Poison

Draco noticed that the Slytherin common room was eerily quiet for a Friday night. Normally, there would have been at least twenty students gathered to plot the next scheme to destroy the vile Gryffindors, but tonight, there were only two people in the room: himself and Pansy Parkinson. She was in a corner looking intensely involved in her Potions homework, though Draco observed that she had a very odd impious gleam in her eyes for someone researching how to properly brew the Draught of Living Death. Interesting. Being a Malfoy, his face showed no sign of his piqued interest as he sauntered over to Pansy. Before she had time to react, he had taken her Potions text and was browsing through the pages. Aha. A malicious smile played at his lips as he found the page she had been studying, "Pansy, dear, when did the Draught of Living Death become a method of seducing scantily clad men?"

She blushed slightly at his question and attempted to grab her "text" back from him, but he stood at least six inches above her, and her arms could not reach the item he held far above his own head. "Give. It. Back!" she demanded. He merely laughed a cruel laugh that sent chills up her spine.

"I´m so sorry," he sneered, "I didn´t mean to interrupt anything between you and" he paused to find the name of the man pictured, "Seck Seeman." He tossed the book back to her and walked off, grabbing his forest green robe on his way out of the common room. Well, I suppose she can dream. He brushed a few stray blond hairs away from his face as he strolled up the stairs to the Entrance Hall I really need a haircut.

As he passed through the hall to the oak front doors, he heard whispering voices coming from the Great Hall, though mingled together the voices were anything but soft. He turned, away from his destination, and decided to make a short visit to the Great Hall. As he strode in, his vision was flooded by the sea of green that filled the room; the majority of Slytherins were gathered around their table. How dare they meet without me. He cleared his voice, stepping out of the shadows and into the dim candlelight. His unruffled voice resonated through the Hall, "Ahem. Exactly what is going on here?" I sound like a damn teacher! He slowly walked towards his housemates.

The students, realizing they were no longer alone, looked up, startled, and began to disperse as he approached. Finally, Blaise, a rather tall brunette who was only an inch shorter than he, answered his question. "We were just...talking about...you." She seemed out of breath, and a faint rose hue tainted her otherwise sickly pale cheeks.

He walked over to her and sat down beside her, looking deep into her eyes. He lowered his voice to a whisper, barely audible to anyone except her, "And what, my sweet Blaise, were you saying about me?"

She trembled and bit her lip. Her blush deepened and she broke his eye contact, looking distractedly at her carefully manicured nails. She´s actually kind of cute when she does that. What am I thinking? It´s BLAISE! He pulled away a bit, and raised his voice, "I certainly hope it wasn´t anything bad." A charming smile emerged on his countenance, but his eyes reflected none of the smile´s sentiments and remained a distant gray.

Millicent, who had been sitting across the table a few seats down from Blaise, cooed sickeningly, "Now, Draco, you know we would never speak ill of you! We were just discussing who would talk to you about something that has been on our minds recently, but since you´re here...there´s no need to speak of it any more, now is there?" A coy grin played at her lips and she slowly batted her eyelashes.

In your dreams, Bulstrode. "And what, pray tell, has been on your minds lately? Am I really so frightening that even my fellow Slytherins quake before me?"

She giggled demurely, "Don´t be silly, darling, you are far more fetching than frightening. But sometimes your temper..."

Draco interrupted her curtly, "More matter, less art, if you´ll please."

"As I was saying," irritation and hurt bared themselves in her voice, "we were deciding on who would talk to you about the initiation."

"Is that all? You would think you all were planning my murder." He pointedly looked at Malcolm Braddock, who had, just last year, actually attempted to murder him in his sleep. You, Braddock, will NOT be initiated. The girls had gasped at his accusation, while the braver boys rolled their eyes and the others simply stared. "What is it you wish to know?"

"Oh, several things. Who is going to be initiated? When is it? What do we bring with us? Are we allowed wands?"

He looked at them sternly, all shadows of smiles and charm gone, "I will announce who will be initiated and when the initiation will be on Monday. And, as for the details of the ceremony, you are not allowed wands." They seemed troubled at his announcement. "You are supposed to come starkers with nothing but your favorite song in mind." The female Slytherins blushed profusely at the thought of being naked in front of people, while the males either stared at him like he was crazy (which was debatable) or faced him with disgust written on their faces. Fools, all of them.

They gaze intently at him, trying to discern whether or not he was serious; but, as usual, they had no such luck. The look on Draco´s face was one of complete solemnity, as though he was remembering the day he had been initiated into the Circle of the Death Eaters. He, of course, was actually thinking about dancing the Macarena with a pink flamingo.

Blaise suddenly addressed him, "Will you be naked too?" The room filled with jeers and laughter.

How cute. He once again cleared his throat to get their attention, and the room immediately fell quiet. "I, having already gone through initiation, will not be naked." They must be so disappointed. "Further details regarding the initiation will be posted on Monday in the Slytherin common room along with the time and place and names of those to be initiated."

Suddenly, An older witch´s voice permeated the Great Hall; it was McGonagall. "Mr. Malfoy! What is going on? And what initiation are you speaking of?"

He gazed at her innocently, "The initiation into the Potions Club, of course."

She returned his gaze, "I have heard nothing of this," she said the next words as though they were quite odious, "Potions Club. If all of you do not return immediately to your common room, you will all receive two weeks detention. Go!" They all scrambled out, with Draco lagging slowly in the back. He muttered something about his father, the ministry, and Snape, but McGonagall ignored him. "I mean it! It is far too late to be up wandering about the castle, holding furtive meetings!"

What is she talking about? It´s only nine o´ clock. Old bat doesn´t know how to tell time any more. I just might have to report this. He reached the portrait to the common room, only to find that Millicent was waiting for him. She latched onto him like a leach, and began complaining about the evil McGonagall. If she thinks that´s evil, she´s in for a great shock. They entered the Slytherin common room together, and he told her he was tired and headed for bed, though she didn´t seem to understand that he wanted to go to bed alone. When he had finally pried her off of him, he entered his chamber and changed into his specially fitted green silk pajama pants (he never slept with a shirt on, how alluring would that be?). The other boys were waiting for him, full of questions, as expected. They all seemed to think that the initiation would bring them great powers. However, membership in the Circle did not mean that he actually was a Death Eater, very few had that specific honor. The Circle was more like a training base, comprised of the best candidates from around the world who had the most potential to become a Death Eater and serve the Dark Lord. His roommates cunningly tried to get the information out of him, but he grumbled about needing beauty rest, and they quickly shut up.

Draco´s breathing softened as he drifted off to sleep in the chilly room. That night, he dreamt about going home for Christmas and getting new robes and new books that would teach him even darker spells than he already knew. It was a good dream, really, especially since his family didn´t bother with the ceremonies of Christmas: he simply told his parents what to buy him, and lo and behold, they bought it for him. He was just about to be presented with a Dark Charm, shaped like a snake, that would let him sense when he was needed by his lord. The charm worked somewhat like the Dark Mark did for the Death Eaters, except the charm simply glowed a faint black color and radiated a few pulses of heat to alert him; it was far less painful than the Mark. However, his dream soon turned to the approaching initiation, something that normally would have delighted him; in this particular dream, however, he saw someone (several someones to be exact) at the ritual whom he definitely had not invited. They were from houses other than Slytherin, which wasn´t surprising, since it was a world-wide ceremony; but they were from other Hogwarts houses, something completely abnormal. He recognized them all, but one of them stood out amongst all the others: she was a Gryffindor with wavy brown hair and sparkling eyes the color of coffee. Granger?! He watched her through the ceremony: she had on flowing black robes, much like the school´s, but they were somehow darker and more sinister. Her hair was hanging gently around her face, and the wind played in it, occasionally covering her face, but, as though sensing her irritation, it would withdraw quickly. She spoke softly, a slight edge in her voice, an icy tone in her throat he had never heard before, as she recited the pledge of the Circle:

With my blood, I bind my soul,

Loyal, submissive to His Majesty.

The scarlet rivers quench the thirst

And the delicate skin, the deep hunger.

Great darkness fills my heart,

The light has gone, is lost, from it.

I beg Him to give me strength

To do His bidding properly,

And to allow me to serve Him

Forever.

She held the ceremonial dagger in her left hand, the blade shining ominously in the moonlight. He remembered the handle: it was pure crystal, light and cool to the first touch, but searing hot if held for more than a few seconds. His father had told him about the original creation of the dagger, how it had glittered and cast white light upon everyone. Upon seeing the illumination it caused, the Dark Lord had established the current ceremony to soil its perfection. Ah, the symbolism. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Hermione intently bringing the dagger to her right forearm, cleanly piercing her dove-white flesh. She dragged the blade slowly down for two inches, then lessened the pressure as blood seeped slowly from her arm. The handle, as usual, was splattered with tiny drops of its wielder´s blood from the initial intrusion. There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

Draco awoke suddenly, gasping for breath, as he had quite run out while watching Granger. A Mudblood in the Circle? Surely that was just a dream. Of course. Just a dream. It took him a minute to reestablish his normal breathing pattern which was slow and deliberate, but he finally succeeded.

He heard Crabbe´s voice from across the room, "Have a good dream, Malfoy? Certainly sounds like it." The boy laughed heartily.

Irritated, he replied "Shut up, you prat. Even in your dreams no one would bang you." The other boy quieted immediately. Duffer. Draco then turned on his side and peacefully returned to the world of dreams.

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"More matter, less art, if you´ll please."

~Variation of Queen Gertrude, Hamlet (Act II, scene ii, line 103)

"More matter with less art."

There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.

~Hamlet, Hamlet (Act V, scene ii, lines 233-234)