Omnia Mors Perimit

Well, they'd see who could go on with this longer - him or his mum. They hadn't been talking to each other for eight solid days now, and she showed no sign of giving in just yet. But Draco wouldn't give in either, the only concession he was going to make was continuing to conceal the rupture between them from his aunt. Narcissa Malfoy would be in awful trouble if anyone in the Dark Order got wind of her disloyalty.

He had started to take the meals inside his study, and when Bobby was fetching him his breakfast this morning, Draco snarled, "Tell my mother that I will travel to Hogsmeade today and buy some new robes in Twilfitt and Tattling's."

The elf returned three minutes later, with an awkward expression. "Mylady wants Bobby to ask the master if he has thought of his - problem -"

"You can tell my mother that I have thought of it and that she needn't bother."

Yes, he had found a way to hide the Dark Mark on his forearm unobtrusively. He was a Quidditch player, wasn't he? So what could be more natural than wearing a bandage around his arm, as if he had been injured during practise? He'd got away with this concerning Pansy, the ancient Mr Twilfitt wouldn't be suspicious either. After all, he would be buying Quidditch robes as well.

He went to Hogsmeade via the Floo Net, emerging out of one of the fireplaces in the Three Broomsticks, receiving the usual amount of mistrustful glances from the other guests and staff. He arched a brow and ordered a cup of coffee, settling at one of the tables in the back, ignoring their stares and whispers. He was slowly getting used to this.

"Your coffee," Madam Rosmerta, the landlady of the pub, said coolly. "That's seven knuts, please."

He threw a sickle onto the table. "Keep the rest."

"No, thank you very much," she replied curtly, nestling with her purse and returning his change. He glowered at her, taking the offence just like she had meant it. She would sell him a drink and be paid for it, but she would accept nothing further from someone like him. Very well. Without touching his cup, he got up and left the tavern, feeling a dozen gazes piercing his back.

It didn't get better in the street, he could feel that countless eyes were following him, more closely than he liked. But what the heck, he had come here to buy some pairs of robes, that wasn't illegal now, was it? He dropped into the shop, pleased to find it empty apart from the old tailor and his barely younger assistant, who both possessed the courtesy to wish him a good morning and smile.

He ordered a set of new school robes, some for Quidditch, a pair of evening robes, half a dozen new pyjamas and several other pieces. It all went smoothly, Mr Twilfitt gave his best to keep the conversation both trivial and friendly, worked with secure, quick moves that showed the experience of possibly eight decades of making robes.

"Now for the buttons, Mr Malfoy - you can choose from horn, bakelit, fabric-covered, mother-of-pearl, amber, ivory, silver or opals. We can of course order anything, in case you wish for something else."

Good Merlin, now he knew what his mother meant when claiming that he hadn't got a clue about these things. "Opals," he muttered, looking down himself. "Only the Quidditch robes should rather have fabric-covered buttons... You would agree?"

"Of course, Sir!"

"No, I mean honestly. I don't know what is usually taken..."

"Opals are a very good choice, Sir, though I might recommend silver clasps for the evening robes. And as for the Quidditch robes - I'd rather go with horn or bakelit there, it's more resistant."

"I don't even know what bakelit is, Mr Twilfitt. Make it horn then. And the silver clasps sound good, too."

"Would you like to wait, or shall we deliver?"

He was on the verge of going for the second option, he had little taste for lurking around the village any longer than he'd have to, but was struck by an idea then. "How long would it take if I chose to wait?"

"No more than an hour, I guess."

"Very well, I'll wait then. I can purchase some other stuff in the interim."

He strode out of the shop, wondering whether he could bring about the plan that had begun to form in his mind. That haughty bar lady - not only did she deserve some retaliation for her arrogance, but she could turn out to prove quite useful, couldn't she? Once he'd be back in school, he'd depend on owls for all sort of communication, and knowing both Filch and the old Headmaster, they'd have a close eye on these from now on. An ally in Hogsmeade would be invaluable, even if he'd have to get that ally by force.

Up to now, he hadn't yet attempted to use an Imperius Curse on a struggling human victim; he was very good with all sorts of animals, and had practised on Greg how to do it on human beings. But Greg had voluntarily submitted - would that make a big difference? For if it would not work, he'd be doomed. Resisting the Imperius was technically possible - Potter had become almost famous for his achievements in that quarter, and his aunt had explained to him that a particular strength of mind was required for this. The weaker in mind, the less intelligent, the more credulous a person was, the more prone they were to fall prey to the curse.

He fathomed how smart or resilient Madam Rosmerta could be. Not very, he decided after a short evaluation. What weighed more - she was just perfect for the job, being a barmaid, she came to hear all sorts of things that might be interesting to hear. And since she was everybody's darling, she wouldn't easily be suspected to be in league with the Dark Side.

He went into Honeydukes, indiscriminately buying this and that and insisting to have everything wrapped individually. He balanced the pile of boxes back to the Three Broomsticks, once more ignoring the hostile looks he got and marching straight into the bathroom at first. He made sure he was alone in there, carefully placed one of the packages on a window sill, just so it wouldn't necessarily be found by another guest, waited a minute, collected all other parcels again and left.

This time, he ordered a butterbeer, and took place at the bar. Madam Rosmerta scowled at him, but didn't have the guts to send him away, once again refusing to accept the tip. He made some effort to smile as friendly at her as he could, slowly sipping his drink, every now and then glancing at his watch, and observing her from the corner of his eyes. Once she did go into the bathroom, but another guest had just gone there in that moment, too, and he resolved to wait.

He was lucky - the witch came out again, informing Madam Rosmerta that one of the washbasins was broken, and with a sigh, the barmaid went back. Now or never, he thought, hesitating a minute, gliding from his barstool and going into the bathroom as well, but not to the gents. Instead he slipped into the ladies, his wand hidden in his sleeve, Madam Rosmerta was bowing over the basin, trying to fix it, not seeing him, not looking up, and with a quick, learnt move, he brought down his wand and whispered, "Imperio!"

To try whether he had been successful, he made her hit her head against the tab - yes, excellent. She was under his command, and she hadn't even seen her attacker. He hurried back to the gents, fetched his parcel and returned to his place at the bar as if nothing had happened, holding the box for everyone visible. Pretending to read some leaflet, he waited some longer until he let the bar lady come back, rubbing her forehead and telling her colleague that she had hurt herself.

'Act like you always act', he suggested to her in his mind, and in the next moment, she was scattering away with some customer, about the bad weather - she even returned to glare at him in the most unpleasant fashion. He rummaged through his wallet, taking out a galleon and looking at it pensively. If the mudblood Granger managed to bewitch a coin, so would he, right?

But he couldn't do it right here and now, with all eyes in the room fixed on him. Well, he'd simply do so on his way back to Twilfitt and Tattling's, and pay with the galleon after coming back to the tavern. Easiest thing in the world. He tried not to grin too broadly. An Imperius Curse might be unforgivable, but it was certainly not difficult to do. His aunt would be delighted with him.

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

'Und bist Du...' - From: Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, 'Der Erlkönig'. - And if you're not willing I will force you. (English translation by myself).