Disclaimer
I do not own Harry Potter - only my imagination is my own :)
A/N
This was written for the 4th round of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I hope you'll enjoy it :)
THE POWER OF FEAR
An overwhelmingly disturbing force of the human mind,
fear has the power to sway, distort and rupture the conventions of the human psyche.
~ Quote by Andre Simpson ~
"Power and strength; do you know what separates them, Harry?"
Clear blue eyes scrutinized him, seeking an answer only he seemed to know.
Harry shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm not sure I understand what you're asking, headmaster; aren't they basically the same?"
The light in the depths of Dumbledore's sparkling irises diminished some, barely noticeable, but still there.
The subtle shift was not lost on Harry; he knew disappointment when he saw it, no matter how obvious or imperceptible. He had more training than anyone wanted, something the Dursleys had made sure of.
"No, my boy, the difference is vital."
Harry wore a puzzled look; sometimes the headmaster purposely did not make any sense, but he had a feeling this was not one of those. Dumbledore had an irritating habit of giving information in bits and pieces, never telling everything and always holding back.
"It's time you went back to the common room, Harry; the curfew is in fifteen minutes and we don't want to give Argus even more work in catching students out of bed."
Harry blinked at the abrupt change in topic, but quickly gathered his wits about him.
"No, we would not…"
The headmaster sent him a knowing look, but said nothing.
The silence stretched on, resounding in the moments ticking by.
"Headmaster…" Harry tried.
Dumbledore held up a hand, dismissively.
"Not now, Harry, regrettably our time tonight is over. Think about it and don't forget about talking to Horace; I cannot fully emphasize the importance of his true memory. Without it, we leave the fate of the world to chance."
The first thing he noticed as he regained consciousness was a head-splitting headache. It felt like someone was using a hammer to hit him continuously in the head, without leaving permanent damage. Probably.
"Ouch!"
He cautiously probed his head with his fingers; everything seemed to be intact, though a bit bloody.
Suddenly his thoughts caught up with the present; dread filled him like accumulating ice cubes in the stomach.
They were caught. By snatchers.
Harry whipped his head around wildly, searching for his friends.
They were not here.
He was alone.
"Do you find the accommodations…suitable? They should at least be familiar."
A cutting male voice pierced through his frantic thoughts and assumed solitude.
Harry turned in the direction of the scornful voice, already recognizing to whom it belonged.
Emerald green eyes met taunting grey ones.
"Where are my friends?" Harry demanded, completely ignoring the provocation. A hostile reaction would not get him answers, no matter how much he wanted them, and would be exactly what his jailer wanted.
A sudden heart-wrenching scream breached the tension between the longtime rivals.
Harry whipped his head in the direction of the agonized voice. He knew what most likely was happening upstairs; the thought sent shivers down his spine.
The blond boy answered his unvoiced fears.
"That would be one of them. My aunt is playing with the Mudblood."
Grey eyes could not conceal the disgust he felt. Almost anyone would think it was directed at the tortured girl. Harry wasn't so sure. The taunt in his eyes seemed more like a means of defense, than actual malice.
Draco Malfoy was not a killer, nor one to condone torture; their last year at Hogwarts had taught him that much. Most probably his ill-hidden dislike was aimed at the act, not the one being tortured.
Harry contained his baleful anger, determined not to rise to the bait.
"And Ron?" he tried asking.
Malfoy remained silent for a while, but emotions flickered across his face like scattering deer in flight.
The disgust remained but changed its target. The expression that now met Harry was one he recognized from their school years; a belief in being superior because of inheritance and blood, a strong dislike not easily veiled and emotions hidden to him until recently.
Behind the facade was a person he had never known, one he had rarely sought to understand. For the first time he truly got glimpses of his rival's inner thoughts. In the ocean of differing emotions, one prevailed.
Fear.
An overwhelming and paralyzing fear.
Malfoy tried to hide his perceived weakness, but failed miserably. The fear of death, of losing everything he cared about, even himself, was plainly displayed in his eyes.
They say the eyes are the windows to your soul, Harry noted. How true.
Harry felt a rare kinship with his former rival; fear was something he understood in an intimate way. Every year, since the day he learned of the existence of magic, he had faced danger and death. The fear of failing everyone, of losing the family he had gained…it was enough to paralyze anyone.
Malfoy's eyes shifted again, concealing his fear and insecurity, but Harry knew the expression for what it was; a mask veiling his true feelings and emotions.
A cruel smirk curled his lips as he finally answered Harry's question.
"The Weasel? Oh, he's around…for the time being."
Harry shot him a fierce look, but again decided to say nothing.
"The great Harry Potter…rendered speechless!?" Malfoy drawled.
Harry sighed, leaning his head against the cold stone wall. He closed his eyes tiredly, for a second tuning everything else out but his controlled breathing.
He knew he had a bad habit of speaking without thinking; making rash decisions which landed himself and his friends in a world of trouble. This time he was determined not to do so. It had never been more important. They were already trapped, now he needed to use his head to try and figure a way out of their current predicament.
Harry pondered his options silently, discarding one after another.
A sudden swishing motion made him open his eyes.
Malfoy had turned on his heel and was striding out of the dungeon, obviously fed up with being ignored.
"I owe you an apology," Harry called after him.
The Slytherin froze in his steps, turning slowly.
"What?"
His voice was dangerously low, daring him to answer.
"We never got along, tried to make each other's lives a living hell, but… I was the one to refuse your offer of friendship in the first place."
Draco Malfoy's face could not be described as anything but incredulous.
"Sentiment…from you; what are you playing at?"
"Nothing," Harry shrugged his shoulders.
"I always blamed you, you know, when I was just as deliberately trying to make your life difficult. I even…" he stopped abruptly, his eyes darkening.
"I never knew what that curse would do. It terrifies me that I could have killed you, and for that I am truly sorry. I may have loathed you, but I never wanted you dead."
Malfoy remained completely still, unmoving. He searched Harry's eyes for signs of deceit and lies, but did not seem to find any.
"You didn't…" he mumbled, barely audible.
"But you did know what my curse would do," Malfoy stated matter-of-factly.
"I did," Harry confirmed.
The look the Malfoy wore was…curious. Somehow he had managed to truly surprise him, and not in a bad way.
"Then…okay, forget it," Malfoy said quietly.
Harry smacked his head against the hard wall, when looking up to meet Malfoy's flickering gaze. He groaned loudly while rubbing the back of his head.
"Sheesh, why did I have to go and bang my head in a stone wall!?" he complained irritably.
"Maybe because you're stupid?" Malfoy supplied, muffling his snickers.
Harry considered him for a moment, but found no real malice in his voice or demeanor. Malfoy was teasing him, not mockingly like he usually did.
"Meh, I guess I am at that," Harry conceded.
Malfoy sent him a weird look, surprised yet again.
Abruptly they both fell silent.
This is weird, Harry observed lightheartedly. We almost sound friendly.
The carefree atmosphere came to a definite stop, when yet again a scream reminding him of a dying animal, pierced the temporary reprieve.
Harry shuddered at the knowledge of what was happening.
Firming his gaze and resolve, he faced the Slytherin; there was no time, no choice but to press on.
"Why are you following Voldemort?"
Malfoy fell silent; his slight smile vanished completely. He pierced Harry with a withering look.
"Why would I tell you anything? And don't use his name; it's disrespectful!"
Harry considered him for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders.
"You don't have to tell me anything; that's your choice, but its mine, whether or not I call him by his chosen or given name, or use another. As far as I'm concerned, he does not deserve my respect."
"You're a light-blinded dimwit. Only a fool would defy him and refuse him their respect!"
Malfoy's voice was sharp, and poisonous like the sting of a scorpion.
"A man who uses fear to control and subdue his followers is not worthy of admiration or respect. He's skillful and he does have power, but he only has power over us if we give it to him."
Harry shifted his position on the stone floor to a more comfortable one.
"You don't stand a chance, Potter; he will beat you, since he's stronger than you. He has the power to do anything! That's strength."
Harry shook his head, remembering what Dumbledore had asked him a year ago about power and strength. Now he finally understood.
"No, there is a difference. Voldemort does have power, and with it he uses the fear people have of him to force them into submission. There can be no true loyalty, when fear is the basis of the relationship. Power can be taken from you, but strength can't. Strength is the will to go on despite everything, to keep to your values, your sense of right and wrong, when it would be easier not to. You do not yield and are willing to sacrifice everything, even your life, to stand your ground, to fight for what you believe in. Even if I die, even if Voldemort kills me, that is something he will never be able take away from me."
Malfoy remained silent, considering his rival's words, when an unbidden memory resurfaced.
Draco walked silently up the wooden stairs with his head held high. The nervousness crept up on him like the chill of winter. He could not fail, that was and never would be an option.
The stairs came to a stop where a fair-sized door materialized. Draco knocked on the door twice, and then waited in silence. Only an idiot would barge in uninvited.
"Come in," a cold voice with quite blatant authority answered, a good ten seconds after the second knock.
Draco complied, pushing the door handle down and stepping cautiously into the room.
Voldemort was sitting in an elegantly curved armchair, petting Nagini on the head.
"Come closer," he said without emotion.
Draco complied instantly, though he wished to stay as far away as possible from the Dark Lord and his giant snake.
He felt his heartbeat quicken as the Dark Lord studied him intently.
"Your family has been a disappointment, Draco. I'm not pleased."
Draco fell down on one knee, bowing his head in submission.
"My life is yours; do with me as you will."
Draco did not rise, waiting for permission from his Lord.
Voldemort chuckled without mirth.
"So young and so devoted; maybe you can make up for your father's disgrace?"
Whether the question was rhetorical or not, Draco found it safest to answer.
"I will, to the best of my capability, My Lord."
Voldemort fell silent. The only sound to be heard was the petting of scaly snakeskin and the breathing of those present.
"Very well, you'll gain a chance to rectify your father's blunder. Arise, young Malfoy, and I'll tell you what your task will be."
Draco listened quietly to the Dark Lords words; dread filling every atom and every cell of his being. The fear of what lay ahead was suffocating. He expected a sixteen year old boy to permanently dispose of one of the most powerful wizards alive. Why would he bother handing out such a futile task?
The answer hit him like a brick wall; the Dark Lord did not expect him to succeed. It was just another way of humiliating his father, his family, and this time Draco would be the scapegoat.
"Now, there is one more thing that needs to be taken care of," Voldemort concluded, smiling a lifeless smile. "As this will be your first official task as a Death Eater, you'll need to be Marked."
Voldemort beckoned him closer.
Draco stopped right in front of him, stretching out his arm without question. He nearly cried out when the wand touched his pale skin; the pain was quite terrible. It felt like someone burned your skin with a torch.
Voldemort pulled back, watching with satisfaction as the Mark settled into the skin.
He turned around, seemingly finding the teenage boy uninteresting at the moment.
"You're dismissed. And, Draco, don't disappoint me."
"Yes, My Lord," Draco answered, before backing out of the room.
Walking down the stairs, his breathing suddenly became erratic. Fear threatened to paralyze him completely. How in the name of Merlin's beard could he ever complete this task?
The task the Dark Lord had bestowed upon him, would lead to many sleepless nights and despairing moments. It would prove whether or not he was a true follower of the Dark Lord.
The memory faded.
A paralyzing chill crept up his spine, when realization hit him like a Bludger to the head. In his illusion he had believed he would be important to the Dark Lord as a Death Eater. He had believed he was safe, but only now did he realize he was nothing but a tool with an expiration date. When he was no longer of use, he could easily be discarded.
Malfoy wavered.
He finally understood what serving the Dark Lord really meant, and the thought frightened him to no end. He was a Slytherin; self-preservation was essential, but so was ambition. Could he live his life as a discardable tool?
His chain of thought stopped dead when he realized what he was actually contemplating. Betraying the Dark Lord was suicidal, even thinking about it could be.
Blood pumped in his ears; the heart beating frantically in its struggle to cling to life.
"I…" Malfoy started, but stopped abruptly.
Harry watched Malfoy's expressions dance around like skittish mice, never staying long and being undeniably distressed. Something had changed over the course of a couple of minutes.
"Why did you not tell them it was me? The stinging hex may make it difficult, but you're not stupid; you knew it was me."
Malfoy stared at him like he couldn't comprehend words strung together in simple sentences.
"You do realize you've already defied Voldemort twice?"
Somehow this question woke Malfoy from his daze.
"What? I have not… I would never…"
Harry caught his frightened silver eyes.
"But you have; just now when you omitted to tell them it was me and last year when you could not kill Dumbledore."
Malfoy turned his gaze from Harry's and became preoccupied with studying the nooks and crannies in the stone wall.
Harry waited patiently. He had no idea where his patience came from; the only thing he could think of was it being born out of need.
The silence echoed in the dimly lit stone cellar. It had been a while since he heard noises from above.
And thus his heart stopped beating.
The screams were no more, but Harry could not know if that was a good or a bad thing. As much as he hated torture, especially when someone was hurting his friends, at least he knew she was still alive. Now he had no way of knowing.
"I could not be one hundred present sure it was you, and when dealing with the Dark Lord you have to be."
Malfoy turned back to Harry with emotions veiled once again, safely hidden behind his long-worn mask.
"Maybe I would not have, killed Dumbledore that is, but I had a hand in his death nonetheless."
Harry composed himself, pushing his fears and worries to the recesses of his mind.
"I know. I was there."
The mask cracked slightly.
"What?"
"I was there," Harry repeated. "Dumbledore stunned me and hid me under the invisibility cloak. I could not intervene even if I wanted to. But, most importantly; you lowered your wand, Malfoy."
"You are not a killer."
A sudden loud crack silenced the conversation and caught their attention.
A beaming house-elf surveyed the room, before squeaking happily when his eyes fell on Harry.
"Harry Potter, sir! Dobby's so happy you is safe. Dobby's been so worried," the house-elf said in a high-pitched voice.
Dobby examined the room quickly with a displeased sound.
"Dobby have come to help Harry Potter. Dobby will free Harry Potter from the bad people," he said while holding out his thin wrinkled hand to Harry.
"Dobby, wait! I want you to get Hermione and Ron out first. Can you do that for me?"
Dobby watched Harry with shining eyes, as round as crystal balls.
"Harry Potter is noble, sir, wanting Dobby to help his friends first. Dobby will do what Harry Potter tells him to."
Dobby snapped his fingers and disappeared.
Malfoy stood glued to the stone floor, at a loss of what to do.
"You're not going to raise an alarm?"
Malfoy gazed at him with unfocused eyes. Harry could easily see his world was shattering like wineglasses hitting the stone floor.
"I'm…not… I think?" he concluded haltingly.
"Draco," Harry said, the first name of his longtime rival sounding weird on his tongue. "You don't really want to follow Voldemort. You may still find wizards superior to muggles, but you don't want them annihilated. The death and destruction he will continue to cause is not something you want a part of – you simply want your family safe."
A familiar crack saved him from answering Harry's assumptions.
"Ready to go, Harry Potter?" Dobby asked jovially.
Harry nodded, before considering his nemesis of their school-days. They had outgrown the childish rivalry, though old habits die hard. He was just beginning to understand whom the boy behind the mask was. Maybe he should have taken the time to learn to know the one he had chosen to hate for so long. Maybe then things would have been different.
"Remember what I said, Malfoy, and choose wisely."
Harry took Dobby's hand and glanced again at his former rival. He felt the familiar pull of Apparation tug at his navel, and left Draco with the parting words:
"There is and always will be, a vital difference between strength and power."