slytherin stealth. Stop reacting to him. Start from your own sense of right and wrong – then he won't be able to draw you in.

Hmm... And also, that would be the last thing he would be expecting, assuming he could understand the concept in the first place.

That isn't the point!

All right, all right. But how can I act with integrity and not hate the bastard? Especially when he keeps pushing me like this.

I glare over at the food – and that treacherous line on the floor.

That's what this is all about, it has to be. All that manipulation wasn't just for his own amusement – though I'll bet he was enjoying himself all right – it was all leading up to... yesterday. The potion. The spell.

But what did that spell do?

You know what it did.

Yes. I look along that dark curve and shudder. Whatever way it worked, it seems to have poured everything I was feeling at the time into that residue of potion and blood.

But why? What's he doing to do with it?

My blood – and a dragon's. What is the Thirteenth Use of dragon's blood, anyhow?

I scan the book's contents' page, but there isn't anything obviously related to dragon's blood. And there isn't an index – there could be a magical one, I suppose, but it doesn't do me much good without a wand.

So, either the 'Thanatonic' branch of the Dark Arts doesn't use dragon's blood directly, or...

Oh.

Didn't he say that the book belonged to his grandfather? And that it was Voldemort who had developed the Thirteenth Use? Making the rather large assumption that he was telling the truth about both, this book was written too early to be useful here. Although someone could have made notes in the margins, or something.

But a careful search reveals nothing. Nothing in a language I can understand, anyhow.

There must be a clue somewhere! How am I supposed to work it out, otherwise?

You're assuming he wants you to work out all the details. Isn't it more like him to gloat because you can't work it out?

I sigh. That's all too likely. But either way, I don't suppose there's much I can do except wait and see if he'll tell me.

Unless there's something else in the book, something I've missed?

How much time do I have? I run my fingers through my hair, scan the pages. But I can't take it in. The writing is nearly indecipherable in places, and the runic equations... I'm not sure how much of it I could work out, even if I had a couple of days to do it. And I just don't have that kind of time.

I can't take it in... my vision is blurring and my mind is filled with cotton wool. I thought words were supposed to make things clear... I ought to be able to see it, but those obscure spidery scribblings scuttle away from all my attempts to shed light on their meaning.

I lean over the desk and cradle my head in my arms.

I can't do it. I don't understand how someone would even begin to think about how to use this. Perhaps I just need to try a little harder, once I've rested for a few minutes. Or perhaps only a Dark wizard could understand it, after all...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author notes: For this chapter, I'll break my post-fic author's note silence.

I realised after finishing the chapter that I'd indulged in one of my pet hates – namely hanging a crucial plot point on non-canonical magic. However, as emotion-driven magic, runes and vectors (in a way) crop up in canon, I hope I haven't gone too uncomfortably astray. Basically, I wanted something sufficiently complex for it to be plausible that [Lucius would expect] Hermione to struggle with it. Be assured that I'm not writing the rest of the story in this vein, though the theory (and its application) will feature in the next chapter.

For anyone interested in the background, the use of runes in equations was inspired by Resmiranda's awesome Like Shadows on the Winter Sky, though 'my' equations are not Arithmancy but a formalised application of the Dark Arts theory learned by Lucius in Chapter 2 of my A Bitter Road to Hell. I conceived that theory due to my belief that the old wizarding families wouldn't define themselves as 'evil', so I needed a way of defining Dark magic as different from Light magic. What I came up with was the idea that Light magic is driven by the instinct for life and a desire for union, with Dark magic characterised by dissociative, 'negative' emotions. (By this definition, 'Effundus' is a Dark spell, as will be seen in Part 9.) This branch of Dark Arts theory I named 'Thanatonic' (heck, I needed a title for the book, didn't I?) after Freud's concept of an instinctive drive to destruction/self-annihilation (Freud, Beyond the Pleasure Principle). All the runes in this chapter were mentioned in Part 5 – as I said in the disclaimer, I've done my best to treat them with respect, but I'm no expert on rune-lore.

Ah, the joys of fictitious magical theory! Perhaps I need to get out more? ;-)

Lucius will be back with a vengeance next time. While you're waiting, you might want to check out singtoangels' Invictus-inspired piece In the Twilight, especially if you're one of the people bemoaning the lack of sex in what I've posted here. It's on adultfanfiction.net and is set between the fourth and fifth chapters of Invictus. Some aspects of the characterisation are disconcertingly similar to mine, other aspects are not – so enjoy it, but please don't take it as a guide to what's coming here!

But before you rush off over there, let me know what you think of this one, eh?