This was written for a challenge in an LJ writing community I've recently joined called WriterVerse, and it was quite enjoyable. I recommend everyone going and looking for a community as such—you can even join the one I'm in! I won't bite!
(Unless I'm hungry. Dragons need to eat.)
Challenge #25—Scenario Prompt
Title: Pawn
Word Count: 1,337
Rating: PG
Pairings (if any): N/A
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con etc): Mentions of wartime issues (torture via Cruciatus Curse, etc.)
Summary: The school year of 1997 wasn't an experience any Hogwarts student would remember fondly—no matter which side of the war they supported.
The school year of 1997 wasn't an experience any Hogwarts student would remember fondly—no matter which side of the war they supported. It was filled with suspicious stares down the hallway, with heated whispers that died down whenever others got near. Even for those that had somehow remained neutral after all of the struggles and power plays, life was filled with dread and horror. If a student ever gave the impression that they supported one side over the other, they were immediately cornered by hostile groups and placed under the scrutiny of the professors and newly appointed Headmaster Snape.
The only thing safe to reveal was fear.
A fifth year found herself in the Hospital Wing for this very reason; clutching the thin sheets as if to hide the green-and-silver tie, she leaned over the edge of the bed to relieve what little of her dinner she had been able to swallow. Looking sick with terror as she trembled uncontrollably, she was reasonably skittish as Madam Pomfrey did her duty to calm her down. It took several hours for this to abate, but she was finally lying still when Draco Malfoy made his appearance.
Potions clinking in his robes, the blond faced the mediwitch coming out of her office to meet him. New creases revealed just how strained her professional demeanor was, barely nodding her head when he pulled out the shrunken potion bottles for her stores. He noticed her eyeing the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes, likely calling him all sorts of unpleasant names in her head. No one believed he was deserving of the title—not even his fellow Slytherins. Camaraderie was dead, as far as his housemates were concerned.
Steeling his spine, he glanced at the lone student amongst the cots and faltered. Wide brown eyes stared at him for all of a second before they slammed shut, shoulders hunching slightly to hide herself further from his prying gaze. Legilimency wasn't required to reveal just how terrified she was; he had seen it in the way she skittered around others in the hallways, kept her gaze focused on her plate during mealtimes. She rarely stayed in one place for long in what seemed to be an effort to keep from being caught by the more brutish Slytherins, who wanted to bully her into falling in line with the Dark Lord. Her and several other students had carefully kept out of the conflict, refusing to praise either the Death Eaters or the foolish students combating them.
But Draco knew where her true loyalties lied. Even if one ignored the fact that her mother was a Muggle, it was obvious that she deferred to the Carrows only out of fear. She had been forced to use the Cruciatus Curse on a first year in "detention" that day, and disgust and horror had flashed across her face before she could swallow it. This and other signs had been evident in various neutral parties, but none of them were brave enough to do anything about it. They stayed in the gray area they were allowed in the conflict, politely averting their eyes on some occasions and stumbling over curses on others.
Even he was employing less malice than many others would have in his position. He gave the proper respect to the Carrows and the Headmaster, but he didn't participate in the extracurricular activities suggested by the insane siblings. Shunned by most of the school populace and belittled by the rest, there was very little reason for him to strut about like the proud peacocks at Malfoy Manor. He felt a deeper kinship with the ghosts than with the Death Eaters he had joined the summer of his sixth year. He tried to ignore how disturbing the despicable actions of his housemates were to him, but part of him recoiled from the curses and the spitting. Something inside of him was fighting against this ideology he had grown into, that had colored his life since birth.
It was growing.
Taking this budding revolution and forcing it into a cramped box of denial, Draco grasped the last potion and strode across the room to stand beside the cot. The student looked so fragile, huddled underneath the sheet in a bid for sanctuary from the hellish nightmare of this school year. Had he ever been this small? He couldn't imagine going through the last few years as a child; it felt like he had matured far past his years in the last few months, and nothing would ever be the same.
He fingered the bottle, possibilities running through his head. What could he do? What choices did a pawn have in a war? Placing the potion on the bedside table, he realized there were very few.
"I know you're awake," he muttered hoarsely. She was preternaturally still, obviously trying to be as convincing as possible in her façade. He couldn't help rolling his eyes, wondering when the younger snakes had started taking after Potter's house in their abysmal acting skills. The gesture brought a little familiarity to the scene, imagining this girl had gotten into trouble with the Gryffindors and he was sent by his godfather to check up on her. Before reality bled back in, he could almost pretend he had earned his Head Boy badge.
Narrowed eyes focused on her face, his fingers slipped into his robes, grasping an item he had repeatedly burned and repaired for days. Having this sort of evidence on him was risky; if anyone decided to check his person, he'd have to pray that his Charms were enough to keep it hidden or he would be punished for hesitating to bring it to the Headmaster. Loyalty to the Dark Lord was earned through the betrayal of others, and he didn't want to find out what his godfather valued most. And yet, the item kept returning to his pocket.
Here was a choice many pawns didn't consider, too busy with their masters' orders to think beyond the immediate.
"This is a Dreamless Sleeping Draught," he explained to her even as his mind whirled with the consequences of the actions he could take. He could be discovered by the Carrows or power hungry students, or worse, by Snape; he could be accused of trickery and brought into a public declaration he wasn't prepared to make; he could go to all of this effort only for a tactical error to waste it; he could have it all horribly go awry and be guilty of destroying the only resistance to the Dark Lord's minions in Hogwarts. The possibilities swept over him like a Dementor, and he tried to determine what would make such dangers worth the trouble.
Wouldn't it be easier to simply leave it be, to let everything play out as it would without his interference?
"This is a Dreamless Sleeping Draught," explained the Slytherin, his quiet voice still seeming to fill the eerie silence. "Take it when it gets to be too much."
In the end, he didn't bother making a grand, dramatic gesture like his father would have. He didn't say another word to the snake. Instead, he reached out and gently dropped the evidence of his inner betrayal beside the bottle. The faintest crackle of crisp parchment revealed his disloyalty, and he could swear that the entire castle grew still to listen to its echoes. Chest tight, he turned and swept away, bracing himself for whatever followed as he wordlessly canceled the concealment Charms.
This was his ticket off of the board, out of the role of pawn and into something much more terrifying in its uncertainty: Freedom.
The girl didn't stir until the door had creaked closed behind him. Warily checking her surroundings, she threw her legs over the side of the cot and leaned over to grab the bottle—
Her hand hovered over the parchment, indecisive.
After what seemed like an eternity of holding her breath, she plucked the paper from the table and gently unfurled it, eyes skimming the neat handwriting upon it. Written as though someone had been wary of detection was the words "seventh floor, Barnabas the Barmy, Longbottom" in bright green ink.
As a side-note, the challenge was to write a scene with a character making a decision they hadn't before. This is obviously a fanfic, but the alternate-decision part of it is the fact that it's from ANOTHER fanfic I've been writing for a while now. The italicized text towards the end was what actually happened in the original fic-or part of what happened, anyway.
Maybe one day, the original fanfic this was based off of will see the light of day.
...maybe.
