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Dedication: Who else? To Meagan, the bestest friend and the BESTEST beta-reader and the bestest reviewer and the bestest .. I better stop so you can read. The list goes on for awhile. ^_^ Love ya, Megs!!
A Shadow in the Dark
Hermione pointed. "See that?" she announced in a hushed voice. "A Canadian girl's transferred here."
"Really?" asked a sleepy-eyed Ron, greedily helping himself to strawberry pancakes.
"How d'you know?" Harry wondered.
"Parvati Patil," Hermione answered smoothly. "How else?"
"I should have guessed," Harry grimaced, wincing slightly. "Remember fourth year?"
"Don't remind me," Ron muttered, ears flaming.
Hermione gigged. "Still traumatized after three years?" He shot her a withering glare.
"So what else did Parvati tell you?" Harry asked quickly, not wanting to get into a heated discussion about Ron's dress robes.
"She's seventeen, same as us, and she used to have this huge estate in Canada," Hermione told him. "Only some Canadian Aurors caught her dad sending suspicious letters and made him leave the country."
"Suspicious letters? How suspicious?" Harry wondered. Ron looked curious as well, although he was still miffed at Hermione and chose not to speak.
"Parvati only said they concerned the Dark Arts. She went straight to Slytherin, of course," Hermione told him.
"Ugh, not another one .."
"All the Slytherins enjoying themselves?" came the familiar sardonic drawl from the best chair in the room, right next to the decorative fireplace. "Ah, I love a quiet night - nothing to do, nothing to worry about. Bet that Granger Mudblood's working her ass off right now .." Most of the room burst into laughter. The few who were studying were doing so on their beds upstairs to avoid Draco's notice.
Mandra Blake yawned. She was sitting at the other end of the room reading Moste Potente Potions, still jetlagged from her long and - in her opinion - uncomfortable flight from America.
"Heyyyy .." Draco sneered, sauntering over to taunt her with glee. "Looks like we've got her double right here!" As the Slytherins sniggered, he put on a mocking, baby-talk voice. "Do they teach you to work hard in the States, Blake?"
Mandra looked up from her book and stared hard at him with her strikingly violet eyes. "No," she replied noncommittally. "Canadians don't have to get taught to be good."
Draco's temper flared and he curled his upper lip menacingly. "You know who I am, foreigner? Don't cross me," he warned. "Or you'll wish you were never born." Crabbe and Goyle smacked their fists into their palms, and with a swish of robes the three were gone and the Slytherins resumed their normal nightly activities.
Mandra Blake smiled. Hogwarts was a good, good school.
Mandra didn't terribly mind the utter torture and disgust of the most horrible witches and wizards in the school. She was used to pranks and taunts, after being forced to spend twelve years at a harsh, unfriendly boarding school for the Dark Arts. There, not a single person cared for your well-being, and you learned to take care of yourself, get used to unfair discipline, and shut out the rest of the world. She retaliated well, and found the horrified shrieks of her housemates very satisfying indeed.
What bothered Mandra was that their little games with her never stopped. She was completely mystified when her counterattacks did not put an end to the whole affair, as was typical for this sort of thing - in her experience, anyway.
"They must have a hell of an incentive to do this," she muttered, picking up the mangled pieces of her favorite sweater.
"Oh, they do," came a soft voice from her right. She spun around and stared into Draco Malfoy's grey eyes with her cold, shadowed ones. "At least," he continued, smirking, "Pansy Parkinson does."
Mandra shrugged. "It's not really that crucial," she remarked. "I'd just been curious lately about stupid people, and realized I had some excellent specimens right here." She gestured around the dormitory room, not bothering to ask why Draco was here. He knew he wasn't supposed to be, so he had probably taken care of it; what was the point? Her voice hadn't even shook as she'd spoken; her attitude was calm and collected.
"Pansy and I have had to make certain - arrangements," he told her with another infuriating smirk.
She forced herself to ignore the smirk and grin back at him. Two could play at this game. "Lovely. I always knew that you two were perfect for each other. She really deserves you, you know." After a pause, Mandra sensed that she had touched a nerve -- interesting. "Awww, Malfoy, did I insult your honor?" she asked mockingly.
"Shut up," he snapped, cutting her off sharply. She raised her eyebrows. "Now, Pansy Parkinson's got the best incentive in the world, and my father's a powerful Dark wizard, so unless you lose your attitude you're going to suffer."
"Suffer?" she repeated, as if she'd never heard the word in her life. "Suffer? Is that what you think I'm doing right now?"
"No," he told her smugly. "But don't you worry, you will. That comes later. Especially if I decide to involve my father in this mess .." He smiled pityingly at her, and pranced downstairs in triumph.
Mandra suspected he was bluffing - but all the same, she sent a Babbling Charm after Draco to accompany him back to his dormitory. He didn't suspect a thing, and by the time he was in the common room, he was humiliating himself beyond belief. She could hear everything from her bed, which was the closest to the stairs.
"Fishermen are pretty, aren't they, Mr. Poodle?" he asked Crabbe cheerily. "I like drinking purple scrambled eggs myself. They look like windowshades, with green umbrellas and white melons falling in the rain. Do you like to dance the hula with a big blue slab of cheese - I think so, because chocolate lipstick is so much fun."
The Slytherins stared as he chatted on endlessly, and then Millicent Bullstrode giggled, setting off a chain reaction. Soon, the entire room was guffawing and pointing at Draco, tears rolling down their cheeks. It took about fifteen minutes for Draco to regain his compusure, but by then the damage was done. Red-faced, he scampered out of the room with the Slytherins laughing helplessly alongside him every step of the way.
Draco stayed in the hospital wing all week, pretending he was delirious from a bang on the head. When he reappeared at last, the Slytherins had a ball with him, and soon the entire student body of Hogwarts had dubbed him, "Woozy-Boy." It didn't take long for Draco to figure out who'd done this to him, and his obsession with Mandra Blake grew.
He didn't understand what it was, but something about her drew him, challenged him, enchanted him. Suddenly he felt he had to prove to her how powerful he was, he had to assert his tremendous authority over everyone. This need to flaunt his greatness was so intoxicating that it overcame him completely, gnawing at his soul every second. He didn't know when it would lose its hold over him - or if it ever would.
After watching vengefully and waiting for his chance, he finally cornered Mandra one lazy Saturday. He fully intended to mold her into another Slytherin who laughed at his jokes and treated him like a god.
"Blake!" he growled, causing her to stop in her tracks three feet away from him, at the top of a staircase in the North Tower. Not many others were awake, and those who were were at breakfast: it was early.
She grinned and met his grey-eyed glare, completely unafraid. "I'm beating you at your own game, Malfoy," she informed him. "And there's nothing you can do about it." That grin, that proud voice, those violet eyes .. Draco suddenly forgot his previous intentions. In fact, he gained new ones.
"Oh yeah?" he heard himself say. "Well, what if I started to play a new game?"
He stepped forward at the same second she did, and they were in each other's arms.
"So what about your 'arrangements' with Miss Parkinson?" Mandra asked him later, stepping away from him slowly. She had, in fact, just remembered what he had said about Pansy, and suddenly she was on her guard.
"Hey, don't get all defensive with me, Violet Eyes," he replied, avoiding the question smoothly.
"I mean it, Malfoy," she snapped. His eyes widened very slightly; his nostrils flared.
"Come on, Vi, you honestly think I like that - that thing?"
She raised her eyebrows and grimaced, as if to say 'Do you really want me to answer that?'
He stared at her angrily. "What the hell is wrong with you? She's an airhead! Did the last hour just escape your memory?" Mandra still said nothing, her suspicious and hurt eyes searching his expression for some shred of hidden meaning. "What do you want from me?" he almost yelled, but lowered his voice just in time.
"Say it, Malfoy," she ordered tonelessly, trying desperately not to look how she felt: betrayed, lost, helpless, and uncertain.
"I'll say it as many times as you want: I love you. Only you. Never Pansy. For God's sake trust me, Vi!"
His desperate, pleading tone didn't shake Mandra when she remembered his satisfied smirk: 'Pansy and I have had to make certain - arrangements .. Pansy Parkinson's got the best incentive in the world ..'
"If I catch you with her you're both dead," she whispered, and left, feeling horribly alone. Her hands were shaking, her heart was fearful, but her face did not betray a thing.
As for Draco, he just watched her go in utter helplessness. He'd given up everything for her - reputation, friends, ambitions .. his whole life. He'd surrendered, and she'd walked away, taking him for filth, not wanting him. His whole world was dying, and he had no choice but to crumble along with it.
Pansy Parkinson strolled into the Slytherin common room at seven o' clock in the morning the next day - Sunday - to find only Draco Malfoy, brooding in an armchair by a roaring fire. She put on her best flirtatious smile and headed over quickly.
"Well, hel-lo there, Draco," she began sweetly.
He didn't even give her a chance. "Get away from me, Pansy. Stop trying to mess with my life."
"But darling -"
"Don't you dare call me that!" He had risen now, and towered darkly above her petite figure. Pansy was suddenly reminded that his father was rumored to be in You-Know-Who's Inner Circle, and gulped. "Get out, Pansy, now. If you ever come near me again I'm not responsible for what happens."
She fled to the common room door, not noticing as she went past the tall shadow halfway down the dormitory stairs. The shadow stepped into the common room and gazed at Draco's silhouette.
"Looks like you're not dead, Draco," she whispered faintly, not knowing if she could find the courage to apologize for doubting him. He turned away wordlessly. "Draco!" she cried, strangled and confused. Her voice lowered again to a whisper when he didn't respond. "What was I supposed to do?"
"You could have trusted me, after I held you and kissed you for an hour," came the cold reply. He'd closed himself in, Mandra realized. He was shutting her out, not letting her get to him. Not letting her love him.
"After you'd been screaming at me only a minute before!"
He whirled on her, his grey eyes wild with hate. "You left me to die!"
"Don't look at me like that," she pleaded softly. "Your eyes are too beautiful for that."
His expression changed from one of unrelenting anger; even his eyes lost some of their rage. Now his entire attitude was one of scorn and disgust. "Don't think you can bait me with that," he snarled. "You're just as bad as Pansy. I can't believe I didn't see it before." He strode forcefully up to the hidden common room door. "Blake," he added softly, as if it were an insult. That single word took hold of Mandra's bursting heart and shriveled it in an instant.
Draco Malfoy left, feeling horribly alone. His hands were shaking, his heart was fearful, but his face did not betray a thing.
Slytherin House soon discovered other laughingstocks, and Draco soon reclaimed his power - and his favorite armchair. The days went by so rapidly that only a few noticed his change in targets his change in targets for his nightly ridicules. Mandra Blake was no longer tortured; Draco privately maintained that the best punishment for her was his indifference. He made no advances towards Pansy or any other girl, but every time his eyes flicked in Mandra's direction the hatred was vivid and real.
Every day she stayed closed in and shut off the world; she only let herself sob at night, casting a charm around herself first to make sure no one noticed. Then she let the hate-filled grey eyes loom over her and the tears flow freely from her loving eyes.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy, how delighted I am to meet you once more!" Mr. Borgin announced in his oily voice, looking up from the counter. The customer he had been speaking with before, a tall, dark-haired man with vivid violet eyes, turned around as well.
"Mr. Borgin," Lucius acknowledged coldly. "Hmm," he continued, turning to the unfamiliar man, "I'm not sure I've had the - pleasure of meeting you before."
"The name's Blake," the man informed him, just as icily. "My wife and I just moved here from Canada, with our daughter," he continued loftily.
"Canada. Hmm," Lucius returned smoothly. "Does the daughter go to school at all?" He said 'the daughter' with distaste, as if it were an insult.
"Of course," the man replied, bristling. "Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Naturally. And of course you're all of wizard blood, even if it's Canadian?"
"I'm the only exception," the man replied, and turned to continue his discussion with Mr. Borgin.
Lucius Malfoy scowled.
Owls of all shapes, sizes, and even colors swooped across the sky of the Great Hall. Draco Malfoy searched for his usual package of sweets, but there was only a copy of the Daily Prophet and a letter from his father. He tossed the newspaper aside for Crabbe and Goyle, so they wouldn't look over his shoulder at the letter, and ripped open the envelope.
Draco, it read. I am writing to warn you to exercise caution when dealing with the other students. I have just been informed - do not question me about my sources - that one Blake (who may even be a Slytherin) is not of wizard blood, and others may be worse. Your Mother and I would be horrified to learn of your association with any chlidren of no wizarding family, especially now when you should be old enough to know better, at seventeen years of age. Make sure that your - acquaintances are all pure, unless you wish for discipline.
Lucius Malfoy
Draco sat in silence, digesting the information. So. He had kissed a Mudblood. His father would be furious if he ever found out, and he had his ways of finding things out. Draco couldn't even begin to contemplate how he'd gotten to know more about Mandra than he himself did. Shaking his head, he sighed and realized he probably never would figure out his father.
He didn't get a chance to talk to Mandra until after dinner; he pulled her into an empty classroom before she had a chance to say a word. This was easy, however, as she refused to speak or look at him.
"So you're not a pure-blood," he accused her. "You kept your secret well."
"I'm half, if it matters so much to you," she responded quietly, still not meeting his eyes.
"I didn't think Mudbloods could even get into Slytherin," he continued, almost as if he hadn't heard her flat reply. "How did you, then?"
"I suppose I'm just cruel and awful and nasty enough," she remarked bitterly. "Going to accuse me of being Granger's double again, just because I'm not pure enough for you?" She felt tears coming, and she didn't want him to see them. She turned to go.
"Mandra," he gasped suddenly. She finally dared to look into his eyes .. and for the first time in weeks, the hate was gone. His eyes were begging her to forgive him, begging her to comfort him, begging her to love him. "I can't live," he confessed, every breath raspy as if it was his last. Soon, he knew, she would leave, and he'd lose her again.
She spun around and held him close, unable to keep the tears back any longer. His eyes were wet, too, she realized, as he returned her grip fiercely, both of them hanging on to each other for dear life.
"Don't ever let me do it again, Vi," he whispered hoarsely when they had separated slightly. "I could have killed myself."
"I'm glad you didn't," she whispered back, her hands entwined in his hair. "I would have had to die too."
"Don't even think it," he told her softly, and kissed her with all the tenderness he had been missing since they parted.
"Draco - how did you find out I was a half-blood?" she asked him when they broke the kiss at last. They were so close they could feel each other breathing.
"Father sent me a letter," he muttered, ashamed at last of his prejudice. "He told me not to question his sources."
Mandra's eyes darkened. "So what will your Father say if he -"
"To Hell with my Father, Vi," he interrupted. "You are the only person in my life who matters."
They didn't have a chance to speak again for quite some time.