DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.
WARNINGS: 12 + MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS!
SUMMARY: Hermione's curiosity is aroused, and she chases Draco into the woods. But she never imagined what would happen when she found him. An angry Carrow pays a visit to a colleague.
OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction so please read and review. I welcome critiquing comments also. Thank you :)
PS: Thanks to Morgan and Kaitlyn for giving me some spectacular inspiration :)
Chapter Three: Whispers
"Why am I always at war with myself? Why have I told, as if upon compulsion, what I knew all along I ought to have withheld? Why am I making a friend of this woman beside me, in spite of the whispers I hear against her in my heart?"
- Charles Dickens
Hermione tapped her fingers on the desk, waiting for Malfoy to walk in and seat himself quietly in the back row. She had not been surprised when he did not turn up at breakfast, and perhaps she should not be expecting him now either. The bell rang, and he had still not arrived in the class. Hermione saw Carrow glance complacently at Draco's seat, as if he was pleased that Malfoy had not shown up, as if it signified his weakness. Disappointed, Hermione sulked for most of the class and waited impatiently for the time to tick away. She heard nothing that worthless Death Eater said during his lecture, and it was probably better that she didn't. She didn't come to school to be educated on the ways of Voldemort…
She decided that when the class ended she would check for Draco where she knew she would find him – by the lake. She watched eagerly as the second hand brushed the twelve for the billionth time that morning. How many seconds are in an hour? Surely not this many, Hermione thought. It spun and spun, passing the twelve numerous more times before the final bell chimed, releasing her from this unusual form of suffering.
Quickly, before Ron and Ginny caught up with her, she hurried down to the Entrance Hall, moving as fast as her legs – and the extremely sluggish staircases – would carry her. She burst through the front doors, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible, but this was hard to do considering she only had about ten minutes before her next class began. She walked briskly to the lakeside, and immediately she saw him, walking as usual along the water's edge.
"I'm going to have to hunt for a new hiding place if you keep turning up here, Granger."
Hermione shrugged, unsure now of why she came down here… Was she elated or upset, indifferent or concerned, in love or in hate? Then she came closer and saw his face, the face that too long ago had appeared to be the mascot of evil, but now it was… different, and she couldn't hate him although she felt so uncertain about the opposite emotion. And not able to make up her mind, she settled for an emotion somewhere in between.
"I came out here to make sure you were alright," Hermione said truthfully.
Draco raised his eyebrows, "Wait. You – the girl who only two nights ago said she hated me – are concerned about my wellbeing? I think the question is, Granger, are you alright?"
She sighed and ran a hand through her wavy hair, "That is a great question, indeed, but I believe I asked first."
He glanced up at her in disbelief, "You expect me to give you an explanation as to why I'm upset."
She paused, "Well… yes."
"Do you realize how long that would take, Granger? Honestly?" Then he was quiet for a few seconds. "My whole life."
"Don't be ridiculous, Draco!" Hermione smiled. "It would only take a few minutes."
"No, idiot," he said, making a face. "That was my answer."
His words slapped her like a million brinks, the sheer realization crushing her like a tidal wave. His whole life… And she slipped herself into his place for just a moment, something she had never thought to do, and she felt it too, the pain he suffered. Her heart was drowned in the heaviness, and she pulled herself back into reality.
"What do you mean?" Hermione said, trying to recover.
"Just… nothing," Draco sighed. "You wouldn't understand."
"And why not?" Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips.
"Because you have everything, and you wouldn't get it…" he replied.
"You think I have everything?!" Hermione yelled at him. "Yeah, Draco. Harry is endangering his life somewhere, Ron is driving me insane, you fancy me, and I have to pretend like nothing is wrong! But everything is perfect! Absolutely stunning!"
Draco stared at her, wondering how in the world someone so gorgeous could have such a temper, "Why is my fancying you on the list?"
"Because do you understand how foolish that is?!" she replied, her voice getting shrill again. "It would never work."
"Does that mean you're considering it?" Draco asked, trying to conceal his excitement.
"No! It doesn't! I don't even know you, Draco…" Hermione pointed out.
And he looked away from her as he realized that she was right; he didn't know anything about her either. They had never spoken to each other civilly before, but there was so much he wanted to know and, in return, wanted to hide.
"So let's get to know each other now…" he decided, sitting down against a tree.
She bit her lip and shook her head, "Draco, I can't be with you. Ron has this thing for me; it would break his heart."
"You just said he was driving you insane, and you want to keep letting that happen? He doesn't have to know, Granger. Nobody does. It will be fine."
She glanced at him, bewildered. He was asking her to ruin her friendship with Ron, and although she was glad to know he had feelings for her in return, she couldn't hurt Ron to satisfy herself.
"You don't understand, Draco!" she, cried, frustrated. "I can't!"
"What," he said, pulling away from her a bit. "Do you like him or something?"
"He's my friend! My very jealous friend!" Hermione yelled. "He got jealous when I had to sit with you on the train. He was upset the entire day! Imagine what he would be like if we started dating!"
Draco rolled his eyes, "I told you. We can be a secret. It has to be secret anyway… Stop over-analyzing it; you're making it no fun."
"Fun?!" she exclaimed. "This is not fun! This is a rare form of torture, Draco. We would and will most likely die because of it – considering of course that I was willing to follow through with it."
"And you don't think that I know that?! I've already dug my grave, Granger. Did you not see what happened this morning? I have this mark for a reason," he said holding his left arm up and pointing at it. "I'm supposed to be strong enough to do those sorts of things, but I'm not."
He put his head in his heads as Hermione moved closer to him, suddenly trying to comfort him. She had uncovered the source of his anguish; he was afraid of the Death Eaters.
"No," she said softly, "you're not…" She put her hand under his chin, coaxing his head up to look in his eyes. "You're strong enough to resist, and that takes the utmost courage. That is where you and Carrow – and all the other Death Eaters for that matter – differ. For you, it was never about whether or not you could muster up the nerve to produce the curse; it was whether or not you would choose to. For that, I am proud of you; that was the purpose of the exercise in my eyes." His eyes flickered to the lake – anything to escape her passionate, yet innocent gaze – and they remained there as she continued, "Strength is measured in many different ways Draco. Some, like Voldemort, believe strength is power – no matter how you obtain it. Some, like Harry, think strength is bravery to fight for their beliefs, while others, like Dumbledore, saw strength as wisdom and unbiased kindness…"
"And if I am none of those things," Draco concluded, "then what is my strength?"
She crawled through the dirt to sit next to him against the tree, "The courage to change. The courage to lose everything in order to be better."
"Is it still called courage if you're afraid?"
Hermione did not answer for a moment, "Carrow will tattle, won't he?"
"Yes," Draco replied, "and my father will never look me in the face again."
"What are you going to do?" Hermione questioned, squinting against the sun, which had just peered from behind a cloud.
"Nothing…" he answered. "There's nothing I can do but allow it to happen."
She sighed, feeling her tense muscles relax, and she leaned her head back on the tree. She thought back to Professor McGonagall's speech : how she needed to embrace opportunities, no matter the obstacles she knew lay in the future. Though perhaps she had meant for Hermione to apply it in a different sense.
"Draco," she said a few minutes later, "you are possibly the most baffling boy I have ever spoken to…"
"Am I?" he responded in a whisper.
"Yes, and sometimes I wonder why I continue talking to you."
"Do you?" he smirked. "I think I know why…"
"Me too," she said, her breathing becoming labored.
And then it happened so quickly that she couldn't stop his advance – and she didn't know that she would have wanted to. His lips crushed hers strongly, almost knocking her backwards. Her head was screaming at her to pull away, but her heart refused to let her. She was clutching his robes so tightly that her knuckles were white, as his hands were at her back, warm, hugging her closer. She was dizzy – perhaps from lack of oxygen but maybe from thinking about the world she had so carelessly thrown herself into.
A bell rang in the distance, signaling that they had five minutes to get to class. Hermione stood, taking an unsteady step forward as she walked quickly to Charms.
Draco sat alone again, staring after her, smiling for gaining his first real kiss with Hermione, and as he thought about it, he laughed. He knew then that she had fallen unintentionally and unexpectedly in love with him.
Hermione bounded up the Grand Staircase, her shoes tapping rhythmically on the white marble. She sprinted down the corridor to her right, where stone staircases flew in the space above her like the pieces of a complex jigsaw puzzle, fitting into their allotted places on the walls. She stepped onto one of them and it creaked into motion as she looked around; there were no other students in the entire room, and this fact unnerved her for she did not want to be tardy. The enchanted steps took her – quite slowly – to the third floor, and there, she raced to her left, down the Charms corridor, as a small bead of sweat formed on her temple. She reached the door, and her fingertips had just tapped the metal of the knob when the final bell chimed.
Disheartened by her vain attempt to be punctual, she paused to catch her breath and closed her eyes. As she opened the door, several heads snapped up, their faces pasted with surprise for she had never been late before. She tried to remain invisible as she walked to a vacant seat beside Neville Longbottom, keeping her eyes on the floor.
"Miss Granger," said Filius Flitwick, the Charms teacher, as he peered over the rims of his spectacles, "you're late! How very uncharacteristic of you!"
"I'm sorry, Professor," she apologized, still slightly out of breath.
"Yes, yes…" the professor squeaked.
Neville looked at Hermione as the professor began his lecture, "What happened? I know you well enough to know you're not late unless it's something important… Is it Harry?"
She shook her head, her curls bouncing as she did, "No, Neville. It was… personal."
Neville simply nodded and – out of respect of privacy – left the topic alone.
During class, Hermione had trouble centering her attention on the lesson; in fact, she couldn't say for sure what it was about, and Neville had elbowed her out of her thoughts so many times that she feared her ribs were bruised. The second kiss she and Draco had unpredictably shared hung heavily on her mind; the guilt suffocated her heart. She had stabbed Ron in the back, and he didn't even know it. And the worst part was that she had not been tricked this time. She had actually been conscious of her actions, and she reprimanded herself for doing so for she didn't want to be in love with him… But...
Neville jabbed her sharply in the side again, knocking the breath out of her lungs.
"Will you pay attention?" he whispered strongly. Then, seeing her troubled expression, "Are you sure you're alright?"
"Other than the contusions on my ribcage? Perfectly fine…" she answered, rubbing her sore stomach.
"Oh," Neville blushed. "Sorry about that…"
"It's alright I suppose," Hermione said.
Soon the lesson ended and Professor Flitwick began to assign homework – his favorite part of teaching, it seemed. It was due by Thursday – two days from now, and although Hermione typically completed her assignments on the first night they were given to her, she decided she would put this one off. It seemed rather simple. Besides, she was thinking about the next time she would get to see Draco, and this much was apparent as she glanced down at the paper she had intended to take notes on. The first few inches of parchment were strictly Charms and their uses, but below that, Hermione's quill had gained a mind of its own, turning her intelligible letters into random squiggles and lines, which had morphed into something that was somewhere in between sensible and illogical – Draco's name. It was written beautifully in her best calligraphy and, to her hidden embarrassment, surrounded by tiny hearts.
Embarrassed, she tucked the paper in the back of her book, praying that no one had seen. She ran her fingers through the curls in her hair, trying to make herself forget kissing him, but she couldn't. The feeling still lingered in her head, nothing making sense now, like reading backwards. She knew what the words were saying, but they didn't register in her brain. She knew she hated Draco, but it was no longer logical. Every excuse she made for loathing him was overshadowed by that kiss and the feelings it brought, and she wasn't sure how she felt about him anymore.
As the bell rang, Hermione, having already received her report topic, exited the room. She went back to the floating staircases and stepped onto one, and when it halted on the seventh floor, she carefully stepped off, walking nervously into McGonagall's classroom.
Draco was sitting in his seat, his expression blank, as he scribbled something on a sheet of parchment. She wondered if he was angry about her leaving him alone with no goodbye. She didn't believe so, however, as she sat down, and his eyes snapped to her magnetically. He continued writing with his right hand, but she felt his left index finger run subtly up the small of her back. Her heart beat erratic, she tried not to draw attention by squirming at his touch.
They sat, each heart bursting with nervousness, and each pair of eyes awash with awkwardness. Neither of them knew just how the other felt, but both were wishing the other harbored similar emotions. Hermione tilted her head slightly, attempting to make eye contact with him. His grey eyes caught hers then, and he gave her a lopsided grin, wondering when she was going to admit that he had stolen her heart. She pursed her lips in return, as if trying to swallow a giggle, as she ripped a piece of parchment from her book. She began to write something, smiling brightly as she did. She slid the piece of paper to him, bending over and rummaging through her bag to divert people's attention, and he gently took it from her. He looked at it, reading her beautiful writing.
How's your face from last night?
Draco laughed quietly at this and replied:
Great. It almost stung as much as the swing you took at me in third year.
Really? I didn't think I hit you that hard.
You're obviously stronger than you think you are.
Perhaps. Or perhaps you just can't take a punch.
I don't think that's the issue, Granger. Believe me. I just think that you enjoy inflicting pain on me.
No, definitely not.
Well why is it then that I hurt every time I look at you, knowing that I can't have you?
Hermione crumpled the paper in her hand after reading what he had written.
"Draco…" she whispered, blinking back tears.
He studied his hands, which were folded in front of him and sighed, "It's true."
Then he looked up at her out of the corner of his eye, the silver orbs burning into her, and she knew he wasn't teasing. Suddenly her confusion fluttered away as light as a butterfly and, knowing exactly what she wanted now, she longed for another kiss. She wanted to know the boy that sat beside her, to share his joys and pains, and to be his crutch to fall back on. She didn't know how, but she knew one thing for certain; she had fallen for Draco Malfoy.
The class ended quickly, as the two of them secretly enjoyed each other's silent company. They brushed shoulders as they exited the class, and in less than a second, Hermione had shoved a slip of paper in Draco's hand discreetly and reluctantly walked away.
He opened the letter, which was folded neatly in a tiny square. He smiled as he read what she had written – a secret meeting place where no one would ever discover them. She is more clever than I give her credit for, Draco thought as he whispered a spell and burned the parchment with a flick of his wand. Then he stepped onto a staircase, headed towards the first floor and the Slytherin Common Room.
He went to his bed, which was covered in green sheets – identical to the other beds that were placed systematically along the walls. He sat down on the comfortable mattress, as he remembered the note Hermione had written him:
Room of Requirement
After dinner
His heart warmed at the thought, but it also ached. Somehow he knew that if the Slytherins had reacted this harshly to him simply walking out of a class, their reaction to his new-found romance – if revealed – would be considerably worse. But he was positive that his relationship with Hermione would be kept under lock and key. Neither of them, he was sure, fancied the idea of anyone exposing them, and so neither of them would tell.
But he tried not to think about the future as he laid down on his pillow. He looked forward to after dinner, and that was all…
"What's wrong Hermione?" Ron asked her, stuffing his mouth with a piece of turkey.
She shook her head insistently, "Nothing, Ron."
He had asked her if she was feeling well at least a thousand times since she had sat down at dinner, and it was starting to make her nervous. Every time he asked her this question, she was required to tell a lie because she was not, in fact, well. Her insides were twisted unbelievably tight, and she was surprised that neither Ginny nor Ron noticed her heavy breathing. She looked forward to but at the same time dreaded her meeting with Draco.
Don't be ridiculous, Hermione she thought to herself trying to calm her nervous tension. You were the one that arranged this! You can't back out of it! Besides, it will be fine…
"Ron," Ginny punched his arm, "stop bothering her. She doesn't have to have something the matter with her every second of the day…"
Ron did not reply but continued to eat, glancing up worriedly at Hermione every now and then. He wondered why her eyes seemed so fixated on the Slytherin table, why her feet were pointed towards the door, and why she seemed to be wearing more makeup than usual. He speculated whether or not she knew that he saw everything and that he was certain every word that had escaped her lips this evening had been untruthful. He wondered if she knew.
Suddenly, she was on her feet, apologizing for the unanticipated rush out, and then she was gone to the Great Hall. Ginny stared after her, recalling lunchtime when Hermione had left her and her brother alone in exactly the same way, and although she wouldn't admit it to Ron, she knew something strange was happening. She remembered days when she and Harry would escape somewhere during meals and talk about nothing and everything. Quietly and tactfully she looked around, searching for any sign that she might be meeting with someone, and she spotted only one person leave the room – Draco Malfoy. But he was not a likely candidate so she continued eating, leaving Hermione to her own business.
Upstairs on the seventh floor, Hermione was pacing back and forth in front of a painting portraying Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls to do ballet. She was thinking very intensely about Draco and her desire to be closer with him, and as she passed the painting for the third time, the stone wall opposite it clicked, uncovering a hidden door.
It was a room Neville Longbottom had discovered during fourth year that had served as the meeting place for Dumbledore's Army – an organization lead by Harry to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, seeing as their teacher that year had been quite incompetent. It was called the Room of Requirement and, when someone greatly needed it, it would transform into whatever sort of room that person desired at the moment. Few people knew of it, and that was why Hermione chose it now.
She stepped under the threshold, finding before her a quaintly decorated room. It had baby blue wallpaper and navy and white furniture. A white, fur rug covered most of the floor, and on top of it sat two armchairs and a sofa. A fire flickered beneath the mantle, and candles hung, burning on the walls, their wax dripping slowly down their trunk. It was perfect, she thought.
And just as she had sat down in one of the plush chairs, the door clicked open, but she did not flinch for she knew who it was. He came and sat on the loveseat next to her, studying his surroundings.
"Are you aware, Granger, that the last time I was in this room, I was snitching you for that Dumbledore's Army rubbish?" he said as he stared into the flames licking in the fireplace.
"It wasn't rubbish!" Hermione disagreed. "If anything, the Inquisitorial Squad was rubbish. Umbridge was a prick, and besides, you and your Slytherin friends abused your power to the point of being unreasonable…"
Draco turned his eyes to her, "And you wouldn't?"
"No! Absolutely not!"
He nodded, unmoved, "Okay… If you say so, Granger. I know you would have given me heck if you were in my place."
She laughed, breaking the tension, "Probably."
"See? Your aren't completely innocent," he smiled crookedly.
His words stung her a bit, making her remember how she had left Ron and Ginny for him yet again. That would make twice in one day that she had ditched her friends for someone she barely knew, but when else was she supposed to see him? She tried to push those thoughts out of her mind and relax.
"So what do you want to talk about?" Draco said, placing his hands behind his head.
"I don't mind."
"Fine then," he smiled. "Let's talk about you."
"What about me?" she asked, twirling a lock of wavy hair in her fingers.
"Do your parents know about you being a witch?" Draco asked, hoping for an answer for he had always wondered this about Hermione.
"Yes, and they take it very well…" she replied.
"What are they like?"
"Well, they are both dentists," she said, and then remembering that she was in the wizarding world and Draco knew nothing about that, she explained. "They clean Muggles' teeth for a living."
Draco laughed hysterically at this, finding the thought absurd, "Can Muggles not clean their own teeth?"
Hermione sighed, grinning, "Yes, but they have to visit the dentist to make sure that their mouths are healthy."
"Still sounds completely ridiculous to me but… let the Muggles do as they wish…" he said, still chuckling.
Another uncomfortable silence occurred, in which both of them were trying to think of something to say to the other without sounding totally idiotic. Hermione wanted to ask Draco of his parents, but she was afraid that they were part the reason he was so unsure of himself right now. She decided she would wait for the topic to come up on its own.
"Do you ever wish you were in someone else's place?" Draco said suddenly, catching Hermione off her guard.
She hesitated, "Sometimes… but then when I think about all that I have gained instead of all I have lost, I wish nothing more than to be myself."
He was still, watching the fire again, and Hermione saw it in his eyes once more – the pain that had been present on the train. She watched it commandeer his entire demeanor, slowly working onto his pale face, into his frowning mouth, onto his slumping shoulders, and finally, he was not the laughing boy she had seen only moments before. He was something else, a new persona, and that was the part of him she had been seeking, the part she knew had been hiding behind the callused mask he usually wore.
She moved to the empty seat next to him, trying to see within him and discover the source of his anguish. She pulled her legs up into her lap and sat cross-legged on the couch, facing him.
"Tell me what's wrong, Draco," she said softly, grabbing his hand and playing with his fingertips. "Please?"
"Do your parents love you?" he asked, his silver eyes penetrating her heart now, his question taking her by surprise.
"Well… yes," she replied, as if stating the obvious. "They tell me they do."
"Mine don't," he said blankly. "Ever. They never have."
This revelation was shocking to Hermione. How anyone's parents could neglect to say that they loved their child was a mystery to her. Her mum and dad could never tell her enough how much they loved her, and here Draco Malfoy was saying that his parents had never uttered the words.
"Ever?" she asked incredulously.
"Never," he replied. "But it honestly doesn't matter. I – "
"Yes it does, Draco!" Hermione said, trying to make him understand. "It does matter! Love is necessary; everyone wants to be wanted by someone! If love didn't exist – "
"If love didn't exist, we wouldn't be talking right now…" Draco interrupted calmly, reaching up to touch her face, the back of his hand grazing her jaw line.
"Well, yes," she said quickly, "and – "
"And I wouldn't be scared for you…"
"Draco!" she exclaimed, frustrated that he kept interrupting her. "If you would let me speak, I would say that… that I want to kiss you."
"And you want to kiss me…" Draco smiled, stroking her cheek, their noses rubbing.
Then she leaned into him once, their lips meeting for just a second, and then he pulled away only to pull her body into his, their flesh melting together, seeming as one. And then their lips fused together, as each of them closed their eyes, wishing the moment would last forever. Her hands were on his shoulders, rubbing them gently, and she never wanted to let go.
But she did only to say one thing.
"Let me be the first to say, 'I love you'."
Amycus Carrow held the green-tinted powder in his left hand as he poked the kindling in the fireplace of his classroom. Although the Floo Network was not common transportation for ordinary wizards, the Death Eaters used it quite often, seeing as the network was regulated by the Ministry, and Voldemort had overtaken the Ministry from within. No harm would come to him for using it, and he was sure Voldemort wouldn't mind what he relayed on the other side…
When the fire grew large enough, he tossed the powder into its flaming fingertips. Upon contact with the dust, the fire turned into an ugly shadow of jade, and Carrow stepped its heatless grasp. It was an odd sensation, seeing the flames whipping about you but your skin feeling about room temperature. But Carrow had more on his mind than the childish wonders of magic.
"Malfoy Manor," Carrow spoke to the fireplace.
Immediately, he was spun rapidly in circles, and he saw green fireplaces and moving emerald figures floating about in his vision. But he didn't see any of them clearly until he arrived beneath the mantle of the Malfoy's familiar dining room.
Carrow cleared his throat, preparing to impart to Lucius his shameful message, and although it was terrible news for the Malfoy family, Amycus could not have enjoyed it more. He stepped from under the chimney, and walked through the French doors that led to the entry hall, calling for Lucius. The sunlight seeped through the windows above him, and he held a palm up to block the potent rays.
All of a sudden the doors to his right flung open, revealing a beautiful woman, whom Carrow knew was Lucius's wife, Narcissa. He had always received the impression that she was very quiet and introverted, but she did not look so now wearing an exquisite deep violet gown that dangled just below her knee and then tapered off to the side, the end of it sweeping the floor. She held a glass of red wine in her hand, and she did not smile as she looked at him. Instead she looked briefly startled to find a near stranger standing in her foyer, but she soon recaptured her poise.
"Lucius, dear!" she called into what Carrow assumed was the kitchen. "Company for you!"
Narcissa stepped aside as the tall, blonde man entered the room. He dominated Carrow's vision, something about him seeming authoritative with his long white-blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and his solid, focused eyes, but unfortunately, it was Amycus Carrow who would be ruling this visit. Lucius was simply the victim of bad news.
"Amycus!" Lucius bellowed, smiling, as he approached Carrow and held out his hand. "What arouses your visit?"
Amycus shook the man's hand strongly, his grip almost constricting, "Regrettably, Lucius, it isn't under the most ideal conditions that I intrude your residence."
"Ah…" Lucius rubbed his chin, his fingers brushing the stubble that had begun to sprout on his jaw. "Come. Sit and talk with me."
They entered the doors to the left, as Narcissa scurried behind them, her high heels clicking quickly on the marble floor. The room, upon entering, was possibly the most elegant living room Carrow had ever set foot in. The walls were painted crimson and decorated with portraits of family members passed. Cream-colored curtains hung from the floor-to-ceiling windows that dictated the rightmost wall, and the furniture – a long sofa, and three armchairs – was fabricated to match. A fireplace sat before him, laid with yellowish granite that covered the entire length of the north wall.
Despite the stunning décor, however, Carrow remained quite serious and outwardly unimpressed as he seated himself carefully in one of the armchairs. Lucius and Narcissa sat beside one another on the sofa.
"Lucius…" Carrow said, preparing his words cautiously. "It's about your son, Draco."
Narcissa popped from her seat, "What is it?!" she cried frantically. "What has happened?!"
"Nothing, nothing, Narcissa," Carrow waved her to take her seat again. "During my Dark Arts class, which Draco should be excelling in considering his familiarity with certain aspects of it, I asked him to perform the Killing Curse on a small, injured brown owl, but he refused to do it and left the classroom in the middle of the lesson!"
Lucius was quiet for a moment, considering this information, "Amycus, I would like to know what business of yours it is to be accusing me of tainting my boy's thoughts with distrust in our cause."
"I was not accusing you of any such thing, Lucius," Amycus said, bushy eyebrows furrowed. "I was merely stating that that sort of behavior is unacceptable. He is a symbol of our organization, and we must not represent weakness and cowardice."
"I have already discussed the matter with him, Amycus," Lucius said quietly but with force, "and if he does not listen to my warnings, what fault is it of mine that he is weak? If he is not of the right mind, then he shall not be a part of us, and I will not object. Narcissa does not agree with his membership in any case, so it will make no difference."
"Very well, Lucius," Amycus said, rising from his seat on the beautiful armchair. "I suppose I shall be going then. I thought I should inform you of his current situation."
Carrow stalked from the room, feeling rather confident for although Lucius had not shown any signs, Amycus knew he had upset him. He had seen the rage burning in his eyes, the tension in his clenched fists, and the embarrassment in his scarlet face. He knew how much Lucius wanted his son to succeed in the Dark Arts, how much he longed for Draco to join him in serving the Dark Lord, and it was only a matter of time before Lucius pushed Draco away from him – everyone had been expecting it, even Voldemort.
Carrow smiled nastily to himself, disappearing behind the thrashing green flames as he heard the angry growl of Lucius Malfoy echoing throughout the house. He listened to the sound of shattering glass and screams as he laughed behind the emerald curtain that carried him back to Hogwarts.