How to be a Death Eater in Five Easy Steps

Step 4: Mastering those tricky curses

Duelling is an art, and a beautiful one when performed properly. To duel competitively, one must be athletic, quick-witted, and agile in mind and body. It demands skill, it demands concentration, it demands the ability to bluff and counter-bluff. Over the centuries, a great number of rules and codes of behaviour have built up around the practice. They exist for a reason: duelling is dangerous enough in competition - done in earnest, it can be fatal.

Be safe and follow these simple rules:

Duelling should always be the last resort.

Treat your opponent with respect.

Disarmament is always better than dismemberment.

Never, ever turn your back.

Introduction to: The Noble Art of Duelling

Gregorus Solinsky

Auror and Order of Merlin (2nd class)

Draco pushed his half-empty plate away from him and leaned back in his chair, one arm resting on the laden table, the other along his out-stretched leg. From a distance, he probably looked relaxed, but his apparently lazy eyes were surveying the noisy hubbub of the start-of-term Hogwarts feast with more than their usual care.

So far, he had noticed two things:

Harry Potter had not once looked in his direction and Severus Snape´s seat at the Teachers´ table was empty.

He was not particularly concerned by Snape´s absence. Lucius had disappeared himself during the middle of the night, only a couple of hours after returning to Malfoy Mansion. His hurried one-word message of `Voldemort´ in parting was enough to explain his failure to return to the house before Draco flooed off to King´s Cross Station the next morning. If Lucius was with Voldemort, then Snape probably was too. Certainly, Dumbledore´s bland announcement that Professor Snape was `absent on business´ was enough to confirm this in Draco´s mind. What it all added up to was that something was brewing in the Dark Lord´s camp but he had no idea what it was, or what it would mean.

This annoyed him considerably.

As for Potter... if Draco had an explanation for the other boy´s studious avoidance of eye contact, he was keeping it to himself.

"´Ere, Draco, look at this!"

Draco grimaced, not bothering to hide the expression for once, and turned to the owner of the grating voice, who was sitting beside him. The bulky, greasy-haired boy, was making `pretending-to-swoon´ motions with his hands and eyes. Across the table, his companion sniggered, highly amused.

Crabbe and Goyle. The world´s only living justification for the Killing Curse. If it hadn´t been so absolutely necessary to keep them around, Draco would have gladly ground them into dust and used them as fertiliser years ago.

"What are you doing Goyle, you contemptible flubber-worm?" drawled Draco on a monotone as it really didn´t do to encourage him. Not that either of them ever noticed of course...

It was Crabbe who responded as Goyle had difficulty talking and moving his arms at the same time.

"He´s doing an impression of Potter."

Draco took this in with creditable patience.

"I do you realise you´re very slow, Crabbe," he replied, "but didn´t we do the `Potter-is-swooning' thing four years ago?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

Goyle put his arms down and the blood was therefore free to rush to his brain. He said slowly, "That´s what Potter´ll do when he finds out you´ve got the Dark...mmph!"

Draco carefully lowered his swiftly drawn wand. The lip-locker curse had been the first one he´d thought of and much as he would have liked to hurt Goyle right then, it was probably a wiser choice than a curse aimed to hurt, or maim, or draw blood. <Damn>.

"I sincerely hope you weren't about to say what I think you were going to say Goyle, otherwise I would have to kill you. Very slowly and painfully."

Draco noted with satisfaction that Goyle's pasty face had paled at the threat. He really was an unspeakable moron. Draco knew very well that half the school, especially the Gryffindor contingent, suspected him to be a Death Eater as it was, but it was one thing to suspect (which had the side-benefit of enhancing his dark reputation) and another thing to have it proved outright. Mere rumour gave him the dubious protection of fear.

After tonight, the point would be moot, but he had still had a few moves of the game to play.

Crabbe, who had slunk down into his seat in an attempt to hide his lumpy body, muttered defensively, "I told him not to say anything."

"Well, he's not saying much now, is he?"

Draco allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sight of a silent, chagrined Goyle, then sighing, he waved his wand again and muttered, "Finite Incantatum".

"Sorry, Draco," muttered Goyle when he could speak.

Draco grunted softly in response, then took a quick look around the Great Hall. The crowds had thinned somewhat, but there were too many people around for his comfort. He'd have to wait a bit longer to do what he planned to do or risk being seen. Which meant suffering the IQ-Twins for a little while longer.

He turned back to find Crabbe staring at him with a look of dawning enlightenment on his face.

"That thing you said.."

"I say many things, Crabbe, you can't expect me to remember them all."

"You know, what you said about Goyle not saying much."

"I vaguely recall something of that nature. What of it?"

Crabbe smiled, pleased with himself. "That was sarcasm!"

"Gosh, do you think so?"

"Yeah," interrupted Goyle, "it was. I heard that too."

"Well I never, it's only taken you seven years to recognise sarcasm. You have my heartiest congratulations."

Draco had doubted it was possible for his semi-human toad-like 'friends' to blush, but for once he was proved wrong. He hoped never to see it again.

"Ta, Draco," mumbled Goyle, quite overcome.

"Here!" said Crabbe, getting excited now. "Say something else sarcastic. You're good at that"

"What, me? I'm never sarcastic. Perish the thought."

"Yes, you are," said Goyle earnestly. "Everyone says so."

"Oh, surely not. How can I possibly be sarcastic now? You'd catch me out."

Crabbe beamed, "we probably could an' all. Go on then, try it..."

"Oh, no. I'm far too self-conscious. I couldn't even drum up enough wit to be sardonic now..."

And on and on and on...

For several minutes.

Finally (and not a moment too soon for Draco), the Great Hall began to empty. The Gryffindors had finally stopped stuffing their faces and taken themselves away, the Ravenclaws were long gone, and of the Hufflepuffs, there remained a group of five talking desultorily who were only there because they were far too polite to excuse themselves in the middle of a conversation.

<Time to make my move, I believe>

Crabbe and Goyle had been asking him something-or-other, he really didn't care what. He stood, ignoring the on-going debate and said,

"Well, my lads, you've entertained me long enough. Much as I hate to tear myself away from your delightful company, I have things to do. I'll be in the library if you care to join me."

He strode away without a backward glance, knowing full well that the library was the one destination that Crabbe and Goyle had no desire to visit. He doubted they even knew where it was. So it was no surprise to him when shortly afterwards, he found himself alone and unfollowed.

He walked down a gloomy, rarely-used corridor and entered a room. It was a girl's toilet. It had a ghost inside it.

And someone else...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The evenings were still chilly, despite the encroachment of spring, and Draco found himself burrowing deeper into the thick wool of his Death Eater robes. He'd been standing still for far too long, but there really wasn't a lot of choice in the matter when Voldemort was holding court. Nobody sat in the Dark Lord's presence.

Well...not unless they'd had their legs chopped off at the knees by a severing curse, and even then, they'd still be trying really hard to stand.

The voices droned on. Draco had been correct in his assumption that Snape had been held up by 'business', but as far as he had been able to learn nothing particularly important had been decided. He had realised that Death Eater meetings took rather a long time since fawning and posturing were statutory requirements but he could be patient in this case; he had some rather important information to impart and could bide his time until his moment came.

Lucius, who also knew of this, could not conceal his impatience so successfully and in his haste to drag the conversation around to Hogwarts, came within a hairs-breadth of the Cruciatus Curse by interrupting the Dark Lord in mid-rant. Observing this, Draco winced, but came willingly enough when he was called to Voldemort's throne.

Voldemort, who had been eyeing a nervous Lucius with venom, turned his acid gaze toward his youngest recruit.

"Malfoy tells me that you have learned something important today."

Draco bowed deeply and responded with as much confidence as he could muster.

"Yes, Lord. I have discovered a...vulnerability in the wards protecting Hogwarts."

There were gasps and excited exclamations from the assembled group.

It seemed that he had even succeeded in surprising Voldemort, who sucked in a breath and sat more upright in the stone chair.

"Impossible," he hissed, "Dumbledore himself set those wards. I have tested them and they are impenetrable."

"They are impenetrable...usually."

Voldemort stood, agitated, but a gleam of growing excitement in his eyes.

<Hooked him>

"Explain yourself, boy!"

There wasn't really much option, what with the Dark Lord's wand being waved in your face...

"The wards are set to a particular magical resonance. Over time, the resonance becomes weak and in order for the protection to be maintained, the resonance has to be adjusted. It's all done automatically - a very complex spell, I believe, but when the resonance does change..."

"The wards are vulnerable," Voldemort finished, exultantly.

"Yes, but only for a very brief time," Draco added hurriedly.

Voldemort hissed again, moved swiftly in a sinuous circle and glared dangerously at one of the hooded figures crowding around them.

"Snape! Why have you not told me of this?" The tone of voice told everyone that Snape had better be very, very careful in his response.

Snape barely appeared to notice. He had been staring at Draco with something akin to horror. He turned a glazed look to Voldemort, apparently speechless; Draco had never seen the self-possessed man so pole-axed by shock before.

"I...I didn't know about it," he responded eventually. "Dumbledore never told me." His tone was almost plaintive.

Voldemort stalked closer, a threat evident in every step.

"Your currency as a spy is becoming dangerously devalued, Snape," he sneered. "Perhaps that senile old fool Dumbledore doesn't trust you either. This BOY has brought me more useful information in one day than you have brought me in a year."

Unsure whether he could be held responsible for the Potion Master's probable imminent death and unwilling to take the risk, Draco hastily intervened.

"My Lord?"

Voldemort span again, his robes billowing menacingly.

"The wards..."

"Well? What of them?"

Draco licked his suddenly dry lips and spoke the words that would irrevocably expose Hogwarts to attack,

"The resonance is due to change very soon. Tonight in fact. At Midnight."

Snape forgotten, the Dark Lord´s eyes gleamed with savage triumph.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Draco could feel the tension drumming through his skull, drowning out thought. He felt sick to his stomach and his hands trembled with the long drawn out and terrible anticipation.

<Please let this work, please let this work, please let this work>

Snape, who was standing next to him, was scarcely in a better state. Draco couldn´t blame him. Voldemort, despite his exultation at Draco´s information, was not one to believe or trust anything easily and had decided to test the wards at the appointed time by sending Avery, McNair, Goyle and a small group of underlings to make a foray into Hogwarts´ grounds and report back. They had also been granted the freedom to create mayhem, should the opportunity arise, hence the worry radiating from the greasy-haired Professor. It was now only 10 minutes before midnight and the waiting was becoming unbearable.

Draco could almost feel pity at the quandary faced by Snape. He could say nothing to the youngest Death Eater who had apparently managed to gain Voldemort´s favour but he also couldn´t leave to warn Dumbledore in case of arousing suspicion. Draco was frankly surprised that his Professor hadn´t tried to murder him where he stood.

<You poor sod>

Glancing around, he noticed that Lucius and Voldemort, who had been conferring, had drawn somewhat apart and there was also no sign of any of the other waiting Death Eaters who had been gathered together minutes before.

<Oh hell...>

Almost panicked, he wracked his brains to think of a way of persuading Snape that they had to find the others without giving away the absolute and imperative importance of them staying within sight at the moment. It was literally life and death, but Snape could not possibly know that.

There came a soft hurried whisper from the man beside him, which Draco didn´t catch, and he turned his head instinctively. Except...

... the more he thought about finding some excuse for moving, the more his body refused to budge. A curious lassitude had spread over him - a feeling of ease, of contentment. A small voice was telling him that everything was perfectly all right, there was nothing wrong, nothing to worry about...

It hit him then, and the shot of adrenaline was like a punch to the stomach, hard enough to dissipate the strange sensations momentarily.

<That Bastard! He´s using the Imperious curse on me! >

Sucking in breath, managing the wherewithal to wrench his head around, Draco looked straight in the eye of the Potions Master.

Who was gazing back with a smirk of triumph.

Then the lassitude was back, the heaviness in his limbs, the almost-happy feeling. Snape glared darkly at him, muttered, "Stay there" and abruptly turned, melting into the gloom of the Forbidden Forest and heading in the direction of Hogwarts.

<damn it damn it damn it damn it...>

Draco began to realise that he had dramatically underestimated the man. He had assumed that Snape would do nothing in order to protect his position in Voldemort´s inner circle, but evidently, fear for the safety of Hogwarts had over-ridden his instinct for self-preservation. At another time, Draco could have found it in himself to admire the man´s actions, even understand them, but just at the moment, he was concerned only with shaking free of this damned curse and tracking him down like a wild dog.

Easier said than done. Never having been under the Imperious Curse before he had failed to appreciate how very compelling the spell was, how very difficult to break free of. He strained with every physical and mental muscle to move even a fraction when every instinct he possessed was screaming at him to `Stay´, just as he had been commanded. The more he fought, the harder the imperative to obey overcame him.

And all the while was an insistent, urgent need to stop Severus Snape at whatever cost.

His frustration mounting, a sudden memory came to him of being told something very interesting several years ago. Something about the Imperious Curse and the Boy-Who-Lived? What was it...?

<Potter! Potter resisted the curse...>

Whether it was his innate competitiveness, or something else entirely which turned the tide, nobody would ever know for sure and moments later, with a strange almost ecstatic pain, he found himself lurching after Snape, dizzied and desperate, but free.

His strength returned quickly, the adrenaline started to flow and he ran faster and faster. Crashing through the forest, sliding and stumbling with every step, but somehow staying upright. He urged himself forward, his robes tearing as they caught at the twigs and tendrils of the trees. He had no way of knowing how deep into the woods the apparation wards extended. Snape could have apparated as far as the `border´ and may already be on his way to Dumbledore´s office.

Moments later, stumbling forward with even less stealth than an injured Hippogriff and not really caring, he suddenly and unexpectedly crashed into the back of Severus Snape. With startled yelps, they both fell in a tangle of robes and limbs.

<How can he not have heard me coming? >

No time to ponder this question. Snape was growling and kicking himself free and Draco found himself clutching at his Professor´s robes with desperate fervour.

"Stop!" he found himself yelling. "Don´t do it! You don´t understand!"

Equally hoarsely came the reply.

"Get off me boy! You have no idea what you´re doing! GET OFF!"

"NO!"

<I´m trying to save your life you stupid, stubborn fool! >

Sobbing with panic, half-crawling after the struggling man, Draco nonetheless felt a kind of lucid clarity come over him. It was like the clarity he had felt just after he´d witnessed his mother´s execution.

Abruptly, he released Snape and with deliberation, drew his wand. Without giving himself a moment to think, but knowing deep inside that he was doing the right thing, he calmly pointed it at the retreating man´s back.

"STUPIFY!"

To be continued....