septemberbeauty13: Yes, I think Draco might just be catching on, but I don't think where it's going yet.

Miss Kandy Whitlock: Yay! I'm so glad you like it! I actually tried to avoid reading other sixth-year interpretations so I wouldn't be influenced, so I've no idea what other people are writing. Thank you for your generous praise.

So, ppl, I spent yesterday on another story that's been tickling the back of my brain for a while. Check it out, it's sort of creepy though, a much darker Draco than this. Anyway, now that I've gotten it out of my system I'm back to ITW!

Chapter 37: Crucio

Draco walked into Defence the next morning with just seconds to spare, and he barely settled into his seat beside Vincent before Snape turned around from the board. His eyes travelled to Draco for just a fraction of a second before he turned to address the class. Potter turned around and raised an eyebrow at him, and Draco spent the rest of the day scowling.

By dinnertime he had determined that Potter was simply jealous. Why else would he have spent the last six years in class systematically provoking Snape into punishing him? Potter obviously can't stand anyone else sharing the blistering beam of his permanent spotlight. Tosser.

In any case, Potter enormous ego wasn't Draco's biggest concern at the moment. As convenient as their new meeting place might be, he would now have an even harder time hiding his work on the cabinet. Fortunately, he knew the Gryffindors had the pitch for the evening, so he could safely get to work before Potter could turn up.

Predictably, that didn't work out. No sooner had Draco stepped into the common room than a frightened second-year scurried over and handed him a folded note. Inside he found Snape familiar, angular handwriting.

Mr. Malfoy,

Report to my office at 8pm.

SS

When he arrived, Snape looked up from a stack of paper he was marking but said nothing. Draco sat in the uncomfortable chair across the desk and waited. And waited. He knew Snape made people wait to demonstrate his authority, but tonight he just really wasn't in the mood. Finally, he gave in and admitted his frustration,

"Professor?"

Snape looked up and sneered. Draco tried to look bored.

"How is your cruciatus?"

"Why?" he answered a bit defensively. Snape scowled at him like he had no business asking such a question.

"Because the Dark Lord intends for you join us on a raid soon and you will need to participate."

"Fine," Draco answered, trying to sound nonchalant. Snape wasn't buying it, though, because he responded

"Tomorrow, same time," and turned back to his work. Draco understood himself to be dismissed.

"Gods, Malfoy… nnnngg… class…" Potter was protesting weakly into his neck the next day at lunch, but he made no attempt to push away from where he had pinned Draco against the abandoned classroom wall.

"Fuck class…" Draco mumbled, and tucked two fingers into Potter's waistband and tugged him closer. Potter sucked in a shocked breath and ground furiously, fumbling with Draco's tie and collar. Draco shivered and suppressed at groan Potter's teeth dragged across his protruding collarbone. He tugged at Potter's shirt, determined to best him, dragging his nails down the hot skin on his back. Potter arched forward then, biting down on his neck and drawing blood, and Draco gasped and cried out, but a warm, calloused hand came up to cover his mouth.

He opened his eyes to see that Potter was bloody smirking at him for losing control like that. Draco narrowed his eyes and, in a flash, kicked to knock the legs out from under the other boy. Potter went crashing down and Draco landed on top of him, but his arms were still wrapped around him and he caught them before Potter's head hit the ground. Potter's face was flushed and he was panting heavily, eyes wide with surprise, and when Draco pressed their lips together, he groaned loudly and without reserve, rutting up into him with frantic abandon.

Scraping and knocking and a thousand pounding feet outside told them lunch was over, and Potter looked positively in pain over it, but managed to get out a pathetically hopeful, "tonight? The room?"

Draco smirked, standing up and brushing himself off before answering, "detention."

"Tomorrow?"

"Quidditch."

Potter looked vaguely insecure, which was just rewarding enough for Draco to take pity on him. "Friday, after curfew" he offered.

Potter's face lit up and Draco rolled his eyes before slipping out the door and into the chaos of the hallway.

"You are not trying, Mr. Malfoy." Snape sounded bored, which was infuriating, because Draco really was trying.

"I am," he insisted, lifting his wand and pointing it at the kneazle in the cage in front of him. "Crucio" he cried, glaring at the fluffy creature, and it winced and whined.

"You must desire to inflict suffering," Snape said, his voice low, face inscrutable.

"Did you want me to suffer when you crucioed me?" Draco shot back, knowing it would hurt.

"Yes, I did," he answered simply.

Draco knew that answer was meant to hurt him back, and it did. And under the pressure of his magical impotence, the hurt transmuted into a coiling rage that built up inside his stomach. He allowed it grow, feeding on the painful memories of his own torture at the hands of the Ministry and the Dark Lord, all the humiliation and fear and agony, welling up with him. He closed his eyes and let it build until it was unbearable, and then he looked directly at the pathetic, whimpering kneazle and wanted nothing more than to transfer every ounce of his pain onto it.

"CRUCIO!" he cried, and now the creature did wail, and writhe in agony, biting it's own tongue and screeching in pain. Draco felt a surge of power flowing through him as the kneazle cried out, scratching itself and beating it's body against the iron bars of its cage, but the pain inside him didn't subside. Instead, it seemed to grow, fuelling his rage, fuelling his curse, and the kneazle writhed more furiously, convulsing now. On and on.

Finally, when he felt a bead of sweat running down the side of his face, Draco broke the spell, and collapsed into a chair. He could only hope Snape's silencing charms had held, because the creature was still whimpering and twitching were it lay, blood bubbling out of the side of it's mouth.

Draco felt exhausted, but not relieved. The pain he'd gathered up was still there, and if anything, it was worse now, but it no longer filled him with energy. Instead he felt drained by it, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sob himself to sleep if only to make it stop for a while. He felt a pressure weighing on his chest, like he could never again feel joy, or calm, or relief. Only when he opened his eyes again did realize they were clouded with tears, and he wiped them away quickly, hoping Snape had not seen.

No such luck. Snape was watching him, his expression vaguely pained, but he stood up and approached Draco slowly, as if unsure whether Draco would lash out and curse him next. For some reason that made Draco feel infinitely worse, and he felt like no number of showers could ever wash away the stain of it.

He closed his eyes again and looked away, and was surprised when long fingers brushed his palm as they placed a piece of… chocolate?... in it. Draco didn't question, he simply ate, and as the rich velvety taste slipped down his throat he felt the pressure in his chest lightening, and warmth diffusing throughout him, and it was ok. He would be ok.

"Thank you," he managed thickly through a second bite.

Snape nodded, than added, "it doesn't get any better over time."

Draco thought about that, and then asked before he could stop himself, "how do you do it?"

It was a broader question than he was really prepared to ask aloud, but he needed to know. How can you be a part of this? How can you follow a madman who tortures his own followers? How can you believe in this? How can you sustain anything resembling humanity when you have to do this to other people?

Snape was looking at him thoughtfully, and he thought he might have felt the gentle slip of legimency before the man turned away from him and sat down in front of the fire.

At length he replied, "Not without cost."

Draco heaved a sigh and cast another glance and the twitching kneazle in the cage on the floor. Snape followed his eyes and flicked his wand, and in a flash of green light, the kneazle stopped moving, no longer in pain or misery. It seemed like a preferable fate, but somehow it was still devastating.

Draco spent the night waiting for sleep, but sleep never came.