Omnia Mors Perimit

Many medics world-wide, muggles and wizards alike, agree that stress is one of the predominant factors of diseases all around. Even animals are prone to come down with it, and so the more are human beings. Draco Malfoy was realising the truth of this common place, too - in the past months, he had lost weight, his appetite, his anyhow pale complexion had adopted a decidedly unhealthy tinge, and he had deep shadows around his eyes from the constant lack of sleep. Shortly - he was feeling sick and miserable, and had no hope at present to get better. The way he saw it, his situation could only become worse yet.

No matter how hard he tried, he hardly advanced with repairing the Vanishing Cabinet, that he had set such high hopes in. More - he couldn't even be quite sure whether his plan would work out, even if he could mend it. What if he fixed the broken Cabinet after all, only to see that it would not form a passage between the school and Nocturne Alley? That Montague had simply gone a bit mad, and mistaken what he had heard from outside? Or if it would connect the two places after all - introducing half a dozen Death Eaters to the school was by no means a guarantee of overwhelming the Headmaster. The uncertainty of all this rendered him touchy and ill-humoured, adding up to all his other, more harmless problems - Pansy, Snape, McGonagall with her Prefect business nonsense, Quidditch, his homework.

He was sitting at breakfast this morning, desperately clinging to his forth cup of coffee and ignoring his girlfriend's useless gabbling. As far as he could tell, she was going on about their Herbology class, when a high-pitched screech announced the arrival of the post. A pretty barn owl landed in front of him, carrying a medium-sized package; absent-mindedly, he offered her a muffin and unwrapped the gift, that claimed to be sent by his mother regarding the sender, though this surely wasn't her handwriting.

It turned out to be a German art magazine - chiefly about the sculptures of Auguste Rodin, to be precise - and for a short moment, he thought that his mother might have asked one of the elves to send this to him. She was a great fan of Rodin's works, they even had some statues at home from this artist. But as soon as he opened the magazine, speechless horror grabbed hold of him and he stared at the page. Rodin had become famous for one piece in particular - the so called 'Gate of Hell'. This work was basically an overlarge door, showing hundreds of smaller sculptures, faces and bodies of people who appeared to come out, or be drawn into hell, modelled after the descriptions in Dante's Divine Comedy.

Draco knew the gate by heart; he had once spent an entire afternoon in front of it, in the gardens of the Parisian museum where it was exhibited. On the picture before him though, some of the faces were slightly changed, so unobtrusively that only an intimate connoisseur would notice, and certainly never an unlearnt dimwit like Filch, who was monitoring the post. Some of those tortured and tormented people, frozen in their screams of despair and agony, were now showing the faces of his parents, while the figure on top - Rodin's famous 'Philosopher' - was modelled after his own face, staring down at the scenes below him in thoughtful indifference and contemplation.

He gasped and jumped up, eyeing the magazine as if it was a poisonous snake. Pansy shot him a perplexed look, and briefly gazed at the photo then. "What's up, sweetheart? You've forgotten something?"

He forced himself to get a grip, took his seat again and quickly turned the page, for once to dispel the gruesome image, and also not to raise any further suspicion. "No, no, I'm - fine... Yes, I've forgotten something - got to get back to the dorm before class -"

"Let me get it for you then," she offered. "You need your breakfast."

"No, Panse, it's all right. I've finished anyway..."

On the page he was looking at now, there were some extracts from the Divine Comedy printed. Someone, and undoubtedly not his mother, had underlined certain passages - but the text was in German, so Filch could impossibly have read it. Draco's German wasn't very good - he had never really got around the grammar, but it was sufficient to understand the meaning of the words still.

'So sprach der eine Geist von seinem Lieben; Der andere weinte so, daß ich vor Not Die Sinne fühlte wie beim Tod sich trüben, Und fiel, wie Körper fallen, wenn sie tot... Doch da Betrug des Menschen sondrer Fleck, Haßt Gott ihn meist... Gott, sich, dem Nächsten tut Gewalt man an...Gewalt fügt Tod und Wunden zu dem Blute Des Nebenmenschen; ferner bringt sie Schaden... Die letzte Weise nur, so scheint's, zerhaut Die von Natur geknüpfte Liebesschlinge... Die andere Art gibt jene Liebe auf, Die von Natur entsteht, mit der verbunden, Aus der besondere Treue nimmt den Lauf. Drum wird, wer je verräterisch befunden, im kleinsten Kreis, dort, wo der Prunk der Welt, Drauf Dis sich lagert, immerdar geschunden...'

He felt sickness mounting up his throat, clasped his hand to his mouth and ran out of the Great Hall, only managing to enter the bathroom before throwing up the slice of toast and four cups of coffee that he had had for breakfast. Oh Merlin and all wizards! Oh Lord! His mother! His father! 'Since betrayal is unique to man, the Lord hates him, violence adds death and injuries to the blood of the closest one...' He vomited until it was only acid coming up, burning and stinging. He felt tears rising and bit them away, furious and helpless, and this was the state in which Pansy found him a couple of minutes later.

She had gone looking for him, concerned by his hasty disappearance; she had brought the awful magazine, unwitting of its real contents, and now urged him to go and see Madam Pomfrey. He declined, but she would not hear of it, continuing in that awfully sweet tone of hers, "Nay, be sensible. She can sort you out in no time, I'm sure!"

"I'm feeling better already -"

"No, you aren't. Don't try to be so heroic, baby -"

"ONCE AND FOR ALL, DON'T YOU CALL ME 'BABY', YOU STUPID COW!"

He was sorry in the moment he yelled this, but it was too late. Pansy threw the magazine in his face, turned on her heel and stormed out of the bathroom, and he stayed back, feeling even more miserable than anyway. He shouldn't have... He hadn't meant to hurt her - she was a stupid cow, but there was no call for telling her this, nothing of this was her fault, and he had no right to vent his frustration on the only person who actually tried to be nice to him.

In the end, he listened to her advice and walked up to the Infirmary. He was too shaken to attend class now, and since most of his teachers were cross with him these days for not participating as he ought to, he could well do with an official excuse signed by the old nurse. He could also do with some rest, feeling almost grateful when Madam Pomfrey ordered him to lie down at once, shocked by his unhealthy looks.

"Oh dear," she muttered, urging him to drink some remedial potion. "I keep telling the teachers not to harass you poor souls so badly. How's a child supposed to do all their homework, their work in class, and see a bit of sun at the same time, I ask you -"

It was already noon when he woke up again, for half a minute feeling refreshed and almost blissful, until he recovered full consciousness again. He knew who had been the sender of this message, and it had been explicit enough - the Dark Lord was giving him a warning. So this was what was going to happen if he - oh god... He checked his watch, and without waiting for Madam Pomfrey's consent, he left and hurried down, hoping he could still get a bite of lunch before his afternoon classes started. Professor McGonagall would decapitate him if he didn't show up.

He thought he could also apologise to Pansy, but she wasn't in the Great Hall. Millicent, her room mate, was though, and obviously Pansy had filled her in on Draco's latest gaffe - Millicent was fiercely glaring at him, her face livid with contempt.

"Flitwick and Snape want to have a word with you, Malfoy," she said icily.

"Mmh. Yeah. Is Panse not here?"

"As you can see. Besides - why are you asking? Want to shout some more at her?"

"None of your business, is it?"

"Oh, it is, unfortunately, for every time you treat her meanly, she comes running to me afterwards!"

"Every time?! That's taking it a bit far, don't you think -"

"No, absolutely not. Whenever the young gentleman is in a filthy mood, you take it out on her. You think that's fair?"

"Oh, come on! You're a sensible girl, Millicent, so I expect you understand that I'm not exactly pleased with all her gushing! Why can't she just stop to make such a fuss?!"

"Because she's your girlfriend, Malfoy!"

"Only because she's my girlfriend, she still needn't call me - oh well, you know! It's so pathetic!"

"You know what I find pathetic? Your attitude, that's pathetic! It's so obvious that you're not overly keen on her, but still you make around with her! Why don't you just dump her once and for all?"

That remark hit home; he felt that he was blushing, but he wouldn't let himself be told off by Millicent Bulstrode as well, it was enough that his mother, his Head of House, the Deputy Headmistress, every single one of his teachers, and recently, even the Dark Lord, lectured and censured him!

"Are you really suggesting that I should dump your best friend then," he snapped angrily, and she shrugged.

"I'm not suggesting anything, I've asked you a question, that's all!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon! And what was this question exactly?"

"Why are you dating her if you clearly don't like her that much?"

"What do you know how much I like her, eh?"

"Oh, I've got no idea, but what I have got are eyes to see, and what I see is that she is terribly in love with you, that she'd do anything for you, and that you like her enough to screw her, but not enough to treat her with some politeness!"

He stood up and marched away, without answering or looking at her again. The truth of her words was aching him, she had hit a sore spot there. The point was that he still regarded Pansy as a friend, so if any other guy had treated her in such an unkind fashion, he would have got very cross with the bloke, and possibly have told Vince and Greg to give him a sound thrashing. As he was neither schizophrenic nor masochistically inclined, he couldn't do that, of course, and to his greatest shame, he also found that he hadn't got the nerve to break up with Pansy either. Why didn't she simply break up with him? It'd be so much easier, and he needn't feel like a total jerk.

He had indeed managed to obtain a love potion; he had confiscated it from some silly Third Year from Gryffindor - in all probability, he had done Potter a favour with it. But as soon as he had got it, he had abandoned his former plan to slip Pansy that potion and let her compromise herself with Nott or whoever, so he could dump her then. She didn't deserve to be tricked like that, and even if most people believed Draco to be utterly ruthless, he wasn't. His mother had taught him some lessons on morals, and that cheating one's friends was way beyond line had been one of them.

His mother...! He had to warn her! He had to tell her which peril was coming her way! On a second thought, he reckoned that she possibly knew already. His mum was always so clever, knowing her, she had seen it coming the day when he had received the Dark Mark -

She hadn't been happy with that, and now he finally comprehended why. It wasn't that she had no faith in his skills or his cunning - she simply knew enough of the Dark Lord's ways to see what it would lead to! How could he send a message to his mum that was explicit enough to warn her, yet betrayed nothing at all when it was intercepted?

Pansy had forgiven him soon enough and went back to her usual belittling. "You're so pale, dar-... Draco -"

"I'm pale by nature, Panse. No worries," he replied listlessly, knowing very well that he looked awfully ill.

"No, I'm serious! I really think you should go and see Madam Pomfrey about it. Maybe you've got a virus or something -"

"Or dragon pox," little Belinda Crabbe cried eagerly.

"Most certainly, it's not dragon pox. The point about dragon pox are the pox, you know? Besides, I'd appreciate it if you didn't presume that I got a lethal, contagious disease -"

"You're drinking too much coffee, that's for sure. That's why you're never hungry, and cannot find sleep and all!"

"If I stop drinking coffee, I'll drop dead, Panse. Trust me on that one. Now could we please, please, stop this? I'm neither dying nor worrisome ill, I need no nurses and no unqualified medical advice!"

She hadn't really listened, or mistaken him completely. "That's just what I'm saying! You should ask a pro, Madam Pomfrey, or maybe Warrington's uncle, the Healer. He's specialised on - hang on - what's it called... Anyway, he's treating my dad, too -"

"How nice for your dad, Panse."

"One of the leading capacities on the field of magical diseases, he is!"

"How nice for Warrington's uncle then."

She pinched his cheek, making him recoil and almost fall from his chair. She narrowed her eyes critically and stated, "You look quite anaemic, dar-... Draco."

"You've come a long way to get that I don't want to be called silly pet names, now all you need to learn is that I don't approve of being pinched either!"

Zabini, who just walked past, cried mockingly, "And here I was, assuming that you did like being pinched by her, Malfoy!"

"Shut up, Zabini," Draco and Pansy said in unison.

"However, you can pinch me anytime, Parkinson," Zabini laughed and winked at her.

"Bugger off, Zabini, and kindly refrain from flirting with my girlfriend." He couldn't say why on earth he had said that; for all he cared, Zabini could well get on with Pansy and solve Draco's own problems with her. It had clearly been the worst thing to say, for she blushed and simpered and gushed.

"Awww! It's so sweet when you're getting jealous, darling!"

"Panse!"

"Sorry - Draco -"

"That's better. Anyway, I'm not exactly jealous, it's rather -"

"Oh, I know! You guys always want to be so butch, don't you?"

"Beg your pardon?!"

"Wanna be all cool and tough and masculine -"

She clapped her long, fake lashes, and Belinda next to her shot her an admiring glance, before goggling at Draco again with an enraptured smile - between the two of them, he shuddered. He couldn't take it anymore and escaped. He couldn't go to his room, where Greg and Vince were practising for their Defence class, the Common Room was out of bounds, and when he popped into the library, he had to see that this was crowded by Gryffindors. He marched out as quickly as he had come, dodged Granger and Golden Boy, avoided a confrontation with Madam Pince and ended up strolling aimlessly through the castle when an idea darted through his head.

That bathroom! It had offered him a sanctuary once, and since it was permanently closed down because of that crazy ghost that haunted it, it should be a quite safe haven. He needed some time on his own, time to think, to get his head clear, to contemplate how to write his mother a letter, and what he could try yet about the darn Cabinet, which still refused to be mended.

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

So sprach... Thus spoke the spirit of his beloved, the other one cried so hard that my senses faded like in death, and fell down, as bodies fall when they're dead. - Since betrayal is unique to man, the Lord hates him... One violates the Lord, oneself, the closest... Violence adds death and injuries to the blood of the closest one, further it brings affliction... The last way only, it appears, chops the loving bond wielded by nature... Love commands the other way, created by nature that it is related to, causing special fidelity. Hence will the traitor perpetually be punished in the smallest circle, where is the splendour of the world.