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Wednesday Lessons
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Lesson One
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"Hatred, by a gradual and quiet process, will even be transformed to love, unless the change be impeded by a continually new irritation of the original feeling of hostility."
~ Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter
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Blood pooled around his pale skin, cherry-black stains crawling up his white shirt. His body twitched against the freezing stone floor, his muscles shivering as the slices on his chest continued to weep. A vengeful hissing could be heard creeping in behind him, the heavy sound of a body slithering across the floor causing his shivers to multiply. Suddenly there were scarlet, piercing eyes, a slow, cold smile accompanied by pain, such horrible, penetrating agony ripping through his body, an unforgiving presence smothering his mind in terror.
"NO!" Draco's eyes flew open, his body sitting bolt upright in his sweat-soaked sheets, his hand clawing at the blood-red Mark on his left arm. He panted as he took in his surroundings: his dresser seemed to have overturned, spewing his clothes all over his polished wooden floors; his mirror was cracked, a sprinkling of fine, shining dust layering any nearby surfaces; his door was swinging on one of its hinges, a large gauge in the middle of the wood.
Draco groaned, covering his face with his hands as he collapsed back on his mattress. "Fuck."
This was getting out of hand.
ooOoo
"Good morning, Darling," Narcissa greeted as Draco shuffled into the dining room, straightening his shirt as Blissy laid out his breakfast. He nodded politely as he pulled out his chair, delicately seating himself in front of his meal of finely cooked Jarvey meat and a green, teardrop-shaped fruit he enjoyed for its nutty taste.
"Good morning, Mother. I hope you slept well."
Narcissa raised a groomed eyebrow, her ice-blue eyes staring hard at her only son. "I did sleep quite well, Draco, though I did hear some commotion at one point." The question, or demand, perhaps, was implied, causing Draco to stare hard at his breakfast, ignoring the physical feel of his mother's gaze.
The dining room was silent except for the quiet clink of silverware against fine porcelain, the noiseless argument between the two Malfoy's charging the air. Draco suddenly, harshly set down his fork, finally making eye-contact with Narcissa. "Mother, what would you care for me to do? I refuse to see a physician; after all, there is nothing to cure."
"'Nothing to cure,' Draco? You do realize this is the seventh time in a fortnight that your room has been practically dismantled while you slept." Draco frowned, turning his head away to stare into the empty fireplace. The grey light seeping into the room from the rain-pelted window cast a dim shadow over the inhabitants of the walls, seeming to reflect the dour mood.
"I know, Mother. But having…nightmares," Draco muttered the word, ashamed of his subconscious, "is not something I want to broadcast, particularly to a society that already finds me vexing and pathetic."
"At this point, my dear, it might not matter what you want: your magic has been unstable for weeks now, Draco, ever since things finally started to settle down after the Trials. You simply must do something before you hurt yourself while you sleep." Narcissa's tone was sharp, as close as she ever got to pleading with her own child.
Draco sighed, slouching in his high-backed chair. "Fine, Mother; say that I wanted to find some way to solve the issue of my unstable magic – who could I even approach to aid me?"
Blue met grey for a long moment.
It abruptly clicked in Draco's mind. "No, no, no, Mother! I refuse! It's simply impossible! I refuse to approach that arrogant, self-righteous, conceited –"
Narcissa's mouth curled into an apologetic smirk as she cut off her son's rant. "You know as well as I do that he is one of the most powerful living wizards; he will surely know how to channel your excessive magical energy." Narcissa took a long sip of her plum-coloured drink. "He also happens to owe me a favour."
Draco's mouth twisted as though he tasted something incredibly bitter. Narcissa gazed at him across the stretched table, watching in a knowing silence. "Fine," Draco finally spat, getting up from the table and stomping to his room in a very childish way.
Narcissa chuckled at his back. "Blissy, please bring me a quill and some parchment."
ooOoo
It was still raining.
Draco sat in his favourite armchair in his father's study, immersed in memories and dreams, the two being startlingly similar recently. It'd been hours since breakfast, hours that Draco passed in a blurry daze: how could his mother believe that…that prick could help him with this? So maybe he was the most powerful wizard living at the moment, and perhaps he was more likely to stay away from the press than others – that didn't mean Draco had to enjoy the fact that he would owe Harry bloody Potter another damn thing.
But, a sneaking voice in Draco's mind muttered, your problem is becoming rather serious, to put it lightly. Draco reached into the sleeve of his shirt, pulling out the wand he'd been using for the past few weeks, an ancient Malfoy heirloom, the grain of wood and the core unknown. The Slytherin pointed the magical stick at his father's desk, quietly murmuring the spell for it to turn blue.
Instead, it crumbled into maroon-coloured powder.
"Fuck!" Draco yelped as he scrambled out of his chair, kneeling down to run his hand through the fine residue that was once another priceless antique. Draco hit his fist lightly against his forehead, knowing that this level of disintegration was irreparable.
"Fuck," he repeated. He stood, staring hard at the pile of dust, an absolutely mental idea suddenly taking over him. He tossed the wand on the armchair, reaching out to hold his hand over the pile, similar to how one who hold a hand over a broom. Feeling incredibly stupid, Draco whispered, "Reparo," willing the pile to return to its previous, intact state.
Nothing happened.
Muttering curses at himself and the room in general, Draco picked up the temperamental wand, turning and exiting the room before slamming the door shut behind him.
The pile of dust quivered, building itself into the sculpted, ornate bureau it had once been. The far-off noise of another door being slammed echoed through the house, and the desk dissolved onto the floor once again.
ooOoo
The air was heavy with moisture, pressing down on Draco's skin as he stood in the decrepit remains of the gardens behind the Manor. The legacy of those last few hellish months of war could be seen around Draco's own home – infecting the place, making it no longer seem like the fortress it had once been to him. The large expanses of burnt grass where Death Eaters had been tortured for hours or days on end seemed to stare at Draco, leering at him.
Draco shuddered, reaching down to grip his Mark tightly, turning the skin around it paler than normal from the pressure.
"Master Draco is being requested to being in the drawing room by Missus Narcissa," Blissy squeaked suddenly from behind Draco, startling the boy. He nodded at the elf, taking in one last, long breath of air before turning and entering the handsome manor that had once been his fort, his one haven from the monsters…Now it seemed to be the epicentre of them all.
"Mother, you called for me?" Draco asked as he stepped around the corner, entering the pale, sky-blue room that was alight with weak, after-storm sun.
"Why yes, Draco. We have a guest, you see." But Draco wasn't listening, his focus averted to the slouching, dark-haired man leaning against the frame of one of the arching windows.
"…Potter," Draco tried to greet as civilly as possible, though he could still hear the taint of venom on his words. Potter barely glanced at him, his look unamused, practically bored. The Chosen One turned his head to continue gazing out of the window, his glasses reflecting light and blocking vision of those famous green eyes of his.
Irritation licked heat into Draco, Potter's clear dismissal of his presence at once both infuriating and familiar. Draco turned to his mother, a questioning tilt in his eyebrows. "Mister Potter agreed to discuss some important matters with me today, and I requested your presence at these negotiations, as they do pertain to you, Draco."
Draco saw Potter glance at Narcissa out of his peripheral vision, one of those dark eyebrows raised with as much emotion as Draco had seen come out of the once-Gryffindor so far. "I thought that we were attending to the life debt I owe you, Missus Malfoy, not the ones I potentially owe your son."
Draco's eyes widened, his gaze boring into the side of his mother's face. Life debts? Draco had understood that he and his mother had helped Potter at times, but he'd never thought that any of those occurrences warranted one of the most significant obligations in wizarding law.
Narcissa ignored the palpable confusion from her son, watching Potter with calm, but alert, eyes. "That is correct, Mister Potter. Though I require no return for my aid, my son is in need of your guidance." Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks, but forced himself to retain focus on the conversation.
"Guidance with what, exactly?" Two sets of eyes were suddenly turned to Draco, the intensity of the focus causing him to swallow and straightened his back.
"I have been suffering from some intense…night-time visions, Potter." The ex-Gryffindor cocked that condescending eyebrow.
"You mean nightmares? You want me to help you with your nightmares?" Potter smirked slightly, his tone dripping with disinterested derision.
"That's not all, Potter," Draco continued furiously. "During the night, I seem to lose control of my magic – it seems to explode out of me, for lack of better terms. My room keeps getting destroyed…and it is getting worse. I also appear to be losing my ability to use a wand." Narcissa frowned at the new information.
Potter still seemed unimpressed. "So what exactly do you want me to do about it?"
"We all know that you can control unbelievable amounts of magic, Potter, so there's no use claiming otherwise. I also believe that you are one of the few members of our society who understands the need for privacy and discretion," Narcissa added coolly as she gracefully perched herself on the settee.
The room was quiet for long while, Narcissa and Draco staring at the dark enigma leaning against their window. "Do you need some other sort of compensation, Potter? We can certainly offer a supply of Galleons –"
"I don't need money. How long will I have to help?"
"Until I stop blowing up my house, Potter," Draco said snootily. Potter stared backed at him, projecting his desire that Draco would simply disappear.
"Fine, then. I'll teach Draco how to control his magic, and in return I won't owe any of you any more life debts." Narcissa nodded, standing up and reaching out to shake Potter's hand.
"Very good. When would it be convenient for you to begin helping Draco?" Potter shrugged. Narcissa rolled her eyes, feeling as though she was dealing with children. "Well, Mister Potter, I'm leaving for France on Wednesday, why don't you come by then? Our old ballroom should be plenty of space for whatever tutoring needs to occur."
"Fine. I'll see you then. Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy, Draco," Potter nodded unemotionally before following Blissy to the door. The thunk of the heavy wooden door shutting behind the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice resounded into the parlour.
"Well, that went well, don't you think?" Narcissa smiled thinly. Draco grimaced.
ooOoo
Wednesday dawned dreary and smothered in fog, the weather continuing to reflect Draco's stagnant mood. He kissed his mother lightly on the cheek as she stepped into their Floo, twitching his mouth into a reluctant smile as the green fire whisked her away to France.
It was quiet.
The Manor seemed cavernous with its lack of inhabitants – the once richly-populated, lively mansion now a rattling husk with its one lonesome occupier. Draco paced his rooms, staring at the destruction he'd caused the night before – the chaos had spread to the two adjacent bedrooms this time, gaping holes crowding the walls. The Slytherin twirled the ancient wand in his fingers, debating whether to attempt to repair the damage or not.
Before he could decide, a horrendous, ear-splitting screech filled the hallways of the Manor, causing Draco to yelp soundlessly as he covered his ears. Panic fluttering in his chest, Draco scrambled to the nearest window, knowing that the only thing that could set off the Manor's modified Caterwauling Charm was an unauthorized penetration of its wards.
Draco's mouth fell open in outrage: Potter stood in the middle of the stone path leading towards the Manor, the dark-haired layabout waving his wand in an apathetic manner as he simply walked through the various levels of protection Draco's home was trying to enact.
Draco fumbled as he opened the window, leaning out into the cool air before taking a deep breath. "POTTER! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Potter looked up at the shouts, his lips twitching as he made eye contact with the red-faced blonde.
"I didn't know how to knock on your completely-not-pretentious-and-overbearing gate, so I just walked in," Potter shrugged after casting a quick sonorous on his throat. Draco fumed, not even able to comprehend Potter's lack of manners. He slammed the sill shut, stormed down the grand staircase, called off the Caterwauling Charm, then flung open the front door, causing Blissy to squeak in fright as she dove out of her master's way.
"POTTER!"
"There's no need to shout: I'm right here, Malfoy." Potter leaned in the alcove, brushing non-existent dust off the shoulder of his simple black shirt. "Ready to begin your 'lessons?'" The slightly mocking tone only made Draco madder, but he resiliently kept his emotions in check. Fine, Potter. You want to make this unpleasant, I'm only too happy to join in your little game.
"Of course – right this way, Potter," Draco said calmly before beginning the small trek to the vast, dusty ballroom that consumed the southern wing of the Manor. Draco crossed his arms, watching Potter take stock of the room: The chamber was circular, mirrors studding half of the walls, while reaching, diamond-paned glass covered the rest of the them, allowing a clear view of the famous Malfoy gardens, though most of the rose bushes and trees were burnt or bare, war and weather the main causes. A large glass chandelier hung from above, causing Draco to rub the small scar on his hairline – a remnant from one of the previous times Potter had been in this house. Potter pulled his wand from the pocket, doing some sort of complex motion that Draco couldn't see.
Nothing seemed to happen. "And what was that for, exactly?"
Potter didn't even turn around. "It's a flexible Shield Charm: unless you use some sort of Unforgivable, you won't be able to physically injure me."
"If I wanted to attack you, Potter, I would be subtler than cursing you in my own home," Draco said flippantly, impatient.
"I know you're not dumb enough to try and kill me, Malfoy: it's just a security measure." Potter strolled to the centre of the room, standing underneath the shining, iridescent chandelier. He raised his eyebrows impatiently when Draco just stared at him. "Well?"
"'Well' what, Potter?"
"Well, do something."
Draco blinked. "What?"
Potter sighed wearily, rolling his eyes. "Are we here to test your magic or not, Malfoy? Just tell me what spell you're going to use and do it."
Irritation prickled Draco's stomach. Potter would make an awful teacher. "Fine. I'll make it rain, then." Internally praying that the spell wouldn't accidently cause the ceiling to collapse or something as drastic, Draco flicked the wand upward, mouth twitching happily when soft grey clouds coalesced above the two men, rumbling angrily. Wait…rumbling?
Lightning exploded out of the dark mist, shooting down and hitting the marble floor, breaking it with a deafening CRACK! and a blinding burst. Draco fell back against the wall with a groan, pain throbbing from his back. He gently slitted open his eyes, glaring with the little energy he could muster when he saw Potter still standing in the middle of the room, unharmed.
"Well, that was dramatic."
I hate you, Potter, Draco thought ruthlessly as he stumbled to his feet, dusting off his expensive grey trousers. "So, O Great Teacher, please tell me what the fuck is happening with my magic." Potter didn't even flinch at Draco's scathing tone, merely crossing his arms across his chest casually as the blonde stalked closer.
"…I'm not quite sure yet." Draco opened his mouth, a biting remark on his tongue, when Potter plucked the ancient Malfoy wand out of his hand.
"Oi!"
"I want to try something, Malfoy. Do the spell again."
"And how am I supposed to do that without a wand?"
Potter narrowed his eyes. Something light sparked in Draco's chest at the reaction. Finally, he's getting mad. Scarhead asked for this. "Just do it, Malfoy." Draco huffed, re-enacting the position he'd taken a few days ago over the remains of his father's desk, only this time with his palm facing the ceiling, mentally saying the charm.
Nothing.
"Wow, how incredibly shocking, Potter. Who could have guessed that I wouldn't be able to do the spell without a wand?" Draco deadpanned, sarcasm dripping off his tongue. The Gryffindor just sighed, bored again, throwing the wand back to Draco.
"Well, I think I know what the problem is now." Draco just stared at him.
"…And?" Draco finally demanded. "Are you going to divulge this information?"
"…Nah. I'll see you next Wednesday, then, Malfoy." Draco choked with outrage when Potter turned, beginning his leisurely walk to the entrance of the room.
"Potter! You can't just–!"
Potter suddenly stopped, turning around slightly and pointing a finger at the spidery crack splitting the solid marble floor. "Oh, by the way," and with a noise like a droplet of water hitting cement, the crack was suddenly healing itself before Draco's very eyes, the cream stone smoothening. Draco's neck snapped to Potter, who was tucking his hand back in his pocket.
"What-? How did you-? Potter, that's impossible!"
Potter finally grinned, a sparkle reminiscent of Dumbledore's shining from behind his glasses. "Anyone can do wandless magic, Malfoy. It's just no one else is reckless enough to try."
His eloquence still lost to him, Draco gaped at this enigma of a wizard. "You're insane."
"Of course I am. But why should that be a bad thing? See you Wednesday."
Potter's smile grew a bit crooked at the edges before he turned and strolled out of the door, leaving a gaping Draco standing in the middle of his flawless ballroom floor.
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To be Continued...
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606's Note: So, there it is, the beginning of my first multi-chapter fic that I'm writing all by myself. I don't really know what my posting schedule will be, since I only have three-ish chapters written so far - so maybe one every two weeks or so? We'll see, I suppose. Oh, and, just in case it was unclear for some reason, none of these characters are my own, nor is the universe - it all belongs to the so-utterly-brilliant-it-boggles-my-mind JKR.
