Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews!
CHAPTER SEVEN
MIND AND SOUL
o
"Hey, Malfoy, we're heading to dinner soon, want to come?"
Draco looked up from his homework, annoyed. What's-his-face, a third year in Draco's Initiation group, stood above him with a nervous grin. As he was busy studying in the library section of the Initiate common room, Draco didn't take kindly to being interrupted.
Who is this person again? Draco vaguely remembered seeing him at one of the many parties he had attended in his childhood. Probably from a minor Pureblood family of mediocre wealth and talent.
Draco gave him a bright smile. "Sorry, I've got so much Potions homework to finish." He gestured at the massive tome on his desk. "Maybe some other day?"
The older boy flushed. "Yeah. All right. We just noticed that you don't sit with anyone at mealtimes sometimes, and you could sit with us—me and my friends—if you wanted. I think you used to sit with Nott last year, but now you're not sitting with him anymore, so… well. You can sit with me. Us, I mean."
Draco stared at the older boy, wondering if there was something wrong with him, but before he could ask, the boy spun around and walked off, his ears bright red.
Draco blinked and returned to his work. Quite a few of the older boys had invited him to eat with them this week. He often accepted their invitations, as he didn't like being lonely, but felt little enthusiasm for them.
He preferred eating with the older boys to sitting in cold silence with Theo, enduring Millicent's taunts, or ignoring Crabbe's and Goyle's burps.
In fact, Draco would have accepted What's-his-face's invitation if Harry hadn't called him on the Thread Spheres yesterday. Harry had asked if Draco would please have a secret dinner with him down in the kitchens. He'd sounded a bit freaked out, too, so Draco knew Harry needed to say something important.
Deciding it was close enough to six o'clock—their chosen meeting time—Draco slammed his book shut and packed up.
Fifteen minutes later, he arrived at the painting of the fruit bowl that hid the entrance to the kitchens. Harry—who'd used it for Dolohov's tea—told him about it last year, and the kitchens had been their favorite place to eat together when they'd been attempting to keep their meetings secret. Few people knew about this place.
"You came," Harry said when Draco walked in, as if he couldn't believe it.
"Of course I came," Draco said, raising an eyebrow and sitting down on the elf-sized circular table.
"Some refreshments for the Misters," squeaked one of the house elves, placing a tin of ginger cookies and a plate of ham sandwiches in front of them. Draco noticed that she had a black eye and looked away, his stomach churning. The Malfoy house elves were similarly bruised up; they did it to themselves, the stupid creatures.
"This is why wizards rule and house elves serve, Draco," Lucius had said, after ordering their house elf Dobby to bang his head against the wall for forgetting to iron one of Lucius's shirts.
"Do you think we'll ever be able to sit in the Great Hall together?" Harry asked, gazing blankly at the ginger cookie in his hand. His face was a bit blotchy, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
Draco felt his chest shrivel up. Harry looked—there was no other word for it—forlorn. "I'm sorry. We can meet here every week. Maybe twice a week." Draco gained momentum, excited now. "We'll do homework together in here, like we used to last year. Oh, and after midnight, when everyone's asleep, you can come to my room in your Invisibility Cloak. I got a new set of magic board games this summer, so we can play all night—"
"You make it impossible for me to resent you," said Harry, looking up at Draco with blazing eyes.
Draco's face grew warm. "I'm… sorry?"
"If I died, what would you do?" said Harry out of nowhere, his expression unreadable.
Alarm bells went off in Draco's head. Harry was not okay. He'd sounded freaked out on the Thread Spheres, so Draco had known right then that something was up, but he hadn't expected a breakdown of this caliber.
"I'd miss you if you died," Draco said, the thought too horrible to contemplate. Why was Harry talking about this, anyway? Did he have no concept of tact?
"What happened?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes. "Harry, stop looking like a kicked puppy and just tell me what you're hiding!"
Harry pressed his lips together. "You didn't tell me about the Skull Pit party."
Draco gaped at him, not sure what this had to do with anything.
"I know why you didn't," Harry continued, not meeting Draco's eyes. "I haven't inspired a lot of confidence in you. I bet you thought I'd get myself killed."
Harry looked so utterly miserable that Draco wanted to pat his head.
"What happened?" Draco asked again, his tone gentler this time.
"I went to the party," Harry said, and told him what had happened.
Draco listened to the whole sordid tale, of Adolphus's warnings and Theo's tattling, in furious silence.
"So, let me get this straight," he said, after Harry had finished. "Theo reminded Adolphus that you were the one who destroyed Dungeon Two? And asked Adolphus to kill you?"
Harry had spent quite a lot of time recounting that particular detail of the story, painting Theo as the worst of villains, and Draco definitely did not doubt it.
"Yeah, he's a piece of shit," Harry said, shaking his head gravely. "You're not still friends with him, are you? You guys sort of…" Harry paused, scowling. "You guys sort of go back and forth, like a Quaffle."
"We're not friends," said Draco, scowling even harder than Harry. "And here I was trying to get him to forgive me, but if he's petty enough to try to get you killed, I think I'm going to give up on him."
"Forgive you for what?"
"Saving you the first day of school," said Draco, and Harry went pink, then grinned, as if the idea of Draco and Theo breaking up over him gave him undue pleasure.
Draco did not grin back. "So, is that it? Did you leave the party after talking to Adolphus? Did you run into anybody else?"
Please, please, please, let him not have run into Sebastian…
"No, " said Harry, not meeting Draco's eyes again. "Adolphus just let me go, and I pretty much sprinted out of the Skull Pit as fast as I could."
Draco cocked his head to the side, the alarm bells going off again. So far, Harry's story had been relatively tame, so why had Harry been so depressed a few minutes ago? Adolphus hadn't hurt him at all even though Harry had been cheeky with him and committed the almost-crime of comparing his magical power to Theo's. Luckily, he'd amused Adolphus more than offended him, but Draco doubted that the Skull King would find Harry entertaining forever.
"Are you sure that's it?" Draco said, stressing his words.
Harry nodded, and fidgeted again.
"You're lying," said Draco, unimpressed. "You were panicking way too much on the Thread Spheres for this to be it."
Harry glared at him."I'm not hiding anything from you! I was panicking because—well, I wasn't really. I was just worried. Because I realized how close I came to dying, again, and how hard it's going to be for me to be a Skull. And I wanted to tell you what happened. Mostly I just wanted to see you, and talk to you."
Draco refused to let Harry butter him up like this, though he was quite flattered. "I swear that if I find out you've been hiding something important from me, something to do with the Skulls—"
"I'm not," Harry promised, eyes shining innocently.
"If I find out," Draco went on, talking over Harry, "I'll kill you so violently that Sebastian will be jealous of me."
Harry did not laugh. His face had stiffened.
Draco snorted and rolled his eyes, a bit insulted at Harry's reaction. What, did he think Draco would actually hurt him, after going to such lengths to save him about a million times? "Moron. You know I was joking, right?"
Harry forced out a laugh. "Ha. Don't joke about that. Ha."
He's fucking weird, Draco thought, shooting him a disgusted look.
And that reminded him: he needed to give Harry a lecture on Pureblood etiquette.
"Good thing we decided to meet today." Draco stuffed his neglected sandwich into his mouth. He knew it wasn't polite to talk with his mouth open, but he didn't need to be polite around Harry. "I meant to tell you some things. I was going to ask you to meet me in my room before our Mind, Body, and Soul training begins, but today will do. I need to tell you what you can and can't say in front of the Skulls. You already broke the rules a million times; it's a miracle Adolphus didn't kill you."
Harry grumbled something under his breath, something that sounded a lot like Pureblood psychopaths, and Draco generously chose to ignore it.
"You're a half-blood, so you don't have the right to criticize any Pureblood," said Draco. Harry opened his mouth furiously, but Draco gave him a look so murderous that Harry closed it again.
"You're far too arrogant for your own good. I can't believe that you tried to tell Adolphus that you're more powerful than Theo. Are you insane?"
"But I am more powerful than him!" Harry said, crumbs of sandwich falling out of his mouth.
"Of course you are!" Draco slammed a fist down on the table. "Last year you were more powerful than everybody put together. Does it matter? Can you prove it to anyone?"
"I'll prove it," said Harry darkly.
"No!" Draco smacked his own forehead, groaning. "Don't prove it! Keep your head down, you complete moron. The other Initiates already hate you, you know? I sit with some of the older boys at dinner sometimes, and every time they mention you they say that you shouldn't be in our Initiation group. If you're too good, they might come after you. You're not allowed to be better than Purebloods at anything, Harry. That's the way it works."
"And you're defending their behavior? Are you serious?" Harry's tone was as jagged as shattered glass.
"I'm not defending them!" Draco practically yelled. "This is the way it works! What, do you want me to wave my wand, say some silly spell, and make it change?"
"But you've never questioned why it works like that, and if it should be changed," Harry said, his tone laced with challenge. "Don't you think that's wrong that we're judged on blood purity first, not merit?"
Harry was giving Draco a headache. Why were they having this argument right now, for the millionth time? Wasn't Harry an Initiate now? He had to follow their rules, not shove his dirty-blood morals down their throats.
"What do you want me to say? I don't know if it's wrong or not. It's probably wrong. A lot of the stuff my dad says about blood purity and magical power doesn't make sense, and he admits that it doesn't make sense, but that doesn't matter. The Dark Lord doesn't want half-bloods in positions of power because they're related to Muggles, and they might try to bring Muggle culture to us. So you can't be equal to us, because we don't trust you. I mean, I trust you. I know that you don't care about the Muggles—well, you have Muggle blood, but it's not a lot, and you hate your mother anyway."
Harry stared at him, unblinking. Draco started talking faster, not sure where he was going with this.
"The Muggle part of you isn't too obvious in you, where it might be more obvious in other dirty-bloods, which is why we don't like them. In general. That's why the other Initiates don't trust you. But I don't feel that way toward you, you know. I know you're powerful, and not very Muggle. So as long as you show everyone how Muggle you aren't, you'll gain their respect."
Draco stopped talking. He was confusing himself at this point, and Harry's eyebrows had risen so high up his forehead that they had disappeared behind his hair.
Draco threw his hands up. "Look, Harry, you're part of the Skulls now. Do you want to live or not?"
Harry's gaze hardened. "You don't think I'm your equal, do you?"
Draco kneaded his forehead and gave Harry the dirtiest look he could muster. "No, I never said that. Stop imagining things."
"You implied it." Harry pushed his chair back to stand up, and Draco winced at the resulting screech of wood on stone.
"Don't you throw another tantrum again!" Draco stood up too, clenching his fists. "We've been over this a hundred times. I'm trying to help you because you're my friend, and I don't want what happened on Walpurgis Night to happen again. I don't want to ever have to choose between you and them, don't you get it?"
"It's all about you, isn't it?" Harry's eyes were blazing again, and his sandwich lay forgotten and uneaten. "I'm the one who was nearly killed for asking the Skull King a question, and nearly killed again for comparing my power to a Pureblood's, and you think I'm the one who needs to change my behavior?"
"Does that change the fact that what you did was stupid?" Draco asked. "You knew the risks."
Harry opened his mouth, holding a finger up as if he were about to delve into an enlightening lecture. Then he slumped back down into his seat, his arms crossed, resembling a pouty child.
"I'm not saying what I did was smart," Harry mumbled, while Draco looked on smugly. "I just wanted to know whose side you're on. Mine, or theirs."
"We're on the same side, Harry," said Draco with a sigh. "I just told you. We're Skull Initiates. Didn't you hear what I said?"
"So I'm expected to follow and listen to people who think people with Muggle blood are inferior, even though I have Muggle blood myself? Tell me how that makes sense."
Draco closed his eyes, praying for patience. "It makes sense for you to follow us because you joined us? If you don't like our messages, then don't be a Death Eater. I hate how they tried to kill you, and wish that it wasn't like this, but don't deny that joining us is giving you the chance to really be somebody, Harry."
Harry tried to open his mouth again, but Draco wouldn't have it. Harry would listen, and he would understand why Draco was right, why he was always right.
"You've impressed Adolphus already, so think how good of a Skull you'll be in a few years. You can be a Death Eater, or get a high-paying Ministry job, or oversee the goblins at Gringotts… there's no limit to what a Skull can do after Hogwarts. In private, people might think you're inferior, but does that really matter? You'll be equal to them in every way that's important. The Dark Lord is merciful to those who obey him, and you'll be taken care of."
Draco grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed, yanking him half over the table. "I'll take care of you too," said Draco, his voice softer now. "When all of this stuff dies down"—after Sebastian graduates and if we're both miraculously still whole by then, Draco thought, his stomach twisting—"we'll be able to reveal that we're friends. And think about how amazing it'll be. Us graduating as Skulls, us becoming Death Eaters, us working at the Ministry. We'll be together for a long time. Isn't that you want? Even if it isn't, it's what I want, and I always get what I want. So don't ruin it any more than you already have."
Draco gave Harry's hand a final pat, sniffed importantly, and stood up. "Anyway, I'd better get back to the dorms. You finish that sandwich and leave twenty minutes after me so that nobody suspects we're meeting."
Harry didn't answer. Draco took a closer look at him, and was shocked to discover that his bottom lip was trembling. He was either enraged or near tears.
"I don't want that," Harry said. "I don't want the same thing you want. I want them to respect me."
Draco sighed, and with a monumental effort, he plastered a smile on his face. But it was a sad smile, not a comforting one, and when he spoke, his tone was dead serious. "I know, Harry. I want them to respect you, too. I hate what they put you through, and I hate them for putting you through it. I'll hint to the other boys when I talk to them that they should give you a chance. I'll try everything I can to help you. I'm on your side, after all. And even if nobody else believes it, I know that you're my equal. You're my best friend."
He turned to leave, but before he could walk one step forward, Harry was coming at him like a force of nature.
He sort of slammed into Draco, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to unsteady him. Draco grabbed onto Harry's shirt to stay upright, and Harry took it in stride and buried his face into Draco's shoulder. His hand moved subconsciously to card through Draco's hair, messing up the gel Draco had applied this morning.
"Oi, watch the hair," Draco said, with no real conviction.
Harry just tightened his grip.
Weirdo. But it wasn't weird at all, standing together here like this. It felt so good, so right, to have Harry pressed up against him.
But now Draco was starting to go a little lightheaded. Harry's hair smelled good, and Draco was suddenly aware of Harry's body, skinny at first glance but wiry with a sort of unseen strength. Draco could stand here for ages, listening to Harry breathe and letting Harry caress his hair.
Draco's train of thought leapt straight to his own parents, Narcissa embracing Lucius in the same way Harry was embracing Draco, and felt his face warm as he thought of the other ways his parents embraced, and him and Harry doing those things.
Then Harry shifted his head, jabbing his glasses into Draco's collarbone, and Draco snapped out of his daze.
"Ow, stop! Get off me!"
Harry left his broom closet on Sunday twenty minutes before nine o'clock, hand stuffed his pocket, fingers wrapped around his wand.
Today was the Initiates' first training session in Mind, Body, and Soul, whatever the hell that meant, and Harry had been a bundle of nerves all of last week. Talking to Draco at dinner a few days ago had barely alleviated his panic.
He hadn't told Draco about Sebastian's threats.
Nor would he ever tell Draco.
Besides, Harry could handle Sebastian. The last thing he needed was for Draco to try and save him again, and get into more trouble as a result.
Draco.
Harry hadn't intended on forgiving him so quickly, but he'd been unable to resist. Yes, Draco was a good little brainwashed Death Eater boy, who still didn't properly think Harry was his equal, who still wasn't sorry enough about betraying him. But Draco cared about Harry more than anybody else ever had. Really, truly cared, with his whole heart. He wanted the best for Harry, whatever Draco thought the 'best' was.
And maybe Draco was right. Maybe Harry should be a good little brainwashed Death Eater boy like Draco. Maybe that would give him the easiest, happiest life.
Harry would have believed that, except that he knew the Skulls were evil, and their ideology was insane, and the Dark Lord was no Lord of Harry's.
I was given power and destiny, wasn't I? He wasn't meant to be a brainwashed soldier like Draco wanted him to be. He was meant to be something greater.
And Harry would not give up his dreams, as wild as they were. Not even for Draco.
Peals of laughter coming from the center of the Initiate common room jolted Harry out of his thoughts. He crept forward, tightening his grip on his wand.
The other Initiates sat there on the haphazardly arranged sofas, chattering with each other as if they'd all known each other forever, which they probably had. They'd gathered here ahead of time so they could all go to Mind, Body, and Soul training together, and yet again they'd excluded Harry.
Draco sat right in the midst of them, in an animated conversation with a few third year boys who, from the look of it, were hanging onto his every word. Harry struggled to contain the white-hot rage that shot through him at the sight.
These nobodies get to talk to Draco wherever they want, whenever they want, and I'm not even allowed to look at him?
How had Draco befriended the other Initiates so quickly, anyway? The Draco Harry knew hated people as much as Harry did. In his snickered whispers to Harry, Draco had gleefully insulted almost every single student in their year as well as random students from older years, on everything from their facial features to the way they walked.
Listening to Draco's rants and baseless gossip had kept Harry amused last year. Draco's insults were like poetry, like art; he was talented at being mean.
Perhaps Draco was putting on an act these days, smiling that dimpled smile and chattering away like the world's friendliest person. Or maybe he was just being his usual self, badmouthing somebody in that charismatic, hilarious way of his, and the Initiates found his meanness just as brilliant as Harry did.
Harry sighed, yearning. He couldn't hear what they were talking about from here, but knew Draco would kill him if he barged in and drew attention to himself.
And while we're on the subject of killing…
Harry wanted to murder the random boy who was on the receiving end of Draco's coy smirk—the smirk that he'd reserved for Harry last year. Draco might be putting on an act right now, but did he have to act so smug?
Harry gave a start when he noticed Nott, sitting sullenly at the edge of the festivities, not talking to anybody. He was glaring in Draco's general direction, though whether Theo's ire was focused on Draco himself or the boys breathing all over him, Harry didn't know.
Hey, here's another person not allowed to talk to Draco in public. Or in private. Or ever again.
Snorting under his breath, Harry swept out of the Skull dormitories, his mood buoyed just the slightest bit by Theo's misery.
When he'd finished trudging up to Dungeon Three, he leaned against the wall of the corridor outside, waiting for the rest of the Initiates to arrive.
Today, he'd do what Draco asked him to. He'd blend into the background, and give the Initiates no reason to remember that he existed.
For now.
Dungeon Three looked like the Hospital Wing, except massive and far less well-lit. Draco and the other Initiates just stared, unsure what to make of this bizarre set up.
Beds filled the chamber, about fifty of them in neat rows. Draco supposed they were supposed to be used for potion-induced simulations.
The Executioner, Fawley, stood at the other end of the chamber, surrounded by a few bored-looking Bronzes. Used to the routine by now, the Initiates assembled themselves into neat rows in front of Fawley.
Draco spotted Harry out of the corner of his eye, standing in the back and scowling at everything as if he couldn't decide what he hated the most.
Draco hastily turned his snicker into a cough.
"This is Dungeon Three, the simulation room," Fawley began, his mask and face both stiff. "Mind and Soul training takes place here on alternating Sundays. Body training takes place in Dungeon Four, the gym, and will take place on those Sundays you do not have Mind and Soul training."
Draco did not fancy the idea of spending all his Sunday nights doing Mind, Body, and Soul training.
But maybe he'd actually learn something from this. Maybe, one day, he'd be powerful enough to defend himself from Sebastian.
"For those of you who have forgotten, Mind simulations test how intelligently you tackle problems, while Soul simulations test how well you follow the Dark Lord's teachings in situations of psychological duress. For Body training, you will be taught a variety of spells and techniques used in dueling and team battles, and will be graded on how well you master each technique."
"Graded?" someone behind him wailed.
Draco curled his lip. Of course. We're always being graded.
"For the entirety of first term, your progress will be tracked in all three sections of your training—Body, Mind, and Soul," Fawley said, as if he hadn't just been interrupted. "Your Body training will be graded by Bronze Skulls, and the Mind and Body potions are charmed to send us a score based on your actions during their simulations. At the end of the training period—the week before Christmas break—we will tally up your scores. When you come back from your holidays, you will each have a rank."
Draco could predict what his future rank would be. He'd pass Mind all right, he supposed. And although he was no match for Theo or even Harry, Draco would be able to handle Body. But if his results in the First Trial were anything to go by, he'd be terrible at Soul. Draco and the words 'psychological duress' did not go well together.
Well, maybe I need to give myself more credit. I survived Sebastian, and saved Harry. I'm not as weak as I was during the First Trial.
"Your assigned rank will determine your starting position in the Initiate Tournament come spring term," said Fawley, and everyone who was dozing standing up jerked awake at once. The Initiates whispered among themselves, their voices low and eager.
"There's supposed to be a massive battle at the end of the year," said Montague, a third year who'd been a bit too friendly to Draco this past week. Draco thought he was a boring tryhard, but his father had ordered him to make 'connections,' so now Draco had to sweetly entertain every idiot who demanded his precious time. "There's an arena-sized Dueling Ring in Dungeon Five, did you know? That's where the battle game is going to take place."
"I know all about it," said Draco, remembering his long days studying in the summer with Theo.
Montague deflated.
"Silence," Fawley hissed, making both Draco and Montague flinch and everybody else shut up.
Fawley took a deep breath, adjusting his robes, and Draco held back a snort. Compared to Sebastian, Fawley wasn't a very impressive Executioner. He didn't possess the air of authority Sebastian did, didn't inspire terror in the same way. Draco pitied the poor Initiates Sebastian had taught last year as the Executioner. Sebastian would have murdered any poor Initiate who'd so much as breathed at him in the wrong way.
"You will be provided more information on the Tournament as its start date approaches. For now, however, you are to focus on your training. Today is your first Mind and Soul session, and next week will be your first Body session. Any questions before we go over the instructions for today?"
Fawley, as usual, didn't give off the impression that he was open to questions, and the Initiates stared at one another, silently daring everyone else to ask something.
Fawley started up again after one whole second, to nobody's surprise. "Pick a bed, lie down, and drink the two potions underneath your pillow, one after the other. One potion will induce a Mind simulation, and the other Soul. Each simulation should take thirty minutes or less, and when you are finished with the first, you will immediately slip into the next. Some people will wake up before the hour is up—the quicker you pass each simulation, the higher your score for the session, though you are graded more on your performance than your time.
"Due to the nature of the simulation potions, while you are under, you will be under the impression that everything you are experiencing is real. Explaining what you will see in the simulations is useless; you'll have to learn on the job. Each session's simulations will become steadily more difficult as the weeks go on, and in order to pass the simulations you start out failing, you will have to make an effort to improve yourself in real life. Off to bed with you. You have one hour, starting now."
Fawley walked off, his Bronze Skull assistants trailing after him. The Initiates all dispersed, hurrying to claim a bed, but Draco just stood there, gazing around with a lump of dread clogging up his throat, sensing his failure creep closer and closer.
Finally, when he could bear it no more, he threw himself onto a bed and chugged down the potions, one after another, and then felt his eyelids grow heavy.
Draco kept his eyes closed, feeling around gingerly. Leaves crunched beneath him.
What? Wasn't I—wasn't I somewhere else?
Then Draco heard them. The footsteps. They were everywhere, loud and heavy enough to make the ground quake.
He stumbled to his feet, struggling to stay upright as the ground shook harder and harder. Whatever was thudding around—a giant?—was getting closer, but Draco couldn't see it. He was in a forest full of towering, spindly trees, so thick with foliage that they blocked out light from reaching him. He couldn't see more than ten feet in front of him, and to make it even worse, a thick layer of squishy and uneven mud covered the ground.
Draco half-ran, half-hobbled deeper into the forest, swallowing down his panic. He tried to figure out why he was here and what the hell was going on, but every time he got close to any sort of answer, his mind hit a block. Birds screeched, spiraling into the air in a flurry of feathers, and trees toppled to the ground behind him.
None of the din drowned out the sound of the footsteps.
Draco kept running. Minutes passed, maybe hours, maybe days.
Feeling that it was a miracle he hadn't fallen yet, Draco shoved a hand in his pocket as he ran, feeling for his wand. But how could he fight a bloody giant, if that was what it was? Giants were almost completely resistant to basic Dark spells, and Draco didn't know any advanced ones.
He sped past trees, huffing and puffing, his energy depleting rapidly. He couldn't run forever. This forest seemed never-ending, and every time he was sure he'd reached the edge, more trees appeared in front of him.
I can't run.
Gasping, Draco slowed to a stop and took out his wand in one fluid surrounded him on all sides, but he could use them.
Think, Draco, think! How big was a giant? Twenty feet. The trees were taller than the average giant. Which meant—yes. I can do this with simple spells.
The ground shook as if under siege by an earthquake, and Draco got to work, trying to keep calm. His whole body trembled under the onslaught of the footsteps, but as long as he kept his wand arm steady, he'd be able to cast his spells.
"Fune ligabis!" Thick rope erupted out of the end of his wand and tied itself around the trunk of one of the trees, and Draco took a shuddering breath, relieved it had worked. He said the spell four more times, securing the four biggest trees nearest him, then hissed out another spell. "Laevo!" A second later, all four ropes were drenched with a clear and slimy liquid, slippery to the touch.
After admiring his handiwork for a split second, Draco hid behind a fifth tree, heart in his throat and wand still out.
If everything went according to plan, he'd tie all four ropes to the giant. Then he'd run off, and the giant would run after him, hopefully dragging all four trees down on top of itself. If it was smart it would try to break the rope, but Draco had prepared for this inevitability. The giant's massive hands would slip and slide on the rope, and it would be unable to break it.
Thump.
Draco clenched his wand so hard that it nearly snapped. He couldn't see anything in this darkness, but he knew he had minutes—if not seconds—until the giant got to him. The footsteps were getting so loud now that he could hear them inside his head.
The ground creaked, and then the giant burst into the clearing, knocking trees asunder. It looked like a massive baby, bald and toothless, wearing nothing but a fur loincloth. Round droplets of drool dripped from its jaws, and it raised a spiked club into the air.
Draco, who'd frozen in place for a long and horrible action, forced himself into action. He took aim and whispered, "Ligo," flicking the tip of his wand in the giant's direction. The rope wrapped itself around the giant's chest, and Draco flicked his wand again, this time inward. The rope tightened, sinking deep into rolls of flesh.
It's working. Draco took another deep breath.
The giant roared and tried to turn around, confused and in pain, and Draco, who was powered by nothing but adrenaline at this point, ran out into its line of sight. For a long, painful second, the giant didn't notice him at all, too preoccupied with the rope blocking off its ability to breathe.
But when it finally saw him, all hell broke loose. The giant screamed, brandishing its club, and Draco sprinted away, shooting colorful but harmless sparks over his shoulder to distract the creature. A second later, he heard the groan of several trees straining against their roots. The giant screamed, and a horrible crack reverberated through the forest, so piercing that Draco's teeth rattled.
A moment later, he stopped in his tracks and sucked in a breath. The ground beneath him was transforming into white mist, erasing itself, and the forest rippled and swirled as if it were nothing but the reflection on the surface of a lake. The next thing Draco knew, he was sinking into this world's ground and falling out of another world's sky.
Unfortunately, he didn't have any time to register this.
"Get up!" someone said, grabbing Draco by the collar and yanking him to his feet. Draco tottered in place, slowly taking in his surroundings.
Then the reality of where he was smashed into him like the giant's club.
Not here! Not here again!
This was Dungeon Two, the very same place he'd betrayed Harry on Samhain, then again on Walpurgis Night. The Hunger had taken him to a recreation of this place inside Harry's mind on Beltane, eager to make them relive their worst memories together.
But Harry wasn't here. Draco stood on the central platform, presiding over a deserted courtroom.
"What—?"
"Hurry up," the voice snarled again, reminding Draco that he wasn't alone. A Gold Skull stood behind him, a hand digging into the back of Draco's neck, faceless even behind his mask. The only feature he had was a mouth.
And as Draco watched, the Skull bared his teeth.
"You have a job to do," said the Skull, shoving Draco forward. "Say it! Come on! Fiat justitia, ruat caelum."
Legs shaking, Draco took out his wand and repeated the words.
Those words never meant anything good.
The invisible wall where they kept the prisoners rippled, going transparent, and a person wrapped in ropes came spinning out. She landed with a plop right at Draco's feet, and Draco cried out in shock at the same time as she did.
The prisoner was a little girl, no older than four years old. She wore her black hair in pigtails, and her eyes were bright green, the same piercing shade as Harry's.
Draco's throat went dry. He stared down at her, not quite sure what he was seeing.
"Kill her!" the Skull hissed into Draco's ear. "Hurry up, come on!"
The girl started screaming. She didn't say anything. She just lay there, unable to free her arms and legs, and Draco trembled all over as he watched her thrash around.
Soon enough, her screams turned into wracking sobs.
"K-kill her?" Draco stammered. "She's—she's—she's a kid. She's not even my age. She doesn't need to be killed."
"She's a Muggle," the Skull said impatiently, sinking his fingernails into Draco's shoulder. "Are you serious? If you let her live, she'll grow up with magic that belongs to a real wizard. She doesn't deserve to be a witch."
Draco tore out of the Skulls's grip, panting hard. "I know. But I can't do it."
She has Harry's eyes.
"If you don't kill her," said the Skull, crossing his arms, a grin spreading across his face, "the Dark Lord will do it for you, or your father will."
"My father—"
Draco clenched his eyes shut. During one of their arguments last year, Harry had asked Draco what he'd do if Lucius ordered Draco to kill a child. Draco knew from rumors that Theo's father had killed plenty of children, and done worse to them than kill them.
"They can kill her," said Draco, raising his voice so he could be heard over the weeping girl, "but I don't want to. I don't have to."
"You were able to do it on Walpurgis Night, weren't you?" said the Skull in his ear, his breath icy. Draco shivered. "You said to Harry that you'd be willing to do anything to be a Skull, and you betrayed him. What makes her more important to you?"
Draco's head spun. "I can't kill someone—"
"You'll have to kill to become a Skull," the Skull interrupted, his voice devoid of pity. "Will you kill her, or should I kill you?"
It took a few moments for the Skull's words to sink in, but when they did, despair crashed into Draco like a roaring wave. "I don't want to kill her," he said, his voice sounding distant, even to himself.
"Enough whining. Kill her. Now."
The Death Eaters are murderers, and your father is a murderer, Harry had said many times, and Draco always came up with excuses, claiming that it wasn't murder if those who were killed deserved it—and even if they hadn't deserved it, the Death Eaters killed Muggles and Mudbloods and blood-traitors, all scum, so why should Draco lose sleep over their deaths?
He didn't know the people who were killed or this girl personally, and if someone else killed her for him, he'd be relieved. Draco didn't care at all if his father murdered people, or if the Dark Lord did. They were doing noble work—work that made Draco sick to the stomach, but work that needed to be done to discipline and transform the wizarding world.
But Draco didn't want to do what they did. He didn't want Harry to look at him and say, "You're a murderer too." He didn't want to turn into Sebastian. Sebastian, who was a monster on the outside and inside, who killed and killed and killed, who tormented Draco every waking and sleeping moment whether he was there or not.
"Hurry UP!" the Skull roared, whipping out his wand and pressing it into the back of Draco's head. The warm tip singed his hair.
Draco raised his wand. He couldn't hold his arm steady.
I have to do it if I want to live. Why do I have to do it? Why can't someone else do it for me?
The girl looked like Harry.
Would you let someone else kill Harry, if you were too weak to do it yourself?
Draco screamed in frustration, and Dungeon Two dissolved in front of his eyes—the girl, the Skull, and then Draco himself. And in a striking moment of clarity, he knew he had failed.
Harry was cheating.
In fairness to him, it wasn't his fault. He was simply immune to the Skull's simulations, the Mind and Soul ones in addition to one in the First Trial.
He'd been able to keep calm during his battle with the giant by knowing that none of it was real. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He'd panicked an embarrassing amount at the beginning when he'd figured out that the giant's thick hide repelled most spells he knew, and he'd frantically shot spells at it for nearly two whole minutes before realizing to use a Conjunctivitis Curse on its eyes.
Why am I immune the simulations in the first place? Harry wondered as the forest disappeared and started reassembling into a different simulation—Soul this time, he supposed. I should ask Synesis.
Harry let out a groan as his new surroundings sharpened and cleared. He was in Dungeon Two.
Again.
This place chased him in his nightmares, and he hated it even more than he hated the clearing in the Forbidden Forest where he'd lost most of his magic. At least he had good memories from that clearing to offset the bad ones, like snowball fights and sunlit picnics with Draco. He had no good memories from Dungeon Two, and if given the chance, he'd destroy it again—and again, and again, and again, until he blasted it off the face of the earth.
A Skull exhaled in his ear, and Harry jumped about a foot in the air, yelling out. He choked when he caught sight of the Skull's face, or lack of it.
"Hurry up," said the Skull, his golden mask glinting in the bright torchlight. "You have a Muggle you need to take care of. Say it! Come on! Fiat justitia, ruat caelum!"
Harry obeyed at once, telling himself that it wasn't real, that he wouldn't really be torturing somebody. They were testing his loyalty to the Skulls, and if he hadn't been immune to the simulation, he wouldn't have listened to this nonsense at all. Hell, he probably would have destroyed Dungeon Two again.
But he was immune, and he knew what he had to do to pass.
"Fiat justitia, ruat caelum." Harry's voice rang out loud and clear, echoing in the empty chamber.
He closed his eyes, knowing exactly what was happening to the prisoner behind the invisible wall. He'd been in the same position not even a year before.
I might choke on this irony.
When he opened his eyes again, a little girl lay at his feet, and Harry almost lost his resolve seconds after gaining it.
She was perhaps five years old, her hair so pale it was almost white, her eyes big and gray. She started crying at once, and Harry's determination frayed and splintered into nothingness.
She looks like Draco.
Was it a coincidence, or did the simulation automatically model the girl after someone the Initiate cared about? In any case, it was working, and Harry wanted to tear the ropes off of her and carry her out of here.
She's not real, Harry reminded himself, his breathing going shallow anyway. This isn't Draco's little sister or anything. The simulation is trying to play games with me. Just torture her and be done with it.
He raised his wand.
"Nuh uh uh," said the Skull teasingly, grabbing Harry's arm to keep him from aiming. "Cruciatus isn't enough. This one has to be killed. She's a Muggle, remember?"
Harry's heart dropped to his feet, and he struggled to keep his arm from shaking. He argued with himself, growing angrier and angrier as the seconds passed.
You're not a killer, Harry.
But this isn't real.
Would you kill her if it was?
He'd killed his mother in the First Trial's simulation, hadn't he? He wouldn't do such a thing in real life, no matter how much he hated Lily.
So he could kill this little girl that he didn't know, eased by the knowledge that he wouldn't do such a thing in real life.
"Hurry up! What're you waiting around for?"
The girl's sobs wracked her entire body, as if she knew what was coming. Harry stared down at her, head pounding, bile rising in his throat.
I need to keep my head down. I can't let the Skulls know that I'm not loyal to them. I have to pass.
Harry couldn't bear to look.
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry's eyes flew open. He lay there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, hearing the other Initiates breathe deeply around him, snuggled in their own beds.
He was early, of course, so he waited for the hour to go by. He'd pretend to wake up when everybody else did. The minutes went by unbearably slowly as he tried to convince himself that he wouldn't have killed the girl in real life.
He was stupid for feeling bad about this. He'd done what he needed to do. Theo and Draco and the other Initiates didn't even think Mudbloods and Muggles were human, and probably hadn't batted an eyelash when they'd been asked to kill the girl, but Harry had killed one of his own. Would he have done it, if he hadn't been immune to the simulation?
Harry thought he knew the answer to this.
I told myself I'd hurt Lavender and Seamus and Neville and the rest, if they got in my way.
This girl isn't an exception.
