Courage to Find Cowardice

Chapter Two - Feeling the Sickness Inside

***

The jury is coming. Coming to tear you apart.

I'm trapped in this world, lonely and waiting. Heartbroken and failing.

You know it has begun. The wheels of time and destiny turning a ceaseless gyration of blood and despair.

Only you know how to cease it, yet you don't want to distinguish the difference between right or wrong, good or bad... courage or cowardice.

***

"Draco?"

Cringing slightly, I ignored the voice behind me. The last thing I needed was this. The last thing.

"Draco?" It was a little more insistent this time. Perhaps she knew I was pretending I hadn't heard? Maybe she would get the bloody hint then! "Draco Malfoy!" she called again and I got the distinct impression that her hands were resting quite firmly upon her hips in some sort of 'mother's talking to you' manner.

"What, Pansy?" I whipped around and glared daggers at her.

"I... I just wanted to talk, is all," she answered me, her bottom lip wobbling ominously. Bloody hell!

"Well, Pansy," I growled, narrowing my eyes to slits, "It would appear that dear old Blaise is quite available for your blubbering at the moment." I pointed over to where Blaise had been happily chuckling to himself at my predicament before sitting up, startled at my heartlessness. I smiled darkly at him and ignored the scowl of annoyance and the threat that wavered in his eyes. "I, on the other hand, am not!"

I turned back to what I had been doing and listened with satisfaction as Pansy stood shocked. As she snuffled, I could almost feel her face screw up tightly before she slapped her hands to her face and ran out of the common room.

"You, Draco Malfoy, are absolutely horrible!" Pansy's friend piped up before running after her. Puke or Poop or something... what on earth was her name? Oh well. I ignored the undignified growl that came from Blaise' direction and tried to focus on my latest Potions assignment.

"Did you see Parkinson, Goyle?" Crabbe guffawed, punching Goyle in the arm as they shuffled in from the hall. I rolled my eyes and tried to make myself disappear into the dark green of the curtain beside me. No such luck.

"Who could miss her?" Goyle chortled, punching Crabbe back. "Something really got up her nose, eh?" They walked over to where I was quietly working on my Potions and cleared their throats loudly. I looked up at them distractedly.

"Did you see Parkinson?" Crabbe grunted, leaning in. "Because Pulette went running after Pansy muttering something about you being a prat..."

"Pulette! That's her name!" I cried a little too loudly. Clearing my throat, I muttered something about not having seen Pansy all day, let alone ten minutes ago, and how they should leave me alone before I hexed them into next week.

Crabbe and Goyle walked off, still guffawing about Pansy; I was fairly sure that Goyle was rather smitten with the girl, but I doubted his chances. He was as thick as a plank, who would want to go out with that?

... But... well, it was Pansy. Perhaps he had a chance after all?

"You know, if that had worked I would have had to get you back," Blaise informed me as he looked over my shoulder at my Potions work. I sighed and slammed the large textbook shut; I would have to do it tomorrow.

"Please, Zabini," I replied with scorn, "You couldn't exact revenge if the perfect plot slapped you in the face, tripped over itself and lay at your feet for the taking."

Blaise raised an eyebrow up quizzically. "That's not what happened last week," he reminded me, looking smug.

"Well I wasn't completely on form last week," I defended, not having the shame to blush. I never blushed.

***

"Draco!" Blaise whispered fiercely, shaking me slightly.

"What in sodding hell do you mean, waking me up this early?" I snapped and pushed Blaise away from my bed.

Blaise chuckled and, shivering, jumped back into his bed. "Need all the beauty sleep you can get, eh Malfoy?"

"Oh, sod off!" I snapped before turning back over.

"You've got an owl, that's why I woke you," Blaise yawned, waving in the direction of the window.

I jumped out of bed and skulked over to the window. Taking the message from father's small, discreet black owl, I waited until I was sure that the other boys were asleep before opening it and having a look at the contents.

Draco.

Your mother and I feel it would be best for you to stay at home with us these upcoming Christmas holidays. We realize that you have become accustomed to staying at that school over the Christmas break, but we both agree that you are needed here.

There will be no question as to whether or not you are coming. We expect you to be at Kings Cross when the train arrives, do I make myself clear?

We have a surprise for you that I think you will like a lot.

Father.

***

An immeasurable motility of people were weaving, swerving and oscillating on the dance floor. The thespians were playing a slow number, eerie in its own way and the crowd moved silently, as if tugged by an invisible chord, expertly intertwining the dancers in an intricate web of social vanity and expensive perfume.

I simply stood there, not even processing what was going on around me; just observing.

Another of my father's social functions, a grand success, as they usually were. I'm afraid I still didn't quite see the point of these 'functions', as they were. Really, they were just another excuse for Father to bring his work home with him.

Shooting me a look of warning from across the room, Father turned back to his important, yet somewhat subdued conversation with the Minister of Magic; Cornelius Fudge. Turning to see what Father had been glaring at, Fudge raised his ridiculously full brandy glass and bowed to me. I held back a smile as his incredible purple top hat fell from his head, revealing a large, balding peak.

Turning away, I gracefully captured a glass of expensive wine and continued on to behind the grand staircase in the entrance hall: an excellent place to hide away from cold, blue eyes.

"Draco?" my mother's voice called in a classy manner from beside the stairway. "Draco, darling, where are you?"

I sneered at the way her aristocratic accent changed my name. I stood and walked around the stairs. "Yes mother?" I enquired a little too sweetly. "You called?"

"Ah yes, there you are darling," she replied, her eyes lighting falsely. She wrapped her bony arm around my shoulders, guiding me back into the main room. Her thin, bird-like fingers all but punctured the heavyset robes I was wearing and into my skin. "I have someone I would like you to meet."

She led me a few more metres as the sea of people parted. People chatting, gossiping and smiling but not really enjoying themselves; not really living, and she was no different.

I could only assume that Mother had brought me over to introduce me to her, perhaps another match that she wished to make.

"Draco, darling, this is Lamia Prewett." Mother waved her hand towards the girl; raven haired and eyes so dark they almost appeared black. Her robes were cut from expensive material, only available from the most exclusive of tailors. The colour, a dusty grey that accentuated her black hair and dulled the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her lips were full and blood red and when she smiled her teeth contrasted with an almost pure white.

"Pleasure," she said almost distastefully, holding her refined hand out for me to kiss. Her accent, almost identical to my mother's, was what convinced me first off that she was to be a trophy wife. If not to me, then to another.

"I can assure you, the pleasure is all mine," I drawled as I was expected to. Mother shot me a look of pure pride. Not at my complete control over a situation that made me need to regurgitate my last meal, no; pride in herself for obviously introducing such a match made in heaven.

Then mother left us. Perhaps Lamia caught the spite that flashed through my usually lifeless eyes, or perhaps I caught hers. Either way, both of us raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Your mother is quite... something," Lamia ventured, the dull look of boredom coming back to the dark depths of her eyes. Almost like black holes, I thought absentmindedly. Black holes that embraced death and worthlessness. I shuddered inwardly. I hated such eyes, yet I could not seem to escape them. They looked at me in the mirror every morning.

"Yes, something," I responded, shooting a look at my mother, her arms flapping about as she entertained the guests like any good hostess; like any good trophy wife. "Although, something doesn't even begin to describe my father."

Lamia looked at me almost questioningly before remembering the role she was to play. Uninterested and placid was what she was supposed to be, and be it she seemed determined. "I'm not quite sure I understand your meaning, Mr. Malfoy. Is there something you would care to share with me?"

I shrugged nonchalantly. Of course, it didn't look like a shrug, not when I did it. I seem to have the art of making everything appear calculated and purposeful quite without knowing it. "Not at all, Miss Prewett. Nothing that concerns you, at any rate."

A flare of... something... in those dark depths, yet nothing that I was interested in. I had had my time with her, more than was required of me. Time to take my leave of yet another lifeless, formless, soulless entity. Perhaps one day I might meet someone more than just a husk; more than a shell, empty inside.

"Draco, darling!" I smelt my mother, rather than heard her. The hazy mist of her toxically expensive perfume enveloped my like mist on a gloomy night; you could almost feel it yet you couldn't, and when you finally got out of it you found yourself to be damp and cold. Perhaps they were just the effects of my mother rather than her perfume?

"You weren't about to leave dearest Lamia all alone were you, Love?" she cooed, a click of her tongue sending the small house elf behind her running. "Why don't you give her a tour, darling? And perhaps have a dance?"

I nodded, somewhat glumly, and yet still managed to smile dazzlingly at my mother and Prewett. "Of course, mother. What a splendid idea!" And I did as I was told. I took Lamia's hand, cold and stiff within my too, cold stiff fingers. Perhaps as cold and as stiff as her heart I thought, pulling her in beside me as we took to the dance floor.

Swerving, turning and oscillating to the somewhat dreary music, I had the distant awareness that I had become one of them. One of the people I had sworn never to be. I was the socially vain aristocrat, the over-pompous rich kid, the woman who had put on more than a dabble of the most expensive perfume she could get her hands on. All in all, I had become my mother, I had become my father... and I had become Lamia. And that was a near suicidal thought for me.

But, still I continued. The dance didn't stop, the music did not sway and the onlookers did not utter a word. Lamia danced like an angel; a dark, black angel that never missed a move, a step or a beat. Her robes flared around me, her hair flying around her face and resting upon her shoulders, never once getting in her face.

The music stopped and the onlookers applauded. Looking about the large ballroom I could make out many faces. Those of Ministry officials father had under his thumb, Fudge included, Delores Umbridge's large and frightening smile glittered in the crowd, as did Goyle and his father, Crabbe and his parents, multiple amounts of disguised death eaters and one Uncle. One Uncle that I had not expected to have the gall to come. I shook my head a fraction, ridding myself of unnecessary qualms and lead Lamia to the side of the room, away from the crowd and away from my family.

"Do you really want a tour?" I asked Lamia dryly. "It's just an old castle, cobwebs here and there."

"Something tells me, Mr. Malfoy, that this manor is a lot more than just an 'old castle'. And your mother gave me her word that you would show me the place." She smiled blankly at me and took my arm. "Come on now, people tell me the garden's worth it."

I chose not to look back at my mother as I lead Lamia from the room, the cold shiver of her sharp gaze as present as the stench of eau de toilette within my nostrils.

***

"So, tell me about yourself, Draco," Lamia almost purred, looking at me with an expression that I couldn't discern and I found it slightly hard to breathe underneath her intense black gaze.

"There's nothing to tell," I answered sharply. "I am just Draco."

"And what a bore you must be," Lamia retorted in her jaded tone, almost more insulting than if she were to say it with hurting my pride in mind. "There must be something more to you..." She moved forwards and reached for my arm, her ice-cold hand burning through my robes as she ran it up to my shoulder and over my back as she stepped behind me. "Something more that might give me an idea of what you are all about. What makes you tick, Draco Malfoy?"

"This is absurd!" I insisted, turning and moving out of her grasp. "Why on earth would you want to know about me?"

Lamia picked up an ornament from the nearby mantel and looked at it uninterestingly. "Now, why should I tell you anything when you refuse to indulge me?"

"Because, you are a guest at my house." I moved to open the large French doors that connected the open study to the garden, breathing in the still air of the night.

"So?" She looked at me with interest before she placed the ornament back onto the mantel with a little more force than was necessary. "I'm afraid I don't simply conform to one's will because I am a guest in their house. I need a reason, Draco."

"I'm a Malfoy?"

"Ominous, but no. Not worth it. I'm afraid I like the idea of knowing something that you don't, better."

I turned away and walked to the opposite side of the large and extravagant fountain in the middle of the garden. It had just been newly installed and us Malfoy's never missed a chance to overindulge in something. I had come to the conclusion long ago that overindulgence was one of the traits that best described a Malfoy. An estate over 100 acres in size and growing as we bought out the surrounding land; a fifty-six bedroom mansion yet only three were used; four ballrooms; expansive dungeons ala mazes beneath the foundations of the Manor; woods large and ominous enough to have the Forbidden Forest quaking to its roots and the largest collection of Dark Arts artifacts that one could hope to find in the entire of Europe. Yes, overindulgence could be a good word to use, I suppose.

The fountain, rich and creamy white, had the kind of sheen that suggested it was made of bone. It was a large, breathtaking sculpture that sported the image of a man struggling against the whim of a large snake. Father had mentioned briefly that it was a depiction of the first Malfoy. There are legends - well legends might be a bad word here; more like stories written in some of my ancestors old diaries of the tales of the first Malfoy - that the first Malfoy was really a dark-haired and completely unorthodox heathen of some kind. The tales tell of a slightly insane, slightly hysterical (not showing much hope for the rest of us then, is it?) dark haired man who came across a creature more deadly than could ever be conceived.

This inconceivable monster, according to these old diaries, was in fact the earliest form of the ever-feared Basilisk. Upon being bitten, the venom had some strange effect upon the first Malfoy and he lived. But his life was a barren and meaningless existence, the villagers feared to approach him because of his brush with death and the strange side effects of the 'beast's' venom had on him. His hair, once the darkest of ebony, had become almost blindingly blonde, his eyebrows and any other bodily hair following suit.

Also, his eyes, once murky brown and veiled had become a violent shade of blue, alert and clear. If this did not convince the rest of the villagers that the first Malfoy had been taken over by some form of devil - and perhaps he had and that is what plagues the rest of us to this day - the fact that he was now able to speak in tongues to snakes and other small and seemingly insignificant animals. Malfoy, taking his life in his own hands, fled the village he had lived in and decided to pursue his supposed 'gift' of tongues and extended his knowledge of speech with animals to the extent that he was able to communicate with wolves, wild cats and even creatures of equine origins.

As it turns out, Malfoy lived to a grand old age of 63, hardly enough to warrant any kind of credit and yet, there he was, in amongst greater characters in the book of records. There has never been any record of any Malfoy's being able to speak in tongues as with the First Malfoy yet, funnily enough, there was yet to be a child, male or female, born within the Malfoy name who did not assume the typical blonde hair, blue eyes trait.

"Why, how pretty," Lamia commented, gazing upon the sculpture in a sort of interest lined with boredom, her pert little mouth quirking up in amusement. "Why on earth would you want to ruin such a lovely garden by placing this monstrosity in the middle?"

I smirked at Lamia and looked around the garden. I had to admit, with the thousands of enchanted fireflies, lilies and other beautiful plants, shrubs and flowers that Mother's garden encompassed, the sculpture was a little bit of a dampener on the mood.

"It was my father's little... touch of mundane, you might say," I answered, smirking even more. "It does have a point, the sculpture. But I'll be damned if I am going to explain it all now. Maybe another time," I half promised, trusting that she wouldn't bother to return to Malfoy Manor. I looked back at Lamia and was surprised to see her glaring up at me angrily, her eyes glowing almost red in the dim light. It was as if someone had sparked up a fire within the depths of her eyes, the flints sparking and ready to burn me at the smallest provocation.

Sighing, I stepped to her right and disappeared back towards the Manor and away from her. I was in no mood to deal with petty, child-like fits of anger and my disposition left no space to maneuver into annoyed mode.

I heard her quick, sharp steps coming up behind my slow, casual ones. If I had taken a breath at that exact moment, I would have missed it.

"Your disposition leaves you space for nothing, Draco Malfoy."

I stopped abruptly yet Lamia was either too quick or too intuitive in that she had already stopped, losing me the satisfaction that I would have gained from having her bump into me, surprised.

"What did you say?" I asked, a menace, that I hadn't seen fit to use in a while lining my voice. In fact, I'm fairly sure that Potter was the last person to be on the receiving end of my last menacing tongue lashing.

"You heard what I said, Draco. Of everything else you may be, you are not deaf."

"No, I am not deaf, Lamia. What I am, though, is very dispassionate. Earn me as an enemy and you may as well kiss your chance of living a good life goodbye." That was me. Straight to the point. I didn't bother in tiptoeing around subjects, taking side doors to get to the point; I had to do that enough with my parents.

Lamia smiled which unnerved me slightly. No one had ever smiled when I had threatened them in such an ominous voice. Never.

"I kissed that away a long time ago, Draco. Nothing you could say would ever scare me." She paused; her cold, almost translucent hand raised to stroke the side of my cheek, underneath my ear and came to rest on the nape of my neck. Her hand was shockingly cold and sent shivers to my toes - not good shivers however. I could feel the blood within my veins slowing and thickening yet, when it came closest to the area where Lamia's hand rested, it seemed to fasten and thin, almost as if it were avoiding contact with her hand.

"I know that you would never make the same mistake twice, Draco, and so I give you this warning now and urge you to take heed. Never use the word 'damned' around me. Never. The meaning of that word completely escapes you and I implore that you only use it when you know its full implications."

Her hand abruptly slipped from the nape of my neck and I literally felt the blood rush back into my veins, warm and comforting. "You do not know the meaning of the word damned, Draco Malfoy, and I would never wish it upon anyone, mortal and immortal alike," she hissed at me, raising the hairs on my arms. Then she was gone. I had blinked and she was gone.

***