In Another's Hell

Chapter 3:

Pride of Slytherin

Raw screams tore Draco into wakefulness, but as soon as he opened his eyes, he knew he had not uttered a sound.

He shot up in bed, a ragged gasp burning his throat. The air in front of him was a thick viscous black, and for a frenzied instant he clawed at it with both hands, as if he could rip right through.

There was something beside him, a shrouding presence. He stretched shaking fingers to touch it, realizing a split second after feeling the coarse, heavy fabric that it was his own bed-hangings. Dark green.

He jerked back with a hiss, without knowing why.

"Draco?"

His heart slammed into his ribs at the sound. He shot his hand out instinctively, grappling for his wand. It was there, tangled in the bed sheets. It did not occur to him until he had his fingers wrapped firmly around it that... his wand was in his bed with him.

"Draco. You awake?"

Wait, his brain stuttered feebly, still in the throes of waking. Wait, you know that voice.

Draco lowered his wand and took a deep breath in the darkness. Blaise. Wordlessly, Draco fought his way free of the twisted blanket and sheets, and stood on shaky legs. He ran a hand quickly over his bare chest, felt the sweat slicked against his skin. His pajama pants felt too warm, smothering. He glanced around the room wildly and saw Blaise sitting up in his own bed, rubbing his eyes.

"Draco, you alright?"

"Yes," he muttered. His heart was beating a rapid tattoo in his chest. The thump of his pulse thudded in his ears. He shook himself and breathed.

Even in the darkness he could tell Blaise was frowning. The other boy's shoulders hitched the way they did when he disagreed with something. "Draco, what happened? Are you okay?"

It felt like a thousand ants were scurrying over his skin. The room swayed frighteningly and Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

"Shut up!" he spat. He wrenched his button-down shirt from the day before off of the chair he'd thrown it on and stormed out of the dormitory, gripping his wand so hard it quirked a muscle in his palm.

Draco's entire body was on fire. The muscles in his back felt like they were being wrenched apart every time he moved. He kneaded his neck, digging his fingers painfully into the bones there, and moved haphazardly down the stairs to the Common Room, thinking that perhaps it would be best if he fell and knocked himself senseless. Or better yet, dead. At least then he would not wake up again.

The shudders took him halfway down. Draco staggered to a halt and fell against the wall, his body quaking. He slid down until his knees knocked him in the chin, and buried his face in them. He could hear his own breaths coming harshly, too rapid to send enough oxygen into his burning lungs. The wall was a welcome iciness against his bare back. He leaned his head back, bumping it against the stones repeatedly until the shivering receded.

It was the same dream, he knew that much. But more than that? He hadn't slept a full night in weeks, and he couldn't even figure out why. The dream was always an opaque mist, dark and terrible, full of ugly sounds he could not quite understand, swirling into forms he never remembered afterward. He woke in a frenzy, and it wasn't for several minutes that the shakes came. But when they did...

Draco gave a shuddering sigh that went from the tender spot on the back of his head to the tips of his toes. When the shaking began, he knew, as if he were voicing a prophecy, that his lack of memory was a small, generous mercy. He didn't know why. Just that he knew it.

The cold had flowed into his bones by the time he rose again and continued down the stairs, going more slowly. He was shivering again, but it was from the cooling sweat on his skin this time. Draco rubbed a hand over his shoulder and grazed an uneven line of flesh just beyond the ridge of muscle. A scar.

He didn't remember having a scar there.

"Fuck!" Draco stopped again and ran his fingers over the raised flesh. A long cut. Perhaps it was just a crease from the mussed sheets of his bed. Sudden fury lanced through him, turning his vision black for an instant. He turned and smacked his palm into the stone, pushing away from it. A fresh pain blossomed along the side of his arm, springing coldly up to his shoulder. Draco continued to walk down the stairs, dragging his fingers roughly across the stone.

By the time he reached the Common Room, the dream had faded to a vague twinge behind his eyes.

There was a small pile of glowing coals still in the grate. Instead of warming the room, it accented the chill of the deepest corners, saving its warmth for the small space directly in front of the fireplace. Draco scowled, feeling inexplicably furious again. He could feel the heat leeching at him, pulling him toward it with promises of a warmth that would be nothing but feeble threads of golden light. Without heat.

He was almost to one of the deep green armchairs, winding his neglected shirt around his hands, when a stifled sob broke through the sleepless haze flooding his brain. He looked up sharply and stopped, his shirt forgotten, twisted in a knot between his fists.

There was a girl. Sitting against the far wall. Her dark hair hung in snaky wisps down her back, shoulders shaking with muffled sobs. And above her... Draco didn't know how he managed to ignore the bright purple glow emanating from the wall when he had entered the room. It was painfully piercing, harsh purple letters written in flames across the stone. He squinted at it, wrinkling his nose.

Purple Panties.

Draco looked at the girl, realizing belatedly that he recognized her. A first year, one of a small few who had made it into Slytherin House this year. Petite, but with pursed determined lips that reminded him oddly of Pansy Parkinson, and a tilt to her head that revealed a hidden confidence. He glared at her shuddering form, feeling a sneer twist his lips. Not very confident now, was she?

As he watched, she raised a longish wand in one shaking hand and hiccupped out a few unintelligible words. A weak gleam of light sparked and then drooped off the edge of the wand, falling into nothingness before it hit the carpet at her knees. She gave another hitching sob.

Why the fuck was she here now? Draco had half a mind to go over, yank her to her feet, and push her through the portrait hole into the chilly dungeon hallway and give her a real reason to cry. What the bloody hell was she on about at three in the morning anyway?

The words on the wall glared fiercely at him and something clicked into place. Scattered belongings on the train platform. Students laughing. He'd paid little attention then. But now...

The exhaustion of the last few weeks welled up within him like a floodtide. All at once he was aware of every ache in every muscle. Of each tiny shiver of his joints. His dream swung away from him, taunting, and the useless fury he had barely been abstaining from washed over him in a wave of red. Draco wanted to sit and not think, and instead he had to look at this ridiculous idea of a joke, made by Slytherins at the expense of another Slytherin. A whiny weeping snot-nosed first year Slytherin at that. Fucking idiots. Useless fucking idiots, the lot of them.

Draco gritted his teeth and stalked forward, throwing his ball of a shirt forcefully into the armchair he had been aiming for. He grabbed the girl by the collar of her night dress and pulled her unceremoniously to her feet. She let out a surprised squeak and flailed, but he had already pushed her aside. Facing the painfully bright words, Draco sneered.

"Incantato Flagrate Finitem." His wand pulsed vividly once, and shot a shower of white sparks at the writing on the wall. The words withered and vanished as if sucked away into the stones. Not even glancing at the girl, Draco turned on his heel and went back to the armchair, collapsing into it with a growl. He fished his shirt out from behind him and tossed it over the armrest, glaring into the dying coals.

Words whipped through his mind. Names. Slytherins. Draco smiled cruelly at the glowing remnants of the fire and set about cursing each name silently. Fuck Blaise. Pansy, fuck her too. Nott. Bulstrode. That ass who thinks he rules the world, Montague. Fuck all, might as well include that sniveling third year Pritchard. Crabbe and Goyle, and mini-Parkinson as well--

A sudden shuffling to his left reminded him forcefully of the girl he'd left sniffling in the corner. Except now she wasn't in the corner, was she? No, she was bloody well on top of his armrest, crushing his expensive silk shirt under her night-gowned arse, clutching that ridiculously long wand in her fist, staring at him. Draco turned on her so fast she stumbled back a step. He almost smirked at the fear flickering across her face, but decided it was ultimately much more effective to continue glowering at her hatefully.

"Go. Away."

The girl swallowed, fidgeting with her wand. He saw her eyes flick to the girls' dormitory passage, knew she wanted to be there. But instead of turning and running for the hallway, she fixed her gaze on his, bit her lip, and said, "Th-thank you."

Draco snorted and jerked his shirt out from under her hand where it had been resting on the armrest.

"What?" he growled, narrowing his eyes at her. His lip was curling. Marvelous. The smirk couldn't have timed it better if he'd planned it.

"Thank you," she whispered. Rocking on her feet, she gestured with one hand toward the now-barren wall. "They did that because--"

"I don't give a fuck," Draco snapped. He rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. The burning had started up again, growing gradually while he was unawares. His eyes felt like they were full of salt. He had once relished the feeling, forced his eyelids open until the dryness whirled it into excruciating pain. But that was weeks ago. When his first sleepless nights had made themselves known.

"Bloody first years..."

Another timid whisper. She was making his head hurt. "How did you do that?"

"Go to bed!" Draco spat harshly, half rising from his chair.

The girl gave a start and gasped. Her small hands clenched into fists. Draco heard her swallow again. Her entire body was quivering.

He'd once caught a glimpse of a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest. Second year, a gentle white in the post-Quidditch twilight. It had looked just like that the instant before it darted away.

He looked up at her curiously before he could think about it... and then cursed himself. Her entire body went rigid, the fear flowing out of her limbs. She leaned forward and grasped the armrest with both hands, fingers splayed wide. "Tell me how you did that!"

Draco stared at her incredulously. "Excuse me?"

For a split second, the burning in her eyes hitched at something deep in Draco's mind. He pawed at it. It felt comfortable, oddly soothing. Slytherin. She pursed her lips and raised her wand in one hand, shaking it up and down to draw his attention. "That spell. The one that got rid of the flames. How did you do it?"

Draco glanced at her wand and sneered. "You're a first year."

The girl shook her head wildly. The redness around her eyes from her sickening display of tears lingered, but where it had at first puffed grotesquely, now it only served to make her eyes look more fierce. "Teach me. Please."

Draco rose smoothly, towering over her, and took a step in her direction. She backed up several feet before halting. Her eyes flicked over him fearfully. And then... she inched forward again.

Draco couldn't help it. His eyebrow twitched. Exhaling long and low through his nose, he peered at the girl where she stood, nightdress loose around her thin frame, hair hanging over her shoulders. Wand clenched in one white-knuckled fist. His chest tightened and he turned from her swiftly, as much to escape her stare as to get it all over with. "Finite."

"What?"

Draco sighed again. "Finite. The spell you are so intent upon mastering at two o'clock in the morning of your first day at this ridiculous school? The word is Finite."

The girl frowned, licked her lips. "But... you said something else. Before that word. You said--"

Draco silenced her with a glare. "Finite."

The girl nodded, closing her mouth. She dropped her wand arm to her side and looked around as if she had just woken up. Draco watched her get her bearings, eyeing the sudden heave her small shoulders gave, the swift shiver through her limbs. And all of a sudden, fuck it all, he was curious.

"What's your name?"

She blinked at him mutely for a moment, then took a deep breath.

"Juliet. Juliet Tackabury."

Draco felt an uncontrollable laugh rising in his chest. He glanced at the blank-faced stone wall he had so recently deprived of its message, and then back at her. He leaned forward until he was close enough to feel her anxious breaths puffing against his face.

"Juliet? Welcome to Slytherin House."

And Draco did laugh then, a hard, caustic laughter that wrenched its way from him as he walked away. He almost lost his footing, grabbed the wall for support. Still chuckling, and without looking back, Draco made his way up the stairs to his dormitory. He figured she would remain for several minutes at least, staring stricken into the coals.

But in the end, Draco Malfoy just didn't care.

* * *

His morning had not begun well, but it was ending in a marvelous manner. Draco sauntered out of the Potions classroom, the angry tones of Professor Snape's voice following him out into the hall.

"For the last time, Mr. Weasley, you have failed this particular potions lesson! Remove your cauldron, your various school paraphernalia, and yourself from my sight or I will be forced to deduct even more points from your House than I already have!"

For the first time in weeks, Draco felt a genuine sense of calm. Some things never changed.

He went up the stairs from the dungeons and headed into the Great Hall, sloughing his book bag from his shoulder and sliding onto one of the benches at the Slytherin table. Several plates of food wavered into existence in front of him and he grabbed a roll and tore off a piece. He wasn't really hungry. Hadn't been hungry in quite a while, actually. But he had learned over the last few weeks that once his worn-out body realized that fact - really noticed it - it would not allow him to put one bit of food between his lips. He chewed the roll steadily and swallowed, tasting very little, wondering in a detached sort of way how much of his lunch he would get to finish before his stomach began cramping and heaving on him.

He'd made it through another roll and half a kidney pie before he began to feel dizzy. A flutter of nausea quelled his stomach. Draco stood abruptly, grimacing, and grabbed his book bag. His other housemates were only just sitting down at the table. He brushed past them without a glance and moved toward the double doors. His stomach was jumping like mad, furious at being tricked into encompassing food. Draco sneered and clenched his fingers. He had been trying to force himself into dreamless sleep for the last month, after all. If there was one contest he could win with his body, it would be this one, over whether or not his own stomach kept itself down.

Draco pushed his way through the doors, shoving against students coming in for lunch. He bumped one rather hard and was gratified to see Harry Potter's shadowed eyes staring hatefully into his when he looked up.

"Watch it, Potter!" He pushed past the furious Gryffindor and made his way back toward the dungeons before the other boy could say anything.

Snape in the morning, a lunch that was actually remaining inside him, and the new Slytherin instructor in an hour... Draco approached the portrait hole to the Slytherin Common Room with a satisfied smile on his lips. Defense Against the Dark Arts was with the Gryffindors.

Perhaps he could even manage a short nap before class.

* * *

The nap was elusive to the point of desperation, but Draco felt as though he had actually been dragged out of a somewhat sleep-like state when Blaise smacked him on the shoulder to wake him for DADA. His roommate smirked at him.

"Oh good. He's awake," Blaise said scathingly and turned away. Draco rubbed his shoulder fitfully and eyed his wand, considering how many spells Blaise knew how to block. It was his own fault for prying the night before. If Draco wanted to talk to Blaise, or anyone else for that matter, he most certainly had ways of making people listen.

In the end, Draco just tucked his wand bad-temperedly into his robes, grabbed his school bag, and stalked out of the room without any of his roommates. Let them feel slighted. He liked that about the people he associated with. They always managed to look so put out by every little detail. It was a reaction he cultivated.

The class was full of Gryffindors when he arrived. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil jumped when he entered. He would have enjoyed thinking their reaction had something to do with his presence, but the nervous glances they directed at the closed door behind him told him otherwise. He took a moment and found that he did not really care whether they were scared of him or the new teacher.

He stalked to a seat on the left toward the front and pulled his Ancient Magic text from his bag. Then he settled back and watched the room through half-closed eyelids. The Gryffindors were in various states of uneasiness. Patil and Brown were chattering nervously, giggling too loudly and constantly looking at the door. The Weasel was drumming his fingers on his desk, freckled chin in hand, looking perplexed about something, and Granger... Draco closed his eyes and breathed out slowly through his nose. The Mudblood was incessantly arranging her books and quills on her desktop, giving a piece of paper a nudge here, an ink pot a push there. Every so often she would sigh in relief and fold her hands across her book, only to begin fiddling with the arrangement again seconds later.

Draco forced his eyes open and peered around Weasley's painfully red head to where Potter sat. A little disappointing, really. Potter did not look even the slightest bit interested in what was going on around him. He sat back in his chair and glowered at the empty teacher's desk at the front of the room, twirling his wand absently between the fingers of his right hand.

Draco narrowed his eyes, and was leaning his head back against the wall behind him again when he noticed Longbottom. He raised an eyebrow. Longbottom was a wreck. His hands were fastened around the edges of his desk, the wrong book angled haphazardly across the top, and... could it be? Draco squinted. Yes. A monstrosity of a wand was peeking from beneath Neville's robes.

Longbottom reached shaky fingers down for his bag, stretched his other hand up to steady the inkwell perched precariously on the top edge of the desk, and promptly knocked the jar off. It shattered on the floor, black ink splattering Granger's robes. She gasped and scooted away, an injured look on her face. Her careful arrangement of books and quills, upset by the sudden movement of her desk, slid onto the floor. For one very short instant, Draco considered laughing. The situation warranted it after all, but... He just wasn't in the mood, not even to laugh at foolish Mudbloods and their clumsy housemates. Potter turned slowly to look at his friends, as if coming out of a dream. Still searching inside himself for the elusive humor of the situation, Draco smirked at him, catching the other boy's eye, and watched Potter's face sour into a rather frightening grimace.

Something in the back of Draco's mind fluttered to the surface. A weak glint of darkness, a vague shape from his dream the night before. Granger's sharp reprimands faded into a dull buzz and Draco was left with a bad taste in his mouth. He glared at Potter, feeling out of sorts and no longer in control. And tired. He was tired again, suddenly. Potter's eyes sparked. The Gryffindor glanced at Longbottom and his frown deepened. Draco watched, trying desperately to clear his head, the skin of his shoulders tensing. His hand closed around his wand.

At that moment, the door swung open and their new professor entered. Draco pulled his gaze from Potter's and looked toward the front of the room. Professor Gearing swept in silently, her robes flowing around her feet. Draco took a deep breath and tried to relax again but Potter had managed to throw off even the tiniest ounce of the ease he had slipped into. His body felt prickly, full of heat, much as it did when he woke in the middle of the night from one of those dark... voids. They certainly weren't dreams, at least not that he could remember. The chatter of the others dulled in his ears. Draco blinked and focused on his new instructor, studying her face to distract himself.

He'd heard about Simone Gearing, mostly from his father. But the man had not mentioned her in years. She had been a glorifying bedtime story... if Lucius Malfoy had ever condescended to call his stiff little chats with his son stories. He knew her spotless school record better than he knew the floor-plan of his own home. Top of her class her last four years in Slytherin.

Draco squinted tiredly. She was younger than he'd expected her to be. All he'd been able to see during dinner the first night was a shadowed face and graying hair. Now, up close, he could see she was not all that much older than he was. Maybe eight years? Nine? That would make more sense with what his father had said. Her hair was graying, but only in strands here and there. The rest of it was night-black. She looked tired, the skin under her eyes smudged, but she wore a queer smile on her lips, and her eyes - darker than her hair if that were possible - flicked about in a lively manner, taking in the room and its occupants.

Many of whom were talking.

Oh, not the Gryffindors. Draco smirked. They were completely silent, staring forward, backs rigid as broomsticks. Probably thought she was going to hex them all into oblivion.

Well. She was Slytherin after all. Anything was possible.

And speaking of the Slytherins, with the exception of Draco, they were all chattering away happily, completely secure in the idea that their teacher was from their house and would let it go. Draco grimaced. For a moment he thought seriously of spelling them into silence. Damn them, but he actually felt like paying attention this year in DADA and he couldn't do that if they were disrupting class. The first twinges of a headache began to form behind the bridge of his nose.

Granger and Longbottom were still fluttering about with his ink and her books. Draco's lip curled. Oh, Longbottom certainly hadn't noticed who had walked in. It was deliciously wonderful to picture another Snape giving the klutzy Gryffindor hell for an additional four hours each week.

And then there was Potter. The Boy Wonder's eyes had not left Draco's face since the door had opened. Draco sighed exasperatedly and fixed him with the most withering stare he could manage, mentally reciting every hateful thought, feeling, and sense of purpose he had ever felt toward the other boy. His patience, worn and weary from lack of sleep, was cracking.

Suddenly, Potter's eyes widened. He blinked. Draco frowned, watching Potter's shoulder hitch once. A tiny movement, but--

"Good afternoon, class." The professor's soft voice carried over the babbling and Draco shook his head. He glanced up to where Professor Gearing stood behind her desk. She was leaning over it, her fingers splayed out with the tips touching the desktop.

"I will ask everyone who is talking at this time to be silent."

There was barely a change in the level of chatter. A few giggles here and there. The Gryffindors began to fidget nervously. Draco's patience was even thinner than it had been a moment ago.

Professor Gearing raised an eyebrow and surveyed the class. An odd smile slid over her face. "I suggest you pay heed to what I say, boys and girls, as the students who do not pay attention and continue to talk will lose the ability to do so."

At her last word, the sound was suddenly choked off. Draco's eyes widened and he sat up in his chair, looking around. Millicent Bulstrode was blinking feverishly, patting her throat with one hand. Theodore Nott kept opening and closing his mouth soundlessly, looking more and more befuddled every time. Draco's eyes traveled to Potter and he saw him gazing keenly at the new professor. As he watched, the Gryffindor opened his mouth a tiny bit and flexed his jaw.

But there was no sound. Professor Gearing was looking at them knowingly. Draco felt a real smile forming on his face and this time he did not need to force it.

"There. That's better." Professor Gearing moved fluidly around her desk toward the now silent students. Several of them, Gryffindor and Slytherin alike, shrank back as she approached. She stopped a few feet from the foremost desk. "I do not appreciate being ignored."

Draco opened his own mouth experimentally and attempted a small sound. This time he heard something. Immediately the professor glanced his way. "Yes, you can speak now. All of you are once again able to speak. But I would recommend, for your own good and for that of your voices, that you do not attempt to do so unless called upon. Yes? Your name please. You have something to say?"

Seamus Finnegan cleared his throat. "Seamus Finnegan. What... exactly... did you just do? Professor."

She smiled secretively and lifted her shoulders once. "Just a simple silencing spell. Surely you've used them before."

There was a movement from Granger's desk. Draco saw that her hand had shot up. He rolled his eyes and settled back in his chair, touching his temples with the tips of his fingers. Yes, his headache was getting decidedly worse. Even the soft brush of his hand sent twinges of pain through his skull.

"Yes," Professor Gearing said.

"I don't understand." Granger glanced around for agreement from her classmates. "You didn't use a wand, Professor."

Draco saw Potter close his eyes and shake his head once. He eyed the Gryffindor. Professor Gearing raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to one side. "Very astute of you to notice the absence of a wand, young lady."

The Slytherins snickered and Granger flushed. She looked at the Weasel but he was... Draco blinked and frowned again. The Weasel was smiling. At the new professor.

Their new teacher's sharp eyes roved the room and the laughing ceased. She moved back toward her desk, turning to face them and leaning against it. "You are sixth year students. It's high time you learned that not all types of magic require wands. Defensive spells provide quite the lesson in this area. I assume you have all purchased the necessary textbook?"

There were murmurs of agreement from the students. Draco glanced down at his own book. Practical Applications of the Ancient Magic. His copy was old, taken from the shelves of his family library, but he doubted it had been touched in decades. The pages had cracked in between his fingers when he'd opened it over the summer. Draco had managed to cast a stabilizing spell on the text to keep it from falling apart, and had spent his nights absorbed by the intricate etchings and strange spell language within the pages. It had kept him from sleeping at least. From dreaming those non-dreams.

The professor cleared her throat. "Well. You can put them away for today, at least. We will not be using them during this session. Now!" - and here she stood up and paced to the first row of desks - "What do you know about the basic elements of magic? Where it comes from and the like."

Granger raised her hand hesitantly. Draco could only attribute it to her fear that Professor Gearing would verbally snip her head off, as Snape often did. But the professor only nodded to her.

"The origin of magic is a highly debated topic in the wizarding world. The most common theory is that it is a preference in mental development that is somewhat related to genetics but really, could develop in any human being. Some of the oldest lines of magic have been traced back to the earliest ancestors of human beings, but the true origin of magic is unknown."

Professor Gearing raised her eyebrows, looking thoughtful. "That is a shrewd answer. However, more is known about the origins of ancient magic than most people believe. It is thought to be derived directly from the earth itself in many cultures, and is therefore a power far too awesome to be containable in a simple human being. Hence, the development of wand usage."

She reached into her robes and removed a long amber colored wand. "The oldest of magicks is highly unstable, and the elements of it that could be harnessed very difficult to control, or even tap into unless a person is especially in touch with the relation of earth magic to bodily magic. Wands were developed to help draw on the hidden resources and channel them into a usable form."

Draco watched as the professor turned the wand over in her hands, studying it with her dark eyes. She ran one finger up along the wood to the tip, and then... dropped it. The wand stopped in mid-fall and hovered there in front of her. She raised one hand and flicked her fingers, and the wand floated serenely over to the front desk and settled there with a soft clack of wood on wood.

Draco sat forward in his chair.

"Now. Perhaps you would like to try your hand at something like that?" the professor asked. There was an excited muttering and much shifting in seats. Professor Gearing looked around.

"Anyone? It is a bit tricky at first, but I promise it will get easier."

Again - and just as hesitantly - Granger's hand went up. Draco sighed and settled his chin in one palm, leaning on his desktop. Whatever possessed that girl to... well, to be such a bloody know-it-all all the time? Couldn't she take a holiday and leave some of the joys of failure to the rest of the school? He smirked. His schoolmates certainly excelled in that area. But no one would ever know that unless the Mudblood held her tongue... and her hand.

Pity.

The professor beckoned Granger forward and the girl stood, smoothing her robes, and joined the woman near the desk. Professor Gearing faced her.

"You are in Gryffindor, yes?"

Granger nodded.

"Your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

The professor's eyes narrowed fractionally. "Tell me, Ms. Granger, what do you think about whenever you are attempting to levitate an object?"

Granger glanced at Weasley and Potter. "Well... Wingardium Leviosa. And... and to move my wand just so." She demonstrated the swish-and-flick pattern in the air with her own wand. Draco sniffed softly.

"Kindly use your wand to levitate the wand on the desk, Ms. Granger."

Granger opened her mouth, shut it, brushed her bushy hair back from her temple, and faced the wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The amber wand floated straight off the desktop and hovered in midair. Professor Gearing plucked the wand out of the air, and returned it to its place. "Again. This time without your wand."

Granger looked at her strangely. The professor cocked an eyebrow. "You had a picture in your mind just then, did you not?" At Granger's nod, the woman lifted her chin. "This wand is made of dragon heartstring and red alder. You are familiar with these elements and their magical properties?" Another nod from Granger. "Then you will concentrate on that picture silently, focusing on the wand and particularly the magical elements inside it, until it becomes reality."

Granger stared at her for a long moment. Draco sighed and shut his eyes. He knew this trick. His father had pounded its importance into his head more times than he could count. True, he could not do more than make an object hover for a moment, but he was getting better at it. But just then, the idea of doing it made even his bones weary. It took an inordinate amount of energy to do.

It did not help that the mere thought of it brought back the yelling. For hours as Draco struggled to raise various objects - lamps, books, even house elves - into the air, his father would pace back and forth and hiss at him. Draco had a feeling that, if left to his own devices, he could have mastered the technique by now. But he had always heard his father's raised voice in conjunction with this type of magic. Draco could still manage to work the inner magic until his father's hisses became venomous shouts of disgust and anger. Then his whole body seemed to just... give out? Draco had never fallen, never fainted. But the weariness that latched onto him beneath the hard crack of his father's words made him want that precious darkness that came with unconsciousness. The silence.

When he opened his eyes, Granger was staring hard at the wand on the desk, her face twisted up into a rather amusing grimace. As Draco watched, the wand gave a tiny shiver... and nothing more. Granger relaxed, an expression of extreme disappointment on her face.

A shrill laugh erupted behind Draco. He jumped at the sound, startled for a split second that it was not his father's voice, and then rolled his eyes and massaged his forehead. Parkinson the elder.

"Hmm, guess not, Granger! But then I suppose you can't expect to be the best at everything, now, can you?" Pansy said in a snide tone.

The Slytherins snickered. Draco allowed a tiny smile to grace his lips. But he really was too tired to hold onto the humor. He looked at Granger. The girl was blushing furiously, glaring at Pansy. The professor was frowning at the Gryffindor girl and Draco's spirits perked up. Perhaps she was more like Snape than he'd thought. He waited with curious detachment to see how the Mudblood's reprimand would manifest itself.

The professor pursed her lips and spoke in a low voice. "Ms. Parkinson. You would do well to pay attention and stop trying to make yourself feel more important by putting others down. I assure you, no wand is going to be made to levitate by a whiny voice."

Pansy's mouth snapped shut. She stared at the professor wordlessly. Draco stilled the frown that was growing across his face and looked at the new instructor through narrowed eyes. The Gryffindors were all grinning at each other hesitantly, as if they could not quite believe what they had heard. Draco ground his teeth. He was not sure he believed it. What the hell was a Slytherin teacher doing siding with a Gryffindor?

But as quickly as his anger had sparked, his overwhelming irritation with Pansy doused it. He dropped lower into his seat and shut his eyes again, rubbing at his forehead. Parkinson deserved it, regardless of what house the teacher had been in. He'd always prided himself on belonging to the cleverest of the Hogwarts houses, the one that could easily top the others in pure knowledge and skill. But the Slytherins this year were a joke; he could see it already. That message on the Common Room wall, that ridiculous excuse for a first-year, and now this... Draco curled his lip and glanced down at the badge with the twining silver snake sewn just over his heart. Being in Slytherin was not about petty jokes and flashy put-downs. He'd had enough of his housemates, and it was only the second day of school.

For a long moment, he desired nothing more than to be back at the manor, alone in his room with the candles lit and the Ancient Magic text spread in front of him against his pillow. His father's yelling be damned. It was quiet there in his room. He could think.

"Take your seat, Ms. Granger." Professor Gearing gestured the girl away and walked to her desk. As she drew closer, the wand lifted from the wooden desktop and floated into her hand, eliciting appreciative gasps from some of the students. The professor turned to them, a weird half-smile quirking her thin mouth. "Believe it or not, Wingardium Leviosa, maintained in this wandless fashion, is quite difficult to accomplish. It is much easier to use this branch of magic to repel spells directed at you than to direct magic onto an entirely different object. The theory is this: that to control an object using only wandless magic, the user must have a rudimentary control over not only his or her own magic, but also the magic of the object at which the spell is being directed. To put it more simply, the wizard or witch must understand what makes the object tick magically. Mr. Finnegan." She directed her penetrating gaze at the Gryffindor in question, who was snickering quietly to Dean Thomas "If I were you, I would close that mouth of yours before I decide to change the lesson plan and discuss the magical removal of body parts. It is quite painful, even with the most skilled of magic-users, but I am certain I can find something suitable to take from you in compensation for interrupting my class. Your tongue, perhaps."

Seamus went white and hunched back in his chair. Draco smirked at the look on his overly freckled face. And Thomas... well, that was just glorious. Two terrified lions for the price of one. Professor Gearing flipped her wand deftly between her fingers, surveying the class through narrowed eyes.

"It seems there is some confusion amongst you. Allow me to redefine the boundaries of our relationship. I will not tolerate speaking out of turn during my class. If you wish to talk, you may do so afterward, during an activity that does not require your utmost concentration and dedication to detail. Divination, or Quidditch practice, perhaps." She sneered lightly. "I certainly hope you do not address such difficult and taxing subjects as Transfiguration and Potions in so flippant a manner. You are sixth year students, and you are now learning things that could very well get you killed, should your attention stray for even a moment. This is your last warning. The next student to interrupt the class will lose fifty house points."

Draco smiled. Yes, actually smiled. This... was much more like it. So she wasn't exactly Snape, but at least he could trust himself not to be idiotic enough to lose points for Slytherin, unlike those imbecilic Gryffindors. And the right words in the right places would ensure his own housemates' cowering silence. He knew what being a Malfoy got him, and he also knew how to use it to his advantage.

Professor Gearing smiled suddenly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes, and Draco found it rather discomforting. "That settled, class, we will begin your training in wandless magic. The Headmaster has been good enough to allow me a little more leeway than usual, so we will begin by addressing an Unforgivable Curse. I'm certain you all know about the Unforgivable Curses?"

The students nodded, wide-eyed. Draco's eyebrows shot up. Surely they would not be deflecting the Unforgivables. As far as Draco knew, though the Imperius Curse could be overridden by a strong enough mind, the other two were different matters entirely when it came to wandless magic. Cruciatus struck so quickly and so painfully that one basically had know it was coming before one's attacker ever cast the spell. And the Killing Curse... there was no way to block that one. The professor smirked at the scared looks on the students' faces.

"You needn't look so frightened. You will not be subjected to any of the three curses that have been outlawed by the Ministry. That is spell-work for only the most skilled in wandless magic. But we will be covering some of their lesser relatives. Today we will focus on the spells related to Imperius. I think you will be most interested to discover that you have dealt with a great many of its closer relatives already."

Professor Gearing flipped out her wand and began to trace letters in the air, naming off the words they spelled as she went. "Silencio. Impedimentia. Petrificus Totalus. Impropriare. Legilimens. Occlumency. Yes, even the modern use of Finite Incantatem has its roots in the magic of Imperius. Yes, Ms. Granger."

"Professor, could you include Agonimorphus in that grouping as well?"

The professor smiled at her, a spark flaring in her eyes, and continued to write in the air as she answered. The list was forming itself into what looked like a family tree of sorts. "That one is actually a special case. For those of you who do not know what that curse does, it causes increasing levels of pain throughout the body of the victim. It is usually automatically grouped with the spells relating to Cruciatus, but there is a certain amount of the Imperius magic there as well, which allows the caster near complete control over the body of the victim, and the ability to fluctuate the level of pain differently in two different parts of the body. The Agonimorphus curse, when cast by an unskilled wizard, is easily deflected, unless it is combined with Imperius. Very good, Ms. Granger. For your information, class, Cruciatus is actually a more refined combination of Agonimorphus, Imperius, and one of its older ancestors, Vastare Envelos. We will not be going into detail on that one for quite some time, but I urge you to familiarize yourself with the Latin roots. They may be found on page four-hundred-twenty-two of your text."

She let the words of the Imperius relatives hang in the air and walked around in front of them so that they framed her with a weird reddish light. Draco read them again half-interestedly. He knew many of his classmates had never heard of several of them. But he recognized every last one, even the two Cruciatus relatives Granger had brought up. He frowned as his eyes traveled over Impropriare and the more complex version, Impropriatus Stabilis. Funny... he couldn't remember when he'd heard of that one, or in what context. But he knew it. His stomach twinged.

The professor was still speaking. "... and you will be able to practice defending yourself with this simple deflection spell, Protego. I know you have used this in your Charms studies, but without a wand it is simply a matter of thinking the word, and concentrating all of your energy on that word and its end result with reference to your own body. I assume you are all at least slightly aware of your own magical properties. I will call you up one by one and use wandless magic to cast an Imperius-related spell on you. You will not be informed of which spell I will be using, as that knowledge does not matter to the deflection spell. This is a strength exercise, and will show me your varying levels of familiarization with this branch of magic. Please do not feel discouraged if you are not immediately successful. Like any sort of magic, it requires a great deal of practice and patience. Now. A volunteer to go first."

The silence was so absolute Draco's ears rang with it. The professor raised an eyebrow. "No one? I assure you, you will not be hurt by any of the spells I have chosen today."

Her eyes roved the room... and came to rest on a hesitant freckled hand climbing its way into the air. "Well. Here's a face I recognize. Mr. Weasley, if you please."

Draco's eyebrows nearly shot off his forehead, he was certain of it. The Weasel? Volunteering to be bespelled by a Slytherin? Draco sneered to himself, highly amused. Not that it was an issue, of course. Draco had flattened Weasley many times without him volunteering to be made a fool of. One more time would be just as glorious as any previous episode. He watched the redheaded Gryffindor make his way to the front of the room, tucking his wand hastily into his robes as he went. Draco sighed. It really was a travesty that they weren't working in pairs today. For once, he would have... volunteered... to stomach the Weasel.

Professor Gearing was smiling rather fondly at Weasley, and it made Draco curious in an irritable sort of way. The woman held up a hand to stop the Gryffindor and stepped backward, flicking her fingers and causing the magical family tree hanging in midair to fade and disappear. "Now, Protego, Mr. Weasley. You're familiar with it. Just think the word, only that word, and picture what it would cause should you be using a wand. When you are ready..."

Weasley nodded and Professor Gearing leveled her gaze at him. For a long moment, nothing happened, and Draco was beginning to grow begrudgingly impressed. Damn it all, did it have to be the Weasel who managed to show promise in this department? But as soon as he thought it, a shudder ran through the Gryffindor's body and a goofy grin slid onto his face. He turned to face the class in a dreamy sort of twirl and... began to recite poetry.

"Oh thou whose beauteous count'nance doth infuse

My undeserving heart with glorious worth,

I dare not sully with my voice so rude

The light you deign to shed upon this earth."

Draco stared. An amused smile curved the professor's lips. The Weasel continued quite cheerfully.

"To thee, o dulcet one I give my thanks

And bow my unworthy head on bended knee,

Professing adoration 'bove the ranks,

My sweet, my love, my one Hermio--"

"That's quite enough, I should think," Professor Gearing said quickly, the smile struggling against her deadpan.

Weasley stammered into silence, blinked, and looked around. "Well? Did it work?"

The class was snickering. Weasley frowned at them and jutted his pointy chin forward. "What the bloody hell are you all laugh--" And then his face contorted in surprise as the veiling effect of the spell wore completely away. His mouth dropped open and a hot flush rushed over his cheeks. Draco could see by the horrified look in his eyes that he remembered every word. "Oh my lord..."

"I would not be too upset, Mr. Weasley," Professor Gearing said, the smile finally winning over. "People without natural talent cannot possibly be helped by that spell."

The class laughed outright and Weasley turned beet red. He hurriedly sat down again, but a grin was working its way onto his face. He glanced at Granger and she blushed and looked away. Draco caught a glimpse of her own small smile.

Well. Of all the disgusting--

"Who's next?" The professor looked around the room, her eyebrows raised. When no one answered, she sniffed. "I assure you, there is no need for me to demonstrate the same spell twice."

Zabini raised his hand, and proceeded to put up quite a good front blocking a relative of the Silencio charm. Draco perked up a bit at that one, as it quickly became apparent that not only was Blaise's voice under the professor's control, but also his breathing. Zabini did a fairly good job of keeping his lungs under his own power until he got a few claps from excited classmates and made the mistake of glancing around the room with a self-righteous grin on his face. Professor Gearing narrowed her eyes and dipped her chin, and the next moment Zabini was huffing and puffing like a bellows. A look of panic crossed his face just before the woman flicked her fingers and cut the magic short. He stumbled backward and blinked, his hand on his chest. A few snickers erupted at the gaping stare on his face, and he flushed and scowled, returning to his seat quickly.

"A good show, Mr. Zabini. You have potential in this area, certainly. Next."

Student after student rose and walked to the front of the classroom to subject him or herself to whatever spell Professor Gearing had planned. And she had many of them. A petrifying incantation froze Lavender Brown before she could even focus her thoughts properly, and its cousin, a nicely subtle numbing spell, had Nott sliding limply to the floor touching his face repeatedly with stiff fingers. But there were not many students who could even begin to block the spells directed at them, and Draco found himself growing bored and tired again. He could feel the sting around his eyes, the pressure in his forehead. His head was a dull mass of almost-pain. He longed for a numbing spell of his own.

It wasn't until Parvati Patil failed to ward off a spell that was disturbingly similar to the actual Imperius curse itself that Draco began to pay attention again. He watched the new professor keenly, a small frown tugging at his face. Professor Gearing released Patil easily and asked her to take her seat once more. Draco glanced at the Gryffindor as she walked dazedly to her chair and his gaze caught on Potter.

His eyes were narrowed, forehead creased. He too was watching the new instructor carefully, and Draco found himself suddenly glad that that stare was not turned on him. Potter's eyes... he felt as if they would burn a hole straight through him.

"I think I will choose the next student participant. Someone who has not been so direct in coming forward." Professor Gearing looked around the room, her black eyes fixing here and there on eager faces... until she found her target and smiled. "Mr. Longbottom, is it?"

Draco bit back a snort. Longbottom? Good lord, he'd have to see this one. With any luck, the professor would have him tripping his way up a wall within minutes.

Longbottom looked around as if he did not think he was the one being addressed and then rose shakily to his feet, clutching at his robes. Draco wondered in an annoyed fashion why he should clench handfuls of his clothing in the area of his belt and then realized that he was trying to hide that ridiculously long wand of his. Draco felt like he was being tugged in two directions. He certainly wanted to see Longbottom made a fool of... but suddenly it seemed like too much trouble. He felt that maybe he could sleep at that moment if he just let himself go. Longbottom... Well, he was in the class all year, wasn't he? Draco would have plenty of time to remind the gangly Gryffindor of his incompetence.

He shut his eyes and leaned back, listened to Longbottom shuffle his way to the front of the room, heard Professor Gearing's low voice explaining as she had to every student how to block the spell she was going to cast.

"Wh-what spell are you... um..." Longbottom stuttered.

The professor answered serenely. "Mr. Longbottom, I distinctly remember saying that no one would be privy to that information. The deflection technique is the same. After all, should you be in a real situation, you will not be able to ask for a certain spell, will you?"

Draco let her voice drone into comfortable buzzing. The room was fading away, blessed sleep was coming. He could feel it. Just a moment more, provided no strange nightmare interrupted--

Suddenly there was a clatter and a yell. Several students gasped and chairs shifted. Draco's eyes popped open and he was met with a ludicrous sight. Longbottom was dancing. Literally. His legs were twitching back and forth beneath him, completely out of his control. He looked as if he were tap-dancing, limbs skittering here and there in a shuffling jig. Draco's mind offered an explanation immediately. Tarantellegra. Good choice. He began to smile in spite of the ache in his temples. It was rather funny. Perhaps his dreams would improve as a result.

There was a loud bang. A chair scraped and fell over, jerking Draco's attention away from the dancing Gryffindor. Potter had jumped to his feet, wand out. His face was a mask of fury, eyes sparking bright green. He flourished the wand at Longbottom and yelled the counter charm. "Finite Incantatem!"

Longbottom stopped his ungainly dance and collapsed onto the floor. Draco frowned at Potter. What did he think he was doing? He glanced at Longbottom.

And saw his face.

The Gryffindor was whiter than a sheet. His teeth were chattering, a faint clicking sound coming from between his lips. His hands were clenched into tight fists against his chest and he was breathing in short sharp gasps. Draco sat spellbound. He watched as Longbottom's eyes widened and widened, and then shut tightly, only to blink open again and stare at nothing.

Draco tore his gaze from the Gryffindor on the floor and looked back at Potter. At the professor. They were staring at each other in silence across the small space of the room. Potter looked so angry that his body might explode. For an instant the air... shimmered around him. Draco blinked and looked harder, half rising from his chair. The professor's voice broke through the tense silence.

"Mr. Potter."

Draco looked her way and saw her cold, blank expression. Her dark hair framed her face, shadowing her hollowed cheekbones and eyes. Yet they pierced keenly from their sockets, fixed on Potter. Confusion was there... and a certain level of analysis. Her eyes probed the boy in front of her curiously. For a moment she looked skeletal.

Draco blinked. When he looked again, her face was calm and frozen. She addressed the class, gaze still fixed on Potter. "That will be all for today. You will all have a ten inch parchment for me on Thursday detailing what is known as fact about the origin of ancient magic. If you cannot find enough information in your text book, may I suggest making use of the marvelous library several floors below us? Class dismissed."

Students rose and gathered their books slowly, glancing between Potter, the professor, and Longbottom, who was still sitting on the floor staring. Draco rose as well, pulled his bag up over his shoulder, and made his way around the desks, taking a wide arc around the professor, eyes on her and Potter the entire time. He made it to the door after the rest of the Slytherins had already left and halted in order to watch the proceedings. Granger hurried to Longbottom's side, but suddenly the boy jumped to his feet, eyes wild, and grabbed his books. Not even looking at the professor, he ran for the door. Draco was halfway through it at the time and Longbottom lurched right into him as if he did not even see him there. Draco fell backwards, raised his hands to steady himself, and grabbed Longbottom's shoulders instinctively before the boy fell and toppled them both. Longbottom hesitated for a split second, shivering, and Draco frowned at him. He opened his mouth to demand an explanation for the boy's ridiculous agitation, looked up, and caught Potter's eye. The boy had not moved from his place by the desk. Granger and the Weasel fluttered around him helplessly, but the Golden Boy looked right past them to Draco. His eyes flicked to where Longbottom stood, still caged by Draco's hands, and hardened. Draco glared back at him, utterly lost. His head was pounding again, his eyes stinging, and the angry glow in Potter's eyes was burning him.

Longbottom suddenly jerked away from him and practically fell out of the room. Draco let him go, still feeling the pulsing heat rising off his body into his palms. He was held by Potter's eyes for a moment longer, hardened in hatred and fury toward him.

And for the first time, he had no idea why.

* * * * *

Vastare Envelos: "vastare" L, to lay waste.

Impropriare: L, to take as one's own.

Stabilis: L, stable, stationary.

Agonimorphus: "changing pain" (our combination)

~~from Webster's New Twentieth Century Dictionary