Creep

Chapter 4: The Haunting Memory

Important!

To all Students attending Ancient Runes,

We are glad to inform all students attending Ancient Runes that there will be a field trip to the Scottish Highlands on the 1^st of November. The trip will last seven days and Professor Monde will be the escort during the week. All students are expected to be ready for departure at exactly 8 o'clock on Monday morning November 1^st. If you have any questions or concerns, please direct them to your Head of House or Professor Monde.

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Draco was not exactly amused upon reading the note which was pinned to the notice board of the Slytherin Common Rooms. A students trip to Scotland was not entirely - or really not at all what the blond boy considered to be 'great fun'. What made everything worse, though, was the prospect of who was going to be on that trip other than Draco. Hermione - filthy Mudblood - Granger!

Draco could not believe his luck and pondered if fate could possibly have played a nastier trick on him, only to come to the conclusion that his family was permanently there to make him even more miserable. Sighing he looked down at the letter which he clutched tightly in his hand. His cloudy eyes flew over the delicate handwriting of Narcissa Malfoy, reading her letter once again.

Dear Draco,

Tonight. Same place. Same time.

Sincerely,

Narcissa

Draco closed his eyes and swallowed. He felt sick. A meeting never meant anything good, but Draco was especially worried this time around because Narcissa was so very vague, obviously fearing that the letter could be read by somebody else than her 'beloved' son.

"Beloved son," muttered Draco bitterly, crumpling the letter in his hand before throwing the parchment into the fireplace angrily. It caught fire and slowly turned into smoke and ashes. Looking at his watch Draco realized that he had to hurry if he did not want to be late for the meeting. Thus he grabbed his cloak and got up from his bed.

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Almost an hour later, Draco stumbled over the dark grounds back to school. He coughed and tried to keep his breathing steady. A piece of parchment that explained how to cast the Shield Charm was deep in Draco's pocket. He was not worried about the charm itself or the task in hand. After all, he would not be washing his hands in blood.

He would only help other people to do so, standing at their sides, watching as life left countless, innocent bodies.

Draco shook his head, trying to get rid of his uncomfortable thoughts. Lestrange's face came back to his mind. The way he had smiled nastily upon telling Draco about their horrible plan. The way his eyes had flickered with joy at the prospect of murdering, of tearing flesh apart. It sickened Draco. How could anybody enjoy the act of taking somebody's life? Could they not see themselves in the ones they murdered? Did they not see their own fear reflected into the eyes of their victims as life slowly left them? Draco would always make himself scarce when the massacres in his father's dungeon were nearing their end. Avoiding seeing those bodies die on the wet and dirty stone floor somehow helped the idea that he himself would never decay, never fade, never be forgotten. Draco knew he was foolish, believing that he, unlike everybody else, was immortal. Naivety was a cheap price to pay for sanity, though.

A rustling of leaves pulled Draco out of his thoughts. He stood still and tried to make something out in the darkness. His heart pumped angrily against his chest in the fear of being caught, but when he saw who was stumbling out of the forbidden forest, he stepped behind a tree, waiting for the figure with the bush of brown hair to make his way past him. Hermione did not seem to have noticed the lean boy. She was breathing loudly as she drew nearer and nearer. Like a bee flying willingly into a spider's web, thought Draco amused

Hermione was close now and as she took another step in Draco's direction he jumped out of his hiding place, grabbed her by the arm and pushed her back against the nearest tree. She shrieked out loud and Draco pressed his hand on her mouth, as her eyes grew wide in recognition.

"What are you doing out here, Granger?" he sneered, his eyes flashing down at her madly.

She made an odd sound and Draco realized that his hand was against her Mudblood lips. He withdrew it at once and wiped it off at his cloak. Hermione gasped for air and then pushed Draco off her. She stuck her hand into her pocket obviously searching for her wand. Draco was faster though. He grabbed her wrists and held them above her head.

"Careful, you wouldn't want to hex me, Mudblood, would you now?"

Hermione glared at Draco, ripe to kill. "Let go of me, Malfoy or ..."

"Or what? You are going to hurt me? Slight chance." Draco grinned as his gaze wandered to Hermione's wrists. "What have you been doing out here?" he asked.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy!" spat Hermione out disgustedly.

"Have you been spying on me?"

"What? Why? To catch you in a compromising position with Crabbe and Goy...?"

Draco cut her off before she could finish her sentence. He grabbed her by the neck and came even closer, so that his chest was pressed against her heaving bosom.

Hermione's eyes watered as Draco tightened his grasp on her neck. She looked up at him and for the first time in the many years he knew and hated her, she looked fragile and almost scared. He saw the moon reflected in her hazel eyes and then he saw his own reflection in them. A hard and angry face; cold eyes, clenched jaw.

"Lucius?" he whispered almost inaudibly as he let go of Hermione, who used his vulnerable moment to snatch her wand out of her pocket and point it at his face.

"What are you so scared of?" she snapped as Draco stared at her emptily.

"Honestly, Malfoy, I pity you!"

And she really did sound as if she pitied him. Her body showed all signs of defence, but her eyes were soft as she observed Draco's moonlit face.

"No need to pity me, Mudblood," Draco spat as he rushed past her, brushing her shoulder.

I am in no mood to dirty my hands on that vixen now, he argued to himself. But if he was honest he would never be able to hurt that girl. Dirty blood or not.

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Draco did not have much time to let his mind waver over that incident with Hermione Granger later. He went to bed straight after he had arrived at his dormitory and the next day he attended classed only to find out that Blaise had invited some people over to their dormitory for the evening.

At night Draco, Blaise and their closest friends gathered. Theodore Nott was chatting with Pansy Parkinson animatedly, while she threw Draco longing glances. Both students' cheeks were flushed from the alcohol they were consuming. On Blaise's lap sat Eleanor Delaney. He was stroking her thighs gently, moving his finger a little further up her leg with every stroke. Julian Rosier was watching them with a heated gaze, his vivid, blue eyes flashing to Eleanor's shiny, long legs every now and then. Rosier was a friend of Blaise from seventh year and he and his two classmates Arthur Ackerly and Gabriel Chalfont were as mischievous and witty companions as anyone could wish for. Tonight they had managed to steal some Firewhiskey from the kitchens and while Draco hated its taste he was still grateful for the fog that was created in his brain by sipping it.

He was leaning his back against the headboard of his bed; his silvery hair still wet from the shower he had taken earlier. He was annoyed and his mind would not stop slipping back to the notice he had been reading earlier that day. I can't possibly go on a trip with that Mudblood for a whole week. It's just not fair! Draco felt sick at the mere thought of Hermione Granger. Why can't she just die; die a slow and painful death along with all the other people I'd rather never had met. Caught up in his thoughts, Draco hardly noticed that his housemates had fallen silent. Chalfont had pulled a vial out of his pocket and was showing it to the others now. There was a sparkling, silvery liquid in the vial and as Draco looked up, wondering what it was, Chalfont answered his question.

"This, my dear Slytherins, is Ferocia. I suppose you've heard of it before?"

Chalfont observed the others who nodded in agreement before he continued.

"Ferocia," he held the vial up for emphasis, "is one of the strongest hallucinogenics that wizard-kind knows of. It's said to blur your mind and send you off into fantastic and surreal dreams."

Pansy's mouth was hanging open in fascination and the others did not look less impressed.

"Where did you get it from?" asked Nott in obvious adoration.

"Nipped it from my father's storage," sneered Chalfont, seemingly self-satisfied.

Draco sat up and watched his friend with interest.

"So? What do you think; shall we try it?" asked Julian Rosier challengingly.

Arthur Ackerly's eyes grew wide with shock, "But it's dangerous. My mother told me that many wizards were sent to St. Mungos after taking Ferocia."

Chalfont nodded, a sly smile playing over his cherub lips, and drawled, "I heard of two people dying from Ferocia this summer." He tried to sound lazy and relaxed, but Draco could not be fooled by his friend's behaviour. Too often had he heard his own voice trying to hide his real emotions. It was obvious that his 'oh-so-daring' Slytherin friends were more than reluctant to take this infamous potion.

"I'll take it first!" announced Draco.

All eyes were on him at once. Blaise was grinning, while Theodore seemed rather envious of Draco's bravery. Only Pansy's squeal told Draco that there was one person in the room that did not appreciate his plan.

"You could die, Draco," pleaded Pansy in a high-pitched voice. The earlier flush from her bony cheeks had vanished and she looked pale and scared.

Draco observed her shortly, "I'm dead as dead can be," he muttered darkly as he reached his hand out and snatched the vial of Ferocia from Chalfont's hand.

He filled some water into his glass and then started to drop the silvery liquid into it. Steam rose from the glass at once, while the water slowly adapted a bluish colour.

"Ten drops," whispered Chalfont excitedly.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten," Draco counted quietly.

Then he passed the vial of Ferocia back to Chalfont, looking at his housemates again. While there was still an uncertain expression on Pansy's face, the others' eyes literally flashed with sparks of excitement, observing Draco's every movement.

Draco glanced at the bluish liquid in his glass for one last time and then emptied it with one big gulp. It took a moment for the drug to take effect, but as it started to work its way into Draco's synapses it was as if a thousand blinding flashlights were pointed at him. The voices of his friends became distant and weak, as if transparent walls were separating Draco from the rest of the world.

He closed his eyes and sank back against his bed. His heart was beating faster than before as a strange warmth spread through his body. Each vein was on fire and his blood was the fuel to feed it. Draco heard distant voices, which told him that his friends were finally - or was it already? - taking the drug themselves. He did not care anymore, though. Nothing mattered now. There was only him, space and an eternity of time left. Grey fog surrounded him as the world started to spin. Draco stumbled and fell backward into the gap, but in the last moment a hand pulled him back. A cold, yet sweaty hand.

Draco gasped and immediately opened his eyes. Pansy was leaning over him. She had crawled up onto his bed and was stroking his flat stomach sensuously. Her eyes were watery and distant, revealing that she had taken Ferocia despite her earlier doubts. Draco stretched out under her touch and purred like a kitten, closing his eyes again.

Pansy drew slow patterns on Draco's oversensitive skin. Her touch felt strange, but was nevertheless the most intense feeling that he had experienced in his life.

Feeding on the moment Draco was sure he would reach perfection soon, but upon opening his eyes he realized that perfection was not the state this ferocia-induced trip had in store for him. It was not Pansy's face that was looking down at him anymore. Over him cowered a pale figure with a youthful face framed with untidy black strands. Pleading brown eyes were staring down at him.

Draco gasped and tried to move away from the skinny body so close to his. The little girl looked terribly familiar.

"No that can not be. You're dead!" croaked Draco, whose throat felt dry all of a sudden. A tiny, inhumanly pale arm was stretching out toward his face, and as Draco tried to move away, panicking, the memories came crushing down on him.

A thousand images raced through his mind as an unbearable noise grew steadily louder. Draco held his breath, realizing that the noise was Lucius' angry voice, bellowing at his little son in fury.

"What an embarrassment! My own son not only associating with dirty Muggles, but also kissing them behind his father's back! You have dirtied our family name Draco! I am disgusted with you!"

Draco saw his own, tear-stained face at the age of eleven. He was kneeling on the floor praying silent prayers for his father to stop. A bruise formed on his young face where his father had hit him. Hit him for the first and only time in his life. Good Gods; had he been scared of his adored father that night.

Lucius was walking up and down in his study, throwing random insults at his terrified son. Then he stopped and stared at a spot on the floor near Draco.

There she was. The pale, little body. The pitch black hair, the pink little lips and those enormous brown eyes. She was shivering and weeping silently.

Lucius pointed his wand at her and Draco sprang up, throwing himself at his taller and much stronger father.

"No father, please! Please don't hurt her!" he choked out between sobs. "I won't do it again ... I ... I didn't know..." But Lucius cut his struggling son off by throwing him at the floor angrily.

"I am disgusted with you, Draco! She is an unworthy Muggle! She is worthless, and beneath you, son!" he spat out. His eyes were cold as he observed his son mercilessly.

A wand was lifted and Lucius shouted, "Crucio!"

The little girl writhed under the pain, screaming out loud. Was there nobody to help? Did nobody hear her?

Draco heard his own sobs from the other side of the room. His eleven years old self cowered at the floor, clasping his legs tight to his body, obviously unable to move.

Lowering his wand Lucius turned around and observed his son.

"Do you understand, Draco? She is beneath you."

The blond boy sobbed, his eyes blank.

"Draco? Answer me! Do you understand that Muggles are beneath you?" Lucius' voice sounded deadly and Draco nodded hurriedly.

"What was that, son?"

"Yes." whispered Draco, intimidated.

"I did not hear you, boy!"

"Yes, sir. They are beneath me!" said Draco louder than before.

A sadistic smile played over Lucius' aristocratic face. He looked rather satisfied now, his anger fading away.

"They are worthless!"

"Yes, sir, they are worthless."

"They are not worthy of living!"

Draco hesitated momentarily, but then answered, "Yes sir, they are not worthy of living."

Lucius smiled openly at his young son now, "Very good."

The blond haired man's wand was lifted, the incantation spat out, before the crying boy had even realized what was happening.

"Avada Kedavra!" echoed Lucius' voice through the room.

A blinding, green light brightened up the room for a second and when Draco dared to look up the tiny girl's body lay lifeless on the floor.

It was as if a noose was tightening around Draco's neck. He felt suffocated by the picture before him. She could not be dead! She was not dead! His younger self's body was shaking as Lucius pulled him up on to his feet by his arm. The clasp was tight as eyes like his own bored into his head.

"You will never lay hands on dirty blood again, do you understand me, son? I hope you have learned your lesson!"

The little boy was shaking and sobbing. His eyes could not yet hide the pain the tiny heart was feeling. Draco had learned his lesson.

Gasping Draco woke up. His heart was running a mile a minute as he uncertainly turned his head to observe the room. Relieved he found that the black haired girl was not there anymore. Silence surrounded him. The boys had gone and only a flickering torch slightly lit up the room. It had to be early morning already. Blaise and Eleanor were fast asleep, lying cuddled together on Blaise's bed and as Draco turned he found Pansy lying next to himself, asleep as well. Draco sighed and sank back down on his bed again. Cold tears were falling down his face. Draco stuck his tongue out and licked the salty liquid from his lips. His head ached as his thoughts slowly returned to the memories he had just lived through again.

The world had shifted more than once on the day Lucius had killed that girl. There had been no way to turn back time from that day on. The little pink, rainbow dreams of a child had shattered within mere seconds. It was not only the little girl that had died on that fatal day. A part of Draco's soul had faded with her. His innocence, his unquestioning love, his compassion, in a glimpse of a moment his childhood had ended. The world had changed and yet it had stayed the same.

The birds had kept singing, the rain had kept falling, the sun had kept shining, but nothing was the same to Draco. His world was in grey. The pain threatened to tear him apart. What sense was there to life? Why were people doomed to die and decay? What difference did he make? Was there salvation from the pain he was suffering? Draco remembered how much he had wished to turn back time then. How he had prayed for the ability to forget about everything that had happened. Time went on and on though, and even as the memory started to blur, as the girl's face started to fade, the pain stayed very real. A part of Draco's heart realised that there was no way to overcome time, to conquer fate. The very pain and anger he was feeling in the depths of his heart were the only proofs that his human heart had not just vanished. The fact that he was hurting so much showed that he was still alive. Still breathing.

The crying boy had bathed in dragon's blood as the pain became unbearable. A skin of horn and stone protected him from the world from then on. To become invulnerable toward the rest of the world had been Draco's only way to keep his soul alive. As a consequence he had become the devil's advocate, slowly turning into the man who had wounded him deadly at the age of eleven. Unable to resist, Draco had given in to all the dark desires presented to him, fulfilling his father's every dream.

There was no way of turning back now, was there? He would go on that trip to Scotland and do whatever would be demanded of him.

Draco turned around and studied Pansy's sleeping face. There was no love, no feeling for her inside him. Her pale skin shimmered beautifully in the red torchlight. She looked peaceful, even fragile, but she held no connection to Draco. She was from another world, like all the others.

Draco felt utterly alone. 'The only thing unbearable is that nothing is unbearable', muttered a resigning voice inside his head.

He felt weak and tired, as if he had not slept in days.