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Lesson Two
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"FUCK!" The half-transformed chair clattered against the wall, not even providing Draco the dignity of bursting into satisfying fragments. The man threw the frustrating, worthless stick he was using as a wand in the same direction as the chair before flopping onto the floor in a puff of dust. Draco sneered at the grey grime floating around him. No wonder no one ever comes in here – it's filthy.
Blowing a piece of soft, pale hair out of his eyes, Draco stared up at the ceiling of the practically empty bedroom, a long-forgotten memory suddenly popping into his head:
Draco giggled as he scampered into the old bedroom no one used – apparently his great-grandmother had passed away in here or something. "Draco!" His mum called, light laughter on her voice. "I'm going to find you, my little Dragon!"
The five-year-old covered his mouth with his hands, trying to stifle his voice as his mother grew closer. "I can hear you, Draco…" She cooed as the door to the bedroom creaked open. Draco closed his eyes, trying his hardest not to be seen, pretending as though he was one of those colour-changing lizards his daddy had shown him in a big book from their archives.
"Draco!" The blond little boy opened his eyes, startled by the shock and awe in his mother's voice.
"Mummy?"
"You're blue, Draco!" He didn't understand, but he looked down, squeaking when he saw that his skin was a pale cyan, matching the colour of the wallpaper behind him.
"Oh, your first magic! Your father will be so proud!" Narcissa beamed as she reached down to hug her son, who squeezed right back, still not completely understanding.
Draco mused on the memory as he leaned back on his hands. Children could do wandless magic, couldn't they? So why couldn't adults? Well, except for Potter, of course. But then again, Potter seemed to be the exception to most rules.
"There is someone being here for Master Draco at the door, sir."
"Very well, Blissy, show them to the parlour room. Oh, and make sure to tidy up in here." Draco slowly got to his feet as the elf scurried out of the chamber. Now who could be here to see me?
Draco's footsteps echoed in the dark hallway as he wondered if maybe Potter was mental enough that he'd forgotten their next meeting wasn't until tomorrow. Draco reached the top of the grand staircase, his eyebrows rising in surprise at the dark-haired figure who glared at him from the foyer.
"'bout time you showed your face, you bitch."
Draco grinned. "And it's good to see you too, Pansy."
o
"Well?" Pansy asked when the two Slytherins were comfortably seated in the parlour, steaming cups of tea cradled in their hands.
Draco blinked at her. "'Well' what?"
She pursed her lips. "Well, why the fuck haven't you spoken to me since the Trials? It's been two months, Draco. I don't appreciate you abandoning me, your closest friend."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen, Parkinson–"
"That's rich, coming from you."
"Sod off. You know that things have been…complicated around here since then, with Father in France and Mother having to split her time between here and there."
"He still isn't talking to you?"
"Nope." Draco took a sip of his now-lukewarm tea. He set down the cup with a light clink, turning his head to look out one of the windows onto the destroyed grounds. "I just wish things could go back to the way they were, sometimes."
Pansy smiled sadly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I know. But, things can't, so why dwell on them?" Why indeed, Draco thought.
The pair of friends was quiet for a long moment, both lost in their own musings.
"Alright, Draco, I have to admit that guilt-tripping you about forgetting me was not the only reason I came today." Pansy slipped a hand into the pocket of her black skirt, pulling out an off-white envelope. Her dark-coloured eyes gazed unreadably into Draco's. "This came for me yesterday."
Draco took the letter from her finely-manicured hands, eyebrows furrowing at the eerily familiar script on the front. He slipped out the paper, eyes widening. "'You've been invited back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to complete your preparations for the N.E.W.T.s examinations in May. If you will be attending in September, please write a response to Professor McGonagall by August 30th.'" Draco stared at the inky green lettering for a long while, feeling Pansy's focused stare on the crown of his bent head. "What the fuck?" He finally whispered.
"I know. It's crazy that they're letting us come back to redo that last year."
"No, it's not that... Why the fuck did you get a letter but I didn't?"
Pansy just looked back at him, surprised. A grandfather clock ding-ed loudly in the distance as the shadows began to lengthen in the room.
"Maybe it's because I was never actually a Death Eater, Draco."
Draco didn't have a response to that.
o
Draco lay on the floor of the ballroom, limbs splayed out like a starfish. The feel of dry parchment still ghosted his fingertips. How can Pansy get a letter but I can't? I didn't think McGonagall of all people would discriminate…
Draco tilted his head back to watch the entrance, upside-down, when the clack, clack of heavy footsteps approached the ballroom.
"…What are you doing." It was a flat statement.
Draco glared at Potter from the floor, not even surprised that the bastard had seemingly broken into his home. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Potter." Draco checked his watch, an heirloom from his great-uncle. "You're fifteen minutes late, as well."
"We didn't set a time on this, Malfoy. You should be thankful I'm here at all."
Draco rolled his eyes, standing from his prone position. "Yes, thankful, that's what I am." Draco raised his eyebrows at Potter's outfit, only then noticing it. "Why are you dressed in full dress robes?"
"'I don't have to explain myself to you,'" Potter said mockingly as he rolled the sleeves of his black robes up past his elbows, revealing toned, tanned forearms. Well, looks like Potter has finally stopped being such a scrawny git. In fact, now that Draco really took him in, Potter was just as tall as he was, maybe even a tad taller. When had that happened? Probably that year he was out saving the world and you were torturing Death Eaters under V-V…the Dark Lord. "Alright, Malfoy let's get this started, shall we?"
Draco blinked, pulled out of his memories. "Fine. Where shall we begin, O Chosen One?" Potter twitched in discomfort at the name, but didn't comment. Draco smirked.
"Have you preformed any spells successfully since I last saw you?"
Draco tried not to squirm, palming the useless wand in his pocket. "One. I was able to mend a …valuable heirloom when I seemed to destroy it two nights ago."
Potter narrowed his eyes. "Was this object important to you?"
Ah. Draco refused to flush. He would rather crucio himself than admit that he'd been devastated when he'd found the disintegrating remains of the blanket he'd been given as a new-born, the dragon-decorated cloth containing so many memories from Draco's innocent youth. He'd felt so relieved when the blanket had actually mended itself when he'd whispered the spell. Maybe this stupid wand was actually alright.
"…Yes."
Potter nodded. "Alright, that makes sense." Potter clapped his hands together, stepping forward to stand exactly opposite Draco. "Pull out your wand, Malfoy." Draco complied, if a bit reluctantly. "Now throw it at me."
"Only too happy too, Potter." Aiming for his face, Draco threw the stick. Potter grinned as it hit some sort of invisible barrier in front of his nose, disintegrating the wood into miniscule fragments of useless history. Draco gaped. "Potter! You just destroyed my wand!" Potter rolled his eyes.
"Whatever, Malfoy. You don't need it any more than I need mine…Which is not at all, if you weren't clear."
Draco stared at him. "Yes, because that was such a tough riddle to crack," he deadpanned as Potter glared slightly.
"Fuck off, Malfoy. It's time for your lessons to really begin. After all, you're going to be learning a completely different way of approaching magic." Draco frowned, not liking the sound of that.
"And how did you learn this way, exactly?"
Potter shrugged infuriatingly. "Taught myself. Wands don't work for me that well anymore, either. According to some Healers, and Hermione, all this magical energy has been building in me and has become unstable – has something to do with being a Horcrux and reflecting too much Dark magic and stuff. I believe Hermione is writing her dissertation for her Healer training on it all, so ask her if you want more specifics." Draco could do nothing more but look at this man, this unreal man who said such strange, horrifying things as though they were almost boring. Which I guess they are, to him.
Potter clapped his hands together, a determined glint in his eyes. "So let's start already." Potter raised his right hand, his index finger and middle finger pressed together as he drew a curvy shape in front of his face. A long, white feather materialized out of the air, apparently Transfigured from the dust dancing about.
Draco blinked at the blasé way Potter showed off his ability, as though it wasn't an astounding accomplishment in the slightest. Potter dropped the feather on the floor, stepping back. "Okay, Malfoy. Lift it."
"What?" Surely Potter didn't want him to just lean down and pick up the feather.
Potter was giving him that you-are-very-dense look. "The first spell we learned in Charms was wingardium leviosa, Malfoy. You are, in a sense, as unfamiliar with this way of doing magic as we were with that way of magic back then. So this is going to be the first spell you will learn wandlessly."
"Fine. So how do I actually preform the spell? Do I have to use a specific finger? Do I require the same movements as the spell, or only the incantation?" Draco wanted Potter to feel just how awful a teacher he was being.
Potter merely shrugged again. Draco's eye twitched dangerously. "I'm pretty sure it's going to be different for you than it was for me. I use two fingers," Potter raised his index finger and middle finger together, "because that seems to be easier to direct the spells for me. You do still use the same movements, so you'll want to move your wrist in that same swish and flick way like with a wand."
"I know how to do a simple Levitation Charm, Potter," Draco snarled. "I don't need your condescending patronage." Potter's eyes narrowed, but didn't respond; he simply crossed his arms and took another step back before gesturing to the mocking feather.
"Go on, then."
Draco took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down before he raised his left hand, pointing his index finger at the light object. Clearing his mind, Draco breathed out gently through his nose before muttering the incantation.
The feather remained firmly on the floor.
Draco scowled, crossing his arms across his chest, tucking his worthless hands in the crooks of his body. If Potter can do this damned spell without even batting an eyelash, why can't I? Draco flicked his eyes up from the insulting feather, not surprised to find Potter staring at him, disinterested. "Yeah, that's what I thought would happen."
"Don't mock me, Potter. Being nasty doesn't fit your baby-kissing image."
Potter snorted. "My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, Draco, so quit being such a prat. Now do the spell again and mean it."
"'Mean' it?"
Potter rolled his eyes. "I must not be speaking in Slytherin terms – put some goddamn feeling into that cold heart of yours and really want to lift that feather, as if the honour of your bloodline or some pureblood supremacy shit depends on it."
Draco just stared back, unconvinced, but eventually turned his eyes back to the snow-white smudge sitting on his cream, marble floor. "Fine." Draco lowered his eyelids, opening that hatch he'd learned to keep closed since he was a child; the door to his emotions seemed weaker than normal, which made since, in a way. Supressed fear and other nameless bursts of intensity bubbled up in his chest, threatening to explode out of him. Draco's eyes sprung open as he channelled all of his raw energy to his extended hand, concentrating solely on the feather.
"Wingardium leviosa!" Static seemed to flow through Draco's arm, raising the imperceptibly pale hairs on the outstretched limb. Draco couldn't see the charm as it left his palm, but he could sense it. The feather twitched, as if rustled by an invisible draft of air. It seemed to jump a small bit before it settled back onto the ground.
Draco frowned heavily, disappointed. "Well, it seems the Force is with you, young Jedi." Potter muttered as he lifted a hand, Vanishing the feather.
Draco scrunched up his brow, not understanding. "Did you just insult me, Scarhead?"
Potter sighed, rubbing his forehead. "No, Ferret. It's a Muggle allusion. But whatever: we seem to be making a little bit of progress." A high, shrill noise suddenly emanated from Potter's pocket, and he winced slightly. "Well, I need to be off then. See you next Wednesday."
Draco nodded, still suspicious of Potter's strange words and disappointed that his spell hadn't worked perfectly on the first try. "Fine."
Potter was nearly out of Draco vision when he ducked back into the ballroom's entrance. "Oh, your homework for next week is to get that feather floating flawlessly. It'll take years to get your magic under control if you don't start doing some work on your own."
"Just get out of my house already, Potter!" Draco glared at the condescending man's back as he strolled away, leaving the fuming blonde to himself. Damn Potter and his smart-arse attitude. I'll show him.
ooOoo
Cold, unbearable cold. It seeped into his bones, burning a path of pain into his skin. Then fire, a heat so coarse and penetrating Draco knew it was melting his insides. There was laughter, shrill, cracking laughter that came from all directions, scarlet eyes that held an abyss of never-ending black, threatening to overtake Draco's very sou–
"NO!"
Draco's eyes slammed open, only for him to wince them shut again as light blinded him. Heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest, Draco forced himself to take deep breathes, averting his mind by recounting all that he needed to do that day: Owl Mother, practice that damn spell, try to avoid the temptation of sending Potter a cursed letter – eventually his heart-rate slowed. Draco gently peaked open his eyes again, adjusting to the brightness of morning. He stared at his ceiling, suddenly dumbstruck.
Hundreds and hundreds of feathers stared back at him from their lofty perch.
o
After sending a quick owl to his mother, filled with meaningless words about how 'well' his lesson with Potter had gone and how things were peaceful around the Manor, Draco made his way to the Malfoy library, the high-domed labyrinth of bookshelves and lore a favourite haunting from Draco's youth.
Dust billowed from the room as Draco pushed open the ornately-decorated doors. He coughed, correctly guessing that the room was low on Blissy's priorities now that she was the only house-elf under the Malfoy's jurisdiction.
Fuzzy, intangible sunlight spilled into the room from the dominating windows lining the wall across from the entrance, illuminating the sparse signs of absentee inhabitants: a pile of well-loved, faded books by one of the three olive-coloured settees; a handsome fireplace sitting unlit, looking as though its great mouth was yawning; a glass of sticky bourbon, forgotten long ago by a brooding thinker. Draco passed all of these by, heading to the back left corner of the library, where the few texts regarding magical children were hidden.
Pulling off a few large volumes, and a few bare wisps of books, Draco settled on the rich, wooden floor, leaning back against one of the shelves as he began his pursuit of knowledge.
o
"Draco? Your elf said you were in here after I forced her to let me in."
Draco blinked rapidly, only beginning to feel the stiffness of his back and the strain of his eyes from delving into too many works. "Pansy?" Draco coughed, his voice rough with dust and disuse: the sunlight was gone, replaced by dusky shades of red and violet.
Pansy's head popped out from behind one of the aisles of shelves, peering down at Draco with amusement. "I can remember when we used to play catch-the-Mudblood in here; you were always better at it than me." Draco smiled weakly, memories of competition, laughter, and naivety ghosting through is mind, as foreign as if they were from another life. He shrugged in response, a faint sense of mistrust rising in him when Pansy gracefully settled next to him on the floor, scrutinising his books curiously.
"'So Your Child's a Wizard'? Draco, is there something you need to tell me?" Pansy's voice was laced with humour, with the mildest tint of concern.
Draco rolled his eyes, standing to return the volumes back to their places. "Just a little research, Pans. Nothing to worry about." The girl raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but knew when to choose her battles.
"Fine. I'm not here to talk about your weird reading habits, anyways. Have you heard from McGonagall yet?"
"…No. Why would I? I thought we reached the conclusion that Hogwarts wasn't going to be sending me anything."
"Well, we did, but… Theo, Blaise, and Greg got theirs too."
Draco paused.
"Really." It wasn't a question. He resumed putting the books away. "Seems like I'm the only one to not receive an invitation back to that bloody school then; good, it's not like I wanted to return to that hell-hole anyways."
Pansy leant against a shelf, crossing her arms against the front of her black robes. "…Right."
But they both knew that wasn't what any of this really meant.
ooOoo
"Wingardium leviosa."
Nothing.
"Wingardium leviosa!"
Barely even a flutter.
"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!"
The feather laughed at him.
Draco's eye twitched, his fingers twisting into a fist as he stared at the lone object sitting on the ballroom floor. You have to mean it, Ferret, Potter's voice said in his mind. Fuck off, he told the aggravating mirage.
But Draco tried, closing his eyes and raising his hand to point his fingers at the feather. He tried pinpointing the most volatile part of his emotions – Theo, Blaise and Greg got theirs too… My contract with your mother said nothing about having to be nice to you, Draco, so quit being such a prat… You don't deserve to be called a Malfoy, not with that disgusting way of living… – and felt the liquid heat boil in his chest. He then stared at the feather with startlingly potent intensity.
"Wingardium leviosa," he muttered, knowing somewhere in his bones that the spell was going to work perfectly as mild shocks ran down his outstretched arm.
And it did work perfectly: the feather drifted lazily to the ceiling, following the movements of Draco's hand. The boy laughed, feeling the first real rush of accomplishment in a long time.
Draco proceeded to lift all of the objects he could find in the hallways around the ballroom, feeling as though he'd finally found the answer to this wandless magic: fury. And lots of it.
ooOoo
To be Continued…
ooOoo
606's Note: Lesson Three will be up in two weeks. :)
